Kastori Tribulations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 3)

by Stephen Allan

  “Typhos…”

  “Would you?!?”

  Pagus recoiled. Typhos, realizing his best friend deserved none of his anger, sighed as he looked downcast at the ground.

  “Sorry. I just… what am I supposed to do? He kept so much from me, I can’t say that I can believe anything he ever said. And now he’s gone. It’s funny. I don’t trust him, but I wish he was here still. His presence. Now I’m the man of the family, and I have no one to tell me what to do. Pretty big responsibility at age fifteen for someone who’s supposed to be the savior. Oh, right, funny thing about that. If the savior is the one who has the power to prevent death, why couldn’t I stop it from happening to my father? I could reach into his heart and see what had happened. It was weak and frail, but I could see it. But did that mean I could save him? Of course not! I’m just a boy. I’m a failure, Pagus. Dad’s gone, and while it’s his fault for not telling us, I can’t ever call myself the savior if it turns out I can’t even save my family.”

  Typhos wept once more, but this time did so silently, accepting of his new fate. He no longer saw himself as a savior, but instead, merely a strong Kastori—and even that was not good enough for Typhos. Pagus embraced him, and though Typhos did not fall into his arms, he appreciated the hug more than he could ever imagine. Mom’s crazy, Dad’s gone, but Pagus… you’re always there. I’ll never forget this.

  “Thanks,” Typhos finally said, taking a long breath. “I needed this. Even if it doesn’t seem that way, I appreciate it more than you know.”

  “Anytime man,” Pagus said, his voice calm and comforting. “Remember, you were there for me three years ago. Very, unfortunately, similar circumstances. Mom died, without a whole lot of warning, and we just grieved, man. Sometimes we still hit those periods of depression and mourn in misery. But you being there, it helped. I’m just trying to do half of what you did for me.”

  “Thanks,” Typhos said, smiling briefly for the first time since everything had collapsed. “I just… ugh. I wish I knew it was coming. I wish I knew why.”

  “Why your Dad kept silent? My Mom did it to protect us. She didn’t want us to burden ourselves with her condition any further.”

  “Did you know it would end?”

  “Sort of. It became apparent things weren’t going to get better when she told us not to be afraid, that the end comes for all of us. She never referred to herself specifically, but…”

  See, Dad, that’s something you could’ve done. Instead of just denying everything. That’s all it would’ve taken.

  “Did you see things coming to an end with my Dad?”

  “No, not at all. My mom coughed up blood but didn’t go for weeks after that. I knew he was sick as I’ve seen anyone in a while, but… sorry, dude. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “It’s OK,” Typhos said, and he took a quick breath as he desperately searched to change the subject briefly. “Am I still obligated to ask Hanna out?”

  Pagus let out a surprised, loud laugh that he cut short, but Typhos appreciated the response more than he could admit.

  “Of course bud. You’re off the hook for anything at the moment. She can wait. She’ll definitely wait.”

  And even if she doesn’t, at least I won’t be hiking thousands of feet.

  “Thanks. Sorry the epic celebration is gone. We’ll make it up soon.”

  “Don’t even worry about it. It’s not even a concern of mine. You and your mother are. You decide if we ever do anything.”

  Typhos nodded as he braced himself for the return of the ugly feelings with his next words.

  “How do you do it? You and Garron, just the two of you?”

  Pagus paused for a long time, as glum an expression on his face as Typhos had seen since his mother passed. He couldn’t imagine just a few hours ago what Pagus’ life was like when his mother perished. No choice but to learn now.

  “Just being there, man. Helping out wherever. You’re not going to replace the other parent, and you gotta know they’ll grieve frequently and unexpectedly. But I’d say to you to just be there for Aida. Your presence alone will keep her from doing something rash that could affect her down the road.”

  “Like what?”

  Pagus shrugged.

  “I’m just speaking generally. Spiraling downward. Becoming suicidal. I don’t think she is that way. But you being there will make that go from a very slim possibility to an impossibility.”

