Storm Of War

by Ugo, Kachi

  CHAPTER THREE

  P

  eter woke with a start and soon took notice of the figure standing in the corner of the dark room. This was their mistake. They shouldn’t have let him recover before they attempted to take his life.

  Peter tapped his power, then rolled out of bed. The power surge quickened him in a way, clearing the fugue from his mind. He reached out to the bed and hefted it into the air, aimed at the figure.

  Peter flinched as hot pain tore through his heart.

  The figure remained unmoved by his display of power.

  “It’s me,” said a voice. The voice was soft, yet measured and assuring.

  Delphina? Peter thought as his eyesight adjusted to the diffused moonlight slanting into his room from the open window. The figure’s outline was silhouetted by the silvery cast of the moonlight.

  “Put the bed down before you hurt yourself,” she said.

  Peter glanced at the hovering bed. It bobbed softly at half a yard in midair. The more Peter held it up in the air, the more he felt the strain.

  His breathing was slowly racing. His pulse was quickening. He was beginning to feel strains in his joints. It was as if he had gone on a hundred-meter dash. That’s how he felt. He could only go on for so long before he died of exhaustion.

  Peter slowly set the bed down. As the bed touched the floor, he felt lighter. His power core ebbed, reeling the energy from his body.

  “Delphina?” Peter said, drawing out of his attack crouch.

  “Yes, Pete,” she replied softly, her voice trembling with hurt. “They told me you had returned. I thought I’d come see you for myself.”

  She fell quiet. But it was obvious she wanted to say more. She wanted to ask why he’d run away. This unspoken question hung in the air as she waited for him to answer.

  “If I knew where the light was, I would switch it on,” Peter said instead.

  The figure sauntered over to the doorpost and flicked on the light switch. An abrasive incandescent bulb came on overhead, revealing Delphina’s folded arms and vacant expression. She was as attractive as he remembered. Curvy, thick dark hair, and those startling green eyes. Yes, those eyes that always betrayed her emotions. Her expression may be vacant, but her eyes told Peter how much she had suffered emotionally as they drilled into his soul.

  Peter broke eye contact and glanced around the room. It was always easier to look away. It was always easier to run away.

  The room was compact and sparse. It only contained a small cupboard in one corner, a small study table in another corner, and a fairly comfortable bed. Everything in the room was fashioned from wood, wood that emitted a rage he could sense like a dull throb.

  But there was another throb. This one was in his heart. This one had come alive with Delphina’s presence.

  “Del…”

  “You left us, Pete,” she exploded. “You left all of us.” She broke down in tears. “After she died, you left me!”

  Guilt wrench Peter’s heart, twisting until it hurt. Hot anger followed later, brewing in his belly. He wasn’t angry at Del, but at his selfishness.

  Only he could understand the bond he, Del, and Cynthia shared—a special bond forged by friendship, blood, and power. When Cynthia was killed, he should have remained. No one could make Del move on from Cynthia’s death except him. Yet, he’d run. He’d abandoned her.

  Not a day went by that he didn’t regret his decision to leave Delphina behind. But it was the right call. Where he went there was no life for her. What he had to become was no way for her to live.

  Peter realized with a sickening feeling that he would make the same decision over and over again.

  “The rest…they don’t understand what we shared…they don’t understand our connection…” Delphina’s voice trailed off as she noticed the change of expression on his face.

  “I did what I thought was right,” Peter replied, his voice cold. “Where I went, the way I lived, what I am now is no way for you to live. You know what people think of me here. I know you would rather believe the opposite, but it’s true. I’m not made for more. I’m not meant to be more. I’m who I am. A coward. A deserter. And I can never be more.”

  Peter sucked in air, feeling a little relief. He knew he should probably shut up right now, but it just felt so good to let her know how it felt. To rid himself of people’s expectations—expectations he had no interest in meeting.

  “If you’re waiting for some explanation,” Peter went on, “you’re never going to get it. I love you, Delph, like a lot, but don’t expect better from me. You’re not my father, and I don’t need another judgmental brother.”

  The silence following Peter’s diatribe was cold. Del’s lips quivered with hurt. Betrayal shone in her eyes like neon signs in the dark. Peter immediately regretted all he had said.

  “Del…”

  She stopped him with a raised hand. “Don’t, Pete,” she said as she left the room.

  Peter collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. He tried to fight tears and failed. They flowed unhindered from his eyes. When a knock came on his door some minutes later, he sat up, wiped his face, and said, “Come in.”

  The door opened slightly. Dylan’s head popped into the room.

  “What did you say to her?” he asked with a frown.

  The question startled Peter. He opened his mouth to reply but ended up stuttering.

  “Never mind. Do you want to join the rest of us for dinner, or would you prefer your food brought to your room?”

  “I’d like to eat alone if it’s no problem.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Peter merely nodded.

  Although his strength was fully recovered, he still felt a little exhausted. And the little fight he just had with Del wasn’t exactly helping. He needed to get out of town as soon as possible. It was always better to get out of town. Because then he wouldn’t have to deal with them. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with the hollowness in his heart or the sinking feeling in his soul.

