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The 13th Star: An Action Adventure Sci-F Apocalyptic Novel

Page 14

by Adam Peled


  Mattoui suddenly fell silent and Rettoul paled. “H-h-how do you know all this?” he stammered for the first time in his life.

  “You’re not only one whose destiny has been determined by others. There are two other people in the galaxy who have to bear up under a prophetic order,” Mattoui replied angrily.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Mattoui took a deep breath and looked at him for the first time since they began to speak. Rettoul was shaking. He felt sorry for his good friend, but he couldn’t bear the burden. Yesterday, with the revelation of his language skills, he’d known that this moment would come much sooner than he’d believed.

  “Coldor has the scrolls, but they’re not intact,” he said quietly, still looking at Rettoul, whose clothes barely absorbed his cold sweat. “Three pieces are missing from the scrolls he has. You have one piece…”

  Rettoul shrank and didn’t say a word.

  “I have another piece,” continued Mattoui, “and a third piece is missing, and neither of us knows the location of it.” Finished, he leaned closer to Rettoul. From his shirt pocket he removed a scrap of the scroll and offered it to him. Rettoul tensed.

  “Koffee, Bucha’s military leader, replaced my father as leader of the planet,” Mattoui started his story. “My father ruled Bucha for eighty-four years and was considered a fair ruler, sensitive to the needs of the planet.” Rettoul didn’t know Mattoui’s glorious lineage and still didn’t understand the connection between the scrolls and Mattoui.

  Mattoui carried on with his story:

  In the eightieth year of my father’s leadership, there was a big party on the planet and many people came to greet my father on the occasion. Among the guests was an old man named Adam who wanted to talk to my father alone. Like the other military leaders, my father was not used to remaining in one room with any of his subjects, and certainly not with someone he didn’t know. So he declined.

  The old man left the palace and went back and stood in line with the residents who were waiting to greet my father. Once more he found himself in front of my father and asked to speak to him in private. My father didn’t understand what the old man wanted and again sent him on his way, admittedly with a smile, but refusing to hear him in private. The old man left the palace and again stood in line to greet my father. When he reached him for the third time, my father asked him to come with him to a side room to hear what he had to say. The old man didn’t say a word—he just looked at my father, who got angry for being removed from the reception hall and now didn’t have anything to listen to. Then the old man came up to my father, gave him the piece of the scroll I just gave you, and left the room without saying a word.

  I was not yet born then and my father didn’t have any other children. He didn’t understand what the old man wanted, but he knew the importance of the piece of the scroll. It said, “The child will be the son of the military leader of the animal planet in the seventh year of choice, and will stand firmly with them together with his cousin, and together they will lead to the coming of the last planet, the thirteenth planet.”

  My father didn’t place any particular importance on the piece of scroll or its content and asked that it be placed in the palace archives in his room. Four years later I was born, and on the day of my birth, my father died, never seeing me.

  Mattoui paused, then began again:

  My mother raised me under Koffee’s rule. It was clear that I couldn’t remain on the planet after Koffee introduced a wild and violent regime, and when I was fifteen my mother sent me secretly to Brisker, where I grew up. But first she gave me the piece of scroll. She only explained it to me once, but her words still echo in my head: “Another piece, almost the same as this one, is in the hands of one whom no Jorash can kill. You will recognize him by the scar on his face and another scar hidden in the fold his right knee. He will not be the opponent, but the friend. Stick with him even if you know the two of you are going to die. There are no forces in the galaxy that can kill you together, but alone, neither of you is invulnerable.”

  Mattoui was silent for a moment and looked at Rettoul, whose hot tears ran down his cheeks. “And another thing,” he continued.

  She said, “You both have a long way, but it will be shortened as soon as you hold the third and final fragment of the scrolls.”

  I didn’t understand what she meant then. I knew that every word was important, but I didn’t understand and appreciate to what extent. I knew it was you she’d spoken about after the battle in the pub. I don’t know if you sensed how upset I was that evening and the following one, but I knew the scar on your face, and the fact that the Jorash couldn’t beat you, reinforced my life’s mission.

