The Ranger: Apollo's Story (Tales of Welkinia Book 2)

by J. M. Ivie

  TWENTY - FIVE

  MONTHS PASSED, AND I DROPPED into the normality of my routine. Wake up. Eat. Spar. Train. Eat. Spar. Train. Sleep.

  The repetition drove me insane. Every month, Jensen would send me on a scouting mission. On those missions, I sent letters to Zahra and inquired of any for me at the letter office. Sometimes there were… sometimes there weren’t. When there was, I ate up every word written on the paper. The faint fragrance of roses and vanilla left on the parchment reminded me of her. This continued for many months, and we drew closer through our writing. It was two months after my twentieth birthday, on the third month of autumn, I found myself once again on Luxterra. This time I wasn’t alone.

  Barak cleared his throat, gazing at the field from behind the safety of his mask. “This is unusual. Jensen never does this.”

  I nodded, peering over my shoulder at Niall and Ryanne. All four of his men, and we were just waiting for the last. The Villain.

  “What is he like?” I asked.

  “Terrifying to those who are not familiar with him,” Barak said. “You will soon see.”

  He hadn’t even finished his sentence when a white and black eagle dropped from the skies. A tall and lithe rider slipped off the saddle of the bird, looking at us all from behind the black glaze of mask that looked akin to a skull. He wore a long white frock coat and black fighting leathers. His air was formidable, and each of us stood at attention for him. All of us apart from Barak.

  The Villain didn’t speak, he merely looked at each one of us with callused indifference. His shoulders held back, keeping his posture as straight as a needle.

  “Now that we are all here…” Barak grunted, took a step closer to the Villain, and pulled out a note to hand to him. “This is something that requires everyone’s skills.”

  The Villain looked over the paper, then, after a moment, handed it back to Barak. Even Ryanne, who was as cool as an icicle, looked more like a shivering sheep in the man’s presence. This was Jensen’s first pupil. The one who had the full wrath of Jensen poured out on him. He was standing before us, living and breathing. That was a miracle.

  “So, when will we get to know why we are here?” Niall shouted, his tall form striding up to the Villain. The stories were right. He was by far the tallest. He stood an inch over Niall, two inches over Barak, and three inches over Ryanne.

  “Quiet,” the Villain commanded in a deep, yet, silky tone. Hypnotic, yet, jarring. I felt as if I heard the voice before.

  Niall scowled, but, did as the Villain told him.

  Barak looked us over, “Each of us will enter the Labyrinth of Cargio, an underground fortress here on Luxterra. It has been deemed hazardous, so it was abandoned nearly a hundred years ago. Until now we have believed the Cargio Labyrinth to be abandoned. Jensen received word that a large group of Anarchists are gathered there. They plan on overthrowing the Luxterrian Parliament. We must exterminate them. Once we finish, you will all get out of the Labyrinth while I destroy the dam.”

  “You’ll flood the Labyrinth?” Ryanne asked. He sounded concerned, however, the grin on his face told me it amused him.

  “Yes. I have instructions on how to do this and a map out of the Labyrinth. Your only rule is kill as many as you can and get out after my signal.”

  A knot formed in my stomach, and I broke the line. “Barak—” I looked up at the Villain, eyeing him up and down. I couldn’t tell anything from his appearance. Whether he was angry, disinterested, upset, or frightened. All of this remained shrouded from me behind the mask he wore. “What if something blocks your escape route?”

  Barak removed his mask, letting the cool breeze wash over his features. He looked tired, aged almost, with lines working their way along his brow. “Then, I will be grateful it was me who has taken the fall and not any of you.”

  “Barak,” I inched closer to him. “You don’t need to do this alone…”

  He tried, but, he couldn’t fight the smile that flitted on his lips. “You are a good man, Apollo.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, gripping me tight, “A better man than I, with kip tresòl agia Dragolo.”

  I knew that phrase. A heart like the Dragon.

  The Villain approached and forced us apart with his presence. “Sorry to cut this short.” He pulled off his mask which opened in three sections. A unique mechanical device. “But, I need to know one thing, Chigaru.”

