Miles rolls his eyes. “Thank goodness, so dramatic him.”
“Hey, Deet,” Pard says, “who is Preta, is she a tough warrior?”
“Never mind who she is—stay quiet.”
“You’re the one that mentioned her and made a slight at Miles and me, and now you aren’t even going to tell us who she is?”
“She’s my younger sister. Now no more talking.”
“So where is she? How old is she?”
“Didn’t I say no more talking?”
“Look, we’ve been quiet all day and my face muscles need to move or I think I’ll never be able to talk again they’re so stiff and numb. Besides, you really think Alexa and the others are in this forest in this cold and wading through the deep snow looking for us?”
“No, they’re probably waiting in the next town at a warm inn and drinking ale and eating stew waiting for two kids to show up, one of them being a rich lord, and the other one only knows his way around a library, both of whom haven’t experienced a day of hardship in their life.”
“Right, so then we can talk since they aren’t in the forest with us.”
Deet snorts.
“Are you going to tell us or what?” Miles says. “We’re trusting you and following you around and we don’t even know who you are except you’re an Iinian Army deserter.”
“You two wouldn’t last two days out on your own.”
“Oh, I think we could, I think you underestimate us.”
Deet chuckles. “Do you, Lord Star?”
Miles lowers his head and he frowns.
Pard shoves Deet in the back. “Hey, what the hell’s wrong with you?”
Deet stops.
“Can’t you tell that that bothers him? And now you insult him on purpose. Maybe we are better off on our own without you. I think tomorrow Miles and me will go our separate ways from you.”
Deet takes a deep breath and looks up through the evergreen canopy to the white sky. A stream of mist billows out of his mouth as if blowing out a thick cloud of smoke from a pipe.
Pard puckers his lips in anger and turns toward Miles and sets his hand on Miles’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a jerk and doesn’t care about anything but himself. We’ll be fine on our own.”
Deet turns around and faces the boys. “Preta, my sister, is a seeros like you, kid.”
Pard, expecting to hear anything but that, his face goes blank as he processes what Deet just said.
Miles furrows his brow, and confused, looks at Pard and then Deet.
“It’s true,” Deet says, slowly nodding.
“She’s like me?”
“Yes, and she’s more than just a seeros like you, she is your sister.”
Pard’s and Miles’s jaws both drop at the same time.
“Yeah, hearing that usually has that effect.”
Miles points from Deet to Pard. “So you’re Pard’s long lost brother or something?”
Deet chuckles.
“No way,” Pard says, “that’s impossible.”
“I’m guessing you know nothing about what you are, kid, you and your seeros light thing.”
Pard shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Well, here’s the quick and dirty. At least from what I heard or put together. A wonky light that leaves a set of six children on their eighteenth birthday chose you. This light comes together and forms one, then again breaks apart into six equal pieces in a cycle every eighteen years. Which once it’s inside of the child all kinds of strange things happen in your body after the age of thirteen. This light makes you do and be able to do all kinds of crazy things, like talk to animals, uncontrollably electrocute cats, and cast spells, though the spells part needs to be taught by someone who knows what the hell they’re doing, like an older adult seeros. The light that broke into six pieces, it entered five other kids other than yourself, and you have a special bond, and they’re called your seeros brothers and sisters. My sister is also your seeros sister.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“Because similar individuals like Alexa and Eeva, also from the Acue, came to Brenton.”
“Waighton,” Pard says, “Preta is who they were after when they destroyed the town.”
“Yes, but at first they were hunting a seeros boy named Glynn and almost captured him, but instead, they killed him and his light left his body and entered my sister upon his death. Then they tried to apprehend her, and in the process they killed and destroyed everything I know and care about. We, like you are now, were on the run from the Acue, but everything went wrong when we got separated and the Dregs captured me. And now I’m in Bastin with you, and she is—” Deet lowers his head and shakes it. “I have no idea. She may still be on Brenton, or in Iinia, or worse. Anyway, I came across a map on a dead Acue last year with yours and Glynn’s name on it—and you both are the same age. Anyway, you also have an aqua-blue light like my sister. If you noticed, Alexa’s light was orange, and I also saw another seeros with a purple light. And I do care, kid, I just want to get home and find my sister to protect her, but I guess protecting you for the time being will have to do. Which is why I’m hard on the both of you, because I don’t want to repeat the bad things and mistakes I already went through with Preta. If we aren’t careful, they will find us.”
