Elementis 1: The Heir to the Stone (11 page)

Uly was pleased that Jonas was taking an interest, "Every king for over a thousand years that has protected the Elementis from the Zohr and other evils."

"Others?" Jonas said, finding that he wished to know more of the history of these men.

The king walked past a few statues along from where he stood and looked face to face at a striking warrior king, "In the reign of Krow, the 8th king of Enterra, an entire race of draka attacked and were destroyed. One of the bloodiest battles our history has seen," Uly said, turning to Jonas, whose face was full of intrigue. "The protection of the Elementis grows an ever more important task as the story of the stones power filters amongst the galaxies." He paused to make his final point. "Evil will forever seek this power. However, the greatest threat remains on our own doorstep."

Jonas looked down to the ground, the intrigue on his face turned to remorse. "I cannot do it, Uly," he said, realising that this was all about persuading him to play along.

Uly looked down into nothingness, towards the ground, "Yes, I had a feeling you’d say that." He looked up and gazed at his sons handsome face. "There is so much pain in the eyes of these men. I do not blame you for refusing. Who would really want such a life, if it were a choice? But call me, Father, won't you?"

"Okay, Father" said Jonas, staring into the eyes of the man before him, accepting that there may yet be a chance of his father not being as terrible as he had first thought.

*

Calyx stood beside the Zohr, looking out over a stone seated amphitheatre filled with thousands of fantoms cheering for blood. On the sandy floor of a central arena, several beasts lay dead with their blood surrounding their inferior souls. Three beasts remained standing, prowling in a circle, eyeing up the next attack.

General Mutus approached from behind. He presented himself with a bow of his head. "My Zohr, the princess has been captured. She is being held at the palace."

The Zohr looked around to Mutus and lifted an evil top lip with the thought of the cythereans having a little more leverage over them. "Exactly where I need her to be," he said.

"I want her back," Mutus told him.

The Zohr turned his old neck back to the death match, "In good time," he said. "They will not harm her while we have young Calyx. Their games will only assist us in our struggle."

The battle of beasts continued in the arena stirring excitement from the crowd. A brown, long-furred creature picked up a war hammer that lay buried in the dirt,  swinging it down intent on killing a black-skinned, tusked beast. He missed as the black beast twisted away from the strike. The Zohr watched on expressionless. Calyx, had no idea why he had been brought to watch what he saw as the pointless blood sports of the Zohr's pets. Once again he was amazed by the level of excitement the fantoms showed as they cheered on the murderous aggression down in the arena.

Mutus waited for the crowd to quieten. "There is another matter; a boy, the twin brother of the prince. Willow tells me he has been brought here as the protector."

Calyx twisted his head to look at the scowl on Mutus's face, "I don't have a brother!" he stuttered in all sincerity.

"Your father is not as honest as you assume," the Zohr drove into Calyx. He waved Mutus away. "It is of no matter. This boy, whoever he is, will be of no use to the cythereans."

Mutus bowed without a word and left the arena.

The Zohr leant closer to Calyx. "It seems you are no longer of any importance to your father," he said.

"My father will do what is best for our people," said Calyx.

"And that means forgetting about his son?"

"Whatever is necessary," Calyx replied.

"You are obviously not necessary… Not to him," the Zohr snarled, placing a gauntleted forearm around Calyx's shoulders. "But you are to me," he said, with a tone of ugly sweetness.

The brown, long-furred creature knocked down a larger white-coated beast with his war hammer. He lifted the hammer with two strong arms above his head intent on finishing the white thing off and roared with power. He swung the hammer down with speed. The white beast stretched out an arm, grabbing a ring-sword that lay hidden in the sand by his side, moving it in front of him the arms of the brown-haired assassin sliced off and fell to the ground. The dark, tusked animal struck the killer blow from behind, sinking a spiked mace into the skull of the armless beast. The crowd roared with joy as the bloodied brown animal fell heavily to its death.

