*******
Arus nearly collapsed to his knees in horror. His jaw hung open as he stared at the sword in Thorus' hands, the legendary blade trusted to Azriel in the fight against evil. The weapon, once lost to the Abyss, had been recovered during the war between the forces of Kuldaan and the Maker, and was used by Azriel to banish the Fallen Ones from the heavens. What Arus had once believed to be mere legend was now tearing Arynias apart. How could it have ended up in mortal hands? Why, of all people, had Kindel been the one to find it? The once holy weapon now emitted an ominous black light, a shining darkness that poured from the blade like the light of Kindel's eyes. Had Thorus somehow . . . corrupted it?
The wind picked up, intensifying into a column of searing air that swirled around the mountaintop. Darkness oozed from the inky cloud into the Blade of Kaleo, radiating with a black energy that made Arus' stomach heave. Kitreena held his hand tightly, her eyes set with a solemn resignation that seemed to suggest all hope was lost. Damien was the only one who stood firmly, refusing to succumb to fear. The twisting tower of air surrounding the mountain became a sickly shade of black, cutting out most light but Kindel's glowing blue eyes. Intense lightning provided constant flashes of white, illuminating his frightening visage as he held the blade high, teeth bared through an unnatural grin. They were inside a tornado of evil.
"Kindel! Stop this!" Damien screamed, stepping onto the slanted plateau. "You're going to kill us all!"
Kitreena reached to grab Damien's cloak as another figure darted past them, a young man in black who stepped between the brothers. Arus couldn't see his face, but Vultrel's usual garb identified him. "Admiral!" he shouted, sounding more than panicked. "Admiral, what's going on? What are you doing?"
Damien looked back at Arus and Kitreena. "Something's wrong! Kindel's regard for life may not be as pure as ours, but he's never shown this kind of broad malice before!"
"What are you talking about?" Kitreena yelled. "He's always used ruthless methods to achieve his goals!"
"Not like this," Damien said, shaking his head. "Trust me, I know my brother. He might be a tyrant, but he only destroys that which he believes to be a threat to him and his plans! There is no way that the Ayaans could've been seen as any kind of threat! I'm telling you, something is terribly wrong! I believe the strain of wielding such immense power has driven him mad!"
Arus shook his head and tore his sword from its sheath. "Whatever the case, we've got to stop him!"
"Right," Damien agreed. Turning his eyes back to Kindel, he shrugged his cloak off of his shoulders. "You've got to Morph, Kit! We need all the power we can get!"
"I can't!" she said, shaking her head. "I'm too afraid!" Afraid of more than just Kindel, Arus knew. "I can't concentrate my power!"
Damien took both of his hands and held them outward. "Try, Kit. You must try, all right? For me, for Arus, for Vultrel, and even Kindel! For the Ayaans and the rest of the universe, Kitreena, you must try!"
Kitreena finally nodded and moved to Damien's left, clenching her fists together as the amethyst light encompassed her eyes. Her lips parted in a snarl as she struggled to amplify whatever emotions she needed to Morph.
"This planet is mine!" Kindel announced, turning the Blade of Kaleo sideways so that the hilt rested in one hand and the sword's tip rested in the other. "With this power, nothing stands in my way! The universe is mine to protect as I see fit!" The air crackled and popped with electricity, the dark funnel of energy pouring into the blade as if sucking the clouds right out of the sky.
"You call this protection?" Arus growled, readying his sword.
"What are you going to do to him?" Vultrel shouted, stepping between them.
"Stand aside, Vultrel," Arus said, calmly moving beside Damien. "Unless you want to be sent to the Abyss with your master."
"The only ones headed to the Abyss are those who oppose me!" Kindel screamed, his voice near maniacal. The winds blew even harder, the thunder so loud it left Arus' ears ringing. Even with the azure light pouring from them, his eyes seemed distant, gazing into the sky at nothing in particular. "You will . . . all . . . DIE!" he folded his arms to his chest, cradling the weapon like a child. The funnel of darkness poured directly into his body, drawing from the murky whirlwind of dust that surrounded the mountain peak. In a less than a second, the entire tornado was pulled inward, all the energy and dust and wind and lightning sucking into Kindel's chest as though pulled by a black hole before it spewed back out in a massive explosion that parted the clouds and cut a gaping ridge through the mountain in either direction.
