by Cara Violet
“Their nothing.” He said half-angrily, half-mildly. “I’ve heard the Rivalex Mark is being hunted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what else do you know?”
“She’s escaped to a Safe Lock, and so has her sister.”
“Her sister? The Mark has a sister?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before I leave, I want every bit of information you have on her.”
“The Mark, sir?”
“No, her sister.” Malice filled his pupils. Levon felt comfortable in this new skin of his, in this new aura rimming his fingers and gracing through his veins. He found contentment in his new focus. The universe was going to pay. And they were going to pay big. He didn’t care how it ended but he knew it was going to. Releasing a beast into the Felrin Galaxy excited him. This was something he could fight for. Destruction. Relief from remembering. A distraction to bring every single person in this galaxy to death—that’s all they deserved. “The sister is vital. It’s the only way to flush the Mark out.”
“Yes, sir.”
The commanding Sprites of the South left Levon alone on the Queen’s throne. It took them over an hour to get back to him with no new information about the Mark or her sister. With a growling sigh, he rose and headed for the temporary holding point of his former leader.
“What plans have the Felrin for the Rivalex Mark and her sister?”
He questioned the seated Chastity, who barely looked up at him through the caged fence that also carried bags of flour and rice for the city’s festivities. Knowing the Marble Castle held no dungeons and this store room was as close to confinement as they could muster made her imprisonment as casual as her answer.
“I’ve no idea,” she said obnoxiously shrugging, “I’m just a young girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“Don’t play that card with me,” he snapped. “I’ve seen who you are. You’re all an act, going in out of your adolescent tantrums—”
“Am I?” she said with a wisp of laughter, “I thought I was representing all of those who gave me advice.”
“I’ve asked you a question—”
“And I ask one of you!” She shot up, looking every bit livid and unlike the girl who’d unsuccessfully tried to lead a whole civilisation through the past months. “Did you ever believe in me to succeed? Did anyone?”
Levon’s bloodshot eyes narrowed at her.
“No,” she answered her own question, “they didn’t, but you know what you’ve done for me Levon?” She said so curtly Levon thought perhaps she’d had some sort of aura transformation of her own. “You’ve given me the opportunity to believe in myself. I will lead the Sprites again, of that I am certain, and I will no longer listen to my Bishops or my unwilling General who was simply an exceptional fighter given leniency! I will not neglect my people like I was told to do, and I will not neglect them like you did.”
The stab at him didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would; he already knew he neglected his duties. Right now, he couldn’t care less.
“I will find her,” he said softly, “and I will start something that the whole galaxy will fall into.”
She smiled, a completely different woman in front of him. “And all the people who have hope will be there to stop you. I will be there to stop you.”
Tilting his head, Levon observed with intrigue the determination of the young Queen. Never had he seen this side of her before. It didn’t make him feel any better to know he sparked it. But he would finish it. Defeat was supressing his sight, no matter which way he looked.
He retreated, still facing that possessed face of hers that carried no emotion, knowing the time to head to Croone was upon him.
Chapter Thirteen: A Broken Man Changed
Traversing his way through sand dunes and dismal windy sprays, Levon finally advanced on the capital of Croone. Navigating closer, he could ascertain the forcefield trying to hold him still. Now capable of using the Silkri, branded a Drake, he didn’t think it would be possible for such a vortex to be so unyielding to him. Nevertheless, as he pushed forward through the wind and the hot red dirt, toward the lifeless city, the Siliou would not heed to his command.
“Nothing at all,” he noted, “would you look at that.” Immediately, he withdrew his sword. He passed by the half-dilapidated homes toward the Bu-Ky Temple.
Despite the half-derelict appearance of its hundred-feet-tall frame, Levon knocked on the timber doors and waited; staring at the strange round, gold-trimmed windows.
The barely-hinged doors swung open and there, below him, a tiny, maroon-skinned stick insect smiled. Levon grimaced at its lack of teeth, and hygiene for that matter.
