Ashes of Andromeda (The Last Archide Book 3) Page 3

  She sat up almost effortlessly in what she could only assume was a bed. Celeste opened and closed her fingers, amazed at how smooth the motion felt. No joints popped. The stiffness that had been in them from years of throwing punches was gone. Even the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders had vanished as she turned her head to study her new surroundings. She identified windows, a few chairs, and what she thought was a kitchen. This place was a culture she knew nothing about. Even the walls were different, yet instead of feeling completely out of place, Celeste felt right at home.

  Another memory surfaced, and she reached up to her scalp. Her fingers searched her hair for stitches or scars from being beaten so badly. Instead of searching for signs of trauma, she stroked her hair again and again, having never felt anything so perfect. She had to force herself to stop and find the wound. Even more to her amazement, there was nothing there. She was beginning to believe her life at the Quarter had been nothing but a nightmare.

  She searched the rest of her body. She rotated her broken wrist, feeling a newfound strength and fluidity to the movement. She lifted her shirt and ran her palm over the ribs that had been broken. No bandages. Looking at her torso, she saw no marks there, either. As she marveled at her health, she realized another peculiarity. Despite what was obviously care beyond her imagination, there wasn’t a piece of medical equipment anywhere to be found.

  Asher. In her euphoria, she nearly forgot to look for him. Only a few minutes had passed since she woke up, but now, without him close, those minutes felt like hours wasted. Celeste threw the covers off and jumped from the bed.

  “Asher?” she called.

  An opening appeared in the wall and in bounded Asher. Almost as soon as the opening had appeared, it disappeared seamlessly back into the wall.

  She kneeled, scooping him up in her arms. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks, and a smile came to her that she couldn’t bring herself to remove even if she tried. Celeste held him tightly, noticing the same extraordinary health she had herself. She looked him over from head-to-toe, seeing how radiant he looked. Even his blue eyes shined more brightly. Like her, there were no signs of the deplorable life they’d been forced to live.

  “You look taller,” she said to him.

  “I’m supposed to do that, Mom,” he said very matter-of-factly.

  She playfully rolled her eyes. “I can stop that, you know.”

  “No you can’t. I’m going to be tall like Daddy.”

  Oryan. Where was he? Was it he who arranged their rescue and brought them here? The questions rattled in her brain like a waterfall.

  Celeste put Asher down but kept his hand. “Do you know where we are?”

  “Eldar’s house,” Asher replied.

  “Am I supposed to know who that is?” she asked sarcastically.

  “No. You’ve been asleep since we got here, but he’s really nice.” Asher’s face gleamed. “Mom, he grows his own food! It’s really neat. He’s teaching me how.”

  “And he’s a very good student.” A strong-looking man stood across the room from them. His clothing was smooth as if it had no stitching. The green of it changed shades as he crossed the room. It accented his brown skin and made his dark eyes shine.

  Her eyes widened as she took his extended hand. It was as thick yet soft and his grip was gentle for being so massive.

  “I’m Eldar,” he introduced himself with a wide smile. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you.”

  Celeste turned her gaze to Asher who was beaming with joy. “Thank you for taking care of him,” she managed to say. Another thought struck her. “And me,” she blurted. “I think.”

  A wonderful, contagious laugh echoed from Eldar. “You needed some attention but Asher here was as good as gold. That tells me his mamma took care of him at great expense. Caring for a mother like that is my pleasure.

  “You’ve probably got a question or two,” he finished.

  “Only a million,” she replied.

  Asher tugged at her to follow him. Eldar glanced at the eager child, and his smile grew larger, if that was possible. “He wants to show you his fine work. It’s probably better to talk outside anyway. More pleasant.”

  Eldar led them both through the door. Celeste watched it open and didn’t look away as it sealed behind them. For several moments, she stared at it, trying to solve the mystery of the vanishing door.

