The Battle for Arcanon Major (The Lost Dacomé Files)

by Alexandra May

  “Yeah, Jer. We are really free.”

  He laughed, giddy. “Okay. I’ll go down now. Nerído was really upset, by the way.”

  I pursed my lips and lifted my chin. “I’m sure if the roles had been reversed, I’d be a little scared of him too. It’ll be all right.”

  As I said it, Nerído stepped off the ladder and onto the platform. Jerik nodded to him shyly and left us.

  Nerído’s arms were folded firmly across his chest. He bowed his head but looked at me sternly, his eyebrows pushed up. I couldn’t tell whether he was concerned for or angry with me.

  “I feel like I don’t know who you are,” Nerído spoke with the softest of tones.

  I blinked, aghast. “You too? What? Because of that? Come on, Nerí.”

  “It’s not that you killed them all by yourself. And it’s not that I don’t understand why you did it.”

  “So what is it then?” I said vehemently. “Not because I just freed my people of the vermin that has lain at our door for centuries.”

  “No.” He shook his head with closed eyes, reopening them with a cold, hard stare. His arms hung confidently by his side but his body was pushed out, like a barrier between us. “It’s the fact that you enjoyed it. You…laughed. You were overjoyed while you killed them. In a sickening, twisted tone that I’ve never heard before. I felt it through our connection and it … disgusted me that you could ever feel like that inside. The Xipilés are not a peaceful race, we have our malevolent moments but—”

  One sardonic laugh passed my lips. “So says a Xipilé. A Xipilé whose race no one really trusts.”

  He leaned forward to meet my eyeline. “You’re a Xipilé now, Halíka, remember?”

  I struggled to detect an ember of empathy in his pointed gaze, but there was nothing. I struggled to move backwards. “No. I am a Dacomé and always will be. I’m a Xipilé by union only. I have no other ties to your race other than through you.”

  He threw me a dark look and stood tall. “I cannot believe my wife is a stone cold killer. I can not. But that’s all I feel right now. Give me enough time to allow this to pass.” He looked away to scour the dead, outlying ruins of the Minor for the first time.

  We were not friends right now. Duty came first; reconciliation came later, if at all. “You still want me to raze the Outer City?”

  I nodded curtly. “Please. Once it’s gone, we can start our lives again. Build anew.”

  “What about your life with me as a Xipilé? Can we get past this?”

  I sighed. “Nerí, I have nothing left to show you. You know who I am. There’s nothing left to learn. Is that enough?”

  I waited patiently for his answer and walked closer, but he stepped away from me. “Then once this is done, I don’t ever want to see that person I saw just now. She was not Halíka Dacomé.”

  Nerído’s sad eyes were heartbreaking. I wanted to heal his pain but his reluctance to be near me was the worst.

  “I don’t understand.” My thoughts were scattered. “You, all of you helped me do it. You were all here, Nerí. Your ships just wiped out millions of Primords. We—we did this together. It wasn’t just me.”

  His eyes blazed incredulously. “But you enjoyed it, Halíka Dacomé. That’s the difference between what we did and what you’ve just shown us. You enjoyed it.”

  He was right. I had enjoyed it. Did that make me a killer in the truest sense? Wasn’t that what I was, anyway? The lines blurred where I was concerned. They always had. That very word—killer— was what the Skeptics feared when they saw me. I always saw it in their eyes. Was I a cold-hearted killer? No. I never had been. I’d only ever fought for what was right. And now I felt like I was being judged for the very duty I was raised to do.

  Yes, I’d had a moment where my thoughts got away from me. But I would never do any of those things. The seduction of all four magics had overwhelmed me. Mostly.

  “I have to address the Dacomé army.” I lowered my head and looked at his feet. “Nerí, I’m sorry I disappointed you. We will get over this. We only need time.”

  He acknowledged my response with one quick nod and then prepared to burn Arcanon Minor.

  “Soldiers of Arcanon. We are free! No more shall our doors be barred to the vile Primords that have reduced us to this Arc of the city we call home. Rejoice with me! Arcanon is free!”

