Unlikely Prophet by L. S. King

Author:L. S. King
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, dystopian, alien contact, portal travel, colony world, colony planet
Publisher: L. S. King

Chapter Twenty

Avadhron struggled up from blackness. The acrid tang of smoke assaulted his senses along with the crackling sound of fire. His lids were crusted shut; he tried to blink, rubbing his eyes—and remembered. The shock, the loss, cascaded over him. Jhendill’s face, pale and lifeless, Galadhan’s shuttle tumbling and exploding, his father’s body, his Elites daring him, willing to die with him if he would not Cross.

What happened then—after passing through? Rage had taken him over, and many arms held him as he tried to lunge back through the portal. Beyond that, he had no recollection until this moment.

He didn’t want memories. Or life. Why wouldn’t they let him go back? What did he have here without Jhendill? He rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. The grief hurt too much to even allow tears. Jhendill’s face, the curve of her eyebrows, her intelligent brown eyes filled with humor or sarcasm, the angle of her cheekbones, the feel of her hands at the nape of his neck, threading through his hair—he would never again see her, touch her, hear her voice...

How was he to go on living without her?

A warm weight settled on his shoulder. “Avadhron?” Zaidhron whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Part of him wanted to give in to the grief and cry; part wanted to flip over and slam his fist into—king! Zaidhron was now king. Duty won control. He twisted and sat up to find he rested on the floor, on a thick mat of sorts. He came forward onto one knee and took his cousin’s hand, setting his forehead against it. “I swear fealty, my liege.” It wasn’t formal, but would do until an official ceremony. He gazed up at his new liege’s face. “I’m sorry. Your brother is dead.”

“I...know. How did it happen?”

Avadhron related the scene, and his deductions. Zaidhron puffed a breath out, tears in his eyes. Finally he whispered, “He didn’t want to Cross. He got his desire.”

The affection Zaidhron had for his older half-brother and their complicated relationship mystified him. But now, at least, perhaps their people could be led forward into a new life by a good man.

Which launched another question: the First Table. Fadhalan had gotten them across, but he knew no details. Had any been injured in the cataclysm? “What about our close kin? Dandhral? Cosdhral? Their families? Are they well?”

“They’re fine.” Zaidhron smiled and gestured for him to rise. “Let’s get you some food. We have much to do.”

Avadhron peered about the dim chamber, noticing it for the first time. The shimmering white walls, obviously, were SDC-12. One end had a box-like structure built into the wall containing a softly crackling fire. Thick mats on a wooden frame sat opposite with a table covered with papers and two lit candles shoved against the window, probably to make room for Avadhron’s sleeping mat.

“Do you like it? It’s very basic. This is the only building finished so far.”

From the window, which radiated chillness, a swirling whiteness beat against the glass, obscuring his sight, and beyond, all was dark.

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