Heroes of the Crystal Star (Valcoria Book 1)

by Jason James King

  Rayome looked up, shocked to find Gevan twenty feet away, pistol raised, a look of anguish twisting his face. Gevan was alive, how? Rayome felt Gevan’s father claw his way up from his grave, bringing with him that feeling Rayome had suppressed. Two more energy bolts tore through his chest, hurling him backward. Rayome tumbled to the ground, the blast knocking him onto his back, warm blood pooling beneath him. Another pain assailed him, but not a Niazeride blast; no, this one came from his lower abdomen. Rayome gawked at his mutilated front. The black metal belt dislodged its teeth from his flesh, glowing jewel-eye dimming as the Voice faded from his mind.

  A host of emotions erupted from deep within him, emotions that he hadn’t known were buried there. They flooded up from the ground of his consciousness watering his wilted heart and giving it new life. That feeling that the Voice had always swept away whenever it grew too strong intensified until Rayome was able to again recognize it. It surprised him that he had forgotten what it was, for it had been with him most of his life.

  Love.

  Love for his wife, love for his son, love for friends, love for passions, and love for life. How had he let the Voice bury his love so deep? How had he let it seal it away so completely? He looked at Gevan standing over him, pistol aimed at his face.

  “My son,” he whispered, heart full and soul free.

  And then Rayome saw a blinding emerald light.

  With eyes blazing red, and by the power of the crown, Yaokken lifted Adariel into the air and hurled her down a mountain-like set of metal steps. When Adariel’s body reached the floor, she was lifeless.

  Chapter 30

  Victory and Regret

  Dyon’s men swarmed into Salatia Taeo just in time to charge a contingent of Aukasian cavalry riding to investigate the opening of the south gate. Both the element of surprise and his superior numbers caused the enemy contingent to turn in retreat, but his soldiers over took them and cut them down.

  Once inside the city, Dyon rode over to the side of the gate to a two story stone gate house. An Aukasian soldier lay flat on his back just in front of a splintered and broken wooden door. A mighty warrior surely is the hero of this day. Dyon drew closer.

  “Whom do we have to thank for opening the gate?” he shouted at the open doorway.

  A moment later a young teenage boy hesitantly appeared. He wore the clothes of a nobleman’s son, dirty and town down the front. The boy’s face was painted with blood still dripping from crust around his nose. The poor lad. Was his father a martyr this day? Did he see the whole of it?

  “Son,” Dyon called as gently as he knew how. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Who opened the gate?”

  The boy hesitated for a before answering, “I did.”

  Gevan let his pistol drop from his trembling hand, not caring if the last functioning Niazeride energy weapon in the whole world broke. He fell to his knees and retched, not because of the sight of Father’s bloody, headless corpse, but because he had killed his father, the man that had sacrificed half of his life to teach and care for him. He had killed the only family he had ever known. Gevan had dreaded this possibility from the moment Etai had explained about the Jihan Truik, but buried his worry under the hope that he would have a chance to save his father, like the woman in Etai’s tale had saved her husband. Oh, he had saved Father, but this was not the salvation he had hoped and even prayed for.

  This was cruel.

  As Gevan knelt there beside his father’s corpse, memories woke unbidden and he saw at once all the times they had laughed together, or shouted at one another, or just talked about the minutiae of the day. The scenes were not the great moments in their life or milestones of their relationship, just the mundane things of a typical everyday. For some reason, that stung worse than the special occasions.

  Gevan’s thoughts turned to his muddled and waning agnosticism. Did Father’s soul, or Jia as Etai had named it, live on? If so, where was he now―in the Void? What kind of Creator would allow a monstrosity like the Jihan Truik to exist and good men to be destroyed by it? What kind of Creator would make a son kill the father he loved?

  Gevan retched again.

