Damn. Magic. I can’t believe that. Of all the planets to crash on, I’ve ended up in one where the natives can yield the mysterious force. And the fact that this was a former colony, it’s even more intriguing.
Okay, brain, stop acting like a squirrel and focus on how to get out of this mess.
Another bright explosion in the corner of the room draws my attention. It’s my companion—the sorcerer, witch, whatever it is they call males who can yield magic here. I wish I knew his name so I could call it out. Bellowing white-haired guy across the room doesn’t seem appropriate. As it is, I have no choice but to get to him. I start running, only to have my way cut off by Boq. His forehead is bleeding, and his fancy clothes are stained and torn.
“Not so fast, Witch Slayer.”
“Move out of my way, or I will be known as the Munchkin Slayer, too.”
“Oh, I’m trembling in fear. I don’t even think you killed the Red Witch. You’re a liar, just like your brother is a cheater. You’re both going to pay for defying me.”
He points my own blaster at me, making me lose my bravado. The LED display is growing bright, which means the munchkin lord must have found the mode switch. If I’m hit by that, I’ll meet the same fate as the Red Witch.
His finger presses against the trigger, and I prepare to jump out of the way without much hope that I’ll escape the blast. But suddenly, the cyborg appears behind the munchkin lord, and something pointy protrudes from the creature’s chest. His face blanches of color while his eyes bulge. He falls forward with a loud thud in the next second, revealing the end of a piece of broken wood sticking out of his back.
“Let’s go,” the cyborg speaks in a cold and detached manner, stepping over the munchkin’s corpse as if it were a pile of dirt.
I try not to think too much about it. I’m a killer as well, after all. Instead, I glance at the spot where I last saw the sorcerer, finding no one there.
“I can’t leave my friend behind.”
“We’re not.” The cyborg looks over my head.
I follow his line of vision and find my companion bracing his hands on his knees, breathing hard.
Side by side, the cyborg and I make a dash for him. I’m about to ask if he’s okay when the cyborg simply picks up the slender man and throws him over his shoulder.
“Hey, put me down.”
“You can’t walk, and we don’t have time to lose.”
A guard spots us and shouts a warning to his fellows. Making an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, the cyborg raises his mechanical arm as he half-turns. A bright glow comes from his palm before he fires. The man he hits explodes in a shower of dust.
“For all the stars.” My jaw drops.
The sorcerer stops struggling. “Please tell me you’re one of the good guys.”
12
Kevvan
Two Weeks Earlier
The blaring sound of the high-pitched alarm jars me awake from an unpleasant dream. The cell is pitch-black, for the guards have not turned on the lights yet. They enjoy ensuing the alarm first, making their prisoners fear for their lives when their surroundings are still nothing but endless darkness. Adrenaline spikes through my veins, and getting air into my lungs becomes difficult. Curling my fingers on the front of my rough fabric tunic, I attempt to regain control of my body.
A groan to my left tells me I’m still in the same place I was last night. My younger brother, Ky-Ren, is stirring in his cot. The sound is reassuring. I’m not in one of the overseer’s torture chambers. I’ve gone another day without visiting the nightmarish rooms. The thought should give me solace, but instead, it makes my anxiety increase tenfold. It’s only a matter of time until I end up there again.
Bright light finally reveals the small cell my brother and I have been confined to since we were captured by the Raven Witch’s soldiers and brought to the Mines of Zaphyra. It’s been six months, but it feels like decades have passed.
“Damn those guards to hell.” Ky-Ren throws his legs to the side, pulling his striped, black-and-orange mane off his spotted face. His eyebrows are furrowed together, and his eyes are nothing but slits.
Hellioncats are more sensitive to bright lights than the natives of this planet, and it causes us great pain to endure such drastic changes of illumination.
“Try not to look directly at it.” I sit up as well, leaning my elbows on my knees.
My bones crack, and my muscles protest. As usual, Manko, the overseer’s right hand, kept us working until the first wave of slaves began to collapse.
“You think?” Ky-Ren snorts.
