Defiant: Alfurian Chronicles, #1

By Aaron Hodges

On the wild planet of Talamh, humanity thrived...
...until the alien Alfur conquered their world.
Now, defeated and broken, humanity serves their immortal overlords.
And pleads to the stars for a hero.

Rydian Holt is nothing, nobody. Just another human from the streets of Talamh. Or at least, that's what he thinks—until his mother is caught up in a fledgling resistance group. Branded a traitor and sentenced to fight in the arena, now Rydian must face hardened gladiators in single combat. To survive and advance through the ranks, he'll need the help of an enigmatic weapons master—and more than a little luck.

But after a lifetime of servitude, survival is no longer enough for Rydian. He seeks a way to fight back— not just against his fellow gladiators, but against the Alfur themselves. If Rydian can uncover their greatest secret—the truth about the mysterious Light that powers their world—he might just win his freedom.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Hodges
• Release date: Jun 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9780995142237

Aaron Hodges

Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor’s of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of office work and decided to quit his job and see the world. Two years later, his travels have taken him through South East Asia, Canada, the USA, Mexico, Central America, and South America. Today, his adventures continue…

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Solomon lurked in the shadows, heart pounding as he watched the metallic doors leading out to the street. Silence hung over the night like a blanket, the voices of neighbouring communes muffled by the thick steel walls. He prayed it would conceal their own activities from nearby eyes and ears, from the disaster of discovery.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought and he clenched his hands tighter around the spear he held. Its former owner lay on the floor nearby, the pool of his blood seeping across the stone tiles until it melded with that of the others.

There’d been a dozen in all—more than they’d expected. There was a part of him that regretted the bloodshed, the deaths of his fellow men. But then, they were traitors to their people, to their very species, serving the enemy as they did. And besides, at least they’d been human. The alternative…if there had been a single member of the Alfur present this night…Solomon shook his head to dismiss the thought, even as his heart, which had finally begun to slow, thrummed.

Drawing in a breath, he forced his mind to the present. He and a dozen others had taken up stations around the room, weapons held at the ready as they watched the door. Men and women of all ages, united under a single cause—rebellion.

It was only a matter of time before their infiltration was discovered, but with luck, by then the resistance would be long gone from the Alfurian temple.

Jasmine and the other leaders hadn’t believed the rumours at first, the whispers in the human underground, about this place, about what the Alfur were hiding here in their most sacred of temples. But the tales had persisted, had grown over the weeks and months, until finally the rebels could no longer resist the temptation to investigate.

They’d been cautious, of course. Jasmine never made a move without double- and triple-checking their exit points. There always had to be an objective, some acquisition or triumph that hurt the Alfur, and furthered the ambitions of the resistance. Neither did their attacks generate chaos or pandemonium, lest they lose the support of the communities that hid them.

Tonight, though, if the rumours were true, this would change everything. They had extracted the story from one of the guards a month ago, after cornering him in a back alley. There was a weapon here, one that might be turned upon the Alfur, that could finally free humanity from their centuries of servitude.

Despite himself, Solomon found himself glancing from the entrance to the inner doorway—the room the dead men had been guarding. Jasmine and the three other leaders of the resistance were within, seeking the secrets of the Alfur. Blood pounded in his ears as he imagined the technological wonders they might have uncovered. No longer would humanity be forced to fight with sword and spear against the terrifying weapons of the Alfur. Though…

…Jasmine and the others were taking their time.

Biting his lip, Solomon glanced again at the entrance. An hour had passed already. Surely they must have what they need by now. Morning would soon be approaching, and with it a fresh change of guards. Once they were discovered here, once the enemy realized their desecration of this sacred place, nothing would stop the overlords from hunting them down.

Solomon twisted the spear between his palms, glancing at his fellow rebels. Should one of them check on Jasmine and the other leaders? What if there had been more guards within, or one of the Alfur…but no, if that were true, they would all be dead by now, incinerated by the creature’s Manus reader.

So what, then, was keeping them?

Thump!

The silence shattered as the door to the outside was thrust open. Solomon flinched, raising his spear, but it was only his sister. His heart immediately began to pound anew. She had been stationed in the streets outside with a few of the others, watching for signs of trouble. If she was here—

Someone’s coming, she hissed, ducking inside.

Solomon cursed beneath his breath—he’d wanted her outside, where she could run if the worst came to pass, but it was too late to tell her to go back now. Another of the rebels had already tossed her a spear, and biting his lip, Solomon fixed his eyes on the door. It had to be the new guards, come early to relieve their fellow traitors.

Afraid his shaking hands would betray his fear, Solomon lowered his spear a fraction, as though readying himself for battle. If it was only the guards…that much they could handle. But if it was the Alfur that approached, with their terrible eyes, the awful power of their Manus readers…

His thoughts were interrupted as the soft click of a door opening came from behind. Momentarily distracted from the commotion outside, Solomon spun. His heart soared as Jasmine emerged from the inner complex of the temple. She lived! If she had discovered the secret within, the hidden weapon of the Alfur, then what did it matter if they were discovered now?

