Worlds of the Never: A book with Dragons, Faeries and Elves, mixed with Science Fiction and Time Travel, for Young Adults and Teens. (Tales of the Neverwar 2)

by CJ Rutherford

  The ‘accident’ which killed the vice president had been a stroke of genius, killing two of the others who might have stood in her way. They would never find the plane. Her Master’s puppet crashed it, over a thousand miles off their original flight path, on the way to a conference in Sydney, Australia. The wreckage was scattered over five miles below the surface of the south Pacific.

  The ceremony pronouncing her as the next vice President of the United States of America had been delayed until the searches were called off and death certificates written. But here she was; one step away from leading this country, and then the world. She’d intended to leave it a few months, maybe a year, before becoming the first female President, but her master had other ideas, and was she not his humble servant in all things? Besides, the Presidency was about to become irrelevant.

  She quivered at the thought. For years she had worshipped Lucifer, never expecting to rise so high in his favor, so pivotal to his plan to open the gates of Hell; but the time had arrived, so she composed her thoughts lest they flow over into her outward appearance.

  “Madam Vice President,” said Dr. James Carver, bowing fawningly as he took her outstretched hand. “May I say what an honor it is to welcome you to this facility?”

  Celia cringed as the sweaty palm caressed her hand, but shook firmly. “Thank you Doctor. I must say I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. When I first read the report on this facility, I had no idea of the sheer scale of the place.”

  This part was true. When her master suggested she read about this place, the paperwork hadn’t done it justice. It wasn’t the scale she was interested in, however, but something which was now very close by.

  Carver laughed nervously, “I’m glad you approve, Mad…”

  Celia raised her hand. “Please, Doctor. It’s Celia to my friends. I’m already growing tired with the title.”

  Her sentence had the desired effect, and Carver’s mouth stretched into a wide grin which made him look like a rat.

  “Thank you, ah, Celia. And please, call me James.” He waved his hand theatrically toward a long corridor. “Now if you’d like to follow me for the grand tour?”

  Celia nodded, appearing much calmer than she felt. She glanced at Stephen.

  Each of them had a part to play in today’s events. The beauty of being Vice President, and having a contingent of secret service agents, is that local security personnel normally submitted their systems to intense scrutiny on the lead up to, and even during a visit. Right now, another of her subjects was in the control room, awaiting the signal to move. Those poor witless fools never suspected anything when they let an armed man into the sealed vault.

  Celia sensed Stephen and the others taking in everything around them, noting where the guards stood and figuring out lines of fire. She was confident they could take this whole floor in seconds, but agents were genetically paranoid.

  The voice, the presence within her, grew restless. Her master knew they were minutes away from the beginning of a new world order, where the servants of the ‘Gods’, who had been worshipped by man for thousands of years, would be dragged screaming from their burning churches, temples, and mosques.

  Lucifer would reign supreme, and she would be at his right hand, free to do anything she wanted, as long as it pleased her master. And she knew what she did in the privacy of her mansion pleased him greatly, for hadn’t he promised to give his body to her when he finally walked this world? She felt the heat grow in anticipation, and had to force herself to listen to the inane chatter coming from this annoying little man.

  “And in here you can see the collider aperture itself,” said Carver, “and if you look around the rim of the assembly you can see the dozens of particle beam emitters. These focus the subatomic particles, which are brought up close to light speed by the superconductor magnets lining the twenty kilometer donut surrounding this facility. When they intersect, we gain glimpses into what may be alternate dimensions.”

  Celia decided to feign a little interest. “Sorry, James, you said what ‘may’ be alternate dimensions. What else could they be? I’ve read the papers, and although I’m no scientist, I have advisors who tell me you are on the cusp of creating a wormhole to another point in space/time.”

  To his credit, Carver actually blushed. “Well, that may or may not be true, Mad…sorry, Celia. But you know us eggheads. There are always more experiments to do.” He laughed at his incredibly bad joke, but indicated a doorway in front of them.

