Star Rising: Heartless

by Cesar Gonzalez

  The short man hobbled toward the Feehan. He bowed his head. “Salutations, Junia. How are you today?”

  “I’m well. Thank you for ask’ng, Febron,” said Junia as way of greeting. She motioned to Xalen. “This is Xalen. He’s a new recruit.”

  “New recruit?” The slight raise in his voice made his surprise obvious. “I was unaware that Kayos would allow a student to join so late.”

  Junia pursed her thin lips. “I t’ght so too. But when y’ur Reave’s special pet, I s’pose you can do as you please.”

  Febron lifted his remaining bushy eyebrow. He took a few tentative steps toward Xalen, eyeing him from head to toe as if he were some kind of rare specimen. “Reave never brings recruits in himself. There must be something really special about this one.”

  Xalen grimaced. Special? Freakish, maybe, but he certainly didn’t think there was anything special about him.

  The man continued on a long-winded speech. As Febron spoke, Xalen held his breath, trying his best not to gag at the oily stench coming from the man’s mouth. What did he have for lunch? An engine turbine?

  “Febron,” said Junia, holding her hand up. “I’m not here to play c’tch up. Sensei Kayos wants this…” She stared at the young man with a look that made it clear she didn’t think much of him. “This Alioth to be outfitted as q’kly as p’sible.”

  The man nodded hastily. “Yes, yes. Of course. Follow me.”

  The man led them into the metal cabin, which was filled with tables. Atop the tables were all kind of contraptions and tools, none of which Xalen had ever seen before. At the far end of the room was what Xalen could only describe as a wrinkled leather pouch. It had a long turbine attached to it that spun. Every three seconds or so, the pouch would fill with hot air and compress, releasing a loud whine along with a burst of searing white smoke. The turbine on other end was connected to a pot of what appeared to be lava, though Xalen was certain it was melted steel. The mystery of the man’s missing eyebrow was explained. Judging by all the hot fumes being blown around the room, Xalen was surprised that an eyebrow was all Febron had lost.

  Febron’s small figure crouched, taking hold of a small handle sticking out of a hatch on the floor. He grunted mightily, his stubby muscles rippling as he swung it open. “After you,” he said, pointing at the set of stairs that descended underground.

  “I got no b’sness d’wn there,” said Junia with a frown. “I’ll wait here. Make it quick.”

  No one argued with her.

  Febron’s gaze turned to the young man. “It’s just you and I, then. Follow me.”

  Xalen sighed. He’d been doing a lot of following lately. Nonetheless, he followed the man down the dark stairs without complaint. As they descended, they left the musky heat behind, and instead welcomed a chilling breeze.

  “So, you met Reave, huh?” asked Febron, breaking the long silence.

  “Yes. He came for me on my home planet.”

  “Where might that be?”

  “Vintra.”

  The man whistled a long, exaggerated note. “Vintra, huh? That’s located in the Gray Ring, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Thoughts of the textbook pictures he’d seen in a book came back to him. The galaxy was broken up into three large sections. The Noble Ring, Gray Ring, and Outer Ring. The Noble Ring was the most center of the universe, where the Bastion was located. It was here, also, that most of the politicians, families, and Alioths were located. Not surprisingly, the Noble Ring was, for the most part, a civilized place. Law, order, and stability were cherished above all else. The complete opposite could be said of the Outer Ring, which was the edge of the galaxy. There was very little law there. Pirates, slavers, and criminals of all sorts roamed that treacherous space. Centered between both the Noble and Outer Rings, was the Gray Ring. This section of space contained a little of both worlds. There were areas where some sort of civilization could be found, while others were the same, and sometimes worse, than the Outer Ring.

  They continued down the narrow path. Flickering lights above illuminated the grimy steps, which seemed to become more slippery the lower they went.

  “I can’t imagine what would have driven Reave to take on a new Alioth,” said Febron. He stopped, stared at Xalen for a moment, and then continued on his way. “As I mentioned earlier, you must be very important.”

  “Why do you say that?” His hand subconsciously traveled to his chest.

