Failed Future (Air Awakens: Vortex Chronicles Book 3)

by Elise Kova

  Her heart was beating so hard Vi could’ve sworn she heard the watch chain rattling around her neck.

  “This is not of the Twilight Kingdom. We were merely the holders of this relic—protectors or curators, if you will. It came from your Dark Isle.” She should feel excited by that fact, shouldn’t she? But all Vi felt was sickness rising. The surreal feeling of having one foot in the present and the other somewhere else lingered—her body torn in two. “I was told that long ago, it was used to cultivate the land of the Dark Isle so that it would be fertile for eons to come, giving life to the magickless people who sought refuge there. But its powers could easily be used to end that same life.

  “A man, the grandson of Yargen’s last Champion, smuggled this off the isle to ensure it never fell into the wrong hands.”

  “How did it get to the Twilight Kingdom?” Vi murmured. Her voice felt like it was echoing from a distant place.

  “Queen Lumeria has sent spies to the Dark Isle over time. One of those spies was a morphi… back then, tensions weren’t as high with the Faithful.”

  “Why were there spies?” She should be offended by the idea. But Vi had felt very little since the wrapped item had appeared. All she could feel was a deep need to see it.

  “To ensure those on the isle weren’t disturbing forces they shouldn’t.”

  “A lot of good that did,” Vi whispered. Raspian had been locked away in the Crystal Caverns, the destruction of which led to the rise of the Mad King Victor. That set in motion a series of events that ultimately led Vi to where she was now.

  “So it would seem,” Noct agreed solemnly. “But that long-ago descendant of the Champion saw this weapon preserved for the future Champion—perhaps for this very moment.”

  Noct reached forward and Vi watched as he undid the knots of rope keeping the velvet closed. One of the braided tethers nearly disintegrated beneath his fingers. Vi’s heart raced until the fabric was at last thrown back—

  All at once, her heart stopped.

  There, shining dimly, was one of the four legendary crystal weapons. She knew it was true without needing further proof. She knew it in her marrow.

  It glowed with a faint blue light, a microcosm of stars trapped beneath its glassy surface. Vi reached out a hand. She was drawn to it with an undeniable pull. She couldn’t turn away if she tried.

  Her fingers brushed the top of the blade.

  The hazy light that surrounded the weapon slowly drifted over her hand and up her arm, before fading completely into her skin. It swirled within her, like a dust storm over the desert.

  The desert.

  Images flashed before her eyes, so clear Vi could swear she was standing at the event itself, watching them play out. There was an Eastern man with hazel eyes, working his way through a humble city that was ancient Norin. A shift in the magic, a spark of blue light, and he was now at the docks, speaking with another, passing over the velvet-wrapped parcel. Another shift, and Vi witnessed the man turning away from his precious heirloom.

  A chill ran over her as Vi jettisoned back to the present. The sensation of being in two places at once had finally abated. Perhaps because she’d finally seen what she needed to—what the goddess had wanted her to see. Vi lifted her hand away from the weapon, the dim shimmer of magic clinging to her fingers for several seconds before fading.

  She turned to King Noct, her voice barely a whisper. “It is a crystal weapon… But what do you want me to do with it?”

  King Noct and Arwin were a half-step farther away than she remembered them being. They both stared at her with wary, awe-filled eyes. Vi took a slow breath, not daring to ask what they’d seen when her senses were overtaken by a time long past. She didn’t want to know. With one touch to the crystal weapon, something within her had changed, and she wanted no additional proof of the fact.

  “I want you to do what you were chosen to do—use it to save our world.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vi sat on a bench at one end of a large, rectangular training hall.

  The floor was wooden, mats lined up on the back wall to her left, mostly forgotten. Archery targets hung on the far wall to the right; weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the wall across from where she stood.

  But none of them consumed her attention quite like the weapon in her hands.

  Every time Vi shifted her fingers across its surface, magic sparked and crackled within. Power seemed to flow from her to the weapon and back, growing more powerful with every turn. Her breath quickened.

