Dark Tide Rising (Book 1 of The Bright Eyes Trilogy)

by J. M. Rojas

CHAPTER 9: THE FLIGHT ACROSS THE SEA

  “The roots belong to trees called gloams,” the giant Atlantean said to Jack, answering his quiet fascination with the glowing orbs suspended by the tree roots in the cavern roof. “We also call them sunbark. The orbs are simply solar-powered lights, which are fed by the gloams. The trees are native from before the Fall, which were brought back in the Rising Hope. Gloams absorb sunlight during the day, and can release them at night when triggered in the right way.”

  Jack's enraptured attention of the orbs was gradually brought back to the Silversong, which glimmered softly under the gloams' lights.

  “That is the sky-ship that got us here,” Mathias continued, walking slowly towards the awaiting silver vessel. “And it will be taking us back to The Library in New Osiria... or Egypt, as you call it.”

  “How did you get it here?” Jack asked, following Mathias.

  “This chamber emerges from the side of Mount Spire that Southlake Forest, and—as you know—Willow sits on. There is a secret door in the cliff-face, which can be activated by our thoughts.” Mathias tapped the side of his temple to emphasise the required access to the secret hangar.

  “Did you fly at night to avoid attention?” Jack asked.

  Mathias placed his right hand onto the beaked nose of the sky-ship's cockpit, gliding his fingers along its smooth finish. “No. It wasn't necessary with its cloaking device.”

  “Like the belts?”

  “Like the belts,” Layla replied.

  “Nysaean technology, yet again,” Cloak said in his whispery voice. “The art of bending the mind outwards and seeing naught but space has always been a nifty little trick of ours.”

  “And its hull is made from metal from Hy-Bresail as well,” Will added.

  Cloak scoffed.

  “The strongest of all metals,” Mathias said; and the blonde-haired Atlantean beamed proudly in recognition, which infuriated Cloak even more.

  “How fast can it fly?” Jack asked, reaching out and touching the slick surface of the ship's curved-back wings.

  “Faster than anything you can imagine,” Will said, grinning. “So, Jack, want to ride up front with me? I'm pilot on this mission.”

  “Of course!” Jack shouted with excitement. The two made their way to the step-ladder that rested by the cockpit.

  “First we must prepare the runway,” Mathias said, and all attention returned to him. “The doors in the mountain side need to be opened; and I think for Jack's first true test of his power, he should be the one to do that.”

  The Atlantean general pointed to two dark rectangles at the far end of the hangar that appeared to be made of solid stone.

  “I can't do that,” Jack gasped in surprise at the seemingly impossible feat given to him. “I have only lifted small objects with my mind—”

  Mathias pointed to the doors. “Jack, we cannot be delayed. Who knows if the Revenant spies have found the entrance to this hangar. We are running out of time.”

  Not knowing if it was a ruse to fool him into action, or the truth, Jack swallowed apprehension and closed his eyes tightly. He reached out a hand as if it would aid him with the mental thrust required to open the stone doors, and spread his fingers wide.

  Nothing.

  His eyes tightened, and his fingers spread wider.

  “Hand gestures are a wasted theatrics,” Cloak jibed.

  Mathias scolded the Nysaean with a deadly stare; then said firmly to Jack, “Open your mind. Remember your dreams. Remember our plight. Remember your father.”

  The air seemed suddenly heavy to Jack; and he had to take in large gulps of it to keep his heart still and his mind clear. He delved deep inside of himself, conjuring up feelings of the past, and thoughts of longing and of desperate need for his father. He let all these emotions flood through his veins and excite the psychic energy within him. The hair on his arms began to prick up, and his eyes became glowing pools of all-consuming white.

  Jack moved his fingers to his temples. He imagined the stone doors flying open. He pushed his invisible strength at the distant barrier with all his might...

  Nothing.

  The wall was too strong for him. They were an unmovable barricade against what was left of his untrained, unfocused will; and a symbol of the barricade against all the things he wanted to accomplish in life. In his mind's eye he imagined his family standing with him— insubstantial shadows unable to help him against the stone doors.

  His shoulders sagged, and his sigh of despair barely escaped his lips.

  “Its hopeless,” Jack said, and his white eyes faded back to his brown irises, which were full of tears. “I can't do it.”

