The Chronicle

by David F. Farris

“What’s she looking for?” Kaylee asked.

  Fane lay in the cellar’s corner, twisted in cloaks. He turned to his other side, facing his two companions.

  “Probably many things,” Horos said, doing his best to place himself inside of Ophala’s head—an impossible feat for anyone who wasn’t a genius. “I’ve tried extinguishing the torches of entire blocks of city streets to gain her attention.”

  “With success?” Kaylee asked.

  “It’s difficult to say when it comes to my wife. She’ll acknowledge me when she feels the time is right.”

  Kaylee grinned. Horos gave her a look of uncertainty. “And I thought only Himitsu could bring that out of you,” he said.

  “I admire this woman, yet I’ve never even met her,” Kaylee said. “Himitsu always spoke of her, but now that I hear you do the same, I see what kind of mind she possesses.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “She’s confident in her intuition,” Kaylee explained. “She can put something in motion, then ignore it while she makes her mark somewhere else, confident that everything she has touched will steer itself in the direction she intends.”

  Fane gazed at Horos. “I’d say she’s hit the nail on the head.”

  If possible, Horos would have cracked a smile. Instead, he returned his gaze toward the floor. I’ve lost my direction, he thought. When will you touch down and guide me where you need me? After all, I am only the assassin; you are my pilot.

  * * *

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Horos groaned, his back aching as he lay on his side on the dirt.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  He lifted his head from a bundled cloak, blinking the cellar into focus. He tried to prop himself onto his arm, but it only gave way beneath him, sending his face back into the ground. He cursed under his breath; his entire arm had fallen asleep. Slowly, tingling warmth crept through it.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Realizing what had woken him, he snapped his head toward the boarded cellar window. Had they been found? If so, why would the opposition have knocked instead of barging in?

  He walked toward the window, noticing an eye that didn’t belong to a human peeking through a crevice. His heart jumped as he lunged forward. As he tried prying the wood away, he whispered, “Get back.”

  The eye disappeared as heavy fluttering sounded on the other side. He cast the wood in flame, ash falling to the ground. The window was now clear. By this point, Kaylee and Fane had awoken. A falcon swept into the room, its wings flat and long as it squeezed through the narrow opening. It circled the room before landing gracefully next to the half-eaten loaf of bread.

  Horos rushed forward to untie the scroll tied to its leg. He then rubbed its head and said, “Thank you, Skyrise.”

  Skyrise’s head twitched to the side before taking off, exiting the cellar just seconds after entering.

  “I guess your wife felt it was time for you to be nudged,” Kaylee said while Horos unraveled the note.

  Horos’s eyes skated back and forth. As he reached the end, he looked at his companions and said, “Our trust is in all the wrong places, but that’s how she wants it. Regardless of what unfolds in the near future, we should not question it. That is her request.”

  Fane closed his eyes, a groan slowly rumbling through his lips. “She has us strung up all right ... strung in rope, bound and shackled to chairs.”

  “If the Spy Pilot says that’s our role ...”

  Fane nodded. “Then so be it.”

  * * *

  Himitsu climbed the metal rungs set into the side of a sewer entrance. When he reached the lid, he drained the surrounding area of light and then moved the lid to the side. He pulled himself to the surface before dragging the lid back into place.

  There was a theory about Shadow’s Omen, that he combusted in daylight; that he took shape from the shadows themselves—shadows created only by the light of the moon. They’re not entirely false. Himitsu did rise from shadows, but not in an ominous, inexplicable way.

  He simply exited the sewers.

  Himitsu strolled through the city, his movements a lot lazier than normal. He would cherish this time, for soon there would be no opportunity to relax. Tonight started this kingdom’s eventual downfall. From this small city of Throno to the grand capital of Phelos, True Light would attempt a counter to SCAPD’s uprising from a little over half a year ago.

