by Jake Stone
“Enough games, Prygan,” Atia declares. “We need to get back to the capital before nightfall.”
“Good luck with that, captain,” he sneers, unable to hide his scorn any longer. “There are more problems with this hover-cycle than a ratchet head scorpion dying of pharcholic acid. If you want to avoid the mutants, amongst other things, I suggest you two fit on your one hover-cycle and leave this little mouse behind.”
“Unacceptable,” Atia replies.
“Maybe you’re not hearing me correctly,” Prygan continues. “The hover-cycle is broken. I can’t fix it.”
The three of them continue arguing, as each one is unwilling to give an inch, leaving me standing there like an idiot. From what I’ve gathered, if Prygan doesn’t fix the bike soon, I’ll be stranded here, forced to fend off against the cousins of Grim and Gromm. I need to get to the capital. I need to find Rachel. Even if it means having to bare testimony, or whatever that means.
It’s then, as I feel the pressure to do something, that my curiosity kicks in, and I begin to study the hover-cycle.
The parts are disassembled, splayed out in a messy pattern that tells me everything about Prygan’s work ethic—he’s a slob. Glancing at the bike’s structure, I’m able to make out the engine, as well as some hoses that run the length of the frame.
“Hmm,” I mutter softly, taking a closer look. Within seconds, I’m able to get a grasp of the mechanics. It’s a mess of ancient parts that have been bent and soldered into place so many times that I can barely tell what’s what. I don’t think there’s a single piece of new technology in this entire machine.
After a while, I notice that a part is missing. I search the ground until I find it, picking it off the ground and turning it in my hand. It’s a strange device—one that I’ve never seen before—but simple enough.
Kneeling next to the bike, I try to figure out where it should go. To me, it’s a no brainer. But the simpleness of it causes me to hesitate. Can it be that simple? With a sigh, I shove the piece into the opened compartment, locking it into place, and bingo! It fits.
Studying the dashboard beneath the handlebars, I press a button located in the center, and the hover-cycle lets out a thunderous roar.
“Oh shit!” I jump back, frightened by the raucous sound and vibration.
Prygan, Zorel, and Atia spin around to look at me, their mouths agape.
“How’d you that?” Prygan asks.
I answer with a shrug.
“Because he’s not a dumbass,” Zorel says mockingly.
He shoots her a stare, then scampers over to where I am, pushing me out of the way to inspect my work. “What’d you do?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I just…did.”
The muscles around his eyes flex as he stares at me, his brow furrowing with suspicion.
“Well,” Zorel says with a grin. “Looks like we’re ready to go.”
Chapter Four
We race across the desert in a storm of dust.
I sit behind Zorel with my arms tight around her waist, my head peeking out from behind her ear, as we draw closer to the city on the horizon.
Dalorum, the capital of Dardekum, is a bustling city with an illustrious grand palace that keeps watch over the populous. Or, so I’m told.
It seems that every second I’m asking Zorel another question. What’s this? What’s that? If she’s getting tired of me, she doesn’t show it. Everything seems amusing to her.
Zorel laughs as we hit a ditch, and I’m nearly thrown from the back of the cycle. My arms tighten around her waist, and I scoot up behind her back, my crotch pressing against her great ass. She notices.
“Getting a little friendly, are we?”
“Sorry,” I say, scooting back to make some room again.
“Don’t be,” she teases.
Prygan wasn’t lying. We’ve only been driving for a couple of hours, and already the sun is setting to the left, while to my right, the pair of moons I’d seen the night earlier is cresting over the edge of the planet.
The sight of them still haunts me with the memory of Rachel, and I bite my lower lip to keep from feeling the pain in my chest.
We’re miles away from the gates of the capital when I see a line of dots moving along the horizon. They grow bigger with every passing second, and I quickly realize that they’re hover-cycles like ours.
“We’ve got hostiles!” Atia yells.
