Chosen

by West, Shay

  Jon scowled as he finished the last Chosen. He tried to release the power and found that he could not. He could feel it pulsing from deep inside. His breath quickened as he held back the flow. His cheeks reddened as he grew hard in response to the sultry, sensuous feel of the dark power.

  “JON!” Master Brok's bellow echoed through the room.

  Jon turned to face his teacher, an arrogant grin spreading on his face as he realized he could crush the old man.

  “You must let go of the power. You have drawn the limit; even I can see the glow surrounding you. We need you. Something terrible has happened. The Masters have decided you must be told. We are to take you to the home of the prophets.” Brok moved closer, eyes darting left and right. He stood within a hairsbreadth of Jon, speaking so low only the boy could hear. “The future stands upon the brink of ruin. The death of the Earth Chosen has sent the prophets into a frenzy. They are predicting our doom.

  “The time may come for you to use your power, but against the Mekan threat. Not here, not now.”

  Jon took a deep, gasping breath and released the power. He slumped a little, not from fatigue, but because his body was now empty. Everything was lifeless and hollow, colorless and bland.

  “Good lad.” Brok breathed. This boy's power could very well help in the coming fight. It alone might be a match for the machines. And yet the power could swallow him and the rest of us if he loses control.

  “Come, we must go. The Masters are waiting.” Brok gathered his Chosen, while the other Guardians herded their Chosen toward the door.

  “What the boy has accomplished is remarkable.” Gerok was saying to Forka and Mirka. “He wields such incredible power…” He broke off as Brok and the Astrans approached. Gerok did not understand Brok's reluctance in allowing the young one to use his power but he deferred to the superior knowledge of his fellow Guardian in this regard.

  The other Chosen, while grateful to be able to speak with one another, were aware of the tension between the Astran Chosen and their Guardian. Speaking brought attention to the fact that they only did so through Jon's use of forbidden power.

  The group swam over the deep, yawning trench that seemed to descend forever into eternal darkness. Kaelin looked down and wished she hadn't. She came to a stop and could not make herself swim another inch. She was in the grip of terror the likes of which she had never experienced. Standing before the portal had not even filled her with this level of fright.

  “Keep your eyes forward.” Brad Phillips came up alongside Kaelin, grinning his usual lazy grin.

  Kaelin looked up at him, her violet eyes large. She noted how handsome this male was. His body was liquid fire, warm and inviting.

  “I'm Brad Phillips, from Earth.” He couldn't help but notice how long and elegant her body was, ending in a fine train of flesh that undulated sensually.

  These Gentrans sure have a strange idea of what is appealing.

  “I'm Kaelin.” She allowed Brad to take one of her arms and lead her after the others who were so busy chattering with one another they did not even notice the two lagging behind.

  “Didn't I tell you? Eyes forward.”

  Kaelin simply nodded. It wasn't the looking ahead that enabled her to cross over the trench. The touch of Brad's hand sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her body. She was so giddy she forgot all about what it was they were doing.

  “What do you do back on Earth?” She hoped he was a rich merchant, or Lord of some kind. She also wondered what he looked like. Was he some horrid looking creature or as handsome as he looked to her Gentran eyes?

  “I was—am—a Protector. I am part of a group that protects and watches out for the Jhinn. They are a peaceful people who are just trying to survive and raise their families. They are under constant attack from two enemies: the Horde and the Cowboys.

  “We fight the enemies so the Jhinn can live their lives in relative peace.”

  Kaelin gripped his arm tighter. It sounded so noble and dangerous. “What is it like on your world? What do you…look like?”

  Brad laughed. “I will try to explain. Let's see…” He put his hand to his mouth and pondered for a moment. “My planet is very different from this. We live on solid ground. Humans walk on two legs and have two arms…”

  Kaelin clapped her hands. “You sound just like Astrans! We too walk on legs and have arms and fingers and toes and hair.” She beamed at Brad, feeling a closeness with this stranger from Earth.

