by Jamie Ott
Right as he picked up the bow, a shot exploded. He spun around.
Julius was fine. He held the sword upward. A little ding was in the blade. A look of surprise was in his eyes.
Uncle Bally shot again.
Quicker than he could see, Julius moved the sword lower, to his belly, and blocked the bullet, which ricocheted off and into a tree.
Jacko hurried to ready an arrow when he stabbed the sword, quickly, into his uncle’s gut.
Uncle Bally didn’t even see it coming.
He fell to the ground.
Jacko should have released the arrow, but seeing his uncle get a deadly blow stunned him for a moment. A ringing deafened his ears; a buzzing covered his entire body. His hands shook with rage.
He released the arrow, but missed.
Julius looked at Jacko.
A buzzing sensation ran all over his body again; his arms and legs shook. He looked at his hand and saw that it glowed white. Around his hand, he saw particles moving within and without his skin.
Instinct, or a distant memory, told him what to do next. He raised his glowing hand to the sky and called electrons, and told them to obey him.
Next second, lightning came from the sky. Julius ducked just as it tried to strike him. The ground blew out, covering him in dirt.
“Did you do that?” he shrieked. “They told me you were strong. Well, be ready, because it’s time for me to train. I will see you again!”
He took off running.
Jacko followed him out of basin area, through trembling bushes, and past the orange trees.
He sent several arrows off, all of which missed. Julius was simply too fast.
Then he jumped off the cliff.
Jacko looked over the side, and sent a slew of arrows at him, all of which scattered aimlessly down.
He couldn’t believe what just happened. Motionless, he stood, staring down as Julius plummeted to the ground, yet disappeared right as he was about to make impact. Then he reminded himself he didn’t have time to think; he needed to get to his uncle.
Back at the basin, the bats were standing by his head cooing.
Jacko fell to the ground.
“I’m so sorry, Uncle. I should have known,” he cried.
“How were you to know when not even I could tell he was scum. Don’t blame yourself, he was good, before. Something happened to him when we got here; that something turned him. We suspected something was wrong, but we trusted him because he was our friend.”
He coughed up a mass of blood.
Jacko couldn’t hold back the flood in his eyes.
“Don’t cry, now, it’s time to be a man.”
“I can’t help it. I keep losing everyone.”
“Losing people’s a part of war.”
“I’ll never trust anyone, never again.”
“Don’t say that. You can’t shut people out; you can’t go it alone. No one can. Just be more careful, next time. But don’t think for one moment that you can do this alone. I don’t care what the gods tell you.”
Then he had a flash back to when his mother visited him, back in Mariton.
“Actually, I think I can save you. I just need a moment. Watch him,” he said to the imps.
As fast as he could, he pounded the dirt back to where their camp used to be. But it was so messed up that he couldn’t find his bag. He needed to hurry!
He tossed up some fallen trees, and when he found nothing, began digging through the pile of dirt that was now where he used to sleep.
A few minutes later, he pulled the strap of his bag from out of the dirt. He tugged and tugged, slowly dragging it through the compounded earth.
Once he pulled it out, he opened the flap and dug through, tossing everything out.
There they were: the figs his mother gave him.
The figs, she told him, were a symbol of life. Commonly mistaken for fruit, the edible fig was really the female counterpart of the male fig tree, and its “fruit” was really an inverted flower.
In the old days, and even in heaven, the golden fig orchard was what kept the circle of energy that supported life, running like an engine. Not only did the orchard give blessings, but its golden fruit could preserve life.
Fast enough to give himself a stich, he pelted back to Uncle Bally, who had passed out.
No time to waste. He ripped one of the figs a part, pried open Uncle Bally’s mouth, smeared the flower inside and waited a minute.
Nothing happened. Uncle Bally remained still.
He shook him, but he didn’t respond.
Just as he was about to open another fig, Uncle Bally quivered and turned dark brown.
Suddenly, his body started to transform.
The bats flew back out of the way.
His body elongated, and then contorted skyward. Little brown striations, sort of like a prune, etched themselves in his skin.
As this went on, he looked more and more like the trunk of a tree.
Jacko thought he’d be sick.
Branches extended outward with leaves, and heavily with figs.
The ground rumbled as roots grew out its side and jammed their way down into the ground.
Jacko cried.
The Sacrifice
Chapter 12
His spiritual father appeared behind him. Jacko felt his presence without having to look and see.
“Can you bring him back?”
He struggled to get the words out because his throat was too tight.
“No, sorry, Jacko.”
“What about when this is over? I mean, he was killed by a demon, one of us, like Aurora said.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“I don’t get it; I thought the figs would preserve him.”
“The figs, your mother gave you, are from the same orchard that you and I visited. While they bestow power on the living, they plant the dead. This is your sacrifice.”
“You mean, he was already dead? And I missed him die?”
He didn’t respond.
“Is he in the fountain?”
“That’s where all souls go, but you’ll see him again. Just not in this lifetime.”
