My Kingdom Come book 1: The Saints We See
Prologue: Abomination

643 standard years after the signing of the Alliance treaty

Galor held the tiny vial up between his fingers. The early morning light caught in the translucent black liquid as it swirled slowly inside. Small rivers of silver-white twisted through the inky blackness, changing to a silvery green then blue, red, and then back to silver-white as the poison searched for anything living inside its glass prison.

Galor closed his lightly furred hand around the vial. He squeezed his eyes shut, dropped his hand into his lap and let his head fall back against the building he was sitting against. The busy market place bustled around him. Sellers calling out their wares, sentients haggling over prices, children playing, slaves crying, animals making their various noises. Everything was full of life.

Galor fingered the stopper of the vial absently.

He sensed the little Wen child rushing towards the space where he was sitting a few seconds before they caught their foot on his leg and began to fall. He opened his eyes lazily. His hand shot out and caught the back of the boy’s shirt before he could land in the dust, without Galor intending to do it. He set the little boy back on his feet and leaned back against the building again.

The little boy stared at him, his startlingly bright purple eyes unblinking. “What are you?”

Galor grinned, baring his pointed teeth at the boy. “An abomination.”

The boy blinked. “Why are you sad? Do you want to play?” His face brightened with anticipation.

“No.”

“Are you busy working?”

“No.”

The boy cocked his head. “Then why don’t you want to play?”

Galor’s fist closed convulsively around the vial. “I have a job to do.”

“Oh. You’re busy working then.” The boys face fell.

Galor swallowed. “No. I’m…not busy.”

The boy’s face brightened again. “Come on then!” He held his hand out to Galor.

Galor stared into the boy’s rectangular pupils. Prey eyes. He swallowed again. “Go back to your mother.” He stood abruptly, then clutched at his head groaning. It took a moment for the dizziness to subside. When he opened his eyes the child was gone.

Galor turned and stumbled away, his hand trailing over the rough wall to help him keep his balance, his claws carelessly scratching a wavering trail through the paint.

When he reached the end of the wall he paused. He nearly sat back down in the dust again, but instead he clenched his jaw and continued on.

He continued to wander in a stupor, not caring where his feet took him till he found himself standing in a Wheel temple. He stared dully as sentients began taking their places at the rim of the large wheel marked out on the floor in the mosaic of inlaid stones. A gentle hand took hold of Galor’s arm. Galor angrily shook the hand off and turned to face whoever had touched him.

An elderly Wheel priest, in brown robes, smiled at him gently. He had the hairlessness, dark teal skin, and bright blue eyes typical of the Kaylor species. “It’s time to take our places, brother.” His voice was pleasant.

“Don’t you know what I am?” Galor hissed. He stabbed a finger at the small black badge on his collar.

The priest’s eyes dropped to the badge and then moved back to Galor’s eyes without changing expression. “You’re Jurverian.”

Galor gave a jerky nod.

“You have a place at the wheel too, brother.” He took hold of Galor’s arm again and gently moved him to the wheel’s rim next to a Wen woman. She smiled at Galor. He didn’t smile back.

The priest moved to stand on the other side of Galor. He clasped his hands in front of his waistline.

It seemed that everyone had found a place. A hush fell over the temple. Galor stared around the large circle of sentients. Half a dozen species ringed the wheel, standing side by side. Sentients began to take the hands of those next to them. Galor was surprised when the Wen Woman took his hand without hesitation. Her large, hairless hand engulfed his smaller hairier one in a gentle embrace. The priest reached to take his other hand. Galor was still holding the vial in that hand. He squeezed his fist tight and the priest gently wrapped his smooth, blue, fingers as far around Galor’s fist as he could reach.

“Brothers, sisters, and siblings,” another Wheel priest further around the circle said in a sonorous voice. Galor craned his neck and was surprised to see he was a Shoiga. “Welcome to the Wheel, where all are welcomed, all are vital, all are equal.”

“All are welcome, all are vital, all are equal.” The sentients around the circle responded.

Galor shut his eyes. His hand was damp with sweat in the Wen woman’s hand, his other hand shook as it clutched the vial inside the gentle hold of the priest.

The Shoigan Wheel priest droned on, the others around the circle answering him periodically. The ritual service lasted another five minutes, then the Wen woman released Galor’s hand. “Good day, brother, may you replace satisfaction in your place today,” she said quietly. Galor’s lips twisted, but she was already turning to the sentient on her other side and repeating the phrase.

The priest hadn’t let go of Galor’s fist. Galor turned to scowl at him.

The priest lifted Galor’s fist and cradled it in both hands as if it were something precious. “What is this burden you’re carrying, brother?”

Galor blinked at him and to his surprise he found himself uncurling his fingers, exposing the vial to the priest’s calm indigo eyes.

The two men stood quietly looking at the vial between them for a moment.

The priest looked up at Galor. “Ir’Klahn venom?”

Galor nodded.

“Which one of us is this meant for?”

Galor frowned and shook his head. “No. I’m not here to hunt any of the priests or worshipers.”

The priest chuckled softly. “That’s not what I meant.” He curled Galor’s fingers shut and let go of his hand. “Are you hungry, brother? I am about to eat and it would be nice if you could join me.”

Galor swallowed. He stared at the priest for a moment. “I…yes.”

“Good. Come with me.” The priest turned and began walking towards the back of the temple. “Jurverian are meat eaters, yes?”