  The soldiers and captains at least were on my side. They shouted “For Arcanon!” the loudest. They stripped off their armour and threw shin pads and knife guards into the air. They jumped, hugged comrades, and ran around congratulating each other.

  I watched them with such pride. Happy that not one soldier had had to fight this last battle. The barricades had held out. Every single one of my soldiers was healthy and unhurt. For them, it had been a happy day. For me, I had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.

  Arcanon Minor burned by Nerído’s hand. His arms were aloft as mine had been but he had the ability to produce fire only where it was needed. The fires burned deep into the core of the Minor. Flames surrounded us in a circle and reached so high, the sky was scorched in yellow and red. The black tips of the flames ate away at the air above, becoming wisps of ash that floated to the ground. Slowly, the fires receded, finding nothing left to burn. The smouldering embers were all that remained.

  Avíra, Sanátu, and Jerik came back up to the platform just as Nerído finished. Avíra stepped forward and formed a wind, turning her hands over and over in the most graceful way. A wind whipped around us gently, strong enough to blow the remaining smoke and ash outwards towards the plains. We inhaled cleaner air.

  For now our quarrels were over, but not forgotten.

  Jerik spontaneously jumped up and down, throwing his arms out to his sides, shouting, “We’re free!”

  Nerído put an arm over his shoulder and patted his chest. “You did a good job, Jerik. We’re all in one piece because of you.”

  “Really?” Jerik answered. “I didn’t do much. A few tried to scale the tower but I just pushed them off.”

  “You did enough, youngling,” Avíra said.

  The noise from the 1st Corridor was increasing. Captain Orthían had authorised all doors and gates that barred the city to be opened.

  The citizens of Arcanon Major milled in to share their congratulations with the soldiers. Sweethearts ran to each other and kissed. Children wrapped up in the arms of their soldiering mothers and fathers were glad to have a new start in life after so long.

  “Halíka Dacomé, despite what you did, all of these people have you to thank for it,” Sanátu remarked. “You are a true hero.”

  He saluted me; Avíra and Jerik did the same. They bowed down on one knee on this twenty-metre-high platform and honoured me in the most important way.

  The crowd below grew quiet. I looked at Nerído; he winked and smiled, closing his eyes in quiet acceptance at who his wife really was. As he did so, he pointed down to the 1st Corridor.

  The people from the town—children, women carrying babies, soldiers and captains, factory workers, healers, and, out of the corner of my eye, Nerído—each person had bowed on one knee. They all saluted me.

  I held my breath for a moment at the awe-inspiring view. Words could in no way express how overwhelmed this gesture was. I would remember it to my dying day.

  “Please, citizens of Arcanon, this day belongs to all of us. We should all celebrate—”

  A gasp caught in my throat. I sensed him before I saw him. My body suddenly felt drained as he and three others stepped closer through the throng. The others on the platform turned slowly to see what had stopped my address. The crowd peered round to see also.

  His black cloak was drawn over his face as he continued an unobtrusive, slow meander through the crowds. No one guessed—but I knew whose face lay underneath that black shroud. All eyes turned in his direction as he pulled back his hood.

  He pointed the firing weapon in my direction and pulled the trigger.

  A voice shouted beside me. Ner
ído pushed the others aside and reached his arms out towards me.

  I watched the Xerilium bullet leave the barrel and hurtle its way through the air.

  “Halíka!” Nerí shouted from too far away. My feet were dead, rooted to the platform, unable to move.

  The bullet hit my stomach and stopped with a thunk. Blood slowly began to ooze from the wound, seeping out, soaking my tunic.

  Hands scraped against my clothes as they tried to grab. Fingers fumbled at my hair and arms, but they weren’t close enough.

  As I fell forward, screams erupted from the horrified crowd and echoed in a whirlwind around the Arc.

  “Halíka! No!”

  I was soaring, just as I’d seen in my vision. The soft air buffeted my skin and filtered in through my clothes.

  Just like a sparrow hawk, the cool wind breezed through my outstretched fingers and whistled past my ears.

  Except this time, I wasn’t a bird feeling the thermals under my wings.

