The last lumenian, p.1
The Last Lumenian, page 1
THE
LAST
LUMENIAN
S.G. BLAISE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by S. G. Blaise
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address:
info@thelastlumenian.com.
First paperback edition June 2020
Book design by Dissect Designs
Edited by Julie Tibbott and William Drennan
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7347605-0-7
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-7347605-6-9
www.thelastlumenian.com
To Alex who read every version without cringing.
To Gabe who put aside his dislike of reading for ten days (that’s how long it took to finish reading this story.)
To my mom: It’s done now.
To all of you, dear readers, who took a chance without realizing the dangers of how addictive this story will be. Good news: there will be more to come.
ACT I
CHAPTER 1
“I can’t breathe,” I say through clenched teeth. Panic cascades down my spine like waves of a crushing tide. Panic so familiar yet so alien. My constant companion for the past fourteen years, since I was five.
My skin burns hot-and-cold-and-hot-again. Black spots bleed into my vision until it narrows into a pinpoint. I can no longer see the control compartment of our beat-up space vessel.
My seat swallows me up. I buck against its constraints, tearing against the tight harness. “I have to get out of here!”
I can’t slow my breathing. The icy air burns against my throat with each inhalation. I am drowning without being in water.
“Lilla, listen to my voice,” Arrov, the pilot of our ship, says. “I am here. You’re not alone.”
He brushes my hands to the side. Off the stubborn harness buckles. With a click the restraints cutting into me disappear.
I spring to my feet. The urge to flee! to run! pumps my blood, drowning out the hum of the ship.
A gentle hand touches mine.
Still blind to my surroundings, I grasp it before it can retreat. My lifeline out of the madness.
“You’re fine. You’ll be all right now.”
Arrov’s voice conjures his image—his almost seven-foot height, his athletic build, his angular face with pale-blue skin framed by short dark-blue hair, his straight nose and always smiling lips. I’ve heard him called “stunningly handsome” behind his back, followed by heaving sighs. I must admit they’re right. Of course I would never say that out loud in his presence!
His thumb rubs a circle in my palm, a mesmerizing motion. I focus on his touch. For the first time since setting foot on this godsforsaken ship, I can take a deep breath.
Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.
Again.
Minutes, or hours, drag by before the hot-and-cold-and-hot-again vanish. I look up, right into blue eyes that are so dark they’re almost black.
“Better?”
I nod.
Arrov flashes white, even teeth. His smile makes him appear younger than I am, though he is in his midtwenties.
I look at our hands, embarrassed that he had to witness one of my “episodes,” and I pull my hand away. Arrov is the only person in the rebellion who doesn’t judge me. Or hold who I am against me. Will that change from now on? I shudder.
“Here, this should help.” Arrov takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.
“I was getting hot anyway,” he says, cutting off any argument. “I don’t think the temp controls work on this junk.”
“Thank you.” I burrow into his warm jacket.
A dark blue blush appears on Arrov’s cheeks. He is the perfect image of his home planet, A’ice. One of the richer worlds in the nineteen-planet-strong Pax Septum Coalition, where winter rules three quarters of the year.
My gaze flickers to the control panel, outdated with its manual levers. “We should check for incoming messages . . .” my voice trails off when I notice a fast blinking light, signaling incoming messages. How long has it been blinking like that?
Arrov sees it too, and a flash of concern crosses his expression.
My stomach drops. We had three tasks: wait for the message from the rebellion’s patron; respond with the code to receive coordinates; and meet with their caravan to load supplies. Simple.
Arrov runs his fingers over the controls to retrieve the message. “We missed our chance. They sent the message more than ten minutes ago.”
Ten minutes! By making the caravan wait, we indicated “mission compromised.”
“But I’ll send our code anyway.” Arrov taps a few controls. “Maybe they waited for us.”
And maybe I’d turn into a believer of the Archgoddess of the Eternal Light and Order and start praying for Her help. As if.
We stare at the light, waiting for it to blink again. Without getting the coordinates we have no hope of completing our mission.
“Anything?” I sit back before I start pacing. I buckle my harness, but this time I don’t make it as tight. Better not to trigger the panic that hovers at the edge of my consciousness, waiting to pounce. Never fully gone.
Arrov glances at me. “Nothing.”
“Xor will be furious!” I blew the mission. My first mission. One that I volunteered for, and only got because Arrov offered to pilot the craft. It seems that bad luck is contagious.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Lilla. There will be other chances.”
I am not so sure about that. I proved Xor’s right-hand man, Belthair, right. I failed the mission as he predicted.
Something appears on our view screen.
Arrov, oblivious, says, “Listen, I know how you must feel—”
“But—” I point toward the view screen.
Arrov grabs my flailing hand in both of his. “I know there is a lot of pressure on you right now.”
