An Elegy of Fate

by S. R. Laubrea

  "Arlen, call me the instant you get this message." She slammed the phone on the counter. "This isn't happening! Tell me this isn't happening!"

  "It is, Sara," Yonathael said, sipping a mug of hot tea.

  "No, no." She paced from the kitchen to the wall in the living room. "You foreknow things, don't you? Tell me what happens to them."

  He kept sipping his tea.

  "I said tell me —"

  "It doesn't work like that, Sara," he said, his voice calm and gentle, as if he lived in a completely different world. "If you know things before they happen you'll do everything in your power to change them. As a result, you only add insult to injury. But, if you must know what to do, confess. Go find Arlen and tell him your dirty little secret. Maybe he'll take it as a sign of remorse and consider you for something special."

  Sara huffed, almost ripping her keys and purse from the hook, and yanked open the door, slamming it behind her.

  When she reached the Embassy, Sara dropped her car in the parking lot. She smashed the tail end of a vehicle, and dented the door of another as she stepped out and started for the entrance. "Where is he?" Her voice boomed inside the quiet lobby, and she banged her purse on the receptionist's desk.

  The receptionist touched his finger to his lips. "Your voice, Madam."

  "I don't care about my voice. Where is the Arch Ganton?"

  He tapped at the display panel, "he's already left."

  "For?"

  "To go retrieve Marqisian for the ceremony, it begins in a half hour."

  Sara frantically pulled her hair as she twisted about. "Where!" She smacked her palms down on the counter. "Where does it start!?"

  "Madam, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave —"

  "Okay," she sighed, "will you tell me where the ceremony begins, please?" She gritted her teeth, and narrowed her eyes, forming a heated, catty smile.

  "South Main Street," he said.

  "Good," Sara snatched her purse and started for her car.

  Main Street was flooded with people. Arlen wrapped his arms around Lellayla's waist, steadying her on the pedestal of the executive float. Her cinnamon tone gave way to a flustered, soft pink blush.

  "Oh my," she said. She had not expected so many people.

  Arlen pressed his lips to the familiar skin of her neck. Her lavender perfume offset the salty flavor of her flesh. "Relax," he said, his tone calm, nonchalant. "Just smile and wave, they only want to see you." He peered over her shoulder at Marqisian. "Am I right, boy?"

  "Yep!" Marqi said, wringing the rail of the pedestal.

  Lel crossed her arms. "You really shouldn't groom him to be a politician," she huffed.

  "You're right. I should be grooming him to be a college drop-out, and an army delinquent, just like his daddy!" Arlen crooned, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue,laughing when he realized that a news drone had descended to get a close up on their faces. He knew the image would be featured in the tabloids for a week, and Lellayla looked furious.

  "Ugh," she huffed, and pushed his arms off of her. The floats had barely enough room to pass between the barriers keeping the eager citizens back. Lellayla waved at the people, her lips blossoming into a full, brilliant smile.

  Arlen stepped away from her. Sitting down, he crossed his legs and laced his fingers, holding them to his chin, intently looking ahead. As the parade approached the mid-way of Main Street's length, Arlen restrained his relief: half way did not mean done. He didn't want the news drones to record his delight as he watched Lel enchant the masses with her smile, because he knew Sara. Somehow, even when absent, she kept him weary. Thankfully, she was always busy being a doctor. So why was he on guard? She probably didn't watch the morning news to know about the parade in the first place.

  Yeah, she didn't know, he assured himself, as he sat back, and the executive float passed into the center of the blocked off intersection of Main and Lattpols. Content with the parade's progress, he did not notice the sound until he caught Marqisian starting up at the sky. By then, the roar of old, rattling combustion engines pierced through the parade music.

  "Arlen," Sara roared. She put her car in landing mode, and dropped it in front of the executive float. The floatsman stopped the vehicle, and the platform came to a jerky halt. "What is the meaning of all this?" She stepped out of the car and invited herself up onto the platform.

  "Sara," Arlen sighed.

  "No, I want to know right this instant." She pointed accusingly at Lellayla. "Who is this woman and what is she doing where I belong?"

  "Lellayla is my wife, Sara," he said as Lel stepped around Sara and huddled next to Arlen. "And she is the Gantoness Regnant, you need to respect her."

  "I ought be Gantoness Regnant. I am Marqisian's mother and by law, the woman who has the firstborn of the Arch Ganton is the rightful Regnant."

  "It's funny that you mention this now, of all times, and here of all places, Sara," Arlen said, sharpening his tone. "At first I thought you were pulling my leg, that when you got pregnant there was no way the child could have been mine. Then I thought you got pregnant on purpose — because I know you, Sara. You never do anything without some underlying purpose. But the thing about it all is I don't remember ever getting naked around you. So that can mean only one thing: Marqisian is not my son."

  In that one moment, the whole city became deathly silent to the point that Yonathael could pick up on the sound of a bead of sweat splattering on pavement. His transfixed gaze was on Sara, as she appeared on the screen. 'Say it,' he urged, 'tell him what you did.'

