Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  Cyrus went to his father while Crystil went to Erda, who had not suffered quite as much strain as everyone else had. He squatted down and patted his dad’s shoulder.

  “You OK Pops?”

  “It’s not nearly as bad as what I’ve been through,” the Emperor said with a shake of the head and a shiver.

  That left the tired, weakened and distraught Celeste, whom Cyrus quickly ran over to. Everyone else kept a respectful distance, allowing Cyrus the chance to finally comfort her.

  “Is this…”

  “It’s real, Celeste,” Cyrus said, looking into her eyes which didn’t trust anything. I will find Typhos, and I will kill him. You don’t deserve this, Celeste. You stayed strong to us, and your reward was to trust nothing of reality. He tried to help her up, but she resisted.

  “I just want to sleep,” she said, and Cyrus acquiesced, dropping her gently to the ground as she closed her eyes. He turned back to the group, all of them looking on sympathetically. Monda’s going to have to wait. I’m not risking my sister for people I don’t know. He walked past them and to the edge of the peak, looking out over the planet.

  Would I give an entire civilization for her? Is that worth it? If she doesn’t get over this for days, or even weeks… Yeah. I can live with that. Many have died already. For Celeste… what’s a few more?

  “We cannot wait forever,” Erda said in a warning tone, her words a clear reflection of reading Cyrus’ mind. “Typhos may bluff in torture, but he does not bluff in execution.”

  “We can’t win without Celeste,” Crystil said. “The power that man possesses in battle, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. And he barely used his magic on us.”

  “He likes to demoralize opponents by his sheer strength if he can,” Erda said. “You are correct, Crystil. Celeste fully recovered can win this battle with all of us together. A weakened Celeste, and we die. That is why I’ve made the decision by myself to go back to Monda.”

  Cyrus turned and hurried to her. I am not losing another parent when I thought I had none.

  “Absolutely not. I don’t want to think of the things Typhos will do to you.”

  “I don’t either, but I don’t want to live with more blood on my hands. The deaths brought about by Typhos already burden me, for it was my failure as… a council member to note his descent into madness and help him accordingly. I had many opportunities to stop him, and I did not. I have one here.”

  Cyrus mumbled, “No,” and shook his head. He glanced at Crystil and Pops, trying to see if they agreed with him, and their expressions seemed grim, with taut lips and narrowed eyes. Because they agree with her, or because they don’t want to see her go? He looked back at Erda and saw a mother resigned to her fate, one who had made this decision from the moment Typhos offered her sacrifice as a chance to stop the madness.

  “But you’re not stopping him. I don’t even think you’re slowing him down.”

  “He’s right, Erda,” Celeste said, surprising everyone as she rose, resting on her shins. Her eyes could barely stay open, and her voice sounded like she hadn’t had water in weeks. “The pain that Typhos is feeling right now isn’t something that he’s going to recover from by killing you or me or anyone else. He’s just going to continue the carnage on new worlds.”

  “Whatever, planets, no planets, the only thing that I care about is keeping an eye on Typhos while Celeste recovers,” Cyrus said. “Erda, if you go, it will be without the recommendation of us. We can’t stop you, but we would hate to think that you came back in our lives just to vanish to our worst nightmare. Celeste, rest. Let us know when you feel ready. If it’s tomorrow, we fight Typhos tomorrow. If it’s in a week, we accept the reality of the situation and fight in a week.”

  “And if it doesn’t happen?” Emperor Orthran said.

  “Your daughter has developed some serious guts since we left Monda the first time, Pops. She’s not the nervous, hesitant little girl that she was then. She’s… she’s someone I would follow.”

  “As would I,” Crystil added.

  A proud smile came across the Emperor’s face, and his eyes moistened.

  “Then we wait,” he said.

  63

  Celeste closed her eyes long before anyone else had lied on the ground.

  But she couldn’t fall asleep.

