Angst Box Set 2

by David Pedersen

  “Your turn, Alloria,” Angst said. “Blow the horn.”

  “Okay, baby,” she said. The princess wrapped her full lips around the mouthpiece and blew. The horn was silent, and the shield remained. She tried again, and again, but eventually lowered Cornuclav and shook her head.

  “Try something else,” Dallow pleaded. “People are slipping through.”

  Jaden raised a finger. “I could—”

  A flash of light interrupted him, and two beautiful, young women appeared.

  “Bella, Karina,” Angst said. “But how?”

  “No time,” Karina said with a wink. “We’re just relieved you finally found it.”

  “Hi, Alloria,” Bella said, reaching out a hand. “May I?”

  Alloria nodded mutely, handing her the foci. Bella pressed her lips to the mouthpiece and blew. She held the note steady for long moments, breathing through her nose as the horn blared. A visible crack appeared in the barrier that slowly spider-webbed all around until reaching high up into the sky. As she lowered the horn, gasping for breath, shards of the barrier fell into wispy smoke.

  “You did it,” Angst said, grasping Bella’s arm as she wavered.

  “Not done yet,” she said between breaths. “We need to go open the other side.”

  “What?” Angst asked.

  “Don’t forget to save us,” Karina said.

  And with that, the sisters held hands and disappeared in a flash of light—taking the foci with them.

  “Does it ever stop being weird?” Angst asked, shaking his head.

  “So, this is it,” Victoria said.

  “This is it,” Angst said.

  “You should hurry,” Rose said. “Before something else goes wrong.”

  “Fulk’han,” Jaden said, pointing toward the light.

  “I don’t sense anyone,” Angst said, following his finger.

  A purple woman stood directly before the bright beam. As she looked back at Angst, a smile crept across her face. She grew a head taller and the purple faded to pale, revealing the tall, awkward-looking man he knew too well.

  “Magic,” Angst cried out. “No.”

  “Nice try, Al’eyrn,” Magic said with a wink before entering Prendere.

  Without hesitation, Angst blurred into the light.

  50

  Angst’s heart thrummed in his ears. It was a good sign because it probably meant he was alive. Probably. So far, his immediate fears of burning on entry, being shot up into space, or simply disappearing into nothing hadn’t happened. On the other hand, being inside the wish-maker was disillusioning. No wish in his mind had come true. It hadn’t sent him back in time, washed away his exhaustion, flushed out his anger, or even made him younger—which he felt in his bones.

  His first mistake was facing Prendere with eyes wide open because the blinding light did its job. Passing through the portal left him numb, like when your arm falls asleep from poor circulation, but all over. His ears were deafened by the constant low hum of power generated by the light beam. Even the swords were quiet. This wasn’t the, “I’m being a big baby and am unwilling to help,” quiet. It was more like, “We weren’t invited to the party but good luck,” quiet. All that remained was his sense of smell and witty internal dialog—certainly enough to battle a living element.

  What had started as a brave rush into the light had become a blind-man’s shuffle. The mystery of Prendere seemed to be its size because he’d walked far enough to reach the other side and back. Maybe Prendere had suddenly realized he was just a man entering an elements-only club? That wouldn’t do. He’d fought too hard and sacrificed too much to be jailed in this white void.

  “I’ve come for the prize,” he shouted, standing still and placing his hands on his hips. The silent treatment fed his growing anger, and he drew in his will. Chryslaenor and Dulgirgraut may have gone quiet, but they still provided him with power. “I am here to stop Magic, end this war, and save my family. Give me the prize, now!” He reached up and released bolts of lightning into the light above.

  The buzzing in his ears subsided and feeling slowly returned to his body. That sucked because he’d forgotten how much everything hurt. Tarness had really done a number on him, and he cursed himself for not getting healed before entering.

  He took a deep breath of stale air as his sight slowly returned. A room appeared around him, and Angst shuddered in relief. Escaping that prison of numbing, blinding, deafening light made him want to cry. He couldn’t imagine what Dallow had gone through being blind for so many months.

