Relics of Andromeda

By Jonathan Michael Erickson

Anka has believed the stories since childhood: the alien relics bring ruin and madness.  Ancient pieces of technology that seem to have minds of their own, the relics interface with human psychology,  granting the power to bend space and time—and often inducing psychosis.   When the early colonists of Andromeda discovered the relics human civilization plunged into chaos.

Now Anka is carrying a relic in her pack, tasked with the duty of securing the object before it can do any harm. She and her companions set out across the desert by foot, marching towards the distant city— even as the relic begins to whisper in her mind...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gold Dragon Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781948746021

Book preview

Timeline of Events

2423/ -: The Galactic Bridge to Andromeda opens.

2446 / 1: Ankharra colony is established on the planet Dharma.

2455 / 10:  Alien relics are discovered in the Andromeda Territories.

2456 / 11: The Baltra colony is destroyed by relic activation.

2459 / 14: The Fall: the Galactic Bridge collapses; Dharma is isolated.

2474 / 29: The Asul space colony makes contact with Ankharra

2484 / 39: Deanna McCaden's ‘First Tribe’ splits from Ankharra and settles on the coast.

2503 / 58: Damon Aelgon takes the Long Road to visit Ankharra

2504 / 59: Anka Aelgon is born.

2506 / 61: Deanna McCaden becomes a relic carrier and takes the Long Road to Ankharra.

2512 / 67: Dulce Anwin, a child, discovers a relic; Pesca Atwater takes the Long Road to contain the relic in Dulce’s place.

2526 / 81: Damon Aelgon dies at sea.

2530 / 85: Anka Aelgon finds the relic Osiris.

It is only our ego-consciousness that has forever a new beginning and an early end.  The unconscious psyche is not only immensely old, it is also capable of growing into an equally remote future.    —Dr. Carl Gustav Jung

The Universe is made of stories, not atoms

—Muriel Rukeyser

PRELUDE

INCIDENT AT BALTRA

The story of Baltra’s ruin exists in many forms across the Andromeda colonies, from the deep-space cities of Asul to the thunder plains of Avanti, from the garden terraces of Praxis to the isolated Lost Tribe of Dharma.  The tragedy of Jeremy Tarcher and the relic that corrupted him became a cautionary tale, a story told to children to strike terror in their hearts.

Most storytellers begin this tale with history: in the year 2456 the first human colony in the Andromeda Galaxy celebrated its 20th anniversary. A great festival was planned and the people of the coastal settlement of Baltra came out onto the streets to celebrate.

There were many hard years behind them; the unique biology of the planet had been difficult to master—a strange fallowing disease afflicted the population seemingly at random, and the creatures of the native oceans were less edible than the initial planetary assessments had projected.  But by their 20th anniversary, a series of scientific breakthroughs had put the dark times behind them—the sick were healed, and their bellies were full.

It is told that on this evening of celebration, a young man named Jeremy Tarcher left the festivities and went to walk along the hills and bluffs above the city.  They say he was a thoughtful soul who enjoyed long walks alone to ponder the meaning of things, the purpose of the cosmos, and his own place within them.  As the son of beloved, long-serving Prime Minister Seth Tarcher, young Jeremy was naturally held in high esteem by the people.  Many expected him to run for office and assume his father’s role some day.

Despite the high regard of his fellow colonists, Jeremy harbored secret doubts about himself: that he would never be as great a leader as his father, that he lacked the courage and discernment that Baltra would need in times of crisis.  As he reflected on these secret things, that night of the festival, he heard a voice.

Jeremy Benjamin Tarcher

It seemed to come from no place, neither before him on the path, nor behind.

The young man worried that he might be going mad. But even as he thought this, he felt a pull, a kind of certainty, that he must go and look along the rocky crags off the path; that he would find something wonderful there.

He stepped off the trail and began exploring, winding between rocks, through a crack in an old cliff-face, and climbing up along a steep ridge, until he saw a cave.

Come Jeremy, the voice said.

