Elementis 1: The Heir to the Stone (9 page)

Jonas saw a straight line of turfed-up soil up ahead, caused by the crash landing of the fighter, he presumed. The line stretched for some way along a grass opening, with fresh grass beginning to grow and cover the tracks of the exposed soil. At the end of the mud path lay a mound of leaves where Twain had endeavoured to keep the dekapod well covered. No doubt he would have been devastated to turn up one day and find that someone else had flown over head and towed her away.

Jonas and Twain began to remove the leaves. Some were bigger than Jonas and weighed half as much. Twain really didn't want anyone to find this thing, Jonas thought to himself. With the leaves off, the boys stood back. Jonas smiled seeing his way home in front of him and Twain smiled holding the minim in his hands—he couldn't wait to get that engine going. The dekapod was a beautiful and complex craft, capable of matching any other ship's speeds, and it flew with just as much grace in a gravitational atmosphere as it did in the weightlessness of space. Five wings stuck out on each side, laden with laser cannons and a fuselage as sharp as an arrowhead to a pointed front. Twain had cleaned every panel to a white shine. It almost looked as good as new.

Jonas popped the pilot's hatch and climbed inside to familiarize himself with the cockpit. Twain opened the casing to the engine chamber, which was located at the rear and in-between several round booster holes. Lynk made himself useful holding Twain's tools.

The young boy's head was half inside the engine chamber. His dulled voice called out to Lynk. "Sealer," said Twain, shooting out an open palm. Lynk picked out and handed him the tool. Twain tinkered on.

Twain pulled his head out of the chamber shouting out, "Try it now!"

Jonas closed his eyes and said a silent word of hope. He pressed the ignition button and the fighter vibrated to life. Twain spread his hands out onto the warm metal of the ship and let the energy flow through his fingers like a symphonic orchestra touches every sense in the body with their song. Twain knew he would get this ship back to life, he was sad to see it going. Just as sad as he was to see his new friend leave him.

Twain flicked the engine chamber flap closed, stepping away from the ship and moving around to the side, up level with the cockpit. "Good luck my friend, it was nice to meet you!" he shouted up.

Jonas tipped his head and smiled. He wondered to himself if he'd ever given such a genuine smile to anyone in his lifetime. He owed this young boy so much gratitude. Twain had helped him even knowing that Jonas had nothing to give in return. Jonas hoped that neither of them would forget their conversation on the walk over to the crash site. The two of them had promised they would see each other again, at some point, at some place, it didn't matter when. But for now Jonas would return to Rilk and do all that he knew, just get by.

Jonas activated the anti-gravity boosters beneath the ship. It gave Twain chills to finally see it moving as the dekapod hovered above its muddy ditch. Twain watched on with both excitement and dismay as the ship rose up above the trees. Enterra revealed itself to Jonas's eyes and thoughts of his father flashed into his mind. It had been in this city before him that he had learnt who he truly was. This was where he had learnt that his mother was gone and his brother was held captive inside the prisons of Mercron. His brother… Just thinking it—that he had a brother—one of the things he'd longed for all of his life. Someone to be close to. Okay so his father wasn't what he had expected but his brother? They dreamed through each other's eyes, they had a deep-rooted connection that he was only just beginning to understand. Jonas shook his thoughts. Their wars, this place, it was nothing to do with him. His father gave up the right to call him a prince the day he sent him away. He would have to forsake his brother. Maybe one day they would meet, perhaps when he returned to visit Twain. The thought of staying sent a curdling coldness through his blood—he had to leave. Uly didn't want him as a son and as much as he had craved it before he met the man, Jonas didn't want the king as a father. Goodbye Enterra. He thought to himself, taking one last look at the glory of the palace.

Jonas flicked on the boosters and thrust a lever forward. An alarm sounded. "Alert" flashed across the data-screen. Jonas shouted at the dash in disbelief, thumping the controls. The dekapod fell to the ground back into the ditch. Jonas released the pilot's hatch, leant his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a second, hoping Twain could fix this, and quickly.

Twain ran up along side, "What's wrong with it? I fixed everything, I know I did!"

"No fuel, genius," said Jonas, climbing down from the fighter.

Twain smirked, "Oh dear…" He thought about what could have caused the problem. "In my defence I didn’t know whether the blackfire cell re-generator was damaged before the crash. If it was, which seems to be the case, this won't be flying anywhere today… Sorry about that!"