  “So, what are you going to do with it?” The question jostled her from her fascination with the magic within the scythe. Vi hadn’t even heard the steady thunk of arrows sinking into the archery targets come to a stop.

  “I… don’t know yet.”

  “You don’t know?” The woman huffed, as if disappointed, passing her bow from hand to hand. “Aren’t you the Champion?”

  “This whole Champion thing doesn’t exactly come with a guide book,” Vi muttered. There might be someone who could help her… but getting to Taavin wasn’t an easy affair at the moment. Vi stood, holding out the weapon with one end on the ground. “Could you teach me how to use it, perhaps?”

  Arwin tilted her head to the side, looking Vi and the weapon up and down. “It’s a scythe—a farmer’s scythe, not a war scythe. The blade’s all wrong for proper combat. You really want it to be more vertical to get better access to the sharp edge.”

  “Well, it’s all I have, so I’d better learn how to use it,” Vi countered.

  “Can’t you reshape it somehow?”

  “Reshape it? You think I can reshape something a goddess made?”

  “Fair point,” Arwin mumbled and crossed the room to a rack of weapons. She tossed her bow from one hand to the next; there was a pulse of magic mid-air, and when Arwin grabbed it again, she wielded a long pole off the wall with an axe on one side. “Even if I’m confident with pole arms… I still have no idea how I’m going to teach you how to use that effectively at all.”

  “I’d appreciate the effort,” Vi said sincerely, meeting Arwin in the center of one of the painted rings on the floor.

  “Do you even know the basics of combat?” Arwin asked, slowly twirling the halberd in her hands.

  “I’ve had a bit of training,” Vi answered somewhat coyly.

  “The fate of the world rests on the shoulders of someone who’s had ‘a bit of training’?” Vi could feel the vibrations through the floor as Arwin slammed down the butt of her weapon. “We’re all doomed.”

  She should be offended, but Vi couldn’t stop laughing. Finally, she managed, “Maybe we are.”

  “You’re really reassuring me now.” Arwin’s posture went slack, slightly relaxed.

  “Let’s be honest, you thought we were doomed from the moment you first learned I was Yargen’s Champion.”

  “Can’t say I believe all that. Maybe you’re an opportunist with a good grasp of history. Maybe you noticed a convenient opportunity to claim you’re something you’re not, with few to argue against your claims.”

  “If I’m lying about being Yargen’s Champion, I sure went to great lengths for that lie.” Vi tried to mimic Arwin’s stance, gripping the small handles that extended from the main shaft of her weapon. She barely had time to shift her feet into a wider, sturdier base before Arwin lunged without warning. Vi stepped back, adjusting the distance. She lifted the scythe on instinct, pushing Arwin’s blade up and away from striking at her center.

  The curve of the axe at the end of the halberd hooked on the main body of Vi’s scythe. Arwin gave a firm yank, ripping the weapon from her fingertips. Vi was pulled forward and off balance.

  Arwin shifted the halberd back in her hands, allowing the scythe to fall to the floor. She stepped forward, driving her fist into Vi’s stomach. Vi doubled over, her muscles contracting around Arwin’s hand.

  The woman had a fist like a rock.

  Wheezing, Vi grabbed her stomach and fell to her knees. When sh
e lifted her head, it was to find the tip of Arwin’s halberd at the tip of her nose. Arwin regarded her coolly down the pole arm.

  “Was the punch really necessary?” Her stomach was still spasming. Great Mother above it hurt, and it reminded Vi that her midsection was still mostly fresh flesh. But she tried desperately to keep her face calm and hide as much of the pain as possible.

  “Your enemies won’t show you mercy. Especially not with a pathetic showing like that.”

  A chuckle escaped Vi’s lips. “Don’t I know it.”

  Arwin cocked an eyebrow at the bitter remark. She lowered the halberd, replacing it with her hand. Vi stared at the open palm, glancing back to Arwin. She wasn’t about to take the bait and be an easy target once again.

  “Come on, up with you.”

  Vi’s fingers clasped around Arwin’s and she hoisted her up so quickly that Vi’s shoulder ached. Vi rolled it backward but said nothing. The woman started for the door.