The boy felt his pulse quicken. He felt young and virile and handsome, and eager to prove himself. Though his rational mind knew that there would be no nubile young woman waiting for him within the cave, his body was aroused as if certainly this would be so.  He entered the cool darkness of the cavern, heart pounding.

Some believe he was met there with a fever dream: an ancient alien thing, sitting by a fire on the cave floor, meditating and warming itself. It had no eyes, and yet the young man felt the creature was intently aware of him.  It felt older than time, tens of thousands of years his senior.  As Jeremy entered, the wrinkled thing turned to face him, and the weight of its wisdom and breadth of its consciousness struck him like a force and sent him sprawling to the floor.

When he opened his eyes—some say minutes, some says hours later—he saw, laying on the spot of the imagined campfire, an ancient metal device.  Many accounts describe it as a sphere, others as a short rod, but all versions agree the relic was etched with complex intersecting lines and inset with crystals that gave off faint light.  It was a technology the likes of which humanity had only dreamed.  Perhaps Jeremy heard music emanating from the object—a song of hope to thrill his naïve young soul.

What is your heart’s desire? The voice of the alien relic spoke in his mind.

I want to believe in myself, Jeremy replied.  Though he could not account for it, in the next breath, he found himself flooded with confidence. With this marvelous device in his hand, surely he could accomplish anything he dreamed.  This was his destiny, he realized.  He was meant to be a great leader, and the universe had conspired to make it so.

Jeremy reached out across the cold stone floor and closed his fingers over the relic.

Some of this, or something like it, was written by a handful of Baltra’s final scholars.  In that moment, without explanation, Jeremy’s thoughts became known to them as though they shared his dream.  But no sooner did they sit down to write of these strange visions than a nightmare unfolded around them.  A great tremor shook the city of Baltra, and a brilliant light shone from the hills. The people were shocked, and then terrified, as Jeremy Tarcher hovered in the air above them.  He declared that a new age was dawning in the evolution of humankind.

What do you ask of me? Jeremy asked.  Tell me and I shall grant it.

Perhaps some answered him, and perhaps their wishes were granted; perhaps they lamented not wishing with greater care. But most likely the great many of Baltra shrank away from the god-like visage in terror.  Their fear horrified Jeremy, and in response, the poor young fool made another request to the relic:

I don’t want them to be afraid of me!

And so it was. Each and every man and woman felt their emotions violated and twisted.  They now stood placid in baseless calm.  Even then a deep and silent horror spread among them, for they were no longer in possession of themselves.

Some say the relic felt great sorrow then, and that Jeremy wept too, for he feared he had raped his own people, by forcing his will upon them.

No, he cried out, no I do not want to control them! I wish for each of them to be free!  Free from suffering, free from fear, free from everything that constrains them!  I wish to share with each of them this power I have been given!

Whatever version is told, none dispute that the colony of Baltra did not survive that night.

The story ends with a return to history.  The military investigation team returned with a chilling report: that the entire city was empty and abandoned. Dishes were discarded, half-washed, sentences abandoned, half-written.  Some had scribbled mad accounts of a boy wielding the incomprehensible power of an arcane technology.  Others wrote of a religious apocalypse.  But none of these stories matched the others, or had a clear ending.  Not a single living human remained on the planet Enora.

So the first tale of the relics was told.

RELICS OF ANDROMEDA

The Long Road Away from Home

I

ANKA

History records that Anka Enora Aelgon found the relic Osiris on an autumn day in the 85th year of Dharma’s colonization.

For Anka, it was a morning like any other.  There was no sense of foreboding.  No prophetic dream came to warn her that her life in the village was about to come to an end.  Like so many mornings before, Anka sat for breakfast with her mother Zala and brother Enri in their small kitchen.  She felt the absence of her father at the table as a familiar dull ache.  She pulled on a white dress, packed her bag, and set out along the village path toward the training grounds.

