The Jestivan (Erafeen, #1)

by David F. Farris

  But that fear seemed silly to Bryson. Who could fight better than a royal? Even the ten guards escorting them weren’t a match for Shelly, or even Lilu or Bryson for that matter.

  Bryson flopped back in his seat. “Worst idea ever,” he groaned, “riding in this ridiculous thing.”

  Princess Shelly glared at him. “I’m sorry that I want comfort.”

  “This is going to be the talk of my street. I hope Debo doesn’t have a change of heart and become sociable with neighbors all of a sudden.”

  “Well I was hardly going to take your suggestion to wear a hooded jacket and sweatpants. I shouldn’t have to sneak around inside of my own kingdom, and I definitely don’t need to dress like a bum.”

  Lilu rolled her eyes.

  “You are the Queen of High Maintenance,” Bryson sighed.

  The princess gave him a sly smile. “That would be my mother.”

  “Well, we’re here,” Lilu said. “Let’s go.”

  When the three of them stepped inside Bryson’s house, he asked them to remove their shoes. “Debo doesn’t like his hardwood floors getting scuffed,” he explained to Shelly.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re about to break the number one rule in his house, and you’re talking about respecting his hardwood floors?”

  Bryson stuttered, realizing the flawed logic. There wasn’t much time to loiter. If Debo came home early, there would be no calming his anger.

  So they got right to it. The three of them stood next to the light. Shelly shuddered. She could feel the power by simply being near its presence. Bryson’s heart had dropped into his stomach at the anticipation of discovering something that had been hidden from him for eleven years.

  A ball of light appeared as Princess Shelly summoned her Branian, and Bryson felt the same sense of purification as the light took a human shape.

  “Hello, Suadade,” Shelly said.

  “Hey,” Suadade said with a distant emptiness as he stared at the light in wonder.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Bryson said.

  The Branian didn’t break his gaze away from the light. “No, thank you.”

  Suadade reached toward the light. As his hand was on the brink of penetrating the barrier, Bryson had a familiar flashback to the only time he tried opposing the shield, which caused him to ball his fist around his scarred finger.

  Suadade’s hand crossed into the light. Bryson flinched, but there was no smoke, no crackling, no screams. Not even the slightest frown or wince crossed the Branian’s face. In fact, he smiled. And if Bryson wasn’t mistaken, his eyes were bright with potential tears. Where Bryson had experienced agonizing, deadly pain, Suadade looked to be experiencing a joyous dream.

  Suadade’s hand waved around inside of the light, feeling for something. His smile grew. He stepped all the way in, and his body glowed as it was engulfed by the light. He reached for the handle and turned it slowly.

  Bryson’s heart felt like it was thumping out of his chest. What is it? Gold? Some kind of secret or cherished document? Money? The stolen relic? . . . DECAYING BODIES?!

  The door opened, but he couldn’t see what was inside. The problem with this infiltration was that only Branian Suadade could enter. Bryson had suggested that Suadade dissemble the light so everyone could pass, but the Bozani had quickly shot that idea down, explaining that he couldn’t perfectly replicate the shield. The difference would be too noticeable.

  So they had to observe from afar as they watched the scimitar on Suadade’s back disappear into the closet.

  “What’s in there?” Bryson called out, but the Bozani didn’t answer. Finally, after the longest minute of Bryson’s life, Suadade stepped back through the light while holding something behind his back.

  “This is when I depart,” he said as he took the object from behind his back and solemnly handed it to Bryson. “Mission accomplished,” he added, and then vanished.

  Lilu looked on in disbelief as Bryson gaped at what was resting in his hands. Now he knew why Debo never discussed Intel Energy or performed electrical abilities, and why he always trained for speed and nothing else. The reason was resting in his hands … a gleaming katana with an emerald-encrusted hilt.

  Debo didn’t possess Intel Energy. He was a swordsman of the Adren Kingdom, living his life as a lie.

  ***

  The sky grew dark as the sun set from behind the clouds. They were in the royal carriage once again as they headed back to the palace in silence. Lilu hadn’t spoken a word since Suadade was summoned. Bryson thought she was trying to refrain from saying “I told you so.”

