Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series

by Vaiya Books

  Kethin paused for a few seconds, maximizing the moment before saying, “Your intuition is too keen, my friend.”

  But this time, the leader had had enough. Stepping back into the scene, a calloused grin scarring his face, he wasted no words. “Give us the money, Kethin.” As if his tone and facial expressions weren’t clear enough, he raised his axe to seal his point. “If you refuse, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Kethin didn’t move a muscle. “Put down the weapon, Jackal; we’re all friends here.”

  “No, we’re not!” The leader pointed his axe straight at the youth. “You either give us your money, or we’ll take your life and then your money.”

  A smile broke forth on his face. “Interesting dilemma.” Kethin rubbed his chin. “Though I don’t like how both options are aligned against me.”

  Jackal, teeth clenched, arm muscles tensing, scratched his hair with his left hand. From out of the forest, a bolt whizzed towards Kethin.

  But he nimbly leaned to the side as a crossbow bolt struck a centimeter from his shoulder, burrowing deep into the tree. He didn’t even flinch. “Foul play.” He waved a finger at them. “You didn’t even give me time to decide.”

  Jackal dismissed his concern. “Then go ahead and be quick about it,” he growled, an ivory tooth protruding from his mouth. “Or the next arrow will pierce your heart.”

  In spite of his bravado, though, fear could be detected in Jackal’s eyes, and Kethin, plucking the bolt from the tree, tossed it aside like a rotting carrot, as a cold expression, dark as an onyx stone, frigid as a steel blade in wintertime, carved itself into his face.

  Smiling through the black ice as a ray of light piercing through an arcane forest, Kethin folded his hands in front of him, like a smug duke enlarging his borders. “I’ve made up my mind.”

  “And what’s it gonna be?”

  Smiling sardonically, he took a step forward. Then another. “I refuse your demands.”

  Wild rage burned in Jackal’s eyes as he suddenly swung his axe at Kethin’s chest, but Kethin ducked and then kicked his leg straight up in the air, knocking the axe from the leader’s hand. The next series of movements were all done in rapid, fluid motion. Kethin grabbed the axe, deflected three crossbow bolts with the sides and head of it, and punched Jackal hard in the stomach, knocking him over. Then, dropping the axe, he ran up the tree vertically and kicked off it, jetting into the one-eyed crossbowman with his head--mowing him over.

  In an instant, he was back up again, but at that moment, Dargo was upon him, and he started to throw punches at Kethin like a mad boxer or street thug.

  But not even breaking a sweat, Kethin managed to block all of Dargo’s heavy punches with his open palms.

  “Getting tired yet?” asked Kethin casually, while keeping a keen eye on his surroundings.

  “You’re a dead man.” Dargo leaned his head forward while punching, and with his teeth plucked his rusty knife from the collar of his ragtag shirt. Twisting his head to one side, he then swung it sideways, hurling the knife at Kethin’s heart. It nicked his cloak.

  “Not bad.” Kethin twirled around, clasped the man by the hair, and tossed him effortlessly--as one would toss a sack of flour--into one of the two standing crossbowman, bowling him over. He then evaded another high velocity bolt from the remaining archer by casually snatching it out of midair and broke it in half with his hands.

  His face showed no signs of worry. “Are you done yet?”

  “Never!” growled Jackal, not deterred in the slightest, as he threw five long knives at him in acrobatic succession.

  Skirting all the knives through humanly impossible physical maneuvers, Kethin sighed deeply as the boulder-sized man came charging for him. This rebellion was taking too long. These woodsmen had no respect for him. Pressing his hands together, he chanted a string of words in the ancient language of Elayan, each syllable uttered in pristine clarity and sounding like a tribal chieftain battering down an oaken door.

  Immediately, all the woodsmen cried out. Darkness clung to their eyes, rendering them entirely blind.

  Stepping closer to them, Kethin spoke in a cold tone that sent shivers through them. “Stop this foolishness before I kill one of you,” he said, as he touched Jackal, sending a wave of dizziness through his body, making him collapse.

