I hop over the thornwood fence, not noticing the pricks my palms receive as I do so, but they are there. I gaze over my shoulder, unsure what is happening, but acquiescing because what else is there to do.
“Find yourself, Stone McLarin,” the master speaks out loud.
He knows. I wasn’t sure if I had imagined that or not. He knows who I am. They all do.
Am I being shunned? Banished? Do they think me a murderer? Do they think what just happened to Master Stormwood is the same fate my parents received? Or is it solely because I’m a Graft and they witnessed the destruction imbued within me? The Dihkai are no different, so why is this happening to me? Why has Susy chosen this life for me?
I’m alone. I’ve failed. I’ve failed everybody. I left my parents to die. I failed to save Elder. I could have, but I didn’t. Now, what’s left of my family—what I swore to protect—has chosen to separate themselves from me. Is it because I’m a Graft? It couldn’t be. Jay doesn’t know. What have I done? What do I have left? The Taoiseach and his Shadow? Am I leading myself down the same path as her? Am I to become Harris’s pawn as well? Or am I already. I followed every step the Taoiseach planned for me, and now I’m stuck between the Shadow and the dark surface that casts her.
Wandering aimlessly, I happen upon my next course at the flight chamber. Why? I don’t know. I don’t have the Academy anymore. Not now that I’ve been outed as a McLarin and a Graft. I shouldn’t be here. I should be confronting the Taoiseach. That’s who I am. I’m the Taoiseach’s pawn. And I need to confront the Taoiseach.
I step into the lofty chamber. The class has not arrived yet. Master Sephyre sits at his desk in the corner of the open space. I approach him.
“I’m ready,” I say with false confidence. I’m not ready, but I don’t know of another way to reach the Taoiseach. The Crimson Guard don’t let anyone through his gates. The only time I stepped foot within his walls, I was escorted. And my next course with him isn’t for several days, and I cannot wait that long. I might be murdered by my classmates before then, judging by the glares I received during my trudge away from the combat circle. This is the only way.
Master Sephyre reacts just as I hoped, with charismatic enthusiasm. His pupil is progressing and, whether it is to protect Astor’s reputation for recommending me into the program or pride he has helped me overcome a fear, he’s proud of it. It is something he’s accomplishing. Not me. His bright smile shines, and he rises to his feet.
“Of course! Unlike Master Martelli, I believe in second chances.” His smile is a devious one. “Let us do this now. No need to wait. We’ll get you prepped as the remainder of the class arrives.”
He calls down his prized harpy eagle, Zephyr, and gears it with a harness. Once it is secure, he gestures for me to wait as the class begins to arrive.
Careless and impulsive, I ignore his request. I climb aboard the winged beast as I’ve been taught, and I attach the reins. “Fly,” I command.
Master Sephyre’s gaze narrows in on me. There is a bit of shock, but what prevails is a sinister glare. Maybe I have it wrong. Maybe Master Sephyre isn’t reacting as I’d hoped. Maybe I’m reacting as Master Sephyre hoped. Does he want me to take flight knowing I’m not ready? I cannot trust anyone. Is Master Sephyre part of the Taoiseach’s masquerade too? Of course he is. Everyone is.
Further proof I must confront the Taoiseach. I must know what my role is in his game. I stick with my plan. If I can call it that.
The raptor takes flight.
Its wings heave up and down as it rises in the chamber, creating a massive gust below. I waste no time. When we get to the top of the chamber, I direct it forward. We fly straight for one of the open archways holding up the chamber roof, and we pass through it into the open air.
With my feet pushing back in the stirrups, I lean forward on the raptor and grip the handles about the collar fastened around its neck. I hold on tight, climbing higher and higher until I know we are only a spec in the sky to any Crimson Guard below. We fly high above the fortified barricade surrounding the Martelli Manor. It is time to settle this.
It is done. The destructive force has been removed from the realm. The Taoiseach and his followers did not go quietly, seeing to it the Hybreed was removed along with them. With the population at a low, the moon screams in agony. The seasons have blended. Crimson shadows have erupted all over the surface. Our paradise has regained its freedom. The cost…death.
