by LJ Andrews
“Are you saying you’re unable to destroy targets the Architect assigns to you?”
Bant bit his lip hard until the metallic taste of his own blood coated his lower teeth. “That is not what I meant in the least. I expected a simple Ponderi Beastian, when in fact she was my own brother’s daughter. The skill of two realms runs through her veins.”
“Yes, well I’m sure the Architect will not make the mistake of assigning such…difficult charges for you next time. And to think you could have been the one to provide us with the death of a relic guardian.” Blake patted Bant’s cheek, causing more hot steam to escape the man’s skin in anger. Bant’s weapon released from his belt and instantly he held the menacing gilded blade against Blake’s pale, exposed neck.
Blackness filled Blake’s eyes, the dark gaze sent a wave of fear pulsing down Bant’s spine. For the slightest moment his hand trembled, gripping the wrapped leather over the hilt of his weapon.
Blake never lost eye contact with Bant, and instead added his own hand to the sword. Expertly, he ripped the sword from Bant’s hand and swung the jagged blade through the air as if he were the greatest swordsman in the Hemisphere. The gold flashed against the fading light in the bitter air of Glaciem. Blake lofted the sharp glassy blade against Bant’s wrist he held in front of his face for protection.
Bant knew he screamed in pain, but the blinding fire that scorched his lower arm as the blade removed his hand muffled all sound.
Falling to the wet earth, Bant cradled his bloodied stump and saw the lifeless hand soaked in a puddle of thick, burgundy blood. The hot blood melted the tufts of snow surrounding the bank of the cool river, and though Ignisians were used to hot temperatures, Bant could hardly stand the searing fiery pain that pulsed through his veins as Blake pressed his open palm against his throat.
“When you draw your weapon, you’d better be prepared to use it properly,” Blake said in a low, deadly voice against Bant’s pounding ear. Trying with great effort to hide the terrified expression he knew blazed through his fiery eyes, he watched as the wicked darkness faded once again to the lighter color typically present in Blake’s eyes.
“How…how can you handle a weapon…like that,” Bant panted, unsure why he asked the maniac standing before him such a question.
Blake bent low to the ground, gripping the stolen parchment as a low chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Your weapon ability is the least of the talents I’ve borrowed.”
Tapping Bant’s forehead with the parchment, Blake stood and was soon engulfed in thick black mist. The air was quiet once the mist settled. Bant felt weak as his blood loss increased. He knew the first lieutenant was the only one with the freedom to use the Architect’s power to travel throughout the Hemisphere, and after the violent attack he knew it was of little consequence to them if he survived.
Slowly, he wrapped his gushing stump with a spare cloak he kept around his shoulders and knew he had to find a track system to escape the bitterness of Glaciem or he would freeze to death.
The wind had picked up and the little warmth from the Glacien sun had faded as darkness settled across the realm. Bant ran along the riverbank, desperately searching for the stone that would open the track he could use to escape the frozen prison.
His knees buckled after the exertion of running through the thin air. Gasping from blood loss and the intense sensation of hypothermia in his muscles, Bant leaned against a thick, sappy trunk of a pine tree.
His heart pinched in his chest with frustration, sadness, and bitterness. He’d sacrificed so much to retrieve the parchment for the Architect. He knew it was of great value, though he had done the honorable thing and not read the parchment. But he’d recognized the seal of Merlin. It had been engraved on the firestone his father had entrusted his foolish brother with, the relic that was supposed to protect the realm of Ignisia. Bant seethed as thoughts of Egan seared his memories. His brother had abandoned his own realm, for what? A foreign woman? And now they had a half breed child fighting against the honor of the Trinity. Bant spat a stream of blood from his mouth as he thought bitterly of his niece in possession of the relic that should have passed to him when Egan’s weakness had disgraced the pureness of Ignisia. Instead, he bestowed it to the creature he created.
The seal of Merlin had been engraved in the side of the firestone; with that seal, Bant knew the parchment had something to do with Merlin and he was certain it would lead the Trinity on another journey searching for the ancient wizard’s many mysteries.
