Consequences Within Chaos

by Derek Barton

  With a sweeping gesture of his hand, the pool water in the center churned to life and a sudden surge flooded the entire crater. The Viestrahl screeched and panicked as the silvery webbing held them in a vice-like grip.

  “All will obey His demands! No mercy will be shown to the humans that pollute this world nor any mercies given for those that betray Orna Kah!”

  He thrust forward and pointed at a snared beast. “No one is above His demands and all will answer for failure.” The twin skulls oriented on the struggling creature trapped in the liquid metal fingers. The targeted Viestrahl shrieked as the twin bone skulls flew over him. Dual jets of molten flame erupted and seared the beast, melting him to a lumpy goo that puddled where it once stood.

  Gru’Renthral waved his claws; the silver liquid dripped to the ground freeing all from the spell’s grasp. None would dare defy him or try to escape now.

  “Bring me the female! Who is she to them?” He commanded in his blistering pitch to the Konn-Cabal.

  Ramnethas’ Cabal member carried a blindfolded captive upon his shoulder. He climbed the staircase of the platform and dragged the human female by her red hair and threw her at Gru’Renthal’s clawed feet.

  The Cabal member answered, “This is a servant. It has access to their castle.” He did not brave a look at Orna Kah’s avatar in the face, but ripped the cloth off the human girl’s eyes.

  Surrounded by monstrosities and the aspect of Gru'Renthral towering over her, the young maid screamed and fainted in shock.

  “Her eyes will do well for us,” he cackled.

  Several minutes later, the Viestrahl trembled on his knees in front of Gru'Renthral and held the bloody orbs in his palms, offering them.

  Orna Kah’s creature snatched them from him and held them up to his own eyes with his spindly fingers. It cackled and giggled again as it stared into the girl’s green eyes. Gru’Renthral then began to gouge out its own orbs and replaced them with the chambermaid’s. He handed twin slimy, silver pearls over to the frightened beast. “She must heal. Use what you must and see that the wounds do not scar! Then take her back to her kind.” He spat out the last word in pure disgust.

  Gru'Renthral waddled with its bloated spider-body to the center of the platform. “Do not think on your own. Follow my commands or suffer the wrath of the Fist of Orna Kah!”

  He stiffened and leaned back onto two legs, convulsing. The fleshy head withered as its new eyes puffed away in greenish wisps and the inner red glow faded. The extra legs cracked like twigs and fell to the platform. After several moments passed, Ramnethas had reformed before the Viestrahl. The Viestrahl leader looked shaken, but all before him remained awestruck and motionless.

  Ramnethas raised his arm high over his head, his fist clenched tight.

  “It is time to march! We must follow the Fist of Orna Kah! We will break these humans once and for all!!” The Viestrahl signed emphatically. In response, the tribes answered his challenge in similar fashion, pumping their fists up and down.

  The gorge erupted with horrid growls mixed with rage and an eerie chant.

  ***

  Sweat beaded along his pasty white skin from head to toe. The efforts and energy taken to complete the transformation were immense. His body answered his exertion with seizures and convulsions. It would take hours for Auste to recover.

  “First blood drawn. My war begins.” He cackled to himself as he sat alone in complete darkness.

  The puppet-master’s massive illusion and transformation was successful, but he knew the true weapon he wielded – Fear!

  He had his army and his spies, but fear is what brought out his prey. Fear that made them vulnerable, fear that made them scurry and bolt. They already were making plans and taking actions all tainted in the stink of fear.

  As he started to laugh again, through the wall, a muffled child’s voice interrupted. “I found some bright pink and yellow Zydallahs that you like, Ti!”

  Auste tilted his head toward the voice and listened.

  “Will you come out and play with me now?”

  “Quiet now! You know she is not here,” he ordered her.

  “But.. but you know she loves them.” The child whined.

  He squeezed his eyes tight and winced as echoes of dripping blood falling into silver bowls haunted his mind.

  Through clenched teeth, he repeated in a much darker tone, “My war begins.”

