A Galaxy Beyond

By Rae Purcell

It was only a short time after Kazan left that word from the Academy, ‘of mysterious signals emanating from space’ were transmitted to Magura, and, Nerieda, fearing that a new and deadly onslaught might be in the offing, immediately summoned Kazan home. She called for Emyra to join her in the lounge. They had each determined that this phenomenon was clearly visible to the naked eye and when Kazan arrived, Nerieda rushed to greet him.
“Scientists have observed a series of light flashes from the skies which they feel are definitely beamed at Zerus.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Could this be true, Kazan? Could the Barbarians have found a way to attack from space?”
The lines on his weary face deepened as he looked to Nerieda and Emyra but he could only shake his head. “I don’t know, my love. Do our scientists offer any explanations?” he asked. “I did see what I thought was just a star twinkling.”
“Emyra was told that some astronomers believe the flashes are some kind of code....” Nerieda paused. “And somehow, Kazan, she felt that they sense the flashes are originated by Aliens. Aliens who seem to think we can understand them. I’m frightened,” she said.
Kazan sat for some minutes in deep concentration. When he raised his head, Nerieda could see that his green eyes were alight with fire.
“Kazan. What is it?” she asked, trying to quell the fear which rose in her breast.
He stood up and abruptly gathered Nerieda in his arms. “Nerieda. Could this be our destiny? Remember? This deep conviction I have that we have been chosen....” He stopped in mid-sentence. “Wait!” he said. “I wonder....”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rae Purcell
• Release date: Oct 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301208203

Rae Purcell

Writer, Author, Playwright and former Reporter

Book preview

A GALAXY BEYOND

by Rae Purcell

copyright 2012 Rae Purcell

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Chapter 1

The sun was high overhead but one radiant star blazed in glory; refused to be eclipsed by the brilliance of day even as Church and tower bells pealed out their laments, a eulogy to the soldiers and citizens of Zerus.

Queen Phoebus, descendant of the House of Magura, led a processional to the Throne Room. Her husband, Crown Prince Sular and their two young sons, Prince Tyrus and Prince Densan followed in her wake down the drafty corridor. She paused momentarily and turned to speak.

Sular, our world is threatened by chaos. Her gaze shifted to Tyrus and Densan. What’s to become of all of us if these Barbarians win this dreadful war?

About to address her Senate, Phoebus was resplendent in dyed ermine ceremonial robes; the splendid purple and yellow colours of her country, Zerus, on the planet Sumara. Her crown of burnished gold and precious gems, mined from the bowels of the majestic Zerian Mountains, radiated blazes of red. Green spires intermingled with dazzling flashes of fire.

A pall of silence descended as they resumed the walk.

Princely guards, curried from the cream of the Palace Troops, saluted smartly, their right hands lingering at the peak of their caps for just that fraction of a second longer than protocol deemed necessary. Phoebus smiled a brief smile which insinuated an aura of well-being. A false aura to be sure, but for the present a needed feat of perfidy in which she rarely indulged.

Page-boys, clad in sleek tailored yellow vests and long tapered purple pants replaced the Palace Guards in the inner corridors of the Palace. They swung great oaken doors wide to display the muted opulence and splendour of the Throne Room. The morning sun’s rays had not yet penetrated the tall windows on the south side of the Palace.

Phoebus paused once more to gain control over her inner turmoil. She couldn’t dismiss from her mind the earlier session with Prime Minister Lord Faloon and his obvious concern. ‘The star could yet prove to be a threat to the entire planet,’ he had said. Phoebus could see him struggle to keep the sound of hysteria from his voice. And, after viewing the luminous star earlier from the Castle balcony herself, she could agree with the astronomers that it was an unusual phenomenon. But a star? A harbinger of danger? Two furrows creased her brow and she breathed a low sigh.

Sular, acutely attuned to her mannerisms, whispered through the quiet. Have faith, my love.

She garnered her courage anew and swept into the room, trailing in her wake a scent of lilac, reckless and exhilarating as the mountain air, yet sweet and refreshingly pure. She motioned Sular and the two princes to her side and they ascended, a united family, the thirteen steps to the thrones. She embraced each of her offspring in turn, an unprecedented gesture which instilled a sensation of disquiet in each of the two boys. They awkwardly accepted this demonstration of filial love then retreated a safe distance to coddle the comfort of each other.

