Eternal Horizon: The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn (Eternal Horizon: A Star Saga Book 1)

by David Roman

  “The artist, Vincent,” Duell said, “is a rebel against apathy. Unlike others, the artist seeks change and ways to inspire others, even though he is often despised by his peers. But, just as there is the artist persona, there is also another that stands in his way: the sociopath.”

  Vincent chuckled. “The sociopath?”

  “The sociopath wants power, wants to be feared instead of loved, and despises those that thrive in something they couldn’t do. Unlike the artist, they care what others think of them, and henceforth they lie, cheat, and steal just to get the attention of the masses. Their sole purpose is to achieve power and create a prison system where it is nearly impossible for individuality to exist. It is evident from the smallest group of peers to the largest nations, this continuous battle between the artist and the sociopath over the majority. And once the sociopath wins, all hope is lost. Just look at this cult, they’re wiping out entire planets without question because they are under the influence of sociopaths.”

  “Well, how do you expect to stop them if they’re so stubborn?”

  Duell remained quiet for several seconds, and then answered, “Because unlike those of other religions, their deity’s not an invisible idol.”

  At that point, Vincent realized Duell’s objective: the Xenian sought not only to liberate Urtan, but also the billions of the followers of the Order.

  They reached the plaza and proceeded to the castle.

  “What does the Warrior Sage stand for?” Vincent asked. “You’ve never explained it to me.”

  Duell turned sideways to look Vincent in the eye. “Freedom. We stand for freedom. Freedom of the will, of the mind and of character. And we will fight those who seek to deprive people of these freedoms. Violence is never the answer, Vincent, but you must realize that it’s a measure that must be taken to fight evil.”

  After a few minutes Duell said, “The original purpose of the Tel Kasar was to make sure sociopaths did not attain positions of power on Xenon; and now it is up to the four of us to remove them from the positions they hold in the galaxy.”

  Vincent understood who the fourth Tel Kasar was supposed to be but had no response.

  “But if the Warrior Sage stands for freedom, what of this Zeth and Na’ar?” Vincent then asked.

  “Occasionally, the Warrior Sage can be blinded by what he does and believes that the best way to ensure freedom is to enforce it by his own means. Which, I will tell you now, is against everything we stand for.”

  They passed the busy portico and entered the castle, ignoring the Urtan commanders who bowed gracefully in their presence with hopes that Duell would confer with them. Vincent could see how their attitude would irritate others, as Thanatos had mentioned earlier. They gave the impression as if they came to this world for a vacation.

  Duell led them to an empty library that opened into a veranda overlooking the gardens. The room was round, with several coffee tables, couches, and a large divan in the middle. Dozens of shelves with numerous books flanked the walls.

  “More studying?” Vincent asked.

  “Of course,” Duell said. “The Tel Kasar trains his mind and his body. We’ve learned about our enemy, and now we’ll learn about this planet. When we are about to involve ourselves in a cause, we study it, we learn it, we question.” He sat down on one of the couches. “You have to be objective and study the problem from every angle before you make up your mind.”

  The twins chose several books and sat down as well, deep into their readings. Vincent looked at the multitude of volumes with the strange characters and sighed.

  Spaide approached Vincent. “I know… they make me feel the same way sometimes.”

  “No, it’s just I wish I could read,” Vincent said.

  “Well,” Spaide said, heading for the door, “don’t ask me. I can teach you how to shoot, fly, or even built an explosive, but don’t bother me about somethin’ like that.”

  Vincent remained in the room listening to Duell and the twins exchange stories about this wonderful planet. They learned of Urtan’s progress, of their early civil wars and the unification of their nations, of the amazing crystal technology, of their first encounter with Gaia’s father before the Xenian campaign, and about the current Dark Age—the time of their world under the reign of the Order. Vincent also heard about a twisted person nicknamed Damien Dark, the High Priest of the Order and Cosmos’ right-hand man.

