by Cara Violet
Several parts lay on the ground next to Bodel. Darayan scooped up the alternator and headed for the lower deck of the ship.
“Thanks,” Materid extended his arm and retrieved the piece from Darayan.
“No worries. How’s it all going?”
“We are not out of the woods yet, and I’m not sure if this thing will run again, I’m just glad the Conductor is an option,” he smirked. Realising Darayan showed no emotion, he asked, “You alright?”
“The Conductor is injured,” he admitted.
“What?”
“She’s indisposed or something, I scoped out a meeting between the Gorgon General and some other Giliou.”
“Giliou?”
“There are insurgents protecting Layos. Forsda seems to be siding with the Felrin.”
“What do the Felrin have to do with this?”
“What don’t they have to do with it?”
“So you’re saying we’re stuck?”
“There is a small group headed for Forsda and they are also sending healers to the watchtower.”
“Okay, so she’ll be healed. Why the long face?”
Bodel had gotten closer to them and Darayan had no choice but to give them the facts.
“Apparently the Defeated King has just been released on Croone.”
“What?” Bodel shot out. “What does that even mean now?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t use the scapecraft yet,” Materid said looking for solutions.
“I don’t know if we should go after this convoy and help them.”
“You haven’t slept in three days, Darayan.”
“What’s sleep when we need to help this planet out?”
“When do the convoy leave?”
“Not sure.”
Materid stopped what he was doing and put his hand over his mouth before speaking.
“Bodel is right, we need to regroup; let’s get some rest,” he said. “We can reassess in the morning.”
Darayan knew he was right. He was no good to the convoy as he was, that included how Layos had just made him feel.
“Will we need watch?” Bodel said through a yawn.
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe there’s anything unsettling in these woods.”
“Fine, I’m taking the Medical bay.”
The ship provided some warmth but the best of it was in that bay. Bodel deserved that much.
“Very well, Materid and I will find a place on the hull.”
Sleep came easy to Darayan; the day’s thoughts evading his mind and providing some relief.
But this time it brought him Daley.
“It’s alright, Darayan.” She rocked his cot. “You were the only survivor because they believed you insignificant. But it is the smallest of mishaps that can create a ripple,” she went on, “you will know who you are one day, you will know who you were and who you have become. You mean something to me and there will be a time when you will need to be someone for someone else.”
Darayan didn’t understand any of it. The old woman was speaking in riddles. But he couldn’t delve any further into the vision.
His nightmare returned. Again, his parents graced his vision, again his father’s bleeding face scarred his insides awake as the vehicle ploughed into his body: his eyes burned open.
Breathlessly, he removed himself from the ship and headed for a quiet spot.
Peace did not come. Not even in the sanctity of the Valley Woods did he feel comfort or freedom. Heavy in his pocket, he plucked the stone locket out into view. Archibel had placed it on her neck, just the once, and it had awakened in him so many memories: painful and overbearing. Then again, Archibel was the caring and kind sort. Never out of malice would she upset him. She remained such a good friend for so long, Darayan simply wished she was beside him every time he’d had these nightmares so at least she could be there to make him feel better.
“Can’t sleep?”
Bodel’s voice echoed over his shoulder.
“No,” he said shielding the locket and not looking toward her.
“Neither can I,” she sat beside him.
The silence hung about uncomfortably between them. Darayan didn’t like it, he cleared his throat.
“About you and I—”
“I’m sorry, Duke,” she said more openly, “that I startled you in your sleep.”
He took his eyes to her, unsure if this cheeky Sarinese was actually apologising to him. Her wide beam suggested she was.
“You know it’s always going to be Polie,” he admitted.
“I know,” she kept her smile, “I’m just glad we’re still friends.”
“I like and respect you as a comrade, Bodel. I always have.”
Her nod brought him comfort and understanding. A repair, a reconciliation that ensured their relationship remained intact.