  Which she would have had every right to do. She had told him so. A million questions flew through Bryson’s head as he lay across one of the cushioned benches in the carriage, staring at the roof of golden cloth.

  Why had he lied? Did anyone know the truth? At the very least, Grand Director Poicus had to know. He wouldn’t just assign Debo the role of Intel Director without his abilities being proven. Why was it necessary to disguise himself? Why has he been raising me? Was he a friend of my dad? Was he assigned to protect me? Was I his Charge?

  “How did he become the Intel Director?” Lilu finally asked.

  Bryson continued to stare at the ceiling. “Who knows.”

  “How did he create that light is what I’d like to know,” Shelly said.

  “Who cares?” Bryson groaned.

  “It’s important. Sit up and let me teach you something you would have never learned at Phesaw.”

  “That’s not smart,” Lilu said to her sister.

  Shelly shrugged. “He’s already seen way more than he’s supposed to.” She held out her hand as a perfect sphere of electricity hovered above her palm. “Each kingdom is known for its own energy and ability. For example, our kingdom possesses people with Intel Energy and electrical powers. What we now know to be Debo’s kingdom—the Adren Kingdom—possesses people with Adrenergy and the ability of speed.”

  “I know all this already,” Bryson said.

  “And there are two islands floating high above us, one of which houses the Light Empire, where the Bozani live.”

  “I know that too.”

  “Stop interrupting me!” the princess yelled. “Did you know that there’s an energy that everyone is born with, regardless of which kingdom they belong to?”

  Bryson looked at her, his interest finally piqued. “What?”

  “There’s an energy known as Tahara. However, it lies dormant for almost everyone. But there are a few rare people in history who were able to tap into their Tahara, gaining them access to the ability of—”

  “Light,” Bryson interrupted, connecting the dots.

  “Very good,” Shelly said with a smile. “Typically, it’s an ability exclusive to Bozani.”

  Bryson looked at her as if she was crazy. “Are you implying Debo is a Bozani?”

  She laughed. “No, I’m implying one of two options. One, he is secretly the first-born of King Supido and therefore possesses a Branian of his own—one who created the light that guarded his sword.”

  “Well, that’s not believable at all,” Bryson said.

  “Two, he is one of the rare exceptions I spoke of. Based off the stories from the Of Five series, there have been five non-Bozani in history who have been able to tap into their Tahara … even though it’s not explained that way in the books. Maybe he is the sixth, and he actually did create that light himself. But that’s unlikely.”

  It didn’t sound too unlikely to Bryson. Bryson had seen what Debo could do over the years. He had witnessed his overwhelming confidence—his commanding presence. Shelly hadn’t seen any of that. And since there have only been five instances in 1,500 years, he couldn’t blame her for doubting him.

  It was the idea of a second energy, though, that really got Bryson’s mind spinning … Tahara. Not once had he ever heard about it at Phesaw. The subject of Bozani was always very vague in school. Not much was known about them.

  Brys
on was dozing off when Shelly asked to see the katana. He obliged, and she inspected every inch from the tip to the handle. Bryson figured she was simply admiring it, but then her eyes met the hilt and she paused.

  As her brows furrowed, he became curious. “What is it?”

  Without moving her head, her eyes scanned Bryson. “Nothing,” she muttered.

  “You have a terrible poker face,” he said.

  “These emeralds are a very rare type,” she said.

  “Surprise, surprise. Royals and their obsession with shiny objects.”

  There wasn’t much talking for the rest of the trip, which took about an hour. Shelly slept most of the way, while Lilu and Bryson sat in their thoughts.

  It was late, so once inside the palace, Shelly and Lilu split ways with Bryson as they headed toward separate wings. The palace was beginning to become more like home to Bryson. He had been sleeping there about every other night over the past two weeks. So far as Debo was concerned, Bryson had been staying at the Lilac Suites in the attempt to keep the Jestivan together during a difficult month. He had felt bad for lying, but after today, any guilt had disappeared.

