“Excuse me?”
I grinned.
She grimaced, squinted and then her face stretched in surprise. “Oh, my goodness! Darwin?” She was white as a ghost, and she froze in a mouth-dropping expression.
“Yeah, still alive.”
She stood breathlessly and stammered over her words. “I... I... I don’t know what to say.” She laughed slightly, her cheeks reddening. “I’m so glad to see you well. And you look... like a man.”
The compliment was awkward, but one I knew she’d chosen carefully by the face she was making.
“And you look... pregnant.”
She laughed again and rubbed a hand on her stomach. “That I am—due in a few weeks.” I groaned and shook my head in congratulations. To my surprise, my attitude toward her was calm and aloof. It was a wonder she didn’t slap me for having ignored her for all those years. But I suppose we were seasons beyond that, our paths too far apart.
We conversed effortlessly. We were cordial. Isadora told me she’d often prayed for me, hoping that the Superiors had watched over me in battle and for me to always be at peace with my hardships. We reminisced about our childhood and the little resemblances we’d still held with our younger selves. We avoided the wounds of our past relationship, trying hard to steer away from that conversation—mostly her. When there was nothing more to talk about, silence fell like a grim shadow.
Isadora, who smiled as long as she could, took an extended breath. Her eyes sank to the ground. “Darwin, I... I just want you to know I’ve always wanted the best for you. Only the best. And I want us to be... good. With all that we’ve—”
An overjoyed and bearded man burst from the clinic door, quickly gripping her in his arms and kissing her cheek. He was tall and lean with a similar bloody smock. Shaggy dark hair spilled in his face. Startled, Isadora looked with a half-smile. “The doctor says the pain is normal, sweetheart. No need for worry. And you’re right on schedule. Soon we’ll have our bouncing, healthy baby as beautiful as her mother—unless, of course, it’s a boy—then I’ll be the one to blame for his good looks.”
I peered at him closely. With a surge of astonishment, I said, “Kato?” Isadora looked down. The man looked up and shook so his hair parted from his hazel eyes. His face went pale, even more so than Isadora’s just a few moments before. Unlike her expression, though, which was of amazement, his seemed of horror.
“D... Darwin...” Isadora gripped Kato’s hand and rubbed it.
Kato had been another of my childhood friends. He wrote me for a year longer than Isadora had, mostly on her behalf after I’d broken contact with her. For reasons unbeknown, it was Kato who ended our friendship. All those long years, I thought it might have been because of the way I left things with Isadora. We had all grown up so close. He’d taken her hand in marriage.
“I heard that you had returned,” he said. “I was going to make my way to visit you, but things have been busy with...” His voice trailed off.
The two stood looking in opposite directions. Kato pulled away from Isadora. “Can you give me a moment to speak with him?” he said to her.
“There’s no need,” I said, as she was about to nod. Together their eyes met me.
“You owe me no explanation. Our lives took us down separate paths, nothing more. I am glad to see the two of you are well.”
It was a truth none of us could deny. And because of it, I felt not an ounce of betrayal nor hurt. Like most things, I felt nothing, or perhaps happiness as genuine as it could be from someone war-torn like me. After a few glum yet cordial exchanges between us, we decided there was nothing more left to say. I asked where I could find Nork, and they both pointed along the road.
Kato placed his hand on my shoulder. “Please remember us how we used to be, in the adventures of our youth.”
With an emotionless nod, I said, “Of course.” For a moment, I watched them walk away holding hands knowing I would never speak to them again in life. Kato is a good man, a far better one than I could have ever been to her. My life has no room for the love of a woman.
And nothing had changed for me since then. One day when this is all over. Maybe. Upstairs and down a long hall was my room. It was spacious and clean. I blew out the lanterns on the tables near the window and at the bedside, removed my scabbard, jacket, and shoes. I didn’t hesitate to fall into a snoring slumber in a relaxing king bed—its battlefield firmness perfect to the touch.
