Providence - Book One (M/L-ADULT) Completed

[truman11883]

AUTHOR: truman11883
TITLE: Providence
RATING: possibly ADULT, mostly YTEEN-MATURE
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from Roswell, just borrowing them.
SUMMARY: Based of a challenge by Lillie.

Max is the only son of one of the powerful houses on the five ruling planets. The sixth planet is a desert planet, with the spices on the planet. Max, his father and mother go to the desert planet, but they are betrayed by Phillip's advisor and Max and his mother escape. They find shelter with a group of desert people who believe that one day their messiah will come and help them take the planet. Max falls in love with a powerful warrior named Liz. With the help of the desert people, Max plans on avenging his family and gaining control of the empire.

--- Now, you can follow the movie and have Max marry the daughter of the emperor, Tess (Ava) if you want. But of course, Max never touches her, he is faithful to Liz, who owns his heart and is the mother of his children.

Elizabeth is destined to be with Max, the future king of Antar. But neither of them know it. Will they willingly accept Destiny?



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PLEASE NOTE THE FOLLOWING BEFORE READING THE PROLOGUE:


For all of you readers out there I wanted to let you know, I did some research on names used in this story. I didn’t just make them up - they are real names, and I listed them with their meanings. I used all of them for a reason, and you’ll see why as the story progresses. Some may be obvious, some coincidental. More will be added as the story continues.

Aron – Hebrew, Enlightened
Duscha – Slavic, Divine Spirit
Elizabeth – Hebrew, Blessed by God
Karina – Russian, Pure
Kya – African, Diamond in the Sky (used as an endearment)
Maxwell – English, Powerful
Rylan – English, Dweller of the Rye Land (this is in reference to prosperity)

And for fun, here are the names and their meanings of the other standard characters in Roswell:

Alexander – Greek, Defender of Mankind
Isabel – Hebrew, Oath of God
Kyle – Celtic/Gaelic, Handsome
Maria – Spanish, Bitter
Michael – Hebrew, He Who is Like God
Tess – Greek, Harvester

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I’ll admit I am a little nervous about this fic. It is definitely alternate universe, and the terminology and scenery … I’m not sure if I can pull it off. Definitely tell me what you think. I want to make this a good as possible. More feedback the better.

Thanks!





Thank you to Lolita Behrbuns for the beautiful banner!




Prologue

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Before the Great War, before the Roman Empire, even before dinosaurs roamed our Earth, a profitable and flourishing planet rested galaxies away. Antar, that once rivaled today’s Earth, was notorious for its wealth and influence in its system. For centuries it profited: its water was clear and clean, its foliage plentiful, its inhabitants content. Few on Antar went without, and for many years, all was good.

And while it was green and lush, the four smaller, accompanying planets in its system were barren. It was rumored through old tales that all five planets had at one time been equally beautiful, but Fate chose Antar as its sovereign, stripping the other planets with harsh, acidic rains and yearlong droughts. It was believed that immigrants fled to Antar for refuge, and eventually the planet was overrun and had to close its ports, offering instead compensation to the inhabitants of the doomed planets. Shipments of food and supplies were regularly sent out, and Fate took note of Antar’s hospitality and kindness.

Over the years, the tales of Fate and destiny became myth and legend. But the ruling family did not waiver in their kind and just ways and the citizens of the barren, dune planets were never forgotten.

There lived a prophet who served as a counselor to the King of Antar. Initially many believed this man to be dubious, but after many moons of loyal service he was able to prove his worth and allegiance to the King. He offered his guidance and intuition of certain aspects of politics. On several occasions, he received premonitions from Fate, which were meant to guide the King in his reign.

Often the prophet would appear at royal functions along side his King and many took this as a sign of equality, that the prophet was no longer a servant – but a religious leader of sorts. Many throughout the land and the five-planet system followed his teachings and traveled many miles to attend his lectures.

And as his popularity grew, the prophet found it increasingly difficult to maintain neutrality in his counsel to the King. An inner battle was fought inside him. He loved the King like a brother but also felt an overwhelming urge to maintain a sense of detachment. A crossroads was meant: either relinquish his position in the royal court and pursue enlightenment, or maintain his position along with cultural influence and struggle with the envious and indulgent notions that continued to invade his mind.

Needing to clear his thoughts, the prophet set out alone to search his soul for the answer.

One evening while pondering this dilemma, Fate spoke to him. In the darkness of the cave where the prophet sat, Fate foretold an invasion of Antar – a believed ally would betray the King and attempt to conquer its wealth. And alone, the King would be helpless to stop this, and Antar would fall. But Fate would not leave Antar in its time of need. Because of its kindness and generosity towards those that suffered, Antar would be given a most precious gift. It spoke of a visionary, an oracle that would soon be born. She would be strong in the ways of this world and the afterlife. She would be a link between the two, and would be Antar’s only hope at salvation.

Fate spoke of a man that would follow the King after his untimely death. Antar would be in chaos and this man would be a strong extension of the royal family. He would be a great warrior and official of the people. He would lead them into battle and guide them through the many hardships that Antar was intended to face. And in the wake of tragedy, despair, and death this man would find his angel, the oracle, and Antar would be saved. She would strengthen him, aid him, and attest to the virility of her soul and of Antar.

The prophet was given a mission: protect this woman at all costs. Train her, guide her, and teach her. For is he failed, if she was compromised in any way, life on Antar would end, and the five-planet system known as Rylan would parish. The future of Rylan depended on this one man and this one woman, and the prophet vowed that Destiny would not be unfulfilled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One year later…

He had finally found her. So many nights with disappointing outcomes, and finally after one year, he had found her. He had prayed for the day to come and Fate had not forgotten him. She had been born and now one year following the prophecy, the oracle had been born.

Ever since the night in the cave, Aron had quickly set Fate’s plan into motion. On his trek back to the palace, he had considered the words told to him. It was very likely that the man mentioned was the young prince, Maxwell. And while he was only two years old, the prince did exhibit profound knowledge of royal etiquette and decorum. However, if Destiny was to be fulfilled, it was probable that Maxwell must not know of his role until Fate allowed it.

And harsh realization set in: Fate had not asked him to stop the invasion either. The King would be deceived and Antar would be attacked. And therefore Aron knew he must leave. He could not in good conscience maintain his position knowing the impending invasion. Too many questions would be asked of him: why he wasn’t able to better guide the King, why a premonition wasn’t given to him. Now that Fate had given him a mission, he had more important, pressing matters to attend to – finding the oracle, protecting the oracle.

He had immediately resigned his position to the King upon returning to the palace.

An uproar throughout the kingdom followed – the incomparable Aron leaving the King was quintessential gossip for many months among the nation. What would the King do without Aron’s guidance and constant presence? Many feared that the nation, and the King in particular, would forget about its obligations – the four dune planets. It would be very easy for the King to lead a self-seeking campaign, neglecting the citizens of the sister worlds, without Aron there for spiritual guidance.

But the King was independently wise, and he gracefully accepted Aron’s resignation wishing him the best. It was a tearful departure, as the prophet had become a steady figure in the royal palace and his presence would be sorely missed.

As Aron readied to leave, an internal struggle became apparent. It seemed that Fate was testing him, seeing if Aron would warn his good friend and King of hardships to come. But, he soon realized, that no matter how intelligent Aron believed himself to be, he could not and would not question Fate. To do so would go against his sacred, age-old teaching.

And so he bid the King goodbye with a lasting word of wisdom: “My King, there is something I must tell you.”

“Yes?”

The internal dilemma was strong. Should he tell his King to spare his friend’s life, or stay silent and let destiny play out. Hesitating for just a moment, with a heavy sigh he chose the latter. “There is something I want you to always remember. You may forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.”

With confusion written on his face, the King nodded and embraced his good friend for the last time. Only Aron knew that this embrace would be their last, and his heart constricted with the raw emotion coursing through his veins.

Aron had spent the next several months relocating - and waiting. Waiting for Fate to guide him. With every female birth in the small kingdom, Aron was present offering a guise of spiritual authority. However, every birth left his mission unfulfilled, until tonight…

A young woman, who was penniless and very sick, had given birth to a baby girl. However, because of her waning health and the challenging birth, the young mother perished shortly after her young daughter entered the world.

And immediately Aron knew the small child. She was exactly what Fate had said she would be; her aura was unusually strong for such a young one. His spiritual training allowed him to see the impressions of her aura, and the bright amber and gold colors were almost blinding. She never emitted a cry, instead silently sought comfort in Aron’s arms and napped. He could read her strength, knowing she would be an excellent student in the future instruction. Her spirit called to him as if recognizing him as her teacher.

As he held her, the midwife spoke as she covered the young woman with the sheet. “What shall we do with the child?”

Aron searched his heart and found the answer. He was to raise her, this was certain. Fate intended it. “No family for her?” he asked.

The midwife shook her head in the negative, and Aron nodded. It was a sign. “I will care for her. She deserves a good home … and my Karina always wanted a baby girl,” he said as a whispered afterthought. His wife Karina. She would have loved this little girl from the first moment. How he missed her; and looking at the little girl in his arms, she was almost like the daughter they never got to have.

The midwife looked questioningly at the prophet, but said nothing. He was a good man doing a good deed. But few aging, widowed men would willingly take on an infant.

“What shall you call her? She needs a name.”

He thought for a moment. An appropriate name should be given, something meaningful. A small smile graced his face. “I will call her Elizabeth.”

“What does it mean?”

“Elizabeth means … blessed by God.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sixteen years later…

“Try again, and this time – close your eyes.”

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Close my eyes? That can’t be done ... I’ll miss.”

“Do you question the prophet?” Aron asked with a small smile. After years of training and her secrets and abilities revealed, she still had so much doubt. “Or do you question yourself?”

“I question lunacy. Closing my eyes could not help my training in any way. How am I to hit my target if I cannot see it?”

Aron sighed heavily. If only she knew the enormity of this lesson, he thought. This last secret, locked deep inside her, was near release. And if only she would accept it and embrace it, she would be stronger with the Duscha present. The spirits of the Earth, the Duscha, would give her insight and knowledge beyond any basic training that any mortal instructor could offer. The Duscha would guide her, their voice would speak to her, and she would possess their secrets and abilities. She had the gift, he was certain. But it was becoming clear that she was less than convinced.

“You do question yourself. Elizabeth, years of training and yet you manage to doubt my teaching. Have I failed you in any of your assignments yet? Have I misguided you in any way?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “How is it that you can be the strongest warrior on Cantu and yet you show fear at every turn?”

“Fear? I fear nothing!” she argued. The old man may be losing his mind, but she would never admit a fear of anything. A warrior didn’t allow it. One must be strong, agile, and have no emotion … most of all fear. In truth, there was one emotion that clouded judgment more than fear. But she would know nothing of that. She was a destined warrior, trained killer. What soldier ever had time or patience for love?

Aron looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. Despite her insecurities, Elizabeth was becoming everything that Fate had destined. And while raising her on Cantu was undesirable with its harsh conditions, it was also very necessary. Fate had ordered him to protect the oracle, and the small, dune planet of Cantu offered much to anonymity. The locals asked few questions and demanded fewer answers. When he arrived on the planet shortly after her birth, Aron hoped to seek refuge from the fame Antar held for him. The solitude they found proved most desirable. Since few on Cantu had any wealth, hardly anyone had been able to afford a trip to Antar for one of his public appearances. No one recognized him.

The golden sand hills sparkled in the harsh sunlight as they eyed each other. The sky was streaked with the brilliance of red and yellow, sporadic clouds outlined the horizon. The desert hills were perfect for training grounds; that is in between the sand storms and extended, weeklong darkness. The two suns only graced Cantu five short days every two weeks.

“If you fear nothing, than prove it.”

She looked him square in the eye acknowledging his challenge; and with a small step to center herself in front of her target she accepted it. She was never one to back down and even though his request only seemed to border wisdom, she raised her laser gun, a newly acquired weapon. Taking a last, memorizing look, she closed her eyes.

The red beams from the gun emerged as she pulled the trigger, and with a lightning flash it hurtled towards its target. She waited.

Silence.

Taking a steadying breath she wasn’t aware she needed, one eye pried open to view the target. The old, derelict android that rested no more than 100 feet away remained unscathed, save for blemishes that it had acquired over the years.

Her shoulders sagged in defeat and she shifted her gaze to the old man at her right. An ‘I told you so’ was at the forefront of her tongue, when his quiet laughter met her ears.

“You find my failure amusing?”

“No, no. I don’t laugh at your failure. You’ve never failed at anything. I laugh,” he said as he took a step towards her, “at your defeat.” He sobered slightly as he asked, “You honestly think you are incapable of this?” His question ended more as a statement after reading the confirmation in her eyes. After all this time, after all her success, she still had no faith.

She shrugged, carefully searching for the correct words. How could she explain anything that she was feeling? This man raised her from infancy, and for some reason was hell-bent on convincing her she was invincible. He lived and breathed on her accomplishments. How could she ever admit that with her every failure, she died a little inside? That with ever miss of the target, she could feel his disappointment? She couldn’t bear to see it in his eyes.

“Aron, perhaps … perhaps I am not ‘destined,’ as you believe. I’m not unconquerable or all-powerful. I can’t even hit my target. I’m not the one,” she said sadly as her eyes fell to her feet. “I’m not the oracle.” She turned north, walking towards their sand vehicle that awaited them. She knew it was cowardly to walk away. But, her heart just couldn’t survive his acknowledgment of her words. Believing it was one thing; having it confirmed was quite another.

“Elizabeth,” he called out softly, but she did not stop. “Liz.”

His firm calling forced her to stop. He had only called her Liz a handful on times, an endearment she had come to crave. She was Elizabeth during her chores, Elizabeth during her training, she was even Elizabeth during their few trips into nearby towns. She was only Liz when Aron dropped the prophet pretense and became a ‘father.’

And she found herself craving to hear it more and more even though it happened less and less.

He was calling her Liz now. At this moment, she was no longer a warrior, or a soldier in training. She was a daughter, and she relished the feeling while it lasted.

He spoke while taking steps to close the distance between them. “After all you have proven over the years,” his voice was gently, “do you honestly believe that? Or is it just easier to believe? To give up?”

She turned to face him, and she found her eyes burning with the need to cry, but she fought it – more on instinct than anything else. She wouldn’t cry. But the realization that, for the first time she actually wanted to, terrified her.

“You are the oracle Liz. You may not believe it yet, but I do. I have since you were born. And you have never disappointed me.” The distance between them was now relinquished to a few feet. His thumb came up to stroke her cheek as he willed her eyes to meet his, to see the truth in his. Slowly they rose.

“Liz … you are afraid of something, aren’t you?” After a second of hesitation, she nodded, and he took her left hand in his right in encouragement.

Another steadying breath was released from her flushed lungs. “I’m … I’m afraid of what it will mean, to be the oracle. Its not that I don’t want to be her, but if I am,” she sighed, and her voice was just above a whisper. “If I am her, I’m so scared that I won’t be good enough. That I’ll let Antar down. And …”

As she trailed off, he prompted, “What is it Liz?”

“And,” her frustration emitted in her answer. “Aron, look at me! I’m a woman. I’m sixteen years old. How am I supposed to save an entire planet? It’s ridiculous. And I’ve been failing you all along. Right now I’m failing. Right now I’m breaking rule number one. I told you, I’m not her!”

“Rule number one? ‘Show no emotion.’ Liz, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you this upset.” He wasn’t following her tempered outburst, and he hoped she would enlighten him.

“I can’t hold my emotions like I’m supposed to. I can’t. I feel so much, and when I’m training, it’s like they’re heightened. How am I supposed to fight an enemy if I’m already fighting a battle inside me?”

Now he understood. She had somehow misinterpreted the first rule he had taught her. She had been trying to feel nothing, when in fact she was supposed to embrace her emotions. “Liz, ‘Show no emotion’ does not mean ‘Feel no emotion at all.’ It merely means to not let your enemies read them. Of course you must feel, and the more you feel the better. It gives you strength and aids your concentration. The idea is to not let your opponent know what you feel or think. To be a blank slate – but only on the outside. That way he will never know if he has the upper hand.”

She stared at him, trying to comprehend his words. She had been fighting a losing battle, this invisible foe for years, completely unaware that she had been negligent in her training.

“Would you like to try again?”

She nodded, aware of a renewed sense of anticipation and desire – to succeed. Perhaps his request would be easier now that she had an accurate grasp of what was required of her. Maybe now she would not feel like such a disappointment.

They slowly walked, and soon she stood in front of the dormant, gold-tinted android. Her long, brown hair cascaded and whipped slightly over her shoulders as the wind picked up. She sensed a storm approaching. Three days, and they would soon be seeking shelter from another sand storm.

Her eyes fixed on her target as he spoke, “Alright, ready your stance.” His authoritative, instructor voice emerged, although with a hint of something else she couldn’t quite name. Anticipation maybe, but she wasn’t sure. Liz straightened her back, her feet rubbing and grinding, attempting to get a grip in the sand. Her shoulders straightened and her face fell blank, which now seemed to come quite easily.

“Now, read your target. Pick a point on it for your aim. Do you have one?” She nodded as she looked squarely at the metal head that sat lifelessly on the android’s shoulders. More precisely – his nose. Another flicker of light reflected from the metal as a sun peeked quickly from behind a cloud.

“Slowly close your eyes, but don’t lose sight of your target.” She hesitated. ‘I will lose sight of my target if I close my eyes,’ she thought. Why did he have to talk in circles? “You can do it Elizabeth. See the target in your mind. Feel its energy. Close your eyes, and you’ll still see it.” She closed her eyes. “Do you see it?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, in awe of this new discovery.

He took a few steps back, “Aim.”

Her gun rose with precision. She could feel it now. The voices in her head whispered to her. The air had a life force; she could feel it embracing her. It clung to her arm, her gun, her target; it was heavy, but a welcomed load to bear. Its energy radiated off of everything, and yet nothing. This realistic visualization behind her closed eyes was remarkably clear, reducing any distractions, letting her focus on her target and nothing else.

The voices whispered to her, a language she knew, but also did not. An ancient language, the words repeating over and over softly in her mind, guiding her gun, “A’min fagune; shimok na garunda. Brindu chanto ma nima Duscha se.” Hear us my child; be not afraid. The Duscha is with you now. The voices chanted over and over, and what seemed like minutes was mere seconds in time.

Aron looked on as her stance remained calm and sure, a polar opposite of the warrior she was just a few minutes ago. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, and a short inhalation of breath was heard. She was seeing it. She was hearing them, and using their energy. She was the one.

She only faintly heard his muffled voice over the chanting voices, “Fire.”

Immediately the laser shot was released and it propelled through the air. It played almost in slow motion; everything happening in a fraction of real time. The waves came off the blast, ripples in the air that only she could see. The normally invisible molecules and atoms of the air emerged and guided the red lights of the laser towards its target. It was a channel of power, pushing and pulling, its strength and energy guiding the laser.

With deadly accurate precision, the head of the sleeping android blew apart, landing piece by piece on the golden sand dune.

