Consumed with envy from everyone’s talents, Sing had begun to resent her own weapon.
“Asha, I’m jealous…my gun is crap!” she said, running forward with the firearm she took from the slain beast back at the castle.
Asha, appalled, looked quite ill.
“What the hell is this?” Lowering her head with disgust at the pathetic imitation of weaponry, Asha called for Bahzee. She and Teshunua came forward.
“Sweetheart, get rid of this thing for me. Don’t ask what it is, or where it came from. Just chuck it out of the atmosphere, please,” Asha begged.
Bahzee took the gun and hurled it far as possible, watching it become a little black dot then disappearing into the clouds.
“What else have you?” Asha asked. Sing held up her knife.
“You can keep that, dear. Just don’t insult me by harbouring anymore firearms that aren’t made by yours truly,” Asha said, looking her sternly in the eye. “Soon I’ll give you a real weapon. In the meantime, however, you’d do well to not handle such filth like what you just showed me!”
Although Asha was smiling, she could not have been more serious, taking Sing’s actions as a personal insult.
Sing Tzi Yi blushed. Yeeees, mother, she thought.
Zynathian chuckled at Asha’s pride. And she calls me arrogant!
Suddenly everyone ducked to the ground, startled from their tranquility by the explosive surprise of gunfire. Khyeryn and Lyn Sha were far behind, blasting everything in sight. Unaware of the next time they’d be able to practice, they unleashed their new talents upon the surroundings, determined to get in as much time as they could.
“Will you look at those two!” Zynathian shook his head.
“Hey, you taught it to them,” Asha said, blaming him.
Zynathian growled in between a short pause of laser fire. “Get your butts over here!”
They heard, and Lyn Sha leapt over, landing with a thud.
“Hey, wait for me!” Khyeryn yelled from behind, running forward.
When his children were in front of him, Zynathian raised both his heavy, calloused hands.
Whack!
“Ouch!” they groaned, simultaneously.
“What was that for?” Lyn asked, looking at her father who, for some reason, seemed to be infuriated with them.
“What did you two just do? …Think about it!”
Examining themselves, they came to the realization that they had approached the entire family with their guns out. They immediately concealed their weapons and looked down in shame. Zynathian continued to scold them.
“Your new abilities have placed you both into adulthood, prematurely. So as adults you must be responsible with your gifts, especially now that you have the power to take lives! If you can’t do that, you will leave me no other choice than to strip you of your talents, making you just as ordinary as you were before!”
Zynathian saw horror flare in their eyes. Still, he repeated himself. “Do we understand each other?”
They nodded.
Zynathian found himself smiling again. “Oh, and Khyeryn…”
Whack!
“Ouch! Now what did I do?” Khyeryn massaged the back of his head.
“That’s for swearing, young man!”
“When the hell did I swear?”
Whack!
“You swore when Lyn Sha left you in the dust. You’re too young to say ‘shit,’ you little shit!”
At this, Lyn burst into laughter…all too soon.
Whack!
She groaned. “Aw, man…why did I deserve that?”
“You jumped over that waterfall, didn’t you?”
Lyn avoided her father’s gaze. “No,” she lied, looking to the ground.
Whack!
“Don’t fib, Lynnie! You took a foolish leap of faith, and you’re lucky I don’t half-ass my work, otherwise you could’ve died!”
As they made their way to the spacecraft, Khyeryn mused upon his father’s words. He agreed that he and Lyn needed to be responsible with their talents but was unable to believe that Zynathian had just called them adults yet had forbid him to use adult words. Khyeryn spoke up.
“Dad, I think it’s silly that you gave me the power to kill a man but still won’t let me swear!”
Zynathian looked down at his son, knowing that he’d made a valid point, but shrugged his shoulders.
I’m your father, and what I say goes! he thought, grinning.
Khyeryn knew this look and became irritated. “You know, Dad, sometimes your logic annoys the crap out of me!”
