David’s natural shyness had served him well. Not talking to anyone meant that he never spread any rumours or gossip. In recognition of this, he had been selected to serve the Justice herself.
He pulled a chair next to the window and sat down, peering out into the empty courtyard. Perhaps it had been a dream. He had always had exceptionally lucid dreams, so maybe this was one of them.
“Please, I need your help.”
He jumped up, sending his chair to crash on the floor, banging his leg.
Crap. If this keeps up, I’ll soon be covered in bruises. He rubbed his aching shin. “Who is this? What do you want?” he shouted to the empty room. Were the other children playing games with him? He knew he was not all that popular, but most other children feared him because of his daily contact with Styx.
The voice sounded gentler this time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re the only possible host I could find.”
He had no idea what that meant, or if the voice was a sign of impeding madness. Does it mean you’re not crazy if you wonder about it? “What do you want from me?”
“I need you to let me in. I can’t enter a host without his permission.”
He had been reading about worms and parasites that lived in people back on Earth. He loved reading, to the point of stealing an e-lib from the justice’s library; a crime punishable by a slow, agonizing death. It was his most valued possession, his treasure. Was a worm talking to him? Well, if I’m crazy, at least my delusion has good manners. “I don’t know. What will that do to me?”
“I won’t hurt you,” it hastened to reply.
How do I know it’s not lying? And yet, it sounded sincere, almost offended at the idea of harming him. He mulled it over for a while. “What happens if I refuse?”
“I’ll die.” The voice sounded scared, yet dignified.
“Can’t I think it over?”
“Of course. But this place is dangerous; they could find me if I’m outside a host.”
“How? You’re invisible.”
The voice said nothing for a while. “I’ll explain once you let me in.”
David leaned back and scratched his head. Although he had no idea how saying “yes” might change him, this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. He reflected back on his life, the life of a servant. Soon, he would be too old to serve Styx. What fate awaited him next? Possibly a lifetime scrubbing pots and dishes in the kitchen. This, on the other hand…
He raised his head. “Okay, I’ll do it,” he announced to the empty air around him.
A form made of light materialized gradually before his eyes. Rainbow hues chased each other within, and he watched in awe, mesmerized by the breath-taking sight. The form shrunk to a ball half the size of his fist, a gentle pulse running through it. Parts of it rotated, forming smaller disks that gyrated at different speeds. Then, with a sudden jerk, it burst into his chest. A scary numbness spread from his solar plexus to his whole body, every cell pulsing and vibrating, resonating to some unheard tune. The feeling jumped from one part of his body to the next, as if the invader was trying to make itself comfortable. If this is a dream, I’ll probably wake up at this point.
The whole experience lasted but a few seconds, then an immense sense of relief filled him. He guessed it came from the creature, and a melodic laughter sounded in his head. “Thank you.”
“What happened?” David asked, startled.
“I needed a host, you accepted me. That’s all.” He felt a flutter in his chest, as if the creature was happily bouncing around in there.
“That’s all?” he asked incredulously to the empty room. “This happens every day, you think?”
“I guess not. You must have some questions.” How could a voice in his head sound like it was frowning?
“Let’s start with what you are, shall we?” David suggested.
The voice remained silent for a moment, as if trying to frame the answer in as good a way as possible.
“The First call us Orbs. I am mostly what you’d call energy, although I consist of matter, too. It’s just… thinner than yours.”
Right. As if that explained anything. He tried a different approach. “So, what’re you doing here?”
“We’ve been with humans for millions of years, but came to Pearseus just before the war. You’ve probably heard of us; your kind calls us ghosts, fairies, will o’ the wisps, angels ...”
David took out his e-lib from its hiding hole in the wall and tapped the screen, bringing it to life. A quick search revealed many images of the creatures she had mentioned, and he spent a moment flicking through them. His insides felt like the Orb was still trying to make itself at home, making parts of his innards twitch every now and then.
“Why aren’t you with your kind?” he asked, still urgently browsing the e-lib.
“You don’t understand. We need hosts, living organisms, to reproduce. We are not many, but we do share life with you: we are born, we procreate, and eventually we, too, will perish. Of course, I’m but a toddler for my kind, although I’m much older than you.”
A sudden thought made him pause, startled. “Are you a boy or a girl?”
The voice seemed to giggle. “We don’t really have a sex; not like you. But I currently have some characteristics better suited to females.”
“Like what?”
The voice seemed to blush, if that were possible. “I’m pregnant,” she said.
David lifted the chair back up, before collapsing on it. He knew about girls, but was uncomfortable around them. The idea of a pregnant ball of light inside of him was going to take some getting used to, and even the e-lib offered no help on this.
“So, what did you do before you came to me?”
“My last host was killed a few days ago.”
He pressed his hand against his mouth, her grief sending tears streaking down his face. “Then what?”
“I searched for a suitable host, but couldn’t find anyone.”
“How do you know who’s a suitable host?”
“When a host is suitable, they’ll sense us. It could be a smell, or a sudden flash at the corner of one’s eye. Sometimes you can even hear us. When I realised you did, I tried out different frequencies, as you might call them, until we communicated. You then had the choice to either help me or not.”
