The images only flickered in his mind, not long enough to be certain of anything but present enough to narrow the possibilities down.
“Come on man, now you gotta focus,” he said out loud, realizing letting his mind race had only enabled it to run a marathon of thoughts.
He closed his eyes and told himself to focus for five seconds. It worked—he could sense dozens of aviants in the trees, a couple of arachnias scurrying about, and about five precora grazing a hundred yards away. He did not see any ursus.
He turned and looked up at the one other place he knew ursus resided—Mount Ardor. Plus they’re stronger there. Which may not be the safest thing for me, but screw it, it’s my birthday. And I’m Typhos, not some average Kastori. Danger doesn’t really apply to me.
Slowly, he descended the branches, taking his time as he pleased. He jumped from the final step, holding his hands out as if accepting raucous applause from his friends.
He reached the mountainous range without much trouble, though he always kept his head on a swivel. He came to the first path and closed his eyes for sensing purposes. A couple of miles away, he picked up the weak presence of an ursus. Is my magic bad or… Nah. Let’s go find out. Your magic can’t be that bad. Your weakness is still a strength compared to most.
After a mile, Typhos was out of breath, his hands on his hips and his breathing more like gasping. He saw the mountain would only get worse and that by the time he reached the ursus, he would not even have the physical stamina to cast a fire spell to defeat the beast.
Maybe I should just turn around. There’s more—
No. No. No! Get your food, Typhos. Your day. Your feeding time.
The boy smiled eagerly when he heard a growl. He quickly looked left and saw a small ursus—too small to be an adult. It approached him curiously. Typhos froze. He didn’t know how he had missed this ursus, but it seemed like a gift from the planet on this special day.
And yet… the ursus didn’t look more than just a couple of months old. Typhos knew, selfishly speaking, he wouldn’t get as much meat out of this creature as he would an adult ursus—and there was no guarantee whatever meat he did get would be as good.
But a strong impulse overwhelmed him even further—he felt that he could not kill something that could not defend itself. Is this the right thing? Is this a sign of weakness? What would the council see it as? That I showed compassion for something weaker than me? Or that I was a coward when I needed something?
I don’t really need food at the moment. And let’s be real, I could crush it if need be. But…
He heard a louder growl as an adult ursus trotted from behind its offspring. Typhos froze, knowing running would only attract the attention of the adult. The baby ursus leaned against its mother, and the elder ursus and Typhos glared at each other.
I can’t kill either of you. I won’t hurt a defenseless creature, and I would never want anyone—Kastori, ursus, avaint—to lose a parent. I saw what happened with Pagus. I know.
The ursus kept its eyes locked on Typhos, who slowly backed away, making sure not to make his movements sudden. The ursus snorted loudly and nudged its child in the opposite direction. Typhos turned back down the mountain, though he often looked back just in case.
He almost gave up on having ursus for his birthday when he decided to give himself one last shot at the edge of the forest. The sun had not yet broached the horizon, though Typhos figured by the time he finished his last search it would become visible. He crouched down at the first tree and cast a more focused spell. Sure enough, about four hundred feet northeast, an adult ursus grazed alone. No longer willing to engage in a true hunt, Typhos walked over, cast the most powerful fire spell he knew, and killed and cooked the ursus within minutes. The sudden kill had charred the creature a bit more than the boy wanted, but the meat brought ecstatic feelings all the same. Worth it. Worth the wait. Always.
Best start to my birthday ever. Just how the day ought to go.
After he had eaten until his stomach felt painfully full, Typhos lifted the ursus up with his red magic and brought it back to his outpost. He struggled with the spell, needing to stop more than once—both to recast the spell and because the pain in his stomach required him sitting—but reached home just as the entirety of the sun appeared. He placed the ursus in the middle of the outpost so that everyone could come celebrate with him. He had centered the ursus and crossed his arms, pleased with himself, when Pagus’ tent flapped open.
“I guess you’re the delivery boy on your birthday, huh?”
