Interphase

by Kira Wilson

  David would have laughed at his brother's serious expression if his head wasn't throbbing. "I've been better. This beats being struck by lightning though. Barely."

  "We just heard from the med drones," Roger said. "You've got a mild concussion. No broken bones, but a hell of a lot of bruises." He was frowning, and his jaw was cocked in what David recognized as his problem solving look. "Do you remember anything about who attacked you?"

  David lay back down and stared straight at the ceiling so that Roger couldn't see his eyes. "Not really."

  "Are you absolutely sure? No identifying marks, height, build, nothing? From your wounds, your attacker was trying specifically to injure you. Multiple blows to the face, several to the stomach—"

  "Roger, do you have to do this now?" David's mother interrupted. "He just woke up."

  "Liz, the guy is still out there. The sooner I know what we're looking for, the sooner I can get a report in to VERA."

  David let the sounds of their argument drift away. When he closed his eyes, he caught flashes of memory from the attack. The feel of a solid fist against his ribs, the metallic taste of blood from a split lip. Thomas's look of rage…

  He would have never expected it. Not from Thomas. It was wrong on so many levels. Thomas was the good guy, the quintessential knight in shining armor. Even when Thomas was attacking him, he'd been worried about what had gone so terribly wrong as to drive Thomas to violence. What could possibly have—

  Jessica. That was where it all started.

  As hurt as David felt bodily, he couldn't blame Thomas for the wounds of the heart. He'd gotten a taste of that hatred when Analara lay dying in his arms. He'd wanted to tear Shalaron apart. For Thomas, that grief had stretched on, with a constant reminder of the woman he'd lost.

  David noticed that the room was quiet. He turned and watched his mother and Roger whispering to each other. Lucas was hunched over in his chair, staring at the floor with a frown on his face. "How long have I been here?" he asked, more to break the silence than out of actual curiosity.

  His mother turned back to him. "Since last night. Jessica called the drones after you were attacked."

  David glanced over at Analara, hoping that she was all right.

  "Honey… we're a little worried." She came closer to him and pitched her voice low. "Jessica was hysterical last night when the drones came. No one could understand a word she was saying. It was like she was speaking another language. We finally got her calmed down enough to take a few scans. They couldn't find anything wrong, but we're going to keep an eye on her just to make sure she's all right. She stayed up watching you until a couple hours ago. The exhaustion finally caught up with her."

  David shared a glance with Lucas, who gave a tiny shrug. "Thanks for letting me know, Mom," he said.

  "Are you hungry at all?"

  He opened his mouth to say no, but after a second look at Lucas, he changed his mind. "Yeah, a bit."

  She smiled and brushed his hair back. "I'll see what I can find." She turned and headed for the door. Roger gave them a quick nod and followed.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Lucas jumped to his feet. "Thomas did this to you, didn't he?"

  "Shhh." David glanced over at Analara, but she hadn't stirred at all. "Yes, he did."

  "Damn it, I thought he was our friend." Lucas began pacing the room, his expression growing darker by the second. "He could have killed you. He tried to kill you!"

  "Will you calm down? If he had really wanted to kill me, I would be dead right now. Just leave it be."

  "Are you kidding? I'm not gonna let him get away with it!"

  Something about the way he said it raised warning flags in David's mind. He reached out and caught Lucas's arm, pulling him toward the bed. "Listen to me, Lucas. Do not go and do something stupid. Leave Thomas alone. I'm serious."

  Lucas sighed bitterly, then looked away and nodded. David frowned, but the headache was pounding again. He released his grip and lay back on the bed.

  "I gotta go take care of a few things, bro. I'll look in on you later," Lucas muttered.

  David watched his brother quietly. Lucas walked to the door, glanced back at him, and left. "For your sake, I hope you're telling the truth," David whispered.

  Ignoring the complaints of his bruised body, David sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Colored specks danced in front of his eyes, and he paused as a wave of dizziness surged through him. He cautiously stood up, gripping the bedside stand in case his legs chose to go on strike. One step at a time, he inched over to Analara.

