by B A Vonsik
“What are YOU doing HERE?” Aren replied with just as much surprise. Pointing at the spot he and his earth-toned-clad warriors appeared through, “Who are they?”
“Fellows,” Rogaan coyly replied.
“That one?” Aren pointed forward ship at the Vassal.
“Dangerous fellow,” Rogaan honestly replied, though his response almost sounded like a question.
A bolt of lightning crackled above Aren’s head making him involuntarily duck as if that would save him from the strike. Aren felt the lightning, the vibrations of its manifestation that came with it. Looking to its source, in the direction he felt the vibrations come from, he found the red-armored fellow directing lightning over their heads and at the ship’s command deck burning marks into the wood and painfully knocking over one of the crew and Ganzer, leaving them down with smoking clothing. Ganzer’s going down brought a smile to Aren’s face. You deserve worse. The Za, Khaaron commander, and another crewman were not to be seen. From the deck above, he felt more vibrations, different, but just as powerful. Then, Aren’s mouth dropped open in awe-filled surprise. Standing tall in his black pants and jacket and lavender shirt deflecting the lightning from striking him with something like a vaporous shield of air, Lucufaar’s illuminated face framed by his light brown hair was one of supreme focus as deep shadows walked across his body. The bolts came one after another for what seemed a long time, illuminating the ship in the predawn gloom, until they and their waves of vibrations suddenly stopped.
“You have regained some of your strength.” Lucufaar stood tall as he projected his voice loudly across the ship. The aide to Ganzer sounded no longer like himself, respectful and deferring. Now, he sounded as the Lucufaar of the cabin when he played dangerously with Aren and the ax-and-flame Agni stone. This new Baraan’s attention was fully focused on the red-armored fellow . . . the dangerous fellow. “If this’s the best you can do, our fight will be just as short as the last.”
“Lucufaar . . .” Aren breathed out as he studied the remnants of the lightning and air shield manifestations.
“Is a Tellen Sharur aboard?” Rogaan asked Aren while they crouched low on the deck together.
New vibrations from the forward decks preceded a barrage of blue bolts of light sizzling over Aren’s and Rogaan’s heads. They both involuntarily ducked. Above on the command deck, the scene was still awe-inspiring to Aren with Lucufaar standing tall, effortlessly deflecting the bolts with vaporous shields in each hand.
“I have to learn these . . .” Aren spoke aloud studying to himself in wonder the visual patterns of fading powers while trying to understand what the vibrations meant to these manifesting. The Tellen’s question to him finally sank in sparking an answer if he heard Rogaan right. Confirming the question, “What . . . a Tellen?”
“A Sharur Tellen,” Rogaan corrected.
Aren at first thought Rogaan was asking of his father, an assumption making him not prepared for the Sharur part of what the young Tellen sought. Aren recalled there was a Tellen dressed in forest colors lying about on the first lower deck with another two Baraans, dressed similarly, watching over him. Aren had paid little attention to the Tellen during his coming and going from the cargo hold below, so he had no other details to offer, though he found this all curious with them all being in the middle of a battle of The Power. “Forward on the ship, one deck down. He didn’t look well. Why him?”
“He has something of mine,” Rogaan answered as he plotted a course to the forward deck area through the huddled groups of the crew and Tusaa’Ner. “Oh, and the one you call Lucufaar . . . his true name is Luntanus Alum.”
Rogaan was gone as soon as he spoke the ancient name, jumping and sprinting forward on the ship’s decks before Aren could raise a “what” or “who” at his assertion. New vibrations drew Aren’s attention upward where the heat by an orange-red manifestation passing above bathed his face, the ball of flames Aren greatly desired knowledge of flying to the command deck. This one’s a treasure! He immediately set to studying the manifestation while trying to lock into his memory the feel of the vibrations. The ball of fame’s lines of the power structured to contain the heat released . . . A wave of heat pushed hard on Aren with a deafening clap of thunder vibrating through him as the ball of flames exploded. Aren fell from his crouching position to fully on his backside, never taking his eyes off the figure emerging from the flames on the deck above.