[truman11883]

Aldus – English; From the Old House
Ava – Latin; Like a Bird
Dolan – Celtic/Gaelic; Dark Haired
Khivar – N/A
Naava – Hebrew; Pleasant, Beautiful
Sero – N/A; mentioned in Episode # 209, Max in the City



Part 1

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“Duscha. What is the Duscha?” she whispered.

He looked on in amazement. It had happened. The final bridge to connect her earthly and spiritual elements had happened. She was now one mystical being, with the Duscha firmly present in her body, her mind.

Her aura had changed sharply after the awakening. Once an amber shade of gold and orange, it was now strikingly blue, with bands of purple fading in and out. Power and supremacy emitted from her being, and he unconsciously took a step back from the awe that it inspired.

Even with all his spiritual training and schooling, the sheer magnitude of the Duscha presence could never be accurately anticipated. His knees fell week and his legs shook.

Her eyes were still closed, her eyelids trembled, her breath even but deep. She had asked the question that seemed appropriate, but deep down, the answer was inside her – she knew. There was a presence, a companion almost, fluttering in her conscious. The voices had quieted but were still present. The language they spoke was ambiguous; the meaning of the words seemed to rest just out of grasp.

“Where did you hear that name?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“They called themselves Duscha. The voices.” Her eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the harsh sunlight. “What is the Duscha?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” He knew she did, if she would only search her heart. Realization would set in, and she would come to trust that she was the oracle. It was painfully clear now.

She turned to look at him, and was baffled by his appearance. While he was still the same man that she had come to love like a father and respect like a mentor, his authoritative presence was now … inferior. Of what she wasn’t certain. He seemed unsure, almost pensive, his stance before her was humbled. His eyes were fixated on her, studying her.

She was still getting accustomed to the never-ending voices in her head; thought was hardly effortless. There were so many, too many aspects to give awareness to.

In the short moments of the lesson, ever since she had closed her eyes, Liz had been changed. She was no longer a sixteen-year-old girl struggling with Destiny and insecurities. She was no longer an adolescent searching for her place in the world.

She looked down at her fingers, clenching and extending them. They tingled and sparkled with the after effects of the awakening. Short sparks emitted from the tips, and a hush went through her and the voices with every flicker. Almost as if they were quieted with the power she emitted.

She felt no taller, her muscles no bigger. But she felt different. Her abilities were more practiced, proficient … plentiful; she knew without proof. She was changed, Liz knew.

She was the oracle.

“The Duscha … its, its like a link, isn’t it? A link between the earth and … and God … Fate. I can feel it,” she whispered with awe streaming through her. “It worked. Whatever you wanted to happen today … it worked.” Their eyes met, both holding more emotion than they had known possible. “I am the oracle.”

He nodded, incapable of any other response. Her knees fell weak from the acknowledgement, and she slowly, clumsily lowered herself to the sand. She attempted to get her bearings and took deep, cleansing breathes. The weight of the newly acquired abilities, the voices, the realization all fell heavily on her shoulders. He silently came to her side, and sat next to her, unable to speak.

The full magnitude of her awakening had only begun to be revealed, but Aron knew that everything was different. Her aura exuded authority, and he suddenly felt very insignificant in his student’s presence. She had succeeded him in ability, in spiritual knowledge, in nearly every aspect that one could ponder.

“Elizabeth, how do you feel?”

“Different. It … it feels like a presence in my mind. The voices, they’re so beautiful.” She took in her surroundings, the dunes, the sky, the suns. “Everything is so beautiful. I’ve never noticed before. Even the sand,” she said as she took a handful in her palm. Before it always seemed like lifeless yellow specks. But now – now it was millions of jewels dancing in the sun. Opal, ruby, sapphire, and diamond all mingled in her palm, sparkling with a heavenly magnetism.

Her eyes rose to the sky, now littered with white, billowy clouds, hiding the suns from her view. They were plump, eagerly awaiting the rapidly approaching storm. The sky was streaked with the typical reds and yellows, but also aqua and magenta.

“Do you see that?” she asked Aron, never taking her eyes away from the heavens.

“See what?”

“I … I don’t know. It’s all so new. I don’t even know what I’m seeing, or hearing.” The voices still did not stop, now long minutes after the awakening. There were no words to describe what she was seeing or feeling.

“The voices won’t stop. They will always be there guiding you, speaking to you. Teaching you. Don’t fight it Liz.” Another spark was emitted form her right fore finger as she went to stand up.

“I won’t.” Her whole body hummed with energy. The wind continued to whip through her hair; her tunic was now half undone, most likely from the ordeal her body was subjected to. The maroon undershirt contrasted nicely to the beige over-wrap. Her sandals were filled with the jeweled sand, but she did not care.

She wanted something. No, they wanted something.

She listened to the voices. Struggled to understand, to do their bidding. Another spark came from her finger, and the voices hushed again.

“Aron, prepare the android, please. I want to try something.”

He quickly moved to the target, and righted it. The android, now headless, sat on a small sand mound, leaning slightly to the right, silently awaiting its doom.

She stood quietly for a moment, preparing for the task that the voices requested. She closed her eyes in concentration. What did they ask of her? She listened.

Frytop a grunga. Cenomo ty req. Me vey akkobe laxune.

Hear our words. See our light. Follow your heart.

She let out a frustrated breath; nothing was making sense. If she had thought Aron spoke in circles, she was about to take it back. Liz desperately wanted to understand, to do their bidding, to be a worthy servant. But how could she serve the Duscha if she couldn’t recognize their request?

Hagona. Hagona. Hagona.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

She understood that. Her right arm rose and aimed at the metal target, and this time, she kept her eyes open. The sparks started again, communing at her fingertips. They collected, grew in intensity, swelling into a ball of electric energy. She watched as it mingled with the atoms of the air, building …

She fixed her eyes on the target, this time the torso of the android. Her vision cleared just as it had before, without her eyes closed. She saw the target highlighted by the thick, communing air. The ripples of the wind and slight sounds were visible ripples only she could see. Her eyes clouded over a dark gray, and Aron looked on as she trembled from the energy that was literally at her fingertips.

The voices chanted over and over, and she obeyed. The white light was almost blinding and suddenly, it was hurtling towards the android. It flew from her hand in a flash, nothing but a blur of white light and energy.

Aron, who had been awaiting the inevitable impact, was caught off guard by the sheer force of the collision. At the moment of impact, he was thrown through the air, landing roughly a short distance away. Oxygen escaped his lungs, and he breathed heavily for several moments to regain his composure. He was left nearly unconscious, and only Liz was aware of her surroundings, because of the voices …

The velocity of Liz’s energy obliterated the android. The sparks surrounded the robot, filtering through the cracks and openings, tearing it from the inside out. An atomic boom sounded, and the machine was relinquished to distorted metal strips lining the sand. Gold metal on the yellow jeweled sand spread for hundreds of feet; wiring and screws from inside the sleeping robot fell from the sky in metallic rain.

After several seconds of deep breathing, Liz’s eyes cleared to their normal dark, chocolate brown coloring. Her hair was in disarray, and she struggled to regain her vision and concentrate on her target. She shook her head slightly when she couldn’t find it.

She looked again. A crater twelve feet in diameter was all that remained of the sleeping android. It had survived so many training lessons and now, after only a few minutes, it was completely destroyed. Aron lifted his head from his comfortable pillow in the sand. She turned quickly to the sound of Aron coughing, and crawled over to him.

“Aron? Aron are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” His voice was rough from the violent impact his aging body had taken on the dune, and he shook his head again to clear it from his jumbled thoughts. He was still trying to comprehend the awakening. He had been unaware and was completely caught of guard by the powers that she was demonstrating. The old monk had told him the powers wouldn’t present themselves until days later, until the Duscha had time to manifest itself. To create a strong holding in its host. To attach and bond.

But Liz was a special host.

“How did you do that?” he asked huskily, his lungs burning from the effort.

“I just did. They told me to. Was it wrong?”

“No, no. Just unexpected.” He sat upright with her help, taking cleansing breaths. He eyed the crater that was once the crucial training equipment. “You destroyed it … without a weapon.” Aron couldn’t help it; he was in complete awe of her, in only a matter of minutes.

“No, I didn’t. The Duscha did. It just used me, like … like a catalyst. It was amazing. It has so much energy Aron. I can’t even describe it.”

“Do you think you could do it again?” But he already knew the answer.

Her voice held nervousness and excitement, to see what else she could accomplish. “Yes.”

He struggled to stand, suddenly agitated. “Someone must have heard that. The Dolan hunters will come to investigate. We should go.”

“Do you hear them?” she asked, suddenly alarmed.

“No, not yet. But the Dolans are never far from mischief. We won’t want to be here when they make an appearance.”

She nodded in agreement, and they righted themselves; their muscles still weak from the explosive ordeal. Their walk to the sand vehicle was in silence. Both still mentally deciphering her awakening. Even sixteen years had not prepared Aron for her spiritual initiation. And Liz was still trying to decode the never-ending voices.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sand vehicle, called a hovercraft, soared just above the ground as the two made the journey home. The first of the two suns was setting on the horizon behind them, illuminating the sky with brilliant streaks of red and orange. The hum of the automobile was the only sound between them. Both were deep in thought; so much had happened, and Liz had an abundance of questions. All of which the answers had gone mysteriously unrequited.

“Aron, what will happen now?”

He was completely unsure of his answer, finally deciding to be honest with her and fill in the holes later. He looked to the sky. He too had sensed the storm that was only hours away.

“After the storm, we’ll practice your powers. Then we’ll – ”

“Powers? That’s what you’re calling them?” She was somewhat amused by his wording. She was anything but a super hero.

“Well, yes. What would you have me call them?”

“How about … gifts? Or abilities?”

“It is not a talent, Elizabeth. You destroyed our android with a bolt of lightning from your hand. That is not exactly something that anyone can acquire or perfect. You are changed now, Elizabeth.” He looked at her for a moment, and then turned forward while he drove. “You are no longer … completely human.”

Her gasp spurred him on. “The prophecy said you would be a link between the mortal and spiritual. The Duscha formed a bond with you, but it also had to change you for the awakening to be successful.”

“Awakening?” Her voice was quiet, quivering, unsure. She was almost afraid of what his answer would be. And what it could mean for her.

“These powers you possess, were actually inside you all along. But today, the Duscha awoke those powers. When you were attempting to see the target with your eyes closed, you called them. And they spoke. I am sure they are still speaking, yes?”

She nodded silently.

“The Duscha answered you, and your dormant powers came to life. The voices will continue for several days, and then quiet. From then on, they will only speak when you call them.”

“How will I call them? I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“You will. You should not worry. Not now. At this moment, a bond is being made inside you. The Duscha and your physical body are molding, merging … bonding. Once it is complete, we will be able to practice and perfect your powers. Whatever they are.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t even know what my powers will be?”

“They are different with every awakening. Every oracle. You must rest and allow the bond to form.” He gave a meaningful look, “Don’t fight it. These next few days are crucial.”

She silently agreed, and the following minutes were spent allowing this new information to sink in. For so long Liz had accepted Aron’s talk of Fate and Destiny without much complaint or question. But with these new developments, she felt compelled to learn as much as she could, while he was still willing to give answers.

“How many oracles have there been?” she asked.

He slightly shook his head in regret. “For years, the awakenings were never documented. There are two that I know of. Now three,” he said with a meaningful look.

“What were their missions?”

“The first oracle was sent to protect a man named Aldus. The prophecy said that Aldus was destined to rule his planet, Naava, which is in a galaxy far from here. The mission was successful; the prophecy was fulfilled.”

Liz turned to look at him. A story such as this should have brought a smile to his face, but Aron was far from happy.

“The second was a boy.” He trailed off, his eyes steadily gazing ahead at the dune horizon, but not seeing it. All he could see were the memories flashing through his mind, slowly haunting him, even after all these years.

“What about the boy? What happened?” she prodded.

His voice was low, and she had to lean closer to hear him over the hum of the hovercraft.

“Fate foretold that a soul would possess strength unknown to mankind. The oracle would be resourceful, wise, and the ultimate weapon against all evil in our galaxy. He would be unconquerable, and because of this power, he would make peace on his warring world.

“A prophet was assigned to seek out the oracle; and a boy was found who met the conditions that were given in the prophecy. As time passed, the prophet became impatient. The oracle was compromised by his own protector.” Aron began to raise his voice in anger; salt in old wounds. “Khivar forced the awakening early, and the boy died.”

“Khivar.” Liz’s voice was just above a whisper. She new of him, everyone knew of him. She shook her head sadly for the boy who never knew his Destiny.

“Khivar is the reason why so many prophets are in hiding. Spiritual teachers and students conceal their true identity for fear of persecution … because of him. Fate is now legend and myth because of the doomed oracle. The prophecy was never fulfilled and so many lost their faith and abandoned all belief, because of Khivar. So many lost their faith. Antarians especially.”

The question left her lips before she realized she had spoke, “Why Antarians?”

He slowed the vehicle as they neared their home, the small piece of land they owned. It was all they had on the dune planet, a small mud-brick home with no windows, and only one door. Fewer openings meant less sand to clean up. The hum of the hovercraft slowly died as he removed the key. He turned to her, wanting to explain fully, wanting her full attention.

“Because the boy was an Antarian prince.” He read her reaction carefully. “He would have been the uncle of King Philip. His name was Shaun.”

She couldn’t grasp it. The boy’s protector had betrayed him. Everyone in the Rylan system, in the Whirlwind galaxy knew of Khivar and his tyrant-like policies. “Why? Why would he do such a thing?”

“Khivar felt that Shaun needed to be awakened before he came of age. He didn’t listen for Fate to guide him; he acted on his own desires.” His voice remained low and controlled, but the tension and anger was thick. “He was power hungry, covetous. He wanted to rule Antar, and Shaun would have been his only key to the throne. The bastard didn’t listen; Khivar shamed us all. Everyone in the Rylan system lost their faith because of him.

“After Shaun’s death, and his treachery was revealed, Khivar was banished from Antar forever. When it was clear that he had lost Antar, he sought out the planet Sero. He denounced his allegiance to the Duscha, married Queen Ava, and took the throne.”

He sighed as he turned in his seat to exit. “Come on. We should go inside before the storm hits. I’ll prepare dinner.” He walked toward the small home, and Liz slowly followed.

She was emotionally shaken with the new information, and shook her head slightly at the deceit and corruption in Rylan’s history.

But it explained so much. Why they never exposed themselves on Cantu. Why Aron never mentioned being a prophet to the locals. Why he never returned to Antar and his once good friend King Philip, whom he hadn’t spoken to in sixteen years.

He had told her so much before, but with everything she had just heard, she had hardly known him at all. Or herself.

Or her Destiny.

[truman11883]

Amy – Latin; Beloved
Dagan – Hebrew; Grain of Corn
Hanaar – N/A; mentioned in Episode # 209, Max in the City
Juniper – Latin; Juniper Berry
Sunila – Hindi; Blue



Part 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After a restless dinner, Liz had finally found a fitful sleep on the tiny cot in her room.

Her room was basic, nothing extravagant or expensive. They had no money to spare on such things, let alone time to enjoy them. She had her cot, her books, clothes hanging neatly in her closet, and a rug on her floor. In a box next to the door were her weapons. Her laser gun, her sword, and a few other necessities. Not much else was needed on the planet of Cantu.

At least not for a warrior.

Once they had entered the house, Aron and her had remained mostly quiet, silently reflecting on the emotional conversation.

She had never known of the deception that Khivar had instilled in the Duscha following. To be a prophet had been a great honor at one time, and many had sought guidance from them. She had always assumed the shift of belief happened naturally, as did many opinions. Changes in culture and generation usually meant changes in belief systems.

But, now that she knew the history of Khivar, she feared for herself. Not from Aron – she trusted him with her life. She feared that the people of the Rylan system, Antarians especially, would reject her, persecute her … or worse.

She had never had any choice when it came to her life. Liz was an oracle, a destined soldier. She was meant to fight evil and defend the weak and helpless. Aron had always told her that she was a gift, and that to fight Destiny would be the end of Antar.

Yes, he had used guilt. But even she knew that her pride and stubbornness were at times resilient and impossible to compete with; guilt was a last resort. Liz had always been extremely independent, only ever being able to rely on two people, herself and Aron. Granted, those were the two people she ever had any direct contact with, but her isolation was for her safety.

Because of the hunters.

She knew of them. Aron had been very adamant about their presence and the need to be invisible. If the wrong people heard of her as a suspected oracle, they would do one of two things. Either laugh wildly in their face, or inform a hunter of their location. And she wasn’t particularly eager to be humiliated or dead.

The hunters only had one goal, to end all following of the Duscha, all spiritual teaching and study. They were salaried by Khivar; she had always known that. Now she knew why. They were most feared by all Duscha allies, and more than likely the only thing that Aron ever showed fear towards.

When she was twelve, they had made an outing to the small town of Hanaar for supplies. Being a young, curious, and autonomous girl, she had been at times somewhat rebellious. On this specific trip, for the first time, she had talked to someone outside of the tight circle that Aron upheld. A young girl her age, named Maria.

On several occasions Maria had tried to speak to Liz, but Aron was always present, and the conversation was sharply terminated before Liz could utter a sound. She knew he wanted nothing more than to allow her to lead a normal life, but … he couldn’t. So much rode on her. It was far from fair, but who was he to argue with Fate.

But on the day in examination, she snuck away silently in the quaint shop that Maria’s mother owned. And for the first time, she was a twelve-year-old girl. She giggled and whispered for several minutes, enjoying the newfound friendship. Maria’s smile and laughter were contagious, and soon she had forgotten about Destiny and Fate …

“How come you never talked to me before?”

Liz hesitated briefly. She wanted nothing more than to tell Maria her secret. She didn’t want to be different; she just wanted a friend. She wanted to be normal, even for a few brief, precious moments. And Maria had seemed so nice, with her inviting green eyes, and open, devoted personality.

“Aron says I shouldn’t. Its not safe.”

“Why’s it not safe? Nuthin’ happens on Cantu.”

“Some people don’t like us. We have to hide.”

Maria frowned and her golden blonde hair hung around her face as she leaned close, lowering her voice to match Liz’s. She sensed this was a secret between them. A really important secret.

“Don’ worry, I won’ tell nobody.”

Liz smiled her thanks, both unaware of the figure watching them from the shadows.

Maria leaned in closer. “But, how come they don’ like you? Who are they?”

Liz whispered very softly into her friend’s ear. “Hunters.”

Maria’s eyes grew wide. She knew of the hunters, everyone did.

“They don’t like us cuz I’m special. Aron says so.”

“So you’re … a … a follower,” she said as the pieces fell together.

Liz nodded in confirmation. “Aron’s a prophet.”

“Wow,” was all Maria could manage. Did she say nothing ever happened on Cantu? She was about to take it back.

“Elizabeth!” Aron’s muffled voice called. Both girls turned to the sound of his voice and knew their secret meeting was coming to an end.

“I gotta go,” Liz said as she stood from their spot on the floor. She straightened her cloak and secretly, unconsciously placed her hand on her concealed sword that was hidden away inside the folds of cloth. A die-hard habit of a soldier in training – always know where your weapon is. “Don’t tell anyone. Please?”