Sular himself showed apprehension at this uncommon public display of affection. Be strong, Phoebus, he urged.

She smiled wanly at her Prince Consort and stepped to the ornately carved throne, then sat.

Sylva, the Queen’s primary lady-in-waiting, hastened to arrange the royal robes, cascading them in perfect symmetry down the first four steps of the rotunda where they languished in purple and yellow grandeur.

Dromo Ennis, Captain of the Palace Guards, stood to attention at the distant end of the room, patiently awaiting acknowledgement from his Queen. He had taken pains with his toilet this morning, fingering the crisp scarlet tunic and polishing the gold buttons until his reflection mirrored back at him. He was inordinately proud to perform this solemn duty and he straightened imperceptibly at the exact moment her gaze rested on his person. He brought his right hand forward in the traditional salute then bowed deeply in her honour.

He proceeded to the north wall where a bejewelled sword was prominently displayed in a hollowed out niche below the full length ancestral portrait of King Zohan. He gripped the hilt with reverence, withdrew the sword from its protective leather sheath, then laid it across his forearms, the honed side resting against his upper sleeves. He crossed to the rotunda, mounted the thirteen steps, and presented the holy symbol to the Queen for her inspection.

Phoebus raised the burnished metal blade to her lips and closed her eyes in brief concentration.

A lingering symphony of sound from the bells wafted through the stillness.

This ritual of the sword prefaced all sessions of the Queen’s Senate and was in honour of her grandfather, King Zohan. Upon completion of the traditional rite, Dromo descended the hard steps of the rotunda, crossed the room and replaced the sword in its oiled case.

He bowed to the Queen, then executed a sharp turn and walked the length of the room to the massive carved oaken doors which opened into the antechamber. He grasped the ornate handles with both hands and pulled.

A pall of silence greeted him as he swept them wide and shafts of sunlight beamed through coloured translucent panes in the ceiling of the waiting room. The rays burst through the entrance to the Throne Room alleviating the sombre atmosphere which abided inside.

Dromo’s stentorian voice rang out as he ushered, through the gaping doorway, the first of many court officials.

Lord Faloon, Prime Minister of Zerus.

Lord Asymara, Minister of the Treasury.

Lord Gorias, Minister of War and Defence.

As Dromo singled out and introduced each dignitary, the honoured official stood to attention, bowed and then paced quickly forward to wait in restless silence until the whole of the Senate Cabinet was assembled, standing, on the polished floor. The accustomed bickering was noticeably absent from the dour assembly.

At a sign from Her Majesty, Lord Faloon quickly proceeded to the side of the dais and grasped a hanging cord attached to a scroll of finely grained paper. The document unfurled to disclose a map outlining the continents of the planet Sumara with the boundaries of Zerus outlined in purple.

Zerus was dominated by the Zerian Mountain Range, a massive ridge of mountains towering in excess of twenty thousand feet and revered as a physical wonder of Zerus. A constant cloud and snow cover clung tenaciously to these fierce, jagged outcrops of rock. Insurmountable, they began their ascent one hundred miles inland from the Ocean’s shore and spanned a distance of six hundred miles. They projected into the ocean waters at the southern boundary. The lush, fertile land along the western coastline, much envied for its climate, was the main source of agricultural products for Zerus.

The eastern boundary of Zerus, a further eight hundred miles past the mountains, had been obliterated and a series of broken lines along the border between Zerus and Barbaris scored the surface of the paper.

Lord Faloon extended a pointed rod toward the map and traced an area which encompassed a territory measuring the full eight hundred mile width of land terminating at the eastern base of the mountain range. This desert country, with occasional lush oasis nourished by underground rivers formed by the melting snows of the mountains, also contained vast stores of mineral wealth and oil deposits.

The Queen spoke. As you have all been made aware, our efforts to defend the eastern territory diagrammed by Lord Faloon have been a dismal failure. I received word early today that our commanding officers have surrendered and ordered their troops to lay down their weapons in the vain hope that the armies of Barbaris would take them as prisoners of war and spare their lives. These manoeuvres, well-meaning as they might have been, led to disastrous results.