Typhos snorted with a short laugh.
“You wish,” he said smiling.
“I’m just messin’ with ya, man.”
Pagus gave a genuine, full hug to his best friend. Typhos, feeling on top of the world, accepted the hug and patted Pagus on the back several times.
“I already had first cut, but would you like the honors of having the second cut?”
“Man, gotta have it all, huh?”
“Duh.”
“All right. I would think you would save some for Hanna.”
“Oh,” Typhos said, momentarily upset but then laughing. “She won’t be here for another few hours. There’s no point in giving lukewarm meat to her.”
Pagus shrugged in agreement as he took a large chunk of ursus and devoured it.
“Charred?” he asked in between bites.
Typhos nodded begrudgingly.
“Like it, really,” Pagus said, surprising his best friend. Looks like I’m on to something. Pagus swallowed a larger piece than he intended to. “You are asking her out, right?”
“Duh,” Typhos said laughing. “It’ll be the perfect day. Perfect food, perfect everyone, perfect girl, and when she comes, I’ll—”
A loud, piercing, tragic wail from his tent shocked Typhos and Pagus, who both turned and sprinted for the golden tent.
8
Typhos opened his tent with his shoulder as he barreled in. His mother was on her knees at the side of her bed, gushing out tears, her voice a high-pitched, devastatingly painful wail, and her body trembling. To her left, his father laid on the bed, in the same position as when Typhos had left the tent.
Oh no. No. No!
“Mom!” Typhos screamed as he rushed over to her. He forgot about everything else around him as he knelt beside her. “Mom! What’s wrong?!”
Aida did not react to him, continuing to wail and cry. Typhos squeezed her with as much love as he could produce, hoping it might calm her down. But he knew, as the truth entered his mind, that if she were crying this way, there was only one reason.
Nervously, he stood up and reached for his father’s shoulder, and gently pulled him off his side and to his back. His father moved without any resistance and fell, completely limp. Adanus was devoid of all color, and his stomach did not rise. Typhos touched his father on the cheek, but it felt terrifyingly cold to the touch. He’s…
“He’s not breathing!” his mother yelled, words which she repeated numerous times.
Typhos felt a rush of panic and stood, trying to remain calm. At best, his father required some serious white magic. At worst…
No, no time to think about the worst.
It was difficult to ignore the near-certainty of the situation, though, with his mother shrieking about his father’s lack of breathing.
“Mom! Mom! Calm down, we’re getting help.”
He looked at Pagus, terror on his friend’s face.
“Pagus! Get anyone with white magic in here. I don’t care if they’re asleep or weak, just get them all! Go! Please!”
Pagus ducked out and sprinted toward a nearby tent. Typhos turned back to his mother, still crying and in a hysterical, unreachable state. You can’t help her now. Typhos. You can save your father. Reach him. You have the power. You’re the savior.
Do it. Prove it!
Typhos took a quick breath, closed his eyes, pushed out the irrelevant thoughts from his mind, and sat on the edge of the bed. With a closer view
, he could see numerous brown spots covering his father’s neck. His hair looked mussed, and he had somehow gotten even paler since the night before. He might still be alive. Don’t stop.
Typhos quickly put his hands on Adanus’ chest and felt for anything. He had no heartbeat, but worse than that, Typhos couldn’t sense anything—any sign of life—in his father. The reality of the situation smacked Typhos across the face like an aviant’s claws—his father had become mere flesh and bone, without life inside. His father, if he hadn’t actually died yet, had already passed through the door to the other side, and the door had nearly shut.
“Come on, come on, savior,” Typhos told himself, his voice loud so he could hear himself over his mother’s cries.
He tried experimenting with all the spells he could think of. He tried purging Adanus’ body of toxins, but it didn’t result in a heartbeat or any semblance of his life returning. He worked to resuscitate his father’s heart, but the only beating that occurred came as a result of Typhos—he could not get it to do anything on his own. The same happened with the lungs.
