Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1)

by Cash, Michael Phillip

  V’sair slanted down, taking her mouth, kissing her tentatively, then opening his mouth and letting their tongues touch. Sparks flared between them, and Tulani felt V’sair’s chest expand with the same excitement she felt. She reached behind him to pull his tunic free, and his hands skimmed down her body, coming to rest on a firm breast. She sighed with pleasure into his mouth, and V’sair deepened his kiss.

  A burst of fireworks exploded in the night sky, and for a scant minute, V’sair thought their kiss had caused it. A great cackle split the silence.

  “What do they do here?” It was a gravelly voice, as if from a rusty barrel.

  “Bobbien…” Tulani closed her eyes. She thought they would have some time before her grandmother showed herself. “You are far from home.”

  “I am a wanderer, always wandering, don’t you know?” She paused and pursed her wrinkled lips. “A maid, a man…” The voice continued. “What mischief is this?”

  “No mischief, Greanam. It is Tulani…and Prince V’sair.”

  The prince bowed deeply, his face blushing blue with embarrassment as he tucked in the errant tails of his tunic.

  “The prince…Prince V’sair…son of Queen Reminda, my good friend?”

  The old Quyroo stomped out of the shadows. Her breasts hung flat and long; her belly was big, covered loosely with a brown loincloth. Her red braids reached the forest floor, dragging all kinds of feathers, leaves, and twigs in the knotted mess. She held a tall stick with a length of hemp attached to it.

  V’sair bowed deeply, “At your service, my lady.”

  “My lady,” the Quyroo cackled back, revealing broken yellow teeth before curtsying. “My good prince, you call a Quyroo ‘my lady’?”

  “Be she Quyroo or Darracian, any friend of my mother, the queen, is my lady.”

  “Oh, oh, oh. You are a good’un.” She laughed. “Tulani, he is a good’un.”

  Tulani smiled at her grandmother. “He is the prince, Greanam. Prince V’sair, this is my grandmother, Bobbien, who should never travel this deep into the Fells.” Tulani frowned; she had thought she would be alone with the prince here.

  V’sair moved forward, taking the old woman’s hand and kissing her wrist gallantly.

  “Does the young meat taste as good as the old ‘un?” the woman asked coyly.

  “Greanam,” Tulani hissed, to which her grandmother laughed heartily, her great belly shaking up and down.

  V’sair watched in silent fascination. He had many Quyroo servants and had met both male and female Quyroos but never had seen one as old or heavy as Tulani’s grandmother.

  “Tulani, what brings you to out to this part of the Fells in the darkness?” She turned a gimlet eye on her granddaughter. “You are too close to the eastern provinces. Fly at night, the wysbies do. Danger for you young’uns!”

  “I could say the same to you, Greanam,” Tulani retorted, wondering what the old besom was up to. She was a canny old thing, with roots and plants dangling from her belt, her bright eyes missing nothing.

  “My mother, the queen, has need of more ointment—Glacien ointment. Do you have any?” V’sair volunteered.

  Bobbien looked at her granddaughter’s full lips and the boy’s flushed face. Oh, she had interrupted something here, for sure, but what could her good friend be about? Tulani was not to be used like a slattern woman. Though their fortunes had changed, she was in the line of the Nost women, the women of the sun. Tulani was a treasure and had been hidden by both the queen and Bobbien many years ago; she could not be thrown away as a pawn. The girl was as royal as the prince. She narrowed her gaze at her defiant granddaughter, who boldly stared back.

  “Yes, she has need of your salve. She sent me on a mission.” Tulani thrust out her bottom lip, just on the edge of disrespect.

  She has been away too long, the older Quyroo thought. She is forgetting herself and behaving without Quyroo dignity.

  “A mission?” Bobbien raised her eyebrow.

  “Yes, Greanam.” She paused then continued, “a mission with the prince.”

  The air was thick, and V’sair felt as though he had missed a part of the conversation. He watched the power struggle and felt the tension between the two women.

  “A mission with the prince,” Bobbien repeated slowly, absorbing the idea. “I must think on this a bit. Beware the eastern provinces and the wysbies,” she warned, as she scratched her matted head and, with a speed that belied her age, threw the hemp from her staff toward a branch and swung out of their view instantly.