Such was his excitement, it was a moment before Solomon noticed the blood on her shirt.

He frowned as the rebel leader continued towards them, glancing at the door beyond her, but no one else emerged from within. Where were the others, the leaders that had accompanied Jasmine? They’d heard no signs of battle…

Jasmine! another of the rebels called to her, glancing over his shoulder. The enemy are outside. Did you get it? Did you get the weapon?

The rebel leader stumbled to a stop. Solomon shivered as he saw her face. The colour had drained from her golden skin, and her eyes…her eyes stared at some point beyond them, as though she did not see her fellow rebels. So close now, he could see the way the blood on her clothes glinted in the Light of their own Manus readers. She was drenched in the stuff; it dripped from the short sword she gripped in one hand.

I’m sorry, she whispered.

Jasmine… Solomon managed to speak, though a lump had lodged in his throat. What had happened inside the temple? Jasmine, where…where are the others?

The rebel leader blinked at his voice, and her sapphire eyes turned on him. We were wrong, Solomon, she whispered. Then her eyes slid closed and she shook her head. So very wrong.

Solomon’s heart stilled at her words, but swallowing, he nodded, then turned to face the entrance to the temple. As he focused on the doorway, he realised he could hear sounds from without, the pounding of boots on the bricked street. His gut tied itself into a knot—there were far more outside than just a change of guard.

The resistance had been discovered.

Around the room, the rebels tensed, clutching weapons close as they prepared themselves for battle. If it was only human soldiers that came for them, they might still stand a chance, might be able to fight their way out, to disappear into the night. They could regroup later, discuss what Jasmine had discovered. First, though, they had to—

Solomon gasped as pain erupted through his stomach. He staggered, the spear slipping from suddenly limp fingers. He hardly heard the clanging as it struck the floor—his eyes were fixed on the steel blade somehow protruding from his chest, his blood staining its point red.

The pain redoubled, exploding to red-hot agony as the sword was torn from him. A moan whispered from Solomon’s throat as he tried to speak, to warn his companions, but instead he found blood filling his mouth as he slumped to his knees. His vision swam as he struggled to turn, to look around at his murderer.

He found Jasmine staring down at him, bloody sword clutched before her.

I’m sorry, she whispered again, and it seemed to Solomon that there was something in her eyes, something terrible and dark. So very, very sorry.

A crash erupted through the room as a burst of Light tore the door from its hinges. Cries of rage and terror spread as chaos descended on the rebels. But none of it mattered to Solomon, as he sank slowly into darkness, into the cold release of death.

ONE

Rydian darted through the crowded streets of lower Goma. He ducked into alleys and raced across the broken pavings, never slowing, his bare feet hardly registering the harsh ground. Clay-coloured walls loomed around him, and overhead hung a makeshift ceiling of laundry. The stench of burning coal filled the air, the smoke of evening fireplaces mixing with the relentless dust

Shouts chased him as he ran, echoing from the narrow walls, but Rydian did not glance back. He slipped instead into another alleyway—and barely avoided crashing headfirst into a pile of discarded garbage. Illegal, of course—the Alfur would never permit such a wayward practise—but legality was rarely at the foreminds of Goma’s citizens.

No, what mattered was whether you were caught doing something illegal. And with stolen goods weighing down his rucksack, Rydian was eager to avoid a close encounter with the Alfur or their human Enforcers.

Cursing the filth of his fellow Gomans, Rydian staggered past the garbage and burst into another street, this one at least bricked to ease the passage of wagons rumbling down its centre. Heart pounding, he weaved his way into the crowd, lowering his head and pulling up his hood as he did so. With luck, the colourful clothing worn by his fellow citizens would help to confuse his pursuers, and he would vanish into the throng.

He was more than a little surprised by the heat of the pursuit. Sure, the keen-eyed merchant had caught him red-handed, but it wasn’t like the shopkeeper was Alfur. Not even Rydian wasn’t foolish enough to interfere with the overlords directly. That was the business of the resistance, or at least, it had been…

…he shuddered, forcing that thought, that memory from his mind, concentrating instead on his own predicament. On the horizon, the emerald sun of Talamh dipped towards the city walls. Night would fall soon. When the twin moons rose, he would have more than merchant thugs to worry about. Since the…fall of the resistance, a curfew had been set over the city. It wasn’t worth a human’s life to be caught outside after dark.

A soft whirring from overhead caused Rydian to freeze, while others in the street flinched or darted towards the awnings of nearby buildings. Rydian moved with them as a glowing white object passed overhead. He held his breath, blood pounding in his ears as the Alfurian construct whizzed past. Surely his little theft hadn’t drawn the attention of the overlords? The creatures rarely bothered themselves in human affairs.

Rydian exhaled as the object continued on, its sleek metallic form flying over the slums of the human city. Just one of the Alfur going about its business. Allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, Rydian watched as the vessel soared high into the emerald sky, up towards the metallic towers rising above lower Goma.

