“You question it?”
“It’s a state of mind,” V’sair said firmly. “Strength comes from here,” he pointed to his head and then to his heart.
“Why did you desire to take the Fireblade?” Ozre questioned.
“To prove that I am Darracian, that I can hold my own among them.” He thought for a moment. “To show my father that I can lead them. To be like the rest of them,” he finished weakly.
“Silly child…” The orb moved away and bounced before him. “You were planned. For eons and eons, you were planned by the Great Sradda. We Elements put our minds together to create these circumstances. It doesn’t start and end with you V’sair. You are part of a greater strategy. Darracians, for all their brains, are filled with anger. Two halves make one whole,” the voice finished cryptically.
“Two halves make one whole?”
“V’sair, V’sair…use that head.” This time the orb clunked him mightily, and stars clouded his vision. “Sorry, but you are dense.”
“He’s recuperating!” Tulani wailed.
“Excuses.” The ball of light pulsed then laughed once again. “Try to think.”
When V’sair sat in silence, the orb floated toward him tentatively. “There was peace in this place until they segregated. Do you understand? When Darracians mated only with Darracians, and Quyroos mated only with Quyroos, they grew dull. Society stagnated. There was no exchange of ideas. The tree dwellers became stunted and allowed themselves to become oppressed. The Darracians chose to interpret everything—from the Fireblade to the Holy Sradda—to their own advantage. This is a dark age. When we wall ourselves away and there is no exchange of ideas, we think we know everything. It is no coincidence your father found your mother. That was planned, for the offspring would have the best of both. Do you understand?”
“I am the combination of the two,” V’sair said, “but what of the Fireblade?”
“Ah…” The voice laughed. “All you ever think of is the Fireblade. You still think it makes you special,” it sneered. “That is a notion of the Darracians. They are convinced it makes them superior. Watch Tulani.” The orb spun to bathe the girl in blue light. The sword rolled over to rest at her feet. “Pick it up,” Ozre commanded. Tulani bent and wrapped her tiny hands around the handle of the sword. It leaped to life before her astonished eyes. “Move!” the voice commanded.
As if she had practiced her entire life, Tulani waved the sword expertly; it glowed bluish white, with the vitality of a thousand suns. Empowered, she smiled as she sailed around the room, parrying with an expertise that bordered on genius.
“A perception?” V’sair asked.
“Perhaps a leap of faith?” Ozre countered.
“A test,” V’sair confirmed. “A test of belief in…” He was about to say “the Elements” but was suddenly blinded by insight. “A test in belief in myself!” he shouted, jumping up. “The test is in oneself.”
“Took you long enough, V’sair. You now possess the great secret of the Fireblade, a truth evident in its blue color, which represents justice. When one understands the meaning—”
“Or your intent?”
“What do you think is our intent?”
“It says in the Sradda Doctrines that you are the Element of strength and that Darracians are strong, the strongest.”
“I would hit you on the head again, Prince, but I think Tulani will go after me.” Ozre laughed. “Strength is not always about brawn. There are different strengths.”
V’sair was quiet for a moment; then his eyes lit up. “Strength to know what to do and not give in to our base needs!”
“Excellent!”
“The others talk of great strength exclusive to Darracians,” V’sair said. “They claim it comes from you and the communion with the Fireblade.”
“A way to keep the weaker oppressed. That was not in our plan.”
“Why didn’t you stop it?” V’sair stood and confronted the orb. “You are the power of the Elements,” he spouted, “a force of nature, the soul of our universe. Why didn’t you stop it?”
“What!” The orb spun angrily. “What of free will? Oh, yes, it’s easy to blame the Elements for everything. What a perfect excuse, scapegoat us so one can behave as badly as he chooses and pretend it’s our will.” Ozre paused and asked softly, “Will you never learn? We are here for your benefit, for you to realize your insights—not to be used for an excuse to torment others for a society’s selfish needs.”
