Balance of Power: The Blackened Prophecy Book 2

by Oganalp Canatan

  “You are calling this an apple?” He put his free hand to his waist to underline his point. “This is nothing but an object of shame.” He raised the apple as if to show it to the whole bazaar—really nothing more than three lines of stands, six or seven each, near the rocky walls of the cavern, each seller leaning against the wall as if to protect their backs. Gabriel snorted and threw the apple away. “I will pay for decent food. Not this garbage.”

  The stallholder took a step forward, his eyes cracking lightning, but Elaine was there in an instant, touching the angry man’s arm and whispering in his ear. Gabriel shrugged. If these kids wanted to give credit for things unworthy of it, so be it. Not him. He walked to another stand, idly skimming through the goods. Most were worse than rubbish. One stall had some rags hanging from a rope tied to two small metal poles, so dirty that it was impossible to make out their original color. Tarra disgusted Gabriel. The filth, the degeneration of its residents, and no one batting an eye. No one talked about how things were bad and how they could improve them if they worked together. No one talked about the hanging dark brown sphere over them. It made Gabriel sick with anger.

  “Brother,” Captain Samir’s voice interrupted him.

  Gabriel quickly wiped his eyes without turning. “Yes?” he forced himself to keep his voice steady. Light knew he didn’t want any pity.

  “I need to take you guys back to the ship. The others need me.”

  “I am not done with my shopping, young man.”

  Gabriel heard Captain Samir muttering. “Please, Brother.”

  “Son,” he looked over his shoulder, dismissively, “I am not a child, and the kids are more than capable of handling themselves. I will continue my shopping. We will join you back on the ship. Now off with you.” He waved away the seasoned soldier and moved to another stand, not heeding a particularly audible curse from Samir.

  This one’s goods were a little better. The seller had cucumbers, lettuce, and anakso fruit. Gabriel grimaced. He hated anakso fruit. It was sour, dry, and left an irritating feeling in one’s mouth after chewing. He never understood why people liked it so much. It was a tasteless fruit of a tasteless tree growing in the forsaken swamps of Bunari.

  “Can I help you, old man?” a brisk female voice came from behind the stand.

  “Mm?” Brother Cavil moved his attention from the stand. “Oh, I am just browsing.”

  “We’ve got more here,” she waved her hand, inviting Gabriel to the back of the stand. “Couldn’t put them all there.”

  Gabriel’s eyes followed the shopkeeper’s finger, and suddenly he was deaf; his eyes were blind to anything but the beautiful sight before him. Three full cases of kumat were before him, newly harvested or brought out of shock, still glowing red, drops of water splashed over them, reflecting the playing lights of the cave’s illumination. The seller was spieling about getting them from a local smuggler before the forest planet went dark, but Gabriel wasn’t listening. It was all about kumat. He giggled, reaching for the fruits, grabbing a fistful at a time, filling his pockets. “Kumat! Kumat!”

  “Hey, you’ll pay for those, right?”

  “Yes, yes,” he waved away. “These kids can handle that.” He reached for more and more, giggling. “Kumat…”

  ***

  Ray nodded at Sim’Ra, who gestured affirmatively. Samir mimicked the tall alien.

  “I think we’re all ready, Sarah,” Ray said, connecting his mind to Yrrha.

  “Lohil.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. I will protect you and your people from any harm.”

  “Here goes nothing,” Sarah knocked on the door of the metal shack built into the cavern.

  Maybe ten, twelve seconds later, a brute, rough voice answered. “What?”

  “We have business with Mojo.”

  “Mojo doesn’t like strangers and unannounced people.”

  “Then announce us.”

  “You’re not expected.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Buddy, open the door, and let’s be done with this.”

  “Mojo doesn’t like strangers.”

  The metal door imploded, sending the man flying into the half-rock, half-metal hallway. The door drove into the wall on both sides, bent in a semicircle, nailing the thug to the rocky surface like a wall vase.

  “Um… Ray?”

  “I’m bored, and it was taking too much time.” Ray was inside the room already, his eyes and hands still glowing red with the power of Serhmana. He focused on the nailed gatekeeper. “Where’s Mojo?”

  “I… can’t—”

  “Where is Mojo?” The red glow in his eyes completely buried their normal brown color.

