Fusioneer gave him a startled look. “Did you . . . ?” he held his thoughts, not wanting to know. This was all too surreal for him.
The group moved on again, now following a path only Gordell could see.
“Millions of years, my ass,” J.J. grumbled, looking around at the barren landscape, “We’re in Nevada!”
CHAPTER TWO
“. . . And that’s when I drained the dwarf star of all its energy to recharge my voidspear,” Archron eyes widened as he bragged. “You should have seen the looks on the faces of the other Astrals,” he bellowed, chortling at his own story. His head lolled back and forth in cherished memory.
In front of him, Valtare and Decion laughed halfheartedly at Archon’s tall tale even as Archron’s mood darkened.
Valtare knew his lord's mood could change at the flick of a neutrino.
“But seriously, let me tell you a story.” Archron emphasised his last words leaning toward them.
His breath smelled of an ancient brewed wine he had transported from Greece. A ceramic jug decorated with Greek warriors fighting a sea monster and three half-empty tall brass cups lay on the table between them. If Archron had not been an Astral, Valtare would have thought him a barbaric heathen for his choice in wines alone.
What made an Astral drink himself into a state? he wondered. What horror? What memories?
Valtare had been denied the choice of bringing his own French wines. And who knew what this nectar was Decion spoke of. But Archron was a bore—all stories and bluster washed down with swill. He could tell by the way Decion hid his dark scowl that he thought the same. Decion's mind was full of dark thoughts these days.
How did we end up here? Valtare thought gloomily to himself.
Archron carried on oblivious to Valtare's inner disillusionment as he began another tale. “My brother, Lazeron, and I fought at Troy. That’s where our lives changed.” His voice was grave. “A strange mystic creature appeared to our families and revealed our true heritage to us. Her name was Phasia. And she fully awakened our powers.” His eyes gleamed at the adventures of yesteryears gone by. “We were taken through Earth’s history and into the far future learning and training as warriors,” he clenched his fists, “as scientists, philosophers, architects, and explorers. We were told we were the temporal counterpart to our kin, the heroic Starguards,” he acknowledged Decion with a genuine smile. “We were Astrals—the Star People—and we were the last lineage of the great Celestian Knights.
“But we Astrals changed Earth’s history in ways we didn’t anticipate or understand. It was I who discovered the Exmoors’ secret after coming across the same long-lived family over the centuries, having fought with them by Alexander the Great’s side and other battles. My brother and I recruited them as agents, handed them technology ahead of its time, all this to defend Earth from the threats like the Lore and even from fellow kin, the Devouts.
We Astrals then retreated to our own dimension to build our temporal fortress, the Chronopolis. Without us Astrals, the Exmoors and Devouts would have not have know their destinies and would have destroyed the world many times over warring amongst each other. Without us, there would not have been any E-Corps or superhuman wars on Earth. Maybe the Chryrian humans,” he pointed casually at Valtare, “would be in charge or maybe the Lore would have consumed Earth.”
Cal Xarien, Archron the Astral, paused in his monologue as he paced around his quarters. His blood-red Corinthian-style helmet sat on his desk watching them with hollow eyes. Both Cal Xarien and Lazeron had a love for the Greek and Roman Empires, hence Archron’s armour was a stylised mix of Greek and Roman fare. He wore it boldly complete with a preference for a blood-red tunic with pleat-like pteruges. A gold-trimmed leather breastplate covered his torso, his waist was girdled by a gold belt. Anachronistic long boots and gauntlets, and a black cloak completed his ensemble. His hand played around his breastplate in a Napoleonesque fashion as he stopped to reiterate points in his story.
“That’s why the Knights Destina were resurrected.” Archron halted at the only shelf in the room reverently picking up and stroking the spine of his copy of the Tomes of War. It had been given to him by his mother—the Celestian Knight, Destina.
The Tomes of War were sacred to Archron who studied them over and over. They revealed the ways of the universe and the reason for their existence. And from the Tomes, Archron had come to know that Earth, out of all the worlds in the universe, would hold the key to the universe’s survival, the meaning becoming clearer every time he read the Tomes.
