Resigned Fate

by West, Shay

  “There are some antlered horse in the area. We should try to get one if we plan on being here for a long while,” Jon suggested.

  Fa’ Vel looked at Jon until the silence stretched into something uncomfortable. Jon refused to turn away, and fought the urge to fidget like a young boy standing and waiting for punishment.

  “Do what you will. Take Gelrond with you. I expect you back just after sunset,” Fa’ Vel said, ending the tense silence.

  Jon grabbed a bow from one of the packs and strung it, refusing to look at his guard. The large man simply stood and watched as Jon worked, eyes staring straight ahead, unmoving. When Jon walked away from camp, following the tracks of the antlered horse, Gelrond followed, silent as a shadow.

  Jon ignored the big man, focusing instead on watching the ground before him for fresh signs. The further they got from camp, the fresher the tracks became. The animals looked to be wandering aimlessly, perhaps trying to find a way to escape the strange noise coming from the earth. He hoped they hadn’t gone too far. He motioned for Gelrond to step lightly when he spotted a pile of scat steaming in the chill afternoon air. Jon moved on the balls of his feet, knocking an arrow, alert for any sign of movement in the growing shadows beneath the trees.

  His nostrils flared as he caught the musky scent of the animal. Jon crouched down, scanning the trees for movement.

  There!

  Just behind a large spruce, a dark shadow moved slowly into view. Jon smiled grimly when he spotted the large rack of the animal. A twelve point, perhaps more. He wished his father was here with him. Animals this large were rarely seen in the Tarrows region. The biggest antlered horse bull he had ever seen had been a six point.

  The large bull was moving in their direction, nostrils flared, muscular neck swiveling. The animal was nervous and unable to detect the source of its unease. Jon motioned to Gelrond to stay down. They were upwind of the animal but if the wind shifted in the slightest, the bull would catch their scent and bolt. Not even a shadow cat or prairie cat could catch an antlered horse when it was on the run.

  Jon took a deep breath and pulled the arrow to his chin, pushing aside everything but the tip of the arrow and the animal walking toward them. The sun filtered through the trees, highlighting its antlers and glimmering off its dark brown coat. The color reminded Jon of a cup of black.

  The bull turned, presenting its broad side to the hunter he didn’t even know was there. Jon sent up a prayer to the good Spirits to help his arrow fly straight and true, and let go. The arrow hit the beast in the side, just behind the shoulder, piercing its heart. It bellowed once and turned to run but the strength quickly left its limbs. The great bull staggered and fell, sides heaving in panic and pain.

  Jon ran to the animal and used his knife to end its suffering, feeling a little queasy at the sight of blood pulsing from the gaping wound in its neck. Though he enjoyed hunting, he wished there were a less messy way to get to the meat.

  “Are you going to help me or what?”

  Gelrond stood and stared at Jon. “You shot it; you clean it. I’ll help carry the meat back to camp.” The man smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth. “And I’ll help eat it, of course.”

  Jon glared at the big man. “Who says you’ll even get any? My kill, my decision.”

  “Fa’ Vel might have something to say about that,” Gelrond said, smirking.

  Jon opened his mouth to reply but closed it with a snap. It was no use arguing. The big man was probably right. Jon sighed and began field dressing the animal. His cuts were clean and neat, though the task of taking out the innards was not quite so clean. He did the job as quickly as he could, taking care not to puncture the guts with his sharp knife. Even a small knick would spoil the meat. He quartered the animal, struggling to get his knife through the tough joints and bone. Jon stood and groaned as his back muscles protested. The sun was nearly down. He looked at Gelrond.

  “There’s no way we can carry all of this meat back to camp. We’ll each take a quarter and leave the rest for the scavengers,” Jon said.

  Gelrond shrugged and picked up a hind quarter as though he were picking up a small knapsack. Jon gaped at the man.

  “Any way you could handle a front quarter as well?”

