The Triple Rising — Chapter 8

Survival pivots on broken destinies

Denver, Colorado, USA

Omree’s breath clouded in the icy air.

“It’s very cold,” Oarket murmured at his side, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Perhaps we should move to a warmer area and reduce your exposure to this frigid atmosphere.”

“Let’s wait a few more moments,” Omree answered with a small hint of annoyance. His Habitation Overseer was only doing his job. But in this circumstance, his dedication proved more inhibiting than helpful.

The cold was beginning to be uncomfortable though. Omree fought the urge to swing his arms to generate additional body heat, knowing it would bring on another inquiry as to his well-being.

“Guardian, do you think…” Spoke Oarket.

“It won’t be much longer, now,” Omree said.

He knew the girl’s schedule would soon bring her towards the open-air workshop in which he and Oarket now stood, surrounded by several small airplanes and an array of skeletal parts.

However, he couldn’t risk an over-long wait above the waters. Being in the Sun-Dweller realm did pose real hazards, the least of which, contracting viral contaminates to which his people had no immunity.

He couldn’t deny the surge of joy that the sight of the blue sky and vibrant green of this world always gave him. And the sunlight — could anyone ever tire of its artistry? Even now, it stroked luminous streaks across the grey concrete beneath his feet.

“Is that her?” Oarket asked.

Omree observed the girl as she walked across the workspace. Statuesque in beauty, strong and lean, with bright yellow hair that swung down her back almost reaching her waist.

She went straight to work on one of the small aircraft, tools dancing from one hand to another in easy motion as she moved around the plane’s engine.

“Alexandria?” Omree called out as he and Oarket approached.

She turned towards them with the swift agility of a trained athlete. “Yes.” She answered, watching them warily.

The eyes confirmed her identity. He remembered their gold-green color from when she had been just a newborn, one of the first Chosen. They still sparkled with expectation. He regretted what was about to happen, for the next time he saw those eyes, they would surely be as chilling as green ice. This was only the second transfer, and yet, his conscious stung with gnawing guilt.

He pressed forward, walking closer to the girl. Alexandria shifted a long wrench from one hand to another. She was a fighter, this one; and rightly so since she belonged to the Sun-Dweller’s Warrior class.

Oarket moved with a fast spin to the right, as they had planned, and Alexandria shifted her weight to fend off his approach. In her distraction, Omree moved in and pressed the small, round transport point to her arm.

He held tight and felt the tingling sensation in his limbs as the point locked onto Sitnalta’s underwater beacon and began the transport sequence. He waited for the moment when she would cease struggling and succumb to the cataleptic state of suspension. He was more than ready to return to Sitnalta.

Sitnalta

Jag

His sense of hearing came first, even before he could move his limbs or open his eyes to relieve the murky blackness that swam behind his lids.

A faint rhythmic beeping triggered a stronger wake response and that’s when he heard it. A mysterious voice, one definitely not his own, resonated deep within the recesses of his mind.

Jag

He’d heard his name again. He was sure of that.

What’s going on? He thought the question without really thinking it, without meaning to ask it. The knowledge that he should be afraid rippled somewhere near the edge of his awareness, contradicting the strange calm of his emotions.

Presence of Sun-Dweller confirmed — — An audible voice, different from the first, filtered through. This one sounded more like the garbled communication of a computer modem, barely intelligible.

The personal tone of the mental voice returned.

I am the Warder of Sitnalta. You are presently linked to my database through your cubicle interface. You are in no danger.

Though he could now feel his fingers and feet, he still couldn’t move or speak.

Presence of a Sun-Dweller confirmed — — The mechanical sounding speech returned, more insistent in his ears, its sound bringing a tingling sensation shooting between his temples.

The quick crossover from one voice to another bewildered him further. A flash of red and a searing hot pain shot through his head.

Ahhhh! The cry echoed in his head, not reaching his throat, causing another wave of sickness.

I am the Ward-

Presence of a-

Sitnalta, linked-

Sun-Dweller confirmed!-

cubicle interface-

STOP! Jag roared in his mind. All went tranquil, his mind quiet for a brief moment.

But he was not alone. The mechanical voice returned.

Order 001….Initiated.

The sudden silence unnerved him as much as the endless voices. He was really alone. He could feel that and something else, a small amount of mobility had returned.

his wrists and ankles were strapped against some sort of flat surface. He wasn’t completely horizontal, maybe on some kind of tilted device.

Another surge of both mental and physical energy brought him fully awake.

An alarm sounded close by. Could he have triggered it somehow?

He tried in vain to slow his breathing. The earlier calm vanished and panic pushed adrenaline through his veins. Still, he could not open his eyes.

Wiggling his fingers he groggily tried moving his head. A new surge of nausea easily defeated his efforts.

Where was he? Was he drugged, maybe in a hospital somewhere? He forced himself to push through the panic and nausea.

A sliver of light broke through as his eyelids barely opened. Again, he fought against the drugged haze limiting his ability to respond. A blurry image revealed itself as his lids finally parted.