Proudly, he proclaimed, “The Knights Destina will destroy the Lore. And we will rule the universe. Earth and Magna Aura will be united under Knights Destina rule. It’s a shame my brother is not here now to share in our toast, but he has his own mission to accomplish for our cause. But in time,” he said with no irony, “he will return to us. That is why we have come here, built a fortress, this Silver City, for our army of Starguard, human, and Surge allies. But time is catching up to us. Our enemies are coming. Some are already here; those who would try to stop our new universe of peace. There will have to be sacrifices, which is why I’ve asked you here.”
Archron studied the two men, their carefully bemused faces slipping into concentrated determination. Cape swirling behind him he brusquely returned to and sat down behind his stone-carved desk (a personal memento from the walls of Troy he had always bragged), his voidspear mounted horizontally on the gray metal wall behind him; the only weapon Archron held. Handed down to him by Destina, it was part of a matched pair with his brother's nethersword.
The two-and-a-half meter long gray-purple metal staff was inscribed with ancient rune spells from the Tomes of War. They allegedly warded off the Lore. Crowning the staff was a crystal orb encased in a thin lattice. Two sharp pointed blades stabbed out at the centre on either side of the orb, the longer forward-facing blade pointed downwards, the rear blade curved upwards. The voidspear was an entropy vane, a chaos cage, utilising entropic energy to destroy order. Much of the Silver City had been forged using the voidspear, Archron, the chaos-architect, a genius at wielding chaos to create order. That is what he stood for. He was destined to remake the universe in the Knights Destina’s image.
He regarded Valtare, who projected confidence and understanding. “I know, my loyal friend, you have been wondering what your role is in the war to come. You may have sensed it already, but you have distant kin out there in the hills.”
Valtare nodded in confirmation, his usual smug smile absent from his face as he listened attentively.
“They are the Chryrian survivors from Earth, millions of years ago, the same kind of which inhabit you. I have no doubt they have had a hand in keeping this Guillaume imposter alive for so long.” He paused, knowing his next words would be hard to say and hear. “I want you to send L’Coyle and his men to flush them out, see if you can control them. We will need them to both reinforce and counter the Surge should they rebel.” His voice took on a more calculating tone as Valtare's realisation grew. “Yes, I want them to inhabit L’Coyle and his men. . .” He stopped at the shocked look on Valtare's face, but carried on regardless. “This will make them more formidable in battle,” he finished with resoluteness.
Valtare was taken aback. “You. . . you want the Duke and my men to be merged with the Chryrians? That’s madness! They won’t survive.” His shock was palpable, yet tinged with some bout of jealously at having to share his psionic powers with men he considered beneath him. “Does L’Coyle know of your grand plans for him?” He kept his voice even, his face stone-like. His heart burned in anger.
“No,” Archron's voice and gaze were hard. “And he won’t or I’m sure he’ll back out. He’ll die anyway in this war without our support. You know it’s for his own good, Valtare. The psionics will give him and his men much more power and the ability to survive what is ahead. Besides, if we told him, he wouldn’t be able to get near the Chryrians before they read his mind, found out our plans, and killed him. B
est if they think they have the upper hand and then you can take over their control and training. Yes?”
Valtare pondered it over. They were sacrificing a lot of men, but Archron made sense. “Yes, my Lord,” he said, not meeting his eyes. “For their survival.” But he had to ask another question. An important one. And Archron's reply would determine his actions.
“I must ask, Archron, what happened to my wife? She was supposed to be here with us. Is there any word from her?”
Archron's face was still a mask, but had softened somewhat. He could only tell what he knew. “I do not know, Valtare. The deal Lady Elisabeth and I struck was for me to time-port her into the future where she could breed and deliver to me an army of male and female Devouts. I can only assume things did not go well, as I cannot find her timeline after her encounter with the Starguards. I’m sorry.”
Valtare was crestfallen, but he couldn’t give up hope. He nodded dejectedly. He was alone in his wife's quest now.
I will honour you, my dear, he sighed deeply.
Archron next turned to Decion. “The only way we will know for sure is to ask the Starguards. And that’s where you come in, Decion”
L'Coyle's description of his attackers had led Decion to identify Aerl, Urana and Azure. He wasn't sure of the speedster or other male.
