Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1)

by Cash, Michael Phillip

  He opened the old man’s tunic, but a weak hand stayed him. “It’s too late for me. Save the boy. He has the light of the Elements to guide him. He is just coming…into his full…Lord Zayden, he will be a great man.” He paused then pulled Zayden closer. “You have a duty to V’sair.”

  “I will protect him with my life.”

  “Sradda willing, you will be an excellent grand mester.”

  Zayden shook his head. “No, no navigator. I am illegitimate. It is not the custom.”

  “Circumvent the custom, as I taught your father before you…” His head rolled to rest against the wall, the life-force draining from his eyes.

  Zayden sat back on his haunches, silent for several seconds. “Did you know?” he demanded without looking at Hilde.

  She didn’t answer, and that revealed the truth. He rose, his eyes lit with anger, and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  Hilde’s gray face darkened with shame. “I wanted to say something,”

  “But you didn’t,” Zayden said, cutting her off. He refused to make eye contact, and had their situation been less dire, he would have confronted her. As it was, he was running in the halls of the castle, not knowing friends from enemies, and that included the person dearest to his heart. He felt a brittle wall surround him, locking out any feeling. Darracian males were supposed to be impervious to warm emotions. Once one embraced the Fireblade, the first allegiance was to the principles of the Elements, those of honor, bravery, and sacrifice. There was no room for love, and now he understood that his father’s love for his Planta woman had put the entire planet in jeopardy. That emotion was for poets and chanters, not warriors. He heard Hilde sniffle, but it no longer affected him, his thoughts only on finding out whom he could trust to help his father. When he touched his Fireblade, he noticed that the shade had changed from violet to orange, then to a glowing red, and for a second he considered what was causing this strange occurrence.

  They both spun as the crack of breaking glass broke the silence of the night.

  “Pacuto!” Hilde saw her brother storm into the room, his sword raised, followed by three guards.

  Zayden drew his blade, but Hilde stilled his arm. “He has not seen us. You are outnumbered. He will kill me.” He tugged his arm away from her. “Please!” she implored.

  Zayden grabbed her hand and raced for the door. They heard a shout and knew at once they had been seen. Zayden ducked out of the doorway, pulling Hilde by the arm. He spotted the cutout of a servant door in the smooth walls of the corridor. He pressed a hidden panel, and an opening appeared; they slipped inside, stepping on something soft that hissed in pain.

  Something grabbed his foot, and Zayden fell to the cold floor. The wind escaped him completely when Hilde fell on top of him. Turning sideways, he found himself eyeball to eyeball with a shivering Quyroo who backed up defensively against the wall as he shook his head. Scuffles sounded outside, and Zayden whispered, “Shh.”

  “Where did they go?” They heard Pacuto’s harsh voice, followed by the sound of a hand slapping a face. “Idiot! How could you lose them?”

  “They vanished.”

  “Into thin air?” He paused then said, “Go that way!”

  Footsteps ran up and down the hallway. Then they heard, “I said, let’s go…”

  Sirens were sounding in all the main sections of the castle, and Zayden and Hilde heard the thump of the hermetically sealed doors locking out intruders.

  “Do you know where the king is?” he asked a servant, who shook his head. “Do you know where anyone is?”

  “Many of the servants are hiding in these hallways,” the Quyroo whispered, his eyes wide.

  “Swart—do you know where General Swart is?”

  “I think he is trapped in the landing bay at the main entrance.”

  “Have you tried to leave?”

  “To go where? They are hunting us down and killing without question.”

  “Can I get there through here?”

  “This corridor runs only from the kitchens to these quarters, my lord. Take the central course down the center of the castle, and then cut through those servant corridors to get there.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  The servant shrugged. ”I think I am safe, unless they burn down the palace.”

  “I will come back for you.”

  “Great Sradda, guide your path, lord.”

  They left the servant corridors and chanced the main hallways, but they ran from one dead end to another. Hilde bent over, nursing a cramp in her side.

