The Nibiru Effect

Memory 52

One wrong word. One wrong move. That's all it will take for our entire plan to come crashing down around us. Not to mention the hundreds of lives that are at stake. That thought alone is enough to put an end to my progression.

"What are you doing?" growls Jonn. "Why did you stop?"

I glance at the grey-haired soldier. His wrists appear to be bound, yet one quick tug is all it will take to free him. Though I can't see it, I know his knife lies in wait.

Kara is similarly bound. Unlike her father, she possesses no weapon.

"Don't worry," she says. "Just do as we discussed, and everything will be just fine."

"Shut up," whispers Jonn. "They're coming."

I look up and, sure enough, two arkane guards are heading our way. Both are as tall as me—if not taller—and each has the same basic equipment. A formfitting, yet surprisingly resistant leather armour, Roman-style sandals, and a long, razor-sharp spear. Unlike me, they carry the weapon with assurance, which tells me it's in my best interest to avoid confrontation.

"What are you doing here?" asks one of the guards. "I thought your shift was over."

There's a moment of silence as I try to remember the excuse my friends and I came up with to explain my presence. Unfortunately, I'm far too nervous to recall my lines, let alone deliver them in a believable manner. I thus do the only thing that seems appropriate given the circumstances.

I improvise.

"I had to pee."

I can sense Jonn and Kara cringing, but I ignore them and focus on keeping a straight face.

"Why didn't you go at the palace?" asks the guard.

Dammit! I should have known that wouldn't work. Unfortunately, it's too late to come up with another excuse. I'll just have to keep going and hope I can talk my way out of this rather sticky situation.

"I really had to pee," I say, though I regret it as soon as the words escape me. My face turns a bright shade of red. As does the rest of my body. I'm not entirely sure why this happens—in this era, red is associated with anger or rage, not embarrassment—but I'm glad it does.

"There's no need to get angry," says the guard. "I was just making small talk."

The second guard starts laughing. His skin turns a soft, yellow hue as his shoulders jump up and down. I'm not sure why he's laughing, but I join in. Luckily, that tricks my body into thinking I'm happy and my dermis also turns the colour of banana cream pie. It takes a while, but the other arkane finally joins in, and soon all three of us are laughing.

I glance questioningly at Jonn and Kara, but all I get in response are a couple of shrugs. I guess they are as oblivious to arkane humour as I am.

We keep laughing for a while before one of the guards notices my fake prisoners.

"Who are they?" he asks.

"I'm not sure," I lie. "I found them trying to sneak onto the bridge when I returned from my... well, you know."

"They were trying to sneak into the palace?" asks one of the guards, incredulous.

I nod.

"Why?" asks the other.

"I don't know," I lie once more.

"What are they?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe they're korrigans."

Mentioning the short humanoids reminds me of Korri. He desperately wanted to accompany us, but Jonn insisted he remain behind to watch over the arkane guard whose appearance I stole. Korri didn't seem pleased, but he agreed to play the role of babysitter when I explained how important it was that our prisoner remain captive. Our plan was already perilous enough without an arkane running around and yelling that he had been abducted by a couple of humans and a korrigan. I felt sorry for Korri, but at least he would be safe if something went wrong.

"They're bigger than any korrigan I've ever seen," says one of the guards.

"You've never even seen a korrigan," says his friend.

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

I can tell the argument will soon degenerate, so I decide to take advantage of the situation.

"You guys don't need me to figure out who did or didn't see a korrigan," I mutter. "I'll just go ahead and escort these prisoners to the palace. King Kanto can decide what to do with them."

I start walking, my friends following close behind, but we only make it a few metres.

"Wait!" says one of the guards. "I'll come with you. You can't be too careful when escorting prisoners."

The last thing we need is an escort, but it would look suspicious if I refused his help, so I give him a big smile and make small talk as we begin the long walk across the bridge. We eventually run out of things to talk about and spend the next few minutes in silence. This allows me to ponder certain details I have up until now failed to take into account.

If we pull this off, I'll get to go home. The thought should fill me with joy, yet I can't help feeling anxious at the thought of parting ways with Jonn and Kara. I won't miss the putdowns, but Kara's friendship won't be so easy to give up. She's beautiful, smart, and selfless. She's the kind of girl I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. Unfortunately, none of that matters at the moment. There will be time for soul-searching later. For now, only one thing matters. The mission.

We keep going until we reach the palace. It was impressive from afar, but now that I see it in all its glory, I recognize it for what it truly is.

A work of art.

The palace wasn't built. It was carved. Every centimetre of it belongs to the same piece of exposed bedrock. Every window, doorframe, and awning is unique and intricately decorated. Beautiful landscapes have been chiselled into every room and every alleyway. Even the lamps that illuminate the inside of the palace have been sculpted from the same piece of rock. Every chamber we pass is more beautiful than the last, but one shines brighter than all the others.

The throne room.

I barely even notice the half dozen armed arkanes that stand at attention along its walls. I'm far too fascinated by the intricate designs that have been carved into every centimetre of every surface. The walls. The floor. The ceiling. Everything has been hand-sculpted with great care. It would take weeks just to take in such beauty. Unfortunately, my friends and I are only given a few measly seconds to drink in what must have taken years to achieve.

I'm so busy staring at the beauty that surrounds me I fail to notice the king sitting atop his majestic throne. It's not until he speaks that I finally notice him.

"What is it?" he demands. The voice is oily, like the humanoid producing it.

King Kanto is unlike any other arkane I have ever seen. He's short—at least for an arkane—and morbidly obese. Flabs of fat erupt from his lavish clothing like molten rock dried into unnatural-looking ripples. The crown that sits atop his head barely even fits him anymore. The skin of his face has been stretched by years of overeating, yet I can tell he's nearing the end of his life. I can't make out his exact age, but there's no doubt in my mind he's the oldest living arkane in Arkania.

It's not until I stop focusing on the details that I notice the ruler's peculiar pigment. Every centimetre of him, from his fat face to his chubby toes, is a bright shade of purple. While this colour sometimes reflects a deep sense of wisdom and dignity, it's more customarily associated with power, luxury, and royalty, three things the korrigans lack.

I don't realize the king is staring at me until I focus on his eyes. But those aren't the eyes of a ruler; they're the eyes of pure evil. I've only ever seen one person with such eyes.

Avalon.

The sight of her reminds me of the countless innocents that died because of her actions. The memory of the arkane girl who perished appears before my mind's eye. It lingers for a moment before giving way to another. One after the other the dozens of korrigans I watched perish from the fire plague flash before my eyes. And with each new face, my rage grows. Soon I'm consumed with hatred.

That's when it happens. I start shifting. I try to fight it, but I can't. I slowly revert to my true self. It's not until the change is complete that I realize the implications of my transformation.

Our cover is blown.