Archron edged closer as if studying Decion for the truth. “Your Starguard kin; do you know what Sceptre’s plan of attack will be?”
Decion laughed to himself. Here he was working with someone he swore he would never associate with. The Astrals may have saved Magna Aura, but their power and assumption that they could change time whenever and wherever they wanted was dangerous. Yet here he was, because he found himself agreeing with what Archron wanted to achieve. The universe needed to be restructured and the Lore to be destroyed. Decion wanted to be a part of that glory; it was his birthright. He found himself both admiring and loathing Archron's ambition. He didn't need to consider what Sceptre would do. He was an open book.
“I know exactly what Sceptre would do. He will attempt to come here in surprise and talk to us, first. That’s his way. Weak diplomacy!”
Archron chuckled. “Hmm, really? So what can you do to stop him?” The Astral was intrigued.
Decion grinned through his thick beard, spooking even Archron. “Can you spare me ten Surge?”
After a little more than half an hour traversing the dry hills and sun-cracked canyons, the Starguards finally arrived at Gordell’s hidden cave. He telekinetically rolled several large boulders out of the way revealing a hidden entrance. With alacrity, everyone entered, the passage wide and tall enough so as not to stoop. Once everyone was in, Gordell rolled the boulders back into place.
A lone crystal in the center of the cavern gave off a low light for visibility. As if arriving home from a long day at work masks, visors, and gloves were removed with ceremony. A more relaxed air prevailed.
Or rather, an air of something wafted toward them.
“Shit! What's that smell?” J.J. turned his nose up.
Gordell looked abashed, but indignant. “Pardon the smell, I wasn't expecting visitors.” He pointed to a dark corner. “The toilet's open.” He concentrated at a hole in the ground and a small boulder began to roll over it.
“No, hold on, I've got to go!” J.J. ran over to the spot to relieve himself. “Don't look!” he shot back at Urana who looked away aghast.
“Once you're finished,” Gordell said, exasperated, “I'll give you a tour around our home for a while.”
J.J. zipped back up, a smile of relief on his face.
“Anyone else?” Gordell asked. There were no relies. With alacrity he closed up the toilet. “Alors. Voila, welcome to my home!”
Gordell showed them around and they were surprised the cave was much larger than they had thought with a couple of short passages leading to extra chambers.
“No back door?” J.J. asked, feeling slightly claustrophobic. “I could make one for you.” He itched to show off his powers.
“No need, I can carve things out myself,” Gordell said, as small boulders and rocks grew from the ground to form seats and tables for his astonished and impressed guests. “Benefits of having a few extra Chryrians in the head. Not only am I telepathic, but also psychokinetic, besides a few other things I haven’t figured out yet. I’ve been here for so long. I have nothing to do but keep track of Valtare and his movements, plus to practice with my new abilities. But I am glad you are here, I thought I would go insane without more company.” He almost sounded lonely, his eyes flirting with the ground.
“How do you know we’re not figments of your imagination?” laughed J.J.
“J.J.!” Urana admonished him, feeling sorry for Gordell.
Gordell pondered that, “Hah! I don't mind. I had not thought of that,” he said, to more general laughter. “Well if you are just my imagination, then you are surely welcome anyway, and I won’t die alone.” The laughter was more muted this time. But the mutual company was appreciated all the same.
“I wonder what happen to Altair, Alpha Rion and Chalant?” Urana asked. “Everyone is accounted for except them.”
“And the Exmoors,” put in Gordell. “My family, how are they?”
Zane could only answer on the future of one of them as she recounted Simon’s role in the Axalan War. “He was the only Exmoor I knew or heard of in the twenty-third century and he never mentioned any family. But I can only assume that if he survived then others must have as well.” Her voice belayed her confidence.
“We must assume we are the only survivors, here, now. This is our life now, so we have to think of ourselves as a unit and not about the others . . .” Aerl started.
“Always the pragmatist, Aerl,” Urana cut in. “But we need to think of them, of home, and the future. That’s always been your problem, cousin, you’re too mission-minded; if Altair was here . . .”
“Altair! He’s the one who got us here in the first place by touching the Lore Stone,” Aerl shouted. “Without him . . .”