  His door opened again, and Cathy slipped in with his food. As usual, every utensil was skillfully fashioned from wood, from the tray to the spoon to the pitcher. Cathy set the tray on the side stool, gave him a curt nod, and turned to leave.

  “Hold on, Cathy,” Peter called.

  She paused and looked at him.

  “I was wondering about the fence and…” he started, unsure of how to ask the question.

  “You’re wondering how we pass through the fence?”

  “It’s glaringly obvious that you guys don’t carve your walkways every time you need to leave or come in,” Peter replied. “I mean, it’ll exhaust you eventually.”

  Cathy took in a deep breath. “Yeah, that was really something you did there. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Any strong enough Woodfolk can do it as long as they’re beyond the influence of this resistive region. But to have done it here and to have been able to walk afterward… Impressive.”

  Cathy observed him with awe.

  “Thanks, but I still want to know how you guys go through the fence,” Peter said. “Is there some gate somewhere along the wall? I mean, there isn’t. If there was, I would have felt it because I felt all the way around the fence.”

  That got Cathy’s attention. “Wait, you could?”

  “Could what?”

  “Feel all the way around the Baobab tree? Heck, feel there wasn’t a gate somewhere along the fence?”

  Then Peter recalled how sneaky his dad had acted in the presence of Dylan and Brad when he’d asked him about his strange experience.

  He knows what’s happening to me, Peter thought. And he doesn’t want others to know. But what is happening to me?

  Cathy’s eyes narrowed, staring back at Peter. After what seemed like a minute, she said, “Mistification. That’s how we do it. Smart Levitating, not Brute Levitating. That’s our mantra around these parts.”

  “Mistification?” Peter remem
bered Dad saying something like that earlier.

  “It’s a simple and effective technique developed by a Woodfolk somewhere in Eastern Europe. It might take a little time to learn, but it’s easy when you get the hang of it. Here, I’ll show you.”

  She headed toward the door. Just as she approached, the door turned to mist for her to pass through. As soon as she was gone, the mist solidified.

  Ah, Peter thought. Mistification.

  Amazed at what he’d seen, Peter could barely take his eyes off the door, even as he delved into his food. When he was done eating, he walked over the door to examine it.

  Sure enough, it was solid.

  Wondering how she had done it, he poked the door again. It didn’t budge.

  Peter took a deep breath, shut his eyes in anticipation, and tapped his power core. It flared, sucking in oxygen, energy, and blood from his body. It was a slow drain because what he needed to do wasn’t tasking. Immediately, his sensitivity to the wood in the Tree House and the outdoors peaked.

  Traitor! they voiced out to him. Coward! Perish!

  Peter ignored the voices. It was the pressure they exerted against his will that he couldn’t ignore. He reached out to the door and grasped it. Then he leaned against it and pushed with his power. The door caved in.

  Unfortunately, Julian was on the other side, trying to gain entry. They both collapsed to the ground in a pile: Julian, unhinged door, Peter.

  A force pushed against the door, sending Peter and the door flying across the hallway. Peter landed first at an odd angle, then he pushed against the door, which was tumbling to smash into him. The door jerked in midair, flying backward and crashing to the ground.

  Peter scrambled to his feet.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Julian barked. He waved his hand, causing the unhinged door to fly back into place.

  Peter ignored the feeling of strangulation intensifying in his chest. He still had his power active in case he needed to defend himself.

  “I could ask you the same question,” Peter replied, walking to his doorway, giving Julian as wide a berth as the hallway would allow.

  The angry look on Julian’s face turned to fury. “What are you talking about?”

  “You should have called out or knocked before you attempted to enter my room,” Peter said. “It’s what normal people do.”

  “And I guess running away from home is another thing normal people do?” Julian shot back.

  The words blindsided Peter. He paused.

  “This is my house, not yours,” Julian continued. “You forfeited every claim you had to the Crawford name when you abandoned us five damn years ago!”

  The guilt and anger crushed down on him, heightened by the voices whispering into his ears. He’s right. You’re a bastard. The nameless one. The cowardly one. Another minute and he might have cried, which would have been overwhelmingly embarrassing.

  Peter let go of his power, swallowed hard, and looked up at Julian with cold emotionless eyes. “Did you want to tell me something?” Even his voice betrayed no emotion.

  Julian hesitated first, looking stunned. “Grey will see you now. You can find him on the front porch.” He swiveled on his heels and marched back up the hallway.

  Peter went back into his room and shut the door. For a brief moment, he considered leaving right now without saying another word. He could easily escape through the window. No one needed to know. This could all end. No more humiliation!

  Peter started for the corner of the room, where he’d thrown his backpack, completely certain that his time at the Tree House had come to an end.

  And what about Del?

  Peter stopped.

  “Del…” he muttered, another kind of emotion overwhelming him.

  Peter collapsed on his bed and took in deep breaths, slowly letting his anger fizzle.

  Do I have the right to be angry? Peter asked himself. Had Julian not spoken the truth? Did the trees not confirm his words?

  Why should it anger me?

  He closed his eyes for a while, reminding himself that the only thing that mattered now was his survival.