  Dargo, trembling, crawled across the ground, feeling his way with his hands. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

  “That’s not important,” he replied. “What’s important is that you obey me.”

  “And how much will we get?”

  He smiled. “None. None at all.”

  “We don’t work for those wages.” Dargo repeatedly pounded his fists into the ground. “That’s robbery.”

  Kethin waited until he stopped, before smiling lightly. “Robbery? Yes, I suppose it is. But as criminals yourself, I’m sure you understand why I’d rather not part with my money. Besides, you’re not exactly in a bargaining position.”

  “Yes we are!” yelled Dargo. “We aren’t slaves. We’ll never--” He plunged into a dreadful sleep.

  A cloud of purple mist shrouded Kethin’s countenance, his voice ringing with authority: “Any other rebels … anybody else want to drift off into a tomb of nightmares?” He scanned the fifteen figures lumped over onto the ground and rubbing their eyes. “Hmm … I take that as a ‘no’. Well, you’ve made the wise choice.”

  Stepping over to Jackal, he took the fog away from his eyes, as he moved on to something that had incited his curiosity ever since he’d heard it. “Now explain to me who this man was who freed the mermaid.”

  “He had short brown hair, the color of a Durenx Root.” Jackal’s body shook. “His eyes were the color of black walnut wood. He was about my height.” He took a short breath. “And he wore the most unusual clothing.”

  “Dark blue fabric, clinging separately to each leg?”

  Jackal’s face tightened. “Yes.”

  “Very interesting,” mused Kethin, sounding mildly annoyed. “Not even an elite Chardin could escape my siblings’ three-pronged attack.”

  “Maybe it’s not who you’re thinking of,” he said tensely, not catching the meaning of all the words, yet still understanding the message.

  Kethin tightened his belt, disregarding his words. “Where did he go?”

  He hesitated. “He jumped into the lake and swam away.”

  “And you let him get away just like that? No bolt in his back, no chase?”

  “We shot bolts after him and tried to swim after him, but he was wickedly fast. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The very water seemed to carry him away from us.”

  Kethin’s lips curved into a frown, as he finished. “Forget about him. We have more important things to discuss.” He released the blindness from the men’s eyes and freed Dargo from his horrid sleep. They all sighed in relief, Dargo shaking with fright. Once they had recovered enough to be sensible, he spoke again: “Now listen closely. All of you are going to avenge yourself on the throne.” They all watched him intently. “You will kill the eldest prince.”

  “But--?”

  “No interruptions, Tyrin.” He flicked off a piece of tree bark at him, which struck him on the face. “All of you are already wanted men; it won’t hurt to add another blot to your records.” Face stern, he continued. “The crown drives you away from society, making you live like outcasts, forcing you to band together to survive.” Gesturing into the wind, he sighed. “You could have all been princes, judges, kings, but here you are, abandoned by your families and friends … with a heavy bounty on each of your heads.” With a tinge of pity, he lowered his eyes, tears gleaming. “No harsher life exists than yours.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked the one-eyed crossbowman angrily, as he stepped closer into the conversation, his face inflamed with rage.

  Amused by the man’s eager dedication where there’d been only stubborn mutiny moments before, Kethin smiled as he pulled his hood over his face, shrouding all but his vi
olet eyes. “Two days from now, Avarin, crown prince of Sarith will be spending the night in a friend’s mansion. Though he’ll be heavily guarded, this is where he’ll be the most vulnerable.” His eyes twinkled. “If you’re afraid, you can recruit your friends in Sarith to aid you. I’m sure Cargamur would more than relish such revenge.”

  Jackal’s eyes flew open, as he gave Kethin such a scowl that his face appeared to be melting under the noonday sun. “How do you know about my brother?”

  “I’m aware of many things,” replied Kethin, his mouth curving into an evil grin, as he noticed Jackal was itching to speak again. He didn’t let him have the chance. “Speak again, Jackal, and you will not wake up for another week.”

  As the threat settled, Jackal backed away, fading into the rest of his group.

  “Any other questions?” asked Kethin.