  “That was strange,” V’sair stated, looking at the empty spot. “What are the wysbies she spoke of?”

  “You know not of wysbies?” Tulani asked suspiciously.

  “I rarely come to the Desa. Who are they?”

  “Demons disguised as insects. They can be annoying. They sting, nothing more.”

  “She left because she’s afraid of them?”

  “Bobbien is afraid of nothing. She left to contact your lady mother. She doesn’t believe us.”

  “What. Believe me? I am the prince,” V’sair replied incredulously.

  Tulani laughed, her face shining in the light of the many moons. “I think here you are just V’sair. Are you hungry?”

  V’sair thought about that. He hungered. He had hungered to test the Fireblade for so long; now he felt the stirrings of a new hunger. He took her hand and whispered, “Yes, Tulani. I hunger.”

  Chapter 9

  Bobbien moved with agility through the branches despite her advanced age. She came to a stop where her hut rested in the cradle of two trees. Inside, her worthless son-in-law lay swinging in his hammock, while her daughter Losa, pounded epocks, sweet roots, for their dinner.

  Losa was a platter-faced Quyroo, her nose flattened by Mori’s abuse over the years. She had one eyelid that was permanently pulled downward, due to an accident at her birth. Never a pretty female, she had settled for Mori who was equally unattractive. His red skin was blotchy from years of abusing krayum, a potent homebrew liquor, that seemed to settle around his bulging midsection. He used the excuse of his one lame foot for all the indignities in life they suffered, when in fact, he was known for both his laziness and thievery. This had earned them a place on the bottom of the forest in a tiny, circular, one-roomed hut made from the red branches of the Desa that barely kept them dry. They had room for a simple fire to cook and keep warm, three swinging hammocks and not much else. They had to be content with the leavings thrown from the top tree dwellers to satisfy their primal needs.

  “Tulani has come,” she stated coldly, and turned to her communication device. “Mori, leave. I have need of privacy,” she told her son-in-law.

  “I am comfortable, Bobbien. Go outside. My head aches,” Mori whined back.

  “I said Tulani has come. Don’t you want to see her?”

  “She behaved disrespectfully the last time she was here. I have nothing to say.”

  “Eeeehai,” she scoffed. “She only asked for you to help me.” She turned to her daughter, who was pounding the root, ignoring the conversation, a sullen look on her face.

  “He won’t leave, Mo’mo. Take your business outside,” her daughter told her, and went back to the monotonous pounding.

  The older Quyroo eyed the younger one, wondering what kept him glued to his hammock. Oh, he was lazy, but he knew the value of the queen to their small clan. They needed the funds and supplies she gave them in exchange for Tulani’s service as well as Bobbien’s spells. He was hiding something; that was for sure. Mori, with a smug look in his puffy face, looked excited. Bobbien gazed again at her daughter, who turned her back, lest she give something away, but a furtive glance at a sack near the firepit caught her eye.

  “What have you there?” the old woman demanded, stomping over it.

  Mori jumped out of the hammock with a speed she had never seen. Her daughter dropped the epock root on the dirt floor, and stood before the bulging sack.

  Though she was old, Bobbien had continued
to swing from the treetops and had a powerful upper torso. She shoved her daughter and Mori away with muscled arms, snarling at their Bottom-Dweller weakness.

  “Crystals!” she cried. After sticking a hand into the bag to find it filled with sticky newly formed randam, she pulled a handful out. “Fools! You want to get caught?”

  The randam crystals were controlled by the Quyroo League for trade. It was illegal for Bottom Dwellers to even be near them. “They will send you to the caves,” she said, as she stared at her daughter with horror.

  “You are a high priestess, a daughter of Nost. I will get a slap on the wrist,” Mori said nonchalantly.

  “They will condemn us all to the caves. I will never see Tulani again. Even the queen will not be able to save us.”