Glass — a glass window in front of his face, fogged from his heavy breathing, distorted the image on the other side. He slowed his breathing and the glass began to clear.

A girl with dove gray eyes peered back at him, her long white hair spilling onto the glass. He blinked, straining for more clarity. She turned away for a moment and then back, staring at him in wide-eyed fear.

Jag’s lips moved — maybe to ask her name, maybe to call for help. He stared back at the girl until sleep slid over him and the world around slipped back into oblivion.

Semylyn steadied herself on the counter, a few feet from the capsule. He had awoken! Her hands fisted as she watched Heth finish administering a double dose of sedative.

“Odd,” Heth muttered as he moved about the room.

Odd? Semylyn wanted to shout. Odd! It should have been impossible! What fashion of monster could this Sun-Dweller be that he should have such strength?

She shivered at the thought.

“Help me with this, Heth.”

Semylyn whirled at the sound of her father’s voice. He and Oarket bustled into the Lab, carrying the unconscious form of another Sun-Dweller.

Heth hurried to open the second capsule’s covering and assisted with maneuvering the long-limbed female into position. Semylyn felt a roll in her gut at the sight. They looked like… Well, the whole process was criminal in nature. How could they look different?

“Alexandria Greaves.” Omree provided Heth with a name to enter into the capsule’s database. Quickly, the screen flickered, proclaiming itself Active.

Omree heaved a great, weary sigh, and turned to his daughter.

“She is Troyak’s.”

Semylyn nodded wordlessly and felt a strange pang in her chest.

“As soon as the hunting party returns, we will initiate the Bonding.”

Omree reached out a hand to clasp Semylyn by the shoulder, but her skin was ice, and she made no move to reciprocate his gesture of affection.

Oarket, Omree, and Heth exchanged glances, and she watched as they quietly exited the lab, leaving her alone with the two sedated captives. She didn’t like the dark, sickening feeling that filled her heart. The unfamiliar emotion eluded her best efforts to name it. What was she feeling?

Semylyn forced herself to push away from the counter and approach the second capsule. She pressed the command key that caused the opaque covering to clear, and she gazed upon the face of Troyak’s soon-to-be bonded mate.

She was lovely. Semylyn bit her lip as she took in the girl’s long golden hair and pale, almost translucent cream-colored skin. Lashes of the same golden color as her hair gave a delicate exquisiteness to her face. She was taller than her own 5' 4", but not matching Troyak’s towering 6' 4" height.

Perfect, Semylyn thought. She turned abruptly from the capsule. They can have healthy, gigantic offspring. The sick feeling pressed more heavily against her chest. She now knew what to name the emotions that scalded her conscience.

Guilt and… Could it be — jealousy? Just naming it felt as though she’d been contaminated, infected with some dreaded alien contagion.

She understood the guilt. Weren’t they abducting people with the intent to violate their free will in the most selfish of ways for the sake of their own survival? Did their desperate situation really give justification to their actions?

And the second — jealousy, was she really going to lose her most cherished friend? How could they steal him from her side and give him to a female who could never be his soul mate as she’d always been?

Semylyn fled the Lifecycle lab. She couldn’t bear to be there any longer.

All her life she had thought of the Sun-Dwellers as monsters.

But now, as she sat, shivering in a corner of the Habitation Courtyard, hidden by a great floral fern, she couldn’t help wondering-who were the real monsters?

The hunting party took an unexpected three days before returning. Semylyn heard the tones throughout the city signaling their arrival and found her feet flying over the cool green grass of her forest, the place she had spent most of her time the past few days. She sped towards the docking bay.

There were a few people milling about, mostly bonded mates who awaited their partners’ return. Semylyn stopped short of the familiar group and turned instead to watch the tiderunners slowly approach the docking wall just below them. Troyak loved the two-man tiderunners that from a distance resembled something akin to an Orca.

The doors opened on the three tiderunners and the hunting party began exiting their crafts and retrieving their catch from the side holding compartments. The hunters deposited their bounty at the receiving hatches on the far wall. From there, it was a swift trip through the catch-tubes to the commissary kitchens, where the fish were cleaned and preserved for future consumption.

A slow-moving figure caught Semylyn’s attention. Xerell and another man ducked out of a tiderunner, their shoulders bent in support of some great weight.

Her hands flew to her throat at the realization that the weight they bore was Troyak. She rushed through the small group of people to reach his side.

“What happened?” One look at Troyak’s ashen face made her heart falter.

“Excuse us, Semylyn,” Xerell growled, “We have to get this imbecile to the med lab.”

“Here, here,” she motioned, using her hands to literally push people out of the way. She ran to a Com panel on the back wall and quickly pressed the emergency call button.

“It’s alright, Sem,” Troyak murmured, rolling his head back weakly, trying to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Troyak, what did you do​?” she groaned.

All too visible was the massive gash across his waist and the bloody, jagged tear down his upper thigh. Her hands fluttered about him, wanting to touch and soothe, but fearing to cause further harm.

