Exiled (The Never Chronicles)
Page 25
Akil felt as if the blood and warmth were draining from his body. His head began to spin, and he fell to his knees. The Siren was correct, he thought, his arrogance would be his undoing. He released the book and turned as he fell to the floor. The Siren, once again perfectly beautiful, walked toward him, her bare feet padding silently on the cave floor. She stood over him with an expression of pity on her face.
“I gave you too much credit, Akil Karanis. In the end, you turned out to be just as greedy as your predecessors. While your treasure may come in a different form, your lust for it is the same. Now you will become my slave.”
The Siren crouched and placed her pale hand on Akil's forehead. Akil could feel the Siren breaking into his mind. She extracted his thoughts and his memories. One by one, he could feel her sorting through them as if they were socks in a drawer. She appeared to relish the memories that caused Akil the most hurt. The process caused Akil to relive his past as if it were happening over again. The speed at which the emotions passed over his mind was unbearable. He cried out from the loss, laughed from the joy, and screamed from the pain practically simultaneously. He felt the memories of his childhood slipping through his mind. When she reached the first memory of his love, everything stopped. Akil refused to let her have this. This belonged to him and him alone. Akil would not share it—even if it killed him.
“Well, it appears as if I've found something of value,” the Siren said, sneering.
She redoubled her efforts, but Akil was steadfast in his defense. Frustrated, she pulled her hand away and let out a cry.
Too weak to do anything, Akil simply lay there and watched as she paced across the cave floor, her face changing from beautiful to horrible and back to beautiful as she muttered to herself. She stopped and turned, facing Akil. The Siren stepped forward and again placed her hand on his forehead. Again, Akil could feel her digging into his mind. This time she hurriedly passed every memory, not taking the time to absorb them until she found the one she was looking for. He felt her pry, trying to unlock the door he had put up to keep her out.
Akil felt a surge of strength from her failure and frustration. He could see her body shaking as she tried and failed to break through the door. In an effort that would either sap the last remaining strength from his body or set him free, Akil sent a burst of energy at the Siren. Not nearly as powerful as the first, she was simply pushed back into the large pile of treasure on the far side of the cave. Seizing the mere seconds of opportunity, Akil thrust his hand into the small satchel on his belt and removed a pinch of transporting powder. He threw himself on top of the trunk and tossed the powder into the air over his head. Nothing happened.
A low guttural laugh rose from deep within the Siren as she rose to her feet. “You have promise, Akil Karanis,” she said, taking a step forward. “You cannot transport to or from my kingdom. Always has it been. Now, what is it you hide so fervently? Is it more important than this book you've sought for much of your life?”
Akil released his grip on the trunk and fell to the ground.
“Do you know who I am?” the Siren asked.
Akil remained supine, looking up at the Siren as she spoke. His body so weak he couldn't find the strength to lift his head.
“I am Okon ak aintzinako.”
“Impossible,” Akil replied in barely a whisper.
“I was there, Akil. I was there when your so-called Seer made his prediction.”
“Okon ak aintzinako is long dead. You are a deceiver, nothing more.”
“You doubt me, Akil? Have you no desire to know what I know? The true prophecy, the entire prophecy? If you knew the truth, you wouldn't have wasted your life searching.”
“No,” Akil said, finally finding the strength to lift his head.
“I see doubt in your eyes, Akil Karanis. Fear and doubt.”
“You are a deceiver, nothing more,” said Akil.
“I can prove to you that I speak the truth. First you must allow me into your mind.”
“Never.”
“It is the only way, Akil,” she said in a soothing, motherly voice. “We Sirens cannot create memory orbs like you sorcerers.”
“If I give you my mind, I am powerless against you.”
“Look at yourself, Akil. You lie there like a baby with concerns of powerlessness. You are mine to do with as I wish. I am willing to share with you that which you have sought your entire life, yet you refuse.”
“At what cost? It is of no value if I am killed, rendered mindless, or become your slave.”
“Let us then come to a mutually agreed upon resolution, shall we?”
“Since when has a Siren ever suggested a mutually agreed upon resolution?”
“You are no fool, Akil Karanis. This is rare among humans. If I were to prove to you that I am indeed Okon ak aintzinako, would you consider attempting to reach an accord?”
“I fail to understand why the great Okon ak aintzinako would bother reaching an accord with the likes of me.”
“We are a dying race, as you know. You are a powerful sorcerer. In all my years I daresay I've met fewer than a handful with your abilities and potential. Let us help one another.”
“If you can prove to me that you are Okon ak aintzinako, I will consider your suggestion.”
“I would call you an arrogant fool for believing you have another option or just simply kill you where you lie, but in order to make progress we must occasionally bite our tongues and withhold our impulses, yes?”
The Siren walked slowly toward Akil. As she drew nearer, Akil could feel his strength returning. He stood, his face a hair-length away from hers. Her pupil-less irises were blood red and rolled like ocean waves inside her eyes. She reached for his hand and lifted it to the side of her face. Her skin was smooth, her hair soft. The Siren closed her eyes and Akil felt a surge of warmth travel through his hand and up his arm. In that instant, he knew she was Okon ak aintzinako, the greatest and eldest of all Sirens. Thought to have perished in the Great War so many centuries prior. He lowered his hand and stepped back.
“Despite the circumstances surrounding our meeting, it is truly an honor to be in your presence,” Akil said, balling his right fist, covering it with his left hand, and bowing slightly.
Okon nodded with a smile.
“What is your proposition, Lady Okon?” Akil asked.
