Recreance (The Aeternum Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  “How do you do it?” he asked.

  “Do what?” Khalil responded drowsily.

  “Appear out of nowhere like that.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Khalil paused, looking at Oren through squinted eyes.

  “Okay…”

  “Have you ever considered the possibility that your entire understanding of people, of yourself even, is incomplete?”

  Oren furrowed his brow.

  “Arcadian Citizens, they muddle through life, meandering toward their inevitable Ascension. Sure, the occasional dusker will consider escape, but the vast majority fear being labeled a Recreant far more than they fear death.”

  “Death? Ascension isn’t death,” said Oren.

  “Perhaps,” he paused, “perhaps not. None know for sure. Regardless, do you consider it just? Being forcibly torn from your life, from your family?”

  “I don’t like it…I don’t think many people do, but it’s necessary. If not for Ascension, there would be more wars…like the Aeternum Wars. There wouldn’t be enough food, enough places to live.”

  “Spoken like a true New Arcadian, young Tifl. Take a look around you. This is the first you’ve ever seen of the world beyond the walls of New Arcadia. Most citizens never leave at all. How can you know what resources this world holds? How can you measure its capacity, having never seen it?”

  The world was vast. He had never in his wildest dreams thought he’d experience a place like this. “They taught us…in school,” Oren answered. His confidence was wavering.

  “Who taught you?”

  Oren thought about the Ministry with a troubled expression. He’d seen things these past weeks…things that terrified him.

  Khalil continued, “The Ministry cares about one thing – control. Not just control of resources and power, but control of your mind. Control of your reality. Many of the things you take for granted as truth were invented to keep you…predictable.”

  Oren grasped for justification. The picture Khalil painted was too unsettling to accept. “But, things have been peaceful with the Ministry. The Aeternum wars were the last that humanity has known in over fourteen-hundred years.”

  “Tell me, what do you know of the Aeternum wars?”

  “Same thing everyone else does: that they were the result of overpopulation. After Vaccarus’ discovery, too many people just…kept on living. Resources became scarce, and people had to fight just so that they could eat, have clean water, live.”

  “Tell me, was our ingenuity so limited that we could find no solutions to the problems of basic survival without self-destruction? Do you truly believe that we have the intelligence to uncover the secrets of life everlasting, but can’t figure out how to feed ourselves?” Khalil shook his head.

  Oren had never thought of it that way. He’d never had any reason to doubt what he’d been taught. Everyone just accepted it as fact. “Are you saying that the Aeternum Wars never happened? That they weren’t real?”

  “No Tifl, they were very real,” Khalil said seriously. “The evidence of the destruction they wrought can be found in the barren soil beneath your feet. In the ancient ruined cities to the southwest, and in the small number of humans left in this world as compared to before.”

  “Then, what were they, if not a fight for resources?”

  “They were a fight for survival…for freedom to live as one chooses, for as long as one chooses. You want to know why there have been no wars since the Aeternum Wars? It is because we lost. Billions died at the hands of what you now know of as the Ministry. Gabrial Penumbra raised New Arcadia from the sands and destroyed nearly everyone and everything beyond its walls. To this day, the ground still shudders from the destruction he wrought.

  “Most of what is left of mankind has been subjugated into complacency, and now accepts its eternal master as a matter of course. It is far easier to accept a reality we want to believe, than to open our eyes to the truth. New Arcadia is a cage, a prison. One that labels every citizen with an expiration date.”

  Oren sat back, stunned. “But…if overpopulation isn’t the problem, then why even have Ascension?”

  “Ah, and so we have come full circle,” Khalil smiled. “You asked how I do it, how I move so quickly, appear in places I wasn’t a moment ago.”

  Oren listened intently.

  “When I was a young man, not much older than yourself, I discovered the...inconsistencies within the Ministry’s teachings, and began looking for answers. I asked many questions, some of which proved dangerous. Eventually, my questions led me to a group called the Ko’jin.”

  Oren thought the name sounded familiar.