  “No son of Toram would say such a thing,” Cloak said; but this time his tone did not carry ridicule. “Thomas would be disappointed. It is a terrible shame.”

  Jack drew his distant, empty stare from the stone doors and threw them bitterly at Cloak. Then rage took him and all went black.

  He felt the psychic power well up inside of him at the mention of his father's possible shame for him, and he felt it surge through his veins like white-fire again. His body trembled, then shuddered, and then he felt his mind explode into a violent scream. He wasn't sure if he was actually vocalizing this sudden rage, but he could see the others covering their ears.

  Cloak looked slightly surprised; but not afraid.

  Mathias watched him carefully, his emotions unreadable. Layla and Will looked sympathetic. All their eyes reflecting his glowing whites.

  Through his seemingly uncontrolled wrath, Jack saw the Nysaean nod to the doors with a coy smile, playing on his lips. Cloak was silently indicating to him that his task was still to be completed.

  Jack reined in his psychic rage and turned back to the doors. A minor reflex of his thought, and the stone barrier flew open! The starry night sky filling the void beyond.

  “Now, Jack!” Mathias' voice thundered through his haze of power. “Into the Silversong! We must depart before our racket draws any attention!”

  Nodding—his emotions falling back under his control—Jack let his power subside.

  Mathias exchange a brief stare with Cloak, which Jack caught, but could not discern. It wasn't approval; and it wasn't a reprimand.

  The general turned his attention to the ship's cockpit, and Jack heard a telepathic message directed at it in a language he did not understand.

  Ashar ist thal.

  The sky-ship shimmered a soft white—like Mathias' eyes—and the eagle-shaped head of the cockpit began to move. It split at the beak, and the top half swung back, revealing the ship's interior.

  Will and Layla climbed the short step-ladder, and entered the ship without hesitation.

  Mathias ushered Cloak to follow next, then walked over to Jack, who stood frozen, staring out of the open maw of the cavern's entrance.

  “You did well this night,” the giant Atlantean said, resting a reaffirming hand on the teenager's shoulder. “A little unfocused... but it is a start.”

  Jack looked from the open doors to Mathias. His eyes barely meeting the towering warrior's. There was some fear and shame in the way he reacted to Cloak's words.

  “His methods are unsavoury,” Mathias said, recognizing Jack's discomfort, “But they have good intentions.”

  Jack smiled wearily, but had no words to respond. He followed Mathias to the Silversong, leaving behind what he felt was the last of his innocence.

  The Silversong left Mount Spire like a silent and invisible lightening bolt. The stone doors to Thomas' secret graveyard of sky-ships were closed swiftly behind it by Mathias mental command.

  Whether by physical or emotional weariness—or both—Jack slept deeply upon a comfortable bench in the cockpit. Will sat not far from him in the pilot seat, his mind connected psychically to the ship's control systems. His thoughts ahead, towards The Library and those who awaited them.

  Behind a wall that divided the small aircraft into two chambers, Mathias, Layla and Cloak made whispered counsel.r />
  “You must apologise to him for that comment,” the young woman was saying to her Nysaean companion, who folded his arms against her berating. “He took that comment very personal.”

  “Why should I apologise to him,” Cloak replied coldly, “It will only weaken the boy's resolve. We can't have him lose that desire for revenge for Thomas' death.”

  “Nonsense,” Mathias said, entering the debate. “He will always have that desire. What we don't want is him using his rage to defeat obstacles. It is reckless, and it will leave him vulnerable to Kaelan.”

  Cloak opened his mouth to say something but Mathias cut him short. “This is not a request, Cloak. I don't want you provoking the boy anymore. We are all here to help him in his training, and I don't want any of us to give him bad habits.”

  “He has already gone through enough as it is,” Layla started to say to Cloak.

  “You seem to forget, I have gone through a lot myself,” the assassin hissed back in retort. “This is more than the petty crush you seem to have on the boy.”

  The last comment enraged Layla; but she restrained herself in front of Mathias. Calmly, through clenched teeth, she said, “You have misread my intentions, Erin. I am protecting his fragile state of mind.”

  “He is not the only one who has lost family!” Cloak raged back, and stormed away from the meeting. He disappeared into the back of the ship, where several crates were stacked full of provisions, and hid amongst their shadowy bulks.