She placed the palm of her right hand over her heart and bowed her head in a silent prayer. Members of the Cabinet shuffled restlessly with ill-concealed impatience.

Phoebus lifted her head and continued her address. Twenty thousand of our troops were unmercifully massacred at the hands of the Barbarians. Civilians have been dislodged from their domiciles and are being marched in long caravans to the slave markets of Barbaris.

She paused deliberately to allow her Ministers time to absorb the impact of her message.

Lord Gorias, Minister of War, approached and requested permission to speak. Our ocean vessels are anchored off shore here, he stabbed his finger at the drawing, indicating a channel in the northern Assam Ocean, then continued to assist with evacuations, but the toll of injuries and deaths is mounting rapidly. He removed a white cloth from the sleeve of his tunic and held it briefly to his nose. Bands of marauders have raped and pillaged the villages, he concluded as he withdrew a sheaf of papers from a pouch at his side.

Phoebus responded curtly. Your tidings bring me immense sorrow, my Lord. She raised her head perceptibly and spoke in a clear voice. The House of Magura and the citizens of Zerus have been engaged in the defence of this territory for the past decade. The costs of our efforts—the word ‘our’ was used in the Royal connotation as she herself was barely thirty-three years old—in lives, resources and currency have been enormous. I order a full sitting of the Senate this afternoon.

She addressed the Minister of War and Defence. You, Lord Gorias, will provide a detailed account of the final battles and inform us as to our present holdings with regard to the territory under siege.

She shifted slightly on the throne. You, Lord Asymara, will bring forward an accounting of our total funds and a breakdown of expenditures as related to this war. Use as much personnel as is required. No later than three o’clock this afternoon, she commanded.

She addressed the assembly once more. I have sent word by return messenger that the remaining armies and civilians are to retreat to the shelter of the Monasteries.

The ministers were captured in an instance of shock and bewilderment.

Does this mean that Zerians are no longer going to defend our rights to liberty and freedom? shouted Lord Gorias.

Phoebus momentarily dispelled their amazement. I have called for a special conference with the heads of State from the neighbouring countries of Brunas and Tyra at Folama Castle tomorrow to determine if they will ally with our nation to overcome these Barbarians. Lord Faloon will preside over our affairs until I return. She stood, signifying a conclusion to the emergency meeting and watched silently as the downcast Senators contemplated the news.

May the Supreme Being guide our citizens and our sons in this deplorable theatre of war, she declared, as she dismissed the session.

Phoebus stepped to one side of the throne as the despondent ministers filed out of the chamber.

Sular, my heart aches for the families and friends of our brave soldiers. How could I thrust yet another concern on their already burdened souls?

Chapter 2

Sular marvelled again at his good fortune to have been chosen to partner Phoebus. She radiated beauty, this sleeping woman created in the image of the Supreme Being. His wife, the mother of his children. If it were possible, he mused, she is even more beautiful than when I married her.

In addition to being his wife and the mother of his two children, Phoebus was the reigning monarch of the country Zerus on the planet Sumara in the outer galaxies; a planet besieged by internal wars.

He watched her with tenderness. Her golden hair, fired with the flames of eternity, tumbled in disarray on her pillow and one slender arm rested carelessly on the silk coverlet. Tiny blue veins were scarcely visible through her translucent skin. Long lashes, coloured with the stroke of a brush, feathered her cheeks.

He had accepted her invitation to her bedchamber the evening before; the eve of her departure to Castle Folama and although they had talked well into the night, he roused with the break of dawn, wholly refreshed and pleased to be awake. This would be one of the rare occasions today when he could steal precious moments of her time.

Soft pink rays of sunshine filtered through frothy window hangings, tiptoed across the floor and shinnied up the skirts of her dressing table. They danced lightly on the gold and crystal jars, then skipped into oblivion in the depths of the rose-coloured mirror.

She stirred.