  Gelrond frowned and grabbed the front quarter, struggling just a bit under the weight. Jon grabbed the last hind quarter with an audible “oomph” as he propped it on his shoulder. Leaving only one front quarter behind wasn’t as hard to deal with as the prospect of leaving two.

  The sun set as they walked back to camp. Jon’s eyes adjusted to the dark. The twin moons were both nearly full so they provided plenty of light. In the distance, Jon spotted the camp fire, and tried to pick up the pace. His arms ached with the heavy load of meat and he could do nothing but pant from the exertion. He looked at Gelrond. The man didn’t appear to be burdened by the meat he carried. He looked as though he could be on an evening stroll through the woods.

  “I was getting worried about you,” Fa’ Vel said, his face drawn into a sneer by the scar running from forehead to chin.

  Jon dropped the meat on the grass, stretching his aching arms and back. He rummaged in one of the packs for some ropes. With Gelrond’s help he managed to hoist the meat into one of the tall trees near the fire.

  “We’ll be eating well tonight!” Gelrond said as he hacked off several large steaks. He took them to the fire and placed them on the hot rocks. The sound of sizzling reached Jon’s ears. He ran back into the woods, cursing the time it was taking for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. I know I passed some herbs on the way to hunt that bull.

  Just when he was about to give up, Jon spotted what he’d been looking for. He bent down and picked some of the wild parsley and basil growing in small clumps near a large sagebrush. His mouth watered when he remembered his mother’s favorite method of giving wild game a burst of flavor. Jon ran back to the camp fire and sprinkled the herbs into the steaks.

  Gelrond approached, carrying several potatoes he’d washed in a nearby creek. Jon situated them near the fire, keeping a careful eye on them as well as the steaks.

  After every bite of food was consumed, the men sat back against their saddles or logs, filling pipes with pipeweed, unbuckling belts to allow for the expansion of their full bellies.

  “You did good. Perhaps I should make you camp cook. You could wear an apron,” Fa’ Vel said.

  Jon’s face grew warm as laughter filled the glade, but he refused to rise to the bait. He pushed around some of the wood, trying to lose himself in the shifting colors of the coals. There was something about a camp fire that begged to be poked and prodded with a good, stout stick, just like his father had always done.

  Jon blinked away tears before they could fall. It can’t be from him because he’s not my real father. Thoughts of his adopted father made it feel like a hand was squeezing his heart. He hated the idea that Fa’ Vel was his real father. Jon wished he could take every single thing about himself that came from Fa’ Vel and replace it with something new. Sharing blood with someone as evil as Fa’ Vel was more than he could bear. Jon swore he could feel it pumping through his veins, tainting him with the evil of the dark magician. He brushed at his skin as though he could wipe the slate clean.

  Fa’ Vel isn’t your father. Willam is your father, and Beth is your mother.

  These two people had raised him, cared for him, loved him, provided him a wonderful life. Just because he was adopted didn’t mean he was any less their son. Every memory he had was of a loving family and a great childhood, watching out for his sisters, helping his parents, causing mischief.

  You have a new family now.

  Jon glanced at the rag-tag band of men gathered around the fire. Their faces were stone, their bodies hard. All of the men had weapons in their laps and were sharpening, re-stringing, and repairing them. Fa’ Vel sat off to one side and watched over his flock. With the scar pulling his lip upward, it looked as though he were smiling at them.

 
; “Jon, come here.”

  Jon stood and made his way to Fa’ Vel, wondering what the man wanted.

  “How often have you used the dark magic since leaving Queen Cheye’s palace?”

  “Several times. But usually when everyone agreed that their own power wouldn’t suffice.”

  “You never used it even though you knew your own was good enough?”

  Jon shrugged. “Maybe a few times.”

  “What sorts of things did you do?”

  “Why are you asking me all these questions?” Jon shot back.

  “Trying to gauge how well you have handled the power thus far, and to see what more you might be capable of.” Fa’ Vel stared at Jon with lifeless black eyes.