Jacko didn’t know how to respond, so his father continued, “In the meantime, be happy that his life meant something.”
“What does that mean, Lucem?!” he asked through clenched teeth.
“This is the sacrifice you were to make.”
“Why him? He has nothing to do with this war! He should have died an old man in a bomb shelter, not like this.”
“On the contrary, he has everything to do with this war. He always has.”
Jacko turned to look at him.
“We keep telling you; we’ve all been here before. Your mother told you that when the martyrs cease to be reborn, the Earth is no longer saved. He must go on!”
But Jacko shook his head, vigorously, because he didn’t care.
“He’s saved the world before. He’s right where he’s supposed to be, right now. That part is over and now it’s your turn.”
“Why is that?”
But Lucem didn’t have time to answer because a succession of blasts came, ending in one so violent that the next thing he knew, he was falling.
~~~
He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. Something painfully heavy pinned him down. He tried to lift his arms and his legs, but they didn’t obey.
Something painfully pressed into his gut and lungs. Though he tried to inhale, his chest only barely pushed up against something crushing his chest in.
Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. His heart sped out of control. He tried scream, but couldn’t because his lungs were crushed.
He blacked out.
~~~
The sound of shifting rock woke him.
Immediately, he felt relief of the impression on his chest.
Happiness filled him; he wasn’t dead. If only whoever was moving the rock would hurry. He couldn�
�t stand being buried another minute.
The shifting continued; the sound of moving dirt and rock got louder until light reached through the mass that covered him, and bled through his eyelids.
He opened his eyes and saw, through a large partition of dirt and rock, the wine colored sky.
Come on! he said to himself, and pushed hard against the rubble.
Finally, he emerged and breathed a happy lungful of fresh air, only to go into hyperventilation upon looking around.
There, he knelt at the top of a pile of debris that was the size of a mountain. Realizing this, and wondering where all of it came from, he suddenly remembered that he was on the summit.
Gingerly, he walked to the edge of the rubble.
Down below, demons and gods fought, ferociously. Blood spattered the ground, as did bodies and detached limbs.
He turned 180 degrees, and behind him, saw the summit, only it wasn’t a full mountain anymore. Now, it was simply a rock pole, and on top, his uncle’s tree; it was the only thing left.
END
Lost and want to play catch up?
Be sure to checkout Adventures of Jacko the Conjurer: Red Skies, Blue Skies.
Scheduled for release 2013 - 2014:
Adventures of Jacko the Conjurer: Red Lands
More information:
Adventures of Jacko the Conjurer is an epic fantasy series about a boy who’s been doomed to save the world for longer than he can remember. In this series of tales, follow Jacko as he struggles, once more, to commit to saving the world, but with one difference: this time will be the final and last sacrifice.
LYSSA
VAMPIN Book Series #13
By Jamie Ott
Copyright 2011 Jamie Ott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used without written permission.
Publication Date: 7/21/2012
For all inquiries, please contact [email protected].
Warrior Princess
Chapter 1
The King walked down the line, saying his goodbyes to everyone. When he got to Lyssa, he reminded her, for the thousandth time, to stay out of the armory because it was no place for a young woman.
Everyone pretended not to know that she was his daughter. The King said it was for her protection, but she knew it was really because of Andrada.
She hated Lyssa.
Every chance she could, she’d hound the King about sending her away. But the King loved Lyssa’s mother more than he’d ever loved a mortal woman. That’s why he honored his promise by making Lyssa a Lady of the house.
“Be good, Lyssa,” the King said.
He embraced her, and then kissed her cheek. Leaning in just slightly, he whispered, “I love you, my goddess. You’re more precious than gold.”
He kissed her one more time.
Lyssa didn’t want to look at him. She was mad because he never listened to her. But she turned her eyes up from the gravel, anyway.
“I love you, too,” she said.
He heaved up onto his horse.
They watched as he and his officers made their way down the palace’s windy mountain road.
Lyssa turned to go inside, but not before catching the gaze of her stepmother and her half brother, Celius.
Murderous.
They had no reason to look so. Every king in history had his concubines. Since illegitimate children had no claim to the kingdom, neither Lyssa nor her other half-brother, Dracus, was a threat.
He leaned his arm around her shoulder, and they walked back inside the palace.
“Did you talk to him?” Dracus asked.
“Yes, and he hardly believed me when I told him about the letter Andrada received from Imperator Trajan. He said he talked to her, but I’m sure she put on her sweet, fetching smile,” she replied.
They walked over the threshold and down the hall to the library.
“Father was always blind to women, thinking they’re unintelligent creatures. ‘But what about Cleopatra?’ I asked. ‘A harlot queen,’ he says. She never could’ve ruled Egypt without Julius or Mark.”
“Dracus, do not call him Father,” she said, sitting in her cathedra.
“Why not? We’re alone.”
He walked across the room to the clay jug and poured himself some mead.
“Because if you slip, like I did by calling him father in front of the senators, he’ll have you put in the carceral.”