  Several hours passed, and evening time approached. They went to the cafeteria, where Spaide rejoined them. After dinner, for some bizarre reason, the Xenians decided to take a nap so they could salvage their strength and stay awake throughout the night and parted ways with Vincent and the Dirsalian.

  “Fascinatin’, aren’t they?” Spaide said as they paced the hall.

  “I must admit that Duell’s the smartest man I’ve ever met,” Vincent replied.

  “Their way has an effect on people. It’s that code of honor, the Kasar Delia, which made me join their cause.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The way of the warrior.”

  “I now see why they call them ‘Warrior Sage,’” Vincent said.

  “They dedicate their lives to fightin’, wisdom, and art. Oryon, for example, possessed such knowledge that it’d take a normal person a hundred years of studyin’ to reach that level. To sum it all up: they’re nerds who can kick your butt.”

  Vincent chuckled and asked, “You mentioned art. Are you speaking metaphorically like Duell?”

  “No, literally… well, Exander’s an artist.”

  “Exander?”

  “Yes, but don’t go askin’ him, or he’ll snap again. Damocles is a poet, and Duell’s a writer. He’s written several philosophy books and hopes to begin a biography about Oryon after this.”

  “Really? I’d love to read them. If I could read, that is.”

  “Now it’s obvious you’re one of ’em,” Spaide said, shaking his head.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Cuz there’s an army of psychos a day away from here, and you’re worried ’bout such incidental things.”

  “Hmph,” Vincent scoffed and looked away, thinking. Spaide was right. He really didn’t worry about that at all, probably because of Duell’s assurance. But then another thought crossed his mind, What if Duell is crazy? “Well, you seem to be taking things lightly,” he said.

  “Try hangin’ out with them for thirteen years.”

  “Captain!” a feminine voice called.

  They turned around.

  Gaia was approaching them with a contemptuous look.

  “Your highness,” Spaide pronounced derisively.

  She stopped, her thick eyebrows puckered. “And where’s Duell? Formulating a plan for the imminent invasion? Or is he taking his modest time to work on his newest sonnet?”

  Spaide scowled. “How dare you—”

  “I know the Tel Kasar are impassive, but to such extent? These people need him, not just his rhetoric!”

  Spaide pointed his finger at her. “You asked for our help, not the other way around! Now have the decency to show some respect for how we do things.”

  “How you do things?” She stepped closer. “The Urtans gave him the maps of the underground passages last night, and he didn’t even glance at them!”

  “Patience, your majesty. The more you worry, the more exhausted you’ll end up.”

  “I don’t have time for games! It’s not just about me: it’s about the thousands of Urtans aimlessly awaiting his command!”

  “God, this…” Spaide clenched his jaw. He then looked over at Vincent and smirked.

  Vincent already knew that that meant the wily Dirsalian had a crazy idea.

  “You said you’ve no time for games?” Spaide turned back to the Princess. “How ’bout you do somethin’ useful then? Teach our new guest the alphabet, for he’s eager to learn,” he said, patting Vincent on the shoulder.

  Gaia soothed down, squinted in glare, and then looked over at Vincent.
“Is that true?”

  “Well, yes… I guess…” Vincent babbled.

  “Great then!” Spaide waved his arms in satisfaction. “You’ll be in good hands,” he said to Vincent and winked before hurrying down the hall.

  “I swear, Vince, they’re going to drive me crazy with that attitude of theirs,” Gaia said, leading the way.

  He noticed how she called him Vince. She remembered. He began thinking about what Spaide had told him…

  “Look, you don’t have to do this if you’re busy,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I’m worn out. I might as well take a break.”

  As they reached the library, she brought forth a leather-bound book, and they sat down on the couch. She appeared depleted: her hair was tousled, and her eyelids seemed heavy; evidently she didn’t get much rest last night by running around and making sure everything was well prepared.

