Read Online Kudisha Departure Episode 1 Journey to Rehnor series by J. Naomi Ay - Free Book Online
Authors: J. Naomi Ay
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his
muscles.
The King lifted his eyes just then, meeting
Beryl’s with his own darkly, piercing gaze. He was a handsome man,
a beautiful man, much more so in person than he had ever appeared
upon the TV. Beryl’s first instinct was to reach for her phone, to
call Bonita, to report exactly this.
“Mom, I’ve got so much to tell you about this
voyage, about the King.”
Bonita was gone. Her phone was gone. Her
broken dishwasher, her kitchen table, her neighbor’s annoying
barking dog, everything and everyone had been reduced to
dust.
Beryl’s throat caught. She gasped a little, as
if trying to catch her breath. A tiny tear left a trail upon her
cheek.
The King held out his hand, offering Beryl a
handkerchief. It was starkly white, perfectly pressed and folded
exactly so. In one corner, in gold thread, a tiny crown was
stitched, his initials, KdK in black below.
“Thank you, Sir,” Beryl whispered, lifting her
eyes to his face, once again.
His eyes were so dark they were nearly black,
as if the iris consisted of nothing more than a giant pupil. They
seemed unreadable, but penetrating, as if he could see directly
into her mind, as if he knew her every thought.
“Keep it,” he replied, breaking the
spell.
Chapter 9
Karukan sat at his desk, or rather what
sufficed for a desk in the small closet allocated for his office.
It was in a corner adjacent to the family room, the somewhat large
area below the main cabin used by his family, whilst the crew
shared all the quarters upstairs.
At the time the ships were commissioned, he
knew he would be desperate for a private space. As king, he
certainly was entitled to configure the ship solely for his
pleasure. However, that wouldn’t be fair. Not to his family, and
certainly, not to the hardworking crew.
Despite it all, Karukan was still a fair man.
He insisted his needs could be accommodated with as little space as
possible. To that end, what would have become the private family
bathroom, became instead his shipboard den. This required all
members of the family to use the single lavatory up the stairs,
something only Lorena found the least bit inconvenient.
Karukan spent nearly all of his time in that
closet, at a metal table built into the wall, perched upon a chair
that was nothing more than a small stool. He had a collection of
pens and pencils, and a seemingly endless supply of paper, for he
knew once the batteries expired on his electronic tablet, it would
be useless.
Beyond that, there was room enough for only a
small crate, which was filled with protein wafers, the equivalent
of a month’s worth of food. Whenever anyone was invited into the
King’s sanctum, or else required some of Karukan’s time, it was
upon this crate where they sat and made their petition.
Most often though, Karukan sat alone, a blank
sheet of paper on the table before him, a sharpened pencil at the
ready in his hand. Although days and weeks, even months had passed,
his hand failed to transcribe a word, to record what he had
witnessed, and why.
How could one even begin to explain the
reasons for making a decision such as he had done? After centuries
of wars, after deaths, countless deaths, he had brought an end to
it forever with death to all.
Did he really believe it would have come to
that? No. A thousand times no. Surely, if he had, he would have
stopped it long before it became too late. He had thought, truly he
did, that up until the very last moment, Kalila would have held his
hand up and called for peace.
But, he didn’t, and neither did Karukan, who
at each step along the ladder, met his rival’s bid, and raised it,
half thinking, hoping it was all a bluff.
Now, Karukan suffered in a way he had never
known before with the cries of a billion voices resonating
unceasingly in his ears. Now, he bore the burden of a billion souls
upon his shoulders. Souls he had only wanted to save, to spare from
Kalila’s treacherous reign.
"If not by you then by your son,"
muscles.
The King lifted his eyes just then, meeting
Beryl’s with his own darkly, piercing gaze. He was a handsome man,
a beautiful man, much more so in person than he had ever appeared
upon the TV. Beryl’s first instinct was to reach for her phone, to
call Bonita, to report exactly this.
“Mom, I’ve got so much to tell you about this
voyage, about the King.”
Bonita was gone. Her phone was gone. Her
broken dishwasher, her kitchen table, her neighbor’s annoying
barking dog, everything and everyone had been reduced to
dust.
Beryl’s throat caught. She gasped a little, as
if trying to catch her breath. A tiny tear left a trail upon her
cheek.
The King held out his hand, offering Beryl a
handkerchief. It was starkly white, perfectly pressed and folded
exactly so. In one corner, in gold thread, a tiny crown was
stitched, his initials, KdK in black below.
“Thank you, Sir,” Beryl whispered, lifting her
eyes to his face, once again.
His eyes were so dark they were nearly black,
as if the iris consisted of nothing more than a giant pupil. They
seemed unreadable, but penetrating, as if he could see directly
into her mind, as if he knew her every thought.
“Keep it,” he replied, breaking the
spell.
Chapter 9
Karukan sat at his desk, or rather what
sufficed for a desk in the small closet allocated for his office.
It was in a corner adjacent to the family room, the somewhat large
area below the main cabin used by his family, whilst the crew
shared all the quarters upstairs.
At the time the ships were commissioned, he
knew he would be desperate for a private space. As king, he
certainly was entitled to configure the ship solely for his
pleasure. However, that wouldn’t be fair. Not to his family, and
certainly, not to the hardworking crew.
Despite it all, Karukan was still a fair man.
He insisted his needs could be accommodated with as little space as
possible. To that end, what would have become the private family
bathroom, became instead his shipboard den. This required all
members of the family to use the single lavatory up the stairs,
something only Lorena found the least bit inconvenient.
Karukan spent nearly all of his time in that
closet, at a metal table built into the wall, perched upon a chair
that was nothing more than a small stool. He had a collection of
pens and pencils, and a seemingly endless supply of paper, for he
knew once the batteries expired on his electronic tablet, it would
be useless.
Beyond that, there was room enough for only a
small crate, which was filled with protein wafers, the equivalent
of a month’s worth of food. Whenever anyone was invited into the
King’s sanctum, or else required some of Karukan’s time, it was
upon this crate where they sat and made their petition.
Most often though, Karukan sat alone, a blank
sheet of paper on the table before him, a sharpened pencil at the
ready in his hand. Although days and weeks, even months had passed,
his hand failed to transcribe a word, to record what he had
witnessed, and why.
How could one even begin to explain the
reasons for making a decision such as he had done? After centuries
of wars, after deaths, countless deaths, he had brought an end to
it forever with death to all.
Did he really believe it would have come to
that? No. A thousand times no. Surely, if he had, he would have
stopped it long before it became too late. He had thought, truly he
did, that up until the very last moment, Kalila would have held his
hand up and called for peace.
But, he didn’t, and neither did Karukan, who
at each step along the ladder, met his rival’s bid, and raised it,
half thinking, hoping it was all a bluff.
Now, Karukan suffered in a way he had never
known before with the cries of a billion voices resonating
unceasingly in his ears. Now, he bore the burden of a billion souls
upon his shoulders. Souls he had only wanted to save, to spare from
Kalila’s treacherous reign.
"If not by you then by your son,"
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