A Liar in Paradise

by M H Woodscourt

  “Uh…that’s not what I meant.”

  Someone applauded behind me, and I turned from the halted scene and gazed at—Crenen?

  “Very good, Strange Coward Boy,” he said with a smirk. “You get grasp on power more full each day, yeah?”

  I took a step back. “Are you the real Crenen?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don't be dolt, Strange Coward Boy. We only real Crenen.”

  I wasn't so sure.

  “So, how do I fix it?” I asked, waving a casual hand at the stalled clearing.

  “Good question,” he said, and I recognized that his voice was strange; dark and cold like ice. This wasn't Crenen.

  “Crap.” Any form of protection I might’ve had was presently a statue.

  I backed up some more, staring into the impostor's eyes; and, for a moment, I saw their contrasting depths waver and change to orange. Gathering my fleeting nerve, I decided to try out this newfound ability of mine. “Show yourself.”

  The transformation was instantaneous. Crenen blurred as the illusion melted away to reveal a man with flame-colored hair and striking orange eyes—the only features going for him. He was shorter than I, and heavyset. He couldn't be younger than forty and his face was pocked and gnarled. I figured Crenen would be insulted that the guy would try to impersonate him.

  “Well done, Vendaeva,” he said in a scratchy voice.

  “Thanks. Tell me who the heck you and your friends are.”

  “We are They of no identity.”

  “Uh huh. Okay.” I glanced at his clawed hands. “So, what now? You gonna kill me or something?”

  He chuckled. “I'm afraid you'll not be that lucky.”

  That promised pain. I grimaced and backed up again. “I could freeze you, too, you know.”

  “Could you?” He stepped forward.

  I nodded solemnly.

  Another figure pounced on the orange guy, and—surprise, surprise—he looked like Crenen. My shoulders drooped with weariness. Would this ever end?

  As my energy ran dry, the invisible ice around my “icy” friends did as well. The first two impostor-Crenens were again wrestling with Chas, while Lon and Menen picked themselves off the ground. Veija and Jenen watched with worry (in her case) and mild interest (in his). They didn't seem to notice any time lapse.

  My attention was again drawn to the orange guy and the newest Crenen. The latter raised his claws and lunged at the former. I watched in awe as Crenen lithely, powerfully forced the man back, not allowing even a second for his enemy to return a blow, hands slashing inward, blood flying out. I'd never seen anything so impressive as his fluid, precise motions. The fight didn't last longer than a moment, but I would never forget it.

  The orange guy fell to the ground before Crenen, who drew himself up and looked every bit the majestic ruler. I had to give it to him; he'd earned the satisfaction he felt.

  “You haven't lost your touch,” Jenen remarked from behind me. (I hoped no one noticed me jump.)

  “'Course not,” Crenen sniffed, his eyes pinned on his new prisoner.

  I turned to see both Crenens unconscious beneath Chas. He was sitting on them with a self-satisfied look that rivaled Crenen's arrogance. What were they, long lost brothers?

  Veija ran over to Crenen and hugged him. I laughed out loud at his startled expression.

  “You're okay!” she exclaimed.

  “Naturally.” He batted her away. She stood beaming beside him.

  “Would someone care to explain what happened?” Jenen asked.

  “I would be happy to,” Chas said.

  We all turned to face him.

  “Reincarnate.”

  “Huh?” I was lost.

  He smiled. “They are those with no identity.”

  “I got that part.” I recalled the orange guy's words.

  “Honestly, Strange Coward Dolt, need to pay more better attention,” Crenen said. “We already mention Reincarnate.”

  I wrinkled my brow, but the memory didn't return. What was the use of my abilities if they weren't reliable?

  “Patience,” Lon whispered from across the clearing. How I heard him, and if he was actually talking to me, I couldn't say.

  Chas continued. “The term you would know better is shapeshifter. Although these are of the lowest caliber. You might have noticed how easy it was to see through the deception once you knew what to look for. A true shapeshifter doesn't cast illusions—he literally molds his body into a new form. Still, these are from my people.”