  Typhos saw many of the councilors approaching. They all looked at the two of them but went past him and into Typhos’ tent. He could still hear his mother crying, albeit in a much more subdued fashion.

  “So not looking forward to speaking to them,” Typhos said with a groan. “But I know I gotta do it.”

  Give me a chance to talk to everyone.

  Maybe even a chance to…

  No way. No. No. Absolutely not. Now is not the time. Don’t even think about maneuvering for anything. The fact that you even…

  There would be a strong chance to make it work, though.

  Forget it. Now, Typhos.

  “Everyone who had someone on the council die had to talk,” Pagus said, which Typhos suspected was meant to encourage but instead only deflated him. “Do you want me to stick around? I’ll stay here as long as you need. Nice thing for us is that we got nothing else to do.”

  “That seems more like the worst thing,” Typhos said.

  Typhos sighed as he leaned back, his back on the ground, his mind weak, and confusion enveloping him. Just wake me up. Tell me this is some horribly conceived birthday prank, and that everyone’s going to jump up and yell surprise.

  Please.

  Please?

  Nope. Of course not.

  “I think I should see how my mother is,” Typhos said after a long pause, wanting to move somewhere else. “She desperately needs me. And I know people will want to talk to both of us.”

  “They will,” Pagus said. He stood up, offered his hand to Typhos, and helped him off the ground. The two embraced tightly, Typhos sniffling once more, but no more words coming from him. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

  Typhos could only nod, not wanting to cry once more.

  The two hugged and departed. Typhos was grateful for the conversation but dreading the ones he was about to have.

  10

  When Pagus left, Typhos again felt all eyes fall on him. He ignored them and walked as quickly as he could toward the tent, keeping his face down to avoid making conversation.

  He opened the flap to his mother’s tent and saw five of the council members present. Cleatra held his mother’s hand gently, letting Aida talk, while Amelia, Lyos, Fargus, and Garron spoke amongst themselves nearby. Only Ramadus, a councilor adept in black magic, was not present, much to Typhos’ relief—he did not want to talk to the one he considered the biggest fool of them all.

  Fargus spotted Typhos and excused himself. Thank goodness. The quietest one starts first. As Fargus approached, Typhos looked to the corner where his father rested. A cover had been pulled over Adanus’ body, leaving only the outline of his body visible. Typhos felt strangely better about that sight as if it allowed him some distance. He faced back to the elder with red robes, a silver beard, and dark brown eyes and bowed respectfully to him.

  “Typhos,” Fargus said, his voice old but still strong. “I am sorry for your loss and for the way it happened.”

  He offered a hug, which Typhos accepted. Typhos had a strange thought as he embraced Fargus that he was in the arms of a man closer to death than his father was just a day ago—Fargus had practically nothing but a thin layer of skin over brittle bones. Yet here he was, alive, talking to Typhos, while his father, who sported an average body just a few days ago, had perished.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Keep it short. He’ll do the same to you.

  “Hurt,” Typhos said.

  Fargus nodded, his hands resting tenderly on Typhos’ shoulder.

  “The council will hel
p you in any way that you or your mother need,” Fargus said, and without another word, he left the tent silently. Garron approached, and Typhos now braced for a longer conversation.

  “None of us had any idea, Typhos,” Garron said as he embraced the boy, who did not quite believe Garron’s words. All you had to do was look at him. “Are you doing OK?”

  I should just talk to everyone at once and get it out of the way. Or not talk to the rest.

  “No,” Typhos said. “It sucks. I think Dad lied to us.”

  “Only to not have you burdened by his illness, I would assume. My wife did the same for us. You will feel a great deal of anger now, Typhos, but it will fade. You will come to appreciate what your father did.”

  And what if I don’t? What if I always think he made a mistake? Then what? Will the anger never fade? Am I always going to be like this?

