Darayan Page 3

  “Indeed, but Darial won’t leave the Felrin.”

  “Hmm,” Prudence licked her lips as they descended closer, “I’ve counted eight transports. Will take the Chimaera a while to bring them all down.”

  “Wait, who’s that there?” Ree said eyeing Darayan running down the dock and pushing past the others. “He is not affected, Prudence.”

  “Hmm, another one? Not of Sarinese descent, though. They are becoming annoyingly common,” she replied, thoughtfully. “We could use him. But time is of the essence—”

  “Madame Prudence,” the system computer alerted.

  “What is it?” She said curtly.

  “The Mark has transformed and the Sile governance is invading Layos.”

  “Holom information, I don’t need that now. I said notify me when she has been terminated!” Prudence snapped. Silence followed. “Ree, it looks like our work here is done. If Aige predicted another uprising and pledge for control of the board from Sari, then that threat has been contained.” She smiled, still staring at the Chimaera eating away at the transports and Sarinese people. “Let’s go. We have a meeting with our long-lost Liege brother.”

  “Ah yes,” Ree said light-heartedly, ‘Mr Dersji Brikin.”

  And with that, he pressed the flashing green Vector generator button: a huge wormhole split open, like a white knife cutting the black abyss down the middle, and the Felrin cruiser shot over the doorsill of ice, back home to Felrin.

  Darayan had gotten as close as he could to the ship Archibel was on, but the fish creatures seemed to somehow know he wasn’t affected by the music like the rest of the Sarinese. Stepping closer to the edge, they came at him quickly, splashing back into the dark water against the dock and resurfacing to pounce toward him.

  “What is with these things?” Darayan fired up in aura and manoeuvred lengthways over the dock.

  Another section of the pier, further down, closer to the transport carrying Archibel, was vacant. Darayan didn’t have time for antics, he simply kept his rusty orange flames spinning and headed for it.

  Six more creatures came at him. He blasted them back with a swish of his aura and ran faster.

  Another surfaced.

  “Will you just leave me alone!” He gyrated again, thoroughly disturbed at the slaughter of his adopted people around him, and at the transports struggling for take-off.

  “Do it for your mother.”

  Darayan’s father’s voice hummed through him. Emotion bubbled under his skin, his blood boiling in upset.

  “I’ll do it for you, father.”

  He stepped wide; spreading his hands outward and inhaling; Darayan utilised what aura control he had and sent a line of blistering flames and sparks at the animals heaving out of the water and ravaging the transports.

  One by one they fell away, splashing into the water as they dropped. From his vantage point, he could see the rest of the transports were not faring as well, unable to sustain the fight as the beasts ripped huge chunks of metal from their hulls. Darayan shook his head. Where the Holom had these things come from? How had they gotten in the water? Were they living there the whole time, deep in the sea?

  And where did that Felrin cruiser just go?

  The wailing of the recovering beasts gave Darayan enough direction: he blinked once and in a swift, agile motion leapt from the dock; the mammoth transport was preparing to move away as he landed on its upright side; one finger clung to the ledge of a huge piece of protruding metal, his body slammed sideways, his ribs bent against the metal walls metres above the latch entrance.

  “Here goes nothing,” Darayan huffed, releasing his grip and sliding on a diagonal, hoisting his feet up and twisting his body around to dive, legs first, through the entrance.

  Apart from the violent sounds of steel waxing and waning under the strain, the shouts and yelling of the fleeing Sarinese inside, and the few scapecrafts departing the transport, the hundred-metre-wide platform was relatively clear.

  Darayan brushed himself off and headed toward the rear of the transport, the last location he’d seen Archibel.

  His journey was met by dozens of hysteric Sarinese, alarms increasing in his proximity and a vocal warning about Euclidean Vector take-off being imminent.

  Darayan kept his pace. Passing through two sections of the transport, the exterior windows he passed showed more ships falling—yet somehow another in his vicinity had been able to take off like this one had. It soared at the same velocity into the penetrating atmosphere.

