Of Prophecies and Promises

Chapter 5

5

Second Earth… He blinked, not sure if his eyes were open, or still closed. There was little he could see. The faint light a few meters away seemed to change in its brightness. A fire? Shapes moved in and out of his field of vision. Humans, he hoped, rather than the intimidating Tamplians or the feared Vancurelians. Tentatively moving his fingers, then hands, he found he was not bound. Sitting up sent a stabbing pain to his head, which he instinctively tried to control by placing his hands on his forehead. Once the ache subsided, he pushed himself to his feet.

His vision cleared, and he immediately recognized he was not in the village. Glancing skyward, he saw up close the lights, towers, and various transpo that littered the city. Malhinda. Gage attempted, unsuccessfully, to tamp down the anxiety bubbling in his chest. He had to find his way back to the village, then return to the Monastery.

Taking one step from where he had been placed, brought him face to face with one of the men he had met at the end of the building, the wagon and safety so close. Swallowing, he stared up at the grin that didn’t appear as genuine as its owner had hoped.

“Hey there, lad. So glad you’re up and about. Got a pain in that plain head of yours?” the man asked, placing his hand on Gage’s smooth scalp. When Gage didn’t answer, the man continued, “Well, I got something here for you that will cure it right away,” and held out his other hand.

Two small, white discs rested in the man’s dirty palm. Glancing at the offering, Gage took in the rest of the being. A dingy, light brown, loose-fitting shirt covered the man’s torso and was tucked into trousers of equal cleanliness. A dark red vest, worn mainly for warmth, Gage guessed, was over the shirt and hung low enough to cover whatever items were attached to the man’s belt. Perhaps he often didn’t have enough food, as it seemed his clothes bagged around his frame. Well-used boots adorned the man’s feet and encased the bottom of the trousers. A mixture of grey and brown hair covered his head, and a similar smattering attached itself between the mouth and nose of the man. The odor wasn’t pleasant, and if the small discs held in the man’s hand were anything like what was placed over his nose and mouth, Gage wanted nothing to do with what was offered. How long ago was he taken from the village?

“A bit hesitant, I see. Perhaps an introduction is in order. The name’s Pel Florey. My associate who you met last night,” he paused and extended a hand to a man that stood out of Gage’s sight, “is Chev Arbust.”

Chev stepped into the ring of light cast by what Gage could now determine as fire inside a metal container. This was the shorter man, and one that didn’t seem to have an issue with food, or perhaps it was just the way Source chose to put the man together. His rounded middle was barely contained inside the dark blue shirt and black coat. Black pants were worn to the tops of the material-made shoes on his extremely large feet. Unlike Pel, Chev’s hair was mostly gone. What remained was pulled to the back of his head and secured with a tie. Chev smiled more because he was told to by Pel, than for any real emotion.

“Now, if you’d like the pain to go away faster, and who wouldn’t, take these,” Pel said and once again extended his hand in the boy’s direction.

Gage shook his head. Not knowing or caring why Pel and Chev brought him here, he expressed his only thought. “I need to return to the Sanctuary. Please direct me to the closest possible roadway.”

Both men looked at Gage, then at each other. The laughter that sounded grated in Gage’s ears.

Catching his breath, Pel said, “Sorry, boy, but you’re not going back to the Anadas. We took you from the village because we saw how lucky you are with the games. And Chev and me, we need some luck.”

“But you can’t keep me here. I need to return. Anada Bosley will be distraught. And I know nothing about your ‘luck.’” Gage moved around Chev and was grabbed by his arm.

“I don’t think you fully understand what my friend Pel here tried to tell you. You’re not going back. We figure to use you to get us back some of what we’ve lost. You stay with us, or we go back to the method we used last night.”

Gage stared at the man’s face. An emotion he had rarely felt in his life took root in his belly. Fear. His arm throbbed from the squeezing of Chev’s hand. He hoped Source would forgive him for his untruth. Nodding, Gage waited until Chev relaxed. Pulling his arm free, Gage ran around the fire and into the dark.

He wasn’t prepared for the scattering of debris on the ground. Old building materials, pieces of metal from defunct transpos, and a few beasts that scurried into the darker shadows as he darted past. He could hear Chev and Pel giving chase but dared not look behind him. Rounding the corner of the closest building, he came to a stumbling stop. Chest heaving, eyes wide, Gage stood as the scene before him unfolded and time crawled.

The way in front of him was blocked by the side of yet another building. There was no way out. He’d have to turn around and go back the way he had come in and take his chances that Chev and Pel moved slowly. His thoughts were on turning around, but his eyes and feet wouldn’t obey. Gage was caught in the actions, most not understood by his ten-year-old mind, which took place within the thirty meters before him.

A man sat on the ground, leaning against a doorway. There was no door, and the miniscule alcove was perhaps the only shelter the human could find. Bringing a tube to his mouth that was hidden among the hair on his face, the man inhaled. A glow from the end of the tube allowed Gage to see into the man’s eyes. Empty. Hollow. A shell was all that was left. The smoke that wafted from the parted lips obscured eyes that told Gage the essence of the human was no longer in the shelter of the doorway.