“You don’t understand—”
“You’re right.” He pats my hand. “I can’t understand, but I can imagine how you must worry. But you cannot overreact—”
“Stop!” I shout.
“No need to be so harsh, I was just trying to—”
“Asteroids!”
CHAPTER 2
“There shouldn’t be asteroids here,” Arrov curses, but it gets lost in the blaring tocsins.
Debris clang, bouncing off the hull of our vessel. The flickering overhead light shuts off, only to come back flashing red and yellow.
My vision fills with a porous light-gray asteroid, the size of a small mountain, tumbling toward us, in the midst of other giant orbs.
“Get us out of here!” Where did they come from? A second ago this quadrant was empty except for the blinking stars.
“I’m trying!” Arrov shouts. “If only this stupid junk would work!”
Is this ancient spacecraft with its faded green paint and rusting metal going to be our tomb?
Dents appear everywhere, and the craft jars and jerks. The screeching noise shrieks louder than the alarms.
The sensory overload is too much. My brain can’t process so much danger.
“We have to evacuate!” Arrov shouts.
“Evacuate? Where?”
Before Arrov can respond, the whole stern of the ship tears clean off. Wires and jagged metal hang. Billowing smoke obscures our view.
Time ceases to exist.
Then space rushes in.
CHAPTER 3
Six Months Earlier
My life should replay in my mind right before my death. Instead, it gets stuck on that horrible day.
The day of The Wedding.
All my troubles started then.
“Forgive me, Mom,” I whisper into the silence of the resting gardens. There is no one to overhear my words. Yet it feels sacrilegious to disturb the quiet of the gardens. Where those no longer with us rest. Embraced by Lume and guarded by the Archgoddess of the Eternal Light and Order.
Long ash-white branches of weeping willows sweep over small rock piles, tied together with silk ribbons. They are the markers of each ancestor. Cold and crisp wind rushes through, rustling the long wispy strands, fluttering the ribbons. Purple flowers lift off the branches, drifting on the currents, perfuming the air in a silent prayer only nature can conjure.
I close my eyes. “We are made of Lume. When we die, we return to Lume.” The traditional invocation to The Lady echoes in my mind. It brings no comfort. Only a sad reminder of that rainy day. When life without Mom started and childhood ended.
I lean back on my elbows, not caring how the long blades of grass stain my dress. The rhythmic sounds of water lapping on the rocks below mingle with the chirping of birds above. The last flock to leave as fall pushes summer out of its way on Fye Island. A perfect day for a wedding.
That fog-cursed wedding! What would Mom do in my place?
Goose bumps run down my arms. Even the light of two suns can’t seem to bring any warmth today.
Footsteps grind on the pebbled pa
I sit up, hugging my knees. I am not ready.
“It’s hard to believe that it has been fourteen years,” Glenna, my best friend, says from behind me.
I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “There isn’t a single day when I don’t miss her. I wish she could be here.” Then this dreadful event wouldn’t be happening.
Glenna tucks a few locks of her crimson hair that escaped from her elegant bun behind her ear. Her dark crimson eyes glint in compassion. “If my healer’s oath wouldn’t hold me, I would—”
A throat cleared interrupts her.
Both of us turn to face six guards. Metal helmets cover their faces, blending into half of a chest plate and a black leather tunic—a style that’s more ornamental now than it was seven hundred years ago. A nod to our pirate past, along with the serrated cutlass swords that hang from their belts.
Glenna helps me up. “It’s time.”
“She sent guards to escort me,” I say, as the guards position themselves around us, like a living cage. What a grotesque procession we make.
“Of course she did,” Glenna says as we follow after them. “You played right into her hands.”
Glenna is right. I should have known better.
For the rest of the short trip, I stay silent. We march down the hill, toward the white sands of the beach, the scene of the big celebration.
The whole court is here. The guards cut a path through the elegant silk forest of the ma’hars and ma’haras—lords and ladies.
As we pass, they bow. Their mutterings are as vicious as their smiles are polite.
“The ma’hana had to make a scene.”
Just surviving another day at court.
“The ma’hana never fit in. Now what will she do?”
Who would want to fit in here? All they care about is what to wear, or how to stay young forever.
“The ma’hana deserves to be put in her place.”
They can try.
Suddenly the crowd surges toward me, shoving the guards too close.
Panic rises and my throat locks, constricting air.
No! Not now! I hold my breath until black spots dance in my vision. Fainting is better than having an episode in front of everyone.
Something ice cold lands in my hand. It’s a small hydro-gel pack. “Just breathe,” Glenna whispers.
I grip the cold pack, hiding it against my dress. Allowing the cold to distract me.
The guards push back the courtiers, and I force a deep breath into my struggling lungs.
A cool ocean breeze rustles my gown and chills the sweat on my forehead. I don’t dare raise my hand to wipe it off. It might still shake.
