Off-Worlders

  Queen

  Evamiin waited to be called.

  There had been few instances in her life that Evamiin had waited to be called for anything.

  But the call to the Third Tower of Aakbiishen was one she heeded, however reluctantly, and however she thought at times she may not. 

  There are three towers of Aakbiishen but only two are visible to you if you have not been initiated by the Pann.

  The great irony being that Evamiin had been initiated by them. But the vision required to see the third tower had never opened to her.

  It happens sometimes, they had said. And said no more. It was the end of it.

  At first it had driven her mad. Eaten away at her. But they called her here rarely enough now. 

  They had ceased calling her here regularly, after the first time she had moved against them, without their knowledge. 

  So long ago. But unforgivable even now, it seemed.

  Memories. As she looked down on the world she ruled - for she did still rule here - memories flooded her.

  It was another reason she did not like coming here. They always made her wait. Gave her too much time to remember. Too much time to think. 

  But there was always the possibility that he would be here. And so, in the end, despite her deep misgivings, she always came.

  His horns were white obsidian now. They had been black when they'd first met. Still, the rainbow colors of the cosmos swirled within. Lit by spirit fire. Lit by ancient memory, ancient flame.  

  They had come here knowing nothing, her family, nothing.

  Only that a portal was here. An inverse portal to the Other Cosmos. And to which they had the key.

  They had the crystal. 

  Not the rare, natural, inverse portal crystals of the Sirens or the Ancient Giant Astronauts, but the closet approximation to it. Wrought by her father's finest bio-engineers over the course of not years, but decades.

  They were sure it would work. 

  They just needed a world with an inverse portal to test it on.

  And what better, than this jewel of a world, Moethiica. Seemingly untamable. A history of legend and superstition surrounding it. How it rid itself of all who tried to conquer it by simply rotting from within. Destroying. Rendering itself dead, poisonous, uninhabitable.

  And then thriving again, once it's would be usurpers and inhabiters had left.

  They were about to become the most powerful Old Family in The Federation. They would take Moethiica and its inverse portal for their own.

  Her father knew The Federation wanted it. Evamiin did not know how he knew such a thing, but he did.

  She remembered the excitement she'd felt as they built their life here on this mysterious, beautiful and intoxicating world. Her love was the most promising young leader in her father's Militia. She had no doubt he would ask to marry her. 

  She had no doubt she would say yes.

  She was walking in the long overgrown gardens idly planning her wedding. They had built a home in the ancient ruins on the eastern side of The Forest. Her father planned to restore the ruins to their former glory. Their new home, their new palace, would be here. In the heart of The Forest. Close to the portal. 

  He scoffed at the warnings of the local population of Ibecca, the crude, backwater town which stood even then as the main and only city of Moethiica. They had begged them not to enter The Forest. To leave The Forest and the portal be.

  And now here they were. Poised to take it. Poised to open the gateway to the Other Cosmos. Poised to be powerful and wealthy beyond all their imagining.

  They were the almost embarrassing, poorer relations to many amongst the Old Ones. She could not wait to have those vile snobs who had ostracized her and laughed at her, toady to her once her father and his Militia were done.

  She stopped near an exquisite old fountain, long out of use. Fashioned by one of Moethiica's previous would be conquerers. Home now to worms instead of fish. Creeping vines and dirt instead of water. 

  It was a favorite place. They had met here last night when she crept undetected from her room. She ran her fingers along the place on the fountain's edge where he had held her. She remembered exquisite kisses. She remembered his hands on her, his body pressed hard against hers, pushing her back against the cold, hard stone.  

  His kisses had grown rougher, more insistent, more urgent. She had felt his breathing change. When she placed two hands on his chest and pushed him back from her, she heard him groan.

  He had not been happy but he had let her go. He had no choice. She was her father's daughter.

  "Evamiin!" It was her mother calling her. Communicators sometimes disguised emotions. But there was a slight edge to her mother’s voice that perhaps only a daughter could hear.  "Evamiin! Evamiin!" There was more urgency now.

  A breeze rustled suddenly through the stillness. A twig snapped loudly underfoot.

  She felt a chill run through her like ice. 

  Something touched the back of her head. Like a whisper. 

  She did not look up to meet the eyes she suddenly felt upon her. 

  She ran. She ran and she did not look back. 

  And the chill wind ran with her, whispering. Whispering, laughing, mocking. A constant stream of chill murmurings in her head.

  She stumbled and fell, cutting her hand sharply on a jagged rock as she rose.

  She pushed the bloodied hand against her waist to stem the bleeding. Rich blue blood mixed with chocolate earth, and the emerald leaves of the forest floor, now caked against her.

  She made it home.

  The huge front doors stood open. Her mother stood between them, two House Militia at her side. She was so pale she was white. She wrung her hands until Evamiin was through the opening, and then the Militia slammed the doors closed.

  Evamiin clasped her mother's arms, steadying her, yielding answers from her sobs. 

  Sirens.

  There had been a nest of them guarding the portal. The men had not stood a chance.

