Sword of Draskara (Casters of Syndrial Book 2)

by Rain Oxford

  “I doubt that. All you mortals are so simpleminded. It’s surprising someone as dumb as the twins’ mother could give birth.”

  He was just asking to die at that point.

  “Either way, I could see why Set chose her. She does have a lovely scream. I might even get another heir for my efforts.”

  I was glad Luca was out, because if he’d heard Maori talking about our mother like that, he would have broken Anubis’s spell himself.

  “It’ll probably be another girl,” the guard on his left said despondently.

  “Nasty little things. If it’s another girl, she’ll have to die just like the rest of them.”

  And then I was glad Keira wasn’t with me. I wanted to be the one to kill the bastard.

  At that point, one of the guards picked up a pale of water to throw on Luca. “I’m awake,” Luca said, not opening his eyes. The guard put down the water. I was shocked that Luca hadn’t reacted to Maori’s comments.

  He opened his eyes and stared calmly at Maori as the god drew his sword. “Anything you want to say before you die?” he asked.

  “Nah. I don’t want to get your hopes up. You should at least offer me a drink before poking me with your stick, though. And when you do get in, you might want to let me know so I can make the appropriate sounds. It’s not exactly my first time being stabbed in the heart, and that’s a really disappointing dagger you got there. Oh, and if you do miss, which I highly suspect you will, try to hit the left lung, not the right one. The right one is my good lung and I’m an organ donor.”

  “You think you’re funny?”

  “Usually, but right now, I’m just kind of hoping you’ll make me a sandwich afterwards.”

  Since Maori wasn’t human, that confused him. “What is a sandwich?”

  Over the years, Luca and I had played a number of strategy games, usually with other people, so we had a series of words that would mean something specific to us in order to communicate our problems or plans. “Sandwich” meant that he was in extreme pain, but hadn’t given up anything.

  “Don’t worry; you’ll learn. You’ll have to buy the ingredients and it takes time to learn what I really like, but you’ll get there.”

  He was trying to buy me time, and he knew I was in the room.

  “You are a weird caster,” Maori said, as if that was an insult.

  Luca shrugged his left shoulder. His right shoulder was dislocated. “I’m a special little snowflake, just like everyone else. Oh, and sassafras. I want sassafras tea with my sandwich.”

  “Sassafras” was our word to indicate urgency. He wanted me to act on any plan I had right this instant. Without thinking, I reached into my pocket and crushed the amulet.

  Maori had already aimed the sword at Luca, and by the time the amulet crumbled to dust, the god had already pierced my brother’s skin. I was too shocked to make a sound. Luca was also silent, yet his face betrayed his agony. His teeth clenched and his eyes closed. However, something was happening to him. His hair darkened and his body changed, not in a shapeshifter way, more like a phasing way. When it was done, he looked like me and wore the immortality ring, but the sword was still inside him and his face fell slack.

  I watched in horrified shock as Maori pulled out the sword and my brother’s head slumped. I’d only seen him without a disguise for a few minutes. He was identical to me physically, but there was something different connecting us. We were brothers. He had lied to me and implanted the memories of Luca, but Painter was my brother. No matter how many people he killed, no matter how crazy he was, he was still my brother.

  The notion of him being gone was unthinkable. Trapped, disguised, lost, whatever; we could find each other. Dead was impossible. In that moment, I didn’t care that he lied or who I had grown up with. I just wanted him back. I never got the chance to know my brother for real.

  Maori turned away, sheathing his sword. “And that’s how you kill a demigod,” Maori bragged. A second later, a flash of light filled the room. I was left with spots in my eyes, but Maori and the guards were on the ground, badly burned.

  “Guess again, bitch,” Painter said. He was alive, alert, and pissed. Without saying a word, he magically unlocked his own restraints.

  Maori climbed unsteadily to his feet, and when lightning struck from the ceiling, it hit a protective ward around him. “I stabbed you in the heart.”

  “Like I said; it wasn’t my first time.”

  While he was distracting Maori, I snuck up behind the god. I knew I should have gone for the guards first, but I couldn’t stomach killing them knowing they had no control over themselves. I really hoped Painter knew where I was and wouldn’t strike Maori at that moment. I was less than a foot away from the god, not daring to breathe, and pointed the blade at his throat. Just as I thrust the blade, he ducked, then threw a wide punch in my direction, which connected audibly with my solar plexus. It knocked me to the floor and the air out of my lungs.

  “Get him!” Maori shouted.

  “Who?” one of the guards asked.

  “The Writer!” He pointed in my direction, but he was looking at the floor, not me.

  He couldn’t see me any better than the guards could. Unfortunately, I couldn’t take advantage of that until I caught my breath.

  Painter wasn’t wasting time, though; he drew out his book and got to work. A moment later, traps appeared under the guards and Maori. They were similar to small portals. The guards were stuck, but Maori gestured to the trap beneath him and it burned away.

  “Caster tricks won’t stop me,” Maori sneered, turning his attention back to Painter. I slipped off my ring, ready to use it again as a distraction. I just didn’t want my brother accidentally hurting me as well.

