by S M Briscoe
Jarred knew very little about the Prophets, the supposed messengers of the Gods, apart from the fact that they were said to be seven in number and, conveniently, very few beings had ever been permitted to commune with them. Much like the Gods they supposedly served and represented, the total lack of any real evidence to substantiate their existence left Jarred just as disbelieving in them as he was their supernatural masters. Of course, he had thought the same of the almost mythic Rai Chi, until he had found himself faced with a party of the savage warriors. The Head of State’s declaration that these Prophets were to be present here, as improbable as it seemed, caught his interest.
Lyshal’s tone changed from it’s previous, almost sensual purr; a seductive tool she most likely utilized to influence her, more often than not, male colleagues and adversaries in a direction beneficial to her own ends; to one far less provocative that communicated her respect and understanding, whether or not she meant either of them. “Cal,” she began, appearing surprised by the Head of State’s revelation, but recovering quickly. “We are, of course, all honored to have these . . . Prophets . . . grace us with their presence. I know you place a great deal of faith in your beliefs. It is something I have always respected about you. And while these Prophets you find council with are part of those beliefs, their . . . expertise, as it were, is in the spiritual realm. Not the political. Though I understand your desire to reacquire their rogue-”
Dorion raised a hand to cut her off. “I appreciate your consideration of my feelings on the matter, Lyshal, but I am also not blind to your own. I respect your right to believe or not believe in what you will, though I would also say that the Gods hold true dominion over all things, including our politics, regardless of our acknowledgement of their existence.”
“That very well may be the case,” Kasdren said, grinning, “but I’m afraid the skeptic in me requires more evidence before I can firmly agree with you on that point.”
The Head of States’s face took on a troubled expression. “As does much of the populous, sadly. The citizenry lacks faith in much of anything. They need a truth to grasp onto. To give them meaning and direction.”
“Then perhaps,” Kasdren said, still grinning, “your Gods should present themselves to us all. Who could doubt them after that?”
“I do believe you are correct,” he returned, his gaze drifting off, thoughtfully. “And I have faith that They soon will.” After a moment, he returned his attention to the group. “In the meantime, the Prophets are the messengers of the Gods, and as such, their council is of great value to me and to us all. To ignore or snub it would be to our peril. As for their rogue,” he continued, his gaze drifting back to Jarred. “I’m sure our guest will be able to aid us with her return in short order . . . by choice or otherwise.”
It took Jarred only a moment to grasp the significance of the Head of State’s comments, at first confused by the inference to a rogue within the Prophets. The realization of who it was they were referring to hit him like a cold spike squarely in the chest, the breath almost leaving him. Was it possible? Was Orna one of these . . . Prophets? In his mind, it certainly made some sense. Her strange abilities. Her knowledge of things she shouldn’t have been able to know. But if she was, what did it mean? The ramifications were enough to set Jarred’s mind and emotions spinning out of control. Had she truly fled the strange order she allegedly belonged to? Or had she been playing them, playing him, the entire time, setting them up for a betrayal? His thoughts and doubts were like a chasm before him, which he was perilously close to falling into. He pulled himself back from the edge. He needed to keep his wits about him, now more than ever.
After a moment, Kasdren spoke again. “And when might we be expecting these . . . Prophets?”
Dorion shifted his gaze from Jarred to track around the chamber, moving from floor to ceiling. “They are close. Very close.”
The Head of State’s odd behavior seemed to catch every tradespeak fluent being in the chamber off guard, Jarred included. Even more strangely, on cue the lighting in the room began to dim and flicker, as though the tower was experiencing some kind of power surge.
“I must worn most of you,” Dorion went on, his focus returning partially to the circle members, “the Prophets do not travel by conventional means. Their domain is not . . . of this realm. Try not to be alarmed.”