Behind a copse of flowering jungle trees, she came upon her best friend, Trevor Goodwin, sitting shirtless and shoeless with a bucket full of fish pulled from the lagoons.  He was very still, staring intently into the tidal pool before him.  As she watched, he darted forward and with his bare hands yanked a hefty fish from the water.  Anka thought Trevor had not noticed her, but after throwing the fish into his bucket, he turned and grinned.

Hey, warrior.  You going to spar in that dress?

Anka blushed but held his gaze.  I can wear a dress sometimes if I want to.  Her dress had been sewn by her mother out of soft white fabric.  She liked that it emphasized her curves while leaving her strong arms and shoulders bare.  A bulky backpack carried the heavy leather armor she would put on at the training grounds.

You look nice, Trevor said.  I like it.  It’s good to remind the village you have a softer side, Anka.  That you’re not just a badass. He turned back to the lagoon to watch the fish.

I was afraid I might be scaring all the men away strutting around in leather armor all the time.  She placed her hand on his lean, tanned back.  His skin was warm.  He leaned slightly into her touch.

Hmmm.  I don’t think you’d go for a man you could scare away, Trevor said.  A moment later he pulled away from her hand.  I think I’m done fishing for the morning.

Anka glanced down at the bucket, half-filled with colorful fish.  You have a good catch.

It’s never really a bad catch, is it?  If today’s catch were any better they would say I’m being greedy, over-fishing the pools. He joined her on the path.

They walked together in silence beneath the canopy.  The morning din of jungle animals mingled with the sound of the waves, and a warm breeze billowed through Anka’s shoulder length black hair.  They passed brackish pools and crossed bridges over a dozen freshwater streams; water rushing down from rain-swept mountains to merge with the sea.

The scents of the marketplace drifted toward them as the path turned away from the jungle canopy and ran out along a steep, rocky shore, open to the vast blue ocean.  Trevor, wearing only shorts, dropped his bucket and took a running leap into the warm water.  He came up, bobbing in the surf, his fine chestnut hair slicked back across his scalp.  Come in! he said.

She wanted to.  She wanted to drop her pack and strip off and swim under the open sky with her childhood friend.  But she was naked beneath her dress.  And she would be late to training.

I don’t want to be late! she said, and continued down the path without him.

Some minutes later he caught up to her, dripping and happy.  How beautiful he is, she thought, how full of life.  It was three years ago, at the midsummer festival, that she and Trevor had made love for the first time. Neither had expected it to happen—if anything, they thought of each other as brother and sister.  But that night under the stars, with the warmth of the bonfire and the zihit wine, the harvest songs and pleasure-tales of their elders—and an admitted conspiracy among their friends—they had found themselves alone, hearts racing and bodies brushing, then holding against each other. He was so serious, so earnest, as though he were performing a sacred duty.  And she had been starved for it, without admitting it to herself.

But after their passions had cooled it was awkward between them.  Trevor smiled, but his eyes were sad.  Our friendship means the world to me, he said.  So she made the decision for both of them.  They were not meant to be lovers.  It’s a gift, she said to him that night, learning it from each other.  A sacred moment between friends. 

Even so, as the years went by, there were times, like this moment now, with Trevor happy and wet beside her on the path, when she wished to cast the barrier aside, and climb atop him amidst the forest roots, beneath the canopy, luminous with autumn light.  If Trevor shared her desire, he hid it well.  So Anka admired his thin, tan body, his deep green eyes and gentle touch, his charmed way with plants and animals, and pushed no further beyond his walls.

Have you harvested your artichokes yet?  He broke her reverie.

I cut a few this morning.  It’s the most luck I’ve ever had growing Earth seeds.

Are you going to try to recreate my artichoke curry?

You’re the culinary artist, Trevor.  I’ll be happy if they’re edible.

How about I come over and make dinner with your family tomorrow?

I’d love that.