“Yeah, that shit is stupid!” Lyn said, agreeing.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
XVIII
A Drug Addict’s Arrangement with Murlach
1
It had been two weeks since all of the Xyecahs were nearly killed. Felix’s hand and nose were in crudely made casts, and as a result, he was healing slowly. He looked hideous, as his right jaw was still a purplish blue and swollen. So it also was with his left jaw, though not as severe. Felix still couldn’t place how that one occurred, and it would remain a secret that only a certain castle physician could explain. Both wounds rendered it most difficult for him to speak.
Helena was a similar mess. Though her ear-to-ear cut was deep, it inhabited the lower half of her neck, allowing her to keep her voice. Nevertheless, she could only speak in a whisper and was forced to keep her mouth shut unless it was absolutely necessary to speak, lest she’d end up bleeding profusely. She covered her wound with a scarf at all times and was confined to a wheelchair, to avoid unnecessary strain.
On the upside for everyone, however, Helena’s odour was less offensive as of late, because the doctors used her wound as an excuse to secretly bathe her, doing so after the bleeding stopped whilst she lay unconscious. Knowing that they would be getting up close and personal with Helena many times during her healing period, they figured they should make it easier on themselves, even if it did mean spells of fainting and constant vomiting while bathing her.
Stubborn fool that he was, Phyllamon refused to wear the setting made for him, and as a result, his nose was a red, swollen mess with its bones healing unevenly, giving it strange and disproportioned deformities. Also, the top piece of his missing scalp had become a thick reddish-brown scab. But still, he could walk and speak coherently, unlike his wife and son.
The downside was that he was even less easy on the eyes than before, for his new teeth made him so. All the injuries they attained could’ve been cared for more efficiently, but because the Xyecahs had made themselves so universally hated, the doctors weren’t inclined to do anything beyond mediocre work.
Helena eyed Phyllamon irritably as Vlajdimir Ghurzblood, head of the local authorities in the neighbouring southern towns of Mashyuvah and the Trio, stood beside her, apologizing for the lack of arrests. Vlajdimir, being a distant relative of Helena’s and head of the law in these parts, had sent out search parties for Sing at Helena and Phyllamon’s behest, but had found nothing. Nor was there the slightest hint or rumour of the beast that attacked Phyllamon, the girl who assaulted Felix, and those villagers who’d injured Zu and slaughtered the rest of his troops. Vlajdimir assured them that every possible course of action had been taken, but he could do nothing more at present. As for the ‘Zynathian’ theory, Vlajdimir didn’t buy it, but he kept this opinion to himself.
He looked over and found Phyllamon’s accusatory eyes sneering at him from a large leather throne within his study.
“You think me mad, don’t you, Vlajd?”
He paced a moment, unsure whether it was wise to answer the question. “Well, you were badly hurt, perhaps…”
“My injuries have not rendered me incapable of rational thought! I am merely telling you what I know…he does exist! You must start taking this serious!”
Phyllamon curled his hand into a fist, strangling an invisible apparition in the naked air before him. Spittle flung through the gaps in the jagged teeth that the
physicians had used to replace for those he lost two weeks previous. (They lied, saying they had no false human teeth available.)
“Forgive my stubbornness…I will scour the earth for him if you wish.”
“You can scour all you want, but I doubt very seriously that we’ll get any reliable answers when using your team!”
Vlajdimir was hurt deeply by Phyllamon’s reproach, as he took great pride in S.C.U.M., a team of abused, mentally unstable, men-turned-soldiers. Scum, or the Sadistic Criminal Unmerciful Masochists, earned their name from their willingness to kill on Vlajdimir’s order. Though he kept them in a stable and treated them like animals, in his opinion, the SCUM still did excellent work and could be quite a threatening force when presented in their full number.
Vlajdimir looked away, insulted. “So, you don’t think well of my men, eh?”
“Do you really need me to answer that?” asked Phyllamon. “Don’t think me unappreciative. It’s only with your help that I am the absolute and dreadfully feared ruler in these parts. But being your benefactor, I do believe that I have some say in how things should be done.”
