Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series

by Vaiya Books

  Heart drumming like a basketball against hard pavement, he bounded over twisted logs, carefully dodged the sharp trees and thorn bushes, and leapt over gnarled blue-green roots, which lay sprawled throughout the forest. All the while, deafening, wicked chanting sounded in his ears, reaching closer and closer to him, smothering him with its venomous tentacles.

  Running even faster, he bypassed a moss-covered boulder and then ran over a long stone bridge, as one of the sorcerers’ chanting grew to a loud climax and then abruptly stopped, leaving Ian with a sick feeling of dread. If they were truly sorcerers, then something bad was about to happen.

  And sure enough, no sooner had the chanting stopped, than all the vines around him shot out towards him, seeking to wrap themselves around his legs and ensnare him in their grasp. However, as soon as one of the pale green vines touched him, it instantly shriveled up and fell to the ground harmless, almost as if he had an invisible shield around his body.

  Watching this in mystified wonder, while continuing to run with all his might, Ian bypassed the vines unscathed, when, suddenly, a thick swarm of crystal wasps with long piercing stingers, each with dozens of eyes on its head, materialized ten feet in front of him. Glaring at him with venomous hatred, their wings whirring louder than a jet engine, the mutated insects charged at him ferociously like savage lions, all of their scarlet-colored eyes intently focused on him.

  Terror struck his heart. He sharply turned left to avoid them, but within seconds heard the loud buzzing of wings in his ears. They were too fast for him.

  Prepared to be stung mercilessly, Ian cringed, bracing himself for their painful assault, covering his face with his hands and crouching low to the ground. Any second they would be upon him.

  As the wasps tried to dive-bomb and sting him though, something very strange happened. Instead of stinging him, the wasps immediately flew backwards instead, as if repulsed by a strong magnetic force, and then vaporized in the air, turning into dust, leaving Ian in complete bewilderment. Just what was going on?

  Sprinting onwards at a fast clip, as the last of the wasps vanished, Ian heard the chanting resume, only this time instead of only one voice, a mingled harmony of voices sang right behind him, breaking into his eardrums, filling the air with a haunting Gregorian tune.

  Before he’d even gone fifty yards, their chanting unexpectedly halted, and a thick green fume immediately appeared out of nowhere, completely shrouding him and blinding his path; a wave of burning heat engulfed him, catching several bramble bushes nearby on fire; and a tornadic wind gust knocked down a couple of extremely large trees near him, creating a sound which Ian could only liken to that of a train being torn into shreds, or bones breaking. When the colossal trees fell to the ground only four feet in front of him, the earth trembled and shook violently like in a powerful earthquake.

  Ian gasped, not having the time to ponder over how he’d somehow managed to stay alive through all of that, as his ears rung wildly from the ear-splitting sound of the trees being uprooted. One thing he knew though was that he had to get out of here, and quickly. If this witchcraft kept up any longer, he’d likely be dead in no time.

  Turning around sharply to glance at his pursuers’ locations, he stared around in astonishment. No one was there. All noise had stopped.

  In fearful disbelief, Ian stood there in mute silence, his sore feet throbbing as if he’d run a marathon, his head spinning, as he sought to make sense of everything.

  Nothing felt real. Only a short while ago he’d been upstairs in Hazel’s house checking out her dusty attic. Now he was in a world with sorcerers determined to murder him for no apparent reason. The contrast was staggering and nearly unbelievable. This bizarre nightmare had to end. How could he even live another minute in this hostile environment?

  Pressing his hands firmly to his head to try to ease his troubled mind, he scanned over the battle scene in wonder. The bramble bushes still burned with an unholy blackish fire; the fallen trees in front of him lay lifeless on the ground, completely uprooted, even though their trunks were gigantic and never should’ve been knocked over so easily; and the poisonous fumes in the air had all but dissipated, leaving only the lingering smell of bitter herbs behind.

  Surveying the destruction around him, Ian knew it was obvious that he should’ve died and that the hunters had probably thought him dead, which explained why they’d stopped chasing him and had left him all alone.

