by S M Briscoe
Jarred felt his outrage increase, but quickly buffered it, knowing that he would get nowhere with Orna by blowing up. Instead, he let out the breath he was holding in attempt to release the aggravation he was feeling. It worked only partially.
“You are weakened,” Orna observed.
Jarred couldn’t deny the fact. His shoulders were slumped heavily and it was taking most of his will just to remain sitting up.
“The healing effort,” she continued, “it is draining, yes?”
She had, of course, been watching him with Elora. She was always watching him. Observing him. He wanted answers as to why. He wanted answers to a lot of things, but the truth was, he did feel drained from the his recent effort, and frankly, just couldn’t be bothered to press for answers any longer. Not now, anyway. Instead, he turned away, closing his eyes as he took another long calming breath. Maybe when he opened them again, Orna would simply no longer be there. That would surely alleviate some of his stress.
“Perhaps you should rest,” Orna suggested, assuring Jarred he would get no such relief.
He smirked as he looked back over to her. “I rest with both eyes open,” he replied. “But, please, feel free.”
“You have difficulty sleeping?” she stated, more than asked. “Your dreams trouble you, perhaps?”
Jarred looked at the slender being for a moment, wondering again who she was and what her interest in him was, then turned away and smirked.
“No,” he lied. “My dreams are fine. It’s this world that troubles me.” He looked around to emphasize his, at least partially true, point.
Orna regarded him for a moment. “Your heart answers differently than your words, I think.”
Jarred looked at her squarely, his discomfort growing once more. “Are you reading my thoughts now?” he asked, jokingly, though the question was serious enough.
“No,” she replied. “Only speculation. Though, your dreams are not to be avoided, but examined. They can aid you on your journey. Help you to understand it.”
“What journey is that?”
Orna blinked her large eyes again. “The same journey we are all on.”
Holding Orna’s gaze for a moment, Jarred smiled to himself. “So, do you do any other tricks, besides telling fortunes?”
“We are all open to glimpses of our paths, Jarred Archer,” Orna replied, seemingly oblivious to his sarcasm. “We need only open our eyes to see them.”
Jarred rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I got that one in a fortune cookie once.” He scratched at the stubble on his neck before continuing. “There is something else I’ve been trying to figure out in my head, though. Maybe you could help me to understand it, in your vast wisdom?”
Orna waited for him to ask his question.
“How does someone,” he began, “as benign as you seem to be, find herself drawing the personal attention of the Sect Dominion and its military.”
“You believe that it is I who have attracted such attention?” Orna asked.
“I know what I saw,” Jarred began. “I know that on any other day the Sect wouldn’t have cared less about this dried up rock or who was on it. I know two people died trying to get you off of it. And I know the Sect High Commander when I see him. So maybe you could tell me why he seems to have taken such a strong interest in you.”
“That is a question for the Sect High Commander,” Orna answered him, simply.
Jarred sighed, smiling to himself. He wasn’t really surprised by the answer, but still, it was a question weighing heavily on his mind.
“But,” Orna continued, “I would hazard to say that his attention is not with me, but with all those who would stand against him . . . and his masters.”
Jarred smirked and chuckled to himself. “His masters? That’s an interesting way of looking at the Dominion, though I doubt Durak sees it that way.”
“I do not refer to the bureaucrats that comprise the Sect governance.”
Jarred had seen this coming and smirked. “Oh, I see. Then you must mean the all powerful Gods?” He knew of Durak’s strong belief in, and allegiance to, what he considered to be, a laughable religious doctrine based around a hierarchy of supernatural beings that apparently ruled over all of the universe. Many beings in the system, including large groups of humans, all believed in the lore, though the details and mythology varied depending on where you were and who you talked to. Truthfully, he found it all to be quite ridiculous.
“You do not believe in their existence?” Orna asked.
“Never met one,” he replied, smirking.
“Not in your dreams?” she asked, watching him, pensively.
Jarred looked into the being’s large, unreadable eyes for a long moment, thrown off again by her insight into his thoughts. “In my dreams, perhaps.”
Seeming to reflect upon him for a moment, Orna nodded, apparently satisfied with the exchange. “Then I shall leave you to them,” she said with a nod, then stood and, without another word, walked away, leaving Jarred to himself.
He watched her go, wondering again who the strange being was and just how she seemed to know so much about him, and also how little he seemed to be able to learn about her. She had an annoying way of successfully answering his questions, without really answering them at all. He tried to set aside his frustration and curiosity, knowing that any real answers to his questions would only lead to more and he had no desire to start down that path. It would inevitably take him to a place he did not wish to return. A place he had left behind long ago. Though, try as he might, the past seemed to have an annoying habit of rearing it's head when least expected . . . or wanted. A shadow, not always visible, that followed it's owner, waiting for any ray of light to bring it to bare once more.