Bodel lifted herself up and departed, not before laughing and whispering: “Suradika brings the best of people together, and I’m glad we’re in this mess, the three of us, together. There is nowhere else my allegiance would remain than with my comrades.”
It was a fleeting moment that surged through Darayan. A small ounce of confidence that the three of them were just as they used to be, students of the Topazi. And it was enough. Right now, it was enough for him to get the rest he needed. He returned to the ship and fell asleep by Materid, returning the stone locket to the deepest part of his pocket for safekeeping.
Hours later, noise awoke Darayan: sounds of explosion and force ripped through the air.
“What is that?” Bodel’s voice echoed through the scapecraft.
“There’s smoke coming from the city,” Materid said up and scoping out the highest point he could find in the Valley Woods.
Darayan chased after him, debris and smoke soaring out past the mushroom-like field of detonation. “That’s Forsda.”
“Your convoy is already there?”
“Seems as if they’ve caused a ruckus,” Bodel added.
“I’ve no idea what they’ve done.” Darayan felt something move to his right off in the distance.
“Who was that?”
Darayan breathed out. Where the Holom were they? He knew this place, knew the Valley Woods.
“Dersji lives just over there,” he muttered out.
“Who?”
“Someone is there.”
Two thuds flowed through the trees.
Bodel growled, “What is going on?”
Darayan didn’t answer. His body took over. He was running. One foot after the other until—stop! —he hid behind a large Miry tree.
The voices wafted through the air. They were arguing.
“You can’t leave us!” the young boy’s voice called. Darayan slowly edged out past the trunk and saw the young boy, Ryar, standing out the front of Dersji’s cabin. A woman with him—he gulped—Jahzara.
His eyes scanned the distance. Long blonde locks flew about an azure ensemble. Darayan felt his skin crawl. He had to get to him.
Xandou.
But what about Jahzara and the boy, who’d just fled inside Dersji’s cabin?
“Duke,” Materid’s voice spooked Darayan.
“Oh,” he said in relief, “I almost forgot you were both with me.”
“Who are they?”
“One is my friend, the other is a Giliou messenger, and I’m certain the Rivalex Conductor is with them,” he said looking back. “Although she did look worse for wear.”
“Do you know what’s going on in Forsda then?”
“No,” he replied. “But let’s get out of here. Jahzara is our best bet—
Darayan’s body went rigid. Something felt off. The sound of the Woods, the plants and grasses, the birds, all had diminished.
“Hello unknown.” The deep voice fanned through mid-air. Icy chill pressed against Darayan’s skin as he jerked his head around the empty space between the trees.
“Who’s there?” he said. Then his eyes went to his comrades.
Panic laced his voice. “Get to the ship, right now.”
“What are you talking about?” Bodel said agitated. “The Conductor is right there.”
“We are not going to make it,” Darayan breathed out, “I sense—”
“Disorder?” the voice said.
“Just go,” Darayan warned.
And walking out through the stalks of bark, kicking at the mossy ground and clicking his tongue as he approached, was a dark-skinned Liege.
Chapter Eighteen: The Beginning of the End
Darayan had not met a Liege since Dersji. Had not seen the full force of an aura summoning control of other objects, other people, in years. Even Levon’s turn to the Silkri wouldn’t possess the same ability as a trained Liege Shiek using Kan’Ging. Kan’Ging. There was nothing this Liege couldn’t control right now.
“Who are you?”
“Your scent is so peculiar,” the Liege replied. His black pupils’ focus on Darayan had him sweating. “You make my mouth water with curiosity.”
“What do you want?” Darayan’s own eyes scanned over the dark-haired, dark-skinned man, who had rubble and debris all over him; white robes hung off his warrior body, sheathed in Felrin Stealth.
“There was an incident whereby my cruiser was blown up,” the Felrin said. “I am looking for the man in the Woods who can get me home.” The Liege again sniffed the air and shook his head as if disregarding the strange smell omitting from Darayan. “Tut tut, be snappy with your answer.”