“I won’. I promise,” came Maria’s hurried reply. Liz gave a small smile in thanks and went off to Aron, who was becoming frantic with worry. She was already mentally assembling another plan to secretly meet with Maria again.

Neither of the girls knew the man in the shadows had heard the entire exchange.

Because of his training, only Aron knew of the trouble nearby. He could feel the evil in the air. A hunter…

“Liz, where were you?” he asked as she came into view from behind a rack of fruit.

“I was just getting the rice, like you wanted,” she said, supplying a large bag in her arms. She had eyed the bag as she had made her way to the front of the shop, and quickly took it to confirm her alibi.

Aron sighed heavily in relief, but it was short lived. “Come. We should go.” His eyes never stopped scanning the crowd. Someone was watching them; he could read it clearly, as if the enemy was right in front of him.

They paid quickly, with Maria’s mom, Amy, smiling her thanks to her customers. Aron turned to make the short walk to their hovercraft, which was parked just outside of town.

Amy secretly slipped Liz a sucker with a wink. She had noticed the little, dark-haired girl before and couldn’t resist giving her something to smile about. Liz self-consciously smiled at her and at Maria, who was sitting on the counter behind her mother.

She turned to follow Aron to their hovercraft, and once everything was loaded, she climbed inside, waiting for Aron to follow. When he didn’t enter, she turned and found him staring off with a blank look on his face.

“Aron?”

No response. Her damnable fear kicked in when she saw his hands quake with tension. “Aron?” her voice trembled.

“He’s close,” he said quietly. His eyes met hers, and she could read his terror clearly. Something was very wrong; she could feel it in her bones. “He knows. Liz,” his voice broke with emotion. “We’re being hunted.”

Her body trembled with adrenaline and horror. She frantically searched around them, her eyes scanning for the hunter Aron spoke of. Her throat was immediately parched, and she struggled to swallow the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat.

Unseen by her, Aron drew his sword standing ready to fight. The hunter was too close for them to escape or flee. It was inevitable. A confrontation would take place, and he could only pray that, if he was killed, that Liz would survive. She was so important, more so than even he could grasp. Her life was more precious than his, he knew that. And he was willing to fight for her, and if needed, die for her.

“Elizabeth, stay down. Don’t move.” She turned to Aron about to protest, when she saw the hunter. The dark figure, no more than a few feet away from them, stood in shadow created by his cloak. His face was masked, all but his mouth, which was upturned in a malicious smile. He stood tall, towering over Aron, as the hunter slowly took steps toward the hovercraft.

He wore the sign of a hunter, a black cloak with the symbol of Sero resting on the chest – a silver and red triangle, three corners representing the kinship of the three strong dune planets, Sero, Juniper, and Dagan. These three dune planets cared nothing for Cantu, the weak, smallest planet in the Rylan system. Only the strongest survived in their heartless affiliation. The walked with a purpose, like a predator stalking his prey, and Liz unconsciously cowered in her seat. Evil emitted from his very being.

His voice was low, harsh, riddled with malice. He continued his quest, as Aron turned to face his opponent. “I saw you in the market, prophet,” his last word spoken harshly, as if merely saying the word brought him injury. He drew his sword, and the metal glittered from the suns’ rays. The sand sparkled, the heat waves emitted from the ground, the sticky, humid air clung to Liz’s skin. But all she could see was the hunter’s mouth. His teeth were black and gray, and his evil grin sent shivers down her spine. “Are you prepared to die?”

There were only a few second of silence, as the two wordlessly faced off. Then the swords met in fury. Liz slumped in her seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes closed tightly. She couldn’t bear to witness the battle, knowing that hunters were expertly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and that Aron hadn’t fought in years.

She was mentally willing the battle to be over. The clanging of bladed and colliding of metal resounded for what seemed like hours, an eternity even but she couldn’t bring herself to look.

It was her fault the hunter found them. She should never have told Maria. She had been careless and unknowingly put Aron’s life at risk. Now they were sure to die because of her.

She rocked in her seat and clumsily brought her tiny hands to cover her ears. Fright and dread raced through her veins, and she prepared herself for her death. Sobs escaped her tight throat and parched mouth.

Regrets ran through her mind. Liz had always wanted to see Antar – its beauty. She had read books of the trees, and flowers, and birds. She wanted to swim in the blue waters of Sunila Lake by the palace. She wanted to feel Antarian silk on her fingers. She wanted to hear the songs of the exotic birds that only lived in the Antarian forests. Tears streamed down her face as she mourned the life she was never going to have. And the world that she would be letting down.

Antar would parish because she had told their secret. She had been so selfish …

A hand clasped her on the shoulder, and she shrieked, trying to climb away. The hands held fast, and her fists punched and beat the body in front of her, keeping her eyes closed. She couldn’t see his smile again, the gray teeth or the spiteful smile. Behind her eyes, she was laughing and swimming in the crystal blue lake on Antar, not on the dune planet about to die a horrible death.

Sobs escaped her as she pleaded with the hunter, “Please, no! I don’t want to die! No, please don’t hurt me, please! No …” Her sobs were near uncontrollable, her body tensing in anticipation of the blow that she was sure was to come, that would end her life.

“Liz …” his soft voice penetrated her haze of regret. She slowly stilled, stopping her tiny fists from impaling the chest in front of her. Surely her mind wouldn’t be so cruel as to conjure up his voice in place of the hunters. Aron must be dead, she knew it.

Her chin quivered, and her hair was in disarray from the ordeal. Strands blew across her face as she summoned the courage to open her eyes. Unhurriedly they pried open, and she half expected to see the hunter and his rotting teeth mocking her in an evil grin.

She was only met with the loving, tearful eyes of Aron as he embraced her. It was the first and only time Liz had ever seen him cry, and the only time Liz ever cried in front of him. But they wept together that day, clinging to each other, seeking comfort in each other’s arms.

He stroked her hair and whispered reassuring words into her ear, silently thanking Fate for their lives. She clung to him, her fists clutching his robe in a desperate attempt to keep him and his never-ending comfort near. After several minutes Liz drew back.

She saw the blood splattered across his tanned skin.

She saw the small gash on his left cheek.

She saw the sand sticking to his sweat-ridden clothing.

Even with the battle wounds, they were still alive and she couldn’t help but be relieved that the hunter was dead. Her breath remained erratic as she desperately tried to calm down. The adrenaline that was just moments ago running freely through her veins was now tempering off, leaving her sated, exhausted, lethargic She needed confirmation that the hunter was dead; just to see Aron before her wasn’t enough. Liz’s mind would never be able to rest peaceful without closure. Slowly, she turned to her right.

She saw the headless body of the hunter lying in the sand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aron stood in the doorway, the candlelight softly flickering his shadow against her wall. He stood guard, watching her as she slept, marveling at the power in the petite, young girl that slept before him. He sipped his tea and thought to himself.

He had still so much to tell her, so much to teach her. But he knew that the appropriate time would come. He knew he must wait for Fate to guide him. It did not matter how he desired to reveal the truth of her Destiny. He was a father, a teacher, but above all he was a servant. And so he waited and prayed that every decision he made was the correct one.

Elizabeth had always been so strong and yet unsure in her capabilities. He knew she was afraid of Destiny and what it would mean fore her. It did not help that the prophecy given to him had been ambiguous and vague. However, Fate had yet to forget him, and so he held fast to his faith, and lingered further in his state of limbo.

Today had been an important day, and it was no wonder she was exhausted. He had half expected her to fight sleep tonight, knowing that the soft voices would likely keep her awake, if not drive her near crazy. But after their dinner, her energy proved low and she had retired to her room early for the remainder of the evening. He knew that the presence of the Duscha would be calming and soothing, but with Elizabeth’s stubborn tendencies, he would not have been surprised to see her fight exhaustion and his recommendation to rest.

He sighed heavily in the dark doorway, turning to the living area. He was in unfamiliar territory, he knew. Few were still alive to tell of the success of the first oracle, and to talk of the second was taboo. So he had received little preparation for his task, and had become accustomed to the spontaneous.

Aron hated withholding information from Liz. She was an oracle and deserved to know all the information he had, but this was not his prophecy to control. He was merely a servant, dutifully carrying out a mission, and could only hope that all turned out well in the end.

He had to be very careful with what he said; saying too much could lead to disastrous effects. So much was at stake, even their lives. He still was unsure how the hunter had found them four years ago. His training was tested to the brink, the hunter had been artfully skilled and if it had been any other circumstances, he would have complimented his opponent on skill and technique.

He had killed that day, not for the first time, and certainly not the last. But the event was always fresh in his mind, the sounds and sights extremely clear. The fear he had seen in Elizabeth’s eyes was all too real and he knew it had been mirrored in his own.

He shook his head, willing the images away. He wanted nothing of ill memories tonight.

Today had been a good day, so much accomplished. But with each new discovery came more questions, fewer answers, and much more to hide. With the one incident four years ago aside, Cantu had been an extremely safe haven for them.

Aron reclined slightly in his chair, the steam from his tea and smoke from his pipe mingled in the candlelit air. All was quiet, except for the deafening commotion in his own head. Questions and insecurities plagued him now that Elizabeth had been awakened. For so long, his primary goal was to prepare her. Then, for the past year, unknown to her, he had cautiously started her ascension with small tasks that he knew would open her mind and prepare a place for the Duscha to reside.

Now that she was bonded with the Duscha, his next step was unclear. He was sure that she needed to enhance her powers, strengthen her concentration. That had always been his role – the mentor, teacher, guide.

But now with Elizabeth’s awakening came uncertainty. He didn’t know how to discover her power, how to strengthen them, he didn’t know how to do anything when it came to the Duscha. Few alive did, and the monk that he had spoken to month’s before Elizabeth’s birth could only give vague descriptions. The only awakening that had happened in this galaxy, in this generation’s lifetime, had been a forced, failed attempt. And of the scattered few that still had faith, even fewer believed in prophecies.

Khivar had ruined so much with his treachery. But Aron kept his resolve with a heavy sigh and a deep drag from his pipe. Fate would not abandon Antar, he knew. Nor would Fate abandon them. Elizabeth was much more special than anyone realized.

Her whole life had been filled with secrets and hiding. But Aron had his secrets too. He knew how important she was. No one knew of the prophecy given to him. The people in the Rylan system had always assumed he left to pursue enlightenment. And while many had laughed at the irony and danger he put himself in, few questioned his decision. For every one person that accepted him as a figurehead, there were five that wished for his death, and even more that didn’t care one way or the other.

He had always been a friend of Philip’s, even as children. But when Khivar had forced Shaun’s awakening, Aron had feared that the death of all prophets would be ordered. After all, the brother of the King had been killed, a member of the royal family nonetheless, and retribution was expected.

But Philip’s father had done no such thing. He saw the death for what it was – a murder at the hands of a madman.

The King had refused, much to the dismay of the people, to pursue the followers as a whole, punishing all for one man’s deceit. And much to Aron’s surprise, he had given Philip permission to promote Aron as chief advisor, an unspoken declaration of acceptance of followers.

Seeing his good friend in mourning for his uncle’s death had been difficult, and Aron aided Philip all he could. But Aron was keener than Philip, and knew that the people’s acceptance of a follower was thin. So, while he advised Philip through their adolescence and eventually Philip’s integration to King, Aron was careful to always advice on the people’s wishes and complaints. Hence Aron’s popularity grew.

After most had lost their faith, Aron was careful to never become too controversial. His ideals and opinions he lectured on where ambiguous and adhered to socially accepted guidelines, and soon most forgot his role as a prophet and saw him merely as a royal figure. He kept his personal, controversial beliefs secret. He never told anyone his belief of the second, doomed oracle’s role.

He never told anyone that only he had seen the insufficient evidence that Shaun was the second oracle. Even though he had been a young prophet and relatively new to the teachings, he had seen the holes and deficient proof given by Khivar before the committee.

He never told anyone that he believed Shaun had never been an oracle at all. That Khivar had been wrong all along. That the second oracle was still to come.

He never told anyone that the second oracle had never been a boy, but a young girl destined from birth.

A young, sixteen year old girl, with chocolate eyes and a warrior aura, that just today had been awakened and had begun to fulfill not just one prophecy, but two.

[truman11883]

Moana – Hawaiian; Ocean
Serena – Latin; Serene, Calm
Toan – Vietnamese; Safe, Secure


Part 3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One year later …

“Mother, why is this necessary?”

The older woman sighed with her back turned. She was a regal woman, living her entire life as a monarch, with all the benefits and responsibilities. And her son just couldn’t seem to understand the obligations of being a Prince. He never did. Max was young, and impulsive, and volatile. But the soft, maternal corner in her heart always seemed to find a drop of understanding where her son was concerned. While he may be a young adolescent with conquests and adventures under his belt, she saw his heart – no matter how hard he tried to hide it. And it was good.

She stood several inches shorter than her son, dressed in customary royal attire, jewels, and such. Her hair was high on her head with a crown gracing her curls. Diane was preparing for the Festival that her husband was throwing, a well-known occasion throughout the galaxy. Every member of the council from the five planets was welcome. It was a grand occasion, and Max arguing about his responsibility regarding it was not easing her nerves.

She turned to face him, collecting garments in her daughter’s richly decorated room to give to the servants for wash. “Son, you do not have a choice in the matter. You are expected to make an appearance for your father at the Autumn Festival. Its an important occasion, you know this. To commemorate Antar’s continued wealth and upcoming harvest. I’m sorry, but you must attend. Why must Isabel be so chaotic? You know she rivals you,” Diane commented as she retrieved a dress from atop the canopy of the bed.

“At least she has a say in the direction of her life. I cannot believe that you deny me free will.”

“I do not deny you anything, Max.” Her anger was starting to surface. She did love him, yes. But she also had no tolerance for delinquency or misbehavior. Especially today. “You are a Prince. You have been since your conception. And yet you fight ever aspect of it. When will you realize that you have been given little choice? There are some things you are obligated to do as the successor to the throne. Attending the Festival is one. Deal with it.”

“I don’t remember you or Father giving Isabel this same discussion when she refused Michael’s proposal.”

She rolled her eyes as her son rehashed yet another old and tired argument. “Isabel not marrying Michael is quite different from you denying your place as Prince. They did not love each other; it would have been over before it began. I may be a Queen and set in my ways,” she said as she leveled him with a look, daring him to argue the matter further. “But forcing a marriage is not something I have ever condoned. Stop trying to twist my words around and making me the enemy. I am on your side Max.”

“You and Father make me feel so … helpless. Like I’m already dead before I even get to live. Its not fair.”

“I’m sorry being successor to the throne of an entire planet makes you feel that way. Surely your sister or even Michael would be happy to take your place, along with all the responsibility you so callously deny.” Her sarcasm dripped from her words.

“Mother, I understand the obligations. But how can you expect me to agree to them when I know nothing else? I know nothing outside of Antar. I’m young, and I want to live my life. Why does that anger you?”

“Your curiosity does not anger me. It’s your insubordination. Its not enough that you understand the expectations, you must accept them, Max. You must. If you wish to be King one day, you must fall in line.” She stopped suddenly in her task and turned toward him, looking intently. She said quietly, “Unless you do not wish to be King.”

Their eyes met at her words.

Max wasn’t certain if he did want the responsibility that his father had. He could barely survive as a Prince, constantly under the public microscope. The whole idea of being King eluded him. He lived for the few hours he could find each week late at night to escape and spend time with his good friend Michael. While they never admitted it to anyone within the palace, they frequently snuck out from the high barrier walls, through the palace sewers, and into the villages surrounding. They both dressed in disguise to hide their appearance, donning common clothing. The townspeople offered a refuge that Max could never find within the confines of duty and speculation. Among the commoners he was a handsome, twenty-year-old man, not a Prince of a planet.

“I do not know if I want to be King. How am I to make that decision, when I have no point of comparison?”

There was a moment of silence as both stood their ground. This was the first time that Max had actually spoken of or admitted to his aversion to the throne, which left Diane speechless. She had always expected her son to fall in line. It was never a question of if, but when.

“You are serious, aren’t you? You actually consider denying the throne?” She spoke softly so as to not to attract an unwanted audience.

Max kept his eyes fixed on his mother’s unwavering as he said, “I have considered it, yes.”

Her heart sank heavily in her chest. She knew without a doubt that her son, Max, would make a fine King, possibly better than his father. He was strong willed, modest, charming, and yes, at times impulsive. But he always came out on top; he never lost at anything he attempted. She knew that the throne would be no different.

But it was becoming painfully clear that he had no desire to make his parents proud. In fact many of his actions, she knew, were only done to anger herself and her husband. The road he was paving for himself was a strenuous one, and she knew that her son’s pride would never allow him to admit otherwise.

At length, she finally said, “You will attend tonight. And afterwards, we will talk. You, your father, and I will discuss your wishes. Not that either of us will be able to convince him to anything. But it is a start.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. Max had sincerely thought that she would never agree. He was beginning to see the benefits of being … honest. “Really?”

Diane nodded. “That is all I can offer you Max. Do not ask for anything more from me. It will be a miracle if your father actually listens to you for five seconds. You know how he is.”

“Yes,” he said with disgust. His father may be the King of Antar, but a sympathetic man he was not.

“Now don’t start Max. You know he loves you. He just … we just can’t understand your aversion to the throne. It baffles both of us.”

He bent to pick the last garment on the floor by his feet. He offered it to his mother with a sigh. “I know. I just wish we weren’t so different. We have nothing in common.”

She laughed lightly. “No, no. You are so very much alike. That is why you constantly disagree. Usually when a father and son argue, they have everything in common.”

“Perhaps.” Max nodded with a companionable smile to ease his mother’s mind. He did love her, more than he could possibly say. But his heart just couldn’t accept this Destiny that he never asked for, never wanted. Why must he obey to a custom of life, a set plan of ideals and obligations? He wanted more.

Max wanted his own life, one that he chose – without duty or responsibility tainting it.

She brought her right hand up to rub his shoulder soothingly. “Why don’t you prepare for the Festival, you know which tunic to wear. The ship leaves in a few hours. We’ll wait for you at the dock.”

He nodded again and she went to leave her daughter’s room. “Try and have fun tonight Max. It is a happy occasion.”

“I will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that night …

He exited the dock along side his sister Isabel with a pasted smile gracing his handsome features. The Antarian subjects along with visitors from the other four planets were applauding the royal family’s arrival to the Festival and King Philip returned their enthusiasm with handshakes and greetings. How easily he fell into the role of leader; Max could barely hold the eye roll that so desperately wanted to appear. Even his sister and mother were walking with authority and supremacy, greeting their admirers. Isabel accepted flowers from a small boy; Diane shook the hand of a family friend.

Max walked with his head slightly bowed, not making eye contact with anyone, wanting to disappear. He didn’t notice the swarm of young girls shouting his praises, attempting to get his attention. He was by far the most handsome young man in the kingdom, and every girl wanted to be near him. A handshake, a smile, any sign of greeting by him was a treasure.

But he never gave any. He knew of his status among the young women. Sometimes he enjoyed his popularity, but most days he detested it. These young women wanted him, and they didn’t even know him. He wanted a challenge, someone … real.

