The Esoteric Design: Civilization Lost Page 17

  “I’ve actually been told that many times before, sir,” she whispered.

  “Dovian,” he corrected.

  Her smile widened. “Dovian.”

  The woman stood awkwardly in the hall, tugging on her fingers. She had never seen him with his hood drawn, and it only added to his mystery.

  “I bound it with a preservation spell. It should last you a long time, even the scent,” she stammered.

  Dovian lifted the flower to his nose. It had a strong aroma that was similar to I’Lanthe’s perfume. He had smelled orchids before, but not like this. It had to be genetically modified.

  “Did you make this?” he asked.

  I’Lanthe’s cheeks turned a shade of pink. “I did.”

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Thank you. I’ll keep it with me.”

  “Alright.” She nodded and then turned to the side, staring down the hall. “Well, I should be going. I don’t want to keep you.”

  “Lanthe,” he quickly sputtered.

  She twisted toward him, forcing a tight smile.

  “I can’t figure it out.” He watched her carefully.

  “Figure what out?” she asked.

  “What you’re about.” He twirled the flower.

  I’Lanthe smiled. “I thought that was obvious, sir.”

  There was no doubt about it, she enjoyed calling him ‘sir,' and Dovian was beginning to like it. They remained silent. Even the storm seemed to mute as the two stared at one another. Suddenly, I’Lanthe removed the man’s hood and planted her hands on either side of his face. Dovian’s body went cold as if the rain had finally chilled him to the bone. She searched his eyes for a moment, a gentle smile curling her lips. Despite his hood, his hair remained soaked. Whereas before he appeared stern, now he seemed alarmed and slightly frightened, a look that I’Lanthe had grown accustomed. She thought it a more fitting expression for the man. Dovian tensed as she stepped on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss just to the side of his mouth.

  “You could be gone for a very long time. I wanted to make sure I took the chance,” she softly spoke.

  “I…I’ve no clue how long I’ll be gone.”

  “I wish there was more time before you wandered out of my life again.”

  Dovian’s brow wrinkled. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he also wished his time wasn’t so limited. He wanted to invite her into his room. They could share a glass of wine. He’d allow her to laugh at him all night if only he could see her smile; he’d permit her to do whatever she pleased. For some reason, he felt inclined to be submissive toward I’Lanthe. Dovian quickly shoved the thoughts out of his mind. He had to leave, and he had to leave now.

  ‘I’m her teacher. She’s my student,’ he chanted over in his mind.

  “How I wish you hadn’t come,” he whispered.

  I’Lanthe’s expression quickly shifted into a look of pain. Dovian grabbed her hand. No matter what he said, it always came out wrong.

  “You’re making it very difficult for me to leave right now. I’ve too many questions.” The emotions fluttered across his face one expression after another.

  I’Lanthe nodded once. “Then we will continue this discussion when you get back.” She clasped his fingers and placed his hand where the Frequency Tuner rested beneath his coat.

  The man slowly raised his hood, his mouth set in a thin hard line. He barely nodded in return. “Goodnight, Lanthe.”

  “Goodnight, Dovian,” she whispered.

  He didn’t want to, but before he said anything else to look foolish, he twisted the dial. In a flash, the sight of the beautiful woman spiraled into the darkness of space. He stood for a while outside of time, pondering to himself just what the hell he was thinking. He knew better, knew it was a terrible idea to let a student fall in love with him. Why was he allowing it? Was he that selfish? He could never give her what she wanted. At any rate, he couldn’t worry about it now. After the mission, he would promptly fix the situation. Hopefully, by the time he arrived home once again, she would already have found somebody else. Then, Dovian had an idea. What if he never returned home, at least, not in a reasonable amount of time? He could wait it out, give her plenty of time away from him to move on with her life. She was young and beautiful. It was a wonder how she didn’t have a line of men following her everywhere she went. I’Lanthe would be able to find someone else very easily. By the time Dovian would return, he was sure she’d be married and have a child or two. He smiled.

