The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Hey, I like this place," Rowan said. "It's cozy."

  Rowan switched on the Earthstone. On the huge screen, Korean girls began to dance, smiling sweetly. The saccharine sounds of K-pop blasted from the speakers.

  Bay shuddered. "If cotton candy had a sound, it would be this."

  Rowan grinned. "Sounds more like pancakes and maple syrup to me."

  "Enjoy it while it lasts," Bay said. "It's my turn tomorrow, and I'm blasting some AC/DC." He approached the stove, rearranged the wooden logs inside, and struggled to light a fire. "Ra damn, we need a proper stove in here. Electric."

  "We need to save electricity, Bay."

  He looked over his shoulder and gestured at the giant monitor. "Is this saving electricity?"

  Rowan glanced at the monitor. The girls were dancing in their classroom, singing about finding true love. She blushed.

  "All right, I'm a hypocrite," she said. "But come on! K-Pop!"

  Finally Bay got a fire going—not without a good number of curses on the way. "Just in time. One more minute, and I'd have frozen to death." He shivered. "Sorry, Row, the dream of having kids is done. My nether regions became an icicle."

  Rowan smiled and bit her lip. "I know how to warm it up."

  She pulled off her clothes and stood before him in her underwear. She had chosen red today. She knew the color drove him wild. Indeed, his eyes widened, and he whistled.

  "You look amazing, Rowan." He shook his head in wonder. "You have the body of a Greek goddess."

  She frowned. "Not a K-pop princess?"

  He blinked. "Rowan, I'll be honest. The blood is leaving my brain right now, and I'm too confused to tell the difference."

  She grinned. "Let's see."

  She tore off his clothes, confirming his words. Within an instant, they found themselves in bed, kissing, tickling, laughing, caressing.

  They had been sleeping together for several years now, but it always felt new and exciting to Rowan. It could always drive her fear away, bring her joy, if only for a while. She enjoyed experimenting with him, trying different positions, pleasuring him, teaching him how to pleasure her.

  "I have something new I want to try tonight," she said, nibbling his ear. "A technique I researched in a new book. I think you'll like this one."

  Bay laughed. "You research sex like you research science."

  She nodded. "I do! When I do something, I want to be the best at it. So I read sex books alongside science books. And I intend to be the best at both. Now shut up! Lie down or I'll tie you down. I must test my new technique."

  Soon he was moaning with pleasure. Rowan nodded contentedly. Her experiment was successful.

  They made love for a long time. She had taught Bay to last long. This was good. Because this was joy. This was peace. This was art. This was everything Rowan fought for, and also everything that could hold her sanity intact, that could keep the horror from overwhelming her.

  She made love with open eyes, because whenever she closed them, she saw the monsters of New York.

  She made love wildly, because whenever she lay still, she felt the snakes crawl over her.

  She never wanted to leave his embrace, because whenever she was away, she felt so vulnerable and afraid.

  She could still see them. They never left her. The dead from years of war. The monsters in the tunnels and trenches. The abyss of demons that forever threatened to bubble over.

  "Rowan." He lay beneath her. He reached up and stroked her damp cheek. "You're crying."

  "I love you, Bay," she said. "You know that, right?"

  "Of course. I love you too. More than anything."

  She arched her back, and she rode him until they climaxed together. Then she lay in his arms, curled up in his embrace, feeling small and safe and warm. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

  "I never want to leave this bed," she mumbled. "I wish I could stay here forever in your arms. I'm scared, Bay. I'm so scared. I don't know if I can go to war again. Fight again. See friends die again. I'm so scared."

  "You can sit this one out." Bay caressed her hair. "You've earned it."

  She nestled closer. "I can't. I'm the one who banished Xerka instead of killing her. And … I'm the one who shares her DNA. I'm the one who must face her, Bay." She looked into his eyes. "Who must kill her."

  He paled. His face hardened. "I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll do this together. We'll end this war, once and for all. And then we'll come back here, and curl up in bed, and never leave. We'll be happy, Rowan. We'll finally be happy."

