by Chad R. Odom
The best part was it would be blamed on someone who, in reality, had nothing to do with it. No one would know that. The evidence would be so damning, no one would ever think to look further than Lucius Kovac. Why should they?
Once he had this world, he could reach beyond it. The science was nearly good enough to allow him to reach across the stars and reclaim the worlds lost to him by the Archides galaxy ending weapon. He estimated that without his leadership, interstellar travel might take another five or six hundred years. With it, he could be ruling the galaxy in half that time, as he was meant to do. For him, two hundred years were the blink of an eye.
The smile spread wider on his lips. The blue eyes and sandy blond hair staring back at him were still foreign. He had become so adjusted to the dark coals Kovac had. These were closer to Oryan’s. Maybe that’s why he had chosen Valac. Not for his status, his oratory skills, or even his physical prowess, but because his eyes reminded him of the boy he’d sent to his death.
He wondered for a moment why Oryan stood out to him. Damrich was responsible for the deaths of trillions. There were only a select few he reveled in. Rijel was one. The old fool never saw it coming, even when Sicari was delivering him on a platter to his nemesis. Corvus was another. How often do you get to kill a man twice? But both men were worthy adversaries. They had been men who truly could have stopped him. Oryan wasn’t even close. Even Oryan as the Arkon wouldn’t have been enough.
Or would it?
It wasn’t that Oryan meant that much. It was the idea of Oryan that made him stand out. The boy’s raw talent with Arkon technology: There was a potent mix! He would have been the greatest force in the Archide realm, except himself, of course. After all, Oryan didn’t even live long enough to test that idea.
Damrich knew what it was to be a soldier, a poet, a musician, a politician, even a beggar in the streets. He knew what sex was like as a man and a woman. He could speak hundreds of languages, mastered dozens of forms of combat, and could build nearly anything he wanted to and, the best part was, he rarely had to do any of them! He just made everyone else do it for him. With a mind such as his, wrapped in life experiences no one else could even come close to, how could he not be as great as he was? He mused on why the entire world wasn’t lining up to learn from and protect him. The culmination of millennia was stored in one perfect place. Soon enough, the world would understand and once they did…
He closed his eyes. So perfect.
There was a soft knock. “Sixty seconds,” Mal said through the barely open door.
Damrich subsided. Valac returned as if from a brief sleep. “Tonight, I speak to not only my own people but to the world as a whole. For maybe the first time in recorded history, certainly in my lifetime, I can address everyone who can hear my voice not as friends or foes, countrymen or foreigners, but as brothers and sisters, children of the same family—a family torn apart by the terrifying act of one of its own who turned his back on us all, leaving the warmth of that family, choosing instead the cold, forsaken path of rage, violence, and murder. We weep at his choice and the tragic consequences his choice inflicted on countless brothers and sisters the world over. His actions were meant to tear us apart. Instead, they’ll only serve to forever unite the human family.”
That was good stuff. The Net and the press would eat it up. This would be the speech and the moment that put Cadron Valac on the world stage. This would be his rallying cry. Brothers and sisters. Family. Sheep. Damrich had returned.
“Mr. Valac, it’s time.”
He cracked his neck before leaving for the world spotlight.
Yes, it certainly is.
The Gamble
The morning air was bitterly cold off the ocean. The closer the ship moved to shore, the warmer it became. The day itself was deceptive considering the cold air. The sky was a beautiful mix of gold and blue. Looking down at the calm water, the twisted metal of sunken cruisers could easily be seen in the morning light.
Oryan shook his head. How he kept winding up back here was a mystery. As much as he never wanted to see Navarus again, it was the only place that really felt like home. The rusty ship sloshed to the dock. He left it quietly, walked down the wooden planks, and set his feet on Navarite soil.
With a click, he fastened a strap from his heavy pack around his belly. Looking now past the beach, past the war memorial being built on this spot and into the distance where his destination lay, he sighed. This was going to be a long walk, and this time, there was no hungry wolf to accompany him even part of the way.
At the memorial, he met a friendly old soldier he struck up a conversation with. The war horse had been put in charge of the memorial itself, and when Oryan told him he had been here, the man lit up and eagerly wanted to get his account of everything from landing under fire to the days that followed. Oryan was happy to oblige, asking only a ride a bit farther into the mainland as payment.