Security directed them through the throng of people to the stage that had been erected some hundred feet away from their ship.

Philip ascended, along with his family, and silenced the crowd by lifting his hand. He stood as a proud and strong leader, with graying hair and an intimidating stance. His plum purple cloak signified his role as King, the crown atop his head lined with Antarian jewels and crystal. He was a figure to respect and admire, and his subjects in the crowd were quick to quiet and listen to their beloved ruler.

The four members of the royal family stood before their subjects, behind them members of the council seated who were dressed in royal cloaks – some hunter green, some cranberry red, and four plum purple identical to Philip’s. The five Kings of the five planets of Rylan.

“Thank you. Thank you. Good people of Antar, we celebrate another year of affluence and wealth. Because of your hard work and continued persistence, Rylan is still the most successful system in the galaxy. We welcome the leaders of the other four planets and ask them to celebrate with us.” He quieted for a moment as a wave of applause was heard. “The harvest has come to be …”

Max stood to the far right of his father, not really listening to the speech he was giving. Something of thanking his people for hard work and giving praise for their prosperity, he was sure. It was all the same to him, and eventually he ceased to hear his father’s voice at all. His thoughts drifted to the day’s previous activities. Target practice in the quad, casual talks with Michael, flirting with the beautiful servant girl after midday’s meal. What was her name? Sharon? Sera? Serena?

A slight commotion to his right caught his attention, and he turned his head toward the voices. Two men he didn’t recognize were arguing, and the distance and the crowd drowned their words out. But he recognized their green cloaks. They were from the planet Sero, most likely servants or guards of one of the men seated behind him. Perhaps even of Khivar himself.

He never paid much attention to political affairs, but he had been interested recently. His father had come to an agreement to end the long-standing animosity between Antar and Sero. He knew some of the conflict all those years ago involving Khivar, but not enough to understand it fully. Philip had been gone for nearly a week to a conference, where he and Khivar had come to an agreement. Khivar had publicly apologized for his deceptions and had asked for forgiveness, a second chance, a fresh start for the system. And his father had accepted the apology.

Why, Max didn’t know. Ever since his childhood, he had been taught that Khivar was a man to hate. His father had never tried to conceal his hatred for the ruler of the neighboring planet. Perhaps in his old age, Philip wished to have peace in the system and on his planet. And so Khivar and leaders of Sero, for the first time in many decades, had been invited to the Autumn Festival. It was a major development in Antar’s political history.

He wondered what the men were discussing and strained to hear. With a sigh of defeat, he turned his attention to the crowd in front of him. There was a myriad of brilliant color of cloaks and tunics and he realized there were several individuals donning the hunter green Sero cloaks. Close to thirty men were positioned sporadically throughout the people, all seemingly listening to the speech, their arms folded across their chest in an almost militaristic stance. Interesting, Max thought. But he thought nothing else of it. They were most likely nervous about the Festival, keeping their guard up wondering if they were really welcome or not. He would most likely do the same thing.

He looked to his right again. The men had stopped arguing and were intently staring at something behind him. He slowly followed their line of sight, and was met with Khivar’s face. The older man was wrinkled, aged, but nonetheless able and agile, probably an ideal leader for a planet such as Sero. To rule a dune planet, one required strength, tenacity, and few scruples. Max found himself immediately respecting the long-time foe of his family. Even though he held no kinship for him, a good ruler was a good ruler; even he had to admit that.

Philip ended his speech, raising his arms above his head as the crowd hailed shouts of praises. The eruption was deafening, and it signaled Isabel and Max’s departure. They both turned to their right to exit the stage. Only a few steps more needed to be taken for their exit when he heard it. A whizzing, almost like a laser blast, shot close to his right ear flying past him. He turned in the direction, grasping tightly to Isabel’s arm, holding her close by brotherly instinct.

At first he saw nothing. His eyes furiously searched for the shot, and then the Max’s eyes fell on his father. The crowd and the men who were previously seated were all a mass of color. All he could focus on was Philip staggering, seemingly puzzled by the soft impact on his shoulder. He raised his left hand to feel his right shoulder, and he found the yellow dart resting just shy of his shoulder blade. One inch higher, and he would have been hit in the neck.

“Father!” Max screamed, seeing the trembling form facing him. Philip slumped to the floor and Diane was at his side screaming. Isabel tried to rush their parents, but Max held firm not allowing her to be compromised as well. The crowd was a fury of feet and arms and shrieks of fear. Max was paralyzed by panic for all of two seconds, and then his militaristic training kicked in. He thought furiously. Someone must have planned this …

The green cloaks.

He turned quickly to the right towards the swarming crowd. The thirty cloaks were now advancing, taking the security by storm. His eyes turned to his left, towards Khivar. The ruler sat unmoving, a sadistic grin gracing his haggard face. Fury burned behind Max’s eyes. His hand instinctively reached for his laser gun in his belt. It took all of Max’s strength to not shoot Khivar in that moment. He knew that if he did, he and Isabel would be dead in seconds.

The rulers from the other three planets were detained by Khivar’s men and members of Antar’s security were picked off by bullets or laser shots.

It was an attack. They were taking the Festival under disguise. He pushed Isabel further behind him for protection and pulled the laser gun from his belt. His mother and father were surrounded, Seroan guards advancing to the stage.

Khivar stood slowly and went to Philip, kneeling. Max could see his mouth moving, silent words from one man to the other. Philip’s eyes grew large and than faded as the poison from the dart took its fatal assault. Diane was a stoic figure above her husband, tears streaming her face, until a guard came up from behind and slit her throat with his blade. She slumped forward lifelessly onto her husband’s limp body.

Isabel wailed in anguish at the sight of their parents, knowing they were next. The breath rushed from his lungs, his vision blurring. This couldn’t be happening. His father wanted peace, and now he and his wife were dead by the hands of the man standing before the crowd.

He gazed at the huddled mass of his parents, murdered by the man who Antar once hated most. Khivar grinned in victory. Antarian civilians within the crowd were taken by bullets and lasers from the guards who had mysteriously sprouted from sniper positions lining the stage.

Michael was suddenly at Max’s side urging them to the exit he had found. “Max! Thank God. Come on, I’ve found a way out.” Michael grasped Isabel’s arm and roughly shoved her through the small, dark door that had been hidden by the thick curtains. But Max stood unmoving, and for the first time unwilling to cower away from responsibility. He couldn’t just leave them. His father was dead. And that meant that, as the successor, he was King …

“MAX!” He turned his head sharply as his friends voice finally cut through the haze of combat. “Come on!” With one last look over his shoulder, he silently said a prayer to Fate for his deceased parents. His stomach lurched as he entered the small door after Michael. He would never see his mother’s smile again. Or argue with his father. Or see them dance at their anniversary ball every year…

The small humid tunnel from the door lead downward, and soon the three found themselves in the forests of Antar that lay thick with overgrown trees and shrubbery. They ran for their lives, their chest heaving and burning, Isabel sobbing her grief, Max stoically silent.

He couldn’t seem to get the image of Khivar from his mind. The grin, the evil eyes, his very being had emitted a sense of victory. He had successfully killed King Philip of Antar – no easy task. The fury burned brighter, and Max made a silent pledge between heavy breaths that he would make Khivar pay, ten fold.

They ran and ran into the night away from the Festival. The stars above them gave them just enough light to see through the vines and foliage that hung low in the forest. Michael directed them through the almost invisible paths that had been worn by local commoners. His training as a Second was coming forth, and he filled the position well.

An eternity seemed to pass until Michael slowed and stopped, gasping for breath.

Max bent, his hands going to his knees for support as his lungs demanding oxygen. He heard Isabel to his right and turned and offered his shoulder for her to cry on. Ever the dramatic, she was uncharacteristically quiet, most likely from the shock of the attack. They had witnessed their parents’ deaths. Max realized very quickly in that moment that it was very likely that neither of them would be the same again.

He held Isabel in his arms, and gazed at Michael who looked much the same as Max felt. Lost. Philip had been like a father to Michael for many years, and the loss was disturbingly parallel between the two. All three of them had lost people they loved tonight, and the mortality of the situation was setting in.

“What do we do now?”

Michael looked at Max, and then to the ground quietly searching for a solution. Quietly he answered, “We need to get off the planet. Knowing Khivar, he’ll comb Antar looking for you two. As long as you’re alive, you both could hold a claim to the throne. And we know that’s what he wants. It’s so obvious. He all but took it tonight.” Max nodded his agreement. Isabel sobbed quietly into the fabric of Max’s tunic, but said nothing.

They rested for several minutes, until they quietly returned to their escape. They walked through the night, stopping frequently when Michael detected someone close, huddling in the shrubs near the ground for several minutes until Michael deemed the coast clear. It wasn’t until just before dawn that they had made it to a safehouse in the small village of Toan.

They quietly walked up to the door of the disheveled house.

“Are you sure this is it?” Isabel asked, as she took in the unkempt lawn and the rundown exterior. The paint was flaking and the windows were filled with grime and what looked like cobwebs. The establishment was anything but regal, and the three were quite unaccustomed to such ordinary, plain traits.

She shuddered as her body screamed in exhaustion and fatigue and hunger.

Michael nodded, “Yeah. This is the place. We were drilled on the locations of all the safehouses in the kingdom. This is the closest one.”

They stepped up onto the porch and, after a nod from Max, Michael raised his fist to knock. Three hard raps were heard, and they waited for an answer. After several long moments of nothing, Michael looked to Max. The two shared a look of doubt. Had the safehouse been compromised? Hesitantly, Michael knocked again.

Suddenly the door swung open to reveal a tall, young man standing eye to eye with all three royal figures. His eyes were a clear blue, set behind a pair of glasses. He was thin but muscular, and his voice was load and thunderous but welcoming all the same. “You made it!! Come in, come in.” He ushered them inside and closed the door, locking it with the five durable metal bolts. He went swiftly to the windows and pulled the drapes down to hide the interior from any nosy neighbors or unwelcome company.

“I heard what happened,” he said. He walked past them walking through the living area and into the kitchen; they followed silently. “I wasn’t sure if you had survived or not. The reports that Khivar has issued said the royal family was dead, but in situations like these, you can never be sure.”

He immerged with hot tea for each of them. “I’ve been up all night just in case. No one from town has returned home from the Festival. It’s been quiet all night. I’m guessing he didn’t let anyone out alive.” He eyed them carefully, noting their disheveled appearance and fatigued bodies. “You must be exhausted. There’s a lavatory through that hallway, and beds already made waiting for you. There’s clothes and supplies in the closet, help yourself.”

Max nodded and steered Isabel down the hallway that the man had pointed to. They disappeared from view and Michael took the silent moment to question the young man before him. “What exactly has Khivar been saying?”

He shook his head sadly. “That we shouldn’t try to resist him. The royal family is dead, and that he’s taken their palace. He declared himself King of Antar.”

“Shit,” Michael cursed under his breath. This was very bad, and they needed to escape from the insanity to regroup. “Have you heard from the other contacts? Has anyone else survived?”

“I heard from three contacts several hours ago. All together there are about twenty survivors, not including you three.”

“Why didn’t they come here? This is the closest safehouse.”

The man gave him a sad look. Of course they wouldn’t know how bad it really is, he thought. “The survivors were palace guards and soldiers from bases in the kingdom. There were no other survivors from the Festival … that I know of,” he tried to offer quickly. “They’re all from other targets that Khivar must have ambushed after taking King Philip. You are very lucky you survived. You’re not even injured.”

Michael could only nod, but stayed silent for several minutes letting the information sink in. Khivar had planned the attack well, striking when Antar was most vulnerable. Never mind the fact that the Autumn Festival was a sacred ritual, and to fight on that day was unthinkable. It was a holiday, and the fact that Khivar planned his attack on that day made his scheme that much more despicable. It would be like spitting in the face of the King himself. But obviously Khivar was without moral or principle. After all, he did murder the King and Queen in front of the entire kingdom.

“Go ahead and contact the other safehouses. Let them know that Max and Isabel are alive. We’ll meet up at the Moana dock, and leave the planet there. Hopefully we’ll break the atmosphere before Khivar’s men realize we’re leaving.”

“Moana? Are you sure that’s wise? That dock hasn’t been updated in several years. Who knows if there’s even a decent ship to transport you, never mind twenty others?”

“Just do it. We’re running out of options,” he said wearily.

The young man nodded and went to his communications to contact the safehouses.

“Wait.”

He stopped and turned to face Michael with a questioning look on his face.

“What’s your name?”

He smiled then, saying, “Alex.”

“Thank you Alex. You’ve saved our lives.”

He bowed in respect, and exited the room to contact his fellow protectors.

[truman11883]

Chogan – Native American; Blackbird



Part 4

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She sat on the bed shivering violently, seemingly oblivious to her brother’s attempts at conversation. Her eyes remained fazed, fixated on the blurred images in front of her, but she saw nothing of the room she was in. The only images that were of any clarity were the horrifying memories of the Festival that flared to life behind her glazed eyes. Watching her father die, her mother’s murder, the crowd screaming, Khivar’s malicious grin in triumph. She felt responsible, helpless, lost. But mostly dead.

What possible reason did she have to live now that nearly everyone she had loved and everything that she knew was taken away from her in a matter of moments?

Max’s voice was muffled by the indifference she felt. For the first time in her life, Isabel wished she had never been born. For so long, twenty years, she had loved her life and everything that had accompanied it. The responsibility, the wealth, the status, the constant circle of servants, the public speculation. She never once wished for a different life, and now she couldn’t seem to wish for anything but the exact opposite of what she had. Why had Fate been so cruel to her? She had always been the good Princess, the dutiful daughter and sister and friend. What had she done to deserve this pain and void that now infested her heart?

For the past ten minutes Max had busied himself around the small, secure room gathering the supplies they would need. He was sure that Isabel was in a state of shock considering she hadn’t moved or uttered a word since they were alone. Her eyes were empty of any emotion, she shivered slightly every few minutes, and her breathing was even but shallow. He had tried to talk to her, keep her mind occupied, but it was obvious that she was far from needing a distraction.

But so was he. Busying himself around the room had become maddening very quickly.

He went to the closet to retrieve clothes for the both of them and Michael. They were poor substitutes for the royal tunics there were currently wearing, but Max was never one to complain about such things. If it were up to him he would never wear such restraining, pompous clothing in the first place. The only reason he did was because his mother asked him to …

He shook his head to halt that path of thought quickly, violently. He couldn’t think of her now. Perhaps not ever. It was much too painful. He was quite certain that the images from the Festival would haunt his dreams for a very long time, if he were ever able to fall asleep again.

Max took a common shirt from one hanger and ran his fingers along the fabric. It was nothing of Antarian silk and yet it offered some kind of release for him. He had the quick realization that his past life was over. The palace, the servants, the balls, they were all a thing of the past for him and Isabel. And while that would have given him a sense of relief and hope just twenty-four hours ago, it offered nothing but a deep-seated despair weighing his already shattered heart. His chest constricted with the strong, newly found emotion.

For so long he thought he was trapped and isolated, and through that he had felt despair. But he quickly found that he had only been naïve and imprudent. He had been a callous twenty-year-old boy who thought that he was entitled to anything and everything. And now literally everything he had had been ripped from his life right before his eyes, and he wanted to weep for the loss. A loss of something that he had never known he had. How foolish he had been.

He summoned the last of his strength and composure, and faced Isabel, saying softly, “Izzy, you need to change. Your tunic is a mess. Here. Here are some clothes and some soap. Go ahead and wash up.” He sat the things in her lap but she made no move to fulfill his request.

He tried again. “Iz, please. You need to get up. We need to get clean and get some rest.” Her eyes remained dulled and unresponsive, mirroring his heart. He kneeled before her, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check in front of his devastated twin sister. But when he spoke his voice cracked with the misery he felt. “Isabel, please.”

“They’re gone.” Her voice was low and flat. Her eyes slowly lowered to meet his, coming out of her daze. “They’re gone, we’ll never see them again.”

He lowered his head in shame, his only response to the utter truth she spoke. Quiet sobs were emitted as he clung to her satin clad knees. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry Isabel.”

Moments past between them, Max sobbing for the first time in years and Isabel stoically showing no emotion at all. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way, as if his heart would literally burst from the loss he felt. And looking at his sister, he saw that she was fading very quickly. Deep down she was always so emotional; when she did show her emotion to a selective few in her life, she wore her heart on her sleeve. Seeing her emotionally catatonic was heart breaking in and of itself. He would give everything he had to feel anything but annihilating misery, but he was sure it was better than feeling nothing at all.

At least with his emotion, he knew he was still alive. Isabel was beginning to look like she was already dead before she reached her grave.

“Isabel,” he said with as much strength as he could muster. “Get up Isabel. You need to get up.” When she didn’t move, he stood and pulled her up by her limp arms. “You have to get up. We have to keep going. Its what they would have wanted.” He spoke the words softly, but the impact was nonetheless forceful.

She broke down at that. Her tears were a steady stream down her face and Max had to hold her up as her legs failed her. Her howls of anguish, he was sure, filled the small safehouse, as she let her guarded emotions run free. She sobbed and screamed and prayed and cursed for their dead parents for lengthy moments, held securely by her brother. Her breaths were choked and broken, and Max could only return her emotion with the same uncensored fury.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He clicked the communication orb once, then twice, trying to establish contact with the first safehouse. His equipment was old, but over the years he had been forced to make do, repairing broken wiring and replacing missing screws. And even with the few and far between metal shortages through the years, he was able to improve his orbs, giving them options that even the palace orbs didn’t have. Alex may have been secluded in the small village for several years, but he was sure to never leave himself wanting. At least not when his job was considered.

He had been a hidden protector for five years, living in his disheveled home since his entitlement, keeping a low appearance. It was necessary given his mission. No one could ever know his status, nor of his affiliations with the King. His whole life and the façade he kept were for the royal family protection. If there were ever an invasion or attack, they would be able to come to his safehouse and be protected. No enemy would expect or conceive of a Prince or Princess taking refuge in a shack on the outskirts of the ominous Chogan Forest.

So far this plan had worked well. No soldiers of Khivar had come calling at his door. And even if they did, Alex had a Plan B already in mind.

A scoring, abrasive noise emitted from the orb, and a gruff voice asked, “Alpha 5-6-17. This is Alpha 5-6-17. Identify yourself.”

“Omega Beta 9-2-54.”

“What can I do for ya Omega Beta?”

“The doves have landed. I repeat … the doves have landed.”

There was silence on the other end, save for the coarse sounds of static. Alex waited for a response. He was sure no safehouse expected those words to be spoken.

“I’m sorry Omega Beta, repeat.”

“The doves have landed.”

“Status?” His voice has grown from gruff and indifferent to nearly elated and expectant.

“Hungry and cold, but no broken … wings.” After five years of nonuse, his training was beginning to come back. The dove pretense they used as code was an old one, designated only for the royal family, birds for royal associates, and so on. Each social standing in Antarian society had an animal code for them.

He was sure that the Alpha safehouse was a bustle with activity by now.

“That’s great news Omega Beta. Report?”