  She laid her head against his chest. "I'm happy here with you now. I'm happy tonight. Tomorrow will be another day of fear. A day preparing for war. But tonight I'm happy. Tonight I know why I fight."

  Bay kissed her again. "Rowan, I love you so much, but please—can we turn off the K-pop?"

  She laughed. "All right. Movie marathon? Back to the Future trilogy?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Again?"

  Rowan shrugged. "Well, we could watch more K-pop music videos …"

  "Marty McFly it is."

  They lay in bed, watching movies, until she fell asleep in his arms. She slept with the movie playing in the background, with Bay warm against her, and for the night, she was safe, and she was happy, and she did not dream.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rowan walked through Port Addison, ready to face herself.

  All around her, humanity was preparing for war. Privates were drilling in dirt squares, ranging from scrawny teenagers to silver-haired elders. They had only recently landed on Earth, fresh refugees from space. Today they wore uniforms, marched with rifles, and trained to kill and die on an alien world.

  Above them, pilots were drilling with starfighters. The roars of Firebirds shook the sky. Sonic booms rattled buildings. The Human Defense Force had just purchased five hundred spaceracers, then quickly refitted them for war. The starfighters were painted Earth-blue, and they swooped and rose, mimicking an assault on an alien city.

  Rowan couldn't see from here, but above the sky, Earth's fleet of warships was gathering. They were up to hundreds of warships now. Those ships too would be going through war games, preparing for battles in deep space. Around the clock, engineers and technicians were refitting more ships for battle, converting freighters into frigates, clunkers into corvettes.

  Meanwhile, below her feet, generals were gathering in bunkers. Drawing up plans. Preparing Earth's most daring offensive.

  All of humanity is an army, Rowan thought. Everyone is dedicated to the war. This will test the mettle of our entire species. In this war, we will prove ourselves a force to be reckoned with—or shatter in an alien sky.

  But Rowan was not training today. She had her own mission. She had a secret to uncover.

  She approached Addison Hospital, which was comprised of a small concrete building and supplementary pavilions. Construction workers were busy here, laying the foundations for future wings. Makeshift ambulances idled outside, some merely wooden wagons with crude engines attached. Inside the pavilions, Rowan saw many patients wounded in the wars. It had been six months since Xerka had struck Earth, but many soldiers and civilians were still hospitalized, learning to walk again, breathe again, leave their beds without fear. As Rowan walked between the tents, she saw people filled with shrapnel. Amputees. Burn victims. Patients suffering from shell shock. Many were still suffering from injuries incurred in the gulocks, even now, two years since those factories of hell had been liberated. Some of the wounds were physical. Others emotional—and just as crippling.

  As always, whenever she walked here, Rowan paused to speak to the patients. Many of the children were orphans. Many of the adults had lost their families. Much to her embarrassment, Rowan had become something of a heroine. She was the woman who had slain Emperor Sin Kra, after all. Who had banished Queen Xerka. The famous Rowan Emery, descended of Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth, and of Addison Linden, after whom this colony was named. Rowan had spent most of her life
hiding in ducts, and she was unaccustomed to fame. But her presence comforted these patients. And so she visited them daily.

  She read a story to a boy who had lost his parents, siblings, and legs. She joked with a few old men, their spines shattered, their bodies filled with shrapnel. She sang to a young man who had lost most of his face, including both eyes. She tried to joke, to laugh, to lift their spirits. But inside, every day, the tragedy of this place gnawed at Rowan. Every visit chipped off a piece of her soul.

  After an hour in the pavilion, Rowan entered the hospital's concrete building. She walked past emergency wards and surgery rooms, heading to the back wing. She reached the room she had been visiting every day since New York City.

  She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.

  Her clone lay in the bed, sleeping.

  Rowan sat beside her. She gazed at the clone. It was like gazing into a mirror. The same olive-toned skin. The same delicate features, hinting at perhaps an ancient mix of Hispanic and Asian ancestry. They even had the same damn haircut.

  "I wish you could speak." Rowan stroked her clone's short brown hair. "I wish you could tell me who you are. What it's like to be you."

