The Esoteric Design: Civilization Lost Read online

  “Careless slob,” Quentin scoffed as he blew a loose strand of his gray-streaked brown hair out of his eyes.

  Quentin was a decent healer but couldn’t hold a candle to Dovian’s capabilities, but then again nobody on Ives was as good a healer as Dovian other than Sir Gaius. Many of the Elders insisted Dovian trade his robes in for white and red, favoring him as a medic to a warrior. Dovian refused. He was Scarlet, and he wanted to remain that way. Fighting was what made him feel alive and capable of saving lives. Sure, his healing truly did save many, but Dovian preferred to prevent pain and suffering before it occurred. His father often frowned at his logic, thinking it a bit too similar to Dovian’s late brother, Gaius IV. If circumstances called for it, Dovian immediately removed himself from battle to heal those in need. He never scorned his healing powers for his combat skills. Dovian was proud of what he had inherited from his mother. As his healing light flooded from the palms of his hands, removing bullets and shrapnel, sickness and disease, he could almost feel her near him. It was comforting and soothing, but sometimes a painful reminder. He greatly missed Elysia, even after all this time.

  Dovian wiped his face on a coat sleeve and forced his eyes to remain open. Mortar fire had landed on a group of shanties, one being the boy’s home which was packed full of scrap metal he collected. Upon impact, pieces of the collection splintered the boy’s body. Dovian had seen the event unfold and rushed to the child’s aid. As he carried the injured to the trench, another series had gone off, resulting in his own wounds.

  Dovian inspected the patient’s body. He separated the metal and neatly extracted the substance while simultaneously administering sedation. Once the removal process was complete, he immediately worked to heal the internal organs that received damage and stopped the bleeding. The boy was only one patient out of the thousands Dovian had healed over the span of the mission. The record was too high, and Dovian had stopped counting years ago. Healing himself required minimal energy as opposed to healing another, but Dovian no longer had the energy to spare. The death count was spiraling out of control, and too many children needed him. Once again, he was thankful to have Quentin by his side.

  Despite being fourth in the family line, Quentin was the oldest member of the team. His tanned skin and the shadow of facial hair gave him a rugged appearance. A thin set of lines marked the edges of his mouth and maroon-colored eyes. He was a Scarlet warrior training to gain an additional Azure status. Originally, the man was meant to return home once Dovian arrived at his post, but Quentin insisted he stay to keep an eye on the boys. It never hurt having an additional medic on the team. Even if he were ordered to go home, Dovian doubted Quentin would. Over the years, the older man had, in a way, adopted Dovian and the others as his own. The man was a bit overprotective and sometimes overbearing. Having children of his own, Quentin was a worrywart. Because of the extensive mission, he took every opportunity he could to journey home, even if it were for a single day. Quentin never missed a holiday, sometimes fled home just for breakfast before the battles would pick up again, and even sent messages regularly throughout the day. Dovian admired the man. His devotion to his family was astounding if not completely exhausting. But that was what made Quentin a great team member. He had the same drive and dedication to all aspects of his life, and for that, Dovian was grateful.

  He and Quentin had been protecting the villages over the past few months, fighting hand-to-hand combat, providing shields, and healing. Their additional support came from Karter, also a well-trained Scarlet. Karter provided constant backup and gave valuable information to areas unknown to the others. Being proficient with a bow and arrow, Karter often sat a distance away from the others, providing air support and administering his power shields. While Karter’s screens provided some form of cover, his were specifically used to help replenish energy and life-forces. Karter wasn’t a healer per se, but his spectacular domes provided a boost that was currently Dovian and Quentin’s saving grace. It fueled their powers and kept patients alive much longer than they otherwise would have been.

  “Any news?” Karter’s smooth voice called out from Dovian’s armband.

  “Nothing yet on my end,” Dovian tiredly replied.

  “Darn,” Karter hissed.

