Getting Lost Ch 01

Getting Lost

is a science-fantasy serial presented in 6 parts. I want to thank Krellyn, Leah Harvey, and RNebular for editing.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

Guinevere A. Hart

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Unnamed Battlefield, Infernal Tempest

Eloua Designation: Blight World-236

One more battle was over, at least for a moment. It was time to separate the dying and the dead. He knelt on the bloodied ground for what must have been the thousandth time. He checked the bio-monitor on his fallen brother's suit. This one was still viable, though not capable of activating his own beacon. He tapped the switch, though he wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing anymore.

"Hang on," he said to the unconscious ylf'nim. "They'll be here soon to lift you out, patch you up, and drop your ass right back down here." He gnawed on his bitterness, but found he hadn't the taste for it. Remembering his oaths, his duty, and his gods, he prayed. "Blessed are you, my brother, in the sight of the Eternal Empire. May the Divines make you whole once more, that you will persist, and you will prevail against the darkness."

"Ruven! Do you hear that?"

It was his wife, Jasera. She shouldn't have been out there with him. They had lost their first child only days before, and he'd wanted her to stay at the enclave. She needed time to heal, but she'd insisted. He was Blade of the Divines, a warrior in the service of the Light of the gods, and so was Jasera. There was nothing that would shake their faith, but Ruven couldn't deny the part of himself that cursed the gods they served.

Ruven looked up to confirm the med-shuttles were on the way. Then he tilted his head to listen for whatever his wife heard. At first there was nothing, then a faint sort of bleating sound. He joined his wife as she roughly tore the helmet from her head and tossed it to the ground. He bent to retrieve the piece of armor, even as his mate walked away to follow the strange noise. "Jasera, put your helm back on. We can't know that the demons have gone."

"Shut up! Listen! Listen!"

Ruven tucked Jasera's helm under one arm and slowly took off his own. He paced behind Jasera as the small cry grew louder. An infant, newborn and covered in the aftermath of birth and war, lay in its mother's lifeless arms. For a second, he was struck dumb, for he had never seen an Aasera outside of its armor. The angelic being was a native of the Eternal Empire and one of their highest rank.

He scanned the surrounding carnage of the battlefield, and though he and his mate would live to fight again, he wondered if there was really any victory in it. The being's armor was scattered in pieces around her. She had been strong and proud, radiantly beautiful, and the demons had torn her apart. Ruven felt that looking at her in the flesh, even though she was dead, was somehow sacrilege.

His wife had no such compunctions. Jasera immediately retrieved the crying baby. The tiny form was little more than a doll in the massive arms of Jasera's armor. She brought it to him. "Hold her a minute," his wife demanded. He was just an ylf'nim grunt in a holy war. He felt he had no place to even look at the sacred child, much less touch it. There it was in the crook of his arm, and his wife was taking off her armor.

"Jasera," he cried, "What are you doing?! Stop!"

"She's hungry. She needs to nurse."

She had that look in her eye. It didn't matter that the child wasn't theirs, wasn't even ylf'nim, she was going to have her way. "Not here. If you're going to feed it, do it back at the enclave, Jasera." He tossed her helmet to her. "Armor up, and let's go." She had given the child to him, which meant she couldn't argue as he started to walk away.

He put his own helmet on and spoke into the com. "Deacon to HQ. All clear. Requesting aperture. Over."

"Copy, Deacon. Makin' a hole in fifteen. Over n' out."

He glanced over his shoulder, pleased to see that Jasera had redonned her helm. She followed close behind him, but she was going on about the kid. "Her name is Ilyana. The gods heard us, and they gave her to us, Ruven."

It was an ylf'nim name for a child that wasn't ylf'nim. She was an Aasera, a most holy one of the Eternal, and she would have to be turned over to the Empire. Then, for the first time, he really looked at the baby. The girl was pale with a swirl of fine hair on the top of her head. Tiny ears tapered to pointed tips.

They were perfect ylf'nim ears. The baby, Ilyana, was silent in his arms, and she stared up at him with large blue eyes. Looking into those eyes, Ruven felt a subtle shift in his thoughts and his vision. For less than a second, he wondered at such power in such a small being. The thought was gone before it had even fully formed. What he understood when he was finally able to tear his eyes away from her, was that he'd been mistaken. He'd thought the dead woman was an Aasera, but he'd been wrong.