  Though he could generally come up with logical reasons for why things occurred, in this instance, he was entirely baffled, and couldn’t find any good reason for why the vines and wasps had vaporized at his touch, why he didn’t get scorched by the searing heat from the leaping flames that had surrounded him only minutes before, why he didn’t get flung into the air by the powerful gust of wind, or why the poison didn’t even harm him.

  The only valid explanations he could come up with were that he was either immune to magic, or they hadn’t really intended to harm him. Both options though, seemed highly improbable, as they’d obviously wanted to kill him and it made no sense for him to have an immunity to magic, something he still found hard to believe in even after witnessing it firsthand; for only a short while ago, he’d thought that ghosts were myths, that haunted attics were mere superstitions, and that magic and incantations were things only found in books and movies.

  Now, however, after just being attacked by a trio of sorcerers casting their unholy spells at him, he didn’t know what to think about these things. All he knew though was that weird magic-type phenomena definitely existed here, as he’d just witnessed with his assailants. He’d just have to prepare himself for the unexpected. He couldn't take any chances.

  With those troubling thoughts in mind, Ian grit his teeth, both deeply unsettled and entirely angry. He shouldn’t even be here. He didn’t belong here. He should be at Hazel’s mansion right now bowling, eating food, or even playing chess. If anyone should be here, it should be Kenn. Perhaps something like that would shake him up enough so that he’d actually be nice to people if or when he returned home. It certainly couldn’t do him any harm--unless it killed him, that is.

  Relishing in that morbid thought for several seconds, Ian broke himself out of his blind daze and shook his head at himself, entirely ashamed and disgusted by his heartless attitude. Even though he despised Kenn more than anyone else, death was still not something he should wish upon anyone. To think such was sadistic and savage, making him really only a little better than the sorcerers.

  Growing uneasy with himself, he quickly cut off those thoughts, realizing that they were doing him no good, and started pondering over what to do next.

  After several minutes had rolled by, he eventually decided that it’d be best to leave this place, as the sorcerers might want to come back later to either bury him--as they probably thought him dead--or stake him to a tree, as a sign for other travelers to beware.

  Determined not to let either happen, he began walking slowly, cautiously. Going around the sharp trees, he sped up his pace, as he imagined the sorcerers’ fury upon finding him still alive.

  After forty minutes of steady trotting though, his body aching with weariness, he found himself completely fatigued, and his mindset changed drastically. Though he still feared getting caught by the sorcerers, he was so exhausted now that he could barely run another step, leaving him with no other choice but to take a nap and hope that they didn’t discover his resting place. If they did, he knew he was as good as dead.

  Uncomfortable with his decision, realizing that this may be his last nap, Ian laid down on the ground in front of him, near a smooth-barked tree, and breathed heavily, scanning the area one last time for anything suspicious.

  Fortunately, he saw no one, though he was only somewhat relieved by that as the sorcerers might be hiding, waiting for him to fall asleep before murdering him, or they might happen to stumble across him, catching him unaware while he was sleeping.

  Despite his apprehensions, however, he had no oth
er choice. He had to rest, whether it would be his death or not.

  Finally succumbing to fatigue, Ian rested his head on a patch of fragrant white wildflowers, covered in glittery blue pollen, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come.

  After laying in a dreary stupor for twenty minutes, half asleep, half awake, he was just about to lift himself up, when a voice called out to him in an exotic-sounding tongue.

  Startled, terror sending tremors throughout his whole body, Ian darted his head around fiercely, nearly giving himself whiplash, fully expecting to see the gray warlocks again, knowing that if it were them, his life was over.

  However, instead of the sorcerers, what he saw were three athletic fair-skinned figures, one of whom clutched a large basket woven of strong wooden fibers. A longbow and a quiver of arrows hung gently from each of their backs by a tight dark blue leather strap that slid neatly over their shoulders. Their fine-chiseled faces, unblemished and smooth, shone with wisdom, and their sharp green eyes, full of intrigue, shimmered with suspicion.