  A dark mood settled over the ship.

  Layla followed his departure with a disapproving look. She was about to say something more, but saw Mathias stare, which urged her not to.

  “Leave it,” the giant Atlantean said.

  Layla humphed, and walked towards the door, which would take her into the cockpit.

  Mathias sighed. This was going to be a very long journey indeed.

  The Silversong was above the dark, endless sea, when Will began to feel fatigue affect him. The battle with the Revenant had drained him immensely. The bracelet he wore, which gave him the ability to manipulate gravity within projected space required a large amount of energy. His psychic power had fed its need, and now his body was spent. His eyes were drooping, and his consciousness slipping in and out of sleep.

  “I believe the locals of this time call it micro-sleep.” Layla's voice spoke softly behind him.

  Will's eyes shot open. “I wasn't sleeping.”

  Layla plonked herself down in the co-pilot's chair. She moved a strand of blonde hair out of Will's eyes and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course not,” she said with a small smile. “Now let me take over, otherwise you'll crash us into the sea.”

  The young man turned wearily in his chair to face Layla. He removed a ornate looking skull-cap made of a silver-colored metal, and handed it to Layla.

  “Let those tired thoughts drift back to Atlantis,” she said, and he saw a sadness in her eyes he could not figure out.

  Jack was awake. His back was too the Lemurians, and he heard their conversation, and wondered what feelings Layla had for Will.

  He then drifted back into sleep...

  It was another hour before Jack awoke again, and decided to sit up.

  Layla—whose back was to him—sat in the strange looking pilot's chair, which consisted of a three-jointed, crane-like arm that supported a seat, giving her the ability to move about the cockpit without getting up. The control panel before her was arrayed with knobs and dials, which looked very archaic and outdated by any modern aircraft he had seen. However, the most bizarre part of the ship was a silver-coloured skull-cap that rested on Layla's head and wasn't attached to anything. It gave off a soft white glow, and Jack assumed it must be some kind of psychic-interface with the ship's controls.

  “How was your sleep,” Layla said, aware he was watching her. She did not turn around in the chair. “I did not want to wake you.”

  “It was good, thank you,” he said, standing from the bench and making his way over to her. “It felt like I had slept for years.”

  “Using that much psychic energy for beginners is always physically taxing,” Layla informed him, her stare lost in the darkness beyond the glass portals of the eagle's eyes. “Then you begin to learn how to ration it, and use what you need.”

  “How long have you been doing this,” Jack asked.

  “Since I was as young as I can remember,” Layla replied. “I believe I was six when they began to seriously train me. Although, I had already been taught how to use telepathy since birth.”

  Jack watched her as she spoke, taking in all her details. She caught him out when she turned and smiled at him; and his eyes shied away.

  “You must have known you had powers when you were young,” she asked, breaking the awkwardness of his reaction.

  “There was always a glimmer of something,” he said, keeping his gaze downcast. “But it didn't evolve into anything until we were older. Only after dad...”

  Layla's smile vanished, and she looked away. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that.”

  “No, no its okay. That was a long time ago now. Even though some nights it seems like yesterday.”

  “It must have been hard growing up without your father.”

  “It was.” This time it was Jack's turn to turn and smile at her; but his smile was soft and sad. “I miss him.”

  The chair turned on its crane-arm, and Layla reached forward and pulled Jack into a comforting embrace.

  His face was engulfed by her sweet scented hair, and her head rested on his shoulder.

  “It will be okay,” she said calmly, stroking his back. “I promise.”

  Jack exhaled a breath of longing, and closed his eyes tightly. He wanted to hold her forever.

  That night, Jack stood by the eagle-eye portals of the cockpit, watching the stars streak by. The ocean was far too dark to see from their height; but occasionally he spied the shimmer of silver starlight on its opaque surface.

  “Where are the others?” he asked Layla.

  “Will is discussing plans with Mathias, and Cloak is still brooding.”

  “I didn't mean to be the reason you guys are fighting—”

  “Don't be silly,” Layla stopped him, “Erin is a stubborn man. He means well; but he infuriates me to no end.”

  “Why is he like that?”

  “Why is he a pain in the backside as you modern-types tend to say?”

