That desperate to get away from us all… That desperate to be with a man. She always was emotionally a wreck. Always a clinger.
Well, whoever you are on Monda, have fun with Aida. She’ll leave you out to dry.
“Typhos,” Garron said. “What are you thinking?”
His father’s words suddenly flashed to mind— “She doesn’t handle stress well, and tends to run away from tough situations.”
“Could she have cast a spell that makes it impossible to sense her? Some sort of sense blocking spell?”
“It is possible,” Fargus replied.
Well, guess we’re never finding her now. Only learning about what I’ll do some day. Unless we physically look for her.
“And is it possible to break through such a spell?” Typhos asked, trying to play up the disturbed, grieving boy as best as he could.
“Yes, but only if one physically knows where the person is,” Fargus said. “You can’t blast a spell out and expect it to break through.”
“Typhos, we have to face another possibility,” Garron said. “We have to account for the possibility that, sad as it is to say, your mother may be dead.”
Despite all the hostility Typhos felt, hearing the last five words verbalized felt like the ultimate tragedy to Typhos. As much as he hated her… he didn’t feel apathetic. Hate could still turn into love depending on the mood.
Two parents in just a couple months. I wouldn’t wish that on Ramadus.
“Typhos?”
“What?” he barked.
“I’m sorry for what I said, but you have to be ready to acknowledge it as true.”
Typhos looked at Garron and didn’t say anything. He just wanted to get out of the tent, go back to creating massive storms… and turn all of his energy to the council. If she’s gone, someone becomes chief. And if someone becomes chief…
“It’s possible,” Typhos said, swallowing all the sarcasm he wanted to attach to his words.
He looked to both Cleatra and Fargus, the most powerful red magic Kastori in the world.
“Can either of you sense if she’s died? Just… try.”
Both placed masks over their faces and went deep into thought. Closure. That’s all. If she’s alive… If she’s dead, at least I know.
After a couple of minutes, Cleatra removed her mask, and Fargus followed shortly after.
“We don’t sense anything,” Cleatra said gently. “That doesn’t mean she’s dead. In fact, if she were dead, we’d feel her death. But we don’t feel anything. I’m sorry, Typhos.”
Can’t even get closure.
Typhos stood up and walked outside, frustrated. He had kept his emotions in control largely with anger propelling him forward and allowing him to ignore the pain underneath, but in that particular moment, it all finally slipped.
When he got to the hill, all of the frustration and anger he felt broke down in an overwhelming sadness and grief. Just a couple of months ago, both parents were alive. I could grow old with them, show them my success. Now at least one is dead, and one is dead to me.
No one’s left who loves me. Anyone who ever promised they’d be there for me has broken that promise. Love. Faith. Unity. All rosy optimistic lies that mean nothing. No one could ever fulfill them. I’m going to die alone. Anyone who supports me will eventually leave me.
I can’t trust anyone. Never can, never will.
Even with his thoughts, he wanted to feel joyful and believe in the love of a family member.
But all he felt was grief, emptiness, and a hollow feeling that his family’s love was just an illusion, that life was nothing more than suffering, and that one could experience joy only relative to the suffering of others.
Only taking over the council can give me hope. Or crushing it and establishing my rule.
31
Six months later, Typhos sat with his arms crossed, his head bowed, and with a desire to be anywhere but Garron’s tent. Garron sat across from him, took a deep breath, and apologized.
“I stayed on Monda for two weeks looking for your mother,” he said. “I never sensed her. Never saw her. Nothing. Typhos…”
“So you think she’s gone,” Typhos deadpanned.
Garron sighed and awkwardly fumbled over his next words, a sign to Typhos Garron didn’t want to commit to any answer.
“If she were to reappear somewhere, she would have by now. Mom’s gone.”
“Typhos, I know you want finality, but the council isn’t going to make a decision on this until we know for absolute certain.”
And what does that consist of, Garron? Exploring the entire universe? Going to every known world, even the uninhabitable ones? Combing through for years? How much do you really need to know?
“Fine,” Typhos said, wanting to dismiss the conversation.
“Good. I just want…”
Garron continued speaking, but Typhos felt the oddest familiar sensation. He felt his mother’s presence—she’s here. She’s definitely here.
Typhos stood as Garron spoke and held a finger up, asking for silence. The inquisitive look on his face kept Garron from continuing. The boy walked out of the tent and followed the sensation, leading him behind his own tent.
When Typhos got there, he found nothing.
“She was here,” Typhos mumbled. “Mom, where are you. I know you’re here.”
He heard the footsteps of Garron behind him but ignored them. Her presence, her face—Typhos could see and sense it with as much clarity as he felt Garron now.
“Mom,” he said, getting annoyed that he couldn’t place her.
“Grieving family members often feel the sensation that their loved ones have returned, Typhos. You may—”
“Shut up, Garron,” Typhos snapped. “She’s alive. And I’m almost certain she’s on Monda. You should have taken me. I could’ve found her.”
