An Elegy of Fate
By S. R. Laubrea
Published by Smashwords Books
Copyright © S. R. Laubrea 2014
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Thank you for respecting the time, effort, and hard work this author invested in this eNovel.
A Very Special Thank-you
To Helen, for being the cheerleader in my corner – I couldn't have finished without you.
To Stephanie, for your critical literary eye – like a boss.
To me mum, because love and support is priceless.
To the countless others who spied on my progress while I was making this – you can find something else to brood over now, thank you.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to those of us who crave a story of epic proportions; a cast that is diverse; a world that is rich and immersive; and a plot that centers on more than one character. Because a sense of Epic is worth it.
Contents
Chapter 1: Unearthed.
Chapter 2: Ysiliad.
Chapter 3: Infusion.
Chapter 4: Awakening.
Ch 4.2: Searching.
Ch 4.3: Ashenzsi.
Ch 4.4: Men & Beasts.
Ch 4.5: Trust.
Ch 4.6: Kyusoakin.
Ch 4.7: Dyiij.
Chapter 5: Distortion.
Ch 5.2: Celebration & Dismay.
Ch 5.3: Morbid.
Ch 5.4: The Inevitable Fate.
Ch 5.5: Freedom & Deceit.
Chapter 6: Ma'Aukja (Brotherhood).
Ch 6.2: Schemes.
Ch 6.3: In Action.
Ch 6.4: Uutaijen.
Ch 6.5: Egression.
Ch 6.6: The Brothers.
Ch 6.7: Obscurity.
Ch 6.8: Fylus.
Ch 6.9: Prices.
Chapter 7: Destiny.
Appendices:
The Location of Dyian.
Dyjian, the Planet.
Peoples of Dyjian.
Aelyth & Aelythian Beings.
Aelyth & its uses.
Dyjian's Calendar.
Unearthed.
The Aylok Ruins, in the 'Blacklands' of Malzeyur;
Luorvas, the 8th day in the month of Nesvyn;
What occurred during the 451st year into the Seventh Epoch of the world, Dyjian.
Arlen admired the white feathery leaves of the last aphagerodict he saw as he came to the border of where the bog stops and the Blackland begins. This time was going to be different. As he stepped over the frayed, gray border of bog decay and debris, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He could not place why, or what kept drawing him here. He was not alone this time. Firm fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged him back.
Sara shivered in the rain, and through the locks of her short brown hair plastered to her face, she gritted her teeth. "What did you bring me out here for? I wanted to go to the zoo, not miles outside of the city to wade through rain and mire!"
He stopped and focused on Sara's face, filtering through his reasons. What to say? His right hand twitched. The hand cannon was right there, in the holster on his hip. Arlen shook his head. "You must not appreciate nature's authentic beauty." He smiled and pulled her along. "No, my dear. I brought you here in hopes of an explanation. Something that can put my mind at ease," he said.
Her scowl softened to a frown. She planted her feet where she stood by the border and crossed her arms. "A war-psyche is more fit for your needs."
"True. But I also wanted to confide in a friend." He stopped and cast his glance over his shoulder, regarding her. Her arms fell to her sides, eyelids relaxed, and head canted to one side.
That is, until he nonchalantly said: "Or an old fling, whichever you are to me first." He stopped by the side of a monumental tower that bowed over from where it stood upright on into the dirt. The sphere mounted on its far end was broken open, and like all other delicate things around the ruins, the glass was strewn about.
"I keep coming to this spot," he said, his eyes roving over the landscape. "Like something is buried just under this." He placed his hand on the tower's side. It groaned. He assumed because of its being old and rusted and the metal no longer stalwart.
"Arlen, it's just an old tower," Sara said, her tone low and irate.
It groaned again, louder, and unprovoked. It did not sound like the groan of old, worn metal. Sara thought it sounded human. She narrowed her eyes and stepped towards the tower, and this time it yelled an indistinguishable slur of sounds. She got down on her knees and poked her head under the bow of the tower, where it rose highest from the mound of mud at its base.
Two little glowing disks of polished gold peeked up at her. She dug out some of the mound and more light flooded into the pocket under the tower's mass. The flesh of the man she found was chalk white and his hair a tangled black mass. He was naked under the tower, thrashing wildly, his pupils constricted and unresponsive to light. There were dark, silvery blisters protruding from the surface of his stomach. They throbbed, both featuring a distinct black spot on the top, that, like the erect nipple of a nursing mother, was tight and prepared to spew.
He had been bitten by a bog ufeidan. The ufeidan coiled around his waist and legs. He could not control his movements: the venom had already made his motor skills useless. It had also forced his pupils shut. Without a second thought Sara took hold of his flailing arm and pulled.
"Help me, damn you!" she yelled.