“Come on, Dad! Wake up!” he yelled in frustration. “You have to come back!”
He looked at his mother and remembered her powers. He grabbed her tightly.
“Help me bring Dad back.”
It was the first time since he entered that she calmed down at all. Though she still sniffled and cried, the two of them worked together using every white spell he could think of. He even assisted her on the ones she knew that he didn’t by following her lead. His hands dug deep as if piercing the skin of his father’s chest. His heart remained still, the ominous lack of beating warning Typhos of their futility. He could sense something terribly wrong with the organ. It felt weak and tender as if battered by a vicious disease only visible through magic. Typhos did not know enough of medicine and health to say what it was, but he felt like he was holding a mushy piece of food.
Typhos concentrated all his powers, even reaching new levels of magic, as he tried to do everything to his father’s heart that he could. His mother groaned and collapsed to the ground, exhausted and unable to continue.
“You are not dying on me, Dad!” he yelled as he tried to fortify his father’s heart.
Nothing happened.
“Wake up, Dad!” he screamed as he cleansed his heart.
Nothing happened.
“Dad! Daaaaaaaaad!”
Nothing happened.
It’s too late.
The thought motivated him further as he felt like he had become one with the heart. He felt other hands—white-magic Kastori—join him, and together they all worked to cleanse his father of the ugly disease that had ruined him.
“DAD!”
Nothing happened.
Finally, his mother grabbed him and pulled him away. Typhos felt like the heart, the only thing he had at that moment, was fading away. He tried reaching back, but his mother’s pull was too strong. He yelled for his father, but his mother’s squeeze on him was too tight. Finally, when the inevitable hit him, Typhos cried into his mother’s shoulder. Lyos, the lead white-magic councilor, approached Typhos and Aida and took a knee beside the two grieving Kastori.
“I’m sorry, Typhos,” Lyos said. “Your father is gone. There’s nothing anyone could’ve done. He is too far into the grip of death.”
Even with all the evidence staring him in the face, Typhos hadn’t accepted that reality. But once Typhos heard the words from Lyos that contradicted everything his father had told him over the last week, Typhos broke.
“NO!” he screamed, his voice turning from despair to anger. “No! No! Dad said he was fine! He’d never lie to me! He wouldn’t! Something happened!”
All of the Kastori in the room looked at each other. His mother cried behind him, still inconsolable. Typhos continued to rage as tears fell.
“Dad told me he was fine even as he coughed up blood! He wouldn’t… he said he wouldn’t… why?!? Why did he lie to me?? To us!”
He shot a look at his mother, whose head had gone between her hands. Typhos groaned and wiped away his tears, a fire of disgust burning inside at his father. He wanted Adanus to roll over and apologize. He would’ve taken hearing Adanus message him telepathically, saying he should have told the truth.
But no. He just lied to us.
“Why?!?” Typhos asked.
“I don’t know!” his mother wailed, even though Typhos had not directed the question at her.
Typhos shook his head in frustration. He took one last glance at his father, who, for all of the white-magic attention given to him in the last couple of minutes, had not changed at all. Just like his entire life. He never stopped deflecting concern or being fully honest. I could never be open with you, Dad. Never could.
He turned to his mother, whose sobs had become less volatile but persisted. He needed to get away from everything—anything that reminded him of family needed to go. He looked at the other Kastori, who respectfully kept their distance. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.
“Watch her, please,” he muttered as he exited, his heart pumping painfully fast.
Typhos walked outside, doing his best to not hear his mother repeating, “He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone.” She’s beyond help right now. She needs her space. Like me.
Dad… why? You knew you were dying. And you told none of us. Now you’re gone on my birthday. I’ll never forget this day for all the wrong reasons. You couldn’t wait a day? You couldn’t tell us? Just… no. I should have known.