  It’s not easy, Rettoul, to give up everything and follow someone—not even you—and you know that sometimes I feel toward you as if you were my own flesh and blood. We’re not friends or brothers—we’re one. And that’s tough because, after all, I see here two bodies, and no one can dispute that. It wasn’t hard for me to give up Tamar, like you think. I dream of a house and children, what everyone would like, but I have a bigger dream, and I have a purpose that I can’t forgo. Even if you oust me from it firmly, it will still remain. I have to be beside you, to be of assistance to you, to bring the thirteenth planet.

  Rettoul broke into tears and couldn’t bear the weight of his load any more. Mattoui hugged him tight and they become one.

  “Who do you think has the third piece?” asked Rettoul, his eyes red.

  “I don’t know, but I believe the story of the old man, Adam, who came to my father, is far more important than just a story. I think he has the third piece. Or at least he knows what happened to it, since he’s the one who gave my father the piece I have.”

  Chapter 12: Groping in the Dark

  Only five planets remained in the galaxy. Falcon, the biggest and central planet, was home to docile residents. They chose not to fight for anything—certainly not to preserve what already existed. Although life on Falcon was different from that on the other planets, one could quickly see that this was not living. The Falconites survived, but didn’t live full lives with any horizon. Everyone looked sad and fatigue was evident in their walk.

  Bucha, the violent planet, was left mostly to its predators. Human beings didn’t live there anymore. From time to time there were animal roars—the painful cries of the weak—and the quiet of eating time. All species of predators remained, as if someone had made a point that no species would become extinct. Every animal devoured its partner, even if it was of the same sex. There was no trust or confidence, even between the beasts themselves. Fear was evident in all their eyes, only temporarily replaced by sparks of attack and pleasure. The balance of terror between the animals thinned them out, but didn’t give precedence or strength to any one species. Everything was on guard for its life.

  On Moran, they’d never known such chaos. One big refugee camp embraced all the evil: theft, rape, drunkenness, murder. Everyone belonged to a camp, otherwise it was impossible to survive, as someone was sure to kill or harass you. Each Moranian group knew its boundaries, but their appetites didn’t decline. On the contrary, territories were conquered and annihilated. Leaders were murdered without trial and violence was commonplace.

  Kantara didn’t change its designation or definition. It remained the center of military and special training. After the war, Bergin and Coldor received its official management, although previously no one would have questioned their positions. Kantara was the only planet still almost as it was before the war. Its legality was known to all, and fearsome acts or suicides were common, which testified more than anything to the Kantarans’ emotional distress.

  Levi was the saddest planet. As on Brisker, there was not a soul. The planet was abandoned and empty of every living creature. At first the animals had floated in the floods; thereafter, they drowned. From above, even the grain fields looked like gray patches. The sadness on Levi was as if someone had made a mistake regarding its extin
ction. Orange light enveloped it warmly, trying to atone for the great sadness and desertion.

  For years a story made the rounds that only one songbird remained on Levi, and it never ceased singing a lament for the planet and its inhabitants.

  ***

  At five a.m., the dark sky began lightening in the cold air. Dozens of noisy crows circled the Moranian hills and, from time to time, growling, hungry wolves were heard. No one was outside. The planet had not awakened to a new morning of belligerence and strength.

  Zoi, Mattoui, Rettoul, Berez, and the two children had just landed. After concealing the Kaiser in the mountains, they began marching to Bonn, the largest and most dominant Moranian city. Everything happened there, or would not occur at all. It was Rettoul’s first visit to the planet and everything drew his attention, his mind absorbing the new data. Zoi, Berez, and Mattoui had all once lived in Bonn on Moran. They were familiar with its alleys, as were most of the mercenary ringleaders.