“Right. As if I had a choice.”
“You did.”
“Come on, you’d die without me.”
“Probably.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“Of course. But there are worse things than death. Joining you by force would’ve made me no better than a Whisper.”
“A what?”
“The ancient ones. The shadows in the dark. Those here before us.”
What, there’s more weird things? David had no idea what she was talking about, but felt her discomfort talking about that subject. He decided to leave it for now, since he had so many other questions anyway. “Couldn’t you have entered an animal?”
“Our host must have free will to accept or reject us, and a developed enough consciousness to sustain us during our pregnancy.”
She sounds like she’s reading from an e-lib. She giggled and he blushed, realising she heard all his thoughts. This will take some getting used to. He tried to change the subject. “You mean you feed off your host?”
“Off their consciousness. Our ancestors were able to feed off lesser creatures, but as life evolves on a planet, so do we. It would be impossible now to survive inside an animal; it’s simply not conscious enough. That’s why there’s so few of us left.”
Feeding on him was more than he’d bargained for. He ran one frantic hand through his hair while he continued browsing the e-lib with his other hand for any clues as to the risks his generosity might have brought him. And yet, it felt so right. He put the e-lib down, deciding in favour of the direct approach. “Isn’t that dangerous for us?”
“On the contrary, we help you grow
your consciousness. Becoming more conscious is to our mutual benefit.”
Let’s hope so.
They kept talking, until at some point he realised he had stopped listening. As absorbing as the conversation was, he had never been as serene and happy, and that made him too relaxed to listen closely. All he sensed was the presence of a being grateful for his very existence. Her love for his offering filled him, like a sweet glow warming every cell in his body. No criticism or negativity came from her; he had never before experienced this and already found it hard to think of returning to a life without her. Still, another voice in the back of his head told him that she was holding something back; something very important.
Magna Sea, Western Democracies
June 19, Sol
The ship’s constant rocking made it increasingly hard for Sol to keep her meagre dinner—a piece of smoked fish and some salad—in her stomach. Having to stare through the binoculars turned the challenge into an almost impossible task. She tore the battered device from her eyes with one hand and leaned on the parapet with the other, swallowing hard. Her only consolation came from the fresh night air that dried her sweaty brow.
“Those are nice,” the captain’s voice said.
She turned her head to see him ogling her binoculars. “A family heirloom.”
He extended a hand. “May I?”
Sol hesitated a moment, then pulled the leather strap around her neck and handed them to him.
“We had a pair at the Marine Academy,” he said while fiddling with the controls. “Sometimes the stabiliser gets stuck.”
“The what?”
“These things have a built-in steadying mechanism,” he said while running his fingers back and forth against a metal ridge. “Stabiliser, they called it.” His voice sounded sad. “So much we’ve lost.” He flicked a switch and handed the binoculars back. “Try them now.”
She reluctantly peeked through the lenses. Magna’s swaying shoreline magically steadied themselves. The colours still had a strange hue, as if she were looking at a faded drawing, but that hardly mattered. “What did you do?”
“Sometimes the stabiliser gets stuck.”
She nodded, pretending to understand. Her gaze slid across the sea until she spotted a small boat heading for the rock that sat at the mouth of Magna’s port. Her breath caught. The boat disappeared for a moment in the waves. Moments later, a thin line of soldiers appeared on the rock. “They’ve landed.”
The captain leaned next to her to peer into the night with bulging eyes. “The chain?”
“Don’t know yet.”
One by one, the men vanished into the stubby round tower that housed the chain guarding Magna’s port. Dawn was still a few hours away, so the Antheans probably had to contend with just a handful of sleeping guards. Still, it would only take one scream to alert the rest of the garrison to their presence. Her whole plan hinged on surprise.
“How easy will it be to keep the port once we capture it?” the captain asked, sounding nervous.
Sol glanced at his seasoned hands, wrapped around the rail, his knuckles turning white. An envious half-smile tugged at her lips. Unlike me, he can show his nervousness. She kept her voice calm, almost indifferent, even as her heart pounded in her chest. “Magna’s prefect is paranoid about losing any taxes. He’s turned the port into a veritable fort. There’s only one way in and out of it, and it’s easily fortified. Just get your ships into the port when the time comes and everything will be fine.”
He nodded and stared into the darkness. “Have they lowered the chain yet?” he asked after a few minutes.
She plastered the binoculars back against her face and scanned the tower. Moments later, a light flashed through the top window. Once. Twice. Thrice. “It’s done,” she almost yelled. “Get your ships in there before anyone wakes up.”
He dashed away, barking orders. Half-covered lights clicked, flashing commands. One by one, the dark silhouettes of a dozen ships split the sea to rush into the defenceless port. With bated breath, she watched them pass through jetties that gaped like an open mouth. The ships docked silently and spewed out columns of soldiers who hurried through the empty piers and into dark buildings.