“Typhos…”
“Everyone else is wasting their time going elsewhere. She fell in love with someone on Monda, and I know she’s back there with him. If you’re not going to take me, then send me.”
Garron’s eyes went wide. Typhos didn’t care that the councilor looked shocked and stressed. He’d push Garron as far as he could verbally if it got him on Monda.
“Typhos,” Garron finally said. “No. I’m sorry.”
Typhos heard a disturbing finality in the man’s voice, one he could not counteract.
“And do not try and convince the other councilors to let you go. Only Fargus, Ramadus, and Cleatra have the skills to reach Monda. None of them are going to help you.”
Too true. One’s a fool, one remembers the past and one’s too stuck to tradition to let someone new go.
“I just want an answer,” Typhos said, frustrated.
Garron sighed and closed his eyes, communicating with the other councilors. Typhos waited impatiently with his arms crossed as he thought of ways he could get himself to Monda. If he teleported from the peak, could he use the mountain’s powers? But how would I get to the peak? He thought about trying with the other three councilors, but the only one he could even consider was Cleatra, and he hadn’t spoken to her in a private setting.
I’m just going to have to test my skills, I guess. Take it into my own hands. That’s the only way.
“Typhos, if we don’t have an answer in another six months…”
“So a full year, huh? That’s how long you need?!”
“Yes,” Garron said. “We will rule her dead. At that time, we’ll elect a new chief and the chief will fill the open seat at his discretion. But until then…”
Can’t rely on them.
I have to find my way to Monda myself.
Typhos headed to his tent and went into a funk. Night came to Anatolus, but it did not bring beautiful stars in the sky. Dark storm clouds which never quite gave more than the occasional burst of thunder blocked the view, turning the planet into a giant dark dome.
Typhos sat with his arms on his knees, his mask equipped, and his eyes closed
beneath the mask. Not even the thunder outside distracted him from his task—to find a way to teleport to Monda.
He could sense the planet. From afar, it looked like Anatolus, except instead of one defined continent, it had three, and instead of one massive mountain, it had several, smaller mountains. It had a great city full of tall buildings that looked exactly like what his mother described. He saw the humans walking around in clothing unlike anything he had ever worn. He found the race particular and a bit annoying. What’s so special about these guys that Mom would want? They don’t do anything with nature. They rely on things that can break and fail.
He saw a great palace, but he could not see the inside of the palace. He could not see the inside of any building. He could see the world as if an aviant, but not an actual human. He tried to focus on a single spot—a patch of land a few miles from the palace—and concentrated on teleporting there. But he could not even start the spell, as every time he started casting the teleport spell, he lost his concentration, and the view shifted to seeing Monda from space.
He grew frustrated and cursed multiple times. The closest he ever came was having the spell reach his knees, but he got excited, lost his spot, and canceled the spell.
Typhos threw his mask off in anger. The storm above became a real storm, with heavy rain and lightning, and Typhos realized that he had to become more powerful. His father’s death had given him some power, but not enough to teleport to new worlds. His mother…
She’s definitely alive. I would have her power if not for that.
And she’s definitely on Monda. So nice to confirm that she’s living.
He didn’t want to take more classes. Relative to other red magic users, he was one of the strongest Kastori on the planet. But he didn’t know what else to do.
There has to be a way. How do you get more power?
Maybe…
You take it from someone else somehow.
32
After five months of no progress, Typhos woke up as he always did—a mixture of depression that he had no way of reaching his mother or getting on the council, and anger that he could not figure a way to power up. On this particular day, the depression took a stronger hold, and he trudged out of his tent toward the hill.
Instead of rushing to the forest to indulge in a monstrous ursus, he went for the first creature he saw, a weak aviant he brought down with barely any effort. He cooked it for the minimum amount of time, and the ensuing taste was foul and underwhelming. Typhos ignored it and ate about half the creature before burning the rest.
He went to the ocean and practiced his magic, but could produce only the weakest of fire spells.
He spent the rest of the day in his head, occasionally trying to warp to Monda but giving no real effort. He never saw Pagus, Hanna, or anyone else his age, or anyone at all, period.
It was not the way he had envisioned spending his sixteenth birthday.
33
Typhos awoke the next day with more anger than depression. He would not let his sixteenth year turn into a repeat of his fifteenth. He would not accept the sadness and pain that had become routine in his life.
We are going to start this day off in control by demonstrating my powers.
He walked to the forest on a determined stroll, keeping his senses alert for an ursus. He passed by Pagus just as his best friend emerged from the tent, but pretended not to notice him—Pagus would only distract him from enjoying a good breakfast he deserved. After walking into the forest about a hundred feet, he sensed it.
A massive ursus, over five hundred pounds, grazing about a mile westward.
Don’t walk.
He teleported over and surprised himself by landing exactly where he wanted to—about twenty feet above the creature, on a thick branch. It gave him hope that his red powers were still improving and he might yet teleport to Monda.
“You’re mine,” he said.
He reached down and lifted the ursus, bringing it face to face with him.
“You are going to be a special delicacy for me today,” he sneered. “I’m in a rather ticked off mood, don’t you know. And I’m going to have some fun with you.”