“I’m transmitting now. Check you orb’s imprinter.” Alex turned to his fax-like machine and pressed the coordinates for the safehouse of Alpha 5-6-17. The information detailed their plans of escape.

“Copy that. Stand by.”

Short moments passed as the details were transmitted from one safehouse to another. Alex was sure that when Alpha received the plans, the protector would be less than pleased. But little on Alex’s side could be done. He was given an order by the Second in Command of the new King. To over ride that order would be treasonous.

“Received.”

Alex waited as his fellow protector read the plans.

It was not customary to leave the home planet during an attack. It would be expected that Maxwell address the survivors, regroup, and attack quickly, swiftly. None on Antar would want Khivar to rule long, not ever. But little else could be done at this desperate point. His fingers tapped lightly and impatiently on the desk in front of him. The static faded in his mind as he lingered for a response. The anticipation was maddening.

“Copy that Omega Beta. Our birds will leave home and meet with you up north.”

His brows furrowed. He copied? No argument or questions?

“I’m sorry Alpha. You said you copy?”

“Agreed. Our birds won’t make the winter at home. They needs time to rest.”

He asked expectantly, “Broken wings?”

“Copy that.”

“How many?”

“We’ve lost three. Seven birds here. But that could always change.”

Seven. Only seven survivors at the Alpha safehouse. That dwindled the royal survivors down to twenty even. My God, had Khivar killed everyone? he thought.

“Copy that. Give the report to Epsilon Theta 4-10-8 and Zeta 2-8-212. Repeat, that is Epsilon Theta 4-10-8 and Zeta 2-8-212. Send a report when you have confirmation.”

“Understood. Good work Omega Beta.”

“You too, Alpha. Omega Beta out.”

“Roger that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What did they say?”

Alex met Michael’s eyes as they stood in the living area. He had just reentered the room after hearing back from the other safehouses, getting the full report of the survivors, their status and confirmation on their plans. He had been prepared for disappointment. But what Alex hadn’t been prepared for was the sheer dissolution of any hope he had had. The number kept ringing in his mind, over and over like a mantra of failure and disappointment and defeat. How could so much change so quickly?

Michael waited for an answer, and could read very easily that the protector was reluctant to release any information. His fingers tingled; his nerves were standing on end from exhaustion and anticipation.

While he had been left alone to wait for a report, Michael had explored the small safehouse and had found it surprisingly flawless in structure and integrity. The weapons were concealed in camouflage; swords hidden in plants, lasers secured behind the bricks on the wall, small grenades looking like decorations. To the bare, naked eye the home was the epitome of family and domesticity. To the trained, soldier’s eye it was the embodiment of uncensored security and combat. It was high-tech, and yet completely fundamental and accessible. Michael was sure that if they needed to, the four refugees hidden away in the safehouse could defend themselves quite nicely. This Alex had been preparing for quite some time.

“Well, um …” Alex fumbled with his words under the scrutiny of his superior, and the large lump in his throat. He hated being the bearer of bad news. His eyes diverted from Michael’s and landed on his hands. “I was able to contact the three safehouses that I mentioned before, and all reported back with an update of their status.”

“And?”

“There are ten survivors total, including you three.”

Michael’s shoulders sagged in metaphoric defeat. Those few words had literally crumbled any hope he had at attacking Khivar quickly. His mind was plagued with insecurities as it was. Being a newly allotted second was wreaking havoc on his abilities. He found himself rethinking and second guessing many aspects of the plan he had constructed, searching for any weaknesses hidden away. The last thing he wanted was to have his first order as second to fail with all their deaths.

But the plans he had been formulating crumbled with the news of ten survivors. That meant fewer trainers, fewer soldiers, fewer … everything. How was he supposed to orchestrate a counter attack when he couldn’t even get past his insecurities? A Second was supposed to be strong and confident and disciplined in his training. And he was all a bundle of nerves and questions.

“They said that Khivar used some type of chemical weapon on the military bases. The soldiers that actually did make it to a safehouse were so badly burned they didn’t make it but an hour or two. The other survivors were maimed, lost limbs … you get the idea.”

“What’s the demographic? Men to women?”

“There are five men, two woman, and you three. There are three soldiers, one nurse, a few craftsmen, and actually one child.”

“A child?” Michael asked surprised.

Alex nodded. “Yes. A young girl, maybe nien or ten. She was found in some rubble by one of the soldiers and taken to a safehouse. She didn’t have a scratch on her.”

He nodded to Alex and turned his gaze to the window behind him. The trees hung low with the weight of their branches in the wind. The sky was a gray-black haze, surely from fires set by Khivar’s men within Antar’s cities and ports. He was devastating all that Antar stood for in a matter of hours, and in Michael’s disgust, he found himself sitting back and watching.

Fury burned in his chest. He wanted revenge. He wanted victory. He wanted Khivar’s head. And Fate be damned if it stood in his way of succeeding.

“Will they be able to make it to Moana at the designated time?”

“I informed them to meet at the rendezvous point one hour prior to what you had said. I figured that way, if they are late … they’re still on time. You know?”

“Good thinking.” He nodded letting the new information to sink in. “So, everything is in motion. We need to get off this planet. Fast.” He spoke more to himself than anyone, but was loud enough for Alex to hear.

Coming to a quick decision, Alex spoke.

“Sir?”

Michael turned from the window, “Yes?”

“May I make a request?”

Michael eyed him speculatively, but nodded, wondering what the protector could possible be asking for. Surely he knew that none of the three refugees had anything of value anymore.

“May I accompany you off the planet?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You wish to leave Antar … with us?” When Alex only nodded, Michael continued. “Why? You do realize that is a very forbidden request? To leave the planet at a time of crisis.”

“Yes I know.”

“And do you remember the pledge you took when appointed protector, stating that you would ‘never depart or abandon the sacred and righteous planet known as Antar until my death parts us’? Do you remember saying those words Alex?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Then why are you asking?”

He waited to respond, trying desperately to find the words to accurately portray his wishes. “Yes, I did pledged to serve my planet until my death. But not just Antar, the ‘sacred and righteous planet’ of Antar. The way I see it, Antar was those things because of the leader it had. King Philip was a righteous man, and I had no qualms serving him. But he died last night, leaving Khivar in control. I owe him no allegiance. I will never see him as my King, sir. I feel a duty to stay with my leader, Maxwell. He is the rightful King, and I owe him my loyalty.”

Michael remained silent, taking in Alex’s speech. It was obvious that he had a strong conviction about his responsibilities as protector, and was resolute in his mission. He would be a great asset to the small group of survivors. But Michael didn’t show any of these thoughts as he maintained his blank expression, his arms crossed over his chest.

When Alex didn’t see a change in the Second’s expression, he continued. “I will take any position you see fit, and I will faithfully serve Maxwell until my death. I just honestly cannot see myself staying on a planet that is in political chaos, under a tyrant. Antar is better than that, and I believe that if I can help in any way, I can do so by leaving with you.” He finished his speech, taking a deep breath. “Sir,” he added hastily.

Michael a few moments, leaving Alex with baited breath, before responding. “Very well. We will all leave in the morning. Keep watch while we sleep. Wake us in five hours.” He turned to leave the living area, and Alex enthusiastically nodded and saluted, even though it was not required.

After Michael’s departure, Alex stood in his home, which sat eerily quiet. He was leaving Antar for the first time in nearly sixteen years. And the sooner the better.

He went about double-checking the locks on the doors and windows, and walked softly to his small bedroom to pack what few things he would take with him on his journey off the planet. A few changes of clothes and several devises he had invented that he was sure could aid them in their escape. If nothing else, they would help ease his trepidation of Khivar. He knew the stories and tales of his tyranny and malice. Alex could only ask Fate for one wish – for all the royal survivors to make it off of Antar safely. Once they reached their destination, he was sure that Maxwell and Michael would formulate a plan and set it into action, saving Antar.

But he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why Michael had chosen Cantu for their refuge.

[truman11883]

Bo – Hebrew; Strong and Fast
Koen – German; Brave, Gallant
Mabyn – Welsh; Ever Young
Miya – Japanese; Sacred House
Rylie – Celtic/Gaelic; Valiant



Part 5

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How are you feeling?” Michael asked softly, as he neared Isabel. She had been alone in the quiet living room gazing into the burning fire of the stoned hearth.

She turned towards his voice, her eyes sullen and red from tears. She held a sweater around her shoulders to fight off the chill that had settled into her bones since the night before. No matter how many cups of tea she drank, or how many warm baths she took, the cold just wouldn’t leave. Her muscles ached from her constant shivering. The sleep she had found previously only lasted for two short hours, and even then they were far from restful.

Her voice was hoarse and raspy from fatigue. “Like shit.”

He nodded with a slight, half smile on his face, knowing the feeling well. He had lain on his cot for some time, staring at the ceiling unable to find rest. Michael had heard her get up and leave the room and after several long moments, finally deciding that she wasn’t going to return, he went in search of her.

He was sure that he looked as awful as she did, though he was careful to not let his opinion of her appearance show on his face. Despite the fact that she had declined his marriage proposal years before, they were and had remained uncharacteristically close. He wasn’t surprised when she said no, more disappointed. Michael had known that the King and Queen were expecting them to wed, and feeling compelled to fulfill their wish, he had proposed. But he couldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t also been relieved. It would have been incredibly awkward if they had actually gotten married. He did love her, but in a brotherly way. Not enough to marry her, not in the way she needed to be loved.

Isabel crossed the small living area and took a seat by the fireplace. The couch cushions were fluffy and comfortable, and she quickly found a small, but nonetheless fleeting, sense of relaxation in the warmth around her.

She had been telling the truth; she did feel like shit and she knew that she looked it too. She had caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror when she had finally found the strength to freshen up earlier. Her makeup was smeared and smudged along her face. Her royal tunic had been torn in several places, holding leaves and grass in the holes. Her hair was disheveled, strands of her silky golden hair torn from her up-do. She was unsure what had happened to the crown that she had worn at the Festival. More than likely it was forever lost in the forest. Good riddance, she had thought. One less thing to worry about. If it were up to her she would never think of the palace or the Festival or her parents again. The heart-wrenching agony was becoming too unbearable. Isabel was strong, but not that strong.

But it seemed that she was a glutton for punishment, because no matter what she did, she could not get the memory or image of her parents’ deaths out of her exhausted mind. It haunted her.

Michael watched her as her eyes unfocussed, and he sighed heavily knowing exactly what she was doing, what she was always doing. Over thinking. This situation was already wearisome and arduous. And to not think of the circumstances they found themselves in would be insane. But to over think the situation would prove just as foolish. The past was unchangeable. Michael found no need in dwelling in what could not be altered. It was common sense to make peace, and move on.

But Isabel was different.

“Iz,” he said quietly, trying to break her from her silent, torturous reverie. When she made no move, he continued. “Isabel, stop.”

She gave him a sardonic look. “Stop what?” she said, asking for no particular answer.

“Stop acting like you can change it. It’s not going away. What happened happened. You need to move on.” His voice was quiet and soothing, but Isabel found little solace in his words.

She turned quickly in his direction, tears forming in the brim of her eyes. “Michael, my parents died twenty-four hours ago. Give me a break.” She shook her head in disbelief and self-pity. If he didn’t stop this right now, she was going to loose it all over again, and she couldn’t let that happen.

“Maybe you should talk about it. You know? Let some of your … emotion out.” He was never good with sentiment or feelings, but desperate times definitely called for desperate measures.

She dismissed the offer quickly, waiving her hand in the air dismissively.

This isn’t going very well, he thought. Michael tried again. “You know, we’re going to have a hard couple of months ahead of us. Maybe even years.” He kept his voice soft, and what he hoped was soothing. “Maybe … maybe the sooner you let this go, the sooner you can move on.”

Her reaction was unspoken but nonetheless harsh. Her face told him in so many unspoken words that she found the idea ridiculous, and he forged ahead before she could yell at him, which was her tendency.

“I don’t mean you should forget, just … accept.”

“Semantics. It’s the same thing!”

“No, its not. Think about it. There’s nothing you can do…”

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear this!” she said, her voice bordering hysteria.

“Okay, okay,” he said quietly, trying to get her to lower her voice. He had never meant to upset her, especially now. He crossed the rug that separated them and sat next to her, slinging his arm over her shoulder in apology. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

Silent moments passed until she spoke again. “Do you think they suffered Michael? Do you … do you think that the pain was very bad?” Her voice was choked with emotion.

He turned to her and slightly faltered at her appearance. In that moment, she was not a Princess, or a daughter, or a sister, or a friend. She was a scared, helpless, desperate girl trying to come to terms with her parents’ gruesome death. Her eyes were round with grief and anticipation of his answer. Her lower lip trembled slightly.

He chose his words carefully.

“Iz …” He hesitated involuntarily, and took another moment. “No. No I don’t think they suffered.” Why distress her more? He would do anything to ease her heartache, and if this consolation did it, all the better.

Her brows furrowed. “Are you sure? You really mean that?”

“Yeah Iz. Everything was happening so fast, I really don’t think they even knew what was going on until it was over.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“So … what are we going to do now?” It wasn’t a question of helplessness, but of hope. She knew that Michael would come up with a plan that would work in their favor. If she knew anything about him, she knew that he was smart and cunning. Any plan that he devised would save them, and Antar, from any more pain.

“I talked to Alex and …” When he saw her unknowing look, “Alex is the guy … the protector.”

“Oh.”

He inwardly rolled his eyes. Even now, Isabel was still … Isabel. Unknowingly taking advantage of the little people.

“Anyway, I told him to have the other survivors meet us at the Moana dock. We’ll leave first thing.”

“Survivors?” she asked surprised.

“Yeah. There are seven other royal survivors. There were originally twenty or so, but … with their injuries, they …” She nodded, understanding. He didn’t want to bring up death, and she didn’t want to talk about death. So they each let the topic lie.

“You said we’re going to leave. What do you mean leave?”

“I mean we’re leaving Antar.”

“Michael! How can you say that? We can’t just leave. Our people need us.”

He raked his hand through his hair in uncertainty. How on earth was he supposed to explain this to her, to make her understand?

“Isabel, we have to. Khivar has attacked every major port, every base, the palace, the Festival…the list goes on. Thousands have died. It’s a miracle that we’re even alive. There are only seven other royal survivors. Seven, Isabel. We need to regroup, get supplies … heal.” Especially heal, he thought, and gave her a knowing look.

“I’m sure by now, many have already left the planet for safety. We have to contact our allies, and get an army together, a strategy. This is the time where we lick our wounds and rest and figure out what the hell we’re going to do next. This is no time to counterattack when we have absolutely no firepower. We can’t afford to be foolish. Khivar is a smart man. Devious as hell, but smart. We have to be smarter. Getting off the planet is the only thing I can think of that he might not expect. For obvious reasons.”

She nodded. Khivar certainly wouldn’t be expecting it. Antarians were known to be kamikaze-like, ‘going down with the ship’ so to speak. Isabel had to sift through his entire soldier-second-in-command talk, but she agreed with what she could understand. They did need to regroup and ‘lick their wounds.’ What a disgusting analogy, she thought.

“Yeah … I guess you’re right. When do we leave?”

“In a couple of hours. I told Alex to take the first watch. But when you left the bedroom, I relieved him. He and Max are sleeping now.”

“Michael … are we going to make it through this? I mean, how are we going to get through this? This is Khivar we’re talking about.”

“I know, I know. Listen, I’ve spent nearly my entire life studying attack patterns and reconnaissance. Isabel, this is what I have been training for since I was ten years old. We’ll be okay.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, and nodded in acceptance. Michael always seemed to know what to say to make her feel better.

She had no idea that Michael had very little faith in himself, and was at that moment praying that he wouldn’t have to break his promise.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He scanned the horizon, searching, waiting, anticipating the arrival of the others. It had been hours since they had last heard from Omega Beta, and his nerves were literally standing on end. If the protector was correct, and if nothing else had gone wrong since they last spoke, the royal family – or what still remained of it – was still alive.

Kyle’s eyes never stopped their search, skirting from left, to the right, to the forest, to the lake. Nothing.

He sighed and turned to the cave behind him where his companions were hiding. They had arrived about an hour ago, two hours early, and despite injury and illness, most were actually in rather high spirits. All wanted to see their Prince and Princess. Just their presence would offer a kind of solace that their hearts needed from the malevolence attack from Khivar.

The previous night had been hard for him. He had not seen so much death and suffering since years before when he fought in the Miyan Wars. Antar had aided the failing planet of Miya with soldiers, and he had fought bravely along side their long-time ally. And they had won.

But this … this was very different. The Miyan Wars were a time of bravery and honor and camaraderie. But what Khivar had done the other night … that was nothing short of spiteful, and unlawful, and hostile. There was no honor in what Khivar had done. There was no honor in ordering your men to murder women and children, or spraying entire villages with chemical weapons, or unleashing pain and death unseen or unknown before.

Kyle entered the dark cave that sat just outside of the Moana port, waiting for the Omega Beta protector and his survivors to show. The other survivors of the three safehouses sat quietly, but looked at him expectantly waiting for his answer.

“Nothing yet,” he said softly, and they all turned they heads, staring off into the dark, waiting.

He sat roughly on the rocky floor, and picked at the pebbles that lined the cave.

He realized he needed to see them as much as his companions did. He needed to see Michael, and Max, and Isabel with his own eyes, confirming that they were really still alive. He needed to see them to prove that his greatest fears were indeed false. He had thought the worst when he had made it to the safehouse the night before, and heard about the attack on the Festival and the death of King Philip and Queen Diane. He had thought them all dead.

He shook his head, warding off the painful memory of brief moments spent in agony. His friends’ deaths would have been too much for him to bear, and just remembering the few minutes spent in that knowledge was grievous.

He turned to take an inventory of the other survivors in the cave. Across from him sat a young man by the name of Bo, a soldier like himself. He had not fought with this man, but could tell that he was strong, and confident. To Bo’s right there were two other men, older but not elderly. Perhaps assistants of the royal family. If they were in this company, they were of royal regard.

He turned his head further to the left, aligning his gaze with a woman, a nurse. Since they had all arrived at the safehouse the night before, she had spent tireless hours attending to injuries. She had saved the life of one of the men across from her. He had had a severe laceration in his neck, and she had been able to stop the bleeding and repair the severed artery. The three soldiers present had offered some help, having taken first aid training. But she had proven quite praiseworthy in her efforts. She was unable to save the lives of all the survivors the night before. But she had been able to ease their suffering some.

He stumbled over her name, sifting through his jumbled thoughts … Rylie. Her name was Rylie.

Closer to himself sat Koen, the third of three soldiers. Kyle had served with Koen before, although it had been many years ago. If they were lucky, working with Michael, they could form a plan and save Antar. He could only hope …

Lastly the child. He had found her huddled underneath fallen rubble, clutching a doll tightly to her chest with her hands covering her ears from the screams and fighting. Upon hearing her crying, he had picked her up and carried her the several miles to the safehouse not bothering to question her of family. If the village they had been in was any indication, her family had died along with hundreds of others.

He leaned in closer to the girl, and spoke softly. “Mabyn. Are you okay?”