Hostiles? I frown, my stomach suddenly turning to mush.
“Hold on,” Zorel says.
My arms tighten around her waist as she accelerates. And I see Atia reaching for the knife on her thigh.
Four hover-cycles flank us within seconds, and we’re suddenly surrounded by diseased figures in worn leather and light armor—the kin of Grim and Gromm. Some reach for their guns, while others draw their knives. The weapons are strangely shaped, rusty and jagged, cruel extensions of the monsters who wield them.
One draws so close that we’re only a foot away from each other. His eyes narrow wickedly as they meet mine, and I’m sure that my death is only seconds away.
“Take the cycle,” Zorel orders me, rising in her seat to jump.
“What?” My eyes widen in terror.
“Don’t tell me you’re only good at fixing engines,” she mocks.
“I’ve never driven one of these before. I don’t know how they work.”
“Yet, you can fix one without help?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Obviously.”
Zorel leaps from the cycle onto one of the enemy’s bikes, leaving me to fend for myself as we speed through the open desert. The handlebars of the cycle vibrate through my grip like a sledgehammer, but I hold on, knowing that if I let go, I’m sure to die.
I glimpse over my shoulder at Atia. She pulls up next one of the other mutants. He tries to shoot at her, but she’s too fast. She leans back in her seat, avoiding the shot, then slashes the mutant’s throat, drawing a spray of green blood that gushes disgustingly over its leather shirt.
Before he dies, Atia kicks the side of his cycle, sending it over one of the hills, where it launches into the sky. Before it lands, she draws her sidearm and fires a plasma bolt at its gas tank, exploding the bike and its driver into a ball of flames.
Whoa!
“Xander, watch out!”
I turn as I hear Zorel’s voice. On my right is another mutant, its rotten teeth sticking out of a lipless mouth. It leans into me, reaching out a clawed hand.
“Oh shit!” I turn the cycle to my left, trying to pull away from the creature. But I can already feel its nails tearing into my shoulder, edging me off balance. If it yanks me off the cycle at this speed, I’ll break my neck in the fall.
“Xander, pull away!”
With all my strength, I jerk the cycle to the side, clearing enough room for Zorel to unleash her power. The diseased monster convulses into a frightening spasm of blue light as electricity pulses through its body. It’s horrific. Before I can even blink, its intestines rupture through its stomach, and its entire body combusts into a disgusting splatter of gore.
I turn away, revulsed by the sight.
All that’s left is the three of us. We race toward the gates of the capital, hurrying before anymore mutants appear.
“You okay?” Zorel yells from the bike she’s confiscated from the mutant she’s just killed.
“Uh, yeah,” I yell back.
“Good,” she says with a wink. “We’re almost there. We should be good from here on out.”
I offer her a thumbs-up.
Dalorum rises at our approach, its mighty walls towering at least a hundred meters high. Automatic rifle turrets positioned on the battlements come alive, their massive structures twisting in our direction like snakes spotting prey. For a moment, I worry that they’re going to fire on us. But my fear is calmed by the sound of Zorel’s laughter behind me.
The gate opens to our approach, and we’re greeted by a single guard dressed in
silver armor with a blue cape, just like Atia and Zorel. Another Purifier? He’s around my height, but with broad shoulders, and a jaw that juts out from the bottom part of his helmet. He shoots me a quizzical look, before turning his attention to Atia.
“Captain,” he says with a nod. “It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back,” she replies.
The guard waves us forward, turning his attention back to the closing gate, and we set off into the capitol of Dardekum.
The city is old. Sand covered streets. Buildings made of stone. Knitted carpets hanging over the opened doorways of small homes. But there’s an art to it as well, a sleekness of design and shape that is almost an exact replica of a middle eastern city during the Crusades. Even the vector archways are curved in that special design.
People dressed in robes cling to the sides of the street as we zoom past them, shooting us dirty looks as our bikes stir up the dust around them.