The child in his arms was just as ylf'nim as he and Jasera were. Ilyana was theirs, and that's what he would say when he brought his wife and daughter home to the enclave. They'd kept their loss to themselves. No one but the medic knew their grieving. As the eyes of his daughter regarded his soul, Ruven felt a strengthening of faith.

Six years later, Ilyana stood and stretched after her morning devotions. She moved with fluid grace into her kata, honing her mind and body as she'd been taught. Discipline was often a challenge. She smiled when she heard her mother's voice. A sharp ring carried throughout the enclave, "Ilyana!"

Jasera stomped into the meditation chamber, wielding Ilyana's latest drawing like a weapon. She flapped the paper in her hand, and waving it around like that only made the girl giggle. "What are we to do with you? Are you a beacon of the Divine Light, or are you a precocious child? Hmm?"

Ilyana looked up at her mother and simply answered, "Yes." She didn't know what "precocious" meant, but she figured she probably was that. Her mother was never wrong.

Ruven entered behind Jasera. He raised his hands in a placating gesture saying, "It's fine. There's no harm done." Then he leaned down and spoke to Ilyana directly. "The Archdeacon has a sense of humor, for which you should be very grateful. Now let me see that." He stood and took the drawing from Jasera.

Ruven tried to keep a straight face. Ilyana could see his jaw working, hear the sound in his nose and throat as he held in laughter. Barely controlling his voice, he squeaked at Jasera, "It's a good gorilla. And it's even wearing a custom suit."

Encouraged, Ilyana dropped her shoulders and bent until she could drag her knuckles. She loped across the floor and growled in her best gorilla voice, "Ook, ook, ook! I'm Archdeacon, and I'm in charge around here!" When she paused to scratch her armpit, her mother declared game over.

Jasera made a sort of choking sound and quickly shut the door. Over the sound of Ruven's cackling laughter, Jasera cried, "Ilyana, stop!"

She stood up straight and lowered her head. "Sorry, mama."

When she looked up to see if she'd been forgiven, her mother's mouth twitched, trying to keep stern. There was mirth behind her eyes that she could not keep hidden. Jasera said, "It's not funny to make irreverent drawings of people, Ilyana."

She tried to process that. Both her mother and father had found her portrayal of the Archdeacon particularly funny, but they pretended like they didn't. To her, it was nonsense, and she wondered if becoming a grown up somehow warped a person's mind. As far as Ilyana was concerned, she was brilliantly entertaining, yet she was somehow in trouble for it.

Jasera found her guilty and announced her sentencing. "Extra practice today. And you're washing dishes after supper."

"Yes, mama." Ilyana was unperturbed by her punishment. She liked to study and practice her healing magic. As for dish duty, it had already been ingrained in her that being of the Empyreal Order meant everyone did their part to help. They all had to keep each other safe from the demons outside. She understood very early that every job, no matter how boring, was a part of that. Jasera knelt to kiss Ilyana's forehead. Then she took the caricature from Ruven and left the room.

Ilyana picked up Ruven's helmet and put it on her head. It covered practically half of her body, but that only made it more fun. She swung an invisible sword, making swooshing sounds as she blindly fought a monster. She saw, just for a second, a huge and terrifying beast explode through the floor. The brief vision startled her, and she stopped playing to stare at the space her imagination led her to.

Ruven distracted her when he asked, "When you've grown into your own helm, little one, what color will it be?"

This was a lesson repeated almost daily. "White," she dutifully replied. She liked the hollow sound her voice made inside the her father's helmet, and it made her laugh.

"And why will it be white?"

"Because I am a Divine Healer, and medic's wear white." Her weird voice gave her the giggles, and the more she laughed, the worse it got.

Her father spoke over her laughter, "And what will you wield in your white armor?"

He was serious, and she stopped laughing. She tilted her head so she could look up at him through the visor. She knew by rote what she was expected to say. "I am the Light of the Eternal Empire. I am blessed of the Divines and their power goes before me. I will harm none, for mercy is my blade, and faith my shield."

He nodded and said, "Good girl." Ruven took his grey helm from her just as a warning siren blared throughout the complex.

She was about to ask her father if it was another drill, but a panicked voice came over the com. The technician screamed, "They're coming out of the ground!" There was a terrible scraping and screeching sound that cut off abruptly.

While he picked up Ilyana and headed for the door, Ruven growled, "What new hell is this?"