Ignoring his ill-tempered reply, I get off the cot and stretch my arms, followed by a rotation of my shoulders. The pain is almost unbearable, but it’s better than being electrocuted by one of the guard’s metal rods. They have no hesitation in using their damn weapons when they see any sign that their slaves are slacking off—or when they’re in the mood for some wicked fun.
I have to find a way to escape this hellish place.
“I wanted to talk to you last night, but you passed out almost instantaneously,” Ky-Ren continues.
Turning the rusty faucet above the stone sink, I say, “What about?”
“I managed to trade a few words with Silas while in line for the middle-day grub.”
My deep sigh is muffled by the cold water I splash on my face. Silas is a non-magical human from the Land of Ev. He was already here when we arrived, but for how long is anyone’s guess. Continued exposure to the crystals messes with folks’ heads, and Silas is definitely on his way to Crazy Town.
“He says he’s found a way to disable our neck collars.”
Without bothering to dry my face with the threadbare dirty rag the guards call a towel, I whirl on my brother, not hiding my consternation.
“You can’t take anything that man says seriously. His mental faculties are already in decline.”
Twisting his face into a scowl, Ky-Ren lifts his chin and puffs out his chest. “And we’re going to suffer the same fate if we don’t get out of here.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, taking a step forward.
The anger surge comes and goes in the same breath. I can’t let my temper get the best of me or, worse, let Ky-Ren take the brunt of it.
“You don’t even want to hear about his theory.” He throws his hands up in the air, raising his voice.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let my shoulders sag forward. “Fine. How can we disable our collars?”
“We have to get one of the guards to shoot their energy blast directly at it. It will disable the system for a few minutes, allowing us to remove them.”
I open and close my mouth, trying to come out with a rebuff for this insane idea, but I can’t. In fact, there’s some merit in it.
“How did he figure it out?” I ask instead.
“He—”
Our cell door opens with another blaring alarm, followed by the robotic voice bursting from the speakers, commanding all slaves to step out in the hall.
Pushing Ky-Ren as I go, I say under my breath, “You can tell me later. Now, please, behave and don’t draw attention to yourself.”
When all the prisoners are out of their cells, the doors shut. Upon hearing the command of the guard stationed at the end of the hall, we shuffle single file, our feet dragging, the weight of our reality a tangible thing.
My mind wanders to what Ky-Ren just told me. If there’s a way to somehow disable our neck collars, then there’s a chance we can escape. But we must plan everything carefully. The collars are not the only problem. It’s only the most immediate. The Mines of Zaphyra are akin to a maze, weaving deep down the mountain that bears the same name. It’s the largest depository of blue crystals, which fuels the Raven Witch’s wars. There are so many tunnels and passageways that, without a map or blueprint, we could run for days and not be any closer to the surface.
After descending a few sets of stairs, we reach our section’s atrium where Manko is giving out the assignme
nts for the day. It’s not a surprise when Ky-Ren and I receive the same orders as we have for the past week. We’re working on the load bay near the main shafts. They need strong-bodied slaves to carry the sacks of rough crystals to the lifts that will take them to the non-bio zone. That task is usually done by carts. However, their air-pressure system broke, and the overseer is in no hurry to fix it. Why bother when he has slaves like my brother and me to do the job?
When I approach Manko to have my collar scanned, his lips twist into a perverse grin. “I see that your scar is healing up nicely.”
Keeping my face blank is an effort. Like all personnel working at the mines, Manko enjoys getting the slaves riled up so he can send them to the overseer for punishment. The healing wound on my forehead is a reminder that even if one doesn’t cause any disturbance, trouble finds them. Last week, I just happened to be at the wrong place, wrong time.
Ky-Ren’s low growl reaches my ear. He’s been more short-fused than usual lately. Captivity is getting to him.
To hide his aggression from Manko, I reply, “Yes, it is.”
I know better than to say anything. The man narrows his eyes, which shine with calculated malice. I wait for the blow or for him to call security to take me away, but the sound of guards shouting down the tunnel diverts his attention. I’m forgotten for a moment as he barks orders to the soldiers stationed nearby.
