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

by J. M. Ivie

  “I knew you’d come around.” She grabbed my collar as I leaned over her. She nearly pressed her lips against mine. When I brought the knife that I had hidden below the pillow to her throat, she froze.

  “If I must—” I whispered, “I will kill you.”

  She sucked in a breath. Her pupils shrunk, and she released her hold on me.

  “Now, let me add to my list of questions. What does Han-Zul look like?”

  The woman’s brows drew together, “None of us know what he looks like. He always wears a mask…”

  “Describe his body.”

  Her throat bobbed, “Very tall. Muscled… his voice is smoky.”

  I nodded. That at least gave me something to work with. “Where was he going?”

  “You’re not an Anarchist, are you?”

  I shook my head, nearly laughing. “And how would you guess that?”

  A vicious grin slashed her face. “Because Han-Zul… he is a Talismen.”

  I pressed the knife closer to her throat. I imagined the satisfying sight of this traitor’s crimson blood against the gray nothingness of the room—and the strength to take her life vanished. This could all end here. Nice and tidy. The only witness being the barkeep, and he too would have been easily disposed of. What happened? I grabbed her wrist, and yanked her off the bed and held her tight as I carved the curtains into strips. “Sit.” I pointed to the chair.

  I tied the strips around her arms and then her mouth, making sure she would stay secured. I tried my best to imagine her death, but it curdled my stomach. Sparing this woman would make such a mess. Why can I not I bring myself to do it?

  S I X T Y - O N E

  SCOUT’S BROAD FRAME GLIDED effortlessly through the skies. The clouds passed us, veiling our presence. The misty mountains rose their blue, majestic forms over the horizon, obscured by an ancient fog.

  “Northern Fiermont.” I pointed ahead, looking at Laramie who sat behind me. “See the Kasai Mountain?”

  “Will we see the Temple of Dracul?” Laramie’s eyes lit with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see how the Fiermontians worship their protector, you know? I only wish Sotiris could have a Temple like the ones built to commemorate the beasts.”

  I sighed, looking at the sun. “All right. We can go to the Temple, but, only for a brief time. I wouldn’t want anything happening to you…” No sooner did I consent did Laramie squeal with excitement.

  “Thank you!” she screamed, hugging my neck so tightly I thought I would choke. “Have you seen it? I hear it glitters in the pale moonlight, lit up by a million undying torches. The entire roof is said to be made of scales Dracul had shed over a millennium ago.”

  “You are a little too excited about this!” I laughed.

  “How could I not? I have always wanted to see the Kasai Temple. Especially after Barak told me all about it!” she spoke quickly, her excitement betraying itself in her voice.

  I shook my head. If it would make her happy that we visit the Temple, we would visit the Temple as many times as she wished.

  ___

  We landed about a mile outside of Kasai, and I gave Scout the signal to stay. He perched himself atop a red pine in the forest, hidden among the snuff-colored foliage.

  “Are you sure the Temple is this way?” Laramie asked, fixing her sword at her side. She had an amusing fashion. Her dress came up to her mid-thigh, though, it was more like a shirt since she wore trousers beneath and a belt along her waist. It was always a green dress and brown trousers, fitted along with her favorite leather boots. She tied her hair up, and I laughed. She looked like a warrior princess from the tales of old.

  “What is so funny?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “You.”

  “Hey! Why am I so funny?”

  “Because, you look like a fierce little warrior.” I patted her on the head, and she brushed me off cheekily.

  ___

  We arrived at the Northern Fiermont border, entering the mountainous regions. It was far more beautiful than I remembered. Pink buds flowered on the flower trees that lined the streets, the majestic purple mountain loomed in the distance, silhouetting the tall cobblestone buildings.

  At the top of the hill was a large Temple. Around it, lanterns were lit with a fiery yellow glow, shedding their light on the limestone pathway to the entrance. Flags which bore the image of the Dragon waved on every other lamppost—the deep crimson color went well with the gold figure of Dracul.

