Envoy to Earth Read online

  The Young Ancients:

  Envoy to Earth

  P.S. Power

  Copyright 2014

  Orange Cat Publishing

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter one

  The wind kicked up the dust outside his window as Gerent watched, horrified by what he was seeing. The Wildlands were being destroyed, right in front of his tired and bloodshot eyes. There was no rain, but thunder boomed in the distance, shaking the ground enough that he felt it, even inside the little cottage he stood in. It was sturdy, he reminded himself again, not for the first time as a thrill of fear ripped through the core of his being.

  He didn't hear the moving air as it decimated the new and budding forest outside. The magical dwelling he was in, made of solid seeming stone, but stronger than that by far, kept everything out. Except for the dust. He realized that there was a small hiss, as it tried to come in through the vents in the ceiling. Puffs of red sand, so fine that it was more like powder than anything else, filtered in, settling all over the entire place. He had to have something to breathe, so it was needed. Living in space for all those months had taught him that.

  The worst part of the whole thing was the waiting. All Gerent could do was stare out the shield window into a distance that he simply couldn't make out. It was horrible. For nearly a year he'd tried to turn the place outside his door into a garden, only to have this happen.

  It wasn't as if he hadn't been warned that bad things were coming, but this was a lot worse than he would have figured. Hopefully it was only there, in the lands that he and some of the others were trying to turn from old desert into new forest. If the whole world was going to be hit with this kind of thing, then they were probably all dead.

  "Which is why the others left. So that we don't all die." He muttered this to himself, knowing that it was only part of the situation. Or more to the point he spoke to the small floating box behind him. His pet, after a manner of thinking.

  The others, his adopted family, had left the Earth, moving into space, because of the immortals. More accurately, because they were all that way too now, and someone had released a magical plague that would kill them if they stayed on their home planet. The other Ancients had tried to kill all the normal people in the world, so it had to be done. That's what Gerent told himself each night, hoping it would keep the nightmares away.

  It had been him that had done it. His finger on the sigil that ended the lives of thousands of people. Ones that, without him doing that, would have lived for thousands of years. Yes, he'd done it to save everyone else, but it weighed on him now.

  Or had, before this latest storm.

  "This might just change things, eh? Yesterday you were a mad killer that slaughtered thousands. Today you see what those monsters actually did to us. Ruining the environment, knowing they could survive it, in their bunkers." Talking to himself had been his only entertainment for the last weeks. Months, really, he thought. Since it had happened. Gerent had stayed away from everyone, just planting the Wildlands, and setting up irrigation systems. The place was only a third done, but he couldn't see how anything that had been growing would survive what was happening outside. If nothing else, all his little trees would be buried now.

  Sunken under the blowing dust and sand of the place.

  "So. It looks like I might need to do something else."

  The voice, which sounded distant and hollow, shocked him for a moment. Not because of how gloomy it was. No, Gerent was used to that sort of thing from himself. It was what he'd said that did it. What was he supposed to do, if not plant things? Go back to being a street performer? Beg for coppers from passersby, while doing cartwheels and telling little jokes or singing songs? What had worked for him before, when he was a midget, wasn't going to do it now.

  He was too big. Tall and straight, or nearly enough to being symmetrical that no one stared at him when he walked down the street. Tor, the wizard, had made that happen for him. Nearly first thing after he learned to do it. Even before anyone thought to make his brothers and sisters immortal, he'd fixed Gerent, so that he'd be what he would have been, if he hadn't been born wrong. Not that he'd live forever, like those others.

  That had been offered to him, by his other adopted brother, Tim. Tiera, the Queen of the new lunar colony had offered to let him come and live there, too, with the rest of them. Even after he'd murdered so many. Some of them had been friends. Count Lairdgren. Denno Brown. Julie White.

  Oh, he didn't know all of them himself, but everyone else did. The Count had adopted him, to save his life, and how did Gerent repay him? With death. Yes, to save the world from the man's brothers and sisters, but it had ended him at the same time. The only thing that let him sleep at night was that the man had asked him to do it. It was the only way, or had been, and those others had agreed to it. To let themselves be killed, in order to take out the evil Ancients that wanted the world to be free of its human occupants.

  There was nothing to do except wait for the storm to pass. The ripping and churning winds tossing the world into chaos wasn't reassuring, but then, life generally wasn't. You did what was needed, no matter how much it hurt, and you survived. That was all. He knew that on a level that most never had to learn. It had been his place in things for so long that he was ready now, for things to be hard.

  Most probably weren't. Not like this.

  It took a long time for the wind to die down all the way, but before sunset, he was able to walk outside, the gray sky a bit pink from the dust still in the air. Looking around he felt a pleasant thrill of surprise. The trees, the little saplings and bushes, weren't gone, or buried. Oh, some of them probably were, but as he walked around looking at them, most weren't even all that dust covered. The wind had kept them clean, more or less.

