by Kylie Leane
“And Khamsin’s stories are terrifying,” Jythal muttered.
“But Coltarian erupting?” Nixlye squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing thumb and finger against the bridge of her nose. “Is that even possible?”
“It has always been a possibility,” Khamsin’s voice, so slightly lower than Aaldryn’s, interjected.
Denvy tensed at the intrusion of the Elemental Titan. The cabin’s air-pressure had shifted, just enough to feel tight against his skin.
“That is why the Zaprexes created the Obelisk System, so that my sibling would be chained nice and tightly to her little rock.”
“That’s just it.” Titus lifted a hand. “If Coltarian is going to erupt, why wouldn’t Prometheus have said something earlier? Surely she’d ha’ known the Obelisk System was going offline?” The Hunter massaged his temples. “She’d ha’ said something and started the evacuation—”
Khamsin snorted. “You are giving my sibling far too much credit. It has been a long time since the Zaprexes strapped her down. Mayhap she is tired of being contained.”
The Hunter bent forward, glaring at the Titan within the young Kattamont prince. “That doesn’t sound like the Prometheus I know. The Elemental who raised me loved all things, abundantly. She’d never willingly destroy the Northlands.”
Khamsin shrugged awkwardly. “We are Titans. We existed before the Zaprexes came here.”
Jarvis lifted his head suddenly, his voice eerily monotone. “Yes, but the Zaprexes gave you consciousness. You owe them that.”
Khamsin laughed heartily. “True enough, little Changeling. True enough.”
“This Key, though—” Nixlye’s glare settled Khamsin’s laughter. “I think it is mentioned in a few of the later records, but those tend to get very sketchy on details.”
“That is not surprising.” Denvy shifted forward on his seat, resting his paws on the table. “After the Cataclysm of Kemet, the Zaprexes sank the last of their cities, and the few who did remain survived here in Utillia trying to devise a plan to save Livila.” He cleared his throat, emotion threatening to choke his words. “It is those few Zaprexes we must thank today for our lives. They are the ones who make mention of the Key. For the Key was likely their hope as well.”
Jythal leant forward. “And what is it?”
“Ah, the Key.” Khamsin turned stiffly to face him. “The Key was apparently a legendary Zaprex device, perhaps a weapon created in the last hope to end the Sol-Cycle Wars, or an escape off this rock they tried to call home.”
“The Creators wouldn’t leave!” Jarvis snapped.
“Some say it was a guide to the lost Towers,” Khamsin continued, ignoring Jarvis’ outburst.
“Is this Zinkx Maz a good source? Can he be relied upon?” Nixlye stared down at the parchment.
“Zinkx is—was—my ward,” Denvy said slowly. “And the High Commander of the Blood Armada. He can always be relied upon.”
“Then we should stock up on Mist supplies.” Jythal scratched his chin. “Mist is about to become very, very pricy.”
Titus frowned. “Is that all yeh care about?”
“Think about it: if Pennadot falls our main source of water is gone. We barely make it with our Mist Farms now. You increase our population with refugees from Pennadot and we are going to have a problem sustaining ourselves.” Jythal shrugged. “Just saying. Tomorrow I think we should stock up.”
“Mother will agree.” Nixlye massaged her temples. “We are on the verge of change. The Era of the Black Sun. I like that.” She glanced briefly out the small window. “It gives hope despite the darkness.”
“There is always hope.” Denvy cut open another muffin.
“Yes, there is. Which is why what Jarvis has to say is rather interesting.” Titus raised his hand. “Jarvis, how about yeh tell everyone what happened in the Zaprex flying machine.” The Hunter accepted the torn note back from Nixlye, returning it to his shirt pocket.
