Chapter 1: EURUE: The Forgotten World

 

The universe is populated and many worlds are far-flung, forgotten. Until the day Gabryl, a man both alive and dead, his body reposing in a sarcophagus, his spirit roaming as a shifting being, bellows a call to arms. Eurue, as world and civilisation, after ages of isolation, will now step into the ultimate arena.

Tristan and Alusin of the Kaval hasten to answer the summons to where tentacled miasmas are consuming people body and soul. Savier, as Keeper of the sarcophagus, sheds light on an ancient legend. Tianoman, Vallorin of the Valleur, brings the Valleur host to Eurue, and Emperor Teighlar of Grinwallin pledges his army.

But how does one fight miasma?

Who is the true enemy?

Meanwhile, as the spaces become frantic, a woman in a turret somewhere, elsewhere, plans her revenge. The schism between what went before and the reality of the present presents to her the power to control the fate of all.

Who will stop her?

CHAPTER 1

Like white powder upon the hazy dunes, light drifts without direction, shedding spurious glows.

~ Cullin of Balconaru ~

 

 

Petunya

Sunrise

The Present

 

ALUSIN squinted along the path, moving his head from north to south and back. Reverberations in the soles of his feet revealed to him someone on horseback approached, perhaps two horses, but the trail remained clear in both directions.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, hunkering to touch fingertips to cold and damp gravel.

Tristan stared back the way they had come, his shoulder length fair hair wafting in the strengthening breeze. No sign of anyone behind them. The morning mist further obscured view. He too sensed something on approach.

Facing north, he murmured, “Difficult to say where it’s coming from, and this lack of decent light will aid whoever it is.”

Straightening, Alusin gestured to a nearby copse of denuded trees. Winter’s presence was everywhere, evident in bare branches and the renewed promise of ice by nightfall in the air currents. “I suggest we conceal ourselves.”

Nodding, his companion moved in his long-legged manner towards the grey boles, a hand silencing his sword against his thigh. Metallic sounds carried in cold air. His dark green tunic and leather breeches matched their surrounds. Alusin fell into step beside him, tucking white hair behind his ears. He wore grey, the camouflage kind that was both light and dark patches.

Goddamn it, a fire would be welcome right now, he thought as he hastened for cover.

Hoof beats sounded, closing in, and they hurried to concealment, dragging their dark, somewhat besmirched cloaks tighter, lifting the cowls to hide their fairness.

Shadowed and in shadows, they hunkered, scrutinising the path.

As the white sun sent its first tendrils onto the land, two forms on horseback wandered around the far bend further along, seemingly unhurried. Both were swathed against the cold, in the drab colours of the region. Old woollen tunics covered burly frames, while filthy scarves wrapped around their faces, leaving only eyes clear. What colour those orbs were remained invisible, which had more to do with distance than subterfuge. Fingerless gloves adorned rough hands and knee-high leather boots rested in dull stirrups. It was difficult to tell skin colour also.

The men did not speak; they simply ambled by, looking neither right nor left. A definite sense of tension surrounded them, however. Unhurried was therefore not entirely relaxed. Either they chose the slow pace to minimise noise, or they hoped their apparent unconcern would mask them.

Eyes appeared to scrutinise every bush and bole, the actions evident now that they were closer.

That screamed the concept fear.

What were they afraid of?

Unmoving, Tristan studied them. Alusin’s eyes narrowed.

The horses were strong and in good health, although the tack and saddles had seen better times. Nothing seemed amiss. Two men on their mounts were on their way home or heading towards the labour of the day, and yet …

Tristan covertly gave a hand signal. It is a trap.

Indeed, but a trap for who or what? Were the two men prey or distraction? Lure or victims? No one knew he and Tristan were in the area, other than the one who dispatched the messenger, and he or she had not yet been informed of their arrival. In fact, they deliberately chose to commence this journey to the meet from an added distance in order to garner a feel for the situation, whatever that was. No one therefore knew of their presence, and thus the trap could not be about them.

Who, then, was meant to draw what out into the open?

That answer was not long in coming.

  

BEYOND the coppice, opposite the path, a field slumbered in winter’s guise. Vapour tendrils lifted from the cold earth as the weak sunlight arrived. Seed pods, summer’s husks, adorned scraggly bushes. More than morning mist arose from the deserted field, however.

Tristan gripped Alusin’s forearm, and pointed.

The miasmas swiftly took on form.

Eight-legged - no, tentacled - creatures waddled in an ungainly yet horrifying fashion towards the two men on horseback and, even from the distance they watched, Tristan and Alusin discerned the dreadful hunger prevalent in the nightmare beings. There was also the faintest sense of despair.

“Fight?” Alusin whispered.

“We have no idea what they are,” Tristan denied him. “We watch.”

The horses were more aware of danger than the men were. Neighs echoed through the still morning air, and one reared on hind legs, pawing in desperation. Cursing, the men attempted to control their suddenly skittish mounts, seemingly giving no thought to what caused the panic, although that was more the perception of the watchers, for the men soon screamed as loudly as their horses did, as terribly aware.

Ethereal octopi clambered over and into the melee of horses and men.