  “The Ko’jin is an underground organization, dedicated to overthrowing the Ministry and freeing its citizens. It has existed for as long as the Ministry itself, and has nearly been destroyed several times, over the past few centuries. Ko’jin combat techniques have been passed down since pre-Aeternum times, and kept secret from the Ministry. Some secrets are shared only after many years of dedicated service. The skills I acquired with the Ko’jin are largely responsible for my being alive today. They are the reason I am able to survive out here,” he said spreading his arms.

  Oren nodded, but couldn’t help the feeling of expecting something more.

  “That,” Khalil said, “and gathering.”

  “Gathering? What’s that?” Oren asked, leaning forward.

  “For now, I will simply tell you that we are capable of far more than you could ever imagine.” The words echoed in Oren’s head. He had heard them before.

  “It is late, and we both need our sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.” He hoisted a bundle of logs onto the fire.

  “Why’s that?” Oren asked.

  “Tomorrow, we go west.”

  Before Oren could ask any more questions, Khalil stood up, walked to his lean-to, and ducked inside. Oren sat, breathing in the cool night air and watching the fire. Could what Khalil said really be true? Was the Ministry a jailer, rather than a protector? He took a deep breath, stood, and made his way into his own small shelter for the night.

  5

  The Oath

  Clem punched him in the arm. “Tell me how you did it!”

  “Not a chance! A magician never reveals his—”

  The afternoon sky tore open and utter darkness poured out like blood from a fetid wound. Its long tendrils snaked in every direction, eating away at the clear blue sky, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

  “Oren? Hello? Oren, are you okay…”

  “Oren. Oren wake up,” a voice whispered. He felt something covering his mouth, and awoke with a start. It was pitch dark in his shelter.

  “Shhh!” It was Khalil. “The plans have changed. We are leaving now.” He slowly removed his hand from Oren’s mouth.

  “What?” Oren whispered, pushing away the grogginess.

  “We have company. Get up. Now!” he whispered urgently.

  Judging by the tone of Khalil’s voice, Oren decided any further questions could wait. He felt around for his pants and shoes and pulled them on.

  “Hurry, roll your blanket, we leave immediately.”

  Oren rolled it up messily, tucked it under his arm and scrambled out of the small lean-to. The night air was cool, and a large waxing moon, high above the Calleis Ring, bathed the desert in gentle light.

  The sound of metal scraped, followed by a loud clang. Oren spun and saw Khalil holding his sword, guarding against a small dark form in ragged black clothing, clinging to the rock. It leapt gracefully off the outcropping and swung a jet-black sword around for a second attack. Khalil immediately countered, blocking the move. The attacker made a repetitive clicking noise that sounded like frustration.

  Khalil gripped his sword in both hands. He rocked back, raising the hilt over his shoulder, then launched forward into an all-out assault. He moved like water. His attacks were a flurry of stabs, kicks, and slashes. Oren could barely follow with his eyes. He had never seen anything so beautiful, fluid, and deadly. The
creature responded with an eerie grace. The inertia of its movement was all wrong, as if it were moving backwards through time. It blocked the first several attacks, but Khalil’s onslaught was too furious. His sword cut into its arm with a wet squish, and it leapt backward with a sharp hiss. It came to a near stop mid-leap, drifting through the air in slow motion. Oren got a good look at its gray face and was horrified to find its eye sockets grown over with spotted flesh. Its black lips were a blur, as if speaking incredibly fast. As its head turned to face Oren, whispers of an incomprehensible, twisted language filled his head. The slow motion fall ended and it landed at normal speed.

  The creature’s mouth widened into a blurry, menacing grin, and it launched at Khalil, attacking with inhuman speed. Its snake-like black blade struck and stabbed repeatedly in quick succession. Khalil struggled to keep up. He was now fully on the defensive. Tendons stood out on his neck and Oren worried he would be overcome, but no attacks made it through. The barrage only lasted a few moments, and once it slowed again Khalil went back on the offensive. His blows struck with such force that it was clear he vied for a quick end.

  Sparks flew as their blades connected with a CLANG. The noise snapped Oren out of his daze. Before he realized what he was doing, he snatched up a fist-sized rock and hurled it as hard as he could. Had his aim been better, he might have hit the attacker, but as it was he missed and the rock exploded on the stone outcropping behind it. The sound was enough of a distraction for Khalil to bring his blade to its unprotected neck, severing the head completely. A loud shriek escaped from its mouth, and a cloud of black blood erupted from its neck. The body fell to its knees, then forward onto the ground. Oren stared in shock at the red Ministry armband on its right arm.