  Their conversation was cut short as they caught up with the others entering the prophet's domicile. They swam through the entryway and into the library, where the Masters were hovering around the table. Tension filled the room and their pace slowed.

  “There is something you all need to see,” Ferrok said. He and the Masters moved aside so the Chosen could see the scrolls.

  “What does it mean? ‘The circle is broken’?” Gwen asked.

  Ferrok sighed. “We don't know for certain, but it would appear that the death of Tess Golden has altered the future.”

  “Which would never have happened had you listened to me and not sent us early,” Gerok stated.

  “We don't know that she wouldn't have died anyway—” Forka said.

  “What does it matter? She's gone. We can't change the past so let's look to the future,” Ferrok said.

  * * *

  The babble of voices filled the room. Kaelin was yelling at Master Brok, insisting that she be allowed to return home, since it would appear the future was doomed. Saemus pulled her back from Brok. Feeror and Kyron floated off to the side, arms crossed over their chests, expressions of disgust on their faces. The Kromins simply watched everything with their typical serene expressions. “QUIET!” Sloan's voice ripped through the noise.

  “Now is not the time for hysterics. Now is the time for decisive action. We Earthmen have fought against impossible odds.

  “And won.” His eyes bore into each one of them in the room. “Are you ready to give up? I am not. I am not going to let the scribbling of some prophet run my life. We all lived before this day without knowing what was coming and we prevailed. Perhaps doing nothing is what leads to our doom.”

  The Chosen shook their heads. None of them had ever lived their lives based on what someone else wrote down and claimed was the truth of things to come. Astra was the only planet that had prophets and seers. People of Astra did not base their entire existence on what the seers saw in their bones or tea leaves. They took what they wanted to from the telling and pretty much did what they had already planned on doing before going to have their fortune told. Many prophets and seers had no ability to actually see into the future and merely told folks what they wanted to hear.

  “I think we need to examine all of the scrolls pertaining to the Mekans and to us as well. Only with that knowledge can we make any sort of informed decision,” Saemus said.

  Ferrok nodded his head. Perhaps he is right. The Mekans may yet be stopped. “Very well. I will allow the Chosen full access to the home of the prophets with the single rule that they are to speak of what they find to no one but the Masters and the Guardians. Is this understood?” He met each pair of eyes until he got a nod before continuing. “Let's get to it then. We don't have much time.” Sloan took the lead behind Master Ferrok, eager to get his hands on the scrolls. The guilt weighed down heavily on him, like a great cloak smothering the very breath of life from his lungs. He heard a noise and saw one of the Chosen swimming very near and looking at him shrewdly. He thought she was one of the Astran Chosen. He sped up, wanting to be alone but she kept pace, still staring at him.

  Sloan sighed and slowed his pace a little. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Keera swam alongside Sloan, determined to ignore his obvious desire to be alone. She could not seem to help herself; something about this man intrigued her and she had to know more about him. “I don't really need anything. I just wanted to talk. But if you would rather not, that's fine too.”

  Sloan g
ave her a sideways glance, smiling despite himself. He admired the colors of her body as he watched her swimming. It shone like liquid fire. The color seems fitting. He kept silent as they swam. Keera did not speak. She was content to be near this strange and compelling man.

  Master Ferrok led the group to the kitchens at the back of the building. There was a dark hallway leading down to the bowels where the scrolls were kept hidden.

  The few glow rods gave the room a sinister air. Ferrok led the group to the last shelf at the back of the room and began gathering scrolls in both pairs of arms. He took them to a table situated in between two shelves and mumbled to himself as he lit a glow rod directly above the table.

  “Here are the scrolls that pertain to the Chosen and the Mekans. You can stay here as long as you like. I have other duties I must attend to. I will send my servant to you with food in a little while.”

  Ferrok turned to go. “Remember what I said. The information in these scrolls must be kept secret. You are Gentrans now. If you break the rules you will be punished the same as any Gentran.” He left without another word.