  When she could finally look away, she soaked in the brightness and warmth of the sun. Like everything else so far, it seemed to be a brighter, clearer sun than she remembered. Then, she saw what she could only assume was Eldar’s garden. It was arrayed with splendid plants and flowers. Some she thought she recognized, but they were richer in color than any she had seen. There were even more she was certain she had never seen anywhere before. An amazing aroma filled her nose and sent a thrill down the back of her neck. The clarity of the garden was unparalleled. She slowly turned in a circle several times, soaking in every detail.

  It was Asher who broke her trance. He was shouting her name and waiting anxiously by a stone bench. He showed her the flowers he planted. A great swell of happiness rushed over her. Her little boy was so proud of his hard work.

  Eldar said nothing. He simply followed behind them, never letting the smile leave his face. She sat with Asher to ask the first of her many questions when another person appeared at the archway at the end of Eldar’s path. He was tall, with brown hair. Unlike Eldar, his clothing was mostly white, but it still seemed to be completely seamless. His arms were carefully folded behind his back.

  “Good morning, Celeste,” he said cordially. “It’s nice to see you outdoors. How’s everything suiting you so far?”

  “This…this place is amazing. Where am I?” she asked.

  A look of shock passed over his face. “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “I completely forgot. You’ve been here for a few days now, and I keep forgetting you’ve never actually met me. My name is Sicari and you’re”—he shot Eldar a coy look—“well, you’re a long way from home.”

  “I noticed,” she murmured.

  “There’s a lot to talk about, but let’s start with how you got here. That may answer a lot of the questions you have.”

  Eldar called to Asher. “I’ve got some fruit you haven’t seen yet. It grows on a really pretty vine but it needs some care. Want to come with me?”

  Asher jumped up and ran to Eldar’s side. “Is it all right it I take him for a few minutes? I promise I’ll bring him back in one piece. A little dirty, maybe, but whole,” Eldar asked Celeste.

  “Absolutely,” she replied. She felt a slap of shock at her own response. She knew this man for only a few minutes but trusted him with her son. Perhaps it was Asher’s response to Eldar that put her so much at ease.

  She watched them walk away and the real reason sank in. Maybe it was Eldar, maybe it was this place, maybe both; whatever the combination was, Asher was finally able to be a child. At home with her grandparents, there was round-the-clock care and Asher was always entertaining himself or waiting on Mom because she was tending to someone else. Her grandmother called him an “old soul” because he seemed wise and mature beyond his years. Celeste was grateful but also regretted that he had to grow up that way. The Slave Quarter was even worse on him. Seeing him revel in child-like excitement put her at ease.

  She faced Sicari.

  “May I sit?” he asked.

  “There’s plenty of room.” She gestured to the open half of the bench.

  Celeste marveled at his posture. He carried himself like royalty. “Where to start?” Sicari mused. “We’re friends of Armay. Armay was—”

  “Oryan’s real father. I know,” Celeste let him know he didn’t have to start that far back.

  Sicari’s eyes acknowledged the hint. “Armay meant more to us than you can possibly know. Because we loved him, we held dear what he did. Above all, that meant Kathrine and Oryan.” He let the name resonate.

  Celeste’s eyes brightened. She hoped to hear his
name, but the reality of it exceeded her expectation. Maybe they would have news of him. Better still, maybe he was here.

  “We’ve been watching him very closely his entire life. Naturally, we knew about you and your son. Much to our shame, we didn’t protect the two of you like we should have. That small lapse in judgment cost you and Asher much. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head.

  Celeste didn’t reply. She was still trying to absorb everything, and this stranger offering apologies for an insult she wasn’t even aware he’d made, was as out of place as it was unexpected.

  He raised his head; a slight shimmer of tears lined the bottom of his eyes. He swallowed hard and continued. “We have eyes and ears everywhere, but the Empire is better than anyone at keeping secrets. We know where most of the Slave Quarters are, but which one you were taken to…?” He held his hands out, palms up, and shrugged.