  Zayden held on to her arm, pulling her close to him when they turned a corner. He knew they had been spotted, and he thrust her behind him as two soldiers advanced toward them. “Stay back!” he ordered her, as he engaged his Fireblade with both hands.

  Two soldiers screamed as they ran to him, their swords clanging as they met. Clearly one was more experienced than the other, so Zayden concentrated on taking out the younger man, so he could then focus on the older one. Crouching low, he spun, the impetuous guard running headlong into his blade, impaling himself and dying with a sigh. As Zayden withdrew his blade, he felt the ice of steel on his arm, coupled with Hilde’s scream. With a grunt he shoved his shoulder into the other man’s stomach, throwing him off balance, then cleaving him where his neck met his chest. The man fell with a loud thud, and Zayden leaned heavily against the bloodstained walls, his breath coming in short pants.

  Hilde was on her knees, ripping a strip from the hem of her gown. “It’s hardly clean, but it will have to do,” she told him as she neatly bound the gaping wound on his forearm.

  He looked down on the top of her head as she worked, the curtain of her hair hiding her face, but he could tell from her thick voice that she was crying. With his finger he tilted her chin to look her full in the face, and they stood in silence until he said, “We have to get out of here.”

  “I am distracting you. You never would have been hurt if I weren’t here. Leave me,” she told him softly. “Find General Swart. He always has been your father’s most trusted ally.”

  “Not on your life.” Briskly he grabbed Hilde’s elbow and pulled her along, his Fireblade drawn and ready in his other hand.

  Using the Quyroo’s instructions, they skirted through several smaller corridors and made it to the other side of the palace. They ran down the main hallway in short spurts, hiding where it intersected with offshoots. Zayden found the invisible door, and they ran through the secret corridors to the docking port. Several times they came upon quaking Quyroo servants who were hiding from the devastation outside their haven.

  “This is it,” he told Hilde when they came to another exit. “The docking bay is on the other side.”

  “But what if my father’s men are there? You can’t fight them alone.”

  “I can’t hide like a coward in the servant hallway while my family is being murdered.”

  He opened the door a fraction, letting butter-colored light seep into their gloom. “You stay here. Do you understand?” he whispered harshly.

  Zayden poked his head through the doorway and noticed a group of guards on picket duty. He pulled back in and turned to Hilde. “Listen, don’t move. Stay in here.” He pulled her so they were nose to nose and looked her full in the face in the darkness. “If something happens to me, find your mother and throw yourself on her mercy.” He shook her, staring at her intently. “Do you hear me, Hilde? Stay here until I come for you. If I don’t return, seek the countess.”

  She nodded, her face drained of color. “I wanted to tell you,” she whispered.

  “It’s too late now,” he said, as he cupped her face and kissed her with an urgency he barely controlled. Her whimper made him pull away and look at her. “We will talk later.” Making himself as small of a target as he could, he eased out of the doorway and stopped just short of the corner to see whether the men patrolling were Swart’s or his uncle’s.

  “What are you doing, Smen?” One of the soldiers strolled
over to the one closest to Zayden. “It’s forbidden to smoke inside the castle.”

  The older man pulled a long drag on his pipe and shrugged. “Don’t make much of a difference now.”

  “That may be so,” the younger man whispered back, “but Swart will have your hide if he sees that. It’s insubordination.”

  “For whom? Right now I don’t even know if I serve a king or a devil.” He spat on the ground, his aim close to Zayden’s feet.

  “My father, the king, does not tolerate his ranks to break laws.” Zayden turned the corner to confront the two men.

  The younger one fumbled with his Fireblade, but Zayden rested his sword across the soldier’s knuckles. One flick of his wrist, and the man’s fighting hand would be destroyed.

  “Captain,” the pipe-smoking guard said with a smile, “we’ve been waiting for some direction.”

  “I can see how you’re waiting,” Zayden drawled, and nodded to the pipe. “You know you’re not supposed to do anything but guard your posts.”