  The two males had long black hair that covered up the back of their necks and most of their foreheads, while the lone female had shoulder-length blonde hair cascading over her ears and tucked into an ornate braid that was decorated with green and brown wildflowers.

  Captivated by their strange appearances, Ian noticed that their ears--half an inch longer than human’s--pointed out in a peculiar fashion, reminding him of elves' ears. Stupefied, he just shook his head around in bewilderment; what was going on here? Was he stuck in some fantasy world?

  Perplexed, he continued staring at them, hoping they were friendly, when the likely leader, wearing a silver heart-shaped pendant around his neck, in contrast to the iron circle-shaped ones his comrades wore, spoke, causing an eloquent and smooth sounding language to immediately flow through Ian’s ears.

  Unfortunately, though, he comprehended none of it; Chinese would’ve been easier to understand, as at least he had a feel for how the language should sound, unlike this one, which he had no concept of at all.

  Feeling the distress that comes when two people can’t understand each other, Ian stood up, and brushing the dirt off his clothes, cautiously approached the leader. “Hello, my name’s Ian,” he said awkwardly, bowing slightly. Perhaps they’d understand his language.

  However, as Ian extended his hand towards the leader, it was clear that his words made no sense to them either, as they all exchanged weird glances with each other, the leader ignoring his polite gesture.

  Embarrassed, Ian quickly retracted his hand, while the leader reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a small silver ring with a brilliant spherical green amethyst in the middle. Holding out his hand politely, he motioned for Ian to take it.

  Cautious, Ian picked up the semi-light ring and turned it around in his fingers. If they wanted him to wear it, they could wave goodbye to that dream. Rings were for girls or engaged or married couples. He’d never wear one again, not after what happened last time.

  It all began one warm spring day in first grade. That day, just for fun, he wore a fake plastic gold ring to school that his mom had gotten in a white elephant gift exchange the past Christmas. However, as he arrived to class, his friend Eddy had laughed at him and asked him sarcastically whom he planned to marry. Ashamed, he took off the ring and threw it away; yet it was too late--all his classmates already saw him. He was teased for months afterwards....

  He felt a ring being slipped onto his index finger. Shocked, anger rising in his heart, Ian broke out of his thoughts, determined to yank it off, when he heard the leader’s voice:

  “The elves of Amalon greet you,” the leader sneered insincerely, a cold aloof smile on his face.

  At his words, Ian just stared at him in astonishment--not only did he actually understand him now, but the previously mysterious language now made complete sense to him, and unique words, phrases, pronunciations, and intonations from the elven language continued flooding into his mind. This was just plain weird.

  “What just happened?” Ian muttered, as he looked down at the elf’s strange black pointed shoes that seemed to shine in the sunlight, too interested in the ring’s magical power to even care that the guy had said he was an elf.

  But the leader either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. “Return it,” he said sharply, gazing down at Ian with utter disgust, as the other male elf winced at the leader’s unkind attitude.

  Startled, Ian took a few seconds to process the impolite request. “The ring?” he asked rhetorically, with as much dignity as possible, trying to get on his good side. How he’d started out on his bad side, he could only guess at. “Yeah, sure.” Yanking the ring off his finger, irritated by his touchy behavior, Ian handed it back to him, vexed that these elves, if that’s what they really were, were so much ruder than the ones from Lord of the Rings.

  But the elf was oblivious to his annoyance. Wordless, he received the ring and soon concealed it, before adding, “The language will fade from your memory by tonight, so do not grow too fond of it.”

  Biting back his anger, Ian found himself severely irritated by his unfriendly tone and snide comments; truth be told, he wanted to slap the elf in the face, something that he rarely thought about doing to strangers. Even his friend Eddy at his worst, tripping Alan, slipping banana peels into Alan’s locker, or sticking gum inside Alan’s books, couldn’t rile him up this much. It took all his kindness to simply say nothing.

  The elf, studying him a little, undoubtedly detecting some of his hostility, spoke again, his style just as belittling and bitter as before: “Do not think too much of yourself, boy; you are not the first human we’ve met.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Ian sarcastically, giving him a half-sneer, inwardly concealing his deep-seated scowl.