  Jack stifled a laugh. “Yes.”

  “He has lived a rough life, I suppose. Anyone who was raised in Nysa their whole life don't tend to have a sunny demeanor.”

  Jack kept gazing into the darkness and remained silent.

  After a moment, Layla continued. “I suppose I shouldn't speak to ill of the assassin. Before the Revenant regime crumbled and Nysa became part of the Lemurian Empire, Cloak's parents were executed for being rebels. And to make matters worse, his brother was later indoctrinated by Kaelan.”

  “Those undead things back at the Southlake House?” Jack asked, horrified.

  “Yes,” Layla answered.

  “The Revenant—the undead, shape-shifters—ruled Nysa once?”

  “Yes. But it was a long time ago. They were originally military experiments by the country's old sovereignty; before they turned on them and took over the country. Cloak's father was one of the leaders of the resistance. His name was Eritarus.”

  Jack listened intently to the small pieces of information that was revealed about the mysterious assassin. He did not expect to know anything about the shadow of a man.

  “The Samatar,” Layla continued, “were an elite group of assassins that took down the Revenant legions as if they were blades of wheat before a scythe. Eritarus was almost invincible. However, it was the Revenant King Meztor who slew him. The creature tore Eritarus to pieces and ate his body.”

  “What happened then?”

  “The Samatar and the Orgonar—a Lemurian knight order—reaped a great vengeance on the last of the Revenant. Erinaeus was jus
t strong enough to kill Meztor. They were all destroyed. Or so we thought. Then when the war between the Three Empires ignited over the Crown of Dreams, the shards started to resurface again. There were still some followers of the Revenant who had hid away their dead master's shards so they could themselves one day use them. Many became secret allies of Kaelan, even when he was still a good man and a solider of Atlantis. It is a dark tale that great war and those involved. I only know fragments, so it is best left for Mathias or Oreus to explain.”

  “Okay.” Jack accepted the girl's reluctance to delve into the history of the old world. She had lived through a terrible history of the world his people would never, ever know. “How long will it be before we reach The Library?” He finally asked.

  “In another five hours,” Layla said. “So you should get some more sleep. You will need all your strength in the morning.”

  Jack nodded. He was about to ask her about Will, when he decided against it, and made his way to the bench.

  He was shocked to find Mathias standing beside it, with a blanket and pillow in hand. He look weary; but vigilant.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Jack asked.

  Mathias did not answer, but threw the pillow and blanket onto the bench. “Do as Layla instructs. Get some sleep.”

  Then the giant Atlantean passed through the portal—a mind-activated door—that separated the ship's two main sections.

  Jack wondered what secrets Layla had on Mathias, then climbed into bed, and fell fast asleep.

  That night, Jack returned to his dreams of Atlantis. This time, there were no waves crushing its buildings. This time the great city glittered like gold under the dazzling eye of the sun. This time there were people cheering in the street, and there was music in the air. The Great Games were about to begin.

  Jack woke to an equally bright sun, which shone through the ship's eagle-eye portals, warming his skin and blinding him. It was the end of morning, when the coolness of the night before had finally evaporated. He pulled the blanket over his head.

  “Where are we?” he groaned.

  “Above the deserts of New Osiria,” Will's voice answered. “Egypt.”

  “The once green empire,” Cloak added solemnly.

  Without a second thought, Jack leaped out of his makeshift bed and moved swiftly to the pilot's chair. There he found Mathias, Layla and Cloak standing silently around Will, watching the unraveling of the desert below. He stood beside Layla, who surprising reached out and held his hand.

  “We are almost home, Jack,” she said, smiling.

  Not that far ahead, a large oasis glistened amongst the sun-lit sand. When the Silversong had drifted close enough, the palm trees about the oasis began to bend back against the high winds of the ship's approach, and the body of water simultaneously erupted into massive geysers. The catalyst was four great, stone pillars, engraved in ancient Atlantean script, which lifted skywards by some unseen force, then stopped some fifty feet into the air; revealing a dark tunnel in the swirling waters of its center.

  They were awaiting our return. Mathias said to the minds of his companions.

  Where does this lead? Jack asked him.

  Beneath the desert, and eventually into the under-city of Alexandria itself. To the place we call The Library.