“Sorry,” Pard says, “that you don’t know where she is, or if she’s alive.”
“Me too,” Miles says through his chattering teeth. He gives Deet a hopeful smile. “So to the town and an inn?”
Deet steps off the path and enters the trees. “And Lord Marlow, the face doesn’t look that bad.”
ESEN’ER
Pard slows his pace and stares at his boots as they crunch through the snow. Deet’s sister is like me, a seeros. He glances up at Deet as he continues to make a path through the thick pine boughs, and Pard feels a newfound fondness and connection to him. Pard is no longer alone with the light growing inside of him—Deet understands this and will accept him. Maybe I can help him find Preta and meet her someday. Pard smiles.
Deet jerks to a stop and crouches behind the base of a wide evergreen and motions for Pard and Miles to do the same.
Pard stoops over, pressing his side against the rough bark. He pokes his head out from behind to glimpse what Deet is looking at.
“What is it?” Miles whispers.
Deet waves his hand. “Shhh—”
Miles glances at Pard. “What’s gotten into him?”
Pard shrugs.
“Both of you, stay here,” Deet says, “stay quiet and stay hidden. I’m going up ahead to check it out.” Deet stands and creeps forward while bent over. He draws his pistol and holds it out in front of him.
Pard scurries up to where Deet initially stopped, and Miles crawls next to him.
“What do you see?” Miles says.
Pard squints, and a small circular clearing is ahead in the pines. The dim glow of a fire pierces through the trees, and a thin streak of white and yellow smoke snakes into the air. “Looks like a camp.”
“Who the hell would camp out here in this cold?” Miles says. “That’s crazy.”
“I don’t know.”
Miles draws his dagger with shaky hand, from the cold or from fear, Pard can’t tell the difference. “Should we wait here? What if Deet needs help?”
Pard scans the ground and eyes a thick, knotty stick. He rips off his mittens, stuffs them into his pocket, and snatches the stick tight. Then he looks at Miles, telling Miles the answer to his question without words.
Miles moves forward through the trees and toward the camp.
Pard follows close behind.
“Ah!” Deet yells. “Oh, shit!”
Pard and Miles both flinch at the same time and give each other a quick questioning stare to determine what the other is thinking. They both clinch their teeth tight, and their faces transform into a ferocious scowl. They spring forward, yelling and screaming and waving in full on attack.
Pard swings hi
s stick wildly and a pine bough grabs the tip. Not letting go, and his feet locked in the deep snow, Pard’s body whirls around in a half-circle. The stick rips out of his hand, and he tumbles to the ground and his body rolls three revolutions until he comes to a stop, falling into a tree well. He grimaces and groans. Get up!
Miles, dagger raised above his head and mind fixed on his barbarous, raging charge, doesn’t notice Pard fall, and he continues running forward at full speed, ready to slash anything or anyone that comes across his path.
Pard scrambles out of the deep snow hole and gets to his feet. He shakes his head with a quick snap to get back in the moment. He wipes the snow off his face and spits out the fuzz of his mitten.
“Ah—!” Miles yells, but this yell differs from his ferocious battle cry. This yell is that of surprise and fear totally overtaking one’s mind and senses with the only thing that matters is one’s own survival.
