From the Forthcoming Fantasy/Sci-Fi Novel, Creations
2
A long
corridor was laid out directly before him as he briskly moved toward his
destination…a pair of tall slender doors. Serg Epol walked with graceful
strides as his long legs allowed him to cover the great distance in short work.
He pulled back his white robes to reveal a deep red undergarment, similar to the
soldiers of the Shiravian Deluge. He removed a metal object approximately the
size of his hand. His long willowy fingers wrapped themselves around the cool
grey metal. It shined against the lights in the ceiling above. Serg approached
the handle-less door, which had no guards, made of a sheen glass-like metal. He
waved the device, known as a ‘Telliture’, before a small dark panel at the
right side of the doors. It blinked a light blue color, displaying the word
‘Epol’, signifying his admittance.
The doors hissed and cracked open,
before sliding sideways and disappearing into the wall allowing Serg to enter.
He hastily passed through, keeping his proper posture, and replacing his
Telliture in his pocket. Serg moved over another thin dark panel along the floor
just inside the security doors. It too lit a light blue, and the doors shut
immediately.
Serg had just entered the Conferrent, a meeting room high atop the
city of Medatroy where the Shirum Elite gather. The Elite are a five member council, elected by the peoples of Shirah
to aid in determining the governing of their nation.
Today, the Elite would discuss the
continued efforts in the Civil War with their neighboring islands of Dormi and
Bren.
The Conferrent Room was over sized,
especially for a five member committee. At the center of the room, sat a
circular table of grandeur equipped with all the greatest technological
advances of this fine empire, used to aid the Elite in discussing and deciding
the next course of action that Shirah would elect.
Serg nodded to the man seated at his
right side, Ira Sprage, the eldest member. His short white hair and thick salt
and pepper beard made him appear much older…almost ancient. His body was wiry,
as were many of the citizens of Shirah. Ira returned the nod, and waved a half
hearted hand of ‘morning’.
Serg reached his spot, marked by his
translucent image hovering above the floor. He stood over another dark panel,
his long narrow feet match the panels shape exactly. A flash of light burst
from beneath them, and then a circular section of the floor before him opened
up allowing a chair to rise from beneath. Serg positioned himself within the
warmed metal chair as it turned to face the others in the Elite.
Directly across, from Serg was Jeter
Orlin. His firm jaw and full head of thick brown hair immediately acknowledged
his age was far less than Ira or Serg.
The newest member of the Elite,
Idonia Windsor sat at the far end of the table. Her smooth mocha color skin
beautifully reflected the glowing light from the illuminated monitor in front
of her. She was deep in concentration and not interacting with the others,
which was why she was elected at such a youthful age of twenty-seven. Idonia
had become the youngest to serve at the congress of Shirum in over a century for
being a ‘free thinker’. The people believed she would challenge the older
members of the Elite breaking away from the norm.
For a moment, Serg smiled. He
admired her conviction…and beauty. Idonia glanced to the side to reach for her
Telliture placed on the Conferrent table. Her shoulder length silky hair slid
forward caressing her face and falling into her vision. She effortlessly tucked
it back behind her ear, as she glanced in Serg’s direction.
A sudden rush zoomed through Serg’s
body when she noticed him watching her. Idonia paused for a moment, and then
smiled before returning to her work. A chilly calm overcame him as he exhaled.
His smile doubled.
Serg finally turned his attention to
the hollow monitor box before him. It rested upon the Conferrent table, held in
place by a thin metal post. The monitor was open at its face. He slid his
finger across the bottom of his monitor. It flickered and flashed as a
multitude of colored lights jumped between the panels within the box. Images of
great depth and clarity began to fill its hollow center…dozens of small orbs
hovered within. They were three dimensional images…horrible images.
He was shocked. He grew
uncomfortable within his usually relaxing chair.
The Elite raised a finger to a
particularly intriguing digital image. His finger touched it causing it to expand
enveloping the entirety of the box.
Serg gasped,
causing Idonia and Jeter’s heads to rise from their diligent work. A gruesome digital
image, or ‘digilog’, appeared. His hand rested upon his mouth attempting to
keep him from further disrupting the others in the room. He felt empty, emotions
unable to register the atrocity in the digilog.
Serg inhaled shortly with shock. He
had become desensitized to the graphic scenes of this war, but today was a
totally new brutality. He had been grateful for not eating prior to attending
this meeting.