The girl turned her head, and her hair hung in her face shielding her eyes somewhat. She nodded, but he could tell that she was hurting, even if it wasn’t physical. He slung his left arm lightly across her shoulders and brought her closer, giving her some of his warmth and support. There was something about this little girl that touched him. He had never had a sister or a mother. The closest he had gotten was Isabel, but even that was fleeting. Being a soldier was hardly conducive of friendly, civilian relationships.

Maybe it was the fact the she had no one. Maybe it was the fact the he had no one either. Whatever it was, he found himself becoming very protective of the little girl at his side. The men at the safehouse had automatically thought that Rylie would care for the child, seeing as how Mabyn was all alone. But Rylie had been far too busy with saving lives to think about a small child, and so the task had been given to him. And he had accepted it sincerely. He had spoken with her, learned her name, her doll’s name, her favorite food, the list went on. He had only left her briefly to help Rylie when she needed it, but other than those short moments, Mabyn had his full attention.

They sat this way for several moments, until shadows crossed the light from the opening of the cave. Immediately the three soldiers were on their feet, moving toward the entrance, raising their weapons in case it was Khivar’s men.

“Identify yourself!” he yelled out.

There was a brief pause. The figures outside the cave turned in the direction of his voice, and then entered carefully. The dark of the cave immersed the four newcomers in shadow, until the torches surrounding them illuminated their faces.

“Kyle? Is that you?”

“Michael!”

Kyle motioned for the other two to lower their weapons, and Michael and him embraced swiftly in relief. Kyle then turned to Max and Isabel who were standing behind him. They were alive. His heart was beating wildly in his chest with the knowledge.

“How are you?” he asked softly to no one in particular. It seemed that they were all healthy with no evident injuries. But he noted the melancholy looks on Max and Isabel’s faces. He wasn’t surprised however, after hearing of the events at the Festival.

“As well as can be expected.” Kyle nodded at Michael’s words. “You’re early.”

Kyle nodded. “We left as soon as we could. We didn’t want to be late or keep you waiting. I think they all want off this planet as much as you do. Its kind of surprising how readily they accepted it.”

Michael nodded.

He then turned away from Kyle towards his companions. “Kyle, I’d like to introduce you. You’ve already met Max and Isabel.”

They all shared a companionable smile and Kyle nodded, bowing in reverence.

“Please,” Max said, extending his hand. “There is no need to be so formal. Its nice to see you again Kyle.”

He hesitated slightly, unused to such an everyday, common gesture from a royal figure. But he shook Max’s hand wholeheartedly and said, “Same here. I heard about the Festival. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have been there.”

Max averted his eyes, but nodded his thanks.

Isabel approached him with a smile, extending her hand as well. Kyle remembered her being beautiful when she was younger. And now she was just as beautiful, even with her common clothing and unkempt hair. When they had been younger, and he was a guest of Michael’s in the palace, he remembered her taking delight in her royal status. Seeing her this way, dethroned and defeated, it was … disconcerting. There was a sadness in her eyes that had not been there years before. He was sure Max held the same sadness but had expertly disguised it.

Michael turned towards the fourth of their group. “This is Alex. He’s the protector from the safehouse we were at.”

They shook hands as well, exchanging pleasantries.

Kyle spoke. “Max, Isabel. The survivors have been waiting for you,” he said, gesturing to the six other individuals now standing behind them.

Max and Isabel nodded and walked off to greet the small group, Isabel reveling in the comfort that the survivors offered, and Max shaking hands, acting genuine as best he could.

Kyle turned to Alex and Michael. “Michael, what’s the plan?”

He glanced at his watch. “We’ll leave in half an hour. From what I saw the dock is pretty deserted, so we shouldn’t have a problem getting access. Finding a descent ship to break gravity and get us to Cantu is another story.”

Kyle nodded, and then turned to Alex.

“Um … the other three protectors have left already.” He hesitantly asked, looking to Michael in question, and then back to Alex. “Will you be leaving soon as well?”

Michael shook his head. “No, he’s coming with us.”

He went to question Michael’s response, but the query died in his throat. Now was not the time. Instead he nodded and offered Alex another welcoming handshake.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Alex smiled, and returned the handshake. “That I do,” he said as he gazed at the group of now jubilant survivors.

[truman11883]

Brody – Celtic/Gaelic; Brother
Larek – N/A; From Roswell Seasons 2 and 3



Part 6

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this. If you had just stayed quiet none of this would have happened.”

“What do you mean? I was just asking a question. And it was good question, too.”

“ ‘Do you think my tunic makes me look fat?’ is not a valid question! You know what … because of that, you’re telling him.”

“Why do I have to tell him?! You lost the Prince, you should tell him!”

“I didn’t lose him! His Second rescued him. That’s not my fault!”

“Like hell its not!”

Larek rubbed his brow with his hand in exasperation. It had all been planned perfectly. The previous night at the Festival, they had position, they had their weapons, they had their orders. Their job, their main prerogative, had been to capture the Prince. The Princess was expendable, the Second as well. But the Prince, Khivar had wanted alive. That he had made abundantly clear.

And Maxwell was alive all right. Just not in their custody. And Larek was sure that he and Brody were going to bear the brunt of Khivar’s wrath.

Brody had been his usual annoying, quarrelsome self and had distracted Larek. The two brothers had fought for several minutes about completely irrelevant topics until Larek had finally convinced Brody to give up his argument. They had stood waited for the sign from Khivar.

“So … do you think this will work?”

Larek turned to Brody, with a smirk on his face.

“Knowing Khivar, this is planned to the T. As long as everything goes according to plan, Khivar will have the throne, and we will be promoted. So keep your eyes open. I don’t want this to go south because of you.”

Brody was immediately offended. “What do you mean ‘because of me?’ I don’t do anything.”

“Exactly. You’re always goofing off, and not doing your job. So shut up. We need to stay alert.”

“I’m alert.”

“No you’re not. You’re a distraction,” Larek said offhandedly. He was far too preoccupied to offer his brother’s words with any sophisticated acknowledgement.

Larek turned his attention to the Prince, while he and Brody stayed off to the side of the stage, the large curtains hiding them somewhat.

“I am not a distraction.”

Larek rolled his eyes and turned to his brother again. “Will you shut up?!”

They both turned to the stage, looking intently at Khivar who was seated just behind King Philip and the royal family. He sat regarding the crowd, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike. All but the Seroan people were completely unaware of his intention.

Laser guns were in hand as they awaited the signal to capture the Prince and, if need be, kill the Princess. Remorse and regret were foreign words to the two brothers, having worked with Khivar ever since their graduation from temporary aide to lasting employee. They relished in the presence of their leader and completed any work they gave them with gusto. Anything to please Khivar was worth doing.

Brody sighed slightly, already bored of standing and waiting for minutes on end, while Larek maintained his position intently.

He kept his voice hushed, “Larek, how do I look?”

Larek turned to his brother with a fully puzzled look adorning his face. “What?”

“Well, this is a new tunic,” Brody stated, running his hands over the cloth to straighten the wrinkles. “I’m not sure of the color. Do you think it makes me look fat?”

A beat.

“You can’t be serious,” Larek said as he gave Brody a blank look. Was his brother really asking this question?

“It does, doesn’t it?” Brody continued completely unaware of his brother’s true opinion. “I told that seamstress that green wasn’t my color. She just wouldn’t listen.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Unbeknownst to them, a figure in the shadows watched in horror as the attack took place.

He had kept a close eye on the two, curious as to why two Seroan guards would take watch behind the stage, while most others were standing in the crowd. Something had been off with them the entire night, their staring at Khivar, seemingly waiting for something.

Michael had never been particularly at ease with the prospect of having Seroans attend the Festival. But Philip’s wish was Michael’s command, even if it seemed to be complete insanity. Even after the reconciliation, Philip, along with the rest of the kingdom, had been worried of the implications that the Seroan presence offered. They were known for their callousness, their dishonor, their utter disregard for anything and everything pure and good. Inviting the Seroans, and especially Khivar, to Antar’s Festival was like inviting a hungry wolf into a flock of sheep.

And it had proved just as foolish, and just as deadly.

Michael had been assigned as a covert guard that night, watching for anything out of the ordinary. He watched intently from behind the thick curtains for any militaristic movement. Anything that would put Antar on the defensive.

He hoped with all his heart that nothing would ruin or disgrace the Autumn Festival. Not tonight, of all nights.

The order had proven to be quite beneficial, although entirely eerie as well. The ironic coincidence played in Michael’s favor. Upon seeing the dart hitting the King, Michael was quick to respond. He emerged from his hidden corner and rendered the two Seroan guards unconscious, thus allowing for a small window of escape.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Larek had lost sight of his mission for the second time that night, and verbally battled with his brother, ordering him to be silent. But it had been too late. When Khivar had given the signal, they had missed it. The Second, Michael, had snuck passed them and rescued the Prince and Princess.

They had awoken form their brutally induced slumber to raging headaches and an insufferable sense of dread. They had failed miserably.

Despite hours of searching, neither could find any sign of the Prince, save for a crown they had found in a nearby wooded area, which in turn had led to nothing but dead ends.

The plan would have worked perfectly. The two royal figures had been stunned by the death of their parents; the crowd had roared in anguish; their emotions had been at an all-time high; the distractions were paramount. If only Brody had kept his mouth shut, this never would have happened.

“Listen,” Larek started in semi-defeat, pacing in thought. “We both lost him. And now we have to tell our God damn leader that we failed.”

Brody’s eyes went wide. He was, in all honesty and obviousness, the comic of the pair. Somewhat dimwitted, and frequently incompetent, Brody seemed to always find himself fighting with Larek, and losing. And than somehow they both end up in immense trouble.

He scratched his ear in thought.

His brother sighed, seeing Brody’s innocent reaction.

“Okay, you just stay quiet. Let me do the talking. All right?”

Brody nodded, and Larek turned to knock on the heavy wooden door in front of them that now served as Khivar’s throne room.

After the assault on Antar, and seeing that the Festival had been a ‘success,’ Khivar had been quick to leave for the palace. He had confidence in his subordinates, knowing that they would follow his commands and complete their missions.

Attack the military bases.

Deploy the chemical weapon known as Gandarium.

Close all ports.

Leave no survivors.

Eliminate the royal family.

Capture the Prince.

Perfect, Larek thought. Just perfect.

“Enter,” a booming voice behind the heavy door sounded, and the two brothers shared a look before Larek opened the door.

Brody entered first, keeping his eyes downcast. Larek followed, closing the door behind him and turning to Khivar.

He sat on the extravagant wooden throne that had once been held by King Philip. The throne room was lavish, probably the only room that Khivar hadn’t immediately destroyed any sign or presence of the prior royal family. The silk drapes hung from the twenty-foot windows aligning all four walls. Numerous, grand paintings hung in place, except for the portrait of Philip above the large throne – which Larek was sure had been swiftly taken down. Gold and silver accented many of the decorative pieces within the room. It certainly held the presence of a King, even if the person sitting in the throne was not the rightful owner of that position.

But Larek was quick to extinguish that thought. Those particular notions would certainly help neither him nor Brody in this situation.

“Sir,” he said respectfully with a bow and Brody was swift to follow, though his reply was much quieter.

“Well, what news do you have for me boys?” Khivar asked from his throne, picking at the bowl of fruit to his right, hardly giving their presence acknowledgement.

“Well sir, there is a slight problem.”

Khivar turned to Larek and Brody, dropping the fruit in his hand. “Oh? And what is that?” A strong, undeniable sense of authority and power emitted from his being. With golden hair and crystal blue eyes, Khivar was an intimidatingly handsome man, which only added to his commanding presence. Every muscle, every sinew of Larek trembled in his presence, and tried unsuccessfully in disguising it.

Khivar was now giving them his full attention.

“The Second, Michael, he …”

“Ah yes. The intolerable Second In Command. And what ‘problem’ do I have the distinct displeasure of owing to him?” He moved gracefully from the throne, descending the few steps, and menacingly walked towards the two brothers. A slight smirk adorned his handsome face. How he despised the royal family.

Larek anxiously teetered from one foot to the other, throwing his brother nervous looks over his shoulder.

When Khivar stood no more than a few feet away, Larek turned to him and said. “The Prince escaped.” Rather be blunt than prolong the agony, he thought.

Khivar eyed him; a clear look of annoyance and anger crossing his face. “He what?” His voice held such malice that Larek jumped slightly in fear.

Khivar stood several feet taller than the two brothers, even without the crown adorning his head. His eyes had turned from blue to dark black with fury, seemingly looking thru the onlookers and into their souls, piercing them with evil. Royal clothing and stature was evident in appearance, but it was something else entirely that made Larek tremble in his superior’s wake.

The sheer velocity of his rage. Khivar could move from subdued comrade to enraged tyrant in the blink of an eye, and God help the poor man held in its path.

“Michael was able to rescue the Prince and Princess before we could contain them. They escaped into the Chogan Forest.”

Khivar’s blood was literally boiling in his veins, and before the wrath could erupt, Larek pressed on, hoping to offer some consolation – a bit of good news among the travesty.

“But they’re alive. We found the crown of the Princess. We tracked them as far as a creek running through the woods, but lost the trail. They’re alive, sir.” He purposely left out the key information that they were in fact compromised themselves by Michael. That fact would undoubtedly be their deliberate and painfully undoing.

The temperous fog lifted slightly from his eyes and ears, and Khivar took in Larek’s words.

“You are sure? The Prince is alive?” His words were tight, but inquisitive.

Larek took the opportunity.

“Yes sir. I’m sure of it. Brody and I believe that they are hiding in a safehouse. Its only a matter of finding them, weeding them out.”

Both Brody and Larek stood in anticipatory apprehension, looking at Khivar with regret. They both knew that Khivar was less than pleased, but at the moment, he seemed to be taking the information in with some curiosity, and was that … delight they saw in his eyes?

“Do you know what safehouse they are hiding at?”

Larek hesitated.

“There are three known safehouses near the Festival. We searched them last night, but they were empty. We think that the Prince is hiding in an underground safehouse. One unknown to our radar.”

He looked at Brody who was equally unsure. They had discussed it somewhat the night before. If the confrontation with Khivar wasn’t a complete disaster, they could ask for soldiers to help them find the Prince. But the question had been would Khivar even hear them out if he knew that the Prince wasn’t in their custody.

Larek hesitantly added, “The two of us alone can only cover so much area. But … if we had some men, we could search the villages lining the forest and find them quickly, within hours even.”

Khivar’s eyes narrowed.

“You are aware that you have failed in your mission,” more a statement, rather than a question, of ignorance.

The two nodded and waited for Khivar to continue.

“And still you ask for me to provide soldiers in an effort to correct this … inexcusable act of neglect?”

Larek was left speechless, and Brody too scared to utter a word in defense.

Khivar eyed them carefully.

“They only reason either of you are still alive is because you are my best men, and have never failed on a mission in this magnitude.”

He turned from them, headed for the throne.

“With that said, I will provide you with the soldiers you requested.”

When Larek went to respond, Khivar cut him off.

“But know this … it is only out the of the love of a chase that I will allow this sorry excuse for a mission to continue. Hunting down the Prince will not only be entertaining, but enjoyable as well.” Khivar was a predator, and all who knew him expected him taking enjoyment out of hunting his prey.

When Larek and Brody went to exit the throne room, Khivar added, “By the way.” The brothers turned toward Khivar, as he lazily sat on the large throne. “Another failure in this mission … will be your deaths.”

Larek expelled a harsh breath and Brody gulped hard.

“Yes sir.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Papers and furniture littered the floors of the ramshackle safehouse. The last of the underground safehouses, the abandoned home held all the evidence of several occupants leaving quickly some hours previous. And even though Brody and Larek had been successful in tracking the royal survivors to this safehouse, they had yet to find any indication of where they were now.

“Sir, nothing yet.”

Larek turned to the soldier at his left, and nodded.

“Keep looking. There has to be something here. They couldn’t have covered all their tracks with a hasty exit. Don’t stop looking.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier left just as quickly as he had appeared, and Larek was once again left alone.

He and Brody were trained guards, proficient in taking down a target and disposing the threat. Why had everything gone so terribly wrong for them the night before? He had personally searched every square inch of forest and safehouse they had encountered, and even he had not found anything.

They were missing something. It was quite possible that the protector of this underground safehouse was well trained. But that did not mean that he had been able to dispose of all information regarding their destination. There had to be something …

He turned to the hallway, moving slowly past the soldiers who were feverishly destroying any and all furniture for a clue. Bedspreads and mattresses were torn and shredded. Desks and dressers toppled. Drawers emptied onto the floor. The once well-kept and clean safehouse was now destroyed of any integrity.

Integrity, Larek snorted. Antarians held no integrity, only fraudulence.

Every Seroan knew of the conflict decades ago between Philip’s family and Khivar. Larek knew of Khivar’s brief stint as a prophet, and had heard quite frequently from the horse’s mouth how indescribably ignorant and arrogant the entire system was. The council had asked for him to find the oracle, and Khivar had delivered. Perhaps somewhat self-servingly, but delivered just the same. Everyone would have gotten what he or she wanted. But that was never good enough.

For years Larek and Brody studied Seroan history, learning Antarians’ weaknesses and strengths. The two planets were a longstanding rival, and Larek waited with baited breath for the chance to attack his foe. Never mind the fact that no Antarian had done one distrusting or sinful deed to Larek himself. The implication was that it could and would happen. Better to strike before stricken.

He turned to his right and entered the communication room. The once active orbs laid dormant from the soldiers merciless scavenge. He kicked a broken orb at his feet and spun in place, searching the wooden walls that surrounded him.

Once again, nothing. He had searched this room, along with Brody, and they had found absolutely nothing to aid their investigation. Perhaps the protector was better equipped than Larek gave him credit for. Perhaps Philip had been a better militarist King than once anticipated. If he had implanted the covert guard who had rendered he and Brody unconscious, and had trained the protectors of the royal safehouses as well as he had, perhaps Philip would have been a political force to reason with. No matter now though, he thought. What’s done is done.

A startling static sound caused Larek to turn to the desk behind him. His brows furrowed in confusion. He was sure that upon arrival a soldier had informed him that all communication equipment had been previously unplugged and dismantled. Why now is an orb transmitting? Larek thought.

He neared the desk, and watched as the fax-like orb printed something onto the thick paper it held. He waited, his curiosity growing and he read the first words unveiled slowly. The heading read in bold black letters: ALPHA 5-6-17 TRANSMITTED TO OMEGA BETA 9-2-54. His fingers itched when he realized it was a transmission from a neighboring safehouse.

Finally, the printing stopped and Larek all but tore the paper from the orb. His eyes read furiously, and then his eyebrows rose. A small smile graced his tanned face. “Oh my God,” he said in a harsh whisper.

He turned quickly to the door, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him to Brody, who was searching the surrounding landscape. The many soldiers littering the hallway and door were caught in his fury to find his brother. “Watch out!” he cursed. “God damnit, get the hell out of my way!”

Finally outside, the suns hit him in full, midday force, and Larek waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust. He searched for the green cloak that his brother was wearing, and spotting him by a large tree, Larek resumed his running towards his brother.