He didn’t go all the way to his favorite spot on the hill. He didn’t have a favorite anything at that moment—the world had gotten too dark to use words like “favorite” and “enjoyable.” He sat just outside the tent, resting his head between his arms. He could feel all eyes looking at him. Some people said sorry, others patted him on the head, but most kept their distance—which is exactly what Typhos wanted. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to mope and stay in his head—lest someone hear what was in his head and be horrified.
I love you, Dad. But I hate you. If you had just told us… if you’d just been honest about your condition… but instead you kept it a secret, and now we have to live with it. You don’t see our pain. Aren’t you lucky.
He sat with the same thoughts cycling through his head for several minutes before the tent flapped open. Lyos walked just in front of his mother and pointed her to Typhos. She quickly sat down, and though Typhos couldn’t bring himself to face her at first, when she wrapped her arms around him, the tears came back, and he fell into her shoulder once more.
“I’m sorry, Typhos,” Aida said. “I should’ve made him say something. I had a feeling this would come… just not today. I knew he was sick. But this sick…”
“It’s OK,” Typhos said, wanting to comfort his mother more than himself. I lost a father of fifteen years. She lost a husband of so much longer and the man who gave her the title of chief. I couldn’t choose him, but she did. “He wanted to keep it a secret from all of us, for whatever stupid reason.”
“Don’t call him stupid,” his mother said, her voice quivering.
Typhos said nothing, but he promised himself he wouldn’t say such a thing in front of his mother. It’s still true, though.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“Few days is when I got suspicious he was bad,” she said. “Last couple days I thought it was really bad. I didn’t think it would end like this, though. And I really thought I could save him. Just like that…”
Her voice trailed off in a succession of sniffles and gasps.
“I don’t know what I’ll do without him, Typhos. He was my everything. Everything is going to remind me of him.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Typhos said as he hugged her close, not knowing even where to begin to figure things out.
His mother sighed, and the two remained hugging as both struggled to control their emotions. So much for today being the greatest day ever. Now it’s
the worst day ever.
He heard footsteps approaching and saw Pagus and his father, Garron, approaching with sad expressions and bowed heads. Typhos noticed the red eyes of his best friend and felt a strong bond, even though neither boy said anything.
“Typhos, Aida, I’m so sorry,” Garron said.
His mother reached up and hugged Garron tightly. Typhos remained on the ground. Aida said something incomprehensible to Garron, and the two members of the council walked away to talk—in sight of Typhos, but out of hearing range. Typhos spotted Hanna talking to another Kastori in white robes, but he refused to look back at her, lest she look at him and he have to talk to someone else.
He heard Pagus sit next to him, and for several minutes, the two boys just stared up at the rising sun, a cruel reminder of how the world didn’t care—the sun shone whether or not anyone lived. It created a sad nihilism in the young boy, who felt like nothing he did would help him release the anger toward his father.
“Of all days,” Typhos said finally, after a long sigh that was followed by about half a dozen seconds of silence. “Of all the days to die, he picked today.”
“I know,” Pagus said.
How? How the hell would you know? Your mother didn’t die on… No. She did.
Typhos nodded grimly. He looked at his best friend, one of the few who had had a similar experience to him, and poured out his thoughts.
9
“My fifteenth birthday,” Typhos said, his voice rising. “My fifteenth birthday. And that’s the day he goes? Pagus, do you know how messed up this is? My Dad, all he said all week, despite how terrible he looked and how he coughed up blood, was how fine he was. ‘I’m fine.’ ‘It’s OK.’ No, it wasn’t OK. We trusted him, and we’re so stupid for that. It was so obvious that he needed some attention. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe he’d be dead anyways no matter what. But at least we’d know. We wouldn’t be left in the dark. Instead, I’m left wondering what else he’s hiding. Which is so dumb since we talked right out there yesterday for a long time, probably hours. It felt like the most honest talk ever, you know? I felt like I learned so much. Instead… I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I don’t trust anything he’s said anymore, Pagus. Would you?”
Kastori Tribulations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 3) Page 5
