Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (5 page)

Rogen turned and looked back towards the city that he had ruled for almost half his life, a city he had helped build, a city that had his blood and heart in it. He loved what he had built, and cared for the people as he would for his own clan. He was tired, tired of building something only to lose it. He sighed. The city was little more than a dark rise in the distance. He could still see a dark cloud above it, but couldn’t tell if it was the hell-sent bugs or smoke from fires. Rogen turned to a young officer next to him that had joined them in the night.

“Corporal Enneick, return to the city when it looks safe,” Rogen said to the man, who nodded. “Till then, circle the city, checking the oases and safe caves, and find others who survived. I must get this boy to a safe place. I do not think it is a coincidence that those things arrived so soon after Cite. I will rest here, and leave with my councilors after the heat of the day has passed. We will take him south and gather more information, and decide what to do there.”

The others unpacked the little they brought with them and set up a camp, digging canvas tarps out of the sand to erect shelters from the coming sun. It was early fall, but the temperatures during the day could still be dangerous.

He had trained his people well, and they would do what was needed. He had a larger duty now. He looked at the rag tag bunch that had collected here. He saw more people working their way to the oasis, and looked past them to the base of his fallen empire again.

They trekked through the sand as the early evening sun beat down. They didn’t talk so they could conserve their energy for the task on hand. Rogen scanned the horizon and the sands in front of them for any danger. They were rare in the desert, but could be lethal if you did run across one. The Rokairn was extra cautious because of the threat that they had faced not a day ago. He had extra incentive to be alert. Cite trudged along, his shoulders slumped. Calleus, Taktak, and Sybia trailed behind the other two.

Rogen and Cite were both used to being apart from others keeping their own counsel, and the Rokairn did so now. Rogen knew the wisdom of keeping councilors to make sure he did not overlook anything, and as a check and balance system. In his experience no one man was infallible, including himself. He would not endanger a whole society based on the arrogance that he was incapable of making a mistake. It also made others feel more comfortable when one man didn’t have all the control. He went over his plan again in his head, looking for things he may have missed and trying to consider every possibility. He thought about his people and how best to begin the rebuilding. He may have to scout out a new location if the last one had been compromised. It wouldn’t be the first time. He had buried two other sand castles, as he liked to call them. Previous men that had carried his name had done the same. Nothing was permanent in the desert, or in life for that matter.

He thought about what to do with Cite. The ancient parchment that Transvartius had given him was not clear on what to do. It just said that a man would arrive one day, but had no further instructions. Rogen was not sure if he should give the kid money and send him on his way, take him under wing and train him, or go somewhere with him. Rogen knew he would figure it out, at least enough to move in the direction he needed to go. But that may take some time, and time was something he did not have a lot of. He knew he would help the boy as much as he could until he figured out what to do, and he would start by tutoring him on the ways of the world, people, and weapons. Cite obviously held a position of respect and power in his village, something rare for someone so young, but he was amazingly naïve about the ways of the people. That would get him taken advantage of, or worse, in the real world. Looking back, he was proud to see the lad marching along without complaint though it was obvious that the journey was taking its toll on the boy.

Cite felt each jagged intake of hot desert air. His wound had become a regular dull throb, keeping pace with his heartbeat, footsteps, and breathing.  Grit had found its way into every sweaty crevasse of his body, including rubbing on his raw injury. His shirt made it feel like he had sand paper on the outside his chest, to accompany the stabbing pain on the inside. He squinted into the setting sun over the mountains to the west, and rubbed his nose, knocking sand from it. The only sound was the breathing of his friends and the crunch of their feet on the sand.

Or were they his captors? He was no longer sure. They didn’t treat him like a slave, but he also didn’t think they would let him wander off on his own. Not that he wanted to, he knew going off alone would be suicide. He had no idea what Rogen had meant about getting him to a safe place. Safe for whom, and from what? Was he in any less danger from an infamous slaver then he was from hordes of mindless insects? He felt closer to these people that he had only met a couple days ago, as a slave, than he did with anyone in his own village. Even his parents. Cite felt the need to talk this out, and quickened his pace to catch up to Rogen. He saw the other three drop back a little way to give them as much privacy as they could in the middle of the desert.

“I am used to being alone,” Cite began, startling Rogen out of his own reverie, “even when among others. I grew up with the ability of dreaming as a part of me and my life. My parents raised me as normally as my talents would allow them to. They treated me as they did my brothers and sisters. I got into trouble when I did wrong, I received rewards when my parents felt I deserved it, and they celebrated my day of birthing like any other person. There was the occasional difference, but I didn’t realize it until I was older and looked back on my childhood. The people of the village treated me differently. I was not revered, or feared, or anything like that, I was just kept apart, socially. I still had scraps with the other boys like any growing child, but the adults were a little bit quicker to break it up and check to make sure I was all right. I later realized they were worried I would dream something horrible about their sons if they were not careful with me. And they believed my dreams would come true.” He laughed as he said this and muttered, “And they may have been right.”

Rogen slowed a bit so they could walk side by side without taxing the lad. The older man saw the confusion on the boy’s face and wanted him to talk more about this. Perhaps he could gain some insight into this young man.

“Go on, lad,” was all the Rokairn said.

With a nod, Cite continued. “I was never very intimate with girls either. Parents didn’t want their daughters being a part of the gift I have, though they would tell me that any girl would be blessed to settle down with me. It was quite the double standard. I did have a close friend or two, but found that most times when I came to them they would only ask if I had dreamt anything about them, ignoring my problem. They would come to me as any friend would at various times, but whenever they asked my opinion they listened a little closer and looked a little deeper into my words, as if expecting more from my wisdom than they would from anyone else. It taught me to be careful in handing out advice.” Cite scoffed. “I always assumed I would grow old in that village and become some sort of elder, or wise man who made musical instruments and handed out patronly advice around the fire.