  He had given Debo’s sword to Shelly, who wanted to send it to Brilliance—a city far north, across the Intel River and the northern plains. It was where the Intel Kingdom’s top scientists resided, so they’d know what type of value the gems on the hilt possessed. Besides, he wasn’t interested in keeping the sword. It was only a symbol of Debo’s dishonesty.

  The two ladies of royalty walked side-by-side through the moonlit hallway. “What caught your eye on the hilt?” Lilu asked. “I know it wasn’t the emeralds.”

  Shelly paused at her bedroom’s door. “Dried blood,” she said softly. She then entered her room and closed the door on Lilu, leaving her to ponder in the moonlight.

  21

  Exposed

  “Prince Storshae!” General Ossen yelled as he ripped back the curtain to the prince’s tent.

  Leaning back with his feet resting on the desk, the prince looked at his subordinate. Next to the prince stood a man of average height and brown hair—a seemingly unassuming man with an inexplicably formidable presence.

  The general bowed. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Bewahr Fonos.”

  “Hello, Ossen,” the Bewahr replied.

  Prince Storshae rose from his seat. “I suppose you have barged in here to announce our guest’s arrival.”

  Ossen nodded. “Yes, sir. And quite a lot of his soldiers too.”

  Storshae shrugged. “As expected. Even under the impression that we’re allies, it would have been brainless of him to come without protection. Let him in.” He remained standing as he waited for his guest, and when he entered, the prince forced a smile.

  “Hello, my friend,” Storshae said as he reached across the table to shake the man’s hand.

  Tall and balding with brown spots speckling his forehead behind a crown of twigs, the Archaic King gripped the prince’s hand. “It has been too long, Storshae.” The king shot a nervous glance at the Bewahr standing casually off to the side.

  “I wonder whose fault that is,” the prince replied with a masked coldness, gesturing toward the seat across the desk. All that had been exchanged was a handshake and a few words, but the direction that the conversation was headed was already obvious.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t schedule a meeting with you earlier,” King Itta apologized as he took his seat.

  “It has been nearly a month since you returned to your kingdom,” the Dev Prince pointed out. “A month of my soldiers wasting away in this desert.” He spoke calmly, but didn’t bother to conceal the displeasure.

  Itta noticed this, so he matched it. “And I provided you with food and water when I returned.”

  Storshae laughed. “My soldiers want to return to their families. Instead they’re stuck here waiting for you—”

  “YOU KILLED MY GREATEST FIGHTER!” Itta shouted.

  The outburst did not rattle the prince. He gazed mildly at his erstwhile ally.

  Itta regained his composure and revised his approach. “I’m sure you can understand that I have been quite beset with difficulties this past month. I no longer have my right-hand man.”

  Storshae’s lips pressed into a thin, resentful line. “I’m sorry that we went a little bit away from the script. Yes, you lost your strongest warrior, but his death took any suspicion away from your kingdom, no?”

  “I need to be forewarned about these sorts of things if this is to be a functioning alliance,” the Archaic King said.

  “Very true,” Storshae agreed. “But to be fair, you brought us into a hopeless fight. You informed us of who would be in that arena, and I don’t recall you ever mentioning the Jestivan or directors.”

  “I didn’t know they would be there.”

  Storshae reached into his desk’s bottom drawer. “Which is exactly the problem.” He pulled out a small stack of papers. “You were so sure of yourself when you told us the plan, but you were wrong. I could have arranged for appropriate staffing to counter the Jestivan and directors—such as the Diatia.”

  King Itta’s eyes were fixed on the stack of parchment.

  “The next realm meeting is tomorrow, yes?” Storshae asked. Itta nodded, his eyes still on the papers.

  “I’m assuming if you haven’t left by now, you don’t plan on going at all.” The Dev Prince was enjoying the look of fright painted on his guest’s face. “You’re scared of them extracting the truth from your escorts—or worse, yourself.”