“How dare you blame him!” Urana rounded angrily on Aerl. They stared at each other, Urana's teeth gritted.
“Actually, he was a liability to you guys,” J.J. causally added. “We thought he was the weak link with his temper. Almost a psychopath. What was his problem?” He turned in askance to the Starguards.
Urana shot J.J. a look choking any more words back into his mouth. He decided to keep quiet, while Azure and Zane kept their heads down.
“Whatever was going on between you and Altair affected both of your judgments,” Aerl retorted, sorrowfully remembering The Goth fiasco. “My brother was always hot-headed and if he were here now he’d probably be fighting someone for no reason or maybe even have joined Archron and his men, who knows.”
Urana shook in violent umbrage at Aerl's last statement. But she kept her voice low. “That’s unfair, Aerl. You know he wouldn’t have joined them. You’ve always judged him. You never really knew him. Well, I loved him. Your whole family was screwed up, and maybe that affected the both of you; taking it out on each other over the years, but just stop it. Stop it now!” she pointed a finger at him. “New beginnings, Aerl. So stop being so, so . . . what’s that Fifth, sorry, human term . . . up yourself, and get a personality!” She added for good measure, arms folded, though Azure beside her could see her half-hidden self-satisfied smile.
A collective stifled gasp from the others was the only sound heard, but if any of Urana’s words stung Aerl, he didn’t show it. He gave Urana a weary look, returned with a frosty glare of her own.
Their host decided to step in and cool things down. “Well, so much for small chat. I think we should eat. Un moment.” He rose up from his rocky perch and disappeared into another small dark chamber. A few moments later he returned with some skewered pieces of sweet-smelling meat on a stick.
Mouth watering, Zane asked, “How’d you cook the meat?”
Gordell tapped the side of his head. “I can make fire with my mind,
too, and heat up the rocks.”
He smiled, demonstrating as he touched a large square rock sitting at the centre of the group, heating it gently. He placed the food on it like a hot plate. The others gravitated to it like cavemen around a campfire. They picked up a stick each and tucked into the roasted meat. It was surprisingly good.
Zane was impressed. “You’re pyrokinetic as well? You’ve got everything up there to survive.” She indicated his head.
“Just about.” Gordell didn't mention they were eating his entire week's food stock. He'd have to hunt again and find more sticks.
“What is it?” J.J. asked sniffing the meat like a fussy eater. He eyed up the scrawny offerings with distaste.
Gordell lips screwed up. “Some kind of mammal type. It’s tasty enough. Try it.” He took a bite himself.
“As long as they're not the ultimate descendants of humans.” J.J. was decidedly humourless this time eyeing up the spitted roast again.
“Just eat it,” Zane laughed, also secretly hoping it wasn't a distant remnant of humanity on a stick. “Lucky Starshina isn't here though!” she joked to J.J.
“She still a vegetarian?” J.J commentated on the Russian E-Corp member.
“Yep, tried to turn me and Lynn, but it didn't take.”
“Good for you.” He took a bite. “Not bad. Just like chicken,” J.J. licked his fingers.
“Hmm, told you.” Gordell laughed to himself. He wasn't going to break it to them the meals were just large rats; a delicacy throughout the ages.
“Tera would have loved to see you like this, Gordell,” said Zane, in between sucking bones.
“Yes, especially now,” Gordell replied, off-handedly.
“Why?” Her question caught everyone’s attention.
“Och,” Gordell looked at them in surprise. “I didn’t mention? We’re in what was once northern Africa. It’s all changed now, continental drifts and all, but this is the area Tera was born. The Chryrians in these hills have told me the history of when they arrived on Earth. They were the original ones to inhabit the people here, until a war broke out between Tera’s brothers and their followers. Many people died and the Chryrians inside them left their bodies, banded with others, and decided to stay unattached. They’ve lived here ever since and been seen from time to time mistaken for ghosts and spirits good or bad, but not merging with humans, until I came.” He noticed the shocked look on Zane’s face. “What’s wrong, Zane?”
The Destinia Apocalypse (The Starguards - Of Humans, Heroes, and Demigods Book 4) Page 3