  Darayan smiled, then froze; standing stationary in the corridor, not flinching away from the other transport as panicked Sarinese knocked past him. Because there in that second transport, he could see several Spirit Advisors carrying someone … carrying a woman … a familiar woman … Darayan advanced closer to the glass pane. Another breathless moment and the woman’s head turned. He couldn’t believe his eyes—this woman … this woman unconscious on board the transport across from him was Archibel.

  Chapter Two: The Wrong Ship

  They took off, away from the transport and sight of the limp and lifeless Archibel. Darayan paced in irritation. How could he have miscalculated the projection of the transport? He could have sworn she was on this one. And what were those creatures? He’d never seen anything like them before. The sound. The lullaby. Where did it come from? And why was everyone hypnotised?

  He was running now. Faster down the corridor. But where was he going? What was he planning on doing? How was he going to save Archibel and get them back to Sari to protect the rest of the people from persecution?

  “Stop!” The voice came from behind him. He was reluctant to pivot round. Taking orders right now was not something he was capable of doing. Especially when Archibel was in dire need of rescue. He spun around anyway and stuck his hand up to his forehead in attention.

  “Sir,” Darayan managed when he regarded his lieutenant. Not his direct lieutenant, but one who ran the administration for the whole infantry sector. Probably unsure how Darayan lucked out on boarding this ship—no doubt the wrong one, in his mind.

  “So, you managed to get on board. But now where are you going, solider?” Lieutenant Nolar said pristine Sarinese armour matching his clean-shaven face and short brown locks. “Your wing comrades are in the canteen.”

  Darayan nodded, trying carefully not to give his untruthful face away. He didn’t see the logic in rounding them all up and feeding them in such a time of crisis, but this was the Sarinese, and their principles demanded peace, calm and sustenance during all times. “Yes, sir.”

  “Wait,” he said before Darayan could escape him.

  “Sir,” he said submissively.

  “Tell Captain Fallow I am making work of Sali and will give him an update as to progress and any further information. You never know, he may want to join me.”

  “Sali the Sarinese Conductor, sir? He is on the ship? Removed from the planet?” Darayan’s words were incredulous. He took back the questions as soon as he asked them. “I mean, of course, sir.”

  “Son,” Nolar said crisply, “you were granted amnesty to work in this army because after many months you proved your love for the Sarinese people despite your differences. Don’t make me deliver an order that would rescind the offer.”

  “Sir, of course. Consider it done.” Darayan left then, before he broke out his blades and started attacking the man. Why would they take Sali off the planet? Were they not concerned about those that could not make their way to safety if the planet was compromised? Surely they would see this as mass suicide? How were the people going to get out if all the transports were destroyed by the sea creatures and the gatekeeper went missing?

  “Darayan!” He heard a familiar voice call and halted. He turned away from the deck hall looming about in front of him, a huge span filled with loquacious Sarinese troops and food lines and faced his friend.

  Materid’s bronze-skinned face was frowning. Was he upset with Darayan? Perhaps, but he didn’t have time to ask, someone
from Materid’s rear approached and upon knocking him aside, the man headed for Darayan.

  “Captain Fallow,” Darayan said to the short Sarinese man who barely reached Materid’s armpit, his curled-up moustache twitching at the sight of the Gorgon.

  “Where is Polie?” The captain ordered.

  To answer this question would mean giving away her information, and even though she never explained to Darayan why she wasn’t welcomed back into the family she had lived with on Sari when she was a child, he wasn’t tempted to tell the Sarinese Army her whereabouts.

  “We were separated.”

  “And where did she end up?” Captain Fallow’s dark eyes glistened.

  “I’m not sure,” Darayan got out, unconvincingly.

  “Hmm, I wonder,” the little man began pacing, both Materid and Darayan remained stationary, “Duke of Hyravane, how long the Sarinese people can trust you now that you have lost your Sarinese wife?”

  “Sir,” Darayan stated sharply, “I was told by lieutenant Nolar that he attained Sali and will keep you updated as to further progression. I would like to think I can be trusted with any type of information the Sarinese people are willing to give me. I have devoted almost three years of my life to the people I classify as my own.”