The soldier listened intently on the trip, recording each word. Oryan often mused about what the man would think if he knew his real identity. Judging by his enthusiasm, it would probably only enhance the experience. Oryan was grateful for him, but there was no revealing who he was, even in such an isolated way.
When they parted at a small town far inland, Oryan thanked him heartily, and the soldier did the same in return. The ride saved him several days’ worth of walking. Oryan picked up another ride that took him to an even smaller town, which was nestled at the beginning of the wide forest Oryan would have to cross to get the Quarter and then to the teleportation node.
Days of travel passed. His pack became lighter, which was both a blessing and a warning. He had taken enough to last him the journey there and partway back. Packing thermal clothing for the camp had limited his ability to pack food and water. If he made it back, he would have to do some foraging or hunting.
He reached the Quarter, took only moment to clear weeds from the garden, and then proceeded onto the node. He changed into the thermal clothing, knowing there wouldn’t be a chance once he made the jump. He was ready to go, but hesitated. It wasn’t the thought of teleportation that made him hesitate. It wasn’t returning to the camp. It was the fear this may be a dead end. To make matters worse, he didn’t even know how to use the key. There was a high probability of failure and only a small window of success. When his hopes were pinned on a long shot, it made every step more difficult than the last.
Any attempt was better than the alternative. If he did nothing, everything he held close was dead. That still may be a distinct possibility, but he had to try. Giving up with even a glimmer of hope was something he couldn’t do.
He tapped the vambrace, slowing down only when the last key needed to be pressed. He paused, bracing for the teleportation rush, and hit the button.
Frigid snow slapped against his face. He barely noticed the teleportation this time. His skin burned instantly against drastic temperature change. Shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting in the driving snow, a subtle dimple appeared where the entrance to the camp had been. From his pack, he removed a small shovel and dug through the snow to find the door. The process took slightly longer than he expected, but eventually, he got there. The key pad wouldn’t work so he shoved it open, falling to the ground inside the entrance.
Once inside, he shoved the door closed behind him. Amazingly, the temperature inside was considerably warmer, but most things were covered in frost or a light dusting of snow. A handful of the atmospheric generators must still be working. Not to capacity, but enough to let him breathe a little easier. Time was still against him, but he could scratch freezing to death from the list of worries.
The great dome, which he had never noticed before, was clearly visible. Energy still pumped through it, sparking and trying to work. The gaping hole at the top allowed snow to pour in.
The snow made the paths a bit disorienting, but Oryan traversed the remains of the traitor’s home with relative ease. The garage was still visible from the ground, and he slid inside,
pushing into the tunnels. The flashlight made this trip much easier on his body. Oryan could finally see the real damage done to the structure. Pieces of the tunnel were completely collapsed. He could see the exposed earth above him and his foot found some below as well. He was grateful the tunnel remained intact enough to get to the heart of the camp, though several spots were a tight squeeze.
The snow and cold which ravaged Sicari’s home, the gardens, and the garage, hadn’t reached this far in yet. The temperature was warmer, but still cold. The light was very dim. Oryan decided to turn off his light and let his eyes adjust to what was still there.
He walked through rocks and ridges, rounding the corner which used to empty into the camp. Here, Oryan stopped. There was nothing. The camp was gone, as were the rows of mutilated corpses. In their place was a huge empty valley covered in multi colored sand lying in a nearly undisturbed blanket. Looking down, Oryan could see several sets of footprints. With no wind to cover them, he surmised these were the tracks left by the men who carried him out after the weapon detonated.
A reverence fell over him for the innocent men and women who had died there. Not wanting to disturb their grave, he followed the already existing tracks, eventually bringing him to the obelisk and the fountains. They remained in the center; the last landmark of the great Archides. Even through the dim light, it shone bright and undisturbed by the wrath of both Damrich and the weapon.
He got to the obelisk and noticed something immediately. The ground surrounding it wasn’t sand. It was as the camp had been—smooth and solid. Whatever protected him from the blast had preserved the ground on which he stood. He slid his hands along the rim of the fountains. It was here, this very spot, where he saw Celeste for the first time since his military enlistment. In his mind, he could see her clearly. Her brown hair fell gracefully over her tan shoulders. Her bare feet brushed the ground. Her soft hands cupped the water, letting it pour back into the fountain.
“I miss you,” he said aloud to his memories.
