by D N Meinster
She hadn't expected to find a party going on when she arrived. These Kytherans and Twileans were enjoying themselves as they cooked their island boar and swam around with the waves sloshing over them, all far from the vantage point of Kytheras. You would have never thought that their king had died only a handful of seasons ago. Kids were molding objects with wet sand. The adults were laughing and celebrating for no apparent reason, strumming on banjos and throwing bonballs around. It was sickening.
So Spira took control of them all. It didn't take much to exercise her ability. There wasn't even a mage around to provide the slightest bit of resistance. They all went still after she shifted in, and she took their food and ended their fun.
Her teeth tore off a chunk of meat from the bone, and she chomped on it as she considered what she should do with these deadbeats. There were no weapons around, so she couldn't watch as they hacked away at each other. She could have them all walk into the sea and drown, but that was hardly exciting. And they were all useless to her, as she would be able to subjugate any group that she encountered.
Spira tossed away the bone and compelled one of the beachgoers to jump into the fire. He emerged swathed in flames, and subsequently charged into three people that were standing together. They all toppled over and burned together as the fire consumed them.
"No, no, no."
The four of them got up, their skin melting away as the flames devoured more of them. This group went their separate ways, rushing at the other layabouts that were standing around. Spira caused the process to continue until all those on the beach were lit aflame.
None of them screamed as their bodies burned, and she wondered if they even felt the pain as their flesh cooked and charred. She smelled it though, and it was enough to make her rise and prepare to leave.
Spira took one last look at the blazes she'd caused. Though the embers were receding, the tufts of smoke continued to rise from the spots that marked the dead. She felt nothing as they burned away; not satisfaction nor sympathy. If she were ever to revisit the area, she hoped that the seas would've washed away their bodies by then.
The shore came to an end at a line of palm trees and brush, and Spira proceeded into the thicket, not sure where she was going and who she might stumble into. She kicked up sand as she went, annoyed that the granules apparently covered the entire island. It was pleasant by the beach, but anywhere else, the sand was merely a nuisance. She would hate to live in a place where it was overspread like this.
As the gulls went about squawking, she was able to make out a whizzing not too far away. Was it worth checking what it could be? She'd killed enough today to justify her trip to Neanthal if she needed to, but then, those making that prattle could actually be important. Well, it was either inspect or go back to Belliore. And she could do with a few more hours without Peransic.
Spira shifted to a spot behind a tree, and then repeated doing so, making sure the slender trunks hid her each time. The plunk of arrows grew more noticeable, as did the hearty laughter that followed each time.
She shifted closer until she could make out their voices.
"Get a real bow and maybe I'll believe you're actually winning," a nasally female spoke.
"Come on, how many mages do you know that can use their staff as a bow?" a gentle male voice replied.
A mage? Now, this was a pair worth taking control of. She shifted again, meaning to get right behind them, but there were no voices by the time she finished relocating. Could they have left the area already? It was possible he'd shifted away with her.
Spira bent out from behind the trunk, trying to determine if they were still there. She saw only one man, who was wiping blood off his dagger. Her eyes focused downward and saw two bodies at his feet, each covered in slash marks. Where'd this red-haired stranger come from? And how had he taken out a mage so quickly?
Spira stepped out with her staff pointed at him. "Who are you?"
The stranger didn't even appear to glance at her before responding. "Another mage? That'd make three." He twirled the dagger in his hand and finally looked up. While he stared at her chest, his shoulders fell. "And I thought I was about to be done."
"Done with what?" Spira closed in on him.
"Three mages must die for the King. This was number two." He pointed downward.
"King Neanthal sent you?"
"Technically, he didn't specify which mages I had to kill. And you've come to me." The stranger pointed his dagger at Spira.
Spira shook her head, and the stranger moved the dagger to his own throat. "You're not a mage. Did you think you can take me head-on without magic?"
The stranger's hand shook as he attempted to resist cutting his own throat. "My apologies," he sputtered. "I should introduce myself. I am Ale, Neanthal's very own assassin."
So was that why the King didn't need her here? He'd already sent someone?
Spira eased up on her ability and allowed Ale's arm to drop to his side. "Why are you here?"
"Neanthal requested I kill three mages," Ale replied. "Conrad here is number two."
Spira had hardly known Conrad back in Kytheras, as he tended to avoid any woman that wasn't interested in him. She would've preferred to be the one to take him out.
"And why are you here?" Ale asked, raising a ginger eyebrow to his hairline.
"I'm..." Spira didn't have any sensible reason for being on the Islands. She wanted to get away from Belliore. She wanted to get revenge on the Tunsevs. But she had no plan and no orders.
"Gone abscondin'?" Ale asked, noticing her hesitancy.
"Not at all," Spira growled back. "King Neanthal knows I'm here."
"I have a purpose here," Ale responded. "It seems you do not."
Spira gradually tipped her staff back in Ale's direction. If he was going to insult her, he'd regret it.
Ale pocketed his dagger and raised his hands. "I don't mean to offend. But I have an idea."
"Speak," Spira insisted, tilting her staff away from him.