“That was an unfortunate casualty
from last night’s altercation, Serg,” a calm, dominate voice jumped across the
room. Seated at the head of the circular Conferrent table, his position altered
to be just a few inches higher than the others, was the Elitorium, Horance
Bovee. He was the leader of the Shirum Elite. A strong, brisk man, who stood
well over seven feet tall, which was amazing even by Shiravian standards, as
the average height within the city of Medatroy was over six feet tall, however
Horance Bovee was a man among boys, and he had now signaled the beginning of
today’s meeting.
“This exacting murder was committed
by a single slice of a Stunard. We have seen this hand before.” Elitorium Bovee
set his Telliture device on the table in a perfect row with two other devices.
He nudged it over an inch to perfectly match the angle of the other two and
then continued, this time looking each member of the Elite in the eyes
individually. “The Dormeath are growing stronger. Their strength is becoming
dangerous.”
“But their numbers are still far
less than our own soldiers,” Jeter brashly responded. The impetuous leader was
always the first to comment on that day’s topic. He always had much to say, and
believed in letting the others hear it quickly and without regard to
forethought. Jeter feared his age was a negative versus the elder member like Ira
and Serg. He often feared that his words would be ignored by the Elitorium. Even after the election of Idonia, who was a
few years younger than he, Jeter found it difficult to refrain from carelessly
projecting himself into the conversations without proper through, just to have
himself heard.
At first, Elitorium Bovee didn’t
appear to have paid much mind to Jeter’s words until his raised his finger into
this monitor and touched the same image that Serg had reacted to. He calmly
flicked his finger across image, causing the graphic digilog of a deceased
Deluge Soldier to appear in large scale upon Jeter’s monitor.
“Observe the digilog Serg just
discovered,” The group’s leader announced to all.
Jeter recoiled and covered his mouth
after noticing the soldiers innards had fallen out through the gaping wound.
“I repeat, Jeter. This wound was
carved with one swipe of the Dormeath’s blade. This poor soldier’s insides
removed when the blade was extracted. This beast has the strength of ten
mortals. According to General Adar, it took nearly two dozen Reaon blasts to
subdue him.”
“Who is he?” Serg questioned.
“His name is Kerr Chavel, second in
command of the Dormeath Warriors. As you can see on your monitors we have a
couple of previous digilogs of Chavel.”
Idonia began working quickly and
prior to the Elitorium declaring to the group to do so. She was much like Jeter
in the fact that she believed she needed to prove herself to her group of
elders, yet for different reasons. She was the only woman upon the council, and
the youngest. Ira had once jokingly told her that he was old enough to be her
father. Idonia didn’t speak often, choosing instead to gather an extensive
knowledge base of their topic before offering her opinion. It had gained her
respect from the others, unlike Jeter who continued to come across as an
arrogant and pompous blowhard.
Idonia moved
through the digilogs in order. The first taken two years earlier, Chavel was an
average mortal man from Dormi, slightly smaller in height than anyone from
Shirah, but with a firmer build. The second, was taken only six months ago, and
showed a tremendous amount of muscle growth, along with a distinct variation in
the eyes…bloodshot and deranged.
The final digilog flashed on all
screens at the whim of the Elitorium. “This was taken last night after Chavel
had been bound a third time.”
“Third!” Ira repeated with
amazement. “What do you mean third?”
“The first attempt our soldiers
bound him to a tree, which Chavel proceeded to tear clear from the ground…while
seated.” The Elitorium paused to allow the room to react…which it did.
A slight murmur of angst and fear
arose amidst the Elite.
“And the second?” Serg asked. He
shifted again uncomfortably within his chair.
“The second, Serg? It ended with the
death of two more of our soldiers…with his bare hands he ripped the arms from
one and crushed the others skull with the thunderous clap of his meaty paws.”
“That is impossible, no man is that
strong!” Jeter shouted in dismay.
Idonia was impressed Jeter had
managed to remain quite for as long as he had. She had noticed that he was
attempting to interject.
The Elitorium again flipped through
digilogs on his monitor and then sent them to his colleague.
“See for yourself, Jeter,” The
Elitorium morosely replied with distress in his voice.
“Mother Angora!” Jeter lifted from
his seat and gagged. He lowered his chair from the table and stepped down.
“Excuse me!” The shaken member of the Elite dashed from the room.