Noticing that all his slaves now are interested in the commotion, Manko gives a signal with his finger. Ky-Ren, I, and the other slaves assigned to the load bay area are shoved not too gently toward the lifts.
The constant, faint hum of the main drill a couple of levels below us ceases abruptly. Is it a coincidence, or is the commotion linked to it? No matter the reason, trouble is coming our way.
Next to me, Ky-Ren whispers, “This might be our chance, brother.”
“What? No, absolutely not,” I shout-whisper.
“Think about it. We’re near the main lifts. We won’t get a better opportunity than this.”
We have only used the lifts to go down the shaft. Many slaves believe it will also go up to the surface—a fact no one has been able to confirm. Ky-Ren knows this, but the kid is so damn stubborn.
From my peripheral, I catch the cluster of heavily armed soldiers striding in our direction. In between two of them, they hold a frail old man. His hands and ankles are shackled, which means he was stationed in the bowels of the mine, carving out small sizes of crystals. His long beard has gone completely white, and his head is almost entirely bald, save for a few wisps of hair.
What the hell did he do?
“Come on, Kevvan,” Ky-Ren insists.
“No, it’s too ris—”
“Hey, quit talking and start moving.” A soldier jams his metal rod in the middle of my back, making my muscles spasm.
I stagger forward, grunting as I ride through the pain.
Before I can stop him, Ky-Ren whirls around and socks the soldier on his chin. His helmet flies off with the impact as he drops onto the floor with a loud thud. My brother’s act of violence spurs on the other slaves, and soon, they all find a target to unleash their aggression.
From my peripheral, I catch Manko reaching for his portable digital palmtop. He’s going to activate our neck collars. I have to stop him. In a split-second decision, I dive for the metal rod the soldier on the floor dropped. I could use it on my neck collar and test out Silas’s theory or use it against Manko. The former could mean my freedom but at the cost of everyone else’s pain. I’m too far from the man to use the rod on him, so with a battle cry, I hurl the weapon in his direction. It hits him on the side of his head with a satisfying clunk. He drops the palmtop as he falls out of my sight.
Chaos has descended upon us. More guards and soldiers have poured into the atrium with their metal rods and, worse, their special gloves that shoot an electric discharge powerful enough to render a giant unconscious. Surrounding us, the guards fire lightning bolts at random. The rebellious slaves begin to fall like insects hit by a toxic cloud.
In the confusion, I search for Ky-Ren. Maybe we can get lucky and escape after all. I find him swinging a punch to knock a soldier out. The fury emanating from him can’t be contained. He’s in his most feral form. A true hellioncat. With eyes glowing a bright yellow and his long canines on display, he sends some of the most cowardly guards running away.
Damn it, Ky-Ren. All this time, I’ve been trying to protect us, prevent the overseer from knowing what we’re capable of. Undiluted rage has no place in the mines. It will only get you killed faster.
I make a run for him. There’s no option for us anymore. Either we escape or we die. There are rules in place. The overseer would rather torture a slave than kill him. But not after this.
As I run, it seems the entire world goes by in slow motion. As I dash across the atrium, I sense a dark presence looming above us. Looking up, I catch sight of the overseer leaning over the railing with his eyes narrowed. He’s practically a shadow with his dark skin and black uniform. A terrifying beast with the body of a man and the head of a bull, he’s rumored to have been created by the Raven Witch and her twisted sorcery.
His devilish eyes are riveted on my brother. My heart squeezes tightly when the red crystal on his forehead begins to glow.
No, no, no.
“Ky-Ren! Watch out!” With an outstretched arm, I try to push my brother away from the red laser beam coming straight for his back.
I’m too late. The impact sends Ky-Ren flying across the empty space to land closer to the lifts. He doesn’t move. A booming roar escapes from my throat as the fury of a thousand hellioncats surges from deep in my stomach. Consumed by the bloodlust, I attack anyone who is in my path, friend or foe.
