Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  He went down to a knee, needing a moment. Celeste somehow mustered the strength to lift her head up, smiling compassionately at Cyrus.

  “You always were… stubborn listening… to me,” she said. “But you don’t have time. Please.”

  Her eyes barely remained open. Cyrus’ hands became sweaty and weak. He slowly rose and felt like he might collapse at any second.

  “I love you, Celeste,” he said as he held the sword high, the hilt at eye level, the blade pointed down to Celeste’s heart. He closed his eyes as he imagined all of the moments that he had shared with her—from childhood to the ship to Anatolus to her rescue.

  I’ll never forget you. And I’ll never forgive myself for letting it come to this.

  “It’s OK, Cyrus,” Celeste said. “I will always love you.”

  With that, Cyrus took a gasp. The world around him became silent as the winds died down and not so much as a single breath could be heard. Even his own heartbeat became mute. He looked down at his sister, saw her beautiful face, devoid of blood and other cuts, and closed his eyes. He turned his head up to the dark, black night sky.

  And he thrust the blade down.

  79

  “STOP!”

  Cyrus froze just before his sword touched his sister. In tears, he threw the blade to the side, a third of it teetering over the mountain.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” Cyrus said.

  “I… heard it too,” Celeste said, a last burst of life coming to her.

  Confused, Cyrus looked at her for any clues. She provided none. Cyrus turned and saw Erda approaching hurriedly.

  “Move,” she said.

  Cyrus needed no further explanation and stepped to the side, collapsing to one knee. He saw his father and Crystil at the steps of the peak.

  “Erda?”

  “Do you remember our conversation in the forest, Cyrus? About the limits of magic?” she said as she quickly removed the tourniquet and placed her hands on Celeste’s still-fresh wound. “I told you there that we cannot raise our dead. But we can sacrifice ourselves by taking the burden of another’s mortal wounds.”

  “You…”

  His mind still clouded by grief, Cyrus struggled to register what was happening. It was only when Celeste gasped loudly, and Erda cried out in pain, that Cyrus understood.

  “But… Mom?” he said.

  “This is my chance to atone for my mistakes,” she said. “I have told you many times that I feel responsible for not stopping Typhos’ ascent. I have told you that I am your mother, and yes, that I faked my death when you were five. There are many things that I have not told you. That I was born and lived under a different name before your birth.”

  She paused as she let out a loud groan. Life returned to Celeste’s face, more flush with color and the fire in her eyes returning.

  “I am Aida. I am Typhos’ mother,” she said, now in confounding pain. “I tried to please both you two and Typhos, and in doing so failed all of you. I have made many mistakes, but I will not let the death of my only daughter be one.”

  “Erda, Mom… why? What?” Cyrus said, so confused from the rapid swing of emotions.

  “I left Typhos so that you could be with your father when—ahhh—I gave birth to you. But—ughhhh—I felt compelled to return to watch over Typhos, knowing how dangerous he’d become, and your father and I agreed to say I’d died. But I was too ashamed to come back as Aida. Typhos—gahhhh—saw right through it.”

  Celeste let out a loud cry as life rushed into her. Erda screamed in agony. The two women’s cries overwhelmed Cyrus, who didn’t know how to feel about what he was witnessing.

  Every few seconds, a part of Celeste would kick out and twist. Erda, in conjunction with Celeste, strained and groaned in pain, as if giving birth. Blood seeped slowly through Erda’s robes, in the same area where Celeste was stabbed.

  Cyrus could sense an unbelievably powerful magic passing between them. It was the kind of power that, used in different settings, could have brought some chilling effects. The power of a mother, sacrificing for her offspring.

  Typhos isn’t the savior.

  Erda is.

  She’s saving Celeste from death.

  The wound on Celeste closed, though a scar remained, one that Cyrus suspected would never heal. With a loud cry, she lurched forward. She gasped for air, and Cyrus went to her side.

  “Celeste!” he said, finally able to cry tears of joy.