  Wheezing slightly, I got to my feet. Painter spared me a momentary glance before refocusing his attention on our opponent. “I am so ready to be done with you it’s not even funny,” I said, regaining Maori’s focus. Painter and I were on opposite sides of the room with Maori between us, so he couldn’t look at us both.

  Painter used the opportunity to change the traps into portals. We were suddenly alone with Maori. A slight edge of fear crept into his eyes, but also a lot of arrogance.

  I picked up my dagger and put it in my boot. “You kidnaped my mother and imprisoned my brother. You’re going to die for that.”

  Maori sneered. “You’re both prisoners now.” He waved his hand at Painter, who was thrown against the wall. He didn’t let go of his book or brush, though.

  “You’re so focused on a book that would give you more power that you overlooked what you had,” Painter said. “You have no allies and your servants hate you. You are surrounded by enemies.”

  “I still have more power than both of you combined.”

  “You have more magic, more knowledge, yes, but power, no. You think it’s better to be feared than loved.”

  “Of course. Fear gets things done.”

  Painter shook his head. “When your people love you, they’ll die for you. When they fear you, they’ll run and hide and cheer when you’re dead. You’re not a great man and you’re certainly not powerful. You have control, not power.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “It’s not. I can control my breathing, but I can’t live without air. Thus, I have control over my lungs, but they have power over me.”

  When did my brother become wise? I wasn’t wasting time, though. Painter was drawing Maori’s attention so that I could cast my magic.

  Both of them were surprised when several bricks of the wall crumbled, revealing the red sky. Far below was the sea of lava. “Don’t mind me, I just thought we needed a breeze,” I said when Maori turned to me.

  “Give me the Book of Names.”

  “It’s not me you have to convince, man. I’m not the book’s rightful guardian.”

  “That’s right; I’m the oldest by a couple of minutes. And I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I don’t want the book.” He paused for dramatic effect
and Maori bought it. “It’s too much responsibility and I’m tired of my family being hurt over it. Do you have any family Maori?”

  “Not that matters,” he said.

  Painter nodded with understanding. “They were all ashamed of you? That happens sometimes.”

  I was halfway to the window before Maori caught on and turned to me. At that instant, Painter struck him with red lightning. I didn’t waste it. I ran the rest of the way to the window and chucked out the Book of Names.

  “No!” Maori shrieked. He ran towards the window and I got out of the way. Painter grabbed my arm, but I hesitated, wanting to make sure he didn’t somehow receive the book before it was destroyed.

  When he slumped to the ground in defeat, the world grew dark.

  Chapter 13

  We were in our living room again. Keira, who was sitting on the chair, gaped at the sight of Painter. My mother, however, stood from the couch and hugged him. He hugged her back.

  “What happened?” Keira asked.

  “I couldn’t save Luca, so I gave him back what I took.”

  Painter let go of our mother and grabbed my arm. “It’ll be okay.”

  I couldn’t agree with him, so I didn’t say anything. I felt like I had given up my brother again, and this time, I wouldn’t get him back. At the same time, I had gained a different brother, because there was no doubt in my mind I would fight to protect Painter as if I had grown up with him. “We need a new plan. Maori doesn’t have the sword, but he’s going to be out for blood now.”

  “You didn’t give him the book, did you?” Keira asked.

  “No.”

  She sighed with relief. “Good.”

  “I destroyed it,” I said.

  She froze. “How?” she asked carefully.

  “I threw it into a river of lava.”

  “Isis is not going to be happy, but she shouldn’t have made the book in the first place. At least the enemy can never get it now.”

  “I need some coffee.”

  * * *

  We ordered in Chinese. Painter showered and dressed while Keira and I discussed what happened. When the food arrived, we sat around the kitchen table. Keira went to sit next to me. Painter growled at her. “That’s my seat!” he declared. I groaned. His expression instantly changed and he quickly sat across from me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “I understand,” Keira said patiently. My mother sat across from her, not saying a word. “You’re afraid I’m trying to take your place. That will never happen. He has enough room in his heart for all of us. If he loves me and his mother, that doesn’t mean he loves you less.”

  “You, Mother, and Luca,” he corrected her. “He doesn’t even like me.”

  “I know that you’re my brother and that part of you is Luca,” I said. “I just need time to get used to it.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Just be you. That’s what you were meant to be.”

  When I didn’t say anything more, he sighed. “What else. You’re not mad at me right now, you’re mad at yourself.”

  “Luca said he preferred being Luca.”

  “I have a lot of anger and issues. Believe it or not, Luca isn’t your perfect brother; I am. You work well with Luca, but I’m going to help you win.”

  “Winning isn’t everything.”

  “I will make you a better person and you’ll make me one. That doesn’t have anything to do with being good or evil.”

  “So you’re glad to have your magic back?”

  He shrugged. “I get shit done faster this way. Plus, you have no idea how good it feels to look like me again.”

  “Why did you make yourself look... the way you did? Why Italian?”

  “When I first came to Earth looking for you, I got lost in Italy. Duran as continents, but not the diversity Earth has, so I didn’t know there were so many different languages and cultures. They only have three languages on Duran. Italian was the first Earth language I learned and I chose the name of the first person who helped me.”