All around me, I see the start of decorations. Wreathes made from tangled brush and adorned with white weeds. Cacti with red flowers sprouting from their thorns and tumbleweeds lined with vibrant shades of string. They’re hung up everywhere, with splashes of bright paints, stretching from house to house, from street to street, coronating our entrance at every turn.
“What is all this?” I ask.
“They’re preparing for a celebration,” Zorel answers. “The Five-hundredth anniversary of the ending of the war.”
“What war?” I ask.
“The War of Darkness,” she answers. “When the Republic was able to drive back Zendal and his army of demons into the Dark Horizon.”
“And who’s she?” I ask, motioning to the large statue of a striking woman with long hair and determined eyes. In her hand, she holds a long spear, its bladed tip pointing victoriously toward the sky.
“That’s Laurel Fireborn,” she answers. “The ancient queen of Dardekum, the founder of the Purifiers and general who gave her life in the final battle.”
“Oh,” I say, my brows shooting up. All of this history, all of this troubled past is unsettling, and I wonder whether I should stop asking so many questions.
Atia leads us into what appears to be a parking garage, a docking station where workers dressed in orange jumpsuits are working on vehicles.
A short man with a few white hairs sticking out the front of his forehead strolls out with a plastic bag filled with strange looking insects. The size of large roaches, they’re worm-like, their bodies streaked with bright yellow markings. One squirms as he rips its head off with his teeth.
“Wasn’t expecting you back so soon, Captain,” the man says. “And with two extra hover-cycles, no less. Not bad.”
“Fuel them up, Spricket, and get them ready by nightfall,” Atia orders, as she dismounts her bike.
“Sure thing, boss.” His eyes narrow as he sees my bike. “This one might take a little bit longer, though. Looks like it’s been through hell.”
You have no idea.
“Do what you must,” she says.
“Sure thing,” he says, eyeing the captain’s firm ass as the wind kicks up the end of her cape. He catches me staring at him, and shoots me a wink.
I hurry up to catch them as they join the zoo of humans outside. We’re in a bazaar, I realize, an open market that lines the streets of the city with hundreds of tiny storefronts. I feel like I’m in the strangest flea market I’ve ever seen. Weird foods and oddly-shaped accessories are splayed out across tables, where shifty men and women sitting under colorful tarps urge me to buy their stuff.
“Silica!” one woman offers me. She holds out an orange-colored root that looks startling like a penis. “It’ll give you the strength to bed a hundred women!”
“No, thanks,” I say.
Zorel grins. “You sure you couldn’t use it?”
“Of course, not,” I say defensively.
She arches a brow at me, impressed. “Interesting.”
The street coughs us out into a forked road, where Atia steers us down another street. It’s noticeably darker here, tighter, more constricted than the previous one. I feel as if I’m sneaking into something like a red-light district. Beautiful tapestries made of velvet hang outside the front of buildings, their bright colors and exotic patterns drawing my eye in fascination.
I only make it a couple of steps before a young beauty with wild red hair and pale skin sashays out from one of the doors. With a beguiling smile, she caresses the side of my face, her fingers soft and seductive against my skin.
Wow…
“So young, so handsome,” she says, linking her arm into mine as she joins me in step. “I could use a man like you in my life? How ‘bout this afternoon? Tonight? You can do whatever you want to me. I won’t complain. It’ll only cost you a couple of pieces.”
“Uh…”
She brings me to a stop, turning around to face me, and I can feel her hand sliding into my crotch. I gasp, the sensation overwhelming, my eyes trained on hers. “What’s the matter? You don’t like women?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, my gaze falling to her luscious full lips. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” She parts the thin shawl around her shoulders to show me her big tits and round nipples.
“Hey!” a voice yells.
I look to find a large man with a mohawk stomping through the crowd behind us. He’s shirtless with thick muscles and scary tattoos over his body.
“No freebies!” he warns, gripping me by the shirt and lifting me off my feet.
