by Dave Gordon
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Epilogue
The stars are thick and the arrangement unfamiliar. How many galaxies has it been, how long has it been? My flaming goddess of the past grew old and turned to dust long, long ago but she still burns in my memory. Her children many generations hence now rule the galaxy. I know them well. They have traveled to Illistar many times, as have all the other galactic rulers we brought to their thrones.
Stellant'I and I lay together under the stars on a dirt road on a distant planet. Another of the roads I have cleared of pebbles during the last thousand years. The Emperor lies nearby snoring softly. He and I have traveled far and enjoyed many successes. Stellant'I has chosen to remain with me. She is a great comfort and inspiration. If Tuya was flame and fire, Stellant'I is cool water at rest.
The Earth is a beautiful blue beacon now. The forests call out, the water runs fast and clear. The air is pure. The people are happy and healthy. I could not have asked for more for them. I have been there a few times, but Earth is an alien planet to me now. Earth wants to honor me as a hero. I am not a hero. There are few planets we can travel that afford us any peace. Illistar is one, the planet we are on now is another.
Stellant'I says I have become highest of the high. Second only to the Emperor. I do not seek to be high, to be arrayed in rich robes accompanied by dozens of royal attendants. I strive to keep my feet in the dirt. When the court is arrayed in splendor, the fields are full of weeds. One can only succeed as Emperor by remaining low. And now the greatest test of all. The Emperor tells me he shall hand over rule of the seven galaxies to me when we return.
I received the news with a heavy heart but the Emperor said, “Remember the teachings, you will do fine.” The old man wants to go walking about Illistar as a peasant. I wish him luck but his face is quite well known so he may get more attention than he wants. At least he won't go hungry.
There is only one path to follow. The steps are laid before me as if preordained. Every step along the way was somehow designed to bring me to this point, and now it is apparent that all my choices only appeared to be choices. I have sought nothing for myself but a simple life but simplicity is fleeting. Tomorrow we return to Illistar. When we arrive, I will be crowned in a ceremony fit for the Emperor of the Seven Galaxies. The festivities will extend across the planet and go on for days.
When it is over and the last delegation has left the city, I shall go to a kosh farm and shovel manure.
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About the Author
Dave Gordon lives in rural Western Oregon on the edge of the great Pacific Northwest forests. Mr. Gordon has been a firefighter, a scientific researcher, a carpenter, and a network administrator. He is now a full-time writer enjoying the temperate climate of the rainy Willamette Valley.
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