by A. R. Crebs
Rhondin shivered. “Boys! Always up to no good. You never hear of the daughters getting into such trouble.”
“As my wife always says, it’s because they are far smarter than us to begin with!” Gaius scoffed.
Rhondin pondered his childhood a moment. “You know; I may have to agree with her on that one.” He patted Gaius’ shoulder. The two men chuckled, entering the grand Fardon estate.
They passed through the beautiful cathedral, as each manor had, and followed through the long corridor to the grand hall which was used for festivities, holiday meals, and meetings such as these. The room was spacious with vaulted ceilings; the gothic design merged with the stone ceiling and into the wooden shelves lining the walls. A few stained-glass windows were pushed open, allowing the wind to cool the room. The long banners swayed with the breeze, quietly flapping. The marble floor was polished so fine; it acted as a mirror, reflecting everything atop it. A long, thin rug of amber and jade was weighted down by an equally massive oak table. Wooden and jeweled chairs, ornate and rich in appearance, lined each side.
Surrounding the table were the Elders, all dressed in their golden robes. They chatted, some indulging in tales of their past weekend excursions, some talking not so lightly about recent events that plagued the world. Gaius III immediately noticed his grandfather at the head of the table; Fardon sat to his left, Azera to his right. Next to Azera was Gaius II, the other seat next to him remained empty. The broad man gave a large smile and waved his son toward him.
“My boy! Come sit here!” he cheered, slapping his hand against the seat.
Rhondin patted Gaius III on the shoulder and took his place beside his own father, Jaleal, who looked nearly identical but wore more distinguished robes and golden clips in his hair. Gaius III moved to his father’s side, giving a quick nod in his grandfather’s direction. Elder Gaius smiled and returned the gesture.
“You seem in good spirits, father,” young Gaius mumbled as he sat.
“Good weather today. Makes me pleased.” Gaius II turned in his seat. “Fishing later?”
“Of course, after dinner.”
The large man slapped his hands together. “Ah! I’m even more pleased now.”
As everyone settled in their chairs, and the casual chatting came to a close, Fardon’s wife circled the room, offering porcelain cups of tea and small plates of pastries. She was a tall, robust woman with rusty hair and caramel eyes. At one time, she had wielded a hammer on the battlefield but had long since retired from her duties, finding herself quite liking domestication after having her twin son and daughter. Currently, she practiced in the artistic traditions of the Sorcēarian lifestyle. Before getting married, the woman had not one ounce of skill in the kitchen or with sewing. Now, she was an expert pastry chef and excelled at dressmaking. Even though she enjoyed her more peaceful lifestyle, not one person dared to anger the woman. She kept her hammer conveniently hung beside her skillets in the kitchen and another at her bedside and one in her sewing room.
“Blueberry for you,” she whispered as she set a plate before her husband, Fardon.
The man chuckled and kissed her cheek. “You know me too well, Maren.” He tossed a morsel to Kitara, his pet owl. The bird was large with eyes the color of the setting sun and had a fiery attitude to match. The two shared a unique bond. Fardon could see through her eyes and draw from her memories, a technique best used for monitoring conferences and analyzing battles.
Fardon was one of the original to have fallen with Sir Gaius along with Jaleal and Azera. Though he shared a higher position alongside the Elders, his appearance was a bit more unorthodox with his brown hair which he usually kept shaved minus a strip in the middle, but he recently decided to go completely bald to show off his new tattoo. His eyes were silver in color with streaks of brown throughout. Fardon had the sight to perceive events around the world as they occurred. His swirling gaze could read energy levels, even analyze someone on a medical scale, gathering the smallest of microscopic data. Gold piercings decorated his nose, right eyebrow, and ears. His tattoos were ornate, covering much of his face and sides of his head. Fardon was a decorated man and had a guilty pleasure in enjoying ornamental design. Thus, his home was one of the gaudiest in the entire city.