  Her clone woke up and began to cry. Rowan pulled the young woman into her arms and rocked her until she calmed.

  Young woman? Physically, maybe. But mentally, the clone seemed like a newborn. Gently, Rowan changed the clone's diaper, then fed her slowly from a cup of soup. Each spoonful was a struggle. The clone cried, spat out the broth, gurgled, and resisted the meal. But Rowan was patient. She had insisted that the clone could feed herself, didn't need a feeding tube. And so Rowan came here every day. To soothe the clone. To change her, wash her, feed her.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Cindy stepped into the room. Though she was now Minister of Health, Dr. Cindy Torres still practiced medicine. She wore her scrubs, and she carried a clipboard.

  "Hello, Rowan."

  Rowan smiled sadly at the doctor. "She still doesn't recognize me. No matter how often I visit. Not so much as a smile. Not even eye contact. Despite all the care I gave her—no recognition. Only tears."

  Cindy sat down beside Rowan. "I've reviewed the results of the brain scans we've given the clone."

  Rowan braced herself. "Is it bad?"

  "To be honest, I don't fully understand the results," Cindy said. "Physically, your clone is in perfect health. She seems to be about eighteen years old, a few years younger than you. But her brain is blank. No memories. No cognitive abilities. No language."

  Rowan nodded. "But that makes sense, right? Xerka couldn't have stolen my DNA more than a year ago. The basilisks must have some mechanism to grow clones very quickly—from a single cell to an adult organism at accelerated growth. My clone simply hasn't had the time to learn anything." She stroked the clone's cheek. "But she will. I'll teach her."

  Cindy shook her head. "Rowan, I'm afraid it's worse than that. The brain is far more complicated than any other organ in the body. Indeed, the brain is the most complex machine in the universe, more complex than the largest space station or computer. I don't understand everything that's wrong. But your clone's brain seems … vegetative. Not like the brain of a newborn, blank but ready to learn. Even newborn babies can quickly learn new skills—how to suckle, to recognize faces and voices, to communicate with sounds and facial expressions. Your clone cannot. My guess is that something went wrong when the basilisks grew her. They accelerated her brain's growth too quickly, damaging it. Or perhaps they never needed her to be intelligent, and simply used her to harvest more egg cells, a mother for more clones. I'm sorry, Rowan. I know the news is hard."

  Rowan's heart sank. She brushed her clone's hair.

  "So she'll never talk?" Rowan whispered. "Never fall in love, never have a true life? Never leave this bed?"

  "I don't know for sure," Cindy said. "We've never encountered a case like this before. We'll keep trying. Keep learning. But Rowan, I must be honest with you. It's likely that your clone will never progress beyond her current state."

  Rowan nodded, eyes damp. She looked at her clone.

  "Then I'll give her whatever life I can," Rowan said softly. "She still deserves love. Even if she can't return it." She smiled and wiped her tears away. "She isn't alone in this world. She has me."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Rowan returned home, she found the trailer empty.

  Bay was in orbit, flying a Firebird, training for the invasion. Earth needed hundreds of pilots. Even Rowan had been taking flying lessons. Her heart was not in it, however, and she often skipped practice.

  A year ago, Rowan had chosen another path. One she had not forgotten.

  "I vowed to become a weaver," she said to the empty room.

  She spun the little wooden globe on her desk. Should Xerka attack again, humanity's fleet would not stop her.

  But maybe, Rowan dared to hope, a weaver could.

  A weaver could fire aether from her palms, searing through enemy ships.

  A weaver could forge runeblades, great weapons to tear through alien armor.

  A weaver could even engulf a planet in a shimmering shield, protecting it from a million bombs.

  "I promised you, Coral," Rowan said softly, as if speaking to her friend's spirit. "I promised to become a weaver like you. And I will."

  Rowan took a deep breath, sat on her bed, and began to meditate.

  According to the Weaver's Writs, the holy books of the Weaving Guild, meditation was the cornerstone of the faith. Rowan had no teacher. Coral had been the last human weaver. Even the sacred books themselves had burned in the war. Rowan had backed up most of the texts onto her minicom. Some of that old knowledge was lost. But enough remained. Rowan had not abandoned her quest.