  #2

  In spite of the party’s merriment, the loud laughter and music filling Old Charners Hall, at the royal family’s table there was an air of anxiety behind fake smiles. Each of them had dreaded coming to the Amber Moon Festival. They sat in their chair, pensive, picking at the food on their plates. Only those close to the Throne would spot the buried emotions and false sentiments given.

  The banquet room was adorned in red and grey paper streamers, cloth ribbons and canopies with matching red-grey carnations. Wooden bowls filled with candies or pastries were the centerpiece of every table. A dance floor in the center of the hall had ornate tapestries forming four walls. The back part near the western half of the hall had flowing fountains with a vanilla crème drink. Several guests were dipping in long pokers with fruits or candies. The opposite eastern half had a kitchen and bar station. The elaborate party was by invite only and in spite of the lavish food and ales, the attendees were subdued and conservative.

  Normally, Letandra loved this holiday as it was half masquerade, half gift-giving. The extravagant costumes, the rich feasts all topped off with a round of giving presents to loved ones was a highlight of her year. Her fondest childhood memories were events centered on the Amber Moon Holiday. This day, however, had been spoiled early. She glanced sidelong at her mother and then shifted in her seat to meet her brother’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows in response, but she shook her head subtly.

  “Can you please be lady-like and sit still tonight, dear? “ Queen Demetryce uttered. It was said without real malice, but the scolding stung Letandra anyway.

  Coughing back the start to tears, she answered under her breath, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Demetryce stiffened, but the king’s hand moved and gently held his wife’s.

  King Haedrec rose to his feet and waved his arms to gather the audience. “My friends, my loved ones, you bless me by sharing this fine evening with me!” He was interrupted by applause and cheers. “We need not think of anything else; not our fears, troubles or even this blistering weather!” Polite laughter met his simple joke.

  He lifted a brass goblet for a toast, “May the merciful Lady Haethraa bring Wyvernshield and all of Tayneva a safe winter, bountiful spring and a lazy summer to spend our fortunes.” All drank together and bowed their heads in praise to the goddess.

  “Now for all of you, I have acquired the finest talents of the Cahsz Actors College in Rovmant. They arrived by ship this very morn.” The audience cheered.

  “They have prepared a special rendition of To Fly Without by Resse Rampard. Let us finish our dessert entrees in thirty minutes…” he looked at the director to get approval of his schedule. “…then we shall gather around the stage. Thank you all.”

  Taihven leaned into Letandra’s shoulder and whispered, “Wake me when the nude actresses make their entrance.”

  She ignored him as she remembered her encounter in the Castle Gardens. His glib remark passed right through her. Taihven’s prediction had come true and her mother had summoned her early to the Castle Gardens.

  In the first years rebuilding Wyvernshield and Adventdawn, the Castle Gardens and Orchard were designed and added by her father. This became her mother’s private joy and often her sanctuary. It was built within the eastern wing and surrounded by guard turrets. The small square had half-circle rows of apple-rose trees that bordered a mossy pond filled with Silver-shard Minnows. In the eastern corner sat a bronze and white oak gazebo.

  Letandra had come upon her mother sitting within the gazebo. Queen Demetryce was adorned in her white, First Sun robes, a fur-line
d shawl, and her mousy brown and grey hair bound in a ponytail. She was engrossed in a tattered tome. Another wool blanket covered her legs. The princess spotted the clear warning sign; any time Demetryce was “cold”, it meant she was agitated and angry. Letandra slowly approached and sat without a word before her mother, waiting to be acknowledged.

  Several pages went by.

  “You were seen by Guard Cansen.” Demetryce had not looked up, but her voice was severe and her tone was seething.

  Letandra was speechless in shock and scrambled for a response or lie.

  “What do you think he is saying about the young Princess coming in after being out at all hours? You were following Taihven again. Do not lie!” she accused.

  “Yes, but…”

  “I have told you too many times that this will not be tolerated. I cannot stop him and I cannot protect him—”

  “—You would not even try!”