Xerell steadied his son as they waited for the med lab technicians to arrive.

“Took the notion to do a topwater catch alone with nothing but a fore knife as protection. Tussled with a Whitetip.”

Semylyn blanched. A Whitetip was a shark. Troyak had fought a shark? Alone?

The technicians came quickly. Soon they had Troyak on the hovering gurney that allowed him to be moved without dangerous jarring.

“Sem,” Troyak murmured again, his amethyst eyes rolling back.

“He’ll be alright, girl,” Xerell said gruffly as they both hurried to follow Troyak.

Semylyn nodded mutely as they turned a corner to keep up. What could have possessed Troyak to hunt alone in predatory waters? He was driven, ambitious, but not stupid.

Her knees grew weak and she grabbed the back of a chair as she peered through the observation glass into the room where the medics now worked on Troyak’s body. Xerell stood a few moments longer at the window, then turned away and took a seat.

“Fool of a boy,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Semylyn kept knitting her fingers, listening to him curse Troyak’s lack of common sense.

“Knew something was off, could tell by the look of him,” he said, rubbing the back of his head in a gesture so particular to both he and his son.

Tears lept into Semylyn’s eyes. “W-why would he do this?” She whispered, more to the floor than to her companion.

When he didn’t answer, Semylyn looked at him and found him gazing steadily at her.

“What?” she asked softly, blinking rapidly to slow the steady trickling tears.

“Troyak…” Xerell began, but broke off, turning away. “He’s not too good with words, is he?” Xerell stood, moving back to the window behind which the medics still worked.

“I…I don’t…” Semylyn began.

“I’m not too good with the words either, girl,” Xerell cut her off. He turned to look at her again, his massive arms folded across his chest. “I’ll try to put this plain as I can. Troyak never said something he should have said long ago. Now, it’s too late, and maybe that’s a good thing. You and he have been given an altered destiny, and he’s having trouble keeping to it. It’s giving him about as much pain as that Whitetip inflicted. But he’ll survive both. He has no choice. A Defender must protect not only the High Guardian but all his people, sacrificing himself, if necessary. He’ll come to terms with that soon enough, I expect.”

It was the most words Semylyn had ever heard from Xerell, and besides the strangeness of hearing him talk about destiny, it took her a moment to puzzle out his meaning.

“You mean, the Bonding?” She asked.

“Don’t be dense, girl,” Xerell spat harshly. “What did you think was the plan? You two were a destined match, the daughter of the High Guardian and First Defender’s son. It was as good as done in Troyak’s mind.”

His words left her mute. She focused on the window again to escape Xerell’s razor-sharp gaze. She watched the medics move about Troyak, their deft hands working hard to save his life.

Memories of her and Troyak swirled like whirlpools in her mind, tangling and knotting, leaving her more confused. She struggled to put their whole lives together from Troyak’s viewpoint and found it a painful task.

The night Troyak had snuck her up into the Observation deck, just to watch the whale migration, his warm arm across her shoulder when she had shivered. The warm glow in his eyes when she approached him, his touch, more and more frequent as of late…now it was all so clear.

“What do I do?” She whispered.

“Nothing you can do, now,” Xerell answered from behind her. Semylyn spun around.

“Then why tell me this? You bring him home, near-dead, then tell me he wanted me for Bonding.” She shuddered to realize the true source of Troyak’s pain.

She was an idiot! She’d never given their future a serious thought, assuming they’d always have their special attachment. Could there be a more heartless or brainless girl than her? Not even once, not in the smallest way had she acknowledged his adult feelings, his love…

She covered her face with her hands, hating the humiliation, hating the stabbing pain in her heart, hating the hopelessness, the impossibility of redemption. She felt like a foolish little girl, who only after carelessly breaking her favorite toy realized its precious worth.

“I told you so you would know.” Xerell offered this in a gruff tone.

Semylyn scoffed harshly and began wiping tears from her cheeks with urgent, furious hands.

“We’re finished,” a young medic spoke as she came through the door next to the viewing window, “you can come in now.”

Semylyn watched Xerell rise and follow the young woman into the room. He stood near his son’s head, and with surprise, Semylyn realized he was holding Troyak’s hand.

She forced herself to look at Troyak, his face drawn and pale. He seemed so small on the bed, not a great, imposing warrior at all. He looked much younger, much more vulnerable.

Xerell, after a moment, looked up and motioned that she could come in. Semylyn walked to the door, placed a hand on it, then froze.

Instead, she turned and fled the hospice. She thought about going to her forest, but that place was too full of Troyak, too full of the obvious signs she should have seen, her own cruelty, and naivety.

So she ran on, foregoing the Channel in favor of the winding ramp that carried her higher and higher, ‘till she alighted upon the highest level, the smallest observation deck, and found it empty.

She curled up against the glass and looked out at the watery sky, grateful for the solitude as she tucked her head into her hands and wept from the depth of her awakened heart

To be continued

__________________________