Black and lavender the figure stood tall as red-, yellow-, and blue-colored vapors swirled about him until they disappeared into wisps of flames, lighting up the whole ship in an orangish shade. He in the flames seemed unaware of the need to be burnt black by the fire, his tan skin its complexion before as now after the intense burst of heat. The deck and ship about him were bathed in flames as he stood within a mesh of scintillating vapor. He looked about him feeling disgusted. A bluish mesh, like the one Aren saw earlier engulfing an entire ship, swirled out from and about the Baraan, expanding until it enclosed all the burning fires. Quickly, darkness engulfed the command deck except for the blue mesh. Then too it winked out leaving all in the deep gloom of the predawn as a strong rush of howling air came from behind Aren. The vibrations of the manifestation felt similar, but a bit different from the earlier one on the distant ship. Looking behind him, Aren saw only darkness as a thick and overwhelming smell of burnt forest wafted over him.
“You’re no match for me, wounded immortal!” Lucufaar bellowed loudly from the deck above. His voice deep and strong and now having lost all its tones of respect and courtesies. Aren saw the powers manifesting white-blue in the aide to the aide’s hands even before the powers were visible and illuminating parts of the ship. All Aren’s hairs stood on end, and his skin prickled at powerful vibrations preceding bolts of lightning arcing out from Lucufaar toward targets unseen forward on the ship. Mesmerized more than afraid, Aren sat while following the lines of Power, absorbing with his mind their patterns as he sought to remember how the vibrations worked.
An egg’s throw in front of Aren, the door to the inner cabins slammed open. Emerging from the darkness, the two green- and brown-armored fellows accompanying Rogaan returned from the cabins now carried the medium-sized wood chest Lucufaar highly prized and coveted. Aren almost lost his breath at the sight knowing nothing good was about to happen. The two tall fellows trotted together with the chest between them for the stairs to the lower deck near Aren. Aren felt new vibrations. Strides before the green-armored fellows reached the stairs, Aren saw a nearly invisible manifestation from above formed into a wall of clear crystal barring their escape. He looked on at all the powers in awe. Lucufaar had made the barrier while maintaining his lightning strikes to the forward parts of the ship with one hand. Realizing the unseen wall was in their path, Aren raised a hand and was about to warn them when the two fellows slammed into the unyielding crystal structure, sending them both harshly bouncing back to the deck and the wood chest flying in Aren’s direction. Time seemed to stop as he helplessly watched the wood chest, with lock and clasp now missing, hit the deck and spew across the planks four wrapped, rod-shaped things and that dreaded crystal, still in its red and black hide wrap. The wrapped crystal finished tumbling right at Aren’s right hip.
“Marut, the Isell-Dingiir . . .” one of the two green- and brown-armored fellows spoke to the other in a dialect of Antaalin Aren’s father had taught him years ago.
“Grab them, Harut, before all is lost!” the second of the two armored fellows ordered the first.
Both green- and brown-armored fellows scrambled for and grabbed up the wrapped, rod-shaped objects as Aren felt the red gemstone laying near whisper to him. I’m not listening. In the corner of his eye, Aren saw Lucufaar redirect his lightning at Marut and Harut, striking recklessly masts, sails, decks, and more as he did so. Aren sensed a familiar vibration rising anew. Between the two fellows and their prizes, whitish “sparks” of flames rapidly formed a Baraan-sized, rotating, rainbow-colored circle low on the deck. Neither
of the fellows could avoid the rotating rainbow circle with all their momentum given to getting to their wrapped prizes. They disappeared through the circle just as lightning decimated and lit fire the wood deck they would have been on. In a wink, the rainbow circle collapsed into a faint trail toward the forward areas of the ship, leaving Aren studying the remnants of the Power for both circle and lightning. All fell silent and without vibrations as the last vestiges of Agni Powers disappeared from Aren’s sight. The ax-and-flame Agni crystal whispered again to Aren. I’m not listening, Aren told it. Again, it whispered . . . calling to him . . . compelling him to possess it. No! “You’ve given me only pain and sorrows.”
