by West, Shay
“Who was the one carrying on as though I were murdering her…”
“Will you two stop? Amber's right. You both were supposed to be acting like slaves escaping from a life of torment, not strutting around like you own the place.”
Both girls glared at each other. Sloan sighed. “We must wait a little longer, give everyone a chance to grow accustomed to your presence.”
“Wait? I have had about as much as I can stand of this encampment.” Valery pulled away and stood facing Sloan, arms crossed, eyes blazing. “I want to go home. These people are so…. stuffy and pious!” Her red lips pouted.
Sloan couldn't help but laugh. “Stuffy? Is that all you can complain about? They have welcomed you both as if you were long lost relatives.”
“All they do is work and pray. Pray for rain, pray for good health, pray for their souls and everyone else's.” Valery rolled her eyes. “It is pitiful how they bow and scrape and live their lives for some invisible man that they think is in charge of everything. It was God who made the bad things happen. Everyone knows that.”
“We believe God saved some humans instead of letting us all die. We must show Him we are worthy of this second chance,” Sloan whispered.
Amber's eyes widened just as Valery's eyes narrowed. “You are having second thoughts about our mission, aren't you? These people have gotten to you! You actually think like one of them!”
“No…that's a lie. I want to go home too.” Sloan turned away so she could not see the lie in his eyes. “We will complete our mission. We will be heroes.” He tried to add some excitement to his voice, to convince the girls that he was as excited as they.
“Remember your family, Sloan. Remember what these good people did to them. We cannot do this without you,” Amber spoke softly, yet her words hit him like fists hammering at him. Not a day went by that he didn't think of his family. His mother, father, and two sisters, all killed by the great General Ted Smith. He closed his eyes.
He and his family had been living with some others out on the plains. The Cowboys had attacked, burning the crops and killing the livestock. His family was the only ones to survive the winter. Once the snows melted enough to allow travel, they had set out for the Jhinn encampment.
The family had camped for the night in a cave they had found in a small gully. It was big enough to house them all comfortably and there was even a small spring nearby. Sloan, a boy of six, was given the task of filling the water skins. He took special care to not let any dirt or sediment enter the skins. He wanted his family to enjoy clean water. Once they were filled, he stood and began to walk back, proud of himself for doing such a good job.
Just then, he heard his mother and sisters' scream and his father shouting. Sloan ran and hid behind a tree that had been uprooted by a storm. There was plenty of dirt and detritus among the roots. A part of him wanted to run away and never look back, that whatever had made his mother scream must be big, and mean, and scary, and would probably enjoy eating a little boy. Another part wished to come to his family's aid. He carried no weapon. He had only the water skins, lying on the ground, forgotten. And still another part told him to lie ever so still and make no noise. This voice spoke of survival and living to see another day.
He saw a man emerge from the cave, wielding a knife with a long blade, covered in blood. The man was tall, with ice blue eyes and long scraggly hair. The man stood still, looking around. Then he loped off toward the east.
After a time, Sloan emerged from behind his hiding place. He walked on wooden legs toward the cave, his mind completely numb. His mother and sisters lay on the ground, their throats slit from ear to ear, blood making red quick sand underneath their heads. His father lay on top of them, on his back, as if he had tried to protect them. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood.
Sloan stared at his family, strange thoughts racing through his head. His mother's hair had come undone from her accustomed bun at the nape of her neck. His sister, Maras, had lost one of her shoes in the struggle. He ran back out of the cave and threw up. He retched until his stomach ached and tears flowed from his eyes and his throat was raw.
I need to bury them. He made himself walk back inside. He grabbed his father by the arms and tried to drag him out of the cave. He was too heavy for Sloan to move. Sloan tried until he felt as though his arms were going to be pulled from their sockets, sobbing quietly all the while. He made animal noises of frustration. He finally gave up, panting from the effort.
Maybe I could just bury them here. He rifled through the family's meager belongings for anything he could use as a shovel but all he found was a spoon. He sighed and began to dig in the ground with the silver spoon.
He had dug all night and had barely made a dent in the hard ground. Some men came to the cave and grabbed him, as he kicked and screamed and yelled that they had to be buried. Someone knocked him over the head, and he lost consciousness for a time. When he awoke, he was in the midst of the Horde.
Sloan came back to himself and looked at the two girls, his gaze hard as green agates. “I remember well what happened to my family and I know who killed them.” His voice shook with emotion. “I will see the great General Smith and his Protectors dead.
VOLGON
Feeror stood and stretched his muscular frame. He had gotten little sleep the past few days. Fighting with the Gorkons had been non-stop. It had taken the coordination of all three colonies to keep the enemy forces at bay.
Feeror heard raised voices and hurriedly donned his armor and utility belt, grabbed his weapons, and exited his quarters, searching for the cause of all the excitement.
“I have never seen its like.” Kyron gestured wildly. “It is a great red streak across the sky!” He spoke to General Kroylir. An audience had gathered around the two. Mouths hung open in astonishment.
“Is it a new Gorkon weapon?”
“Are we in danger?”
A flood of questions bombarded Kyron and the General. General Kroylir was holding up his hands, attempting to stop the chatter.