  “Who cares about that one?” Mori responded hotly. “What has she ever brought us? The trees are here for all of us. Their bounty belongs to everyone, not a chosen few, Bobbien!” Mori’s yellow eyes narrowed. “I’ve had enough of grubbing on the forest floor for a few tasteless roots.” He kicked the epock root so that it hit the hut wall with a thud. “Like it or not, I refuse to live on the leavings of the royal family. We will go to join the settlement on Aqin.”

  “You will die there.” Bobbien stood tall, her expression somber. “Think, daughter, of what you are doing.”

  Her daughter shrugged indifferently, bent down, and pulled another epock from under the table to pound into a paste for dinner. Mori chuckled and slid back into his hammock.

  Bobbien grabbed her communication instrument, the forbidden nevi, to contact the queen. Mori narrowed his gaze and pointed at it. “I am not the only one hiding things from the League.”

  Bobbien turned her eyes on her son-in-law, who laughed, his mouth wide, his grin evil. He rose and moved toward her.

  “What know you?” she demanded.

  “Enough,” he said defensively. “I know you use a nevi to speak with the cloud people. I know you go where you are not allowed.” His voice dripped with sweet nectar now. “Yes, Bobbien, I know where you disappear for days at a time, and I think you should share your secrets. The Elements do not—”

  Bobbien stamped her staff, demanding silence. She leaned in close to his face, her eyes inches from his. “You will get us all killed with your recklessness, Mori. You know nothing. Say it! Say it!” She rattled her medicine bag, and for once her feckless son-in-law was frightened.

  “Oh, have it your way, old woman. I know nothing.” He sneered and flung himself back into the hammock, placing a straw hat over his face.

  Bobbien stalked off from the hut to find a private spot, where she gingerly held the shell-like device to her ear. The Quyroos were not allowed to have communication tools. This one had been given to her by the queen. Only her family knew she had it, and her discussions with Reminda kept them all from starving. In exchange she had helped the queen with some spells and given her special herbs when she had fallen ill from the hot climate; Bobbien’s potions had saved her. Lastly she had given her Tulani for protection for both of their houses.

  Static burst in her ear, and the queen’s familiar voice came to life. “Bobbien, has my son arrived?”

  “Indeed he has, Your Highness. And may I add, he was sampling some of the delights of the Desa.”

  “So fast!” The queen chuckled. “I knew I could trust Tulani.”

  “Of that I am certain, Highness, but I need to know what you are about. Tulani is worth more than a slattern. She is royal born as well.”

  “Bobbien! There is a big difference between Quyroo and Darracian royalty. Tulani knows what she is doing. I suggest you leave her to my business.”

  “Tulani shall not be a pawn,” the older woman persisted.

  “Do not defy me, Bobbien. There is much you don’t understand,” the queen said as the line went dead.

  Chapter 10

  Pacuto and his stallius took off from yet another spot in the Desa. He had lost Prince V’sair. In the heavens there were no trails to follow, just the direction from other Darracian guards patrolling the wide skies. The dark outline of Aqin blotted the skyscape. Pacuto looked at the villages that dotted the hills and shuddered. He didn’t want to tempt the Elements and search on the volcano. Though the prince’s stallius was well known, her stark-white color a veritable beacon, there was no sign of them. They could have landed anywhere in the Desa. He stopped several guards who reported that they had seen nothing.

  A sluggish transport with five cars filled with randam crystals rode in a snaillike pace to the left of them. Pacuto kicked Winata to fly next to them. A Petrion guard sat at the helm and another in the rear. Each car had a Quyroo to help with the unloading.

  “Have you seen the prince?” Pacuto demanded.

  “What? The prince? Or do you mean Zayden? The queen would never let her boy out this late.” He winked and gave a guttural laugh.

  “He’s out with a Quyroo slattern,” Pacuto spat. “The queen’s handmaiden.”

  “’Bout time they made a man outta him,” the guard at the end offered. “He must be having fun on the ground. I’ve seen him ride Hother. He’s got a talent. If he’s done showing off, my guess is he’s well occupied, and you won’t be hearing from him for some time. Them Quyroos can keep you real busy.”

  The Quyroo in the car stiffened but remained silent. The other balled his fist, and Pacuto smashed it with the hilt of his sword. The servant wailed and stuck his red knuckles into his mouth.