The ursus roared at Typhos, and, in response, the sixteen-year-old cast a fire spell that burned much of the creature. Just before he killed it, though, he removed the fire spell, leaving the ursus hanging weakly in the air before him.
“Interesting,” he said. “I’m rather enjoying this. It’s fun holding the life of something weaker than you before you. It’s a good chance to showcase your powers.”
Typhos looked at his hands in awe. He smiled, for one of the first times in months, at this realization. Completing a job as efficiently as possible is boring. Have some fun with it. Yes. Have fun!
He looked back up at the ursus, which still groaned.
“Enough,” he said as he shot lightning, finally ending the beast’s prolonged misery.
He dropped the creature and swung down from the branches with ease. He quickly devoured the ursus, a much better taste than the aviant he had had the day before. Guess it pays to have some fun with your food and conquests.
After he had finished, he looked to the peak, wishing he could teleport. He knew the only way to improve was to teleport himself as much as he could, so with his mask and his robes, he headed toward the beach, ready to practice his teleportation.
When he reached the ocean, with waves a bit stronger than before, he saw Hanna practicing magic. She turned around and gasped at Typhos, who had equipped his mask. He knelt down and removed it and stood back up once he regained his senses.
“You realize how terrorizing a look that is?” she asked.
“That’s the point,” Typhos said with a smile he no longer felt shame producing. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn that fear into something dangerous.”
“I would hope not,” Hanna said nervously. “Are you doing OK?”
“As well as I can,” Typhos said. He began to ignore her and move ahead to practice his red magic, but paused and turned back. “Thanks for your concern.”
Simple appreciation keeps her on my side if I ever need it.
Hanna smiled back genuinely with a short nod, and Typhos turned back and warped. He estimated that he had warped about five miles south. He looked to his left and saw an elder gentleman practicing black magic, and he equipped his mask. He looked again at the man, who looked at him with a disturbed look. The man said nothing, but Typhos knew what effect the featureless mask had on the man.
Let them fear it.
He ignored the man as he practiced teleporting down the arc of the continent, soon reaching the point where he could teleport from the bottom tip to halfway back home. He laughed when he did so. Had this power all along and didn’t even realize it! What else could I be capable of?
Unfortunately, when he tried it, the answer to his question did not include the peak or Monda. Still have to find a way to get more magic. There has to be a way.
He practiced until the sun began to set, and completed his final teleportation to the bottom of the hill.
Then he felt her.
His mother.
She’s here.
He saw a vision of her in the tent. She looked gaunt and nearly a decade older in just the few months since she’d left Anatolus. She stood over her bed, a piece of paper in her hands.
“Mom!” he screamed, and he ran up the hill, losing the vision of her. “Mooom!”
Others emerged from their tents and saw the young boy, still with his mask on, sprinting past them and to his tent. He ran through the flap to the other side and found it empty. He cursed loudly and kicked his bed, stubbing his toe. He ignored the pain and went to the bed he had envisioned his mother at and saw a piece of paper tucked in.
Was this here… for the last year? No, don’t be crazy, don’t be stupid. That just… she was just here. She put it there.
He grabbed the note, his hand shaking, as he read.
“My dear Typhos,
Really? No, you’re not. Not if you say it through a letter.
“I did not leave you because I wanted to, or because of grief. I had a commitment on Monda that I had to be there to fulfill.”
Here we go again, being coy and vague. Better say what “things” are.
“It is usually not my mode to be completely honest because I never want to hurt people. But I need to tell you the truth.”
Typhos looked up. He saw scrawl of text beneath it but had not yet read it. He took a deep breath and kept reading.
“I did not just fall in love with the man on Monda. I bore his son.”
Knew it.
“I felt and feel awful. If I could, I’d make sure I never got pregnant so I could still be there with you. But I faced a terrible choice. I knew you wanted to stay here and become chief.”
I just wanted to have influence and not feel worthless.
“But I could not raise the child of a man on Monda on a different world. He wanted his son on Monda, and I could not deny him that. Nor could I deny that son a mother. Typhos, you are my son, but you are also becoming a man. I have to be here for my son. I—”
“You coward!” he yelled as the sniffles came through. “You coward. Why. You couldn’t just tell us!”
He ripped the paper to shreds, refusing to read the rest, and burned it.
Garron came running in the tent, and though he would never read the note, he could put it together when he saw the bits of paper on the ground. He picked Typhos up and hugged him, but the boy was weak in the legs.
“Typhos, what did the note say?” Garron asked.
Typhos just softly cursed, appreciating the embrace but also ignoring Garron.
“Typhos, can you please let me know?”
She’s gone. So treat it like she’s gone.
“Suicide note,” he said.
Garron gasped, but said nothing. Typhos motioned for him to leave, and he did so in a state of shock.
Typhos sat on his bed. He despised his mother. She chose a new son over me. Fine. I don’t need a mother. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never had parents. I’m like a deity, created with great power.
Kastori Tribulations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 3) Page 14