The sight of those perfect skyscrapers against the green light of the setting sun inspired both awe and loathing in Rydian’s soul. The structures were a miracle of architecture and magic—or technology as the overlords would have humanity believe. Regardless, they were a testament to the powers of the Alfur. In any other setting they would have been considered beautiful—if not for the sheer, awful contrast of their richness to the poverty below.

Losing track of the Alfurian construct amidst the dozens of others that zipped between the upper decks of the towers, Rydian returned his mind to the present. Only then did he notice the lengthening shadows on the street, the sudden absence of other humans. Blinking, he glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with half a dozen men at the end of the street.

For a moment they stood staring at each other. Then one gave a shout and pointed. Cursing, Rydian darted into the nearest alley. The gloom swallowed him up and he stumbled, tripping on some refuse discarded in an unseen pile and almost falling.

Shouts chased after him, echoing from the street. He swore again. The thugs were close and he feared the Light would give him away, but there was no choice. He wouldn’t get much farther in this darkness. Squeezing his fist, he concentrated on the metallic device embedded into the flesh of his palm.

A soft glow appeared between his fingers. Opening his hand, Rydian allowed his Manus reader to light the ground before him. Like all human children, the Manus reader had been implanted in his palm at the age of ten. It took the form of a metallic cylinder with a crystal core—a store for Light, the energy that powered everything on the planet Talamh.

The Alfur claimed the Manus readers were their gift to humanity, devices that could be used for everything from illumination, to communication, to minor healings, though that depleted the Light at an alarming rate. These days they were even used in trade, with each human’s store of credits recorded in their Manus reader.

Ducking around another corner, Rydian paused a moment, gasping in the humid night air. A glance behind revealed only darkness in the alleys—until a flicker of Light shone around a nearby corner. He cursed beneath his breath, then set out once more. He had not lost his enemies yet.

His Manus reader continued to light the way, an invaluable tool, and yet a perpetual reminder too of humanity’s oppression. For the Alfur had Manus readers of their own—except in their hands, there was no limits to what the devices could do.

With them, they had conquered all of Talamh.

They had come from above some thousand years ago, it was said, descending upon Talamh like a storm. Humanity had resisted of course. A great war had been fought in defiance of their conquest, but it had been a futile gesture. The Alfur possessed terrible weapons, capable of levelling entire cities with blasts of Light. Humanity had never stood a chance—they had fallen within days.

But that was all long before Rydian’s time, before the memories of even the oldest humans in Goma. His parents and grandparents before them had been slaves. It was all they had ever known, all any human would ever know. To toil in the mines, or lumber yards, or factories, all in servitude to their Alfurian overlords. Freedom, liberty, none of that mattered beneath the rule of the Alfur—only survival.

Or at least, that was what Rydian’s father said, what he had often repeated these last six months, ever since the massacre of the resistance.

It was not what his mother had believed.

Rydian shook off the memories with an effort of will. The voices of his pursuers had fallen behind now, though he still spied the distant glow of their Manus readers when he glanced back. Thankfully the merchant had chosen large, brutish men to guard his store. No doubt their size was meant to be intimidating for would-be thieves like Rydian, but their bulk was unsuited to the narrow confines of the slums. It wasn’t long before the Light of their Manus readers disappeared altogether.

Only then did Rydian slow and allow his own device to dim. When there was only enough Light to see the ground before his feet, he set off again. The thugs would be too far behind to see its glow now, but the patrols would begin soon, and Rydian had no wish to leap from the flames into the Light-blast of an Alfur.

The last of the emerald sunlight had disappeared from the sky now. As he walked, Rydian concentrated again on his Manus reader, forcing the Light to change. The glow flickered, taking new shape, until a grid-like map formed in the palm of his hand. A red dot showed his location in the labyrinth of Goma, along with markings for several of his well-visited locations. He sighed with relief—he’d lost track of his turns during the chase, but it seemed his sense of direction had not completely abandoned him. He was close to home.

He kept moving, watching for movement in the nearby alleys. His pursuers might have fallen behind, but there were other dangers in the Talamh night. Patrols would at least carry Light that could be glimpsed from a long way off, but there were many Gomans not beyond harming a fellow human for the chance of a free meal.

And then of course, there were the beasts.

Attacks had grown rarer in recent years, as the Alfur worked to exterminate the creatures from the five cities. But a month still did not go by without a mauling. At least the hounds no longer moved in packs—those had been deadly, his parents claimed, in the days of their youth. As it was, an individual hound or feline horde were still dangerous.

Thankfully, no eyes appeared in the shadows and Rydian made it the last few blocks to his home without incident.

Only there did trouble rare its ugly head.

Shadows stepped from an alleyway as Rydian approached his home. At first he thought they were his pursuers. If they had managed a good look at him in the chase, his identification would have been a simple matter with the tools him would have been a simple measure with the tools merchants like Carlos had at their disposal.

But no, he’d been careful, hiding his face in the shadows of his hood. He felt a wave of relief as he realised the shadows were too small for the merchant’s thugs.

His relief was short lived, however, as several Manus readers lit the darkness. The glow caught the group of young men, illuminating their faces. He recognised at least