  He could no longer deny the existence of a God, he decided, not after everything that he had seen and experienced. If the being that Etai called YaJiann was in fact the Creator, Gevan would never forgive him for allowing this to happen. He would never forgive him for relegating to Gevan the task of putting his own father down like a rabid dog. As far as he was concerned, God was as much his enemy as was the Vaekra. And Gevan would be his enemy.

  Always.

  Sitrell ran to the edge of the circular shaft just in time to seize Jalek’s slipping hand. He strained as he threw his weight backward, pulling the man up far enough that he was able climb out the rest of the way on his own. As soon as he was on solid ground, Jalek rolled onto his back, panting as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

  “Thank you,” he said between breaths.

  Sitrell chuckled dryly. “No, I owe you thanks. You saved my life… twice.”

  Jalek nodded. “Then you owe me a favor to balance the scales.”

  That was an odd thing to say. “Of course,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Find your orphan friend and bring him here.” Jalek turned and looked past him. “I fear that a Kalyran healing is the only thing that will save General Salache from his injuries.”

  Sitrell followed Jalek’s stare, and saw Salache lying at the base of a marble column. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth and his face had turned pale. Sitrell glanced back to Jalek. “I don’t know where Yuiv is, but the princess possesses the same gift.”

  Ashra knelt next to Kaiden and called his name, voice still shaking.

  Kaiden managed a smile as his eyes flicked toward her. “I saw what you did for Sitrell. How come you never told me of your wondrous gift?”

  “I don’t know.” Ashra shook her head. “But I can use it to make you well.” she stretched out her hand to touch him.

  “Wait.” he raised a hand. “This is why you would visit the West Street Orphanage, to use your gift on the children?”

  Ashra nodded.

  “And that is why you were so often late to court?”

  Ashra nodded again. “Hush now, and let me heal you.”

  “No,” Kaiden said.

  “Kaiden,” she wailed. “Your wound is serious. If I don’t heal you, you’ll die.”

  “This healing,” Kaiden asked, “It drains you of your vitality, doesn’t it? That is why you always returned from West Street looking so pale.”

  “Yes, but I have enough strength left for one more healing,” she raised her hand again to touch him, but he caught her wrist, gripping tight.

  “If you have strength for only one more healing, then you must use your gift to heal General Salache.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “With Lorta dead, Salache now commands the Aukasian forces. If he dies, then this war will continue. If you save him”―Kaiden groaned as blood dribbled out from the side of his mouth― “there is a chance for peace.”

  Ashra was sure she had cried away all her tears, but more rolled down her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I will heal you.” She raised her right hand again.

  “No!” Kaiden’s voice was strong, causing Ashra to stop.

  “Haven’t I already sacrificed enough for the crown?” Ashra sobbed.

  “Being queen means having to sacrifice your desires for the good of your people.”

  Sounds like Gyaden.

  “Ashra!” Sitrell urgently called her name. “We need you!”

  “Kaiden, you can’t ask me to let you die, not when I have the power to save you.”

  Kaiden placed his hand on her wrist and lowered her arm. She was tempted to heal him anyway, but could not bring herself to disobey She kissed him on his cheek, her tears washing away some of his blood.

 
Kaiden smiled again. “I was going to give you something upon Commander Trauel’s safe return. Needless to say, I have been holding onto it for fear that he was dead, in which case it wouldn’t be a gift at all but an injury.”

  “What, Kaiden?” she asked wiping the back of her hand against her eyes in an effort to staunch her tears.

  “It’s in my coat pocket.”

  Ashra looked down at the oversized gentlemen’s coat she was still wearing and fished in the pocket until she found a sealed envelope. She started to open it but Kaiden stopped her.

  “First, heal Salache,” he wheezed.

  Ashra glanced over to Sitrell kneeling beside the fallen general and then back at Kaiden.

  He smiled up at her. “Princesses don’t dally. Hurry, and perhaps there will be enough time for conventional medicine to keep me alive long enough for you to regain your strength and heal me.”

  Ashra nodded, slipping the envelope back into Kaiden’s coat pocket as she stood. She lingered to stare at him long enough that it drew forth another reprimand before she wrenched herself away.