  Little girl, this is all an illusion, she heard the voice of Typhos saying. You will soon wake up, in your prison cell, and realize that I have created this false world for you. You had such hope, and just like… that.

  She opened her eyes, gazing up at a dark blue sky providing the first hints of a sunrise that seemed anything but beautiful to Celeste. She looked at everyone else, sleeping comfortably on the smooth surface. Cyrus snored, giving Celeste a much-needed moment of levity. Crystil slept near him, not quite touching, but close enough that if either rolled over they would. Her father—I still can’t believe he’s here. That’s… that’s impossible—rested near the stairs, with Erda about ten feet to his right. Erda was not sleeping either.

  What now, child? The deep voice picked back up. Celeste couldn’t tell if she imagined the voice, or if Typhos was speaking to her. You will wake up in the void. You will see your friends dying, Calypsius returning, and the glory of my desecration of both Monda and Anatolus. You will sit in your cell, unable to do anything but cry and watch.

  No!

  She tried chasing the thoughts away by imagining more positive moments. Cyrus and I training. Crystil and Cyrus laughing and flirting with each other. Dad being here. But they all looped back to Typhos, and she could not shake the visuals that peppered her mind. Calypsius. The faceless mask. The bony hand. The death of the guardian.

  She hated that she did not have all her strength and that literally hundreds would die as a result. But we’re not sending anyone over.

  And you would let your species die instead?

  Cyrus woke first and immediately walked over to Celeste. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, but Cyrus sat next to her, gently patting her back.

  “You never were a good liar,” he said, which brought a needed smile to the young girl. She saw the nasty red scar on his shoulder, the tear on his suit revealing the damage. He noticed her gasping at it and shrugged. “Flesh wound. I think it adds authenticity. Like, yeah, I’m a warrior, aren’t I awesome?”

  Celeste tried not to laugh and wake others up, but she couldn’t help herself and buried her face to the ground.

  “Watch out, Crystil Bradford, there’s a new warrior in town, and he’s not afraid to parade his glorious battle tattoos around!”

  “That’s what you call them?” Celeste said, her grin now practically frozen on. “Battle tattoos? That’s the most Cyrus thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “I mean, just calling them scars is so boring and unoriginal. Crystil knows many people with scars. But battle tattoos? I bet no one has ever described them like that.”

  Celeste laughed, speechless but happy to see Cyrus hadn’t lost his cockiness. And to see him talk about Crystil like that… it keeps them both in the right mind. This is good. I just need to get there. I think I will.

  Eventually.

  She looked over to see her father approaching. Just like the old days. Dad coming to wake me up from sleep.

  “Morning Celeste,” he said as he kneeled down and kissed her on the top of the head. “You OK?”

  “Better,” she said. “It’s nice having you guys here.”

  Assuming it doesn’t get taken away.

  She could not shake the voice of Typhos in her head, imagining what he might say in such a spot. It’s weaker, though.

  She looked at her father and saw the same moist eyes from the night before.

  “I never thought I’d get to have this day again,” he said. Celeste hugged him tight, sending her father into sobs. She, too, broke out into tears, joyful tears.

  “I thought you’d died when the explosion came,” Celeste said. “I went into hibernation believ
ing you had died a horrible death.”

  “I thought every day of the two of you,” her father said, and she briefly opened her eyes to see Cyrus walking away, a sniffle coming from him. “Every moment when Typhos hurt me and one of them attacked me, I thought of you two. I always hoped… I hoped that if you ran into Erda, you might be able to find a way back. I didn’t know how things would work, but I just hoped. And…”

  “It worked,” Celeste said into his shoulder as she kept her head buried.

  The father and daughter remained embraced, tears flowing freely. Don’t ever do this again, Dad. Don’t ever send us off without you coming. If I have to rescue you again, I’ll have a word with you.

  Finally, her father pulled back, and Celeste slowly stood. If ever Typhos were to release this moment… She closed her eyes, half-expecting Typhos to rip the metaphorical curtains back to reveal the void.