Vlajd paid close attention, as he did not want to lose the immense fortune that he pocketed every year. He turned to his patron.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Keep your men. Just understand that they are killers, not detectives, so I restrict their tasks to your grounds only. Have them keep your citizens fearful of me, because a day will come when I need to force my will upon them, seeking able bodies for the assimilation of my army,” he finished in an ominous tone, alluding to his plan. Now all he needed was Murlach to deliver on his end, and he could set the wheels of ‘world dominion’ in motion.
“…and as for the search of this man, you will leave it to me. The SCUM are incapable in these respects, for it is not the earth but the clouds above that we must search.”
Phyllamon abruptly rose to leave, being in need of attention from some poor, defenseless maiden about her daily chores in the castle. But he was suddenly interrupted by Helena.
“I’ve already taken care of that,” she whispered, grimacing in pain.
Vlajd and Phyllamon looked at her with curiosity.
“I dispatched Murlach at dawn with orders to search the rubble of that town and not to return until he has found something that will lead to this person. Also, he has a second pair of eyes, because Felix opted to go with him.”
Helena had noticed Phyllamon frown at the mention of Murlach’s name.
“It was necessary, seeing as you both are behaving like five-year-olds and won’t speak to each other!”
With raising her voice, Helena welcomed the immense pain radiating from her neck all throughout her body. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead, as she regained her composure, reminding herself not to put any stress on her injury.
“He nearly bit my finger off, woman! How dare you defend him!” Phyllamon scolded, overlooking Helena’s wisdom and initiative in practical concerns.
Though she was just as adept with concerns of wanton violence, Helena kept more rational than Phyllamon under pressure. She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness and spoke again.
“Perhaps a little something for Vlajdimir, rewarding his most necessary, yet disappointing, updates on our concerns.”
“Yes…you’re right,” he agreed, walking to a brown oak chest, from which he removed a red suede bag of Arhyz rocks.
Upon receiving this, Vlajdimir nodded. “A brief farewell, I bid to both of you…I must be getting back to the wife.”
“Yes, you do that. Give Zephranie our compliments,” Helena wisped, massaging her throat as a handmaiden wheeled her out of the room.
Now that she was gone, Phyllamon and Vlajdimir could speak more frankly with each other. “How is the lady these days?” Phyllamon inquired.
“Beautiful as always, but ever pissed upon any drug or alcoholic beverage at her disposal, the bitch! She becomes more of a pain in my backside with each day that passes!” Vlajd said, frowning.
“I take it there will be no more attempts at children, then. Pity…how will you find an heir to your fortune?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll take my fortune to the grave with me before I attempt another child with that woman!”
He paused, and Phyllamon’s brow wrinkled with curiosity of what Vlajd was getting at.
“It’s been fourteen years now, but I still remember it vividly, and something doesn’t seem right. I couldn’t have been away for more than a few days at most, and upon my return…”
Vlajdimir seemed to lose grip on where he wanted his statement to go. “It’s just…I know there is more to that story. I’m certain of it!”
2
Zephranie, a chronic drug and alcohol abuser, had become so immune to the effects of her habitual substances that she began searching for things more potent. Some years previous, on one of their visits to the Xyecahs, Zephranie (in a foul mood from the lack of toxins in her body) wandered through the halls and happened upon Murlach’s chamber in the bowels of the castle. It was there that she’d find the substance that would completely enslave her and alter the life of another.
“Hello,” she said, amused as Murlach spun around, startled. Zephranie looked about the dark, foul smelling chamber and wondered how he could stand to spend so much time in the room.
It was enormous with wide-topped oak tables, cut short to ‘Murlach’ size, spread throughout. These were covered with glass test tubes, vials, and containers of all shapes and sizes, many of which were filled with strange substances and labeled with warnings: poisonous, depressant, dizzying, flammable, explosive, congestive, hazardous, toxic, or lethal. Amongst those containers were a number of critters; mice, rats, roaches, ants, and many others, scurrying about or dying, as some had gotten into the contents of the tubes.