Ignoring her, he said, “Come on, Lys,” as he sometimes called her for short. “Let’s practice making petards.”
“The King says if I’m caught in the armory once more, I’m to be barred in my room.”
“You mustn’t listen. The Romans will be coming for us, sooner or later.
You have to understand that though Father is a fairly good man, he has an extremely large ego.
Since he was born, he’s been told that he’s next to godliness. Because he can’t let go of these silly ideologies, the Romans will take him.
Now, maybe we’ll be lucky because hardly anyone knows who we are, but we need to be prepared to fight our way out of the castle. Just in case something should happen to me, you need to be prepared to fight alone.”
“What makes you think the Romans will come again?”
“Rome wants there to be no more kings. Now the only reason they’ve allowed our father to remain is because of Andrada’s persuasion, and Father’s promised new allegiance to Rome. That’s soon to change, as pressure from Rome to take Dacia increases, and especially as Father won’t renounce his title. Taking this rich land, and Andrada for his concubine, will be another honor for him.”
“The King will fight them off. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.”
“All lies, Lyssa. I was there when we fought. He tells the people we won the battles to keep up morale, the support of the people and the army, but Rome could have taken us anytime.
Father, with his pride, rather than conform to the ways of Rome for the sake of his people, must show off, must be sovereign. He won’t accept that he is no longer a king, and that is why they will come for him,” he sighed. “Once Imperator Trajan comes, all Andrada will have to do is point her finger, and we’re dead.”
~~~
Later that night, she took dinner alone in her room on the hearth.
Her quarters were bland. A couple hanging tapestries covered the wood walls. In the center was a canopied wooden bed with stuffed and sewn up cloths.
Over mulled wine and sheep’s stomach with honey and cheese, she imagined what would become of her beloved Sarmizegetusa.
The Romans had a history of destroying capital cities, with especial ill regard to temples and universities, often burning them to the ground. Great countries had already lost so much history and learning. The thought of such things happening to her city made her sick.
She sipped her wine and sighed.
The fire crackled.
Her brother was right, she said to herself. Although King Decebalus didn’t believe it, his time would come to an end.
Lyssa wondered what her future would be.
Where would she go when the time came? Would she end up a peasant, a servant, or a slave?
What if she decided not to flee the palace? Would she be beaten, dragged through the city and executed?
Bastard or no, it wasn’t common practice that any living descendants of a king should survive, lest he should declare himself King and exact his revenge when the conqueror least expected.
Dracus promised he’d always come for her; that she was all the family he had. But Lyssa knew that he was a terrible combatant. Even when the King sent him to the infantry, he’d likely be a councilman.
“So that’s it,” she said to herself. “I must leave before they come.”
The sound of the palace gates being drawn distracted her from her thoughts.
She set her bread down and walked to the open shutter.
Her brother’s shield bounced a ray of moonlight into her eye
, as he rode down the mountain.
Every time he left, she got scared. One day, if the Romans didn’t come soon, she’d be gone by the time he got back. Her stepmother would see to it.
She went to her special hiding place behind her favorite red tapestry.
Lyssa drew back the canvas and wiggled out the 10x4 inch piece of wood. Inside laid her favorite knife, a baselard, and the morning star her brother forged for her.
The baselard was sheathed by a scabbard that Lyssa had sewn into a set of straps. She rolled up her sleeve and tied the straps around her arm.
When the blade was secured, she grabbed the morning star and replaced the wood.
Lyssa returned to the fire and resumed her dining.
When alone in the palace with her stepmother and Celius, it was a wise practice to keep some weapons close. Lyssa was stronger than most humans, but she could still be overcome in numbers.
Dracus made the morning star especially for her. It was a small spiked metal ball with a chain that was attached to a foot long wood handle. He reinforced the handle with a sheet of metal.
One thing her brother was superb at was making weapons and glass jewelry. The King said it was beneath him, however, and banned him from returning to the smiths.
Lyssa was irritated because Dracus was going to visit his mistress.
He knew she hated it when he left her alone, especially when the King was gone. It was at those times she felt most vulnerable.
“Lyssa,” he told her, once. “Andrada will only be coming for you when no one is around, and when you are vulnerable,” he stressed. “She’ll always be waiting, and you must always be ready.”
He was right, but his frequent absences could give Andrada an opportunity to get rid of her sooner rather than later.
Lyssa wasn’t ready to leave the palace, yet. She wanted to stay as long as possible. And it wasn’t just the fear of going out, alone, in the world as a peasant that held her back, but it was the idea of never seeing her father or brother again. Even if the King was in denial, all of their lives had an expiration that was nearing.
Simply, Lyssa loved her brother and father. She wanted to make the most of the time they had left, together.
~~~
That night, when Lyssa settled into bed, she followed the procedure advised by her brother. She left two candles burning, put a pair of sandals by her bed, and hid her weapons under her pillow. If the castle were to be stormed, she’d be ready to go.