Before any in the circle could query on what exactly the Head of State was referring to, most appearing on the verge of doing so, the lights again went into a flickering frenzy, the hair on the back of Jarred’s neck standing up on end. It didn’t take him long to realize that the effect was not the result of some fear of the dark he did not know he had, but that of an electric field that was building within the chamber. He also realized he had been feeling the sensation for longer than the last few moments. No doubt Cal Dorion was feeling it too, which was why he seemed to know something was about to happen. The source of the static field was manifesting itself in the core of the large room, a black void emerging into existence, directly in the center of the inner meeting circle, floating a meter from Jarred’s position, and it was growing steadily larger. Though tethered to the floor by his restraints, he did his best to back as far away from the anomaly as possible.
When the void had grown large enough to touch the floor of the chamber, it ceased to expand, holding its form. Nothing happened for an eternity, or was it only seconds? Jarred was too stunned at witnessing the manifestation of the vortex to comprehend something as trivial as the passing of time.
And then movement. A figure appeared, a shadowy silhouette against the already black void, and it slowly moved forward, breaching the barrier of the anomaly to step into the chamber. The figure was fairly small in stature, Jarred estimating two thirds his own height, it’s true form and identity concealed by the dark cloak draped over it. As it stepped clear of the void, another similar figure emerged, and four more after it. Six cloaked figures in total spread out around the inner circle, forming a crescent before the strange portal. The Prophets. Short one member.
Jarred continued to stare up at the assembled beings, waiting for the dancing shadows that worked to conceal their faces; caused by the still flickering lights; to finally lift and reveal what he already knew within himself was true. Finally, one of the faces turned in his direction, a pair of large dark eyes first becoming visible beneath the cloak’s hood, and then the outline of a face, familiar features that caused his breath to seize in his chest. And he knew then, as he looked into the face of a being that was a mirror of another he had so recently been entrusted to deliver to safety, that Orna was indeed one of them.
“Welcome, honored seers,” Dorion said, addressing the beings not as a Head of State, but a humble believer, removing himself from his seat to stand with his head lowered respectfully. “It is once again our great privilege to receive the messengers of the . . .”
The Head of State was unable to complete the formal sentence, his gaze drifting up over the heads of the Prophets. Jarred followed his line of sight back to the black vortex, still open in the center of the audience circle. Within it he saw the source of Dorion’s speechlessness, another figure, this one much larger and . . . darker. Far darker.
Chapter 41
Gaia. It was unequivocally the most beautiful site Elora had ever set eyes upon, and at the same time, the most terrifying. It’s large land masses, covered by continental spanning cities, visible even from space, were divided by expansive blue oceans, water making up the majority of the world’s surface area. Swirling masses of cloud weather systems crept slowly over both in a scattered patchwork of whites and grays. From what she understood, Gaia’s continental mega cities were actually made up of many different cities, broken up into jurisdictions for more orderly governance. The world’s capitol, Usaria, was the largest of all of them and the center of government for all of the Sect Dominion. And it was where Jarred had been taken.
Standing between the them and the planet’s atmosphere waited a m
yriad of orbital defenses that caused Elora’s chest to tighten with mixed awe and dread. Space stations, defense platforms, warships and fighter patrols formed a protective barrier around Gaia that dwarfed that which they had encountered when leaving Solta by many times. Without their vessel’s unique cloaking system, which rendered them invisible, both to the naked eye and to the sensory equipment aboard the various stations and vessels in orbit, they wouldn’t have stood a chance in passing through into the atmosphere undetected. They might not still.
“Take us in through that gap there.” Sierra was pointing through the front viewport over Kern’s shoulder. “Between those two defense platforms. Traffic looks as light there as we’re bound to find.”
“What about those cannons?” Elora asked, her attention focused on the large weapons emplacements mounted along the platforms’ rounded surfaces.
“Their major armaments are suited for long range targets,” the other woman answered. “The warships and fighter patrols are our biggest concern if we’re spotted. Of course, if we need to make a run for it, those cannons will vape us out existence.”
