Alvia, Part Three

The Fortunate Moons

The dreamfields of Rom, their pink grasses swaying, fast winds sweeping down valley walls, framed in cyan planetlight by the mountains Sapaosh and Kosm, burned like so many marathon torches; a ritual genocide.

Eyes opened to light. Amber, once, now blazing orange. They blinked no more. Does fire blink? In a way. But lasers do not, nor does the heat of a star, and surely the holy ohr does not blink either. Nor does it die, and where it’s fragments, plancks in length most often, take starry root, trees grow from the divine when their near-infinite wellsprings are tapped.

“Ona,” said a voice, a man’s voice, cool and calm. “Your name is Ona.”

He was a shade like moonstone, she saw when she learned to see by means of self-emanatory occulation. Pale skin and phoenix haired, his eyes burned furious red in a mundane shell sinewed like a wind worn birch. She reached to his face and touched his lined cheek.

“I’m Fuzon,” he said. “And this is Eleth and Uveth.”

Ona turned her head and saw two women. Somehow, she knew they looked similar to her. “How do you know my name?”

“It was the name you screamed when Fuzon kindled you,” said Eleth.

“Kindled?”

All three of them smiled to varrying degrees.

“What does that...” The power surged through her so strong she retched. Bile came out, but it hissed away when it touched her cheek. The others stood and backed away. Weightless she followed, the world moving beneath her as she rose from force unbidden.

“Here,” said Fuzon. He held a strange harness in his hands.

The other two women took her each by an arm and held her still. She writhed, not to be free, but from the pain of the sacred photons colliding inside her. She tried to hold still, but her skin was burning on the inside. Soon her organs; soft, mucus coated and fleshy, felt hot and she fought the urge to scream. A mad fever took her and sweat drenched her brow. She feared that she might die and it made her sad.

As quickly as it rose, her power faded to a glimmer soft inspiring. When her vision returned, she saw that Fuzon had fitted the harness around her torso.

“What is this? Where did you get it?” She looked and saw that they all wore them over beautiful armour. Fuzon wore heavy plate with a long skirt that draped over one leg. Uveth wore robes over her maille, and Eleth hid her visored head under a hooded cloak. Ona looked down at her own gear, which was no more than tattered rags.

“We made them,” said Eleth. “Our... mother taught us how.

“Our mother?”

“Her name is Imogen,” said Fuzon.

“Is she here?”

“I wish. Many of us think she died, but we believe she still lives. We came upon you while searching for her.”

“What did you do to me? What even am I? What are we?”

“We are Harbingers,” said Uveth, “living light coalesced around a troubled soul that died in tragedy.”

“Living light? How could that be?”

“Light is life, sister,” said Eleth.

“Ona. My name is Ona? But, it’s not. My name was... no, It's Ona. But it used to be...”

“Something else,” said Fuzon. “You’ll remember a great many things when you dream, but that will only happen when...”

“Fuzon,” said the other two women.

“Better to let her see that on her own,” said Uveth.

Fuzon nodded, then put his hand between her scapulae and led her around the burning field. “This is Rom, one of the Fortunate Moons.”

“Fortunate?”

“It was attacked.” His voice was mournful.

“By whom?”

“The Brethren.”

“Fuzon,” said Eleth.

“She’s inquisitive, Eleth. Such a trait should be nurtured. And her heart needs to be strengthened, whatever path she chooses.”

“Whatever path I choose?”

He reached with his other hand and took hers in it. “There are so many, but we tend to gravitate towards one.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“The Whorl,” said Uveth.

“The Whorl?”

“You’ll understand eventually,” said Eleth. “Let’s go, Fuzon. This planet’s depressing me.”

They took her to their vessel, which they called a Vanth class jumpship. She was a sleek little lady; triangular, with a gentle curve from bow to stern.

“What’s she called?” Ona asked.

“Lamiya,” said Eleth.

“Pretty name.”

Eleth caressed Lamiya’s landing struts as she made her way to the loading ramp. “I chose it. It’s so much better than her first name.”

“What was her first name?” Ona caught a disapproving look from Fuzon, too late to refrain from asking her question.

“Harbinger One,” Eleth replied, her voice mocking.

Ona was silent, unsure which of the thousand and one questions spinning in her head to ask.

“We were a team of eight,” Uveth explained.

“Are the others onboard?”

“No. They stayed behind.”

Ona tried to keep quiet, but she wanted too badly to know things, any things. “Do the others think Imogen is dead?”