And now Jarred didn't seem quite able to dim that light. He might as well have been trying to blot out the sun, his mind whirling at the mere suggestion the small being he escorted might actually hold a key to solving the mysteries that had plagued him since . . . the beginning. His beginning. The moment he had first awoken, not much more than a boy, in a place he did not recall, with no memory as to what had passed before. A stranger in his own skin. It had been like a horrible nightmare. One in which, as hard as he tried, he could not wake himself from. Until he gave up on trying. Until he accepted that his memory would not return. His past would not return. He was then able to let go. To move on, not in the nightmare that was his need to know who he had been, but in the reality that was the new life he could forge for himself. One which required him to leave his past where it belonged. Lost.
Orna was a clear threat to that life. Though she had not presented herself as being overtly hostile, what she intimated, her supposed knowledge of his forgotten past, was. Her mere presence was a constant reminder of everything he had left behind. A reminder that needed to be removed. The longer he was in her presence, the more tempted he would be to open himself up to what she was attempting to reveal to him. That would only lead down a path he had no interest in following.
Leaning back, Jarred stared up at the dark, engulfing void above him, spattered by a seemingly infinite blanket of stars, and let his gaze settle on Solta’s bright blue crescent, dwarfed by the looming mass of the gas giant they orbited. They would get there soon enough. Then he would be free of his unwanted passengers and could go back to living his chosen life . . . and avoiding his past.
* * *
Elora watched as Orna walked away from Jarred, the strange little being finding her own place by the fire. She hadn’t made out much of what the two had spoken about from where she was, but knew for certain she had heard Orna refer to Jarred by the single word. Hybrid. Orna had called him that earlier as well, at Wasteland Station when they had been trying to make their escape, and she remembered that he had seemed rattled by it. She wondered what it meant and thought to ask him about it the next time she had the chance.
But for now, her thoughts remained on the strange event that had taken place only minutes earlier. She co
uldn’t begin to understand what had happened, let alone how it was possible. Who was this man? What was he, that he could do such things?
Elora raced over all of those thoughts and more, but with one thing remaining at the forefront of her mind, that being the connection she’d felt when Jarred had touched her. The feeling still lingered with her now, like a gentle ringing in her mind. For a moment, they had touched in as intimate a way as she could ever have imagined being possible. She didn’t feel uneasy at the thought, that fact alone surprising her. She thought that she should feel insecure at least, at having been so exposed to another person, but she did not. Perhaps it was because Jarred had seemed just as exposed and vulnerable as she had. She wasn’t sure.
What she was sure of, and painfully so, was that she had just lived through what had probably been one of the longest days of her life. She felt the evidence of that in nearly every muscle and joint in her body. She had passed perilously close to death, and thankfully, was still alive to reflect upon the experience, though her mind continued to return to her more personal experience with Jarred.
She could almost still feel the luminous tendrils dancing across her skin and through her mind as her consciousness slowly gave in to the night and she slipped, soundly and peacefully, into darkness.
* * *
The dream was always the same.
He stood at the base of a tall set of steps leading to a great temple of stone. The sky was black with swirling clouds, forks of lightning stabbing down, unrelentingly from above, as though reaching out for him.
A storm was approaching.
As he slowly ascended the flight of steps, he realized, as he always did, that he was carrying something. Looking to his hand he saw that he held in it a sword. One which he had never before seen outside of this place in his mind, and yet he knew it as though it were, and always had been, a part of him. Somehow it spoke to him, it’s voice a whisper in his mind, urging him on. Giving him strength. It was his companion, accompanying him into this dark place that only he could go.
He looked ahead to the top of the steps, seeing the doors of the great stone temple. As he reached the top, the doors began to open of their own accord, inviting him into the waiting darkness. He tried, as he always did, to see inside, but this was a place devoid of light, and whatever awaited him inside was, in and of itself, pure darkness.
The storm grew more violent, seemingly warning him away, as though life itself feared what dwelled within. As he looked out, away from the temple, he could see only a vast nothingness in all directions, the dark storm having devoured all but this place. There was nowhere else he could go. There was only himself and what awaited him. He was meant to be here.
Jarred.
He turned back to the doorway. The darkness inside was calling to him. He could feel its presence drawing him closer. It grew like a shroud, reaching out from inside the temple, swallowing everything it touched until only he remained, the sword in his hand the only light left against the darkness. And soon even its powerful radiance began to wilt before the seemingly unstoppable void of nothingness.
He felt himself being overwhelmed by the ominous presence and knew, as always, that whatever awaited him inside, whatever this darkness was, he would be taken under by it. It was inevitable, and yet he knew that he must go on. He had no choice but to confront it.
He was meant to be here.
Calm and resolute, he stepped through the doorway into the waiting darkness.
And then there was nothing.
Chapter 7
Jarred watched as a small cargo freighter flew by overhead and was surprised to find that he actually felt relieved to be near some place civilized again. Not that this port was a pinnacle of modern society, but it was definitely a site for sore eyes after nearly two days of trudging through the scorching hot desert.
