An Elegy of Fate

by S. R. Laubrea

  Swagger.

  The crew darted down the corridor to the stairwell, locked, and sealed it behind them.

  "Not this again," Ashenzsi sighed.

  Rollond shrugged, looming over the console — the exact same one he put his fist through. There was a button he smashed in his impatience last time. Simply, it looked like a common O key, except that the letter was in the middle of it. How unassuming. "See if you can seal that vent off," he said.

  "Right." Ashenzsi ducked into the crew closet. Most of the lockers had lettered combination locks, and worse yet, keypads with random words on the keys. Usually this wouldn't be a problem, except that he couldn't read Gyuton. So he started pushing buttons. The locks were designed to open with a simple phrase. On the locker he stood at, there was a picture of a small, winged, bear-cat. What was the Gyutic word for the small, winged-bear-cat?

  Sharr.

  There was a great possibility that the phrase to open that locker was 'I love my sharr,' or 'Watoz et itch myne sharr.'

  But alas, Ashenzsi didn't know that. It vexed him so much that he finally hopped back, screamed, and blasted it open with a swift eruption of fire big as a base ball. And not just that one. He hurled fireballs at all of them.

  When Rollond peered through the doorway at him, Ashenzsi smoldered and huffed. When he noticed Rollond looking, he put his hands on his hips and stood tall, grinning broadly, posing, proud.

  "… Right," Rollond said. "How come you didn't do that last time?"

  Ashenzsi shrugged. "I didn't know that I could."

  Rollond's eye twitched. How could he not know? Seriously, how? He huffed and pushed the O key. There wasn't a chime or any immediate, discernible reaction. He wasn't sure what he did, until he strode over to the window and looked down onto the warehouse floor.

  The bodies on the floor started to move. Most of them were groggy, but when they realized where they were, they jumped at each other, confused, startled.

  "Fair morning!" As Rollond spoke, they moved so they could see him. "I am Rollond Alekzandyr, and with me are Ashenzsi, Injolea, and Begomzsi. We are from Hydarkua, to the east. We have come to set you free, but before you are turned loose, I have a very simple proposal."

  They were quiet, attentive.

  "I am searching for the man who is the head of these operations. I plan to put an end to him. To do that, I require the cooperation of every willing Kyusoa I can find. We will break into every warehouse, until we find this man, and like we have done with you, we will set every Kyusoa stored there free.

  "If you are agreeable to this, I ask only these few things of you: Go in my name, that Rollond Alekzandyr sent you; do not kill, but spare every human life you can, to prove who the desperate, conniving animals are; free your kin, but should you come across the man, Fylus, whom these humans answer to, bind him and bring him east to Hydarkua, to me.

  "Because I will deal with him myself."

  "What if we do not consent?" One of them asked. "How do we know you are not the same as the Uunani who trapped us here?"

  "Try me," Rollond said. "If you refuse, go your way. I am not a pandering slave monger." He pointedly didn't give them instructions to separate. How were they going to get out of the warehouse if they were divided from the start? Most of them had sandy complexions and dreadlocks, characteristic of what he had seen at Hydarkua. There were some variants, but the ones who stood out to him the most were pitch black with a motley of splotches.

  "You there," Rollond said, pointing at one of the irregular, spotted kyusoakin. "Who are you, where are you from?"

  "Neaatl," he said between titters. "T-t-this one is from Scinon, Malzeyur." He fidgeted, and could not stop giggling; an unusually high-strung creature.

  "Are you like these?" Rollond motioned towards the Sandwyrks with him.

  Neaatl nodded furiously. "N-n-n—tsche, yes. You Uunani," he gasped and put his hands over his mouth, glancing around nervously, "call us," he lowered his hands and crouched, "'Vile-maws'." He laughed hysterically. "Because when we spit!" His tone rose, "it really is an! — ugly thinnng." He almost whispered when he finished.

  Rollond inhaled deeply and balled his fists. The way Neaatl talked, he wanted to punch him. After a few seconds, he was calm. "Show me," he said.

  Vile-maws were frog-like things. They had long, narrow, feline backs and winding, snaking tails with a spear-like protrusion at the end. Their chests were heavy, and at the back of their rib cage was the bubble, like at a frog's neck. But Neaatl's gaping, slobbering jaws were colored with the nastiest greenish-yellow-reddish-brown mucus.

  He puffed up his air sack, and from the back of his throat, catapulted a steaming wad of that disgusting stuff, big as a harvest pumpkin. That stuff smacked into the command's window and as soon as it touched, the glass bubbled, cracked and steamed; acid — Vile-maws spew highly corrosive mucus. And it had such a rank, nauseating stink.

  Rollond nearly fainted backwards; Ashenzsi held him up with one hand, covered his nose and mouth with the other.

  "Vlawdts," Rollond swore, "foul! Get up here!"

  Neaatl came through the sizzling, melting remains of the window. Rollond pointed at the stairwell door, and Neaatl spit at it. Between the window and the melting layers of the door, the stench was overwhelming, but when the metal shifted down from its sockets like steaming, hot wax, Rollond shuffled back and lowered the conveyor. "This way," he announced.