Zephranie’s eyes widened as a rat rolled over on its back, kicking furiously at the air. The fur on its belly became green, then dark brown, and eventually black, before the rat exploded in bloody fragments. She smiled at this fleeting moment of entertainment.
“I hate it when you sneak up on me like that, Fran!”
“I hate it when you call me ‘Fran!’” She grinned.
“I’ve heard the news. You’re pretty as ever...pregnancy is becoming of you.”
“Whatever,” she said, blowing off his compliment, which meant about as much to her as the child in her womb. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, the usual: concocting solutions that will kill a massive amount of people simultaneously; producing mind and reflex controlling agents to lessen my subject’s defenses if they’re trying to resist me when operating…you know, that sort.”
He paused, rolling his eyes. “In other words, I am doing far more work than what I’m paid for!”
Zephranie looked upon him with curiosity, lending Murlach an open ear for him to vent. For ten minutes he complained about his unappreciated efforts, then finished with: “…and I still have nothing to show for it! My purse is as slim as a fucking straw!”
“He doesn’t pay you well, eh?” She gave a mischievous, bone-chilling grin. “Perhaps we can help each other then?”
“How can I be of assistance?”
“I’m looking for something with a little more…kick,” Zephranie said subtly.
Murlach gazed at the devastating beauty before him, thinking it shameful that she had such an addiction to that which would eventually destroy her. Though stunningly beautiful, Zephranie did, indeed, look as if she had a terminal illness. The drugs and alcohol had marred her appearance ever so slightly, but not enough to be noticeable by those who didn’t know of her habits.
“Frannie, maybe you shouldn’t…” His thought was cut off as he caught a heavy bag of Arhyz that she tossed at him.
“This is just between you and me,” she said. “No one else has to know…you were saying?”
“Uh, yes…well, I have a number of different things here you can try, howev
er, this one here is a beauty,” he said, holding up a medium sized tube, containing a clear blue liquid. “I have no name for it, but in very small amounts, it’s completely safe and quite potent.”
As a plate of food would entrance a person on the brink of starvation, Zephranie seemed hypnotized by the tube. Murlach continued.
“However, you must be sure not to exceed…”
Before he could finish, Zephranie grabbed the tube and drained the contents. Upon finishing, a small cloud of blue vapor floated from her mouth as she exhaled, dissipating into the blackness of the shadowed ceiling of the room.
Murlach was smug with pride as he watched her.
“Feeling quite good, are we?”
“Ohhhhh, yes, Murlach…you’re brilliant! I’ve never felt…this…wonderful,” she said, pacing the room, astonished by the immediate effects of the drug.
Feeling that she needed to be outdoors, Murlach led her from the chamber, outside. Upon entering the garden, Zephranie took on delusions of grandeur, scoffing at her inferior surroundings, expecting even the trees to kneel at her feet...hence, the nature of the drug. It had a tendency to bring out a person’s true character, qualities that one normally kept under control or even hidden.
Murlach followed her around the front side of the castle. When they arrived they found Helena (cradling a three-year-old Felix); her husband, Vlajdimir; Phyllamon and his heavily armed personnel; and a line of about one hundred naked men. They were Phyllamon’s miners, and they had only been stripped as an extra means of humiliation. Phyllamon was chastising them at the top of his lungs.
“I asked who is responsible!” Phyllamon shrieked, knowing that he would get no reply. Truthfully, he already knew who the real culprit was. However, he was so angry that he just had to lay blame on someone, and it was his miners who took it.
Earlier that morning, he’d received messages from three of his most reliable subjects, telling him that his mines had been completely emptied of Arhyz. Unable to believe he had gotten identical stories, he visited all three mines and found each in the same state. The mounds of Arhyz that he’d discovered (which his malnourished miners had been killing themselves working on for several months now) had gone missing. Also, at each burglarized mine, there was a painted wooden sign, carrying a message for Phyllamon.
The Gift of Volkeye Page 22