And then there was silence.
Arus was surprised to be alive when he opened his eye. He didn't remember being knocked down, but he was on his back, staring up at beautiful cerulean skies, calm as a quiet spring day. Rolling onto his side, he found Kitreena lying beside him, rubbing her eyes groggily. Damien was already back on his feet, and Vultrel was kneeling to the left, gasping for breath. "What happened?" Arus asked to no one in particular.
"I'm not sure," Damien's quiet voice responded. "Take a look."
Kindel was still there, perched upon the mountain peak. A miniature version of the tornado surrounded his body, whipping his hair about behind a twisting column of wind. He hefted Blade of Kaleo in front of his body, both hands wrapped tightly around the diamond hilt as the blade pulsated with that smoky black glow. He held the weapon like the leash of a wild animal, visibly straining to maintain control over the power he had consumed. It looked as though he'd somehow managed to channel all of that energy into the weapon, and there was no need to ask what he intended to do with it.
From the tone of her voice, it was clear that Kitreena had given up hope. "There's no way we can stand up to that kind of power," she muttered as Arus helped her to her feet. "We're not even fully healed—"
Damien's motion toward his brother stopped her. "What is he doing?" he wondered aloud.
The sword almost looked to be moving on its own, pulling Kindel's arms back and forth as it swayed over his head. The air above him seemed to stretch, pulled up and down by an unseen force as though something was trying to rip it apart. A trail of white light began to follow the tip of the sword, growing longer and longer with each swing. Thorus' face was contorted in what looked like pain, although his teeth still shone through his psychotic smile. Did he even know what he was doing? The streaking trail of light solidified above the mountain, freezing in mid-air where the Blade of Kaleo had seemingly sliced through the sky itself. Kindel began to scream wordlessly, and the blade slashed one more time before man and weapon both vanished from the mountaintop. A new sound rose over the land, a horrific tearing sound that made the hairs on Arus' arm rise. Every tree across the planet shook violently, swaying back and forth as the world groaned. Brilliant colors of light spewed from the shimmering slice in the sky, ranging from blue to red to purple and every shade in between. The gash widened slowly, growing larger and longer with each rumble of the land, until a wavering pool of colors hung above them.
"What is that?" Kitreena barely managed to whisper.
Arus shrugged, trying to gulp his heart back down his throat. "Damien?"
"I don't know," Damien said, staring up in awe. "Kindel," he murmured softly, "what have you done?"
Vultrel was the first to step forward, ignoring the other three. Arus resisted the urge to shout warnings; Vultrel had clearly decided to follow his own path in life, and there was little anyone could say to change it. He watched nervously as Vultrel stepped onto the small plateau that was the peak, inching forward until he was within arm's reach of the strange slash of wavy light. Before anyone could protest, he reached a hand out and touched it. Fingers sank into it like boots into a swamp. "What . . . is this?" Abruptly, Vultrel's body seemed to turn to rubber as he was sucked into the gash, his torso stretching to nearly twice its normal length before snapping up into the violet light like a lizard retracting its tongue.
That set off an unavoidable chain reaction. Arus sc
reamed and raced toward the odd light, which prompted Kitreena to chase after him, and Damien after her. Arus clenched his fists and leapt into the floating hole in the sky with little regard for his own safety. Time seemed to momentarily stand still as he felt himself rising through the warm glow, then a sudden tug yanked his body completely through. Brilliant light swallowed everything, and a nagging voice in his head shouted at him for being so reckless. But no matter how many times he cursed himself for rash behavior, he always managed to top himself in one way or another.