  It was decided. Dovian wouldn’t return home until the mission was complete. Even then, he would hide away in his room until he was sure life had carried on without him.

  ***

  4,148 S.F.

  The overwhelming scent of cigar tingled Euclid’s nostrils. The Sorcēarian carefully watched the man sitting in the chair across from him. Simultaneously puffing and sipping liquor, the Saudi Prince thoroughly enjoyed himself, not paying much mind to anyone else. Euclid had grown tired of cigars and bad whiskey. He craved the wine from his native land, the vaporous sticks which tasted like cinnamon and vanilla that he’d puff as he fished on the lakes, and longed for the smell of Lucinda’s homemade cooking.

  It had been nearly fifty years since he began studying to replace the role of CEO Roman Sarkov. Euclid acted as the Russian, even living in the man’s quarters to gather business information between the United States, Russia, and the most prolific oil companies in the Middle East. It was no surprise that war once again had started up for natural resources. Despite most of the world running on kinetic, solar, and hydropower, elite companies insisted on the continuation of drilling for oil. At least, that was the front they used.

  Jacob Asahni, a competitor CEO to Sarkov, had allowed a breach of information. Despite appearing to be corporate enemies, he and Sarkov were actually on friendly terms. Under the pretense of fighting over oil and natural gas, Sarkov and Asahni fabricated a false war, distracting the other nations of their true intentions. While Sarkov financed the Russian military, he also pulled strings within the World Council to gain approval to go to war against Asahni’s nations. With each day, corporatism gained more power than should ever have been allowed. Russia, having a bad history of drilling in the Middle East with little to no regard for the ancient relics, remained a constant thorn in Sir Gaius’ side.

  As planned, Sarkov got his war. As hundreds of thousands of men died in the name of oil and prosperity, Asahni made plans to move the ancient relics to a hidden underground vault where the items were then suspiciously stolen many years later. The world was in turmoil. Who would steal ancient relics, and how would anyone know the location of such items? It didn’t take much to frame a single man, an Israeli extremist who conveniently committed suicide after a mass bombing of the Dome of the Rock. One by one, the world’s religious relics disappeared by suspicious, random attacks and supposed natural disasters. Humanity, however, was deaf to the news as the massive war on oil progressed, bringing in the United States. Eventually, the only subjects reported dealt with oil and the war, while ancient history was destroyed and erased from books.

  As humanity turned upside down, the nations rallied against Russia which in turn pulled in China’s involvement and eventually the European nations. The World Council began to question the methods of Ives and their Sorcēarian representatives. Humanity was out of control, and religious relics were missing. It wasn’t long before a conspiracy began. As the years passed, more evidence surfaced that led people to believe a Sorcēarian was responsible for the theft of the ancient artifacts. Religious upheavals occurred, which only created more war. Soon, the entire world was at war for reasons that were most unreasonable, and Ives was soon to become a target.

  Euclid, however, had played his part perfectly. He led Asahni to believe that the Russian military disposed of the relics as was originally plotted between the CEOs while he actually relocated them to a secret vault on Ives. Only Euclid knew of the location. If Gaius had this knowledge, he would promptly return the artifacts to hu
manity, and Euclid could not allow that. And to keep Gaius busy, Euclid fabricated the conspiracy against the Sorcēarians. With no more than a few suggestions to the World Council, he had the world convinced of his lies. It didn’t take much as humanity had already been developing their doubts about the Sorcēarian race. Bayerd’s death was no accident and had become the perfect catalyst to create hostile relations between the races. The world split in half. Some nations favored the Sorcēarians; the others blamed them for all their problems. Countless Sorcēarians perished over the years. Many of the attacks were without warning.

  Living among the humans for so long was beginning to leave a sour taste in Euclid’s mouth. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to annihilate them all to end their petty fighting. Despite his repulsion for the people of Earth, Euclid had a different perspective than before. He understood the animosity half of humanity felt. Ives appeared pious, sometimes forceful in their religious demands. He knew there was a strict form of moral and ethical criteria that Sir Gaius followed, yet the world wasn’t black and white. There were many gray areas. Euclid had seen it countless times; those who were undeserving received help from Ives while innocents died. Most of the time he agreed with the Elder’s ruling, but there were times where Ives made no action when there was a desperate need for one.