  Despite being the youngest on the team, Karter was dubbed the “old man” due to his overly-polite nature and refusal to curse no matter the circumstance. Anger also eluded him. Dovian had only seen Karter angry a couple of times in his life, and even then, the reaction was laughable. Ironically, Karter’s copper eyes had a reaction to darkness which caused them to glow a fiery red. He appeared dreadfully menacing at night, and humans tended to fear the poor man, which may have been the explanation for his benevolent nature. During daylight, Karter appeared quite the opposite with his bright smile and golden-wheat shaggy hair.

  “Orin?” Dovian asked. “You’ve been quiet on your end for quite some time. I assume you’re watching the conference.”

  Orin had supported his teammates through the use of his exemplary vision. He acted as their leader, being the one on the team who had immediate access to world news and mission updates. He could figuratively be anywhere and everywhere all at once. When not delivering news and giving orders, Orin worked with the civilians and their assigned generals. The Emerald man had a silver tongue and was the least brash of them all outside of Karter, who often lacked words for any situation. Karter was a shy, quiet man who preferred his faraway duties over speaking before an audience, let alone with humans in the midst of war. Orin usually kept a careful eye on Karter as the boy rarely asked for any help when needed because of his fear of being a bother. The younger man was just too polite, and it was sometimes irritating.

  “The conference just finished,” Orin’s voice cut in.

  “And?” Dovian asked.

  “You guys should have seen it!” Orin shouted. “Euclid really outdid himself with this one!” There was a second of silence before he started up again. “I can’t believe it; he’s crying! Asahni is actually crying! Once Sarkov threw him under the bus, Asahni lost it and admitted to the entire thing! They’ve got him cuffed! All eyes are on him! I’ve never seen such a dramatic display from a grown man before in all my years!”

  “And Euclid?” Dovian grew impatient.

  “Why must you worry so much about me?” Euclid joined the conversation. “All data was left behind for the World Council to review. I am…I mean, Sarkov is supposed to meet with the council tomorrow, but it’s unnecessary. They have everything they need. Asahni admitting to the crimes made my job a whole lot easier. Giving him a little power of suggestion didn’t hurt either.”

  There was a hint of static as Euclid spoke, which meant he was busy teleporting to different locations.

  “Planting the body now. All is well. Give it some time, and the mortar fire should cease,” Euclid announced.

  Dovian sighed, removing his hands from his patient’s small body. He finally finished. The boy would be alright.

  “Dovian, are you aware you’ve been shot?” Quentin asked.

  Dovian peered at his side. How long had that bullet been lodged beneath his ribs?

  “Maybe that’s why I’ve not been feeling quite right,” the silver-haired man mumbled.

  Quentin gave an expression proving he was not even slightly amused. Without wasting any time, he pressed his hand against Dovian’s side.

  A familiar whooshing noise came from the left, a gust of air following it. It was a sound Dovian had grown familiar.

  “It’s a wonder how Dovian hasn’t died yet,” Euclid’s harsh voice rumbled. “Quentin, have you not gotten any better with your medic skills?”

  Euclid didn’t wait for a response, but pressed against the older man’s shoulder, forcing him out of the way. Since the day it was announced Quentin would be on their team as Dovian’s substitute, Euclid held a form of unwarranted animosity for the man. Even after spending nearly fifty years together, his initial feelings had yet to letup. Quentin ev
entually accepted Euclid’s brashness, though it still irked him to be treated with such little respect. Dovian often mediated between the two. Out of everyone in all of Ives, Dovian was the only Sorcēarian who could keep Euclid in check.

  Crouching beside Dovian, Euclid eyed him with a tired expression as his hand replaced Quentin’s. The entire team seemed worse for wear. Euclid may not have fought any physical battles, but to manifest and maintain an illusion such as his for so long was taxing.

  “Finished,” Euclid mumbled before he pushed to his feet. He flicked the bullet with his thumb.

  Dovian easily caught the piece of metal, giving it an indifferent stare. “You’re getting better,” he replied.

  For being Azure, Euclid was a phenomenal healer. But like with everything else, Euclid was competitive. Once he had heard of Dovian’s healing capabilities, Euclid diligently trained until the Elders recognized him for his efforts. Still not besting his friend, Euclid finally accepted the fact that he wasn’t the best medic on the field but could at least hold his own. He had saved Dovian’s life a time or two, and that was enough for him.

