Nuzan: The Covalent Series, #5

By Libby Doyle

Within the king's mind lies the key to giving the queen new life. If only he would accept it.

 

Barakiel tamed the elemental force of Destruction in all aspects but one. He could not save his mortal queen, his beloved Zan O'Gara.

 

Afraid that Barakiel will choose death rather than live without her, Pellus and the healers clone the queen, intending to awaken her with her memories intact. They fail. Barakiel treats the innocent new Zan like his child, even though on some level, the clone remembers the queen's love for her mate. Pellus attempts to convince the king that if he and Nuzan were to bond in Union, Zan O'Gara would be restored.

 

Steeped in grief, Barakiel rejects his old friend's schemes.

 

Nuzan must find her own way. She must learn to cope with the queen's memories, stirring deep inside her.

 

The Covalent Series is complete. Enjoy!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Libby Doyle
• Release date: Nov 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737305200

Libby Doyle

Libby Doyle escapes real life by writing extravagant tales, filled with adventure, sex, and violence. When not tapping away at her fiction, she's been known to work as an attorney and a journalist. Libby loves absurd humor, travel, punk rock, and her husband. She is the author of The Covalent Series, an epic science fantasy in five parts.

Book preview

Also by Libby Doyle

The Passion Season

The Pain Season

The Vengeance Season

The Warlord Season

Summon the Stars Anthology 2021: Outer-Rim Rescue

Learn more at libbydoyle.com.

. . . the birds,

Who all things now behold more fresh and green,

After a night of storm so ruinous,

Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray,

To gratulate the sweet return of morn.

– John Milton, Paradise Regained

COVALENT BOND

A bond in which one or more pairs of electrons are shared by two atoms to create a stable balance of attractive and repulsive forces.

COVALENT PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

Rainer (ry•ner) Barakiel (ba•rack•ē•el)

Nuzan (nū•zan)

Pellus (pel•les)

Jeduthan (jeh•dūth•en)

Remiel (rem•ē•el)

Thanis (than•iss)

Donoreth (don•or•eth)

Derisen (dehr•ih•sen)

Tagaen (tah•gā•en)

Larethael (lah•reth•ā•el)

Hadraniel (hah•drahn•ē•el)

PROLOGUE

I KNEW THIS DAY would come but still, I drown in despair. What will I do without you, my love? Thanks to the Sylvan Three you lived longer than any human ever has, but Destruction must claim you. You cannot escape your nature, grounded as it is in the cycle of birth and death, the Balance I once found so beautiful in your world. Now, I find only grief. All nature’s grand plan means in the Covalent Realm is that I lose my bonded mate, my reason for living, my love, my queen.

Do I slit my throat right here? Bleed upon you as you fade? You would not like it. You steadied me as I learned to be a regent, always better at it than me. I can hear you telling me I need to attend to my responsibilities.

Without you, I will make a poor king. Will Destruction claim my broken spirit? Without your love to Balance me, I may end up as insane as my father. I cannot let that happen and I do not want to live without you. We will join the Guardians, fuse our energy with theirs and do our part to hold the elemental forces in Balance. Together, we will meet the Stream. I will give the Council notice of my intention so they will have the chance to prepare for the unrest that may follow.

And you and I, my love, will be together again. In a sense. Though we will not know each other, our energies will mingle. Perhaps because I share your knowledge of human myths and dreams, I choose to believe that on some level, we will recognize each other. On some level, our love will power the timeless dance of the heavens.

PART I ♦ DEATH & BIRTH

CHAPTER 1

A WAIL ROSE above the hushed city, beginning low and building to a crescendo of pain not heard in the Covalent Realm since the Calamities had nearly destroyed it. From the North Terrace, Pellus watched the sound waves stretch and dissipate beneath the bursts of meteors striking the city’s protective barrier. He and Jeduthan had gone to the terrace hoping the beauty of the meteor shower would ease their hearts as the queen’s life faded away. Now, Pellus wished they’d remained in the Keep, close to the king.

The queen is dead, Pellus said. Though he’d known it was coming, his heart splintered to lose his friend and to witness Barakiel’s grief.

As the citizens of Covalent City realized the meaning of their king’s lament, they joined him in his keening. A steady drone of loss rose above the Great Plaza, flowed through the stone alleyways like cold mist, hung above the terraces, a sharp reminder of the cruelty of nature.

We have lost the queen.