Calyx looked up to the grey face of the leader beside him. The Zohr's words may have carried some truth. It was possible that his father didn't care about him anymore. Calyx wasn't sure if he'd ever cared about anything else but protecting the stone. Was it true? Did he have a brother that his father had never told him about? It couldn't be. Why would his father do that to him? But then why would his father leave him in this place? Confusion raged in the boy's eyes.

The Zohr looked only at Calyx, watching the fight in the arena through the eyes of ten thousand soldiers. "Mark my words," he said, with a hideous silver stare, "the dark beast will win!"

Calyx looked down to the arena and the battle between dark and light. The black-skinned beast swung his mace, knocking away the ring sword from the clutches of the opponent still kneeling on the ground. Simultaneously he swung his mace in one hand and a long-handled battle axe in the other, chopping into the stomach and neck of the white-coated beast and wrenching the weapons back out of his tough leather skin. The white beast slumped with an outward breath, lost of all energy, accepting his death was upon him. The black barbarian threw down his weapons onto the dusty arena floor. He took a step closer and placed his hands around the white neck. He twisted off his head with a violent yank and held it dripping by a scruff of white hair as the body fell away to the ground. He turned to each corner of the arena lifting the head up, and beating his chest with victory. The fantoms erupted in delight.

"The darkness always wins," the Zohr declared, with an absolute coldness that fed deep into Calyx's skin.

The Zohr stepped forward as a platform began to rise him up, lifting him high above the arena. He held out two outstretched palms to quieten the crowd. The over excited soldiers hushed to a bumbling silence.

"My children!" the Zohr announced, opening his arms to them.

Every fantom in the crowd stamped a foot and stood to attention. "Zohr!" they returned in instant respect.

"We welcome the lukran amongst us."

The black beast in the arena let out an almighty roar, returned by the fantoms.

"He shall be gifted with a metal heart this night and created thousands of times over."

The soldiers erupted once more; their army was at its strongest. The fear they would bring to their enemy fuelled their thirst for death.

The Zohr hushed them down to leave them with a final thought. "The war is coming. Blood will be yours!"

Chapter IX

The Lesson

Jonas and Witakker walked side by side down a white hallway. Jonas looked around at the brightness of the high corridor walls, admiring the glass-covered roof which he would always associate with one of the first things he saw when he arrived on this planet. Witakker smiled down at the boy. He looked almost passable as a prince in a clean-cut, blue and white flight-suit with his hair looking neater than usual.

Jonas caught the end of Witakker's smile. "I don’t see why you can’t just say where we’re going," Jonas frowned to Witakker.

"Patience is a strong ally in many situations Jonas. Unfortunately you don’t have any," teased Witakker, mocking the poor discipline that Jonas had never been taught.

The pair walked out onto the landing bay. Hundreds of mark-12 dekapods and an array of space-carriers lined the hangar. Skylark sat waiting amongst them. Spectrum, Menace, Goldheart, Cortex and an energy-chained Willow stood beside the ship.

Jonas spoke quietly out of the side of his mouth to Witakker. "Please tell me that wherever we're going, they're not all coming!"

Spectrum heard the mumble. "Wherever you go, we go," he said. He pointed across to Willow. "And wherever we go, she goes!"

Cortex chipped in. "And since you go where she goes, we all get to spend so much quality time together!" he mused, making it clear to Jonas that they didn't like the fact he had spent too much time with Willow, their enemy.

"Yes, yes—everyone on board, and do play nicely!" said Witakker, talking down to them all like children.

Jonas didn't care too much. He was glad that Willow was being held at the palace. He saw something in her that the others seemed to overlook. And besides, she taught Jonas more about the use of his mind than any of the cythereans were able to do, even more so than Witakker. He hadn't nearly mastered telepathy yet but Willow gave him faith that he was doing something right by saying she could hear his voice come and go whenever they practiced. It seemed that the higher the level of brain activity there was, the more effective the transmissions. If Jonas tensed all of his body or flooded his mind with questions while trying to speak through thought, then his words would transmit clearer. It baffled him. It was as if the less he concentrated on the thing he was trying to do, the more success he had in doing it. Willow had taught him that he needed to find the exact frequencies in the brain which caused a reaction of a deeper thought than the simplicity of inner monologue. Once the frequency had been uncovered he would be able to send and receive others thoughts to any degree he wished. It was easier said than done. How does one pick out a frequency in the brain? He'd thought to himself a hundred times already. It didn't matter how, Jonas was determined to find it and he practiced with Willow every spare moment he had. It wasn't his fault that no one else trusted her; they didn't know her, not like he did.