  It never came.

  She was free, truly free.

  “You OK?” Cyrus said from a few feet away.

  Celeste smiled widely, the cheerful grin that she constantly had after the death of Calypsius finally back.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “I’m still tired. I’ll still think about it. I’m not great. But I’m OK, and that’s better than where we were before.”

  “Got that right,” Cyrus said as he walked over to Crystil. “Maybe you can join me in getting battle tattoos.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes humorously, looking back at her father, who could not match the girl in wideness of smile but met her in emotions experienced.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked in response to the perplexing look on his face.

  “I don’t think you know this, but Cyrus found out and you should know. Erda is your mother.”

  That’s…

  I wish she’d said something. Leaving us out to figure it out ourselves. But the way she’s been…

  “She always acted like a mother to me, so it seems more natural than anything. I guess she’s trying to make up for lost time. I… I always figured she would be beautiful and sweet. And Erda is that.”

  “Among other things,” he said with a slightly bitter tone that Celeste wanted to know more about. Not my place, though. He’ll talk about it eventually.

  “It’s weird, it definitely is. But for right now… let’s just enjoy it, OK?”

  Her father relaxed as Celeste hugged him once more, not ready to think of another battle with Typhos where she might lose a loved one again.

  64

  “Did you hear me talk about my battle tattoos?”

  Crystil rolled over with a bemused smile on her face, one that belied how long she’d actually eavesdropped.

  “It’s not as original a line as you’d think, hate to burst your bubble,” Crystil said with a short laugh, drawing a disappointed reaction from Cyrus. “It’s OK, though. It’s a good look. It shows that you’re fighting and not just in a kid’s simulations against multiple enemies.”

  “Yeah, that’s—wait, what, kid’s simulations?”

  “Duh, on Omega One? That was for kids. You would’ve gotten massacred if you fought three real opponents.”

  Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, couldn’t, shook his hands in front of him in frustration, and groaned to the sky. Crystil stood up laughing and lifted him from the crouched position.

  “You’re fine, Cyrus. You’ve come a long way since. You’ve even, I daresay, matured some in that time.”

  “That is a daring statement!” Cyrus said. “I’m still the same guy who talks about battle tattoos.”

  “Perhaps. But you’re also the same guy who put everything—everything—to the side to rescue Celeste and was willing to fight a far stronger and more skilled opponent to let her escape. If you’re that guy, you can talk about battle tattoos all you want.”

  He put aside us, even when I tried despite the situation. He ran in head first to the temple, without any regard for the danger. He fought Typhos and took a substantial hit. He fought against Calypsius for me. He rescued both of us from certain death. He’s…

  A real special kind of guy.

  “So do you think I should get a second battle tattoo?”

  A really, really special kind of guy.

  “Only if you can get a kill mark on your ledger for Typhos.”

  “Ohhh, you have a kill ledger? Can I see it? Do you sometimes wish I was on it?”

  “More than you would wanna know,” Crystil said.

  Cyrus laughed and turned back at everyone. Celeste and Emperor Orthran were sharing a tight, emotional embrace that tugged at Crystil’s stomach.

  I just wish I got a reunion like that. As good as Cyrus is…

  He’s not Dyson.

  And he never will be. I need to accept that. It won’t prevent me from seeing where things could go.

  “Forgive me for asking, Crystil, but when you see that…”

  “Yes,” she said, preempting his question. “Absolutely. A hundred percent, I wish I still had that.”

  A long pause came as they watched Erda rise and join the father and daughter in conversation. It became apparent from afar that Celeste and Erda were discussing their relationship. It also became clear that the conversation was not bitter—never is with Celeste.

  “Do you think you could still have it?”

  We’re about to have that talk, aren’t we, she thought as her stomach fluttered.

  “I do. I do. I still love Dyson and always will, but I also have room for more in here,” she said, tapping her chest.