  Nevertheless, they started studying. She put on a pair of reading glasses as she showed him the various symbols and at times even told him to take out the neural translator, at which point he could hear the melodic Xenian language. He grasped the information quickly, just as Duell said he would. Within an hour, he could recite the full alphabet and make connections between the alien letters to those of English.

  They then began reading, small words at first, and complete sentences later.

  “Kesane tera balla,” Vincent read. “’To live is to love.’ Is that right, Gaia?” He turned to her, but she was already asleep, crumpled on the couch next to him. He looked at her angelic face, finally at peace, her lips forming a smile. He wondered what she dreamt about, hoping that it was a dream of joy so she could escape the unjust reality. He thought about waking her up, but declined to do so. Instead, he gently took off her glasses and set them on the table. He then continued reading the book, attempting not to make any noise. She leaned her head on his shoulder and muttered something. He didn’t move…

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Last Sunset of Urtan

  A white space… no walls, no borders, no ceiling, no ground—just an area of endless whiteness as if some abysmal vortex sucked out all matter. Vincent took a step and glanced down, seeing nothing beneath his feet but the whiteness, not even his own shadow.

  How odd…

  When he looked up a grizzled-haired man in a black outfit materialized in front of him. He was sitting cross-legged with his back turned to Vincent.

  An intuitive feeling coursed through Vincent. He felt as if he knew this man, this familiar stranger…

  “Oryon!” Vincent darted forth and stopped before the Xenian. “I… I don’t understand,” he said, waving his arms.

  No response.

  “What do you want me to do, Oryon? What are you trying to tell me?”

  Oryon looked up. He had the face of a man who’d seen countless tragedies, battles that involved his brethren drenched in blood, maimed before his eyes—a face withered by emotional pain.

  A lump formed in Vincent’s throat. There was a sudden connection between them: he felt Oryon’s grief.

  Oryon quietly stretched out his hand, pointing beyond Vincent.

  Vincent turned. An open doorway stood in the middle of the whiteness, and through it he saw a large city: busy streets, automobiles, people—humans!—walking.

  “Home,” he said in relief and hurried to the opening.

  “Bye,” a feminine voice came from behind.

  He looked back and this time saw a beautiful young woman next to Oryon. He’d never seen her before, but for some reason he heard himself saying, “Gaia.”

  She giggled, whirled, and ran to another door that sprouted in distance.

  What’s going on here?

  Suddenly he had the feeling that behind that other door were armed men waiting to kill her.

  “No, wait!” Vincent screamed out.

  She didn’t hear him.

  He dashed after her.

  “The portal!” Oryon shouted.

  He stopped and looked back. The path to Earth was disappearing.

  “But, Gaia—”

  “Make a choice, Vincent Saturn…”

  *

  Vincent jumped up. Gaia was gone, leaving him all alone in the quietness of the library. He looked over at the watch and—based on what Spaide taught him—figured it to be around six in the morning, at the crack of dawn.

  “These dreams,” he mumbled. “I’m losing my mind.”

  He got up, stretched, and approached the veranda, wondering if this was the last time he’d see the sunrise, aware that by this time tomorrow, the whole planet would be turned to rubble. “It’s always quiet before the storm,” he whispered.

  He proceeded to his room, took a long shower, and then continued to wander about the castle until he found Duell’s chambers—a room much larger than his own.

  The Xenians stayed up all night. Damocles and Duell were studying the maps the Urtans have provided for them and didn’t pay much attention to Vincent. Spaide was asleep on the couch, at times muttering something. The television monitor was on, displaying some racing show.

  Vincent found Exander on the balcony, staring away into the horizon, the wind tossing his blonde hair.

  The Xenian turned around sharply. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Vincent replied. “Good morning.”

  Exander gave him a distrustful look but then eased. “Good morning.”

  Vincent walked up next to the youth and leaned on the parapet, observing the sunrise. The smaller sun was up ahead of its big brother, its rays creeping onto the greenery and flickering on the motley backs of the Uruzu creatures. He looked down at the steep hill that stretched from the castle all the way to the ravine; trees as tall as the castle itself rampant throughout its length, their leaves rustling, whispering a welcoming melody to the suns.