They arrived at the marketplace: a shaded clearing bustling with life. A dozen rows of tables offered crafts, blankets and clothing, baskets and tools, medicines and tonics, freshly harvested vegetables seeded from Earth and Dharma and a dozen other planets in-between, meats, fish, spices, wines—and cooks who perched over makeshift kitchens tailoring dishes to their customer’s tastes.  The air was thick with scents from the cooking fires, mingled with incense, the smell of the sea, and whatever was blossoming in the jungle this time of year.   The rare visitor from the city was inevitably perplexed by the village marketplace, for no money ever changed hands.  All was bartered or given in good faith. 

Trevor’s eyes always looked up when he entered the market.  Three thick, ancient trees with wide roots ringed the clearing—by far the oldest and largest trees in this part of the forest.  Far above, a troupe of small, four-eyed creatures with delicate, grasping hands and mottled red fur held their own meetings in the giant trees’ canopies.  The arboreal creatures rarely came down to the village, and the villagers never climbed to meet them.  But every morning, humans and tree-climbers alike would join the lively din of chatter around the marketplace. 

Anka found her eyes drawn to the far edge of the clearing, where the only metallic structure in the village stood.  The Laboratory, as it was called, was devoted to the development and trade of tech.  Only grown men and women over the age of thirty were permitted to enter.  Anka and Trevor were both twenty-six; neither had ever been allowed inside.  Development of tech by the young was forbidden.  It had been one of the first principles when the village was founded, nearly fifty years ago: that exposure to technology during childhood should be minimized.  The village Elders had witnessed, with their own eyes, the discovery of the alien technology, the so-called Relics of Andromeda, and all the destruction that followed.  75 years had passed since the destruction of the Baltra colony.  And Baltra had only been the beginning of the catastrophe that followed.  The Elders had come here, to this remote coast, to live a simpler life.

I have to run or I won’t have time to change into my armor and stretch. Anka said.

Have fun.  Trevor waved and headed for the fishmonger.

Anka made quickly for Mara’s milk-and-honey stand.  The old woman was in her nineties and spry.  She smiled at Anka as she approached.

Sea cow milk? Mara asked.

And sweet butter, said the younger woman, dropping her bag on the ground and quickly unloading a large sack of fruit.  I hope you like zihit fruit, she added.

I think Thomas needs more zihit for wine, Mara nodded absently, pulling two clay jugs of milk and bowl of butter from a covered hole in the ground.

No, Mara, keep it cold!  I’ll come for it after mid-day, I’m late for practice.  Anka dumped the rest of the red and purple fruit on the table and began running East toward the foothills.

Mara nodded and returned the milk and butter to its frozen chamber in the earth, beside the small metal frosting device she had built herself two decades before.  She wondered, not for the first time, why Anka had begun parading around in that sensual white dress, instead of dressing as the warrior she was.

For all her worry, Anka had ample time to slip out of her dress and into the thick black plates of leather armor cut from gorgon hide.  As usual she had finished stretching before many of the others arrived.  Boris was characteristically late, and aside from two minutes of pushing his muscular arms and bulky torso against a tree, he did not stretch at all. 

Are you showing off, Boris? Anka asked him.  I hope it’s not for my benefit.

I hear I missed seeing you in a dress this morning, he teased her.

Try showing up on time.  She smacked his muscular chest and he grinned.

The training regime was the same as it had been on Anka’s first day, a decade before.  The village warriors spent an hour running and climbing, then reviewed 23 basic formations for hand-to-hand combat, spent an hour practicing Yoga, and finally settled into thirty minutes of silent meditation. When the routine was complete, they would receive a lecture or training in specific combat strategies, or in the neural-cognitive techniques of the peaceful warrior.  The day’s practice ended mid-afternoon, with open-form sparring under the high sun.

Enough of the boring stuff, Boris bellowed.  You ready, Aelgon?

Ready to plant your face in the dirt, Anka said.

Come on, then, he laughed.  It’s been a while since you made me eat dirt.

Anka sought Boris as a partner because he was one of the few men in the village who could overpower her physically with little effort.  Boris was a mountain of a man, more than six feet tall and barrel-chested, with thick, broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs.  His belly was ringed with fat, but it was the thick firm fat that grows atop a bedrock of muscle.  His skin was bronze and his long hair the color of night. 