  “But you, young lady, I can stop!” She scolded in rapid shots. “Even when you go after him, you are powerless to help. You jeopardize the Throne each—”

  “—That is not true! I can take care of myself and Taihven. He is—”

  “—not worth the breath he has been given!” Queen Demetryce stood and towered over the girl. “I cannot fathom why you and your father give him such credit and exception. Your father is dying and leaving us all in the hands of that accident. He has caused nothing but pain, embarrassment and frustration to this family…”

  Her rage trembled through her body as she stood with her hands clenched at her sides.

  “Accident? That is a new one. You have never said that before.” Taihven muttered from behind his mother, standing next to the pond. He shrugged his shoulders and retreated back into the castle.

  “You knew he was there!” Demetryce screeched.

  “Of course not. But it is not like I knew you were going to go insane. He is your bloo—” The hard slap chopped her words short and rocked her backwards off the bench. Before Letandra could react, the queen got down on her knees, grabbed Letandra and pulled her face into her’s.

  Her words scorched, “Taihven was never mine! That bastard Bareth Cros’seau raped me and Taihven will always be one of their filth to me!”

  Lying on her back, Letandra stared dumbfounded at her mother storming out of the gardens. The words were echoing over and over in her mind.

  They repeated in her mind as she sat next to Taihven. Letandra had not seen either of them for the rest of the day. He had spent the day holed up in his quarters and ignored any knocking at his door. Her mother had gone on an excursion in the shops.

  No one had known of the rape; certainly not outside the family. Perhaps even, no one knew within the family. And the name Cros’seau had not been spoken in ages. That cursed name belonged to the rival noble family, second in line for the Tayneva Throne. After a failed coup attempt, the traitors had been captured and later exiled.

  Letandra had snuck into the Library Hall and dug into several history tomes. She remembered very little of the name Cros’seau.

  In the fall of 451 JJ.a., a massive attack from the Viestrahl decimated Dephrene, a thriving trade colony on Tayneva.

  King Jehah of Keliada in 475 JJ.a. had commissioned both Duke Bareth Cros'seau and Duke Haedrec Artadeus to reclaim the continent and each to build a settlement. A musty tome outlined.

  Another tome more used and probably a text from the Mage Halls, detailed how her father met with much success along the southern coastline; building Wyvernshield upon the ruins of Dephrene. Duke Cros'seau went north and had discovered a forested isle later named Leibrec.

  In the same years that Duke Artadeus retook the lands inhabited by the Viestrahl, the capital city of Leibrec fell into the seas after a chain of violent volcanic eruptions. It was as if the gods were aligned against Cros'seau and his island.

  In 492 JJ.a, Cros'seau and the last of the Leibrec refugees begged Duke Artadeus to shelter them.

  It took a couple of arduous hours of study amongst the dusty shelves to stumble across a single passage concerning the Coup Attempt of 504 JJ.a.

  Cros'seau humiliated and only a noble in name became bitter and conspired against the Artadeus Throne.

  Before the end of 504 JJ.a and after the official formation of Tayneva, Duke Cros'seau was backed in secret by four other rival countries and he led a revolt on Wyvernshield. During the conflict, King Haedrec's aunt and younger brother, Adalay and Mendren Artadeus, were captured and murdered.

  The tome's next pages and answers to how the coup had been defeated had all been lost to decay.

  Letandra had barely turned six years old and the coup had sparked the beginning of trying times for the city. She remembered after the failed coup attempt, a massive manhunt had tracked down the traitors who were later exiled.

  She wrestled all afternoon with the horrible secret, but resisted questioning her father. What if he did not know? Would she break his heart in his last days? How could he not know? These questions plagued her and she worried for Taihven incessantly.

  The ugly scene hung over the three; the King had sensed his family’s turmoil. He strove to keep the peace for the public image, but he knew he did not have to ask that of them. They knew their responsibility as public figures and would not let family drama be seen during the festivities.

  She had not eaten much more of her desert when the crowd started to gather around the makeshift dance stage. Time had come for the play. Royalguard in uniform blue and black capes escorted the royal family to a central position among the audience. Torches were doused, and musicians filled the hall with a simple tune on violins.