“Now, I have these other ‘gifts’ also. I know the science of it. Usually the first abilities developed around puberty. Others may surface later, but once you reached a certain age it is less likely. I thought I had passed that age once I reached my twenties. I understand that the stress of the situation was the likely cause of the timing of these latent abilities emerging. I have studied the history of my village as well. It was founded by a mind mage, and since then had been a refuge for people of such abilities. My hometown is known for breeding people with these endowments, usually just one or two per generation. Documents say that in the past two or three people in a given generation had them, but those usually only minor abilities compared to mine. I can’t recall any person in the living generations with three or four abilities. The more gifts one person had, the less powerful any one ability would be.

“I can now say I have demonstrated five distinct abilities. Dreaming, telepathy, telekinesis, shield projection, and the psychic knives. Precognitive dreaming is something I have done since my early teens, possibly earlier but people discount a child’s dreams. I have often wondered if I could refine that ability and focus it so I could dream while awake, or about a specific event, person, or thing. I just have never practiced enough to be sure. Now I have also demonstrated telekinesis; it was clunky and brutish, not refined or able to do delicate tasks… yet. However, I feel with work, I might be able to do it at will and with a much finer touch. The psychic daggers are an interesting blend of telekinesis and telepathy, and they scare me. I am not afraid to admit it. I am directly attacking the brain functions from what I can tell, severing the mind from the body, and creating physical wounds. I didn’t kill, not on purpose at first, but definitely with purpose when facing the giant bugs. The most interesting ability to me, though, was the telepathy. It was also the most morally gray area. It was a direct intrusion and violation of someone’s most private thing, their thoughts. Blacking out while doing these things is the most terrifying part though. Without control, I could be a monster.”

Rogen nodded, waiting for the boy to go on. Cite fell into silence, contemplating the daggers. Lost in his thoughts, Cite didn’t realize Rogen had spoken until the Rokairn repeated his thoughts a second time.

“Cite, did you hear me?” Rogen asked. “Stop whining. No one likes a whiner. Buck up, stop worrying about the past, and deal with the present. I cannot solve what has happened to you before now; I can only help you with our current situation, and perhaps prepare you for what is to come. What weapons have you been trained in or used?” Rogen asked again, with a bit more force. Cite shook his head and wondered why Rogen would ask that question at this moment, right after he had been thinking of the daggers, and if he had projected his thoughts to Rogen.

“Why do you ask? No, it is not important, never mind.” Cite paused. “Is that why you gave me the daggers, because you saw me with them?”

Rogen slowed a bit, watching Cite’s face.

“Cite, I can see your confusion, and yes, I saw you produce two daggers, one in each hand. I gave you two daggers to use in case you could not produce your spirit daggers again. You appeared clumsy with the ones you made. I am curious what experience you had with them.”

Rogen waited while Cite sorted got his thoughts in order, walking along in silence.

“I’ve had very little training with any weapon, and nothing formal,” Cite said. “Really, just what any boy gets in his childhood; playing with sticks or his first knife given to him by his father, stabbing at shadows, or throwing it at targets. Is not a solution I consider; it has never been one I needed to consider.”

“Are you willing to learn?” Rogen asked. Cite stared at the horizon and considered that as they walked.

“Yeah, I guess. I should at least have some training and skill with them. I have this ability, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it at will, or only under duress, or even be able to do it again at all. But I should learn. It may be needed in my journey back home.” Rogen looked at him, surprised. The Rokairn had not even considered that the lad would have other plans then what Rogen had in mind. It was a relief to Rogen that Cite did. As Rogen considered it, he was not sure if it was the best course for the boy to return to his village.

“So you will return your village then?” asked Rogen, by way of exploring this idea and to feel out what was in this boy’s head.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I’ve no other place to go, unless it is to complete the mission the Elders gave me and go to the Northwood Community.” Cite paused and looked at Rogen with a piercing gaze. “You don’t think that’s a good plan, do you? I feel doubt coming from you, like heat from a rock.”  It was Rogen’s turn to pause, and he looked to the horizon to gain a moment to think.

“I think you should consider it carefully before you do,” Rogen advised. “Have you thought that it is quite odd that my city was attacked so soon after you arrived? I have never had such a thing happen to my lands before. I have had people send armies, spies, and things of that nature before; but never have I had a plague of insects descend upon my home, let alone a dozen plagues attack from underground, the sky, and any other way they could find. The middle of the desert is not a place most insects would seek food, especially not in those numbers. I fear something bigger than a coincidence is at work here.”

“So you have said, repeatedly,” Cite nodded as he thought about what the stout man had just said. They walked on in silence for a while before either of them spoke again.

“Then I’ll learn.” Cite said, as the sun disappeared behind the mountains to the west. “I’ll learn to use these daggers you gave me, as well as the staff. I’ll also think about it before I return to my village and possibly put everyone I know in danger. If your people could not defend against them, what chance would mine have?” Cite shook his head and snorted a harsh laugh. “It’s hard to imagine that I could be the cause of that. Why would I be important? Isn’t it more likely that you and your organization have garnered the enmity of someone powerful?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. In the scheme of things, I would be more important than you. The Empire would have a higher profile than you, and I will be looking into that. But I am not so arrogant that I will discount the possibility that you are more important than I am to someone. Perhaps someone knows something others do not.” Rogen paused as he considered something. Cite could feel him thinking, “What do you know of Transvartius?”