  “Wait.” Vi stopped her with a call. Arwin turned, eyebrow arched. “Is that it? Are we done?”

  “You actually want to go again?”

  “As many times as you’re willing.” Vi picked up the scythe, adjusting her grip some. It had been too easy to rip from her hands before. Perhaps if she locked her thumbs around the main shaft, it’d provide better support.

  “Why? You’re fooling yourself if you think that thing will stand up against any trained combatant. At best, you’ll have some range over a swordsman. But with the scythe curved as it is, you can’t effectively use the slicing edge.”

  “So you’ve told me.”

  “You’ll have to use it in more pulling motions, which will be hard to manage at distance.”

  “Then I’d better practice.”

  “Do you even have the stamina to swing it more than a few times?”

  “Only one way to build my stamina.” Vi wasn’t backing down and she would make sure Arwin knew it.

  “Why not just—”

  “Because this may be our only hope,” Vi interrupted. “Because all the crystals, and crystal weapons, on the Dark Isle have been destroyed. This is the only one left. If it came from the descendant of the last Champion, it may just be the only thing I can use against Raspian. I have no choice. So will you help me learn it or not?”

  Arwin stared at her, long and hard, not moving a muscle.

  “Please.” Vi had no choice, no pride. Just holding the scythe filled her with a sense of urgency. The idea of preventing the end of the world was no longer an intangible thing. Vi now held proof of what she’d have to do in her hands, and she couldn’t be too arrogant to avoid admitting she was nowhere near ready.

  “Very well then,” Arwin said finally. “But I’m going to train you as I would any of my sisters. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re a guest and princess.”

  “None of my enemies will go easy on me.” The thin line of Vi’s mouth turned into a bitter smirk. “Bring on the gut punches.”

  What followed was a series of beatings the likes of which Vi had never experienced before. She’d always thought Sehra’s warriors had stopped going easy on her when she’d come of age. But like most things in her childhood, that too turned out to be a lie.

  Arwin didn’t miss an opportunity to trip her, smack her sides with the pole of her halberd, knock the scythe from her hands, or rap her knuckles for improper grip. Bruises covered her body and everything ached. She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed. An hour? Maybe two?

  But Vi knew it wasn’t nearly long enough. She had just begun to feel comfortable with the weight of the scythe in her hands.

  “That’s enough,” Arwin declared. “You’re spent for today.”

  “For today?” Vi leaned heavily against the scythe for support, panting and wiping sweat from her brow. “Does that mean you’ll teach me tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see. Don’t push your luck.”

  “And here I had you pegged for not passing up the chance to knock me around some more.”

  “It may be one of the most fun things I’ve done in some time.” Arwin cracked the beginnings of a smile. It wasn’t much. But it was more emotion—positive emotion—than Vi had seen from her so far. The expression faded as quickly as it came, and Arwin looked between her and the door before starting toward a cabinet in the back of the room instead. “Come here.”

  Vi obliged her. Toward the back of the room, near the archery targets, was a tall cabinet. All manner of vial and supplies housed within. Vi knew a clerical stash when she saw one. Arwin selected a small jar.

  “Drink this now, and then we’re taking you to Sarphos for him to give you something stronger. You’re still skin and bones and will be far too achy tomorrow to do anything if you don’t take steps to ease the pain now.”

  “So we are sparring again tomorrow?” She was excited at the prospect, but the deep ache in her body tempered the fact. Vi leaned the scythe against the wall to take the jar from Arwin and sniff the thick, amber colored liquid inside.

  “I said we’ll see.” Arwin wiped sweat from her face using the bottom of her shirt. “Though, I still suspect there’s another, better way for you to use that thing… There must be. I can’t imagine a goddess would outfit her warrior with something not designed for fighting.”

  Vi looked at the scythe as she took a long sip of the liquid. It was cloyingly sweet and as thick as honey—perhaps it was just honey with herbs and salves swirled within. But there was a distinct medicinal aftertaste that was so bitter on the back of her palette that Vi was glad for the sweetness.