  “You're no longer one of us,” the orange guy growled.

  “Shut up,” Crenen hissed, kicking the man hard in the face, causing the man's gnarled nose to bleed as he fell backward with a grunt.

  “It's true, I was banished for my...choice,” Chas said. “In any event, that's how I knew these Crenens were impostors. This one,” he poked at the Crenen just beneath him, “is Sikel, if I don't miss my guess.”

  “You guess right, Shifty Cocky Man,” Crenen said.

  I snorted at Chas's nickname.

  Jenen knelt before the unconscious Sikel and began fishing through his robes and pockets, until he pulled forth a shimmering cloth. His silver shawl. So that's where that went.

  “When did he—?” I began.

  “Just before Crenen caught him, after we were attacked by the fura, I imagine,” Chas said. “Sikel must've sneaked off with it—though what possessed him to do that is completely beyond me...”

  Jenen scowled at Chas as he drew the shawl around himself.

  “No more time for chitchat,” Crenen hissed. “We kill Reincarnates and move on, yeah?”

  “Kill?” Veija whispered.

  Crenen hissed again. “Another word for sleep sometimes, yeah?”

  She blinked twice. “R-really?”

  Poor thing. She just didn't get it. Lon grabbed his sister by the wrist and led her away from the prisoners.

  I found it a shame to kill them—at least before I could find out why Sikel had stolen Jenen's shawl. I smiled wryly as I realized how calloused I'd become. But then, Crenen had a strange influence over people

  Still, I turned away as Crenen slit their throats with a single claw, a little disturbed that I wasn't as bothered by their deaths as I ought to be.

  15

  In the Dark

  I never had problems with nightmares in my childhood. Even if I was jolted awake by phantom horrors, my groggy mind couldn't recall any real details of the bad dream, so I always drifted into a blissful sleep afterward. Only vague images of nighttime visions ever prodded at my mind in the day.

  Perhaps that's why it got under my skin when I drifted into sleep this night only to awaken in a cold sweat as I reflected on the images of my dream, the remnants numerous, and as clear as water. As I shivered in the cold and glanced around the campsite, checking every sleeping face, I tried to focus on anything but what I 'd seen. It wasn't any use.

  Liitae bumped against my hand, as though to ask if I was all right. I smiled at it.

  When we’d made camp earlier, Lon slipped the orb into my hand and whispered to be more careful. Then he walked away and sat under a tree while the rest of us worked to build a fire and spread bedding around—the rest of us minus Crenen, naturally. (Okay, so the only ones setting up camp were Veija, Menen, Jenen, and myself. The other three lounged.)

  Now Liitae brought me from my thoughts with another touch. “I’m okay, little guy.” But my mind returned to the nightmare.

  It began with screams.

  I'd found myself standing in a foggy field tinged with bitter cold. Wails haunted the field, though the people were shrouded by the vapor. A child cried out, then fell silent. I raced toward the noise, desperate to save it, though I knew already the child was dead.

  As I ran, I began to hear other sounds; the clash of blades, the pleas of the helpless, the cruel laughter of men turned savage. Still, I sought the child. A vibration started in my throat and I realized I was calling for someone, though I couldn't h
ear the name. Was the dead child someone I knew?

  Plunging deeper into the swirling mists of blue, I swiped at the vapor, trying to clear the path before me. A body fell at my feet and I stopped short, staring into the near-lifeless eyes of a beautiful woman. Her dark brown hair lay all around her and she clutched at a whimpering child as the blood flowed from her body. She spoke, and though I heard no words, I knew what she asked. I knelt and took the child from her icy grip.

  I ran on.

  The child looked up into my eyes with tears in its own, but it made no sound. Instead, it turned its head forward and watched the mist before us.

  Carnage piled on either side of us, and pools of blood splashed under my feet, but I gazed straight ahead, refusing to see the horror around me. The child stirred after a while and glanced at me, sorrowful as it reached its tiny fingers up and ran them along my cheek, wiping my tears away.

  I spoke to the child, though I couldn't hear my words, until we were forced to stop before a great wall. Searing, harsh laughter rang in our ears. I knew breaching the wall meant freedom.