*******
The Falcon Mist grew larger in the forward viewport of the Aeden transport. Any moment now, laser fire would surely rain down upon the tiny craft, but the risk was one that had to be taken. Capture was certainly preferable over destruction, though it was hard to predict which option a team as unstable as the Kyrosen and the Vezulian Armada might choose. All communication frequencies had been silent thus far, but there were so many to sort through that it could take days to find the right one. If luck was with the little ship, a direct line to either Sartan Truce or one of the higher commanding officers of the Kyrosen would come up, but then, Muert hadn't exactly had luck on his side as of late.
He raised the frequency another point and spoke. "Falcon Mist, do you copy? This is Muert Bloodlust, soldier of the Kyrosen army." Every time he used that surname, he grimaced. It was a title given to him upon his completion of the Kyrosen Trials of Blood, the grueling tests administered by the Truce family to every male the moment he was old enough to control his magical talents. Every young man who had passed the test was given a new title to replace his family name, though Muert had no intentions of passing that name to his wife and daughter. Still, to openly deny the name was to shame the customs of the Kyrosen. "Can anyone hear me?" It was said that the Truce family was the only family allowed to keep their name, a title earned generations ago by one of Sartan and Aratus' ancestors. F'Ledro and Olock didn't even seem to have surnames, though no one dared to question whether or not they had overcome the Trials of Blood. Surely they had, if Truce had placed them in such high-ranking positions. Then again, it was no secret that the three of them had been close friends growing up, though F'Ledro had always been treated more like an unwanted stepchild than a friend. Would Truce have really risked such dishonor for friends? Why hadn't anyone questioned them about it?
For that matter, why did no one question anything Truce did?
He used his thick forefinger to raise the frequency again. "Falcon Mist, do you copy? This is Muert Bloodlust, soldier of the Kyrosen army." To the Kyrosen, the Truce family was royalty. Disobeying them, questioning them, or even shifting an eyebrow the wrong way could be considered disrespectful, and so many simply accepted that anything Sartan or his buddies did was the best option possible despite the downward spiral of the Kyrosen since Aratus Truce had taken command. Like helpless citizens of an oppressive government, they sat by and watched as their leaders marched them to their deaths. Sartan may have gotten the Kyrosen back into space, but the sacrifice far overshadowed the gain. For Truce to willingly place the Kyrosen into the targeting scopes of the man who had sent them fleeing to Terranias in the first place was irresponsible, rash, and just plain stupid. No doubt Sartan thought he could maintain the upper hand on Kindel Thorus in one way or another, but then, that's what Aratus had said of the natives of Terranias.
"Muert Bloodlust," a voice suddenly boomed over the transport's speakers. "How is it that you've managed to find your way out here in an Aeden ship?"
A wave of relief rolled over Muert as he rubbed his temples between a huge thumb and forefinger. "I was being held captive onboard the Refuge, which I'm sure you're aware is in orbit on the opposite side of the planet." That's where the truth would end, unfortunately. He didn't look forward to deceiving his own people, but the safety of Sienna and Keilan were his only true concern. "I managed to break into their hangar and hijack this transport. While onboard, I overheard rumors that the Kyrosen were being held on your ship. Is this true?"
"Please standby," the voice said, a harsh male who seemed irritated with having to speak with him. For the thousandth time, Muert asked himself if he could really go through with deceiving his own people. He'd be asking the question since before he'd even sworn allegiance to the captain of the Refuge. Not that he wanted to continue following the destructive steps of the Truce family, but if his actions in any way ended up hurting Keilan or Sienna, he would surely wish he'd just fell in line and followed orders like any other soldier.
Tapping a few commands into the control panel before pulling the throttle back, Muert brought the transport to a halt just outside of firing range. He kept both shields and weapons systems powered down in a show of goodwill, though if Vezulian troops still maintained command over the Falcon Mist, they likely wouldn't even notice the gesture. After sitting in silence for nearly ten minutes, a voice finally came over the communications speaker again. "Muert Bloodlust, you are cleared to land in hangar dock four. If you have any weapons onboard your transport, you are to leave them there. They will be taken to the cargo hold for you."
