Destiny's Hand

by Michael Campling

  “Come on,” Ashra said. “We can’t be late.”

  I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Oh, grow up,” she said, then she put her hand on my back and pushed hard, and I had no choice but to stumble up the steps, flailing my arms to keep my balance.

  They’ll throw me out for sure after that, I thought. They’ll see what a clumsy idiot I am. But the guard on duty by the door examined my face then waved me on as if he knew me, and I stepped inside and wandered along the huge corridor in a daze. I’d never seen such high ceilings and such brightly painted walls. There were huge pictures on the walls, life-size portraits of men and women, and I remember thinking that none of them were smiling. Not one. And the carpet was a rich red, and so deep that my feet seemed to sink into it with every step.

  At the end of the corridor, a strangely dressed man was waiting by a wooden door, and as each child approached, he bowed his head and murmured a few words. I couldn’t take my eyes off his long, lustrous hair, and his bright green robes. He was the first Selmon I had ever seen up close, and I can still recall the strange mix of fascination and fear that stirred my stomach as I walked toward him. How should I respond when he bowed his head? My father had told me that the Selmon were very strict. What would happen if I did the wrong thing? Would the man be angry with me? Would I be humiliated in front of all these people?

  But when the moment came, I knew I need not have worried. After saying something quietly to Ashra, he bowed his head to me and without looking up, he said, “Honored candidate, you are most welcome. Please take your place at the desk labeled with your name.”

  “Thank you,” I said. But the man seemed not to hear me, and he was already repeating the same words for the benefit of the boy behind me.

  Oh well, I thought. I could’ve jumped up and down and he wouldn’t have noticed. I smiled to myself and walked in through the door. The room beyond was vast: a great hall, brightly lit from a row of tall windows. But although the room was steadily filling with children, there was hardly a whisper. The floor space was taken up with rows of small desks, and every child was either sitting at a desk in silence or walking quietly between the rows, studying the labels on each desk. Perhaps our silence was caused by the watchful gaze of the Selmon men and women who lined the hall; they stood in silence, their hands clasped across their stomachs, and their quick eyes surely saw everything. I wanted to look at the wonderful patterns on their colorful robes, but I daren’t risk it. Instead, I found my seat quickly and sat down, then I studied the parchment and quill laid out before me. The haptic parchment was the smoothest I’d ever touched, and it was so pale: a delicate shade of creamy white. And the quill had such a fine tip, I hardly dared to pick it up for fear it would snap.

  What kind of competition would this be? If handwriting was involved, I was sunk, because mine was the worst in the class. And if there was spelling or mathematics…

  I rubbed my hand across my forehead, smearing the cold sweat across my skin. A surge of panic stirred in my stomach. Could I get out of this? Could I stand up and run away?

  But then the heavy wooden doors closed behind me, sending a dull boom to echo through the cavernous room. And I knew it was too late.

  6

  Aboard The Shengzen

  Arech Jarmine woke with a start, his head on the desk. He groaned and sat up slowly, massaging his temples. A notification sounded on his console. Yes. The same thing had happened a moment ago; that was the noise that had woken him. He leaned his elbows on the desk and forced his tired eyes to focus on the console’s screen. He’d been monitoring the output from the security diagnostic programs for a long time, and if this notification was merely another false positive, he’d give up and get some sleep. In a bed.

  He read the information slowly, his expression fixed. “That’s not right,” he muttered. “I must’ve made an error.” But when he read it again and checked the logs, there were no mistakes.

  He shook his head. This result could not be correct, and yet, there was no alternative. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said to the empty room. “Why would he do that?”

  He shut his console down and pushed himself up to his feet. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, I’ll feel refreshed, and I can run the diagnostics again.

  But what will he do if a fresh batch of tests produce the same result? He’ll be forced to act, to report his findings. But could he really go to the envoy—the man who’d sent him to track down a traitor—and explain to him, in the most polite manner, that the only person who could’ve sent that message to Golmeneth was, in fact, the envoy himself.

  “No,” Arech said. “Unthinkable.” He stood still for a moment, then he sat back down and activated his console. His tests must have followed a false trail, laid down by the real traitor in order to throw suspicion on the envoy. The results must be eradicated immediately. And he knew how to make sure that those incriminating records would never be found again.