“Your leader about?” he said to the big-eared Daem-Raal.
It nodded and opened the door wider for Levon to enter.
He felt like a giant as he strolled along the pebble slates, a multitude of Daem-Raal to either side of him busy repairing the walls.
“Welcome Levon,” the voice said from the towering throne. “We heard about your transformation.”
It was perfect Vernacular, the Sprite thought. In contrast to the rest of the little critters, this Daem-Raal was the one who was commandeering the release of the Defeated King.
“I’ve heard of your plans,” Levon stepped closer to the staff-holding Daem-Raal, his eyes flickering over the glass case behind the king: its broken exterior ravished with claw marks.
“I’ve moved the hostage,” Humkar advised, responding to Levon’s stare.
“I am sure you have.”
“First is first,” the Daem-Raal said—not quite proper Vernacular phrasing, Levon thought. “Before you access him. What are you willing to give to this cause?”
“Everything,” Levon said without batting an eyelid.
“Good.”
“What in Burakar’s name happened here, anyway?” Levon said glancing over his shoulders to the minions fixing the temple.
The Daem-Raal, busy conversing with his people, finally nodded to Levon. “We had to change hostages. More leeway, you know.”
Levon stuck his nose up in disinterest. This was wasting his time. A second later, another Daem-Raal ran toward the bottom of the steps and raised his stick in the air.
“Majesty of ours,” he coughed out, “of Croone,” he mumbled again, “Humkar,” he said much to Humkar’s rolling of the eyes, “Majesty presents new Relic!”
Tied up and bloodied, Levon noticed the robes before he got a good look at the face under the soiled hair as they dragged the man’s body along the slates below him.
“You captured a Liege?” he said astonished, feeling his incapability as a Silkri Drake rise up.
“Stabbed him I did,” Humkar said sniggering. “Mercury has him for now.”
“How much?”
“Not enough,” Humkar said licking his lips, “to kill him. Not yet.”
Levon’s eyes grew. “What are your plans? What do you need me to do? How can we bring this place to the ground?” Anger surged through him.
“Mr Sprite, many things are already in place,” the Daem-Raal stated. “But I like the look of you.”
“As I like the look of you.”
It was the first time Levon had seen the Daem-Raal smile. “We head for the mountain. You will converse with our new ally and secure the next piece of the puzzle …”
Humkar’s words were drowned out by the hostage: tumbling and mumbling like an infant below them.
Levon’s eyes locked in on the Liege. The Liege grinned at him profusely.
“It can’t be,” Levon said astonished by the very legend of this man. “Dersji Brikin?”
The Liege laughed up blood.
“The one and the same,” Humkar said.
Energy coerced through Levon’s fingertips. The excitement of bringing a Liege to his knees, reducing him to nothing, was beyond satisfying. It was something that changed his outlook on the anger within him. He felt fuelled by this new mission.
�
��There will be enjoyment in the end,” he said aloud.
“Oh,” Humkar ushered out, “but this is only the beginning.”
Chapter Fourteen: Betrayal
With savagery burning under her skin, the Giliou known as Metrix strode through the blistering desert wind. Levon stood a mountain above her; he cast his eyes out to the horizon. The sun was sweltering on Croone. Water streamed from the Giliou’s eyes and across her cheeks, and red dirt wadded to her skin and hair, stripping her porcelain face and blonde hair of their beauty.
Completely saturated, she flung her tattered and torn azure robe diagonally over her shoulder. Levon stepped further inside the mountain face to avoid being seen; his eyes never leaving her, and still in search of what he so craved.
Profanities shot out of the Giliou’s mouth.
“Fask him. Fask her. Fask them all,” she said with deep malice, yanking the coarse rope that was snug in her right hand.
A grumbling noise followed her. Levon’s excitement grew.