  Once rounding the final corner that led to Throno’s heart, where the embassy stood above its sector at a whopping six stories high, Himitsu took each step with caution. Lamaylian soldiers covered the streets when this close to Elyol. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was at least one Devish intelligence officer at every intersection, constantly gazing down each converging street with eyes that burned burgundy. Toth Brench may have been the Archaic Kingdom’s king, but it felt like this kingdom bowed to martial law more than anything else. A dedicated police force like what could be seen in Fiamma or Dunami didn’t exist. Toth’s regime relied solely on soldiers to apprehend petty criminals in the street.

  Himitsu found the main road that led to the embassy’s front door. Up until this point, he had maneuvered within the natural shadows cast by moonlight against buildings. But that was not possible here. He had to climb, which was risky in itself, but any option beat remaining on ground. He placed his foot on a narrow window ledge, reaching up for the lip of the top ledge. He pushed himself up, reaching for a rod of stone that extended from the building’s exterior. He grabbed hold and swung toward it, pulling himself up once again. This time he crouched atop the stone, a circular bed of flowers resting in a pot at its end. Once more, he extended an arm toward the roof’s edge, but it was just out of reach. So, he jumped, grabbing hold and dangling for a moment before pulling himself onto the shingles.

  Upon reaching the slanted roof, he took a deep breath. Forcing himself to stay low, he made his way across the shingles until he reached a chimney. When he peeked around it, he was granted with a perfect view of the main street.

  This was why he couldn’t have remained on the ground. If he had even peeked around a building, he would have been exposed. The main street was well lit, torches set into the walls of buildings every dozen feet. Several soldiers carried torches of their own, pacing back and forth over whichever section of street they had been assigned to for the night. Not only that, but an inferno roared, twisting around a pyre at the center of Throno’s biggest intersection. They had taken all of these extreme precautions to counter the local legend that walked the streets at night. Honestly, Himitsu wasn’t safe up here either.

  He quickly assessed the location of all military personnel, locating higher officers and not worrying with the grunts. There didn’t seem to be many who he’d have to worry himself with. Then again, Himitsu wasn’t familiar with the Lamaylian army’s structure since it was a new force. He had forgotten the rank information that his mom had provided him with weeks ago. This army didn’t seem to follow the theme of every other kingdom. The symbols of their badges and medals were foreign to the Jestivan.

  Crouching behind the chimney, he pressed against the shingles to keep his balance. A falcon in the sky drew his gaze—a mother looking over the two reckless men in her life. Give me the cue, Himitsu thought.

  The falcon—silent since arriving to Throno days ago—screamed, piercing the sky and undoubtedly waking any soldiers who might have been dozing off.

  Himitsu jumped into view, feet landing on the rim of bricks that shaped the chimney, perched like a vulture against the moonlight. Burgundy eyes—probably twenty of them—located him from every section of the main street. Soldiers, too, turned toward the chimney, where the assassin’s shadowed silhouette was accompanied by that of a falcon.

  A surge of electricity and a wave of fire approached Himitsu from two men he had assumed to be officers beforehand. But the stars and moon vanished, and along with them, the sky. An omen descended upon the city, a planetary shadow eliminating all sight.

  * * *r />
  Elyol dropped his quill, although he could not see it.

  Frenzied commands were shouted from the streets below, muffled by the glass of his closed window. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, only to open them to black. He felt around his room, eventually reaching a latch. He opened his window to a symphony of screams. He could not see it, but he knew that soldiers were dropping dead by the handful.

  Stars shone weak in the distance; directly above, nothing. The main intersection’s inferno was now nothing more than an ember that seemed to float in the shadows. All torches were gone. A falcon’s screech overpowered the cacophony below, as the Spy Pilot oversaw the destruction caused by her assassins on the battlefield.

  Elyol would wait it out. Himitsu could not keep up such intricate weaving for long. Over time, this ominous blanket that smothered the embassy should wane. And when that should happen, Elyol would make his move. All he needed was a bit of light, then his lava could do the rest.

  * * *

  After another empty-handed hunt, Horos approached the final alleyway that’d take him to his cellar’s entrance. He was about to cross a dirt road cramped between single-floor shacks when he noticed something strange in the distance, visible above the roofs. The stars seemed to have disappeared, and while the moon was still visible, its light faded abruptly in the direction of the embassy. A dome of shadows had enveloped Throno’s wealthiest sector. The night had come.

