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.