“Brody! Brody, thank God.”

Brody turned to his brother’s approaching voice and, finding him out of breath, wondered quickly whether he had done something wrong. Was Larek mad at him still for last night? He tensed unknowingly and waited for the impending ridicule.

“Brody read this!”

A paper was shoved roughly into his face, and Brody took the printout in his hand, curiously eyeing his brother once more, lowered his eyes and read.

His mouth opened in surprise. “Oh my God,” he said quietly, and then lifted his gaze to his brother’s now jubilant expression. “Where did you get this?”

“It just printed out. I can’t believe it. I guess we’re luckier than we thought, huh?” A smirk adorned his face, and Brody called over a soldier.

“Yes sir?”

“Prepare your men. We’re leaving immediately for the Moana dock.”

The soldier left quickly with his orders, and the two brothers shared a relieved look. Perhaps they were not to die after all.

Brody and Larek turned to lead the now organized group of Seroan soldier, and in their eagerness, the transmission fluttered in the soft breeze, and was left sitting on the green Antarian grass:


<center>ALPHA 5-6-17 TRANSMITTED TO OMEGA BETA 9-2-54

START

CONFIRMING DROP OFF

MOANA DOCK DORMANT, VACANT

UTILITIES STABLE FOR TRANSPORTATION

NO SIGN OF KHIVAR OR HIS MEN

RESPOND WHEN RECIEVED

OVER AND OUT</center>

[truman11883]

Vondila – African; Lost a Child



Part 7

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“When will they be back?”

The timid, quiet voice echoed softly in the cave, as Isabel paced back and forth. She nearly ignored the small voice at first, discounting it as some wishful, childlike voice in her own head speaking the numerous questions in her mind, ‘When will they be back’ being the prevalent one.

It had been several long minutes since Kyle, Michael, and Alex had left the cave to ensure that the base was deserted and safe. They planned on finding a ship and preparing it for takeoff, hoping that any ship large enough was in good enough condition for Alex to repair. If they were lucky, they would be leaving before dark. None in the cave expected them back anytime soon, but that knowledge did little to lesson Isabel’s nerves or, as it seemed, Mabyn’s fear.

Isabel turned to the child, immediately wishing that her mother were here. Diane always knew exactly what to do or say to calm a child. While Isabel had never been maternal, she was devastated in knowing that for once, in this instant, she would give what little she had left to ease the fear and uncertainty shimmering in Mabyn’s eyes.

They had an unspoken kinship, as all the survivors did, each of them having lost so much: family, security, love, comfort. So much lost so soon. At least for Isabel, she had been able to live for years in the safety of the palace among those she loved. She had been able to give and receive her love freely, admiring her parents, quarrelling with Max, crying on Michael’s shoulder. All of it, the good and the bad, were memories that would sustain Isabel for a lifetime.

But the shy little girl standing in front of her now had no such hope. It was all Isabel could do to not bring her into a tight embrace and never let go.

Since Kyle had left with the others, Mabyn had been alone, even though the cave still held several people. Looking at the other occupants of the cave, she felt excluded, an outsider among royalty. They looked at her with uncertainty, even though she was sure they thought they masked it well. It was as if they wanted to include her, but held her at arms length because of … she wasn’t quite sure.

She missed Kyle. In the few hours since he had rescued her, she had grown unusually close to him. His engaging smile and soft voice called to her, begged her to seek refuge in his arms. She had never had a father, had never known the kind of comfort that one could bring. Maybe Kyle wanted to be hers. Mabyn knew she wanted him to be, but she wouldn’t push. She lost the things she loved when she did that.

Mabyn had been leery of even bothering to ask. Grown ups always seemed to never really answer questions, shrugging off their validity because it was voiced by a nine year old. But Mabyn wanted to know so badly, and Isabel had seemed nice. She had watched the older woman pace by the entrance near the other guards that stood watch waiting for them to return. The others all sat and spoke with Max, but Isabel waited – quite impatiently – just like Mabyn.

Her big brown eyes were expectant, and Isabel had to shake her head to clear the emotional fog to answer the girl’s question. “Um … soon. They’ll be back soon.”

Mabyn nodded; obviously disappointed at the answer Isabel had given her. Grown-ups always gave answers like that, elusive and vague. Soon didn’t answer her question at all. She wanted to continue her questioning, but kept quiet. She didn’t ask How soon? or But why? even though she desperately wanted to. They were on the tip of her tongue, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to get in trouble. And the woman standing so tall in front of her, with her blonde hair and piercing eyes, scared her just a little bit.

Isabel continued to look at the girl standing next to her. She was always so quiet, and almost afraid. It was as if she had so many questions and ideas and theories and arguments, that she didn’t have the breath to voice them all, so instead she stayed silent. It was as if she didn’t want to get in trouble for soliciting them. It was sadly pathetic how she craved acceptance, but kept it at arms length all at the same time.

She had seen the closeness of her and Kyle before the men had left earlier, and marveled at the ease at which they spoke.

“Why do you have to go?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I’m not leaving you Mabyn.” He brought his hand up to sweep a lock of hair out of her eyes, and tweaked her nose good-naturedly.

But her fear was hardly assuaged. She clung to him tightly, her tiny fists gripping the cloak he wore, her head buried in his neck. He brought his arms up to embrace her in her impromptu hug.

So far they had not been so deliberate or affectionate in embraces, being careful to keep an imaginary arms length. While they were by no means cavalier, he had been wary of getting too close. He was, after all, a soldier, and forming irrational bonds with young girls was something that his warrior mind should not be burdened with. He already had enough on his shoulders, not to mention the fact that Michael was impatiently tapping his foot on the rock floor of the cave.

“Mabyn, don’t worry. I’m going to be fine.”

She sniffled as she pulled away slightly, his hands continuing their soothing pattern on her back. Neither of them was aware of how close or in tune to the other they were. He knew she needed to be reassured, and she knew that he needed to know someone was waiting for him. For the two of them, it went both ways - even though neither spoke of it, or even realized it.

“You promise?”

He nodded.

“But … but maybe I can go with you?” Her eyes were hopefully, and his heart broke a little knowing he would have to say no.

“I’m sorry, but … you can’t come with me. This … is for soldiers only. No beautiful little girls allowed.”

“I’ll be good,” she supplied quickly hoping to sway him. She bit her lip in anticipation, but she already knew he would say no.

He sighed.

“I know you will be, but you’ll have to be good for me here, okay?” When he saw her crestfallen face, he said, “I’ll be back soon, and then I’ll tell you another story, okay?”

“Promise?”

He smiled softly at her eagerness. “Yes, I promise.”

Even though Isabel had been seated on the other side of the cave with Max, she had heard the exchange and was, needless to say, astonished. Who knew ‘The-Once-Sweet-Talking-Ladies-Man-Now-Famous-Not-To-Mention-Decorated-Soldier’ Kyle could tenderly let a child like Mabyn down and still come off as the good natured, loving, gentle person that he appeared to be. Amazing, she had thought.

So much had changed in the years since she had last seen Kyle. He was certainly not the same egotistical young boy he used to be. But then again, she was not the same snobbish bitch she used to be either. War and death will do that to you, she surmised.

Isabel crouched in front of the child, hoping that her usual intimidating stature would lessen if the two were face to face. Mabyn’s guarded demeanor reduced considerably with the gesture, and Isabel sighed internally. Perhaps more of the maternal instinct had been passed on than she had thought. The girl in front of her needed comfort or just some amicable company to pass the time; they both did. Isabel could only hope that she was up to the task.

Mabyn really was a beautiful young girl. Probably about nine or ten, Isabel guessed. Her curly brown hair hung at her shoulders in slight chaos, guarding her eyes and holding leaf fragments. Her clothes were torn, from constant wear or the attack on her village, Isabel wasn’t sure.

But despite that, Mabyn had a curiosity, a child-like wonder about her that gave Isabel pause. She remembered feeling like that once. She had once been open to life and the possibilities it held. But then real life had happened. It always does, she thought.

She reached up slowly to bring a lock of Mabyn’s hair out of her face and placed it behind her right ear. Mabyn watched her carefully, neither flinching away nor actively seeking her comfort. The trust she had instilled in Kyle was the only connection she had with any of the survivors, and that was tenuous. Was Isabel like him? Her eyes seemed so nice, and her hand was warm. She took a small step toward Isabel, and waited to see if the older woman would say anything else.

Isabel slowly lowered her hand from Mabyn, and asked quietly, “What is your name?” She knew the answer, but she was hoping to warm the young girl up a bit, engaging her in some sort of conversation.

“Mabyn,” came the quiet reply.

“I’m Isabel. It’s nice to meet you Mabyn.”

She nodded uncertainly.

“So … what village are you from?”

“Vondila.”

“Oh? I’ve been there before.”

“Yeah?”

Isabel nodded. “Mmm hmm. A long time ago. I went with my mother on a tour. I remember, they had delicious pastries. They were famous for them.”

Her eyes grew excited. “Yeah. My mom worked in one of the bakeries. She was really good at it.”

“Oh yeah?” Isabel asked.

She nodded emphatically. “Uh huh. I used to sit on the counter and watch. The banana crème were my favorite.” A small smile had graced her face in the memory. Isabel hoped that smile would not disappear when or if she remembered that her mother was probably dead.

“My favorite was the … what was it called? Chocolate … something.”

“Chocolate mousse?”

“Yes! That’s it, chocolate mousse!”

The little girl smiled softly … but shortly. The tension in Isabel’s back lessoned as Mabyn opened up ever so slowly.

She decided to change subjects.

“Mabyn ... now that’s a beautiful name. What does it mean?”

She shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Hmmm,” Isabel said, patting her finger on her chin in mock thought. She knew the meaning, having studied the Antarian language in school. But she wanted to elicit some sort of youthful response out of Mabyn. A laugh, a giggle, something. Anything. “Maybe it means ‘bumble bee?’ ”

Mabyn scrunched her face in distaste, and shook her head. She was quiet sure her mother wouldn’t name her after a bug.

“No?” Isabel smiled internally at the girl’s reaction. “Maybe … its means ‘great warrior?’ ”

She giggled. “No. That’s Kyle.”

“You’re right!” she said. The two were getting along better than Isabel had expected, and she noticed how Mabyn had taken a few more steps closer, now standing just inches away. “Maybe … maybe it means ‘ever young.’ What do you think of that?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s that mean?”

“It means that, you’ll always be able to remember what its like to be young and carefree.” Hopefully, she thought. If the real world hasn’t scarred you too badly already.

“Oh,” came her blank reply.

Isabel could tell Mabyn still wasn’t so sure if that explanation was quite good enough, and she also didn’t miss how the little girl didn’t ask or push for an answer even though it was painfully obvious she wanted one.

“You know, that’s a very desirable trait. Most people can’t remember what its like to be a kid. They grow up … and they forget.”

Mabyn tilted her head in thought. “How come?”

She shrugged.

“I guess they just don’t think about it enough. Everyone grows up and gets a job and a family and they start thinking about all the things that they never wanted to think about. They forget how much fun they had, and the friends they had, and they grow up. They just stop remembering.”

"Oh." Mabyn thought for a moment, examining Isabel. “Do you remember?”

She was caught off guard by the question. For so long, she had completely forgotten, and had lived quite happily in her ‘grown up’ life. But looking at the small child before her, she started to remember. She remembered the simplicity, the wonder, the freeing feeling of childhood.

The little girl would very likely never have those memories, considering the events that had brought the child here. Isabel didn’t know her history, didn’t know if she had had a family, or friends, or pets. It was very possible that she had those things at one time, but had lost them in the name of war. No child should suffer the loss of youth that way. Having it ripped from her soul too soon.

As she eyed the little girl, she saw that Mabyn’s eyes still held remnants of that youth. Isabel hoped somehow it could be salvaged, before it was too late.

“I’m starting to,” she said softly. “I’m starting to.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Max watched as his sister spoke to the girl, obviously attempting to calm Mabyn’s fears, and surprising had the nearly undeniable urge to laugh out loud.

Certainly this was not the same snobbish, arrogant woman that he knew as his sister. It had to be an imposter, a duplicate, someone other than crowned Princess Isabel of Antar.

The fact that Isabel was supercilious, and demanding, and impossible was a constant in Max’s life. It always had been. He couldn’t count on much growing up, but he could always count on Isabel ordering someone around, or demanding something completely outrageous. It was always that way, and Max had never even imagined that it could be any different. He knew for a fact that their parents had given up long ago on breaking their daughter of the habit.

He shook his head in wonder, and watched as the little girl and Isabel engaged in conversation, giggling and smiling like old friends.

Max brought his head to lay softly on the wall behind him, drawing his knees to his chest.

He had desperately wanted to go with Michael and Alex and Kyle. But that idea was quickly doused by Michael. A look had been exchanged between the two close friends. Michael didn’t want Max to come because he was a liability, an added concern. If something happened to him, most, if not all, would be lost. At the cave, Bo and Koen could protect him and the other royal survivors more efficiently. Kyle had expressed complete trust in the two, and Michael had had no qualms with Kyle’s decision.

But the smothering feeling of claustrophobia was unbearable in the small cavern. The suns were beating harshly on the landscape just outside the entrance, but it was cold and dark in the cave. And quiet. So unbearably quiet.

He supposed he could try and sleep for a few hours before their journey, but decided against it. His attempt at slumber the night before had proved impossibly futile. And anything but peaceful. Jumbled images from the Festival wreaked havoc on his subconscious ... and thinking about it now, his conscious as well.

Alex had brought him out of slumber, awakening him only three hours after he had fallen asleep. Apparently he had been whimpering and talking in his sleep, something about ‘revenge’ and ‘your blood on my hands.’ He couldn’t remember the dream specifically, but Max had a pretty good idea of what it entailed. And he desperately did not want to relive it.

So he made a concerted effort to keep his eyes open. Wide open.

His stomach rumbled with hunger, his throat parched with thirst. He idly wondered when his last meal had been, and for the life of him could not remember. His thoughts and priorities had been so chaotic in the past hours that he had had little time to worry about nutrition or his health. Obviously he was sleep deprived, but taking a quick inventory of the survivors around him, that was a quality in abundance.

He turned to the gentleman to his right, and asked softly, “Do we have any water?”

The man jumped slightly at the voice and then, realizing it had been Max, answered eagerly. “Oh, yes. Water, of course. You must be thirsty. Rylie? Rylie! Come, bring some water to King Maxwell, please!”

Since when have I become a King? Max thought. I was only half a Prince, and that's a stretch.

There was a busy of activity as the man brought water from Rylie, and watched awe-struck as Max drank every drop. Why the man found pleasure in watching him quench his thirst, Max would never know. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the man’s name. There had been many introductions, and the only name Max could remember was Mabyn’s.

He thanked the man standing in front of him with a nod, and then turned his attention to his sister. The two girls were seated now, talking about some subject that required flailing arms and excited facial expressions.

Max had no idea why the small girl had touched him so deeply. Maybe it was the fact that she was so small and vulnerable. Or maybe it had been meeting a disturbing, heartbreaking visual of Khivar’s fury, who stood just over four feet tall, with brown, expressive eyes and a sad smile.

He had never felt the urge of duty or obligation or nobility, and certainly never felt the need to act upon them. But meeting the young girl who had survived such hardship, he couldn’t help but feel his heart twist with the knowledge that he could help in some way. If he found the strength … or stupidity … or whatever it was that was required for him to do something that was not self-serving, he would gladly do it. Just to see a smile on Mabyn’s face.

Max furrowed his brows slightly when he felt a building in his chest. Some emotion began to fester, a foreign emotion that he couldn’t name. But it built in him, bubbling and quaking. He was feeling; that in and of itself was a tremendous start. But the emotion he was experiencing was new, and different, and for some reason very comforting.

At first he was unnerved by the sensation. How could something so vague but at the same time tangible, something so disquieting but at the same time exhilarating, something so new but at the same time familiar be something inside of him? Max had always been a creature of habit, sticking to what he knew and never breaking from routine. This new and quite unusual commotion in his chest should have completely frightened him. And it did for all of two seconds.

But then he embraced it. And his heart swelled with … pride. And that had been an emotion he had never known before. He had never been proud of anything, and certainly never accomplished or achieved anything that would allow him to feel such a thing. His parents rarely if ever showed their pride in him. Why now, all of a sudden, did he feel that, if he fulfilled his ‘Destiny’ and became the King his parents had always wanted him to be, he would be a better person for it?

The pride that flourished inside of him grew with each acceptance that he embraced. He would become a leader. He would accept his role in Fate. And he would become the King of Antar.

He watched as Mabyn leant against Isabel in laughter. Max wanted to give the little girl as many chances to feel that carefree as he could. The pride quaked roughly in his chest, and he smiled with tears in his eyes. He could … and now, would help her. And fulfilling his Destiny was the way to do it.

He wouldn’t do it for the survivors, or Isabel, or even himself. He would do it for Mabyn.

[truman11883]

NOTE: Posted in two parts due to length.




Loman – Celtic/Gaelic; Bare
Rumigan – N/A



Part 8

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Long shadows outlined the sand and dirt as the three figures made there way towards the port. It was hot, the two suns burning, scorching their uncovered skin, but none noticed as they hesitantly took one step after another. Each could be their last; all of them knew it. Khivar’s men could be watching, waiting, surrounding them.

Their feet hit the grass with soft thuds as they neared the dormant dock. The sun did little to hide them from any probing eyes, but the lingering shadows were a helpful substitute. Small animals scurried out of their way in haste. All three of them were on a mission; any living being could sense it.

Michael’s instincts were on high alert with each sound that he heard. He had never had a first hand experience to test his learned abilities. He had never fought in a war, or battled in hand-to-hand combat. He had never had to strategize or plan an attack … or rather counterattack, as it would seem more appropriate.

Before the Festival, he had not the position to do so. He had been a Second In Command – in training. Philip, and Michael’s father before his death, had taught him. The best soldiers and strategists in the galaxy had taught him, and his abilities and instincts were becoming apparent with every decision he made. His inner warrior was seeping through, breaking through … shining through. He was no longer the insecure twenty one year old boy. Michael had seen death and despair and war first hand. He had witnessed his King’s execution in front of the entire kingdom.

And now he was fighting. He was fighting the evil that Khivar distributed with every turn. He was doing what he was trained to do, what he was born to do. Every fiber of his being reveled in the newfound prospect.

In truth, he also felt guilty … or at least he should feel guilty. He had witnessed his King’s execution in front of the entire kingdom. He should be sullen and grief-stricken. He should be besot with anguish, unable to move on or get out of bed.

And yet, he wasn’t. He was clearheaded and confidant. Yes, he wished circumstances could have been different, that the King and Queen were still alive and ruling. Perhaps someone could say that he was taking advantage of the situation, relishing in his new status as the affirmed Second. But he wasn’t. He was following his Destiny, his path. He had always known that it would be a hard road to travel, but as long as his ‘family’ was with him, he was more than up to the challenge. Especially if he was able to acquire Khivar’s head in the mean time.

The three had reached the port shortly after leaving the cave, and were greeted by concrete under their feet and several large buildings above them.