  Then she asked the question she knew would get Cyrus to open up.

  “Why?”

  The quick sigh and knowing smile came over his face told Crystil, and they’d get it out now.

  “It should come as no surprise to you, Crystil, that I find you fascinating and a wonderful woman,” he said. It doesn’t. You’re a guy, you’re blatant. “And there’s a large part of me—no, really, all of me—wants to charm you and see where we could go. I admit, it was a tough sell when you punched me in the gut. But you warmed up over time, I stopped being a moron, and here we are.”

  He sighed, and Crystil knew what was holding him back held her back.

  “But I only have one focus right now.”

  “Defeating Typhos.”

  They both nodded, their lines of thinking synchronized.

  “There’s no room to explore love when hatred directly affects your current relationships,” Cyrus said. “Until Typhos is gone, and I know my family is safe, and Monda won’t suffer any casualties…”

  “I get it,” Crystil said. “There’s a time and a place for everything. It’s just the time is not right.”

  “So the place is?” Cyrus said with a wink.

  “Funny man,” she said. “Perhaps. But for now…”

  “We help Celeste recover, and we battle Typhos.”

  Crystil nodded in agreement, and the butterflies in her stomach vanished into the high mountain air. That felt good. We’ll come back to it someday. Today’s not the day, and tomorrow probably isn’t either. But someday isn’t far off. Things will come to an end soon.

  “How is she, by the way?”

  “Seems better. She’ll need to prove that she’s recovered, though. Magic is more mental than anything else.”

  “Like so many things in life,” Crystil said with a gentle elbow to his side. “But hey, we gotta get food.”

  As she spoke, Celeste left her parents and joined the two of them. She looked at both of them with a neutral expression and got a knowing smile, causing Crystil to blush.

  “Breakfast?” she said. “Or do you guys have plans already?”

  “We do,” Crystil said. “But that’s for dinner. Come with us, let’s go eat.”

  Celeste led them down to the spot where they could teleport, Crystil never walking more than a step ahead or behind Cyrus.

  65

  Emperor Orthran watched as his children and his bodyguard vanished from sight, a feeling that did not bring
nearly as much pain as the last time had. He knew they would return—with good food, on top of that—and he did not have to pray that they’d survive on a new world.

  And it’s because she took care of them.

  He turned back to the woman he had once loved so intensely. Facing her now brought back a potpourri of emotions that he could not distil into a single feeling. He felt gratitude to see her alive—much older, and war-weary, nothing like the beautiful woman he had once known, but still alive. He felt anger for why she had left him, even as their son was just an energetic five-year old and their daughter no more than a couple of days old. He felt sadness that she had not accomplished what she had set out to do.

  He felt confused as to how he should react to seeing her again.

  “Caius,” she said as she walked over, clearly uncertain as well.

  “Erda,” he said.

  “It’s been, what, over twenty years?”

  “Something like that. You’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.”

  “And you’re still as oblivious to the fact that I can read your thoughts as you were then,” she said with a warm smile. “It’s OK. I’ve been through too much in the last several years. If I still looked like I did then, it would mean I didn’t care about all lives lost because of my failure.”

  “Stop,” the Emperor said as he closed the gap, but still maintained a distinct distance.

  “You know this failure goes back to before we met.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Erda clearly didn’t want to continue the discussion, with Emperor Orthran knowing the pain that lay on the far side of their tale. He dropped it and sighed, staring at her eyes—the one part of her, he thought, which had not aged so dramatically. She still had the same beautiful blue eyes that he’d fallen in love with, and a semblance of the old smile that she had—always joyful, always present, mouth slightly agape so it looked more like a resting expression instead of a reactive one.

  “Do you think our children will repeat my mistakes?” Erda said.

  The emperor gently shook his head.

  “They weren’t just your mistakes, Erda. You are not the only one to have pushed your children away on the premise that something mattered more.”

  “Except your decision—”