  I hit the unforgiving floor, breaking every limb and shattering my spine. The Xerilium started its cruel journey, swelling from the exploded bullet in my gut.

  I had just lost the war that had unexpectedly turned black.

  Chapter 12 - Double Cross

  Capíok Dacomé, using his harsh order voice, addressed the crowd.

  “Hear me now, citizens of Arcanon. I am your king and legal ruler of this planet. Whatever actions have taken place today were committed without my consent. I want her arrested and taken to the Throne Room now.”

  The burst blood vessels in my eyes stung. My entire body suffered the most gruelling pain. Collapsing lungs permitted only shallow mouthfuls of air in short, sharp bursts. Blood bubbles popped near my mouth as I tried to suck in more air through my bloodied teeth. Gritty soil under my face embedded into the open wounds on my cheek and jaw.

  To move any part, an arm, even a finger, was doubly excruciating. I tried to reach for my gift but only a thin streak could be reached. I used it to heal the ruptured vertebrae in my spine and the shattered bones in my arms, but just using it knocked me out again and all I saw was …

  Hands held my legs together and palms pushed my frame upwards into the air. Blood pumped loudly through my eardrums and followed the pattern of my rapid heartbeat.

  A voice, too far away, screamed my name.

  Cries from the crowd. Sobs from the children. A boy ran forward and tried to reach for my hand. But the soldiers who carried me didn’t stop.

  “Halíka!” The rich, deep voice I loved cried out again in desperation. Twisting my head, I saw Nerído. He fought with the guards who were holding him back. He threw a punch at one and tried to run forward but was grappled to the ground by two others. He started to glow red as his anger took hold and tears sparkled in his eyes. “Halíka!”

  I curled up in a tight ball. The bones at my shins had cleanly snapped. I healed my wounded legs, thankful that the marrow fit inside again so easily. The trauma of the healing knocked me under again.

  Voices—shouting—snarling—angry—crying. Order. Quiet.

  The Xerilium was spreading slowly. It leeched around the wound in my stomach, sealing it completely with its liquid metal ooze. My gift wouldn’t get past it. The spreading slowed as my body heat started to lower, much colder now. The floor underneath my body was colder still.

  I coughed, my first blood spray splattering against my hand. Some ribs had pierced my collapsed lungs, making even the inhalation of tiny breaths difficult, more like a choking gasp. The vessels in my eyes stung against my lids. I blinked them to clear my vision. I wiped sand and grit from my mouth and tried to see where I lay.

  The Throne Room. Middle of the floor.

  Sanátu was kneeling next to me, but facing forward towards the throne. Avíra was on the other side, next to him. Their hands were tied behind them. They leaned forward in submission.

  I gasped and coughed again. I writhed on the floor and tried to move, trying to cry out. Too painful. Every movement hurt too much.

  Sanátu glanced down from the corner of his eye. His head moved in the smallest of nods to whoever was behind me to the other side. Nerído, perhaps? I tried to reach out with my gift, to feel the different essences of every person in the room. However, I had nothing left. My gift was slowly fading.

  “Halíka, if you can hear me, move your foot and rest it on my leg,” Sanátu said in my head.

  I shuffled, just a small movement, to see. His ankles were tied. I urged my right leg over, the kneecap still swollen from the fall.

  “Hal, are you awake, love? No one’s noticed you’re conscious yet. Keep moving your leg over to Sanátu. You can take his part of your gift from the bracelet but you need to touch him. Can you do that?”

  A coughing fit overtook my chest. The nerves in my body prickled at the threshold. Sore. I shuffled my leg over a little farther. Slowly and with the slightest of tremors, I touched Sanátu’s bare skin on his ankle.

  A flood of magic washed into me, as though I’d been doused in a shower. From my legs, it sped up to my thighs, to my torso, and up to my arms.

  I concentrated now to use the small portion. I pushed back the ribs from my lungs, sealing the bones back into place on my ribcage.

  I sucked in a massive intake of air fully and wheezed as the lungs forced in normal breaths. In and out. In and out.

  “Halíka. Halíka, love, can you hear me?”