  “Now that you have your magic back, I want you to show me Duran.”

  He grinned. “There are much cooler places to go. I can show you different cultures on Earth, too.”

  “Why don’t you two go do an escape room?” Keira suggested.

  “We can go to the best escape rooms in the world,” Painter said. “With our abilities, there is no limit to what we can do.”

  “We have to stop Maori before we can do anything,” I argued.

  “I think we need to go back to Langril,” Painter said.

  “He gives me the creeps.”

  “Yeah, me too, but he’s also the only one I know who can help us.”

  I didn’t want to go to Langril, but I knew Painter was right. “Keira, will you send us back to Langril?”

  “Of course.”

  Painter got up to put his plate in the sink and shouted as a wet kitten shot out and bounced off his chest. “What the Froot Loops was that?”

  The kitten landed on the table, slid, and dropped into my mother’s lap. “That’s the psycho Keira brought home.”

  “He’s a sweetheart,” Keira said, petting the kitten.

  The kitten latched onto her hand with all of its claws, bit her wrist, and held on. “If there’s a sweet heart in that sack of vinegar, it’s because he ate one.”

  Painter studied the kitten from a distance. “Isn’t that a tortoiseshell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then he’s a she.”

  “It’s definitely a boy,” Keira said. As she said this, the kitten clawed his way up her arm to perch on her shoulder and swipe at her hair.

  “Only around one in three thousand tortoiseshells are male because they have to have XXY chromosomes.”

  “And I thought I was the one with random facts. I guess Troublemaker won’t have little minions when he grows up.” The kitten was now purring and rubbing his head against Keira.

  “He’s trying to steal your girlfriend.”

  “He has no chance.”

  “Well, his personality leaves much to be desired, but you have to admit that he’s much cuter than you.”

  “I’m going to strangle you.”

  “You’ll have to wait. We need to get Maori gone first.”

  The cat started hissing furiously. His claws must have extended again, because Keira gasped and pulled him off her. When she set him on the table, his body remained completely stiff, his back arched, and his damp fur stood on end. He stared at the wall behind my mother.

  “Weird beast,” I said.

  Painter didn’t look so sure.

  With a flash of light, Painter and I were standing right outside Langril’s castle on Dothra. “Your girlfriend’s aim is improving.”

  The gate opened for us so we entered and stopped on the porch. I knocked, and a few minutes later, the doorman answered. Then he squeaked when he saw us and slammed the door shut.

  Painter grinned proudly. “You’re making a name for yourself, Brother.”

  “Well, I guess I can’t let you have all the fun. Do you want to do the honors?”

  “Hells yeah.” Painter interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Kromakha.” Instead of blasting open with some fire and screaming, it opened gently. I looked at him and he smiled knowingly. “What did you expect? It’s the dude’s home. I’m not some big bad wolf.”

  I rolled my eyes and we entered. There were only a couple of people in the hallway when we made our way to the throne room, and they got out of the way. When I knocked on the throne room door, Heather told me to enter. To my surprise, she was alone, sitting on the throne chair.

  “Damn, Heather, did you take out the CryptKeeper?” Painter asked.

  “That should be a name---” I started.

  “For a caster,” he finished.

  “But, seriously, where is your dad?” I asked Heather.

  She rolled her eyes. “Wherever he wants to be.”

  “Well,
maybe you can help us,” Painter said.

  “You can’t afford my help.”

  “That’s not nice, Heather.”

  She frowned. “What’s gotten into you? When my father was teaching you, you would have freaked out and killed someone for refusing to help you.”

  His fist clinched and his smile was tight. “Hey, no talk of murder, alright? I’m trying to cut down on the killing and fits of blind rage.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to kill anyone and go into a fit of blind rage, okay?” he shouted madly.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He took a deep, forceful breath. “Great. Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get your dear father in here so that he can help us and no one has to be stabbed in the throat with a dagger.” He looked at me and cursed. “I was doing so well. She goaded me. You saw that, right?”

  I pattted his arm. “I did. Blood hasn’t been spilled. All’s cool.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” Heather said.

  Painter opened his mouth, but I squeezed his arm and spoke before he could. “Shut your trap, okay? He has every right to bite when someone ruffles his feathers intentionally. He’s been doing great so far.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t get a lot of interaction around here and I kind of miss Painter’s psycho fits.”

  Painter breathed deeply for a few minutes before he responded. “I am who I am. When I face my enemies, I will kill them without mercy. The psycho fits are unhealthy to me and the people I don’t want to mercilessly slaughter. I have been trying to stop them since leaving Langril.”

  “But you still enjoy killing.”

  “Of course I do. I just want to be in control of my anger when I slaughter all my enemies in front of their…” he trailed off when he caught my eyes. “I mean… not in front of their families. I’ll slaughter my enemies in private.”

  “I guess that’s a start,” I said. “Besides, killing your enemies in a fit of rage is silly. You should do it slowly and savor it… and I shouldn’t watch movies.”

  “I’m glad to see you stopped tormenting your brother,” Langril said. We turned to see him standing in the doorway. “I hate to see brothers fight over power.” He shut the door behind him.