Looking over Ruven's shoulder, Ilyana watched as a horned and many-legged monster burst through the flooring into the room they were just in. Dirt, rocks, and pieces of the floor flew everywhere in a shower of debris. It was exactly like the brief vision she'd had. She wanted to ask her father about it, but there was no time. The demon clattered after them, and sharp talons snaked toward her father's back.

Ilyana called on every ounce of power the Divines had given her. She guessed at the position of the creature's eyes and tried to penetrate its mind. Making tenebrous contact, she shouted at it. "No, no, no! Bad demon. Sit down!"

The monster paused and shook his head in confusion. It took a few steps closer, but Ilyana commanded, "I said sit! Leave my papa alone!" The demon stopped and lowered its haunches to the ground. It let out a low groan and shook its head again, but at least it gave them some time to get away.

Ruven glanced behind him and murmured, "Well, that's different. Whatever you're doing, little one, keep it up. I've got to get to the rest of my suit."

She made a fist and shook it at the stunned demon. "Kick its ass, papa!"

"You're not supposed to say that."

"Okay. Kick its butt, papa!"

"Yeah, if I can find it." Then the ceiling and part of the wall crashed in towards them. Ruven twisted and lurched out of the way. He shouted, "For fucks sake!"

"You're not supposed to say that, papa."

"I know. I'm sorry." He passed her over to her mother who was already in her armor. Ruven told his wife, "They're tearing it all down, Jas. You and Ilyana get out of here. Just get on the raft and go."

There was intense fear in both her parents' eyes. Demons always tried to get inside the enclave, and the demons always died. Culling evil monsters was what the Order was for. Her mother and father had been mad at the demons plenty of times, but they'd never been really scared, not like this. Ilyana clung to her mother's armor as tears formed, "Mama?"

"It's okay, sweetie. Everything is going to be okay." But her mother ran for their lives while she lied. Jasera shoved her way passed falling debris, and Ilyana held on tight as the world came apart around her.

They came to the edge of the lake where Jasera set her down. Quickly, she uncovered a raft that she and Ruven had made in secret. Jasera commanded, "Ilyana, get on the raft."

Looking at her mother's face, Ilyana knew she was going to be on the raft alone. Jasera wouldn't leave Ruven behind. She clung to her mother's leg armor and cried, "No, mama! Let's wait for papa. Please, let's wait. We can all go on the water. Please, mama!"

Jasera bodily picked up her little girl and forced her onto the raft. They locked eyes, and her mother wept, "I love you, my baby. Keep the gods, Ilyana, and they will keep you."

Jasera called on her own formidable power and used it to shove the raft far off from the shore. The current caught and pulled Ilyana further away.

*****

Temple of Iatsun, Arcadia

Lotus floated on her back in the warm water of the Tranquility pool. Though her clairvoyant spell ended moments ago, she remained still, eyes closed, willing her mind and body to relax following her vision. She'd seen a world full of elves like her, but they were dying. In her dream, Lotus' hands were drenched in blood. At the center of it all, was her Eloua mentor, Sabrael. She'd had several such dreams in the past few months, and they always left her feeling soul-sick.

Lotus' visions had never been false before, but Sabrael was kind and generous. He could never hurt her or anyone else. She titled her head back, and while she submerged, she breathed out, releasing her tension from the vision with the bubbles. The water around her shifted as another body entered the pool.

Lotus could sense that it was Sabrael. Unlike the others of his kind, Sabrael's mind was a safe place to her. His emotions were always in control, to the point that some of his colleagues even questioned his ability to emote at all. In response to the connection of her mind to his, he conveyed a sense of elevated mood.

Lotus smiled at that, for she knew he had discovered her most recent prank. While he slept, she had strung up every one of his toiletries so that they all dangled from his lavatory ceiling. The implements hung just above the Eloua's sightline.

Eloua found their own humor in clever anecdotes and non sequitur. Lotus was considered a quirky adult ylf'nim who still played like a youngling, and her goofs left most Eloua bewildered. It had taken years for Sabrael to understand her silliness, and though he was still somewhat confounded, he'd come to accept that part of her. She'd even taught him to laugh.

She opened her eyes in the glow of his bioluminescence and lifted her head out of the water to hear him chuckling softly. He shook his head at her and smiled, "Taking a constitution, I happen to look up, and there— hanging like a blade of impending doom above my head— is my dental brush." Every Eloua spoke with a patient, soothing musical lilt, and the sound made her feel at ease.