Sir Gaius rapped his knuckles on the table. Those occupying the room quickly hushed. Being the creator of Ives, it was agreed upon that he would hold the position as head of the territory, though Sorcēarians didn’t facilitate the use of titles such as kings, lords, or presidents. It was an unspoken knowledge that he was the leader, the one best equipped to ensure the peace within Ives. Like his son and grandchildren, his silver hair sparkled with hints of gold, and his eyes were a glowing blue. Gaius donned gold and silver robes. A tattoo flecked down his forehead between his eyebrows and streaked his chin. Two dashes lined the underside of and outlined his eyes. He was humbler than Fardon, preferring simple robes to the dress attire that many of the Elders wore.
“I believe everyone is present,” Sir Gaius spoke, his voice loud in the room without much effort from his vocals.
All the Elders nodded.
“I apologize for calling you all to a meeting during this hour without much warning, but Fardon has seen some interesting events.” Gesturing toward the man on his left, Sir Gaius allowed Fardon to speak.
Fardon stood; his jewelry jingled with his motion. Narrowing his eyes, his pupils swirled as he gained sight of the world. “It seems trouble is stirring up again in the Middle East.”
There followed a series of groans throughout the room.
“Not oil again,” Narita mumbled.
Narita was also an Elder. Beautiful, tall, slender, she had a regal manner to her posture and a habit of always lifting her chin. Dark, rich curls flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her most striking feature, however, was her violet eyes. Tattoos lined her irises in gold, curling outward at the corners. Two sharp angles covered her cheekbones. A large metallic cuff clamped around her neck; chains dangled over her chest. The extravagant woman wore fitted ceremonial robes of gold and lavender. Decorating her bony fingers were an assortment of rings, more chains wrapping around her wrist. To top it off, she had a commanding, yet raspy, voice.
Fardon lowered his head dismally. “It pertains to oil, yes. And other natural resources.”
More groans followed. Fardon held up a hand.
“But it also involves something of great importance to us all.” Clicking on his armband, a projection of the Middle East surfaced, hovering above the table for the others to view. “Russia wants to expand drilling prospects for oil in the region which encroaches on sacred archeological sites and relics. With their expansion threats, there’s the possibility of them compromising or destroying valuable history. And their demands should not be taken lightly. They threaten for war once again if they cannot expand. They’ve no regard for the relics. You can see why this could be an issue that requires our attention.”
Sir Gaius suddenly held up a hand. Fardon looked to the man, listening.
“Young Gaius, you’ve noticed something as well that pertains to this subject,” the Elder stated, looking to his grandson.
Gaius III nodded, not fazed by his grandfather’s prediction. “Yes. I was with Dovian and Orin outside the timeline. We gazed upon the planet a moment. The West is testing nuclear weapons once again as we speak.”
“You are sure of this?” Narita asked over the aggravated murmurs and sighs of the surrounding Sorcēarians.
“As sure as my eyes saw the mushroom shape.” He looked to Fardon. “Ask your grandson, Fardon. Orin has your sight. He noticed it as well.”
Fardon placed his hands on the table. Taking a deep breath, he widened his eyes, his pupils enlarging, the amber streaks swirling toward the center. He focused a moment. “Young Gaius is correct. The West has once again begun testing nuclear weaponry in response to Russia’s threats.”
The room hissed. Even the Elder Gaius sighed in irritation. He held up a hand
once again. “I will attend the next World Council meeting.”
“But Sir Gaius, the meeting isn’t until the end of the month,” Fardon stated, surprised.
Just then, an alarm chimed on every armband in the room.
The Elder Gaius smiled. “It seems an emergency meeting has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. I will give my presence to discuss this matter as it is the highlighting subject.”
There were a few chuckles around the room at Gaius’ keen premonition.
He continued, “I will assume the Board of Elders agrees to my attendance and trusts my opinion on the subject.”
A unanimous murmur of agreement followed.
“Then I will follow through with my plans. I declare this meeting…” he paused. His face fell as he looked to his grandson. “Where is Dovian?”
“What?” Gaius III quickly raised, his chair toppling over.
“Trouble is about to occur,” the older Sorcēarian muttered.
***
“Watch this!” Euclid shouted.
Orin and Dovian jumped from their perches in the apple trees. Euclid hid behind a large basket full of the fruit, crouched low to the ground. The two boys joined his side.