  According to the Writs, every weaver had a patron. A being from beyond. One of the ancients.

  I must find mine, Rowan thought.

  As she had countless times over the past year, Rowan sank into mindfulness. She still found meditation difficult. When she tried to still her mind, the damn thoughts kept rising. Worries. Memories. Planning. Doubts. She focused on deep breathing, on becoming like a mountain in a storm, unmovable. But every few breaths, a thought popped up. She worried about her clone. She came up with plans for the coming war. Worst of all, she remembered the horrors of New York and the battles before it.

  Focus.

  She held out her hands, then began to move them in circular motions, one by one, breathing deeply.

  Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off.

  It wasn't the meditation technique the Weaver's Writs taught. She had copied the move from Karate Kid. But hey, if it worked …

  She kept breathing. Hands moving.

  Wax on. Wax off.

  Finally, perhaps fifteen minutes into her meditation, she achieved a state of deep being and stillness.

  She saw it above. A soft light. An unfolding dimension. The Empyrean Firmament.

  Rowan didn't fully understand the Empyrean Firmament. The ancient Weaver's Writ made it sound like paradise. But the texts were more allegorical than scientific. Rowan thought the firmament more like a parallel dimension. It was linked to this universe. An upper layer. One most humans were blind to. A dimension without matter, one formed of aether, a mythical substance that gave weavers their power.

  Beings lived there. Rowan didn't know their names. The Writs merely referred to them as the ancients. Were they angels? Aliens? Rowan wasn't sure. But apparently, every weaver needed one as a friend.

  "Hello!" she spoke into the realm above. "I'm looking for a mentor. I am Rowan, a weaver pupil! Will someone help?"

  She did not speak with her mouth. She spoke through her mind, but she saw her words ripple through the aether. Luminous forms moved back and forth, ignoring her.

  Rowan sighed. She had reached this stage in her meditation several times already. It had been difficult at first, but she was becoming a pro. Sadly, each time Rowan popped into the Empyrean Firma
ment, the ancients ignored her.

  "Hellooo!" Rowan said. "Weaver pupil here! Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?"

  Nothing.

  Rowan pursed her lips. Her concentration was slipping. The luminous parallel plane was fraying around her. She took a few deep breaths, refocusing.

  "Look, I'm not going anywhere!" Rowan cried into the light. "Coral Amber herself sent me. She died in battle. She died as a weaver, fighting for humanity! And I made her a promise. I promised to become a weaver too. She was going to teach me. And you know what? She never turned her back on anyone! She fought and gave her life for her homeworld—and for her order! Are you going to turn your backs on me? Are you going to leave humanity without a single weaver?" She scoffed. "Then go to hell."

  She realized what she had just said.

  She had just burned a damn big bridge.

  Rowan winced.

  "Um … I'm sorry, all right? I—"

  A luminous figure floated toward her.

  Rowan gasped and her eyes widened.

  She was still in her trailer, sitting on the bed. But overlaying her reality was this higher realm. The figure seemed to stand before her, woven of aether.

  He spoke, voice deep and beautiful like distant thunder in a receding storm.

  "Coral was far more diplomatic than you."

  Rowan stared at this angelic being. It didn't have eyes, but she stared at the area that seemed most like a head.

  "Yeah, well, you better get used to it," Rowan said. "I ain't diplomatic. In fact, I'm a pain in the ass. But I'm a good student. And I'm loyal. And I work hard. And I promise to be a damn good weaver. I just need a teacher."

  "My name is Sandalphon," the figure said. "I mentored Coral, your friend. I wove runes upon her skin, giving her access to aether. I guided her on her journey. I was with her when she passed. She was among my brightest pupils."

  Hope rose in Rowan. "Will you mentor me too?"

  "No," Sandalphon said.

  Rowan deflated. "Why? I'm just as smart as Coral. I can become a weaver too! Honestly, I learned to program computers on my own, and I can learn weaving too! I—"