He tried to ignore the guilt chewing away at the edges of his mind, wriggling its way through.
Stop it, don’t feel bad. You did the right thing. The Queen would be so proud of you Lok.
The large stone chamber housed the monuments every fallen Venator received in the event of their deaths. Some were jewels on pedestals, others remembered by a piece of their armour or their weapons. It was something Venators chose themselves when they became Arch-Realmers and the risk of death on missions was a lot higher.
In cases where the Venator performed a particularly heroic deed, the Masters created a statue in his or her honour. Lok found his way to Tyrell’s statue now, finding himself unable to look into its eyes.
In life Tyrell’s eyes had been a bright blue, so small twin sapphires glistened there now, but Lok still couldn’t meet its gaze.
“Alright mate,” he began, speaking with false cheer. “I see you haven’t moved much since the last time I visited, eh?”
Wreaths of flowers lay at Tyrell’s feet, placed there by a plethora of his fellow Realmers. More flowers had been scattered around the chamber nearby, at the feet of monuments to the other fallen Venators.
Lok didn’t really feel bad that he couldn’t remember the names of the other Realmers he’d betrayed. He had killed another one besides Tyrell, that he recalled, whilst the others he’d sent straight to Velkarath. Those of Veneseron would get quite a shock the day they saw their fellow trainees weren’t dead at all, and now faced them on the battlefield.
He smiled to himself as he thought about it. That wouldn’t be for some time though, or else his lies would be uncovered.
He’d returned to Veneseron alone, wounding himself in several places and spewing out lies to the Masters. He’d told them how a group of Rakarn had ambushed and killed everyone except himself. “I only got away because they thought I was dead when I was really just unconscious,” he’d said, tears streaming down his face. His story had even made some of the Masters shed a tear and the whole Fortress had mourned for days.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Tyrell’s statue. “I had to. I wished you’d never been put on that mission with me. I wouldn’t have had too then. But it had all already been arranged.” He chuckled. “Actually, if I’m wishing for things, I wish I’d been able to convert you into joining us. But you were too good, weren’t you? Too kind. Too weak.”
He forced himself to stare at his best friend’s face. The sculptor had done a remarkable job capturing Tyrell’s likeness.
The statue wasn’t enchanted, and even if it had been, it wouldn’t be Tyrell. Many of the statues roaming Veneseron were historical figures from a myriad of worlds. Vanderain had created them and gave them personality traits similar to the deceased they were tribute to, but it wasn’t like the dead’s ghosts possessed the statues.
Lok could very well place a spell to make Tyrell come to life. He could even give it traits Tyrell had, such as incredible skill with the sword and his immeasurable kindness. But at the end of the day it would still be a hunk of rock, not Tyrell himself.
Lok felt nothing for the other Venators he’d killed that day, or the ones he’d handed over to his fellow Rakarn. Velkarath might’ve even broken one or two of them by now. When Lok finally returned home, the former Venators would probably thank him.
They’d soon see. Velkarath wasn’t a sick, twisted parody of Veneseron, it was its superior. Velkarath had saved Lok, given him a purpose and pulled him up when he’d been at his lowest. He owed the Rakarn everything. Lok knew he’d either be dead or in prison by now if he’d never discovered magic and other worlds.
Growing up, he’d never believed in such things as fate or destiny. But how could he not now? Akirandon herself happened to be visiting Earth and had been near enough to sense Lok’s pain and fury at his father’s hands.
He’d been sobbing out on the streets after another of dad’s beatings. Dad had locked him out for the night after he’d punished him. Lok had nothing to do but huddle against the car for warmth. That was when he’d first met the Queen.
She was the one who saved him, who took him to Velkarath. She’d promised Lok her Masters would train him and make him strong. Strong enough to get revenge on his father. And Akirandon had been right.
The day Lok first left Velkarath he had returned to Earth and killed his father, slowly.
Velkarath might not make him happy, nothing had since his mum’s accident, but at least it had been a home.
Why else would Akirandon have trusted him above all others with such an important mission.