  The captain’s mood shifted as he laid his eyes on Materid. “Hmm, you seem to be a favourite amongst them after your heroic Topazi trials … but that can change in an instant. So watch yourself, and if I hear of anything suspect, well, you’re on my transport and you will answer to me.”

  And with that, Darayan nodded and left. Materid alongside him, they took a seat on one of the long steel tables full of Sarinese soldiers and civilians helping themselves to food and water.

  “Why are you being questioned?” Materid had no idea that Darayan was indeed not just a foreigner living on Sari but a trained warrior from Rivalex, taught proficiently in the ways of swordplay thanks to Dersji Brikin.

  “It’s nothing, just usual checking I guess.” Materid said nothing, and both of them gathered trays and food from the serving cooks behind the glass and returned to their seat.

  “What’s with all the blank faces looking at me?” Darayan mumbled, in between bites of his bread roll, forcing himself to eat like the rest of them despite the anxiousness of the moment.

  Materid, not giving his full attention to Darayan but to the roasted Falcreet on his plate instead, simply shrugged.

  “Materid,” Darayan dropped his roll, “don’t you lie to me, you sod, I’ll drop you in bladework later for lying.”

  The young Sarinese couldn’t supress his laughter.

  Darayan felt his cheeks flush with irritation. “Spit out the gossip, will you? Nothing gets past you, and I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  It took him a moment to compose himself, then Materid finally hushed out, “There is a rumour.”

  “A rumour?” Darayan’s face scrunched up.

  Materid licked his lips and then wiped his face to turn to his friend. “Yes, a very significant rumour.”

  “And what is it?” Darayan was becoming impatient.

  Materid leaned closer. “That the Rivalex Mark transformed today. That there was an uprising on that infamous planet, you know, Rivalex.”

  Prickles riddled down Darayan’s spine. “What?”

  “An uprising by the Necromancers,” Materid went on, “they attempted to overthrow the Gorgon capital when she transformed.”

  “Layos?” Darayan’s voice was unbelieving and his face completely blank.

  “Yes, that one,” he confirmed, looking back to his meal, “Apparently, the Giliou intervened.”

  It had to sink in. Then worry stung him. “And what of Kai—the Rivalex Mark?”

  “No-one knows,” Materid said too casually for Darayan’s liking.

  The blood was suddenly dripping all over him again. Just like the Topazi trials. They were simulations but Darayan had been so Holom-bent on proving to them all that he could attract their native aura, it changed him.

  “What are you doing?!” Materid snapped.

  Darayan realised he had actually pulled out both his blades and was standing up in the hall as the three hundred or so Sarinese people became quiet and stared at him.

  He blinked once, said: ‘sorry,’ and sat back down again. The noise returned and the stares that were on him fell away.

  Darayan had become numb. “Materid, who told you this information? Is there a reason perhaps, our own world has been turned to destitution the same moment the Rivalex Mark has sparked the Period of Enlightenment?”

  “Questions someone will need to answer,” Materid said dreamily. “And who better to answer them than the person hostage on this transport?”

  Darayan grimaced. What would they do to Sali? It would be impossible to threaten or torture the gatekeeper of Sari, wouldn’t it? The consequences of that action would be punishable by the Felrin and no-one would want to face the full wraith of the Felrin Congress. The Liege were subordinates to their mandate, and they would not tolerate capture of a gatekeeper, let alone questioning of one, would they?

  “The Felrin will hear of this soon enough.”

  “Hah,” Materid slurred, sipping on his mug of water, “the Felrin are most likely worrying about the Mark unleashing a ripple in the universe.”

  “What do you mean a ripple? What will happen to her—I mean the Mark?”

  “I would presume arrest. Highly likely situation. The universe is shifting. The prophecy becoming.”