  Horos sprinted across the street and into the alley. He dug up a false patch of dirt disguised in the ground next to a wall. He then kicked his legs underneath the wooden planks that composed the structure’s side and wiggled his way into the cellar.

  “Gather your stuff,” Horos said, grabbing his travel sack that hung from a chair.

  Fane and Kaylee shot him curious looks. Without looking back, Horos climbed back out of the hole he had entered and said, “We head for the shadows.”

  * * *

  Himitsu yanked his sword from the stomach of an unknown enemy. His eyes were better adjusted to the darkness than the soldiers panicking around him. He’d catch a murky glimpse of them in the shadows, then, if they were in his path to the embassy, he struck them down with a single slash from the spunka spine sword given to him by Toshik.

  This night represented many things, but mostly, it was for Jilly.

  Somehow, someone managed to grab hold of Himitsu’s cloak, but Himitsu swiftly yanked the woman by her wrist and ignited her in flame. She screamed and crumpled to the ground, while Himitsu made his way around the inferno that was failing to negate his abilities.

  As he trotted up the front steps, soldiers began to attack each other, confusing friendlies for the enemy. Disorienting and unnerving, the darkness had made them lose their minds.

  He blasted through the double doors. Deciphering objects in the shadow’s haze, he rounded a circular receptionist desk that sat at the center of what was likely a lobby. He could see people cowering in the corners, curled up in balls on the floor. They were not soldiers, but simply staff of Throno’s political elite. Himitsu ignored them and continued onward, following his mother’s written directions to the best of his ability.

  Light began to seep through the shadows. Himitsu felt his weaving falter as he lost concentration. The longer he tried to keep it up, the more difficult it became to keep his Passion chains tight. His flames were losing their density.

  Himitsu followed the candles that lined the walls until he reached what was supposed to be the final bend. As he turned, a man stood at the hall’s end. A staff stood in his grasp, a glowing orb of orange hovering above it, powerful enough to illuminate his face in the shadows.

  Elyol flipped the staff over, pointing the orb at Himitsu. Lava spilled from within, crashing into the floor and creeping forward. The Jestivan thrust out his hand, and a stream of black fire cut through the mist. But before it hit its target, the floor caved beneath the lava’s heat.

  Himitsu and Elyol plummeted. Bits of magma splashed against Himitsu’s face and body, singeing his clothes and skin. He fumbled with air as he reached out to grab hold of anything, hoping to get lucky. The last thing he wanted was to fall into a pool of lava.

  He hit the floor below. Debris piled next to him, magma spilling through its contents. A thick, searing substance dripped onto his foot. Himitsu yelled, kicking his foot underneath him and bolting to the end of the hall. He shook his foot as he descended the stairs, trying to shake loose his drenched boot before the leather melted into his skin.

  He needed to get outside. He had overestimated his weaving skills, thinking it’d still be pitch black. Fighting a man who spewed lava while entrapped in narrow halls wasn’t intelligent. He broke into the open, tripping over what was probably a corpse in the process. He whirled and backed up slowly, searching for Elyol’s hazy shape in the black. What had his mother been thinking when conducting this plan?

  Burgundy eyes burned bright in the near distance, seemingly unaffected by Himitsu’s flame. A few Devish were recording everything, while higher ups from across the kingdom watched the disaster through a broadcast.

  The road began to split, fissures racing down its length. An orange glow seeped from the crevice. Himitsu continued to retreat. Magma exploded from the ground, rocketing into the sky before raining upon the street. Himitsu ducked and turned his back to the sky, keeping his eyes glued to the front of the embassy.

  Himitsu spotted Elyol in the doorway. By this point, soft light from the stars and moon had returned. Elyol looked like a ghostly figure in the faintness. Himitsu ignited black flames where Elyol stood, but the man sidestepped with ease.