  "Good! You all had me so worried, you know. I'd thought you were all dead for sure. The river is even still in place." He'd been a little worried about that. The floating tube of crystal clear water hovered about five feet above the ground, still where he'd left it. This was one of the new ones, so the plates for it were just focus stone pieces, about the size of his hand and weighing five or six pounds each. The wind, while fierce and howling, hadn't budged them.

  Life, it seemed, would be going on. That was good. It meant that he didn't have to leave his comfortable hermitage after all. That had been scary to think about. Doing something else. He had more seeds to get in the ground, or would, if the plants managed to keep growing like they were. If the next storm didn't destroy them. After years passed, and they flowered, he'd have more work.

  He stuck his tongue between his teeth and blew out a big gust of air. It made his cheeks push out, which probably looked silly, but reflected how he felt.

  "I know, I get it. It's time. Stop being a lump and get out there." Into the world. The problem with that, he knew, was simply that Gerent had no clue what he was supposed to do at all. For half a year he'd just worked, barely ever seeing anyone. No one had used the communications device to get in touch, even though he had more than one type, right there with him. To him it had seemed like he was forgotten, which was expected. Left behind by everyone except the magical box that followed him around all the time. His friend.

  Because thinking that showed he had a good and healthy mind.

  Everyone would go on with their lives, leaving the little commoner to his own
devices. Just like always. It was such a natural idea to him that he'd never really doubted the concept.

  "Except that you aren't that, anymore. Even after the Count was gone those others, Tor and Tim still called you brother. Tiera too. No one stripped you of rank or anything. You're still Countier Lairdgren, and now you even look it, so stop being a simp and get with it, Ger. You aren't needed here for a while, so go and figure out where you are needed. Be useful, and keep that up, so that they don't decide to get rid of you."

  His words were firm and nearly commanding. Deeper than he was used to, after his voice had stopped cracking, about three months back. He was taller than he'd thought he would be too, he thought. It was hard to tell, given that no one else had been around to measure by.

  Still, there was no need to run out right that moment. He could take off in the morning, he decided. If nothing else it would be a good time to go and visit some people. That was the kind of thing that royals did, he knew. Show up on the doorstep of their peers, and pretend they were friends, even if they'd never met before. Not that he'd really try that. It seemed way too daunting for one thing.

  That night there was only one bad dream. It wasn't even horrible really, just sad. About Patty. His friend. His love. Except that she couldn't love him, since he was too ugly. It hurt to think about, but it was just what someone like him had to live with. Not that he'd ever really imagined he was enough for someone like her. A Ducharina, by birth. Lovely and tall, smart and daring. Also a bit of a troublemaker, Gerent realized. Always going off on stupid adventures, getting people into dangerous situations.

  "Making them love you." He jumped, and realized that isolation had affected his mind. It wasn't actually a surprise. After all, he explained to Boxy, as the little case moved in a bit, as if looking at him, that kind of thing happened, if you were alone too long. Which he really had been.

  So he tried to forget the dream of the woman he couldn't have, and went to take a shower. The water was warm, and a luxury given that he lived in the middle of a desert. He hadn't been out a lot, but the water that came off of him was a soft red, like the dust that had filtered in. It was tempting to stall, instead of going anywhere. He could spend the day cleaning, sweeping and washing the place, instead of going away into a world that might not want him anymore. Not now that he was a murderer.

  "Get going, lazybones. The world won't fix itself. That's what your job is now, isn't it? Trying to keep it all together? So, what's next?" That bit of things was self important to a level that was insane, but the Count had told him that. When he was gone, it would be up to the others, the young Ancients, to fix it all again. To help everyone survive. Since they were all off in space for the next nine years, that left him there to do the work. Because that made sense.

  When you had an important task to get done, and needed a leader, always dump it on the first midget street performer you could find.

  Not wanting to lose his nerve, Gerent jogged to the door, and decided to leave his little place standing. With a single tap the whole thing could come down, and be carried around his neck on a cord, the amulet no bigger than a copper, if on stone. It was tempting, but if he did that, then he didn't have a home, did he? Leaving it here, standing in his absence, meant that he lived there. That he had a real home, no matter how far away. A place of his own.

  After a fashion he even had his own garden. The entire Wildlands. Tor had let him use it, since he was gone, and wanted a forest anyway, eventually. Not that Gerent had actually asked about it, but so far his adopted brother hadn't complained, so that counted, didn't it? Smiling, he dug out the right amulet from around his neck and set up his Timon Craft.

  Unlike most people, Gerent had a Fast Craft, and a Timon built version. Not that he'd been going anywhere, just eating plants that he'd grown for the last months. Gardening was his passion, and it served him well at the same time, letting him live away from almost everyone.

  Putting his right hand out and closing his eyes, he touched the nose of the craft in front of him. It could be made huge. Big enough to easily carry hundreds of people, or large masses of cargo. Today however, he didn't need that. He had nothing to transport, except himself, and some vegetables that he'd gotten the day before, picking them slightly early, afraid that the storm would ruin them all. Those were in a large box that floated behind him, over his shoulder. Following him, like a puppy.