The spaceport was made up of several docking areas and repair facilities, all cramped closely together to provide some protection from the harsh elements. It was a better known and therefore more widely used port on the moon, as opposed to the outpost he and the others had come from the previous day. Where Wasteland Station was used almost exclusively by humans; there were a number of ports, outposts and even cities like it which catered to single races of beings who seemed to prefer to keep to their own; this port was much more diverse. Beings of varying species moved throughout the station’s numerous docking bays and repair shops, attending to their vessels.
It was early afternoon and the rest of their journey had gone smoothly and without incident. Jarred was just happy enough to finally be here. The sooner he could get a new ship and lose his excess baggage, the sooner he could get back to tracking Mac down again for his bounty, if he was still alive.
His homing beacon was still registering on Jarred’s remote, which meant, at the very least, he was still alive. The beacon had an organic make up, which made it virtually untraceable to scanners, the drawback being that it would eventually break down and dissolve in Mac’s bloodstream. He only had a few days to locate him before that happened.
Reminding himself that he first had to get off this rock before he could find anyone, Jarred directed his thoughts towards the more immediate task at hand. Arden Taliss was here, waiting for him to deliver his bounty, and as bad as it would look on him to show up empty handed, it would be far worse to not show up at all. He would just have to explain what happened at the outpost and hope that the rumors of Taliss’ unforgiving nature were greatly exaggerated.
With the others in tow, Jarred led the way through the labyrinth of spaceport facilities until they reached the largest central docking bay. The dock was filled with vessels of various makes and models, pilots and mechanics moving about busily, working on ships and conversing with one another. The loud sounds of engine fire up and testing sequences, combined with the constant drone of the dock’s many refueling units and the sporadic flares from welders and other tools, gave the bay an almost symphonic feel. It was music to any pilot’s ears.
As he inspected the various models of freighters and transports, he couldn’t help but notice Ethan doing the same next to him, the boy’s eyes sparkling with each new ship he took in.
Jarred grinned. “What do you think?” he asked him.
“There’s so many,” Ethan answered, sounding overwhelmed.
“They all look the same to me,” Elora spoke out from behind, sounding bored.
Ethan just looked back at her, seeming disappointed and annoyed by the blunt comment. He then turned back to Jarred, rolling his eyes at his sister’s lack of enthusiasm.
Jarred smiled and glanced off across the bay, his eyes quickly catching sight of what he was looking for. “Now, that is a thing of beauty,” he commented, honestly. He pointed towards the ship across the bay for Ethan to see and heard the boy’s gasp of wonder as he caught sight of it.
Resting in a fairly open spot at a refueling station on the far side of the bay, was a sleek looking transport, Meridian class, Jarred knew. One of the older Stargazer models, it was a heavily armored transport designed more for function than style, unmatched in its speed and maneuverability. The Stargazers had been a staple of the Sect navy decades ago, before the newer Armada class warships began development. Many similar decommissioned vessels could be found throughout the system now, which would be the reason Arden Taliss had acquired it for one of his many personal transports. It’s size allowed for the spacious transport of a fair number of beings, or body guards in this case, while still being smaller and more agile than the average light freighter. More importantly, it’s plain aesthetics and fairly common use system wide made it ideal for keeping a low profile.
“That’s Arden’s ship,” Jarred continued. “The Taliss Runner.”
“The Taliss Runner?” Elora echoed, incredulously from over his shoulder, snorting to herself. “Are you kidding me? How big is this guy’s ego?”
Jarred turned to look back at her. “When you’re kingpin to the largest crime syndicate in the
galaxy, you tend to become a bit eccentric.”
Elora rolled her eyes. “Gee, I wonder what he’s compensating for?”
Jarred turned from the ship and headed out across the bay, the others moving along behind him. They continued on past the bay’s cantina, where Taliss would be waiting inside, Jarred sparing a casual glance inside. It wouldn’t due for him to take these three in with him. Instead, he moved towards a grouping of small food kiosks and looked for an appropriate place to have his crew rest and recharge, while staying out of the way. A grin came to Jarred’s face as he immediately recognized one of the proprietors.
“Good day, sir,” he said, greeting the human cook behind the counter as he stepped up to the kiosk. “Do you know where someone might find an edible meal around these parts?”
“Edible, yes,” the elderly man answered, humorously, his back to Jarred. “As long as you have a strong stomach.” Turning around, the cook gave him a look of recognition and smiled, warmly. “Ah, Mister Jarred! This is a surprise. Long time since I have seen you.”
“Too long, Mister Kim,” Jarred agreed, with a slow, respectful nod of his head. “I’ve missed your cooking.”
Kim laughed. “You were never a very good liar.”
“I’m surprised to still find you camped out here,” Jarred remarked. “Figured you would have picked up and moved shop by now.”
“Moving too hard on the joints,” Kim returned. “Easier to stay still. Besides . . . I like it here. It is quiet. Not too busy. Reminds me of home.”
Jarred nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean.”
Kim's gaze shifted to look around the facility. “But still not the same. I think maybe I have been away for too long.” His eyes came back to Jarred. “I think maybe it is the same for you.”
“Oh really,” Jarred returned, raising his brow at the old cook.
Kim nodded. “And I am not the only one.”