Premier Viisyr stormed out of the weapons room and made his way quickly to the group. “Tell me exactly what you observed.”
Kyron recounted his sighting of the strange red streak blazing across Volgon's sky. Viisyr's muscles bunched and tensed as he listened.
“I must see it.” The Premier abruptly turned and headed for the surface. The guards at the entrance moved aside as the group exited the colony. Feeror took a deep breath of fresh air. He relished the caress of the wind on his skin and the warmth of the sun. As he lifted his face to the sun, his eyes widened. It looked as if a large knife had cut a bleeding gash across the green sky. His chest constricted and his heart raced. His shoulders slumped as though a great weight were crushing him.
“What is it?”
“Are we in danger?”
The questions and murmurs of excitement and fear filled the air. Everyone had their own opinions as to what the ugly streak might be.
“It is a comet.”
The buzz died as Premier Viisyr spoke the words.
“What is a comet? And how are you sure that this is one?” Feeror asked.
Viisyr gazed at the comet with almost religious fervor. “They are collections of rock, dust, and debris. The last comet was seen many thousands of years ago, long before we were forced to move underground. I read about them while at the other colony. “Feeror, Kyron, gather the others and meet me in the weapons room,” Premier Viisyr said.
Feeror frowned, wondering why the Premier wanted to call a meeting. He started to question Viisyr, but with a harsh glance his way, Premier Viisyr made it quite clear that he was in no mood to answer questions. Kyron and Feeror wasted no time in gathering the others.
They did not have long to wait. Premier Viisyr entered the room and stared at each of them: Kyron, Feeror, Moylir, Voilor, and Seelyr.
“We need to make a journey, the six of us. Pack enough provisions for a few days,” the Premier ordered.
“Does this have to do with t
he comet?” Voilor asked. The new word sounded strange to his ears.
Viisyr held up his hands. “We don't have a lot of time.”
The five Chosen did as their Premier bid, gathering their rations and exchanging their power supplies for fresh ones.
Viisyr paced restlessly in front of the sound-proof chamber the group had built to test Feeror's sound weapon. The Chosen had been busy the last few months creating more of the sound generators. Many Volgons carried modified weapons that could discharge the sound device for a brief period.
The students had also made four weapons that were so large it took eight Volgons to assemble them. When discharged, it would kill any Gorkon for many hundreds of miles.
“Why are we here?” Seelyr asked.
Premier Viisyr stopped his frantic pacing and walked quickly to the group standing just inside the entrance to the weapons room. Viisyr ushered them in and glanced left and right. He wished the main chamber of level 2 was less populated. He could ill afford to be overheard.
Gerok turned to face the five Chosen standing before him. He could scarce believe the sign had appeared. He had awaited its arrival anxiously and yet now that he had seen it, he found that he was not ready.
I'm going home.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and his heart raced. The time had finally come, the moment he had been waiting for. For so many years, he lived with the fear that something would happen to his Chosen, something that would alter the future.
Perhaps the others were right in agreeing to come to our Chosen early.
The excitement was dampened somewhat by trepidation. He knew the danger they faced was like nothing they had ever encountered before.
“We must make a journey to the ruined city near the mountains.” Premier Viisyr was surprised to hear his voice sound so strong and sure. The torrent of emotions running through him made it feel as if he were vibrating.
“Have the scouts encountered Gorkons?” Kyron's reptilian eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of encountering the enemy.
“No. We are not hunting Gorkons,” Premier Viisyr said firmly.
The Chosen looked perplexed.
“Why are we going?” Moylir asked.
Gerok glanced at the Volgons bustling about their duties in the main chamber and made a decision. He had a speech prepared, every word he would say, but at this moment, standing here in the midst of weapons and armor, the words wouldn't come.
They need to see the portal for themselves.
The Volgons knew nothing of mystery or magic. Their lives revolved around survival and fighting. It would be hard to deny his story if they were gazing at the activated portal.
It I tell them now, they won't believe me and may refuse to follow me.
“I cannot tell you here. I will explain everything when we reach our destination.”
Feeror frowned. “Why the need for secrecy? Does this have to do with the comet?”
“You will have the answers you seek. We must make haste.”
Viisyr led them out of the weapons room and made for the passageway leading to the surface.
“Where are you all going?” General Kroylir had just entered Level 2 and stopped abruptly as me het the group exiting the colony.
“We need to go to the mountains.”
Kroylir frowned. “All of you? Moylir is supposed to relieve Femlir at the bunker in a few hours.”
Viisyr cursed this oversight. He had not bothered to check and see if any of his Chosen were up for duty. “Someone else will have to do bunker duty tonight. I need all of my weapons experts.” Viisyr stood tall, taking advantage of his nine feet to stare down the General.
“This is not like you, Premier. You would never allow anyone to shirk their duty.” The General crossed his arms “Why do you need to go to the mountains?”
“Weapons training,” Viisyr said flatly.
“Weapons training?” Kroylir raised his lip in a sneer. “What weapons? Why do they all need to go?” He indicated the five.
“I need them. That is all you need to know. Now let us pass.”
