Excerpt: Alienation

(C) 2008

Another. As hard as he tried to subdue the welling sickness in his soul, Gehelnon couldn't quiet himself as he considered the audience he'd just had with the High Ones.

"We cannot risk that you should become contaminated," his gods had told him. "You must send your inheritor to learn about the humans."

On his face before the High Ones, he had frantically considered questioning their orders, promising that he would make use of all the isolation protocols, use every precaution to prevent illness or injury, if they would only permit him to avoid having to work with his own inheritor. No Ilai was forced to face himself, he had wanted to plead, and hadn't Gehelnon had served the gods faithfully for centuries? But eyes closed, he had only nodded his acquiescence and taken himself from their presence without troubling their peace.

It had been the end of his own. A competitor. The High Ones have ordered it. I can't refuse. Another Esardon, trying to supplant me, but this one will know me as well as I know myself. He felt a tremor run through his body at the thought. And it's all because of the humans.

Gehelnon stumbled to his desk chair, sank into it in a daze and rested his chin on his fists. What to do? How to prevent having to deal with one who could win as ages-old rival Esardon had never won?

He fumbled for the glass of water sitting on the corner of his crowded desk and drank it distractedly. No Ilai ever faced his own inheritor. Was it really a usurper if it was yourself? In time, the new one would legitimately take his place. But not yet. Not yet! What damage would the new one do to his plans if the transition took place too early?

He stood, his eyes roving as if searching the room for a weapon. His eyes lit on the closed metal door that led to the experimental lab. I can alter the new one, the illicit thought came. I can damage him, change him such that there is no chance of a threat. Immediately, the stab of i-nihal hit him in the gut and he sagged to his knees on the cold tile flooring. The gods had given him to create and mold life, not mangle it. How could he hurt himself?

On hands and knees he waited, emptying his mind of thoughts so that the unaccustomed punishment of i-nihal would end. As his strength returned, he sat back and began to think again. It was not only he himself that was threatened, he rationalized. If anything threatened him, the maker, it also threatened their entire people. That couldn't be allowed. The High Ones had ordered him to raise this usurper immediately, but ages ago they had also charged him to care for the entire species.

His face hardened. It didn't matter. He would do whatever it took to protect his line. He had to.