Sara froze in place, gawking at the shifting body of the ufeidan. It poked its head up, jagged, venom injecting teeth gleaming brown and yellow in the light from its gaping maw. It shrieked. Her hands were locked around the man's palm and his arm that he could not, for the life of him, keep still.
And Arlen's eye twitched, staring, widemouthed. An inconsolably long time had passed since he'd seen an actual ufeidan. The long, legless lizards were quite common around Dyjian, but the ones native to Malzeyur were rumored to be extinct.
His hand moved to the holster on his hip. The beast hissed, drew its mass back, lunged. Arlen pointed his gun at the brown and gray blur. Six bullets slowed the beast into a writhing, squealing, gnarled thing. The creature rolled until its bloodied head was topside down in the mud. Arlen stepped on the ufeidan's throat, pinning it. One bullet, carefully sent through the brain of the ufeidan, killed it.
With the coils loosened, Sara had an easier time pulling the man out from under the tower and into the rain. Arlen took out a knife from his pants pocket, flipped the blade out and offered it to her. "You're not even going to thank me for saving your life, are you?"
Arlen watched her straddle the man to hold him still. His strength was fading, quickly. His fingers twitched but he did not have the vigor to flail his arms anymore, and they laid wherever he had managed to lay them.
"We need to get him into the infirmary." She did not take the knife. There was no sense in slicing the blisters open and draining them where he could easily end up infected out in the bog.
Arlen, with lazy eyelids and crossed arms, did little to help her. "I want my thank you —"
"Hospital." She glared at him. "Now."
Arlen grunted. He took out his cell phone and tapped on the glossy screen. He put it to his ear and grunted a few things as the man's breathing slowed. From swift panting gasps, the breaths he drew were getting shallow, and the
ones he released were getting short. His eyes slowly rolled towards his forehead, and vanished behind his fluttering eyelids.
Arlen rubbed his temple with his spare hand. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, staring down at the man. The golden-eyed man had not died yet, but Sara kept filling his lungs with her own breath, to sustain him.
When the helo arrived, its whirling blades shook the canopy as the transport hovered as low to the ground as it could get. A pair of paramedics hoisted a gurney down and lay it beside the weakened man, lifted him onto the stretcher, sealed an oxygen mask to his face and hoisted him up into the helo. The whole way back to Kneitun Arlen and Sara did not share words.
As the helo passed through the curtain of water, Arlen stared out the window. He was the last one to leave the helo, after Sara and the paramedics with the man on the stretcher had vanished beyond the emergency wing doors.
Arlen bit his lower lip. The pain kept his eyes from narrowing and his face from contorting into a scowl. He never expected to find a man. He balled his fist, watching Sara.
Sara focused on the man's face. "Everything is going to be all right. Just stay with me," she said, pulling the dirt out of his matted hair.
The nurse pushed the IV needle into his arm. Seconds later she thrust a needle into the connector. She gradually pressed the plunger until the milky anti-venom filled the drip line. Soon the vital signs monitor began beeping at a steady pace. His breathing remained shallow, but his eyelids stopped fluttering and his muscles relaxed.
Sara donned latex gloves, a surgeon's coat and a white mask. The nurse brought the surgical tray over and stood beside her. She took the scalpel and sliced the blisters, black-silvery blood and yellow-green pus gushing forth. She pushed on the skin around the wound, forcing more pus up.
He groaned again. The slight throbbing pain he easily endured, even the tension of pushing and squeezing around the bites. But the disinfectant burned, horribly.
Sara sighed and lifted off her mask. She bandaged him up real good, checked his IV, then smiled down at him. "Today I gave you a second chance," she said, lifting his head to put another pillow under him. Finally she noticed Arlen, his fist pressed to his lips. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway.
"Another day, another life saved." He smiled and opened his arms to embrace her. "All thanks to my dear Sara —"
"Or an old fling." She arched her brows and pushed him aside. "It's Career Day."
"Yeah," Arlen sighed.
"Put on something presentable. Jeans and a white T with a bloody hand print aren't very dignifying."
He looked into her piercing gaze; she was right. "So I'll see you later tonight —"
"I want him back at eight-thirty." She glared into his bright blue eyes.
"I'm sure you do. If Marqi's not back by then?"
"You bring him back when I say he should be back, or — or I'll…"
Arlen arched his brows and threw his hands up in the air. He kept his hands up, even after she huffed, pushed past him and started down the hall. "He's my son, too." He watched her clench her fists and keep on walking. "He's my son, too!" He shouted after her, until she turned around the corner at the far end of the hall. Somehow, he knew she was going to make his life impossible, so long as there was a child between them.
Already he regretted not pulling his gun on her, as he strode into the parking garage and retrieved his car. It was an antique model, with short wings and two small fins on the back end. He had to start it through the bypass, because his keys were sitting with his secretary. The ionic engines did not mutter a sound as he tilted the long, floor-mounted joystick forward and the car taxied out of the hospital's garage.
