by Don Newton
“How does this affect me?” Sa’riya asked.
“You’re their Mother: not just your children—all of them. You’ve brought the Na’Geena into the realm of immortals, and they’re going to hate you for it—especially the Draggons. Darkonus may see you as family, but he will never give the same deference to humans.”
Sa’riya looked out the window again, watching the children play. “What does that mean for them?”
“We’ll figure something out…” Nu’reen stood and placed one hand on Sa’riya’s shoulder. “I have to go see someone, wait here for me.”
***
Ka’rin materialized inside the tree. It wasn’t a solid tree: it was hollow and ancient—she’d kept it alive far longer than it would’ve lived on its own. They had a symbiotic relationship now: the tree stayed alive, and she kept her sanity by having a single space in the multiverse no one knew of—it allowed her to get away, to have solitude.
But things change.
“What is your game?” Nu’reen stared at her from her seat on the bed. “You know this was an accident. Why are you pushing so hard?”
Ka’rin removed her cloak and hung it on a wooden peg embedded in the trunk. “Why do you say I’m pushing this?”
“Because you made a huge issue of her mating with a human. But you know she’s been absolutely quiet ever since. She hasn’t bothered anyone.” Nu’reen stood and placed her hands on her hips.
“Our second law is no interracial blending, you know that,” Ka’rin said.
“Yes, I know,” Nu’reen nodded, “and I would have never agreed to it.”
“You had your chance Nu’reen, and you gave it up. This Council position was yours, you’re the oldest of us, you and Ji’yael, but you didn’t want the responsibility.”
“No, I didn’t want the headache,” Nu’reen said.
“Same difference…” Ka’rin’s lips were a thin line across her face.
“The whole interracial-blending thing is a farce. The Council isn’t concerned how someone’s powers will change; they’re afraid they’ll lose control over them.”
“That’s not true,” Ka’rin snapped back, “look what’s happened here. She got her sister killed, and that violates our First Law.”
“Like I said, it was an accident, and you know it. I don’t know what you’re up to Ka’rin: you’re powerful enough to shield your thoughts from me, but I’ll figure it out somehow.” Nu’reen stood and pointed a slender finger at her. “When I do, you better hope you’re on the right side…”
***
They met on the rocky ledge as the suns started crawling across the sky; the red and yellow rays blending to warm the stone and burn the dew away.
“I think we’ll hold session out here today: that chamber is so stuffy and dark,” Nu’reen looked at Jurak, “don’t you think it’s dark?”
“Maybe a little…” He raised one shoulder.
She closed her eyes and waved her right hand in a tight circle—the dais and all the chairs and benches shimmered into form in front of her. Everyone took their seats.
Jemma stood with Sa’riya on the platform. “As I was explaining yesterday,” she glanced at Darkonus, “before I was interrupted…”
~~~
“I think I’m gonna puke…” Harmon pushed out of his chair and ran for the corridor. As he reached the door, the stray asteroid ripped thirty yards of metal plating from the upper third of the ship, directly over the galley—metal sheared and tore away from the hull, the grinding sound bore into their skulls—they had one moment to appreciate the noise, then the silence of space flooded in.
Andreia watched her life flash before her eyes: she felt the warmth of her father’s hug as he picked her up the first time; felt the disappointment of losing her first love and the joy of finding another, and fear for its loss. She turned her head toward Kelli, but she was gone. It all happened in a fraction of a second.
All four of them were ejected through the hole, the venting cabin pressure forcing their bodies into space. The effect of the vacuum was immediate: it sucked the air from them, and they began to suffocate, the fluid in their lungs crystalizing from the deep cold of space. Their blood retained enough oxygen—from the last breath they took—to keep them conscious for about fourteen seconds. Fourteen seconds struggling to breath is like living a miniature lifetime—hands at their throats, fear on their faces—gasping for life, and having it pulled away...
Andreia watched the empty whiskey bottle spin past her, turning and tumbling, the light from the sun refracting through the cut glass—she thought the colors were beautiful. The edges of her vision turned black, forcing her field-of-view down to a single point of light.
It winked out as her eyes froze over.
Twelve thousand miles away, the ship, knocked off-course, bounced off the outer atmosphere of Caralon. The thermal plating on the belly glowed a bright crimson, skimming the thicker air, and that force was enough to aim it directly at the sun.
The damage from the asteroid affected all the ship’s systems, but the most severe was the impact on the warp drive: the control interface wiring ran through the section of hull that was gouged out—a tiny electric spark between two bare wires activated the drive.
The ship collided with the sun, and the Terillium blended with the corona. There was a huge orange explosion, and then the sun turned solid-black. It burned like that for twenty-two days before it exploded, the blast wave expanding at sixty-eight-million miles per hour, almost four light-years in all directions. Several Galaxies ceased to exist. It was pretty bad.