Moments later, the wind carried screams and curses. Lights flickered on, illuminating shadows darting around the wharf. Horns echoed through the night. A bell clanged, then stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
A ship raised its sails and tried to leave the port, only to crash into a laden freighter whose captain had the same idea. Panicked shouts filled the air. Sailors, still half-dressed, jumped into the sea and swam to the port’s perceived safety. Flames engulfed the joined ships. They devoured their sails, leaving the currents alone to carry them away.
“Someone forgot to put out an oil lamp,” the captain observed dryly, returning to her side.
Ba-dam.
They turned their attention back to the port, where a lone energy cannon, sitting atop a tower overlooking the wharf, bravely attempted to stem the Antheans’ onslaught. Its charge overshot the jetty and splashed into the sea.
She braced herself for a second charge. Instead, she heard more screams. Moments later, the Anthean owl flew on a hastily-raised flag atop the tower. Below, soldiers chased terrified Magneans out of their barracks and into a sea rapidly turning crimson with blood. Most defenders were cut down before they had a chance to reach the red waters that lapped indifferently at the jetty’s stone walls. The mindless slaughter turned Sol’s stomach.
This is done in my name.
Sick rose to her throat.
No, not in my name, she corrected herself. In Anthea’s name.
The Marshes
August 19, Lehmor
Lehmor stopped to catch his breath. He let out short pants, his lungs on fire from the steep ascent. He and Moirah had left their horses at the foot of the hill, as tradition dictated. They were climbing the winding footpath as man and woman, but would return as husband and wife. The marriage between the offspring of the Wind Warriors and the Fire clan leaders would cement the peace between the two tribes; a peace rooted on a chance encounter, five years ago.
“We’re almost there,” Moirah wheezed, doubling over.
They covered the rest of the way in silence until they finally faced a cave at the side of the mountain, sitting at the centre of ancient ruins. Torn, jagged ramparts burst through the crusted soil to show where an outer wall had once stood. Tall trees and shrubs grew amongst the remnants of ancient structures dotting the once impressive complex. A diminutive old woman rested at the cave’s mouth, singing to herself as she stoked a small fire on the ground. She paused to give them an absentminded nod.
“Well met,” she said in a quiet voice that carried unexpected authority.
They lowered their gaze in reverence. They had last met her when they were but babies, their mothers bringing them to her for the traditional blessing. The oracle, renowned for her skills and ability to talk to beasts and spirits alike, commanded the respect of all tribes.
“We’ve come for your blessing—” muttered Lehmor.
She interrupted him, not unkindly, but with a voice that bore no disagreement. “I know why you’re here, Lehmor of the Wind Warriors. But you won’t wed today. You must do the Lady’s bidding first.” She fixed icy blue eyes, which contrasted sharply with her dark complexion, on him. “Be warned: it comes with a price.”
He stared nervously at his muddy boots. He did not dare disobey, of course. The Old Woman’s voice carried the Lady’s will.
“What…” Moirah cleared her throat. “What is the Lady’s wish?”
“You have to rescue a newcomer child. You’ll find him at the foot of the next hill.” She reached into her long sleeves and fished out two hourglass-shaped cylinders. “You’ll need these, but you must hurry. Once he’s safe, bring him to me. Then, you can wed.”
She handed them the devices. Lehmor’s curiosity peaked as he examined the glowing metal that pulsed softly in his hand, as if aliv
e. One side had an ornate sword etched into it, an open palm adorning the other. Thin veins covered its smooth surface.
“A newcomer? Why would…” he mumbled, as he awkwardly fumbled with the hourglass, trying to understand. The newcomers had taken their land and beasts and repaid kindness with cruelty. Even Enki had found that out eventually. Why would anyone want to help them?
He clasped the end of the hourglass with the hand etched on it, and the cylinder burst into life with a soft swooshing sound, cutting his words short. It expanded both towards and away from him along the thin middle. The lower half covered his hand up to the wrist, while the upper half consisted of a brilliant blade of metal and light that formed an extension of his arm. An arc engulfed the metal, so bright it burned his eyes. The letters of the people of old lit up along its length.
Every hair on Lehmor’s body stood on end. Necessity had familiarised him with the weapons favoured by the newcomers, but this bore little resemblance to any of them. According to his father, when the Pearseus survivors first arrived, they had but a few weapons with them, mainly guns and flares. These had scared the First for a while, but the survivors’ limited supply of guns and ammunition, along with the disappearance of most e-libs, had made them turn to more basic weapons, such as spears, swords and bows. Save for a handful of artillery weapons the newcomers had built out of the ship’s wreckage, most of their weapons were an even match for the First.
There was only one exception: the newcomers’ most dreaded weapon had come straight from Lucas’ hands, whom all First knew and respected as the unlikely patron saint of blacksmiths. Originally devised as a building aid, any handheld weapon could be adapted to perform as an energy weapon. An electromagnetic field captured, accelerated, and controlled the air particles surrounding the blade’s edge until they formed a thin line of superheated plasma that flowed along its ridge. It could slice through anything, cutting steel as if it were melted butter. The only problem had been the immense energy necessary to power the device. Power cells in the form of palm-sized cylinders carried on the warrior’s belt provided this, but they failed with time, and replacing them was almost impossible.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 5
