by P B Hughes
“Nera wake up—something’s wrong.”
A cloud of dust dropped into Ari’s lap from above. The ceiling let out a low moan, swelling and puckering above her.
“N-Nera,” she said with trepidation.
The ceiling exploded, rupturing as thick roots twisted through the wood, searching for a foothold. Ari screamed, scrambling back against her headboard.
A board above Nera’s head snapped and fell. With a quick wave of her staff, Ari shot a powerful gust through the air, knocking the board against the wall.
Nera let out a low moan and rolled over onto her stomach. “Go away, cat,” she mumbled. “I don’t have any cheese.”
Ari jumped out of bed. “Wake up, Nera!” She blew Nera’s covers off of her and onto the floor.
“Hey!” Nera growled, curling into a ball. “What’d you do that for?”
“Will you get out of bed?” Ari cried. “We’re under attack!”
Nera sat up, her blonde hair as wild as a tumbleweed. “Under attack?” she sputtered. “Why didn’t you say—” Her eyes grew wide when she saw a root slither down the wall and onto the floor. The ceiling was now a tangle of writhing locks.
“Come on—we have to get out of here!” Ari took Nera by the arm and pulled her to her feet, tugging her toward the door. She fumbled with the doorknob a moment, unlatched the lock and threw it open. They dashed out into an unlit hallway only to be met by dozens of screaming girls stampeding toward the stairs.
Nera made a move after them when Ari stopped her. “Wait—the boys!”
“Right!” agreed Nera, sliding to a stop. “You go get Daniel and Jude—I’ll get the others.”
The two of them sped off in opposite directions.
Ari raced down the hall toward the boys’ side of the dormitory, knocking against the flow of girls who paid her no heed. Finally, she turned the corner and caught herself short. The hall was empty except for one person. At the end of the hall stood a dark figure, just outside Daniel and Jude’s door. It was a man by the looks of it, but Ari wasn’t entirely sure. She held up her staff. The gem at the top sparked violet, lighting the space before her. The figure turned with a start.
“Ari?” said the man.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“It’s me,” replied the man. “Mordecai.”
A wave of relief washed over Ari as he stepped into the light. “What are you doing in the dormitories?” she said.
He thumped toward her. “Getting the students out of here—Jude and Daniel won’t open their door.”
A blast shook the building. Ari dropped to a knee and placed an arm over her head.
“Come on—it’s time to go!” Mordecai grabbed her shoulder and lifted her to her feet.
“But what about Daniel and Jude?” Ari asked frantically.
“They’ve either gone deaf or they’re already out—now, let’s move!”
Mordecai pulled her along to the stairwell at the end of the hall and the two of them spiraled downward. The bottom floor was packed with shouting students, most of them hovering in front of the windows.
“Out of the way!” thundered Mordecai, pushing his way through them.
“Ari!” said a voice near the door. It was Gregory. Jelani and Nera were trailing behind him. “Ari, wait for us!”
She did not wait. She followed Mordecai out onto the lawn. There, sprawled out on their backs, lay Daniel and Jude.
Mordecai rushed to Jude’s side and checked his pulse while Ari did the same for Daniel.
“Daniel!” she said anxiously. “Daniel are you okay? What happened?”
Daniel let out a groan, trying futilely to stand. “She…she got away.”
“Who—who got away?”
“Lady Lugat. We injured her, but she escaped.” A flash of pain washed over Daniel’s face. “Ari, you have to stop her.”
Ari jumped to her feet. “Which way did she go?” she asked the crowd of students at the window. “Come on—someone tell me!”
A boy pointed northward.
“Jelani—it’s time to do your thing,” she said over her shoulder as Jelani, Gregory and Nera ran up behind them.
The dark-skinned boy frowned. “It is not safe to go alone.”
“You underestimate me,” Ari replied, tightening her robe around her waist. “Besides, she’s been weakened.”
Jelani gave her a curt nod. “Then ready yourself.”
Ari crouched down on all fours. Her eyes flashed deep violet.
