The Elyrian

by D P Rowell

  “Vacations are supposed to be fun, though. It’s muggy outside, I got bit by a million bugs, and the whole city smells like rotten fish,” Julie said.

  “Fine, sit in here and whine all you want,” Grandma said, “but it’s not going to change anything. You might as well learn to enjoy your time here.” The old lady turned to Ace and Cameron, who had just sat down on the squeaky, dark leather couches by the fireplace. “What do you say? Want to take a trip to the beach?”

  “Sure, Grandma,” Cameron said.

  “I’d love to,” Ace said.

  “Now, wait a second,” Grandpa Marty said. He and Rio walked in from the porch. “Ace, I need you to come with me and Rio for now. You can visit the beach another time.”

  Cameron shrugged at Ace. Julie and Tamara snickered from their room. Julie stood and walked to the door, sassing him inaudibly. Apparently, she wasn’t too tired to pass up the opportunity to mock her cousin.

  Ace ignored her. The more Julie and Tamara mocked him, the less power he felt over his tongue. Like a bad itch.

  “Yes sir,” Ace said.

  “Sorry, man. We’ll go tomorrow,” Cameron said, patting his little brother on the back. Ace stood from the couch and followed Rio and Grandpa out the cabin door. Once they were further into the tropical forest and far enough away from the family, it was safe to talk.

  “So,” Rio said, “You think this is the one, huh?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Grandpa said.

  Ace tugged on Grandpa’s shirt. “The one what?”

  Rio chuckled. “You haven’t told him yet?”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” Grandpa said. The way they were speaking, it didn’t seem like Grandpa was talking about the Emerson Stone. But, what else could it be? Ace wasn’t going to ask either. He wouldn’t dare risk telling Rio Grandpa had the stone if the drake didn’t know. He did what he thought was the wisest and kept his mouth closed. Knowing Grandpa, he would have his answers soon enough.

  A dirt path lay not much further from the cabin. Thick palm trees stood like giants on either side of the path, offering a bit of shade for their travel. It led to a cave in the mountain wall. Rio looked all around before entering, as if to make sure no one could see them. The drake moved some leaves on the ground and flipped a switch hidden under the leaves. Light bulbs hung from strings on the walls of the cave in a cozy invitation. They stepped through the mouth of the cave and walked to what seemed to be a larger opening further in.

  “You see, Ace,” Grandpa said, “I’m not just an investor. I’ve owned my own. . . uh. . . business? . . . For some time now. But don’t you go telling anybody about this.”

  “What business?” Ace asked.

  The hall lead to a larger part of the cave. Ace’s jaw dropped to the floor. Along the rock walls hung the biggest collection of weapons the boy had ever seen. Hand-blasters, shot-blasters, and more blasters he had no name for. Ancient chests sat on the sand under the racks of the chrome weapons, and in the middle of the floor lay a trap door.

  “I’m kind of a witch hunter,” Grandpa said.

  “Not just any witch hunter,” Rio slapped Grandpa on the shoulder. A smile stretched across his face, revealing his sharp, shark-like teeth. “Your Grandfather is the best witch hunter that’s ever lived.”

  “Oh, stop it now,” Grandpa said.

  Ace took a step back. The three pieces of his mind finally narrowed down and agreed on one. Grandpa was telling the truth, and this armory proved it. The reality of it sank in, and he caught his breath.

  Dumbfounded, he spoke the first thought on his mind, “A witch hunter? But how?”

  “What do you mean, ‘how?’ look at this massive armory, kid!” Rio said. Grandpa laughed.

  “Listen, son. I’m getting old, as you can tell. And I need someone to carry on my work when I’m gone,” Grandpa said.

  Ace stared at the hidden armory. “You mean, you want me to be a witch hunter? Like you?”

  “Yes,” Grandpa said.

  What about the Emerson Stone and the seventh realm? He thought.

  “But, Grandpa,” Ace paused. He turned to Rio and realized he couldn’t mention anything of the stone. “Uh. . . aren’t I too young?”

  “You’re never too young to begin training,” Rio said.

  “Ah,” Ace said, scratching his neck, “training. And that’s why we’re here?”