  “I wish I knew,” Vi murmured. She was staring at a crystal weapon. A real, complete, legendary crystal weapon. She could feel its power, even now, thrumming quietly. It whispered secrets to her, inviting her to uncover them. Yet it spoke in a language she couldn’t understand. Perhaps Arwin was right and there was some way to change the weapon. There was so much potential waiting to be unlocked, but Vi didn’t even know where to start. “Unfortunately, the only people who may be able to help me are the Faithful.”

  Arwin leaned against the wall, an almost lazy, deadly smile playing at her lips. “Suggest going to the Faithful in my presence again and die.”

  “Why do you hate them so much?” She’d asked Sarphos. It was time to hear Arwin’s answer… and hope it was something more significant than “because they’re monsters.”

  Arwin searched her face as if Vi was hiding the answer to her own question somewhere on it. Finally, “You truly know nothing of the morphi and Meru, do you?”

  “I imagine I only know slightly more than you know of the Dark Isle,” Vi lied. She would bet she knew vastly more than Arwin knew of the Dark Isle, thanks to Taavin and Sarphos’s information. But in the grand scheme of things, that was precious little.

  “Fair.” Arwin sighed, closing her eyes. When she spoke, it was the first time Vi didn’t feel as though she was being spoken down to, or threatened. “The seeds of the hatred were sown about a thousand years ago, not long after the Great War between the entities they call the Goddess Yargen and the God Raspian.”

  “Entities?” Vi interrupted quickly. “So, you don’t think they’re actually divine?” Arwin surprised her with a shrug.

  “Don’t know. I’ve never seen them. They must be powerful if all the stories are true… But I could be a powerful goddess to a beetle.” Her eyes drifted to the scythe. “That weapon, however ill designed it is, combined with the tears and the plague—it all makes a compelling argument for these supposed gods’ might. But I don’t know if I could confidently say something is divine when I saw it. So how can I trust someone else’s claims?”

  Vi hadn’t considered it that way, and it was almost painful to do so. Some things about her world vision weren’t ready to be challenged. Especially not when so much was already cast in doubt. “Well, that being what it is… you were saying? After this great war and the morphi?”

  “Yes, well… Yargen and Raspian are said to have battled
countless times—starting different eras of light and dark. After their last row, Yargen won dominion over the world—so the Faithful claim—and was seated in Risen for a time. In the aftermath, the elfin’ra were exiled from Meru and locked away on their island as punishment for their support of Raspian. Much like the morphi, their magic was seen as fundamentally twisted. The race of the draconis were eventually cast off as well… though that didn’t happen for a couple centuries.”

  “Did the draconis help Raspian?” Vi had yet to hear of this particular people.

  “Some did, some didn’t. Find me a whole race of people who’s entirely good or entirely evil and I’ll eat my boot. But it didn’t matter what they did. It mattered what people said. And people say a lot in the years following world-changing events.

  “The core of Yargen’s followers, the early Faithful, claim the draconis are descended from Raspian’s great dragon, crafted by the god himself. They also say the morphi are tainted by Raspian as well, since our magic is said to derive from twilight—neither here, nor there—the moment when the sun gives up its hold to the darkness where Raspian thrives.”

  “But the twilight could also be the dawn,” Vi contested.

  “Thank you!” Arwin threw her hands in the air. “I’m pleased to see you have some sense. Certainly not a Faithful after all.”

  “So that’s why you hate the Faithful? Because they have unfairly labeled your people as allies of Raspian?”

  “If only that was the extent of it.” A frown lined Arwin’s face. “Around twenty, thirty years ago, the Faithful grew bolder and far more wicked. They were always bad, but they didn’t have the power they have now. They increased their hold on Meru—on Queen Lumeria herself. They justified their actions by saying the word of Yargen had changed, and the people believed them. They were the first ones to say the end of the world was coming and, as a result, they were more active in cleansing those who would seek to aid Raspian.”

  “Cleansing?” Vi said the word slowly. It had a horrible taste.