  “And in here is the nerve centre of the whole building.” He walked in and the others followed. “There are, of course, hundreds of labs in this facility, but they all exist to serve this one. This is where, ‘the pot is stirred’, where the ‘blue touch paper’ is lit.”

  He really did look like a rat, she thought, as Stephen drew a silenced pistol, and shot the two guards accompanying them. The other agents drew their weapons, quickly eliminating all the staff in the room.

  Carver gaped speechless, and Celia leered at him as Stephen put a bullet through his head. He remained with her as the others swept the floor. There should be no one else here, but they did so anyway. Even when corrupted, they retained their Secret Service paranoia.

  Above, in the control room, blood and grey matter splattered the screens and consoles, as two bodies slumped in their chairs.

  Celia stood five hundered yards below, smiling in triumph.

  It was time.

  Chapter Forty

  Lost Hope

  Chran stepped lightly through the portal created by the recall device. He sighed as the shimmering energy field dissipated, and he stood alone in the chapel.

  The last few days had been amazing, much more so because of the unexpected benefits of his brief stay.

  His daughter was alive, if not in the same body. They had spent hours talking about what happened since they had died and been reborn. Cyrellia’s consciousness merged with Jira’s at some point, and Chran found he loved both as one. They were his daughter.

  Zjokara was a different matter, and he smiled as he walked along the path beside the lake. It was early afternoon, and the sun brought families out in their droves. His enhanced senses flooded him with sensations, the laughter as children fed the ducks. The joy as the ducks chased the bobbing food in the water.

  He knew their thoughts, intimately.

  He exited the park and saw the house halfway down the street. He couldn’t wait to tell them his news; the whole Zhibalban space navy was at their disposal. He imagined even Derren might be speechless, and he grinned as he climbed the stairs. This mundane form was necessary here. A golden dragon might have caused a panic in the city of Belfast.

  He got to the second floor, and raised his hand to touch the door, before stopping in his tracks. What he sensed was impossible, but then, he’d appeared in Zhibalban space not expecting to encounter another dragon. As he stood motionless outside the door, he extended his awareness into the room. There it was, the scent of dragon magic; faint and not recent, but there nonetheless.

  Chran erected defenses he thought he’d never have to use here. This scent, or taste, was the opposite of what he’d felt as he discovered his kin. This was tainted, wrong, somehow.

  He pushed the door, and was greeted with an unexpected sight.

  “Chran!” shouted Krista, as she jumped up from the sofa, scattering popcorn everywhere. She flew into his arms, almost knocking him over. “Where have you been? We expected you back over a week ago.”

  Derren looked round, deciding not to get up, probably because the bucket on his lap was three times the size of his sister’s. “Yeah, what kept you, mate?”

  Chran sensed the tension in the room, as if they wanted to tell him something, but had spent so much time denying it to themselves that it hurt to admit.

  Chran dropped the cloak, and took his true form, albeit one fitting in size for the apartment. He raised his snout and sniffed the air. The twins looked at him, and then each other.

  “Wha
t are you doing, Chran?” asked Krista. There were dark shadows under her eyes which he initially missed. He looked around the apartment. It was a mess. Dirty dishes filled the sink, and empty takeaway cartons spilled out of the bin onto the floor.

  “I might ask you the same,” he said. “Where are Katheryne and Perri?”

  The response shocked him, as both Derren and Krista bowed their heads, close to tears.

  Derren looked up, and Chran saw the hopelessness in his expression. “They’re gone, my friend. It appears we have become...surplus to requirements.”

  Chran watched a tear flow down his cheek. His confused expression drew an explanation from Krista.

  “Perri and I broke up,” she said. “Derren tried to talk to Perri, but Katheryne...well, she’s Perri’s best friend, and I haven’t been feeling myself these last couple of weeks. I guess we deserved what we got. They’re gone, Chran. This fight...it’s over. We’re done.”

