Collision: The Battle for Darracia - Book 2 (The Darracia Saga) (3 page)

“Get down, you pestilent beast.” His mother playfully hit Felise on her back. “You spoil her, Vsos. She shouldn’t be out here.”

“She was your idea.”

“I thought you might need a friend,” Reminda told him, then added softly, “I know I did.”

“You miss him, Mo’mo.”

“You have no idea, Vsos. It’s like there is a great hole inside of me.” She grew quiet, examining the dark plains of her son’s face. He was all sharp angles; the sweet softness of youth disappeared with his lost innocence. He was not the same since his father’s murder. None of them were. His boyhood had flown with the destruction of her dreams. “Such is life, Vsos. We are born, we serve, and then our anima leaves.”

“Our anima?”

“Your soul.”

“A rather empty existence, don’t you think?”

“I would give up ten lifetimes to have shared what I did with your father, Vsos. I discarded everything I knew for him—my home, my family.” She turned to face him. “And he gave me you. And you gave me Tulani.” She looked out at the Desa, her iridescent eyes narrowing. “Now if only she would finish what she needs to do, come back here, and give me some grandchildren.”

“Yes,” V’sair agreed. “If only.”

“Have you thought about the coronation?” Reminda asked briskly, trying to change the mood. She observed her son’s strong shoulders, the light growth of a white beard on his chin. He was no longer a pliable child. This topic was a sore spot. V’sair first refused the ceremony due to the depth of mourning in the court. Many times General Swart had brought it up, but V’sair clearly wasn’t interested. Reminda knew it was something he must do, but now her son could not be forced.

“It feels strange, Mother. I don’t know if I am ready for it.”

“Your father would have wanted you to be crowned,” she told him. “This is our way; you were born to be his successor,” she added fiercely.

“It doesn’t feel right.” V’sair looked back at the dormant volcano, his eyes distant.

“He is not coming back, Vsos. You must declare your place.”

“I will consider it, Mo’mo,” he responded forlornly. They stood together watching the day wane and the four moons of Darracia climb the horizon. Gresh chirped their mournful love call nearby, while they both sat in comfortable silence.

“Are you hungry yet?” Reminda asked, ever the mother.

“I suppose,” V’sair answered, distracted by a spinning luminescence in the growing twilight. Felise barked loudly at it, racing down the balcony
chasing the blazing light. He followed the comet’s arc. “Fon Reni,” he said softly. A thought struck him, and he suddenly knew where his half brother had gone. His blue eyes lit up for the first time in weeks.

“What is it?” Reminda asked.

“That’s where my brother is,” he realized with wonder as he watched the comet’s tail light up the night sky. “He must be there. It is where I would go if I could. That’s where he’s staying. He went to Fon Reni—he loves it there.”

“Will you go to him?’

“No.” V’sair shook his head. “I can’t leave here.”

“Surely, for a few days…”

“No, Mo’mo.” He sighed heavily. “There is too much unrest. There was an incident…”

“Oh,” Reminda raised a delicate eyebrow, “I hadn’t heard.”

“I just got the report. General Swart captured a group of malcontents.”

“Go on,” Reminda urged.

“They were plotting an assassination. I didn’t want you to know.”

Reminda gasped, her face paling.

“Oh, Mo’mo. There was no reason to alarm you. We have it all under control. It’s just the…the people are so very unhappy.” V’sair looked miserable.

Oh Drakko
, Reminda thought sadly,
what have we bequeathed to our son? Why couldn’t we just run away and make a life for ourselves? Why did we decide to take on the world and change it?

“Please don’t worry. It’s been handled.” V’sair gave his mother a lopsided grin. “You know it comes with the job description. Besides, if Zayden is there, he wants to be alone. He is working things out, and once he finds what he needs, he will come home.”

“You are so sure?” Reminda knew she was going to try to find a way to contact Zayden. His brother needed him now. Enough of his self-pity, she needed him to protect her son, his king.

“I know Zayden. He loves Fon Reni. You never saw that side of him when we were there. Fon Reni is his spot. You understand?” V’sair asked.

Reminda nodded her head. “Yes.”

“If he is there, he will find his peace.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will not return until he does,” V’sair told her with decisively. His breath caught in his chest, and he touched the area over his heart. “He will be coming home, I think. No…I know. He will be coming soon.”

