Seers of Verde: The Legend Fulfilled: Book One (13 page)

“You hide behind your weapon,” Shadra said as he walked steadily toward the security chief.

“You can choose life,” Lar said frowning, putting down his pulser and pulling out his knives.

Shadra drew close and posed in a combat-ready position. The two men warily circled each other. Shadra attacked first, feinting with his left and slashing with his right. Lar managed to block the move, spun, and attacked, but was repelled as well.

A somber crowd of colonists soon gathered at the entrance to watch the deadly duel. Lar and Shadra feinted, slashed and parried with each other. The clash of metal on metal and the grunts of the fighters echoed through the tunnels.

Shadra had been successful with his thrusts and parries. He had drawn blood several times, hearing Lar gasp in pain each time he was successful. Lar’s knives were clean. He could not penetrate his opponent’s defenses.

Growing weary and feeling his skin becoming soaked with his blood, Lar plunged at Shadra, hoping to surprise and overpower the other man. The security chief’s attack was successful, the two men grappled for a few seconds and separated.

Shadra stumbled backward into a wall and slowly slid down to a crouch. One of Lar’s knives was inserted to the hilt in his stomach. The colonists let out a cheer until Lar stumbled around to face them. A half-smile was on his face, but his eyes were dazed. A knife was stuck firmly in his chest and blood was streaming out.

Leaping forward, Martje caught Lar before he collapsed, easing him to the ground. Wald walked over to Shadra, pointed his energy pulser and fired point blank. He then hurried to where Lar lay, knelt and clasped his friend’s hand.

Breathing in gasps, Lar looked up and whispered, “We did it again.” He smiled and slowly his grip relaxed on Wald’s hand.

“You will not be forgotten. Your blood will strengthen our people. I will proudly bear the child I have conceived,” Martje whispered in his ear. She then closed his eyes with her fingers and rocked him. The only sounds that echoed through the tunnels were sobs from the mourning colonists.

18

The color flowed out of the face of Tanlian comm operator Trellon Stotzen. Eyes wide, he turned to Ismala N’pofu, who was holding her face in her hands, shaking her head. The surviving collector pilots on the surface had reported the humiliating defeat. They listened with horror as their shipmates died.

As if to confirm the news, a woman with a deep voice signaled through Masat Ebber’s communicator: “All your men are dead, Tanlians and a Syndicate man. If you do not believe me, how else could I be on this channel? We can give you a count if you wish. The bodies will soon be burned.”

Trellon gulped, his hands shook. The junior officer did not know what to do. Ismala walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I suggest you recall the collector ships before the colonists find them.” Giving a quick nod, Trellon contacted the pilots and ordered them to return to the ship.

“Tanlians we demand you cease hostilities,” the woman on the surface cut in again. “We now have destroyed one of your ships and killed all your attackers. How much more proof do you need that we can defend ourselves? Tell the Syndicate woman we now consider ourselves at war with her people.”

Trellon looked around the control center and took a roll of his people. Twenty-two Tanlians, including two returning pilots, were left. There were barely enough bodies to fly the ship back to Tantalum 2.

“How will you be treated upon your return?” Ismala asked Trellon.

The young officer thought for a moment and shook his head. “It will be humiliating that we returned alive and left the others on the planet. They may execute us as an example of failure.” This was his first deep-space mission, and he realized it might be his last.

Ismala leaned over Trellon, asking permission to broadcast a message throughout the ship. “Tanlians, we all have suffered a terrible loss this day,” she said, fighting back a sob. “I understand your lives may be in danger if we go back to your home world. Return with me to Kenyata directly and I promise you a safe future. You could become valuable members of Kenyata’s space fleet. The Tanlians need never know. We will alter this ship to look like one of ours.”

Navigator Adan Longor interrupted Ismala on the comm. “Do not heed this woman, fellow Tanlians. It is our duty to return home. She will make a valuable hostage.”

Smiling, Ismala glided behind the navigator as he continued exhorting his comrades. Adan did not see the flash of metal or have time to react as Ismala slashed his throat with an expert stroke. He slumped over his blood-soaked console.