  Rio grabbed a thick, camouflage vest from the cave wall and threw it to Ace. It was heavier than the boy anticipated, and he almost fell when he caught it. “Suit up,” the drake said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Training

  After Grandpa left, the drake strapped a chrome blaster rifle to his back and took Ace further up the mountain, deep into the vacancy of the tropical rainforest. He told the boy about how the chrome rifles and hand blasters work. They were made to look like any other blasters, so as not to give away their identity as witch hunters, but they were hybrids. Each weapon had a switch on the handle within a thumb’s reach, to switch the material they fired with.

  While most blasters shot a plasma material capable of burning holes through metal, these blasters could switch between plasma and anti-magic. The hybrid rifles were called AMRs for anti-magic rifles, and anti-magic hand blasters; AMHBs.

  “What’s anti-magic made from?” Ace said as he reached out. The drake reached down, grabbed the boy’s hand, and helped him over a rock ledge.

  “Trees. They excrete a strange, orange substance.”

  Ace wrinkled his brow. “You mean tree sap?”

  Rio chuckled. “No, not sap, although sap is mixed in with it. Don’t really know what it is or much about it even. Your grandfather discovered it . . .” He placed his hand on his head, “What was I saying?”

  Ace reminded him, and he continued to tell the boy about the key difference between plasma and anti-magic. Plasma shot to kill, but anti-magic did just what it sounded like. It neutralized magic. Because, Rio explained, hunters don’t kill witches, they capture them.

  “Speaking of them, tell me everything you know about witches,” The drake said as he swatted a dangling branch in their path.

  Ace slapped a bug on his neck. “Uh . . . basically nothing.”

  “Nothing? Surely, you’ve heard the four signs of a witch before.”

  Ace paused a moment to think. “Well, I remember Grandpa told us stories a couple times. Sometimes, witches would leave trails of black dust behind. And there’s the one famous story about Billy Mills and how he woke up thinking his house was on fire, but it turned out a witch was in the house and he was smelling her smoke. But those are just children’s stories.” His impatience crept into his tone. He wanted to ask Rio about different things. Like, why was Grandpa keeping all these secrets from his family?

  They reached a thin river flowing through a path of boulders staggering downhill. Rio stopped and turned sharply at the boy. He clacked his drake-tongue a couple times and said, “Just stories, huh?”

  Ace nodded timidly.

  “You’ll commonly hear tale of four signs a witch is nearby. Black dust, the smell of smoke, the feeling you’re being lied to, and the sound of whispers when there’s no light. Other than the black dust and the lying part, you’re right; those are mostly just stories. Even the stories with black dust and lying are only slightly true.”

  A tingling, odd sensation unpleasantly crawled over the boy’s skin. He eyed Rio curiously and gulped. “So . . . how do you actually tell a witch is around?”

  “Patience and training,” The drake said abruptly. “Witches aren’t so easy to tell apart as they are in the stories,” the drake pulled two black discs from a pouch in Ace’s vest as he spoke, “Some stories even go as far as saying they have green faces, or warts on their noses. Ridiculous things like that. The truth is they hide in plain sight. Their disguises are indistinguishable from a regular person, but not impenetrable.” Rio pocketed the black discs and handed Ace the blaster rifle from his back. He moved the boy’s
hands into position on the handle. “The black dust you hear about in stories is partly true. But it’s not so easy to track. When a witch lies and gets away with it, their disguise becomes harder to detect. If a hunter is skilled enough to detect the lies, he can call them out with the truth. This is a dangerous game, kid.” He bent close and stuck his slimy nose in Ace’s face. His snarl came through every word. “If you try to catch a witch in her lie, and you fail, she becomes stronger, and you become weaker.”

  “How can I become weaker?”

  “Witches are after power. Every witch lies to get it, and when she succeeds, she will use her power to take down anyone who tries to prevent her from keeping it. You know who falls into that category? Hunters. Now, if you do catch her in her lie, and it works, her disguise will start to break apart.”

  Ace backed away from Rio’s breath. It smelled like rotten fish. “Is that where the black dust comes from? Her disguise breaking apart?”

  Rio nodded and smirked, “You learn quick.” He patted Ace on the shoulder.