  “Cyrus?” she said. “I’m… I’m fine.”

  But both paused when they saw Erda collapse to the ground, taking the place that Celeste had moments before. Cyrus heard their father rush up, with Crystil maintaining her distance. Cyrus squeezed his sister tightly as Erda looked up at all three of them.

  “I’m sorry… but I’m glad… we’re all… no.”

  She gasped, clearly on her last breaths.

  “Save your brother,” she said. “He… he can be saved. But he needs… to be saved from… himself. I love… you all.”

  With one last loving smile for her children and the man she’d loved for years, Erda closed her eyes and died.

  80

  Brother… Mom…

  That’s why he never killed me.

  It’s the same as Cyrus just now. Only when blinded by emotion could he hurt me.

  Celeste slowly removed herself from Cyrus’ tight squeeze so she could go to Erda. Thank you, Mom. You saved my life. You sacrificed your life so that I could have a new one.

  She sniffled, but she didn’t feel the need to cry. She just felt tremendous gratitude which she knew could only be repaid in one way—stopping Typhos without killing him.

  She slowly stood and felt the rush of energy. Her death. Her powers. She looked over and saw Cyrus face-down as well. He’s getting it too.

  Then Typhos is as well. But one-third of her energy… better than all of my powers.

  “Dad,” she said, filled with questions. “What… did you know her as Aida?”

  Her father nodded slowly, his hands clasped together. His eyes were moist, but it was evident he’d cried everything he needed to already.

  “I met your mother when I was just out of school and working for your grandfather. She was beautiful, and I fell in love immediately. But as soon as we consummated our love, she said she had to go. She confessed to me that she was Kastori, and that she had a son on Anatolus, and that she was only visiting to get away from the death of her husband. I understood. I always thought of her beauty, her charm, and her love. Several months later, she showed up, pregnant with you, Cyrus. She said she struggled for a long time with what to do but ultimately decided Typhos was growing into a man and could handle being on his own. She said she’d talked to others on the planet, and that she would try and shift her time between Typhos and you. She didn’t want you raised on Anatolus. She wanted you raised on Monda to be the future emperor. But she also wanted to be your mother, and to be present. So she gave birth to you here as Aida.”

  He sighed.

  “For the next few years, Aida—Erda, your mother—struggled with her decision. She also never went home. I began to suspect that she had fled Anatolus rather than explained her departure. She said she could sense her other son’s pain on Anatolus and worried he was becoming a danger. But she felt an obligation to raise you ‘better than my first’ in her words. I also suspected that, given her emotional instability, she did not want to face what Typhos had become. It all became a moot point, I thought, when she got pregnant with Celeste. But something triggered a yearning for her home. But she felt such shame about it. She promised me she would give birth to you on Monda, Celeste. However, she wanted to leave and return here, but under a new name—in her mind, the mother of Typhos was dead, most likely to him and to everyone else. So she left a week after you were born, assuming the name Erda, perhaps believing that a new identity would absolve her of the shame she felt.”

  I wish she’d just stayed here. But… I can’t imagine the guilt she felt. No good cho
ice there.

  Emperor Orthran smiled wistfully.

  “In some ways, I could understand. The beautiful woman I met a few years before had aged rapidly before my eyes, aging decades in a matter of a few years. She wanted a new identity, and so she took one. When she left, I figured I’d never see her again. I wished her well, but it didn’t work out. She led a terribly tragic life, starting from the moment of her first husband’s death. And she was never going to get it right from that point on because there was no path she could take that was right. Someone was always going to get hurt. And… here we are, alive, and there she is, gone.”

  Something gnawed at Celeste.

  “Did you know it was her?” Celeste asked. “When you saw her for the first time in two decades?”

  “Immediately,” he said. “You don’t forget the presence of someone you’ve loved, no matter how much they may have physically changed. It’s why I revealed myself to you on Monda, and everyone else was surprised.”

  “So Typhos saw through the Erda disguise immediately,” Crystil said.