“Keep it moving!” Metrix cried to something hefty she tugged behind her. The thick rope ran from her hand to the neck of her bound and gagged, despondent hostage. The captive’s face slammed into the red dirt with the force of another yank. Scrambling to her knees, tears streamed down the prisoner’s red soiled face under mangled brown hair—Princess Chituma’s chocolate eyes peered up at the Giliou in terror.
The plan had gone exactly as Humkar had stipulated.
Levon emerged from the darkness of Rook Mountain as the Giliou finally made her ascent and met him on the rock platform.
“Ah, good. Giliou Metrix, you’ve made it.”
“What are you?” Metrix said callously. She stared at Levon. His pointy ears and long pointy nose, twitching with eagerness, against his bloodshot black eyes that locked on the skin-and-bones princess.
“I’m Levon,” he said not bringing his eyes to hers.
“I know who you are. I want an exchange, Levon,” Metrix said. “You can have the girl, but I want the Rivalex Mark dead, you understand?”
“Yes,” he smirked. “We have our ways.” His eyes focused on Chituma once again.
“You sound so persuasive,” she said disgustedly, shaking her head at his trancelike stare. “This is about the Mark, damn it.”
Was it? Perhaps more like the desolation of the galaxy. “The Daem-Raal want that door open as much as the Necromancers—the Euclidean Vectors will cease and the Siliou, destroyed.” He sniggered, still watching the young Gorgon.
“If that happens, how will anyone be able to conduct, let alone curve? No Siliou means no-one can use aura?”
“Wise of you to note.” Levon said smugly. He looked out to the vast view of the barren land of Croone. “The Siliou will be infected by the Holom Galaxy. It will no longer manage the movement of the galaxies in and around the universe.”
Metrix frowned. “Is this for every system?”
“My dearest Metrix, due to these Euclidean Vectors being monitored by those scoundrel Felrin, we can’t guarantee the safety of the people. This kind of travel must cease completely.” His hands were now on Chituma, who thrashed about, helplessly trying to get away from him.
Metrix slapped his hands off the princess and he jerked backward in shock and disappointment. “You mean to shut down all Vectors? We would be shut out? Shut off from each other? Why would that make sense?”
“You would be wise to pick a nice planet to dwell on.” Levon smiled, hiding the monstrous side of him that stirred in rage. His ears twitched gleefully at the thought of the Euclidean Vectors being shut down forever.
“My home is Rivalex.” She stared back.
“But is it worth the rest of your life?”
Metrix frowned, scrutinising Chituma, who stared at her mournfully, silently pleading not to be left here.
“Just kill the Mark,” Metrix spat. She threw Chituma to the ground at Levon’s feet, not daring to look at her again. With a flicker of blue sparks, she ‘ported out.
Levon turned to see Humkar emerging from the tunnel, sniggering.
“I don’t know her exact location,” he admitted, “but with her sister’s scent I can project our images to her. She will be here soon enough.”
And the beaming face of the Daem-Raal only got wider.
Chapter Fifteen: Information on the Inside
“We’re coming in too hot,” Materid yelled.
“I feel like this is deja vu,” Darayan groaned.
Materid snarled, “It’s too icy, but the air is—
“Muggy,” Darayan confirmed.
“Rudder is out,” Materid pressed several buttons on the controls. “Part of the hull is severed, the ice from the Vector seems to have penetrated our exterior.”
“Just get us to the ground in one piece.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Materid huffed, with arrogance, “I’m worried that on impact there will be more damage to this thing than it can take and still be the means for us to get out of here.”
“I know the Rivalex Conductor well,” Darayan said. “We’ll Vector home.”
“We left Sali back there you know,” Bodel chimed in.
Darayan frowned, then his body bounced about in the turbulence. “Just strap in.”
“Landing locked and down,” Materid advised, “I’ve slowed the speed but we have no tiller to direct this thing.”
Bodel shot out of her seat. “We’re heading for the forest!”
