"I am to understand that you are a prideful man?" Cris nodded in acceptance of the assertion. "I am, as well. But here in Eterna, there is no emotion. There is no love, fear, joy, or even physical pain. But the one thing," he stretched out a lonely finger in the dead air, "...the only thing they leave for those to experience; is sorrow. I have been here more than a thousand years feeling sorry for my deeds perceived by another as sins. That other I speak of, views itself as above me, but I don't quite agree. It is the price the human mind pays for having memories. To feel regret over them."
Criston honestly didn't understand. He wasn't a dead man, at least not yet, so it'd be hard for him to comprehend the eternal sorrow of ones, not so well lived, life on earth. His only point of reference was the time he spent in the Halls of Sorrow, with the Keeper Russell, before entering through the eternal gate.
"See, Eterna is a place of nothingness. We don't eat, we don't drink, we don't feel, and we just don't care. But I want my purpose back. I see the eight Worlds have developed to the point that they're starting to come back together. Children born of two different races! I never dreamed of such a thing in my time being possible without tragedy on its heels. I want to experience this great age, I want to live again!" his shouts echoed throughout the five halls. Those halls continually weighed on Criston's mind. He could hear them coming for him. While torn between the words of Drake and the imminent arrival of his predators, he caught a hole in Drakes story that he didn't understand.
"Why then help Sebastian?" he blatantly appealed.
Drake was still in his dreamlike state when Criston spoke out. He looked toward the ceilings like he could see the life in them. But now his facial expression turned sour as he lowered his head to an angle of eye contact with Criston. His body jerked as he laughed. "Who helps a madman?" Cris didn't know if it were rhetorical or not, but he didn't have an answer either way. "Only other madmen, is the solemn answer." Drake leaned in close. "I am no madman, young Draconian."
That's what his overgrown ego told him at least. Julia didn't think she was being unreasonable either when she nearly killed the ones she loves most. He still stood there, way too close to Criston's face. Cris was shocked that no heat or even air came from the man's breath. It were as if he didn't breathe at all, which was highly likely, considering this is the place of afterlife.
"Then how'd you break the Status Quo without help from the outside?"
"That's for me to know, and you to find out. If indeed, you live long enough to resume your search for answers. But trust, I'm not counting on it," he chuckled, turning away. "But you see now. Just in your own phrasing of that statement. 'Help from the outside.' It implies that we exist in a prison. Which we do. And I'll have no more of it!" Drake seemed angry, but still very much so composed.
"Then how can I help?" Cris and Drake both knew he wasn't asking that question so he could decide whether to help. He just wanted information.
"Well played, sir." Drake understood, but obliged nonetheless. "The hand must come off." He pointed at Cris' right hand. It was restrained with the other by some magik binding device behind his back. The bangles lit up in white and purple every few seconds, while tightly wrapped around his wrist. They reminded him of the handcuffs he used to restrain drunks belligerently roaming the streets, and all sorts of criminals in Draconia. Except these are a lot more high-tech than simple handcuffs.
"How will that help you?" Cris inquired.
"You don't even know what you have there, boy. I could redesign the entire universe, dimension by dimension, with that thing there. You're too weak to wield it properly."
Now we're getting somewhere, Criston thought. The hand of fate was a lot more than a shiny new toy that Cris couldn't put down, for reasons, oh so obvious. He tried to pry open this now unlocked door into Drake’s mind. Enter the psyche of his ancient ancestor. "So, the hand comes off then?" Cris needed to sound a little less like a detective and more like a victim. But he wasn't used to playing the role of victim, so he'd take another stab at it, if he got the chance.
"No, it doesn't. That's the sole reason you're still alive, you idiot!" His rage spilled onto the surface of their confrontational plateau. Drake's lips were uneven and trembling like he was growling from inside his soul.
Criston decided to dial it back. "Really, I don't even know why I'm here. I came looking for some ambiguous, and not to mention stupid, idea that the afterlife was in disarray. I don't even get that notion. Things are what they are, right?"
Drake released what anger he had left. Criston knew he was on the right track now. "Well, you could reevaluate your mission," the grand figure suggested. "You could use the hand to grant me, and any others, of course, a chance at a new beginning." He stopped as if he had explained himself thoroughly, or perhaps he was pausing to gauge Cris' reaction.
He didn't shudder or even move an inch in that steel chair they sat him in. He tried to behave as though he were open to Drake's -thought process.“And how could I do that," he gestured with his head toward his wrist. "I don't know much about this thing." He wasn't lying. That's precisely why this was the perfect opportunity to pump Drake for information.