Galor grunted an affirmative. He followed the priest through a small door, down a narrow corridor and into a large kitchen. He stood awkwardly in the corner while the priest filled a large clay mug with water from a pitcher. He handed it to Galor and Galor quickly drank it all. The priest refilled Galor’s mug and placed the pitcher on the counter beside Galor. “Drink as much as you want, brother.” He turned and began preparing the food.

Galor quickly drained the mug two more times, then more slowly sipped at a third mugful of water while he watched the priest work.

He had put a clean plate and small bowl on the counter, and was pulling a cooked roast from the cold storage cupboard. He cut off two thick slices and put them on the plate which he slipped into a warming oven. Next the priest pulled a container from another cupboard and opening it, poured a small pile of colorless opaque cubes into the bowl. The timer on the warming oven pinged, signaling it was done. The priest took the plate out of the warming oven and handed it to Galor along with a fork that he pulled from a drawer. “I like to eat outside, especially on a fine day like this. Is that alright with you?”

Galor nodded, his fist tightening on the vial. His mouth watered at the smell of the meat. He put the mug down on the counter and took the plate and fork in his free hand.

He followed the priest through a side door, into a kitchen garden. The priest settled on one of the many stone benches scattered through the garden. Galor gingerly sat on the other end of the bench. He set the plate on the bench between himself and the priest, speared one of the slices of roast on the end of his fork and lifting it to his mouth tore a chunk of it off with his razor sharp teeth.

“We are grateful, gods, for your provision, your watchful eyes and your eternal love.” The priest intoned quietly.

Galor looked up at the priest.

The priest opened his eyes, took a cube from his bowl and popped it into his mouth.

Galor turned his focus back to his plate. It didn’t take Galor long to finish the meat. It had been a while since he’d eaten something that hadn’t come out of a can.

“Brother, is your business with the vial urgent?”

Galor scowled. “Why do you keep calling me ‘brother’?”

The priest looked at Galor and smiled. “Because you are my brother.”

“I am not related to you.”

“You are still my brother. We share life in the same galaxy, we share the same resources, we were given life by the same gods.”

Galor looked away and snorted.

“Are you in a hurry to finish your assignment?”

“I’m not on assignment.”

“I see. Can I ask how long it’s been since you slept?”

Galor turned and looked at the priest silently for a moment. “Too long.”

“I can offer you a room here in the temple. No one will bother you. You can have it for as long as you want it.”

Galor’s hand tightened around the vial. “Jurverian have no brothers, except other Jurverian.”

The priest shrugged lightly. “You don’t have to believe you’re my brother for me to treat you like one.”

Galor’s looked down at his fist, then back at the priest. “I’m not full Jurverian.”

The priest nodded. “I know.”

Galor’s jaw tightened. “My brothers say…it’s a flaw. To be like this.”

“You are not a flaw.” There was a firmness to the priest’s voice that hadn’t been there before.

Galor swallowed and closed his eyes. His breathing grew harsh. “The vial…” he opened his eyes and stared into the priest’s calm indigo gaze. “The vial is for me.”

“I see.” The priest’s voice was soft.

Galor turned and glared out at the garden. He chuckled humorlessly. “Aren’t you supposed to lecture me? Isn’t suicide an insult to the gods?”

“I can’t judge your burden, I can only offer to help you carry it.”

Galor swallowed. His fist tightened, then relaxed. “I could use a place to sleep.” He pulled a small black lockbox from his pocket and pressed his finger to the scanner. The box unlocked and he twisted the lid to the side. He pressed the vial snugly into the cutout made for it and slid the box shut again. The locking mechanism clicked and Galor checked to make sure the lid wouldn’t open. He stared at the box for a moment. “Is there somewhere safe you can keep this?”

“Yes. We have a vault.”

“Hm.” Galor’s fingers tightened on the box.

“Only priests have access to the vault and no one would touch anything that they didn’t either put there themselves or have permission to touch. It will be safe, I swear it on my life. This is much too dangerous to get into the wrong hands.”

Galor clenched his jaw. He swallowed then let out a soft sigh. He looked up at the priest and held the box out to him.

The priest took it gently. “Thank you, brother, for letting me share this burden with you.”

Galor rolled his eyes and looked away. “My name is Galor.”

The priest chuckled softly. “My name is Feboe.” He stacked his bowl on top of Galor’s plate and picked them up, then got to his feet. “Let me show you to your room, brother Galor.”

Galor snorted. He got up and followed the priest, Feboe, back through the kitchen, where the he left the dishes on the counter, back down the narrow hall. Feboe stopped at a door, he pressed his hand to the scanner on the door. “Door, set new key code.” The lock sounded the green chime and Feboe removed his hand and gestured at the scanner.

Galor laid his palm on the scanner and the green chime sounded again.

“Sleep well, brother Galor.” Feboe walked further down the hall, his brown robes swishing around his ankles, and through another door.

Galor took a deep breath, opened the door and went into the room. It was simple and small. There was a bed in one corner, a squat dresser next to it. A small sink with a mirror over it stood in the corner at the foot of the bed. A small towel hung from a hook in the wall next to the sink. There was no window. Galor’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

He shut and locked the door behind him, then went to the sink and slid his hand up the neck of the facet to turn it on. He washed his hands and splashed water over his face, then he slid his hand down the neck of the facet and the water turned off. He grabbed the towel and dried his face and hands on it before rehanging it on the hook.

He stepped up to the sink again, his head bowed, his shoulders tightening. He gripped the sink in his clawed hands. “Face your weakness.” He growled quietly to himself.

He slowly raised his head and looked into the mirror. He was greeted by light blue eyes with rectangular pupils. Prey eyes, in the face of a predator. Abomination.