  It was her love they had let return to tell the story. Evamiin sat with him during his last moments. His wounds bleeding out, his eyes glazed over, he grasped her hand not knowing who she was. A man possessed. They had massacred the Militia. Killed her father and brothers, his friends. 

  But all he could talk about was their magnificence. All he could hear was their song.

  “The Siren," he whispered to her. His eyes wide, his entire body and voice enthralled. He had never felt such love, such warmth, never seen such exquisite beauty. He sighed, looking truly blissful, truly at peace. It was a freedom song, he said, before he closed his eyes and let them take him. He had smiled at her. He seemed happy to be going.

  And then he too, was gone.

  Evamiin sat in silence, his cold hand in hers. She did not cry. She did not try to make sense of his words. Because she could not make sense of them.

  There was another Evamiin who had existed before this day, who perhaps could have made sense of them, but that Evamiin could not hold on. That Evamiin was slipping away. She could feel her slipping.

  How long had she sat like this? 

  When did she go?

  There was chaos, madness all around her.

  “Excuse me, My Lady Evamiin.” It was one of the House Militia. He kneeled down low beside her, speaking to her gently. “Excuse me My Lady, but we are evacuating.  We must move out now. Your mother is sedated and we have her on a transport. We will move his body for you. We fear they are massing to strike again. We need to get you on the transport now.”

  His body. She looked at the Guard with vacant eyes. His hand was so cold now. So cold and so rigid in her tight hand. She could not let go. And she could not look at him. But even as she thought it, her eyes moved involuntarily towards his face.

  And stopped before they reached it.

  “There is something glowing in his pocket."

  As she withdrew it and held it high to the light she could not believe it.


  It was the crystal.

  Her father had shown it to her only once. But once was enough. One did not forget a would-be inverse portal crystal easily. 

  It brought the life back in to her. Inspired her to move.

  She was her father's daughter. She would finish what he could not.

  She clenched the crystal so tight, blue blood welled in her palm.

  One of the older Militia laid a steadying hand on her arm.

  She looked up at him, startled. Her palm smarted where the skin had broken. She looked down at it in a daze, her fingers slowly uncurling from around the large gemstone.

  She shook her head and moved herself to action. She secured the crystal deep in an inner pocket in the belt at her waist.

  The remaining Militia assigned just to her, stood at the grand house doors, waiting for her.

  The attack was decimating and silent. They had not revealed themselves before she made her exit. They had been waiting for her.

  Such weaponry. She had never seen the likes of it before this.

  The Forest People, the Silff, said nothing. Just held them in a tight circle. Whatever signals they passed to bring them were undetectable.

  There were two of them. They landed simultaneously. When one of them placed her exquisite hand beneath her chin, and lifted her eyes to hers, Evamiin had never felt such a pull to another being, never felt such power. 

  In the Siren's glorious eyes she saw galaxies shifting and worlds forming. She heard a song. What a song. The terror became too much for her. Evamiin lost control and wet herself. 

  The creature smiled.

  And then it moved too quickly for her.

  It ripped open the inner pocket of her belt containing the crystal with one long dark fingernail like it was made of nothing. It had the crystal. It hurled it to the ground.

  At first it sat there between them, unmoving on the forest floor.

  And then one key, crucial part of it, splintered.

  "Noooooooo!"  Screamed Evamiin, and lunged for it.

  But the Siren was airborne with the largest piece of it before her cry even ended. When Evamiin jumped, she grabbed at empty air.

  And then she realized too late the other Siren had the other splinter. 

  It was a sharp, thin, pointed shard. As the Siren sank it deep into Evamiin's chest, she smelt honeysuckle. She saw indigo. 

  She lapsed into coma.

  And the glowing crystal shard in her chest became dull, black rock. No longer glowing. Dead.

  Nine days she stayed like this. Her mother, hysterical, or sedated, by her side.

  The Militia stood guard. Secured lodgings.

  One of the Housekeep who had grown familiar with two of the guards, timidly suggested Sprite magic to the nicer of them.

  Her timidity was an act, one she had learned useful in survival amongst Moethiica's long line of would be male conquerers.

  In truth she preferred the Militia who favored her with attentions that were not so nice. But she sensed that deep down he cared not if the daughter lived or died. To be perfectly honest, neither did she. The girl seemed naught but a bitch if truth be told. She had attended the family briefly in the city when they first arrived here, and had no good memories of her.

  But she liked her mother, who she cared for, and felt sorry for the older woman in her grief. She had lost everything. Well, almost everything. The bitch daughter would make it everything. But that’s the way life goes sometimes. We get left with those not of our first choosing.

  And so she offered the only thing she had which she thought could help the situation to the one most likely to act on it. And he did. The Sprite was called forth from Junar, the sacred mountain, and the administrations began.

  Evamiin was saved. But her perfection was ever marred by a blood scar, blue in her case, where the shard was pulled from.

  After sufficient numbers of the Militia sent back into The Forest - the nicer one who had sought the Sprite, among them - were returned in pieces, Evamiin abandoned all attempts to re-enter it.

  Without the inverse portal crystal it was probably useless anyway.

  And besides, the crude town of Ibecca was ripe for the taking. Evamiin contented herself with that for a time.