  “He can’t breathe,” Samir said. “You packaged him too tightly.”

  “Oh,” Ray felt a sudden shame and pulled the metal door off the wall. The guard fell on the rocky floor like a bag of cement.

  “Back… back door, downstairs.” The guard panted, rubbing his reddened neck.

  “He can raise the alarm, and we would have to fight our way with weapons instead of words.” Sim’Ra came close, raising his spear.

  The guard’s eyes bulged. “No! I’ll leave. I promise.” He was already crawling away from the room. “Really!”

  “Let’s move.” Ray headed for the stairs with firm steps, ignoring the guard. He wouldn’t shy from his powers—his heritage—if it meant making things better. Now he had to rescue a ranger, and Ray needed him alive and unspoiled.

  The complex's interior was nothing different from the uninviting, rusty entrance: metal walls, beds, and racks scattered around rooms. Twice more, Mojo’s thugs attempted to stop them and found themselves flying in various directions. When the group arrived at the complex's heart, Mojo was already behind four hefty men with shotguns.

  “So…” The man sitting behind the wall of thugs took a deep breath from the joint in his hand, puffing the smoke slowly. “You’re the man destroying my kingdom.” The small beads attached to his dreadlocked white hair jiggled with each word.

  Ray looked at the thugs and their weapons with disinterest. Yrrha had assured him through the bond that it could protect him and his team from any weapons-fire. “Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re a stranger in my house.”

  “Fair enough.” Ray pursed his lips, nodding. “I also happen to be the man who killed Joe.”

  Mojo narrowed his eyes, leaning forward as if to catch the details. “Ah!” He laughed, revealing his less-than-healthy teeth. “Badman!” He took a long sip from his joint, leaning back. “I remember you.” He signaled his goons to lower their weapons. “You killed Joe. You give Mojo the chance to rule. Come, sit.” He pointed at the disorganized cushions lying around. “Sit, relax. Godrell, go get us the juice!”

  The thug grabbed a bottle and dirty metal cups from a nearby rack. Ray raised a brow and turned to the group. Samir and Sarah looked equally shocked, and even Sim’Ra seemed dazzled.

  Ray said, “Uh, all right,” and the group seated themselves with a certain unease. Ray had expected a fight and another show on his end with Serhmana. Instead, he was about to drink rum with a gang leader who was high on weed. Really high.

  “So, you are the savior of metal town, do tell Mojo.” The relaxed man filled their cups again after a round of shots. “What brings you to my realm?”

  “You have a ranger in custody. We need him,” Sarah answered instead, sipping from the rum. As the alcohol touched her throat, she winced, earning a chesty laugh from Mojo.

  “Girl, I remember you now. You worked for Joe!” Mojo giggled.

  “Not because I wanted to, brother,” Sarah replied. “The ranger, we need him.”

  “Yes, yes. The mystery man. Rangers are strange. They are immune to that dreadful fog.” Mojo signaled one of his men, sending him to a room nearby. “Why do you need this ranger?”

  Ray took over. “Our reasons are our own. We need him to lead us through the fog.”

  Mojo nodded, his fac
e becoming serious. “I like it. You killed Joe and gave Mojo the chance to rule. I want to help, but this ranger-man,” Mojo faked a sigh, “he worth a lot. He owes Mojo.”

  “How much?”

  “Now, now,” the man scratched his beard, “Mojo’s talking big money. Huge money.”

  “How much?” Ray lowered his voice to a threatening level. Mojo was drunk and high, but Ray realized it was a surface. Underneath, the man was sharp as a hawk, still evaluating his situation.

  Before Mojo could come up with a no-doubt extortionate number, the thug returned with a gagged man, his hands tied behind his back. The man was handsome, Ray had to admit. He had deep green eyes complemented by his not-too-bushy, not-too-narrow brows, and dirty facial hair. He also looked pretty much unharmed.

  “The ranger.” Mojo smiled. “This strange man agreed to bring me goods, but he didn’t.”

  The ranger turned his head slowly and eyed Mojo without a hint of fear. At a nod from the gang leader, one of the thugs removed the ranger’s gag. When he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy. “You agreed to pay me, Mojo, but you did not. Pay, and you will have your goods.”