Jarvis worried his hands anxiously in his lap for a few moments before breathing in deeply. His brow furrowed in concentration. “The Zaprex ship’s name was Bez-at:_Who_Lingers_by_Water: a warhawk class. When the Twizel attacked us, I was accidently thrown against one of its terminals, and I logged into the warhawk’s computers.” Jarvis frowned. “You have to understand— Bez-at:_Who_Lingers_by_Water, its Matrix Crystal had grown out of containment, so it had no way to control its firewalls. I was cast into the Secondary Realm, and—”
His shoulders curled. Nixlye reached out, laying a hand gently on one of his legs. Was she feeling something Denvy could no longer sense due to the yoke around his neck? The emotions the boy was radiating: fear? Was Jarvis afraid? His body was quivering in an uncontrolled manner and Denvy squeezed his paws tightly, horrified that he had missed it. He cursed himself inwardly for his continued reliance on his dreamathic mind. Had the box not taught him anything? To function with the yoke binding him, he needed to learn to read without his dreamathic skills. He needed to see with real eyes again, not those of a program.
“The Dragon was there.” Jarvis finished in a breathless whisper.
“You met the Dragon?” Denvy croaked out.
“Yes.” Jarvis’ eyes turned his way. Large, wide, white disks they had become, glowing with a backlight. “He tried to take over my mind. And, sir…I think he would have, if it hadn’t been for the Key.”
A smile suddenly lit up Jarvis features, changing the emotion in the cabin with a single sweep. It was as though the protector bot within the boy had released a pulse of pure, happy bliss that burst in a bubble. “Oh, Khwaja Denvy, it was so amazing to meet a real Zaprex!” Jarvis clutched his hands to his swelling chest, his cheeks glowing with radiant glee.
“He called himself Semyueru, or just Sam, and he was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Semyueru?” Denvy rubbed his chin.
Jarvis nodded. He carefully pulled off the necklace around his neck, the one he never removed. He passed it over and Denvy cradled the small glass prism in the palm of his paw. The delicate piece of glass was so tiny, but so much Zaprex technology had been, even when he had been a young cub.
“The Key said I needed to take this crystal to the House of Flames and meet him there. It is part of a Map. A Map to the Towers.”
“Holy Sun on High.” Titus bellowed a laugh. “Zinkx did it!” The Hunter grabbed at his arm and Denvy felt himself shaken. “The good ol’ Commander actually did it. He found what the Dreamers who Dreamt spoke about! Oh, think of what ma wife is gonna say! No one believed them, Denvy—no one but us!” Titus pumped a fist in the air. “Tha’s right, yeh stinking High Elder! Once again, Squad Sixteen wins the bet!”
Denvy closed his eyes, wrapping his paw around the small, precious prism. A tiny sliver of technology—a tiny piece of hope. Did he dare believe it? That the Key was truly a Zaprex reborn in this era? The crystal grew warm against his skin, the nano-bots within his body flooding toward it, trying to activate it and he chuckled at the sensation of heat. Carefully he returned it to Jarvis, despite the pull against relinquishing it.
“Do you see, sir? I was given a task by the Key.” Jarvis clutched the prism to his chest. “I have to fulfil it. I have to go to the House of Flames and meet him.”
How Denvy wished the growing weight in his stomach would leave. Zinkx had been about Jarvis’ age when he had commanded the Battle of Phebes and taken on the burden of the task that had shaped his future. He only wished he could protect every last one of his children—
I have far too much Zaprex in me, Denvy mused silently. I have come full circle. I am my Creators. I want to protect everyone.
“So it seems, then,” Nixlye drummed her fingers on the armrests of her wheelchair, “that you need to get to Coltarian. I guess you have planned to cut across Utillia?”
Titus nodded. “Is it possible to get a small sand-ship or something?”
“It is possible.” Nixlye clicked her tongue. “But in the Long Night…I don’t know if you’ll make th
e crossing.”
Titus slumped in his chair, muttering foul language.
Denvy reached out a comforting paw, clasping the Hunter’s knee. “I suppose now that I am well enough—”
Titus cut him off, “Oh, no, no, yeh’re staying here! Something is going on in Utillia. We know it. And when Coltarian erupts, old man, yeh’re gonna be needed here. I’ll keep going.”
“But it is unlikely that the Eldership will believe anything written by Zinkx now,” Denvy rebutted, and watched Titus’ cheeks flush with righteous anger.
“Titus, you know very well that Zinkx was already on bad soil with the Eldership when we left. He would have been branded a traitor by now.”