  “If you see them, call and let me know.”

  “Will do. Are we done? I’m late with the transport, and I have to get this crew back before the wysbies come out. They like to feast on Quyroo flesh.” The guard laughed. “My men will be no good for anyone if they get ’em.”

  “Perhaps they went to the eastern provinces?” one of Pacuto’s own guards grunted.

  “Prince V’sair is not a fool. He would stand out there like a blazing torch,” Pacuto answered, resting his big hands on his pommel.

  “From where does the servant girl hail?” This came from his squire, a young cousin he’d been training.

  “Good thinking, Grodot. The girl. Call and find out her home.” Kicking mightily, Pacuto urged Winata higher so he could scan the red treetops. He paused thoughtfully when he spotted the fires lighting the Quyroo camps.

  ***

  Tulani had removed her Darracian dress and felt free and comfortable in her loincloth. V’sair lay on the velvet ground, his jacket open, his face serene. Hother munched contentedly on a bush off to the side. Tulani bent over and tickled V’sair’s pale stomach, her loosened braids caressing him. Pulling her forward, he kissed her again, her small moans inciting him with desire once again.

  “V’sair…” She nipped his ear. “It is dangerous out here. We must go. The wysbies fly at night, and I don’t have a mind to get stung.”

  V’sair looked at her shining, black eyes, their star shape so feminine. He brushed grass from her cheek. “I don’t know how I never saw you before,” he said, filled with wonder.

  “You saw me every day, sire.” She laughed, her fingers playing with the taut skin that covered his ribs.

  “A little while ago, you called me ‘V’sair.’” He kissed her deeply. “You are always in my mother’s shadow; I never really noticed you.” He gently cupped her face. “You are beautiful.”

  “So are you.” Tulani straddled him, their bare chests touching, setting off sparks wherever flesh touched flesh.

  “I am an ugly mutant. At least you know what you are.” He held her red-tinged arm against his own light-blue one. “You are born of the red soil of Desa; my father is the gray sky of Darracia; my mother is the orange sun of Planta. I am not any of those things. I am neither—not red or gray or orange. I am nothing.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” Tulani kissed his cheeks and eyelids. She pressed against him, wishing to be closer. Her skin prickled where it met his and made them aware of every part of their bodies. She ran her nimble fingers through his hai
r, and with delight, she watched his eyes close. “You are beautiful and strong and wise. I have always known it. V’sair, I have always loved you.”

  V’sair shook his head. “I am not worthy enough of the Fireblade.”

  “You are the Fireblade to me. My Fireblade.” Tulani enveloped him with renewed passion and ignored the call of the keewalla monkeys, which signaled danger.

  Chapter 11

  Staf Nuen waited in his room, his wife Beatha pacing the floor.

  “General Xam has reneged.” Staf crumpled a note from his former ally. “He has gone back to his holdings and refuses us his men.”

  They were in their royal apartments, where they stayed when they were away from home. The quarters were small, and Beatha had bristled when they had been assigned to them. Reminda took every opportunity to shove her status as the queen in their faces. The countess licked her lips, thinking of what she’d like to do to the Planta woman.

  “Why?” Beatha sneered. “Perhaps you were not persuasive enough?”

  “He says a revolt will destroy the our economy, and trade with the outer planets will be affected. The Treaty of Seven Seventy-One will be rescinded. He thinks V’sair has a bright intellect,” he growled with disgust, and added, “Oh, yes, my dear. He says that the Elements shine in V’sair’s soul and that the prince is the anointed one.”

  “General Xam is an old woman,” Beatha said, her voice filled with scorn. “My father hated and never trusted him.” She turned her beady gaze to Staf. “Much like your brother.”

  Staf didn’t respond. Instead he stalked over to a decanter and poured himself a glass of purple liquid.

  “Do you think that’s wise, husband?” Beatha asked with venom. “Does not krayum make your mind cloudy and your tongue heavy?” She paused with disgust. “I don’t think it’s prudent.”

  “No one asked you, hag.”

  Staf’s nevi beeped with urgency, and he removed it from his belt to see who was calling and turned his back to respond.