  The elderly king didn’t answer, so Storshae continued his mockery. “I wrote this a month ago.” He pressed his finger on the papers in front of him. “But after having weeks to ponder on it, why do I need official documentation for ending this alliance?” A maniacal grin formed. “This scenario sets itself up for a dramatic and believable ending.” He tore the documents to pieces. “With the heads of the Light Realm’s other four kingdoms gathered in one place, let’s expose you properly.”

  Finally, Itta broke from his paralysis. He jumped from his seat and sprinted toward the exit. As he ran, he turned and threw a punch that extended into a tree back toward Storshae. The prince nonchalantly dodged the attack, but he didn’t bother countering.

  Bewahr Fonos disappeared and instantly reappeared in front of the tent’s exit, blocking Itta’s escape as he yelled for help. Itta threw a punch of wood, which Fonos caught bare-handed. As Itta grunted and shook from effort, the Bewahr stood in a relaxed manner before snapping the tree in half, forcing Itta’s arm to morph back to normal.

  Fonos disappeared again, and Itta wasn’t even given a chance to blink before the Bewahr had him in a chokehold from behind. Fonos walked him back to the desk as the sounds of fighting arose from outside the tent.

  “It is extremely convenient that you decided to leave your son in the capital,” Storshae said, still smiling. “After all, he is the only one who possesses a Branian to counter my Bewahr. It would have been interesting … seeing one of the Light Empire’s Bozani go toe-to-toe with one of the Dark Empire’s Gefal. I’m sure you’re cursing your age right now. It’s unfortunate that one loses their Branian when they grow too old.”

  Itta’s face was a vibrant pink from the lack of oxygen, but he still managed to say through spit, “You will pay.”

  “Ossen, get in here!” Storshae yelled.

  The general rushed into the tent. “Yes, Prince?”

  “Grab this worthless scum. Judging from the uproar outside, the clock is ticking. Let’s get this done with.”

  Itta gasped for air as Fonos removed his hold, but he didn’t have a chance to regain his bearings. Ossen dragged him behind the desk and sat him down in the prince’s chair.

  The Archaic King scowled at the two men. “What is killing me going to accomplish?”

  “We’re not going to kill you,” Storshae replied. “Unless you don’t say what we tell you to.”

  ***

  Three older ge
ntlemen were seated inside of a dining room that was floored with polished wood and walled with plain drywall. Wooden beams stretched vertically every ten feet or so. An orange hue flickered across the room as several candles flickered atop tall wooden racks in all four corners of the room. There was no moonlight, for the wooden shutters covering the lone window were shut.

  In the center of the room sat a low-rising dining table that would look strange if it was in any other kingdom. It sat high enough to lay one’s legs underneath parallel to the floor. Silver-colored pillows resting on the floorboards served as cushions for the three kings who sat atop them: a burly man in gold, a gaunt dark-skinned man in silver, and a plump baldheaded man in red. They held a pleasant conversation while enjoying dinner.

  “I love visiting your kingdom,” Intel King Vitio said as he fumbled with the chopsticks—a utensil only used in the Spirit and Adren kingdoms.

  Passion King Damian nodded enthusiastically.

  Adren King Supido smiled. “You don’t miss the lavishness of your palaces?”

  “After a while, lavish becomes normal,” Vitio said, taking in the room’s modesty. “And plain becomes lavish.”

  “Strange how that works, isn’t it?” Supido asked while deeply hunched over the table. His height practically forced him to fold in two in order to eat his soup.

  Vitio placed his chopsticks on the plate. “But it’s not just your palace. It’s the people and atmosphere. I feel safe here. Your people are polite and respectful, though I must say it’s odd to see random duels in the streets.”

  “Everyone wants to practice whenever the chance presents itself,” Supido explained. “As long as they’re using the spine of their sword, it’s legal.”

  “I wish my people were like that,” Vitio sighed.

  Damian gave a remorseful nod, implying he felt the same about the people of his kingdom.

  “There’s nothing you can do about that,” Supido said. “There are even misfits here. We just don’t have as many because it’s not in our nature to be that way.”

  “It’s also nice not having to deal with children filling the palace with their screaming and fighting,” Vitio said as he fumbled with the chopsticks, giving them a second chance despite his better judgment.