Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1)

by Cash, Michael Phillip

  The wysbies, with their innocent, fey-looking wings and streaming tentacles that stung with the ferocity of a thousand needles, attacked in force. Tulani gasped from the pain, slapping at the demons with her free hand but refusing to let go of the vine with her other. The harsh hemp sliced into her fingers, drawing blood. Bobbien turned around, her powerful arm wrapped around a vine, V’sair balanced on her shoulder, and a sack gripped in her other hand. The two Fireblades hung from her sides, and if Tulani weren’t so scared, she would have laughed. Her grandmother looked like a many-armed spider. “Tulani!” she called out. “Catch!” She threw the sack, and Tulani reached out to grab it. Suddenly her hand was covered by a screaming wysbie, its long streamers wrapping around her forearm like a thick bandage. Tulani wailed, her fingers slippery with blood, watching as the sack fell through her powerless fingers toward the Desa floor.

  “No!” Bobbien yelled. She draped the unconscious prince between two branches, used a vine to secure him, then nimbly leaped down into the gloom. “The dust,” she called out breathlessly. “Gums the wings, it will.”

  Tulani tore at the wysbie, its pink eyes bulbous sacks of fluid. Her arm lost color as the creature squeezed it tighter. Her vision narrowed, and a strange buzzing that had nothing to do with the gigantic insects filled her ears. Her death grip on the vine slackened a bit, and for a minute, she lost awareness of everything around her.

  She realized sluggishly that Bobbien was thrashing her way up the branches, the sack between her teeth. The old Quyroo was humming, trying to communicate with her granddaughter to keep her from fainting, because speech was beyond the girl. Tulani dangled from a limb, her fingers numb, ready to release. Glancing down, she saw her grandmother’s bright eyes burn with purpose. A wysbie had attached itself to the old woman’s back, but Bobbien hardly noticed. She reached their level, hauling herself up, then grabbing Tulani’s wrist. Tulani felt herself being lifted and watched in a detached way as Bobbien reached into the sack and threw something at the buzzing furies behind them. The insects screamed as a dusty substance coated them, their wings becoming useless as the creatures dropped to the forest floor.

  Tulani heard more of the whining sounds nearby and knew another group was on their way. She stared at the struggling insects; she had forgotten how viciously these creatures stung. Maybe she didn’t miss the Desa so much after all.

  “Hurry, girl!” Bobbien urged. “Others will come.”

  She stared stupidly at her grandmother, as if she spoke a foreign language. Bobbien shook her. “Hurry we must. They will come. Look!”

  She pointed in the distance, and Tulani’s stomach clenched as white wall of a swarm headed their way. Bobbien untied the prince, heaved him over her shoulder, and with a speed that belied her size, moved as if the devil were on her tail. Tulani stopped thinking and just moved, her breathing harsh in her ears, her heartbeat thumping a wild tattoo in her chest.

  They reached a dense grouping of trees that shaded the area so that the four moons brought no light to the area.

  “Shh,” Bobbien warned her granddaughter, a finger before her lips.

  Tulani heard the sounds of the Bottom Dwellers’ encampments nearby, the sad string instruments they strummed whining on the breeze from the ocean. They were near the base of the volcano; she smelled sulfur expulsions from Aqin, and the air was thick and humid. They must be near the forbidden Quyroo settlements, where the Bottom Dwellers rebelliously chose to make their homes illegally.

  “Why are we here?” Tulani asked.

  Bobbien’s eyes widened with a warning. She leaped to a branch and parted a wall of ferns. Tulani squinted in the darkness, peering through the dense leaves to see that her grandmother was waving her staff at a rock wall. It must be Aqin itself, Tulani thought with a shudder. This is madness, Great Sradda! Suddenly a pulsing white light lit the darkness, coupled with an odd hum, and for a second, Tulani thought the wysbies had returned, but instead the wall parted, and Bobbien turned her head and urged her granddaughter through the narrow opening.