  "It's okay Boxy, I'll take you with me. You won't have to stay here alone. I won't leave my friends behind." It was a useful thing, his friend the box. Company too, after a fashion. Not a great conversationalist, but after he'd spoken with him, after the first few months, the thing had taken to nudging him at times, and not just following him around. It probably meant it was broken, he knew, but it seemed so... Alive.

  Concentrating he reshaped the large craft in front of him, making it smaller, and green. A deep color that reminded him of a pine forest at twilight. It was a rectangle, and taller than he was by a few feet. How big that was, he didn't really know, but it felt larger than what he used to use. Just a bit. The interior was done to look like fine brown leather. It wasn't of course. The whole thing was made of magic. It was similar to his shield, except that it could be seen. That was how Tim had described it to him. Gerent didn't understand magic, except that he was nearly certain now, having met several wizards, that they weren't all evil or dangerous people that ruled the world behind the scenes.

  No, the ones he knew did it far more openly than that. Climbing in he waited for Boxy to follow him, and then shut the hatch. He was all brown today. They both were, Gerent realized. He'd just put himself in the default setting of the clothing amulet. Brown clothing that was simple and would have looked just fine on a miller or carpenter. A school student, too. Dark brown trousers and a tunic of the same color, that seemed like heavy canvas. Smooth material that was still strong.

  "Well, that might not go over so well. We need to change." Talking to a box wasn't sane, he knew, but it had been his best friend for a long time now. Not doing it would just be rude. Before he let the craft move, or even climbed into the comfortable pilots seat, he altered the floating box so that it was all a shining and polished black with gold metallic trim. Then, after a moment, he closed his eyes and did the same for himself. Shining black silk, with gold piping along the edges. It was simple clothing still, but fit him at the waist, since he was decently lean now. The boots on his feet were all one piece, but a shining black as well. It probably looked ridiculous, but he thought it was fine. Not that he had a mirror. That reminded him to run a comb through his hair. He had one, made by the wizard Sam.

  "You know, for a hermit you sure have a lot of magic." It wasn't a new thought for him, since almost everything he owned was made of the stuff. Hundreds of thousands of golds worth of magic, all right there, around his commoner neck. Gifts, mainly. Most of it from his new family, or their friends.

  Then he just sat, not having a clue what to do after that. He looked right, and was presentable enough, he thought. His hair was a deep brown, and shoulder length, and his eyes blue. Other than that he had no clue what he looked like. His face was smooth, since he'd shaved, but without a mirror. It was an old skill that his early life had taught him. You just ran a hand over the skin to see if it needed more attention, that was all. It was a bit messy, but not hard.

  "So, where to go?" He looked at Boxy, but that was no help. He never spoke, or hadn't started doing that yet.

  If Gerent stayed in the wilds alone much longer he didn't doubt it would happen. It really was time for him to get moving. To do... Something. Anything useful to the world. He had promises to keep, and while planting had been one way to do it, that was done for a while, unless he found more seeds.

  Settling into the soft pilot's chair, he put his arm on the rest, letting the silver control bauble that floated just above it at the front fill his hand. It was the same temperature that he was, so it just felt smooth, and like metal, but comfortable all the time. Pulling it up slig
htly his craft moved upward rapidly. Faster than before, he thought. It was either that the whole thing had become stronger, which was possible, since magical fields could grow, sometimes, or he'd gotten sloppy, not practicing regularly. Since it was probably that one, Gerent used it as an excuse to practice, before going anywhere that people might see him. He landed and took off again ten times, going slowly, and trying to make sure he did it perfectly each time.

  Then he rose and just set off, wondering where he was headed on his visit. He wasn't even truly certain he knew what direction he was going, so he just smiled to himself, flying at a speed that would have him at an ocean inside a few hours, no matter what direction he'd picked. The world beneath him blurred a bit, he traveled so fast, but there was no noise. He just slid around silently, like a ghost in the sky.

  After about an hour, give or take a time that his mind refused to fill in for him, he saw a large walled city below. Blinking, and checking out the open landscape around it, he thought it was Roslyn. The County Ross capital. Hovering over it, high above, he wondered if he should land. Finally he decided against it. He didn't know anyone there really. Oh, he'd met the Count and Countess Ross, but they weren't people that he thought of as friends, in particular. Just people that he'd met, once or twice, at parties.

  That got him to turn around and fly back toward where he'd come from. Not to go home, but if he were going to not visit people that he'd met, but didn't really know, that meant going to a place where he actually had contacts. There weren't a lot of cities in the world that fit that bill, and the only one that he could think of at that moment would be the Capital. Not that he was going to land at the palace and just stomp in, unannounced. That would be insane.

  Still, both Tor and Timon had houses there, and... Collette was there. He thought. They were friends, weren't they? She'd even had sex with him, a few times. That was about as close to anyone as he'd ever been. Of course, he'd also just left one day, not telling anyone where he was going, or what he had planned. No one had tried to get in touch, so it might not be all that important. Collette Coltress was a busy person after all. Important in her own right. Not like him, who just gardened and played at being someone of note.