Pard grips his stick and springs forward and races toward the clearing. The fire draws closer, and a faint cloud of smoke lingers over the campsite. He skids to a stop and his mouth drops and his eyes widen. Tikba. In front of him, right before his eyes, a creature at least seven feet tall, head transforming from a man to a creature something resembling half-man and half-horse. Two deep scars cross and extend over its right eye down to mid-cheek. The left eye solid black, its right eye is solid white with a blueish tint. Spiked fangs grow and poke out of its mouth as it flings off its charcoal wool sweater before it bursts to shreds from its massive expanding chest. The tikba’s bare back is wide and imposing. He turns his front away from Pard and faces Miles and Deet, who slowly back away. Bulging striated muscles grow even larger, covered by short brown hairs. The creature wears baggy light-brownish wool pants and black boots.
Deet raises his pistol, and the Tikba leaps ten-feet in the air, rips a thick pine branch off a tree and whips it straight at Deet.
Deet’s eyes widen, and he dives to the right as the branch slams into his arm and shoulder. He groans and drops the pistol. The deep snow swallows the revolver whole and its mouth collapses in a fluff of white.
Miles stands frozen with the dagger held out in front of him, staring at it and chanting, “Rifle, rifle, rifle,” as if wishing one would magically appear in his hands, the same as Hawke had warned.
The tikba’s boots crash back to the ground in an explosion of snow. He huffs and puffs out two long streams of steam. Then snot shoots out of its nose. He sticks out his head and arches his back ready to charge Miles. His thick mane bristles, and in the center, three golden spikes stick out amongst the brown.
Pard, now himself overtaken with fear, but his fear is a different kind of fear, his fear is that of losing his only two friends he ever had, and he ignores what the menacing tikba may do to him and charges forward waving his stick.
The tikba opens its arms wide and roars, unleashing another double stream of steam and snot.
Miles grips the dagger with both hands, trying to steady his shaky hand and blade.
Deet rolls on the ground, half-unconscious, but is coming out of his daze.
The tikba springs off the ground with a burst of snow exploding behind his body. Pine boughs whoosh and white crystals blast in the air.
Pard, ten paces from the beast and in the clearing, skids from the packed and slick snow. Energy surges, and an aqua-blue lightning bolt shoots out of his chest.
Now aware of Pard’s presence and the light arcing toward the tikba, it veers off course and zig-zags with an occasional jump trying to outmaneuver the light, but still the light tracks its every move with precision and speed. “Seeros!” the tikba yells, and the light slams into the beast’s chest. The tikba freezes in place, one foot on the ground and one off.
Pard’s body sways back and forth as it is tethered to the creature. Immense energy flows through his body, building in his chest.
“Release me, young seeros,” a man with a deep, calm, and noble voice says inside of Pard’s head. “If you release me, I shall not harm you, as long as you promise the same in return.”
“How can I trust you?” Pard says.
“You have my word.”
“But you were attacking my friends.”
“No, they were attacking me. I was defending myself.”
“Do you promise? For real?”
“If your friends lay down their arms, I shall as well.”
Quickly realizing this is their best option for survival, Pard agrees, “All right.” Pard tries to disconnect, but not knowing why or how he connected in the first place, his body doesn’t release the tikba.
“Will you release me or not?” the man says.
“I’m trying too. Sorry, I’m sorta new at this thing.”
“Then let me.” The tikba roars something ferocious, jarring Pard’s brain and bones.
The light disconnects, and Pard flies backward from the jolt and crashes flat onto his back.
“Ah—!” Miles yells, inspired by Pard’s light and it momentarily controlling the tikba. He runs straight toward the beast while swinging his dagger in a crazed rage.
Deet frantically digs through the hole in the snow that swallowed the pistol. He grips the handle. He grimaces and raises the barrel toward the beast.
Pard pops up off the ground and waves his arms and hands. “No! No! Stop, he said he wouldn’t harm us!”
Miles and Deet, both in full-on attack and out of mind, pay no attention to Pard or his words.
The tikba regains himself and sees the oncoming attackers. He roars again, and Miles roars back at the beast, seemingly undeterred.
Pard rushes forward, not roaring or attacking, just trying to stop the oncoming slaughter of his friends.