48 Elder
Four seasons earlier…
T he surface below me is plush and comfortable. My eyes struggle to open, so I let them collapse shut. I am plastered on a settee in a dark chamber. I expected to wake up behind bars in a cold, damp cell. And half expected to stay in the dreamless world forever. This is a good surprise, considering the situation, minus the throbbing pain that welcomes itself back into the majority of my body.
I hear voices talking, but I don’t recognize them as Stone or Jay’s. And I fear what will happen if I open my eyes to see.
“Goose, what do you think naive means?”
“It’s when you don’t know something, father. It’s an insult you would holler at a half-wit. Is there a reason you’re asking me this, father? Are you insinuating something?” he responds arrogantly.
“I respect your honesty, but correct your tone! Naivety is not a bad thing, Goose. Simply put, it is a person who doesn’t allow time to understand the world around them. They tend to let their emotions control their actions. And in rare cases, they even allow their instincts to control them. Now, I don’t know if they are even capable of improving their situation, but one thing I do know is they need protection. So, as I said, naivety is not a bad thing, Goose. It simply means you are the type who needs protecting, rather than the type who gives protection.”
“But, father—”
“Goose, it is what it is. And you are who you are. It is better to be self-aware than to live in a dream world about who you should be. It’s okay, Goose, the world needs people like you. Somebody must play the role of protectee. It keeps the rest of us sane. Others cannot make you great. Only you can determine your greatness by the choices you make. Now…” His voice pauses a moment and it’s apparent his son, Goose, has no intention of interrupting him. “…I’ve made a choice that involves some risk. Great risk, which ultimately translates to danger. You might not agree with my decision, but know I’m doing it for you and others like you. The majority of the citizens of this realm are ignorant to their potential, and… Ah, one of them is waking. Let’s postpone this conversation. I must summon Carib.”
I venture to open my eyes after I hear a clicking noise. Whoever was conversing has fled the room. I spy the chamber to see Jaymes isn’t with us anymore, but Stone is. He sits on the couch adjacent to me, awake but obviously dazed. The furniture Stone and I are seated on is pure white, arranged in a semi-circle around a glass table with a silver-metallic hue. On the opposite side of the room near the windows, there is an ebony-colored desk and a glass door to a balcony. The floor is dark hardwood, maybe wenge, and the walls are dressed in a dark wood paneling as well. The only bright contrast is the lounge furniture, the minimal artwork hanging on the walls, and the large windows, which bring in enough light to alter the black appearance of the wood into more of a chocolate brown.
After a short wait, the door swings open.
In walks the dreaded Harris Martelli, donning a black, sleeveless tunic and matching slacks. Most would wear lighter colors during this season, but it appears the Taoiseach’s color of choice is black. He must take pleasure in the dark, evil tyrant persona he portrays. The contrasting white of his eyes matches the décor of his chamber.
He sits across from me in the white armchair. His black eyes skim across me with a touch of wrinkle in his brow, then he addresses Stone.
“Hello, Stone. I believe you know who I am?” he says in a deep, monotone voice. Stone apparently didn’t see him come in because he startles at the sound of his voice. The reposeful alarm
is enough to flare his emotions.
“A murderer!” he shouts. The tension in the room immediately climbs from serene to clamorous.
“That’s a bit harsh,” he replies. “And inaccurate. I didn’t murder anyone… You did.” He says it as though it’s a fact.
This dark man has a heart as dark as his skin. It’s revolting, yet captivating. How does a man who I always believed to be elegant, powerful, and charismatic have so much darkness inside him?
“You…you know I didn’t.” Stone stutters, heavy with rage and delirium from the deep sleep the Hiberneyts put us into. His hands are trembling. “You know the truth. Jaymes and I are only victims. Scapegoats to your criminal acts.”
“Yeah! You…you lousy, puss-eating night crawler.” I don’t know what else to say. It just felt right to vent my anger through curses. His arrogance and corruption would anger even the most innocent and naïve. The Taoiseach doesn’t acknowledge me in the slightest.