  From above, a pair of bull’s-eye lanterns lit up twin dancers in pinks and reds as they skipped to the center stage. Letandra glanced over and saw that her brother sat with his eyes closed, arms folded over his chest.

  With a roar, soldiers stormed from side stages; dressed in ornate silver, blue and gold armor. They performed a heated battle with fake swords with dancers that leaped and swirled around them. The warriors crooned bawdy songs.

  A horn trumpeted an emphatic blare. Moments later, a lone woman appeared in a corner with her head bowed down and her back to the proceeding battle. The female dancers whirled off the stage and the warriors were joined by other male fighters. The dead littered the small stage.

  When it drew down to a pair of warriors, the woman was spotlighted with a lantern. Her face was painted in solid red paint and her gown was torn and dirty. She spun on tip toes and she skipped to the center as the swordsmen clashed. The melodrama had spun itself out as the final soldier fell to his knees and died at the woman’s feet. Although the actress’ song had emotion and was sung with full heart, it did not touch Letandra as she was too distracted.

  The princess twisted in her chair to view her mother and found the queen watching her. Their eyes met and in that instance of mother and daughter bond, they exchanged acknowledgment of the pain, acceptance of secrets and an unspoken apology. Letandra realized that her mother’s shame tortured and haunted her. She glanced back to the performance, but blinked repeatedly as tears slid down her cheeks. That slip of one sentence explained so much to her; gave her full insight to her mother for the first time in her life.

  Her musings were interrupted when a hand gripped her arm. It was Taihven’s fingers that clenched her forearm, but his eyes remained tightly closed.

  “Are you…” She held her breath, fearing what might be happening.

  Taihven stirred in his seat, swung his arms high over his head. His eyes were squeezed closed still as he leapt to his feet, breathing heavy and roaring in a sudden rage. He burst past astonished audience members and crashed through a tapestry to fight and twist himself to the stage. “Dead soldiers” sprang to life as the crazed Prince crawled on all fours among them.

  Taihven leaned back onto his knees and erupted into a monotone chant. Electricity snapped and sizzled around him. The telltale signs of thin, blue lightning streaks zipped in and out of
the air as his spell energies manifested.

  “NO, TAIHVEN! STOP!!” King Haedrec commanded from his chair, mimicking Letandra’s exact words from the previous nightfall. “Get off the stage!”

  The prince’s eyes popped open; nothing familiar or kind resonated within them. His right hand blazed to life — he drew a silver sigil into the air and finished his invocation. Huge bursts of ivory, icy spikes shattered the stage floor as they pierced the wooden floorboards from below. The spikes multiplied over the entire stage. Several actors were caught up and the ice snared them like cactus thorns.

  Letandra stood frozen in shock. Sergeant Devin swept her into his arms before she could react, likely to jump foolishly into the chaos.

  "What are you doing? Let me go! I have got to stop my brother!"

  "There is no way you are getting near him! It is too dangerous!" He held her firm. She squealed and kicked her legs out wildly.

  The Royalguard leaped before the royal couple and put up a human shield front as they backed away in a hasty retreat.

  An elderly woman cried out in terror, “Is this some part of the play?”

  The majority of the audience sat in their seats staring in utter disbelief. Taihven was royalty and just a minor, but here he was casting massive destructive spells.

  Taihven remained on stage, surrounded by rings of icespikes. He focused on the ceiling, his eyes blackened and masked in grey, cloudy wisps. Nothing was above him, but he pointed at some unseen foe and resumed chanting. As before, his right hand drew in the air.

  The onlookers bolted in unison toward the double doors of the hall.

  Circling unseen behind him, Sergeant Blackstaff charged up the length of an overturned banquet table and launched herself over the ice field. As she grappled with the prince and pinned his arms to his sides, a new spell unleashed. Earthquake rolls ruptured the foundation and shattered more of the flooring of the hall. Like a spider web, the ground fell away and opened in a series of chasms two to three feet wide. Torches and lamps smashed all around the hall and fires erupted. Taihven twisted to look into the soldier's face. Before he could renew his chant, Deliah shot forward and head-butted the mage into unconscious.