"You can do this, by making me, and whomsoever else you please, Original Souls."
Criston couldn't hide his shock. Drake basked in the glory of startling Criston to the core of his being. He had heard of this deep-rooted mythology before. "This..." Criston gestured to his wrist again, because he wouldn't dare finish the sentence.
"Yes, did your mother not tell you?" he laughed decisively. "So again, young Draconian, what will it be?" Criston understood just how much the conversation was over. So far over that he felt no reason to answer. He'd wait for the creatures to arrive and then initiate his escape plan. "Don't just sit there boy! I need to know!" No response. Drake didn't take well to being ignored. He moved with an oppressive saunter toward Criston, keeping composure for his captive’s sake. "I started to tell you of the difference I've learned about people’s confusion of life and death. See, I don't feel, thus making me rather impervious to pain. Impervious to any sensation beyond the crushing guilt that continually weighs on my soul. This is death. But you," he stuck his firm finger into Criston's chest, "you can feel every little breeze in the air," he revealed that he had one of the smaller instruments from the table in his hand, "and every little cut to your skin."
He slashed open Criston's navy blue shirt when he ran the sharp edge of the butterfly knife across his chest. The fabric ripped apart, each thread giving way to the blade splitting across and putting on display the blood profusely dripping from the Fate Forger’s open wound.
Cris bit down hard on his tongue. To the point that it too bleed. He couldn't decide which pain was worse, but the new sensation in his mouth distracted him from the searing pain on his chest. He didn't want to scream, lest he give this torturer any satisfaction.
Drake wasn't angered by Criston's response to the weak gesture. Instead, he was inspired. He swiftly walked back to the table and grabbed another tool. One with a loop at the end and two handles, like a vice grip. He squeezed twice. Criston automatically got the message from that display. "I wonder, what’s a finger to the man who holds fate in his hand?" Not quite a clever riddle, but certainly a sinister one. He walked even more emphatically this time. He wasted not a second. He went behind Criston's chair. Cris prepared himself for the pain as much as he could.
"Ah!!! Ahhhh! God!" But nothing could prepare him for the shock that radiated through his nervous system. His back arched as far as it -could with the chair and the braces around his wrist and ankles restraining him. He nearly passed out, but Drake smacked him on the side of the head so hard that a tooth came loose. It knocked him back into the mix. He couldn't see clearly, all he heard was a continuous ringing bell sound in his left ear. But he was still awake. Bleeding out from several ends. Drake knew he couldn’t penetrate Criston’s right hand. He instead opted to cut off one of Criston’s natural fingers on the left.
It wasn't enough for Drake. He took that same butterfly knife and drove it into Criston's right knee. This was the anvil that broke the camel’s back. The chair toppled over, the metal made a loud clank against the ground. Cris cried out from the horrific stabbing. Drake left the knife in his leg to fester. The pain was the least of Cris' worries. But this wound was the one that would actually affect his chances of escape the most. He needed to be able to move quickly to get one of those . . . things, to unwillingly break his restraints. The 'things' in question, had already entered the five long channels that emptied into their chamber. They'd be there in only minutes.
Drake knelt down and stole a hard glance from a bloodied, seething Criston. Two glares stemming from two sets of brightly lit blue eyes just above cheeks pressed against the ground. "No, I can't kill you, because that would nullify my only desire. But once the Ravagers get here, you will understand why life is a gift, and very much a curse as well. You have the lavish ability to feel and experience pleasure, but also pain. These things, they don't kill. They mutilate, maim, and warp a person. Their soul, mind, and certainly body. Then they repair you, with their hundred handed touch, just to do it all again. And trust the physical mutilation is patched up only at the exact point before death. The other symptoms they don't even bother to address." He shook his head with a dark grin. "They just somehow know when that moment before death is," he leaned over with a hunched back, and whispered into Cris' ear, "and they've never been wrong. Never!" he insisted.
Drake thought, how appropriate. His little pets had arrived. They stopped just inches away from the mouth of each tunnel. They looked like massively oversized centipedes. A most disgusting sight. They waited to be commanded. They wore similar braces to Cris' around their necks. That's likely how these wild creatures were being delivered their orders, and so effectively controlled. Cris still wouldn't speak. His plan wasn't in the dumps just yet.
“You know, I have actually enjoyed your company. I'm surprised I can say that, on account I've felt absolutely nothing in over a millennium. But today, I see a change coming. No matter what you want to happen, you will do it through me, and me only, young Draconian."