Frowning, Darayan lifted his aura closer to him in case he needed it—which he knew was inevitable. “What would a Felrin Liege be doing scouting the Valley Woods of Rivalex?”
“Hmm,” the Liege shot a snarl his way. “I’ve no time for games. Where did that stupid Giliou and the Conductor go?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Darayan lied, terribly.
“Hmm,” the Liege stepped closer, assessing the Valley trees and then suddenly his eyes widened on Darayan in recognition. “Well, well …. your smell is familiar not just peculiar …. and I know that look, I’ve seen it before,” he smirked eagerly, “and here I was told you had abandoned your home, like the rest of your pathetic family.”
“I—”
“Your preform blood is unwisely unmasked. I suggest you work on that. Question is, what exactly are you doing here, young man? Why have you returned?”
Preform blood? The Liege was pacing now; side to side; Darayan followed his movements round the clearing in mystification.
“Speak up, swine,” the Felrin joked. “You’re no use to me a mute, but you’re quite the catch for the Felrin Congress, I would believe.”
Suspicion seized Darayan. Like he’d met this man before and he’d lost the fight. Retreat beckoned. “I’m leaving—” He turned.
“So you have a way to leave also,” the Liege reappeared in front of Darayan, purple smoke dissipating in his wake and forcing Darayan back a step. “Maybe I don’t need the Conductor, maybe I just need you.”
“I don’t think so,” Darayan ushered out, putting distance between them.
“But you haven’t told me, Ferak Jarryd, where Xandou was headed?”
The name sent a rod through Darayan’s brain, jamming it up. It’s like the Liege was toying with him. Wanting him to remember. “I don’t know,” he said confusedly yet honestly.
“Can’t you feel the movement?” Ferak clenched his fist out in front of him. “What is coming, feel the unsettlement of that planet?”
Croone. Darayan felt his chest tighten recalling the conversation he’d overheard back at the Manor. Yes, he felt it, he felt so much, but it was all broken pieces. Kaianan was one part of it. But that planet, something was happening there right now. Something was going on. That’s what was bugging him. Was the Defeated King there with Kaianan? Released because of her?
“Who are you?”
“You know, don’t you?” Ferak’s eyes narrowed, white teeth bared against his vicious grin. “Or has it slipped your mind like everything else?”
Parts flashed through his mind, the day in the room, in the bluestone room, his mother howling, his brother crying. He was there. This Felrin was in the room when his brother was born, when his mother died. Anger burned through his veins. Darayan ran, and in a movement so swift, he had his blade out, glimmering in the Rivalex sun through the trees, and headed for the Liege.
“Who are you?” Darayan yelled, thrusting his blade towards the Liege—who simply shrugged and recoiled away from him. Darayan went at him again, and again. As often as the rage surfaced. But it was no use.
Deft footwork outwitted him; the Liege was too agile, side to side he spun, in and out of every move Darayan fed him. And, just for the fun of it, the Liege spun his lavender aura around branches and shrubs and flung them at Darayan.
Laughter echoed from Ferak’s lips.
“Duke!”
Bodel’s voice sounded. The Liege dropped his defences and stared after her; a large Vera bush hitting Darayan in the face.
“Here I was scouting the Valley Woods for one traitor in Xandou, and I sniff out another rat scoundrel,” Liege Jarryd said. “What is with you defiant Rivalians?”
“What did you do to my mother?” Darayan said rising, wiping his face, tears still stinging his eyes.
Ferak sniggered. “Nothing she didn’t want.”
“I’ll kill you!”
“Oh, young Darayan, how you will be detained with great pleasure. The Congress can’t change my orders now. One traitor is still a traitor, although yours is against your own people, right?”
The probability of Darayan winning against a Liege was futile. Especially while the Felrin kept up his sport of throwing whatever he could at him. The only way for Darayan to get an edge would be to keep the Liege distracted.
“Wait!” Darayan raised his hands up in defeat.
“What?” Ferak halted, cocking his head in confusion. “Giving up already? You’re nothing like your sibling, are you?”