  It was a hallowed-out cavern, pitch black. Bobbien tapped her staff twice on the stone floor, and the chamber lit with an odd pink glow. Tulani looked, but her grandmother shook her head, letting her know to stay silent. The doors slid shut, and all sound disappeared. It was ice cold in the cavern, but Tulani was drenched with sweat and blood and couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her body. The welts from the wysbies were painful, and she longed to wash their poison away. Bobbien motioned for her follow, and Tulani moved close behind her, her eyes wary. She glanced at V’sair, who was slung over Bobbien’s strong back, his head resting on her grandmother’s shoulder blade. The old woman wasn’t even breathing hard.

  It felt like they’d walked for hours, but Tulani knew it had been barely minutes. At each intersection Bobbien stamped her staff, and a twilight glow of weak lighting appeared and illuminated their way. Their feet echoed in the caves, and Tulani noted that while the walls were made of rock, they clearly had the finish that could be accomplished only by machines. She looked but could not find the source of the lighting.

  They entered a huge cavern with clear, polished stalactites dripping from the ceilings, illuminated with a soft glow that bathed the room with gentle light. Tulani saw a crude bed, a stove, and a small store of roots and berries along with a few cooking utensils.

  “You come here often?” Her voice echoed in the room.

  “When thinking must be done,” her grandmother responded, lowering the prince then removing the two Fireblades from her belt and setting them on a small altar.

  Tulani watched Bobbien lay the prince on the bed and fell to her knees beside them.

  “Get some water.” Bobbien gestured to a cistern with running water on the back wall. “Now, Tulani!”

  Tulani jerked as if she had been shot then picked up a bucket to get the water. When she returned, her grandmother had stripped the prince and wrapped him with rough fiber blankets. She stood behind her grandmother and saw where the wysbie had stung her shoulder. A large red welt covered most of it, the poison dotting the surface in small bubbles of liquid. “Now light the fire and boil some of this.” She handed her a heavy pouch filled with dried red leaves.

  “The wysbies did not get V’sair?” Tulani asked.

  “Darracian blood they do not find tasty. Perhaps they find them as sour as we do.”

  Tulani absently rubbed her arms, and Bobbien took out a brown cloth. Small blisters started to appear on the girl’s smooth red flesh. “When you have put up the tea, wash your skin with this rag. It will help.”

  “Should I brew all of this?” Tulani asked, holding up the pouch.

  Bobbien cocked her head. “Yes, I think so. He is bleeding much.”

  Tulani busied herself steeping the tea, and when the smell of the wet leaves filled the air, she knew at once that they were from the hallis tree; it was caylet tea, a healing beverage. She held her tongue but stole glances at her grandmother, who was working on V’sair.

  She wiped her stings with the brown cloth and was amazed at the instant relief. It was damp and smelled of the deep-red hallis leaves.

  “What is this stuff?” she asked the old woman.

  “A bit of magic. Wipe my back, please, child. The stings, they do burn.” She winced.

  Tulani vigorously wiped Bobbien’s humped back while skeptically asking, “Magic?”

  “What? I am a high priestess, am I not?”

  “Will he live?” the girl asked tentatively.

  The old Quyroo shrugged.

  Bobbien stood up at last, stretching her back. “I am too old for this,” she said with a hearty sigh. “The time is for a young’un to do this.” She shot her granddaughter a meaningful glance. “Mind the tea, child. If you overcook the leaves, I will have to get more, and we don’t have time to cure them.”

  Tulani dipped her finger into the liquid and tasted the bitterness of the brew, knowing it would be done shortly. “Do you expect a fever?” />
  “He has lost much blood. There will be a fever for sure.” She nodded sagely. “Nasty is the wound in his shoulder, but I have something special for that. So, Tulani,” she said with a smile, “you probably are dying to know where we are, I am thinking.”

  Tulani poured the tea into a large cup and brought the steaming liquid to her grandmother, who took a healthy gulp.

  “I thought that was for the prince!”

  “An old body it can’t hurt! He’ll be fine, I be thinking.” She handed her the cup. “All right, all right, feed your prince the rest! In a few minutes, he’ll be needing more.”

  Bobbien plucked an uncured randam crystal from her pouch, blew on it, and held it up to the light. “It is a darker one that is needed, but magic, I know, will do the trick.”

  “More magic?” Tulani raised a delicate brow.

  The old woman laughed. “You have much to learn, cloud child.” She licked the crystal.