  “Well, he certainly doesn't think we can be trusted. Imagine, speaking to us as if we were children.” Keera hovered with hands on her hips in a posture she often adopted on Astra.

  “He is just trying to make a point, Keera. As long as we obey the rules we have nothing to fear,” Gwen said.

  “Well of course we will follow the rules! I never had any intention of doing otherwise. It's just his presumption we would not do so that is galling.”

  Sloan smiled a sideways grin at Keera's tantrum. Her fiery temper reminded him of Valery.

  Valery. The name crept into his brain before he could crush it. He missed her smell, her touch, her taste. And yet he hated the thought of her. He hated that his family had been killed, hated that he had been forced to live with the Horde and hated himself for adopting their ways. He hated General Ted Smith for killing his family and for fueling the need for revenge that had ravaged him and ultimately led to the death of one he had been proud to call friend.

  He wanted to let go of the anger and hate and guilt but he did not know how. It filled his mind and soul, consumed his every thought and emotion. Sloan swore he could feel the negative emotions oozing out of his pores like black sweat. He stayed away from the others, fearing they could smell the rottenness that filled him.

  Sloan found himself staring at Keera. At least she did not seem repulsed by him.

  The Chosen each took a scroll or two and moved off in pairs or trios to read over them. If there was one they could not decipher, they would pass it to another group. In this way they were able to make several piles of scrolls, the largest of which were written in Gentran and others written in the languages of the planets the Chosen originated from.

  “Let us look over the scrolls in Gentran first. I am not sure I want to read more about how our fate is sealed and that doom is coming and such.” Martha Stevens said.

  “Why do you fear the tale of your future and your death? If you die fighting, what better way to end this life?” Kyron could not understand the reluctance of the others to contemplate their demise. Every Volgon faced death each and every moment. They did not let fear paralyze them. Instead, they went into each battle as if it were their last, fighting with every ounce of strength and zeal they possessed. Death was not something to be feared.

  “I do not want know when I am to die. I would rather it be a surprise. That way, I do not always live in fear of the thing,” Martha said. She picked up the top scroll in the pile for Gentra and began to recite:

  ‘The Mekans come, bringing death and destruction. Only the Chosen can save the galaxy. The answer lies not ahead, but behind, to the past you must go. To destroy the enemy you must infiltrate them’

  --It almost sounds as if we are supposed to use time travel.

  Robert gave Number 2 a sharp look. “Time travel you say? What do you mean?”

  --The passage speaks of the answer lying behind and ‘to the past you must go’. The only way to go to the past is to travel backwards in time.

  All of the Chosen except the telepaths stood with their mouths open.

  “Surely you jest! One cannot really travel back to the past.” Brad Phillips snorted.

  --I do not understand. What means the word 'jest'?

  Brad sighed. “Never mind.” He rubbed his face with one orange-red hand. It still felt strange, this new face and body. It felt mostly gelatinous, and yet was sturdy enough.

  “You mean to say that it is possible to travel through time? How would one do such a thing?” Brad shook his head in disbelief.

  --I never meant to imply that it was possible. I stated that in order to go to the past, one must travel back through time. It is the only logical answer.

  “Let's look at some more. Maybe the prophecy will make sense once we have read it all.”

  For the next several hours, the Chosen pored over the scrolls written in Gentran, trying to piece together the prophecy in some sort of order. It was not an easy task.

  “As far as I can tell, the prophecy only says that we must somehow defeat the enemy, but not one of these blasted scrolls says anything of how we are to accomplish this impossible task. Why can't it be a little more specific?” Kaelin threw a scroll to the table and was infuriated that it did not fly across the room as it would have done had she thrown it back on Astra. Instead it just drifted down and came to a silent and gentle landing.

  “Easy, Kae. There is no sense in getting angry about something we can't change,” Saemus said.