  “Get back!” Khalil shouted, diving away. Oren backed up and tripped, landing hard on the ground. The air became thick and a deep vibrating boom sounded from where the creature’s head had fallen, followed by a sucking sound and then silence. A spherical cloud of dust was frozen in time around the severed head.

  Sweat glistened on Khalil’s brow.

  “Run!” he said, sheathing his blade. Oren stood and glanced up at the outcropping to see three more shadow-like figures climbing over the top lip and scaling down.

  The ground heaved, and a deafening roar filled Oren’s head as his feet were jerked out from under him. The three shapes leapt from the outcropping, landing awkwardly as the quake set the ground in constant motion.

  Oren did his best to stand, but fell onto his hands and knees.

  He felt someone grab his arm and turned to face Khalil, who was crouched beside him with eyes closed.

  “What are you doing?” Oren shouted.

  Khalil didn’t respond.

  Oren suddenly felt very strange, like he was being smeared out across a piece of toast. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, he snapped back into himself like a rubber band. Oren shook his head, and the three advancing dark figures split off in different directions. One ran straight for them, and the other two veered off to the left and right. Oren blinked. Not twenty feet away on his right was another version of himself, and another Khalil. He looked to the left and saw the same thing.

  “What did you—” before he could finish, the third creature was upon them. Khalil unsheathed his blade and went into a low defensive stance, protecting Oren. The ground was still trembling, but Khalil somehow managed to stay on his feet. Oren looked over and saw the other Khalils taking the same stance. All three creatures attacked, and Oren watched in awe as three Khalils danced gracefully with their blades, defending with expert speed and precision.

  “Go! Run!” Khalil grunted as he deflected three lightning fast blows from the nearest attacker. Oren scrambled away on his hands and knees, and looked around to see the other Orens doing the same. To his horror, the creature fighting the Khalil off to the left leapt high in the air, flipped, and came down on that Oren, placing an ebony blade between his shoulder blades. The other, dying Oren slumped to the ground and melted into it. The Khalil that had been protecting him spun, swinging his sword with both hands and decapitating the creature. A deep boom followed, and Oren remembered he was supposed to be fleeing. The shaking had diminished to small tremors. Oren stood up.

  “Tifl look out!”

  Oren spun around.

  Another hooded figure soared through the air toward him at incredible speed, glistening black blade raised up over its head with both hands.

  “NO!” Oren closed his eyes and raised his arms to shield himself from the lethal blow.

  His entire body tingled and his mind was on fire. An omnipresent light enveloped him and he could no longer see, feel, or hear anything around him. There was only the strange light. What is happening? He reached out, and realized he no longer had hands, arms, or a body of any kind. The light shifted, and he sensed a boundary. It seemed to be both material and immaterial, there and not there. A force moved him toward it. The closer he got, the more he sensed that the boundary was not solid, but porous, like a lattice with infinite gaps. His consciousness approached, and was pressed up against it. He split into a million pieces of himself as he came apart to fit through the countless holes in the lattice structure. As he emerged on the other side, he recombined into his singular self, and the light faded completely. All of his senses came back at once, and the world erupted into stars as something struck his head.

  Oren inhaled sharply. He cried out as a burning pain bloomed in his left side. Seconds later, he was lifted and thrown a short distance. He cried out again as he hit the ground, and fresh pain erupted in his side and elbow. A deep boom followed. Oren opened his eyes and saw Khalil frozen amidst a spherical cloud of dust. His was reaching out, having just thrown Oren to safety. Another boom sounded nearby. The shaking of the ground finally subsided.

  “Khalil!” Oren shouted, dismayed.

  From behind him, a voice called out, “Tifl! Are you injured?” It was Khalil, or rather, one of the Khalils.

  Before he could ask what was going on, his side erupted in another bout of searing pain and he screamed in agony.