“You are cursed zis night.” A voice faintly triggered Bant to open his eyes. A hunched, white-haired Glacien woman stood in front of him.
The old woman carried a thick braided basket in one hand and a lantern with an eerie green light filling the surrounding darkness.
“You are cursed,” she repeated.
Bant closed his eyes, trying to ignore the old one. He wanted to die in peace, not with an ancient female lurking over his shoulder. Suddenly he felt strange warmth fill his now numb stump. The warmth traveled up his arm and remarkably soothed the fiery pain that had once threatened to swallow him.
“What…what are you doing?” he whispered, feeling a prickle of strength return to his body.
“Zat should be enough,” the old woman said. “Come varm yourself by my fire. Za Trinity has left you for dead. If you vish not to die, you come vith me.”
The old hag tugged against Bant’s heavy arm, he assumed in an effort to lift him from the snowy earth.
“How do you know about the sacred society?” Bant asked in shock.
The woman laughed, revealing a mouth with more gaping holes than actual teeth. “Ah, you are not as secret as you vould vish to be. Now come, or do not come.”
The woman released his arm and sauntered awkwardly toward a glowing light in a mound-like structure he could only assume was her home.
Bant hesitated for a moment, his arm felt the sweet relief of pain but the rest of his body shivered as the melting snow beneath him soaked his cloak. Hurriedly, he stood and stumbled behind the old crooked woman into her small earthy mound of a home.
Inside, Bant shuddered as his flamed eyes scanned the walls. Every manner of skull from every realm creature he could imagine dangled from thick twine. Shelves of fragrant herbs and spices lined her walls, and the small bones of elf-like creatures dangled low over a heaping bed of tattered blankets.
The woman hobbled to a greenish fire burning in a small stone basin that rested in the center of her home. The fire released the unmistakable scent of spiced rose berries that only grew along the banks of the green sea. Though it was unlike any fire he’d seen in the great realm of Ignisia, Bant was enrobed in a warmth and peace of mind as he stared into the glowing embers.
The woman lowered the basket she had carried onto her small rounded wooden table and removed two gill fish and a handful of strange rock-like root vegetables and tossed them into a stew pot resting in the fire. Instantly the green fire roared higher and changed from green to a peaceful purple until the flames shrank back to size. Smiling, the woman spooned out a fishy smelling stew from the pot and ladled it into a wooden bowl.
“Eat. You must be very hungry,” she said as she held the bowl out to Bant.
The stew was a bland gray color with lumps of meat and vegetable. The smell coated the inside of Bant’s nostrils, but he couldn’t decide if the strong odor was unpleasant or intoxicating.
The woman pushed the bowl of stew closer to him, and her light blue eyes pulsed with such insistence Bant quickly took the bowl. Smiling, she returned to her pot and ladled herself some of the gray stew and slurped happily, ignoring Bant completely.
After several long moments, Bant, who had not touched the strange soup, cleared his throat.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The darkness in his deep voice did nothing to unnerve the strange, haggled woman. She took another bite as her gaze pierced his and wiped the dribble off her chin with the back of her hand.
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��I know vat you stole.”
Bant stared at her. Her steely gaze never faltered. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his senses warned him of an impending threat.
“What does it matter to you, old one?” The hag smiled at the tremor in his voice.
“Much.”
“Well, as you know I no longer have what I was sent to retrieve, so I see no more reason for me to stay.” Bant’s face twisted as he stood from the small wooden chair he’d rested on and peered upon the mysterious woman with a level of disgust. Slowly and with effort, he continued speaking. “Thank you…for your hospitality. I will be leaving now.”
“You have been cursed.” She repeated the first words she spoke to him.
Frustrated Bant turned on the old woman. “Enough with your vague words. You insist on saying I am cursed, but offer no further explanation! Now speak what you wish to speak and be done with it!”
The woman released a hideous cackle and a long spittle of gray stew slipped out from the corner of her mouth.
