“Wow! We’re not too far from my home! That was quick,” Crix said. He was excited to be home and to be close to what was familiar and safe. He was not going to miss the hostile lands of Drisal but was grateful for the new friends he found, especially Kerriah.
“The natural flow of the water carried us quicker than I expected, would have been quicker had I not run headlong into that strange hunk of metal down there. Sure would like to know what that was.” Krath rubbed an apparent, large bump on his head.
“I believe this stream feeds into Lake Medu. I really need to check in with my keeper. He hasn’t seen or heard from me for nearly two days now, and I’m sure he’s going to be worried. Besides, I’m starving, and he’ll cook us up something. He never misses on making a great meal for guests,” Crix explained. The thought of having a home-cooked meal, sparked his eagerness to get back.
Krath immediately perked up at the thought of food. Grinning and patting his stomach. “Let’s get movin, the sooner, the better.” Kerriah nodded in agreement, while preoccupied with inspecting the underside of her belt.
***
The white sun broke across the horizon as they set out across the grasslands of Draylok. The lands were rich in deep green grass with a peppering of spiraled trees, which corkscrewed high into the cranberry-tinted sky with umbrella canopies. It was simple yet impressive. While traveling, they passed Andors working in fields of ort grass and golden beru grains. The beru grains grew to around waist height of the common Andor and were one of the most highly utilized food sources in Troika. The Andors were always friendly in gesture, but today looked at them with concern in their eyes.
After a while, the rolling fields turned into the wooded region of Hemlor, and then this area led them to a canton of sparsely clustered homes with steep, triangular rooftops. The whimsical rooftops were a mixture of dark wood and thatch with large, black pipes protruding in a swooping curve from either side. The small clusters of homes gave way to a much larger and denser population of Andor households until they found themselves in the heart of the residential community of Hemlor.
The entrance of the community had a series of light-russet stone roads that twisted around the warm, rustic homes like snakes that cozied amongst them. Smoke from burning wood drifted gently by in the cool, crisp, evening air. This heavy peat aroma lent to the rustic mood of the township. Children’s voices echoed from various directions, and occasionally, an Andorian child would dart by and pause, startled by the sight of the interlopers. Andors considered interlopers to be those who did not belong.
One small girl, chased by several others, ran squarely into Krath. She looked up at him, and he offered her a tender grin. She staggered back, horrified, and then let out a wild shriek before running back in the opposite direction. Her friends followed in her wake as her light-blue mane, fastened with a ribbon, disappeared behind a fence.
Krath shrugged. “Guess she was overwhelmed by my handsome mug. Probably headin’ home to set me up with her momma.”
Kerriah rolled her eyes. “More like going to get a club.”
“Hey there!” Krath grumbled, taking offense to her remark.
“Come on, my home is just a little way down here.” Crix picked up his pace, and then stopped suddenly.
Krath lumbered up behind him. “What’s up, kid?”
Crix gave no reply for a few seconds as he stared forward in frozen apprehension at a group of youthful, male Andors bouncing a humming sphere between themselves. One of the Andors was exceptionally tall and pranced around with an air of cockiness while knocking the others back to gain control of the sphere. Then he stopped with the sphere balanced, still in his hand. Yet the other Andor continued to grasp at it, and then he looked over and noticed Crix. His facial expression was that of anger or even hatred.
“Uhh . . . let’s cut through here.” Crix pointed awkwardly to a path between two homes that led to the back courtyards. “It’ll be quicker.”
“Hey!” the voice of the Andor boomed out. “Where do you think you’re going, Chiro?”
Before Crix was able to step into the grassy lane, the Andor charged toward him with his entourage following in close step. They were dressed similarly in black, V-cut t-shirts with a red, circular emblem embroidered on them displaying the letters TZ Five. The hostile leader kept flexing his lean muscles and pulling at the waistline of his pants. Andors, with their equine facial features, tended to have a regal appearance when calm but could look intimidating when angered, as this particular one was right now.