  But the elf didn’t seem to catch any of his sarcasm or his words. Straightening out his thick velvet cloak, a huge contrast to the other elf’s pear green cloak and the woman’s black medieval gown sprinkled with white, lavender and violet flowers, he began staring with cynical curiosity at Ian’s ripped blue jeans and short-sleeved blue shirt. Eventually, he spoke: “You have very unusual garments, human.”

  His condescending words slammed into Ian like a heavyweight wrestler. Unusual garments? Was this guy insane? He wasn’t the one dressed like a medieval lord from a role-playing game.

  Resisting the urge to jab the elf with his elbow as he’d done to Eddy earlier that day, Ian instead gave him a frustrated look. “Are you kidding? You think this is weird?”

  The elf merely looked amused, as if Ian had said something totally ridiculous. “Yes, I do,” he said, “and as the river flows, your shabby raiment and uncouth speech speak of a poor upbringing.”

  Poor upbringing? he thought disgustedly, growing outraged. He was the son of a wealthy businessman, his clothes were rather expensive … and there was definitely nothing wrong with his speech. “My upbringing’s fine,” he retorted.

  But the elf acted as if he hadn’t even heard him, something that was really beginning to get on Ian’s nerves. Face of a spoiled brat who’d just inherited a million dollars from his grandpa, the elf then curled his lips into a greedy smirk as if his commands were law. “Give me your name.”

  A greenish-blue leaf fell onto Ian’s dark brown hair and he brushed it off, entirely exasperated, as he reflected on whether he should even answer him. It would serve him right if he just said nothing.

  After several seconds had passed though, he decided he might as well indulge the elf’s request, if for no other reason than to try to appease him. Though the elf hadn’t shown any physical animosity towards him yet, he wouldn’t put it past him, so he’d better try not to anger him any further. “I’m Ian Hansen, and you?”

  “Azadar Silverheart.” He scientifically plucked a bright golden flower with seven pedals and tossed it into his basket, while continuing the interrogation, his face both aloof and cynical. “So, tell me, Ian,” he began, accen
ting his name with a deeply derogatory tone, as if Ian were one of his servants, “What were you doing in my forest?”

  “Taking a nap,” Ian replied curtly.

  Azadar took a step closer to him his eyes burning with disgust. “I don’t believe you,” he said, briefly scanning the forest as if searching for enemies. “My heart tells me you are a spy for Tazik.”

  His accusatory words thundered in Ian’s ears. “What?” blurted out Ian, as he avoided looking into the elf’s piercing green eyes. “Who’s Tazik?”

  He gave Ian an icy stare. “Does the Kingdom of the Dwarves light a fire?”

  Ian frowned deeply in distress. Elves, dwarves … now he really was trapped in a fantasy world. The worst thing about it though, was he hadn’t a clue what the elf had just said. “Light a fire?” His tone had an edge to it. “Is this some sort of riddle, Azadar?”

  “No, it is not, boy,” replied Azadar, irritation wrinkling his otherwise smooth forehead, as if Ian had soiled his name by merely speaking it. “I just reminded you where your allegiance lies.”

  Ian cocked an eyebrow, both intrigued and galled by his statement. “And where’s that?”

  “With the dwarves.”

  A smile immediately flickered across Ian’s bitter face, and he had to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity. He’d never liked dwarves--they were too arrogant and fierce. His favorite character in Lord of the Rings was Aragorn, while the dwarf guy wasn’t even in the top ten, making the elf’s claim that he was working with the dwarves extremely ridiculous. Clearly, he didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “So, do I look like a dwarf to you?” asked Ian, after a slight pause, not knowing why else Azadar would think he was working for them.

  “Of course not,” he argued, his tone growing even harsher. “You are human through and through.”

  Ian just stared at him, entirely perplexed by now. He asked the only logical question he could think of. “Ok, since I’m not a dwarf, then why do you think I’d work for them?”