  “Oh, blast it and blast you! I can get angry about anything I choose.” She huffed and pouted, grumbling under her breath, gesturing wildly with both sets of arms. She turned around and noticed that most of the Chosen were trying desperately to hold back their laughter. Kaelin grew more angry and petulant.

  “Regardless of their cryptic nature, we must try to understand what is written in these scrolls. It might mean the difference between our success and our failure,” Robert said.

  “You read the other scrolls. We are doomed to fail. All of this is pointless,” Kaelin said. She wished she had refused to come here. Her sacrifice was all for naught, it would seem. She would die here on this wet world and never realize any of her dreams and ambitions. She did not care about all of the others in the galaxy; she just wanted to go home.

  “We can't give up. What if we had not been told of the scrolls or the prophecy? What if we were told we had to fight the Mekans or all life in the galaxy would perish? Would any of you hesitate? Why let the ramblings of a catatonic Gentran dictate how you will react?” Gwen said, her violet eyes blazing. Kaelin's attitude was shared by many, she was sure, but it must not be allowed to take root and grow else it would consume everything, much like weeds in a flower garden.

  “How do we know what is written here will come to pass? Perhaps by choosing another path, the future can be re-written,” Gwen said.

  “You might be right. At any rate, what other choice have we? I am sure if we insisted, we could all return home.” Brent Fields shook his head. “I am not so sure I could forget what we have learned here, nor keep from being overcome with guilt. I do not want to live the rest of my life regretting the decision to quit. The Protectors of Earth do not give in to despair so easily.

  “I for one will stay and fight, even if means my death.” And never laying eyes on Melisa again. He swallowed hard at the thought of his beloved. How can I face her as a man, knowing that I fled a fight with an enemy?

  One by one, all but Kaelin agreed to stay. She stood off to the side, the chromatophores in her body changing to purest white, indicating her grief and misery. The eyes of the Chosen bore into herback. She knew Saemus was disappointed, but she did not care. I don't want this! I want my handsome, rich Lord and my servants and clothing and food, and a beautiful garden where I can lay and bask in the sun.

  Kaelin turned as she sensed someone moved up behind her. Brad Phillips reached o
ut and gently caressed her cheek. She gazed into his violet eyes; eyes that were kind and gentle and without blame. Her breath came faster and her hands went to her stomach, trying to calm the butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence.

  “We have already lost one Chosen. Losing another would be intolerable.” The look in his eyes said there was more than one meaning to his last sentence.

  Kaelin bowed her head and nodded slowly. She followed Brad back to the rest of the group, trying to convince herself she was only returning because of the mission and not because of the way his touch made her heart skip a beat. Stop acting like a girl at her first Festival!

  “I say we leave the scrolls until the new day. Perhaps something more will come to us between now and then,” Mark Vincent said, rubbing his face.

  --We will remain and continue the study of the scrolls. Perhaps we can find an answer that eludes the rest of you.

  None of the Chosen took offense at the declaration. They had become more used to their emotionless comrades. The Kromins did not mean any offense; they simply spoke the truth. The clones did not require as much sleep as the others, an intriguing trait the Masters and Guardians could not explain, but one which they were willing to exploit.

  The Chosen filed out of the scroll room and back up to the kitchens. The bright light from the glow rods was almost blinding. They blinked and tried to focus, bumping into one another in their effort to exit. The cooks did not pay them any mind. They were used to dodging the sightless Gentrans emerging from the dark depths.

  Their eyes adjusted as they made their way back through the library. There were still a few acolytes and deacons about their duties, looking up scrolls for their studies, dragging arm loads of them to tables.

  The Chosen swam back to their domicile in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts, contemplating the future. Most were afraid, and a few just simply saw this as another duty to perform, another chance to fight. All planned on seeing the task through to whatever end, even if they did so reluctantly. The Chosen asked the various servants assigned to them to make sure to wake them at the very start of the new day before making their way to their rooms, yawning and mumbling good nights.