“Brave Tanlians, there are now twenty-one of you left,” Ismala spoke into the comm, her voice was emotionless. The navigator’s comments were unwelcome. My offer stands.”

Trellon, shaking even more, asked for a show of support from his shipmates. As soon as Adan’s body was taken away and his station cleaned, a new navigator set a course for Kenyata.

¶ ¶ ¶

Taryl Bryann’s aides had never seen her meditate this long. It had almost been an entire day and night. They gently offered the Seer water, which she sometimes accepted. But she continued to stare into space. Throughout the day, her expression changed from studious to somber to horrific. Toward evening, tears pooled and trickled down her pale cheeks. Even Larinia’s crying could not break her concentration.

By the dawn of the second day, she broke out of her meditation. Looking exhausted and saying nothing, she ate a few more bites of food, checked on Larinia, and curled up to sleep. Another day had passed before Taryl stirred from her slumber.

“Kindly assemble the colony for second meal,” she told her aides. “I have news of the others.” She said no more until everyone had gathered in front of her shelter.

The colonists had been gathered for about half an hour. They murmured in anticipation. Word had spread the Seer was going to tell them about the others across the mountain. Many hoped it was good news, that the two groups would be reunited.

All grew quiet as Taryl’s aides emerged from her shelter, like acolytes leading a procession in one of Earth’s old worship houses. The Seer stepped out. Though a small woman, she commanded their attention. Her long red hair shone in the midday sun. It was accentuated by her white flowing robe.

“I bring sad tidings of our fellow colonists across the mountain,” she said, pausing to take a dramatic look at the crowd.

“The others have fought a terrible battle with the Tanlians. Many have been killed, both Tanlian and colonists.” Some of her listeners wailed. Others bowed their heads in grief. “After the battle, the mother ship left orbit. I fear we can no longer help the others.”

Taryl stood before her audience. She could tell they were shocked and saddened. They did not know she had told them only parts of the truth, that most of the dead were Tanlians and the ship had left in defeat.

Sensing a pivotal moment, Taryl continued with great sobriety. “We all have lost loved ones and friends in the past few days,” she said, looking at the ashen-faced Franca, who was standing in the front row. The other woman looked at Taryl and whispered, “Lar?”

Taryl nodded sadly. “Uri Navrakov and Lar Vonn have given their lives to protect us. The Tanlians have no plans to return. We are safe for the time being, but we must stay vigilant.” Taryl turned with a dramatic swoosh of her robe and returned to her shelter. As she passed, many of the colonists bowed their heads and made other signs of reverence.

¶ ¶ ¶

The message could not have been more devastating to Jamison Gresser. The GEMS woman’s message had been clear. Tanlians had attacked Verde Grande and apparently killed or kidnapped all of the colonists.

The director of Colonization Alliance of Independent Nations scrolled through the list of names of all those brave people: Captain Hector Nandez. Security Chief Lar Vonn. Wald Bergmann. Taryl Bryann, the Seer. Two thousand in all were reported lost.

Jamison even had received confirmation of Ismala N’pofu’s identity from the Galaxy Exploration and Minerals Syndicate, which repeated her offer to trade the troubled planet for a new world being bioformed. As he feared, the CAIN Council had shown great interest and most likely would vote to accept the offer.

It is time to leave this business
, he thought to himself.
Only one more job to finish
. Buzzing his friend, Per Vosberg, Jamison told him his plans.

“I agree. It must be done.” Per said. “Recall the auto ship. It is traveling to Verde Grande for nothing,” said the chief of Universal Mineral. “I’m so sorry, Jamison. We all have lost so much on Verde Grande. I’m in the mood for a trip. I have never visited Earth.”

Jamison nodded, looking at his friend in the viewer. “I was born there, but left when I was twenty. That was almost fifty years ago. I’d say it was time for two old colonists to go home.”

Contact

1

Darya Vonn
sat very still in the tall grass, intently watching a bee pollinate the flower of a fruit tree. The petite young woman recorded the scene with an etcher on a thin piece of cloth stretched across a small piece of smooth wood.