  “Surrounded by death for so many years straight, it’s almost second nature now. I find myself wanting to heal every miserable human I pass on the street,” the Azure man grumbled with a hint of amusement.

  The three of them sat on the trench floor, resting their heads against the wall. Dovian glanced at the bodies surrounding them. Three more men had died while he worked on the boy. Despite all he did, he couldn’t save them all. It was a painful experience as not only had he let the injured down, but he had to listen to their disappointment and fear as they lay dying, their minds a whirlwind of suffering that was too distracting in Dovian’s mind. He had to focus on blocking out the whispers in his head. Often, the best solution was to keep the dying sedated, so they passed in their sleep. It was the least Dovian could do for their sake and his.

  Euclid set his deep blue irises on the tangerine sky. Clouds of red and purple mixed with the waving charcoal smoke. Rays of pale yellow eked from behind the bulbous masses. It was a calming vision as long as he blocked out the rumbles and cracks of the battle surrounding them. There was the sound of a portal opening. Orin appeared adorned in his emerald and gray robes, golden chains dangling from his sleeves and beads decorating one ear. He appeared unscathed having been in negotiations with war generals and the World Council all day. A second opening appeared, and Karter stepped into view, slinging his bow and arrow over his shoulder. With a quick shake of his head, his overgrown hair moved out of his eyes. He wore the proper battle attire, was clean-cut and straight-laced, and didn’t bother wearing any adornments or flair outside of a golden broach housing a shimmering spec of molten lava. It was a gem his grandmother had given him when he was a child.

  Karter and Orin took their places on the ground beside the others, each letting out a loud sigh. With a wave of his hand, Karter released a fresh dome of light, the electric blue sizzling as it grew over the entirety of their small camp of trenches before fading into invisibility to allow the view of the sunset.

  “I’m hungry,” Orin mumbled.

  Euclid reached into his blue coat pocket and tossed a brown paper sack. “Freshly baked muffins made by the chef this morning.”

  Orin’s eyes swirled as he ripped into the bag. “Oh! So many choices!”

  He didn’t need to ask to know who would want what flavor. Orin passed the blueberry muffin to Karter, the chocolate chip to Dovian, kept the brown sugar for himself, and tossed the apple muffin to Quentin. Orin gave a small glance to Euclid to which the man made a simple waving gesture. Acting as Sarkov meant Euclid never wanted for anything. He hadn’t felt hunger in years.

  “You didn’t give me the brown sugar muffin,” Quentin spoke up.

  Orin smirked. “Because it also has maple syrup. I know you don’t care much for syrup.”

  The older man chuckled, biting into his apple muffin. “You’re very observant.”

  “I’ve spent plenty of time around you boys to know what you all like and dislike. I feel like I’m married to you all.” Orin took a large bite of his muffin, moaning. It was soft, melted in his mouth, and quite possibly was one of the best muffins he ever had.

  If there was one thing all Sorcēarians had in common, it was the love for food, particularly sweets. A Sorcēarian’s home was not complete without an overabundance of fresh fruit, something always on the fire, and a fresh plate of brownies, cookies, pies, or pastries of some kind. For the holidays, the head households each contained a massive hall used for feasts. Cauldrons sat in the corners where cider and homebrew ales were available throughout the day and night. A side table often was decorated with punches, coffee, and a variety of teas with milk and honey. Festively decorated tables occupied the center. Plates of assorted cheeses, bread, meat, and dips lined the edges. At dinner time, platters of roast, broth-soaked vegetables, pasta, and other delicacies occupied the middle. Bowls of salad added color as did the fruit and soups. The back of the room housed an assortment of desserts. Each feast had a comparable amount of sweets. It was customary for each family to bring their favorite recipe. At the end of it all, when they couldn’t eat anymore, all the leftovers were divided up. That in itself was an event that lasted most the night. The food would hold over the house for the remainder of the holiday. Eating was a Sorcēarian favorite pastime. If one was ever in trouble, their punishment was to go without dinner. That was often considered a capital punishment.

  “I miss Lucinda’s meatloaf,” Karter hummed.