  “There aren’t records of who goes to a Quarter , so there’s nothing digital for us to hack to narrow the search. We had to infiltrate several of the Quarters before we found you. Once we did, we came after you. It will all look like a successful revolt, of course. None of the guards were left to tell otherwise. The other victims of the Quarter who made it out alive were sent to a friendly country as refugees. You and Asher are…ghosts. You’ll be safe here,” he concluded.

  Celeste was processing everything she’d been told. It sounded wonderful with one exception. “So, no one can find us?”

  The corner of his lip rose. “It’s not likely, but don’t worry. We’re going to bring Oryan to you.”

  Home

  It had been two weeks since Oryan escaped his transport. Tamrus had been good to his word, and it had been easy to slip away. From there he had shaved his head and used a few stolen uniforms to stow away on a military cruiser bound for the Empire’s homeland. When they made a stop to pick up supplies and exchange personnel on Akon, he decided to risk exposure to step onto that soil again.

  The snow was mostly gone, but the day was bitter cold. He walked unnoticed through the maze of crewmen that bustled past. He was focused on what lay beyond the hills rising in the distance. As his boots left the concrete of the dock and onto the gravel shore, a wave of memories swept over him. He wanted to visit the unmarked grave of the only brother he had ever known, but he couldn’t go any farther.

  The broken warrior breathed in, letting the cold air sting his nostrils and fill his lungs, like the bitter sadness that gripped his heart knowing what had happened here. He took one last look at the mountains, and then turned to the ship. It was best to bury the past with his friend. The gravel shuffled under his feet as he headed toward the cruiser.

  A few hours later, the ship was once again cutting through the water. Oryan didn’t try to mingle, but he was not altogether silent. He did his best to blend in so he was just another face in the crowd. That night, he lay in his small bunk, his thoughts rocking to the rhythm of the ship. He knew he had to go back to Navarus to save her. The thought of her in that place staved off sleep many nights.

  The waves slowly lulled him to sleep. After many hours, a horn sent all the men to their stations. By the time he could swing his legs over the side, the other men were already running past, each to his post. Oryan had to get top-side and at least look busy. If the ship went under, he wanted a fighting chance.

  In an instant he was ready and running with sailors through the narrow corridors and up to the top deck. He chased them until they stopped at a small flight of stairs where the traffic bottle-necked. The men were busy climbing past the metal bulkheads and scurrying to their various places. Oryan waited his turn, watching the expressions of the people around him as the red warning lights spun their faces in and out of focus. Finally, he climbed the stairs to a blanket of stars against a black sky.

  He walked through the maze of bustling sailors to the deck’s edge. He looked at the black water beneath them. There was no telling where the water stopped and the night began.

  Far ahead of the ship, the reflections of the stars did indeed stop. A black mass loomed ahead that, at first, he could not make out, and in the state of mind he was in, he recognized it all too late.

  Navarus.

  The fleet had obviously continued through the night to arrive at their destination ahead of schedule, under the cover of darkness. Oryan knew this spot well; darkness would not serve them here.

  Why Vollmar had picked this shore to launch its invasion, Oryan would never know. This patch of sand was the most heavily defended spot on Navarus’s northern border. From its high walls, huge cannons rose from their nests on large motorized gears and pointed their heavy muzzles into the black sea. There were at least fifty of them that formed a line some two miles across.

  Oryan watched the dark shore light up as if a thousand fireworks exploded from each barrel. There was little sound at first, and in the moments before the shells landed, it was an awe-inspiring display of fiery lights. Then, there was carnage.

  The cannons shot a deadly barrage of special ammunition. The rockets were set to explode above the water level and leave a gaping hole in a ship’s hull where they made contact. If they hit nothing, a small torpedo was released into the water. The torpedoes only had a one-hundred-meter range. If they did not find a target in that distance, they simply detonated.