I’m two steps away from him when my entire body begins to convulse as an electric current runs through it. My muscles contract, and my legs give out from under me. Blood fills my mouth as the most excruciating pain takes over my entire being. Flat on my stomach now, I peer at Ky-Ren. There’s a charred hole on his back where the blast hit him.
“No, Ky-Ren.” I stretch my arm through the pain, trying to reach my brother.
A steel-toed boot steps on my hand, crushing it. A ragged cry leaves my lips, but the agony of breaking bones doesn’t compare to the loss of my dear brother, the only family I had left.
“That’s it. Cry and get used to it. That’s all you’ll do in the foreseeable future,” the overseer says before he activates my neck collar again.
13
Dorothy
Blindly, I follow the cyborg out of Boq’s private room. For starters, he’s carrying my companion, so I can’t simply take off alone. The main area of the bar is deserted and in disarray. Broken glass and scattered furniture make the place seem like a hurricane passed through here.
Outside, the dirty street is dark and silent. Despite the absence of evil munchkins trying to kill us, cold dread drips down my spine. I shiver, glancing at the sky, which is partially hidden by the crisscrossing metal overhanging the passageways.
“Let’s move on. Soon, other criminals will smell the carnage and come for the pillage.” The cyborg doesn’t slow down.
I must run to keep up with him.
“I can walk,” the sorcerer complains.
“Maybe you can, but you’ll be too slow, Scrawny.”
“Hey, that’s not his name!” I say, feeling offended on my companion’s behalf.
The cyborg looks over his shoulder, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. “Oh? And what’s his name then?”
“I … I don’t know.”
He laughs softly. “Not siblings, huh? Not that it wasn’t obvious.”
A muscle on my jaw twitches. I run faster so I can cut him off and block his path. “Boq believed us.”
The cyborg stops and regards me with his unnerving eyes—one normal, the other digital. “Boq was toying with you.”
My nostrils flare as I take a step forward. “Well, he was the one duped in the en
d.”
“More like impaled,” the sorcerer replies. “But in all seriousness, being carried around like a sack of hay is making me nauseated. Don’t complain when I barf all over your pretty cloak.”
With a grunt, the cyborg finally sets my companion down.
The sorcerer runs a hand over his stained clothes, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in vain. “Thank you.”
With eyebrows pinched, the cyborg says, “Your face looks like an artist’s palette that got stuck in the Goth phase.”
“Goth? I don’t know what that means.” The sorcerer frowns.
“You’re from Old Earth, aren’t you?” I take a closer look at the cyborg.
His square jaw, the slanted eyes, the straight and dark hair—longer on one side and shaved where a metal plaque is embedded to his skull. He’s definitely of old Asia descent.
His expression becomes darker, dangerous. Without answering me, he whirls around and resumes walking. “Let’s go. We won’t be safe until we’re out of Scrape Town.”
The sorcerer and I trade a glance. In his amethyst-colored eyes, I still perceive confusion but also curiosity. No fear though. Once again, I feel a pull toward the mysterious man, a sensation that we’re somehow kindred spirits.
Despite his blunt manner, the cyborg was right about the man’s face. Bruises of different shades of purple are a stark contrast to his pale face.
“We’d better follow him,” the sorcerer finally says, “despite his acerbic personality.”
“I heard that,” the cyborg replies, already far ahead. He must have super hearing.
Frigging fantastic.
We hurry to catch up with the tall man, but we make sure we follow him at a safe distance. Even Toto is lying quietly in my arms, as if he, too, knows it’s best to not draw the cyborg’s attention. My eyes drop to his mechanical arm. The weapon he has concealed there is something I’ve only seen on military robots.
I don’t know if the reason we don’t come across any problems on the way out of Scrape Town is because of the cyborg or because we’re just plain lucky. But soon, we leave the dreadful town, heading straight into the open fields. The only source of illumination is the yellow highway, which, despite not being operational any longer, still emits a translucent light. Its buttery glow fades into the night, casting eerie shadows over mundane surfaces, making them resemble beasts who want to shred us to pieces.
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