Darayan

by Cara Violet

  “What do you mean ‘intentionally’?” Everett barked.

  “I mean,” Levon began, “that the Jejova Trail is alive and responds to your every movement. It can read you, and when it feels like consuming you, it switches its drier parts for deeper water. It makes that decision based on your presence. It can feel you.”

  If there was ever a moment Darayan would call bogus, this was it. But, studying the facial expression on the Sprite, he knew this was far from untruthful.

  “How are the other soldiers faring?” Taelen asked.

  “Making sacrifices to succeed. The South will fall quickly through the core of the Trail.” Levon swept his eyes over a deeper section of terrain. “Jejova is like an animal, it will sniff out its most fearful prey.”

  “And the Sprites of the South, or whatever,” Bodel chimed in, gulping, “they have no fear?”

  “Somewhere, deep within them, they do,” Levon answered, spinning his sword. “Now if we are all on the same page, I expect us to travel a few more kilometres to the core; there we will get our neighbours of the South angry enough and allow Jejova to do the rest.”

  “What if it swallows one of us?” Bodel said nervously.

  Looking away from them, Levon licked his lips with amusement. “Then you have no fair or justified reason to be travelling with this camaraderie at all.”

  Bodel opened her mouth, then closed it.

  “The good news is, you’ve survived this long,” he winked at her. Darayan swallowed. “Advance,” the Sprite summoned, and obediently, they all followed.

  Guided by Levon, it took them less than a few minutes to spot the hundreds of Sprites marching through Jejova’s core, headed for the under-protected Janjuc Castle. Some firing up a deep red aura.

  “They admire the Silkri aura, but none can access the aura outside themselves,” Leera informed. Darayan knew there were very select few that could manipulate aura that greatly: the Liege that used Kan’Ging, and the Drakes that used Silkri. They could operate other objects with their aura, but there were no sightings of Drakes for centuries; the Liege simply overpowered all others, even though their count always sat at around eight Liege, officially.

  “So, what are they?” Darayan asked.

  “Similar to an Arch Mage,” Leera went on. “A select few servants of Silkri. They can fire strong enough aura beams.”

  “How many?” Owen asked.

  “A few hundred.”

  Nash laughed. “A select few, was it?”

  “They are as capable as you or I, trained aura user,” she said.

  Levon snorted.

  “Does the Felrin Congress know about all these servants of Silkri popping up?” Owen asked.

  “As much as they know about the Sprite’s aura, I’m suspecting,” Taelen said with a slight bitterness, eyeballing Levon.

  “We are not servants of the Felrin either,” Leera said patriotically, eyes on Levon, simply reprimanding him if he dared answer any further.

  “I see what you did there,” Nash laughed, staring at Owen and Taelen. “And we are, do you get it?”

  Darayan couldn’t see the irony, he was paying too much attention to how close the South soldiers were, appallingly clothed in shabby garb or blacks and greys, these Sprites seemed hollow and drawn in appearance, nothing like the soft suppleness of Levon and Leera.

  “Darkness has taken them,” Leera whispered to him.

  Darayan never had gotten close to those of Silkri descent, although on occasion he could almost recall the Necromancer Arch Mages on Rivalex being anything but standoffish.

  “I suggest,” Levon intervened, “you all fire up, now.”

  There was no other warning: the South had already spotted them advancing, and the huge front row of trancelike soldiers headed for them. Everything grew louder instantaneously and next thing Darayan knew, the Sprites were on top of them.

  “Kinsmen,” Levon called, slicing through the first Sprite of the South, “get on the opposite side and draw them in. Gorgon and Sarinese with me.”

  As the sky turned grey and the clouds reigned heavy, Darayan shifted with his Sarinese comrades.

  The Sprites of the South split up. Jejova’s core churned with volatility. One by one, the landscape shifted and swallowed them whole. Muddy water gurgled and vines suffocated victims, pulling them deeper into its belly.

  “It’s working!” Materid said as hundreds of the doomed Sprites fell into the pit of Jejova.