  The water was alive with explosions. The ships of the fleet returned fire, and launched their bombers to disable the defenses. Transports full of marines raced from the hulls toward the tumultuous shore. Oryan could track their progress by the light of erupting shells. A torpedo snaked under the water and slammed into a transport sending men and machine into the depths. He paid keen attention to the water trying to trace the path of the torpedoes.

  A deafening boom shook the boat as heavy cannons pounded away at the enemy shore. Oryan steadied himself and turned back away from the water. The men were still hurrying from place to place, trying desperately to fulfill their duty. The roar never stopped as the ship continued its relentless bombardment. They would soon be in range of the cannons themselves. It was time for Oryan to find a way to shore.

  The land came alive with explosions of its own as the first wave of bombers dropped their ordinance on their targets. Three cannons stopped firing. Oryan turned once again to the sea before he headed below deck to board a transport. As his keen eyes glanced over the chaotic water, a small explosion lit the waves and something caught his peripheral vision. He snapped back to the railing and searched the water for what he hoped had been a figment of his imagination, but it was not. Tracing through the water, straight toward his ship, was an enemy torpedo. It would reach the hull in a few seconds.

  Oryan leapt into the bitter cold waves. He swam down and away, frantically putting some distance between him and the doomed vessel. The muffled thud of the torpedo’s explosion hit his ears and burning heat ran through the water, singing his skin. A thousand objects splashed around him as he surfaced: some metal, some human, some in flames.

  The battle continued, and he swam as debris fell on all sides. The vacuum of water pulled him back as corridors of the vessel were quickly filled. Still he swam. A sharp slap of hot metal sliced across his shoulder. Pain tore through his recently mended nervous system, and he let out a cry as his blood joined the hundreds already bleeding into the ocean. The salt from the sea assaulted his arm.

  He pushed the pain down, trying to stay alive. He swam on, this time with only one working arm. Each stroke sent a wave of pain through his body. A light appeared on him. Not from an explosion or muzzle flash, but an artificial light. There was a transport nearby and one of the marines had heard his cry through the madness.

  “Here!” he yelled. “I’m here!”

  The men on the transport talked amongst themselves and quickly diverted their course. When they were close enough, a strong man grabbed his collar, hoisting him onto the transport.

  “Thank you,” Oryan managed through ragged breaths.

  “You’re lucky. We’ll make a quick
stop at the ship and let you off before we head in.”

  Oryan gritted his teeth and rose to his feet. The sea water and blood churned in his stomach. His head swam, but he was not finished. Summoning his strength and will, he rotated his shoulder hard to the sound of cracking bone, but it made the arm appear functional. He did not make a noise save his breathing, but suppressing the scream was a monumental task.

  “No,” he said through tears of pain. He grabbed the weapon and a few supplies off a corpse and strapped them on. He grabbed a helmet and placed it firmly on his head. He needed to go forward, not back. “I’m going with you.”

  The marines cheered his bravery as his actions boosted their morale. A green light flashed in the front of the transport, and the driver ignited the engine and steered them to the flame-consumed shore. The bombers had successfully destroyed the enemy’s heavy cannons, so only smaller arms and hand-held rockets remained. The first wave of marines had reached the shore; the crisscross of bullets danced both directions as the fight ensued. The shattered remains of a few fighter jets smoldered in the sand.

  Where his ship had been, there were only flames. The nose of the great hulk jutted out as the water and its debris slowly sank into its watery grave. He took one last look and then faced the shore again. The transport was fast, covering most of the distance in the few moments he’d been distracted. The familiar smell of burning sand tickled his nostrils, and he fell over the side of the transport and into the shallow water. The other men followed and began to trudge through the waves. Oryan let the wake carry him to the beach with the intent of then disappearing in the confusion.

  The sand brushed his broken flesh, and he quickly returned to his feet to carry on the rest of the way. Two steps onto dry land, he tripped over a familiar face. The man who had pulled him from the water laid on the beach, a piece of shrapnel in his arm and another piercing his helmet. Oryan lowered his head.