  I let out a gut-wrenching shriek and clawed my fingers into the floor as the pain in my stomach doubled.

  Sanátu spoke again. “Halíka, touch my ankle again. Avíra’s passed me your power from her bracelet. Quickly. Your father’s on his way back.”

  I sidled my foot back over and touched him. Another wash of magic overtook me. I lay restfully, allowing it slowly to reach into my bloodstream to ease the swelling and bruising. I grasped at my stomach again as a fresh bloodstain appeared on my hand. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t suppress the bleeding.

  My body shook into another coughing fit. The residual blood from my lungs was now out. Sharp jabs stabbed at me from inside as the Xerilium continued to spread. Jagged and pointed, it ripped through my veins, splitting them open as it surged.

  I shrieked, pushing my vocal cords to the limit.

  A harsh voice grated as it spoke. “Is she awake yet? Wake her up now.”

  Ice-cold water drenched me. Had I fallen into a stream? The sudden biting coldness chilled me inside. The Xerilium stopped creeping.

  “Stop it. She’s dying, can’t you see that?” Nerído shouted, his voice thick with grief.

  “Oh, she won’t die,” my father replied. “Not if we keep her cool enough.”

  “What kind of sick father does that to his own daughter?” Sanátu protested, abhorred. “Can’t you see what you’ve done? She’s in agony!”

  Thwack. Sanátu flinched sideways as he was struck across the face.

  “You would do well to remember where you are. You’re at my mercy now, Batavéan.”

  “You have a knife to her husband’s throat. You threaten me. You have us all at your mercy already,” Sanátu yelled. “Be warned, old man, if you harm any of us, you will bring a different kind of war to your planet. The Primords are sandbugs compared to what you’ll have coming at you. All three alliances will crush you to the ground.”

  A grizzly chuckle came from behind me. Arfron Uhnok’s voice made me wince. His stomping steps moved around us. He stepped in front and bent his face down into Sanátu’s glare.

  “Be careful what you say, dark one. We’ve created a new alliance here on Xiryathon. Capíok and I will be ruling together from now on.” He stood up, pushing his shoulders back as he continued. “You all think you had a victory today? You’re wrong. There are more of us than you could ever imagine. The Primords still roam this planet. You’ve only made a small dent in our numbers.”

  “You’re lying,” Nerído shouted. “What the—”

  He cried out in agony.

  Arfron
Uhnok leapt to the left and out of my sight.

  “You dare to speak to me, Xipilé?” he bellowed. “Every time you speak, he will stick that sword into you again and again. You know why? Because I want you to experience pain for what you’ve done. She was mine.”

  His finger pointed downwards in my direction. I heard something yanked and flung. The crystal bounced across the marble floor and stopped near my hand. My fingers slid through the broken chain and I drew it towards me. Quickly, I shoved it into my pocket and pushed it down to the bottom, hoping no one had noticed.

  “Halíka, you know I love you. What I say is true,” he said in retort at his accuser. “I dare to speak to you, slime bag. The first thing you should have known? Halíka Dacomé belongs to no man. Least of all me.”

  Nerído let out a cry in pain as metal withdrew from flesh.

  I couldn’t take it any longer. The sound flushed through my ears repeatedly. Nerído being tortured behind me was the most I could take.

  I whispered quietly the words but my voice was weak. “Knife.”

  “What was that?” Sanátu answered.

  “I need a knife.”

  Avíra leaned back and stared into my eyes. “What are you going to do, Halíka?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Get me a knife. Somehow.”

  Nerído continued at Arfron Uhnok as if nothing had happened. “Is that all you’ve got, little man? The extent of your bravery? You know if I had these Xipilé knives in my hand, I would gut you myself.”

  Arfron reacted. He grabbed the two knives from Nerído’s belt and hurled them away. They landed in front of Sanátu with a clatter.

  I reached for the nearest one. My fingers grazed the hilt and my fingertips edged it closer to my palm. I moved towards them, still on my side. The outline of my body hid my actions.

  “Halíka, what are you doing?” Nerído said frantically.

  Both hands wrapped around the hilt. Sanátu and Avíra looked on with worried expressions.