  Absently, she ran a finger along the still sharp edge of the blackened shard. She had fashioned it on a chain and had worn it to this day. Remembering.

  She had used it in her first kill. 

  It is a curse to kill a winged, the locals told her.

  Evamiin killed one anyway. It was not a Siren. She would not actually see a Siren again until the Junar massacre. But it was female. And it was winged. It would do.

  She enjoyed the screams of the creature. She enjoyed watching her guards with it. 

  Her mother died, begging her daughter to let go of her hate. 

  But she could not. It whispered to her. A constant, cold, murmuring on the wind. 

  And then he came.

  The Pann do not dwell in the city. They dwell in the desert beyond. The desert is deceiving. Red and rocky, its hills are numerous. And its hills hold caves. Labyrinths of caves and tunnels that descend deep, deep into the earth. 

  And deep in the earth underneath the hot, rocky, red desert there are lakes. Fathomless lakes in underground caverns lit by the stars. Lit by the swirling jewels of the cosmos.

  They are underground.

  It is a mystery.

  The first time he bedded her, she had never experienced anything like it. Never even conceived that such a level of ecstasy was possible.

  She was enthralled to him. 

  And Evamiin, under the Pann Lord's careful influence, began to shift her focus. 

  And Moethiica became more than healthy and inhabitable. 

  It became wealthy and powerful.

  But still The Forest and the portal eluded her.

  Still, those she sent to enter, returned in pieces.

  Still, the locals whispered of the old tales, the old legends. How a Siren and an Old One would one day change everything.

  How the true ruler of Moethiica would be Forest born.

  Evamiin fumed and lived with it.

  She could do no other.

  And The Forest stayed silent and lived with its own.

  The violet eyes of the Silff were seen rarely enough in Ibecca proper in those days, but when they were it drove Evamiin mad that they should have this audacity to walk among her people there. And that they could cross the threshold into her world, but not she into theirs.

  She protected Moethiica from them as best she could. Not how she would have liked. There were limits to what she could do, which if pushed, brought on the rotting of the very world around her.

  So she let them be, unless one crossed her path. And then she tested those limits afresh.

  When the Old Ones established her Elite Guard, her Echelon, that would change, they had assured her. She would still not be able to touch them, but they most certainly would.

  “How?” she had demanded.

  But these were Old Ones' whose magics and mysteries were of the highest ranking among their kind, and they would tell her nothing.

  Still, they acknowledged her. And they were coming here.

  Wait for them. It was all she could do for now.

  And she still had the memories and souvenirs of Junar to comfort her.

  Junar. Yes, it had been a disaster. But at least it had brought the she-devils out of hiding.

  The blood splatters on the thirty foot wings encased above her bed were still perfectly preserved. A reminder, that not all of the casualties of the battle from that confounded mountain had been her own forces.

  The mutilated wings gave her hope. That one day she would find a way. Federation Law be damned. If she came across a Siren nest she would kill them all. And wear the consequences of her actions later.

  Evamiin let the blackened shard fall from her fingers and pressed her hands against the transparent, curved
wall.

  How grand and large and magnificent now, this city of hers beneath her. And it was hers. Not theirs. Hers.

  It was a heady feeling to be up this high above it. To see it as the godds saw it. The walkway she now stood upon was encased in translucent bubble. Dipped in cloud.

  She watched as a Cirillean ship descended through the mists, making it's way gracefully to the Ibecca Space Port. A graceful race the Cirilleans. It was mirrored in their space craft.

  "Lady Evamiin." 

  Only one could say her name like that and make her heart skip a beat.

  And it had been such a long time. Was he here for her? Or for the meeting?

  She stayed looking out at Moethiica, not turning to face him. The Cirillean ship landed safely.

  "Lady Evamiin. It is time."

  Ah, here for the meeting.

  She released the breath she had not realized she'd been holding.

  And turned to him.

  It was such exquisite pain just to look at him. 

  His eyes were unreadable but he bowed to her, his white obsidian horns glistening magnificently, even in this subdued light.

  She bowed her head in return.

  And when she was composed enough to raise it, he held the door open for her, his eyes staring off into the distance. And not at her.

  She passed by him quickly, and acutely aware of his presence at her back, paused inside the door. He closed it softly and she felt the tingle at the base of her crown as he made connection with her and opened her vision. Opened her awareness. Opened her world.

  The small anteroom before her shifted and changed. Another doorway became possible. 

  Actually, several doorways became possible, but without the required mastery she would only ever see the one. 

  She chose it and began the ascent to the Third Tower.

  The ancient Pann Lord, who had, so long ago now, expertly closed her off from ever seeing the other doorways, spared a passing glance down on to a version of Moethiica she would never know existed. And at the same time, had been instrumental in constructing.

  She would bring the Old Ones soon. And then her part in this larger unfolding would almost be complete. The former essence of her fluttered briefly over his heart. The essence that had enraptured him, that stood on the precipice, that could have gone either way.

  Either way they could use. Either way they could work with. But only one way could he love. She had chosen the other.

  He dismissed the ghost of that other essence with the merest flick of his fingers, and began what was actually a descent, to the Third Tower of Aakbiishen.