He moved quickly to the wall where the instruments on the table were. He flipped the table over and pressed into a brick on the wall, then two others in a particular sequence. Instantly, the wall shifted, one brick moving behind another, another moving above the other. Eventually, a door was unveiled. He twisted the knob and it opened up to a room with several other people in it. He looked back to the desperate man lying on his side, strapped to a metal chair.
"If you wish to see your meddling mommy, and all those whom you may care about ever again, you'll succumb quickly. Either way, ETERNITY WILL BECOME REALITY, young Draconian." He stepped inside the room, and just before closing the door, he yelled back. "ATTACK!!!”
And the Ravagers converged on Criston enthusiastically, like the torturous fiends they are.
The end, for now…
*Author Thoughts*
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for starting/finishing this book. I apologize for any minor formatting annoyances you may have come across, though I love creating stories, it is at best, a beloved hobby for now. I released this title because I finally finished it after somewhat more than three years of brain storming and failed attempts to produce easy flowing plot lines.
I started writing when I was thirteen, but back then, I only wrote songs. At fifteen, I moved on to poems. (which are basically songs without a melody in mind, but never mind that) Then at sixteen, I came up with my first book idea! But the thought of writing an entire novel was much too daunting, so I wrote a crappy movie script instead. I knew it was bad, and that deterred me from writing full-length narratives for quite a few years. But at twenty, I finally summoned the chutzpah needed to power through my own idiosyncrasies about story crafting, character relation, and everything it takes to build a sound plot. The book I started then was a very raw version of this story, by the same title. Ultimately, I bailed on it, and didn’t try again until I was twenty-two. That’s when I decided that even though I sucked at writing I was still going to see this story realized. After about one hundred pages of this very story, written initially on my touch tablet, I started to get it. I felt like I was actually understanding how words can jump off a page (or a screen nowadays) and into a person’s mind, revealing great detailed fantasies that stretch the imagination to new bounds and unseen ends of the universe. Now, at twenty-three years old, I actually enjoy my own story, like it wasn’t even written by me.
After six, page-one to page-done, story edits (and dozens of miniature ones) I felt like I had something worth sharing. That’s why it’s here on the awesome service of eBooks. I can release this without having to ask for help from an agent or permission from a publisher, which makes me feel super-empowered. To anyone who reads the summary, downloads a sample, and indeed purchases to read the entire novel… thank you from the deep bottom of my heart. That’s my main goal for releasing this book through this means. To see if anyone could enjoy and be entertained by this magnificent journey I attempted to build for my main character, Corinth, and all his family and friends concealed within these pages.
After my very last read through, with help from a friend (thanks Kurt :), I felt like it was ready. I hope that there aren’t any unseen format issues, during kindle conversion and my own weak eye, that mentally rip you from the story. But the few obvious ones noted throughout the pages were necessary for my tightly wound budget. I hope there are no deal breakers in format or the content of the novel. But if so, I do apologize for any inconvenience it may cause someone who spent their money on something they don’t approve of.
Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed!
Kyle Thomas Miller
Table of Contents
Short Reference List
Chapter 1:
Little Boy Close To Blue
Chapter 2:
Worlds Away
Chapter 3:
The Crumbling Walls
Chapter 4:
The Seat Of Power
Chapter 5:
Descending To The North
Chapter 6:
The Nexus' Complexes
Chapter 7:
The Watch Towers Over The Hour
Chapter 8:
Getting Hands On With Fate
Chapter 9:
The Wonder Twins & Friend
Chapter 10:
Daddy Is The Dearest
Chapter 11:
A Penny For Your Thoughts, A Courter For Your Heart
Chapter 12:
All Sales Final!
Chapter 13:
Glass Handed Ghost Man
Chapter 14:
Front Row Seat To Disaster
Chapter 15:
Eterna's External Experience
Chapter 16:
Politics As Usual
Chapter 17:
Game On!
Chapter 18:
Lifelines
Chapter 19:
Lessons In Session
Chapter 20:
For Our Ears Only?
Chapter 21:
What's A Library?
Chapter 22:
Upon The Falls Of Night
Chapter 23:
Ascending Through The North Lake
Chapter 24:
Severe Unions
Chapter 25:
What A Sight!
Chapter 26:
Guarding The Tomb
Chapter 27:
The Grass Wasn't Greener
Chapter 28:
Forging The Next Chapter Of Fate
*Author Thoughts*
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Original Souls (A World Apart #1) Page 52