“The Valley Woods,” Darayan clarified, with sudden calmness. “I know this area,” he said more to himself. And even though he knew the area, he wasn’t comforted by their approaching speed toward it.
“Be a nice burial sight.”
“Put a cork in it, Bodel.”
“I’ve dropped it to thirty, twenty-five, ten …”
Materid kept relaying their velocity and Darayan inhaled, bracing for impact. The top of the Miry trees brushed past them at first, while heavy metal buckled and rocked them. The screeching clatter got worse the closer toward the ground they went.
“I pray my life to Suradika …”
Darayan heard Bodel pray over and over again.
The smaller thuds turned into one giant thud as the left side of the ship collided with a wide Miry.
“Hold on,” Materid grunted.
The next thing Darayan knew, the ship violently spun away from the Miry and sunk its right side into the rough soil, the three silver metallic wings on that side barely holding as they came to a halt.
“Everyone alright?” Darayan asked.
Wheezing and coughing came from behind him. “I’m okay,” Bodel said.
“As am I,” Materid answered, brushing himself down. They crawled out of the scapecraft.
“Much damage?” Materid questioned, as the three of them stood assessing the banked vessel.
Huffing, Darayan scratched his forehead. “I think there is a bit. Starboard side,” he confirmed, stalking closer.
“Why exactly are we here, Duke?” Bodel said waving smoke from her face and squinting at the Miry trees. “What else are you not telling us?”
Darayan could feel Materid’s uncertainty also. “Look, I’ve got a past,” he confessed, “but I am Sarinese through and through, I just need you both to be okay with that.”
Bodel glanced at Materid. “We’ve risked our lives for you.”
“And I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat,” Darayan had never stated anything truer.
Materid breathed out, assessing Darayan with concern. “I trust you,” he finally said.
“Thank you.” Darayan let out with a patient sigh. “Everything I do is in the name of Suradika and for the Sarinese. I hope you both know that. Right now, though, I want to return to the Layos Manor, I want to find out what has been happening since the ambush—”
“What, you want to find out if the Rivalex Mark is still alive?” Bodel said.
Darayan felt his body shiver. “I’ll find out whatever I can.”
; “And what about the scapecraft?” Materid reminded him. “Our Vector generator is shot, and now we have a gaping hole in our hull.”
“The Conductor will get us back to Sari. That I can promise you. But in the meantime, if the store is still open, we can get supplies in town. Follow me.”
A flood of emotions pressed into Darayan as they made their way from the Valley Woods past the Swamp Lands and into Layos. Memories not certain, but smells and sights that once entertained him seemed dull and dilated.
“What the Holom is this?” Bodel said as they entered the outskirts, “a fixer upper?”
“Shut up, Bodel,” Darayan snapped.
“This is a city?”
The place was torn apart. There were Giliou repairing the bailey walls and others rebuilding homes. Darayan was transfixed. Sari was beautiful in sandstone, but Rivalex was normally beautiful in bluestone. There were whole sections of the town completely burned down. His Sarinese comrades remained flanking him, unaware of the invisible support they provided.
Materid cleared his throat. “You used to live here, Duke?”
Pain laced Darayan’s heart not knowing everything about his former life here. “Something like that.”
“Why are people looking at us strangely?”
“Because Layos is in ruins,” Darayan said through gritted teeth, heads popped out from nearby houses that still stood eyeing them, “and I’m guessing the King and Queen no longer run their ostentatious parties at this point.”
“Go figure,” Bodel giggled, “not much to celebrate in this Holom-hole—”
Darayan hissed at her.
“Sorry.”
“Listen, I want to go in there on my own.”
“Where?”
“Into the Manor.”
“And do what?”
“I actually don’t want to be seen, I just want to check on the King and Queen and see how the General is faring.” He kept his words off Kaianan for fear they may ask questions.
“Where can we find metal supplies at least?” Materid said aware the ship still needed the few things they left behind back on Janjuc.