  Sara swallowed, her knuckles popping as she gradually made her fists. "I used a narcotic sedative." She watched Arlen's brow rise.

  "What?" he asked.

  "I drugged you, and I… strapped you to the bed. I mounted you, as often as I could, until the test results came back positive."

  He slowly bobbed his head. "So I was right. The entire time I've known you, there never was an 'us,' or even a Marqster. It was all about you getting powerful."

  "Yes," she said in a low tone.

  Arlen tapped his fist to his forehead. That same hand came down and flattened over his mouth. His watery eyes burned, and his temples pounded and ached. He could not look at Sara, who remained calm and composed, utterly devoid of remorse.

  Then he forced himself to focus on Sara's face, narrowing his eyes, filtering through his reasons. What did it matter now? The hand cannon was right there, in the holster on his hip, and he pulled it out, pointing the barrel square at the tip of her nose. "I should have done this ten years ago." He cocked the hammer back.

  "Arlen, what are you doing?" Lel said, gripping his arm. "Arlen, Arlen, put the gun down."

  His eye twitched, staring into Sara's soul. "You have no idea how badly that tormented me. Ten years questioning my own son, all that time trying to mend pain in my hearts. A pain that I could never identify, that I could never understand. Ten years, Sara, ten years. That doesn't mean a thing to you."

  "It never did," Sara said, lifting her chin.

  "Give me the gun, Arlen," Lel urged. "Don't let her manipulate and control you. You're stronger than this, you know what's right."

  "Yeah, I do." He pulled the trigger, the barrel flashed with a loud, hollow bang.

  Sara jumped, holding her shoulders near her ears. When she opened her tightly shut eyes, a hole in the float smoldered between her and them. The sight of Arlen's unabated rancor chilled her blood, even as she watched him hand his companion firearm to Lellayla.

  "I loved you, Sara," he said. "But as of now I'm taking custody of Marqisian, and I am amending his name. He will no longer to be associated with the 'Malyth' surname. In three hours it will be in writing, stamped and official, with the entirety of Konstaniah's public as witnesses. But for your sake, Sara, I hope I never see you again."

  "Arlen, wait —"

  "Keep — out — of my sight." He lay his hand on Marqisian's back. "Come on, kid, lets go." Arlen did not look ba
ck as he helped Lel down from the float. But Marqisian did, solemnly watching as Sara stood there, gradually getting farther and farther, as they walked away.

  The door swung open and banged the wall. Sara hurried in and slammed the door shut, leaning against it, face flushed. She met Yonathael's ever so calm and separated gaze. "H-he tried to k-kill me," she stammered.

  "Atrocious," he commented.

  She watched his unchanging face, as the chime of her cell pierced through television's audio. She fished it out of her purse and almost dropped it on the floor as she fumbled to tap the accept icon. "H-hello?"

  "Ms. Malyth?" asked the feminine voice on the other end of the line.

  "Speaking," she said.

  "This is Gennevier, with the Human Resources department for Professor Dannes and Colleagues Hospital. How are you?"

  "I'm fine —"

  "That's wonderful to know, dearie. I'm calling to inform you not to return to the hospital; we don't need you anymore."

  Sara was speechless.

  "Have a nice day," Gennevier said, and hung up.

  She stared, holding the phone to her ear. She realized Yonathael had gone to the fridge, returned, and sat on the other end of the couch sipping a glass of juice. "You," she hissed and glared. "You knew this would happen."

  He tapped the remote and changed the channel. "So?"

  She got in front of the flat panel television. "Tell me how I can fix this."

  "You have to lose before you can gain," he said.

  "Cut the cryptic crap."

  "Oh-ho," he chuckled, and grinned. "I wanted to make you an offer that night you found me. But I didn't think you would hear me out."

  She glared at him and cross her arms. "For what?"

  His eyes narrowed and his grin broadened until perversion showed on his face. "What if I told you that my real name is Mokallai, and that I am Destiny in-the-flesh?"

  "I'd have reported you insane," she scoffed. "That night, anyway."

  He nodded. "Yes, you would have on that night. But now, what do you think? Sara, look, I know right this instant you're not going to appreciate that I coaxed you into telling Arlen, and that as a result you lost your son, your job, your reputation as a 'decent' woman — but all that isn't going to matter. I need a woman like you for something big. Bigger than all the kingdoms of Dyjian, and, as a gift, I promise you power and status beyond your imagination. All I ask is that you trust me." Yonathael offered her his hand.

  Sara skeptically looked at him. "What if I refuse?"

  His eyes flashed. "You can't refuse."

  Her hands twitched, and her spine stiffened. Jerkily, she moved towards him, her arm shaking as she reached for Yonathael's hand. She took hold of him, unable to stop herself, compelled by Mokallai, and he lead her from the living room on down the hall into Marqisian's bedroom.

  After she stepped in, he closed the door behind her, and motioned towards the bed. "Sit," he said.

  She plopped down on the edge of the bed, watching him.