  Cradling the child under my black robes, I tried to climb, but there were no flaws or indentations to grip. I groped in the gloom even as I felt darkness swooping toward us from behind.

  I shouted something at the child as I leapt up and grasped the wall with razor claws. I dug into the stone, again, again, arduously climbing as my fingers burned and bled.

  I'd almost reached the top when I slipped and nearly fell. As I forced my nails into the stone yet again, wincing, a new horror struck me—the child was gone. Shouting, I craned my neck and stared into the abyss of mist beneath me. My sharp ears caught the cry of a child as it fell.

  Darkness enveloped me as tears slid down my face. I saw no more.

  Stirring from my recollection I realized Liitae was trying to wriggle out of my grip. I released the orb with an apologetic smile, then stared into the darkness around me. The dream made no sense, but the feeling of hopelessness remained even now, when I was awake.

  “What is wrong, Vendaeva?” a soft voice floated across the cool breeze.

  I jumped and snatched my orb, lifting it to see better. In the glimmering light I caught sight of Lon leaning against a knobby tree.

  “Bad dream?” he asked

  I nodded.

  “What was it about?”

  I shivered.

  “Clasp the orb in both hands and desire warmth,” he said.

  I obeyed, sighing as heat bathed my body and my goosebumps dispersed.

  “What was it about?” he prodded.

  “A child,” I whispered.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Truly terrifying.”

  I sighed, not willing to explain. “Tell me something, Lon.”

  “Hm?”

  “Are you a good guy?”

  He smiled. “I reverse the charges.”

  I chuckled, feeling the weight of my dream lifting a little. “Okay, I guess I deserved that.”

  “My question for you, Vendaeva, is, is there only good and bad in this world? The color I see is gray.”

  “You mean, like different shades?”

  He shrugged. “It's still gray.”

  “Fascinating,” a new voice said from above.

  Lon looked up. “Come down, Chasym,”

  A few twigs snapped and fell to the ground as our resident shapeshifter landed on his feet and proffered a sweeping bow, long hair slipping into his face, then falling away as he straightened.

  “So,” I addressed Lon, “are you a cool gray, or more like a dark gray?”

  Chas chuckled as he knelt in the grass. “He's as close to black as they come—aren't you, my friend?”

  Lon brushed a strand of golden hair from his face. “In most respects.”

  “We have a bunch of melancholy morons in this group,” Chas remarked.

  “I'll say,” I said.

  “I'm just moody,” Lon assured us, as though that was any different.

  “Let's see.” Chas tapped his chin. “Melancholy Moody Moron. I'd say it's not too bad a Crenen-name, eh, Jase?”

  I smirked. “I can do one better.”

  “Can you now?”

  “No sweat. Moronic Moody Man suits Lon more.”

  Chasym snorted. “Score one for the short guy.”

  “Hey, I'm growing.”

  “Yeah, soon you'll reach Veija's shoulders.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I'm not that short.”

  “You're still shorter than her.”

  “By an inch. Tops.”

  “Gentlemen,” Lon said. “Keep it down.”

  We glanced at the others sleeping blissfully under their covers.

  “You said you dreamed of a child,” Lon said.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Got aspirations to play mommy, eh?” Chas smirked.

  “Go drown yourself.”

  “What? You're short like a girl,” the blond shrugged, his grin widening.

  I rolled my eyes. “Face it, Chazzy—if anyone's the woman in this group, excluding Veija, Jenen takes the prize. Followed very closely by pretty-boy here.” I jabbed a thumb at Lon, who watched me with a wry expression.

  Chas snickered. “Good point. But you come in third.”

  “Not when you have long hair,” I stated, reaching out and yanking hard on his yellow locks.

  He grimaced and pulled away. “Oh, c'mon—if we're going to get technical, let's face facts. The only real man in our presence is Menen.”

  There was no disputing that. “Agreed.”

  Lon sighed and got to his feet. “I'm taking a walk.”

  “At this time of night?” Chas asked. “You really are loony.” Lon ignored him and walked into the trees. I turned to Chas and considered him.

