Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress

Where the
P
hysical,
S
piritual, and
I
ntellectual facets of humanity synergistically combine, as they do in everyday life, to create a dynamic, mysterious, and ingenious futuristic world in
FI
ction.

THE EPOCH OF REDRESS
by
KAZ LEFAVE

www.NEMECENE.com

© 2015,
Kaz Lefave
/ Text © 2011 by
Kaz Lefave

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise— without prior written permission by the publisher.

Published 2011, 2015 by Aguacene Publishing, Inc.
Toronto, ON, Canada
www.aguacene.com

Art by RUKE

ISBN: 978-0-9877149-3-0

The narrators

Each chapter is organized into three sections, each section consistently assigned to a single narrator.

Section I -
Nathruyu
Written in the third person in Nathruyu's voice from an out of body point of view.

Section II -
Elize
Written in the first person as a running dialog inside Elize's head. If she does not think it, hear it, see it, taste it, feel it, smell it or sense it, neither do you.

Section III -
Keeto
Written in the first person as diary entries to his mother. One section represents one journaling session.

The timeline

The novel, as a whole, moves forward in time, although sections may overlap as the different narrators offer their experiences during the same time period. A note at the beginning of each section states when that segment begins relative to Chapter One, Section I, which starts in the late evening on day 1.

Flashbacks and fanciful musings are enclosed between the following symbols:

Gaps in the story, where the text jumps forward in time are preceded by the following symbols:

G
lossary entries

Since the characters are living in the
Nemecene
epoch, they are intrinsically familiar with their futuristic world, its technology, and its language, therefore they would not naturally explain the meaning or significance of words foreign to our 21st century society as they relay their story to you.

I encourage you to use the glossary section at the back of the book to guide you with clarity, as needed.

T
HE MYSTERIOUS
they
OR
them

Who are
they
? That's a well-guarded secret. In fact, only one person knows the answer to that question and I'll give you one guess. ;-)

Feel free to share your theories with me and each other by joining the
Nemecene™ Envoys Facebook Group
. The answers shall be forthcoming...in due time. Muahahaha.

For my children Siobhan and Jeremy, my parents Art and Norma, my sisters Laura and Kylen, my dear friends, and the one water which connects us all.

She moves through time with the balletic grace of a tantric ninja

These gemstone eyes are watching you and they will leave you wanting, either for more, either for less, but wanting nonetheless.

In Nathruyu's world, there is no first person narrative and no third person detachment, since such a distinction only exists as an illusion of the mind. There is only a visceral experience through the entity that animates her flesh. If her narration seems obscure or her vocabulary provocative, they are. Every word is an intention designed to suspend time through the void in which she glides. Nothing is by happenstance.

So keep a dictionary handy and feel Nathruyu's pace as she expresses herself through rhythm, and sometimes through rhyme, for this is the voice that defines her kind.

Her restless tough-girl attitude betrays her splintered mind

Keet is such a pup. Honestly. There's nothing mystical about my nightmares. It's a scientific fact that dreams are just our brain's way of processing things. And in my case, it's simply trauma nothing more. Keet's afraid I'll get lost in some mental void like Mother and that Father will commit me to the GHU. That's where Mother died. Wipe that image. No more tears. Good. So we're keeping everything hush. Crazed, eh? Anyway, I hope he's wrong. Better keep the voices to myself. Everybody hears some. They just won't admit it. It's not considered normal. Right. Normal. At least, we'll be gone soon and maybe even…Crap! No. Not now.

Breathe, Eli, breathe. Here he comes. Breathe. Act normal.

His courage hides inside the cocoon of an armchair archaeologist

Time has not filled the void you left when Eli and I were just nine years old. As I cloister myself here, sprinkling the pages of another journal with my emotions, I image that you see through my eyes, and write through my quill. It is this insanity that keeps me sane while my days spent digging for answers to questions that constantly change consume my sheltered life. If only your spirit could materialize into the Mother I need you to be once again. But reality reminds me otherwise. My only hope is that connecting with you, in these quiet and sometimes not so quiet moments of reflection, will uncover truths that liberate us all.

But will they come soon enough?

Day 1: Late Evening

T
he hour is late and Nathruyu's pace has slowed, carving silent impressions in the earth while she glides over ash and stone, with the cool air tempering her gait and the warm moisture from her lips betraying her presence as she moves. Haste is the nature of her pilgrimage, yet it is not to come easily. She softly passes amidst the perils of darkness, but had an alternative to travel with the sun been possible, she would have gladly selected it. Circumstances, however, had changed, and the change was swift.

Her muscles inflict grief on her already weary thighs, as she marshals the strength within and strives to gain the summit before the moonlight divulges her path. Welcoming as daylight would be for her on this terrain, it could only endanger her mission and risk her just rewards. She drags the load of her conscience with her as usual and trusts that the chosen will prevail and their story will be told. Such is Nathruyu's plight.

The top of the ridge brings a grateful repose. A solitary field of fragrance spreads before her to the hamlet below. She must remain wary of her balance and awake to the night as she negotiates the floral thicket sloping down to the closest cover lest she announce her passage.
They
will be looking for her, as before, as beyond, lamenting what she has done, but the truth must override, and the sacrifices shall be made, for all cry foul when a decision seems cruel.