Looking up from the red and black hide wrap, Aren’s eyes found the one above in black and lavender. He clearly saw the aide’s eyes with a glow, as if consumed with the Power . . . and he was staring right at Aren, staring into . . . through him. An uncontrollable chill all over gripped Aren. Again, that whisper filled his head, calling to him to pick up the ax-and-flame, to possess it. A powerful urge to comply took hold of Aren. He reached out.
“No!” came a bellow from above.
Aren’s fingers touched the red and black wrapping. Familiar vibrations quickly growing alerted him. A barrage of blue bolts sizzled at Aren, the first striking him in the right shoulder, stinging and burning like nothing Aren could compare. The second bolt hit him on his left side, sending waves of stinging pain throughout his body. The smell of burnt flesh made Aren angry . . . He knew it was his flesh that burned. He felt on fire, burning within. Agony made him desperate to stop more blue bolts. Sizzling sounds continued as the smell of burnt wood mixed with that of his burnt flesh, but no more bolts struck him. Vibrations swept over Aren’s body, a strange sensation as he looked up to see his left hand raised with a vaporous shield projecting from it stopping the blue bolts of stinging light. One after another the blue bolts rained from the one in black and lavender. Aren felt the prickling of panic . . . felt it difficult to breathe and his blood draining from his everywhere. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. This is all wrong! Black and lavender . . . aide to the aide . . . Lucufaar. Black and lavender . . . his ancient name, the one cursed by the gods, by the world, by the Ancients . . . Luntanus Alum . . . the most diabolical and dangerous of the Shunned! And he wants to send me into Darkness.
Chapter 16
Powers
Luntanus Alum! The Shunned! Me fighting a Shunned! With only a shield of the Power manifested between him and me. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. Distraught with disbelief, Aren feared how long his raised left hand, now trembling and burning in strain, would last holding his vaporous shield against the strength of this Shunned. Aren didn’t know what else to do. Dropping his arm and shield to run or even flee slowly would see him sizzled to a crisp before he could jump from the deck to cover. What do I do? What do I do? In desperation, Aren yelled out, “Someone . . . Anyone, help me! Help me!”
Fighting . . . against a Shunned, Luntanus Alum at that, Aren considered a quick journey into the Darkness. Worse, Aren looked at his right hand as he lay huddled on the planks under his manifested defense. The red and black hide wrap now open allowing Aren’s fingers to touch the ax-and-flame red Agni. Something was different with this unintended touching. A presence whispering to him, maybe more than whispers in some way. Aren felt it, but he didn’t know how. It was like someone crawling into his head, then speaking softly. Not like the spinning symbols . . . something worse. The whisper kept on with utterances too faint and distant for Aren to understand. His curiosity getting the best of him, Aren focused on the utterances, just for a moment. He needed to know what the whispers were saying. His left arm weakened, then started trembling terribly. Panic grabbed at him, almost taking his wits from him. I won’t be able to hold back the sizzle much longer. What do I do? What do I do? Aren felt stuck in an impossible nightmare he could never have dreamed. His trembling and burning arm buckled, collapsing up against his body, causing him to growl through the pain to keep the vaporous shield deflecting the blue bolts. “They just keep coming . . . keep coming. Can’t hold them back. Can’t hold them back any longer.”
Aren closed his eyes concentrating on his left arm and his vaporous shield . . . his only defense. Whispers speaking, telling him something. Go away. Not now. Aren felt himself losing the battle to the Shunned. Too strong . . . The Shunned is too strong. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders. Into silence the whispers retreated. A deep growl of pain came from someone near, followed by curses a street rogue would blush at while the strong hands pulled Aren. His eyes closed, concentrating on keeping the vaporous shield in place, Aren felt himself moving, sliding along the deck planks. Wafting puffs of burnt wood and flesh filled his nose. Not my flesh? More blue bolts struck his vaporous shield weakening it with each burst of light and heat. Aren felt the power of each new burning bolt weaken his defense. It was almost gone. Exhausted, he started giving over to his fate . . . accepting his Light to be taken by the blue bolts. He let go of his manifestation . . . his only . . .. Suddenly, he felt weightless . . . floating. His manifestation of the shield he let go of with his mind. Floating . . . feeling good . . . free. He no longer had a care.
