The Gift of Volkeye

by Marque Strickland

  As Murlach went closer, Phyllamon found that he hadn’t been deceived, and he gnashed his teeth with rage, contorting his lacerated face so that his wounds bled further.

  Jix was in pain but was still able to fly. He’d positioned himself atop Zynathian’s vessel, awaiting the outcome of this event. He watched Zynathian pace about the platform. The man wanted to kill Phyllamon so badly that he was shaking!

  Suddenly, Maugrimm’s voice came in on everyone’s comlinks. Zynathian got the message, and he realized that he was going to have to forgo his greatest desire, once again. Angered liked never before, he grabbed a round chrome object and began speaking into it. His voice was magnified one hundred times over, echoing throughout the distance.

  “Phyllamon! From this point forward, you’ll have to run from me, every day of your life, as your antics will no longer be tolerated! If you so much as stop to breath, you’ll look behind you and see we—the Volkeyes—the smiting right hand of God, sent to deliver justice to you! Observe what is to, one day, become of you!”

  At this, he turned to his children. “Do what you must! Think of all that has been done on account of Phyllamon and his family. Have no mercy!”

  Though this family would never have dreamt of harming an individual unless their hand was forced, they realized that sometimes bloodshed was necessary in order to benefit the good of mankind. All too often in life were there people, who refused to do what was right, simply because what was right happened to be immoral. These people often forgot that the need to protect many was a much greater cause than protecting their own self-righteous, saintly images. However, the Volkeyes were no such family.

  Bahzee, who decided to take her turn last, lifted Felix by his hair from behind. Sing stepped forward and shoved her knife deep in his stomach, twisted it and then yanked it loose. His blood sprayed sloppily, showering the environment like a split garden hose.

  Lyn Sha followed Sing, blowing off his arms at the shoulders. The limbs flew some many feet away, falling to the earth below. Next up was Teshunua, and he took his time, not wanting to be selfish. He spoke into his comlink.

  “Khye…Khyeryn…can you hear me? I know you’re sleeping, but you have to wake up for this.”

  For several seconds, there was nothing. Then finally, Khyeryn answered back, yawning.

  “Tesh, I’m here…whatever it is that Khyetarah Vyx Mune has in his blood…it’s extremely special, because I can’t feel any pain! …It’s like I still have legs to walk on!”

  Khyeryn yawned loudly once more, and then he was suddenly alert. “Wait, where are you all? What’s going on? Is everyone alright, Tesh?”

  “Don’t panic, were fine. I just thought you should know that we’re about to kill Felix. Is there anything you wish to say to him?”

  There was a long silence. On the other end, Khyeryn was trying to come to grips with what he’d just heard, unable to believe that he wasn’t there to partake of this event! Finally…

  “Felix,” he said, as Teshunua placed his wrist next to Felix’s ear, “you reap what you sow! Rot in hell!”

  “Well said, cousin.”

  “Teshunua, do me a favour. His legs…take them…just like mine were.”

  “All right…see you soon, Khye,” Teshunua said, ending the transmission.

  Felix was still conscious and squirming, dangling about from Bahzee’s grip.

  “Please don’t! I can’t take anymore!” Felix begged, choking on his blood from the stab wound.

  They ignored his pleas.

  Teshunua blew off each leg from the thigh down, and Felix’s cries echoed into the distance. Then he looked Felix directly in the eye, thinking of a horrid story that Lyn Sha had told him recently about seeing a recording of Felix and his father violating a young girl to the point of death. He addressed the issue.

  “I hate rapists, Felix. You’re the lowest of human beings. Let me show you what you all deserve.”

  Teshunua yanked off the remainder of Felix’s legless trousers and then his boxer shorts. Felix knew what was coming next, and he was howling.

  “No, no, nooooooooo, please don’t!” he squealed, as Teshunua’s weapon transformed from gun to clawed, metal hand. Felix turned his head, unable to look anymore.

  At this, Teshunua reached below and dug his claws into the groin area and ripped off Felix’s genitalia, tossing it into the trees. Had the areas not been deserted, everyone in Mashyuvah and the Trio would’ve heard Felix bawling. At first, his cries began as long, drawn out, masculine roars, but by the end of his wailing, they’d become soft, high pitched notes, giving one the impression that he might’ve been practicing for choir as a soprano.