  Not one of them moved. They exchanged glances among themselves; some shook their heads, others sat on their hinds.

  "Go ahead of ussss," Neaatl said, as he stepped aside and pointed at the stair well.

  Rollond furrowed his brows, balled his fist and tapped it to his lips. Of course they didn't trust him. No one places their life in the hands of a complete stranger. He glanced at Ashenzsi. 'What did I do to gain your favor?' he asked.

  'Be true by your Rou'u,' Ashenzsi said. 'What we cannot see, that is what we witness; what we perceive with our eyes, this we disregard. Because the trustworthy things are deep, far within the body; the Rou'u.'

  Rollond rubbed his temples. Why? Why do these creatures have to be so cryptic? "Okay," he sighed, and went into the stairwell.

  The Hedonites had cleared out of the reception chamber. Rollond stepped onto the cool, glossy pad and in the blink of an eye, emerged in the warehouse hub. The distorted gravity was nauseating in the dome-like cluster of warps; what happened when there were too many of them in one place. There was no indication of where they went, just numbers and letters that gave some sense of direction.

  He went 384-N.

  This section of the warehouse was eerily quiet, save for the electric hum of the lights. Was the place abandoned? Or were they hiding out with eager fingers on a trigger? Rollond walked noisily down the short hall from the reception chamber. Anyone there would have shot him by the time he got to the console, unless they wanted him to take a look at the projection that hovered over it.

  Either way, it didn't matter, as he ran his finger though a diagram of the warehouse. He traced around the bottom section and enlarged it. It was filled with orange dots, that when enlarged, formed the body shapes of the Kyusoakin. He could see what they were doing, even down to the detail of what direction they looked when they turned their heads.

  He drew the image upwards, to the hub, then up a little more. The heart of the warehouse's operations was right above the hub, accessible through a small shaft. Below the hub was the reactor. The other chambers were arranged around these three, except for the main entrance, which was given a larger warp than other sections; it was marked 064-C.

  The diagram was useful. He wondered if the other warehouses were similar as he steadily swept his hand through the image, and clutched it in his palm. He assigned the diagram to the middle finger of his right hand, and when he touched that finger to his palm, his glove ceased projecting.

  He returned to the hub, where his movements were sluggish. He kicked off from the floor, and floated, slowly, towards the
barely noticeable opening in the dimly lit ceiling. Clutching the rungs of a ladder, Rollond pulled himself into the cardinal control room, only to find its commands undisturbed, and the space between its walls abandoned.

  Apparently they knew, he had no doubts about it now; they forsook the warehouse. Relief tumbled around his ribs as he hovered over the controls. The self-destruct sequence consisted of four levers: two of them were pull-down switches, the other two were wrench-up-and-twist mechanisms; there was a need for a key of some sort, and finally a less-than-foreboding purplish-cyan button under a fiberglass case. Ten minutes, he figured, was all he needed to get everyone out and blow this place.

  Surprisingly, the sequence didn't have to be precisely synchronized. It did have to be done right, though. He pulled the first lever down, lifted the second, twisted it clockwise. Then he raised the third, twisted it counter-clockwise, pulled down the fourth lever, and rubbed his chin as he examined the fiberglass case. He didn't have the key to open it.

  But since when did he need a key?

  He smashed the case with a considerably gentle tap of his fist, and took particular care to push the button down — until it jammed.

  Nine minutes, fifty-nine seconds.

  He climbed down into the hub. The warps were glowing like flaming coals. He settled down onto the pad labeled 621-H, and materialized in the storeroom's reception.

  The Kyuosa were, for the most part, in the middle of some kind of game, smacking one another around, chittering, chasing each other while the ones not participating looked on and seemed to place bets.

  "Come on, we don't have all day," Rollond barked.

  Eight minutes, thirty seconds.

  They didn't all fit in the hub. 621-H turned yellow when it was overloaded and wouldn't allow anyone else to come forth. Rollond motioned towards 064-C, and they went, often giving him dirty glances.

  Five minutes, fifteen seconds.

  He stayed behind, making sure the Kyusoa passed through the warp. When he finally went through, his stomach churned, and hot, aching, stabbing pains rattled his ribs.

  The warehouse's surface defenses were up. Thick tautonium plates, smooth and seamless, were erected and snug against the main entrance.

  Four minutes, forty-six seconds.

  There was no way. Even with Neaatl's acidic sputum, they wouldn't get through in time.

  "Ashenzsi," Rollond called out for him. "Ashenzsi?" Rollond could have sworn he saw Ashenzsi come with the rest of the Kyusoa. Then again, they all still looked very much alike.

  Three minutes.

  The discomfort around his ribcage dropped into his stomach as he backtracked through the hub. Curse this lagging descent! The warps were glowing yellow, and then turning cool blue; they were shutting off. He touched 621-H, and emerged back in the storeroom.