“Tah, the jraki pieces of chari! The lot of ’em!”
“So they won’t believe us?” Jarvis looked pained. “About any of it?”
Denvy sighed. It was terribly complicated, the child-run government of the Messengers. He had never felt comfortable amongst them—always they had seemed like toddlers, trying to be the loudest in the room. “The only ones loyal to us are old members of the Sixteenth Squad. It is likely, in the current political climate, you’d have the Medical Guild, the Agricultural Guild, and the Mechanical Guild on your side.”
“Yah,” Titus scoffed. “All guilds connected to the Thyrrhos Nation.” Titus dipped his head wearily, speaking as though he was trying convince himself. “Raphael is pretty convincing. She’s the High Medic,” he explained to Jarvis, “and the Soul of Prometheus. Her position is very high ranking. She could possibly pull off a coup d’état.”
“That sounds a bit drastic.” Jythal scratched behind an ear.
Titus shrugged. “You do not know the Eldership.”
Denvy pinched the bridge of his nose. “We do not want to start civil war inside the House of Flames, Titus. I realize you might feel one is building between the Thyrrhos and the Soldiers’ Guild, but we hardly need to add fuel to the fire by forcing Raphael’s hand.”
“What if we have to?” Jarvis piped up. “What if the only way to get everyone to evacuate is to do something drastic?”
Denvy shook his head. “Lad, I want you to listen very carefully. Use battle as your very last choice; use words as your first option. If you can talk to your enemy, talk first. You never know what they might say.”
Titus snorted. “Pacifist hogwash.”
Khamsin held up Aaldryn’s paws. “By the sound of it, you have the Soul of Prometheus with you. That means you have the Thyrrhos Nation behind you. That, I say, is enough of a reason to go.”
Jarvis looked hopeful again. Denvy did not dare crush the boy’s will with negativity. The lad could not understand what it meant to be a Soul of an Elemental, nor one as powerful a Titan as Prometheus, but it was plain to see the young warrior was storing the information.
“Guess that means I’m heading off.” Titus scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“And me too!” Jarvis’ wrapped a hand tightly around the small prism. “I promised the Key.”
Aaldryn’s paw settled over Nixlye’s hand, squeezing it tightly, the natural movement providing a clue that the Kattamont was back in charge of his body. “They’ll need someone to guide them. If Khamsin and I go, we can cut down the time drastically. They won’t need to rely entirely on Mist, either.”
Nixlye’s lips narrowed. Her purring heightened to a soft whine. “I know.”
“Khamsin,” Aaldryn lowered his head onto her arm, “truly wishes to reconcile with his sibling. If Prometheus is alive, I have to go.”
Nixlye brushed back his air-gills from his ears, gently pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
“No.” Jarvis stood. “You need to stay here. You shouldn’t be leaving your Pride, Aaldryn. We’ll be fine.”
Aaldryn’s tail lazily looped about, coming to rest over Jythal’s shoulders.
“This is why we form brotherhoods. Jythal will take over while I am gone. Everyone will be fine. We all have our duties; some quests take us from those we love.”
No truer words had come from a prince so young. Denvy lifted his flagon to his lips, letting the liquid linger down his throat. He had spent his centuries running from the duty of his past.
Had it finally caught up with him? He had left behind all those he had loved here in the land of burning sand and, somewhere, their corpses still lay below the golden ocean, waiting for his return.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was too late. But I’ve come back. I’ll stay this time. I promise.
His drink did not taste as sweet as he wished it did, but he toasted silently to the lost souls of a war long ago.
Ki’b lay beside Jarvis, curled up tightly in the bed that swamped both of them in a mountain of pillows and blankets. They smelt so inviting, filled with the aromas he had come to realise were Jythal, Aaldryn, and Nixlye’s scents. He tangled a hand through Ki’b’s short locks of hair. They were finally becoming smooth and sleek, no longer so coarse due to being shaven off. She would grow to be a beautiful Kelib woman. Already he could see it. Her hair would be long again, flowing in the wind, and she would wear the proudest of grins, a brash smirk, like she knew something he did not. All he had known of her before the light of the world had revealed her to him had been her sweet little voice in the darkness, and brief glimpses of her humble, pale eyes. Had she not told him she was Kelib, he would never have known. Darkness made all equal. The Long Night would make them all equal again. He bent, despite the ache still grating in his chest, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Leaving her, and Clive and Penny, when they had promised to be a family forever—was he breaking a bond he was not supposed to break? He had sworn he would protect them. He was the eldest, and the eldest brother was supposed to look after his siblings—was that not Pennadotian tradition?