“So,” V’sair said, “what happened to all my father’s people when they believed themselves initiated by the Fireblade? What happened to them?”
The orb danced in the air. “Pick it up and see for yourself.”
Tulani placed the Fireblade in V’sair’s open palm. It strummed to life, changing from its previous orange color to a cold blue. Watching with fascination, they observed the color deepen with startling intensity.
“All the others are shades of red?” V’sair asked the orb.
“Reckless red, angry red, ignorant red.”
“You are red,” V’sair offered helpfully.
“I represent the humble red of the planet. I,” Ozre told him patiently, as if talking to an idiot. “I’m not a Fireblade.” The orb started to spin. “Your blade is blue for a purpose.”
“Peace?” Tulani asked, as Ozre moved from side to side.
“Cold reason?” V’sair cocked his head thoughtfully.
“Why?” Ozre circled them.
“The Fireblade should be used for justice, not hate or oppression.”
“Emmicus can rest easy. He has done a fine job,” Ozre said sadly.
“Emmicus, my navigator?”
“He tried to teach both your father and your uncle. Between Reminda and Emmicus’s lessons, Drakko has opened his mind. Staf Nuen and his ilk are stuck with antiquated notions of their own superiority. They have twisted our intent. The Fireblade was intended to prevent injustice, not promote it.”
“Then there are no secrets?” Tulani came to stand next to V’sair as they listened intently to Ozre. “They believed their own myths to make them superior so they could continue to ravage the planet’s most precious resource.”
“Peace,” V’sair said quietly.
“Yes,” the orb said. “We come back to peace. The most precious gift we have given you, and it has been squandered.”
“There are no secrets. I understand.”
“Yes,” it hissed, “but do you now know what to do?”
Chapter 19
Staf Nuen sat on the golden throne. Beatha stood behind him, her hand resting on the arm. Reminda was seated at his feet, his Fireblade resting on her shoulder, holding her still. Should she move an inch, it would slice into her delicate neck. Drakko had been locked in a supply room, the most demeaning way for his brother to show his contempt for his older sibling. The adjoining Ambros room was a scene of carnage, with Quyroos murdered then chopped up and left to rot as the evening wore on.
Reminda hung her head, disgusted with the violence; fear and worry for her family were etched in the new lines of her face. Her blue skin was dulled, and her hands shook, yet she remained defiant when Staf addressed her. Pacuto entered the room, boasting of his kill.
“Ah, Pacuto,” Beatha purred, “you have returned.” She looked at Reminda with barely concealed hatred. “You are wounded,” she said.
“Trifles, Your Majesty. Minor discomforts that I would gladly suffer for your success.”
“The prince?” Staf demanded.
“When you give me a mission, I commit it, Your Majesties,” he boasted. He held up the white braid of Prince V’sair, shouting, “Behold what’s left of the prince!”
Reminda paled, the blood rushing from her head.
There was an outbreak of noise in the room.
Staf stood and yelled, “Silence!” then turned to his son and finished, ”You swore you would bring his head!” Staf could not hide his disappointment for not having another display of bloo
dlust to rouse his troops.
“I had to leave. The Quyroos retaliated. It was a bloodbath, rest assured. Sire, we left more dead than alive.” He grinned devilishly, his pointy teeth bared.
Staf stood and walked down the dais. “Are you positive the prince is dead?” he insisted, making sure Reminda heard their exchange.
Pacuto slapped the braid into his father’s hand, “You need more proof, sire?” he asked sarcastically. ”I am more than sure, Father. We were vastly outnumbered,” he lied. “I would have taken his head, but I longed to return to share your glory.”
Staf grunted then took his son’s beefy arm and raised it high above his head. “Behold, Darracia! Behold your new crown prince. Long live Prince Pacuto!” He turned to his son. “Where is your Fireblade? This is your squire’s.”
“In Prince V’sair’s body.”
Staf roared with approval and motioned for his second-in-command to hand over his Fireblade. “I will give you another, studded with crystals, once our victory is complete!”