“You see. I told you things will fall into place.” Reminda didn’t know if she was assuring her son or herself.

“Soon,” V’sair answered her absently. “Yes, soon.”

They entered the castle, walking arm in arm to the throne room, Felise trailing after them. The fire blazed, it’s incandescence throwing sparks behind the giant fire screen he had installed after his mother and aunt had rolled into the blaze. It heated the room mightily, but a dart of apprehension curled up V’sair’s spine making him shiver involuntarily.

“What is it?” his mother asked anxiously, her concerned eyes searching his face.

“I don’t know. I felt something, just for a minute.”

“What?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper over the soft music playing in the room.

V’sair’s eyes scanned the many groups clustered in the room. It remained a court in mourning. So many of them had lost members of their families when his uncle engineered a coup taking over the planet and killing his father. No one wore anything but white, the official color of mourning. Even the armed forces
still wore the badge of white on their sleeves to mark that the year had not ended. Though Quyroo were invited, they rarely came to his court. The Darracians barely tolerated them. Old wounds healed slowly.

“A feeling, Mo’mo. Just a feeling.” He narrowed his gaze. “As though someone just danced on my grave.”

“Stop!” Reminda took his hands. “Don’t even think like that. Come,” she snapped at the musician, “play something lively. This court has had enough sadness.” She held up her webbed hand to stop him. “No, wait, we have mourned enough. It is time to cast off our whites.” She motioned to her new serving girl. “Come, Tosha. Attend me. I will change.” She looked hard at her son. “It’s time to move forward with your father’s plans. I will be right back. Do not speak of graves to me again, my son.”

The flutist looked at the king, who nodded his head, and the music took on a light, playful sound.
Conversations picked up, and Reminda smiled. “You will excuse me, Your Majesty.” She curtsied solemnly.

V’sair bowed deeply. “As you wish, Mother.” He watched her leave the room, followed by a group of chattering females excited to wear colors once again.

He looked at the thinned lips and impatient glare of General Swart, took a deep breath, and tried to dispel his unease. He strolled over to his throne and sat down, Felise flopping at his feet, her cheeks resting on his thigh, while he absently stroked her head. For his mother’s sake, he would not mention it again, but while they could get rid of the mourning white, no amount of color was going to make this feeling of foreboding go away.

Chapter 3

Tulani rolled on the floor, her arms crusted with dirt and a bit of red mud. She was in a circle, naked save for her loincloth, which was torn and matted with dried blood. A steady drizzle had turned the red dust to a viscous mud that coated everything. It was twice as hard to fight in the slippery muck, and Tulani had the wounds to prove its danger. Long scratches grazed her arms, and her braids lay tangled on her back. She wished for a moment she had allowed Bobbien to tie them into a knot on her head.

Both her and her opponent’s bodies were slick with sweat, as well as the moisture from the incessant rain. The fire turned their skin orange. She hefted the long pole she held in her hands, brandishing it again at the man who thought to conquer her. Seren lunged, and Tulani whacked him hard on the shins. It would leave a bad bruise there. She smiled, thinking he would curse her mightily tomorrow. Several of the elders crowed, while many females clanged the
bells they held over their heads.

This was not a fair fight, but it never was. Most marriages were arranged by the eldest member of a clan. Tulani had no clan; her parents were dead, murdered by Staf Nuen’s son, leaving Tulani and her grandmother alone. Bobbien would never give Tulani away. She wanted her granddaughter to choose her own mate. Seren, son of the wealthiest Quyroo clan, had decided he wanted Tulani. They had met before the Quyroo league, and Tulani had insisted on her right of a Vorged, a battle until one combatant surrendered to the will of the other. She was in the seventh hour of the battle. Seren was as strong as he was stubborn, and no matter how she managed to clobber his thick head with her pole, he lumbered on, getting up, steely determination in his star-shaped eyes.

Sighing inwardly, she wondered where this desire to live here and study with Bobbien came from when her heart yearned for V’sair. The king was angry with her. She had told him she needed time. Trust
between her and the Quyroo had to be forged. V’sair and his family’s dreams of a peaceful planet would be nothing but a mirage in the distance, if she couldn’t get the support of her species. They simply would not trust her. Building their faith in her as a medicine woman as well as their greatest representative was an uphill battle fraught with enemies at every corner. Why couldn’t they see her intent? She had only their best interests at heart. She could be their greatest advocate, she thought angrily.