  “OK,” Typhos said.

  “Your mother will need all the support she can get right now. I never saw a couple quite in love like those two.”

  Because of what he gave her.

  “I can’t imagine she expected this. She’s very fragile right now and needs you there.”

  All the time. Including at the council…

  “And Typhos, if you ever need any help, we’re here for you too. I’m sure Pagus will help too.”

  “He already has,” Typhos said.

  He saw Lyos and Cleatra talking gently with his mother, who now seemed relatively calm. He had no desire to speak to anyone else except his mother, including Garron. He took his chance.

  “Garron, if it’s not a hassle, I want to be alone with my mother for a bit. We can handle any formalities later, but right now… I—”

  “Understood,” Garron said, much to the relief of Typhos. “Lyos, Cleatra, let’s give Aida and Typhos their privacy. Typhos, we will need to come back but for right now—”

  “Thanks,” Typhos responded, more curtly than he intended to. Garron lifted his eyes in shock but motioned for the other two to leave.

  “We’ll be outside.”

  Even in death, his work follows him, Typhos thought bitterly, producing a sarcastic chuckle from him after the three councilors had gone outside. He turned to his mother and sat by her, placing his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were still moist, as red as Fargus’ robes, but the stream of tears had stopped.

  “Mom,” he said.

  She didn’t look at him. He couldn’t blame her—he had trouble looking at her. The emotion of the moment overwhelmed both of them, and Typhos didn’t want to deal with the emotions of staring at his mother’s wounded eyes.

  But after several seconds and a second time saying her name, he leaned forward to look at her. What he saw disturbed him greatly.

  She didn’t seem present. Her eyes observed a reality that he did not see or seem to be a part of. Perhaps there is no reality she’s in right now. Typhos tried to see it positively, in that she was grieving or escaping as a means of recovering, but it scared him. If she doesn’t see me…

  “Mom,” he said, his voice shaky. She blinked twice and returned mentally back to Anatolus. She turned to Typhos with a sad smile. “You OK?”

  She shook her head and mouthed the word no. It came out barely audible, more the result of the movement of her mouth than her vocal cords. She resumed looking away from her son.

  “Did you know this was going to happen?”

  Again, she shook her head no. She did not look back at her son. Typhos felt peripheral to his father, a long-held perception that seemed like a reality with her working at the council.

  The thought rekindled the anger he felt toward Adanus. Typhos looked at the outline of his father underneath the blanket. He fumed and shook his head, and looked back at his mother. She loves him more than me. She’s so clung to him. I’m just… it’s like I’m just a necessity of hers for some reason, but she truly loved him.

  “Why did this happen,” she said, her voice weak.

  Typhos hugged her, begging her to leave whatever alternate world she was in. He tried squeezing her, but she remained in an unshakeable trance as she repeated variations of the same question multiple times.

  He stood up and offered her hand.

  “Mom, let’s go outside, we need—”

  “No,” she said, her voice shockingly angry. “I’m not leaving Adanus. I’m never leaving him.”

  Frightened, Typhos felt the need to give his mother space. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’ll be outside, OK? And I’m also never leaving you.”

  Finally, his mother looked back at him. Her eyes glistened with gratitude at what he had said, and she thanked him.

  “Go see Pagus,” she said. “He’ll help.”

  But Typhos had no intention of seeing anyone. He had no intentions of doing anything more than nodding to Fargus to tell him the council could go back inside. They passed by Typhos without a word, and Typhos headed for the peak of his favorite hill.

  His mother needed his attention and presence. If he said he’d never leave her, he had to mean it in every sense of the word. If she went to the council, he had to follow her to the council. If she went to a new world, he had to follow her to a new world.

  The symbiotic relationship would benefit them both, he thought. He could learn the council’s ways and have an even quicker track to becoming chief. She would recover from her grief faster. Selfish, yes.

  But Mom needs my help. And I’m the only one who can give it to her.