  “Well, now I do. You looking for the general?” The older guard turned to his younger cohort. “You heard the captain. Straighten up, Bernwyn.” He tapped his pipe against the muscles of his powerful tail, and they watched the falling cinders. “Follow me. General Swart is inside, trying to make some sense of this thing.”

  “One minute.” Zayden left and returned for Hilde. He held her by the upper arm and escorted her into the docking bay.

  “General,” Zayden saluted the officer, who looked greatly relieved to see him.

  “Welcome to hell, Captain.”

  Chapter 18

  V’sair became aware of the heat first; it burned like the dual suns of Darracia and scorched his bones so they felt dry and brittle. He thrashed as he tried to cool himself, throwing off the blankets that smothered him. In his mind he fought Pacuto, the Fireblade heavy in his hands, his feet sluggish. He thought he heard Tulani, and he attempted to lift his heavy lids, but his pain forced him to keep them closed. Sometimes there was chanting, and he could swear a rainbow of colors filled the room, but the darkness called to him, and he went down, down, down to escape the heat.

  “When will he awaken, Greanam?” Tulani bathed V’sair’s fevered head as she watched his face grow pale.

  “Who’s to say?” The old woman shrugged in a very Quyroo way. “Only the Elements know for sure.”

  Tulani and Bobbien had gotten closer as they sat huddled together, so much more understanding between them since they’d arrived. The Elements had soothed Tulani. For the first time in her life, she felt at peace, as though she actually belonged somewhere. She didn’t remember much, only feeling as though she had been plucked from the inside out, the great beam of light roaring through her every cell to know her true heart. She had awoken to confusion and Bobbien’s smiling face.

  “Take’s time, don’t you know…” Her grandmother nodded knowingly. “…to accept what the Elements are saying.”

  Tulani stared back in wonder, not understanding what had happened but knowing she never would be the same. She watched as the light bathed V’sair, enveloping him in its heat and warmth. It pulsed with a life of its own, and he seemed as remote as the stars in the sky. His shoulder wound was completely healed; only a bluish scar remained. The spent crystal had rolled onto the floor and turned to white powder. His thigh wound had been similarly healed.

  “How do you know of this place?” she asked the older woman.

  “I am Bobbien, the high priestess. You are next in line. Learn your role here; it is time. When you finally accept what the Elements are saying, I will have nothing left to teach you.” She walked off and busied herself with piles of dusty-looking leaves. Soon Tulani heard her exit the cave, her voice calling back, “Do not leave. I am going for food. Three mouths I now have to feed.”

  “But Greanam, what of the wysbies?” Tulani called, fear making her breathless.

  “Wysbies! Ha! Sweet meat they only want, not this old leather. Wysbies, she says.” Tulani heard the echoes of her grandmother’s laughter in the dank cavern.

  ***

  V’sair seemed to rouse, his heavy hand brushing away the wet cloth over his eyes. He coughed once as he tried to rise. Tulani pushed him back gently and told him to wait.

  “How long have I been here?” he asked.

  “An hour, maybe two. Oh, don’t move, V’sair.”

  He pushed up anyway.

  “Slowly, V’sair. You have been very sick.”

  “Tulani?” He let his unfocused gaze come to rest on the girl. “Where are we?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said with a smile.

  “I think the one thing I can be sure of is that I have the time.”

  As Tulani served him more of the caylet tea, she related their escaped. V’sair was able to drink it himself from a mug, as he lay propped up by a pile of blankets. “Then she parted the trees, and we were inside Aqin.”

  “The volcano? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t understand it myself, but here we are.”

  “I dreamed of strange pulsing lights,” he told her, his eyes scanning the cave.

  “Bobbien prayed and then…well, it’s hard to believe, but I think one of the Elements was here. I heard it, felt it…”

  “Tulani, that’s crazy. You don’t really believe in all that nonsense, do you?”

  She shrugged. “It was like nothing I’d ever felt. It surrounded you for a while. Did you not feel anything?”