“You and za Trinity seek to open za gateway of Merlin! Za scroll…” she coughed as she laughed. “Za scroll has placed its mark on you and ven za gateway is opened za Black Dawn vill take you. I can help you escape zis, but you must help me vith something in return.”
She wiped stray tears from the corners of her wrinkled eyes as her maniacal laughing ceased.
Bant gaped at her and her insanity. “You are a demented old woman. I know nothing of this gateway and this…Black Dawn.” Bant backed away holding his wrapped stump against his chest. “I owe you no service.”
The woman smiled wide. “You vill be back. Be varned, zis road you travel on vith za Trinity vill end poorly for you. I vill be here to help, but remember you vill need to return za favor. I vould think hard about returning to za Trinity. Zay left you for dead. How vill zay receive you now?”
“Enough. You have provided your service to me, but I am leaving, you demented fool.” Bant opened the door to her mounded home and was blasted by the chilled air of the wintery outdoors.
“Remember my offer,” she chuckled behind him. “And bevare of za gateway. You may regret vat you find.”
The final warning caused Bant’s heart to pound against his chest with such fervor he was breathless. Stepping into the cool air he glanced back at the mounded home. The once lighted windows were now black and barren as if no life existed within the walls. He shivered, but quickly turned and ran down the slope until he saw the ghostly lighted stone that signaled the open track system. Thinking of his blessed realm, he urged the opening to take him home. In one blast of warm, succulent air, Bant was ripped from the frosty realm and from the mystical old woman’s dire warnings.
Chapter 3
The Peterson House
The descent of the glass elevator car sent Killian’s stomach to his throat. During the Trinity attack, the elevators had been destroyed in multiple explosions throughout the Praetorium. Getting the random elevator track system running again had been the first priority so Ponderi members could once again move freely throughout the abstract building. The new and improved cars rushed vertically, horizontally, diagonally—any direction to reach the destination faster and with greater force than before.
The doors dinged happily once Killian reached the lower floor of the training center. Gulping down his stomach again, he slowly made his way to the vast room. As he stepped through the double steel doors, a black tarp hit him in the face. Annoyed, he pushed it out of the way, but seemed only to get tangled more.
“Sorry down there,” an engineer recruit said from a high ladder above him as he drilled more steel patches onto the damaged wall. The engineer gave the thick tarp a tug, freeing Killian from the black cage.
Killian gave him a nod and pushed his way through the other construction. The ice pools were completely blocked off as the engineers tried to pry the magically frozen rock walls from the floor of the pools. The Trinity had worked hard during the attack to make sure the Ponderi lost as many training resources as possible. Thankfully, many of the weapons had been repaired and restored so the important combat training had been in full force.
Killian passed the gray door of the simulation room and shuddered slightly. Trinity members had tried to disable the impressive, mysterious room but somehow the room had fought back. It was a surprise even to Aidan, the recruit trainer, but when they found the remains of several Trinity soldiers throughout the room days after the attack, everyone had been quite leery to enter the room alone.
Killian pulled the long silver spear off his back once he spotted Lucan and Speron leaning against one of the tall cloth targets. Both fiddled lazily with their different weapons. Killian tapped the back of Lucan’s head with the end of his spear.
“Looks like you guys are busy.”
Lucan rubbed his head and scoffed. “We’d love to take a turn but he won’t give it a rest.”
Killian’s eyes followed Lucan’s pointed finger to the center of the athletic field. Dax was furiously waving a sword and dagger at attacking targets. His tan arms were bare and his muscles throbbed with exertion as he sliced angrily into the centers of the targets of different creatures and figures he might encounter throughout the realms. His fiery brown eyes blazed with each swing; the orange and red flames burst through the dark brown color creating a golden haze.
“He keeps upgrading his training simulations, and it’s taking up a lot of extra time,” Speron said while chewing a thick piece of some type of fish jerky.
“I mean, I understand his reasons, but we all have to train,” Lucan added.