  She stirred a little when he brushed his fingers across the dark bruise. David leaned down closer to give her a kiss, then suddenly tipped over. He collapsed to the floor in a tumble of arms and legs, and his muscles loudly voiced their displeasure.

  "What… David?" Analara sat up quickly, startled by the noise. She knelt down beside him with a worried gaze. "What are you doing out of bed?"

  "Trying to say hello? I don't think I succeeded."

  Analara sighed and muttered something under her breath, then helped him back into bed. David lay down with a loud groan and tried to decide which he disliked more, the pain or the dizziness. He felt Analara's hand on his shoulder and pressed his own against it. "Even here, it looks like I'm in need of your rescuing."

  "I don't mind."

  A comfortable silence filled the room. When David opened his eyes, his vision was mostly straight, clear enough to see Analara's smile. The bruise caught his gaze again. "I still can't believe that he could hurt you."

  "I think it was just a reflex. When I tried to pull Thomas away from you, he…" She bit her lip, wincing a little.

  David turned away and clenched a fist. He could still feel a piece of the anger that had filled him when he saw Analara lying on the ground. His own fight with Thomas was one thing, but why did she have to get hurt in the process?

  Her fingers touched his cheek. "He needs our help, David," she whispered earnestly.

  He sighed. "I think my brother will need some help of his own soon."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I told him not to, but he's probably gone to track Thomas down. With the state of mind Thomas is in right now, Lucas is going to get his ass kicked."

  ***

  The crowd roared, even when Shalaron lifted his hands to ask for silence. There had been a jubilant celebration since the end of the battle the previous day. Sarolkh had been slain, and the Rethkor had routed the remainder of the Siathrak soldiers. For several moments more they continued to shout his name. When they finally quieted, he let his gaze rove over the people of Ilinar, every last citizen, committing the sight to memory.

  "My people," Shalaron began. "The Siathrak occupation of Ilinar has ended, and with it ends Totarakh's holy war."

  Another round of cheering broke out. "My lord, were you taken by the invaders?" a voice called out during a pause.

  Shalaron's eyes focused on a point in the distance. "You wish to know why I was brought back with grave wounds. I can say only that I received the injuries in battle with a murderer who had fled our city. He escaped my judgment and roams free, the blood of Melarras still upon his hands." He dipped his head and sighed. "My people, I have failed you. I have not guarded you as I should, or else Totarakh's villainy would never have come to pass. I was distracted by my own affairs. Because of my mistakes, I declare that I can no longer remain as Ilinar's Sage."

  The cheers turned into gasps and mournful cries. Voices began to shout in protest as others implored Shalaron to stay.

  Shalaron quickly raised his arms again. "Do not be afraid, Ilinar. Though I have failed my duty, there is another who has a strength of character that qualifies him for the office! Ilinar shall not be without a Sage." He found a face in the front of the crowd, and gestured. "Rupu… come."

  Whispers of amazement carried over the crowd. Several questioning looks were directed at the young man climbing the temple steps. Rupu approached slowly, looking as co
nfused as everyone else. He stopped on the step below Shalaron. "M-my lord, I… please, I am not ready to—"

  "Silence," Shalaron said gently. "This will be the last time you may question my orders." Rupu swallowed and lowered his head, so Shalaron reached out and raised his chin. "From this moment forward, I will no longer have the power to command you."

  Shalaron lifted his gaze to the gathering. "For many years, Rupu has kept a secret from us all. In dire need, he revealed that the powers of a sage course through his blood. It was by his might that I was freed, and by his will that you were kept safe from the threat of the Siathrak. He has proved his right to rule by his actions. As my final act, I appoint Rupu Sage of Ilinar. Let any who would challenge this claim face me now!"

  Silence greeted the proclamation. Then, slowly, the cheers began again. "For Rupu!" "Rupu and Ilinar!" could be heard throughout the crowd.