"Thank you," Muert acknowledged. He spared a glance for his great scimitar leaning upright beside the transport door behind him. Throughout his training, the Kyrosen commanders had always enforced the idea that solid weapons were but secondary means of defense, an added cushion to the true power that every Kyrosen possessed. Never before had Muert been so thankful for that training. The Armada could take away his sword, but there were several other ways he could defend himself if necessary.
The transport glided into the bowels of the Falcon Mist without incident. An escort of no less than thirty Vezulian soldiers met him when the ship's door slid open. He half-expected to be placed in shackles, but the commanding officer, a narrow man with graying hair who didn't even bother to introduce himself, simply motioned for Muert to follow him as he headed toward a corridor adjacent to the hangar bay. The grey soldiers followed in a synchronized march, their boots clopping rhythmically across the floor. They shadowed him until they reached the lift, where they met with two men armed with dual-capacitor laser rifles. Muert entered the lift with them at the silent motioning of the commander, and the two riflemen followed him. The door slid closed without a word spoken, and the lift began to descend.
Muert's heart began to race as they waited, neither soldier sparing him so much as a glance. Possibilities ran through his mind; images of slaughtered Kyrosen and burning corpses, children decapitated and women stripped and hung. It was the least the Armada would like to do to his people, he knew. What if they already had? It had been a great risk to come here, but the lure of his family wasn't something he was able or willing to ignore. What if none of the rumors were true? What if he'd unknowingly turned himself over to be executed? No, Arus wouldn't have lied to him. The boy was too noble and honest for that. Wasn't he?
Both relief and despair swept over him as the lift finally came to a stop and the doors opened. The massive cargo hold had been transformed into a makeshift shelter, packed with Kyrosen from end to end. Most were unwashed and ragged looking, their eyes sagging and dark from a lack of sleep. The women wore embroidered dresses of simple linen, embroidered with flowers and birds and butterflies. Stains of dirt marred their skirts, and usually neat hair had been turned to a mangled mess. The once proud men looked tired and worn, faces unshaved and vests sagging from their shoulders. Blankets and storage crates covered the floor where individual families had set up camp, and faint music filtered through the crowd. Songs of mourning, unless Muert's ears deceived him. The only light came from the various lanterns that they'd managed to bring from the Underworld, giving the hold a warm glow unlike anything standard starship lighting could reproduce. His arrival brought a few bleary-eyed stares of recognition and a couple smiles, but other that he was largely unnoticed. All for the better, he knew, considering what he had planned.
The butt of a rifle jabbed into his back as one of the soldiers shoved him out of the l
ift. The doors closed almost instantly, leaving him on his own to find his family. A few questions sent him hunting through the northeast quadrant, as they had apparently come to call that particular section, and a few more led him to a small blanket and lantern near the right end of the cargo hold. Seeing Keilan sitting there on the floor with a book in her lap, her dark hair tied back with a bright red ribbon, sent Muert's heart leaping with joy. Eight-year-old Sienna was sound asleep on the blanket beside her, curled into a ball against her mother's knee. She was wearing the sun-colored dress he'd had made for her before leaving for Cathymel, a light yellow linen that had a picture of a kitten sewn into the front. Her black curls were shorter than when he'd last seen her; Keilan must've trimmed it since coming aboard. Regardless, they were safe, and that was enough to put a smile on Muert's face.
He stood silently until she noticed him, and when she looked up he greeted her with the warmest smile he could muster. "I have returned, my love."
She closed her book and stood, beaming with happiness. Keilan was usually quite reserved about her emotions. A smile from her was a sure indication of pure delight. She wrapped her arms around him—though the action forced her to the tips of her toes—and kissed his cheek. "If I was any other woman, I suppose I would demand to know where you've been for all of this time," she said softly into his ear. "But then, no other woman is married to a man as loyal and noble as you. Welcome home, my heart and soul."
Eye of the Tornado Page 7