You’re arrogant, she taunted him as they faced off against each other.  You’re enchanted with your own strength.

Less talking, more sparring, he yelled, and charged at her.

She ducked effortlessly out of his path.  All she had against him was speed and cunning.  So long as her mind was focused and she was not cornered, she could dodge his blows.  It was like a dance between them, his rooted swings and forceful kicks against her light feet and flexible spine.  Now and again she would land a decisive kick against his low back, or an upward thrusting palm into his solar plexus—had it been a real fight, it would have been his undoing.  But just as often he would corner her, or force her to bend so far backward that she would fall, and she would be forced to concede the match.

Today, like most days that they fought, the battle ended in a draw.  The others loved to gather and watch them at the end of the day; there was little doubt that Anka and Boris would both become leaders of the tribe.  

Afterward she was cooling herself by the stream when he came to her.  We should spar again later, he said with lusty eyes, in the forest.

How many times will you ask me Boris? she asked him, cruelly spilling cool water over her forehead so that it ran down her chest.

As many times as it takes for you to come, he said with bravado.  But behind his eyes, there was something else.  Anka felt her heart quicken. 

Perhaps I’ll come today, she said, not looking at him.

I wait for you patiently, he replied, and with a slight bow left her by the water.

He invited me to spar with him alone in the forest, and I said I might come. Anka sat on a stone with her head bowed.  Tamreh Prescott stood a few paces away listening attentively to Anka’s troubles.  Tamreh was thin with pale skin, plain features, a pair of thick glasses, and wild, bushy brown hair that spoke volumes about how little she cared what other people thought. 

This morning Tamreh had been watching the elder shaman Pesca heat and mix plant essences to create the sealant that would hold water-tight glass panels together.  As his long-time apprentice, Tamreh had already read all about the simple procedure and wanted to learn how to make the glass itself.  She looked bored to tears behind her thick glasses when Anka entered the hut.  Her eyes lit up at the sight of her friend, and she enthusiastically slipped outside to talk in private.

You said you would go to meet him? Tamreh wore a serious expression that could not completely hide her intrigue and amusement at this turn of events.

He and I both know it won’t be for sparring.

Anka, if you want Boris, then have him.  Why is this causing you so much angst?

Boris is ... he has a physical power over me.  When we spar, I resist his strength. It takes all I have within me to resist it.  If I let him have me ... if I give in to him, I’ll have lost the fight.  It’s hard to explain.

It sounds like you are saying that if a woman makes love with a man, she’s giving him her power? Tamreh asked.  But why should that be so?  If a woman makes love with another woman, is one of them giving up power?

If one of them is much stronger than the other?  Maybe, Anka said.  Tamreh slept with women exclusively.  Anka wanted to ask her more about it but bit her tongue.  She guessed that Tamreh would always be the one to hold the power in any intimate relationship, because she always held herself above and apart from the rest of the village. 

My relationship with Boris is based on my resisting him.  For me, making love with a man means surrendering part of myself to him.  Maybe I could do it the other way and try to stay in control, but then what’s the point?  That doesn’t sound satisfying.

It’s funny, Tamreh said. You’re my best friend—but now that I think about it, I actually don’t know when the last time was you were with a man?

Anka sighed and looked up into the forest canopy.  It’s been over a year.  But that doesn’t mean—

Anka, you are thinking too much! Tamreh came close and put a hand on her friend’s face.  Go make love with Boris, if you want him!  If that means giving him your power for a short time, try it out.  Or who knows, let him give you some of his power and see how that feels.  If you want my advice, this isn’t something you can think your way out of.  You’re not fooling any of us pretending you’re not interested in him.

She found Boris leaning against a tree stump in a small, grassy clearing, off the main path, a place where artists and warriors came sometimes to practice in private.  He hid his surprise at seeing her, but not well enough.  His long black hair was loose and wild down his back, and he smiled with what should have been arrogance, but looked more like gratitude.  She strode toward him boldly, placed a hand on his broad, dark chest, and another on his warm wrist.  His heart was fast, his hand trembling slightly.  She saw a fire of fear and lust in his eyes.