“You truly are inimitable, Akil Karanis.”
“Despite our disagreements, you no doubt deserve the respect I bestow.”
“My proposition is this: I will share with you what your Seer decreed, and you will find, capture, and bring me Gai ak zangar.”
“Impossible. She too was thought to have perished in the Great War, yet if you survived, perhaps she did as well. Even if she did survive, I wouldn't know where to begin searching for her, and once I found her, I would have no chance of capturing a Siren so great as she. Your terms are unreasonable.”
“If I doubted your ability, Akil Karanis, your life would have been forfeited the moment you stepped through the archway.”
“I don't even know where to begin searching.”
“I am old, Akil Karanis, as you know. Yet death from old age is scores of human lifetimes away. You will have a lifetime to search—more even.”
“More?”
Okon put both hands on Akil's chest and closed her eyes. Again he felt a surge of heat, this time through his chest directly into his heart. The heat grew in intensity until Akil screamed. He faltered back as she lowered her hands, but he did not fall.
“It is done,” she said.
“What?” Akil asked breathlessly.
“You will live thrice as long as a normal human, perhaps longer.”
Akil gripped his chest, the burning fading. He captured his breath, then looked up at the Siren.
“How do I know you will keep your word even if I am able to bring Gai ak zangar to you?”
“I will give you a taste of what you seek,” she said, glancing at the trunk beside them.
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“The book?”
“The book and something else,” she said with a mirthless smile, her face changing from beautiful to terrible and back in an instant. “There is a place you must go if you are to know and understand your Seer's decree. It is also a place where you must begin your search for Gai ak zangar, and only I can send you there.”
“Where?”
“Take the book. Hold it close, for things of value are easily lost.”
Akil looked hesitantly at the trunk. The Siren nodded with an expression of girlish innocence. He slowly reached down and picked up the large volume.
“Very good,” she said. “Now, take the trinket beside it.”
“The watch?” asked Akil.
“That is no mere watch. Your Seer predicted an end to your race, did he not?”
“The Epoch Terminus.”
“Indeed. An enchantment has been cast upon that trinket, which now belongs to you. It winds down as your Epoch Terminus approaches.”
Akil held the book against his chest, picked up the silver pocket watch, and slid it into his pocket.
“Tell me where you plan to send me.”
“We call this place Ak Egundiano.”
“No. You cannot. There is no return from that place.”
“You must find one.”
“Impossible.”
“Then all is lost. Not simply your reward but the fulfillment of the your Seer's decree.”
“What are you saying?”
“The Anointed One must also travel to Ak Egundiano to find his power. So you see, Akil, if there is no return, the prophecy will not be fulfilled, and your race will perish.”
“You scoffed at the prophecy, yet now you hold it in high regard.”
“I scoffed at your interpretation. Despite the information you lack, what I speak of Ak Egundiano is true. The Anointed One must return from this place or all will fall to ruin.”
“So then you believe the Epoch Terminus is tied to more than just mankind?”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I believe you will succeed where all others have failed.”
“The Never. It cannot be,” Akil said in a whisper. “When? When must I go?”
The Siren's eyes clouded black as she stepped away from Akil. She spread apart her hands and the ground began to shake. Using all her strength, she fought to bring them together. As they drew closer, the quaking became more intense until, in an earsplitting clap of thunder, they came together. A wisp of grey smoke ascended from the place where, a moment ago, stood Akil Karanis.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank:
You, the reader, for making it to the end … or is it the beginning? The Greer family. Jamese, Roger, Dalton and Logan. Kathe and Steve Stojowski. My brothers (for their support) their wives (for putting up with them) and all of their kids (because you now have a cool uncle). Jason Lodeski, Elizabeth Witiak, Jake Bohem, Cindy Kelsey. Everyone at JKS Communications. Everyone who voluntarily read my novel in one form or another and provided feedback (especially those who read the ‘long version'). Jennifer and Jason Campbell. Everyone at GBG. My friends at CONCERN; never let anyone tell you who you are. Become who you want to be. Dream big. Sorin, my dog, for keeping me company at 4 a.m. All of my followers and friends in the social media world—you always keep me smiling. Roger Greer (yes, that's twice and not nearly enough thanks for everything you've done). Jenn Wagner—for being my extra set of eyes (at the last minute).
Sydney, Iris and Lisa. What can I say? Without you, there is no me.
Finally, Mom and Dad—bits and pieces of your personalities live on in characters of The Never Chronicles.
BTW—keep your eyes peeled for book 2!
www.TheNeverChronicles.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. R. Wagner was born in West Chester, Pennsylvania, during a blizzard. The snow made travel by car impossible, so his father called an ambulance when his mother went into labor. The ambulance became stuck at the bottom of their home's driveway, prompting the dispatch of a fire truck, which towed the ambulance to the hospital where he was born.
Maybe it was this experience that destined J.R. to love adventure. A competitive cyclist, triathlete, mountain biker, and adventure racer, he once received a medal for saving a woman's life during the kayaking section of an adventure race.
J.R. drafted his first story, a sequel to Return of the Jedi, when he was ten years old. A self-proclaimed Star Wars geek, he had lofty aspirations of working with George Lucas on filming the project. In 1990, he began filming his version of The Lord of the Rings in his parents' basement, but the plug was pulled after he nearly burned down the house. Since then, J.R. has written two full-length screenplays and a thriller novel.
After graduating with a kinesiology degree from Arizona State University, J.R. returned to Pennsylvania, where he took up writing once again.
He began writing Exiled while vacationing in Maine.