She was still an outcast. Despite how many babies she delivered safely, bones she set to be perfect once more, or purges she created to banish illness, they treated her with mistrust and contempt. She had returned to the volcano, but Ozre also remained elusive. She tried to organize the Quyroo, show them how to use the Darracian system she knew so well to achieve equality, but they failed to follow her once the volcano ceased its eruption. Now she stayed with Bobbien, going from tree to tree, learning her birthright, studying the plants and their uses in
healing. She should have slipped something into this big lummox’s drink earlier, and maybe this battle would be over.

“I will have you, Tulani,” he told her through gritted teeth. “I will have you or die trying.”

“You know I love another,” Tulani taunted back.

“Who said anything about love?” They circled each other, their breaths ragged, chests heaving with effort. Seren bared his white teeth, his huge chest glistening with sweat. His discarded Darracian uniform lay in a damp heap on the Desa floor. He was the first to join the Darracian Army, despite his father’s anger. He had more ambition than the whole Quyroo league. Only those close to the fire stay warm, he told his father. He wanted to be in the center of the blaze. He was learning things, meeting the right contacts. When Darracia changed he expected to be front and center. Seren knew that having Tulani as his mate would ensure promotion within that army. If V’sair wanted to see the girl, he
would have to keep Seren at his side. He looked at her long legs and trim figure. If anybody was going to enjoy her beautiful body, it was going to be him, and him alone. She was a Quyroo and belonged with him, not a half-breed mongrel. “You need protection, Tulani,” Seren sneered. “I am here to take care of you.”

Tulani laughed. “I can take care of myself!” She charged at him, her pole slamming the side of his head, then poked him deeply in the stomach. Seren attacked her by grabbing her by the upper forearms and squeezing until her world appeared to narrow into a twirling tunnel. He banged her in the head with his forehead; stars floated before her eyes. She felt her weapon going slack in her hands and would have lost it, if not for the shout that pulled her back. Bobbien was screaming for her to kick straight ahead. He was just out of her reach, so she tossed the pole, swinging back and forth, building momentum, waiting for the moment Seren’s guard went down.

She went slightly slack, let her eyes roll, and
watched Seren’s face light up with triumph. He brought her toward him, his lips pursed for a victory kiss, when she lashed out, connecting mightily with his manhood. Seren screamed, his eyes closed with pain. Tulani jumped free, grabbed her pole, and smashed it against his head, smiling satisfactorily as the giant went face down into the mud. Seren moaned as he rolled onto his side, his face contorted with pain mixed with hatred. Tulani put her small foot at the base of his spine, forcing him to go onto his stomach. “I hope minKays are satisfied?” She addressed the Quyroo league respectfully, using their title with an elegant bow. They were observing from a low-hanging branch. Most were smiling, but for a large Quyroo on the end, Seren’s father Jokin.

Seren’s forearms shook with weakness as he tried to push himself off the ground. Tulani slammed him hard in the shoulder, grimacing with triumph when Seren’s breath escaped in a gusty exhalation. She then pushed hard, watching with a satisfied smile as Seren fell face forward onto the red dirt floor. “You
won nothing, Tulani. I will have you yet,” he growled through gritted teeth.

The head of the council grunted as he slid off the tree, approached Tulani, and raised her hand to the cries of the female Quyroo’s. “She has proven she needs no protector.”

The other older Quyroo in the league agreed with nods, save Seren’s sire, Jokin, who angrily shook his red fist. “It is unseemly for a maiden to be free. Even Darracians protect the females. What is this world coming to?” he spat at his defeated son, who hung his head shamefully.

“I am not a timid maiden,” Tulani shouted back, fighting the chills from the colder air on her wet skin. Water ran in rivulets down her long arms and legs to pool on the red Desa floor. “I will not be owned, not by Quyroo or Darracian. I am the high priestess.”

“One trick does not a priestess make,” Jokin snapped back. He hated Tulani and her prince. He still
blamed them for his brother Jonis’s death. Jonis had gone to the cloud city for peace talks, against his wishes, and was the first to be beheaded by Staf Nuen, the king’s traitorous brother. The old man trusted no one. “Make the rain stop, Tulani,” he shouted. “Make it stop rotting the Randam crystals.” He stalked closer to her, his face drenched from the moisture, water dripping from his nose and chin. “This is punishment from the Elements, the time of rain.”