  “Now, now.” Mojo reached for his drink, taking a long sip. “The deal has changed. You give me my goods, you go free. I’ll count it as we’re even. You tried to rip me off, strange ranger.”

  The ranger smirked, his green eyes glowing brightly. “You cannot sly your way around this, Mojo. Pay, and I will be gone.”

  “Ranger-man,” Mojo pointed at the thugs, now seven people, with the two Ray had educated on flight one-o-one and another who had returned from patrolling the compound, “you’re not in a position to bargain.”

  “I think I am.”

  Before anyone could react, the ranger backflipped with cat-like reflexes, pulling his tied wrists under his legs to bring them in front. Either the ranger had planned this maneuver for a while, or he was extraordinarily talented—Ray thought it was the latter. Mojo yelled, as with one swift move the ranger, wrapped his binds around the barrel of the nearest thug’s shotgun and twisted, pulling it out of the man’s hands.

  Then the other six thugs were on top of him, weapons aimed at his head.

  “You see,” Mojo said, laughing, “You’re at a disadvantage.” But his laughter died as he noticed the shotgun pointed at him.

  “I would call it a stalemate. Now, my payment.”

  “Raymond! Raymond! Raymond!”

  Everyone turned to the staircase as the shouting intensified.

  “Is that—” Sarah started.

  “It’s the old man.” Samir took a few steps toward the stairs.

  “I told you to keep an eye on him, Samir,” Ray sighed.

  Samir opened his arms apologetically. “He said he would be fine with all the fruits around.”

  “Raymond! Raymond!”

  “Dad?” Elaine was yelling just like the old man.

  “Elaine? What’s going on!”

  “Raymond! R—oof” Brother Cavil stumbled over Captain Samir, and both rolled down on the dusty, rocky surface. The old priest gathered his cloak in a hurry and stood up. “Son, we have to go,” he grabbed Raymond’s shoulders. “Run!”

  Elaine and Eras dashed into the room, looking over their shoulders in panic. “Dad, we really need to go.”

  Now Ray heard people running and shouting. A great many people. Ray sighed and turned to Brother Cavil. “Old man, what in Light’s name did you do this time?”

  ***

  “What do you mean he threw an apple at a stallholder’s head?” Sarah yelled, ducking a flying shoe, watching it hit one of Mojo’s goons in the eye. “Ray!” Sarah warned as the thug readied a shotgun in response, but the thing suddenly became molten in his hands, and he dropped the hissing weapon. Ray threw a wicked smile at Sarah, but his joy was cut short when someone punched him in the face.

  “I said I would pay for decent fruit,” Brother Cavil was yelling, one of his sandals in his hand, slapping a man’s head as he was carried away in the huge man’s arms. “Put me down, you oak!”

  “You had to educate them, didn’t you?” Sarah shrieked again, blocking a flying fist with her right arm and landing a left hook of her own on one of the angry mob. “And Mojo, stop laughing!”

  Mojo seemed to be enjoying himself in his seat, ducking to avoid the flying shoes, sandals, fruits, and even a wooden spoon, all the while protecting his weed, trying to roll another smoke. “This is amazing. I never had this much fun since we raided that jewel transport a few years back! So much fun. So much excitement!” He picked up a nearby bong and hit a stallholder in the head, dropping him. “Ha!”

  Sarah couldn’t help but laugh herself. The room was only big enough to accommodate maybe thirty people, and she heard at least double that number brawling on the staircase outside. It was a town-wide bar fight, everyone exchanging fists with everyone else regardless of how the thing had started.

  “Are you happy, old man?” Ray’s voice lanced through the noise. “In all our troubles, we really needed a pit fight.”

  “They had kumat, and I could not resist,” Brother Cavil cried as he flew over Ray, toward the cushions lying before Mojo.

  The acrobatics earned more laughter from Mojo, his bushy brows going up with his wide laughter. “Flying priest man,” he giggled, avoiding one of his thugs rolling fist to fist with a fierce woman with maddened eyes. She yelled something about Mojo owing credits for the rugs he bought last month, but her words were muffled by two more folk jumping on the wrestling duo. It only made the gang leader laugh more.

  “This is insane,” Sarah looked around.

