Titan Race

by Edentu D Oroso

  TITAN RACE

  TITAN RACE

  Book One of the MANU SERIES

  Edentu D. Oroso

  Copyright © Edentu D. Oroso 2019

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN

  Melodicrose Publishing

  www.melodicrosepublishing.com

  Melodicrose Publishing

  Praise for Titan Race

  “Edentu’s writing is so layered with sensory descriptions. I’m in awe at how he describes a landscape, a skyline, a car approaching a place…and how he leaves the reader with something so tangible, so visual to experience. Edentu’s words carry you in and out of scenes with real-time fluidity. Masterful prose!”

  Maribeth Parot Juraska, Ed.D., author and retired Professor of English.

  “Titan Race is a compelling original story with a strong narrative voice, a captivating adventure, full of intrigue that will leave readers voracious for more.”

  Mopelola Adeniyi, author of A Rough Diamond.

  “A classic in the making: this highly imaginative story written like the old masters, will transport your mind into another spectrum. With the superb use of the English language, and cleverly interwoven with modern day romance, this well-crafted TITAN RACE is the ultimate for Science Fiction/Fantasy lovers.”

  Charles Ayling, author of Sunrise at Noon and the forthcoming Borneo Experience.

  For Weriepere . . . .

  Whose care was boundless.

  Acknowledgements

  I owe a debt of gratitude to the following for fine-tuning the manuscript to what it is:

  Andrew Ame-Odindi Abah, I can’t thank you enough for your edits, recourse to details and patience.

  Camellia Morris, you’re such a rare breed and friend. I treasure your support.

  Mar Marburg, I’m glad our paths crossed. Thanks for being a great friend and beta reader. Domo arigato mi Amiga always.

  Dahna Schaublin, I’ll always remember your insightful beta reading.

  Sam Ogabidu, I’m honoured by your enduring friendship; for always nudging me on, believing and over-hyping this story.

  Aditya Deshmukh, you’re an amazing and talented friend and editor who saw lapses where others didn’t.

  Corrie Lavina Knight, Mick Rose, Benoit Chartier, Ayo Gutierrez, and a host of other talented writers too numerous to mention, thank you so much for your invaluable feedback on the first few pages of this book.

  Mark Ogbuabo, Gloria Chima and James Shinyi, I’m grateful for your wonderful typesetting of the first draft of the manuscript and friendship.

  The Titans are Coming!

  When the day dims and the golden glimmer of an age

  Wears no more the hood of its proud beginnings,

  The gardeners will once more prune their fields:

  The Titans are ploughing!

  When all else is noise, and the fury of the ascent

  Robs the light of day and enthrones dusk at dawn,

  The silver skies will once more split with meaning:

  The Titans are sowing!

  When the stars starkly sing of their toil

  To keep us abreast of the sea to which we plunge,

  Know the big bell of time has tolled:

  The Titans are reaping!

  When even breath is fouled by earth’s own dust

  And the sun and the moon are no longer in concert

  And the earth cringes to its own resonance:

  The Titans are here.

  Part One

  NEWLAND, RIAGENA

  MODERN DAY

  Chapter One

  Newland, Riagena. January 10, 1996

  The old wooden armchair creaked as Netu Deo steadied himself on it. His gaze fixed on the blanket of darkness beyond broken panes in the bedroom window. The creepy cry of an owl was answered by the high-pitched chant of crickets. Like a sad song from a mourning crowd, it sent a chill snaking up his spine.

  Netu stood from the armchair and strode to the open window. Parting the cream curtains apart, he let in the musty air. A huge ball of bright light streaked across the dusky evening sky, trailing an explosion of fading colors.

  His heart pulsed faster. Something seemed out of place. Balls of light seldom flashed before his eyes, except as triggers of imminent, urgent action.

  Netu’s dark brown eyes widened in search of the next sign. The brief glimmer of a red star amid the splash of orange-gold in the sky caught his attention. He acknowledged this as the symbol of the Guardians, call to duty.