“What’s all this?” said Mordecai, rising. “Ari, you can’t—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a pillar of earth shot up from the surface of the ground beneath Ari’s feet, launching her into the sky like a missile. Up, up she soared, the campus below shrinking into tiny squares.
She sped through the frigid air, her face growing numb as she scanned the ground for any sign of Lady Lugat. There was nothing—nothing but buildings and trees, any number of which the woman could use for cover. Ari bit her lip, suddenly hesitant. She wondered if she was being as rash as Daniel had been when he attacked Marcus. No, she thought, this is different. This is justice. It’s my duty as a Guardian to bring her in. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two figures climbing over the outer campus walls.
“Gotcha,” she murmured, changing her trajectory.
Down she flew, faster and faster over the treetops. Within a matter of seconds, she alighted atop the thick white wall that separated the campus from the neighborhood beyond. She peered out into the shadows of the night, straining to see. There, beneath a willow tree, stood the ghostly figure of Lady Lugat in the moonlight.
“Stop right there!” Ari commanded.
A jolt of fear shot up Ari’s spine as she recognized the figure beside Lady Lugat. Donned in the same taut garb, emerald eyes aglow, her companion was unmistakably Nahash.
“I—I command the two of you,” she stuttered, remembering what Mordecai had taught her to say, “in the name of the Imperial Guardians to surrender yourselves!”
Nahash pounced forward like a panther, releasing a whip-like tendril from the palm of his hand. Ari dove off the wall, rolled onto the grass, and swung her staff across her body.
WHOOSH!
A gale blasted at her foes. The sheer force sent Lady Lugat hurtling backward, slamming her against the tree trunk. But Nahash held fast to the ground on all fours. When the wind subsided, he tore forward on hands and feet, growling ferociously. Ari took aim. The Cythe sprang into the air; she fired and missed. A tendril whipped forth from Nahash’s palm, knocking her staff from her grasp. She jumped for the staff, but as she did a cold tendril wrapped around her ankle and snapped her backward to the ground.
Ari grabbed at the grass, pulling up clumps as the monstrous man slowly dragged her backward. “Help,” she cried, her bravery slipping away from her as she looked over her shoulder into his wicked green eyes. “Somebody, help me—please!”
“Let me eat her,” hissed Lady Lugat, coming up beside Nahash, her tongue sweeping across her lips. “Let me eat the wingless fly.”
Nahash growled, deep and harsh. Ari could see the faint look of cruel amusement in his expression.
She struggled to free herself, tearing at the bond around her ankle. It was no use—she was only feet away from them.
The ground shook—the wall behind her exploded in a cloud of stone. Out of the rubble leapt Jelani, Gregory, and Nera.
“Get your slimy claws off of her!” cried Nera, shooting a zigzagging thunderbolt at Nahash.
Nahash sidestepped with a snarl. His tendril evaporated from Ari’s ankle.
Gregory dashed forward and sprayed fire from his staff, setting the grass ablaze between the Cythes and Ari.
A ten-foot wall of flames danced between them.
“Let us kill them, Nahash,” said Lady Lugat, creeping beside her comrade. “For I crave the blood of Miraclists.”
Nahash stepped backward. “Revenge shall soon be ours, but not this night.
Now we must flee.”
With that, the two of them bound away like cats into the night.
“Come on,” said Ari, scrambling to her feet. “We have to stop them!”
Jelani grabbed Ari’s staff off the ground and held it away from her tightly.
“Jelani—give me my staff!”
“Your pride clouds your judgment, Wind Walker. A battle with them would spill much blood.”
“Yeah, theirs!” she retaliated, reaching for her staff.
Jelani pulled it away. “And which of us would perish? You? Nera? Myself? No. I will not risk it. It is best we understand their power before we act in haste.”
“I hate to say it, Ari, but Jelani’s right,” said Gregory, waving his hand and dismissing the wall of flame. “This isn’t the Investiture anymore. We won’t have anyone keeping us alive. If one of us dies, it’s for good.”