  Jon described the instances where he had used dark magic, watching Fa’ Vel’s face. He was disappointed that the dark magician didn’t seem more impressed.

  “Not bad. But nothing close to what you could do.”

  Jon’s pulse raced. “Are you going to teach me?”

  Fa’ Vel’s laughter echoed menacingly in the darkness. “That I am, my boy, that I am.”

  DARK PLANET

  FEEROR EMERGED ON THE NEW WORLD, gasping and shuddering, as much from the pain as from the strangeness of this new body he found himself in. It was rather small and covered in soft fur. Feeror moved away from the portal to make room for the others who would be following close behind him.

  Though there was little light, he could see better than he could on the other planets in the darkness. The portal was on the side of a large tree. Feeror gazed around. The tree containing the portal seemed to be the only living thing left on this world. As far as he could see, there was nothing but desolation, a land bereft of life, torn and broken.

  A gasp from behind him broke his sightseeing for the moment. He helped Moylir as she stumbled around on four legs. Feeror showed her how to stand and move about on two legs, like he was doing. She nodded and looked around.

  Feeror gazed at his fellow Volgon Chosen. She was covered in silky reddish brown hair. Her face had a long snout and her eyes were enormous, pupils wide.

  That explains our ability to see in the dark.

  Moylir and Feeror helped the others as they emerged. The Kromin, as usual, was the first to become acclimated to its new body. It stood off to the side and watched the others as they stumbled about and took stock of their surroundings and one another.

  --I detect no life forms on the planet--

  -- We won’t find any answers here-- Feeror said. --It’s obvious the Mekans have been here. The damage looks like what was done to our world--

  -- But we don’t know if this is a world that was destroyed by them or if this is where they originated-- Moylir said.

  --We can use the portal to go back in time-- Lamnor said.

  --Can you do that? Take us back in time through the portal?-- asked Feeror.

  Lamnor nodded. --I have used the portals for time travel before. It’s a bit tricky to travel back to a specific time, but I can get us close, within a few years--

  --So how far back do we go? A few years? Decades? -- Feeror asked.

  Lamnor shrugged. --I don’t know. We could try a few years. If that isn’t far enough back, we could back further--

  --It seems we have no choice but to trust you in this. Do it--

  ***

  Feeror emerged first from the portal again, taking less time to acclimate this time around. He stood and gazed around him as the others emerged.

  The area was surrounded by trees, larger than anything he had ever seen. They towered to the very sky, their branches seeming to touch the inky blackness. It was a marked difference compared to the dead world they had seen only moments before.

  --There are others around. Up in the trees-- Number 1 pointed upwards.

  Feeror glanced up. High in the canopy and interspersed among the large branches were buildings constructed of wood. The huts were of simple construction, appearing to have only a single room. Wooden bridges linked the various buildings to one another and rope ladders descended from the treetops to the ground. They could see light flickering in the windows and shadows moving around.

  A rumbling in the distance captured their attention. There was something eerily familiar about the noise and the vibration that made their fur stand on end. Feeror signaled to Voilor and Moylir, flowing into tactical silence with ease. They moved silently through the darkness, avoiding the dry twigs and leaves that would give away their position. Every instinct shouted that they were in danger.

  After walking a few miles, they were no nearer to finding the source of the noises. Feeror stood, nose testing the air for a scent that would give some hint of what lay in wait in the darkness.

  --What do you suggest? It’s difficult to tell exactly where the sound is coming from-- Moylir’s round ears turned from side-to-side, trying to zero in on the noise.

  --We should go back. We don’t know this place and could easily become lost-- Voilor suggested.

  Feeror led them back to the portal and the large village in the trees. Lamnor and the Kromin stood near the portal, surrounded by several more of the indigenous life forms of this planet.

  A large male was pointing something that looked like a cross between a rifle and sword at Lamnor’s chest and speaking in soft trills and chirps. Lamnor sighed in relief when he saw his comrades approaching. He waved them over frantically.