  “There’s too many!” Bodel creamed from the right, as the three of them took combat against the red glowing Sprites. “Duke!”

  With no idea what happened, Darayan thought his entire being had left his body after he’d dismantled the last Sprite’s head from its body. Did someone hit him over the head? Was this a hallucination? All he could see was black nothingness. And the only thing he could focus on was his breathing.

  “Breathe in, breathe out,” the voice said.

  A man flashed before the blackness.

  “Father?” Darayan said to the strong and bold man he recognised. But the figure spoke none. Instead he turned forward and continued driving. From the backseat, Darayan knew this scene all at once.

  His screaming was pointless. It was Felrin, it was on this trip, when Darayan was three years old, the unthinkable happened. He looked up to his mother, her hand holding his, sitting next to him and her belly large with Darayan’s brother.

  “Mother, we must stop father from driving!” Darayan tried to say.

  His words and panic fell on deaf ears. Just like that day over nineteen years ago, Darayan felt his heart rip from his chest as the vehicle ploughed into them and the man he knew as father diminished.

  Tears couldn’t fall quick enough; another wave of blackness clouded his vision and standing before Darayan was Dersji Brikin.

  “I’ve done my job, Darayan,” Dersji said panting on the outskirts of what looked like Layos, “like Kaianan, I’ve given you the ability to fight with the blade. A skill better than most. You have no aura though, go find somewhere you can actually train in one, it won’t take you long. You know you have to leave; I can’t have you around here anymore, look what happened to Daley—”

  Daley? Darayan clenched his fists, he was fuming. But Dersji’s words had faded out. Darayan was running north to the watchtower now. Archibel by his side. He was running; running away. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Kaianan. Why? Why was Darayan’s chest about to explode?

  What was this about? What was Dersji saying? What was he hiding? The memory was too fragmented to remember. He wanted it back, he wanted them all back. How long was he going to lay dormant and hide?

  Darayan couldn’t breathe, but when he looked up from his knees, reality had reformed: the huge Sprite warrior Levon was illuminating in sparks of silver and cobalt in front of him; Jejova still violently apprehending its victims.

  “NO!” The huge Sprite screamed. Darayan couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had happened, but there was a huge blade slicing across Leera’s neck; an old, glowing red Sprite of the South, smirking, yanked his blade out of her as Leera’s severed head fell to the ground.

  Chapter Eleven: The Measure of a Man in Time of Controversy

  At the exact moment that blade severed Leera’s head from her body, Levon felt it take his breath.

  Over and over again it stabbed at his throat.

  The man had just killed his wife …

  “Levon,” the old Sprite called.

  “What have you done?” Levon touched his chest as he witnessed Leera’s body stiffen and her head roll toward him, coming to a stop; dead eyes staring at him. “Leera!”

  “Levon,” the old man said again, his blade dripping in Leera’s blood. “Come with me to the South, spawn a diverse aura, follow the Silkri and we can end this madness, we can stop the Felrin from their control!”

  “What have you done?” Levon cried, over and over. “FATHER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

  An uncontrollable surge of energy blast throu
gh Levon; he couldn’t feel his body anymore. Something was changing, deep within him.

  One final roar and he knew—he’d finally lost control.

  Before the causeway and the hundreds of South Sprites falling into the consuming waters of Jejova, Darayan, on his knees, stared at Levon.

  No longer was the Sprite warrior spinning in silver and cobalt, but a burning red aura locked onto him as his second skin; it spun him up, levitating in the air.

  “Father?” Darayan frowned confusedly at the old Sprite man, and then back to the fury pouring out of Levon. “Oh my good—”

  “Duke!”

  “Materid,” Darayan hissed, “take Bodel and get to the ship now!”

  He didn’t need to be told twice; he retreated apace.

  “There’s too many!”

  Darayan heard Owen’s voice from afar. And that he was right. No longer were the Sprites of the South tricked into being consumed by Jejova, they’d piled on top of each other and strung their weapons, sending arrowfire rods toward them. The sounds of anger and revenge screamed from their lips; Jejova lessening its carnage.