Sular listened for the first faint rustlings of the castle. He could hear the ladies-in-waiting as they hastened to finish their toiletries before being summoned to the Royal chambers. Maids scurried to heat the water for tea and bathing, warm the ovens for baking, and see to the last minute packing of their wardrobes. Today was a busy day for the Queen’s entourage. The privileged attendants to accompany her on this journey of state had been selected and detailed instructions would now be imparted to those remaining at Castle Magura, the residential palace of the presiding Monarch.

The Prince whimsically compiled the list of duties. Scour the Royal bedchamber. Remove the window hangings. Clean the transparent synthetic panes and hang new material; gossamer silk especially created and designed by the Royal milliners. Exchange the linens and bed coverings. I wonder what colour they have chosen this time? he mused. Sular had a penchant for the softer colours of nature, whereas Phoebus’ tastes ran more to the colourful hues displayed in the rainbows.

Scrub the white marble floors in readiness for the newly loomed wool rugs; lambs wool as soft and fragile as down. Meagre tasks, to be sure, when one considered that the immediate concerns of the Queen revolved around the much larger question of her country’s future.

He leaned toward his sleeping beauty, willed her to waken. He had an intense desire to make love and knew that with each passing moment the promise of intimacy diminished.

She stirred again and in anticipation, his maleness responded to the gentle touch of her foot; warm, a pleasing contrast to the cool silk sheets.

Quick, running footsteps pattered along the corridor and came to an abrupt halt outside the thick oaken door. The brief commotion disturbed him and he rose quickly from the bed and drew velvet robes around his broad shoulders. The queen stretched, her tranquillity muddled by the unusual turmoil.

Her voice blurred with sleep as an abrupt rap echoed on the thick, panelled door.

What is it, Sular?

I’ll see to it, Phoebus, he replied, then hastened to acknowledge the summons.

Sylva slipped quickly into the room. She bore a tray laden with hot steaming tea and sweet biscuits which she placed on a small table in front of the window. Then, ignoring Sular, she briskly approached the canopied bed, curtsied and greeted the Queen. Good morning, Your Majesty. Please forgive this early intrusion, but Prime Minister Lord Faloon wishes an audience with you before you take leave of the Castle. She curtsied again and, only then did she acknowledge the Prince.

Good morning, Your Highness

Sular responded amiably to the greeting, turned, strode to the bed and smiled handsomely at his wife.

The day begins, my love. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then remembered with a guilty start that she was again impregnated with his seed. Thankful that the interruption had curbed his desires, he caressed the smooth skin of her cheek. I will be in my chambers if you need me. He turned again, and with a brief nod to Sylva, said, I leave you to your duties. Take good care of my Queen while she’s away. Let me know when she is ready to leave. He strode to the north wall, parted the heavy hanging curtains which concealed a shadowed connecting passage to his rooms, and left the antechamber.

With some misgivings, Phoebus watched him leave. She had agonized over her decision to travel alone but finally determined that he would remain at Castle Magura while she met with the state leaders at Folama.

Phoebus was the most recent in a long line of sovereigns—consistently considered honourable by the populace—and the enduring reign by the House of Magura was generally attributed to the fact that as rulers, they openly displayed a great love for humanity and served the interests of their peoples. Their adopted code of conduct, based on an ancient religious belief, embraced the revered Supreme Being whose teachings encouraged them to nurture humility and understanding within themselves and the citizens of Zerus.

Phoebus endeavoured to perpetuate these traditions as they had been laid down before her, but while her ancestors had encountered little interference with these sentiments, she was now confronted by an aggressive nation whose leaders were consumed with greed and a lust for power.

Barbaris, a country populated by poverty stricken masses and a ruthless head of state, abutted Zerus on the eastern boundary. Barbarian troops had invaded her realm to gain control of and govern the prosperous land claimed by the Zerians.

The desert, marked by the broken lines on the map, encompassed miles of unyielding sand which harboured below the surface rich mineral and gas deposits. Barbaris now controlled most of this wide strip of land which extended eastward from the foothills at the base of the mountains. The prize for winning their bloody revolt.

