The 13th Star: An Action Adventure Sci-F Apocalyptic Novel (15 page)

The old man left the palace and went back
and stood in line with the residents who were waiting to greet my
father. Once more he found himself in front of my father and asked
to speak to him in private. My father didn’t understand what the
old man wanted and again sent him on his way, admittedly with a
smile, but refusing to hear him in private. The old man left the
palace and again stood in line to greet my father. When he reached
him for the third time, my father asked him to come with him to a
side room to hear what he had to say. The old man didn’t say a
word—he just looked at my father, who got angry for being removed
from the reception hall and now didn’t have anything to listen to.
Then the old man came up to my father, gave him the piece of the
scroll I just gave you, and left the room without saying a
word.

I was not yet born then and my father
didn’t have any other children. He didn’t understand what the old
man wanted, but he knew the importance of the piece of the scroll.
It said, “The child will be the son of the military leader of the
animal planet in the seventh year of choice, and will stand firmly
with them together with his cousin, and together they will lead to
the coming of the last planet, the thirteenth planet.”

My father didn’t place any particular
importance on the piece of scroll or its content and asked that it
be placed in the palace archives in his room. Four years later I
was born, and on the day of my birth, my father died, never seeing
me.

Mattoui paused, then began again:

My mother raised me under Koffee’s rule.
It was clear that I couldn’t remain on the planet after Koffee
introduced a wild and violent regime, and when I was fifteen my
mother sent me secretly to Brisker, where I grew up. But first she
gave me the piece of scroll. She only explained it to me once, but
her words still echo in my head: “Another piece, almost the same as
this one, is in the hands of one whom no Jorash can kill. You will
recognize him by the scar on his face and another scar hidden in
the fold his right knee. He will not be the opponent, but the
friend. Stick with him even if you know the two of you are going to
die. There are no forces in the galaxy that can kill you together,
but alone, neither of you is invulnerable.”

Mattoui was silent for a moment and looked at
Rettoul, whose hot tears ran down his cheeks. “And another thing,”
he continued.

She said, “You both have a long way, but
it will be shortened as soon as you hold the third and final
fragment of the scrolls.”

I didn’t understand what she meant then.
I knew that every word was important, but I didn’t understand and
appreciate to what extent. I knew it was you she’d spoken about
after the battle in the pub. I don’t know if you sensed how upset I
was that evening and the following one, but I knew the scar on your
face, and the fact that the Jorash couldn’t beat you, reinforced my
life’s mission.

It’s not easy, Rettoul, to give up
everything and follow someone—not even you—and you know that
sometimes I feel toward you as if you were my own flesh and blood.
We’re not friends or brothers—we’re one. And that’s tough because,
after all, I see here two bodies, and no one can dispute that. It
wasn’t hard for me to give up Tamar, like you think. I dream of a
house and children, what everyone would like, but I have a bigger
dream, and I have a purpose that I can’t forgo. Even if you oust me
from it firmly, it will still remain. I have to be beside you, to
be of assistance to you, to bring the thirteenth planet.

Rettoul broke into tears and couldn’t bear the weight of his load any more
.
Mattoui hugged him tight and they become one.

“Who do you think has the third piece?”
a
sked Rettoul, his eyes red.

“I don’t know, but I believe the story of the old man, Adam, who came to my father, is far more important than just a story.
I think he has the third piece. Or at least he knows what happened to it, since he’s the one who gave my father the piece
I have.”

Only five planets remained in the galaxy. Falcon, the biggest and central planet, was home to docile residents. They chose
not to fight for anything—certainly not to preserve what already existed. Although life on Falcon was different from that
on the other planets, one could quickly see that this was not living. The Falconites survived, but didn’t live full lives
with any horizon. Everyone looked sad and fatigue was evident in their walk.

Bucha, the violent planet, was left mostly to its predators. Human beings didn’t live there anymore. From time to time there
were animal roars—the painful cries of the weak—and the quiet of eating time. All species of predators remained, as if someone
had made a point that no species would become extinct. Every animal devoured its partner, even if it was of the same sex.
There was no trust or confidence, even between the beasts themselves. Fear was evident in all their eyes, only temporarily
replaced by sparks of attack and pleasure. The balance of terror between the animals thinned them out, but didn’t give precedence
or strength to any one species. Everything
was on
guard for its life.

On Moran, they’d never known such chaos. One
big refugee camp embraced all the evil
: theft, rape, drunkenness, murder. Everyone belonged to a camp, otherwise it was impossible to survive, as someone was sure
to kill or harass you. Each Moranian group knew its boundaries, but their appetites didn’t decline. On the contrary, territories
were conquered and annihilated. Leaders were murdered without trial and violence was commonplace.