  Elaine and Eras were defending themselves with a metal pitcher and a book. For a brief moment, Sarah wondered what a book was doing inside the cave, but as Elaine swung the thing, it turned out to be a cigarette box. For some reason, this made Sarah bizarrely comfortable. Mystery solved!

  Samir was performing an inverted facelock on a poor trader, using him as both punching bag and shield, and cursing colorfully at Brother Cavil, who in return furrowed, babbling something about respect and elders. Their exchange ended abruptly when a metal dinner plate met the old priest’s temple.

  “Oof!” Sarah winced. The blow was hard enough to knock the old man out, but he was back on his feet in a second, rubbing his head and running after a woman with a pan pulled from one of his robe pockets. How many pouches he had and what else the man was hiding inside those robes, Sarah tried not to imagine.

  Sim’Ra stood in a dark corner, observing the chaos, untouched. Twice, some goons took him on and found themselves mending their broken bones. His towering figure was a totem of repelling; whoever rushed into the room to pick a fight looked at him and turned to pick on someone else.

  She saw the ranger countering every fist, every kick, every object coming at him with ease. He avoided inflicting any real damage, but Sarah was sure that the ranger would be the last man standing if this was a deadly fight. Maybe except for Ray and Sim’Ra, considering the former could flash lightning from his hands and all, and the latter was an alien warlord.

  “Elaine!” she shouted, seeing the girl and Eras cornered by some angry men. She moved to free them but was cut short by a witch. “Get out of my way—Arrgh!”

  Sarah found herself in a match of hair-pulling, biting, scratching, screaming, and cursing. She tried to yank her hands, but the woman was like a leech, her hands locked tight around Sarah’s arms. Sarah looked for Elaine and Eras from the corner of her eye and relaxed, seeing the ranger was pulling them out of their trap. Sarah smiled, turning her attention back to her attacker. “Now we rock’n’roll, you wench.”

  She landed a knee hard in the woman’s stomach as they rolled on the sandy ground, and the moment she was on top, Sarah freed her arm and landed a sledgehammer-like fist on her attacker’s face. “Let go already,” Sarah cursed, trying to open the woman's grasp now passed out thanks to Sarah’s fist.

  “Ooo.” Mojo laughed from his chair, sipping his rum.
His green-gray eyes flickered with joy.

  “Mojo, don’t make me come there!” Sarah hissed, ducking a flying man. “Ray, we don’t have the time for this.”

  The ground shook, and suddenly everyone was levitating a meter above the dusty surface, even Mojo himself in his seat. He laughed and giggled, excited by this new surprise.

  “Enough,” Ray’s voice boomed inside the room, resonating through the cave, and Sarah had to admit, it was fear she felt. Ray stood in the middle of the room, his eyes focused on the ground. The glowing red aura of the Arinar surrounded his eyes and his arms. “I don’t have the time or patience for this. You’ll all leave at once, or heads will roll. Literally.”

  “Erm, son. Could you please set me down?”

  Sarah would’ve giggled at the old priest hanging midair as if tied by one of his legs, slowly turning. But like everyone else in the room, she was afraid—more than terrified.

  “And you.” Ray dropped them all hard on the cave floor except for the old priest, who Ray pulled toward himself, gliding a half-terrified Brother Cavil through the air. “Fix this.” Ray let go, the poor priest only avoiding a nasty head injury with a last-minute flailing arm.

  “That hurt!”

  Sarah looked at Ray in disbelief. Even Elaine had landed hard on her back and grimaced at a bruise forming. Ray looked uninterested, unmoved. Whenever he used his powers, he turned to this stone man, uncaring. With instinct, Sarah threw a glance at Sim’Ra, and not to her surprise, she saw him smirking. She wasn’t sure what the deal was with him, but whatever Ray was going through, Sim’Ra’s take on things was different than the rest.

  “Everyone, move,” Ray’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she watched him cross the room like Moses crossed the sea, as the crowd moved out of his way.

  RUDE AWAKENING

  “You are becoming difficult to tolerate, my child.” The male Architect moved slowly, his metal legs clicking and clacking with each step. His abyssal eyes, glowing pale blue, observed her. There was no confusion in that stare, she realized. Her creator was simply calculating her value.