Phoebus had married young—a common practice in the outer galaxies where life expectancy seldom reached the mid-century mark—and she was thankful that the choice of a husband, traditionally made by parents, had been exemplary. Sular, her Prince Consort, was handsome in a rugged fashion. His body was hairless, as were the bodies of most males in Zerus, the exception being the Zerian Monks. In spite of this idiosyncrasy, he boasted a tantalizing athletic physique. He moved with grace—albeit never exhibiting signs of feminism—and although he stood three inches taller than she, slightly above the average five foot height of the Zerian race, he created an illusion of servility. Attentive of her as a woman and supportive of her as Queen, he strengthened and enhanced her abilities. Phoebus regarded him as an indispensable benefactor of and companion to their children, Prince Tyrus, Duke of Magura and heir to the throne, and Prince Densan, endowed with the title ‘Duke of Dumas’.

She admired his ability to charm royalty and commoners alike and was grateful that he also championed the cause of humanity in harmony with her. He espoused environmental causes with zeal, readily lent his name to charitable organizations and his educated opinions were often sought after by an admiring public.

Phoebus sighed with undisguised pleasure. Sular was her ideal complement.

She gratefully accepted a cup of hot tea from Sylva and while she sipped the sweetened brew, contemplated the arduous task before her. The invasion which had resulted in the mass murders of soldiers and civilians justified her request for a Summit meeting with heads of State from other countries on Sumara. The citizens of Zerus were considered a friendly people and traded commercial merchandise and manufactured goods freely with most nations on the planet. She hoped that her manoeuvre would be seen as a bold attempt to foster an alliance and mount an effective offensive against the Barbarian troops.

She finished her meagre breakfast, brushed the few crumbs from her fingers, then donned a flaxen cloak over her nightdress. Sylva summoned the Prime Minister to the sitting room.

Phoebus was equally anxious for a further audience with Lord Faloon. In her absence, the customary duties of state would fall on his shoulders and confident as she was that he was capable of overseeing the everyday affairs of her cabinet, she wanted to reinforce her orders. Satisfy herself that he understood completely the necessity of notifying her immediately should any further crisis develop.

Time was limited this morning.

Only on rare occasions would she wear informal dress for a conference with one of her officials. Her wardrobe and the Crown jewels were already safely packed in readiness for the emergency meeting to take place at Folama Castle, twenty-five hundred miles south on the coast of the Zerian Ocean. She chose Folama as the site for this gathering because of its location. It was easily accessible by land, sea and air. As well, the Observatory, where she was to meet with Lord Haleem, was situated directly across from the city on the two hundred mile long Folama peninsula.

She granted herself the luxury of a sigh. Folama had also gained a reputation as a popular summer resort or retreat where she could occasionally escape to rest in peace and quiet away from the cares of the Court. It was a beautiful location and would provide facilities for relaxation at the culmination of the business agenda slated for the morrow. Sular and the young princes would join her the following day.

Lord Faloon bustled into the suite in the throes of strong emotion. The soles of his leather sandals, anchored tightly with thin strips of cloth to his bony ankles, flapped with each agitated step. Phoebus couldn’t help but notice that he was more flustered than usual and she attempted to ease his distress.

Good morning, Lord Faloon. Would you join me in a cup of tea?

Good morning, Your Majesty.

He fidgeted. Lord Faloon, an old soldier, tapped his fingers together with impatience, then brushed his moist palms over his bald pate. The appalling news from the war ministry had shocked him.

Pull that chair over and sit down, Lord Faloon. Phoebus indicated an upholstered wooden chair which stood off to the side of the room. The seat cushion depicted a colourful hunt scene, meticulously hand stitched.

He wore the formal robes of his office, as even at this early hour, not to do so, would be considered an affront to the Queen. However, the bright colours drained his features, leaving his complexion pale and sallow. He was otherwise fastidious in his grooming, his scalp freshly scented and his nails meticulously manicured.

Phoebus poured clear green liquid into a crystal cup emblazoned with the purple and yellow royal Crest, then handed him a cup and saucer.

His hands trembled, and raising the cup to his mouth, he neglected to first blow on the steaming tea and sputtered when his throat burned under the onslaught. He quickly wiped his mouth before speaking. Lord Haleem is deeply concerned for your safety, he advised, eager to again present his case. "As