  He flexed his fingers. If he started straight away, he could have the whole job done in time to get a decent night’s sleep. And in the morning he would get back to his real job and oversee the recruitment process. Yes. This wouldn’t take him long. And then everything would go back to how it should be. Neat. Ordered. Complete.

  7

  Golmeneth

  I held my breath when the tall man walked onto the raised platform at the front of the hall. He was at least a head taller than my father, and his robe was made from a purple material that shone and shimmered when he moved. But the most impressive thing about him was the way the other Selmon people reacted when he appeared; as one, they turned in his direction, bowing their heads until their chins rested on their chests. This new arrival was clearly an important person.

  The man stood for a moment, looking slowly from side to side, and when he spoke, his soft voice carried across the room, like a familiar tune borne on a summer breeze.

  “Honored candidates, my name is Denarm Petruga, and I am here today to represent his Excellency, the Honorable Balteg Telleama, the most gracious Selmon envoy.” He paused, casting a sanctimonious smile around the room. “You are very lucky indeed, for today you have been chosen to take part in a grand competition. You will be given a set of tasks, and only the best and brightest candidates will be offered the opportunity to join the ranks of the Selmon administration. Only the most worthy will be chosen, and if selected, you will bring great honor to your families and to your communities.” Again, he smiled, and this time he nodded his head wisely.

  He seemed so sincere, and his voice was so gentle, I found myself thinking of the proud smile my father would wear if I was selected. That would be something special, I told myself. Really special.

  “Your tasks will appear on your parchment. Work in complete silence. You may begin.”

  Petruga tilted his head on one side, and with a start, I realized that the other children were already writing. I bent my head over my parchment, reading the instructions as fast as I could, but a wave of dizziness washed over me, and the words danced and blurred before my eyes. I shook my head and tried again, and in that moment, a burst of furious sound shattered the silence. Every child sat upright, their eyes wide. And this time I recognized the sound straight away: the brutal shuddering screech of a sonic grenade.

  I looked from side to side to see if anyone was going to take us to the exits, but the Selmon attendants were panicking, running up and down the hall, crying out in alarm. So I dived beneath my desk, just like we did in the drills at school, and I hugged my knees to my chest. But I didn’t close my eyes. If anyone came near, I needed to know, so I could get out and run.

  There was another sonic explosion and a roar of splintering wood, and I knew the doors had been blown open. Someone yelled a warning, and then the harsh, staccato rattle of bolt guns filled the air. I ground my teeth together, but still, I kept my eyes open. I saw smoke curling upward, caught in the beams of light from the tall windows, and as I watc
hed the smoke sway and dance, its delicate beauty seemed more real than the terrible sounds erupting around me: the terrified screams of the children, the sharp cracks of the bolt guns, the bitter cries of the wounded, and the savage yells of our attackers.

  This can’t be happening to me, I told myself. The City Guard will protect us. But there were no uniformed soldiers in the hall today, only the Selmon servants in their decorative robes, and from their strangled screams, the Selmon must’ve made easy targets for the attackers.

  Soon, the bolt guns fell silent, and then there were rough shouts and the thud of boots on the floor.

  “Children, stay down and you won’t be hurt,” someone yelled. “We’re fighting for your freedom from the Selmon scum. So stay down. Wait until we’ve gone, and only then come out of hiding. You won’t be hurt.”

  I shook my head. Nothing made sense. Nothing.

  The footsteps drew closer. Closer. A pair of legs came into view, and I held my breath. Please, I thought, go away!

  But the person stayed right in front of me. “This is it,” he said. “His desk anyway.”

  He bent down and peered under the desk, and when I saw his face, my heart lurched in my chest. One of his eyes was much larger than the other and farther away from his nose as if it was trying to flee from his face. And his lips were crooked, the lower lip pulled up on one side in the parody of a grin. “Yempick?” he asked. “Yempick Maiga?”

  I shook my head furiously.

  “Sure you are,” the man said. Then he grabbed hold of my arms and dragged me from my hiding place. I struggled, I lashed out with my fists, but the man was huge, and when he held me tight, there was nothing I could do. He threw me over his shoulder, then he sprinted for the doorway. I beat my fists against his back, but he was clad in a thick leather jacket, and he didn’t react to my pathetic blows. “Put the bag on him,” he shouted.