  Levon’s voice boomed: “YOU WILL DIE!”

  Darayan breathed in, fear spread through him like wildfire. The Sprite’s face had completely changed. Despite the red glow of aura, his eyes had become bloodshot, ringed with dark circles, altering him entirely. His skin was shrivelled, and a paler, ghostly colour flushed his flesh.

  “You will all die!” he said viciously.

  “Levon,” the older Sprite said raising his hand up swirling in crimson aura.

  With one swish of Levon’s wrist, Levon’s father was disarmed, and when Levon glided forward through the air, he spun his right hand and the old man fell to his knees, choking.

  “I said” Levon’s aura flooded the vicinity, Darayan was certain the Jejova Trail was flinching under him, “you will all die.”

  Another swing of his hand and Levon’s father’s eyes were popping out of his head. A swirling gust of wind accompanied the newly anointed Silkri-worshipping Sprite, and all the Sprites parted; sprawling away from the Jejova Trail core.

  Brushing his shoulder as he jumped down into the grass, Owen managed to find his way to Darayan.

  “What are you going to do?” Owen asked, as if Darayan had the answers.

  “I don’t know where Sali is, but for me, it’s time to get out.” He said “I’m hoping Jejova moved about enough it released my scapecraft.”

  Owen nodded sharply. He was about to reply when the screaming of Levon’s father grew so loud, they both turned. Hands on his ears, it appeared the old man was combusting from the inside. But what frightened Darayan more than anything was when Levon’s crimson aura snaked around his feet, up to his fingers and then shot out to the old man, lifting him and strangling him in mid-air.

  “He’s gone insane,” Darayan muttered, eyes on Levon. “Silkri control? You’ve got to be joking me? The Drakes are extinct. How?”

  “Did you have any reason not to assume his capability, Duke?”

  Darayan gave Owen a sideways glance that told him to shut up. “Where are your comrades?”

  “West of here,” he said pointing.

  Darayan stared long and hard at the growing circumference of Levon, his father bleeding to death on the ground. “Best you get them out of here,” he recommended.

  “Where will you go?” Owen raised his voice through the smouldering wind.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Will you advise the Felrin?”

  “Yes,” the Valendean’s blade stowed in his sheath as he stood to leave. “I will alert the Felrin, the Queen right now is on her own. Vector safely.”

  “It’s Darayan.”

  Owen pivoted around, shielding himself from Levon’s Siliou.

  “I’m Darayan of Layos.”

  Darayan didn’t need to elaborate any further, the Dowaric diplomat simply turned and headed for his Rangers.

  Darayan also fled. One foot after the other; he heard an explosion from somewhere behind him and knew Levon was in near risk of blowing up the whole planet.

  “Push forward,” the Sprite’s voice carried over the heavy weather. Darayan understood, with every step away, that Levon had just become the leader of the South.

  “Materid,” Darayan said with relief, when he found the pilot wiping down the exterior of the scapecraft. The snowy colour of its body was barely recognisable.

  “Just about ready to go,” he replied, moving another lot of sludge from her top wing. “The Trail must have released her.”

  Darayan let his eyes do the assessment. The six metallic silver wings were intact and looking as good as ever, even the hull and screen, despite its rancid coating, looked good. “The Vector generator?”

  “I can’t be certain,” Materid said jumping down from the wings and wiping his hands of excess slime, “I cleaned it out, so it just depends now.”

  “That gunk toxic?”

  “No—”

  “The rest of the party has arrived!” Bodel’s voice echoed from inside. Over a dozen Sprites had advanced on their location.

  “Dammit, let’s go,” Darayan ordered. “Now.”

  Materid hurried his way inside, Darayan followed and ensured the back latch was fully fastened before taking his seat beside Materid.

  “Here goes nothing,” Materid smirked, flicking two buttons above him and pressing one below. “Hmm …”

  “What is it?” Bodel wailed.