Akhadius Dethroned
The sealed doors rumbled with war, as did King Akhadius’s insides, even with a throng of his best guards surrounding him and holding him in place by his robe. He flinched as he looked out of an arch window and watched the buildings of his precious capital topple and crash. He’d heard many rumors of the terrifying strength of Abyssians, but he never imagined this.
Outside he saw them, horned and tailed beasts and emerald lights sparking chaotically. Even through soundproof walls, he heard screams and collisions of terrifying magnitude. Each boom made him leap, as it did the other politicians and royals in the room. Fear enveloped him. Death was on his doorstep. Coming down on himself, the balding king shook his head and grunted. If only he had sent the Militia manning when he had the chance, they might not have seen such dire straits.
He was suffering the consequence for not having done so.
“Hold fast, my King, we will protect you.”
The voice brought him out of his mind, and he looked forward, finding quaking doors below and beyond his knolled throne. He heard the screams of his soldiers in the castle now. Whatever evil entity was leading the Abyssians toward Arkhades was drawing alarmingly close. “We’re doomed,” he shuddered.
There was a pause. Then, from something fiery and explosive, the doors burst inward. Soldiers flew across the room like debris. In came a hooded and black armored man—the perfect semblance of death if the king imagined it himself. With him were Abyssians and Men.
“King Akhadius,” the man greeted, his voice airy and proper.
The king peered at him. He could not see his face. Furiously, as if with a strike of confidence, the king inquired, “What has urged you upon my land, demon?”
“It’s perfection,” the man answered matter-of-factly. “This is the largest city in this land worthy to possess.”
Akhadius looked at the men with him. They were twisted looking, their necks tilted unnaturally; the skin around their eyes stained with black circles. They bore an assortment of weapons: swords, axes, and daggers mostly, and their dull clothing told him they were nothing more than ordinary men. They’d willingly flogged their souls.
The Abyssians were as the rumors depicted: hunched and two-toned, some with horns that reached the ground. There was one, though, that was entirely black, and unlike the others, whose tails were thick, its own was whip-thin and arrow-headed. Its black, pearly eyes found the king with a lecherous grin. The king’s skin crawled, and he turned away quickly.
“Let’s not make this any longer than it must be,” said the hooded man, walking forward, and taking all attention. He stopped at the stairs.
“What do you want?” the king questioned.
“Your throne.”
“And then what? What sort of purpose has an evil kind in this world? To conquer or to destroy?”
There was a pause. Never answering a question, the man raised his hand, making a fist. The room shook from his bidden power. As if something had struck them suddenly, the soldiers around the king dropped, Black Salt-foam bubbling out of their mouths. The man commanded his Abyssians upon them, and they leaped over them, snatching, and launching their helms across the room and biting into their flesh. “The king is mine.”
Akhadius groaned in petrification as he looked beside him and watched the writhing backside of Abyssians feasting not two feet from him. When he heard a young woman's scream to his right, at the bottom of the throne, he reached out a hand. “Not my niece!”
The all-black Abyssian ran in that direction, attacking the soldier
s who guarded her and quaffed their souls. The woman stood frightened as it came looming over her. “Please,” the king pled. The Abyssian groaned as if amused by Akhadius’s despair. Wrapping its tail around the woman's neck, it draped her over the air and mangled her throat. When it opened its mouth, green light came from her eyes, going into the monster. Like the men, the creature tossed her away.
The king dropped to his knees, looking at the ground. In a few short minutes that seemed nothing more than seconds, everyone else in the chamber was dead. When he looked up again, there were soulless bodies everywhere. Before him was the hooded man. “Do what you will.” Something hard and fast struck his head. And he was gone.
What sort of purpose has an evil kind in this world? How dare the king ask him such a question? Even Blitzkrieg knew not to ask it of his superiors. He held the king by the chest, his unconscious body drooping as if he were merely asleep. A powerful emotion from the soul that once owned Blitzkrieg’s body had overcome him. Royals were distasteful. Better to leave him alive then. It was a fate worse than death. It would be easier to kill the king, but where was the delight in that? Delight? How could Blitzkrieg know it? He was an Abyssian.