  The stink was unmistakable. The spell hung in the air like a haze only he could see. Only a dragon could cast this sort of subtle magic, which built in strength day by day, and Chran knew it must have been almost a week since it was cast. He concentrated on the locus used to spread it, and looked deep into Krista’s eyes. There was anguish and hurt looking back at him as he reached out.

  Krista shook her head, the spell within her attempting to protect itself. “Chran, what are you doing? Why are you in my head?” She backed away and Derren got up, toppling the huge bucket of popcorn across the floor.

  “Leave her alone, Chran!” He crossed to put an arm up to restrain Chran, but was repelled by the spell of defense he’d erected. This alone was proof of another dragon’s influence. Derren flew across the room, to crash flat out on the floor. Krista stood motionless for a second before dropping into a fighting stance.

  Chran let a breath out, seeming to sigh, and both Krista and Derren dropped unconscious to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, my friends,” Chran muttered, “but this is for your own good.”

  He breathed a blue flame across them, and carried on to bathe the entire apartment, all the rooms in it. The cleansing fire purified the air, and banished the reek of the diabolical spell left behind by something which shouldn’t be here.

  He carried on out of the apartment, casting a spell of concealment, as he followed the scent to the garage at the end of the street. A collection of roller doors lay there, where residents could park cars which didn’t possess permits to park on the street. Chran stopped at a yellow door. A wave of his hand raised the metal barrier, to reveal an empty space.

  Katheryne’s car was gone, but the spell followed her. Chran walked back to the apartment, in time to see Derren and Krista sit upright with huge grins on their faces.

  “Wow,” said Derren as he beamed at Chran, which looked quite ridiculous sitting as he was on his backside on the floor. “Did I ever tell you I love you?” He turned to his sister, who lolled on the couch, grinning as well. “Krista, don’t you just love this guy?”

  She got up and stretched her arms to embrace him, before her face abruptly darkened. Her arms dropped, and a grimace replaced the smile. “What the hell was that, Chran?” Her cheeks flushed, and her knuckles were white.

  Chran stood his ground as the euphoria left Derren, and he rose to confront him as well.

  “You were under a spell,” he said, casting a soft barrier spell, just as Krista sprang at him. She struggled for a second before being lowered gently to the ground. “Derren, it’s dragon magic, remember what we discussed about the way our magic works?”

  The rage in Derren’s eyes faded to confusion; and from confusion, to indecision, to understanding.

  “Dragon magic is subtle, but if cast by a powerful dragon, it builds.” Derren said, remembering the conversation. “Slowly at first, but then becoming destructive, until the victims destroy themselves...By the Great Maker!”

  Chran nodded, “Yes, a dragon did this. I know not how, but I smelled the stink before I came in. When I saw you, and saw the pit of despair you were entering, I was certain. But Derren, where are Katheryne and Perri? They are in incredible danger.”

  “It was Perri.” Both of them turned to look at Krista as tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t ask me how I know, but it’s her. There’s something controlling her. It must be the beast Katheryne fought.”

  Derren slapped a fist into his palm. “How could we let this happen? We’re supposed to be able to sense these things. I mean, aren’t we dragons?”

  Chran chuckled. “I have recently discovered that certain perceptions remain blind until we become dragonkind. But we need to find them, quickly. How long have they been gone? And do you know where they are?”

  Krista looked questioningly at her brother, before turning to Chran. “I can’t be sure, I mean it’s all still a little grey, but I know she said she was going to a cottage in Donegal. Derren, can you find her?”

  Derren had searched countless realties, and found his soul mate after decades, but he shook his head.

  “There’s something blocking me,” he said. “I know she’s here, on Earth, but I can’t find her.”

  Chran smiled. “Well, it looks like I need to go dragon hunting. You guys up for it?”

  Both nodded, and followed the increasingly glowing golden form outside.