  Raising his hands for silence once more, Shalaron continued, "Rupu, though his heart is strong and true, is yet young and untrained. He will have need of guidance and wisdom. Varlath, come forward." He waited as Varlath, looking as surprised as Rupu had been, climbed the stairs toward them. "Since the Betrayal, you have guarded the young of Ilinar, and sought to provide comfort and shelter to any who needed it. Ilinar needs your shelter now. You have wisdom and care, in equal measure, and it will serve our people well. Until such time as your Sage sees fit to release you, I appoint you Seneschal and advisor to Rupu."

  A joyous shout rang out, though it came largely from the younger members of the city.

  Gazing one last time at his people, Shalaron descended the stairway. "It has been my greatest honor to serve as your Sage. I would not stand aside for anyone who was not worthy of you. I shall devote myself to the pursuit of the guilty, and to the future of all of our people."

  The crowd parted at his passing and watched quietly as he walked toward the city gate. The sound started as a single voice crying out behind, and then the people of the city cheered Shalaron's name even louder than before.

  As expected, Halathas met him by the west gate. "You are certain of your choice, my friend?" Shalaron whispered to him.

  "There was never a choice, my lord," Halathas replied. "My place is at your side."

  Shalaron smiled. "I am comforted by your presence. For our tasks ahead, I must ask that you find me thirty men, stalwart and willing to face the unknown. We shall need them for what lies ahead. Prepare a camp within the Great Grove, and I shall meet you there when I have dealt with the current threat."

  Halathas dipped his head and set off at a brisk march. Shalaron heard rushed footfalls behind him, and a familiar voice. "Shalaron, wait!"

  He turned to regard Rupu curiously. The young man looked hesitant. "I never believed anything like this was possible. But I will not fail you, nor our people. Before you go, my S—" Rupu caught himself. "My teacher. You said there was a story to tell yesterday in the grove. Would you share it with me?"

  Shalaron looked troubled, but nodded. "There is no great tale to be had of me. When I spoke to you of duty and sacrifice, my mind recalled what I had to give up when I became the Chosen of the Adepts."

  Rupu gave him a quizzical look. "What did you give up?"

  "The love of your grandmother."

  Rupu's eyes went wide in surprise.

  "If I had not challenged Etahk and claimed the rulership of this city, I would have been husband to Seyala. Your brief tutelage was a reminder of that forgotten bond."

  "Shalaron, you taught me not to fear my powers, or my nature, and provided me the courage to embark upon my destiny," Rupu said. "I would be honored if you would allow me to call you grandfather."

  Shalaron was surprised to discover a dampness around his eyes. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I would not be more proud of you than if you were of my blood, Rupu. I accept your offer."

  "Return to us when your journeys permit. Ilinar will always be your home, grandfather."

  "We will meet again, Rupu. Someday."

  With that, Shalaron turned and walked away from the city of his heritage and the people he had spent over half his life protecting.

  Shalaron's destination was not difficult to locate, for the smoke from the campfires rose over the open plain. As he drew near the Siathrak encampment, he hid within the closest grove and waited.

  The sun had passed overhead before Shalaron found what he was looking for. A Siathrak patrol was passing by the grove on their way back to the camp. He snuck to the edge of the trees and stretched out his senses to hear what they were saying.

  "Yeah, I can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to rebel against a garrison of the Holy Army, but apparently the fools in Ilinar aren't too bright," the first soldier said.

  "Aye, when the Strike Commander hears about what happened, he'll lead the whole army against the city and burn it to the ground," the second fellow chortled.

  Shalaron felt his anger flaring up inside. He had not wanted to destroy the camp if they were peaceable, but with their intent plain to see, it was obvious that they couldn't be left alive. Settling down on the ground, he reached out with his mind, looking for the threads he knew had to be there. The task was more difficult in this world, but he found what he was seeking. A look of concentration spread over his face as he channeled the heat and fire of his anger through the link.

  A rush of hot wind blew through the camp, a roar rising and falling through the tents like sinister laughter. As one, the Siathrak warriors rose to their feet, reaching for their weapons. The Strike Commander walked out of his tent, his gaze searching the horizon for any potential threats.