  “Uh, Peter?” Brad said behind the door. “The Chief’s expecting you. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Peter opened the door.

  Brad eyed him with sympathy. “Hey, sorry about Julian. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean all those things he said.”

  “Oh, he meant it all right,” Peter said. “And I’m pretty sure you agree with him. You’re just too polite to say it.”

  “Look, Peter,” Brad said. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m just glad you’re back.”

  Peter shrugged. All that matters now is my survival.

  “I’ll take you to him.”

  Peter nodded and followed Brad.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A

  lthough the night was deep and absolute, the Tree House’s lights cast a gleam on the open field and the retinue of Woodfolks mounting guard on Peter’s walkway. Sanders and Julian were among the Woodfolks by the fence. They seemed to be embroiled in a heated argument.

  Peter paused and wondered what for. He recalled Dylan mentioning that they were having trouble. Peter sensed that this trouble was the bone of contention here.

  I need to leave, Peter thought to himself. I need to leave now.

  “C’mon, Pete,” Brad called from ahead.

  Peter trotted up to catch up with Brad. They had exited the staircase and were now winding around the Tree House’s exterior walls to the front porch.

  “So, Delphina and Dylan,” Peter said in a carefree tone. “How long has that been going on?” Peter had caught Dylan and Del in a romantic embrace as they had passed by Dylan’s open room.

  “About a year after you left,” replied Brad. “They’ve been inseparable ever since.”

  Disappointment sprung up in Peter’s belly, scratching and clawing its way to his throat. Brad threw him one questioning gaze, but he shrugged it off.

  The porch was well lit by the soft bulbs in the overhanging chandelier. A grand, majestic table took up a large portion of the porch, surrounded by wide-armed chairs. Soft, cool breeze wafted about, carrying with it beautiful scents of flowers and the occasional chirps of songbirds.

  Sitting at the head of the table, Grey Crawford’s chin was pitched upward, his eyes closed, as he seemed to enjoy the soothing presence on the porch. The man was dressed in a loose-fitting garment, tennis shoes strapped firmly to his feet.

  Grey Crawford looked like a harmless, middle-aged man, but everyone who’d heard his name knew he was one of the most powerful Woodfolks since the old times.

  Brad tapped his shoulder to grab his attention, then motioned up the steps to the porch.

  “This is where I leave you,” he said. “I better check out what’s happening at the fence.” He turned and broke into a run in the direction of the barrier.

  Peter watched him go, wondering what was going on.

  “Peter,” a voice said, strong, firm, authoritative. “Come and sit with me.”

  Peter glanced at his father.

  The man had risen and now stood on the edge of the porch. His stance exuded total power and control and emitted a strong and persistent Wood energy. It was like a buzz, which Peter sensed as much as he sensed the turmoil all around him.

  Peter climbed up to the porch and sat next to his father.

  For a while they were silent. Peter gazed into his father’s eyes and saw all the years of pain as if the climate in which they lived had somehow affected him. Peter also saw a man who had been changed not only by the death of a daughter but also by the loss of a son.

  As he saw all this, Peter realized he was the cause. Maybe that was why Julian was so furious with him.

  Peter didn’t hate his father. He didn’t blame his father for Cynthia’s death. It was just that after Cynthia died, he couldn’t stay in Bar Harbor.

  Al
l the power he’d trusted in as a teenage Woodfolk had failed him. All the lessons on manipulating Wood had done him no good. Sticking around after the incident would have meant his destruction.

  If he felt betrayed, it wasn’t by his family or friends. It was by his power. Wood Levitating, Peter had found out the hard way, was only good for parlor tricks, not for battle. Among the three cadres of Levitation, Wood Levitating was the weakest. The most insignificant.

  “I know Julian has been giving you a tough time,” Grey said. “I’m sorry about that. Your leaving has been as hard for him as it has been for me.”

  Peter’s eyes fluttered as tears drew out of the back of his eyes. He nodded, taking great care not to speak lest he sobbed.

  “How have you been?” Grey said with a smile. “How has your life been? I hope you found peace wherever it is you went?”

  Peter nodded. “After I left, I went to college in Chicago. Got a degree in Biology from UChicago and did a stint as a research assistant before I had to return.”

  Grey nodded, musing over what Peter had said. “Had to…”

  Peter paused, realizing that he’d just given away his secret. His coming back was intentional. It was reason-based. And Grey could grill him for answers.

  Peter weighed his options. In a way, this was a moment of truth. Should he tell Grey now? Or was it too early?

  It’s too early, Peter thought.

  “So, college?” Grey spoke again. “Tell me all about it.”

  Peter told the complete truth without any layer of deception. The fact was, there was nothing to hide. His life away from Levitating had been quiet and peaceful.

  Peter reeled out all his experiences with lecturers and studying and his little stint at a small research lab working out of Dallas.

  “Chicago, hmmm,” Grey muttered. “That’s neutral ground. No community of Woodfolks, no Metallic district, and no Earthling constituency. Coincidence?”

  He’s playing with me, Peter observed. He knows it’s no coincidence.