He moved suddenly, forcefully, twisting his forearm at the elbow to cast off her glancing touch, and thrust the palm of his open hand toward her face.  She dodged easily, and in the same moment snaked her hand around his bare back, and pressed their bodies close.  His torso quivered, his hand moved involuntarily to her leather breastplate.  She looked into his eyes.

He ducked and swept his foot out to trip her.  As she leapt to avoid being felled, he struck at her again with his fist.  She stumbled to avoid the blow, and rather than fall away from him as she would during training, she fell into him and squeezed his torso, pressing her lips against his hot, angry mouth.  He is the one resisting me now, she thought, thrilled and confused.  She reached down to her waist to unbuckle her armor.

They feverishly stripped off every piece of clothing as they fought, and began to make rough love in the grass.  She was pinned beneath him, physically unable to push him off, immersed in his strength and fire, and hungry for it.  She was for this instant helpless, taken, ravaged, briefly surrendering to blessed pleasure, to the strength of another.

But when she looked into his eyes she saw her own helplessness mirrored.  He had dreamed of this moment and was powerless against it.  His desire for her was painful, unsatiated even as he thrust himself into her.  He held her down and he belonged to her.  Both things were true.  Her pleasure mounted and she lost herself in it.  Time itself was an illusory thing.

It was then, in that timeless moment of pleasure, that Anka heard the first murmurs of the relic call:

Anka Enora Aelgon

What a fool I’ve been, she thought. 

She lay pressed against his naked body. How could I not see how much he cares for me?  For so long she assumed that it was only a game to him.  Now she realized the game had always masked deeper feelings.  She wondered for the first time if Boris hoped to have children with her.  It was a shocking thought, and as much as she relished being held in his strong arms, she worried now that she had acted blindly, without thinking of the impact this would have on both of them

Come Anka, the relic whispered.  It was a vague voice that tugged at her, more of an impulse, something her conscious mind could ignore. 

She rolled over and looked at Boris, and he smiled at her with gentle eyes.  He touched her face with his fingers.  It seemed so unlike him, to be so tender, and yet somehow she had always known he had great tenderness within him.

I didn’t hurt you, did I? he asked softly.

No more than any other day, she grinned and kissed him.

I didn’t know how to be with you ... he groped for words awkwardly, I mean, if it wasn’t a fight.

Come Anka, a persistent tug, just outside the threshold of awareness.

We fight well together Boris.  That isn’t something we should seek to lose.

But Boris smiled sheepishly and shrugged, as if to say: but isn’t all that over now?

Anka felt a sudden urge to go.  Her body wanted to stand and walk away from the clearing, away from him, away from the village, into the densely wooded hills and valleys to the north.  She had feared losing power to him, but now it seemed instead that the wonderful challenge of his strength was strangely absent.  Anka wanted Boris, she respected him, and loved him as a tribesman, but the wellspring of feeling he was now revealing was not something she could immediately return.  She sat up.

Daughter of Aelgon, Keeper of Peace

Are you going? Boris asked, confused.

Enough fun for one day, my friend, she said gently.

Stay.

Come.  An urge to walk north.

She looked at his naked body and felt light-headed.  He was beautiful and warm and solid.  But the urge to go was becoming relentless, and his open arms seemed to be dragging against it, dragging her back down to the earth, holding her down.  Her heart surged with a rush of fear and adrenaline.

Come now

I’m going to the bay to sit with my father’s spirit, she made the story up and committed to its truth in the same instant.  She dressed quickly, only after fastening the last buckle did she glance at Boris, whose dissatisfied face showed both disappointment and forgiveness.

Anka knelt by his side and placed her hand on his heart.  We will do this again, Boris, she said, and was gone.