  “Not again! Enough of this Guardian game,” Netu said, scratching his close-cropped black hair. The strands, taking on an extraordinary flair, as they reflected the moon’s ribbons of gold. “Got to do it my way.”

  “Pick up your gauntlet and fight, Netu,” ordered an inner voice. “Time to meditate.”

  Netu turned on his heels, eyes darting around the bedroom. But nothing stirred beyond the pounding of his heart.

  He pondered. Why should I pick up my gauntlet and fight?

  When no answer came, Netu retraced his steps from the window and went to the left corner of the red rug in the bedroom. There he sat down and began to meditate as commanded.

  Soon after, Netu felt the gentle sensation of his soul's upward drift. Now enveloped in bright light, his winged soul rose in degrees out of the apartment. It soared with ease on the soft currents, heading toward the horizon beyond Newland's network of skyscrapers.

  A spectacular view panned out in his gaze. On the eastern stretch, a mass of water came into view. He reckoned this as the Sagol Sea, its waves rippling only to break against the sand. A stand of pine trees on the western belt tapered off to the farthest reaches of Newland, Riagena's commercial city. The northern horn held a network of beaches, broken here and there by a couple of mangrove-lined tributaries. The light of the full moon caressed the world softly, like the touch of petals and kept his soul and everything else aglow with streams of orange-gold.

  A strong current welled up inside of Netu at that moment, pulling him backwards, as if to re-possess his body - the damp clay he had broken away from moments earlier in the bedroom. This frightened him.

  Netu managed to maneuver to a stop in the return flight. He turned sideways in the sky and noticed a sea of flickering light points heading in his direction. They came rather fast, shooting towards him from the direction of the forest of pine trees. At once sensing danger, he built a force-field around himself and waited for the inevitable.

  "Damn the Secthwi," Netu cried as he discerned the flickers of light as swords brandished by fierce looking cult members.

  Recent confrontations between him and the notorious cult flashed through his mind. They hated his guts, as much as he hated the thought of their evil ways.

  "The Secthwi be damned!" he fumed once more, as they assumed a formation around him from a distance of about fifty meters.

  They charged at him in unison, cursing. Their swords missed target and clanged instead against each other’s.

  "Bastard," thundered a Secthwean in a guttural voice. "Get him. Don't let him get away. He deserves to die, get him."

  “Come get me, fools,” Netu leered, laughing.

  "Hit straight and fast," snapped another Secthwean. "Make every blow count."

  "Come on, let’s do it," ordered Netu's first attacker.

  They swooped like a hive of angry bees towards Netu's spot in the sky, lashing out at him from differe
nt directions. "Strike hard. Hit him," they chorused.

  To their surprise, Netu did not shift from one jot, neither did his poise show any sign of fear or weakness. His eyes blazed instead with an unknown flame. The twenty swords descended on Netu like bullets shot at an armored tank, ricocheting off an invisible shield he had cast.

  “Proving to be a tough guy, ehn?” a Secthwean raged, sensing how ineffectual their attack had been.

  A triumphant grin reared on Netu's face, as his assailants again charged in a new formation. "Fools! Get the job done, won’t you?" Netu mocked.

  "The great Secthwi," boomed the one in charge. "The stupid dance of a dog doesn't frighten a lion in the forest. Let's finish our war. Kill the bastard."

  "Kill the bastard. Kill the bastard," the entire throng roared.

  Netu stretched forth his right hand above his head, reaching for something in the sky. For a giddy moment, his hand remained suspended. By the time he lowered it, he held a flaming sword. A gift from the realm of the Guardians, he thought.

  "You want war, right? Then war you'll have," ranted a Secthwean, soaring from the right flank, upon sighting Netu’s sword.

  "We'll spill your damn blood, bastard," hollered the leader of the group, swinging his sword at Netu.

  Netu parried the blow, thrusting his blade into his attacker’s midsection. Drawing blood with his sword, he smiled over his feat. “Not as smart as I thought.”