  Teshunua left Bahzee to her business.

  “And this, Felix, is on behalf of my precious, Nhad!” Bahzee said with tears falling from her eyes.

  She turned to face Phyllamon and Helena, suddenly pulling Felix’s head away from his body. As Felix’s torso fell to the earth, Bahzee held the head high in the air like a trophy. The spinal column swung back and forth.

  “Have a last look at your son, Phyllamon!” she said, hurling the head through their windshield like a football.

  Though Jix was intelligent like no other member of his species, his primitive feline characteristics rendered him a love or hate type of individual. There was no in-between with him. As a result, he was insensitive to those he disliked and had a twisted sense of humour. Herein laid his dismissal of the pain he was currently in, as he let out a series of piercing chirrups and yowls, laughing harder than ever before.

  By the gods, this is absolute comedy! Jix exclaimed.

  Murlach lost control, nearly crashing the hover into the castle when Felix’s head landed in his lap. He was shouting with disgust like someone had wiped a booger on him. “Get it off me! Get it off me!” he cried.

  Helena was hysterical, bawling and uttering a volley of incoherent phrases. Phyllamon was silent. He took his son’s head and emptied a bag of Arhyz, placing the head within. As they fled into the distance with the Arhyz-filled hover at their side (following by remote), he put the blood-soaked bag in his lap. Phyllamon then calmly sat back and closed his eyes. Despite Murlach and Helena’s hysterics, he himself wouldn’t utter another word for days to come.

  **

  All but Zynathian stood in a tight hug. Some of them were crying, never having been so emotionally vexed before. It was all just too much for one day.

  As the platform pulled back into the vessel, Zynathian took the pilot’s seat. As he raced above the treetops, rushing to attend the wounded servants, he realized that they had, this day, altered the future.

  But for better or worse?

  Zynathian knew it would take years for Phyllamon to recover from everything he’d lost this day…

  …but when he does recover, he’ll be all the more terrible for it! Zynathian thought to himself, shivering.

  His biggest worry was Murlach. He knew that once a scientist gained a bit of knowledge, they never forgot it. Never. So the fact that Zynathian had recovered his journals meant nothing. God only knew how dangerous Murlach would become if he took the ideas from the journals and began to apply a bit more imagination to them!

  …After all, he does have a great mind!

  He then made his decision. No matter how unfair it was to the peace of mind of his family or the refugees he’d saved, Zynathian knew it was foolish to coast happily through life, while minds like Murlach’s and hearts like Phyllamon’s were left to roam the world unchecked. That was the mistake he’d made before…look what it got him! Yes, as soon as the dead were buried, and the wounded, healed…

  We must hunt them!

  Epilogue

  They honoured the dead and held burial services the next day. The morning following the funeral, Zynathian and family, plus a few friends, set off for the skies. It was now a whole day since they arrived home, and though three full nights had passed since the fight at Marcleese, everyone was still numb with angst over the losses.
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  There were none quite so distraught as Peenuhs Dickery, for he’d lost eight of his boys. Zynathian had invited him; his wife, Daphnie; and Seth and Samuel, the remaining two sons, back to his home for a while. Accompanying them was Rosa Lee and her son, Nicolas, who wanted to help look after Khyeryn; Annie, who wouldn’t be separated from Nicolas; her mother, Sam; and Reena and her fiancé, Lux (both of whom accompanied Nigel as a means of looking after their cousin, Alex, who’d lost an arm and leg in the battle). Also here for treatment were the two servants from Phyllamon’s castle. Luckily, Zynathian was able to stabilize them before it was too late.

  Now, presently having put their sadness aside for just a moment, the entire family and friends stood inside Zynathian’s lab, entertaining polite conversation. Maugrimm had just entered, carrying Annie. They’d become good friends over the last few weeks.

  “Mawg, dude, are you tryin’ to put the moves on my woman?” Nick asked.

