Eternal Horizon: The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn (Eternal Horizon: A Star Saga Book 1) (38 page)

The Last Sunset of Urtan

A white space… no walls, no borders, no ceiling, no ground—just an area of endless whiteness as if some abysmal vortex sucked out all matter. Vincent took a step and glanced down, seeing nothing beneath his feet but the whiteness, not even his own shadow.

How odd…

When he looked up a grizzled-haired man in a black outfit materialized in front of him. He was sitting cross-legged with his back turned to Vincent.

An intuitive feeling coursed through Vincent. He felt as if he knew this man, this familiar stranger…

“
Oryon!
” Vincent darted forth and stopped before the Xenian. “I… I don’t understand,” he said, waving his arms.

No response.

“What do you want me to do, Oryon? What are you trying to tell me?”

Oryon looked up. He had the face of a man who’d seen countless tragedies, battles that involved his brethren drenched in blood, maimed before his eyes—a face withered by emotional pain.

A lump formed in Vincent’s throat. There was a sudden connection between them: he felt Oryon’s grief.

Oryon quietly stretched out his hand, pointing beyond Vincent.

Vincent turned. An open doorway stood in the middle of the whiteness, and through it he saw a large city: busy streets, automobiles, people—humans!—walking.

“Home,” he said in relief and hurried to the opening.

“Bye,” a feminine voice came from behind.

He looked back and this time saw a beautiful young woman next to Oryon. He’d never seen her before, but for some reason he heard himself saying, “Gaia.”

She giggled, whirled, and ran to another door that sprouted in distance.

What’s going on here?

Suddenly he had the feeling that behind that other door were armed men waiting to kill her.

“No,
wait!
” Vincent screamed out.

She didn’t hear him.

He dashed after her.

“
The portal!
” Oryon shouted.

He stopped and looked back. The path to Earth was disappearing.

“But, Gaia—”

“Make a choice, Vincent Saturn…”

*

Vincent jumped up. Gaia was gone, leaving him all alone in the quietness of the library. He looked over at the watch and—based on what Spaide taught him—figured it to be around six in the morning, at the crack of dawn.

“These dreams,” he mumbled. “I’m losing my mind.”

He got up, stretched, and approached the veranda, wondering if this was the last time he’d see the sunrise, aware that by this time tomorrow, the whole planet would be turned to rubble. “It’s always quiet before the storm,” he whispered.

He proceeded to his room, took a long shower, and then continued to wander about the castle until he found Duell’s chambers—a room much larger than his own.

The Xenians stayed up all night. Damocles and Duell were studying the maps the Urtans have provided for them and didn’t pay much attention to Vincent. Spaide was asleep on the couch, at times muttering something. The television monitor was on, displaying some racing show.

Vincent found Exander on the balcony, staring away into the horizon, the wind tossing his blonde hair.

The Xenian turned around sharply. “What?”

“Nothing,” Vincent replied. “Good morning.”

Exander gave him a distrustful look but then eased. “Good morning.”

Vincent walked up next to the youth and leaned on the parapet, observing the sunrise. The smaller sun was up ahead of its big brother, its rays creeping onto the greenery and flickering on the motley backs of the Uruzu creatures. He looked down at the steep hill that stretched from the castle all the way to the ravine; trees as tall as the castle itself rampant throughout its length, their leaves rustling, whispering a welcoming melody to the suns.

The two stood there in silence, the hostility still making its overstayed presence.

“What do I have to do to earn your trust?” Vincent asked.

The Xenian cocked his head, eyebrow raised. “Trust? Just because I trust you doesn’t necessarily mean that I like you, okay?” he said and turned away, signifying that he wanted to be left alone.

Vincent figured it was pointless to argue with the youth, remained quiet for several more minutes, and then went back into the room and sat down on the couch next to the Dirsalian. He found it surprising that he could actually grasp most of the titles on the television, thanks to Gaia.

“Vincent.” Duell approached. “What did you see in this room?”

Vincent glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“When you walked in, you certainly studied the surroundings. Now, tell me what you saw, and
don’t
turn around to look.”

“Another test, huh?” Vincent said. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the image. “There’s a painting on the wall...” he began. “…depicting an Urtan atop one of those flying creatures, fending off a serpent. Documents are scattered all over the table, mostly blueprints. There’s a large vase holding a plant with violet leaves in one of the corners. Your swords are in the other corner, and Spaide’s gun-belt is behind this couch. There’s also a clock on the wall, and the chandelier is missing one of the crystals…”

Spaide opened his eyes. “Wow, isn’t that swell? That’s some attention to detail.” He then yawned and said to Duell, “The boy deserves a medal.”

The Xenian master ignored the Dirsalian. “Good,” he said to Vincent. “Go ahead, look about.”