  Himitsu tried weaving dense flames with some success. The street darkened again, and Himitsu charged with his sword drawn. Lava spewed from the ground as he ran, forcing him to strafe, narrowly avoiding the volcanic geysers. He dashed up the steps and hacked at Elyol, but Elyol extended his staff with two hands and blocked the blade. Thrusting out his right hand, Elyol swung one end of his staff at Himitsu’s neck. The Jestivan caught it just before it made contact, and Elyol twisted the staff from Himitsu’s grasp before having it ripped from his hands.

  Himitsu swung his sword again, this time coating the spunka steel in black flames. Elyol leaned back, the fire’s tips barely missing his chest, as he thrust out his boot, kicking Himitsu in the stomach. Stumbling backward down the steps, Himitsu fell into a puddle of magma. As his skin peeled away, he released a bloodcurdling roar. He pushed himself out of the mess, wringing his hands and forearms as he stood up.

  Eyes wide and face drenched in sweat, Himitsu looked up as a magmatic stream shot toward him from Elyol’s staff.

  * * *

  Horos sprinted through the city, covering entire sectors in less time than ever imaginable. Even teenage him would have been hard pressed trying to keep up. Kaylee and Fane were behind him—or at least he hoped so; he didn’t have time to look back. The shadowy abyss that swallowed the embassy was diminishing, starlight slowly breaking through. Surely, Himitsu’s energy canals were running dry. Horos was impressed that his son had kept it going for this long.

  Horos nearly slipped, as the road transitioned from dirt to cobblestone, a luxury once afforded to this city by the wealth it had accumulated from the Archaic Museum. He lurched forward, planting his hands against the ground to regain his footing and continuing to sprint. Soldiers who had remained at their stations despite the chaos noticed the trio and tried to advance. Horos, however, wasted no time in weaving dense black flames to suck the streets of light.

  “Do you forget Kaylee isn’t accustomed to maneuvering in the dark?!” Fane shouted from behind.

  Before Horos could respond, Kaylee said, “I’m fine. I’m following Horos’s aura. His flames don’t rob me of that.”

  Had Horos not been preoccupied with his chase, he would have found such a revelation of Kaylee’s ability to be fascinating.

  The sky above the embassy returned to normal. It had happened too quickly for it to have been an
ything natural. Horos rushed down an alley, shuffling awkwardly between dumpsters and random junk, banging his knees and scraping his elbows against buildings. Then he reached the other side and broke out into the open street. He turned and saw the raging inferno that had been positioned in front of the embassy. Fane and Kaylee caught up seconds later, flanking him and breathing heavily.

  “Don’t tell me ...” Fane said.

  All of their eyes were fixated on the same thing: a body lying motionlessly on the ground. Even from this distance, his face was vivid under the fire’s light.

  Horos took a step forward, then started to run, despair setting in. But his path became blocked, as something landed in the middle of the road. Eyes pinned on Horos, the falcon by the name of Skyrise stood eerily still.

  33

  The Counter Attack

  Toth couldn’t believe it. It may have been the tiniest of battles, but he had won.

  A holographic display lit the Phelos Palace throne room. Tazama stood at the center of the room, her burgundy eyes its source. Depicted in the image was a body covered in burns and melted areas of skin.

  Himitsu Vevlu, son of Spy Pilot Ophala, was no more.

  As Toth sat on his throne, his subordinates celebrating around him, he basked in a state of shock and glory. Somehow, Elyol had proved triumphant over a Jestivan, proving that they were human. Most didn’t want to admit it, but, until now, people thought that if one wanted to take out a Jestivan, it’d take a being like a royal firstborn or Toono—some believed only a Branian or Bewahr could do it.

  Hushes cut through the celebration, as the broadcast’s viewpoint veered toward Elyol and the inferno. He walked slowly toward Himitsu, his ancient at his side acting as a third leg. He stood over and observed the young man, then nudged his ribs with the bottom of his staff. He crouched and put a couple fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse.

  Despite what should have been obvious, those in the throne room held their breath while watching. Deep down, some part of them expected the Jestivan to reach up and slice Elyol’s throat.