  I saw his face for the first time. Ink-black eyes and hair, yet, his skin was nearly the same shade as mine. He wore his shoulder-length hair in a tie, showing the sharp angles of his jaw. The way he set his thin lips when he spoke seemed almost ominous and deliberate.

  “What is it?” Barak tilted his head to the side.

  “How do you know Jensen doesn’t intend on having you die?”

  The words struck me like a blow to the gut. I was wondering the same thing.

  “And what is it to you, William?” Barak squared his shoulders, standing in front of William and looking quite intimidating doing so. It was as if there was an unspoken challenge between them. A challenge which the Villain would not accept.

  “Because you are my brother in arms, Chigaru. Whether or not you appreciate my concern, I don’t care.” William adjusted his gloves, looking at me with suspicion. “We are all brothers in arms here. We need to depend on each other. Trust each other. Though, that may seem hard, as if we are entering a cave filled with rabid beasts, we must believe we will each have each other’s back. Without that trust, we may as well parish in the flood.”

  Barak nodded, though, I sensed something between them. An animosity spreading far across the blanket of time. Something spiritual. A rift between their souls. A rift which would never be stitched or mended together.

  ___

  Barak kicked open the door, leading us both down the stairwell. Ryanne and Niall went around the other side. William vanished just moments prior. No sooner did we enter were guards waiting for us on the other side. One stabbed his sword toward Barak, only to be met with claws to the gut. Barak spun, drew the metal claw down the stomach of one, and slit the throat of the other.

  I followed his lead. I jumped into the hall with daggers drawn, blocking the attack of the advancing soldier. I cut him down with one hand and stabbed the other in the heart. Blood spattered across the leather mask I wore, flecking on my goggles. The metallic smell… it permeated the mask. I had no time to recoil. No time to contemplate what covered my face… what dripped from my hair.

  Barak and I had made quick work of the armed men in the hall… and more began flowing in.

  Screams filled the atmosphere. Spluttering yells mixed with terror. Men littered the hall—limbs severed from their bodies. I gritted my teeth. Niall had dealt with them.

  Time wasn’t on my side.

  An Anarchist came down on me. He was a large, burly man, with a neck as thick as a tree trunk and arms double the size of mine.

  I jumped back, avoiding the blow which would have killed me. Cleaving the air with my daggers, I blocked the next attacks. I dodged to the left, dropped to the ground, and sliced his ankle. The man toppled, though, a few of his comrades defended him. I blocked. Jabbed. I did all I could to remain in control. It did little good. Men kept pouring in.

  Ryanne battled just behind me, his white mask stained with blood. He turned, used the wall, and flipped over the men who cornered him. The ensuing and unholy amount of blood that spilled on the flagstones after he finished them was enough to make my stomach churn.

  I was faltering at six-to-one. It was then that a slender, needle-like sword rushed passed me, embedding into the temple of the man nearest. The life flickered from the man’s eyes. His comrades fared little better.

  “You’re welcome,” William muttered from behind the skull-like gauze of his mask.

  I nodded in acknowledgment to him saving me.

  Barak.

  I scanned the area, seeing the massacre from the hall spread into another room.

  “Hurry, Destroyer. We
have little time,” William grunted, cleaning his sword with a black cloth.

  “Why do you clean your weapon? Do you not intend to use it?”

  “No. I intend to use it a lot. The blood throws off the balance of my weapon. I like striking with precision.” His voice sounded amused, happy almost. It was enough to send shivers down my spine.

  When William and I entered the end hall, I froze in my tracks. Bodies…. scattered everywhere. Lifeless. I looked up and noticed William stopped as well. He was staring at something ahead. When I followed his gaze, I saw Barak. He was in the center of the room with a Fiermontian, much like himself. Barak held up one bloodied, gloved hand toward us, a silent request for us to stand back. One both William and I heeded. We took two steps back into the hall.

  I looked up at William who had taken off his mask as if to get a better view. He smiled at me. A clean, unwavering grin. A grin that spoke volumes. He was about to be entertained.