  “Waddaya’ mean tryin,’ sonny, me already took her from ya’…she wanted a real man!”

  “Is this true, Ann?”

  “Of course not!” Annie said, giggling, as she climbed down and ran to Nick’s arms.

  Nick winked at Maugrimm. “Nicolas, the ten-year-old, gun-toting playboy could never lose his woman!” he said.

  Several of them were in stitches at this.

  “That boy has been taking lessons from me!” Khyetarah Vyx Mune said, burping, as he leaned over to gobble up another of Belch’s famous onion rolls. These were Khyetarah’s favourite, and since they wouldn’t be returning to the Igloo for awhile, Belch cooked up a batch and sent them along.

  “My God, Khyetarah, please keep that horrid onion breath to yourself!” Zynathian said.

  Sing and the other two ex-servants of Phyllamon’s, Dorcey and Pema (the woman, who’d been stabbed in the stomach with a tentacle), all glanced at each other, smiling. They had quite a few stories to tell about bad breath, if that was indeed where the conversation was going!

  “Zynathian, if you were ever so unfortunate to get a whiff of Helena’s breath, you wouldn’t mind Khyetarah’s at all!” Dorcey laughed, in a sluggish stupor. Because of Zynathian’s special painkiller, he (like Khyeryn) wasn’t in any physical discomfort. He was merely exhausted.

  “Is this the woman I’ve seen on video?” Zynathian asked.

  “Yes, Phyllamon’s wife…the one who was in the hover with him. Zynathian, I’m telling you, all she had to do was exhale once, and you’d get burns as bad as the ones Teshunua had,” Sing said. They all laughed.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  “No joke,” Pema said.

  “Shit, that must be some damn smelly ass breath!” Khyeryn said.

  Whack!

  “Ouch, Dad!” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “You could have a little more sympathy on the temporarily crippled, goddammit!”

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  Khyeryn lay there, rubbing the back of his head while the others laughed. Peenuhs, however, wasn’t fairing as well as his wife and sons, who were only able to laugh for a moment, simply because they’d already shed so many tears. He, himself, hadn’t cried at all yet but simply shut down.

  Upon learning of his son’s deaths, he swore off the bottle for all time, realizing life was too precious to spend it destroying his liver. He hadn’t had a sip of anything other than water since he received the news, and the fact that his body was going through withdrawal, added to his moodiness, making the pain all the more difficult to contain. It had finally begun to take its toll on him, and he got up to exit the chamber before he burst into tears in front of everyone. Zynathian noticed.

  “All right there, mate?”

  Peenuhs collapsed. He looked up at Zynathian, shaking his head.

  “I can empathize with your pain. Remember, I lost my wife, Ya Minj, to circumstances beyond my control. It’s hard right now, I know, but it does get easier, I promise,” Zynathian consoled.

  Thankful for his kind words, Peenuhs got up to leave the room. Daphnie followed, as to look after him.

  The entire room was silent once again, taking on a somber note. The Dickery boys, fighting back their own tears, went to Khyeryn and kissed him on each side of his face, then gave him nuggies on his forehead. Khyeryn’s cheeks and ears went apple red. It seemed that he and Teshunua had become members of the Dickery family, as a means of compensation for Seth and Samuel’s lost brothers.

  “Good luck, little brother,” Seth said to him as Samuel gave Khyeryn a big smile. Seth then looked to Alex, Pema, and Dorcey, wishing them the same. They turned to leave, and Zynathian addressed the others.

  “It’s time, everyone,” he said.

  At this, the room cleared with the rest of the family wishing them all successful operations and speedy recoveries. Asha remained behind, because she was going to be helping Zynathian with the operations. Just then, a dozen Mechs entered the lab. Leading the team was Marcia, Fritz, and Bazu, Zynathian’s three favourites.

  “We’re going to work on you first, Pema, as your procedure is the simplest. Though I took care of your pain three days ago, I still have some abrasive cleaning to do in your wound. God only knows where that tentacle had been! I’ll make sure your stomach doesn’t scar, but I’ve decided to let your wound heal naturally…so stay rested and try not to agitate your injury afterward…and no roughhousing with monsters for awhile, okay?”