“That’s a pleasant thought,” Kern put in.
“Well,” Sierra returned, “let’s just hope this cloak does what it’s been doing and we’re not detected.”
Kern snorted. “Yeah, then all we’ll have to worry about is flying into the Gaian capitol, finding Jarred, busting him out of whatever stronghold they’ve got him in and making it back out in one piece. What’s everybody worried about again?”
“He complains a lot.” Ethan’s voice was low and directed at Elora, but on the confined flight deck everyone would have heard the comment.
Sierra smirked. “Tell me about it.”
Kern spared a glance back at them from his seat. “I’m not complaining.”
“It sure sounds like complaining from back here,” she said, smirking at Elora and Ethan.
“I’m just reminding everyone of what we’re up against,” he replied. “It might be a good idea if we talked out our plan.” There was silence on the flight deck for a long moment. “We do have a plan, right?”
Sierra shrugged. “If by plan you mean getting to Gaia and finding Jarred, then this is pretty much it.”
Kern seemed to think about that while continuing on a course between the defense platforms. “So, what are we going to do once we find him?” he asked.
Sierra was quiet, her gaze fixed out through the viewport, and as the seconds passed Elora began to wonder if she was going to answer. If she had an answer. Elora certainly didn’t have one herself. She wasn’t a soldier or a resistance fighter. She wasn’t trained to do this kind of thing, as Kern and Sierra had been. She only knew that she had to do it. She had to try.
“I guess we’ll have to make that part up once we get to it,” Sierra said, finally.
“Some plan.” Kern didn’t sound impressed.
“Do you have something better?” she asked.
“Nope,” he returned. “But you’re really the strategist out of the two of us. I guess I was just expecting you to have . . . something. Aside from winging it.”
“You don’t approve?”
“Look who you’re talking to?” Kern replied. “If I do anything I’m winging it. I’m just not used to seeing you do the same.”
“Well, I guess I’ve been doing a lot of things I usually wouldn’t lately,” Sierra admitted.
Elora supposed that was probably true for all of them. Definitely for herself. A week ago she never would have imagined she’d be sitting onboard a stolen crime lord’s transport, heading for the Sect’s capitol world on a mission to rescue a man she had known for as many days. A bounty hunter no less. A man that had saved her own life as well as her brother’s . . . more than once. With any luck, they would be able to return the favor and save his life for a change this time.
They soon passed beyond the last of the heavy weapons platforms, leaving the lines of patrolling warships behind as well, Kern breathing a relieved sigh as they did.
“We’re through the secure zone,” he announced, altering their vector to take them down into the atmosphere. “Now comes the hard part.”
Looking at the jaunting task ahead of them, Elora knew that was a fact. They were flying into a firestorm, hoping to pull off the impossible. Just a week earlier she never would have imagined being part of anything even remotely close to this. Not in her wildest dreams. But the last number of days had been riddled with one crazy chase, escape attempt or firefight after another, and she had to admit that this suicidal rescue mission suddenly didn’t seem quite as crazy as the Elora from a week earlier would have seen it.
Maybe Ethan wasn’t the only one that had changed.
* * *
It wasn’t so much fear that seized Rho’uk at the sight of the . . . being . . . that had exited the portal after the Prophets, as shock. A cold wave of dominant energy that shook him to his core and left him trembling. He was frozen, immobilized by the newcomer’s presence, as though caught beneath a crushing weight. The weight of truth. A God, in physical form, stood before him, the most potent example imaginable of his ignorance. His lack of faith. How wrong he had been to doubt Them. To doubt Their return. He was a fool to think himself wise enough to question the nature of the Gods. That he could comprehend Their motive. Their will. Silently, he begged forgiveness, looking up with great effort, to gaze upon the Usarion deity which had crossed over from its Godly realm.