  A woman ran towards me, a sack in her hand.

  “No!” I yelled. But then the sack was over my head, and I could see nothing. I took a breath to fill my lungs and shout for help, but the dust caught in my throat and I coughed, choking for air. I coughed until the bitter taste of bile rose to the back of my mouth, and I gagged. Then I felt the world slipping away, and I knew nothing more.

  ***

  When the sack was pulled from my head, the light blinded me. I gasped, and the air was cool and sweet. “Let me go,” I said. “I want to go home.”

  “Perhaps,” someone said. A man’s voice. Gentle.

  I squinted up at the man standing over me, expecting to see the crooked face of the man who’d caught me. But this man was… No! I blinked, rubbed at my eyes. “You’re a Selmon.”

  The man laughed. “Yes. That is correct. I am, of course, a Selmon, and although it’s hard to believe, I mean you no harm.”

  “But that man—he was a…a modder.”

  The man’s smile faded. “The community beyond the city walls were useful in this instance.” He tilted his head to one side as if studying me. “It was your mother’s idea. She arranged for them to simulate an attack in order to remove you in a way that suited our purposes.”

  “What?” I pushed myself up to my feet and looked from side to side. I was in a room—a large room with no windows and only one door. “Is she here? I want to see her.”

  “No, I’m afraid she is not here, but your mother is safe. Your father and sister are also perfectly safe.”

  “Let me go,” I snapped. “Let me go home. My father—”

  “Your father knows where you are. Your mother will certainly have explained the plan to him by now. They are safe on Golmeneth.”

  Suddenly, I realized where I must be. “I’m on your ship. You’ve taken me up to your ship. Why?”

  The man sighed. He picked up a glass of water from a table at his side, and he held the glass out to me. “Here. Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  “No. Take me back home.”

  Slowly the man put the glass down. “Let me try again,” he said. “My name is Balteg Telleama, and I have been looking for you for a very long time.”

  I shook my head and kept my mouth firmly shut.

  “You see, Yempick, you are a special boy. Show me your hands.”

  I put my hands behind my back, but Telleama only smiled.

  “Do you know the faith we follow on Selmon?”

  I knew the answer, but I looked away from him.

  “The monks on Selmon believe in the Chaidra—the sum total of the wisdom gained by all two hundred and fifty-six of our prophets. But when I met your mother, many years ago, she converted me to her faith.” He paused. “Your mother is a great teacher, and she showed me the way to reach Gemmen.”

  I stared at him. From the look in his eyes, he really seemed to know my mother. That part might be true. But there was no way she would deliver me to this man. No way.

  “For some time, it has been my greatest wish to bring the people of Selmon into the light. I want all my people to share in the faith of Gemmen, or at least to understand it and feel a bond. A bond of love that no one can break.”

  “What? What did you say?”

  Telleama nodded slowly. “These were the words your mother told me to say. She said you would remember her parting message to you.”

  I swallowed hard, unable to speak.

  “On Selmon, we have a prophet who we call Tapira. He was not born on Selmon, but came from a world where the people have ten fingers—imagine that. But in the distant past, it’s said that Tapira cut off one of his fingers to express his belief that no individual is a complete entity. His wisdom tells us we must all coexist in peace. We must all work together in order to be complete, and in my culture, his name has become a symbol of unity. You were born with nine fingers—the mark of Tapira—and that is a very great thing indeed.”

  “No. It’s just an extra finger. It’s just…”

  Telleama bowed his head. “It is a powerful symbol. It will make the people of Selmon listen. And with your help, we will visit many new worlds, bringing unity and peace wherever we travel.”

  “I won’t help you,” I said. “Why would I help you?”

  “Because it is your mother’s greatest wish. And it is your destiny. It is the reason—”

  I didn’t let him finish. “No! Shut your mouth!”

  But he smiled and carried on. “It is the reason you were born.”

  I hung my head. And when I looked down at my hands, I finally understood.

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  © 2017 Michael Campling All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the copyright holder, except as permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.