  "Ashenzsi!?" He was getting anxious. Then, finally, there he was, sprawled on the floor. "Sweet son of a beer-basted loaf of bread," Rollond muttered.

  The Kyusoa had knocked Ashenzsi unconscious in their little game.

  Two minutes, two seconds.

  He hefted Ashenzsi over his shoulder. His friend weighed a ton. Still, he ran to the warp.

  It turned blue just after he rematerialized. Most of them were off, and 064-C was cooling own.

  He hurtled himself at it.

  One minute, sixteen seconds.

  "Haaah!" He groaned despairingly. Now he understood why they abandoned the warehouse. Was he really this predictable? Nevermind that, what to do? He set Ashenzsi down and beat at the entrance. The steel bowed, but reinforced by tautonium, Rollond's punches were useless.

  Thirty seconds.

  He stopped. His hands shook. His palms were sweaty — he was sweaty. Already the chamber had turned into an inferno, and the vicious flames hadn't even begun.

  Ashenzsi groaned and struggled onto his feet, nearly tumbling over. He reached out and steadied himself with a hand on the door. He couldn't help noticing that Rollond didn't look so good.

  Fifteen seconds.

  There wasn't any time for words, not even the private sort. Ashenzsi just knew something terrible was going to happen, he felt it clear as day, the same way Rollond did. Except that instead of despairing, something inside of him stirred. Like a disoriented beast awakening in the dank darkness of a cave only to realize that the world was about to end; something feral, strong, instinctual.

  Ten seconds.

  The final thoughts of Rollond were disregarded whispers, unable to break through into Ashenzsi's mind.

  Eight seconds.

  Because the only thing Ashenzsi could 'hear' — the only thing that he perceived within himself — was desperation, that quickly gave birth to blazing ire.

  Six seconds.

  This fury that raged within him took shape, and his skin became like hot resin.

  Five seconds.

  His eyes were polished stones of solid jade.

  Four seconds.

  And the first licks of that wild flame broke forth from his eyes.

  Three seconds.

  He was changing; more and more feral, bestial, farther from what he was used to, what he knew.

  Two seconds.

  Rollond instinctively ducked and covered his face. What good that would do, he had no idea.

  The last thing he heard was a loud crack, and the rush of heat as the red-orange burst ruptured the floor. It took only a split second.

  Death.

  Rollond was sure of it, that he was burning inside a twisting, writhing tornado of metal and glass, as his flesh melted away. And somehow, he was still breathing. The wind whipped and screamed all around him, but the air going into his lungs was cool — lukewarm. He dared to open his eyes.

  It wasn't a fire at all. The sand had swirled all around them and turned to glass, but the slabs of flooring were like islands sticking out in a whirlpool. He was in the midst of a tornado of something like fire, but it was white and green.

  At its eye was Ashenzsi. He didn't want to die, and he made certain that he wasn't about to.

  The green fire swirled up into the sky. It darkened, rumbled, and rain started pouring down. And, as the rains fell, Ashenzsi seemed back to normal. Plumes of steam lifted off of him, but the 'animal' of him was gone.

  "What…?" Rollond couldn't find the words he wanted to ask.

  Ashenzsi flattened back his ears and lowered his belly to the piece of floor he stood on. He shook his head. "I don't know…"

  The return to Hydarkua rang with triumph. The Kyusoa brought out their choicest instruments, and set up a bonfire greater than that of the appraisal ceremony. It was time to rejoice; now they had an advantage, and ones young and old, appraised and unsung, all those from the warehouse, had returned.

  "Shenzi!" So'yi's tiny voice, although welcome, didn't stop him like it normally did. He tucked his tail between his legs and plodded on all-fours into the home he shared with Rollond.

  So'yi stopped outside the entrance curtain. Rollond was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, one leg crossed over the other, head bowed, lost amid thought. She hopped to him and tugged on his pants leg.

  "Hm?" He looked down at her.

  "What is wrong?" she asked. "Why do both of you have shaken rou'us?"

  Rollond gradually arched his brows, then shook his head. His lips parted to speak, but Tschorra's voice filled the air:

  "His Aelyth is coming to life within him," Tschorra said. "You feel it too, don't you, Rollond." He sat down on his hinds, splayed his fingers over his chest and bowed his head. "Tsche au."

  It was the first time Tschorra acknowledged Rollond by name.

  "I don't understand what you mean," Rollond said.

  "It is normal for his kind. There exists a day of maturing, where we each come to know what it is that we are; some of us change, some have great power of Aelyth, some wind up with neither, and there are those, still, who have both."

  Rollond shook his head. "This isn't my problem."

>   "If, truly, you are his Brother, he needs you."

  Rollond grunted, and ducked into the home. He didn't want any more of this wise-cracked… And as he started for his bed, he watched Ashenzsi shiver, curled in the corner, hugging himself.

  He was hesitant, but Rollond eventually knocked on the feral door. 'You… alright?'

  Fear. He sensed Ashenzsi's fear and confusion. It was thick as a forest of thorny bushes and somewhere in the middle of it all was Ashenzsi, afraid to take one step farther.