  Tyrin, a crossbowman with a bandaged arm, hawk eyes, and braided hair which came down to his back, stepped forward. “What do we do if we get caught?”

  “If you’re interrogated, tell them an elven commander sent you.” A wolfish smirk consumed his face.

  “An elf … you?” asked Tyrin.

  “Yes, me.”

  His eyes grew wide. “But you don’t look like--”

  “And how would you know what an elf looks like? Have you ever been to Amalon?” Tyrin’s pale look said it all. “That’s right; I didn’t think so.” Kethin stood silent waiting for more questions. None were raised. “Ok, now that we have that settled, it’s time to begin your journey.” A quick nod of the head was all it took to send them scampering away.

  Before they’d gone more than twenty feet though, he threw out an insult, irritation in his voice. “And they’re not fish women--they’re mermaids,” said Kethin loud enough for them to hear. “Honestly, get it right.” As they hurried away from him, faster now, he muttered, “Barbarians.”

  Chapter 18

  Passing by many beautiful pastel-colored buildings, some green, purple, yellow, and blue, Ian saw the amethyst palace in the distance emanating with beauty, its walls shining with a dark purple luster, its magnificent turrets and spires radiating with a lighter purple hue and ascending four hundred feet from the ocean floor, its windows glittering with bluish purple gems. Lush gardens of colorful flowers surrounded the palace, while a diamond dust sprinkled path, surrounded by silver walls, invited him to traverse upon it, and stately black onyx doors stood beckoning him to enter.

  Gazing upon the palace in rapt wonder, Ian swam forward in a daze awed by its splendor, while the princess, noticing his facial expressions, just smiled, a pleased look in her eyes.

  As they swam above the glimmering path for several minutes, they eventually reached the black doors of the palace, where they were warmly greeted by several mermen draped in golden-blue tunics, all of which carried no weapon with them as if there were no need for such security measures in this place.

  Smiling at them, astonishingly not feeling any disgust towards them, Ian passed by them through the doors without any fear, his thoughts immediately focusing on the inside of the palace. Strangely enough, the first seven feet where he swam were filled with water, while the rest of the twenty feet above him was normal air.

  As the princess led him down a red marble corridor, lined with elaborate detailed paintings of gorgeous red-yellow sunsets, dark green forests, crashing tsunami waves, ominous fleets of ships, and fearsome thunderstorms, Ian suddenly thought back to the merman king pouring clear liquid out of a vial onto his fingers and then touching it to his leg, and at once grew curious.

  Hoping to find out what exactly it had done to him, he turned to the princess. Maybe she knew something about it. “Princess Taeria, I have a question for you.” It felt strange speaking underwater, but oddly enough, his words sounded way more distinct than he’d thought would’ve been possible.

  An inquisitive smile swept over her fair face. “Yes, Ian?”

  Her reply was not garbled as he’d thought it would be, but sounded as clear as if they’d both been speaking on land. Interesting indeed, but he had more pressing concerns on his mind: “Do you know anything about your father’s vial of clear liquid?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes. The Araundi vial is extremely rare and powerful, and its effect is permanent. If even one drop touches your skin, you will instantly be able to understand and communicate in every language.”

  At this news, Ian stood rapt in wonder, hardly believing his ears. “Incredible,” he gasped, feeling a sudden urge to go back to Amalon and speak to Azadar in the elven tongue. He could only imagine how surprised Azadar would look now when he saw him speaking in the language that he was supposed to have forgotten, the language that had only been only given to him for a short while just so he could feel the brunt of the elf’s insults. But now, he possessed the language forever.

  More than just the elves and Azadar though, he’d now have no troubles communicating with humans from Sarith, with the dwarves from Tazik, with the people of Verandur, or with any other strange race that he could and would more than likely encounter given his frequent visits to this world. That thought gave him more than a little comfort as he remembered how awkward it had been chatting with Azadar before he knew the elven language, and how miserable he’d felt not being able to say anything to the merman king at first. Now, these humiliating experiences would be a thing of the past.