  The round, jousting-sized room was the most unremarkable and beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Cracked ivory tile covered the open floor. Twenty-foot obsidian pillars stood every eight feet around the outside. Between each pillar was a statue or a black, arched doorway—apparently like the one he’d just passed through. The nearest statue was worn by time and practically featureless in the dim light that came from nowhere.

  “If getting angry was my key to entering, this shouldn’t take long,” he said, cautiously approaching the center. “For something so mysterious and powerful, this room is as exciting as my bathroom—and I get more done there.” He yelled, “I’m not impressed.”

  When the echoes faded, someone cleared their throat. Spinning around slowly revealed nothing but statues, doorways, and pillars. The second polite cough made him look up.

  “I take it back,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

  The ceiling in the middle of this pantheon opened up to a glorious night sky. Four living constellations, complete with lines between stars, stared down at him in curiosity or judgment. He recognized them all. Earth in her toga and thonged sandals nodded respectfully and smiled as if this were her plan all along.

  “Thank you for your gamlin,” Angst said. “They’ve saved me and my friends numerous times. I wouldn’t be here without your gift.”

  Water leaned forward with arms crossed, her eyes two bright stars that glared at him.

  “You blamed me for an accident,” he said, feeling the familiar boil in his blood. “You intentionally hurt me by killing someone I love. I have no regrets about destroying you.”

  Fire was the most animated constellation, threatening him with starry fists and shouting silent curses.

  “Come on down here,” Angst said, his rage bringing him to a very dark place. “There will never be forgiveness for what you’ve taken from me. I would gladly live forever just to destroy you again and again.”

  When he faced Air, his anger blinded him more than the white light.

  “Make room,” Angst roared, his fists shaking. “There’s one more heading up there. Now tell me. Where is Magic?”

  Air smiled and pointed toward a doorway.

  Another Angst spryly leaped through the dark entrance. It was him, but obviously not him. The doppelganger looked older, with thinner hair and more defined wrinkles. He seemed skinny in comparison and sported a gray goatee. The other Angst’s armor was identical in design, but rather than his dusky black finish, this Angst’s brushed silver armor practically glowed. When their eyes met, the older Angst looked at him with sadness and concern.

  “Neat trick,” Angst said, drawing both swords from his back. “First you show up as Ivan then you sneak in here as a Fulk’han woman, and now you look like me.”

  “It’s not what you think,” the older Angst said, holding out both hands. “I’ll make this go easy. Just let me explain.”

  “I’m done with your lies, Magic. I’m done with you,” he said, launching himself forward in a blur.

  He swung down hard, embedding his two swords deep in the tile. Magic now stood at the other end of the room, wielding his mirror copies of Chryslaenor and Dulgirgraut.

  “Coward,” he called out, jerking his swords free. “You won’t even face me as yourself!”

  “You’re not thinking straight,” the older Angst said. “Just look closer. Tell me what you see.”

  “Another dead element,” Angst cried as he rushed for
ward.

  Magic met him head-on. The four swords collided in an explosion of light, knocking both men back. He slammed against a statue, breaking it in half and falling to his knees. The older Angst was already in the center of the room, looking about nervously. Angst followed his eyes to see dark figures running from one shadowy doorway to another.

  “What is this?” Angst shouted. “More tricks?”

  “Sure,” Magic said. “But the fight is over here, hero. Are you giving up so fast?”

  Angst blurred forward, swinging with all his might. One blow cascaded off another, showering the floor in sparks.

  “Your stupid war killed my friends,” he said, swinging down hard. Chryslaenor bounced off the fake Dulgirgraut. He flipped back, landing on his feet before blurring forward. “You killed my family.” He drove Dulgirgraut at his opponent’s chest, and the older Angst turned to one side, barely in time. “You killed my felking dog,” Angst shouted as he spun around.

  Both swords met Magic’s ribs with a crunch. The older Angst flew back, slamming against a pillar and collapsing to the ground. Angst rushed forward and raised both swords high overhead.