  “What are you doing. That is poison!” Tulani tried to knock it out of her hand.

  “Oh, child, you have much to relearn. Think back, Tulani. The crystals get their power from the women of the Nost.” She pursed her lips and blew on the damp crystal again. Tulani saw that it brightened. “Do it girl. Try…”

  She held out the rock in her grubby hand and dropped it into Tulani’s curled palm.

  “Spit, yes, but not much. Just to dampen it.” Tulani followed her grandmother’s directions feeling foolish. “Gently blow on the crystal,” she told her. Tulani put her lips close and felt her lips start to tingle. She blew softly, and Bobbien said, “Do not be afraid.”

  She gasped then let out a quick breath.

  “Rushy, rushy! Why the rush? Do it slow, like a lover’s kiss.”

  Tulani blushed red but let the air whistle softly through her lips, amazed when it grew bright and hot in her palm.

  “Quickly, child. Do not burn yourself. Place it in the wound on his shoulder.”

  The crystal singed her fingers, but she gingerly tapped it into the gaping hole left by Pacuto’s Fireblade and stood back. V’sair arched his back as he cried out, his face wincing with pain. Tears gathered in Tulani’s eyes. “It hurts him, Greanam. It burns.”

  “And so it must to do its work. Healing, you are, my girl. Healing as we are supposed to do. How does it feel to you?” Bobbien poked her granddaughter’s arm.

  “I…I don’t know.” Tulani thought about it for a minute. Her own shoulder tingled, as though ice had dripped on it. She touched it with wonder.

  “Yes, yes, you feel it! I knew you to be a healer, Tulani!” her grandmother exclaimed proudly. “Watchy, watchy! Watch what we do.” They bent forward to see the crystal sizzle in the wound and the flesh turn white as V’sair gasped, reaching for it. “Hold his hand, Tulani. He must not ruin it.”

  Tulani took V’sair’s hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. “Be still, my love,” she whispered. He pulled out of her grasp, his hand gripping the edge of the cot, his knuckles turning white.

  Smoke filled the air, and she watched, terrified, as the crystal bubbled as if boiling. V’sair moaned deeply, reaching up with his other hand to grab his shoulder. Tulani took his free hand and clasped it, tears brimming in her eyes. The flesh of V’sair’s shoulder softened, and the bleeding stopped. She bent forward, her eyes wide as new skin formed. Soft as a baby, a pinkish blue, it pulsed with a slow throb and began to heal over the gaping hole in his shoulder.

  “He will heal quickly now.” Bobbien nodded, satisfied. “The crystals are our secret.”

  “Secret?”

  “Yes, Tulani. When the time is right, we will let these barbarians know the power of the Quyroos and the randam crystals. They think they know everything. Ha! They will realize the value of allies rather than slaves. They think we Quyroos are only good for fuel. The women of Nost know better.”

  Tulani bent over and gently brushed V’sair’s white, sweat-drenched hair from his forehead. She pulled the blanket over his bare chest.

  “So, Tulani, I’m thinking you be wondering where we be,” she said with a laugh.

  “Yes, Greanam. I have a feeling we are in the volcano. But how could we be in a room in the middle of the volcano?”

  The room went pitch black, and Tulani bit back a scream. Her grandmother laughed deeply from her belly and started to recite the prayer of the Sradda Doctrine,

  “Ozre, Ozre, light the path…” The room vibrated, and for a moment, Tulani felt as though the floor had slanted. She got down on all fours, her long braids pooling around her. Multicolored lights filled the room, and her grandmother’s prayers grew louder and louder to match the hum of a thousand insects. Could the wysbies be inside the volcano? Tulani thought wildly, as she threw her body over V’sair to protect him.

  “Stop!” she shouted, but her voice was merely an echo in her head. She stole a peek at V’sair, who lay in bed, oblivious to the explosion of lights and sounds around them. Suddenly the noise quieted, and the room was bathed in a red glow. A deep voice filled the room, its sound vibrating through Tulani’s body.

  “Ozre hears the call of prayer; Ozre answers the call of prayer,” a very male voice echoed throughout the cave. Tulani watched her grandmother kneel, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed, her face turned up to the ceiling in submission.