Vincent glanced back, and everything was just as he had described.

“Remember, you must be vigilant,” the Xenian warned. “Pay attention to your surroundings and, as I’ve mentioned many times before, trust your instinct. That’s my last lesson to you. Unfortunately, I’ve no time to teach you anything else; I hope you understand.”

“I was surprised you even took your time yesterday.”

“Remember everything you’ve learned.”

“I’ll sure try… I mean, I sure will, Sage Duell.” Vincent got up and bowed.

Duell returned the custom.

They ate a hearty breakfast and went on their separate ways.

*

Vincent spent the rest of the day with the Dirsalian. He donned his own jeans, boots, and Spaide’s camouflage shirt in preparation for the armor he’d have to wear later. It took them an entire hour to extract and destroy the homing device the Imperials managed to plant on the
Serpent
during their daring escape. During that time, Spaide found an old cigar in one of the ship compartments and wouldn’t stop crying out in joy.

“I swear, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to smoke again,” he said, lighting up the cigar and taking a deep drag. “Come, let’s take a break before we head back.” He stepped outside and sat on the grass in the shadow of the ship.

Vincent collapsed next to him.

Spaide blew out several smoke rings. “I think the
Serpent’s
pretty safe here in the woods.” He looked up at the wing and said in a low voice, “It’s gonna cost a fortune to replace the rockets…” He then scanned the battered hull. “Look what they did to my baby…”

“So, this ‘Zeth,’ he’s the bad guy?” Vincent asked.

“Yes,
the
bad guy,” Spaide responded. “The vilest figure in the Imperial…” He paused, took a mouth full of smoke, and then said, “…well that also depends on how you look at it;
accordin
’ to him, we’re the bad guys.”

Vincent stared at the Dirsalian with his ever-puzzling look.

Spaide sighed, but still took his time in educating Vincent on the Tel Kasar split during the Intergalactic War and on the feud between Oryon and Zeth. They sat there for a few hours, talking—the garrulous Dirsalian answering Vincent’s persistent questions.

Dark clouds began to assemble when they decided to head back to the castle.

“By the way, I’ve received some terrible news last night,” Spaide said.

“What is it?”

“Remember Servillas and Grenald, back on Heradonn?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes… the reptilian?”

“They were caught as we left the planet.”

“Oh…”

Spaide looked down in guilt. “They’ll be executed… it’s my fault….”

*

Duell and Damocles were busy consulting Galadan and his generals—the Urtans were eager to hear the plans the Xenian masterminded the previous night. Vincent wanted to thank Gaia for the lesson and to share his bizarre dream, but she was nowhere in sight. Exander, being the loner he is, spent most of the day in solitude, avoiding the company of others.

It rained that afternoon, but instead of hiding, most Urtans ran out in the open and welcomed the rain with open arms. The planet was crying along with its children…

*

The last of the ships had exited hyperspace. The fleet of thousands of battleships resembled an ominous mass of insects marching together toward its helpless prey: a tiny blue planet.

At the very center of the armada was its flagship, the
Basin
—a massive saucer-shaped craft atop a long spiked shaft. Four metallic arms extended from the shaft, bending up halfway through their length and giving the ship an image as if it were about to be clasped by gigantic talons.

Damien Dark stood on the bridge—his black robes wavering around his ankles—monitoring his armada. A lopsided grin dominated his features as his lust for carnage was getting closer. Reparation was nigh, yes, it was. Soon, the man that fouled his name would be gone. He couldn’t wait to plunge a knife through Galadan’s heart, to see pain and suffering in his enemy’s reptilian eyes.
I know you feel me
, he thought.
I’m almost there… you just wait, you green bastard… I’m coming, Galadan, I’m coming…

“Your eminence…” One of the monks skidded to the bridge, quavering. “There’s an urgent message from Xenon. It’s General Zeth.”

“Well? Run it through, you fool,” Damien grinded through his teeth.

The monk bent at the waist and hurried away.

“Damien.” Zeth’s helmet appeared on the big overhead monitor. “There is a task I need you to accomplish while you…
visit
Urtan.”

Damien bowed gently. “How can I be of assistance, my lord?”

“It has come to my attention that the Pantegonian Sons of Liberty are taking refuge on that puny planet in an attempt to aid its inhabitants. Senator Gaia’s with them.”

Damien bit his lower lip. “Whatever they’re planning will be useless,” he growled.

“Perhaps. But there’s a man with them—an alien of an unknown race. I want him
alive
.”

“I’ll do my best. As for Oryon and his cohorts?”

Zeth remained quiet for a second and then said, “Kill them and the Senator. And contact me once you do so; I
want
their swords.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Damien bowed again and the link ended.

The Sons of Liberty,
he thought, and for the first time since the invasion began, Damien felt something rather strange—doubt.