Harris stands and calmly walks between the two of us. “Regardless of what actually happened that day,” he places his hand on my right shoulder, faintly touching the skin. The hair on my neck stands upright as a shiver sweeps through me. He follows suit with Stone’s left shoulder. “You will go on trial. And you are fortunate, Stone, that you come from the line of The First Four. If your father weren’t as prestigious as he was, you would have been executed by now. I have no tolerance for filth.”
My neck throbs with excruciating pain, like he brands me with a hot iron. All the energy drains from my body, similar to when the white cloaks captured us. However, I am not falling asleep, I am feeling death creep under my flesh. Cold. Empty. Powerful.
“Filth is wiped from this realm,” he adds.
But I can hardly hear him beyond the searing pain boiling underneath my skin. It spreads down my spine and up to my head. Across my shoulders, into my arms and fingertips. I want to scream to relinquish it, but the intensity is so severe I cannot breathe.
He lets go and it quickly recedes, but not completely. It feels as if I’ve been stabbed in the neck with a dagger. I breathe relief. The pain of a dagger is nothing compared to what I just experienced.
The Taoiseach moves to exit and stops at the door. He looks over his shoulder. “I am utterly disappointed in your actions, Stone McLarin.” Then, he departs the chamber. There is a clicking noise to follow.
Overwhelmed with the pain, I am thankful to not have to suffer his presence any longer, but it doesn’t take long for him to return. This time he returns with two others. A man donning a charcoal-grey Crimson Guard uniform—a general’s uniform. And a younger man, probably only a few seasons older than Stone and me. The boy looks awkward, as though he’s uncomfortable being here.
“Where is my sister?” Stone manages to squeak through his clenched teeth while rubbing his neck.
As Stone casually transitions from massaging his neck to his shoulder, I notice a black bruise in the shape of a thumb and forefinger on the base of his neck where the Taoiseach was handling him. I rub at my own neck, wondering if it’s the same. It’s tender. Too tender. Bits of flesh flake off the surface. I wipe my hands on my tunic and go back to picking at it. There’s a slight satisfaction, like peeling wax off a cheese wheel.
“She’s dead. She already confessed her crimes,” Harris retorts with a wicked grin on his face as if death is pleasurable.
“Tigershit! You’re lying. Where is she? How long have we been unconscious?”
The Taoiseach wrenches on Stone’s neck again. This time only utilizing his muscles, not his talents. Stone cringes underneath his grasp.
“Watch your language, lad,” he says in his cool, monotone voice.
Something is off. His voice isn’t quite as resonating as it was only a moment ago.
“You speak to me with respect. There is no reason to lose your manners in a time of desperation. Arden and Shae would be disgusted with you, just as I am.” Harris lets go and looks at his hand. Some of Stone’s rotten flesh departs with Harris. His face distorts, and he wipes it on his tunic.
Harris moves around to the other side of the glass table, and I see a slight disturbance in his facial features. Something unnatural. More than just shadows creeping across the contours of his face. Something shifted in his appearance.
“No, Jaymes is not dead. And it was rather disgusting of me to say so. I apologize. Something about filth brings out the worst in me.” He pauses and paces. I keep my eyes locked on him. The other two men stand behind us. “But she might as well be. All of you will be dead in a week’s time. Your trial is in a few days, in which you will be found guilty, and you will participate in an execution shortly thereafter. Until then, you’ll be held in a cell, but don’t worry, your last few days won’t be complete desolation. You’ll get a daily ration of food and water, and there is a small pot to defaecate in. We’ll provide you that much decency.”
His malevolent smirk makes me want to take a club to his face.
“You’re a snake,” I yell and spit in his direction. I miss, but I’m hoping the act proves my point. “How did you become such a merciless, evil person, treating children the way you do? We’ll never be executed if we have a fair trial. You have no evidence. And we’re witnesses, not suspects.” The word fair probably doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. Not a man in his position. There will be no trial unless he can control the outcome. I must hang onto some glimmer of hope, though, regardless of how diminutive it is. There’s too much in this world to explore. Too much knowledge to gain. I’m not ready to depart.