  “I dreamed of colors and the Fireblade. But I am always dreaming about the Fireblade. Where is Bobbien now?”

  “Getting food and more herbs for your arm.”

  He rolled off the side of the bed and used Tulani’s strength to stand. “I have to help my parents.” The room dipped, and he swayed. He would have fallen if not for Tulani’s support.

  “You are in no condition to do anything.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” His eyes fell on the Fireblade he had used in his fight. Holding his ribs, he stumbled over to it and picked it up, watching as it pulsed weakly with a pale red. He turned it around, and with each rotation, a hum started, filling his head.

  “V’sair, you will start to bleed again.” Tulani moved closer, but he waved her off, feeling stronger, as though his power came from the glowing colors of the sword.

  Could this be it? his thought excitedly. He had vague memories of his fight with Pacuto and knew that the strange sword had felt alive, as though a force had magnified its power. It vibrated within him, and for a minute, everything receded; he became aware of only the blade, his hand, and his heart. Suddenly a voice echoed; he thought it might just be in his head, but a glance at Tulani told him she heard it too. It called his name, and as if on cue, they both dropped to their knees. Oh, Great Sradda, could this finally be happening to him?

  The room darkened then brightened, a rush of wind making them both shiver with cold and excitement. A voice filled the cavern, their skulls, their every fiber. It rushed through V’sair, and he teetered on the verge of something great. His vision went white, as if all sight was stolen, yet he saw everything with a clarity that didn’t need eyesight.

  “You thought yourself not good enough for the secrets?” the voice chided him with a chuckle. “You thought we did not love you, silly child?”

  “Ozre?” V’sair whispered.

  “I would say ‘in the flesh,’ but that would be a lie.” The words surrounded him, bathed him. “Yes, yes, it is Ozre. I could have a bone to pick with you, young sir, but I know you. The belief was buried deep inside you. Hidden away, like a treasure. You want to learn the secrets of the Fireblade?” the voice teased.

  “If you are Ozre, then you know I do,” V’sair said boldly.

  The room filled with laughter that rolled over them like the crushing waves of the sea. “You played the game of a nonbeliever, but that was only because you doubted. You know what the problem was, where the problem was.”

  “I am half Planta.”<
br />
  “There is the nonsense you speak of!” the voice roared, stopping him midsentence. “Think, V’sair. Think.”

  “They say that I am not strong enough to learn the Fireblade, that I don’t have Darracian strength.”

  “You believe all one needs is brawn? You think we would go to all the trouble and just rely on brute strength?” The voice was soft but ominous.

  V’sair sat on his haunches, speechless. For his entire life, he had been excluded based on his physical appearance. Of course one needed Darracian bulk to wield the Fireblade; otherwise all species would want to learn to use it.

  “If you need more than Darracian strength, then I am doubly at a loss.”

  A great wind barreled through the chamber, lifting objects to crash against the stone walls. “You bore me!” The room flared red then pulsated blue. “I thought you more capable than this!”

  Out of a black vortex, a glowing orb appeared in one corner and grew into a small ball of white light that gathered momentum by spinning around the room. It grazed V’sair’s head, and he ducked to avoid an impact. His skull felt detached from his body. The orb came at him again, and he jumped so high that it buzzed past him harmlessly. Panting, he watched it crash against a wall and come speeding back toward his face. He spun around, weaving drunkenly, bending backward, and felt it burn across his chest.

  “Better and better!” the voice yelled. “Do you wish to try again?”

  “Strength,” V’sair said carefully, “is an illusion?”

  Tulani called out, “It is one’s perception.”

  “Quiet girl, lest we deposit you in the fires of Aqin!” The small sphere of flame danced around her as it admonished Tulani. “When we want to know something from you, we will ask.” The ball spun over, coming face-to-face with the prince.

  “V’sair?” the spinning light demanded.

  The orb hung suspended before him. The light was so bright that it should have hurt his eyes, but it didn’t. V’sair saw straight through it, to the red core in its center.

  “Strength is a state of mind?”