  Darayan knew about the Rivalex Prophecy. He paid little attention to it though, pent up with insurmountable anger in his childhood years after losing his mother and brother in Layos, and his father less than a year before that. Bladework and swordplay with Dersji Brikin, and Kaianan and the others, was what he channelled his aggression into. It was unfortunate Kaianan was the one destined to live that life. He knew a bit about her set destiny, not that he remembered much, but he certainly didn’t envy her.

  For one thing, he knew she didn’t deserve to be hunted down by the Felrin. Not when he knew there was something about her, some connection they had, that he just couldn’t recall.

  “Where is this ship headed?” Darayan said.

  Materid pushed his tray away. “I heard toward the Keleen star system.”

  “What’s Keleen going to do to help—”

  “Duke.” The woman’s voice cut him off. “Still as angry as I ever I see.” The Sarinese woman sat down opposite him between two other soldiers and Materid diverted his eyes from Darayan to her. Darayan reluctantly regarded her also, and a part of him wished she wasn’t on the same transport.

  “Hello Bodel.” Her hazel eyes electrified when Darayan greeted her and he couldn’t stop the guilt about not being with Archibel at this moment consume him. Like Archibel, Bodel was also a Sarinese Topazi. An attractive one at that. And although the women both had the same Sarinese chocolate skin and wayward red hair, it was Archibel’s rounder figure, the curls and that doting charisma of hers that had her outshining any other Sarinese woman. Darayan always hated the attention she received, but knew deep down, she was loyal to him.

  And that loyalty ran deep. Deeper than anything. It dawned on him—why wasn’t he as loyal a friend to her?

  “That frown is plastered to your forehead on a daily basis,” Bodel said smiling.

  “I haven’t seen you in a few months, Bodel.” Darayan said coldly, “How would you keep track of these things?”

  Her white teeth bared and casually she brushed her straight hair behind her ears. “Well, maybe I have seen you, Duke.” Her eyes were like deep rods trying to invade his mind.

  Darayan looked away from her and completely lost his appetite. As soon as Bodel had become a trained aura user, and was unbonded by the student solider rules of non-association with other officers, she had made it clear how she felt about Darayan. He reciprocated none of it, and it sickened him every time she tried to flirt with him.

  She snorted. “Alone, ar
e you? Missing your sticky little friend? It’s probably been a bit easier for you now she’s gone. You always hated her clinging to you, didn’t you?”

  How did she know this? Were his facial expressions that obvious? But did he really not want Archibel around? All she did was worry about him and—and love him. What was so wrong with that?

  “I would prefer her by my si—”

  He hesitated; the transport alarms began sounding.

  “Stations, and posts now.” The person over the speaker alerted. “Any and all fighter pilots, suit up.”

  “What’s going on?” Darayan was up out of his seat with the rest of the canteen.

  “It’s the Sprites of the South!” A soldier shouted as blasts hit the transport and rocked beneath Darayan’s feet. “We’ve been sent into the Dowaric System!”

  “Dowaric?” He muttered. “Materid, my pilot friend, let’s move.”

  Materid followed him, and disapprovingly, so did Bodel.

  Archibel breathed violently; strapped down tightly to some sort of bed, she had awoken with a fright. Tight belts cut across her chest, hips and legs, and individual cuffs dug into her feet and wrists. She lifted her head up and around as far as she could. This was a healing room. Was she still aboard the transport? Where did Wederin go? Was Darayan okay?

  Her mind strained.

  “You’re up, dearest?” Wederin had entered the healing room and paced around Archibel. “So how long have you been living in Sari under the previse of a different person? You’ve done such an amazing job keeping your notoriety under wraps … but I guess the truth comes out eventually.”

  Archibel said nothing. Her past was her own and he didn’t know anything about it. The rumours were exactly that, speculations that were unfounded and untrue.

  “Don’t think I don’t know all about it, murderer.” Wederin leant down, inches from her face, his wrinkled face giddy with excitement. “After killing your parents, you would think you would have left this planet, I mean, so many people speculated you had also been killed in that tragic accident, but you weren’t killed like your parents, were you? You were the one who survived because you did the killing. And now finally you’ve returned to fight for your—”