The Sylvan Three had kept Zan O’Gara alive for more than a thousand phases. She died at the incredible age of one hundred and sixty-three earthly years. Deep wisdom had shined from her eyes, a glimpse of what humans could be if only they were granted more time. Though she’d been physically frail in her later years, Zan’s mind had been strong and her love for the king even stronger. 

Barakiel will not wish to continue. We cannot lose them both. I pray the Sylvan Three and I can deliver the miracle we have planned.

I fear the king will leave us, Jeduthan said. Patterns of light from the meteor shower reflected on her face, so heavy were her tears. Pellus held his mate. They were lucky to be Covalent, sitting at the still center of all that existed. Time would never claim them.

I was cruel to him once, about Zan’s mortality, Pellus said. We were quarreling. He insulted you, so I told him the love he shared with Zan would dry and crumble like so many autumn leaves. I am ashamed when I think of it.

Beloved, please be kind to yourself. Jeduthan stroked his cheek. We have lost a cherished ruler and few mean what they say in a quarrel.

But I did mean it. I did not want him to be with her. I anticipated this moment of loss. So foolish. As if Barakiel could have defeated Lucifer without her strength. Pellus rubbed his face then wiped his wet hands on his crimson robes. And part of me wishes Barakiel had listened to me. I would never have come to love Zan. I would not be suffering right now. Such self-indulgent weakness, when I was privileged to call her friend.

You are allowed your grief, Pellus. Jeduthan drew him down to kiss him and press her forehead to his. Please let it take you. Embrace it, because you will not have long to process this loss. The citizens will need their Council president. You must be strong. Even if we can persuade the king to stay with us, who knows how long he will mourn?

Too long, I am sure. The minions of Abraxos have waited through the phases for this turn. Even a human life extended by the Sylvan Three is the briefest of spans to the Covalent.

How long will you allow Barakiel to grieve before you and the Three unveil your grand experiment?

I do not know. Now that the time approaches, I worry we have made a mistake, we were so desperate not to lose our queen.

Whatever happens, remember Zan gave you her blessing. Just think. If it is possible for Union to be bestowed a second time, she will live again. She will love again.

Pellus could see and feel the king’s vibrations as he approached the royal chambers, grief and pain manifesting as tangible force. To lessen the intensity of that force was beyond Pellus’ ability, but he wished he could soothe his friend.

And my own ragged heart.

He reached the golden door and listened. Nothing. An adept stood nearby, part of the rotation that held the queen’s body in stasis. She nodded to him.

Three turns had passed and the king had not emerged from the royal chambers where Zan had died. When anyone spoke to Barakiel through the door he bid them leave. Even Pellus. Even High Commander Remiel. They let him be, gave him time to manage his pain, but the citizens wanted to honor their queen. And they wanted their king to help them through this sorrowful time.

Barakiel, it is Pellus. May I come in? he asked through the Conduit.

Go away.

I will not. I cannot imagine what you are going through, but please, think of the citizens. They loved the queen. Please allow them the Ceremony of Return.

Go away.

With a sigh, Pellus passed through the door into a sizable chamber of buttercream marble hung with bright tapestries. No one else would dare enter without permission, so it was left to the king’s oldest friend. And perhaps more to the point, the president of the Covalent Council.

You would violate my privacy? Now, of all times? Barakiel sat beside Zan’s body where it lay among green and blue cushions. His eyes were closed and he held her hand, the stasis field running sparkles along his forearm.

I am sorry, Barakiel, but the citizens need their king.

I know, my friend, I know. He opened his eyes and made a slow turn toward Pellus.

You think I am being self-indulgent, but this time is necessary. Violent grief tears at me. If you want me to be calm and strong for the Ceremony of Return, I need time. Let me stay with her, just a little while. Otherwise, I may not make it through the ceremony. He grimaced and shook his head. Do you even want them to witness my departure? Perhaps the ceremony would be best done in private—only you, myself, and my queen.

What do you mean, your departure? Pellus had expected him to say something like this, but his voice grew high and strained nonetheless.

Please do not act surprised, Pellus. My queen and I will meet the Stream together. You will take us, will you not? Zan would not want any other adept. She loved you very much. You will take us and we will fuse our energies with the Guardians and join the eternal duty to maintain the Balance of the cosmos. And somehow, perhaps, we will know each other.

Barakiel didn’t cry, but the timbre of his voice was too much for Pellus, who leaned against the nearest tapestry until he got a grip on himself. He looked where he’d placed his hand, on a tapestry the king had given the queen for her birthday, its design thick with earthly birds. This made him feel worse. He walked unsteadily to Barakiel and sat beside him on the floor.

