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The Last Human IV - 67 - One Last Prayer
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 22:11:53 +0000 UTC< First | < Prev | Next >
This new universe looked much like the one they had left behind. The stars were different, and the galaxies, closer and brighter.
But Poire had brought them here. He had opened the Way, and shepherded the badly damaged Ark through one Scar, and into another. To our Salvation.
Ryke wanted to give thanks to the gods. She should have been on her knees, praising them for guarding her people, and keeping the flame of hope alive.
This should have been the most joyful moment in her life. And yet…
The Falcyr had already taken Yarsi’s body away, to prepare it for the funeral. There was nothing left of Khadam, or at least nothing in this universe. And yet… Ryke couldn’t stop praying the same useless prayer she’d prayed since Cyre. If only…
But the Bridge was already filling up with geologists, biologists, and planetary survey specialists (mostly cyrans who run vanguard in the Imperial Army). The Ark’s remaining sensors aimed in every direction, and filled the Bridge’s screens with detailed data on numerous planets. There were bright orange rocks, littered with craters and jagged mountain ranges and blue spheres and too many brown lifeless worlds for her to tell the difference.
“Exceptionally high levels of nitrogen,” Ryke overheard from a group of scientists standing at one console. “And plenty of carbon dioxide.”
“But no oxygen.”
“Plenty of water vapor. And polar ice, look there.”
“And what will we breathe? Water?” One scientist snorted derisively, and looked to his colleagues for support. “Even the cyrans outgrew such primitive methods of respiration.”
Heatedly, one of them snapped back, “The printers, you fool! The printers will create whatever elements are lacking. Including oxygen.”
“Do you have any idea how much oxygen we’d need to cover a planet’s atmosphere?”
“Gravity is what matters. And temperature.”
“Both are nominal. This one even has two moons.”
She tried to hurry past them, clasping her fingers together to stop the trembling, but one of the scientists noticed her.
“Your Majesty,” he called, and all their heads turned expectantly. “We’ve found one! It’s just like home.”
“Maybe even better than home!” someone else chimed in.
“Of course,” Ryke’s voice rang hollow as a bell. “Do what you think is best.”
Planetary experts they might be, but they were still wrong. None of these worlds were like home. Home was where her friends were. Home was where her heart still beat. Home was where she prayed, every night, desperately hoping the gods were listening. If only…
Ryke had taken her people to the Stars, and her friends had given their lives, and now the survivors of civilization—millions of xenos—were saved. It was time for the experts to take over. Already, they were trying to figure out where to put down the Ark. And with a plethora of planets to choose from, it would take them days. Months, maybe. The Ark was falling to pieces, but this universe was perfect.
Good, she thought. Good for them.
And where was Agraneia? Where was Laykis? Yarsi would never see their new home. Nor would Khadam. And nor would …
She stopped at the thought. Her whole body shuddered, and she had to swallow her feelings. She choked, and started to cough.
“Your Majesty?”
“I…” The air was thick. Too hot.
“Are you well?”
Ryke winced as they expressed their concerns.
“I’m…” she shook her head, and pushed past their group. Shoved her way through the throngs of scientists and military advisors and blurring faces. “Your Majesty!” They wanted her attention. They wanted to ask her things that she didn’t know the answers to. They wanted her, and she wanted—she needed to get out. Breaking into a run, Ryke barrelled through the Bridge’s door, almost knocking over a group of squeaking redenites as she turned into the corridors. She collapsed in the first empty room she could find. A boardroom, or something like it. No windows, no screens. Just a table surrounded by chairs, and a blank screen on the wall.
It started before she even had the door closed. There was nothing regal about the squawking sobs that wracked her body as all those burning, pent-up emotions came pouring out. She collapsed onto a chair, and buried her face in her arms. Tears kept coming and coming, even when she squeezed her eyes shut. Why did it have to hurt so much, just because they weren’t here? Gone, and never here again.
She cried until her throat was raw and her face hurt and pools of tears dripped off the table. Time refused to move. She wanted to sleep. To not exist. To stop feeling. She wanted the one that she could never have again. He promised he wouldn’t ever leave me.
She prayed. Please, gods, I don’t want to feel anything ever again. And she cursed them, too, that they could ever let this happen.
But the gods were dead. Ryke had believed in them. They returned, as was promised, only to leave again. And they took the ones I loved with them. She screamed at the wall. How could they do this? She screamed at the ceiling. I prayed! I always prayed! But her prayers were as useless as her fury. Ice gripped her heart. Made it weak. Made her tremble. She collapsed to the table, shivering and pitiful.
The door hissed open behind her.
She didn’t have the strength to speak, let alone to shout. “Get out.”
“Hey,” a cyran woman growled.
“Agraneia?” Ryke lifted her head, wiping the wetness from the feathers around her eyes. “You’re alive?”