  “All clear,” said a familiar voice. “Try not to hurt him too badly.”

  Angst turned to the voice. “Heather?”

  Hope. More than anything, Victoria was desperate for hope. The vast field before her was pure chaos. A thousand or more Meldusians barely kept the horde of armies at bay. Nordruaut and Berfemmian harpies, and merpeople, and Fulk’han and Melkier battled mercilessly. The Unsel soldiers and accompanying zyn’ight seemed tiny and hard to find in the distance. Dragons and cavastil birds fought overhead while gamlin dodged gargoyle attacks. It was almost too overwhelming to fathom.

  Victoria, Dallow, Jaden, Rose, Nikkola, and Maarja all watched in helpless awe. They were the last line of defense, keeping everyone from reaching the giant beam of light.

  “Shield,” Victoria shouted, pointing up to the right.

  Rose, Dallow, and Jaden lifted their arms and created an air shield that deflected a barrage of liquid dragonfire. Dallow collapsed to a knee as five dragons flew away in a v formation.

  “Tribesmen attacking our left,” Victoria barked.

  A dozen, tiny Meldusians with their foci staves blurred to the left, knocking back the attacking tribesmen.

  “Melkier on our right,” Victoria shouted, pointing.

  Nikkola’s dark blasts bounced off the dusky Melkier armor like pebbles off a boulder. Maarja picked up one and hurled him far into the battle as Rose blurred forward, finding open necks and exposed kidneys with her daggers.

  “How long do we have?” Victoria asked Dallow.

  “A half hour at most,” Dallow said, standing on unsure legs. “It all depends on how long Jin’s staff lasts being split amongst so many.”

  The ground began shaking, so gently at first it was hard to tell with the war around them. When Ehrde quaked violently enough to make everyone brace themselves, Victoria could only wonder when it would split in two.

  “I take it back. Minutes,” Dallow said. “If Angst had won, this would be over.”

  His words echoed her greatest worry. As she began thinking of an exit, there was a loud pop, followed by another. The Meldusian staves were blinking out of existence, as were the many Jintorichs. Every Jin that disappeared was replaced by a very vulnerable Meldusian man or woman.

  “We are many,” they said in unison.

  “Get your many asses over here,” Victoria commanded.

  “I’m sorry I upset you,” Jaden said, suddenly beside her. His eyes were full of love and apology. “I read every journal and note you wrote. They were like love letters, and I fell hard. The last one I read told me to kill Angst, at all costs. I was torn, and now…”

  “I should have believed you,” she said.

  “I love you, Victoria,” he said.

  “I love you too,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “Need some help?” a young woman asked as she leaped from the beam of light. Her long black hair billowed about her tanned face. She reached out with her hands, and nothing happened. “Ugh, I forget, magic is different now.” She scrunched her nose in concentration and muttered words that Victoria didn’t understand. Black holes appeared beneath every attacker in a ten-yard radius, swallowing them whole before blinking out of existence.

  “Who are you?” Victoria asked.

  “Kala, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone determined and fierce. “More are coming. This isn’t over.”

  “K-Kala?” Nikkola asked, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s really you? You’re so big.”

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, hugging the woman. “I missed you.”

  “Looks like I’m in time,” a deep voice said from behind her.

  “Tarness,” Maarja said, rushing to him. She grasped him in a bear hug, unable to hold back tears. Setting him down, she gawked. “Your arm.”

  “Yeah, wait until you see what it does,” he said, stretching it. The mechanical arm hissed and whined as metallic pullies jerked his hand into a fist. With a roar, he rushed forward, knocking a bevy of mermen senseless.

  “Where is my essent?” Faeoris asked as she exited the beam. “Where is Marisha?”

  The tall, beautiful Berfemmian was covered neck to ankle in form-fitting scale armor. Steel wings stretched out from her back, each rectangular feather serrated, and the ends of every joint a steel claw. One wing hesitated until she rapped it with a knuckle. The steam that whistled from between her shoulders made the Berfemmian grimace.