Anka walked north and veered toward the coast.  She wanted to move her whole body, not just her legs, and there were rocky edges to the hillside near the water’s edge.  She would climb directly over the great hill that dominated the southern shore of the bay, and rest on the far slope, gazing at the Northern Horn.

Worried thoughts preoccupied her, crowding out the relic’s voice, covering up her mind’s slow descent into trance.  Despite putting some distance between herself and Boris, the unease with their encounter had only grown, mingled with a weird and frantic desire, an obsessive drive to distance herself from the village, and look out over the untamed waters where her father died.

The possibility of children with Boris so shocked her that she did not know what to think of the idea—except that it seemed far too soon for that.  Could Boris satisfy her as a husband the way he satisfied her as an adversary and a lover?  It had never occurred to her that he might; it might take many moons to know.  And if in the end she did not share his feeling, then what?  Would their camaraderie dissolve?  Would he speak of her lewdly to the other men, make her into nothing but a conquest as revenge for her rejection? 

These worries spun loudly in her mind, masking the voice that propelled her forward.  Far below on the rocky tidal shore, a pod of gorgons clambered among the rocks, hunting for crustaceans.  The enormous, muscular beasts clung vertically to the rock face, supporting themselves with strong, grasping claws, webbed for deep ocean dives.  The sight of them calmed her—they held firm to the rocks, though they weighed as much as ten Borises, they did not fall.

Anka comes among us

The relic words pierce her consciousness for the first time and she stops in alarm.    

Her body feels light, insubstantial.  She wonders if this is a dream.  If she is dreaming a thing she dreamt once before.  Through the trees she catches a glimpse of the shimmering blue waters of the bay, calling her forth.

A small part of her mind warns she should be terrified at what is happening.  All her life, she has been warned of voices in the mind.  But all she feels is longing for what lies ahead.  As though an old, dear childhood friend, long forgotten, is calling her name.

Keeper of Peace

She emerges from the tree-line to bright sunlight on her skin and blustering wind from the north.  The bay stretches twenty miles across to sheer rocky bluffs and the oblique spire of the Northern Horn towering over the water.  This was the barrier of rock, current and wind that claimed her father Damon, four years before. 

It always hurts to see it.  Damon’s victorious sailing expeditions around the Northern Horn had stirred and inspired the entire tribe.  And then one night it was all dashed against the rocks.  He had reached for the horizon and died.  It often felt to Anka, in the days that followed, like hope itself had died.

Daughter of Damon, Tribe of McCaden

Anka feels her father’s spirit mingled with something else, something alien and strange.  The air is filled with golden hue, as though barely perceptible points of reflective light are seeded amidst the oxygen.  The presence buzzes and hums at frequencies that slowly coalesce into song, warming her heart, singing to her that she is finally coming home.

She descends a hundred feet toward the shoreline.  And there she sees it. 

Protruding from the tidal surf, still partially immersed: a long metal vessel.  Large enough to hold many men and women.  Its wide door hanging open ominously.  It must be a vehicle for space-travel, she thinks. 

A few steps closer, and Anka’s heart fills with dread.  The outer walls of the craft are etched across with a labyrinth of arcane lines.  The language of the Ancient Ones.  The same clean complex lines that cover the relics.  They run in rivers and eddy across the hull of the entire craft, encrusted with crystal.  The alien craft lies phallic and gaping before her. 

A chorus of voices floods her mind with light and song.

Anka Enora Aelgon 

The Ancients welcome you

II

THE TRIBE

I

It was two hours past sunset when Trevor heard Anka’s voice come searing and ragged out of the jungle canopy. 

Trevor!  He could hear her rapid footsteps gaining ground quickly.  He thought for a moment that she was fleeing from some imminent danger snapping at her heels.  Trevor!

Anka? he poked his head out of the cave mouth with concern and looked down to the level ground, twenty feet below.  Anka emerged from beneath a tree, looking up at him, breathing heavily, as though she had just run a great distance.  It was dark, but by moon and starlight he could see some kind of package in her hands, and a look of intense worry on her usually confident face.  Are you alright? he asked.