The ache he had thought was the wound biting at his iron began to creep gradually up his throat, until he felt the burning of tears escape his eyes. He covered his mouth, holding back the sobs.
The floor of the cabin creaked, startling him, and Jarvis turned his head sharply.
He saw the lethal shape of Jythal in the light of the dim lantern beside him. The white Kattamont knelt by the bed, holding out a handkerchief, and Jarvis took it, wiping snot from his nose.
“Nixlye and I will take good care of her,” Jythal whispered.
“I know,” Jarvis mumbled. “I just wish I could be in two places at once.”
Jythal eased himself up and slipped in under the covers. His warmth filled the sheets with an overwhelming extra layer of security as his fan-tail folded over them. Ki’b rolled, pressing closer to Nixlye’s slumbering shape. Jarvis watched as the queen’s own tail lazily flapped about briefly before she too calmed. He settled back against Jythal’s arm. The Kattamont smelt like the herbs he mixed, and the tea he liked to serve.
“You have a difficult road ahead of you, Jarvis. Don’t make it harder by wishing for impossible things.” Jythal’s chest vibrated in a deep rumble. “We are the Misfit Pride. We do not really belong anywhere anymore. So Ki’b will be safe with us. Nixlye knows how to care for a princess like Ki’b who has been cast aside by her own people.”
“She’ll be a princess?” Jarvis looked up at the blind prince.
“Of course. You are a prince.”
“But I’m not a Kattamont.”
“That is not the point of the Misfit Pride. We accept all.”
Jarvis felt him shift and he was pressed deeper into the prince’s arm and chest. “You are a part of the brotherhood now. I will do my best as your brother to watch over your family. We Kattamonts protect our own.”
Jarvis squeezed his eyes shut as the tears snaked down his cheeks. He let his tense body relax slowly against Jythal’s stronger, sturdier form and he curled his hands between the feathers of his fan-tail. Here he had found a family, unafraid of the machine growing inside him.
Only he was so suddenly being forced to leave again.
Duty, responsibility—or family?
He opened his eyes, staring out of the small window across the cabin.
Perhaps he was asking the wrong question entirely.
CHAPTER TEN
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Jarvis shivered under the winter coat borrowed from Nixlye’s collection. It was not the chill of the morning air, sneaking up under his clothes, but the overwhelming influx of information regarding the new surrounds that brought on the quivering. The touch of the wind and the tiny particles glossing against his skin painted the world around him more thoroughly than the roar from the bustling harbour he could barely tune out. He opened his eyes. The mechanical lenses adjusted to the brilliant desert light in soft flickers, pixels shifting to realign themselves as colours recalibrated. Jarvis clicked his tongue. The visual view screen of his optical display took in the world at an alarming rate, and his Human mind still struggled to process the information. It made his spine ache from the overload of sensory data travelling through the nerves. Hopefully it would pass in time. The headaches were frustrating.
He shook his head, trying to clear the little red warning light from one side of his lens. It sat there constantly, an irritating little blip, a visual itch he could not get rid of. Whatever had the Key meant when it said the sector he was in was destabilizing? Had they not moved away from the sector where Bez-at:_Who_Lingers_by_Water was? Thus far every scan he ran came up with nothing to show. He blew back his fringe and cast his gaze towards the arches of the Zaprex turret, lording over the small trading city of Ishabal. The interlinking metal and glass structures should have made him feel safe, but somehow the cobbled-together city, built up on stilts like a skirt around the ankles of the turret, radiated the deepest sensation of dread. He was standing on little but dry, splintered wood and beaten iron brought up from the depths of the burning-sea, pieced together with nothing but mud and ropes.