“Yes.” Uveth’s reply was quick. Ona felt she was trying to speak before Fuzon.

They climbed the ramp and entered the ship. It was spacious for the four of them, but Ona could see how it would be cramped for eight. The ramp led to a hangar where a long, narrow missile was loaded into a launch mechanism. Beyond that was a small galley connected to bunks cut into a hallway. Each bunk had a sliding door. That hallway led to a briefing room and then the cockpit. There were ladders along the walls, and when Ona peeked to see where they went to, she saw darkness.

“Engines, munitions, fuel reserves, all the boring stuff,” said Eleth. “All the boring stuff.”

“What did your team do?” Ona asked.

“Follow orders given by lazy old liars.”

“Eleth,” said Fuzon, looking over his shoulder.

“Sorry, boss.”

He sighed, then entered the cockpit and took one of the two fore seats. Ona sat in the back row by Eleth. “How did the whole team fit up here?”

“They didn’t” Eleth said. “One of the thousand and one reasons things are better now. To be honest, it was a little lonely at first. But now we have one more, and you make us perfect.”

Ona smiled, but her stomach felt tight and shaky. “Fuzon,” she said, “were you the leader of the group?”

“He still is,” said Eleth.

“I was second in command,” he clarified, “but our captain was being groomed for a more advanced role, leaving me in line to take his place.”

“But you were always a stalwart support to Captain Jabara,” Uveth said.

Eleth looked at Ona and mouthed words. ‘Jabara was boring.’

The ship rocked, then was airborne, shaking slightly from the retraction of the landing gear.

“Comes up quick,” Eleth said.

There was some talk Ona couldn’t follow during the flight skyward. She looked at the holo-viewer on her chairs console and watched the world pass by beneath her. Rom was beautiful. She lamented its loss. “I have a question,” she blurted.

“What’s up?” Eleth was quick to respond.

Ona hesitated to answer her.

“What vexes you, girl?” asked Uveth.

“What was this planet like?”

“An Abelian Commune. Quite peaceful, and very advanced. Culturally as well as technologically.”

Fires plumed beneath her, but there were no dead, no structures. Only a burning moon. “Why were they attacked? You said a monastic order did this?”

They were all quiet, until Fuzon finally spoke.

“You’ve woken to a troubled cosmos, Ona. We’ve suffered one brutal assault after another, and our enemies seem to continually grow in power. As well as savagery. The brethren Onslought are no monks. They are monsters. An abomination. A hybrid progeny of sacred technology mated to indiscriminate biomass.”

“That sounds... “ She searched for the word to describe her feelings, “odd.”

“If you’re gonna tell her about the Surge,” said Eleth, “then tell her about the Surge.”

“They were innocuous at first,” Fuzon continued, “floating through space at sublight speeds, gorging on derelict moons and asteroids with trace amounts of organic matter.”

“What changed them?”

She could feel the heaviness of their silence. Again, it was Fuzon who broke it, finishing what he began. “A man with no scruples gave them souls. He took from their mass what he needed to craft humanoid forms, but they knew only hunger, making sentience a curse.”

“Why would someone do something so...”

“Stupid?” Eleth finished.

“He was a brilliant man,” said Uveth, and brilliance can overwhelm common sense, especially when coupled with desperation. Your vessel was from the moon we departed. Mine was from the world of our species’ origin. Our world was nearly destroyed, and almost failed several times to recover from its great fall. The Surge were birthed by a man determined to unlock to discover the means of transmitting. He hoped to give our people hope, that their fragile, natural shells were not their only means of existence.”

“And because he let himself become desperate, the Surge runs wild, devouring both metal and flesh to feed to the swelling masses they herald.”

Ona shuddered. “That’s horrible.” Her frustration over her amnesia vanished.”

“Bet you’re glad you can’t remember,” said Eleth, as if she heard Ona’s thoughts.

Ona wondered what other harbingers had forgotten. As the stars stretched to wires at the forming of Lamiya’s wormhole, Ona wondered too how many horrors lurked among them. “How do you know this history? Has it been a long time?”

“A very long time,” said Uveth, “but we searched for Imogen on Earth. Our host species was... hospitable, and gave us free access to their data bases.”

“He wasn’t all bad,” Eleth said. “He may have been crazy, but not all of his creations were monsters.”

“You’re not wrong, Eleth. Still, little sister, I believe the Milky Way would be a happier place if Doctor Yamin had never lived.”

They made a dozen or more jumps over the course of a week, stopping at a trinary system with over six habitable worlds. There were life signs on none of them.