  “Great Ozre, we need your help.” Bobbien threw herself to the floor and lay prostrate. “Heal the boy; heal the hearts; finish the quest for peace, he must.”

  There was a long pause; Tulani watched the red light bathe her grandmother. Then she felt it envelop her own body, invade her. Slowly, compelled, she slid to the floor, then lay her head on the cold ground and outstretched her hands in submission. “Oh, great Ozre,” Tulani whispered, tears streaming from her eyes, “Great Sradda, giver of life and love, I commend myself to thee. Heal V’sair…”

  The Elements are real, was her last rational thought before she lost track of awareness and time itself.

  Chapter 16

  Pacuto and Winata rolled in the sky as shock wave after shock wave pulsed through them. He knew he had lost Hother; her tether had broken with the impact of the explosion. He had seen the old witch throwing zandy grenades but hadn’t felt their impact. The next time he came to the Desa, he would put her head on a stick, but for now he wanted only to return to Syos and claim his place next to his father.

  Flanked by his guards, Pacuto noticed that the sky was strangely empty of patrols; in fact he saw no traffic whatsoever. He pulled out his nevi, but the signal was dead. All communications were out.

  He approached the castle entrance, but it was deserted.

  Suddenly a large battleship hovered in the distance. Friend or foe? he wondered. He could not make out the name stenciled on the side. Only time would tell.

  He took in the blown landing bays, wondering how he and his men would get inside. Light poured out from the huge wall of windows. He guided Winata onto a deserted balcony and gave over the reins to his squire.

  “Go to the house of Nuen. Wait until you hear from me.”

  “Please let me come with you,” Grodot pleaded. He had yet to bloody his Fireblade.

  “No!” Pacuto shouted as he held out his hand for the younger soldier’s Fireblade. Grodot handed it over with a decided lack of grace that earned him a slap with the flat side of the blade. “If anything happens to Winata, your head will be on yonder pike.” He pointed to a row of columns at the north face of the tower. Go.” Pacuto struck the black back of the animal and watched them ride home.

  Chapter 17

  Zayden and Hilde’s shoulders hugged the walls of the parapets outside the queen’s quarters.

  “I feel like a coward,” he said.

  “Your death will not help the king,” Hilde told him. “You must get assistance.”

  He stopped and turned to face her, the question too difficult to even consider. He wondered whether she knew of her father’s plans. Everyone was gone, although here and there they came along a dead g
uard. Hilde’s sad eyes took in their blood-drenched bodies.

  “This was well planned. He couldn’t have done it without help.”

  Hilde bit her lip, uncertainty written all over her face. She didn’t want Zayden to hate her, but she felt compelled to help. “Four of the seven generals are involved.”

  “You knew about this?” he demanded.

  Hilde looked down without meeting his eyes. “I don’t understand politics. I didn’t believe my parents…”

  Zayden grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me what you do know. Is Swart involved?”

  “I am not sure.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “If General Swart is involved, my father is finished.” He was disappointed in Hilde. He couldn’t believe his uncle had betrayed them all.

  Zayden released her. He withdrew his Fireblade from his belt and felt his energy pulse it to life. Vibrating in his hand, it lit a path as they entered a darkened chamber. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, and he heard his own harsh breathing. He was in one of V’sair’s rooms, the one where his brother studied with Emmicus. He heard Hilde start to say something, and he quieted her with a finger over his lips. He saw the whites of her eyes glow in the dark. There was a faint sound of something, or someone, almost a moan. Placing his blade before him, he concentrated, letting his will brighten a blue blaze to illuminate their path. In a dark corner he saw a pair of splayed legs just at the edge of his lit circle. He let the light travel upward and saw an ever-widening pool of blood. Zayden let go of Hilde’s hand and bent over the dying man. It was Emmicus. He felt for a pulse, and recoiled; the hand was dry and cold. He had seen death many times in his military life, but it was never easy. Finally, moving higher up his wrist, he found a feeble beat.

  “Oh, my lord captain…” The tutor’s voice was a thready whisper. “You must save V’sair. He is the future.” He coughed, and blood dripped from his slack lips.

  Zayden bent down. “Emmicus, hold on, dear friend.”