  “Wow—” Laramie breathed out. Her eyes scanned every inch of the landscape. I watched her soak it all in, enjoying the view. “The air smells like warm cinnamon with a hint of pine. Kinda like…” she looked at me with furrowed brows, “Barak…”

  She had to be thinking what I was. Is he all right?

  “Come on, the Temple is up the road.” I nodded my head in the direction, and we began our trek up the path. It was a quiet walk as we listened to the gentle chatter of the townsfolk. The melodic music that flowed from a local grog shop sounded as foreign as I remembered.

  Submerged in Northern Fiermont felt nice. The sun dropped slowly beyond the mountain, and the orange skies faded to red and indigo, showing the band of galaxy high above us. The moons shone from behind, each one a varying distance from the other.

  “Oh! Look at this—” Laramie’s voice snapped. “Hey!”

  I spun around to see a man darting down the street with Laramie’s sword in his hand.

  There was no time to think. We ran.

  We weaved through the bazaar, our shoes clattering against the stones. He was fast for a street rat. Laramie kept my pace well, though, there were a few things she had to run around; such as the wall which both me and the man vaulted over.

  I skidded around the corner, stopping.

  Laramie was right behind me.

  A man stood in the shadows, his head covered with a hood. He wore a glove on his right hand, yet, his left remained ungloved.

  “Fligo dal tregoni…” The street rat gulped air.

  A slash of white smile was all I saw from the stranger. He made a small sweeping gesture with his fingers, and the sword leapt from the street rat’s hand and onto the ground.

  “Parto ira rispar mirò,” said the stranger in Fiermontian. “Go.”

  The street rat scrambled as fast as he could back through the street and around the corner.

  The man slid his hands into his coat pockets, his eyes finding my own. Zahra flashed into my mind at the hue. Green. Glowing green.

  “And who are you?” he asked, his posture tight. “And who are—” he stopped. “Princess Laramie?” The man’s guarded stance slackened.

  “Titus?” Laramie stepped forward. She looked sheepish, afraid even.

  “What are you doing here?” his eyes flitted from her to me. “You must be Apollo.”

  I nodded, not knowing who this was.

  “Titus… I’m so sorry—”

  “Please, don’t.” Titus scowled. “You’ve lost just as I have. Don’t apologize for what happened. It was of no fault of your own.”

  A chill ran up my spine. I had never seen this man before in my life—yet, I felt as if I knew him. I watched uneasily as he removed his hood, running his ungloved hand through his black hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Who are you?”

  Titus’s body stiffened. He looked at me with those blazing green eyes, a color which jarred memories to the surface of my mind. “You know my father and my family. Had they not mentioned me by name?”

  “I’m still confused,” I said, thrusting back the vision of Zahra.

  His body flinched as he curled his fingers into fists. “Then, allow me to tell you my father’s name to see if that jogs your memory.” He closed his eyes, drawing his hand over his face. “My father’s name was Duncan Cross. I believe you stood by and watched him die.”

  S I X T Y - T W O

  THE FLOOR BELOW ME SEEMED to give way. We had left with Titus in absolute silence. None of us dared to br
eak it as we walked down the congested street of Kasai. We were invited to stay the night at Rafael-Bardeen’s home, a Fiermontian commander. They gave us rooms, clean garments, and a place for Scout to rest. Despite wanting to apologize to Titus for his father’s death, I kept my mouth shut. His personality seemed in conflict to mine, and I didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. Yet, his strange abilities left me on edge. A Peculiar. One of the rare race of Welkinian that wandered the lands.

  “When did you discover this… your powers?” Laramie asked as we took our seats. That night found us all around a table. It was just the four of us. Laramie, Rafael-Bardeen, myself, and Titus.

  “Last year,” Titus explained. “When I turned twenty-two. It all just seemed to—click.”

  “His abilities required us to lock him in a room with nothing but a bed tethered to the floor until he mastered them.” Rafael-Bardeen looked us over. “Now, under his complete control, the abilities have been our savior.”

  “Yes. Before I figured this out, I was training the birds at Palace city. The things I learned while I was there would have even the most skilled spymaster blushing.”