Of course, to bear the queen’s body to the Stream will be one of the greatest honors of my life. But please, Barakiel, you cannot leave us. Do not compound this terrible grief. Do not plunge the Realm into chaos. You know the warriors you defeated in the conflict with Abraxos have only been biding their time.

I do not care, Pellus.

You do. I know it. You have merely lost sight of your love for the citizens in your cloud of grief.

You do not understand, Barakiel said. My grief is not a cloud, it is an ocean. Either I will drown, or I will cause the sea to rise until it swallows everything. He dropped the queen’s hand and clenched his own into fists, staring off towards the balcony. Even with my great power, I could not stop Destruction from claiming my bonded mate. I am angry, Pellus. So angry. You do not want me to free this emotion. It will destroy everything until nothing is left but the Void. He laughed bitterly. Little did my father know, he could have just left me alone to love my beautiful, courageous Zan and her death would do his job for him. Abraxos suspected as much, didn’t he?

Barakiel gazed down at Zan’s lifeless body, his anger transformed into something even harder to witness.

Remember all those phases ago when you told me I should not choose her? You were right about one thing—her death has destroyed me. Yet I would not give up a single pulse I spent with her for any prize. He ran his fingers along her gray hair where it framed her pale face, serene in death. You must understand, you of all Covalent. I cannot continue to exist as an individual without her.

Many Warriors of the Rising go on without their mates, Barakiel, even those who bond in Union. Time will ease your pain.

I am not just any Warrior of the Rising, now am I? Barakiel glared at Pellus with a viciousness that made him gasp. When my father lost his bonded mate he lost his mind as well, and became the most dangerous enemy the Realm had ever seen. Do you fancy another, even more powerful vessel of Destruction made mad with grief and loss? Let me go, and remember me fondly as the Covalent who restored peace and security thanks to his most perfect love. The viciousness faded from his eyes, replaced by tears. He wiped them away, then took Zan’s hand once again, the sparkles of the stasis field dancing around him. No, no, he mumbled. I did not want you to see this. His body trembled with his crying.

Pellus wanted to embrace him but froze to see the waves of pain emanating from his body. Terrified by their intensity, he knew Barakiel was right. No telling what the consequences would be if he lost control.

He could warp the fabric of existence.

But they could save him, and save the Realm from conflict. They could help this warrior that he loved like a son. Pellus would go to the Sylvan Three. They would set their plan in motion.

Ba— Pellus cleared his throat. My king. I can see you need time and I understand why you feel you need to join the Guardians. I can see the terrible forces you hold in check.

Yes, you see, you know, Barakiel said softly.

I will come back in two turns, Pellus continued. Please think of the citizens. They love you and want to share your grief. Perhaps they can ease your heart, diffuse your anger. When Barakiel did not respond, Pellus passed through the golden door away from the despondent king.

The stone path that led to the Sylvan Three’s chambers was lined with citizens in their white robes of mourning. They held candles of vigil and no doubt hoped for a glimpse of the legendary healers. Even if the king remained hidden, the Sylvan Three might appear and offer them balm for their grief. The citizens bowed to Pellus as he passed, and murmured condolences.

Soon enough the crystalline chambers filled his vision, their intricate layers reflecting the sapphire, onyx, and pearl of the Stream that raged overhead. Pellus was glad to leave the mourners behind.

I do not know what to say to them.

Once he entered the chambers, he waited for the Sylvan Three in their anteroom, gazing at the blue-agate fountain at its center. He had always found the fountain’s gurgle soothing, but now the water seemed to be choking back tears, like everyone in Covalent City. When the Three appeared in their white shifts, they ran to him and encircled him with their delicate arms, their faces hidden by their silky black hair.

Adept, can you bear it? How can we bear it? they asked in unison.

We have no choice, healers.

The Three tipped their chins to reveal luminous silver eyes glossy with tears. We have no choice.

The four of them stood wrapped around each other for so long that Manek, the head servant, came to ask if they would like some refreshment.

Thank you, Manek, the healers said. We will. Please bring some root wine to the roof terrace. And tor distillate.

Yes, healers. Manek bowed and left.

Tor distillate? I’ve never known you to drink so strong a spirit, Three, Pellus said as they ascended to the roof. Looking to numb yourselves?

Looking for fortitude, Pellus. We know what you have come to discuss.