“What? What?” Orin excitedly asked.
Dovian kneeled beside Euclid, eyeing the apple between his feet. Euclid gave a mischievous grin and held out his hands.
“Yesterday I snuck into the training facility,” Euclid whispered.
“What?! How’d you do that?” Orin leaned in close.
Euclid tilted his head. “I…have my ways.”
“You could get in big trouble for that. What if you had gotten hurt?” Dovian asked.
The black-haired boy shrugged. “I could’ve gotten away before that happened.”
Dovian opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Orin pushed him to the side in excitement.
“What’d you see?! Was it amazing?” Orin shouted.
“It was…interesting.”
“What’d they do?” Orin pried.
“Well, they were blasting each other with…wind.” Euclid’s brow furrowed as he tried to explain.
“Wind?” Orin cocked his head.
“Erm, just let me show you!” Euclid rolled up his sleeves.
Concentrating, the raven-haired boy glared at the apple, his hands hovering above it. Curling in his lip, he gave a short growl. A moment later, the red fruit pushed off the ground, spiraling in a circle. Euclid watched it, moving his hands to the side, yet not touching it. The apple held its place in the air.
“Wow!” Dovian and Orin both clapped their hands.
“That’s nothing!” Euclid sneered. Pushing his hands forward, he snarled again, and the apple violently shot forward, smashing to pieces against a tree across the row.
“Holy!” Orin leaped to his feet. “Show me how! Show me how!”
Dovian eyed the smashed pieces sliding down the tree trunk. He was mesmerized. His father had shown him a few things about energy control, but nothing like that. Eager to learn, he snatched up an apple himself.
“I want to learn,” he quietly stated.
Euclid nodded and began his lesson. Together the three boys practiced focusing their mind’s energy on the apples. They watched their fruit, imagined the way the apples felt, pushed the energy from their heads, down their arms, and to their fingertips. Orin’s sight allowed him the vision to see the energy flow around his fingers and the red fruit. As usual, he caught on quick. Dovian, however, remained timid. He was nervous about facilitating the use of his power in the orchard. For some reason, his father never wanted him to practice it without his supervision.
“Look! I’m doing it!” Orin screamed. Twirling, he tossed an apple across the orchard.
Euclid followed his actions. “Now you got it!”
Dovian frowned. His apple barely levitated off the ground.
“What’s wrong, Dovian? Can you not get it?” Orin asked.
Euclid stopped and turned toward the frustrated boy. “Aw, come on! It’s not that hard!” Laughing, he threw an apple toward Dovian, hitting him in the chest.
“Ow! That kind of hurt.” Dovian palmed his robes.
“You got to focus!” Euclid said, throwing another apple in Dovian’s direction.
“Hey!” he dodged the fruit this time.
Orin laughed, joining in on the fun. “Food fight!” With his power, he flung an apple at the silver-haired boy as well.
“Ow! Quit it!” Dovian stepped back away from the tree line.
“Come on, Dovian! Throw one at us!” Euclid shouted.
“Yeah! You can do it!” Orin added.
Alternating, the two boys continued to use their energy to toss apples at Dovian as he stepped further and further away. Some he dodged, others hit him in the chest, stomach, and legs. Dovian held out his hands, struggling to concentrate on the apples. If he could throw just one, maybe the boys would leave him alone.
“Aw, he’s getting too far away. I don’t think I can throw that far,” Orin mumbled, breathing heavily.
Euclid narrowed his eyes. “Watch and learn.”
Holding his arms out to the side, Euclid lifted a dozen apples.
Dovian’s eyes widened. “Hey! That’s not fair, Euclid!”
Euclid giggled, throwing his arms forward. In a blur of red, the fruit flew towards Dovian at an unreadable speed. They hammered against the boy, bursting to pieces.
“OW! Quit it!” Dovian screamed, covering his head. Shaking out his robes, he looked over his shoulder. He had backed away from the orchard and was only a few feet away from the cliffside.
Orin tugged on Euclid’s sleeve. “Careful. He’s really close to the ledge.”
“He’s gotta learn somehow!” Euclid shouted, raising another half dozen.