“Only you can deceive those in Veneseron for so long,” she’d told him.
He’d had to start all over again, pretend to be a Novice, new to magic. Someone Veneseron would take in. Still, he’d used his skill to advance through the ranks quickly here, all the while recruiting Venators he could later turn into Dark-Venators.
It was a hard job, and the mission had already taken him years, but Akirandon believed in him, and that gave Lok the strength to carry on.
All the Rakarn claimed to love their queen, but none of them did like Lok. They couldn’t. The queen cared for him more than she did the others. Lok knew it. She’d been the one to find Lok when he’d been at his lowest. Akirandon had given him the strength to enact justice upon the father that had beaten Lok so mercilessly. It had been destiny. What else could it be? The only other person he’d truly cared for had been his mother, but she’d died so long ago and his memories of her were so few. But he had his queen to love now.
Anxiety filled him as he gazed upon Tyrell’s face. The statue appeared to glare back at him accusingly. He was the first friend Lok had killed. He didn’t care for the others whose deaths he’d caused, but Tyrell’s was the first one to make him feel guilt.
“Stop staring at me like that,” he rasped. “I told everyone at Veneseron you died a hero. You’ll be remembered fondly by everyone throughout history. I told them all at your funeral. I gave a eulogy worthy of you, I swear.”
He turned to leave, only to stumble into another statue. The statue fell to the floor with an almighty crash. The statues were enchanted not to smash into pieces, but the noise might attract his fellow Venators. He didn’t really want to be caught loitering around Tyrell’s statue. Lok didn’t think anyone suspected a thing, but if people caught his acting suspicious, they might start to.
He hastily picked the statue back up and tensed as he heard footsteps approaching. Ushk.
He swiftly racked his mind for excuses, but his panic turned to relief as he saw a curious Brooke emerge from the shadows.
“Oh,’ she froze when she saw him put the fallen statue in place. “I heard a noise and thought a pixie or one of the other forest creatures was trying to steal things again. I didn’t think anyone would be here so late.”
“Oh, hey.” Hey smoothed his features, playing the character and donning his disguise once again. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Brooke. Yeah, it is pretty late, I just wanted to pay my respects is all.”
She nodded, her suspicion turning to sympathy. He started to relax. It would be fine, he could sweet talk Brooke, easy.
“Makes sense,” she said, “are you alone? I thought I heard people talking just before that statue fell?”
His anxiety spiked again.
“I…uh, well this is embarrassing. I was talking to Tyrell, kind of.”
“Oh,” Brooke whispered, her eyes glimmering with sorrow. “I’m so sorry I interrupted you.”
“Nonsense.” He smiled warmly at her. “You did the right thing coming to explore. We don’t want the pixies going off with a monument to a fallen Venator, we’d never find it in the forest.”
He’d tried lightening the mood, but Brooke’s eyes had fallen onto the statue made for Jimmy Revlin.
“It still doesn’t feel real,” she said softly, shuffling her feet. “Jimmy was in loads of my classes and I fought beside Tyrell in my first mission. Not to mention Tyrell had also been o
ne of the Realmers to recruit me, along with you and Tay. I didn’t know the other three Venators the Rakarn slew, but their deaths are just as appalling.”
“Yes,” he bowed his head solemnly. “And it’s all my fault.”
“What do you mean?” She stepped closer to him.
“It’s all my fault, Brooke,” he repeated, forcing his eyes to water. “I should’ve saved them, but the Rakarn bested me. It’s because of me that they’re all gone.”
“Don’t say that,” Brooke cried. “Of course it isn’t.”
He could tell Brooke wanted desperately to comfort him, but wasn’t sure how. He considered using it to his advantage.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it now,” she said tentatively. “But you’re incredibly lucky to have survived.”
Lok nodded solemnly. “I…wish I could’ve saved Tyrell. Those glarqing Rakarn, I’ll slaughter every one of them for this.”
“Just remember. I’m always here if you need to talk. If you need to, I mean.”
“Thanks. That means a lot, Brooke.”
