Envoy to Earth
Authors: P. S. Power
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Epic
The Young Ancients:
Envoy to Earth
P.S. Power
Copyright 2014
Orange Cat Publishing
Table of Contents:
The wind kicked up the dust
outside his window as Gerent watched, horrified by what he was seeing. The
Wildlands were being destroyed, right in front of his tired and bloodshot eyes.
There was no rain, but thunder boomed in the distance, shaking the ground
enough that he felt it, even inside the little cottage he stood in. It was
sturdy, he reminded himself again, not for the first time as a thrill of fear
ripped through the core of his being.
He didn't hear the moving air as
it decimated the new and budding forest outside. The magical dwelling he was
in, made of solid seeming stone, but stronger than that by far, kept everything
out. Except for the dust. He realized that there was a small hiss, as it tried
to come in through the vents in the ceiling. Puffs of red sand, so fine that it
was more like powder than anything else, filtered in, settling all over the
entire place. He had to have something to breathe, so it was needed. Living in
space for all those months had taught him that.
The worst part of the whole thing
was the waiting. All Gerent could do was stare out the shield window into a
distance that he simply couldn't make out. It was horrible. For nearly a year
he'd tried to turn the place outside his door into a garden, only to have this
happen.
It wasn't as if he hadn't been
warned that bad things were coming, but this was a lot worse than he would have
figured. Hopefully it was only there, in the lands that he and some of the
others were trying to turn from old desert into new forest. If the whole world
was going to be hit with this kind of thing, then they were probably all dead.
"Which is why the others
left. So that we don't all die." He muttered this to himself, knowing that
it was only part of the situation. Or more to the point he spoke to the small
floating box behind him. His pet, after a manner of thinking.
The others, his adopted family,
had left the Earth, moving into space, because of the immortals. More
accurately, because
they
were all that way too now, and
someone
had released a magical plague that would kill them if they stayed on their home
planet. The other Ancients had tried to kill all the normal people in the
world, so it had to be done. That's what Gerent told himself each night, hoping
it would keep the nightmares away.
It had been him that had done it.
His
finger on the sigil that ended the lives of thousands of people.
Ones that, without him doing that, would have lived for thousands of years.
Yes, he'd done it to save everyone else, but it weighed on him now.
Or had, before this latest storm.
"This might just change
things, eh? Yesterday you were a mad killer that slaughtered thousands. Today
you see what those monsters actually did to us. Ruining the environment,
knowing they could survive it, in their bunkers." Talking to himself had
been his only entertainment for the last weeks. Months, really, he thought.
Since it had happened. Gerent had stayed away from everyone, just planting the
Wildlands, and setting up irrigation systems. The place was only a third done,
but he couldn't see how anything that had been growing would survive what was
happening outside. If nothing else, all his little trees would be buried now.
Sunken under the blowing dust and
sand of the place.
"So. It looks like I might
need to do something else."
The voice, which sounded distant
and hollow, shocked him for a moment. Not because of how gloomy it was. No,
Gerent was used to that sort of thing from himself. It was what he'd said that
did it. What was he supposed to do, if not plant things? Go back to being a
street performer? Beg for coppers from passersby, while doing cartwheels and
telling little jokes or singing songs? What had worked for him before, when he
was a midget, wasn't going to do it now.
He was too big. Tall and
straight, or nearly enough to being symmetrical that no one stared at him when
he walked down the street. Tor, the wizard, had made that happen for him.
Nearly first thing after he learned to do it. Even before anyone thought to
make his brothers and sisters immortal, he'd fixed
Gerent
, so that he'd
be what he would have been, if he hadn't been born wrong. Not that he'd live
forever, like those others.
That
had
been offered to
him, by his other adopted brother, Tim. Tiera, the Queen of the new lunar
colony had offered to let him come and live there, too, with the rest of them.
Even after he'd murdered so many. Some of them had been friends. Count
Lairdgren. Denno Brown. Julie White.