Glenna stops and takes the gel pack back. She cannot follow me from this point. She has to go to the servants’ side, all the way in the back. Behind the high society members. Behind the low society members. Behind the few selected esteemed civilians who earned their respected status by working well into their old age.
The guards step aside to reveal a hovering wooden platform infused with A’ris—air magic, the third of the six light elements.
Since mages infused our technology with elemental magic hundreds of years ago, Uhna entered a golden age. Technological marvels sprouted. Uhna’s economy boomed. Until we were the wealthiest planet in the Pax Septum Coalition. By the time the other planets joined the magical technology wave, we were miles ahead of them in progress.
I’m sure the mages never intended the technology they infused to be applied this way. For pomp. For a stupid wedding. A wedding so cliché it’s pathetic.
A white gauzy canopy held in place by A’ris magic hovers over a hexagonal wooden platform. Around the canopy, a flock of colorful birds flutters in place, tamed by A’nima, the fifth light element. Around the platform, a multitude of palm trees waves. Their crowns of frond leaves sparkle with millions of crystal diamond specks, painted on like artificial snow. In the middle of the platform, a shimmering wall of water arches down, suspended by A’qua, the first light element. It symbolizes the all-powerful Fyoon Ocean, from which all titles originate.
I climb the seven wooden steps to the platform and take my place behind my half brother Nic. He could be a replica of my father with his fit build, black hair and dark brown eyes.
Behind are the fourteen advisers, grouped in sevens on each side of Father. Their disapproving gazes weigh on me, judging. Only High Adviser Ellar smiles at me. He tried to console me yesterday, but I found no comfort in his wise words. Both of us knew this wedding was not fair.
Behind my father, the ma’ha, king of Uhna. He stands tall in his formal white uniform—a long jacket with a red sash across it, and sharp pants. He looks in control. Happy. As if this is something he truly wants.
My father glances back at me, smiling in a peace offering. I glare until his expression sobers. Until he has to look back. Toward her.
Nic hands me a small bouquet of white starflowers, the national symbol, representing innocence. “I thought you’d never show. They wouldn’t start the ceremony without you, sis.”
“How lucky I am.” I grip the flowers, clenching them hard. Poor things. It’s not their fault. It’s hers.
Beathag. Father’s bride-to-be, who is barely older than I am, and a third of my father’s sixty-five. Someone I used to know well and thought I’d never see again.
As if she knows I am thinking about her, Beathag turns toward me. She looks over her slender shoulder, left bare by the body-hugging red lace dress. Her long blond hair falls down on her back with starflowers woven into the hair.
I meet her hazel eyes head on. Daring her to blink first. Daring her to read my mind and see how much she is not welcome here.
Her eyes flicker behind me, where the guards still wait, as if anticipating my escape. She dismisses me with a sniff.
Nic pokes an elbow in my side. “Stop prodding the hag, sis.”
“She started it.” I am forced to witness this wedding because of her.
A stranger steps in front of the couple with confidence that borders on arrogance. Loud murmurs sweep through the crowd.
He stands tall, his long silver hair flying over his shoulders in the breeze. He wears a black robe, with all six light elements embroidered in a circle over his heart.
He introduces himself as Royal Elementalist Mage Ragnald, causing another wave of outraged mutterings. No mages have been in the royal court in my lifetime. It seems this wedding has an underlying political current.
No one has forgotten the Magical Cleansing War twenty-five years ago that ravaged the Pax Septum Coalition and took its toll on the people. Millions were killed, while hundreds of thousands ended up with terrible injuries from the battle mages’ magic. Incurable by our healers. Ironically, the coalition won the war by the superior power of the elemental magic-infused weapons. Weapons that the mages created, but out of pride refused to use.
For more than two decades, we hadn’t seen a single mage. They were banned from entering any coalition worlds. Yet here he is, the first one allowed to set foot on Uhna. And he is officiating Father’s marriage as if the mages are all forgiven.
Is he the first mage in all the Pax Septum Coalition to leave Raghild, the mages’ home world?
“And let those who have anything to say,” Royal Elementalist Ragnald declares, “say it now without repercussion. Hence we can all judge this wedding and the direction in which it may proceed.”
My heart jumps into my throat. Sweat breaks out on my palms. My skin burns hot-and-cold-and-hot-again. I open my mouth.
“Don’t do it, sis. Just don’t—”
“It’s not right!” I say with a ringing voice.
CHAPTER 4
“Then what happened?” Eita asks.
It’s dawn, but the wedding celebration is still going on at the beach. I escaped to the kitchen. Hiding from my family and the drunken court. Drowning my humiliation in boomberry tarts Eita served me.
At first I was hesitant to talk to Eita, and not just because of her age—sixteen, but so tiny she looks more like ten. Before, I always confided in Deidre, but her advanced age forced her to rely on others more lately. Like on Deidre’s apprentice Eita. Nothing I told the young girl made it back to me as gossip, cementing my trust in her.