  Chapter Forty One

  The Black Heart

  Gwenyth examined the bloodstained tunic. Hot tears ran freely down her cheeks to fall on the forest floor, as she remembered the wearer.

  “He was your friend?” The brilliant blue spark spoke with a deep voice which belied his size.

  Cantror’s voice betrayed his feelings for Gwenyth, at odds with the cantankerous attitude towards her he publicly projected. The War Master of the Faer Folk flittered above her right shoulder, crystal sword drawn and glowing.

  Gwen nodded. “We played together as children. Well, I was a child, Caron is...was, over five hundred years old. But until Amilee was born, he was the youngest Eldar in the glade.”

  She sniffed, and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Yes, Cantror, he was my friend, but more than that, he was my big brother.” She looked again at the tunic.

  “What happened here? This looks like it’s been in the forest for years, but I only spoke to Caron three days ago.” The cloth was green and decayed, covered with mould.

  Cantror nodded, looking around in the gloom.

  “What I don’t understand is why they made camp within the darkness.” He looked overhead. It was noon, and the forest should be filled with shafts of sunlight spearing through the canopy of green above, but here the leaves were a stifling thundercloud. He looked back the way he and Gwenyth had come, a distance of perhaps 200 yards. It was as if he watched daylight through a tunnel of murk, and he surprised himself as the desire to flee to the light arose within him.

  The campfire stones were clearly visible at the centre of the small clearing. The smoke, which had drawn them here, still wafted straight upwards. The air was stagnant and unmoving, thick and oppressive even as they breathed it in.

  “They were warned not to camp within the darkness, only to scout the eaves during daylight until the main force arrived.” Kon kicked one of the stones in anger. Caron had been a close friend. “I know he would not have disobeyed, so something untoward must have happened. But what could have possessed them to camp in this place, when the light is so close?”

  He too gazed longingly toward the sunlight a short, but seemingly insurmountable distance away.

  “Perhaps they didn’t.”

  The stranger’s voice caused the three of them to spin towards it and prepare for the worst. What else might they expect in this place? None of the trio knew, so the sight of a tall elf with golden hair, standing alongside a short, stout figure in a darkened hood, perplexed them.

  Kon moved, but Gwenyth put a hand on his arm and stepped forward to face the two strangers. The tall elf looked at her from a pair of piercing green eyes;
eyes which reminded her of a person from her past. Or was it her future? She still struggled to understand her origins. But her husband’s eyes had been the same shade of green, and her daughter Katheryne’s might have eclipsed the clarity which these shone with.

  “You are Gwenyth.” His words were a statement of fact. He knew her.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she said, erecting a shield around the trio. “Forgive me for being rude, but how do you come to be here, in this dark place?”

  The smaller figure lowered his hood to reveal his bearded stone face. “Darkness holds no fear for the likes of us, my lady.” His voice matched his appearance. His burring lilt could only be described as ‘gravelly’. “I was born from the rock, and my tall friend here resided in my father’s halls long enough to become comfortable in his own way. Although I must say, there is more here to fear than a simple absence of the sun.”

  Gwenyth smiled. She sensed no danger in the travellers. The elf returned her smile, bowing before her.

  “My lady, forgive us our discourtesy. I forget I departed the Citadel prior to your arrival.” He stood up and put his hand on his small friend’s shoulder. “This is my friend, Kore, Prince of the mountain Kingdom.” The Dwelf bowed stiffly.

  “I am called Filumé, but I’m sure our friend Kon will attest to my identity.”

  Gwenyth watched a grinning Kon, as he burst into laughter and ran to embrace Filumé.

  “It’s about time you showed up, you vagabond,” he said, as he slapped Filumé hard on the back. “I was starting to wonder if you’d dug yourself your own little hole in the mud under those lightless rocks.”

  Kore snorted. “I seem to remember the last time you visited, Kon. You managed to drink yourself into quite a large hole. If I recall, it took you a week to recover and dig yourself out.”

  Kon laughed even harder, inviting Kore into the group hug.