  “Think about it,” said Febron, his one good eyebrow rising an inch. “Reave spends most of his time in the Outer Ring searching for Black Sanction activity. It has been many cycles since the man made his way into the Noble Ring. The man is obsessed.”

  “Obsessed with what exactly?” asked Xalen, his curiosity peaked.

  “I don’t know for sure,” said Febron, raising his hands innocently. “But…” He lowered his voice, as if in danger that someone might overhear him. Which considering they were the only two people underground, seemed pretty useless to Xalen. “I heard from other Alioths, that…” Once again, Febron lowered his tone. He leaned in closer to Xalen. “Reave believes that the Dearg attacks signify the return of the destroyer of worlds, Yashvir.”

  “Yashvir!”

  “Shhh… Don’t speak his name out loud!”

  “Errr… okay.”

  “Anyone could be listening.”

  Xalen took a quick look around them. Besides the dirt-streaked metal walls, light bulbs hanging overhead, and stairs, they were completely alone. Nonetheless, he decided not to argue with the man. He had more pressing questions he wanted the answers to. “Reave told me he believes that the Black Sanction is responsible for the Dearg attacks. He made no mention of Yashvir.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t get to it, but it’s all the talk over at Zizor. They say he believes there is a connection between Yashvir, the Deargs, and the Black Sanction.” He sighed. “Quite sad, really. All this hysterical thinking is tainting his legacy.”

  “Hysterical thinking?” said Xalen, surprising himself by just how defensive he felt toward the man who had recruited him. “Reave is a great Alioth!”

  “Y…yes, of course,” said Febron. He looked back apologetically. “Trust me, I know. The man’s a living legend. Only Junia has ended more Deargs and Black Sanction members than he. But the fact still remains that he has a very turbulent history with Yashvir. There are many who think that he has gone off the deep end; that he’s obsessed with a resurrection myth that only exists in his mind.”

  “There must be other Alioths who are on his side,” said Xalen, knowing the answer before Febron even replied.

  “No. He’s the only one.”

  “What about the army he was with when Yashvir was killed?”

  Febron stopped for a moment. “Army? Who told you anything about an army?”

  “The students as Zizor mentioned that Reave was an instrumental member of the army that brought Yashvir down at the Bickland Station.”

  The man giggled under his breath. “My boy, you have been grossly misinformed. Reave’s army was completely wiped out.” He let that settle for a few seconds. “Yashvir was destroyed single-handedly by Reave.”

  “But how?”

  “Now that…” A pause. “Is a good question. The battle took place in an underground cave, you see. No one saw exactly when Yashvir was killed, but people nearby say that they heard thunderous cracks that shook the very sky. The earth itself ripped to shreds. They say that Reave emerged from underground, carrying the mangled, lifeless corpse of the man who had once been the destroyer of worlds...” He gulped loudly.

  “Go on,” urged Xalen, growing frustrated by Febron’s constant pauses.

  “Some people say that Reave had a wild, untamed look in his eyes. Almost as if…” Another pause. “Yashvir himself had taken over his body.”

  “That can’t be … can it?”

  “I don’t know. The full extent of Yashvir’s power was always a mystery. And it certainly didn’t help that Reave and
Yashvir had a long history. It was Yashvir, after all, who murdered Reave’s sister. Poor soul. Burnt her alive while her brother watched.”

  The grief Xalen felt surprised him. He hadn’t known Reave for long, but already he felt a bond with the man.

  “I’m sorry,” blurted Febron as they reached the last step. “I shouldn’t have told you all that. Please don’t tell Junia or Reave what I said.”

  “I won’t,” said Xalen, intending to keep his word.

  Febron turned to the door, which was a large hunk of rusted metal. “How about we turn our attention to something more lively. Are you excited?”

  “Hard to be excited when I have no idea what I'm doing here.”

  “They didn’t tell you?” Febron licked his lips and clapped his hands. “You’re going to love this!” He pushed the door open.

