Kudisha Departure Episode 1 Journey to Rehnor series (8 page)

Despite it all, Karukan was still a fair man.
He insisted his needs could be accommodated with as little space as
possible. To that end, what would have become the private family
bathroom, became instead his shipboard den. This required all
members of the family to use the single lavatory up the stairs,
something only Lorena found the least bit inconvenient.

Karukan spent nearly all of his time in that
closet, at a metal table built into the wall, perched upon a chair
that was nothing more than a small stool. He had a collection of
pens and pencils, and a seemingly endless supply of paper, for he
knew once the batteries expired on his electronic tablet, it would
be useless.

Beyond that, there was room enough for only a
small crate, which was filled with protein wafers, the equivalent
of a month’s worth of food. Whenever anyone was invited into the
King’s sanctum, or else required some of Karukan’s time, it was
upon this crate where they sat and made their petition.

Most often though, Karukan sat alone, a blank
sheet of paper on the table before him, a sharpened pencil at the
ready in his hand. Although days and weeks, even months had passed,
his hand failed to transcribe a word, to record what he had
witnessed, and why.

How could one even begin to explain the
reasons for making a decision such as he had done? After centuries
of wars, after deaths, countless deaths, he had brought an end to
it forever with death to all.

Did he really believe it would have come to
that? No. A thousand times no. Surely, if he had, he would have
stopped it long before it became too late. He had thought, truly he
did, that up until the very last moment, Kalila would have held his
hand up and called for peace.

But, he didn’t, and neither did Karukan, who
at each step along the ladder, met his rival’s bid, and raised it,
half thinking, hoping it was all a bluff.

Now, Karukan suffered in a way he had never
known before with the cries of a billion voices resonating
unceasingly in his ears. Now, he bore the burden of a billion souls
upon his shoulders. Souls he had only wanted to save, to spare from
Kalila’s treacherous reign.

"If not by you then by your son," Wooter said,
his large body perched upon the box of wafers. "You have spared
your son this burden by taking it upon yourself. Eventually, all
would have resulted in the same. Only now we are free to escape, to
begin life again on this new planet." Then, Wooter laughed. “And,
as a small bonus, all of Parliament and those bloody politicians
are now gone.”

Karukan took small comfort in his friend’s
words, for indeed, he would have spared his son the horrors of this
war, and this decision. Never would he have wished this burden upon
Kirat, for despite the young man’s insolence, he was closest to his
father’s heart.

Neither was there solace in knowing that his
enemy, Markiis Kalila suffered this same sorrow. Perhaps even, he
was dead now and unlike Karukan, his soul was released from this
horrific shame.

"I sincerely doubt that,” Wooter sneered,
tossing back a tiny snifter of alcohol from the precious supply
which would have to last the entire transit. “He won't be dancing
in the fields of Heaven. More likely he is screaming as his skin
burns to cinders in the dark cellars of Hell. At least, I hope so.
Kari-fa! The man deserves it, self-styling himself as a
saint."

"I would choose Hell over what I must endure
now," Karukan replied morosely, while staring at the hand which
refused to take up either pencil or pen.

"No, you wouldn't, Ruka. Now, you have the
opportunity to redeem yourself. Perhaps this is all part of some
great master plan, and you have been cast in a role already written
for you. Have a drink, my dear friend. I toast you and your new
title, King of Rehnor. Surely, that is much better than watching
your skin burn over and over, whilst the Devil laughs at your
discomfort."

"Perhaps, our skins shall do so regardless,"
the King replied, and poured himself a glass of the precious amber
liquid. "Indeed, the natives there might find us rather tasty. We
shall travel all this long distance across the stars, only to end
up in a pot fried to extra-crispy."

"Ah, there is my old friend and king," Wooter
laughed again. "You shall survive this yet. I look forward to our
landing, whether or not the natives’ pot awaits. It shall be quite
an adventure, and much warmer than our ice cave in the frozen
north."

"Adventure indeed."

Karukan turned his back slightly, this small
movement indicative of Wooter’s dismissal.

“Good day then, my king.” The Lord Chamberlain
rose, stifling a yawn. “I shall venture upward to see how my
beloved wife entertains herself. Summon me if something urgent or
important arises out here in space.”

Karukan nodded, and took a sip from his glass,
restraining himself from swallowing it whole. Doing such would
merely prompt him to refill it once again.

He could get quite drunk here. Who would care?
What would it matter? He was king of a land that no longer existed
on a planet that was poisoned for centuries to come. King of
Rehnor, indeed. What was that? The lord of twelve ships, ten people
each. If they all survived, the Karuptas amounted to no more than a
few families.

They wouldn’t all survive. Precious few would
set their feet upon the new earth. He had been told this by the
voice of that spectral, that alien, or angel. Karukan was never
certain what he was. He had come to the king since he was a child,
Behrat’s age, or younger, first appearing as a shining orb, when
Karukan thought he was still asleep.

Later, the phantasm took the form of a boy,
and later still, he manifested as a man. He could have been the
mirror image of Karukan now, so much so the king had a thought that
he might actually be himself. Or, he could simply be an illusion, a
product of his own lonely, and traumatized brain.

But, what if he really was Karukan? What if
instead of Rehnor, this tiny ship took him through a black hole,
through a time warp, or a space tunnel, allowing him to return to
counsel himself? Wouldn’t he then advise himself to take another
course, to negotiate with Kalila, and save Rozari? Unless, this was
how time was supposed to happen. Was Karukan another Noah sailing
forth in an interstellar ark?

“Am I?” Karukan asked the air. “Am I merely
the pawn played at the hand of the Divine King?”

“Would that make you feel better?” the voice
replied, although his image could not be found. “Would you absolve
yourself of guilt if I told you your destiny is Commanded by
God?”

Karukan wasn’t certain. How could anyone
forgive themselves after all that had been wrought? Especially, if
this voice was nothing more than misplaced ionic impulses, charges
that could be eliminated through medication or electric shock. In
his madness, he had brought about Armageddon, and in his further
madness, he had absolved himself of guilt.

The voice laughed.

“You are indeed mad, Ruka. Would that I could
join you in your drink.”

“Fuck off,” Karukan mumbled, shaking the
specter and his taunting from his head.

He extracted a cigarette from his single desk
drawer, resolved to commence the task on the table before him. Fill
this page and a thousand more like it with the history of his
people. Explain to future generations all the reasons why they
came. Record as many of the sacred words and chants that he could
recall, honoring the God that had guided his hand.

"Papa?" Behrat interrupted before Karukan had
transcribed a word. “Papa, Kirat’s bleeding. Dr. Beryl says you
ought to come right away.”

“Kirat?” Karukan’s heart thumped hard in his
chest, as his breath caught in his throat. “Kirat? No. It can’t
be.”

Behrat blinked rapidly, his small face pale
with fear.

“Kirat,” the King repeated for the third time,
unable to raise his legs, to lift his body from this
desk.

He knew instinctively what was about to
happen, or had he been told?

“Did you tell me this?” he screamed, raising
his fist, and shaking it at the air.

“I…” Behrat cried.

“No, no, no!” Karukan raged. “Not Kirat. Not
my eldest. Not my heir! Do not take him from me. I beg of you. Take
this one instead.”

“’
Tis
too
late,” the voice replied. “I have told you all would not survive
the transit. This one has been selected, and it has been
done.”

Journey to Rehnor

The series continues with Departure
Episode 2 – Shortru

To find out more about the Two
Moons of Rehnor series and all of my works

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