With her image clearly in mind, he stared at the bracelet on his wrist and the key. It was a simple object: a small, thin cylinder with no markings. He searched the obelisk for any breach where an object such as this could possibly go. He searched both with his eyes and his hands. He studied every inch of the obelisk, the fountains, anything he could. He studied them far longer than he should have, ultimately finding nothing.
Frustrated but not defeated, he sat down and thought. The cylinder was a key according to Celeste. This spot was a door according to Armay. The two things couldn’t be a coincidence. Maybe he was wrong, and maybe these two things were completely unrelated. He wasn’t even sure how Celeste had come by the cylinder, but he trusted her. She used her last breath to tell him about this. Nothing happens by accident. He repeated that over and over in his mind.
Hours slid by. The bracelet had made its way into his hand where he slid it through his thumb and forefinger. He studied the key more intently, looking for any sign. He broke the key free from the bracelet and held it inches from his eyes. Still seeing nothing, he let it drop into his palm and squeezed his fist.
He opened his hand and took one last look at the key. Satisfied there was nothing it could tell him, he moved to put it back on the bracelet. He shifted his hand and thought he saw the key move. He snapped his attention back but now here was nothing. He swore he had seen movement, but the longer he stared, the more he convinced himself what he saw was a cruel trick from a weary mind.
He moved his hand ever so slightly, not taking his focus off the key, and he finally confirmed what he thought he had seen. It shifted again. He stood, keeping his palm open, and circled the obelisk. The key weightlessly shifted as he moved, keeping one end always pointed away from him. It hummed as he made his slow circle. The hum grew louder and became a sweet single tone, which Oryan barely noticed. The obelisk echoed back.
Watching the spinning key and listening to the rising tone, he stood in the place that seemed to be the apex of both. He stared at the obelisk, listening to the note until he noticed something changing on the surface. A small hole melted. Oryan walked toward it, keeping his open hand steady. Once he got close enough, the key lifted from his palm and slid inside.
His anticipation rose with his hammering heart. This was it! He’d put the pieces together, and he was about to be rewarded. The humming stopped, but nothing else happened. Disappointment quickly replaced his excitement.
He reached toward the key and with his thumb, pushed it into the obelisk so its bottom end was flush with the surface. When he removed his thumb, the key was gone. The obelisk returned to a completely smooth and unbroken surface. What had he done wrong?
A new sensation slowly overtook him. It was as if his feet lifted from the ground, but they were firmly planted. His chest and arms became light, even hollow, and a sound he recognized filled his ears. It was a sound like suction but subtler than the teleportation that brought him here. His mind connected the sensation. He was about to travel. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his racing heart.
His terror had no time to resonate, not even enough time to scream, as the all too familiar pop ripped him apart.
TO BE CONCLUDED
The Archides are dead. Damrich has won.
Damrich’s superweapon, the Harvenger and his ancient monster Roanoke plague the human race keeping everyone living in fear.
Only small pockets of resistance to Damrich remain. They are divided and lack the resources and manpower to seriously challenge the world dictator. There is no leader with the strength to unite them.
As far as anyone knows, Oryan Jeckstadt, the Warlord of Navarus died on Akon years ago. With the world in chaos, most barely remember his name.
Alone and out of time, Oryan must pull out all the stops to break the chains of Damrich. He fights for the dying embers of hope that he can give his son a world worth living in but the price of that hope may be more than he can bear.
Download now at www.thelastarchide.com/Atonement.
Chad R. Odom
The Last Archide Series
Ascension: www.chadrodom.com/Ascension
Puppet Master: www.chadrodom.com/PuppetMaster
Architect of Chaos: www.chadrodom.com/ArchitectOfChaos
Genocide: www.chadrodom.com/Genocide
Atonement: www.chadrodom.com/Atonement (coming November 2018)
The Last Archide, The Complete Series: www.chadrodom.com/thelastarchide (coming January 2019)
About the Author
Chad R. Odom, just like many authors, hears voices in his head. He can’t contain the stories any longer, and is relieved to be releasing his first series--The Last Archide.
Chad was born and raised in St. Louis but loves to travel. He met the love of his life in Las Vegas, and his wife Katie is his inspirationfor his character Celeste.
He spends his spare time watching movies and doing a critique vlog with his best buddies. He also loves spending time with his sons and daughters, and serving his church and community.
To find more about Chad R. Odom, please go to www.chadrodom.com.