Seconds later, nothing remained.

Not horse. Not man.

And no otherworldly miasmas either.

“What the fuck just happened?” Alusin demanded after many minutes had passed without further sign of danger.

Tristan cautiously stood. His hands trembled and his gaze probed every shadow. “All gods, this is why we are summoned to Petunya.”

Alusin released an explosive breath. “Have you seen these before?”

“These, no. Something teases at the edge of my subconscious, but right now the closest comparison I have is the Mysor from the Forbidden Zone,” Tristan murmured. “They were real, though, according to the stories. Massive harvestmen with eight legs, but easily dealt with. Not this.”

Standing, Alusin asked, “What do we know?”

“Belun said the summons came via a third party. A messenger collared Jonas while he oversaw the raising of grain silos on Lax, said there was trouble here. Wasn’t too specific.”

“I am aware of all that; what else do we know of this place?”

Tristan gave him a sidelong grin. “Worried, are we?”

“Damn right, I am. Those creatures were waiting for warm blood. It could have been us that went poof. The messenger should have given proper warning.”

Nodding, Tristan stared across the field. “Our cloaks masked our warmth, thank Aaru. What do we know? Well, Petunya is rural, but not without allies. This world of farmers feeds many out there. I’m guessing folk didn’t want to talk about this, for it would put trade in jeopardy. Therefore, the single messenger and the lack of detail.”

“Or most here are dead already. This place feels emptied.”

“Bloody hell, I hope not.” Tristan swiped at his hair. “Someone lives, and sent an envoy, and where have we been focusing recently? Lax. A messenger was bound to bump into one of the Kaval at some stage, and Jonas got that prize.”

“Therefore that someone has some clout. Has to, to send a man on a space flight to pass on a message, cryptic and less than forthcoming as it was.”

“That worries me,” Tristan frowned. “And clearly that means no one here is able to communicate as we do across distance, or able to transport either. Maybe those able to transport were taken first. If misty monsters are eating the locals, they are prey wherever they are. There’s no magic here, but what we just witnessed is sorcery.”

“This may also be an elaborate trap for the Kaval.” Alusin moved openly yet cautiously towards the path. “Or you. If so, someone messes with the wrong people.”

Following, hand on hilt, Tristan muttered, “Indeed.”

 

JONAS revealed that the messenger - nondescript, no accent speaking in the common tongue - gave a location for a meeting, and requested minimal Kaval presence.

In itself that was suspicious. If murdering miasmas with eight appendages decimated the local population, surely one would summon the entire Kaval in?

Tristan ruminated on the situation as he walked beside Alusin. The messenger asked for one, no more than two, when it was already clear to him he would need his full team on site to quell whatever this was. The man, according to Jonas, then vanished amid Lax’s populace.

Was the trap for him, Tristan, as Alusin suggested? Even those unaware of space politics knew the Kaval engaged in succour on Lax after massive flooding virtually drowned all crops there. If anyone was to follow a call for aid elsewhere, it was him. His team was engaged, but he was able to answer a summons. Anyone with half a mind would know that. He would leave his team to go on doing what they were meant for - succour - while personally reconnoitring a potential new threat.

“You think too much,” Alusin muttered. “Your thoughts are bloody loud, too.”

Laughing, Tristan rebutted with, “Elianas used to accuse Torrullin of the same.”

“We are not them.”

Tristan’s face wiped clear of all expression. “I am well aware of that.”

He obliquely studied the man keeping pace with him. White hair; long and straight. Alusin wore it tied in a loose knot at his neck, bound with bleached leather, claiming his hair got in the way in a sword fight. Vanity, of course, did not allow him to cut it shorter. Tendrils escaped to flutter about his face. Blue eyes, a darker shade than was usual, and exceptionally pale skin. Alusin did not tan even under the harshest sun. In that condition, he was much like the Siric of yesteryear. Excellent bone structure, a straight nose, proper chin, lips neither too thin nor too fleshy. He was tall, like to the Valleur. It was a truth that he was attractive and possessed nobility of features. Alusin absolutely reminded him of Elianas, but Elianas was dark of colouring, while Alusin was all light.

Only an immortal heard the summons to Dome duty, and Alusin heard it after Erin died, leaving a post vacant in the Kaval. As an immortal, the last of his kind, he had been alone a long time before that summons, and therefore no one needed to pay the ultimate price in order for him, as sole survivor, to take his place on the team. He was a sorcerer and a seer, highly skilled in weapons and fighting. Having passed the Recognition test in the Dome, Alusin, as lumin kindred, fought with the Kaval in the present only for the light.

This man was a brother-in-arms, a true friend, and also his Eternal Companion. A century after Torrullin vanished with Elianas into another realm, Tristan still could not face that particular fact.

Growling, he spat, “Concentrate on this mission.”

Alusin sent him a look, and did not say a word.

Together, yet apart also, they headed for the place of meet.

  

Somewhere

MOSQUITOES danced on the surface of the water in the pail she had hidden in the shadows of her prison, but there were sufficient stilled sections to view events beyond her confines.

Releasing a breath, she shuffled back to the narrow window slit.

It has begun. At last.

 

E U R U E