“I do have evidence. I have two dead bodies and a motive.”
“What motive?” Stone replies. “They’re our parents. We have no reason to murder them.”
“Were,” he corrects him. Stone’s eyes become pools of water, and his face glows red. “They were your parents, and they were traitors to all of Azure. They were conspiring to eliminate, if not all, at least one other race on Azure. They felt threatened by the Dihkai and were plotting genocide. That is your motive. You could not stand the thought of your parents being such evil human beings, which led you and your sister into an emotional rage resulting in the death of your parents. You’re young, and with your sister being a Dihkai, she simply couldn’t control her destructive talents. Elder was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, so he will share your fate as well. An accomplice.”
“Once again, you have no evidence. And that’s a very weak motive at best,” I say with unconvinced hesitation.
“Do you think I am careless enough to allow minor loose ends such as yourself to unravel what is necessary? I am the Taoiseach, the head of Parliament. I control all of Vedora. All of Azure. Not that there is much outside the boundaries of Vedora. I would know.” Another unnatural disturbance wisps through his facial features. His eyes narrow in on me then break to Stone. “The evidence has already been taken care of, and the motive will suffice. Enjoy your last few days.” He moves closer and leans in to whisper. “It’s a shame you won’t get to witness the days to come when Carib Reign offers freedom to all.” A ripple of ashen flesh flows through his cheek and across his face. This man isn’t Harris. Or Harris isn’t who he says he is.
I look to Stone, wide-eyed. He’s staring down at his hands. He didn’t see it.
“General Greyson, see to it they find their temporary cells.”
“Yes, sir,” the general acknowledges.
They all leave the room. On the way out, the younger lad looks over his shoulder. His discomfort with the situation is clear, but he disappears behind the door all the same, and it locks behind him.
“Wait! Why?” Stone yells through the door, chasing after him. A delayed reaction with weak fists pounding on the door. “Why are you doing this? Why us?”
Tears well up in my eyes as the reality of the situation slams into me. Stone’s parents died just days ago; I am leagues away from home, if I still have a home; Helios is more than likely dead, and next, it will be Stone, Jaymes, and I heading to our
graves to become part of Azure. I’m not ready. I’m not ready for this.
The tears come streaming out, and I let them flow, choking on each breath. I can no longer restrain the hurt, the anger, and the sadness that have been building up over the past few days.
Stone is stronger. At least, that’s all he allows me to witness. He returns to the lounge chair to console me.
“It wasn’t Harris,” I mention to him. His brow scrunches inward. I don’t have the energy to convince him and leave it at that. I sit in my sorrow for at least an hour before someone comes to take us to our cells.
It’s a man of average build and height, just one, even though there are two prisoners. The Taoiseach, or whoever that man was, must not find us the least bit threatening. He wears a Crimson Guard uniform, but I don’t think he’s an average soldier. He looks like a man of authority.
“Alright, get up. Let’s go.” He waves his hand toward the exit where he stands.
With my legs still unusable, I lift one with my hands and let it flop back down to prove my handicap. He rolls his eyes and stomps toward me. Average size may have been an understatement. He towers over me. I take a hard swallow. He heaves me into the air and drapes me over his shoulder. Then ushers Stone ahead to lead the way.
We head down a dark, winding stairwell, the steps and walls both comprised of grey stone and the only light coming from thunder lanterns every ten steps or so.
A loud thud echoes through the dimly lit stairwell. “What is that?” Stone shouts.
Our escort’s head whips back as he shoves Stone up against the wall with a massive arm. Stone stumbles on the curling staircase and tumbles down a few steps. The entire staircase spins as our escort moves into a defensive stance looking back up the flight of stairs—me still clenched over his shoulder.
I hear quick, faint movements, but can’t see beyond the curvature of the stairwell. And even though I’m already headed toward the four hells, I find myself on edge. Partially because our escort is holding me over his shoulder like a limp battering ram. Hopefully the same thought doesn’t occur to him. I’d rather not be used as a blunt instrument of destruction.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 61