Oh, he didn't know all of them
himself, but everyone else did. The Count had adopted him, to save his life,
and how did Gerent repay him? With death. Yes, to save the world from the man's
brothers and sisters, but it had ended him at the same time. The only thing that
let him sleep at night was that the man had asked him to do it. It was the only
way, or had been, and those others had agreed to it. To let themselves be
killed, in order to take out the evil Ancients that wanted the world to be free
of its human occupants.
There was nothing to do except
wait for the storm to pass. The ripping and churning winds tossing the world
into chaos wasn't reassuring, but then, life generally wasn't. You did what was
needed, no matter how much it hurt, and you survived. That was all. He knew
that on a level that most never had to learn. It had been his place in things
for so long that he was ready now, for things to be hard.
Most probably weren't. Not like
this.
It took a long time for the wind
to die down all the way, but before sunset, he was able to walk outside, the
gray sky a bit pink from the dust still in the air. Looking around he felt a
pleasant thrill of surprise. The trees, the little saplings and bushes, weren't
gone, or buried. Oh, some of them probably were, but as he walked around
looking at them, most weren't even all that dust covered. The wind had kept
them clean, more or less.
"Good! You all had me so
worried, you know. I'd thought you were all dead for sure. The river is even
still in place." He'd been a little worried about that. The floating tube
of crystal clear water hovered about five feet above the ground, still where
he'd left it. This was one of the new ones, so the plates for it were just
focus stone pieces, about the size of his hand and weighing five or six pounds
each. The wind, while fierce and howling, hadn't budged them.
Life, it seemed, would be going
on. That was good. It meant that he didn't have to leave his comfortable
hermitage after all. That had been scary to think about. Doing something else.
He had more seeds to get in the ground, or would, if the plants managed to keep
growing like they were. If the next storm didn't destroy them. After years
passed, and they flowered, he'd have more work.
He stuck his tongue between his
teeth and blew out a big gust of air. It made his cheeks push out, which
probably looked silly, but reflected how he felt.
"I know, I get it. It's
time. Stop being a lump and get out there." Into the world. The problem
with that, he knew, was simply that Gerent had no clue what he was supposed to
do at all. For half a year he'd just worked, barely ever seeing anyone. No one
had used the communications device to get in touch, even though he had more
than one type, right there with him. To him it had seemed like he was
forgotten, which was expected. Left behind by everyone except the magical box
that followed him around all the time. His friend.
Because thinking that showed he
had a good and healthy mind.
Everyone would go on with their
lives, leaving the little commoner to his own devices. Just like always. It was
such a natural idea to him that he'd never really doubted the concept.
"Except that you aren't
that, anymore. Even after the Count was gone those others, Tor and Tim still
called you brother. Tiera too. No one stripped you of rank or anything. You're
still
Countier Lairdgren, and now you even look it, so stop being a simp and get with
it, Ger. You aren't needed here for a while, so go and figure out where you
are
needed. Be useful, and keep that up, so that they don't decide to get rid of
you."
His words were firm and nearly
commanding. Deeper than he was used to, after his voice had stopped cracking,
about three months back. He was taller than he'd thought he would be too, he
thought. It was hard to tell, given that no one else had been around to measure
by.
Still, there was no need to run
out right that moment. He could take off in the morning, he decided. If nothing
else it would be a good time to go and visit some people. That was the kind of
thing that royals did, he knew. Show up on the doorstep of their peers, and
pretend they were friends, even if they'd never met before. Not that he'd
really try that. It seemed way too daunting for one thing.
That night there was only one bad
dream. It wasn't even horrible really, just sad. About Patty. His friend. His
love. Except that she couldn't love him, since he was too ugly. It hurt to
think about, but it was just what someone like him had to live with. Not that
he'd ever really imagined he was enough for someone like her. A Ducharina, by birth.
Lovely and tall, smart and daring. Also a bit of a troublemaker, Gerent
realized. Always going off on stupid adventures, getting people into dangerous
situations.