There were cheers, and Reminda lowered her head, memorizing faces for revenge. She was sure her son still lived; she would know it if he did not. Feeling a gaze bore into her back, she turned to see the satisfied look on Beatha’s face, the pitiless black eyes triumphant. She balled her fists to stop their shaking and swore to the Elements that she would kill Staf and his family if any harm came to her son.
Chapter 20
“What you are telling me is that we are outnumbered and alone.” Zayden spoke quietly with General Swart. They were in the landing bay at the south end of the castle. The automatic doors had been blasted and hung open. The fight was over; bodies had been carted away; and soldiers lounged in various corners of the room. Swart had ordered them to stand down, knowing they must be alert when the final battle arrived.
“They have killed Mecon, Grenci, and two others in the high command,” Swart said. “Communications have been scrambled. I don’t know where General Vekin is holed up. Last I heard he had been backed into the service area of the castle. There was some fierce fighting there.”
“Survivors?”
General Swart shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What of your men?” Zayden leaned against a table with a crude map of the castle on it.
“They are at my base.” He gestured toward a group of about twenty. “We didn’t come prepared for a coup.”
“Any word regarding my father?”
A young guard stepped forward, his arm in a sling. “He’s been taken to the lower levels.”
Zayden nodded. “Go on.”
“I think he’s been locked in some sort of stock room.”
“Below the kitchens?”
“Yes, I saw him being dragged there.”
“I know the area well,” Zayden stated.
“Captain, I cannot let you try to rescue him. You will be needed here. Your father would expect me to secure your safety.”
Zayden smiled at the older man. “I appreciate your concern, General, but I am a commander second and a son first. No one will stop me from saving my father.”
Swart looked at the ceiling then agreed. “You will need help.”
“I will go with you!” Hilde jumped up from her seat and gripped Zayden’s arm. “We played there as children. The guards will think…The guards will listen to the daughter of Staf Nuen.”
“No!” Zayden shouted.
“I don’t think you have another choice, Zayden. Take the girl.” Swart pointed to a group of his men and motioned for them to stand up. “I will give you these four.”
“If we don’t return within two hours,” Zayden said, “try to get out and see if you can mobilize troops from the outside.”
“If you do not return, we won’t need to,” Swart replied grimly. “There will be nothing left to fight for.”
“My brother?”
“Is missing and presumed dead.”
Hilde gasped, and a sob escaped, but no one acknowledged it in the tense room.
“May the Elements guide the light of your Fireblade and Sradda have mercy on our souls.”
Chapter 21
V’sair struggled with his tunic, his arm sore, blood staining his bandage. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his eyes shone with feverish intensity.
“Stop, V’sair! You cannot go anywhere,” Tulani implored him.
“I have no choice. My parents are in danger.” He continued to get dressed, his fingers clumsy.
Tulani placed her gentle hands on his and urged him again. “You surely will die. It’s not safe.”
“Then I will die,” he responded simply. He took her hands in his own. “If I die, I only regret that we had so little time together, Tulani.” He tenderly kissed her full lips. “I love you. I think I must have always loved you.”
“You never even noticed me before last night!”
“I have known you in here.” He pressed her hand against his thumping heart, and her legs became liquid. Tears welled in her star-shaped eyes, and when they dripped, five silver runnels streamed down her cheeks.
“You don’t even have a way to get back,” she told him after a soft hiccup that he found endearing.
His thumbs caressed the softness of her face, and he rested his forehead against hers. “I will come back for you.” He kissed her again deeply, their tongues entwining. Tulani pressed her body against his, as if she could hold him next to her forever. He was headed for certain death.
“What do they do here?” Bobbien cackled loudly. “Can’t leave these young’uns alone. Do you not think of anything else?” she demanded. They turned but did not separate until V’sair saw what trailed behind the old woman. “Oh, like you what I found?” she asked.
A soft snort greeted them, and V’sair cried out with delight, ”Hother!”