I do not like the sound of that remark. He tested out a smile, to see if it would at all lighten the gloom that pressed in on them. The Stream did its part with its beauty, unsettling as it was. Since the queen had died, the furious band of electromagnetic energy twisted and jumped, its rich sapphire blue locked in a frenetic struggle with the black and pearl strands of the king’s consciousness. At least that’s what everyone believed the strands to be. Who knew? No one could touch the Stream lest they be absorbed by its fearsome power. That is what Barakiel wanted, for Pellus to bring him alongside the torrent and let it take him, along with the body of the queen.

Manek brought the drinks. He set up a small table and poured the garnet-colored root wine from its bottle into crystal goblets, but left the tor distillate in its decanter next to tiny gold cups. He departed with a nod. The Sylvan Three walked to the table. Simultaneously, they drained their wine. They each poured cups of tor and quickly downed them.

I have never seen you like this, Three.

Such an event has never happened before, Pellus. One healer held out a cup of tor. He drank it, then took the proffered goblet of wine. He sipped and squinted at them.

I assume you are referring to the confluence of grief, worry that the king will leave us, and the clone.

Yes. The clone. We are agitated about the clone. Your message said it was time to reveal her to the king but things have not gone as we had hoped.

Oh no. What do you mean? Now it was Pellus’ turn to drain his wine. He poured himself more.

We wanted to give him his queen, young and strong as when he met her, and physically, we have succeeded. We improved upon the techniques we learned from the humans to produce a new Zan, glowing with vigor and beauty.

But, Pellus said, quashing his impulse to tell them to get to the point by sticking his nose in his goblet.

But, the Three said, we have not succeeded with the mental aspect.

Pellus poured himself another cup of spirit, drank it back, and immediately felt nauseous. She, uh, oh. We have not produced a mindless thing, have we?

No, no, nothing so dire, said one healer.

We always knew her mind would be a challenge, Pellus said. Please explain what you mean.

The Three faced the tower of the Council Keep, gleaming ivory and gold in the twilight. In all our phases of easing Zan’s deterioration, we bonded with her so often in the healing trance we became intimately familiar with her mind, they said in unison. We thought we understood the structure of her memories, the neural pathways that created them. Although much of what she gained from her Union with Barakiel remained a mystery to us, we could analyze the memories built through normal human processes. We thought that if we created these same pathways in this new Zan’s brain, she would essentially be Zan, as she was, with the same personality. They turned back to Pellus, sipped their wine, and took a few long breaths.

"We wanted to bring this new Zan to a state where she would feel the same way to us in the healing trance as the true Zan, but it has not happened. As far as we can tell, she has not integrated the memories we attempted to recreate. She does not feel the same to us."

Are you sure the structure is exactly the same? The neural pathways?

Spatially, yes, it is the same, yet still different. If you were to describe the difference based on an adept’s knowledge, you would say the energy is not traveling with the same frequency through the new Zan’s brain. The vibrations are different, though the physical pathway is identical.

Pellus set down his goblet and rubbed his face before he bent his head back to look at the stars directly overhead. I fear we have been arrogant.

Yes, we have. A human experience is more than a map for electrical energy in the brain. It is a process of sensory input, unique in its nuances.

She cannot integrate the memories because her senses have told her nothing about being Zan. Not yet.

Precisely.

Balance help us, Pellus whispered. But surely the memory structures have some effect?

Yes, but they are more like impressions. I suspect they will be buried, almost subconscious. They may motivate her, generate likes and dislikes, but I do not think she will remember her identity.

She will not remember Barakiel?

On some level, she may. There is no predicting it.

Ah, Three, we must wake her and hope for the best. Barakiel plans to meet the Stream with the queen’s body. I do not think I can convince him otherwise.

No, you will not convince him.

We must give him a reason to live. We need him. And demon take him, he is my friend! I will not let him go.

Nor do we have any intention of losing him to grief. Let us wake her and prepare her to meet him. But we wonder, Pellus. Should we tell her who she is if she does not remember? The Three placed their goblets on the small table and stared at Pellus as if they were trying to pull him into one of their telepathic communications. He wished he could bond with them in that way. He looked into their silver eyes, each in turn, as he rolled the question around in his mind.

From the sense you got of her when you were in the healing trance, how much would she understand?

We do not know.

Then we should not tell her or use her name, he said. We must make sure she will not be overwhelmed or frightened. We must shield her from the citizens, and even the Council, until we know how she will react to consciousness.

The healers nodded. Are you ready?