The tikba leaps high in the air, twenty-feet, and Deet fires his pistol, missing and striking a tree. Bark explodes exposing the white chewed-up pulp.
With every move of the tikba, Deet transitions his aim and fires, bullets missing their mark as the beast leaps up and down. The tikba crashes to the ground with a thud, and Deet fires again, finally nicking the beast in the shoulder.
The beast winds back his arm, its massive hand about to remove Miles’s head.
“No—” Pard says as he closes in on the tikba and is now within a few feet. Pard lunges and slams into the tikba’s back. He wraps his arms tight around the beast’s shoulders as it springs in the air with Pard holding on.
Pard screams with a vibrating howl, this time from real fear, and if he could let go he would, but that would cause even more immediate damage to his body as the tikba is over twenty-feet in the air.
Deet aims at the beast and doesn’t fire, afraid he may hit Pard.
Miles skids to a stop and snaps out of his suicidal rage charge. He stares at the tikba trying to buck Pard off its body as it lands on the other side of the clearing.
Pard closes his eyes and buries his cheek into the mane. He digs his fingers deep into the tikba’s hide, holding on with all his strength as the beast again leaps high in the air and crashes into a few low-lying pine branches that ferociously scrape and swipe Pard’s body.
“Let go of me!” the tikba says.
Pard’s voice vibrates from the up and down motion as he replies, “You said you wouldn’t attack.”
“Your comrades are attacking me. The one has a pistol and fired.” The tikba lands on the ground near Miles and it hunches over and snarls, shooting a stream of warm steam and snot into Miles’s face.
Miles’s courage again gone, as he’s now face to face with the menacing fangs of the tikba, he inches away. His mouth drops, and he freezes in place, taken by fear and at the mercy of the beast. “Rifle, rifle, rifle.” He lifts his eyes and meets Pard’s, who’s head now droops over the tikba’s shoulder and his own face is only a few feet away.
“Miles,” Pard says, calmly but with a slight quiver of fear.
“Pard.”
And the tikba suddenly bucks again and leaps into the air above Miles.
Pard grimaces as some
thing pointy pokes him in the stomach. Then he remembers. Golden spikes! He wiggles his body off the sharp hairs and grips the tikba’s hide even harder with his left hand while his other arm is hooked around its neck. Pard’s right hand releases as the tikba crashes back to the ground which swings Pard’s body off the beast’s back, but before doing so, he grips the exposed three golden spikes. Pard clinches the tuft and plucks the three golden hairs with a hand full of others out of the mane at the same time as the tikba bucks again.
Pard flies off the beasts back, crashes to the ground flat on his back, and slides on the snow and ice until he comes to a stop against the base of a pine tree.
Again Deet raises his pistol to fire.
Pard’s hand shoots straight up into the air, three golden hairs in his fingers. He stares at them for a split second as it sinks in, and what he now possesses in his grasp. I got them, holy crap, I got the golden spikes. His body snaps up into a seated position, and he eyes Deet and yells, “No, Deet, stop, I got the hairs!”
Deet, about to pull the trigger, he finds Pard standing up and holding out the three golden spikes in his hand.
The tikba hunches over and drops to his hands and knees. Its body undulates and shrinks, transforming back into a tall, muscular man with dark bronze skin. His gaze rises to Deet holding his pistol toward his head.
Pard lunges and runs forward, holding out the golden spikes. “Don’t hurt him,” he says to the man, “I got your tikba hairs.”
The tikba snorts with sarcasm and surprise then looks at the dirty snow and shakes his head. “Tena, bested by a mere boy, unbelievable.” He sighs then rolls to the side and plops down on his butt while leaning back with both hands and arms outstretched behind propping up his body.
Miles skeptically creeps past the man now sitting calmly on the ground. But watches him as if he may jump up at any moment and pound his had into a bloody pulp as Hawke had said.
Pard grins ear to ear as Miles reaches him. “Look, I got the golden spikes.”
Miles finally smiles. “Nice, not sure how you pulled this one off, professor, but you did.”
The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) Page 28