Heavy rains constantly buffeted Kneitun, the capitol of Konstaniah. The rain never touched the city walks, and the brushed steel sheen of her buildings was just as immaculate as the day they were erected. The pristine rain collected high above and poured down all around the city. It formed a blanket of water, held at bay by technologies so profound — and yet so commonplace to the modern Konstanian — that rain was just something one expected to be there like the sheets on a bed.
Arlen gently settled his car down on the top docking pad. He pressed his hand to the scanner on the dash. A cyan light scanned him. "Shutdown."
Thank you for choosing Alekzandryan-built engines, the car chimed.
He held his hands up as soon as he set foot in the foyer of his office. His secretary, Lellayla, stopped tapping away on the touchscreen top of her desk and looked at him. "Didn't go well?"
"Nope!" He leaned on the counter, propping his head up on his hand. "I have no idea why I keep trying to make amends with her, Lel. I mean, wow. Control freak much? I wish I realized that sooner."
"Then you wouldn't have Marqisian."
Arlen snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "You're right." He lingered on the counter, bobbing his finger. "I'd go back in time, to the day that Marqster was conceived. Then I'd suck him right out — itty-bitty wad of cells in a tube of woman-balloon juice. Then I'd hunt you down that day, and convince you to be his surrogate mother."
"What if I refused?"
"I'd go back in time to the night before and he'd be yours anyway." He grinned.
She laughed.
"So." He started for his personal quarters, behind the inner office. "Why hadn't you informed me that it is Career Day?"
"Because you already knew." Lellayla slid her chair back and tucked a tablet under her arm. She followed behind him, her eyes fixed on the tablet.
"Correction: why haven't you informed Sara not to inform me that it is Career Day?" He strode through his considerably messy office and into his room. The first thing he did was open the closet. Casual clothes were neatly folded and placed into dressers. His shoes were organized by the boxes he bought them in. The Ganton-y costumes hung on cedar coat hangars.
"Because you know she's predisposed to tell you regardless of whether you actually know it or not." Her voice was a ways behind him.
He tucked his dress shirt, buttoned and zipped his slacks, slipped on his coat. He had fastened most of the buttons from the collar on down when he glanced over his shoulder at Lellayla, who sat on the edge of the bed. His palms were sweaty. Today, he had to do it. He could not wait any longer. He planned the afternoon off for his son, to actually be there instead of just picking the boy up early, like the previous Career Days. But the afternoon was perfect. No one present but Arlen and Lellayla. And he had to know.
"Lel, can you come here, please? I want a second opinion."
When she got near him, he stepped back and gently moved her to the closet's vanity mirror. He stood behind her, reaching around to the front of her neck. He grinned as he gently pulled the thick leather band of a choker to her neck. It had small braided chains of gold that dangled down to teardrop diamonds. Nine thicker braids of sterling silver secured the centerpiece, the gaudy Ra'ol stone. Its deep amethyst turned dark burgundy towards its center. And in lines of pearl, the insignia of Konstaniah lay etched.
"I'm thinking that I'm going to need a new secretary," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist as she looked wide-eyed in the mirror. He pulled her to him. "Gantoness Regnant, is a beautiful title —"
"It is an overwhelming title." Lellayla turned and searched his eyes. "Arlen, why?"
He loosed his arms from her hips, but his hands still lay on her. Arlen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then focused on her hazel irises. "Were I not already Arch Ganton, this would be easier, being that I am a common man from coarse, mundane roots. Status, freedom and power absolute — my whole life is vanity, except that every day… that I see you… my hearts race. Lel, I can't live without you. I'd much sooner revolt against myself and go running off with you to — anywhere — I mean screw playing King of the Castle, I love you. Always. And I wish you'd marry me. Even if it means some fancy title — it's nothing but a title. To me, you're Lel. And, Lel, you'll always be to me. So… why not?"
Silence. His eyes were watery, his pulse jumped, palms sweaty. Arlen feared her saying no. He hated 'no,' or anything remotely resemblant of it. He did well to keep his breathing regular.
"I don't know what to say."
He glanced up at the closet corner, tapping his lip. He smiled broadly. "I love the sound of 'yes'."
She stepped forward, laying her arms on his shoulders. "Yes."
"W-wait — what?" Arlen had the stupidest, wide-eyed look on his face. He scratched his head. After contemplating just how to hold his cool over inevitable rejection, her espousal threw him off. "I mean — yes — yes — yeah!" He wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her clear off of her feet. Holding her tight, he twirled.
"Put me down, put me down! Down!"
"Oh, right —" Arlen sat her down on the bed. He glanced at the clock. School was almost out, Career Day almost past. Good, just the way he wanted it. Arlen had no intentions of sitting in the classroom with everyone else waiting his turn. Waiting, among contentious whispers and inquiring minds. "As this is your last day being my secretary, my final order is that you clock out, and come with me."
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