The three young men hid behind a corner catching their breath.

“What now?”

“Wait,” Michael said, raising a hand in the air signaling for Alex’s silence. He waited and listened for any sign of movement. There was none. “Okay.”

He turned and nodded to Kyle, who turned and nodded to Alex. The three continued down the alley, stopping every few minutes, waiting for Michael to determine it was safe.

After reaching the last corner before the concealed hangar, Michael stopped again. He turned to Kyle, and said, “Kyle, stay here with Alex. I’m going to scout and see if I can find anything … or anyone. Wait for my signal.”

Kyle nodded in agreement.

Michael looked over the corner of the building, and then in the other direction. Seeing the coast was clear, he ran off towards the right, headed south. Soon Kyle couldn’t hear his footsteps, and knew that he was out of earshot, and ultimately on his own.

If anything happened to him, Kyle and Alex wouldn’t know until it was too late.

The two remaining men sat leaning against the large building, crouched on the balls of their feet. Kyle kept scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement, keeping his grip on the laser gun tight. Alex checked and rechecked his equipment. They both wanted this mission to go as successfully as possible. No hang ups, no disasters … and especially no deaths.

After several long minutes of silence, Alex spoke. They were careful to keep their voices low.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah,” he said absently.

“You don’t want me on this mission, do you?”

He hesitated. At first, no … he hadn’t wanted Alex to stay with the survivors. It wasn’t normal; it wasn’t protocol. The protectors were expected to remain on Antar and offer refuge to any and all royal survivors in their time of distress. Especially Alex, who had been an underground protector, of sorts. His safehouse had successfully remained undetected by other planets’ radar. Alex, unknowingly and quite unexpectedly, had been quintessential in the royal family’s survival and preservation.

The fact that Alex had asked to leave the planet had been entirely unsettling, and Kyle had found himself questioning the young man’s motives.

But now …?

“Um … well, its not that I don’t want you on the mission. Its just that …”

“You don’t agree with my reasoning,” Alex offered.

Kyle furrowed his brows in confusion. “No, that’s not it either. You’re a good guy, obviously a good protector. I understand you wanting to get off the planet. Shit I can’t wait to break gravity and get the hell off this rock … and get Mabyn the hell away from Khivar. But … I guess I just wasn’t expecting it, you know? Protectors are expected to stay on Antar.”

“I know.”

And he did know. The night before, he couldn’t help but ask … even though Alex had been entirely certain that Michael would deny his request outright, and if he hadn’t been lucky, Michael would have demoted him as well. He was walking a fine line with the royal survivors, and was choosing his words and actions wisely. The last thing he wanted was to find himself, or even worse Maxwell and Isabel, at the hands of Khivar.

He had a mission, and he would be damned if he was going to fail them.

“Can I ask, why you requested to leave with us?” Kyle was giving Alex his full attention now.

“I just feel like … I not only serve Antar, but I serve Antar’s leader. With King Philip dead, that leaves Maxwell.” He thought for a moment, trying to choose the correct words. “Max is my first priority, ensuring his safety. Khivar is a threat, and I feel like staying on Antar will only put Maxwell and Isabel at risk. I honestly feel like I have something to contribute. If I didn’t think this was the right thing for them, I wouldn’t be here.”

Kyle nodded. That settles that, he thought, with a smile.

Alex sighed inwardly, when he sensed that he had won over Kyle’s approval.

“How is Mabyn doing, with all of this?” Alex asked.

Kyle’s smile vanished.

“Well, she’s pretty scared, I can tell. She tries not to show it, but … you can see it in her eyes. She’s terrified. I wish I could do more for her, but I don’t know anything about kids, you know? I’m surprised she hasn’t figured that out yet.” He laughed shortly, sardonically. “Maybe she has.”

“You’re good for her.” When Kyle gave him a surprised look, Alex continued. “She has no one. You saved her life. From what I gathered, she probably didn’t have a father, and her mother was more than likely working constantly. You’re the first father figure, adult role model she’s had in her life. She looks up to you.”

Kyle’s eyes grew in astonishment, and asked blankly, “How do you know all of this?”

Alex gave him a smile. “Its my job.”

“I take back everything I ever said.” Kyle clasped a hand on Alex’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Glad to have you on board.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael moved from shadow to shadow, inspecting every noise, every disturbance, every feasible possibility that there were eyes watching them, ears listening to them, soldiers surrounding them. He couldn’t remember the last time that his senses were on such a high alert before the Festival. Ever since that night, his hearing, sight, smell, touch, everything was sharp, elevated, like an inborn, finely tuned weapon. He felt like he literally heard everything.

And the problem was, he wasn’t hearing anything. Everything he examined turned out to be nothing. And yet he couldn’t get passed the foreboding in his nerves, the anticipation of an attack. His skin tingled with the unseen eyes watching him. Why couldn’t he find them? He knew they were there, if he could only discover their hiding place.

After several minutes of searching, and finding nothing, he chalked it up to nerves. After all, he had been thru quite an ordeal in the past thirty-six hours. Surely, his already frayed bravado was crumbling. Not to say that his reliability as a soldier or Second was in question. But he couldn’t help the feeling that something was going to happen. Give it up, Mikey. There’s nothing here, he concluded inwardly after finding yet another shadow empty.

He turned and continued on his journey around the port, having made a large circle leaving him just due east from his starting point. He rounded one corner, and took a right. Michael found himself fifty feet ahead of Kyle and Alex’s shadows across the alley. He could see that they were huddled, hiding.

He called to them, under the guise of a birdcall, and Kyle returned it. Michael readied his weapon, prepared to cover them if any shots happened to be fired. Alex came first, crossing the sunlit alley quickly. Having reached the other side, he resumed his crouching position next to Michael, keeping quiet until Michael spoke. The last thing Alex wanted was to unveil their position accidentally. He’d be smart, and wait for Michael to make the first move. After all, it was quite obvious he knew what he was doing.

Kyle crossed next. The harsh suns’ rays lit the alley, and brought his once shadow-clad body into the sunlight. It only took a few seconds for him to reach Michael. The three caught their breath, the intense heat of the midday desert suns already fatiguing their bodies.

“So?” Kyle asked after several long moments of silence.

Michael shook his head. “Nothing. There’s no one here,” he said, even though it wasn't quite obvious he was convinced.

Kyle studied him, reading his uncertainty, but said nothing. If Michael said there wasn’t a threat … than there wasn’t a threat.

“All right, now what?”

Michael motioned for them to follow his gaze, and three laid eyes on the hangar where three derelict ships lay dormant. The once disguised hangar was now open to their view at this angle.

“Jackpot,” Kyle said, thoroughly excited to see their ticket off the planet.

“I saw it while I was scouting, but I couldn’t get a decent view. Alex, what can you see?” Michael asked, as he switched his leading position with the protector.

“Let’s see … alright, the one on the left, that’s a Starbird. Its definitely big enough, but …” He set his eye glasses on top of his head and looked through his binoculars, studying the physical integrity of the space craft. “Damn.”

“What?” Kyle voiced right away.

Alex lowered his binoculars, and turned to say, “It’s too damaged. You see that opening on the left side, by the gunners?” He pointed to the object in question. The two soldiers nodded. “It shouldn’t be there. At least, not that big. Someone must have been repairing the internal structure, and they needed to open the gate wider. They tore the door panel completely off. I’ll never get the pressure seal to lock. It won’t even leave the ground.”

“Shit,” Michael cursed under his breath.

“What about the other ones?” Kyle asked.

He brought the binoculars up to his eyes again, spinning certain knobs to focus. “Let's see … the one on the right is a Juniper Loman. From what I can see, it doesn’t look too bad, but …” He focused the eye piece further, letting his visual expand into the cabin of the aircraft. Wait a minute, he thought. “Damn!”

“What?!” Kyle asked again.

“They gutted it. It’s a shell.”

“Shit!” Michael cursed again.

Kyle shook his head in annoyance and frustration. “What were these people thinking? Jesus, who guts a Loman, huh? I mean … who does that? Its insane.”

“Quiet,” Michael commanded.

Both Alex and Kyle obeyed him and turned silent immediately, looking to him.

Michael had thought he had heard a pop to his left, just behind Kyle. But as he searched their surroundings, he saw nothing. He would have sworn that there was something … someone there. His nerves had never quieted since his scouting. He was careful not to let his guard down, even though he nodded to Alex to continue.

“What was it?” Kyle asked.

Michael shook his head in the negative. “Nothing, I just … thought I heard something. Its nothing.”

Alex gave Kyle a look, and then turned back to the hangar with binoculars in hand.

“What about the third one Alex? What do you see?” Michael asked, his voice catching somewhat in his throat. It’s the anticipation of leaving, he told himself. He just wanted to get the group as far away from Khivar as possible. Now that they were just hours away from their departure, his valor was being tested. That’s it, he attempted to convince himself.

“The one in the middle, that’s a Rumigan.”

Kyle said, “Damn, its too small.”

“Hold on,” Alex said. “It looks like its in pretty good shape. There might be something wrong with the engine or thrusters, but overall, the integrity looks pretty good. If I can get it running, we should be able to make it work.”

“Alex, we can’t fit twelve people on a Rumigan. We’ll be too heavy.”

“No, I can do it,” he said shaking his head. “If I can get it working, we can lighten it, take out anything extra: cargo, supplies. All we really need is ammo and boosters. Anything extra goes.”

“Do you know what you’re suggesting?” Kyle asked incredulously. “It’s a Rumigan! Twelve people will never fit ... let alone break gravity.”

Alex shook his head, and turned to Kyle. “Look, we’re running out of options, here. This is the only ship that will get us off the planet. I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”

“All right, enough,” Michael commanded. “Alex, you do realize how risky this is, right?”

Alex nodded.

“And, you’re sure that you can make it work?”

He nodded again.

“How are you so sure?”

“I studied ships while I was in training –”

Kyle interrupted, “Yeah, so did we. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Kyle,” Michael said exasperatedly. “Let him talk.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, but remained quiet.

“Like I said, I studied ships while I was in training. I was required to memorize the blueprints of every Antarian ship, and every other ship from the four other planets. It was sort of a failsafe plan: in case a protector needed to, he or she could manipulate the ship, adding or subtracting, making sure that any ship that they had could meet the requirements of their surroundings and position. I know exactly what should and shouldn’t be in that ship. What’s heaviest, lightest, strongest, weakest. The simulations we ran through in training would leave us in bleak conditions, and we were required to formulate a plan to successfully accomplish the virtual mission.”

He took a breath, and turned to look at Michael and Kyle, who stared blankly at him. Great, he thought. I’ve lost them already.

“Its all math,” he continued. “I can take the estimated weight of all twelve passengers, compared to the weight the ship must be to break gravity, and then eliminate any cargo that is not needed until the equation is equal. It’s really not that impossible. Difficult, yes … but not impossible.”

“Its all math, huh?” Kyle asked.

Alex nodded, “Yeah. That’s all.”

“Uh huh,” Kyle said, shaking his head at his dumb luck. He turned to Michael and said, “Man … I failed Algebra.”

Michael ignored him. “So you’re saying … you have that ship memorized, inside and out?”

Alex gave a lasting, confused look at Kyle’s reaction, and nodded. “Its required of all protectors.”

“Wow,” was all Michael managed to say.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[truman11883]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He knocking hard with his laser gun on the metal railing just above his knees. “How’s it coming, man?”

Alex’s head poked through the opening in the floor panel. He swiped his arm over his forehead to clear his eyes of sweat. He was hot and exhausted, but completely pleased with himself. “Good, almost done. We’ll be ready within the hour.” His toothy grin spread liberally across his handsome face.

“Excellent.” Michael nodded in approval as Alex disappeared once again. He reached into his pocket for his comlink, and clicked the transmitter on. “Kyle?”

Static sounded from the speaker in Michael’s hand, and a voice was heard, “Yeah?”

“How’s it going? We’re almost done here.”

“We … you make that sound like you’re actually doing something,” Kyle joked through the comlink. His voice was breathless, and his face was flushed as he heaved yet another box of irrelevant and unnecessary items out of the Rumigan.

“Yeah, yeah. I am doing something … keeping on your ass,” Michael joked back.

“Yeah, and my ass is exhausted. Do you know how heavy this shit is? Hey, is Alex sure we don’t need those freezer-cooler things?” He picked one up from the box he had just set down. The dry ice effect emitted from the top, and the cone shape base glowed bright green. He had absolutely no idea what it did, but it could be a cool toy … or something. “Cause, you know … they’re kinda cool.”

“Everything that Alex put on the list has to go. No toys.”

“Yes Mother.”

Michael laughed at Kyle’s antics, and at the fact that he hadn’t laughed for longer than he cared to remember. Before the attack, the stress of his position and shouldering Max’s imprudent attitude had been an unbearable load. He had often found himself unable to sleep because of the stress of it. Now … there was plenty of stress, and sleepless nights. But at least he had some comic relief as well. God bless Kyle and his immature mind-set.

He placed the comlink back into his pocket as he made another sweep across the hangar, searching yet again for any intruders. Alex had found the three comlinks, along with several other useful gadgets, in a small box below the captain seat. They could certainly come in handy in the future, were Alex’s exact words. Yeah, and that’s calling the kettle black, had been Michael’s witty internal comeback.

He rounded another corner, looking left, then right.

The lake was quiet. The forest was quiet. The hangar was quiet, save for Kyle. Michael cringed as he heard glass break and Kyle’s swear. He was sure everything Kyle had carefully boxed up was now crushed under the weight of his inattention. The boxes could only take so much.

But it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like they were coming back any time soon. If they were lucky, he would get Isabel and Max off the planet, and into hiding for months on Cantu, leaving them plenty of time to wage a counterattack. The wheels in Michael’s head started to turn furiously with the possibilities. Khivar won’t know what hit him, he thought smugly.

He entered the hangar again, needing to get out of the sun. It was still uncomfortably hot inside the enclosed hangar, but the ventilation and soft breeze gave much needed comfort.

“Michael!”

He turned quickly to the direction of Alex’s voice, and headed in that direction. He rounded the front of the ship, walking swiftly to the opening that he knew Alex was in. “Yeah?”

“Can you hand me that screwdriver?”

“What?”

Alex poked his head out, and gave him a look. “That screwdriver,” he said as he pointed to the object that had rolled out from his grasp. “Can you hand it to me?”

Michael stared at him, annoyed. He’s asking me to do what? he thought. He didn’t move from his looming, intimidating position above Alex.

Seemingly reading Michael’s annoyance, Alex added, “After this, I’ll be done.”

That got Michael moving. He picked the object in question up and handed it to Alex, who once again disappeared from view. A few load bangs and cranks later, Alex reemerged.

“Well? Are you done?” Michael asked, impatiently.

“I don’t know. If it starts, then yeah, I’m done. If it doesn’t then … then it doesn’t.” Alex pulled himself from the hole in the floor panel, placing the missing board back into place, and stood to wipe his oily hands on a rag.

“But, you think you fixed it?” Michael trailed him as Alex walked around the ship, and entered through the open gate.

Inside the ship, the air was stale and musty. It was obvious the Rumigan hadn’t been active in quite some time. Hopefully that doesn’t work against us, Alex hoped. The thrusters, engine cells, and boosters all had looked intact and in relatively good condition. The only thing that had given him trouble was the wiring. There were … or rather had been quite a few faulty cables connecting the three components.

“We’ll see,” Alex responded noncommittally, as he took the captain seat. He heard Michael's exasperated sigh behind him, and smiled secretively. “Why don’t you call Kyle up here? I’m sure he’s done by now. He’s probably playing with the pressure globes.”

“Yeah,” Michael said absently, as pulled the comlink from his pocket. “Kyle!”

“What?” he yelled back through his speaker rather annoyed.

“Get the hell up here. Alex is done.”

“Yeah, be there in a sec.”

“No, right now!” Alex snickered at their behavior and bickering, as he keyed in certain access codes, and overrode the security lock that had been placed on the engine.

“What the hell is up your ass? Jesus, chill Mikey.”

“Just get in here. We’re going to try and start her.”

There was a pause of silence. “Oh,” came Kyle’s surprised response. There were several scrambling, clanging noises as Kyle made haste to enter the cockpit to join the two of them.

“Are you sure you can get her started? There wasn’t too much damage –” Michael asked.

The humming of the boosters cut off his questioning. His eyebrows rose and he turned to Alex, who was now twisted in his seat, facing Michael, with a grin on his face.

“I guess that answers that,” Michael said under his breath.

Kyle entered soon after, and said, “Alright, I’m here. Let’s get this show on the road.” The ship rattled once, and then twice, as the thrusters came to life for the first time in months. Kyle reached out to steady himself, “Whoa.”

“You boys ready?”

Michael took the seat next to him, and answered, “Show us what she’s got, Alex.”

Alex continued to click buttons, switching keys, turning knobs, all to maximize its controllability. He didn’t want the ship crashing fifty feet outside the hangar because a setting was ninety degrees off center. It wouldn’t just be embarrassing, but devastating as well. The control board in front of him came to life, lights blinked and blared back at him.

Kyle moved to stand behind Michael, one hand above him holding onto a cable for stability, the other on the back of the seat. He watched Alex’s hands and fingers fly with certainty, making adjustments and calculating coordinates. Impressive, he thought, that he could do this so effortlessly. Like Alex had said, its all math. Kyle snorted in mockery. Math my ass.

“Here we go,” he said, clicking the large red button above his head, and crossing his fingers at the same time. Slowly, the Rumigan lifted from the concrete floor.

“Yes,” Michael hissed with excitement.

He couldn't help the smile on his face as he said, “Don’t get excited yet. We still have to get eight more people in here. How’s the cargo bay, Kyle?”

“Huh?” he asked, as he came out of his stupor. He shook his head, and answered, “Oh, yeah its good. Everything’s out. Even those little cone, smokey things.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “You mean the preservation rods?”

“Yeah those. What do they do anyway?”

Alex shook his head. “They help preserve supplies, like food, while you’re in space. The constant gravity and pressure changes can spoil produce faster. The rods help stabilize that.”

Kyle gave him a blank look, but said, “Oh, okay,” nonetheless.

“Ready to get out of here?” Alex asked Michael and Kyle.

“Definitely,” came Michael’s enthusiastic reply. He reached over to his right, and disengaged the locks on the landing gear. They heard the sounds of the retracting device, and the small doors shut with a thud. Kyle took his seat behind Michael, and was sure to fasten his safety belt tightly … just in case.

Alex grasped the control bars in front of him and, after steadying his shaking hands, pushed slightly. The ship moved forward as Alex maneuvered them through the open hangar gate, and into the surrounding open area. They all squinted in the change of light, and soon Alex was accelerating the ship towards the cave that rested no more than ten minutes away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tall, overweight soldier seated in the undetected hovercraft watched as the Rumigan ship passed them. The cloaking devices he had installed on their ships no more than a week ago had definitely come in handy. “Do we proceed?”

“No,” came Brody’s reply. “Let them lead us to the Prince.”

The soldier nodded, and turned the hovercraft to the Seroan ship that rested quietly behind them.