“If he backs up again, he could fall!” Orin protested.
“He’s not gonna fall! He’s not that stupid!” Euclid rolled his eyes.
“Don’t do it, Euclid!” Dovian yelled.
“Pick up an apple and throw it at me, Dovian! If you can throw one, I’ll stop!” the boy shouted back. He tossed one after another in sequence toward the frustrated boy.
One apple pegged Dovian in the stomach, pushing the wind out of him. The next hit his chest. The third smacked him right in the face, and the boy had had enough. Balling his hands into fists, Dovian glared at Euclid. At that moment, he didn’t much care for that little boy. Dovian thought Euclid was careless and dangerous. Also, he suddenly hated apples. Focusing on his hate, Dovian took a deep breath.
“I said to QUIT IT!” he screamed as he threw his arms forward.
In a flurry, all the surrounding apples shot toward the other two boys. A shockwave cracked the earth beneath Dovian’s feet. With a boom, the nearby trees creaked, all their leaves and apples pulling away from their branches, and Orin and Euclid were sent sprawling onto their backs.
Dovian remained in his place, breathing heavily. His eyes were aflame, burning with a blue brilliance. He stared at the two boys as they groaned on the ground.
“Holy…” Orin whimpered. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
Euclid lifted his head, giving a crooked grin to Dovian. “See?” he asked, wincing in pain. “I told you…you could do it. You just gotta get mad.”
Dovian sighed, his shoulders slumping. Suddenly, he didn’t feel as angry as much as he felt drained.
An abrupt jolt frightened the boy. With a rumble, the cracked ground beneath Dovian’s feet began to separate and chunk away from the cliffside. He leaned forward, dropping to his hands and knees, giving an unsure cry.
Euclid pushed to his feet, running toward Dovian. “Orin! Help!” he screamed over his shoulder.
Dovian snatched the grass, his body teetering further over the edge. He looked back, his sight moving from the sky to the horizon to the valley a hundred feet below. He couldn’t move, didn’t know what else to do. So, he fell. Dropping over the edge, Dovian reached up toward Euclid as the boy leaned o
ver the side, but he was too late. A moment later Orin was beside Euclid, mouth agape. Dovian could hear the boys’ screams, which quickly merged with the howling of the wind in his ears. He didn’t make a sound but reached up, hoping someone would grasp his hand. Soon, the boys were nothing more than a pair of tiny dots, and Dovian heard a loud crack as he collided with the rocky bottom.
“What are we going to do?! What are we going to do?!” Orin shouted over and over again, tears welling in his eyes.
Euclid gaped at the valley below. Dovian’s body smashed into the ground, and a large red pool had splattered around him.
“He’s dead,” Euclid whispered, his eyes widening.
“No!” Orin bawled.
“He’s dead,” he repeated.
“What happened?!” A booming voice called out.
Euclid and Orin spun onto their backsides, their mouths hanging open. Dovian’s father rushed toward them; the other fathers were not far behind. In the back was Sir Gaius. He walked more calmly toward them, but his expression remained severe.
“Dovian! He…he fell! Dovian fell!” Orin stammered.
“It was an accident! We didn’t mean to!” Euclid sputtered.
Gaius III’s face immediately paled. He didn’t stop at the ledge, but jumped over it, his white wings sprouting from his back. He spiraled down toward the bottom, his eyes locked onto the broken body and stain on the ground. He gritted his teeth, threatening to crack them to pieces. An explosion of noise occurred as he landed.
“Dov…” he said with a gasp.
Gaius III dropped to his knees beside the boy, staring at the cliffside. He couldn’t bear to look at his child at that moment. Shaking, he covered his mouth, letting out a groan.
Dovian’s body was smashed and twisted. Gaius III could feel the blood soaking his robes. The man didn’t budge and kept his sight fixed on the rock wall in front of him, his hand locked against his lips. His breaths became uneven as he breathed through his nose, a moan escaping now and then. No thoughts, just erratic breathing.
He dared a split-second glance. The image of the boy’s blank, wide-eyed expression burned into his mind. Gaius gasped, looking ahead again.