  “Her macaroni salad,” Quentin added.

  “Her cheese and potato soup,” Dovian said his piece.

  A series of moans and nods came from the men.

  “Her homemade ice cream atop her chocolate chunk brownies, covered with hot fudge,” Euclid said.

  The groans grew in volume.

  Orin toppled over into Karter’s lap. “It’s a special kind of torture to speak of such things while on the field,” he whimpered. Karter gently patted Orin’s head as he took the final bite of his muffin.

  The five men sat in each other’s company, allowing their energy to replenish thanks to the food and Karter’s dome. A chime on Orin’s wristband alerted him of a team of medics who would be among their lines soon. It was then that he realized the tumultuous thundering of battle had greatly diminished to nothing more than a few random strikes.

  “That was a quick response,” Orin whispered.

  Euclid yawned. “I told you it wouldn’t take long. Sarkov held a lot of power. I found out quite a few interesting things about our World Council members. I hate to say I wasn’t surprised at how many had their hands in the profiteering of war. And let’s not mention oil.”

  Quentin scoffed. “Bet I could guess.”

  Euclid waited for a beat as the others chimed in at once, “All of them.”

  “Power hungry, manipulative, greedy bastards.” Euclid suddenly pushed to his feet. The sky remained littered with white lines as the military aircraft pulled out. “So…when are we cleaning house?”

  “Cleaning house?” Dovian asked.

  Euclid frowned. “The entire council is corrupt. Not even one of them went without the gain of a dollar off this war. True, the majority wanted to put an end to it as quickly as possible, but none offered to shed the profit they made.” He sighed, scratching his head. “None wanted to admit to their earnings once word came through that children became targets.”

  “These are all pertinent findings, Euclid. It’s best you meet with the Elders when we arrive home. Sir Gaius will most certainly want to hear this.” Orin stood with the man, checking the messages on his band.

  “Yes, Sir Gaius…I have more than a few words to share with him,” Euclid said under his breath, but not without Dovian’s hearing.

  “Euclid, he’s still my great-grandfather,” Dovian warned.

  “Ah, yes. Do you honestly believe I’d ever forget that, Dovian?” Euclid peered sideways at him.


  “We have rules and guidelines to follow. To blatantly wipe out targets, especially politicians, would only bring the war to our doorstep. You know this.” Dovian chipped the blood off his skin. Before Euclid could say more, he interjected. “Yes, thousands died. Not following orders would have placed millions in the grave.”

  “The lesser of two evils, I suppose,” Euclid sighed.

  Euclid had shown early on in his life his disapproval of the World Council and the Elders. He believed placing all his faith on a group of old men was the perfect recipe for disaster and corruption. He had seen it many times before from all the nations, the United States being a repeat offender.

  The Azure man faced the others. “Just a bit tired I suppose.”

  Orin raised his hand. “Just got word that we’re approved to come home.”

  Quentin jumped to his feet, a loud cheer sounding from him.

  “It’s so late in the evening though,” Dovian murmured.

  “Head home and off to bed, your own bed!” Quentin patted his shoulder.

  “You all go on ahead. I’m staying one last night to gather some things.” Euclid folded his arms.

  “I’ve left some things behind in the barracks. I will probably gather them up and head to bed. I’ll return home in the morning,” Dovian added.

  Quentin was shocked. “No rush to go home?”

  “It’s been about fifty years, what’s one more night?” Dovian asked.

  Karter shrugged. “I have things in the barracks as well. There are a few people I’d like to say my goodbyes to before I take my leave to Ives.”

  Dovian pointed at Karter, nodding. “Yes, that too.”

  “Perhaps I should stay as well,” Quentin suggested.

  Orin patted the man on the shoulder. “No need! You’ve got a wife and kids! Go to them. We will all see you tomorrow night at the feast!”

  Quentin’s smile widened.

  “Feast?” Dovian and Euclid questioned simultaneously. Karter also looked intrigued.

  Orin laughed. “You think my father would go without throwing us all a feast for our return home? He’s already blowing up my band with messages.” Orin’s eyes widened. “Oh, my grandmother will be making her famous chocolate cream pie.”