  The Secthwean lost his balance, screamed in agony and plummeted downwards. This stunned the rest of the assailants. In telepathic accord they regrouped in a V-like formation and charged again at Netu.

  With a circular motion of his left palm, Netu cast a huge film of protective white light around himself. Enveloped now in the dazzling bubble, he laughed. "Get the job done, fools.”

  Netu repelled his attackers arrayed now in an arc formation. A few of those not already in the semi-circle flew towards the rest with flaming swords, to serve as buffers.

  Netu had the upper-hand. The serrated blade of his sword impaled a Secthwean’s right side who, gurgling and groaning aloud, tumbled headlong.

  The front-line of the attack regrouped as a result into two clusters of five each. One band had the leader of the Secthwi in front and the other had its own cluster leader. All set to end a battle that began twenty-five thousand years ago.

  Netu’s opening prowess might have bloated his ego. But the unrelenting spirit of the horde worked in their favor. Not more than a heartbeat’s span, Secthwean swords descended on Netu’s protective shield.

  Three of them attacked him from behind while four others came at him from the front. Dodging their ferocious blows instinctively as he could, Netu did not notice the two men who sneaked upon him from the left flank with their blazing swords directed towards his nape. Looking askance, he parried both swords and took an offensive pose.

  Netu’s dare emboldened the invaders who realized they could hold their forte with almost the same stoicism, batting away his swipes and thrusts, but not with his kind of perfection. This came with a measure of respect for Netu.

  It was the opportunity he needed. In quick succession, Netu delivered his sabre and drew swathes of flesh and blood spurting from two Secthweans who had underestimated his prowess and commitment to winning the aerial battle.

  To Netu’s far right, the sword of a solitary invader, morphed into a bow and quiver.

  “No escape this time,” the attacker mumbled and fired.

  The arrow sped through its course without harm against the envelope of white light Netu had conjured against it. The Secthwean realized his best shot could not permeate Netu’s ancient power shield. His stunned gaze deterred the rest cult members for a few seconds.

  "So you want to use ancient power now?” groaned a Secthwean close to Netu. “Then it is ancient power you’ll get in return.”

  “Bring it on,” Netu retorted.

  "Spells of fire,” another guy barked through their thought-waves. "Aim at his bubble of light. Do it!"

  Huge forge balls hurtled from the glistening, fiery eyes of the Secthweans towards Netu’s bubble, somewhat neutralizing his protective spell. Rendered vulnerable for a moment, Netu swiped his sword in defense. A powerful flame oozed from it, deflecting the combined force of the enemies’ forge balls skywards as they reached him. They screamed in throes of pain, hit by the flood of flames from Netu’s sword ricocheting against theirs.

  Capitalizing on their momentary discomfort, Netu lashed out at two of the bodies nearest to him on the right with his sword’s cavorting flame. His broad wings flailed out with searing and blinding crimson light. One of them got disoriented by the burst of burning light from Netu’s wings.

  “Son of a seven-humped toad,” the man bellowed. “Power of the Sacred Light. That’s what he’s using. Power of the ancients. Neutralize him fast,” he agonized, plummeting.

  “Gadabaa gadabaa datushii,” the rest of them chanted in unison. “Bantaliyaa kumkushii kumkushii.”

  Metallic wings sprouted from their shoulders like alloys in a furnace. “Zuunkalii beyatushii,” they chorused again. “Taaduun zuwuyaa kumtubuu kumtubuu.”

  Their shapes altered into fierce-looking creatures with human bodies and eagle-like heads. And their swords took on flames like Netu’s.

  “Idaatushii brigidaa idaatushii,” Netu retorted with his transformation into a lion’s head with wings flapping and burning so bright. “Brigidaa mekatanube mekatanube.”

  “Taaribatusikayaa,” he chanted further, charging at the throng of Secthweans with his wings and flaming sword. Missing them in his path, he glided sideways. He kicked out with his legs, hoping to stun a few others with the torrent of fire from his mouth, wings, and sword.