Ari’s breathing remained heavy. Her eyebrows knit with fury as she turned and gazed out after their fleeing foes. Memories of the day when Nahash and Greavus trapped them in the arena swarmed in her mind, fueling her fury. Greavus was to blame, she thought, a fact she would never forget. But from what Daniel had told her, Nahash was the source of the dark army’s power—the foundation beneath their feet. If they could simply kill him now then it would all be over. She believed that without him, Greavus’ demise would be swift, and that the fat man’s charisma wouldn’t be enough to save him from the gales of judgment heading his way.
Simply kill him, she repeated in her mind. The reality settled on her, heavy and thick. It would not be simple. Nahash withstood her as easily as if she were a child. If she wanted to beat him—to stop any of the evil heading their way, she had to grow stronger.
“The day will come, Ari,” said Nera, placing a hand on her shoulder. “The day will come when we have to fight them. It’s just best to wait until the right time to limit our losses.”
“It will come,” Ari replied darkly. “But not soon enough.”
Chapter 7
Jude sat high up in the attic of the University Library, a book splayed on the table before him. Sleep had become his enemy, and after Lady Lugat’s attack hours before, he refused to lay his head down. Now more than ever, he wanted to know the source of the Cythes’ dark powers.
Jude was supposed to be in the gymnasium with the other students. Mordecai had moved them all out of their dormitories for protection. Two-dozen guards were placed at each entrance to the building. Blankets and pillows were brought in, and the room was abuzz with excitement and fear for close to an hour. But slowly, just as the clock reached two, each student finally drifted off to sleep. It was then that Jude had made his move. He stole into the lavatory, where the porcelain toilet bowl sat just beneath a small window. Jude stepped onto the lip of the bowl, pulled himself up, and peeked outside. It was unguarded.
Of course, the buffoons guard only the doors, he thought, snorting derisively.
He quickly unlatched the window, pushed it open, and slipped outside into the bushes. He waited a moment, just to be sure he wasn’t spotted, and then headed to the library. There, he spent the remainder of the night searching.
At first, it seemed as if it would be another frustrating and fruitless endeavor. Jude read through an entire book on the six energies, but his questions were not answered. He perused the bookshelf, searching for anything with promise. Upon reaching the bottom shelf, something caught his eye. A small, leather-bound book had fallen on the floor. He picked it up and brushed the dust from the cover. The title read, ‘Ancient Cults & Religious Artifacts.’
It was a disorganized collection of essays written by someone named Malcolm Roth. Most of the cults he discussed were spurious from the more prominent Orsidian faiths, particularly those that worshipped the Creator. Jude read through these quickly, thinking he had found another dead end. But something spurred him to finish. On the final pages, he paused, for there seemed to be an odd transition. The essays ended, and diary entries began. A queer feeling of foreboding pressed upon Jude, but the thrill of discovery dismissed any misgivings. He traced his slender finger across the yellowed page of the ancient text, soaking in the words as he went.
“August 9: My search has led me to a remote village on the outskirts of the Chuwongo Jungle. The natives here are snake worshippers, and they cover their snow-white skin with silk veils. Their ruler, a chieftain with fearsome eyes, hinted at a forbidden temple that lies deep within the jungle. His use of the common tongue is rudimentary, and his daughter (called Delia, in our language,) translates most of our conversations. The map, my dreams, the whispers—all of it has led me to this godforsaken place. I will find this temple, for I know it holds the answers I seek.”
Jude jumped up from his seat, his chair marring the floor behind him. He rushed over to the window and threw open the shutters. The pale light of morning fell upon the table, aiding the paltry flicker of his candle. Nervous excitement coursed through his limbs. He had finally found something.
After weeks of scouring the library’s ancient texts, he had read only allusions to the dark energy, and had nearly given up his search. My fate is to know nothing of what these Cythes have unleashed, he had decided one fruitless afternoon. In his anguish, he placed his fist against his forehead to think. The librarian—an old codger with bifocals that quadrupled the size of his eyes—took pity and hobbled over to him.
“You like ancient history, too?” he had said, peering over Jude’s shoulder at the shriveled text he’d left splayed open.
“What do you mean, ‘too’?”