Kantara didn’t change its designation or definition. It remained the center of military and special training. After the war,
Bergin and Coldor received its official management, although previously no one would have questioned their positions. Kantara
was the only planet still almost as it was before the war. Its legality was known to all, and fearsome acts or suicides were
common, which testified more than anything to the Kantarans’ emotional distress.

Levi was the saddest planet. As on Brisker, there was not a soul. The planet was abandoned and empty of every living creature.
At first the animals had floated in the floods; thereafter, they drowned. From above, even the grain fields looked like gray
patches. The sadness on Levi was as if someone had made a mistake regarding its extinction. Orange light enveloped it warmly,
trying to atone for the great sadness and desertion.

For years a story made the rounds that only one songbird remained on Levi, and it never ceased singing a lament for the planet
and its inhabitants.

***

At five a.m., the dark sky began lightening in the cold air. Dozens of noisy crows circled the Moranian hills and, from time
to time, growling, hungry wolves were heard. No one was outside. The planet had not awakened to a new morning of belligerence
and strength.

Zoi, Mattoui, Rettoul, Berez, and the two children had just landed. After concealing the Kaiser in the mountains, they began
marching to Bonn, the largest and most dominant Moranian city. Everything happened there, or would not occur at all. It was
Rettoul’s first visit to the planet and everything drew his attention, his mind absorbing the new data. Zoi, Berez, and Mattoui
had all once lived in Bonn on Moran. They were familiar with its alleys, as were most of the mercenary ringleaders.

The group wore the same clothes everyone else did in Bonn—overcoats decorated with black and gray stripes and gray hats that
hid most of their faces. They merged in
among the pedestrians, led by Zoi, and forged their way through the central market among vendors calling out and displaying
their wares. Stalls sold fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, and notions, and there were even stalls selling weapons. Because
most of them were booty or had been stolen from the other planets in the Great War, the selection of tools and weapons were
sometimes only suitable for the planet they were made on.

The commotion was great and Rettoul barely heard Zoi declare that he was going to look for a place for them to sleep. In the
meantime, they should wait for him in Moses’ den.

Moses was famous, and large and small throughout the galaxy knew his name and the legend of his life. Moses was a veteran
combat soldier, and over the years many stories had intertwined truth and fiction about the great Moses. Some men boasted
they’d been in this or that battle, or fought alongside or behind him. During the last galactic war, different groups tried
to convince him to join their ranks, but Moses decided to leave even before the war broke out. Even around his retirement
stories became interwoven, starting with it was fear that motivated the retirement because of his aging, which began to eat
away at his body and mind. The fact was that he’d received a secret decoration and could retire respectably.

The vendors were involved in their everyday affairs. Occasionally a peddler approached them, offering something. One of the
vendors abruptly stroked the hand of one of the children, his eyes sparkling with passion.

“For that boy you’ll get a lot of money from Slaughter. I’ll take him to Slaughter for you. Just say how much money you want
for him.”

The disgusted group quickly recovered and Berez kicked the peddler in the face. “I don’t know any Slaughter. Anyone who wants
to buy my child should come and tell me, because that child is not for sale.” His eyes spat fire. The market tumult subsided
for a few minutes, everyone looking at the beaten peddler and the flashing eyes of Berez and his friends. Within seconds,
the group was surrounded by six burly thugs looking for a reason to interrupt.

“I guess you didn’t understand, or you’re really not from here,” said the wounded and stunned peddler. “Slaughter gets paid
here, and if you want to be violent before you pay, no problem.”

Berez hadn’t waited for the peddler’s response after beating him, but that didn’t stop him grabbing him again and throwing
him hard—as if he were a light package—at the mercenaries who surrounded them. The peddler fell and took three mercenaries
with him. The fall was not enough for Berez. He hit them one by one, at the same time, until they all fell at his feet. Despite
their skills, no one managed to stand up.

The group stood by, ready to join the battle, but gave Berez the stage. In the market, everyone looked at the skilled Berez,
who didn’t stop hitting the peddler.

“I don’t know any Slaughter,” declared Berez again, rubbing his hands with delight at his behavior. Suddenly he noticed that
someone in the audience held their Roll at the
girl’s throat. His eyes flashed fire. Within seconds the guy was slammed to the ground, twisted in pain and writhing until
he died.

“You should not have intervened,” said Berez to Rettoul, who used his Jorash to beat the guy. “I would have managed alone,”
he said, smiling and winking.

The audience was stunned. Berez picked his hat up off the ground and continued with his gang silently along a path that opened
up, cleared of people. No one approached them again.

***

On Falcon, the debate over the size of the wedding hadn’t ended. Both Coldor and Bergin attributed importance to Zoron’s wedding,
but the debate had already played itself out as far as they were concerned.