He tossed Akhadius tumbling down the stairs. To the nasrogh—the all-black evolved Abyssian—he ordered, “We will take him with us to the next city. Do not harm, nor drink his soul. Death will befall anyone that disobeys this.”
“Yes, master,” said the nasrogh. With its tail, it carried Akhadius out of doors.
The throne was a chair of gold and maroon cushion. Blitzkrieg sat. To the Men and Abyssians that had come with him, he said, “Finish killing the soldiers, but leave whatever men, women, and children are left.”
They darted from his presence. Capital Arkhadia was an enormous city. But it had not even taken a full day to conquer it, half a day if that. It would become the capital of the utopia his leaders had designed for the land. Of this, he was certain. The City of Bagaminos, he and the horde had demolished. And somewhere southwest another city awaited subjugation. He felt a cluster of untouched souls swarming its architecture. That one too, like the capital, he would not destroy completely. It would serve him well to keep it in part as someplace he could separate the Men under his command from the Abyssians.
The men of the Shadow Legion—a group that branded themselves mercenaries but were more or less bandits—needed to exist elsewhere where Abyssians could not stalk them. There had been too many incidents already. And for now, their part to play was as imperative as the demon race. For now.
Looking at three of the king’s dead politicians, Blitzkrieg shot them each with spheres of green light. They groaned with life and then screamed in agony, their bodies convulsing and contorting. Tails sprouted from their haunches, and horns and elongated black claws grew from their paling skin. Blitzkrieg watched as the royals transformed into nasracans. On the inside, he laughed as he saw their hunched forms draping in regality. It would only last a moment as brutal instinct struck them, and they tore their robes to shreds. They found him sitting, their heads turning in natural childlike and twisted playfulness.
“Take care of this mess, then go and feast,” he ordered. They shook at his voice, knowing in an instant he could be none other than their master. They carried away the dead bodies, too fulfilling his second request after leaving his presence. From a captive soul within him, Blitzkrieg heard the name of the city that lay southwest. It thumped him like a thought. “Ortiz,” he said considering the significance. “The Dungeon City.”
Forest Light
Sergio ran as fast as he could. The strength of his wool-sheathed satyr-legs gave him more speed than a pure human. But, the sifters would soon catch him. It was inevitable. He was the last of his men still alive from an ambush before dawn. His chest burned, and his stomach turned with fatigue. So far, he’d gone a mile with his life still in his hands. “Where’s Gertrude when I need her?” He dreaded the absence of his mallet—the weapon he used to break the horns and bodies of Abyssians.
It was in a field of reed grass scattered with puddles where Sergio stopped to gather his breath. The sifters were at least a quarter mile behind him. How far or near the city of Rotharia he was, he didn’t know. “I’m not going to make it.” He laughed, somehow finding humor in his doom. Many battles he’d fought and lived to tell the tale and now to die by a brainless pack of beasts. But how had Abyssians been in Memoria this quickly already? The Militia, to the best of his knowledge, had an entire navy in the east that should’ve prolonged their arrival. The Foxes that came to the desert continent should’ve had enough time to warn the others. The question took his laughter away. It was perplexing.
Time had run out, their mission expired. The Foxes with him had all died bravely that morning. Masters... Sergio was especially close to him and even closer to his older brother recently promoted to captain. He’d promised to bring him back safely. It was better for Sergio to die than to survive. He couldn’t imagine how he would face Master’s brother, Rola, with the news, or worse, the general.
Shrieks echoed in the wind. Adrenaline kept the shock of his dying comrades at bay. “If you want me, you’re gonna have to catch me, baby!” The weaponless and bleeding Sergio took off again. Fifty yards from him was a tree line beyond a hill. He ran for it impulsively, knowing not if it was a better idea. The woods would slow him. But in the open field, he was to the sifters, like a worm beneath a diving bird. At least in the forest he could find a hefty stick or two to fight back with—better to take his chances there.
