Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (3 page)

“I do,” Gaius said.

“And did you think it was a good idea to do this?”

“No. I did not do this, my Lord.”

Typhos stared intently at Gaius, and placed his hand tightly on Gaius’ skull, drawing a cry from his guardian. He parsed every detail he could see in the mind of Gaius, and examined every memory of the last six months in rapid-fire succession. But never once in his examination did Mykos or discussions of betrayal come up. When he spoke to humans, he tortured them.
Clean.
He went to the next one, also in red stripes.

“Carticus. Did you do this?”

“No, my Lord.”

Typhos read him as well, and again he was clean. He went through everyone, coming up with nothing, and came to the last one in line, a guardian with white magic named Atius.

“Atius, perhaps you thought I would go in order and you could come up with a good story.”

Atius noticeably trembled, and Typhos didn’t even wait for a response. This time, he put his hand on the guardian’s head and delved into his mind.

He doesn’t even leave this temple. Worthless.

Typhos removed his hand quickly and rose back up, taking a few feet back and overlooking his supposedly loyal guardians.
I don’t really need them. Any of them. Someone’s still somehow hiding something from me.

But they do my dirty work quite well.

“I know one of you is a traitor—a rather terrible one at that, I might add. There will come a time when I will figure out who tried to sell me out, and when I find the one, I will kill him in front of all of you.”

What if I’m wrong? What if a human sent him? There’s only…

Only that one could have the persuasiveness to push a human. But would they?

Can’t let them think I’m having doubts.

“In the meantime, I want the humans from his camp interrogated. Torture, kill, do whatever you can to find out if any humans had a role in this soldier’s ‘mission.’”

He looked over his men. Whom could he trust the most?

Gaius. He could read anyone’s mind, and had red power beyond all but one person he had known in his lifetime. Carticus was the other.

“Go to his camp. You know what you need to do.”

“Yes, my Lord,” they both said, bowing their heads. They stood up and quickly walked out, with Typhos clearing the void and allowing them to leave. But before they left, he sent a message to each guardian.

“Keep an eye on your partner. I have strong suspicions that he betrayed us. If he is the traitor, bring him to me, and I shall handsomely reward you.”

He looked out on the rest of the guardians. His focus had become clear. Talking about what had happened on Anatolus had enraged him and brought up old, painful memories he had managed to suppress for so long. He didn’t need more power so much as he craved it, but he needed to wipe out Anatolus and everyone on there.

You know what’s waiting for you there. You know it will hurt. You’d better destroy everything in sight before you fail like you did the last time.

Typhos let out an exasperated, sad sigh.
Just go, get it over with. Have someone else finish the job if you can’t bring yourself to do it. But you will. You’re a god. They are weak. Kill them all.

“Leave,” Typhos commanded to his guardians, wanting to be alone. “When the others return, prepare to go to Anatolus. And prepare to destroy everything.”

4

“Promise you won’t make this easy, Erda.”

Cyrus held down the last pole of the last tent in his hand and struggled against the tension. With his sister and his budding romantic interest watching, he had no desire to rely on supernatural assistance—especially of his own. He held the pole in, struggling to push it down, but could not do so without feeling like the other side of the tent would shoot out of the ground. That would require a dreaded second hand.

Hey, beats the hell out of struggling against Calypsius or setting up tents hundreds of feet below the surface. Although those did help me get closer…

After a few seconds, he muttered, “just hit it,” and slammed the wooden oak into the ground as hard as he could. Much to his pleasant surprise, the other side of the tent did not shoot out of the ground.

“Haha!” he yelled in triumph. He looked at Celeste and Crystil and flexed, drawing good-natured eye rolls from each woman. He turned to Erda, who wore a guilty smile.

“You better not have supplied any magic there, I’m gonna tell everyone that I did this myself.”

“You can tell them that,” Erda said with a smile impossible for Cyrus to interpret.

“I… ugh, you know what, I have no way of knowing,” he said with unintentional exaggeration on the last four words. “So I’m just gonna say I did it myself unless you decide to ruin my parade.”

“No one’s stopping it, Cyrus,” she said with a nod and a gentle hand on the shoulder as she passed him and headed toward the rest of the Kastori tents.

He turned back to Celeste and Crystil, each with bored faces. Celeste’s shoulders remained tension-free, an ever-present smile curved on her face, and her eyes wide with curiosity and anticipation of a promising future.

Crystil, on the other hand, didn’t smile, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes.
It’s like she’s still expecting a battle to come.

I wish she’d just give it up. She could be so fun to hang around—no, she is so fun to be around. I see it, I know it when we’re together. But every time I look at her from afar… I wish I could help. I wish I could be with her, just… just together. No secrets. No lies. No walking out or kidney punches.

“Ladies,” he said, puffing up his chest and shoulders to look bigger. “I truly appreciate all of the support that I got from you. I’d like to give an acceptance speech and thank the two of you for supporting me in my quest for ‘Best Tent Pitcher.’”