  “Just give me a minute.”

  “Don’t you see that there?!” She shrieked; a huge body of black water from Jejova had begun splintering toward them, wiping out the manic Sprites, sucking them up, “We’ll be dead in a minute!”

  “I’ve got it!”

  The scapecraft chugged and churned, spitting out gunk from every available hole as it finally made its sluggish ascent.

  “What are you waiting for?! This place is getting angrier by the second!”

  “You’re not helping, Bodel!”

  The rushing water flowed with such force, Darayan thought, that if it hit them, the whole ship would be thrown and most likely unable to take off again. This was their only shot. He glanced nervously at his pilot.

  “Nearly there,” Materid glowered, yanking the controls with all his might, the roaring velocity pulling them upward as quickly as it could carry the craft.

  Seconds from the water’s impact, the scapecraft made one final shudder and they were finally out of reach. Waves cascaded under them and Darayan breathed out with relief.

  “Piece of cake,” Materid glanced boastfully at Darayan. “Where to, captain?”

  Darayan stared below as the ship climbed into space. D-wing fighters, blue and painted red, fired against each other; hundreds of Sprites were still falling away into Jejova’s madness, and then hundreds of others glowing crimson were seizing the Marble Castle. The war on this planet had taken over. His own internal war, the one within his mind, reigned. Too many unanswered questions; what happened to Daley? Why had he left Layos so abruptly? Why did that forsaken past life haunt him so? “I need to go home,” he said out loud.

  “To Sari?” Materid frowned.

  “No,” Darayan said. “To Rivalex.”

  Chapter Twelve: Where Dowaric Lies

  “THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE AGAINST ME WILL PERISH!”

  The words burned from his throat. Hundreds of Sprites looked on in rage, capturing the last of the Queen’s men. The Marble Castle had been infiltrated; the scene held bloodshed and teary horror as Sprite killed Sprite. He did not care anymore. He did not waver in the face of the young Queen Chastity on her knees in front of him. The marble walls around her, once a signifier of her status, now just a reminder that his old life was over and his soul was dead and gone.

  “Please, Levon,” she struggled against the two Sprites of the South either side of her, “allow me to negotiate something so we can … so we can be one people, we are all Sprites, are we not?”

  No compassion
, nothing. He felt absolutely nothing at the sight of her and of the hundreds of other Sprites burning around them.

  The young Queen sobbed again, her dress in tatters. “What would Leera think?”

  With a shift of his arm, so swift not even the Sprites holding her saw it coming, Chastity was thrown back by a powerful blow of his Silkri aura.

  “From this moment forward if one person utters her name, I will not only cut the tongue from your throat, I will piece by piece dismantle you until you’ve nothing left but your beating heart! Is that clear?”

  The four commanding Sprites of the South had entered and bowed.

  “Take the Queen away, set up some rooms in the store room cages. She is not to be touched or harmed, otherwise I will kill whoever lays a finger on her.” Levon sat in her throne. The other senior Sprites neared him as the others departed with Chastity. Levon did not address them. He looked around, at the small doorway where he and Leera had entered the day they married. The day the King blessed them into matrimony. There, in the doorway he could see her silhouette in that long, white silk dress. Those blushing cheeks under a short veil. Pain and conflict spilled over his face, a part of him dismantled in the moment; he reached for his chest.

  “Your highness,” one Sprite called, his long red robes swaying, “we are so pleased …” his face suddenly screwed up. “Are you okay?”

  Tears had begun spilling from Levon’s cheeks. Something stung him inside. Was it love? He couldn’t hold this emotion in front of them, he couldn’t allow himself to ever think about her again. Time must go on. People can be erased. It was the only logical thing to do. He mustn’t think of her again. She is a nobody. She is a nothing.

  Ashamed of his past he now was—but a new future he knew he had to create.

  “I am leaving,” Levon said sternly.

  “But your Majesty, you are our anointed Silkri Drake now, we are in awe of your transformation, the Sprites look to you as their leader, their—”