  Suddenly a column of flame poured out of the sky into the center of the camp, consuming the Commander and his officers. The explosion sent chunks of charred earth and scorched bodies flying through the air. Out of the smoke and chaos, a huge burning figure rose. With scalding white eyes, it sent waves of flame coursing through the tents, lashing out at any soldier foolish enough not to flee in terror. The battle for the camp was short lived, and soon all of the tents lay in smoldering ruin. Of the thousands of soldiers that had camped there, barely a hundred had survived, fleeing mindlessly into the wilderness. Surveying the scene one last time, the elemental raised its hands skyward and vanished in a ball of flame.

  Shalaron staggered to his feet. The drain of channeling that much power in this world was immense. He reached out to a tree to steady himself. Ilinar was safe now, and the Siathrak would never again rise to trouble the world of Analath. He raised his eyes and looked through the trees toward the site of the Great Grove. The first threat had been dealt with. Another world of challenges awaited.

  ***

  The cottage was filled with memories. Every time Thomas turned his head it brought a new recollection to the surface, one more thorn of torment jabbing at his heart. The pain enveloped him, pushing out all other emotion, and he stared at the object in his hand with tear-blurred vision.

  It was a silver figurine, tiny in his palm, masterfully worked in the likeness of a wolf. Jessica had given it to him shortly after they had first met as a token of friendship. It, more than anything else, was a constant reminder of her absence.

  Swallowing hard, Thomas tipped his hand. The silver wolf tumbled down and struck the floor with an almost musical tone.

  Goodbye, Jessica.

  Thomas's grief crested, and he let his defenses wash away, submerging himself in a flood of mindless anger. He wanted to cause pain; he wanted something that he could strike at and destroy. An image came clearly to his mind, and he loaded his destination without a second thought.

  The gates of David's castle loomed before him. With a roar, Thomas sent streams of energy coursing through the air to blast at the stone battlements. Spectral guards appeared around him, swords glittering in the evening air. Gleefully, Thomas rent them apart with his greatsword, relishing the pained sighs that faded on the chill breeze. He strode forward into the courtyard and bellowed a challenge.

  More guards aro
se from the ground to bar his approach. Some were misty and insubstantial; others were beings of shadow. With every strike Thomas released more of his wrath. His soul brimmed with agony and called for decimation. Not a single assailant could land a blow upon his armor, and he quickly cut his way to the massive front doors.

  A mighty blow ripped the doors from their hinges, and David's retainer appeared in the entryway, a look of outrage plain on his ghostly face. A single thrust banished him from the castle. With nothing standing in his way, Thomas cut tapestries from the walls, toppled furniture, and littered the floor with shattered debris. A hungry wind swept through the open doors and smothered the flickering candles. Flowing together from the broken detritus and fallen bodies, a new army of shadows began to take form.

  They slunk and slithered toward Thomas, their sibilant voices like the whispers of nightmares. Their words spoke of anger, destruction, and a dreadful release. He turned away from the gathering throng and stalked farther into the castle.

  Mirrors, vases, statues, chandeliers, anything in Thomas's path was destroyed. Overcome at last by exhaustion and tears he stumbled and fell to his knees, the greatsword slipping from his fingers. A sense of eerie stillness pervaded the chamber surrounding him. It was a great hall, with marble floor and stone walls, and a throne stood upon a dais in the center. A pale glow lit the walls, but no candle or torch could be seen. Thomas felt the cold edge of dread creep into his heart.

  A sense of wrongness manifested behind him. Thomas climbed to his feet and turned around. The floor was awash with blackness. In the dim light he could see tendrils of inky mass writhe and sway, reaching for him and then sinking back. He snatched up his sword and backed toward the throne. The pool of shadow followed.

  "You have claimed the darkness as your own. Is it any surprise then that it wishes to feed upon your rage?"

  Pain like a burning sword stabbed through Thomas's chest. He staggered and clutched at the spot.

  "Your fall from grace has been such an intriguing study. Though I must admit, my infection had something to do with it."

  Thomas fought to draw breath through the pain, his gaze searching for the source of the whispers.