“What?”
“Are you giving up, Darayan?”
Darayan’s blood roared in fury. His skin crawled with eagerness to decapitate the Liege—but now was not the time, his anger got him nowhere. Darayan inhaled a quick breath and, for once, kept his composure.
“What happened in Forsda?” he asked, knowing Bodel and Materid were, at that second, desperately trying to get the scapecraft going.
“Forsda?” Ferak sheathed his blade with boredom., “Perhaps you should know we are down one gatekeeper.”
“What happened to Jahzara?”
“Well you see, she was in our care, but your friend Xandou is hiding somewhere in these woods with her,” Ferak’s eyes sparkled, “but now you’re here, I can sense you brought someone with you. Someone still remains.”
“What?”
Ferak sniffed the air with his long beak, black, oily strands falling on his face. “Yes, your gatekeeper is here.”
Panic stabbed at Darayan. Where the Holom was Sali now? Had he escaped Janjuc? Got back on their scapecraft again without him noticing?
“Perhaps he will provide you protection when he observes me ripping your head off for wasting my damn time!” One swift movement and Ferak was in the air, alight in his dark lavender aura, the spectacular Kan’Ging twirling at Darayan; his own dusty orange aura fired up seconds before Ferak’s direct hit.
The spinning circumference of his sparking aura didn’t last. Ferak’s Kan’Ging burned against Darayan and dropped him to his knees.
“Ah, the poor weak Gorgon,” Ferak clenched Darayan around the wrists and singed his Kan’Ging through him. Distorted glints of lavender morphed through the subsiding glimmers of his dusty orange second skin.
It was then Darayan felt his body give way; Ferak lowered his head and hissed—
“Enough,” the words snaked out around them.
“Ah,” Ferak straightened and unhanded Darayan, still glowing with Kan’Ging. “So nice of you to show up.”
“Leave the
boy.”
“Oh, I’ve no plans to hurt him.” Liege Jarryd scanned his perimeter, unable to pinpoint Sali’s location. “My Congress are indeed interested in his family tree …” Ferak kept patrolling the clearing. “but I’m interested in you, Conductor. You see I must return to Felrin, and I’m down a cruiser.”
“Only one shall enter.”
The voice wafted above them. Darayan, barely breathing, squinted up at the levitating monk in mid-air.
“Hmm,” the Liege licked his lips. “You seem a bit holographic? I wonder, is that the real you?”
Kan’Ging fired from the Liege’s fingertips; smoke squandered the monk and Darayan knew it was just a decoy.
“Only one shall enter,” this time the bald-headed monk stepped forward from the trees, his burgundy robes and mustard tassels blending against his Sarinese skin.
“Well, it will be me,” Ferak chimed in, smiling over his shoulder. “How nice to meet you, Conductor of Sari.”
“I give cause for one.”
Unsure of what that meant, Darayan rolled over and faced the monk.
“I’ll get my ship,” he whispered to the Conductor, but as he spoke, he realised he could hear it. The engines were on, it must have already been ignited.
“I am going to return to Felrin,” Liege Jarryd’s Kan’Ging aura was so bright and wild, Darayan had to shield himself from its sparks.
“Of course,” Sali said to Ferak. “But we all must know: Miss Archibel is on Whidal, her life set to end.”
Palpitations rocketed through Darayan’s heart. Did Sali just say Archibel’s life was set to end?
“I said” Ferak snorted, “I will return to Felrin!”
Sali suddenly split his hands wide—
“Wait!” Darayan called, able to lift his torso.
From his fingers, Sali had spread open a huge Euclidean Vector. Smoke billowed into the clearing; Liege Jarryd was stalking toward Darayan.
“You will not touch the boy,” Sali demanded, holding his palm up to the Liege who was stopped in his tracks.
“Mind games,” Ferak spat.
By this stage the engines had become louder. To his left, the scapecraft soared into view, Materid and Bodel staring at Darayan from the cockpit as they approached.