“You go too far. I am in charge of this colony and I will decide who leaves. Moylir, please make your way to the bunker for guard duty. The rest of you, get to work on the power supplies for those large weapons. I want them ready in case of an attack.”
Viisyr's mind raced. He had to have all of the Chosen at the portal. His next act was one born of sheer desperation. He growled low in his throat and lashed out with a massively muscled arm and punched the General square in the snout.
The General stumbled back. Viisyr did not waste a moment. He lunged after Kroylir and hit him again, throwing all of his power behind the blow.
“Go! Meet me at the entrance!” He turned toward the five standing in stunned disbelief. “GO!” He gave Kyron, who was in the front, a shove to get him moving. They ran past the Premier and the now unconscious general.
Several Volgons walked up to the fracas. Most had not seen the fight and were not concerned with stopping Viisyr and the others.
“Is the General injured?” one Volgon woman asked.
Viisyr thought quickly. “We only just arrived and didn't see what occurred. Take him to his quarters. Have him seen to by the medic.” He used the full force of his personality to override any more questions.
Once Kroylir was out of sight, he ran. He did not intend to be anywhere near Colony 3 when the General awoke.
The others were waiting in a tight group just outside the main entrance.
“No time to waste. We must be off.” Viisyr saluted the guards as he walked past the Chosen. He glanced back to make certain they followed.
“Was that entirely necessary?” Moylir asked as they rushed to keep up with the Premier's pace.
“Yes, it was.” Viisyr did not bother to elaborate.
“Your actions have made you a traitor. We will share your fate if we are caught!” Moylir jogged just behind and to Viisyr's right.
He ignored her and picked up the pace, making conversation virtually impossible. The students were trained to obey the Premier and they did so, even now. Though they questioned his actions and the purpose of their journey, still they followed. He led them northeast, toward the ruined city. The green sky, marred only by the ugly red gash of the comet, was cloudless. The sun baked the landscape, creating heat waves that shimmered and danced on the horizon. Their footsteps crunched on the rocks underfoot, sending up small poofs of dust, but not enough to be seen from a distance.
They crossed the river and continued on. The Premier allowed a brief rest, just long enough to eat a food ration and drink a little water.
Feeror took a long drink, watching Viisyr, hoping for some clue as to why they were heading for the ruined city and why the Premier refused to tell General Kroylir. His senses were on high alert, as though he were about to encounter an enemy.
Why is he taking us to the city?
Viisyr stood away from the group, aware of the questioning glances and suspicion. He scanned the landscape for any hint of movement. While he was anxious to arrive at the portal, he could ill afford a fight with the enemy.
The Premier got them moving again and their quick pace ate up the miles. Viisyr spotted the ruins ahead. He stopped at the edge of the ruined city and signaled to his Chosen to take up positions amongst the buildings.
As they approached the building housing the portal, his thoughts raced. He wondered for the hundredth time if he had done all he could to prepare his Chosen for their duty.
The inside of the ruined building was dark, save for sunlight streaming through cracks and large holes in the walls and ceiling. Dust sparkled in the rays of light.
Gerok led them to the east wall. “I will explain to you the purpose of your journey here—” he began.
“Look!” Feeror interrupted, pointing to strange symbols appearing on the stone wall. They began slowly, and then began appearing faster and faster. In a short time, the symbols had created a recta
ngular border. The Chosen stared at the wall.
“Premier, what is this? What is going on?” Feeror's voice shook a little as he stared at the symbols. While he was fearless in the face of battle and death, the strange appearance of the comet and now these symbols had shaken him.
“What you see is called a portal. It is a device that is used to travel from one planet to another, in mere moments. They also change one's physical form.”
“Why was the wall blank until we arrived?” Seelyr had her arms crossed, her head cocked to one side, studying the symbols. “What do they mean?”
“The portal entry only appears to certain individuals, or to those who know the secrets of their activation.” Viisyr found himself at a loss for words. He had so much to tell them. And most of what he needed say would sound very strange and utterly unbelievable.
“Special how?” Voilor asked.
Viisyr took a deep breath. “I must start at the beginning if you are to understand.” He began to pace in front of the portal. He found he could usually think more clearly when he was moving about.
“My name is not Viisyr. And I am not from this planet.” He saw disbelief and shock in the Chosen's eyes. “My true name is Gerok and my home planet is called Gentra. The seers and prophets of my world have in their possession a prophecy that speaks of a threat to all life that inhabits this galaxy.” He was glad that Volgons were capable of space travel and knew of the existence of other life. It made less for him to have to explain.
“The prophecy also speaks of those that have the power to save the galaxy. They are called the Chosen.” He stopped pacing and stood facing the five Volgons.
“You are Chosen.”
He stood in front of them, watching the play of emotions flit across their faces: incredulity, fear, anger, doubt, changing quickly from one to another. The silence stretched out, no one knowing quite what to say. Time sped up and stopped in the hush following Gerok's words. He feared to break the stillness. He knew what it was like to have your whole world come crashing down, everything you knew for a certainty to be true and real, now nebulous and unsure. Each had to come to terms with what he had told them. His heart sank as he realized they must endure yet more disturbing news.