  As he watched Asahni smoke his third cigar, Euclid wondered why he was even in the same room as this man. Why was the CEO still alive? Asahni was the reason so many had died, all because of some ignorant form of erasing religion from history through the guise of corporate warfare. Every word the man spewed was some form of hypocrisy. Asahni honestly believed he was doing the world a service by destroying the relics and slowly eradicating the Sorcēarian race. At least, the Saudi Prince thought it was his doing. With the meeting near, Euclid realized the full power he suddenly had; he unintentionally set up the World Council to believe the Sorcēarians were against humanity. Why would Gaius entrust any Sorcēarian with this much power? It made Euclid nervous. Gaius was careless. He was too trusting. One wrong move and a Sorcēarian could easily be the downfall of the entire race. Euclid quickly dismissed the idea. Such was the case with any employee working for any business. Trust. It was a strange thing.

  It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, it would all be over. Every meeting, phone call, and digital message over the past fifty years were recorded and backed up by multiple databases. Today was the day the World Council would decide if Ives deserved to remain on the council. If the ruling were to throw out the participation of the Sorcēarian race, then the war would spread to Ives. Euclid wasn’t about to let that happen, no matter what.

  Euclid took the form of CEO Sarkov after nearly twenty-five years of spectating. Sarkov was rumored to have been “injured” in an automobile accident during that time. Euclid needed a way to work behind the scenes, and this was the best opportunity to do so. So, what if he may have had a little hand in the Russian’s demise? Nobody needed to know why the man happened to be driving well over the speed limit and ended up flipping over a bridge and plummeting into the icy waters below. The power of suggestion was far too easy, especially when Sarkov saw Euclid’s glowing blue eyes in his rearview mirror. To the Sorcēarians, Euclid had been keeping a close eye on the man, pulled his body from the wreckage, was unable to resuscitate him, and then took his identity to move further on with his plan for the sake of humanity and Ives. Truthfully, Euclid allowed the man to drown, took his body to Ives for preservation, discussed his plans with the Elders, and got approved. He never lied; he just didn’t tell the entire truth. Why would he? He knew Sarkov’s mind. The man was a mass murderer. Sarkov was just one less piece of trash to worry about in the human gene pool.

  Having developed a firm relationship with Asahni, Euclid knew the loudmouthed, pretentious man believed he’d have his religious war within hours after the World Council meeting. Euclid smirked, anxious to see Asahni’s expression when he would double-cross the man during the gathering. Euclid, as Sarkov, would release all evidence of his dealings with Asahni, and tell of their plot to create a world war with the sole purpose of annihilating the Sorcēarian race. As for telling the truth about the ancient relics, Euclid decided he’d continue to keep the true location of the artifacts a secret. Humanity was not to be trusted. For history as precious as this, it was best the items remained in Sorcēarian hands. He’d allow humanity to believe in their destruction.

  As for Asahni, the prince would be arrested on the spot, put on trial, and would most likely kill himself before he ever saw a prison cell. Euclid chuckled quietly. The world would suddenly come to an abrupt halt. The pointless wars would be forced to cease, and humanity would slowly go back to the way it was before, at least until another overzealous bigot decided to try his hand at tyranny and genocide.

  “And what has you in such a good mood this evening?” Asahni asked. His thick accent tore Euclid out of his daze.

  “Just thinking about the meeting,” he replied in a Russian accent.

  Euclid eyed his reflection in the mirror. He was a perfect replica of an aged Sarkov–horseshoe hair of brown and gray, a clean-shaven face with deep frown lines, ashen eyes, and a navy-blue suit with a maroon tie. Sometimes, even Euclid forgot his natural appearance. With a blink of an eye, he saw his true form hiding behind his spell. Being a master illusionist, nobody had ever seen through Euclid’s disguise. Being one of the best in Azure status, Euclid could mimic and manipulate a human’s mind better than some of the Elders. A simple download of a person’s genetics and brainwaves allowed him to retrieve memories, replicate their voice, and even copy their movements without issue.