  Rafael-Bardeen nodded. His slanted, dark eyes, which rested too high on his face, found mine. Dressed in traditional Fiermontian attire—a fiery red chokha coat and a black long-sleeved shirt below—Bardeen looked like a man who demanded respect.

  He was like Barak—aside from the odd face—they shared that Fiermontian similarity, from the rich, bronze skin to the cold and even personality. Barak, unlike Bardeen, had an untamed spirit thrashing below the surface of that Fiermontian calm.

  “Unfortunately, the ritual sacrifice of humans has continued despite the ban,” Bardeen said. His thickly accented voice made his words difficult to understand.

  “Are you certain?” I stood, looking at the man in the eyes.

  Bardeen nodded, “Unfortunately we can not do anything about it. We, left alone to look upon these deaths, will not be able to stop the Priest, not to mention the Council, Apollo Faithe. They are an unstoppable force. Learn immediately, no matter who you are, whether you are a soldier or in the Hierarchy, you are at the whim of the Priest and his advisory. We can not escape them.”

  I grunted loudly, shaking my head back and forth. “So, why tell us about this?”

  Rafael-Bardeen looked at Laramie and studied her for a long moment. “The reason we speak so, is for her.”

  Titus nodded. “Listen to him, Laramie…”

  Bardeen pulled a large map, marking each of the six floating islands. “If she can take back the Woodlands, and if Oceland has a new Ambassador, perhaps Fiermont, Oceland, and Luxterra can unite.”

  His words confused me. Titus stepped in and spoke, more to Laramie than me.

  “Imagine it! The power of the Fiermontian armies and the wealth of Luxterra could cripple Bouldarcaven, add Oceland to the mix, and we win.”

  “You’re talking treason,” I snapped.

  Titus smiled, “Not treason, Mr. Faithe, freedom.”

  Commander Bardeen nodded in agreement. “We can only hope that Oceland may be changed before too many lives are lost. I pray to Dracul that he will awake and slay the Serpent as according to the legend,” he said, lighting his pipe.

  “How can I do anything? The Woodlands has been an independent kingdom for the past seven-hundred years. How can you expect such a small territory to do anything?” Laramie asked, appearing drained.

  “That’s the beauty, Laramie!” Titus clapped. “You, the Empress of Freya, Queen Nimani, the Emperor of Cathoon, and the King of Aqualux. Together your territories make up over three-fifth of the entire island. You are by far the most diplomatic of the four. If you can band all four territories together—”

  “You’re talking about a treaty? That could take years to even agree on!” Laramie threw her arms up, exasperated. “Do you even hear yourselves? This can’t bring the islands peace! It’s just impossible!”

  “Nothing is impossible unless we think it is.”

  “What about the prophecy, Titus?”

  He threw his arms up, “To Lapp with the prophecy, Laramie. Look to the future. The immediate future!” Titus placed his hand on hers, only to have her wrench them from his grasp.

  “To Lapp with you, Titus! I will not temper with the prophecy, and you shouldn’t either!”

  Her ability to stare down Titus and curse worried me and made me proud. This man… we had only scratched the surface of what he was capable of. Yet, here Laramie stood, eyes lit with defiance, standing her ground.

  “What is it with you and that wretched prophecy? We have waited, our parents have waited, our grandparents have waited. Do you think the ‘chosen prince’ will appear now? We have waited long enough. We need to take matters in our own hands.”

  Laramie’s brow quirked up, her lips pressed tightly together. “How about this, Titus? I will not be your puppet. I will be patient. I intend on taking back the Woodlands, but in the King’s timing. Sotiris will guide my path.”

  He looked frustrated, all his plans seemed to fall to pieces in front of him. “Fine then. Perhaps the Dahkhallian’s will join us.”

  Commander Bardeen blinked hard, looking at him in concern, “You can not be serious, Titus Cross!”

  “I am! There are other ways. If we entice the Dahkhallians with Luxterra’s wealth, and we have an army.”

  “We need Oceland to help negotiate with Luxterra, Titus Cross. We have been over this. Without Oceland, Luxterra will not join our cause.” Commander Bardeen took in a slow puff of his pipe, his brows knit tight. “And what of the Hunters? Those men are… unpredictable.”