“Wandering around, getting attacked by wysbies, stupid stallius.” Bobbien nodded. “Knew this would cure what ails you, young man.” The stallius’s hide was dotted with sting marks, and blood stained her white coat. Tulani reached for the medicine cloth attached to her belt and gently rubbed the many wounds . Hother knickered with gratitude as the stings were extinguished.
“Thank you. Thank you!” V’sair pressed his face against Hother, tears smarting his eyes. “The Elements have made it possible, Tulani. I have a job to do.”
“Take me with you!” She ran to his side.
“No, it is not safe.” He shook his head, and Bobbien agreed.
“Not your place, Tulani. Not your place.” Her grandmother shook her head as well.
Tulani picked up one of the Fireblades and handed it to V’sair, her face solemn. She turned to the old woman. “Have you any zandies left?”
“O’course. Let’s make him an arsenal to take with him.” Bobbien pulled several of the homemade grenades from her bag. “Better you should eat before you leave. Need your energy, I’m thinking.”
They ate dried fruit—the Quyroos never ate meat—while they packed a double-sided pouch for V’sair to carry over the front of Hother. Together they put in as many grenades as they could.
Tulani walked him to the very edge of the tunnel. He touched her thin arms as he memorized her face. Kissing her quickly, he saluted her grandmother and said, “I will come back for you. You will be my queen someday.”
Hopping onto Hother’s back, he lit his Fireblade with his passion of purpose, and Tulani watched him ride off, afraid she never would see him again.
Chapter 22
Zayden kept his back to the wall, his Fireblade out but its glow extinguished for stealth. He heard Hilde’s ragged breathing and the reassuring footfalls of the extra men.
“I will distract them,” Hilde mouthed, and pointed to the two guards outside the storeroom.
“Over my dead body,” he whispered back.
“Then why did you let me come?” she demanded in the merest puff of air.
“So I could keep my eye on you.” He motioned toward his last soldier and nodded for him to
clear the next hall.
The young man put his sword away and walked into the lit corridor. “Which way to get something to eat?” he asked a group of Darracians guarding a doorway.
One pulled out his sword, and it hummed to life. “What are you doing here? It’s off limits!” he shouted.
“Sorry…” He raised both hands, his palms up. “Just got in from the Desa. Missed all the fun.”
One of the two guards grinned. “Yeah, it was like picking off keewallas in the trees. The Quyroos just sat there.”
“Too bad you weren’t on patrol. I got this.” The young solider reached down and retrieved a small pouch from deep in his pants pocket. “Got myself some crystals.”
“Let me see!”
“No, they’re mine. I earned them.” He pulled back, the crystals encased in his fist. “Well, OK. I’ll show you, but it’s better when you come under the light.”
“Stupid, stupid…” Zayden smiled as they took the bait. He pushed Hilde back and told her, “Wait and be still.”
Resting their weapons against the wall, the Darracians moved closer to see the crystals, and Zayden shouted, “Now!”
His men leaped from the hallway. Zayden sliced deeply and took out the first guard, almost slicing him in two. A few moments later, the second guard’s head rolled to the floor, his eyes blinking in disbelief, his mouth moving wordlessly.
“The door!” Using his hilt, Zayden banged against the lock until it gave, and the door swung open to reveal a pitch-black room.
“Father?”
“Zayden!” King Drakko rose from the corner and stood as the group knelt at his feet. The king’s braid looked bedraggled, and his eye was blackened.
He glanced at his niece, and she shook her head. “I am loyal to you, Uncle. My father betrayed me more than he did you.”
“Where is V’sair?”
“I’m sorry, Father. He is presumed dead, but no one is sure.”
Zayden saw his father’s eyes dull with grief, as he asked quietly, “The queen lives?”
Zayden nodded. “She is held captive in the throne room. Communication has been shut down. Your two loyal generals are separated on either side of the castle. I…I don’t see a solution, Father.”
Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1) Page 11