~~~
“Wow, that’s pretty bad.” Darkonus shook his head. “What do you think the odds of all that happening were?”
“What difference does it make?” Markus’ eyes burned into him. “Get on with it.”
Darkonus spun around and snapped at him. “I’m doing my job. The probability of that sequence of events occurring like it did is something we need to understand.”
“So you think it wasn’t chance?” Ka’rin asked.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he shook his head, “it almost sounds like a setup.”
“A setup, really? Jurak smiled.
“Let’s just say, the more I hear, the more my opinion changes.” Darkonus sat down.
“It’s your job to prosecute her, not come to her aid.” Markus snarled.
“Fine, I have two questions then.” He pointed at Jemma and looked at Sa’riya. “Is everything she said accurate up to this point?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Did you have anything to do with what happened to that ship?” he asked.
“No.”
Darkonus scanned the Councilor’s faces, pausing several moments on Markus, their eyes locked and both sets of pupils flared, then he turned back to Jemma. “Carry on then.”
~~~
Jemma pulled on the strings. She was trying to find the one that might reset the sequence, but she couldn’t: it was a physical reaction, and they couldn’t control that, they’d never been able to.
But time, maybe I can manipulate time…
She watched the sun explode: the wave of energy expanded, wiping matter from the universe. She watched it several times, the tears in her eyes increasing with each round, imagining the loss. Finally, she stopped it and held it still: the expanding explosion froze in mid-decimation—a galaxy half-destroyed.
She set an anchor in time, pricked her finger with her dagger and sealed it with her blood, in case another Fae’rie might come along and release it: once they saw the seal, they’d move along.
“Can you hear me?” She focused her mind on the neutral dimension.
“I hear you, who is this?”
“A friend and I need assistance…”
“How can I help?”
“My galaxy is in danger.”
“In what way?”
“The sun is exploding.”
“That’s a natural process, we can’t change i
t.”
“You might think so,” Jemma said, “but I’ve seen it, and we can, with you…”
Sa’riya sat down on a small red rug and went into her mind, she saw the sun exploding, the loss of life. “Ok, if I can help, I will.”
“You must bring your sister,” Jemma said.
“Why?”
“Because we can only stop the explosion if there are three of us, forming an equilateral triangle around it. I’ve done the math a thousand times.”
“Ok, I’ll talk to her,” Sa’riya said.
“I’m talking to her now… She says she’ll come.”
Act Three
They floated in the void of space, immune to the cold: three luminous balls of energy, one white, two silver—thirty-million miles from the exploding sun. The motion of the explosion was frozen, but they could still feel the heat.
“And we’re supposed to do what?” Zi’anna asked.
“We have to space ourselves at one-hundred-twenty degrees around it.” Jemma moved twenty-million miles away, to one side of the sun, examining the angles. “I’ve done the math a thousand times.”
“And how is that going to help?” Sa’riya asked.
“The explosion; we can create a shield that will contain it—it will save the rest of the Galaxy.”
“Why are you doing this? Why not find another Galaxy?” Zi’anna asked.
“I’m quite fond of this one,” Jemma said. “I have friends here. Will you help me or not?”
“We’ll help you.” Sa’riya moved away at the speed of thought, positioning herself at one-hundred and twenty degrees from Jemma’s position on the far side of the sun. Zi’anna followed, ending up at two-hundred and forty. Jemma remained where she was.
“Let it go.” Sa’riya thought at her.
Jemma released the time-anchor.
The fire from the explosion spread through space in all directions, small planets exploded, and gaseous clouds were set ablaze.
They pulled the Orphic energies together between them, creating a triangle of energy surrounding the sun. For a few moments it appeared it might work, but then Zi’anna, who was two one-thousandths of a degree out of position burst into flames.
“NO!” Sa’riya screamed.
Zi’anna burned like a dying star for thirteen seconds and winked out of existence, the sound of her scream echoed through the universe and rang in Sa’riya’s mind. The negative energy released snapped back into Sa’riya: a huge ball of silver light—it hit her in the chest, and she shined like ten-thousand suns.
Sa’riya slowed time to a fraction with her mind. Everything froze again: the explosion stopped half-way through. She saw Jemma, suspended in space, and looked at where Zi’anna should be. Her eyes filled with tears.
“What is your greatest weakness?”
The voice was in her head, she ignored it.
“Stop ignoring me. What is your greatest weakness?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Sa’riya said.
“You lost your sister, but what is your greatest weakness?”
“That I’m alone…”
“No. You’re never truly alone.”
“I don’t understand what you want.”
“Do I have to spell it out?”
“I guess you’ll have to.”
“Fine, your greatest weakness is that you don’t understand your power…”
“Who are you?”
“Some call me Yin, but I have other names.”
“Yin? That’s impossible… there are no Gods.”
“Did I say I was a God?”