  Victoria pointed to the sky, and Faeoris rocketed forward. She watched the Berfemmain in wonder until a puppy barked from behind. A small black lab with a scar along its ribs yipped excitedly as it exited the beam of light, followed closely by two children.

  “A fight,” a ten-year-old boy said. He had pale skin, dark curly hair, and intelligent blue eyes that looked very familiar.

  “Dad said to be careful,” a ten-year-old girl said snappily. She had those same blue eyes and an adorable round face. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail.

  “Thom, Eila,” Heather said as she exited the light, a firm hand on their shoulders. “Your father said to stay out of it.”

  “Right,” Thom said, winking at his sister.

  She raised an eyebrow and met his gaze with a mischievous grin.

  “You’re alive,” Victoria said, throwing her arms around Heather. “How? I thought…”

  “Scar saved us all and brought us somewhere safe,” Heather said, meeting her hug. “It took a while for Angst to find us… He’ll be here soon.”

  “Really?” she asked, pulling back. “I thought he lost. It felt like everything was…”

  “Everything will be fine,” Heather said with a gracious smile. “He just needs to make his wish.”

  51

  Nations go to war. Companies of soldiers fight in skirmishes. Friends tussle. What do you call it when two beings with the power to destroy a planet go to battle?

  “What did you do with Heather?” Angst roared. “Give me back my wife!”

  Red and blue lightning shot from his hands, raking tile up like leaves and bouncing harmlessly off the older Angst.

  “That’s it?” he said, calmly stepping aside.

  “Not a chance,” the younger Angst shouted. Sheathing his swords, he reached up with two clawed hands and pulled.

  The room shook as boulder-sized chunks of marble ceiling pulled away. With a grunt, he directed them at the old man. Every one landed with a crunch until the entire roof was gone, revealing an eternity of stars above them.

  His heavy breathing caught with a gasp when the older Angst stepped free from the rubble like gamlin diving up from the ground.

  “You can do better,” the man said as he dusted himself off.

  Freeing a slab from the floor, Angst shot up high into the starry sky while the other remained on the ground until they were just specks in each other’s vision. He d
rew both swords and pointed them at his opponent. With a roar of fury, he dove at a blinding speed. The walls blew out on impact, leaving nothing but floor, doorways, and the other Angst.

  “That’s not possible,” he cried, panting like a runner at the end of a race.

  Young Angst’s face was red and he shook with fury, his eyes filled with a wild madness. With a roar, he swung wildly again and again.

  “I will save them,” he roared. “I will be the hero!”

  For what seemed like an eternity, he chopped and hacked and slashed only to be blocked and parried and dodged until there was nothing left. He dropped both swords and stared in disbelief, completely drained and dumbfounded.

  “That’s enough,” the older Angst said, calmly. “Your rage that destroyed Gyldorane would also destroy Ehrde. I hate to put you through this, but you can be better. They need you to be better. You leave me no choice.”

  His first blow struck a leg, cracking the armor and bone beneath it. The younger Angst looked at him in stunned disbelief as he proceeded to perform surgery. He blurred around his opponent, striking with precise intent. Every blow would hurt, but none would maim or kill. After practically destroying the armor, he sliced an arm before jamming the hilt of his sword into the man’s face. A swollen eye, a bloody nose, and an arm that bled freely left his opponent an angry, helpless mess.

  “You’re not Magic,” the broken man muttered.

  “Taken care of before you arrived,” Angst said. “That’s why I was late to the party.”

  “But why?” he asked. “I was supposed to win. I’m the hero.”

  “Being a hero is more than just power and fury,” he said, grasping the man’s armor behind his neck and dragging him. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to go down this way, but you’re not ready yet.”

  They reached a shadowy doorway, and Angst grabbed the seat of younger Angst’s armor, holding him like a bouncer ready to throw a rowdy drunk from the bar.

  “Go see what your anger has wrought,” he said. “Then find a better way.”