The Andor youth stopped nose to nose with Crix. His breath reeked; it smelled like pungent dra cabbage and caused Crix to take a step back. The Andor flicked his jet-black mane back over his dark-toned neck and stepped intentionally on Crix’s foot, pressing down firmly.
“So . . . where were you yesterday?” He asked with a half-grin and a tone of satire in his voice. “Not that it would have made any difference in the punishment we handed to your pathetic excuse for an annexis team.” He swung around for a second to give a smug look back at his group. “I was looking forward to putting a serious hurt on you personally. Humph, we figured you were probably cowering since I rung your bell last time we met.”
The Andor stepped back and violently shoved Crix into Krath. “That’s okay because I just had to let it out on your buddy Tirix instead. His shattered leg should put him out of annexis forever.” He let out an obnoxious chuckle, the kind that draws out feelings of pure loathing and ill will toward the source of such a clamor.
Crix was trying to control his temper. His thoughts sunk deep over the news that his best friend Tirix was hurt by this wretch.
Krath growled, irritated by having had someone shoved into him. Crix’s brow scrunched. “Akhal, why do you have to be such a dunderhead?”
“A what? What was that?” Akhal shouted. His eyes bulged as he got so close to Crix that Crix could feel his breath on him.
“Dunderhead,” Crix replied, gritting his teeth. “Look, I just want to get home.” He was growing frustrated by this encounter.
“Home? How many times do I have to explain this to you? This is not your home. Troika are lands reserved for Andors, and you still don’t look like an Andor to me.” He looked around and gave out a nagging laugh. “Further, these things you have tagging along with you don’t look like Andors either. What is it that you have against Troika? You want to defecate its lands with all manner of parasitic species?” He looked over at Krath with a scowl.
Krath puffed up, his arms cocked out to either side. “Look here, pal, I don’t know tya, but those are fightin’ words as far as I’m concerned. Besides, I’m not thinkin’ tya are a friend of Crix’s, so I don’t know who’s going to keep tya from gettin’ hurt. I know it won’t be those bright-eyed fawns behind tya.” Krath gave a piercing stare into the Andor’s eyes while swaying his head slowly back and forth intensely. The other Andors behind him all inched back to a safe distance.
“Krath . . .” Crix placed his hand on Krath’s back. “This is my problem, not yours.”
“Ya well, it’s gettin’ real close to being my problem as well,” Krath snapped.
“Pfft . . . Take your best shot, gramps.” Arrogantly, Akhal turned back to the group for support, and then as he turned his head back again, he felt the force of a sledgehammer cracking him in the chin. His body lifted up a meter or two from the ground and landed, unforgivingly, on his upper back. He laid there groaning, motionless, his forehead furrowed, and Crix noticed the state of confusion in his eyes. The other young Andors looked at him with shock then completely scattered from the area.
“What the heck happened to Andors? The ones I used to know were tough and strong spirited! These cocky, weak-backed youth remind me more of your typical Mendac.” He paused to clear his throat. “Not faultin’ tya guys.”
“Believe me, those thugs don’t represent the best of Andors, not by a long shot. I suppose every species must have its cretins,” Crix replied in defense of his adopti
ve species. Krath gave a low exhale in an expression of his deep feeling of pessimism for the Andor race.
Akhal slowly started to get up to his knees, and then, finally, to his feet. Still holding his chin, he looked at Crix. “You’re going to pay for that, Chiro. You and this refuse you brought with you.”
Krath stepped in his direction with an authoritative growl. Akhal was not willing to risk another blow and sulked away, disappearing amongst the clutter of dwellings.
CHAPTER 7
T hey continued down the winding road until they came upon a well-manicured yard with a pristinely maintained Andorian dwelling centered upon it. A contrasting, light-wood awning protruded from the narrow front door. Light smoke curled up from the leftmost stack and merged into the smoke from adjacent dwellings. A metal fence surrounded the front yard, and Crix flicked the latch across the top to open it. It smoothly glided open without even so much as a timid squeak from its hinges. They entered the homestead, and Crix announced their entry aloud. There was no answer.