“I’ve been watching you. You’ve read nearly every volume on ancient history we have in stock. And before that you read everything in the religious texts section. Are you studying to be a monk?”
“Hardly,” Jude replied, irritated by the very idea. He looked up at the man and saw a compassion that set him at ease. Growing desperate, Jude was given to a moment of rare openness: “I’ve been searching for information on a dark religion for months, but have found nothing.”
“A dark religion? Sounds spooky. And which religion would this be?”
“The religion of the Cythes.”
The old fellow winced. He looked around the room and dropped his voice. “An atypical interest.”
“Given the recent massacre, I’d say it’s not so atypical,” Jude replied.
The fellow released a deep sigh. “To be sure. Well, this is the University Library. We’ve the largest collection of texts in all of Orsidia. If you’re looking for answers, you’ve come to the right place.”
“What I’m looking for is so ancient it’s been forgotten. If this is all you have, then the knowledge is dead.”
“Well now, it’s quite a shame when knowledge dies,” he replied. He stood as if to leave, but stopped. He sat back down. His eyes flit left and right and he lowered his voice. “This isn’t everything, you know. We’ve got more. Lots more, in fact. But I’m afraid all we can display are the texts deemed safe by the government. Many historical documents were outlawed by Specula Greavus. He claimed they spread superstitious nonsense. Wanted to have them burned, he did. But we historians wouldn’t allow it. We hid them from his censoring eye.”
Jude turned to the man, his eyes lit with fierce determination. “What do I have to do to read them, then? Do you want gold? I’ll give you everything I have.”
The librarian smirked. “Keep your change in your pockets. I’m impressed by your hunger for knowledge. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such dedication.”
“So you’ll show me?”
“Well, Greavus can’t stop us now, now can he? I’ll show you, but you must swear to keep the knowledge secret. With the way power shifts of late, it could mean the destruction of the texts and both our heads.”
For weeks Jude scoured the ancient texts. Some were interesting enough, full of strange teachings on morality, perfect beings, and even raising the dead. But he found nothing as dark and mysterious as the timeworn diary. On reading t
he first entry, he felt a connection to Malcolm Roth, as if they shared the same quest. He read with painstaking slowness to be sure he did not miss a single word.
“August 12: I left the snake-worshippers in haste, eager to reach my prize. And not a moment too soon, it seems. The natives’ strange eyes watch me with such intensity that I could sense their hunger. I fear them cannibals, and thought better than to remain and test the theory.
I traverse deeper and deeper into the jungle. The canopy grows dense and the air heavy that I cannot tell if it is night or day. It wasn’t long before I realized I was utterly lost. I sat to regain my bearings, and it was then that I heard the whispers here and there. I followed them a long distance. But soon the voices faded and I found myself more lost than before. Despair set in. What a cruel fate that I should die in the belly of the jungle. I had all but given up hope when a ray of light reached down from the trees and fell upon none other than the chieftain’s own daughter, Delia. Though she did not speak a word, her eyes told me to follow. What choice did I have but to obey? I trailed her several hours until she brought me into the most splendid ruins, covered by centuries of growth. I stared on in wonder, enthralled. When I turned to thank the young woman, she was gone.
I explored for quite some time until I found the doorway to a shrine. Naturally, I entered. But when I crossed the threshold, I thought I might weep with fright. Upon the wall was painted a terrible mural—a painting of a giant sitting on a throne of human bones. Around him waged a battle between men and monsters, too bloody and horrifying to describe. Whispers flooded the room, and I fell to my knees. For a long while I soaked in the sight before me, paralyzed by fear. But then, as suddenly as they began, the whispers subsided, and feeling returned to my limbs. I jumped to my feet to flee that awful place, but a glint caught my eye. We archaeologists are an odd sort, for curiosity is our most powerful impulse—even greater than our fear. And so I turned to inspect the source.
The twinkle came from a black stone, perfectly round and smooth, that sat upon a marble dais. Sunlight fell from a hole in the ceiling and washed it in an almost holy aura. Truly a great discovery. I have pocketed it and will bring it back to Brightcastle Hall for further examination.”