  As she crossed the throne room, Ashra buttoned two buttons on the front of Kaiden’s coat so as to better cover her. Princesses also do not display their breasts for all to see. She imagined Kaiden scolding her which did not help her effort to stop crying.

  Sitrell stood up to meet her as she approached. “He’s dying. “He motioned to the fallen general. Sitrell’s assessment almost seeming laughable for its over simplicity as she saw the man’s cracked skull.

  Another man knelt over Salache, a bald Aukasian with skin dark skin. That man’s eyes had also glowed, the same crystal color as hers. If he had her same power, than why hadn’t he already have healed his general? Then she could heal Kaiden.

  “Why haven’t you healed him?” Ashra asked as she knelt over Salache.

  “I am not Estadi,” the man said in a tone that made Ashra feel as though she had asked a foolish question. “Hurry, he is fading.”

  She closed her eyes, hesitating to mentally apologize to Kaiden before beginning the transfer. As soon as her fingers touched the general’s brow, her gift told her of the nature of the Aukasian general’s critical condition. Perhaps Sitrell hadn’t overstated it, for the last embers of the man’s life were growing cold. Like using a torch to light a dimming candle, Ashra fed her energy into Salache’s body. Worry gripped her heart as her strength slipped away, feeling like she was pouring water down a bottomless well.

  As the seconds passed, Ashra grew perpetually weaker. She panicked as her own flame diminished, the edges of her vision clouding and Sitrell’s voice growing distant. She was about to draw back her hand in the name of self preservation when her mind cleared and she felt a surge of new strength. She glanced to her left and found the Aukasian man gripping her shoulder, his eyes shining as bright as hers no doubt were.

  What is this? How is he lending me strength?

  The bolstering energy was enough, and before long Ashra felt the familiar rebounding sensation that told her that her subject was whole. She pulled back just as the man let go of her arm, both of them slumping in exhaustion.

  “Ashra.” Sitrell patted her cheek in an effort to assure her consciousness.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice little more than whisper.

  “Jalek?” she heard a gravelly accented voice ask.

  Ashra looked over to see Jalek grinning, his hand gripping Salache’s shoulder.

  “I could feel my Jia separating from my Dyn, so close to death was I. How did…”

  Jalek motioned to her. “The princess healed you.”

  Salache looked at Ashra, his face a mask of confusion. “Strange things I have seen this day, demons and angels.” He bowed his head. “I am in your debt, my lady.”

  He should address you as “Your Highness.” Kaiden’s voice murmured in her thoughts. “Kaiden!” she yelled as she struggled to stand. Sitrell helped her up and then across the throne room to where Kaiden lay. She fell to her knees beside him. “Kaiden?” she shook him.

  He didn’t respond.

  She touched his cheek and sensed no fire burning inside him, no life. Kaiden was gone.

  “Fool!” she shouted. “Selfish, idealistic fool!” She wailed as she buried her head in Kaiden’s lifeless chest. I’ve lost two fathers now. Her body shook with sobs. Two fathers that I could’ve saved.

  Sitrell rubbed her back. She turned to fall into his arms. It felt good to have him hold her again. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it. Even that was spoiled by the nagging truth that she would have to leave his arms. I can’t break his heart again. Life is cruel. Dangling everything I want in front of me and then yanking it away at the last moment. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to be queen, and the temptation to abdicate to the council reasserted itself.

  After a few minutes, raw fatigue dried Ashra’s eyes, and she regained some possession of herself.

  “I’m sorry,” Sitrell said, as he stroked her hair.

  “He made me choose to heal Salache over him.” She sniffed.