  Pema smiled.

  “Dorcey, are you sure that you don’t want a different type of arm? You know that I can do some interesting things.”

  “No thank you, friend. I like the way God made me just fine,” he replied with a grin.

  “I respect that…one ‘normal’ arm coming right up!” Zynathian said, now looking to Alex. “And you?”

  “Well, you know I’m a mechanic by trade, so if you could think of something unique to help with that, I’d be much obliged, Master Volkeye!”

  “Hmm,” Zynathian said, rubbing his chin, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Okay, squirt, what’ll it be?” Zynathian asked his son, knowing that his active imagination would’ve already dreamt of numerous additions to his body, some of which were likely to be the most absurd things possible.

  “Dad, I was thinking that maybe my legs could have rockets on them, or something like that…ya’ know, so I can fly!”

  “Boy, you don’t even know how to use the damn hovercar yet, and you expect me to give you the ability to fly? You’ve lost your mind! Uh uh, no sir!”

  “C’mon, Dad, please!”

  “Khye, this isn’t just simple mechanics we’re talking about! You’re asking me to do to something with many pain-in-the-ass technical details! Have you any idea how much heat and fire is required to create rockets like the ones you’re talking about? Then I’d have to think of cooling mechanisms, so that you don’t overheat and die…drag fins, for when you want to slow down…not to mention all sorts of things that I haven’t foreseen. The answer is ‘no!’ ”

  “Dad, c’mon! You can do it! Do you have a SUPER-BRAIN, or do you not?”

  “That’s not the point, boy!”

  “Okay, maybe my request is a bit overboard. But just make me cool…cooler than Teshunua!”

  “You and Teshunua…without fail, always competing!” Zynathian rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll try to think of something unique, but I’m not making any promises, Khye,” he smirked at him.

  Khyeryn seemed to be pleased.

  “Asha, honey, hit that switch over there, so that their chairs will stretch out flat.”

  She went to the wall and tapped a gold button. All the chairs laid flat and doubled in size. Asha then gave each of them a pillow. Next, she helped Zynathian place a small plastic mask over each of their faces, fitting them snug. She kissed Khyeryn on the forehead and smiled at him.

  “We have a lot of work ahead, so you may be under for a couple of weeks, sweetie. Sleep tight,” she said, turning to Zynathian.

  Bazu, Marcia, and F
ritz accompanied him at the dials. It was time to turn on the gas.

  “You all ready?” Zynathian asked.

  “Dad.”

  “Yes, son.”

  “When I wake up, promise to tell us some of the stories about your younger days. Please.”

  Zynathian grinned, thinking it might be time for them to learn a bit more about him. “Of course,” he said finally.

  As Khyeryn pulled his mask back on and lay on his pillow, Zynathian reminisced. He thought of his extraordinary adventures with old friends, some long dead and others gone to different parts of the world. He sighed over the women he’d put through much emotional pain. Some of them had loved him a great deal, but he was just too busy being ‘Zynathian Volkeye’ to love them back. It was meant to be, however, and he didn’t dwell on them for too long, as he knew none of them could’ve possibly measured up to Ya Minj or Asha anyway.

  As he stood thinking, Zynathian also recalled the grand battles he’d been in. The chases. The escapes. The defeats. The victories. These all led up to a day on which he finally slew his enemy—Drakys, the Great—with his bare hands. He shook his head in awe of all that he’d done in the last fifty-two years. He’d had quite a full life, a life that no one but he and a select few others knew about.

  Zynathian looked over his patients, confident about the procedures. He’d matured over the past months and attained a larger understanding of the responsibility his talent entailed. Talent was a double-edged sword, a gift and a curse simultaneously. One couldn’t afford to be careless with it like he’d been. As a result of this epiphany, Zynathian now gave much thought to the consequences of every action, as he did with these patients before him.

  It’d be especially dangerous for Alex, because new talents often had a tendency to show off, and Zynathian knew that Phyllamon would eventually have spies on the lookout for anyone with special abilities. In fact, who was to say that Phyllamon wouldn’t be hunting the Volkeye family, just as they were soon to be looking for him?