  “I’m sure of it.”

  And that moment in the prison…

  “He knows we’re all siblings, too,” Celeste said, drawing a surprised look from Cyrus. “If he knew all along Erda was his mother… I remember him reacting strongly when I said something about Erda being like a mother to me. He seemed… hurt, shocked, upset. I think he genuinely wanted me for my power, but after that moment, he knew. He was probably even more hurt that his mother had left him to bear other children. I sympathize with him in a way. He still needs to be stopped, but…”

  Her voice trailed off. Not even Cyrus bothered to counter her point.

  “Did you miss her, Dad?” Celeste asked.

  “Every day,” he said. “But… it was nothing compared to missing you two. I never felt like I had Aida’s love entirely. I’m not sure anyone ever did, sadly.”

  “This is too much,” Cyrus said, frustration clear on his face and in his tone. “Too much. Pops, why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I should have. I should have. But she was really dead to me. And I honestly never thought this would happen.”

  Celeste looked at her deceased mother. She looked down at her own hands, alive, flush with blood. She ran her left hand over her own chest, and could feel the spot where Typhos had pierced her chest. She could still see that blade going through, cutting her heart and her spine. She shuddered.

  “Listen, Dad, it’s OK, forget about that. Typhos is alive, and if what Erda said is true, we need to get him back. I need to get him back—I’m the only one who can reach him that way.”

  No one objected. Probably because no one believes in what was said as much as I do.

  “I still sense many Kastori on Monda who want to defeat Typhos. Cyrus, Crystil—can you organize them?”

  “Absolutely,” Cyrus said, the pep back in his voice.

  “Bring them back to Anatolus. We need to prepare both Monda and this world against him. I don’t know what’s coming, but if we don’t gather enough strength to stop him from absorbing the power of those three worlds…”

  Cyrus put his hand on her shoulder, and gave that smirk Celeste was thrilled to see.

  “You just came back from the dead, and you want to get back into battle? Who are you, Crystil?”

  A much-welcomed laugh ran through all four people, with Celeste smiling the most as she embraced Cyrus, happy to be alive.

  81

  The next morning, Cyrus teleported with Crystil and without his sister. But I’ll take her teleporting me any day, keeps her safe.

  The two wound up in front of the palace. Cyrus saw something on Monda that he felt the world had not seen in years—a clear view of the sun. About twenty humans stood on the entryway steps, and all of them recognized Crystil immediately.

  “Commander Bradford,” one man with unusually long hair said. “I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

  “Because of this guy and his sister right here,” Crystil said, turning and pointing her arms to Cyrus.

  “Cyrus Orthran,” the man said, and he bowed. “We have about a dozen magicologists who surrendered to us. They swear that they do not want to hurt us, and want to defeat Typhos as much as we do. What do you wish to do with them?”

  Cyrus turned to Crystil for guidance, but she offered nothing. She shrugged as if to say, “Make your own choices.”

  “Bring them to me,” he said. “Gently. They are our prisoners, but that doesn’t give us the right to act like Typhos.”

  “Understood,” the man said, and he motioned for men to head inside the palace.

  Cyrus marveled at how he could finally see the interior of his old home. Monda is ours.

  For now. Typhos isn’t dead, and he’s protected. But we’ll bring the fight to him this time. We won’t wait to let him devastate us. We’ll bring an end to his reign of terror as soon as we can get Monda operational and Anatolus stacked with these guys.

  The Kastori—treat them that way, not as magicologists—walked forward with their arms up, the five humans behind them with rifles raised. One of the older Kastori approached Cyrus and removed the hood of her black robes. She had long black hair and a face worn out from the war, full of wrinkles that seemed ill-suited for a woman of the age Cyrus guessed at.

  “My name is Hanna, and I am one of the Kastori who fought alongside Typhos,” she said. “But I want to join your side now.”

  Cyrus saw a familiar look in her eyes. It reminded him of Celeste, the way she had a strong sense in what she believed in. This is what she would’ve been if she gave in.