“Was that completely necessary,
Horance?” Ira asked in an unchallenging, yet fatherly tone.
“Damn it, Ira. The man needs to
understand…He must learn to deal with these times. These Dormeath are no men!”
The Elitorium was showing a side rarely witnessed by his colleagues…despair.
“Forgive me, Ira.”
“It was nothing,” The elder Elite
retorted. “I guess you are correct, we all must learn in our own way. However,
Jeter has always been more easily swayed than have we. He does not hide from
us.”
“And why should I!” Jeter’s voice
sounded from a side door. He had quickly returned fearing that he would miss
the discussion, yet wiping his mouth with a clean cloth.
“You don’t,” imparted Serg.
“I apologize, Jeter.” The Elitorium
bowed his head in forgiveness.
“Thank you, Elitorium.” Jeter
reclaimed his place at the Conferrent table.
“So what course of action should we
take?” asked Idonia who had refrained from the confrontation.
“We call upon the Troin, Idonia.”
The Elitorium was stating the obvious to the Elite, but he had to be the one to
call upon the option. The Trion was a specialized fighting force used in
desperate situations. “Are we in agreement?”
Serg, Ira and Jeter nodded in
agreement without hesitation, but to call upon the Troin all five members of
the Elite would need to confirm. Idonia sat thoughtfully for a moment as the
remaining members of the Elite awaited her reply, her mind spinning its
brilliantly woven and complex wheels of intelligence, weighing and
contemplating all the possible scenarios that could come from approving such a
request. They all ended the same way.
“What would we call for them to do,
Elitorium?” She was hesitant. Her gut twisted with worry. The Troin was a
Special Forces unit of the military that was only called upon for reconnaissance,
overtly dangerous missions, and other more sinister plots that the Deluge were
unable to handle.
“What we must do to end this
war…Idonia.”
Everyone else had so eagerly made
their choice, and Idonia wanted this war to end as quickly as anyone, but she
knew what her approval would mean.
“Idonia? What is your decision?” The
Elitorium desperately wanted her answer to be ‘Yes’, but it was not his in his
demeanor to bully anyone of the Elite into a choice. That was in part, why he
was their leader in the first place…his integrity.
“Is it the belief of this council,
that if we assassinate, Governess Zobier, it will end this war? That killing
the leader of the rebellion against us won’t strengthen Dormi’s resolve?”
“I believe it will extinguish it!”
The Elitorium replied with a kindled fire in his eyes.
Idonia caught the glance of Serg. He
looked to calm her worries with his smile.
She feared that peace would never come at the expense of another soul.
“What brings about your
reservations, Idonia?” Ira questioned.
“That she is leading this same plot
against us,” Idonia replied.
The mood shifted slightly at the
thought.
“And that is why we must strike
first.” The Elitorium clenched his fist. “Governess Zobier, is leading a
rebellion based on chaos and promises that will destroy Dormi. Those souls are
lost under her guidance. Look at what they have done.” His eyes blazed with
conviction. “Look at what they have become, simple because Zobier believes in
some confused right to choice. The drugs that have created the Dormeath are
illegal in our lands for a reason…not to strip the rights of the people, but to
protect them. Steridorn and Aspitor are dangerous drugs, Idonia. They have
created that which we must protect ourselves against. No mortal should be so
strong or feel so little.”
“Mortal?” The beautiful, young Elite
scoffed at the thought of the word. It was against her character to be
argumentative, yet something was drawing her into this conflict. She felt the
Elite was entering into a decision that would alter their lives indefinitely.“Is
Kayla Zobier mortal?”
“I hope so, because she must die,”
Elitorium Bovee flatly stated.
The Shirum Elite sat in silence. All
looked to Idonia and her decision. She swallowed hard pushing away her fear.
Looking at her monitor, she saw the digilog, a mangled corpse, a son of Shirah.
“This is war, Idonia. We cannot
afford to risk the Dormeath to attack our city any longer,” The Elitorium
pleaded.
She now felt a struggle within. Tragedy loomed
with either choice, but she knew that one had to be made.
Idonia looked into Serg’s eyes. She
trusted him. When she had first been elected to this council it was Serg that
had welcomed her unabashedly. He wouldn’t steer her wrong.
Serg smiled and nodded.
She opened her lips to speak, “We
are to become assassins.”
Copyright Held by: Christopher M. Purrett
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