  “You irk him sometimes, I can tell,” he commented, watching the trees.

  “Serves him right.”

  “Such a heartless lad.”

  I inclined my head. “You flatter me, sir. Now, answer me this. Why does Lon call you Chasym? Is that your real name?”

  “It is. But you can call me whatever you want.”

  “Chasym suits you better.” Here, where he wasn't so much my rival, it felt right to refer to him by a different name. It made it easier to set aside my prejudice.

  Silence fell between us. In my head I could hear the cry of a falling child, and I tried to block it out.

  Someone shook me. Prying my eyelids open, I looked into the beautiful eyes of Seer Veija. She smiled, put a finger to her lips and, gently taking my hand, helped pull me to my throbbing feet.

  I yawned, stretched, and gazed at her inquiringly as she guided me away from camp, where, upon glancing back, I saw that no one else was awake. Sighing, I trudged after Veija. As my mind began to wake up, I wondered why she was leading me away. Then I recalled that before the attack of four killer Crenens she'd been about to tell me something.

  We halted among the trees and she glanced around before meeting my eyes. “I need to tell you something important. It's about my brother,” she whispered.

  “About Lon?” My mind concocted a thousand different possibilities.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the crack of a twig made her jump, and she clamped her mouth shut.

  “I wondered where you'd gone off to, Jason,” Chas—no, Chasym said as he stepped out from behind a thick tree. He paused as he gazed upon Veija. “Excuse me for interrupting.” An odd smile played at his lips and a light sparkled in his eye. His smile grew wicked as he turned his gaze to me.

  I scowled. “What do you want, Chazzy?”

  He chuckled as he stepped nearer. “I don't recall.” He extended his hand to Veija. “I believe we've not met properly before now.”

  If Chasym was Lon's friend, how was it he'd never met her?

  She smiled but didn’t move. “I am Seer Veija.”

  He lowered his hand. “Ah yes, a Seer. Lon told me of you. It's good to meet you at last. I am Chasym.”

  “I know,” Ve
ija said, and I noticed her smile didn't reach her eyes.

  Chasym noticed too. “Come now, let's forget what I am, and try to see who I am. I can't help what I was born, but I can choose who to be.”

  She relaxed a little. “True, though I'm afraid you will have to prove yourself.”

  “Lon trusts me.”

  “Lon trusts Crenen,” she returned.

  “Point,” I added.

  He grinned. “I understand. Allow me to begin proving myself. Care to take a walk, fair lady?” He bowed and offered her his arm. She hesitated and then slipped her arm through his, allowing him to guide her toward camp. Chasym glanced back and winked at me.

  I rolled my eyes. Let him flirt. I liked Veija. She was gorgeous. But I didn’t like her that way. Truth was, I didn’t know why she drew me in. There was just...something.

  My stomach growled. I took a step after them but stopped as a boulder settled in my gut. I spotted my pet orb floating around the high grass by my feet, chasing pointy-toothed bugs. “Something's wrong,” I whispered. I scanned the trees. Everything appeared darker—as though the shadows of evening had overcome the dawn.

  The crunch of fallen leaves behind me brought me from my thoughts. I knew it was Lon. “What is it?” I asked, facing him.

  “The Kirid are marching,” Lon said, his red eyes studying the gloomy sky. “They're backed by a tremendous power. They come from their home in the West.”

  I frowned. “How fast?”

  “The darkness will be complete before they strike. It could be days.”

  I recalled the thick darkness when Jenen had been killed. It felt the same now as then. “Where will they strike, Lon?”

  “The Realm of Yenen, if they can penetrate its defenses.”

  “Jenen said they were after him. Why?”

  Lon's eyes caught the light of the sun and shone. “Their Seer is afraid.”

  “Of Jenen?” I couldn't really blame the Seer, honestly.

  “Of what the Seer helped bring about by trying to prevent it.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Care to explain?”

  Lon took a step nearer, his lavender robes dragging through the grass. He reached for Liitae and drew the orb toward his face. “Your dream...”