  The group wore the same clothes everyone else did in Bonn—overcoats decorated with black and gray stripes and gray hats that hid most of their faces. They merged in among the pedestrians, led by Zoi, and forged their way through the central market among vendors calling out and displaying their wares. Stalls sold fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, and notions, and there were even stalls selling weapons. Because most of them were booty or had been stolen from the other planets in the Great War, the selection of tools and weapons were sometimes only suitable for the planet they were made on.

  The commotion was great and Rettoul barely heard Zoi declare that he was going to look for a place for them to sleep. In the meantime, they should wait for him in Moses’ den.

  Moses was famous, and large and small throughout the galaxy knew his name and the legend of his life. Moses was a veteran combat soldier, and over the years many stories had intertwined truth and fiction about the great Moses. Some men boasted they’d been in this or that battle, or fought alongside or behind him. During the last galactic war, different groups tried to convince him to join their ranks, but Moses decided to leave even before the war broke out. Even around his retirement stories became interwoven, starting with it was fear that motivated the retirement because of his aging, which began to eat away at his body and mind. The fact was that he’d received a secret decoration and could retire respectably.

  The vendors were involved in their everyday affairs. Occasionally a peddler approached them, offering something. One of the vendors abruptly stroked the hand of one of the children, his eyes sparkling with passion.

  “For that boy you’ll get a lot of money from Slaughter. I’ll take him to Slaughter for you. Just say how much money you want for him.”

  The disgusted group quickly recovered and Berez kicked the peddler in the face. “I don’t know any Slaughter. Anyone who wants to buy my child should come and tell me, because that child is not for sale.” His eyes spat fire. The market tumult subsided for a few minutes, everyone looking at the beaten peddler and the flashing eyes of Berez and his friends. Within seconds, the group was surrounded by six burly thugs looking for a reason to interrupt.

  “I guess you didn’t understand, or you’re really not from here,” said the wounded and stunned peddler. “Slaughter gets paid here, and if you want to be violent before you pay, no problem.”

  Berez hadn’t waited for the peddler’s response after beating him, but that didn’t stop him grabbing him again and throwing him hard—as if he were a light package—at the mercenaries who surrounded them. The peddler fell and took three mercenaries with him. The fall was not enough for Berez. He hit them one by one, at the same time, until they all fell at his feet. Despite their skills, no one managed to stand up.

  The group stood by, ready to join the battle, but gave Berez the stage. In the market, everyone looked at the skilled Berez, who didn’t stop hitting the peddler.

  “I don’t know any Slaughter,” declared Berez again, rubbing his hands with delight at his behavior. Suddenly he noticed that someone in the audience held their Roll at the girl’s throat. His eyes flashed fire. Within seconds the guy was slammed to the ground, twisted in pain and writhing until he died.

  “You should not have intervened,” said Berez to Rettoul, who used his Jorash to beat the guy. “I would have managed alone,” he said, smiling and winking.

  The audience was stunned. Berez picked his hat up off the ground and continued with his gang silently along a path that opened up, cleared of people. No one approached them again.

  ***

  On Falcon, the debate over the size of the wedding hadn’t ended. Both Coldor and Bergin attributed importance to Zoron’s wedding, but the debate had already played itself out as far as they were concerned.

  “Okay,” agreed Coldor, “we will have the wedding the way you want, in the Temple. After all, the only Levite still alive is David, and he’s rotting in prison. Make all the preparations for the wedding at the Temple. We may make use of that wretched David yet. We’ll see.”

  Coldor was tired. On the one hand he had the strength of a young man, but on the other hand, the scenes, the memories, and the outlook dampened his mood.

  “Let’s set the wedding for two months hence,” declared Bergin. “That will be enough time to arrange everything—both the easy and the not-so-easy aspects.”

  Coldor, who was already on his way out, turned on his heel. “What do you mean exactly?”

  Bergin shrugged and smiled slyly. “There’s no one else who might disturb us.”