  Khalil cursed. He leaned over Oren and examined his wound. “This…this is not good. Can you walk? Oren looked down at the inflamed skin on his side. The flesh was raised and blackened in a swirling symbol of dark tendrils. At the center was an eye with strange symbols around it. The tendrils writhed ever so slowly. “What…what is that? What did it do to me?” Oren asked in a panic.

  “Come, we must go immediately. There will be more coming.”

  Oren slowly picked himself up off the ground, wincing at the pain. Khalil put an arm around his shoulder and helped support him as they made their way into the desert night.

  After an hour of limping along, Khalil set Oren down on a nearby stone and stopped to take a drink. He passed the canteen to Oren, who poured the cool water down his dry, scratchy throat. His side burned, and he lifted up his shirt to look at the brand seared into him. The tendrils writhed beneath his skin, and Oren looked to Khalil in near panic. Khalil calmly nodded at the canteen, and Oren poured cool water over the brand, which hissed and steamed as soon as it touched his skin. Meanwhile, Khalil had soaked another bandage with water. He walked over to Oren and began to wrap it around the wound.

  “How did you…there were three of you—of us! I saw you die!”

  “It was not death, but stasis, and as you can see, I am very much alive, as are you.”

  “But what was that? How could it even happen? It’s impossible!”

  “Now is not the time to discuss such things. We must keep moving.” Khalil stood and stepped toward Oren.

  “Wait. What happened back there? What were those things? ” I should be dead.

  Khalil looked at the bandage on Oren’s head with concern. “You were kicked in the head and branded by a hasai. They are low level agents of the Ministry. Very deadly.”

  Kicked? Oren thought, That thing was about to slice me in half with a sword.

  “I r
emember the brand,” he said. The pain in his side made it impossible to forget. “I just thought for sure I was…”

  Khalil pulled a folded piece of wax parchment from his pocket. He opened it up and took out a small green leaf. “Here, chew this.” He handed the leaf to Oren. “It should help with the pain.”

  Oren took the leaf and put it into his mouth. It tasted bitter, but the pain lessened almost immediately. “How could they move so fast?”

  “It is called time gathering.”

  Oren furrowed his brow.

  “They slow their passage through time, and as a result are launched at great speed back into our time-stream. We must keep moving until dawn. If we stop now, the hasai will kill us…if the desert does not do so first.”

  That was the end of the conversation. Khalil helped Oren to his feet and they continued on. The moon shone brightly in the black sky, but it was still too dark for Oren to see very far into the distance. They passed down into a craggy valley littered with dried shrubs, and by the time they made it out again, the first rays of the sun were peeking over the horizon.

  “It is not far now,” Khalil said.

  Oren grunted. His side still burned, his head throbbed, and all his limbs ached from exhaustion. They climbed a narrow path up a dusty stone ridge. At the end of the path was a small, hidden cavern entrance. As they approached it, Khalil lowered Oren to the ground to rest.

  “Wait here a moment. I’ll make sure there are no uninvited guests.”

  Oren nodded. His eyes were half lidded. He had never been so tired in his life. When Khalil returned, he wasn’t sure if minutes or hours had passed.

  “All clear,” Khalil said and moved to help Oren up and into the cave. Once inside, Oren realized with vague surprise that it was far roomier than he had expected. Two bedrolls were laid out on the ground several feet in; behind them the cave stretched back into darkness. Khalil helped Oren to the bedrolls and he collapsed onto the nearest one, falling instantly asleep.

  * * *

  When Oren awoke he was alone. He sat up, wincing at the pain in his side. He looked down and found a clean white bandage wrapped around his abdomen. He limped to the cavern entrance and peeked out. A cool breeze rustled the hair on his forehead and an earthy, dusty scent filled his nostrils. The last rays of the setting sun painted the sky with magnificent reds, yellows, and pinks as it descended behind the mountains to the west. Oren was struck by the alien beauty of this place. New Arcadia was safe, but it was also very bland by comparison. The city and its surroundings were built for utility, and its forever-opaque skies had never been this vivid due to the atmospheric dome. The Miralaja was undoubtedly dangerous, but it possessed a wild, untamed magnificence that could never truly be understood without experiencing it.