  The two stood there in silence, the hostility still making its overstayed presence.

  “What do I have to do to earn your trust?” Vincent asked.

  The Xenian cocked his head, eyebrow raised. “Trust? Just because I trust you doesn’t necessarily mean that I like you, okay?” he said and turned away, signifying that he wanted to be left alone.

  Vincent figured it was pointless to argue with the youth, remained quiet for several more minutes, and then went back into the room and sat down on the couch next to the Dirsalian. He found it surprising that he could actually grasp most of the titles on the television, thanks to Gaia.

  “Vincent.” Duell approached. “What did you see in this room?”

  Vincent glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  “When you walked in, you certainly studied the surroundings. Now, tell me what you saw, and don’t turn around to look.”

  “Another test, huh?” Vincent said. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the image. “There’s a painting on the wall...” he began. “…depicting an Urtan atop one of those flying creatures, fending off a serpent. Documents are scattered all over the table, mostly blueprints. There’s a large vase holding a plant with violet leaves in one of the corners. Your swords are in the other corner, and Spaide’s gun-belt is behind this couch. There’s also a clock on the wall, and the chandelier is missing one of the crystals…”

  Spaide opened his eyes. “Wow, isn’t that swell? That’s some attention to detail.” He then yawned and said to Duell, “The boy deserves a medal.”

  The Xenian master ignored the Dirsalian. “Good,” he said to Vincent. “Go ahead, look about.”

  Vincent glanced back, and everything was just as he had described.

  “Remember, you must be vigilant,” the Xenian warned. “Pay attention to your surroundings and, as I’ve mentioned many times before, trust your instinct. That’s my last lesson to you. Unfortunately, I’ve no time to teach you anything else; I hope you understand.”

  “I was surprised you even took your time yesterday.”

  “Remember everything you’ve learned.”

  “I’ll sure try… I mean, I sure will, Sage
Duell.” Vincent got up and bowed.

  Duell returned the custom.

  They ate a hearty breakfast and went on their separate ways.

  *

  Vincent spent the rest of the day with the Dirsalian. He donned his own jeans, boots, and Spaide’s camouflage shirt in preparation for the armor he’d have to wear later. It took them an entire hour to extract and destroy the homing device the Imperials managed to plant on the Serpent during their daring escape. During that time, Spaide found an old cigar in one of the ship compartments and wouldn’t stop crying out in joy.

  “I swear, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to smoke again,” he said, lighting up the cigar and taking a deep drag. “Come, let’s take a break before we head back.” He stepped outside and sat on the grass in the shadow of the ship.

  Vincent collapsed next to him.

  Spaide blew out several smoke rings. “I think the Serpent’s pretty safe here in the woods.” He looked up at the wing and said in a low voice, “It’s gonna cost a fortune to replace the rockets…” He then scanned the battered hull. “Look what they did to my baby…”

  “So, this ‘Zeth,’ he’s the bad guy?” Vincent asked.

  “Yes, the bad guy,” Spaide responded. “The vilest figure in the Imperial…” He paused, took a mouth full of smoke, and then said, “…well that also depends on how you look at it; accordin’ to him, we’re the bad guys.”

  Vincent stared at the Dirsalian with his ever-puzzling look.

  Spaide sighed, but still took his time in educating Vincent on the Tel Kasar split during the Intergalactic War and on the feud between Oryon and Zeth. They sat there for a few hours, talking—the garrulous Dirsalian answering Vincent’s persistent questions.

  Dark clouds began to assemble when they decided to head back to the castle.

  “By the way, I’ve received some terrible news last night,” Spaide said.

  “What is it?”

  “Remember Servillas and Grenald, back on Heradonn?”

  Vincent nodded. “Yes… the reptilian?”

  “They were caught as we left the planet.”

  “Oh…”