  Barak stood, feet planted in the earth while the Fiermontian Anarchist circled him. His steps were slow; calculated. His eyes stared Barak up and down as if assessing him. The guarded way he held his body, and the careful, watchful gaze he kept on Barak made this man seem different from the rest. Dangerous. Perfect in strategy, yet, savage and untamed. He pulled his sword, which looked much like William’s, and pointed it at Barak.

  He spoke to Barak in his native tongue, words which I barely caught.

  “I will forgive you over and all, brother,” the Fiermontian said calmly, though, his eyes sparked with rage. “If you hand the Vinadi over.”

  “I am not your brother, Sohrab-Roshan. We are not family. Kigoru yamish!” Barak’s words were like fire from a silent mountain, pouring with rage and sudden heat.

  The Fiermontian scowled, tapping the floor with the edge of his sword. “We were once. That man—” he pointed toward me, “he spilt my brother’s blood. Ich emine, Gaisaga Blodolo.”

  “Gaisaga?” Barak laughed, repeating the word. “Never. We may be from Fiermont, Sohrab-Roshan, but, our destinies are far from alike. You will not lay a finger on that man. Unlike you, he is my brother. Leave now, or die. If you die by my hand, Dracul’s fire will devour your soul.”

  The Fiermontian yelled and slashed his sword through the air at Barak.

  Barak ducked, catching the blade with the metal claws on his knuckles. The distinct hiss of metal against metal echoed through the open space, reverberating off the mud-brown walls. The click and whir of the weapons as they collided with each other kept perfect rhythm with their feet. They moved across the room in agile, calculated strides.

  Barak ducked, spun, and dodged several strikes aimed his way. It looked as if he were unamused. Disinterested in the time it was taking to battle this man. In the same vein, he had told us both to stay back. I didn’t dare disobey his wishes, and it appeared neither did William.

  The Fiermontian spun, hammered Barak in the chin with his elbow, and knocked him in the stomach with his knee.

  Barak skidded back, this time he looked at the man with a smile. “Vanadi,” he muttered, “well done.”

  The Fiermontian yelled and ran.

  Barak jumped to the side. His hand gripped onto the coat collar of the Anarchist. The man yelled, and Barak vaulted over his body, clawing his back as he did so.

  The Fiermontian screamed; bitter agony surfaced in his cry. Though, disoriented by the pain, he went to stab Barak’s direction.

  He met the Anarchist’s feeble attempt at attack with a savage strike to the temple. Barak struck the man several times, not drawing blood with his strikes till the last. That is when the claws came back out and he drove them deep into the man’s chest. He dragged them slowly down… bones snapping beneath the pressure.

  Barak leaned down and whispered into the man’s ear. Words which I couldn’t hear. With that, Barak withdrew his weapon from the man’s chest. “It is done.” He looked at me, nodding.

  “Did you know the man, Chigaru?” William asked, walking over and examining the body. “He spoke as if he was once your comrade.”

  “I knew him, yes. Me, him, and his brother. We were all enslaved to the Anarchists for many years. We were each given a choice. Join… or die. Sohrab-Roshan and his brother… they joined. I wished to die. Death would have been better than being a soldier and fighting for the people who took away my freedom.” Barak looked at me, and his cold eyes softened somewhat. “A year ago, on Apollo’s first solo mission, he assassinated a man by the name of Payram-Eurico. A leader within the Anarchist’s top lines. That was Sohrab-Roshan’s brother.”

  I nodded, remembering that day in which this had taken place.

  “Sohrab-Roshan vowed he would kill you. When he saw us both enter the chamber today, in his eyes, I betrayed him. The Anarchists were not my family. They did not distort my memory as they had his.” Barak clicked his tongue and picked up the sword, throwing it at William. “Keep it, Villain. It will make a nice trophy for your collection.”

  William stiffened. There was something hiding beyond the guise of the surface of his cool demeanor… one I wished I understood.

  ___

  “Now, Apollo. You, Ryanne, Niall, and William need to make one last sweep of the place before I crack the dam,” Barak muttered, clicking his mask back on.