  Sitrell continued to stroke her hair. She was content to stay in his arms, temporary though it would be. Cold, she pulled Kaiden’s suit coat tighter around her, the action reminding her of the envelope in the jacket’s pocket. Ashra broke out of his embrace and fished in the oversized jacket for the envelope Kaiden had given her. She withdrew it from the coat pocket, eagerly broke the red wax seal, and unfolded two pieces of paper. Kaiden had folded them so that the top one would be read first, and so Ashra began with that one:

  To my beloved Ashra,

  Did you know that your name means ‘shining star’ in the old tongue? I find that fitting for that is exactly what you have been in my life. I had always wanted children, specifically a daughter, a prospect that evaporated when my wife passed. I loved her too much to remarry. I hope you will accept this as an explanation and not an excuse as to why I never quite knew how to act toward you. For most of my days, I have been a man of authority, and so that is perhaps why I acted so with you. I worried that if I showed you the fatherly affection you would see it as me trying to replace your father, and would resent me for it. So, much like my position as Alderman, I acted less a parent toward you and more a steward. This crisis and your approaching ascendency have made me realize that life is too short to be afraid to tell those we love how we feel. So I tell you now, Ashra, that from the time I took custody of you when you were a maiden of only thirteen, I have felt the array of emotions that I imagine a parent feels: worry, consternation, more worry, and of course pride. I am so proud of you, my daughter, and I always have been. I hope this does not change our relationship―no that is not true. I hope this does change our relationship to a more open expression of familial love because I do love you. Enclosed with this letter is an official resolution. It will have to be accepted by the council, as I do not have the power as Alderman to declare such things, but I am confident that they will ratify it. My gift to you, for the gift you have been to me.

  Your substitute father,

  Kaiden

  Ashra’s tears left wet splotches on the letter. Why had Kaiden waited so long to tell her these things? It was another of life’s cruel ironies that he had looked forward to a strengthening of their relationship, his letter unintentionally becoming a last will and testament. Ashra cycled the letter to the back of the second page. This one was much shorter and was sealed with Kaiden’s signet, an ink version of the Guardian Seal. It read:

  I, Kaiden Ekale, Alderman and steward of the kingdom of Amigus, do propose, for his outstanding service in the name of the crown and his selfless bravery in defense of our country, that Sitrell Trauel and his house be formally adopted into the highest circle of Amigus society by granting his family the status of Great House, from this time henceforth and forever, to enjoy all the respect and privileges associated therewith.

  Alderman Kaiden Ekale

  Steward of the throne.

  Ashra read the
resolution again and then a third time to overcome her initial disbelief. She looked up at Sitrell, his face full of both worry and curiosity.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Ashra didn’t answer. She threw her arms around him, squeezed him, and then pulled back and kissed him. His face bespoke confusion by her sudden slide from desperate mourning to utter joy. When he found out what Kaiden had done, Ashra was sure he would be as equally elated.

  Sitrell pulled away, “Ashra? Maybe I should see you to your room, so that you can get some sleep.” His tone said that he thought her having some kind of breakdown.

  Ashra laughed, tears still flowing, and then handed Sitrell the second paper. He read it, and like her, reread it before looking up, eyes wide. “Do you know what this means?”

  Ashra embraced Sitrell again. “It means we can marry. It means I can actually have happiness!”

  Kaiden had truly given her a wonderful gift. He had given her Sitrell.

  Every part of Jalek ached. It wasn’t as bad as the first time he had used his Jia to fight Iok and Nadal, but the weariness of his body being pushed farther than it was designed to go made him want to sleep for days. Had the man called Etai not healed him of his fast-weakness, Jalek was convinced he would now be unconscious. He would have to be careful how he used his Jia. He had fought the Medasylas the same way he had fought Iok and Nadal, willing his Jia into every part of his body in a prolonged flaring of strength and speed. Next time, he decided, he would only use it in short bursts, synchronized to his physical attacks. Jalek shook his head. I am going to have to learn how to fight all over again. He would need to learn more about what he was and what he was supposed to do. He would have to go to the Aelic clerics and petition them to grant him access to the Song of the Sages. There was a larger struggle going on, one of gods and devils, and now he knew of it.