Her eyes seldom left the bee as her hand deftly captured every detail, from the hairs on the insect’s body to the grains of pollen stuck to its legs. The drawing filled the entire cloth, many times the size of the real bee. The swish of footsteps moving through the grass did not disturb her. She heard them, but she was not concerned.

“I come soon, Raaf,” the artist said to her visitor without looking away from the bee. She did not break her gaze and her hand continued its graceful motion.

“Darya, didn’t you hear mother call for second meal?” an annoyed male voice said from a few meters away. “Ah, drawing flowers again. You can come back after the meal.”

The young woman did not react. She continued drawing for a few moments, then slowly turned to look at her impatient twin brother, who was standing with his hands on hips. “Not flower, bee,” she said slowly, and then held up her drawing.

Raaf had seen dozens of his sister’s drawings. The details in her artistry always amazed him. Walking closer to her, he took the drawing and stared in admiration despite himself. He looked at the bee and then at her drawing.

“You certainly see things most of us don’t notice. I’m not sure this will sell at market like your drawings of flowers,” Raaf said, playfully mussing her long blond hair. “Come. Mother has the meal ready.” He turned and walked away, still holding her sketch. He knew it was no use arguing with her. She would come when she was ready.

“My drawing!" Darya called after her departing brother.

Raaf stopped and held it up. “Come to meal, then you can have it back. You know Mother hates it when you forget to eat.”

Darya cocked her head as she watched her brother head back to their village. She looked back to study the bee again, her hand twitching slightly as if it were seeking the sketch cloth. A few minutes later, the bee eventually flew away. Only then did she rise from her spot to join her family.

“Oh, Darya are you ever going to learn to come when you are called?” Marna said gently after her daughter found her way back home. “I made your favorite: lamb stew with honey sauce.”

“Yes, I like,” Darya said, holding out her hands expectantly for her plate. She began eating without further conversation.

Tursym smiled at his daughter. “Raaf showed us the drawing. Very good, but it may not sell,” he said. “The valley folk love your drawings of flowers.”

Darya scrutinized her plate in almost the same way as she had watched the pollen-gathering insect. “I liked the bee,” she said without looking up.

Marna cast Tursym an angry glance. He shrugged and returned to his meal.

Raaf frowned at his sister. He hoped she had not put his parents in a bad mood. “I have news,” he announced. Marna and Tursym put down their eating utensils and looked at their son, but Darya continued to enjoy her meal.

“My circle has chosen its first mission,” he said and paused for a moment. “We are going to climb Mount Barrasca.”

Ever since that first Tanlian attack when the colony’s defenders had formed a circle to defend against the assault, young Nuven men had bonded in small groups. These groups, often comprised of relatives or close friends, were called circles.

The words were barely out of Raaf’s mouth when Marna jumped up, tipping over her chair with a crash. “No, not my son, not that!” she cried. Her face flushed with anger.

Tursym shifted in his chair, an annoyed look on his face, but he said nothing. Even Darya stopped eating. She stared thoughtfully at her brother.

Raaf tried to placate Marna. “We will be fine, mother. We are all good climbers. It is our turn to try. Our ancestor, Lar, made a blood oath he would find the others.” Marna stomped back and forth across the room with her arms tightly folded against her body. The normally congenial woman was upset beyond words.

She stopped by her mate’s side and gestured toward Raaf. “Say something, Tursym. Please talk him out of it,” she pleaded.

Tursym shook his head when he looked at her, but pride shone in his eyes. “It is every Vonn’s dream to cross Mount Barrasca and find the others. He is of age,” he said in a hushed tone. “I would have gone at his age, but a Tanlian attack wiped out half our village. I was never able to mount a climbing expedition after that.”

Marna threw up her hands in frustration. “People have died trying to cross that mountain. Some have disappeared and their bodies were never found,” she wailed. “Most of the climbers who did return were half-starved or deathly ill.”

Raaf walked over and hugged his mother as she sobbed into her hands. “I promise we will take every precaution,” he said soothingly. “This is something we’ve all wanted to do since we were children.”