  Remembering Flynn and Reid, I had to agree with Bardeen. Unpredictable… but, I’d want them at my side in a war.

  “Things needn’t always be civil, commander. I have seen the horrors within the walls of the Palace on Bouldarcaven. How the Priest treats his own child is nothing like I’ve ever seen before. We need to bring the Council down. Some of the Hierarchy are prisoners, sir. Prisoners to the system. We must act before the Talismen or the Anarchists do. We have one shot.”

  We all remained quiet. Although, we knew Titus had truth to his words, and spoke with the same energetic conviction his father was so well known for, we were hesitant. What he was proposing was far above what I ever dreamed possible. Near Anarchy. Perhaps this was just another form. They clearly thought this through. They had the connections, the resources, and, judging from Titus’ abilities back at the Temple, they had the element of surprise.

  “Perhaps we should turn in for the night. It is getting late, and I see the Princess has much to consider,” Bardeen muttered, inspecting the pipe that had gone out. “Rest for tonight, my friends.”

  We nodded to Bardeen who tapped out the contents of his pipe. With a curt nod my way, and a genteel kiss to Laramie’s knuckles, he left the room.

  “Titus.” Laramie scowled after a long moment of silence, as if sensing him staring at her. “I won’t change my mind.”

  “I do hope you will, Laramie,” he muttered, his face taking on a more sincere—almost begging—look. He exhaled a long breath after she remained silent, bowed his head, and stood. “All right, Laramie. Please, give it more thought. The Woodlands needs her Queen whether or not she joins the territory together.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his brows turning upward as he stepped away. “Goodnight, Princess. Mr. Faithe… I will see you another day.”

  I looked at Laramie. I knew she hadn’t thought of herself as a Queen. “Tomorrow, we will fly back to Oceland, Laramie.” I touched her elbow, drawing her attention back to me.

  “What about Zahra? Didn’t you wish to search Fiermont for her?”

  I nodded. Despite the ache in my heart telling me to investigate Zahra’s whereabouts, I knew I couldn’t. Not yet. I had to wait till after this was settled. “I do. But, it appears destiny would be cruel once again.”

  Laramie laughed, rolling her eyes. “My father always spoke of destiny, as if it wer
e a person running around and messing with people’s lives. I don’t believe in destiny. I see it as an excuse.”

  I smiled at her. She was such an outspoken little thing. “I will find Zahra. But, with everything that’s happened, we need to live day-to-day. I need to balance this all… finding her, getting you on that throne, and keeping us all alive.”

  “You aren’t responsible for our lives, Apollo…” Laramie sidled up next to me, “But, I’m glad to see that you’re trying to live a balanced life.”

  I laughed, ruffling her hair. “I suppose so.”

  “What about those… Talismen?” Laramie thumbed her drink, looking around the room. “Can you explain them?”

  I nodded, adjusting my seat so I could see to her better. “The Talismen have become an even greater threat over the millennium. There were once two Rangers. Lily Briar and her companion, Ryea.” The northern Fiermontian air bled through the four archways that led out into the garden. Darkness stood like a door at each exit as if symbolizing my entire existence. To live without even a peek into the future. “The Talismen are fiercely devoted to legends. Some are devout followers of the creatures, while others are devoted to other things.”

  Laramie remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

  “The Talismen have much more pull than the Anarchists, though, they are also a problem. Talismen could be anyone… an officer, a Noble—even the Priest himself.”

  Laramie sucked in a loud, audible breath.

  “We can safely assume that the Ambassador is a Talismen. Talismen have one goal and one goal only: to take over the realm and bring us back to our roots.”

  “Roots?”

  “The darker history of Welkinia,” I said, pointing to the map still sprawled out on the table. “When sacrifices were done daily. Blood poured down from the mountains as children were killed and given to the beasts. The Rangers, we supposed we had brought most of them down, picking off just the remnants. That’s why we focused more on the Anarchists. Jensen… he said it would be better if we focused on the Anarchists instead—aim to cripple them.”