"Making them love you."
He jumped, and realized that isolation had affected his mind. It wasn't
actually a surprise. After all, he explained to Boxy, as the little case moved
in a bit, as if looking at him, that kind of thing happened, if you were alone
too long. Which he really had been.
So he tried to forget the dream
of the woman he couldn't have, and went to take a shower. The water was warm,
and a luxury given that he lived in the middle of a desert. He hadn't been out
a lot, but the water that came off of him was a soft red, like the dust that
had filtered in. It was tempting to stall, instead of going anywhere. He could
spend the day cleaning, sweeping and washing the place, instead of going away
into a world that might not want him anymore. Not now that he was a murderer.
"Get going, lazybones. The
world won't fix itself. That's what your job is now, isn't it? Trying to keep
it all together? So, what's next?" That bit of things was self important
to a level that was insane, but the Count had
told
him that. When he was
gone, it would be up to the others, the young Ancients, to fix it all again. To
help everyone survive. Since they were all off in space for the next nine
years, that left him there to do the work. Because
that
made sense.
When you had an important task to
get done, and needed a leader, always dump it on the first midget street
performer you could find.
Not wanting to lose his nerve,
Gerent jogged to the door, and decided to leave his little place standing. With
a single tap the whole thing could come down, and be carried around his neck on
a cord, the amulet no bigger than a copper, if on stone. It was tempting, but
if he did that, then he didn't have a home, did he? Leaving it here, standing
in his absence, meant that he lived there. That he had a real home, no matter
how far away. A place of his own.
After a fashion he even had his
own garden. The entire Wildlands. Tor had let him use it, since he was gone,
and wanted a forest anyway, eventually. Not that Gerent had actually asked
about it, but so far his adopted brother hadn't complained, so that counted,
didn't it? Smiling, he dug out the right amulet from around his neck and set up
his Timon Craft.
Unlike most people, Gerent had a
Fast Craft,
and
a Timon built version. Not that he'd been going
anywhere, just eating plants that he'd grown for the last months. Gardening was
his passion, and it served him well at the same time, letting him live away
from almost everyone.
Putting his right hand out and
closing his eyes, he touched the nose of the craft in front of him. It could be
made huge. Big enough to easily carry hundreds of people, or large masses of
cargo. Today however, he didn't need that. He had nothing to transport, except
himself, and some vegetables that he'd gotten the day before, picking them
slightly early, afraid that the storm would ruin them all. Those were in a
large box that floated behind him, over his shoulder. Following him, like a
puppy.
"It's okay Boxy, I'll take
you with me. You won't have to stay here alone. I won't leave my friends
behind." It was a useful thing, his friend the box. Company too, after a
fashion. Not a great conversationalist, but after he'd spoken with him, after
the first few months, the thing had taken to nudging him at times, and not just
following him around. It probably meant it was broken, he knew, but it seemed
so... Alive.
Concentrating he reshaped the
large craft in front of him, making it smaller, and green. A deep color that
reminded him of a pine forest at twilight. It was a rectangle, and taller than
he was by a few feet. How big that was, he didn't really know, but it felt larger
than what he used to use. Just a bit. The interior was done to look like fine
brown leather. It wasn't of course. The whole thing was made of magic. It was
similar to his shield, except that it could be seen. That was how Tim had
described it to him. Gerent didn't understand magic, except that he was nearly
certain now, having met several wizards, that they weren't all evil or
dangerous people that ruled the world behind the scenes.
No, the ones he knew did it far
more openly than that. Climbing in he waited for Boxy to follow him, and then
shut the hatch. He was all brown today. They both were, Gerent realized. He'd
just put himself in the default setting of the clothing amulet. Brown clothing
that was simple and would have looked just fine on a miller or carpenter. A
school student, too. Dark brown trousers and a tunic of the same color, that
seemed like heavy canvas. Smooth material that was still strong.