“Alright, well I was just on the way to bed. I’ll see you around.” She turned to leave.
“Tomorrow maybe?” he called after her. “We could make a date out of it.”
She smiled weakly at him. “You’re taken, remember?”
Lok just chuckled nervously, watching her go.
Things were getting too risky. He’d have to leave Veneseron for good soon, before anyone got an inkling of who he really was. He already had a few Venators willing to join him when he left for Velkarath, but he wanted Brooke to be one of them. Lok had come so close to capturing her already. He’d been ready to neutralize her and take her to Velkarath before Brooke had even known Veneseron had existed. The moment before he struck, however, one of Brooke’s friends from Earth had got in the way, and then his phone had gone off with a call from Arantay, checking up on him. If only Tay and Tyrell had given him more time alone on that mission. Brooke would be a fully-fledged Rakarn by now.
She still would be.
He’d realised some time ago that he couldn’t easily turn Brooke into a Rakarn once she’d begun training at Veneseron. He had to try and get her to fall in love with him. Then she might come with him to Velkarath willingly. Whenever it was time for him to flee Veneseron, Brooke was coming with him, whether she wanted to or not.
Chapter 4-Dark Sister
Evan’s body ached when he awoke that morning, his body still recovering from the rigors of his mission. Exhaustion and sore muscles was an unfortunate side effect when a Venator used a large amount of sorcery in a short amount of time, but it was worth it. The good thing about going to bed exhausted was that he’d had a peaceful sleep.
He’d been almost tentative to sleep last night. Ever since the day they’d discovered Taija, Evan’s dreams had been filled with Kalkavan. The demon Disciple was always laughing at him, before throwing fire at him. Evan would jerk awake, thinking his face was still on fire. He hated it. On the few nights he didn’t have nightmares about Kalkavan, the shadow woman with the glowing purple eyes had appeared instead, just like she’d done sporadically throughout his life, before he’d ever come to Veneseron.
Growing up, he’d never known why he’d got the sense the shadow was a woman, but now he knew it had to be his mother, Akirandon. Perhaps the image of the woman in shadow was one of his earliest memories.
Rain hammered Evan’s bedroom window so loudly, he was surprised he slept through it, and the glass was encrusted with multicoloured leaves, blown in by the howling wind. The twin suns were struggling to shine behind thick layers of grey clouds and there was a chill in the air, making him reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed. Regardless, Evan was looking forward to returning to the everyday bustle of Veneseron life, no matter how hard most of the training was.
As he climbed out of bed and headed to his wardrobe he caught sight of himself in the mirror. After six weeks, he still wasn’t used to the sight of his face. He didn’t think he ever would be.
Kalkavan, the Demon Disciple, had struck Evan’s face with demon fire. Fortunately, it had only been a glancing blow to his cheek and Taija had swiftly doused the fire with her own magic. Unfortunately, the few flames that had touched him had left a permanent mark. From his cheekbone to his ear, his skin had turned black and warped, a stark contrast to his regular pale skin.
Evan had already been gaining a reputation throughout the Fortress for being somewhat of a demon magnet. He knew the other Realmers gossiped about him, but now, with the new addition to his face, he got more stares and mutters than ever. Evan was uncomfortable enough when he heard the curious whispers as he passed, but when the curious became suspicious, he was downright worried. He couldn’t even imagine how bad it would be if they all knew the truth. The Venators talking about him behind his back might start trying to literally stab him in the back instead.
Even after learning magic and Veneseron was real, never once in his wildest dreams had he thought: Hey, maybe I’m only half human, half demon. He had adamantly refused to believe any of it for a long time, even now it hadn’t fully sunk in. Yet some part deep inside of him knew it made sense, and that part was terrified.
He slipped out of his pyjamas, incredibly comfy grey silk shirt and trousers, complete with Veneseron’s crest on the chest, and into his Mid-Realmer attire as he set off through the castle.