“Keeper Haflinger!” he called again. “Huh? He’s got to be here somewhere. He left the door unlocked. He would never leave the door unlocked if he wasn’t home. In fact, he’s probably the only Andor in Troika that’s neurotic about keeping his doors locked. Troika’s relatively free of crime and most don’t even bother.”
He walked cautiously through the rustic, squared vestibule. Several heavy-grained timber beams lined the area, and the ceiling glowed with champagne-thatched wood. Crix looked around and quickened his pace; Kerriah and Krath followed. He felt something was amiss. As they entered the main living area, the floors creaked with every step. The furnishings were bulky in appearance with dull, black, metal hinges and rivets; they looked primitive yet durable. The dry air was warm; a slight aroma of burnt wood and dust filled the home. Shafts of light from the tall windows cut into the darkness and dispersed across the middle of the floor. It was quiet. In a dimly lit, far corner, a life-sized wooden statue of an Andor stood guard. It wore a murky tan and green uniform, tattered and weathered in appearance.
“That looks familiar.” Krath motioned toward the uniform and then resumed scanning the room.
Crix smiled, feeling a sense of pride and respect for his keeper. “Haflinger was a Morak Sergeant and fought in the first Thraxon War.” As they approached it closer, the light glistened from a curved blade that fastened across the front of the uniform.
Krath leaned in toward the statue for a closer look. “Yep . . . seen quite a few of those rotten, smelly, black critters from the war get the wrong end of one of those. I’ll give them Andors this; they’re friggin’ lethal with those tectonic blades.”
The grinding of heavy wood sliding across the hard floor echoed across the room as Crix pushed open the door at the back of the dwelling.
“Haflinger!” he shouted as he rushed out the back door. Startled by the commotion, Krath and Kerriah followed close behind. They both stepped outside and watched as Crix knelt down over a grey and white Andor that was lying on the ground disorientated. The Andor’s thin grey arm slowly reached up and made contact with Crix’s cheek.
“W—where have you been?” he asked Crix in a withered voice. “I thought for sure they must have found you. I was going to purge the Tolagon relic.” Crix grasped his hand and laid it down on Haflinger’s chest.
The old Andor was shaking. His hand was frail and cold. The many years of keeping this child’s identity, the bearer of the blue orb, a secret and comprehending the ramifications of their discovery had weighed greatly upon him. The stress was too much. The thought of Crix’s capture was the tipping point for his well-worn heart, and he used the last of his strength to cover up the evidence that would bring destruction to his beloved nation.
“No, just relax, I need to fetch Agon. Let me get you to your bedding.”
The Andor closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “It’s too late for me, young one. The time has come for me to join my ancestry in Mothoa so my spirit can be one with the Equus, our great guardian and father.” He pointed to a spot on the ground near a smoldering hole. This was where he had, earlier, dropped the important relic before being able to place it in the hole with a thermal purging cube. Haflinger kept these cubes for this specific purpose. Crix noticed the cube had recently burned out.
“There . . . there you will find the most important item I can ever give you.” As he gasped for air, he continued to point at something on the ground near the hole. It was an onyx bracer inlaid with a blue signet. The dark bracer had bright-white lines swirling across its surface. Crix reached over and grasped the bracer from the ground. At that moment, as he touched it, the white lines formed into shapes on each side.
“What is it?” Crix’s thoughts felt jumbled and confused.
“Opens the place of your destiny, the . . . location . . . phan . . . tss.” Haflinger exhaled his last breath as his hand lifelessly dropped into Crix’s lap.
“No! I’ve . . . I’ve only been missing for two days!” Crix cried out as he buried his face into Haflinger’s chest. “What am I going to do now? I have no one.” His voice was quiet and muffled, his head still down. Crix always felt like a stranger in Troika. Kerriah knelt down and tenderly placed her hand on his shoulder.
Sympathetically, Krath looked at the young Mendac kneeling beside his keeper. “Tya’re time here in Troika is at an end. Tya were never meant to settle here permanently. It’s time for tya to take up the mantle of what tya’re destined for.”