  11

  Typhos stood at the front of innumerable rows for his father’s funeral. The lifeless body of Adanus rested on top of one of the most magnificent pyres Typhos had ever seen. He briefly stole a glance at the crowd behind him and saw what felt like the entire population of Anatolus. A few of the elder Kastori, too old to stand and observe, watched with their sensing magic, but all eyes rested on his father in some fashion.

  His mother stood in front of the pyre, facing everyone. She cleared her throat, as she had multiple times in trying to start her speech. Typhos cringed watching her struggle to speak. He wanted to stand by her, offering his shoulder for support. She wants to do this on her own, well, I have to respect her wishes. No matter how bad this looks.

  “Adanus…” she said, and though her voice quivered, it marked the first time in nearly a full minute she had said anything. No one in the crowd dared to even cough, let alone speak. “Adanus left me too early.”

  She rushed the words out, so fast that Typhos had to repeat them in his head to make sense of them. But aside from one last gasp, the hysteric emotion behind them had vanished, and she could finally speak without breaking down.

  “We lost Adanus at too young an age on a day that should have been joyful and full of celebration.”

  Yeah. Thanks, Dad. All because you didn’t tell us.

  “But the thing we must do is not speak ill of the man, for he cannot defend himself, and it does little good to speak of his mistakes.”

  Not true. We can learn from his mistakes. All of them.

  Typhos felt Fargus looking his way and did his best to shut his thoughts off to avoid the elder’s judgmental stare. Compassion. Dad was a good man.

  “Adanus means something to everyone on Anatolus, from the children just learning their magic to the elders who will soon join him. I will speak today about what he meant to me.”

  Typhos felt his shoulders arch and tighten in preparation for a potentially awkward speech.

  “Without Adanus, I am not chief. Without Adanus, I do not have a beautiful son, one of the few people who are always there for me.”

  Thanks, Mom. And I’ll never leave you. That, I will say and not break.

  “Without Adanus, I do not have the confidence to pursue the things that I have. Adanus means everything to me, and without him, it will be a tough life, but a life that he gave me the necessary tools to face.”

  Her voice shook as she went further. When she paused, she took a second to weep. Again, all Kastor
i observed without so much as a scratch on the face to distract her. Typhos gulped silently, hoping his mother would not collapse in front of everyone. She stopped crying after about a dozen seconds and resumed.

  “Adanus is not just one of the greatest chiefs we have ever had. He was a loving husband and an amazing father.”

  Lies.

  Typhos didn’t care if everyone’s eyes shifted to him. I doubt I’ll ever think otherwise after the way he left.

  “Adanus’ greatest legacy is not what he did as chief. It is what he left behind—the man Typhos will become.”

  She’s got that right. But he will have little to do with how I turn out.

  “Let us remember on this night the difference Adanus brought to all of us. We have lost a former chief, a husband, and a father, but more than that, we lost a Kastori, and such a moment requires grieving and gratitude simultaneously. We grieve his loss, but we have appreciation for the gains he gave us in our life.”

  Aida gave a short bow and walked to Typhos in silence, her head down. Typhos met her a few feet in front of the first row and hugged her. She collapsed into his shoulders, the tears coming at an accelerating rate.

  Fargus moved to take her place and looked out on the masses.

  “Thank you, Aida, for your brave speech in your time of mourning,” he said. “Does anyone else wish to speak?”

  No. No one else had better either.

  Typhos knew people would wonder if he would speak. Even Fargus, generally one to never pressure anyone, cast his eyes on the boy, but Typhos wouldn’t speak even if it guaranteed him a week with the council. Only the guarantee of becoming a councilor or chief would make him talk, and even that would just result in the briefest of words, unprepared and not as compelling or sympathetic as his mother’s.

  Fargus waited several beats, to the point that Typhos wondered if he wouldn’t continue until someone else chose to speak. Nope. No. I will just berate my father and curse him out. Not now, at least. Probably never.