Onboard Skylark, Goldheart piloted the ship out of the docks and flew out above the roofs of the city. Everyone sat facing the windshield except Witakker, who stood directly behind the group.

Witakker played with a couple of buttons on a bangle he wore around his wrist, bringing it closer to his face for his old eyes to see what he was doing, "Now, the story of the cythereans is primarily for Jonas—but you all might learn something if you listen… Lucas," he said, throwing his last word towards Cortex who was busy buffing a de-activated pulsar-blade. Everyone looked at him as he finished wiping the cloth to the end of the sword and slid it into the empty sheath behind his back. He crossed his arms and sat up to listen.

"I shall begin from the beginning," said Witakker, tapping one last button on his bangle.

An image of an old-fashioned cytherean family working a farm appeared across the windshields data-screen, the clear sky of Aquilla made up a blue backdrop behind the image. The family of a man, a woman, a boy and a girl, all wore elegant and simple wrap around red and white robes. The father and mother carried electronic-staffs, ushering pigs across a ploughed field as the children chased them through the mud.

Witakker began. "Cythereans and many other races had lived in peace on Aquilla for thousands of years. Life was simple for us, we reproduced, developed technology, grew crops and most of all we lived a life free from fear. All of this changed 1200 years ago when a young therean by the name of Oreaus Antani wanted us to become stronger, more intelligent beings."

A perfect looking family of four dark-haired cythereans appeared on screen; strong, handsome and dressed in smart, modern semi-armoured uniforms.

"As a boy," said Witakker, bringing an image of a sweet, bright-eyed boy onto the screen, "Oreaus was obsessed with the secretive race of esla, the undisputed masters of the mind. At the age of twelve, Oreaus travelled to the esla's home planet of Siah, where he lived for two years studying the eslanic ways until he had himself become the Esla Maven, the highest mind of the esla masters. And then he killed them."

Jonas turned back to look at Witakker. "A fourteen-year-old boy, killed an entire race?"

Witakker nodded and pointed to the screen for Jonas to face forward. "Yes. All of them. The mastery of his mind drove the entire race to hate each other and they killed themselves. The deepest secrets of the esla died and Oreaus’s mind became by far the most powerful in existence. He returned to Aquilla and began to take control of the minds of every race on our planet."

Witakker tapped his bangle, and images of the ancient races of Aquilla flashed across the screen with the name of each race listed below; kulks - a small eyed humanoid with no nose to speak of and large cupping ears; lidens - a fierce looking reptilian with strong legs and smooth pebble dashed skin; firgo - a large humanoid with fangs and not a sign of hair on the body or head; warico - a fur skinned man, with chilling black eyes, his drooping ears pierced with sharp wooden stakes and his arms were as thick as his legs.

Witakker continued. "Oreaus soon had the best scientists across the galaxy pushing the boundaries of biology and physics to their limits, until finally he had created his perfect race, the dydrid."

A naked, silver-eyed, silver-eared and silver-veined cytherean came onto the screen. The perfect body, the most symmetrical face and cold, pale-looking skin. The old races of Aquilla flicked across the screen once again, only this time with silver ears and a soulless look on their faces of being lost within their silver eyes.

Skylark burned out of Aquilla's atmosphere with a little turbulence and burst into the darkness of space. A diagram of a dydrid silver heart replaced the flickering images of the newly created dydrid race. The silver heart spun around as if it floated in space against the backdrop of blackness and stars.

"A liquid carbotanium-blood and vein structure, stabilized by a high-pressured osmiridium heart chamber, gave the dydrid increased strength. The perfection Oreaus craved fell somewhere between madness and genius. He is undoubtedly both in my eyes."