  “So, if we’re just stopping them from lying, what’s the rifle for?”

  “What do you think happens when a witch’s disguise starts to fall apart?”

  Ace squinted at the drake, pooling his thoughts with no luck.

  “Magic. They resort to magic. Guess how you stop their magic.” He gently tapped the chrome rifle while giving the boy a facetious grin. He patted Ace’s shoulders, turned around, and began leaping uphill like the frog man he was as he placed the black discs on the staggered rocks by the river. All the while shouting, “Try not to shoot any people. Only witches!”

  The discs projected holograms of pixelated cities and villages throughout the rainforest. The boy looked at his rifle, then at the crowds. How was he supposed to tell who the witches were? He wiped the sweat from his forehead, praying he’d come into some natural ability for detecting magic he never knew he had.

  * * *

  For hours, it seemed, Ace took his best guesses, but couldn’t nab one. His mind was too far drifted. Wandering through faux resolutions as to why Grandpa had all these secrets. And what exactly was the Emerson Stone? Do the witches know Grandpa has it? Are witches actually real? If so, how was Ace supposed to know what they looked like?

  Eventually the drake’s patience grew thin.

  “What was that?” Rio yelled from the hills. He shut off the hologram projectors and overlooked the hill down to Ace.

  “What? That wasn’t a witch?” Ace asked. “Looked like a liar to me!”

  Rio hopped at great lengths down each hill and landed just in front of the boy. “What in Eathelyn Summers made you think that was a witch?”

  “Uh—I don’t know—she looked suspicious, I guess,” Ace said.

  “Oh, she just looked suspicious, huh? Children look suspicious when they steal candy, Ace. You can’t just up and shoot someone with anti-magic because they looked suspicious!”

  The frog man’s tone affirmed the rumors of drakes being short-tempered, and it started to anger the boy as well. He was sweaty and exhausted. Not to mention, hunting witches wasn’t exactly the future he had dreamed for himself.

  He puffed his chest and poked Rio with his first finger. “Look, up until an hour or two ago, I had no idea that I was a witch hunter’s grandson. Much less that I’d be responsible for taking over the family business! I’m new to this, so give me a break!”

  Rio scoffed at him and hopped up a couple of hills ahead. Then he stopped and turned to face the boy. “Go back to your family for the night. We’ll resume training again soon.”

  Ace threw his blaster rifle to the ground and stormed into the tropical forest. Rio mumbled under his breath in anger, but Ace heard every word of it.

  “Of all the gifted kids that old man could pick, he chose that talentless little snot,” Rio said. Ace clenched his fists and grit his teeth.

  Maybe the frog man is right, thought Ace. I am talentless.

  He violently whacked at the plants in his path. Without a blade, it was going to be a long trip. The training had taken place about a fifteen minute’s hike away from the cave with the armory, which existed another half hour away from the cabin. The humidity crawled on his skin, bugs attacked him by the hundreds, and his fatigued legs and feet ached with every step. Maybe there were some negatives to this city after all. Only one thing urged himself to carry on trudging his way back home. A long discussion with Grandpa. He was determined to get to the bottom of this.

  After a grueling journey, Ace made it to the cabin. He burst open the front door and plopped down on the soft couch. Oddly, the whole place was empty, and his eyelids grew heavy. He could have a discussion with Grandpa when he woke up, but for now, he needed to rest. The sounds of the animals in the forest outside, and the faint rumble of waterfalls in the distance complimented the silence in the cabin. Slowly, his surroundings faded, and his consciousness drifted.

  * * *

  “Ah, done with training I see,” Grandpa said. Ace shot up and tried to gather himself. The spinning room worsened his fuzzy head. He saw Grandpa standing in the doorway of the cabin. It took a second, but the room stopped spinning, and Ace finally told dream from reality

  “Grandpa,” he said, “where’s everyone else?”

  “They’re at the beach,” Grandpa said. “Your grandmother finally convinced the Peppercorns to get out of the cabin and enjoy themselves.” Good. They were alone. Time to get to the bottom of things.

  “What’s going on? What’s this business about you being a witch hunter?” Ace asked.