  As Ian smiled inwardly, his mind drifted from here to earth and he imagined what wonders the vial would do for him there. If the vial affected his language skills on earth, he’d learn Spanish in a heartbeat instead of the snail’s pace that he was going, as well as hundreds of other languages and dialects.

  He was almost tempted to ask Taeria if he could take a drop with him in a tiny bottle, but decided against it as he believed that the magic probably only applied to languages in this world, and that even if it did work on earth, he’d never feel right about his future grades in his Spanish II class or in any other foreign language class he’d take later on in his life. As much as he hated it, he’d just have to deal with learning the hard way. Unless, of course, the vial had somehow affected his language skills on earth. But that just seemed like wishful thinking.

  Mixed emotions flooding his face, Ian glanced at Taeria, as he suddenly wondered why he’d been given this amazing language gift. He wasn’t even one of them and he’d only met the merman king a few moments before he’d received these languages. It didn’t make any sense. “So, why’d your father give it to me?” he asked, more than a bit curious.

  The princess’s eyes shone with grace. “Because he sensed compassion within you and knew that you’d free me.” Not letting him respond or question her further, she, as if remembering something, swished her tail back and forth while speaking, “My father awaits you in the throne room. I will rejoin you after the meeting.”

  Dazzled by her words, he couldn’t think of an elaborate farewell and so merely murmured, “Thank you for all you’ve done, Princess. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  Then, staring at her absentmindedly, he touched his sapphire necklace, as he reflected over her words with ashamed bewilderment; it felt embarrassing to be called compassionate, for he wasn’t that nice at all--at least, he didn’t think so.

  Not only had he wounded Eddy twice this week, he’d also been disrespectful to his chemistry teacher, slightly cross to his mother, and rather infuriated with Kenn Ashton. Either the king had just said those words to be polite, or he actually saw some real potential in him. Whatever the case, Ian hoped the king would still sense kindness within him when he met him in the throne room.

  Following behind the princess, her face radiating with a joyous smile, Ian was quickly escorted into the throne room and then left alone, as the princess closed the golden doors behind her. As soon as the doors shut, a strange thing happened: his courage entirely diminished and fear rushed into his mind to quickly replace it.

  Though he knew that he shouldn’t be afraid as he was here as
an honored guest, he couldn’t force his emotions to comply with this, and he suddenly dreaded that he’d talk to the merman king as he’d talked to the elven princess Saeya--with impoliteness and disrespect. Even though he’d learned from that horrible mistake, and had been treating the mermaid princess with great respect and dignity, it wasn’t too far-fetched to imagine him regressing and relapsing into rudeness and incivility with the king.

  Nervous and disheartened at those thoughts, Ian anxiously took in the scene before him: the merman king, fifty paces in front of him, sat elegantly on his shimmering pearl throne, garlands of jewels and precious stones adorning his head. Ten dignified elders, appareled in silvery-white tunics, stood to his sides; five female ones on his left and five male ones to his right.

  A lone crystal chair sat facing the king, its seat glittering with silver dust, its back carved into an ornate seaweed design, its five legs made of polished opal stone; the transparent water came up eight inches above the seat of the chair.

  Before Ian had time to marvel at everything, the king addressed him: “Welcome, Ian Hansen. Take a seat.”

  As he motioned for the crystal chair, Ian swam towards it and sat down on it, his tail dangling to the side; the position was completely weird and awkward at best, as he still wasn’t happy to have a tail, and sitting on it just felt bizarre. Squirming around in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position, Ian smiled faintly at King Jayan.

  Smiling warmly in return, the king spoke, “Ian, a kind act such as yours never goes unrewarded in Yavara. As the world of Vaiya stands, you will no longer have to fear the water anymore.”

  But these words made no sense at all to Ian. Setting his hands near the sides of his tail, sitting as motionless as possible, Ian just gave him a blank look.

  Seeing Ian’s bewilderment, the king quickly clarified himself, directing Ian’s attention to a crystal container and an onyx container held by the first male elder to his right: “Ian, I offer to you the gift of breathing underwater in your human form, along with the gift of perfect vision, allowing you to see underwater even in the darkest cave or the murkiest pond. Come, accept them.”