  They surged forward in defiance and tried to cut off Netu’s wing flaps with their metallic wings of fire. He evaded these, soaring above their trajectory.

  Not what I thought, Netu cursed, confounded by the Secthweans' resilience. He powered his flaming wings for another attack from a vantage position, but they spewed forth more fire balls from all directions.

  Now he almost could not keep track of his bearing. Knowing he could only outwit them with brevity, he enveloped himself in a bubble of fire. “Tired of the chase and flight so soon?” Netu mocked. “C’mon, let me feel your pulse.”

  In his light globule, Netu reached out to new heights in blighting speed, blocking the Secthweans’ weapons with it. When they rushed at him at his new height, he dived low and flew sideways at an odd angle. He returned blow for blow, sword for sword, swing for swing, not the least intimidated by their massive attack.

  The risks in the aerial clash were glaring. The warrior in Netu, yet, refused to cringe, no matter the odds. He made a fast detour to safer ground only when his chances of victory in the air seemed slim.

  Newland’s deserted, broad Sapphire Street provided the next battlefield. The Secthweans were fast in pursuit along the street’s sleek pavement. They swelled in number as other members from neighboring alleys who were not part of the aerial battle joined in the fray.

  The music of the dance changed with the emergence of the new Secthwi cult members. Netu had a new kind of problem to tackle. Their serrated swords now became pump-action guns. He saw that coming. He knew they could not outsmart him in a game of swords and sorcery being a Guardian. The guns would be it, the last resort. Rather than shoot, they formed a horizontal file. Sneering and daring him to escape as they closed ranks on him on a street lit by the moon’s streaking orange-gold.

  "The game is over, I guess,” jeered a Secthwean from the motley crowd. “As you can see, you're going under."

  "You think so?" Netu asked, his eyes flaring like a raging flame.

  The Secthwean spat on the ground in mockery, eliciting a peal of laughter from his colleagues. "Want to make a last wish, bastard?"

  "Nah! Foul mouth woul
d only lead you to your grave, fool! Your types don't scare me. Not the least. Go on with what you have in mind." Netu never meant what he said, but wanted enough time to manage the crisis on hand.

  The Secthweans gained a few more paces, edging closer now to Netu on the silky pavement, aiming their guns at target. His heart pumped faster. A numbing sense of fear reeled up his spine. Flapping his huge wings, he leapt to a free spot on the pavement. This surprised and caused them to give way as he readied himself for the kind of fierce attack he envisioned. By a stroke of luck, he happened to be standing on the pavement’s intersection with an alley – the perfect opening he needed to stun them with superior tact.

  When Netu leapt again on the offensive, a few paces from the street corner, a Secthwean shrieked with a mixture of surprise and terror. The man's howl as Netu’s wings hit him resounded enough to startle others closing up on Netu.

  Not spooked enough by Netu’s attack, one of the startled men struck back with a gunshot at Netu’s ribcage. The hot lead grazed Netu’s body without spraying blood. Instead, the lead rebounded and flayed the Secthwean’s flesh clean from his bulbous body like a sword. The man growled like a mad bull, attracting the attention of his co-combatants.

  The Secthwean leader cursed under his breath, sensing another painful loss. He could not marshal a frontal attack and be everywhere at the same time, the reason they came out in droves. So, honoring his groaning comrade with a baleful, farewell glance, he swung around and sought swift revenge on Netu.

  Firing his pump-action gun at the smokescreen spell cast by Netu around his body, the Secthwean had hoped to wreak a prompt and satisfactory vengeance. He fell back instead on the pavement in a pool of his own blood due to the gun’s jerking force and the rebound power of Netu's Sacred Light. He stared up in fright at Netu’s foreboding sword descending like a menacing guillotine.

  With a gibberish war cry and the instinct of a warlord, the Secthwean leader rose and dashed to a safer spot on the pavement near the point in the alley’s intersection. This move had its merits for it took him to the middle of the other Secthweans who now interposed themselves between him and Netu. It also gave Netu the breather he needed to re-launch his assault.