"How do we fix it?" asked Jonas, trying not to get annoyed.

"We'll need a recharge," Twain said, as much thinking out loud as he was answering the question.

"Okay, so where?" Jonas asked, thinking that sounded easier than he'd expected.

"The blackfire station is in the glass dome in the city," Twain told him.

"Cytherean headquarters? Great!" Jonas moaned, with all hope disappearing in an instant.

Jonas turned his head to the side and placed a finger up to his lips, shushing Twain's anticipated babble. Someone was watching. Jonas moved towards the nearest tree-line. He swore he heard a noise. He raised his blaster to the trees, "Who's there?" he called out.

Nothing moved. The branches of the trees gently rocked and rubbed with a wood on wood squeaking but still there was nothing. Jonas kept his blaster pointed. Twain was quiet, listening for anything but the dancing trees. Then there it was. A black figure that lurked in the shadows of the forest stepped out from hiding and stood in the light of Valo's rays with their face and body hidden beneath a hood and cape. Jonas lined up his eye with the sight of his blaster, ready to fire with any sign of threat. Two pale hands crept out of the cape and lifted the hood up and over, pushing the cape around their shoulders.

Jonas lowered his weapon and his jaw. Twain shivered with fear.

She looked perfect, her eyes sparkled like a wet summer meadow, her silver ears glistened in the light and the contours of her slender body clung tightly to a silky black fabric. The sword at her thigh looked razor sharp but she carried no blaster so Jonas assumed they were safe enough.

"She's a dydrid, shoot her!" Twain demanded.

Jonas looked down to Twain. "I’m not going to shoot her. She’s too pretty."

"All right then," Twain said, grabbing his drill handle as Lynk yanked off his own hand again, leaving Twain to pull off the forearm, snap the two pieces together and take aim. "I'll shoot her."

The girl smiled at him. "That weapon wouldn’t even burn my skin, young Twain. I’m here to see Prince Jonas, seeing as he’s now staying."

Jonas lifted his blaster back up to point it at the girl, he wasn't comfortable with a stranger, or even the perfect enemy, knowing things they shouldn't.

"That's a nice sword," Jonas called across.

"She's called Skull. Pure osmiridium. The sharpest blade in the galaxy. My father gave her to me," she told him.

"General Mutus!" Twain muttered.

"You know her?" Jonas questioned, unaware that he did since Twain had wanted him to shoot her seconds earlier.

"Princess Willow," Twain told him.

"A Princess, huh?" Jonas said to himself. "How do you know our names!?" he shouted across.

"I’m a spy, Jonas, it’s my job to know," she said, taking a few paces closer.

"A spy? For the Zohr?" Jonas probed, stepping closer to her for a clearer shot.

"He would like to think so, but he does not control my mind as much as he controls all others," she said, stopping an arm's length from the barrel of Jonas's blaster.

Willow closed her eyes and flashed them open, connecting with a place inside of Jonas that even he hadn't known was there. She spoke to him through her thoughts. "Put the weapon down, I want to talk to you, as a friend."

Jonas looked at her, astonished, "How in the hell did you do that?" he said.

"What did she do?" Twain blurted from behind, keeping his blaster pointed at her.

"She spoke to me!" Jonas said. "Inside my head!" he said, not believing it.

"Whatever she's saying, don't trust her," Twain wisely advised.

Willow spoke with her eyes once more. It was enchanting to Jonas, as enchanting as the princess herself. "I will teach you. Your mind is blessed with endless ability - listen to me Jonas."

Jonas lowered his weapon, succumbing to Willow's magic. She began to walk away.

"What's she saying now?" asked Twain.

"She wants to talk," Jonas said back to him, as he was drawn to follow on after the princess.

Twain stood still. He lowered his blaster. "She wants to talk?" he said to himself, watching Jonas walk away. "Women always want to talk!"

Jonas and Willow walked side by side into the forest. Twain and Lynk followed after them.

Beneath the dark shadows of the towering trees of Andawan, Jonas and Willow wandered along the path of an animal run. Lynk and Twain kept a distance behind. Twain was nowhere near as trusting as Jonas, he knew too much of the dydrid to be comfortable conversing with one.

"I have spoken with your brother," Willow told Jonas.