  “Soon, soon I’ll have my hands on Ives. All that history will be mine—their power, their knowledge, their weaponry, their agriculture, everything.” Asahni poured another glass of whiskey, offering one to Euclid.

  “Ours,” the Sorcēarian corrected. “Soon it will all be ours.”

  Asahni cleared his throat as he adjusted his sunglasses. He insisted on wearing shades no matter the time of day or night. It was hard to take the man seriously with his bushy black mustache, gaudy jewelry, and pointed-toe shoes. Euclid found him not only repulsive but also incredibly stupid.

  “Of course, ours!” Asahni corrected.

  One of Asahni’s biggest downfalls was his greed. Euclid had read his mind plenty of times to know that once the World Council meeting was over, Asahni planned to have Sarkov assassinated. The Prince wanted no loose ends. Too bad for him, he’d be in jail before he could order the assassination, and Sarkov would once again have an unforeseen “accident.” The Russian’s terrible driving would send him over the edge of the same bridge as before and his preserved body placed at the bottom of the lake. Euclid would resume his natural image, and no one would ever be the wiser.

  Euclid stood. Looking at his golden wristwatch, he smirked. “Meeting is in an hour. Shall we leave?”

  Asahni stubbed his large cigar inside his glass tumbler. “I’ll call the limo,” the man triumphantly stated.

  Euclid followed the man out into the hallway, glaring at the back of his head. He could kill this man, too. There was no reason for Asahni to remain alive. He could die right now, and Euclid could use the image of Sarkov to reveal the man’s plans. Euclid could say Asahni killed himself upon hearing about his friend’s betrayal or even frame Sarkov with his murder. It was tempting, but it would never play out the way he wanted. Sir Gaius would see through that lie. Euclid was already toeing the line. He had to be sure that tonight played out perfectly. As he watched Asahni chuckle, swaying from side to side down the elegant hallway, Euclid believed this task wouldn’t be a difficult one.

  "Purple Orchid"

  Chapter 9

  Mortar fire was never pleasant by any means, but today it was especially bothersome. Dovian winced, pressing his shoulder against his ear as the explosive rounds ruptured one after another in an unrelenting sequence. The warmth of his blood soaking through his pant leg alerted him of yet anot
her wound, but he’d have to wait to heal himself until he finished with his current patient. Dovian gave a small grunt, tears welling in his eyes. He’d been hit time and again by shrapnel, bullets, knife wounds, and anything else one could think of, but sometimes the injury nicked the right nerve.

  “Gotcha good this time, didn’t it?” Quentin asked.

  Dovian tried to smile but ended up gritting his teeth and nodding instead.

  “Femoral. If you don’t take the time to heal yourself, you’re bound to bleed out before you finish saving anyone else.” The man kneeled beside Dovian and quickly wrapped his hands around the wound.

  “Don’t worry about me. You need to save your energy to heal the others. I can get to myself once I’m finished with this one,” Dovian fussed.

  They both looked solemnly at the little boy lying unconscious in the deep trench. Scattered dirt and splintered wood decorated the earthen walls around them. It wasn’t much, but in the heat of a torrential battle such as this, trench systems were the only means of travel and safety. The current war had spread to the tiny villages outlying the South African city. Unfortunately, many of the causalities were children as the area housed multiple schools and churches created by the Sorcēarian missionaries.

  Dovian had received periodic updates from Euclid. He knew all too well the true meaning behind these wars, and now it was becoming blatant. Targeting innocent villagers was plain sadistic. Dovian only prayed the World Council meeting would conclude soon. He didn’t know how much longer he or the others could last. Sleep was a thing of the past. Even his seemingly endless supply of energy was becoming limited. He forced back a yawn. He would hate to know how the others felt.

  Suddenly becoming dizzy, Dovian’s form slouched. He gaped at Quentin’s blood-soaked hands clamped around the wound. Perhaps Quentin was right; he had overdone it.