I need to show you something! She waved the small green package in the air.

Come up!

She looked about for a moment, seemingly distraught, as though climbing the ladder to his cave was beyond her.  Finally, she began to climb one-handed, holding the package close with the other.  Why didn’t she just toss it up?  As she neared the entrance, he reached for the package to help her, but she shook her head violently, and pulled herself onto the stone floor without his aid.

Anka, what’s wrong?

He kept a small fire on the ledge of a second cave mouth, and in its dim light he could see she was shaking, overwhelmed as he had not seen her in many moons—perhaps not since Damon’s death.

Anka, he took her free hand and steadied her, and then reached to touch her face, and bring her eyes to meet his own.  They were brimming with tears.

Trevor I found a relic! Her voice was panicked.  He had never seen her so afraid.  And then he realized what was in the leaf-wrapped package she held with an iron grip, and her fear spilled over into him, a wild and enormous thing.  Let me have your fear, his eyes said to her.  I can take it.  And though he was shaking now along with her, he reached forward, and softly pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Blessed be, Anka," he said.

Before she could stop him, he took the package from her hands.  She made to grab for it, but he held it out of reach.  He looked into her with deep, soulful eyes, and shook his head.  We are in this together now, he said.

It had taken the better part of an hour to reach his cave, stumbling under the star swallowing canopy, over the hill and back to the road, passing her home by a wide berth and heading east, away from the village center, toward the dark towering mountains.  As she traveled, with the humming alien thing pressed against her skin, and only thin strips of leaf and leather as barrier from its touch, her panic had swelled. If she lost her equilibrium, her center, the thing she carried would sink its hooks into her soul.

And now, like magic, Trevor was bringing her back toward grace.  He had invited her fear and tempered it with his calm.  She took a deep breath and exhaled, and let the familiar comfort of Trevor’s cave begin to sooth her. Paintings, sculptures, lush woven wall hangings, a large sturdy table he had built from wood hauled up piece by piece, a mattress stuffed slowly, over the course of many days, the fire pit, and the centerpiece: the vast view of canopy and village, sea and starlight. 

Trevor brought the package to the fire, unwrapped the large thick leaf, and sat staring at the alien technology in silence.  She came to kneel beside him.

The alien device before them was a crystal in the shape of an egg, luminous and cloudy with tones of pink and amber.  The crystal egg was encased in three quarters by dark metal, a thick shell containing the soft light of the core.  Etched in the metal skin were intricate patterns, the tell-tale language lines of the Ancients.  Tens of thousands of years old, the archives said, perhaps older.  The deadly remnants of a civilization vanished with no explanation and no trace. 

It’s beautiful, he said.  Did it call you by name?

Yes.

How is your mind?

I did as we’ve been taught.  I sat with it and meditated.  I resisted the voice.  As soon as I felt able, I brought it here.

You brought it to me before bringing to the Elders?

I... yes.  It was my first instinct.

The hint of smile crossed Trevor’s lips.  He nodded, considering. Is it still speaking to you?

No.  It’s gone quiet.

He turned his eyes from the relic to look at her.  Will you take the Long Road, then?

Anka’s jaw hung slack.  Somehow in the emotional maelstrom of these past hours, that thought had not occurred to her.  But of course, she thought, someone has to take it to Ankharra, and it called me by name.  I’m the carrier now.

"There will be debate about it amongst the Elders because you’re not yet

Reviews for Relics of Andromeda

[Karen Adams · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I loved it. More than 5 stars. Where was this author hiding? It’s well written, surprising, uplifting but not smarmy. There are new ideas in physics and time, but characterization is not marred by energy given to new ideas. The only flaw is that there is small amount of text devoted to sexual encounters that seem to be an “add-on” perhaps to appeal to a wider audience. Some of these encounters flow with the story but about half do not. . “the world is not composed of atoms but of stories” . It’s the first book Enjoyable enough to compel a non trivial review in months, and I read several books a week.