  --The telepath needs to tell them who we are before they stab us with those nasty-looking weapons--

  The largest male growled and advanced on Lamnor when it was clear he was refusing to answer. Suddenly, it stopped, head tilting to the side as though listening for something only he could hear. He chattered to his companions and they shook their heads. Feeror wished he knew what they said to one another.

  --The lead telcor is asking if they heard my voice--

  --Telcor?-- Feeror asked.

  --That is what this species is called--

  Moylir chattered in frustration. --I wished we had thought to bring one of the Astrans along. They could have used their power so we could speak to them without having to do this--

  --We didn’t know we would be coming to a strange world when we went to Gentra-- Feeror managed to infuse his statement with sarcasm.

  Several other telcor were staring around them, pointing to the telepath with their weapons. They shook their heads as though having difficulty believing what the clone was telling them.

  --Tell them what I’m saying-- Feeror ordered the Kromin.

  Feeror turned to the large male telcor, assuming he was the one in charge. --We are visitors from another world. We came through that device on the side of your tree. Feeror pointed to the portal, still outlined in reddish-orange symbols--

  --What do you mean, you came though the tree? That is not possible--

  --I’ll show you-- Feeror moved slowly toward the portal, his arms raised. He shoved his arm into the portal, smiling grimly at the gasps sounding from all around him.

  --Go and get the shaman!-- The large male shouted.

  Two of the creatures climbed to the tops of the trees, quickly disappearing from view in the thick foliage.

  --What do you call yourselves?-- Lamnor asked.

  --We are telcor--

  --Do you have something that you are called?--

  The telcor frowned. --I do not understand the question--

  Lamnor pursed his chops. --Some races have something they call themselves so others can address them. I am called Lamnor, he is Feeror. That other male is called Voilor and the female is called Moylir-- Lamnor pointed to each in turn, avoiding the clone. Explaining its sexless nature and lack of a name would only confuse the telcors.

  The telcor shook his head. --Your brands sound very strange to my ears. We call ourselves things that have great meaning to our kind. I am called Thundering Pine and I’m the leader of this group. This is my first-in-command, Sweeping Winds--

  Thundering Pine went on to introduce the others. Their n
ames were practical and poetic, and seemed fitting. Sweeping Winds had long fur and he moved with the fluid grace of a warrior. His arms were covered in bands of leather sewn with beads, teeth, and bones. Gentle Rain was quiet, watching the proceedings calmly. Storm Cloud stood to one side, eyes hooded and dark, glaring at the strangers.

  --The shaman, he comes!--

  An aged telcor waddled toward the group. His fur was entirely white and seemed to shimmer and glow with its own light. He carried a tall staff, its tip covered in feathers and bones. It clinked as he took his lumbering steps. Feeror could hear his labored breath and see the film of age that covered the shaman’s dark eyes. The telcor bowed in obvious reverence to this aged being, cooing and trilling in their native tongue.

  --Who dares to disturb the peace of this group?-- The old telcor asked in a wheezing, soft voice.

  --We did not mean to disturb you. It was important that we travel here-- Feeror said, unsure how to continue. It wasn’t an easy thing to accuse a stranger of creating something that would ultimately kill them all, and millions of others throughout the galaxy.

  That noise!

  Feeror knew what the distant sound was as well as the strange, yet familiar vibration. He had felt it each time they had encountered the Mekans.

  --That noise we hear, what manner of thing makes it?-- Feeror asked, trying to put off the inevitable.

  --They are mining machines-- The shaman said.

  --How do you control them?--

  --They have sophisticated equipment that allows them to work without direct input from the technicians. Quite brilliant, actually. When we need them to mine in a certain area, we can use the input devices to alter their course--

  Feeror shivered though the night air was warm. --You must shut them down--

  --Who are you that you give me such an order?-- The shaman stood toe-to-toe with Feeror, shaking his staff.

  --We are from the future. Your machines will eventually destroy this world and everyone on it. When they are finished here, they will leave and begin destroying other worlds-- Feeror said.