“No, but Yin is supposed to be a principle, not a being…”
“Ok, have you ever been wrong before?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well, consider this one of those times.”
“You still haven’t explained what you want from me…”
“I thought it was obvious—I’m trying to teach you something.”
“That I don’t understand my power?”
“Precisely”
“And how does that help me?”
“Once you know the right question to ask, the answer will be obvious…”
***
“You mean to tell me, that you talked to God…?” Darkonus jumped out of his chair and climbed the dais.
“No, I talked to something that called itself Yin.” Sa’riya stared at him, unblinking.
“And you’re all right with that… taking advice from beings you can’t see?”
“It told me what I needed. It hasn’t been wrong so far,” she said.
“And what did it tell you?” he asked.
“I’m not sure you need to know…”
“Well, I insist.” Darkonus put his face one inch from hers.
“Fine, let me show you…” She grasped his forehead with one hand and pulled him into a void-space.
Darkonus fell on the floor of the void-space. The walls were gray, the ceiling was gray: it was a gray bubble with mist swirling around it.
Sa’riya stood over him. “Is this better? Does it satisfy your questions?”
Darkonus stood and walked around the gray bubble, poking the edges and measuring the sides. “It satisfies the question of ‘did your powers get enhanced’ at least.” He smiled.
“Yeah, about that…” She snapped her fingers, and they reappeared on the white dais.
“No more of that, please…” Nu’reen banged the gavel on the bench.
“I’m sorry, he irritated me.” Sa’riya stared at Darkonus.
“So what happened then, after Zi’anna died?” Darkonus pushed her.
“It’s hard to explain in words…” she said.
“How else are you going to explain it to us?” Darkonus asked.
Sa’riya created a space in her mind and pulled them into it. It wasn’t large, but it was bigger than small, and it fit them perfectly. They all sat on pillows surrounding a round wooden table with Sa’riya hovering cross-legged over the center, her palms on her knees.
“I’m going to let you experience what I felt,” she said.
“Is this going to hurt?” Jurak asked, looking around nervously.
“Only if you have a heart.” She glanced sideways at him. “You should be Ok…”
~~~
Sa’riya pushed her will out, reaching for the edge of Zi’anna and Jemma’s power. She found Jemma at the limit of her force, and she latched onto her, but Zi’anna was out of reach. She tried harder, but she couldn’t make a connection—she watched from a distance as her sister died, consumed by the wave of solar fire. She saw it but was powerless to act, and she was consumed by grief. The backlash of power she absorbed opened her mind and made her aware: she instantly understood how the multiverse worked: all of it—she understood things on a sub-atomic scale. She could no longer simply use magic—she was magic and much more.
She looked toward Jemma. The flame-wall would consume her in three seconds.
For two-point-ninety-three seconds she did nothing… and then…
Sa’riya stopped everything: the explosion, the rotation of the planets, time itself.
She sat suspended in the silence of space, alone with her thoughts. She wouldn’t allow anything to move forward. The multiverse hung in limbo: every single universe, every branch of possibility, every facet of existence. She looked at the heavens all around her, thinking how beautiful it all was, and how deadly it could be.
“You can’t maintain this…”
“I can do whatever I want. I see the truth now—I know how it works.”
“Well, that’s true, and I can’t stop you, but I want you to think about something.”
“What could I possibly care about? My sister is dead.”
“Yes, but this is not your end, this is a beginning, and you have others that care for you.”
“How are they going to see me know, after what I’ve become?”
“You mean, how will your children see their mother? Or your h
usband see his wife?”
“Ok, I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re done with self-pity?”
“I’m getting there.”
“Good enough…”
***
Damian held tight to Bloodrender’s sheath; his legs wrapped around Carion’s body. The Griffin soared through the air, the tips of his wings tracing the chill morning air, slicing the edges of the clouds like a silver knife through butter.
Karl turned his head and yelled over the violent wind. “Don’t let go!”
“Trust me, I’m good.” His grip tightened on the sword. He watched over Karl’s shoulder as they approached the mountain. Off to their right, Kain held on to Darryl’s sword, Shera matching speed and movement with Carion, and to the left Garrick had a death-grip on Karo’s shoulders aboard Hestas. The three Griffins held a tight pattern, aiming at the vacant ledge on the western slope of Krasus Cauldron.
“You’re sure this spell makes us invisible?” Karl asked.
A Draggon patrol appeared on their flank: three lizards in a triangle formation. The Griffins adjusted their flight to slide left of the Draggons’ path. They passed within yards of each other.
“A God promised me it would,” Damian said.
“I guess that’s good enough.” Karl chuckled.
The Griffins’ claws and paws skidded to a stop on the bare rock of the shelf, loose gravel flying. They all jumped off and headed toward the black maw of the tunnel that led into the heart of the mountain.
“Why are there no guards here?” Garrick peered into the darkness.