Agraneia looked a mess. Singed scales, flaking and white. Surprisingly deep wounds that looked like they’d been left open far too long carved gruesome furrows across her body. Yet, she was alive. Blessedly alive.
“Oh, gods,” Ryke stood up to embrace her, when something made her stop.
There was an odd smile on the cyran’s face. Nervous, maybe. Agraneia’s scaled lips quivered, like she didn’t know how to say what was on her mind.
“What’s wrong?” Ryke asked.
“Uh,” Agraneia carefully—very carefully—placed a heavy, rounded cylinder onto the table. “Wanted to show you something.”
“What is this?” It was made of the same black metal as the Dam. Green lights blinked peacefully in a ring at the top, and a screen read -321°F. She had no idea what that meant.
“They said it’s like an egg,” Agraneia said. “Only, there’s a lot of eggs. Inside the thing.”
“Eggs?” Ryke furrowed her brow, not understanding. Then, a cold shock trickled down her spine. Her crest feathers went rigid. “Whose eggs?”
“Mmm,” the Cyran hummed. She looked over her shoulder.
But this was no time for distractions. Ryke eyed the cyran. Took a step forward. Instinctively, she slipped back into that royal voice she used in front of her Council. “Whose eggs, Agraneia? Answer me right now.”
Before Ryke could take another step, a new voice froze her in place.
“Oh,” the voice crowed from the hall, “You know exactly whose eggs those are.”
No.
It felt like an icy dagger had buried into her chest and stuck her in place. She couldn’t breathe. This isn’t possible.
And suddenly, the Queen of Aviankind couldn’t turn around to look at him.
“Hey,” his voice was gentler this time. It made her think of home. Of the midday songs in Midcity. Of walking the alleys of Lowtown, hand in hand, pretending that this was how things would always be. Of the scent of candles, burning low in her bed chambers, as his fingers ran down her neck, and his arms held her.
Of a future she had lost, and still prayed for. Every day. If only …
“Do you remember me?” He sounded just like he did, all those years ago. His voice was dark and leathery and just this side of raspy and tender and full of warmth that she still dreamed about.
And the only thing she could think to say was, “You lied to me.” Ryke refused to turn around, in case she woke up from this dream. “You said you would never leave me.”
“I tried,” he said. “I tried everything.”
It hurt to swallow. Her heart fluttered. Ryke had already cried all her tears, so why was everything blurry again?
On Cyre, she had stood on the Gate. Watching him, crying out, unable to tear her eyes away and screaming herself hoarse, as if he might somehow hear her. But Eolh was already beyond the barrier, flying Khadam’s weapon into the Swarm. And when the Scar took him, Ryke had fallen to her knees. She had screamed until blood came up, and they had to pull her down because she kept trying to throw herself into the air to go after him.
“I know what I did,” He sounded uncertain. Almost afraid. Of me. “I’m sorry, not for doing it, but that I had to do it. I wanted to know if you would ever forgive me.”
It took a long moment for Ryke to gather her strength. Her voice shook. “Only if you promise never to do it again.”
“Ryke.”
She flinched at the sound of her name, coming from his mouth. Don’t look, she told herself. Don’t let this dream end.
“My heart soars when I think of you. My body aches, when you’re not near. Every breath I take only for the chance to sing your name. I love you, Ryke. And I always will. Never will this corvani leave you, ever again.”
“Whatever happens?” she whispered.
“Whatever happens.” A hand slipped into hers. Warm and rough and agonizingly familiar and impossible—impossible, because he’s dead, he’s gone forever.
“My Heart,” he said.
“Eolh.” Her feathers shivered. She turned, her hands clenched into fists, covering her heart. Bracing for the inevitable moment when this moment, this madness, this dream, would be ripped away from her again.
Thin streaks of white dusted his blue-black feathers. She didn’t remember that. But his beak was black and smooth and scarred with uneven notches in places she had forgotten that she had forgotten about. And his eyes, Eolh’s eyes, were exactly like the ones she had dreamed about, every night since she’d lost him (and since before that, too).
Ryke forgot to breathe.
“Ryke.”
His voice was like the gentle tap of a hammer. And it cracked her heart. And she felt herself melt as his strong arms wrapped around her, and his beak slid against hers. And she was lost in those eyes.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” Ryke said.
The gods, it seemed, in their infinite wisdom and grace, had found a reason to answer one last prayer. But she would thank them later. Ryke was busy squeezing her arms around the only corvani who ever had her heart. And, by all the divine gods, there was no way she was letting go.
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Comments
PizzaNachos
Nice payoff, thanks for the chapter
P. S. Hoffman
I can't tell you how much joy this comment brings me. I've been building and breaking and toiling and polishing this story for so long, and your enjoyment makes it so, so worth it. Trust that I will do my best to write more "never be a movie" books from here on out :)
Vanguard
This could never be made into a movie. Any cinematic attempt would not match the excellence of the writing, the story, the characters, and the imagery.