  Grandpa stepped closer, looking around the cabin as if someone may be watching. When the old man saw the coast was clear, he sat down on the couch next to his grandson.

  “I haven’t had much chance to speak with you since we’ve arrived. We must be very careful, Ace. I don’t know who may be listening.”

  Grandpa’s curious behavior sobered Ace from his sleepiness.

  “Rio doesn’t know about the stone. He only knows that I’m leaving my business to you, and that he’s to train you. In fact, no one knows about the stone. You must keep it that way.”

  Ace nodded, then stood from the couch and paced the floor. The past couple of days, a frantic unraveling of wild events, proved too much to handle. Brimming at the boy’s lips, questions finally gushed forth like a New Eathelyn waterfall.

  “Grandpa. What does the stone do? I mean, I thought it was just a legend until you showed it to me. Why do you want me to take over the business? Since when have witches been real? How long have you been a witch hunter? Is Marty Halder even your real name?” Ace panted and paced and soon grew frustrated to see Grandpa laughing at him. “This isn’t funny! I’m sore all over from training, and I don’t even know exactly what I’m training for. Tell me what’s going on!”

  “Alright, alright, calm down, son. Have a seat and take a deep breath,” Grandpa said. He walked over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the sink, then handed it to the boy. “I know you have a lot of questions, that’s to be expected. I will do my best to explain what I can, but much of what’s happened recently is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

  Ace took a large gulp from the water. Which turned to several gulps. Which turned to an empty glass and a thirst still unquenched. Grandpa chuckled as he brought the empty glass back to the kitchen.

  “Alright, Ace,” Grandpa said as he turned on the sink to refill the glass, “let’s start with what I know.” He walked back to his grandson and handed him the water. “The reason I’ve brought us to New Eathelyn is to introduce you to Rio. His training and guidance will help you better understand the task you’ve been chosen for.” Grandpa leaned his head close and whispered, “Evil creatures are lurking everywhere, all over Yutara. And the closer you get to destroying the power of the seventh realm, the bigger a target you become.”

  Chills ran up Ace’s spine. The dark cabin and the sound of the forest outside was a spooky combination with Grandpa’s lore.


  “Why, Grandpa?” Ace whispered back.

  “Because they’re looking for something,” Grandpa said. His voice was quieter every time he spoke.

  Ace’s eyes widened. He stood quickly from the couch, his heart pounding through his chest. “The stone?”

  Grandpa tipped his head with a yes and a sly smile.

  “But, I don’t have it. You do. And I thought I was the only one other than you who knew about it.”

  “As of late, that is true. But soon it will not be the case.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Listen, son,” Grandpa placed his hand on Ace’s shoulder and brought him back to the couch. He lowered his head, revealing his intense eyes, “there’s an evil greater than you can imagine lurking through Yutara. Members of this evil know things beyond our understanding, and they will use it against you if they can. The worst part about them is that they hide in plain sight, just before your very eyes. You won’t know it until it’s too late. Trust no one.

  “Now, listen close. Once the map is revealed to you, you may not even know it. But the stone will become yours at that time. Keep your eyes and ears peeled, son. When you begin to uncover the map, the evils in Yutara will be awakened to your presence and possession of the stone. This will not happen until you are prepared to meet the challenges this journey will bring.”

  Ace felt chills again. He sank further into the couch. What had Grandpa gotten him into?

  “Oh man!” Cameron yelled from behind. Ace and Grandpa shot up and saw the older Halder standing in the doorway. They hadn’t heard him walking up the porch steps. How much had Cameron heard? “Those stupid Peppercorns are gonna drive me insane!” He said as he walked further in the house. Cameron shook his head, and sand spilled to the wooden floor.

  Ace and Grandpa looked at one another with relief. It seemed Cameron had just walked in and heard nothing of their conversation.

  “What did they do?” Ace asked.

  “Well, I was just making a sand castle, minding my own business. This girl walked by, and I stopped to wave at her. Then, out of nowhere, Julie and Tamara come from behind and shove me into the castle I made. And as if that wasn’t enough, they dumped a bunch of sand all over my head. Apparently, they had been planning this, because they conveniently had a bucket filled to the brim with sand.”