"You help me take out one more mage, and I'll help you do whatever it is you're here for." Ale's grin displayed broken and uneven teeth.
"The only mage I want dead is Amelia," Spira replied. If that bitch was dead, there would be no challenger to her power or to Neanthal's. Even Hatswick couldn't resist her abilities.
"Amelia it is," Ale replied. "But afterward, you'll help me acquire two more living souls to bring to Neanthal."
Spira couldn't envision this assassin taking out Amelia. But if he could, she could easily deliver on his request. "You kill Amelia and I can give you every soul on these islands."
Ale hadn't relinquished his unsettling grin. "She'll be on Noon."
Spira extended her staff to him. She hadn't planned on taking on Amelia so soon, but this provided no risk to her. "Let's go."
Chapter Twenty
Mission In Tropical
"Now arriving at your destination."
Aros stepped out of the AGT and was immediately greeted by a torrential downpour. The spikes in his hair were flattened within seconds, and he spun around, intending to go back into the vehicle until the storm let up a bit. But the AGT had already closed its doors and was on its way back to the main city.
From his position, Aros could see the row of skyscrapers that denoted Cortex's end. Between him and the city, there was an abundance of open space, with the scant AGT floating through it. Aros was reminded of Kytheras' border, which abruptly transformed from city to desert. However, here, there was not desert, but jungle.
A scattering of trees were the only shelter Aros had from the rain. He hurried to one of the slender trunks and was pleased to find the leaves above protected him from most of the precipitation.
Aros had made it to the tropical zone, where a geothermal generator waited to be turned off. As he wiped strands of soggy hair from his forehead, he took a gander at the area the forest encompassed. It was much more substantial than he had anticipated. The trees had grown thick, and their canopy onl
y allowed traces of the rains to get through. That would at least make exploring tolerable. Yet the incessant tweets from unseen birds and occasional snarls from unknown beasts promised to make it more ominous than he would have preferred.
He did not want to do this alone, but he owed it to his friends to try. Neither of them were in a position to go with him. Doren was infected with the plague, and Rikki was at his side, trying to save his life. There was nothing Aros could do for them except complete their mission.
Doren wasn't going to die. Aros was certain. The Goddess wouldn't take another from him so soon after Leidess. And Rikki wasn't going to let him pass on while she had magic left to spend. So what would've been the point of standing around and watching?
This is what he was supposed to be doing. Yet, where exactly he was supposed to be going, he had no idea at all. Every direction ahead of him looked the same. Overgrown vines. Leaves wider than his head. So much green. It was not as neat as the forests he had seen in Faunli. There was a wild unkemptness to this zone. And it seemed like even if it wasn't raining, it'd still be damp.
Aros took hold of one of his clawblades and inched himself away from the tree and into the jungle. If there was anything out of place, it would have to be this generator. Everywhere else was just plants and foliage.
His metal boots sank into the dirt with each step, but they were tight enough so that no water was able to penetrate their surface. Though the gold quickly lost its gleam, it never surrendered to the elements that were trying to slip inside. Had they been less effective, Aros would've been stuck with waterlogged boots, as he had no idea how he was supposed to take them off.
Aros tread onward, motivated to get this done. There were two other generators he would have to find, and then he'd need to return to whatever was left of the weapons lab. And after that, he'd go back to the hospital, and Doren would be okay.
Rikki shouldn't have to go through what he went through. He didn't want that for anyone. He was still broken over Leidess, but he wasn't lashing out anymore. He knew she was in the Bastion, watching him; waiting for him. It took a while to accept this new life without her. What would Rikki do if she lost Doren? The damage a grief-stricken mage might cause could be devastating.
No, Doren would be fine. The next time Aros saw him, he wouldn't be bronze. He'd be back to normal.
Why exactly was he turning bronze? This MR was such an odd plague. The Palmarose Plague made evident how sick its victims were. The MR's effects were less conspicuous. Did it have something to do with the new armor? If Aros caught it, would he be turning gold?
Kwee kwee kwee.
Aros glanced up, spotting the creature that spit out that sound. It was an overlarge fuzz ball, with purple hairs covering its entire body and only huge yellow eyes indicating it was alive. It carefully descended down to him as its three tails unfurled from the branch it was hanging from. Two diminutive limbs popped out of its side and reached toward him as it got closer.
Aros raised his sword toward it and it ceased moving. As he gazed at the creature, he noticed the tree limbs above were teeming with life. He saw smaller fuzz balls hopping about, as well as snakes wrapped around the branches and blending in with leaves. Birds were fluttering back and forth between the trees, chirping at each other before flying away.
A rustling in the brush turned his attention back to the ground. Something with two arms, tentacles coming out of its neck, and a snout rounder and lengthier than a velizard's crawled out and stared at him.
Aros grimaced and dashed away. He did not want to find out if any of those animals were meat eaters.
As he hurried deeper into the forest, he tripped on an ill-placed vine and fell face-first into the mud. He spit and wiped the mud from his lips and cheeks, then did his best to rub it from his hands onto his armor.
However, the vine was not a vine at all, as it broke apart and a swarm of some ill-conceived green locusts flew up from it. The insects seemed to know who had disturbed them, as they immediately went in pursuit of Aros.