Without saying anything Killian gripped his spear and entered the field. Dax didn’t notice he had company and swung against a cloth bug bear target with such force he lopped the ferocious fanged head off with one swing of his sword.
The back of Killian’s neck heated up as Infinium danced along the red arrow-like scars that had branded his skin. A separate Dax appeared in front of his vision as he calmed his senses and allowed the premonition to take shape. Dax needed support, but also needed someone to take his anger out on. And for some reason Killian had taken it upon himself to be that person.
The vision of Dax swinging his sword across his chest toward his left side filled his vision field, and then, quickly, he altered the direction of his swing and sliced it across his body, landing on the bulky cloth target of a human figure perfectly in the crook of the neck.
Killian blinked, ending the futuristic vision, and quickly stepped to the right of Dax as he swung his sword across his chest to his left and waited for the change of direction. When Dax brought the sword back around, instead of the cloth target his gilded sword met Killian’s sleek double-ended spear. Killian winked at Dax’s surprised expression, but Dax only scowled.
“You ready to get your butt handed back to you?” Killian teased.
Dax chuckled, but the normal jovial expression was absent. Killian yearned to see his old friend once again. “You wish. Your little cheating ability doesn’t scare me.”
“Admit it, Dax, you’re a little jealous.”
Dax smiled wickedly and spun around on his heel so quickly Killian almost lost his balance, but blocked Dax’s swing again with his spear just before he was about to fall. Killian pounced back at Dax, alternating slicing the blades of his spear at him, causing Dax to block the blows with an exhausting string of defensive maneuvers.
Frustrated, Dax strategically rolled along the false, plastic grass bringing himself right behind Killian. Smiling in victory, Dax raised his sword over Killian’s head, ready to deliver the fatal blow. Killian smirked at the on-looking crowd before raising one hand and closing his eyes. Inwardly, he commanded the heat that pulsed through his veins to thwart the attack as the fierce power seemed to beg for action.
Behind him, without looking, he could hear the creaking of metal as the gilded blade of Dax’s sword bent and folded in on itself, creating a strange rolled ball of metal with a jeweled hilt.
&nbs
p; Dax released a frustrated grunt. “Killian!” he bellowed, “you keep doing that! If you were going to mind-destroy my sword, why even fight me?”
Killian turned around laughing, amused at the slight pout on Dax’s face. “Where’s the fun in that? Plus, I have to work on my combat skills, too, and you’re the best fighter.”
Dax flushed at the compliment, but still kept his forced scowl curling his lips. “Well, you don’t have to keep ruining my blades. Aidan’s having a hard enough time keeping up with weapon supply and demand.”
“Oh, give it to me, you baby,” Killian said, rolling his eyes. Dax tossed the curled sword at him, ignoring his sarcasm.
Closing his eyes, he slowly placed his hands on the bent blade and commanded the metal to smooth itself. Slowly and awkwardly, the metal seemed to respond. Gritting his teeth, Killian focused harder, trying to urge the power to do as he wished. The blade began to unroll until it was no longer curled. Killian raised an eyebrow and handed the sword back to Dax.
“There. All better.”
Dax gawked at his sword. “You call this fixed?”
Lucan and Speron laughed behind him. The blade was crooked and had a slight bow to it as if the metal were nothing but flimsy aluminum.
“Hey, I’m still working on restoring metal,” Killian scoffed, glaring at the worthless sword.
“Yeah, well, work a little faster at it,” Dax teased. His attention was brought to the front of the training center where a large entourage had entered. Killian turned and followed his gaze. Smiling, he soaked in the beating of his heart as Mercedes led the way of her Glacien and Ignisian advisors.
She looked stunning. After the carnage of the Trinity attack Mercedes had changed. She had grown, and had been instantly accepted as one of the valued leaders of both realms. Her father, Egan, and grandmother, Gwyniera, were still the heads of both realms, but the people responded to Mercedes’ fierce passion to defend the people of Terrene against the Trinity’s bloodthirst. She had certain abilities that had never been seen in one being.
