Prologue

Prologue

The Timeless Years--Year 88 after Desolation

 

Devallarie City, Eurocan

Aine stands on the edge of the grey cliffs overlooking the crumbling skyscrapers. Nature has taken over, spreading its tendrils through the empty city blocks and spiraling up the sides of the glass buildings. The rooftop gardens have boiled over and formed bridges from one tower to the next like a network of broken webs. There is a river snaking through the streets sloping down from the mountains beyond and towards the ocean. 

In the heart of the city--can she call it a city anymore?--what was DeVallarie Palace still stands, a monument of ivory and marble. Vines and bramble slither up the outer walls and guard towers, impregnating that once impenetrable barrier. It wasn’t built to keep us safe, the Prince of Albion had said, it was built to keep us in, to keep us ignorant. He had called it his gilded cage but Aine had known it under another name, a Eurocan name. A smile cracks across her lips and she thinks of Gid, an old friend she had known in the Resistance.   

Beyond the walls, the skeleton of DeVallarie palace is exposed, empty stone arches and flying buttresses are dressed in moss and ferns, the walls are wasted and all the banners and flags are nothing but tattered stubs eaten away by the wind. Yet, even desolate, it is beautiful, if not more. Only one tower remains, it’s the tallest one, facing east towards the sea, half the roof has caved in and the balcony railing has fallen away. It’s a faded memory now in her mind.

Is this the world you wanted? Is this what we fought for? She listens for an answer, a reply, a whisper, anything, but there is nothing except the call of wild birds and the sound of the waves against the rocks below.

As the crescent moon dips below the horizon, the sun is beginning to rise between the snow-capped mountains, emitting a pale-apricot glow that slowly stretches out into the lavender sky. It lights the clouds on fire and they blaze an odd ochre-rose from within. She’s seen the city at this time a hundred times before but somehow it seems off, almost ghostly, macabre. She follows the first couple of shy rays all the way out to the bay and a cold shiver runs up her spine to the back of her neck.

Ships stick out of the water like bent toothpicks. Massive, triple luxury ocean liners and heavily armored cargo ships are half sunk, half afloat, too big to slip beneath the waves and too heavy to be carried out to sea. The day of the invasion, the bay had been filled with ships and boats of all sizes, people had been desperate and scared and would do anything to get on a boat. She can see them now, gentle giants resting upon the ocean floor.

Aine once stood on this very same cliff a long time ago. Only then the view had been much different. Then, there were no sunken ships in the harbor, there were no rivers running through the streets, and the forest to the North was carefully maintained, carefully controlled. The last time she stood on this cliff it was here. Aine steps towards the stone bench near the balustrade.

This was where it all started.

 ****

There are footsteps behind her. She’s been wondering how long they would catch up to her.

“Mother?” Her son sounds breathless and his footsteps become hesitant as she can hear him draw closer. Aine is afraid to turn around, to look at her son and see his father through his eyes. But, here in this place, at this spot, in this light, she’s afraid he’ll look at her with those same eyes and reach out to pull her over the cliff with him.

The thought is absurd.  She’s being silly.

She turns around. Her son is there, a BioMask covering his face. Jaime is the same age his father was when he died; they have the same face, the same ethereal hair, the same glittering eyes, the same lithe frame, even the same voice. He is nothing like his father, she reminds herself.

“You alright?” Her son climbs up the series of short steps to the outlook where she stands. He is out of breath and the condensation on his mask clouds his view. She can see his brow is furrowed and his dark eyes are filled with worry. “I brought you a mask in case you’ve changed your mind,” He holds out the dark rubber ventilator to her. She takes it from him, knowing that he won’t stop worrying about her until she agrees to put it on.

“I don’t need this,” She pulls the straps over her head and the mask hisses and locks over her face. It still doesn’t erase the concern in his eyes. There are other things he is still worried about. “Where are the rest?” She tries to distract him, peering over his shoulder.

“Still unloading the shuttle, they’ll be along in a little while" Jaime says, although his eyes keep slipping from her face to the expanse behind her. She knows he wants answers, he knows she is the only one who was there when it happened, and he has waited his whole life to ask her about his father. In his youth, he had been so impatient, badgering her about him, dreaming about him, making up stories about him, even mourning him. Now, he was a father himself and the opportunity had finally come to him but was she was she really ready to tell him?

“So this is where you grew up?” Jaime moves past her, walking up to the edge of the balustrade. Panic flutters deep in her belly for a moment but then he rests his hands on the railing and sighs.  “Gid used to tell me a lot of stories about this place, about the Eurocans, the resistance, how it was before…” He trails off. “From the way he put it, I thought this whole place would be a goddamn dumpster, trash in the streets, spores. Lots of spores. But, it’s beautiful. Nothing I could ever have pictured”

“Gid lived in Lower District before he joined the Apostles. Of course he would say the city was s**t. The ghettos were s**t, the sewers emptied there,” Aine replied.

“And where did you live?” He asks her finally. She draws her gaze northward, right of the palace. The trees have grown over that part of the city but the tops of the mansions are still visible. Is her home still there? She wonders but doesn’t hope. There is a deep, cruel ache in her stomach, an old pain that never truly disappeared. It was probably burnt to the ground the day DeVallarie City fell, nothing but a statue of the past.

“High District,” She nods towards the left.

“What was that like?” He says but she thinks he already knows the answer.

A loud voice calls from the forest behind them. “General Sterling, permission to approach” It’s Griffin followed by the others. They all wear BioMasks and fatigues. Guns are slung around their shoulders. Trailing along behind them is a terrain sled loaded with the equipment. It hovers a few inches off the ground.

“Permission granted” Jaime replies, tight-faced and gruff voiced. He is all business now.

When they approach her, they hide their faces respectfully under their hats and bow their necks to her. Back on the isles when they had brought the first batch of refugees, she had begged them to treat her like one of their own. Instead, they built great stone statues of her, wrote her stories down in sacred books, temples were built, and her name, The Creator, was cemented in history. Now she says nothing and remains the untouchable, silent deity they want her to be. They look to her son, though.

Jaime clears his throat and puts on the face of his father. “We all know our job here. The Creator will lead us to what once was DeVon Corporations, that great helix-shaped building dominating the skyline over there. The priority is to collect the remains of their energy wells. The infection is still live, you're looking at ground zero, the Origin. If you do manage to get infected, I will try my best to help you but you will not be allowed to return home with us. Each of you signed a waiver before so you all know what you’re getting yourself into. Any questions?” He glares at his soldiers and they reply with a curt yes sir’s. “If we run into any trouble in there, protect the Creator at all costs. May Drom allow us safe passage,” Jaime finishes. Then he turns to her, his eyes are soft again and she knows he is nervous. She tries to smile, tell him it will be alright, but it won't be alright. There are too many painful memories here. 

The sun finally spills over the ridge of the Pastor Mountains and into the city. It glints off the glass windows in a prism of colors and for a moment it looks just like how it once did nearly a hundred years ago. Only Aine hasn’t aged a day since then.

---

 [music]Half Remembered Dream by Hans Zimmer.