Thud. Pain rippled through his jarred head, jaw, and shoulder. Aren’s head spun in confusion. What happened? Moving . . . no walking . . . something holding me up. Bright lights. Warmth. Moving again. Bright lights. Dull stinging. Moving. Floating. His back and teeth rattled with a thud. Aren sensed he was finally lying on his back with pain from backside to head. Rising again. Moving forward, then sideways . . . then the other way. Spinning now. Floating, ending with a thud and a jarred left shoulder and side. Aren had no idea where he was or of his situation. He hurt as he lay on his back . . . somewhere. Spinning images in his head, seemingly nonsensical, forced Aren to lie motionless wherever he was.
“Wake up,” a deep growling voice demanded.
Aren felt his chest and head being shaken. It all felt so distant, the voice and shaking. He felt exhausted and knew it but didn’t understand how or why. Vaguely he cared, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate with his mind.
“No place to lie around. Need to finish . . .” the deep voice made comments maybe to someone else.
“I know you?” Aren asked the voice with slow, deliberate words. The voice sounded familiar to him. Aren tried to open his eyes but found them very heavy and unresponsive.
“Kind of,” the deep voice answered. “We helped each other in the Farratum Arena.”
“You’re that Tellen . . .” Aren’s mind started to clear. Pains from all over his body made themselves known. He hurt. Groaning his words as he tried to sit up, “. . . Rogaan. Correct? Of course, it is. I never forget.”
“Yep,” Rogaan answered with a bit of a groan. Aren assumed the Tellen’s groans meant he was hurt too.
“Why?” Aren honestly asked wanting to know why a stranger would risk his life for him. Aren just didn’t have faith in folks to do such things without a motive, usually to get something they wanted. He forced his eyes open to his blurry surroundings. They were behind one of the small boats lashed in a cradle on the main deck.
“I do not know . . .” came the contemplative reply from the Tellen. “Just seemed the right thing to do.”
Well, that didn’t make any sense to Aren. He wouldn’t have put himself in danger to save this Tellen. He has something wrong in the head, Aren concluded as he felt vibrations preceding the Power. He witnessed above them another barrage of lightning arcing from the forward deck where the red-clad fellow was on the aft decks of the ship. The Shunned resumed his attack on the fellow.
“Forgive me . . . I must retrieve my possession,” Rogaan announced before hopping away to the stairs off to their left leading down to the decks below. Arrows peppered the wood deck and forward cabin walls, missing the Tellen as he dove down the laddered stairs.
“That’s going to leave marks,” mused Aren as he felt content to lie where he was al
lowing himself to regain enough strength of body to crawl out of this mess. What tired me out so fast? I’ve never felt anything like that before.
More lightning arced above, back and forth between the forward and aft decks, between the red-clad warrior and the Shunned. Aren felt their vibrations . . . He focused on memorizing them. Blue bolts and small flaming spheres too. Some exploding far too close to him making him nervous at the heat and that he might get burned. He tried to lift his head. Still, his body felt heavy and sluggish. I’m an easy target if I draw attention to myself. Assaulting his nose, wafts of sulfur and burning wood mixed with the scent of the air just after a thunderstorm. He felt and watched the battle go on under a bluing dawn sky as the exchanges of the Powers continued for what seemed a long time before the Tellen climbed up from the stairs with a black and tan hide case a half-stride long in hand. The other Tellen, the white-bearded one, followed him from below. Running, Rogaan slid on the deck planks into the spot he previously left lying next to Aren. He motioned to the white-bearded Tellen to follow.