  “What if it doesn’t work, Barak?”

  “Then I am prepared to meet death.”

  I took in a long, uneven breath, gripping his shoulder. “Let me accompany you then.”

  “No.” Barak smacked my hand off. “You have much to live for, Apollo. Leave now, and may Dracul’s wings protect you.”

  I nodded, feeling the tension build up in my stomach.

  ___

  I was the last in the Labyrinth finishing the sweep of the halls. The dimly lit corridor was hard to traverse, but, I managed. As I made my way down, I ended up in a small chamber. Chains, small devices they undoubtedly used for torture, and weapons peppered the area. I felt my chest tighten with dread.

  A rattling in the far corner drew my attention. something moved—hidden in the shadows. I pulled out my dagger and inched toward the noise. I prepared for the worst.

  A chill crept up my spine. Heart beating. One. Two. Three beats. Every beat was slower, more intense, than the last. I pulled back the plank that shrouded the thing, revealing it. A long, snake-like tail protruded from a ball of greasy, green fur. A normid. I groaned aloud, somewhat ashamed, and relieved.

  A thundering crack shot through the hall.

  Barak broke the dam!

  I ran, listening to the water rush into the corridors. The thumping of my heart churned nausea in my stomach. Stone walls burst open, gushing water into the hall. I ducked, evading a brick that flew out at me. In a second the current caught my feet, pulling me into the abyss of water. Pain pulsed through my body as the water plowed me into the wall. My chest cramped. I couldn’t breathe. I threw my hand out, searching for anything I could grab. Stone. It only held my weight for a moment before it dislodged, and I was once again locked in the current of frigid water.

  TWENTY - SIX

  I GASPED FOR AIR, SWALLOWING water in the process. The flooding had swept up blood and bodies, though, most vanished in their rudimentary requiem. I tried to fight the rush of water. The current thrust me against a wall. My vision became blurred and my head felt heavy. The water itself made my body stiff, and the constant dunking made my heart twist in fear. Water. Panic… it spread. Every time my head went under… the water mixed with memories. Too much… too much water.

  With one last try, I threw my hand out to grasp the wall. I grasped something else entirely. A hand. I let go, but the hand tightened around mine, pulling me under the water. My mind went blank, and my vision spotted black.

  ___

  Wet, exhausted, and breathless, I dropped down at the edge of the now roaring river.

  “Thank you.” I sat up, leaning on my elbow.

  “Any time,” Barak pat my shoulder. With an exhausted grunt, he
stood and looked around. The sun was setting, and it was the autumn. The frigid air began creeping in. “I need to prepare a fire.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re still living.”

  I turned to see Ryanne with his hands on his hips, sneering at me with a satisfied expression.

  “I’d hate to have the water beat me to killing you.”

  Barak snapped a small branch, “You are a—”

  “Easy, Chigaru.” William’s figure emerged from the forest, followed closely by Niall. “I doubt Jensen would appreciate anything happening here on the field.”

  Niall shifted nervously, intimidated by the Villain.

  “We have four days.” I looked at them. “Four days to get back to the rendezvous point.”

  “What are you saying?” Ryanne hissed, looking me up and down.

  “He is saying we will stay here,” Barak snapped, looking at the three other Rangers that loomed in the clearing. “Any Anarchists coming back to the Labyrinth will be taken care of by us.”

  William seemed to sense something below his words, but, it was made obvious that Ryanne was. “Why do you two want to—”

  William gripped Ryanne’s shoulder, “We will do just that. Best to leave them here while we make arrangements.”

  Ryanne’s boots hissed as he spun around and smacked the Villain’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t touch me.”

  It was as if something switched in William’s eyes. A cool and even personality was taken over by flickering hot rage. His elbow connected with Ryanne’s cheek, followed by a quick draw of his sword. The blade connected with Ryanne’s. They were both quick, agile, and as unstable as the other.

  “Jensen will be happy to have you dead,” Ryanne snipped, that curled smile working its way below William’s skin.

  “The world would be a better place if all the Rangers were dead.” William kept his blade pressed taut against Ryanne’s.