  "Lay down," he said as he peered through the window and then closed the blinds. He turned to the bed and she sat, her legs stretched out. "All the way." He motioned with a sweep of his arm.

  Hesitantly, Sara reclined.

  Yonathael's mind wandered to the straps under the bed. He strode over and gazed down at her.

  Perfect silence formed between the two. "What?" she asked, sharply.

  He got one knee on the bed beside her. In a wide arc he landed his other knee near her other side.

  Sara blinked, realizing that Yonathael straddled her. She started to push, but in an instant he slid forward and pinned her wrists down with his knees. The sheen of his golden eyes became a menacing aura as they rolled upwards in their sockets. The white of his scleras drained from him, dribbling down his cheeks as jerky, thick streams.

  She panted, awed and terrified, unable to utter a word as the vivacious, arrhythmic pearly streams snaked through the air. "Th-this is imp-p-possible," she stammered, finally, as the streams pooled above her face.

  "Like being older than the dawn of Humankind?" His eyes returned to their rightful position, focused on her face, widening his gaze. His irises were thick bands of gold floating in deep obsidian pools.

  She swallowed and nodded, shivering violently.

  "What is with you scientific human types?" The question was worth asking. If there were any to be described as sitting on the apex of obliviousness, it was the scientific sorts. Not that they were idiots. But at the same time they were dull, most of them; unable to comprehend the nature of Dyjian. As he bent down and let his lips near the lobe of her ear, he cupped his hand over her mouth. "It's because I'm far from human," he said.

  The white puddle dove down from the air, stabbing into Sara's eyes. It flowed into her, and her tongue repeatedly swept against Yonathael's hand. He muffled her screams, his apathetic visage staring blankly at the wall, until finally her thrashing subsided. She lay there quiet, motionless, not recognizing the ceiling above her.

  "That was easier than I thought," he said.

  She groaned.

  "Get some rest, Sara. It'll all start making sense soon enough." He stepped out into the hall, closing and locking the door behind him.

  Awakening.

  Alekzandrya city, the capitol of Alekzandrya, straddling two rivers in the desert of Khaz;

  Eiynvas, the 12th day in the month of Korec;

  This during the 451st year into the Seventh Epoch of the global scene, Dyjian;

  What involved Rollond, Ashenzsi, and So'yi.

  The return of his senses was painstakingly gradual. From regaining the ability to distinguish light, down to the color of each shape and the texture it had. The closet had collapsed with the rest of the building, yet, he noticed that he was under some kind of soft-white bubble that kept the debris at least two and a half feet above him.

  Rollond couldn't relax. As he wiggled his fingers the felt the sensation of thick, cold goop, as if he were still wedged in the tank with 'He who is like Rain.' It made more sense to him as the tingling in his arms subsided, and he moved, slowly, noting that same viscous feeling:

  He was able to share the living experience of someone else — this Ashenzsi. It was akin to being inside him, part of him, existing as if a component of Ashenzsi's consciousness. The very thought perturbed Rollond.

  As he laid there with So'yi, who was curled up beside him, he heard something like a whisper within his mind:

  'I'm so tired,' Ashenzsi says, his vision starting to blur.

  'Hey, hey, stay with me.' I begin to feel faint, like I am fading away.

  'Sorry,' he says. 'I just feel so weak.'

  'Ashenzsi?' There's a stir inside of him: his heart flutters and his core tenses. I'm not sure if he likes me calling him that. 'Can you…"dip" into me?' An awkward thing to ask, I think.

  But, he pauses. 'Yes,' he finally says. 'Looks like you're under something.'

  I feel him want to lift my hand, to look at me. I indulge his curiosity: my hand twitches at first, but I let him lift it. Through my eyes he inspects the back, and then my palm. He flexes my fingers, and though I am astounded, I sense his grave hesitancy.

  'What's the matter?'

  'You are an Uunan,' he says. 'A pasty-white, heavy-handed Uunaninjyn.'

  I get that he does not like this about me, and I can understand why: it's not like anthropomorphic Gypsy rats put him in the tank. 'I can't help what I am.'

  He stays quiet.

  'I do want to help you.' I feel his skepticism, and he takes his time with my statement. I know that he's thinking, but I can't penetrate into his thoughts. It's like there's an untouchable barrier there that keeps me from getting into that part of him, and it makes me wonder.

  'Okay,' he says.

  'Can I ask you one thing, though? What is an "Uunaninjyn"?'

  'It means "human-male," and Uunanifha is "human-female." We do not have the words "Man" and "Woman" like Uunani do.'

  'Wh
y not? I mean… so what do you call your males and females?'

  'Shojen,' he says, 'I am a Shojen, the other is Rayiha.'

  'I see, so what does that make her?' I glance down at So'yi, and his heart jumps.

  'Sweet little goji, she is well, oh!' he croons, wanting me to embrace her, but I don't allow it.

  'As soon as I get free from here, I'm bringing her to you. Promise me you'll stay alive until I get there.'

  'I promise!' I can even feel the sting in his eyes, the ache in his temples, the lump in his throat. 'I do, I swear, I will!'