Anxiety gnawed at him when he realised what the rest of the Fortress might think. Many Venators had already become weary of him over the demon invasion. Now, his face bore the mark of demon fire, the rumours would only increase. He hoped that now it had been several weeks, the talk about him would’ve died down.
Evan soon pushed the paranoia to the back of his mind and was grinning from ear to ear as he made his way to the Banquet chamber. Venators bustled to and fro, laughing and chatting as they streamed down the castle corridors. He passed a group of Apprentices playing Scribduel on the ground, battling each other with their tiny summoned creatures, and then another group who argued as they swapped trading cards.
As Evan stepped onto the escalator to take him to the next floor, however, he saw two Novice staring at him nervously and muttering to each other. Another Venator stared openly at his burn mark as Evan passed him by. Deciding he no longer wanted to be ogled, Evan stepped off the escalator as he reached the fourth floor and strode down a side corridor. Halfway down the passage, a single blue tile stuck out amongst the wall of white. Evan willed a few drops of water onto his fingertips and flicked them toward the blue tile. As the water touched the tile it melted from a stone square into a circular wooden handle. Evan then turned the handle, pulling out the secret door leading to a softly lit passageway. Joelle had told him about the shortcut a month ago, and Evan used it whenever he needed a less crowded route.
Beyond the hidden door was a narrow tunnel, where the buzz of teenagers faded to a muffled murmur. As he reached the end of the passage, however, he heard several high-pitched yaps. He had no idea what could make such a noise, but it sounded scared and in pain. Evan rounded the corner to see a statue fighting a droge.
The dog-dragon was the size of a Labrador. His scales were primarily dark blue, apart from the golden scales along his spine, from his tail to his head. His head was a miniature version of a dragon, but the body was wingless and very dog-like, even down to the paws and lolling tongue.
It appeared the statue had smacked the droge around the ear and had raised his fist to do it again.
“What are you doing?” Evan shouted, stopping him in his tracks.
The statue was dressed in some type of old-fashioned regalia and a tricorn hat.
“I am Admiral Pikarik,” the sculpture proclaimed, “and this cretin relieved himself on my leg. He must be punished.”
“He doesn’t know any better,” Evan snapped. “There’s no need to hit him.”
“You’ll get a wallop too if you’re not careful, vagabond.”
“Yeah?” Evan pulled Ruad
en halfway out of its scabbard.
“Oh-uh. I better be going anyway, I think I hear my mother calling me. Good day.” The Admiral hurried down the nearest set of stairs and out of sight.
“It’s okay,” Evan stroked the droge between his ears. “No one will hurt you now.”
The dog-dragon sniffed him curiously before rolling over so Evan could give his belly a rub. The little guy even tried to lick Evan’s face as he leaned down.
“Oi, I only just showered,” he chuckled, trying to avoid the dog-dragon’s tongue. “Okay, see you round buddy.”
The droge got back to his feet as Evan continued down the corridor, looking back at him with large hazel eyes, his tail wagging happily. He gave the creature a last wave before departing, pleased to have met at least someone who didn’t care about his new, permanent injury.
After breakfast, it was his, Jed’s and Brooke’s return to training. Much to Jed’s dismay, they returned on a test day, and these tests weren’t practical like usual. Their first lesson of the morning was Archives with Master Gettelung.
A circular space in the massive library was instead filled with tables and chairs, all faced toward Gettelung’s desk, where he gave lectures and they took notes.
As Evan took his seat between Jed and Brooke, Gettelung announced to everyone that not only would they be tested, but it was a Realmer general knowledge test.
Several people groaned out loud as Gettelung walked between tables, handing out the sheets.
“You will have thirty minutes to answer all of the questions,” Gettelung said. “And then we will go over the answers together. Those who fail to get more than half the answers correct will have to take a second test.”
“This is the reward we get for a job well done,” Jed grumbled, fishing a pen out of his pocket.
Evan grinned back at him, before looking down at his paper and getting to work.
Question 1.
What must a Venator do if a civilian witnesses a demon, sorcery, or any fantastical creature?
Angels and Elves- Act I Page 5