I’m filled with dread, yet beyond eager. I have not been so confused in an age.

They smiled at him indulgently then descended the stairs. Pellus followed.

I should have brought Jeduthan. She would have lent me strength.

In the back corner of a white marble chamber, the clone of the beloved and powerful Zanogara lay sleeping on a bed of violet light. Pellus had often checked on the clone as she grew, but with the queen’s decline and the king’s distress, it had been some time since he’d seen her. Now, to find her exactly as Zan was when he’d first met her left him speechless and trembling.

My grief makes me emotional, but she is so beautiful. Barakiel will stay. He must, if only to gaze on her as she was when he fell in love with her.

With their white dresses softly rustling, the Three positioned themselves in a semicircle around the clone’s head. One placed her fingers on her temples, while the others touched her shoulders. A moment later the clone stirred and opened her eyes. The Three crouched beside her.

Welcome to awareness, our friend. We are the Sylvan Three. We think you know us. They laid their delicate hands on the soft gray cloth that covered her. We were with you, in your mind, as you came toward the surface, this place where you can see, hear, taste and feel.

Mothers, the new Zan whispered.

The Three laughed, a tinkling, joyful sound. The new Zan’s deep blue eyes lit up to hear it. Pellus wanted to hug her but he hung back, trusting that the healers knew best. One of them took Zan’s hand and pulled her upright. The cover fell away, revealing the perfection of her naked upper half.

Do you feel all right? the Three asked.

I, I do not know. How am I supposed to feel?

Like you want to leave your bed, stand up, and begin your life.

The new Zan stared at them, her lips pursed and her eyes scrunched as she contemplated this information. Then she noticed Pellus, standing behind the Three.

Who is this, mothers?

He is Pellus, a dear friend.

I do not know him.

You will. For now, just know that he is kind.

Pellus stepped forward. He bowed and smiled as gently as he could. I am happy to meet you, friend.

Huh, hello. The new Zan smiled shyly at him, which made his heart flutter.

I am not myself in the face of these queer events.

His stare triggered something in the clone. She covered herself with her blanket. Pellus glanced at the Three. Surely, that was a good sign, an indication of normal human behavior inserted into the new Zan’s mind along with language. One healer went to a chest and pulled out a robe of the finest quality, in the same violet shade as the energy bed.

Here you are. Clothing for you. The Three stationed themselves in front of Pellus while the new Zan rose and dressed. Then they moved back next to him. He grew misty-eyed to see the clone standing there, so like the queen when she was young, with the ease of a healthy fine body.

You look strong, friend. Do you feel strong? the Three asked.

The clone stretched and arched her back then peered at the healers. You call me friend, but are you not my mothers?

In a way. We are your creators, friends, and protectors. You may call us mothers if you wish.

Pellus wished they hadn’t said that. To call them mothers might encourage the new Zan to relate to the world like a child. She seemed childlike enough as she looked quizzically at the healers then walked to the mirror hanging above the chest. She touched her lovely face, her deep black hair. I do not know myself, mothers. Who am I?

The Three lowered their eyes for a pulse or two. We will teach you who you are, they said. We will begin by showing you around our home. You will learn through all your senses. Much better to learn in that way, is it not, Pellus?

Oh yes, Three. And you must be patient, friend. You have so many wonderful things to learn.

Despite his misgivings, the new Zan’s sunny smile lifted Pellus’ spirits more than anything had in a long time.

Barakiel will be filled with joy to see her. He will. How could he react any other way?

CHAPTER 2

NIGHT ADORNED the Great Plaza. The traveler adepts had drawn a pall of gloom over Covalent City, normally bathed in twilight. The citizens wished to sit in the dark and grieve like their king. The quickeners wailed before their Guild Hall, a new dirge composed to express the pain of natural mortality, a pain they had never known before they loved Zanogara, the extraordinary human who had been their queen.

The Covalent whispered that no one had seen the king in a phase. Before the queen’s death, he’d rarely left her side. Now that she was gone, the citizens wanted to say goodbye, to see her body laid with honor in the Keep’s Gallery of Light and then returned to the Stream so she could join the ceaseless flow of Creation. But it had been five turns since her death and still, the king had not emerged with her body.

Two turns had passed since Pellus had entered the royal chambers without the king’s permission. He hoped the time had helped his friend cope with his anger and sorrow. Soon, he would visit Barakiel again, to tell him he should allow the Ceremony of Return. To tell him the citizens should be permitted to say goodbye to their queen. Pellus had no idea how