Crix turned angrily at him. “You keep telling me this, but why me? Why does this . . . this thing, this burden, have to fall on me? I never asked for it. I didn’t want it!” Crix thought about how he always lived around the orb and its responsibilities. His whole life, he’d struggled to claw out whatever form of normalcy he could attain. He, as a Mendac, even began viewing himself as an Andor physically, mentally, and genealogically. His emotions ran wild as everything he knew was changing.
***
The local magistrate arrived to gather Haflinger’s body. Crix stood at the front door speaking to the respectful appearing figure of Andorian authority clad in a long, brown trench coat with black boots. A light rain picked up to a steady pour. The magistrate’s wide-brimmed hat formed thin streams of water that drizzled down its creases. His voice was stern and commanding but with an undertone of sympathy.
“Crix, I feel for your loss. Your Andorian keeper was a friend of mine and a respected member of our community. Sadly, as you know by law, only natural-born Andors can inherit or own Andor land and property. You will have to leave the premises as Haflinger had no other Andor family to pass on his estate to. The Troika local assessor will seize the property.
“Normally, you would have one day to vacate, but out of respect for your situation and Haflinger, I will postpone this requirement for as long as I can. I figure I can get you a week to find out where you can go. In two days, we will have his funeral rite prepared, and of course, you are welcome to attend and pay your last respects. It will be held at the Third Altar of Equus, on the eve of the day. If you’re hurting for a place to stay, I can make space for you at my farm until you find something permanent.
“I know you and Tirix were planning to enlist with the Moraks. You would be more than welcome to stay until you were accepted and training completed.” Crix looked down and said nothing in response. “Well, good luck to you, son.” The magistrate grasped Crix’s hand and gave it a firm shake then turned away into the rainfall.
“You’re coming back to Teinol with me as soon as we get your affairs in order here,” Kerriah said as she slowly snuck up behind him, having overheard the conversation with the magistrate. Crix looked back at her with broken eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear what you were just told. Krath is right; this chapter of your life is behind you now. There’s a whole new world out there for you to experience, and I have a feeling your adventure is just about to begin.” Kerriah spoke with optimism and hope. However, Crix remai
ned quiet and provided very little discussion for the rest of the evening.
As they bedded down for the night, a storm rolled in, and the rain violently pounded against the roof as if twenty angry giants were banging away with their clenched fists. The thunder cracked continuously throughout the night, keeping their sleep light. The home seemed empty and hollow.
CHAPTER 8
T he next morning, Krath and Kerriah awoke to the commotion of Crix pulling on a padded jumpsuit and calf-high sport boots. Kerriah noticed an emblem displayed on the back of the suit, a red inverted triangle underscored with a horizontal line. Hundreds of light tubes were weaved throughout the one-piece suit, which gave it a faintly reflective shine. He tightly fastened it with metal buckles that went from his throat down to his lower torso. As he sprung up from the chair, he snatched up a grey helmet and started toward the door.
“I’ll be back in a little while. There’s food in the cupboard if you guys get hungry.”
Kerriah stepped around him, swiping her index finger around his collar. “Hey! Where are you going dressed like that?” Crix could not help but smile. She was beautiful.
Eagerly, he started to explain the details of his favorite pastime. “Well . . . it’s called annexis, and it is a popular Andor hard-contact sport in these parts. I play the forward, the person that has to get the other team’s two batons and attach them to our own base for the win.” Crix’s voice quickened. “The best part is the setting. The arena is in the interconnecting Barrillian Vortex. Also, it can get pretty intense since the opposing team is trying to knock you senseless in order to keep you from completing your objective.”
Krath now looked interested and snapped his head in full attention to Crix’s explanation. “This is beginnin’ to sound like my type of entertainment! So tya get to bust some heads?”
“The Barrillian Vortex? Hmmmm? I have heard of Andors jumping down into that for some sort of sport. I always thought those where rumors or, at best, exaggerated stories,” Kerriah added.
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