It stood far taller than the average being, than even Durak, a larger than average Gnolith, who had, much like Rho’uk and the others, dropped to his knees at it’s arrival. It’s body was clad in overlapping layers of what appeared to be armor, though Rho’uk was unsure of it’s actual composition, which had a strangely organic appearance. It wore a mask or a helmet of some kind, similar to the rest of its armor, the faceplate expressionless, though it was unquestioningly meant to instill fear in those that beheld it. He knew the face well. It was the same that adorned the great doors of the Rai Chi Battle Hall, the difference being the pair of glowing sulphuric yellow eyes beneath it, which burned with a malice so potent that meeting their gaze sent waves of nausea flooding over him. The being was more than intimidating. It’s dark presence was undeniable, it’s power almost deafening. What could it be, but a God?
“Turaus.”
Xin’ma, his head still planted firmly on the floor, had spoken the name, though Rho’uk had already realized the identity of the Usarion himself. Indeed, it was Turaus. The War God. The Usarion revered more than any other by the Rai Chi. He stood before them now in all of His horrible magnificence. Powerful. Glorious.
“My Lord.” It was Cal Dorion, the Dominion Head of State that spoke this time, coming up to one knee on the floor, while keeping his head lowered and eyes averted. “We, your devoted servants, are blessed to be of unworthy witness to your divine return to this world.”
Turaus shifted His gaze, which Rho’uk was surprised to find locked steadily on the human tethered to the floor at His feet, to settle on the bureaucrat. “Unworthy witness you are all,” it spoke, in a divine tongue that was unknown to Rho’uk, though impossibly, the words’ meanings became instantly clear in his mind. “Yet, as much is true of all mortals. Our return shall be witnessed by all such beings. You are merely the first.”
“And we are eternally gracious, Lord Turaus, for the great honor you have seen fit to bestow upon us,” came the Head of State’s reply. “We live to serve You and have worked diligently and obediently to prepare the way for all of our Lords’ returns.”
“Your efforts are for nothing!” Turaus nearly shot back, accusingly, the force of His anger rocking the chamber. “Your preparations are nothing! We return to a world resembling not that which We left. One in which the unworthy masses roam free as untethered animals and without fear of those they should serve.”
“We are at your mercy, Great Lord,” Dorion apologized, trembling, most likely feeling the same overpowering effect from the great de
ity that Rho’uk was. “It has been our shortcoming. Our failure. The masses have . . . forgotten. The populous . . . Your servants have grown . . . complacent. Arrogant. They have lost their fear and their belief in Your power. Your truth. But we will make them remember. We will teach them to fear again.”
“You will do as you have done,” Turaus returned, sharply. “Nothing. We will teach them the error of their beliefs. We will teach them to fear Us once more. We will teach them a fear they have not known. And then . . . we will reclaim all that is Ours.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The Head of State’s once confident voice had diminished to that of a chastised child. Rho’uk couldn’t blame him. Most would have curled into their species’ version of a fetal position if confronted by a God.
Turaus’ glowing eyes appeared to brighten, like two flames fueled to greater intensity. “And what of the betrayer?”
Dorion looked hastily towards Durak, looking all too eager to pass the focus on to another. “High Commander?”
Durak, who had risen to a kneeling position along with the rest of the room’s occupants, Rho’uk included, stiffened and raised his head to meet the War God’s gaze. “Lord Turaus. We have tracked the rogue Prophet’s movements and had acquired her, but . . . she has been aided by human insurrectionists and . . . thus far she has managed to elude capture.” The High Commander lowered his head again, heavily. “I have failed You, my Lord. My life is Yours to take.”
“Yes,” the Turaus returned, stepping forward. “It is.” After a long silent moment, in which the War God may have actually been considering taking the High Commander’s life, He continued. “Yet, a Prophet is not so simple an acquisition. She will have the power of foresight and this will be to your detriment. You must be ever vigilant of this should you wish not to join her in her fate.” His gaze again drifted back to rest on the human once more.