He ran into the wood, weaving uncomfortably between trees, and running where they spread out, so he wouldn’t have to slow his pace as much over the red, leaf-covered ground. Frightfully, he looked back when he heard a shriek so close he thought it was directly behind him. The sifters bridged the quarter-mile gap and were sprinting through the trees for him. There were four or five. Wildly, Sergio flashed his eyes around. There were no logs around him to fight with. Some were too big. Most were too small.
The grumbling and shrieking monsters were on him now. He whirled behind him, facing one that leaped forward. Luckily just before death came to claim him, Sergio tripped over a crossways log that took him first. He crashed and rolled, and the sifter flew overhead. The half-satyr tumbled with such momentum he jumped to his feet first chance. The sifter landed with catlike reflexes, slid into an about-face, and took off. Belting a gruff war cry, Sergio ran toward it, and they leaped in unison. He leaned his body, and the sifter stretched forth its claws.
Sergio dropkicked the creature into a tree at missing speed, the force of the collision wrapping its spine around the trunk. He got up just in time for a second one to come flying at him. He rolled out of the way. The third came attacking the second, striving to keep it from its kill. A fourth and final fifth fiend crept toward him. Sergio pounded his wrapped fists. He was the Militia’s best grappling and hand-to-hand combat fighter. He just had to keep the creature’s living mane from tearing him to shreds. Its teeth weren’t as much as a problem.
When it jumped, he caught and yanked it down by the neck, quickly squeezing a handful of its tentacles and thrashing its head into the ground. By its thin tail, he flung it as far as he could into the distance. The other two were still fighting. With a grin, Sergio took off. He thought he just might’ve escaped with his life for good. But, he was barely twenty yards away when they found him again, bolting fast. The faster of the two took him down, and they rolled.
He felt the beast bite his bicep, the pain outweighed by shock. It scratched and bit him in many places. Its teeth were sunk in his arm when he saw the sifter’s eyes flash green, and life seeped away from him. He was underneath it, trying to crawl away. Any energy he had to fight it off left him quickly. He quavered and groaned. The skin on his face tightened. This was it, the moment of death.
When the second sifter came, it was to attack the other one once more. Sergio’s energy climbed at an instant. He found the strength somewhere in his bowels to crawl
and leap upright and go on with a feeling he had been running much faster than he was. His arm was leaking. Twenty more yards ahead, he was still alive. He looked back. The sifter that had saved his life killed the other one with its mane. He kept running. When it caught him, it tackled him down a hill, and at the bottom, he somehow gripped it firmly enough to throw it into a tree. It lay stunned.
Sergio was ready to collapse. His body was limp; his legs numb. He was in a clearing now, out into the wetlands again. When the sifter moved, he saw not far behind it that more had come. He counted five. This time, he would need a miracle to get away. They shot beyond the fallen sifter. There was distance between him and them, though there wouldn’t be soon enough.
“Like I said, you’re gonna have to catch me, baby.”
Something else caught his attention. There was a green sphere of light floating in front of him, just two yards forward. It was the size of his chest at first but quickly grew larger than his entire body.
Unintentionally, he collided with it, and it engulfed him. And he vanished.
Velmica
The next morning, when nothing moved, and the world waited for first light, I woke up to throbbing in my back and shoulders. A cold bath soothed it. New undershirts and trousers awaited me back in the room, and my old clothes were clean, sewn, and folded neatly—the work of Geronimo’s assistant, Ginger. I thanked her before going downstairs where Irvina, refreshed and dressed in different clothing, awaited me. She was wearing a white, fitted tunic and dark trousers. A bag of her belongings was beside her.
The bar was filling with its morning patrons. I greeted Irvina, who was sitting at a table with a breakfast of bread and fruit before her, and Geronimo, who had been serving others behind the bar. I sat and ate. “How far is Joanae from here?”
“There should be no more traveling after today, Darwin. The lily should be in the gardens.”
Enigma: Awakening Page 9