Aros hopped up and ran as the bugs buzzed alongside his face. Using his clawblade, he tried to smack them away, swinging it by his head and almost nicking himself multiple times. Nevertheless, some got through his defenses and bit his ears in retaliation.
The itching began almost immediately, and he tried rubbing his shoulder against his ears while he was still sprinting. The metal seemed to make it worse and tears started falling from his eyes as the sore spots started to burn.
Aros put a hand to his ear, which was undoubtedly swollen, and kept going forward. There was only more jungle ahead, but there was less buzzing the further away from the broken vine he got.
He ran and ran until he knocked his head into a wall.
From the ground, Aros tried to figure out why there was a wall in the middle of the forest. But he didn't see anything ahead of him: not a wall or a low-hanging branch.
The rest of the swarm obstructed his eyesight as it finally caught up with him, but as he ceased moving, the insects no longer appeared to be interested in him. They hovered above his body before zipping off for some other target.
Aros let out a moan and chucked his clawblade at whatever he'd collided with. The sword didn't make it far, clunking against something and dropping back to the ground.
"Ugh." He'd somehow fared worse against locusts than he had against Thalians and peacekeepers. It was embarrassing, and he was glad that no one had been around to see that.
Or at least that's what he thought, until a high-pitched squeal that was unmistakably laughter filled the air.
Aros stared upward and saw the same three-tailed fuzz ball swinging down from the trees and crowing at his misfortune.
"Shut up," Aros whined, and he leaned up and made it back onto his feet.
Aros touched his left ear, which was as tender as an open wound, and rubbed the middle of his forehead, where a bump was already forming. He trudged over to his clawblade, lifting it up and returning it to a place on his back. And he thought he'd be able to handle any adversary he'd encounter out here.
Now, what had he run into? Aros held his arm out and walked forward until his palm met the invisible wall. It was smooth like glass, and completely clear, for he could make out the trees on the other side.
He began strolling alongside it, keeping his hand on it as he went. Aros wanted to know just how expansive this wall was. His fingers glided along its surface while his eyes bounced around, searching for an object that could be a generator.
After approximately ten minutes, he let go and focused entirely on the wall. It was much wider than he thought it'd be. Was it built through the entire forest?
Aros took both clawblades out and started slashing at it. Maybe what he was looking for was on the other side. He alternated blows, cutting at it with his left blade and then his right. But neither of his swords appeared to put a dent in the wall. He needed something like the peacekeeper's weapon, which could blow through it.
Wait, the Bellish had forged his armor. Wasn't it possible he had a weapon like that?
Aros thought back to what he'd seen at the hospital. Those peacekeepers had slid their fingers in the right place and Doren's armor had lit up.
He returned his clawblades to his back and started swiping the arms of his armor, hoping he might get a reaction. Back-and-forth. Up-and-down. Finally, he did something right, because glowing white lines appeared on the metal. He poked at one of them, but nothing happened. Then he took two fingers and prodded another.
His arm jolted back and a narrow beam shot out of the metal and into the wall. Aros didn't notice the lines on his armor disappear because his eyes were locked on the hole the beam had made in the wall.
He'd expected the damage to resemble a broken window, but it was nothing like that at all. There was a perfect circle in the wall, but on the other side of it, there wasn't more forest. There was only black.
Aros cautiously approached and held his eye to the hole. On the other side, the
re was only darkness; one he was familiar with. Oblivion.
This wall marked the edge of Belliore. Yet the Bellish had somehow disguised it. The glass was displaying more of the tropical environment, but it wasn't really there.
Aros backed away, that confounding feeling he'd had since arriving overwhelming him once again. How did they do it? How did they hide Oblivion?
There wasn't even anyone to ask that would explain in a way so he'd be able to understand.
Aros was still moving backwards when he spun, intending to get away from Oblivion, and his foot thumped into something that wasn't dirt. He looked down and saw a round, metallic hatch sticking out of the ground. If he'd gone any farther, he'd have tripped on the handle that was sticking out of it.
Aros grabbed onto the handle and pulled, but the hatch didn't budge. He latched another hand on it and tugged at it with all his strength, but it wasn't responding at all.
This was where the generator was. It had to be. He only had to figure out a way to open it.
He stood up and encircled the hatch, checking for another way to get inside. When he didn't see one, he dropped to his knees and rolled his hands on the silver, trying to feel something that he wasn't able to see.
But there wasn't any secret lock or alternative way in. There was only that handle.
Aros took out a clawblade and slid the handle into the nook of the sword. Then he did the same with the other blade and started pulling. He jiggled and tugged but got no response from the hatch.
"Dammit!" Aros put his swords away and leaned in once more. This time, he grabbed the sides of the handle and pulled.
The hatch didn't rise, but the handle turned ever so slightly.
Aros beamed as he twisted the handle until it would go no further. Then he clutched it and yanked the hatch open.
It was dark within, but not nearly as black as Oblivion. However far down it went, he had to go.
Aros took a breath and jumped into the gap, but his feet hit solid ground almost instantly. It wasn't nearly as deep as the crypts in Kytheras.