Swinging to the right, Gage’s vision took in a woman on her knees, her face placed at the top of the legs of the man that stood in front of her. He leaned slightly back against the wall behind him, emanating sounds that Gage couldn’t distinguish as pleasure or pain. The man buried one hand in the hair of the woman, with the other, a flash of metal preceded the exposure of her throat, then a spray of blood in a great arc landed in a telling pattern on the ground. Tossing the woman to the side, the man readjusted the front of his trousers, then turned towards the space between the buildings where Gage stood, and paused.

A hand gathered his robes at the back of his neck, and a jerk brought him up against Pel, who leaned down to whisper in Gage’s ear. “You want to live, you come with us. We’ll feed you, give you a bed, protect you from what you just saw. Or we can leave you here and you can explain to the murderin’ Fostling w***e why you won’t tell the officers what he has done. There’s little chance you’d manage to get away, but instead meet the same fate as the female body or the acid burn of the man in the doorway. My suggestion is that you do what Chev and I tell you. Is that clear?”

There was wetness in the young eyes that looked at him, but the hardened heart had no room for sympathy, only for survival. He waited for the nod, believing the boy would hold his word this time.

Gage, not understanding much of what he witnessed, but guessing from the sick feeling in his stomach that it wasn’t something that was healthy or natural, decided to stay with Pel and Chev. He couldn’t readily find the roadway that would lead him out of Malhinda, and he didn’t want to see any more of what had transpired before him. Pel and Chev quickly took him back to where he had woken a short while ago. So, he’d stay until he knew how to keep himself safe, find food and shelter, and, if Source deemed it so, his way back to the Monastery.

Catching some of the words that were passed between Pel and Chev on their return trip, Gage tried to make sense of what he saw and their plans to keep him hidden from the murderer. They showed him a corner, tucked between a pillar holding up a roadway for transpo and the side of a building. A blanket had been attached so that it offered protection from rain and curious eyes from above. There was a pile of cloth underneath the shelter. Gage glanced at it and decided his own robes would protect him from the ground. Laying down, resting his head on his bent arm, he stared at the fire, Pel and Chev, and the remaining objects he could see before closing his eyes to block out where he was, only to have his mind filled with the scene several buildings away. Beginning a prayer, not for himself, but for the woman he knew was dead, the man with the tube, and Anada Bosley, Gage drifted into unconsciousness.

Jules breathed in the unclean air of Malhinda and relaxed now that he was out of the trees and off of the roadway from the village where he felt so exposed. The star of Second Earth would be rising in a few hours. Whoever had taken Gage St. Veritas from the Anadas would keep him stashed away until darkness. His talk with Bosley told him little of Gage’s talents. Not wanting to think the boy had been taken to a slave house or pleasure shop, Jules decided he would first try the gaming rackets, the corners and side streets he knew were owned by the gamblers looking to change their luck. Some observation of the boy’s habits, talents, and state of mind, since his a*******n, would determine how Jules would approach Gage.

Winding his way through the section of streets where he had lived the last year, Jules rounded the corner of his building, glanced behind him to ensure he was not being followed, then slid the palm-sized card through the lock, waited a moment until the light flashed green and the door slid open, then stepped into the building. Once inside, his hand on the panel next to the door slid the portal closed. Taking the stairs to his left instead of waiting for the lift, Jules took them three at a time to the sixth floor. His breath coming faster now, he removed his eye shields so the security system could scan his retina, then he spoke the password that would allow him entrance into his own chamber. The security was not the newest, but it was all he could afford, especially since he was attempting to stay out of sight of those who were suspicious of the strong, silent human.

The door sliding shut behind him allowed him to relax his guard. Whisking off his cloak and tossing it in the direction of the chair where he usually took his meals, Jules continued to the room where he slept. The pallet on the floor was shoved into the far corner, enough out of the way that he could do some of the exercises taught to him by his father that would keep him in fighting form.

Jules went through the routine he usually did when returning from a foray. His laser, pocket pouch, and knife were removed from his belt. The first was the newest on the market, a gift from his father when it was determined that he would relocate to Malhinda and await his charge. The pouch was the size of his open palm and carried his papers, some credits, his door key, and now the crystal that Bosley had given him. The knife on his belt was one of three that he owned. This one was forty centimeters long, including the handle. It was useful for close-up work. The second piece of metal was also steel, smaller, and attached, inside its sheath, to his left forearm. The final antique weapon he rarely took with him. It was a meter long, had a titanium-alloy edge so it never needed to be honed. Handed down from father to son, as the women of his race were rarely sent out as guardians, the sword became his when he completed his training. When he went out, it was hidden in a compartment at the back of the cleaning stall in the lavatory.

With his weapons resting on the square wooden table next to his bed, he began to remove his clothes. The long-sleeved, form-fitting shirt that hid his arm knife was pulled over his head and tossed on the bed. He unhooked the fastening on his belt and the drawstring on his pants and pushed them down to the tops of his black boots. Bending over, he unlaced them and pulled them off. Moving away from his discarded clothing, it barely registered that it was all as dark as his skin.

Stepping under the spray of the cleaning stall in his lavatory, he held his hands out in front of him. They shook slightly, from fear or excitement, Jules wasn’t sure. He’d eat something from the Quick-Kitch, perform his devotional ceremony, then try to get some rest. Tomorrow night, his destiny began in earnest. He’d find Gage St. Veritas, gain his trust, then protect the Prophecy with his life. Inhaling deeply at the reassurance of his life's purpose, his hands steadied, and he went about the routine job of cleansing his body.