  ***

  Moses’ den was relatively close to where Berez beat the peddler and the thugs and they arrived within minutes. People sat around tables outside and ate as the group went inside. The darkness that greeted them inside made them stand still for a moment until they got used to it.

  There were also quite a few people here, but they were different from those who sat outside. All were armed and displayed their weapons intentionally. Everyone’s gaze turned to the group as they entered, like a test. The intersecting looks indicated to Rettoul and Berez that they were all mercenaries, assassins without any inhibitions of even the simplest and most unsophisticated kind.

  The two recognized the looks from their previous battles with wild populations. These men were like a group of guerrillas who had nothing to lose, not even their lives. Their only purpose for getting up in the morning and continuing to live was killing, regardless of what or how. Murder was the code name—uninhibited murder.

  Some of the men’s arms weren’t intact, a few even missing an entire hand. It was clear it wasn’t due to illness.

  Rettoul’s group sat down at a long rectangular table near the front door. Gaming tables were nearby, where patrons spent their time between one beer and the next.

  Zoi came in minutes after they sat down, before they gave their orders. His steps were sure and measured and he didn’t stop at the entrance like someone surprised by the intensity of the darkness. One could mistakenly think he was one of the locals. His confident and steady gait was indeed the result of his new life, but it also remained a reminder of his past, when he’d been the leader of the strongest and most dominant Moranian group.

  “I’m glad you came right away,” Zoi said, pulling up a chair and sitting down quickly.

  “Why shouldn’t we?” asked Berez. “All in all, everyone here’s quite friendly.”

  Zoi didn’t look at him and continued. “I found two rooms on Ara. It’s near here, and we should leave in a while. Outside I hear new voices and names. Say, have you heard anything about somebody called Slaughter?”

  “Yes. Berez heard that name during our visit to the market,” said Rettoul. “Who was it that mentioned that name?” He laughed and asked Berez, “Was it the first one you knocked down, or one of the others?”

  Zoi ignored the joke, obviously nervous. “Well, this Slaughter—one of the toughest collectors of protection money—is keeping everyone here on a short rope. He seems to have a hand in everything. I’ve been told n
othing escapes him.”

  “Then,” said Rettoul determinedly, “we need to meet this Slaughter. He can probably answer a few questions.” Rettoul looked around and continued. “Well, folks, I think you can take off your hats. I don’t think any of those we met remained alive.”

  “You’re probably right,” muttered Berez, taking off his hat.

  They ate well in anticipatory silence. Mattoui sat, head bowed. It was evident his thoughts were far away. “What’s the matter?” Rettoul asked.

  Mattoui sighed. “I worry about Tamar. I can’t relax.”

  Rettoul smiled like a loving brother. “Miss her, huh? Dude, you’re probably made of good materials,” he said, trying to amuse him, but Mattoui continued deliberating.

  “It’s not just the longing, it’s the worry. I’m not calm with regard to her. I don’t feel she’s safe.”

  “She’s fine,” declared Rettoul. “I’m sure Thor’s taking care of her almost as if he’s you. You have to get her out of your thoughts now and concentrate on what’s going to happen here. Otherwise, it could end badly. Thor will do whatever it takes to protect her. You hear me?”

  Mattoui nodded.

  “I didn’t hear you, Mattoui. You must rely on Thor.”

  Mattoui didn’t answer, just nodded again. Rettoul reached over and grabbed his face. “Get any concerns for her out of your head right now! There’s no need to burden yourself with more than what we have to deal with now, and that’s plenty. Do you understand? Thor will take care of her.”

  “Yes,” said Mattoui, and Rettoul hugged him tightly.

  Zoi returned from the bar. “You must have a few words with Moses before we see Slaughter. Are you coming, Rettoul?”

  “Yes, Mattoui and I will go with you. Berez, can you stay with the children and keep an eye on the place without causing too much havoc?”

  Berez grinned. “Enough. I want to eat, and if I’m harassed, then I’ll pay them back,” he said, smiling mischievously at Rettoul.

 

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