Marna reached up, cupping his face in her hands and looking into his blue-green eyes. “But you are still a child. You are my child,” she said as tears streamed down her face.

Raaf took her hands in his and gently kissed them. “My circle all has Vonn blood, and we all have seen eighteen harvests. We want to be the ones to reach the other side. The ancestors have waited too long.” Marna backed away from her son, collapsing in a chair. She knew she could not talk him out of it, especially if her mate would not help her.

“When do you plan to leave?” Tursym asked. He was frightened for his son, but he also felt a surge of pride.

Raaf paused, taking a deep breath, “We plan to leave in two days.” He winced as his mother doubled over as she wept, her body shaking with each sob. Tursym tried to comfort his wife with a hug. He knew the next few days were going to be difficult for her.

Shifting uneasily at the discomfort he was causing his mother, Raaf glanced around the room. He was startled to see Darya smiling at him. This was even more unsettling because his sister seldom showed emotion. When she did, no one knew why. It could have been caused by something she saw hours or even days before.

“What is it Darya?” Raaf demanded, not bothering to mask his impatience. Even Marna managed to stop sobbing and looked with surprise at her daughter.

Darya stood up and pointed to the mountain. “I go, too,” she exclaimed. “I find the voices.” Darya’s three family members stared at her in shock.

The silence was shattered with Marna’s scream. “Oh the ancestors! Not you, too!”

This time it was Tursym’s turn to object. “No daughter, you cannot go with Raaf. It is too dangerous,” he said, sitting down next to Darya and patting her gently on the shoulder. She did not react, but continued to eat her meal contentedly.

Tursym was not surprised by Darya’s impassiveness. Ever since she had been a youngling learning to walk, her family suspected she was different. As a child, Darya was content to sit and watch others for hours on end without moving. She learned to walk and talk much later than her robust twin brother.

Early on, Marna suspected Darya was a “quiet one.” For unknown reasons, one or two Nuven children were born with this trait every generation. This suspicion fueled the fear that Darya would be dealt with according to Nuven tradition. Their culture expected the families of these quiet ones to mercifully euthanize them.

This unpleasant task always fell to the father to carry out. The Nuvens considered these children to be unproductive members of their society, weaklings who could not fend for or protect themselves.

However, when he set out to fulfill his duty, Tursym had been unable to kill his pretty three-year-old daughter. He had carried Darya into the mountains to find a quiet place to lay her to rest on a funeral pyre. Tursym set his daughter down on a large rock and picked up a fist-sized stone.

Trying to ignore his churning stomach, Tursym was determined to strike a quick, fatal blow to the child’s head. He did not want her to suffer. A bird landed a few meters from them and started to scold the intruders.

Darya laughed and pointed at the twittering fowl. “Papa, bird. It’s pretty.” As she turned and smiled, a breeze ruffled her long blond hair. Tursym stared in astonishment. He dropped the rock and didn’t notice it clatter down the mountain.

These were the first words Darya had ever spoken. The little girl slid down the rock, picked up a stick, and began drawing in some loose sand. Still stunned, Tursym peeked over her shoulder and saw she was drawing a perfect image of the bird.

Moved beyond words, he watched her for almost half an hour, then picked her up and carried her home. He was determined to care for her no matter how much work it would be or the criticism he would receive from the other villagers.

Now, Tursym tried to convince his grown daughter not to accompany her brother to the mountain no Nuven had been able to scale. Taking her face in his hands, he gently turned her head so she looked him in the eyes.

“No, Darya. The mountain is too dangerous. You cannot go,” he said slowly, hoping she would understand. The family never knew if she comprehended what they said or if she chose to understand.

Mimicking her father’s gesture, Darya put her hands on his face and smiled. “Darya remember to come home, Papa. Voices call from there. I want them to stop,” she said, patting his cheek. Then she returned to her meal as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Marna shook her head while she dabbed at her eyes. “Voices again. She hasn’t talked about them in two harvests. I thought she was over that,” she groaned.

Oblivious to the protestations of her family, Darya looked up at Marna and held out her plate. “More please, Mama.”