"Is he hurt?" Jonas asked, surprising himself that he even cared.

"Emotionally yes, but otherwise he is well."

"Can I speak to him? If you show me how?" said Jonas. He would have preferred to meet his brother face to face for the first time but with circumstances as they were, he knew that it was just not possible for now.

"He may not respond," said Willow in all honesty.

"But he's my brother!"

Willow paused for a moment. "Your brother thinks he is strong," she said.

"I'm sure he is," said Jonas, not knowing what that had to do with anything.

"He is not as strong as you, I sense."

Jonas grinned. "Well I like you too, princess," he said, pretending to take her words at their literal meaning.

"Less foolish, but not as strong." she said, un-amused.

Jonas wanted to get to the point of her visit. What was she doing deep in cytherean territory and out in the woods stalking his movements? He would rather not have asked but he'd find out soon enough. "What is it you want from me exactly?" he said.

"As I have told your brother, I want to initiate an alliance of peace between our races."

"Okay, sounds great. As long as it doesn’t involve me, you guys do whatever you want!" Jonas said, washing his hands of the matter.

"You may be the key to peace Jonas. You may be the only one strong enough in heart and mind."

"Hang on a minute," he insisted, holding out a worried hand and feeling panicked by the implications of the responsibility everyone was trying to unleash on him all of a sudden. "I’m out of this place the first chance I have!"

"We need you Jonas," said Willow.

"Need is such a…" he waited for the right word to come into his head, "…needy word!" he said, trying to get the not-interested point across to the princess. "I don't suppose you have a ship I could borrow?" he said, desperately thinking of a way to change the subject from him being the key to peace on this planet.

Some way behind, Twain strolled along treating his eyes to the exoticness of the forest. He admired the red petals of a flower twice his own size which sprouted between even larger light-catching leaves. He couldn't resist when he saw the next beast of a plant along. He scooped up a weighty branch from the side of the path and tossed it into the trap-hole of an acid-stemmed-frog-eater, smiling at the snap of the hungry fooled jaws.

Lynk called out from behind, disturbing Twain from his games. "Serdar Twain," he squeaked, "I’m afraid some weeds have taken a liking to my legs."

Twain turned to see Lynk being entangled by some leg-hugging weed. He hurried back, kicking and stomping the weed away as it scurried to the side, retreating back to the trees.

"Stop walking so slowly Lynk and they’ll leave you alone, now come on," Twain said, walking on his way.

Lynk looked to his side and up the trunk of a tall looming tree. "I was only admiring these blue-barked trees. I’ve never seen a tree that colour. They are not in any of my programs."

Twain stopped in his tracks. He looked back with a dreaded caution at the tree which Lynk peered up to. "You have got to be kidding me!" he panicked.

He looked all around him. They were everywhere—the blue balantra tree, on which grew the favourite, sweet fruit of the most deadly creatures of the forest. No one ever walked amongst the blue-barked trees. It was suicide even for a squadron of fully armoured fantoms. Twain ran. He caught up with Jonas and Willow. Pulling up to a stop in front of them, he held his hands out and spoke through bated breath, "Jonas, we shouldn't be here, you have no idea what lives around here!"

The pair stood still, looking up over Twain's head. Twain turned around, sensing the tension in their eyes. "Sangas!" he said with a lump in his throat.

Two of the beasts stood in a grass opening in front of them, drool slipped from the enamel of their fangs as they slobbered with the juicy thoughts of their next meal. Standing at over thirty feet tall, the black-skinned sanga were formed of impossible structures. Their huge, muscular arms split at the elbow into four thick forearms and four enormous hands with claws that could dig you a grave with one swipe of dirt. Their torso was clad with sixteen solid abdominal muscles imbedded below a chest as mighty as a pair of boulders. Their dark, wicked eyes were as evil as a killer prowling in the night.

Jonas moved in front of Willow to protect her. She made a face and pulled him back behind her. Now was not the time to argue over who was the strongest or who might need protecting the most—they all did. Willow drew her sword, Jonas took his blaster in his hands and Twain turned up the power on his drill-blaster. Jonas shouted for Twain and Lynk to run. They turned to leave, but another sanga moved out of the forest in front of their escape route. Twain paced backwards, looking up into the pitch-black eyes of the animal who purred with a growl through rock-sharpened teeth, sniffing the air for the flavour of Twain's skin.