She giggled at the imagined expression on his face and hugged her mentor. The warm security of his embrace, the near blankness of his thoughts, made Lotus' most recent vision feel like the nightmare it must've been. Despite this, be it guilt or some primal sense of defense, Lotus shut out the gentle questing concern of the Eloua's mind. As an Oracle, it was her place to share her visions with her hosts, but she wouldn't show Sabrael what she'd seen until she understood it for herself.

Long, fine-boned fingers touched her face, his thumb tracing the lines of her brow and temple. She tried to keep her anxiety hidden from him, because it made no sense to her, but he knew her moods. He wouldn't be able to fully read her mind without a specific physical contact. Even then, he'd taught her to protect her inner self. He trailed the backs of his fingers along her jaw and brushed a thumb across her lips. Large, blue-black eyes touched her spirit, and Lotus felt just a little safer from her nightmare.

The Eloua were native to the planet Arcadia. In the water, the semiaquatic beings had a batoid appearance. A mantle of pale flesh spread out around them and shimmered with glowing blue veins. When they stood on land, that mantle draped to the feet, as if they wore heavy robes. Underneath, an Eloua looked a little more humanoid, though the arms and legs were quite long and thin. Facial features were small and sharp, except for large dark eyes. The eyes of an Eloua penetrated more than the deep shadows under Arcadian seas. They saw into the minds of one another, and of the magical beings they recruited as Oracles— beings like Lotus.

Sabrael's gentle touch made Lotus' skin tingle, and her own light faintly joined his. The blue markings along the left side of her face, a sign of power, glowed in response to his touch. He had placed those marks there himself, nearly ten decades ago when he had taken in the orphaned elf and made her an Oracle. Her parents had called her Ilyana, but that was a name she hardly remembered. She had been a child of six when she was found floating, alone on a raft, on a war-torn planet. Her alien caregivers had called her a precious water flower, and she had been Lotus ever since.

Sabrael said, "Your trance was a long one. We sensed the distance of your spirit. Have you no visions for us, lovely Lotus?"

She shook her head, "No, Sabrael. I'm sorry." She felt a slight mental pressure, a mild insistence from her mentor. At her firm resistance, Sabrael respectfully retreated from her thoughts.

He gracefully tilted his head and his smile was replaced by a look of worry. "Another nightmare then, precious one? We have loved you since you were a youngling. Trust us with your visions, and perhaps we can help you find relief from your fear in the sharing of it. If you will not show us, then at least tell us. If it has something to do with our upcoming mission, I must know."

Sabrael was the only Eloua she knew who would speak of himself in the first person. All Eloua said "we", "us", "our", a result of their spiritual and mental connectedness to one another. Sabrael fell out of that from time to time, but only when he was alone with Lotus. He had even confessed to her once that he felt a disconnect with his fellows, that his only true emotions came when he was with her. As her primary caregiver, Lotus supposed he'd picked up the "I" habit from her.

She squared her shoulders and brightened her smile. "I fell asleep and had a stupid nightmare, Sabrael. It was nothing more than that. Stress, probably."

Her tiny show of bravado didn't work. "Stress that carries your soul far from us, that makes you block yourself from our healing bond? Our upcoming mission is not without risk, love. There are always unknown dangers when we journey to new worlds, but travel, exploration, expansion— this is the calling of all Arcadia's children."

"But I'm not Arcadian, Sabrael. I-I'm scared." Once she said it aloud, all the fear she'd been trying to hold onto came out at once. Sabrael touched her thoughts again, and she let him have them. She showed him the madness she foresaw in him, a cruelty that she could not believe was possible.

Sabrael's arms and his mantle immediately folded around her again, surrounding her in warmth and light. "Oh, my love, my perfect Lotus, this cannot be." He took her chin and lifted her face up to meet his eyes. "Surely you would not think this of me, my pure sweet flower. Never. I promise you, Lotus, I could never be that monster."

He raised his hand, and she watched as a slit spread open in his palm. Several thin tendrils, tactile members with glowing tips, unfurled from the opening and gently waved towards her skin. These were the parts of him that he had used to mark her skin, to enhance her magical ability, and to strengthen the bond between herself and the Eloua people. "As you said, Lotus, this is a nightmare, a terrible dream, and nothing more. It is best forgotten, best that you permit us to help you forget."