  Xalen’s jaw dropped a few inches. Before him was a large room devoid of furniture—no chairs or tables of any kind. What it did have, however, was countless weapons, armor, and shields hanging from its four walls. They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

  “I’m the blacksmith for Zizor. With a few exceptions, I designed every single piece of armor and every weapon the students use.”

  “You made all these?” asked Xalen, impressed.

  “That’s right,” said Febron proudly. “And now it’s time for you to choose your own set of armor and weapons. Some people, like Reave, still prefer to use swords, though they are a bit antiquated. Most Alioths nowadays use either metatons or guns.” He trudged over to the wall before them, where a long gun hung beside a red cloth suit. He took the ridiculously long gun into his hand. “This is the Febron .900 Sniper. I designed it myself.” He pointed at the top of the weapon. “The front and rear swivel are both inventions of mine, then I added this scope. They’re a lethal combination. With this baby you can take out an enemy from over five-thousand meters away.” He grinned widely. “And on planets with low density and wind, why you could even reach six-thousand meters.” He tossed the weapon.

  Xalen caught it, grunting under the weight. “It’s sort of heavy.”

  “Oh, that’s because it comes with extra perks.” Febron spoke proudly, almost as if Xalen was carrying the man’s very child. “You see, the Febron .900 Sniper comes with something that no other gun has ever had before…” One of Febron’s pauses followed. “It has the ability to fire energy shots. So if you are a metaton user, you can redirect your energy through the gun and fire through it.”

  “Sounds neat,” said Xalen, handing the weapon back to its maker.

  The blacksmith took it with a frown. “What’s the matter? Anyone else would be drooling all over this baby.”

  The youth narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to hurt Febron’s feelings, but his gaze was preoccupied with the shiny set of armor and sword that hung from the black wall directly in front of him.

  The blacksmith followed Xalen’s line of sight. He laughed heartily as he slapped Xalen’s back. “It looks like you take after Reave.” Motioning for Xalen to follow, he dashed across the long room, coming to a stop before the silver chestplate. He took it in his hands and handed it over.

  The first thing Xalen noticed was just how light it felt.

  “Feels light, right?” said Febron, mimicking Xalen’s thoughts. “It’s made of Acolyte steel, the same material that Reave’s sword is made of. You won’t find a lighter, yet stronger material anywhere in the known galaxy.”

  Xalen ran his hands through thick left shoulder blade, which was much bigger than the right one. It felt soft and smooth under his fingers.

  “If you like that, take a look at this.” Febron handed the young Alioth a medium, curved sword. Xalen took it in his hand. Immediately, he felt as if he had been reunited with a long-lost friend. Unlike the sniper, which had felt alien and cumbersome in his grasp, the sword felt like an extension of himself, a piece of his very flesh and bone. He took a few practice swings, admiring the low whoosh sounds that emanated in its wake.

  Like the armor, it was silver and was made up of Acolyte steel. The hilt consisted of a two sharp ends that Xalen was certain could be used to eliminate someone at extreme close ranges.

  “This feels very good,” said Xalen. “I could work with this.”

  Febron gave an exaggerated smile that spread widely across his battered face. “I’m so glad you found it to your liking. Like the sniper, I designed this armor and sword myself. Though I was beginning to think no one would ever claim it.”

  Xalen took a few more practice swings, feeling more at ease with every second that passed. “Why is that?”

  “Acolyte steel is not for everyone. Less than one percent of Alioths can wield it properly. It requires a certain…” Xalen found that he didn’t mind this pause as much as the previous ones. “Finesse that few beings possess. Furthermore, the steel is not compatible with the skin of most people. It immediately causes a terrible rash for most who attempt to wield it, that’s why it’s been called the ‘blistering steel’ by many.”

  Xalen didn’t care much about the history of the steel, or what people chose to call it. He slipped the thin breastplate over his head. It fitted snugly over his chest and torso. The leggings felt as comfortable as the rest of the suit. He then slowly sheathed the sword.

  He did his best to not smile too much, but he failed. Ever since he’d left Vintra, he had felt like an intruder in this world of elite warriors that he had been thrust into. A pathetic simpleton looking through an impenetrable window. But he had shattered that window. He was now one of them. He was an Alioth.