  “I fought for him out of fear for my life. If I did not serve Typhos, he would strike me and all of my friends down. I did not fight because I believed in him, at least, not anymore. There was a time, on Anatolus, but…”

  “Understood,” Cyrus said. “We would like you to join us on Anatolus. I want you and your fellow Kastori to understand that we are bringing the fight to Typhos. You may have stopped fighting for him, but if you join us, you are not done fighting. If you wish to be done fighting, we can keep you comfortable in our prisons here until the war is done. I will—”

  “We need to join you,” Hanna said, cutting off Cyrus, who went silent when he saw the fire in her eyes. “Many of my friends have died because of him and his unchecked rage. I would have died if not for the way he took a liking to me early on. We live only because the wrath of Typhos hasn’t picked a day for us. We need to fight so that we can live.”

  Now she sounds like Crystil. These guys will make for a valuable team.

  Cyrus felt the presence of his sister, and he turned to see Celeste walking forward. It was still odd to see the top of her scar, just a couple of inches beneath her collarbone, extending beneath her clothing. It reminded him how close he had come to losing her, and how much more training and preparation he would need to undertake to fight with her.

  “I’m Celeste Orthran,” she said to Hanna. “I felt your pain talking to Cyrus and wanted to come and talk to you. I lost my mother because of Typhos, and for a while, thought I’d lost my father.”

  She thinks of Erda as Mom… it’s still weird.

  “I know you need to join us. And we need you to join us. So I ask if you will come to Anatolus and help us become an army that can fight Typhos and his creations.”

  “Yes,” Hanna said. “Please.”

  Celeste nodded without so much as looking at Cyrus or Crystil. She’s in charge now. Could be worse, Cyrus thought with a smirk.

  “Cyrus, wanna talk to everyone else here?” Celeste asked.

  “Duh, I gotta have something to do,” Cyrus said.

  Celeste laughed as Crystil interjected, “Keep me here too. He’s going to need all the help he can get.”

  Celeste teleported the Kastori defectors to Anatolus, and Cyrus shared a look with Crystil.

  “Ready to get our world back up and running?”

  “Whatcha think?” Crystil asked with a grin of hi
gh expectations on her face. “Factories for weapons? Fighter jets?”

  “Anything and everything we had two years and seven months ago,” Cyrus said. “I have a feeling the fight with Typhos isn’t just going to be us versus Typhos, but all of us versus Typhos and his weird creations.”

  “I’ll take our chances in that fight,” Crystil said.

  “Got that right,” Cyrus said with a wink.

  The two laughed as they walked side-by-side to the humans, ready to restore Monda back to its peak in preparation for their greatest war yet.

  82

  Celeste stood in front of the giant funeral pyre with her mother at the top. She held the flame which would send Erda’s body back into ashes and put to rest a life that Celeste wouldn’t wish on anyone—Typhos included.

  She always tried to do the right thing. Even when there was no right choice. Let that be the lesson for you when you see your lost brother.

  She looked at the crowd. Her father, her brother, Crystil, and the dozen Kastori she had brought from Monda stood in front of her, for the funeral of the last chief of the Kastori. No one deserves to have the title after the way she kept everyone alive all those years. Only when Typhos is defeated will there be a chief.

  She cleared her throat, her voice scratchy from discussing strategy.

  “For many of us, we had a complicated relationship with Erda, or Aida,” Celeste began, her voice strong and unwavering. “However, I cannot speak ill of her, even for all of her self-described mistakes. I cannot imagine a world in which I bring in a son who loses his father and my husband, and then having to carry both the burden of grief and the burden of his grief and his childhood. I do not want to live a life where I take a vacation and bring to life the child of another planet, forcing myself to pick between two worlds and two families. I shudder at the thought of watching my child become the greatest threat to peace and prosperity in the universe and knowing that my actions contributed to it. I do not want to judge her, because who’s to say I would’ve made the right choice in that spot?”