“Okay,” agreed Coldor, “we will have the wedding the way you want, in the Temple. After all, the only Levite still alive is
David, and he’s rotting in prison. Make all the preparations for the wedding at the Temple. We may make use of that wretched
David yet. We’ll see.”

Coldor was tired. On the one hand he had the strength of a young man, but on the other hand, the scenes, the memories, and
the outlook dampened his mood.

“Let’s set the wedding for two months hence,” declared Bergin. “That will be enough time to arrange everything—both the easy
and the not-so-easy aspects.”

Coldor, who was already on his way out, turned on his heel. “What do you mean exactly?”

Bergin shrugged and smiled slyly. “There’s no one else who might disturb us.”

Moses’ den was relatively close to where Berez beat the peddler and the thugs and they arrived within minutes. People sat
around tables outside and ate as the group went inside. The darkness that greeted them inside made them stand still for a
moment until they got used to it.

There were also quite a few people here, but they were different from those who sat outside. All were armed and displayed
their weapons intentionally. Everyone’s gaze turned to the group as they entered, like a test. The intersecting looks indicated
to Rettoul and Berez that they were all mercenaries, assassins without any inhibitions of even the simplest and most unsophisticated
kind.

The two recognized the looks from their previous battles with wild populations. These men were like a group of guerrillas
who had nothing to lose, not even their lives. Their only purpose for getting up in the morning and continuing to live was
killing, regardless of what or how. Murder was the code name—uninhibited murder.

Some of the men’s arms weren’t intact, a few even missing an entire hand. It was clear it wasn’t due to illness.

Rettoul’s group sat down at a long rectangular table near the front door. Gaming tables were nearby, where patrons spent their
time between one beer and the next.

Zoi came in minutes after they sat down, before they gave their orders. His steps were sure and measured and he didn’t stop
at the entrance like someone surprised by
the intensity of the darkness. One could mistakenly think he was one
of the locals
. His confident and steady gait was indeed the result of his new life, but it also remained a reminder of his past, when he’d
been the leader of the strongest and most dominant Moranian group.

“I’m glad you came right away,” Zoi said, pulling up a chair and sitting down quickly.

“Why shouldn’t we?” asked Berez. “All in all, everyone here’s quite friendly.”

Zoi didn’t look at him and continued. “I found two rooms on Ara. It’s near here, and we should
leave in a
while. Outside I hear new voices and names. Say, have you heard anything about somebody called Slaughter?”

“Yes. Berez heard that name during our visit to the market,” said Rettoul. “Who was it that mentioned that name?” He laughed
and asked Berez, “Was it the first one you knocked down, or one of the others?”

Zoi ignored the joke, obviously nervous. “Well, this Slaughter—one of the toughest collectors of protection money—is keeping
everyone here on a short rope. He seems to have a hand in everything. I’ve been told nothing escapes him.”

“Then,” said Rettoul determinedly, “we need to meet this Slaughter. He can probably answer a few questions.” Rettoul looked
around and continued. “Well, folks, I think you can take off your hats. I don’t think any of those we met remained alive.”

“You’re probably right,” muttered Berez, taking off his hat.

They ate well in anticipatory silence. Mattoui sat, head bowed. It was evident his thoughts were far away. “What’s the matter?”
Rettoul asked.

Mattoui sighed. “I worry about Tamar. I can’t relax.”

Rettoul smiled like a loving brother. “Miss her, huh? Dude, you’re probably made of good materials,” he said, trying to amuse
him, but Mattoui continued deliberating.

“It’s not just the longing, it’s the worry. I’m not calm with regard to her. I don’t feel she’s safe.”

“She’s fine,” declared Rettoul. “I’m sure Thor’s taking care of her almost as if he’s you. You have to get her out of your
thoughts now and concentrate on what’s going to happen here. Otherwise, it could end badly. Thor will do whatever it takes
to protect her. You hear me?”

Mattoui nodded.

“I didn’t hear you, Mattoui. You must rely on Thor.”

Mattoui didn’t answer, just nodded again. Rettoul reached over and grabbed his face. “Get any concerns for her out of your
head right now! There’s no need to burden yourself with more than what we have to deal with now, and that’s plenty. Do you
understand? Thor will take care of her.”

“Yes,” said Mattoui, and Rettoul hugged him tightly.

Zoi returned from the bar. “You must have a few words with Moses before we see Slaughter. Are you coming, Rettoul?”

“Yes, Mattoui and I will go with you. Berez, can you stay with the children and keep an eye on the place without causing too
much havoc?”

Berez grinned. “Enough. I want to eat, and if I’m harassed, then I’ll pay them back,” he said, smiling mischievously at Rettoul.

“Sometimes you’re like a little boy,” he said with exasperation.

“Good morning! I’m really glad you woke up,” Coldor said mockingly to a sleepy and disconnected Bar.