  Chapter 7

  A short step back. That was Junia’s initial reaction when Xalen and Febron ascended from below. She tried to hide her surprise with a roll of her eyes.

  “C’mon, Junia,” said Febron, smirking. “You can’t deny he looks good in silver.” The blacksmith ruffled Xalen’s hair. “It even matches his hair. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, that’s Acolyte steel he’s wearing, just like Reave.”

  “I noticed,” said Junia, looking unimpressed.

  “Can you send Reave a message?” Febron pressed on. “Let him know that we have another Acolyte user in the Alioth ranks.”

  Junia frowned, and Febron’s face turned an ashy white.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled under his breath. “For a second there I forgot about your past and…”

  “Stop talking!” ordered Junia. The blacksmith quickly complied. The woman turned to Xalen. She looked none too happy, which caused the Alioth student to move a few feet away from her. “Let’s go. I h’ve issues I must at’nd to back at the dojo.”

  She turned and stomped back into the dense forest. She didn’t look back, nor did she answer when Febron yelled out a quick, “Be safe.”

  “Thanks for everything!” Xalen called back before he darted into the curtain of leaves.

  “Come back and visit sometime,” was the last thing Xalen heard from Febron before the eerie silence of the forest once again took hold.

  ΩΩΩ

  They had been trudging through the dark trees for about two hours when Xalen, growing tired of the silent treatment, blurted out a question. “So. Why is Febron so far away from the dojo?”

  Silence.

  He pressed on. “I mean. The dojo is so big. I’m sure you could find a place to put him, and that way he won’t have to be alone all the time.” The melody of birds erupted around them for a second, then it stopped as quickly as it had began. “Or at least Sensei Kayos could send someone to spend some time with him. He seemed really lonely. Maybe an apprentice would do him—”

  “Shhhh!” called Junia from up ahead.

  Xalen didn’t know what was going on, but he did as he was told. He mimicked Junia, who was now staring intently at the ground below them.

  “What’s going on?” asked Xalen.

  “Shhhh!”

  Junia’s eyes darted up at the trees above, then back down at the ground. “Get back!” She didn’t wait for Xalen to re
act; instead she grabbed him by the neck and tossed him aside. Xalen stumbled into a tree trunk. No sooner had he come to a stop, then the ground he had been standing on exploded in a web of cracks. A long, scaly hand erupted from the earth, taking hold of the firm ground. A grunt that sounded more like a howl followed.

  What is that? Before Xalen’s mind could come up with an answer, the body that belonged to the hand emerged. It was something so vile, so terrible, that he could only describe it as a product of the most twisted of nightmares.

  The creature before them was a Dearg, of that Xalen was certain. He’d never seen one before, and he knew that most of them differed physically, but there were certain traits that all Deargs shared: the brown masked face, unnatural long smile that seemed to have been stitched together by a child playing with red yarn, the crimson mop of hair, and the putrid stench of rotting corpse.

  The sheer size of it, easily over twenty feet long and ten feet tall, caused Xalen to freeze, fear taking hold as the Dearg approached him on all fours. Everything moved in slow motion. The creature’s defined muscles along its black body flexed and unflexed as its legs pumped at an uneven pace. The mouth opened, revealing a set of sharp fangs and an impossibly long, forked tongue. Then, with an untamed ferocity, the creature took to the air, its massive body looming over the Alioth. It was mere feet away from Xalen when it was suddenly and viciously thrown back by a tremendous blue blast to its gut. It crashed, back first, into a nearby tree.

  The Dearg hissed savagely at its attacker.

  Junia stood, with a bored expression on her face, looking down at the massive monster. In her hands she carried a long, lapis-lazuli rifle.

  The Dearg recovered, bared its fangs, and ignored the Feehan, moving toward Xalen once more.

  This time Junia sprinted directly into the Dearg’s path, jumping and landing on the creature’s mask. Her right hand laced around a chunk the monster’s untamed hair. She waved her free hand. A blue cube from her bracelet came lose. Instantly, the cube opened, taking the shape of a handgun.