I swallow, frightened. What the hell is going on here?
“We were just about to discuss the price!” the redhead protests, slapping him in the arm.
But he ignores her, his fists tightening around the front of my sweatshirt.
It isn’t until he sees Atia watching us from over my shoulder that he backs away. Her appearance scares him, and I see the braveness in his eyes quickly dim. With a sigh of frustration, he grabs the redhead by the hair and pulls her away. “Come on. Let’s go,” he orders.
I watch as the two set off back to their store, the redhead batting his hand away from her hair and spitting in his face. “Wait till mom hears about this!” she screams, stalking off past him.
“Not even a few minutes in the capital and already breaking hearts, huh?” Zorel says, shaking her head at me as she walks backward.
“Hey, I didn’t even know that chick!” I reply, hurrying to catch up.
We pass through another couple of streets, till we reach the entrance of a large building with a gilded archway and stained glass windows.
“What is this place?” I ask. I glance up at one of the spires, where a red and white banner with gold trim flails in the wind. I feel as if I’ve been transported back into history, a time of knights and castles.
“Come,” is all Atia says. “They’re waiting.”
Inside, the building is magnificent. An ornate circular chamber, with granite marble flooring and white stone columns that rise proudly along the sides, reminding me of a Greek orthodox church.
In the center, a giant corfew made of gold with a single line drawn down the center—exactly as the one Elandra wore around her neck—hangs above an altar, where a group of men and women stand around it, praying.
“This is a church?” I ask.
“Shh,” Atia orders, castigating me with her cold blue eyes.
I obey in silence, secretly kicking myself for being so loud. After a while, my attention lifts to the stained-glass widows stretched across the walls. I study them closely, trying to decipher their meaning. But all I can tell is that it’s a story. Some piece-by-piece depiction of a man stabbing a giant demon in the heart with a sword.
“It is time,” Atia says.
I straighten, as she and Zorel bow their heads in respect, each drawing the corfew before them. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. So I just stand there, watching, until they finally move.
Guards dressed in golden armo
r with red robes and long spears surround the altar. They look nothing like Atia and her Purifiers—men and women whose armor have been anointed with scuffs of dirt and poorly-mended tears.
These guards, on the other hand, in their shiny gold plate and clean-shaven faces, are pristine, untouched, as if the farthest they’ve ever ventured outside was the doorway to the palace.
They turn as they hear our footsteps.
“Atia,” a gruff voice says.
I watch, curious, as an old man in dirty black robes pushes past the guards, greeting her with open arms. “Finally, someone who knows how to do their job.” He shoots the guards behind him a bitter stare.
“It’s good to see you as well, Beshai Tulgas,” Atia replies, offering the man a respectful nod.
The old man’s gaze shifts to Zorel. “And if isn’t our skillful elemental, Zorel Norad.”
“Beshai,” Zorel replies with a bowed head, though not as crisp as Atia’s. “I trust you haven’t been drinking too much cranish since I’ve been gone?”
He pats his large belly, a mischievous grin stretching across his wide face. “I’d be sinning if I told you I haven’t.”
“Then you must make penance,” Atia says.
He gives a weary nod, sighing in acceptance. “Of course, of course. Just not yet.”
“What news do you bring back from the Frontier?” a voice calls out, drawing all of our attention.
I look to see another old man appearing from behind the guards, his eyes scrutinizing and harsh. He’s dressed in long robes as well, but his are unbelievably white, freshly pressed and with gold trim that shines gloriously in the hazy sun light. There’s no doubt who’s in charge here.
At his side, a young alter boy with short brown hair and a piglike nose keeps step with him.
“I trust that it grows safer under your watch, Captain?” the old man says in a biting tone, his hand reaching out for one of the guards to take, as if too precious to walk on his own.
“We do our best, Beshai Demetrius,” Atia replies, bowing her head once more.
“Clearly,” he says.