“I’m sorry, but who went and helped grab an ursus to celebrate our new home?” Celeste asked, poking her brother in the chest. “Who’s the one that ensured that after your heavy blood, sweat, and tears, that you could eat some meat to refuel yourself?”

Cyrus let a grin form, and he could see Celeste’s smile narrow and her eyes go wide in anticipation of a smart response.

“The Kastori?”

Celeste bit her lip, knowing she—they—could not say everything truthful.

“Teamwork, Cyrus,” Crystil said gently as she walked over to the two siblings. “We’re all in this together.”

“True,” Cyrus said, drawing out the word as he turned to the tent for dramatic effect and back. “Except for this one tent. In that case, my hands were in this together.”

“Oh, whatever,” Celeste said. “You had the easy part. Pitching a tent, oooh.”

“It’s not exactly hunting wildlife,” Crystil deadpanned, a calming smile on her face. “Pitching a tent sounds about as hard as climbing a tree.”

“Hey, when you’ve got an angry woman chasing after you, trust me, it becomes the easiest thing in the world.”

“And how often does—”

Erda interrupted their banter by calling their names near the center of the outpost. Around them, about a dozen tents stood, including the red one Cyrus had just raised and Erda’s golden tent at the back between the two rows of red, white and black tents. It looked similar in structure to their refugee camp underground, but the context felt like the difference between the slums of Capitol City and the Imperial Palace.

“We’ve prepared the ursus. I trust—”

“See you guys there!” Cyrus said, about to sprint when he felt two stronger-than-expected hands stopping him. He turned to see both Celeste and Crystil holding him back, at which he mockingly pouted.

“Wait,” Celeste said.

“I trust you guys to share equally,” Erda said, shooting an amused look at Cyrus.

Cyrus turned back, and each woman shook her head no. Cyrus threw his hands up, only to see the two women sprint ahead of him. Cyrus ran to catch them, but they had gotten such a head start that they easily beat him to Pagus, who was slicing the meat with his magic.

“All right, pretty ladies get first dibs. Y’all want the shoulder? That’s the meatiest part.”

“Please,” Crystil said, more insistent than polite.

Pagus smiled and dropped the piece in Crystil’s hands.

“Pretty lady,” he said to Celeste. “How are you?”

“Doing well, thank you,” she said as she hugged Pagus, much to the chagrin of Cyrus.
Of all people, she winds up hugging Pagus. I mean, granted, not a lot of options for her here, and really only one good one for me, but still. Pagus? Really?

Pagus dropped a slightly larger piece onto her hands, and Celeste joined Crystil out in the field, about halfway between the remains of
Omega One
and the tent Cyrus had pitched.

“And my brother,” Pagus said as the two exchanged hugs. “I hear you are the greatest tent pitcher on Anatolus.”

“It’s a title I take great pride in,” he said. “Give me the biggest piece of meat you got.”

“Well, unfortunately, your sister and your dream girl got that already.”

“She’s… you know what, just give me whatever,” Cyrus said, drawing a hearty, short laugh from Pagus.

Cyrus took his cut from the ribs of the beast and sat down with the two girls. Their expressions reflected what they looked like after Cyrus’ tent pitch—and really, what they looked like most of the time.
Celeste is happy, cheerful, and best in peace. Crystil is tense, unsure and looking for excitement.

“Oh, so good,” Cyrus said to fill the silence as he took a bite of the food, not bothering to wait until he swallowed the food.

Celeste started to scold him but stopped.
She knows I am who I am!

“It’s not quite as good as Dad’s cooking,” she said with a nostalgic smile.

“You’re nice, Celeste,” Cyrus said, having finished his bite. “But even Pops would disagree with you.”

“What if we combined Dad’s cooking and an ursus?”

“Then I could die happy since I’d be back on Monda,” Cyrus said laughing.

But he cut short his chuckling when he looked over at Crystil. Her eyes were focused on her food, but she wasn’t laughing or even smiling.
Talk of Pops. Monda. Death. It’s probably all reminding her what she’s lost. We should stop.

“But I’m good on Anatolus,” Cyrus said, but it didn’t seem to help, as Crystil remained focused on her food.

She finished before the siblings had even finished half of their meat, and she stood up.

“I’m gonna go rest a bit in the ship,” she said. “Come find me if you need anything.”

You’re always resting on the ship. Come rest with us.

Come rest with me.

He liked her and had images in mind, but in that moment, Cyrus just wanted to comfort his commander. If nothing else, he’d learned that a lifetime soldier didn’t handle peace well. She needed to find a new purpose—one that had yet to show itself.

“Think she’ll ever be comfortable here?” Celeste asked as Crystil disappeared from view.

“She could,” Cyrus said. “Dunno how, though.”

Celeste took another bite of her ursus, and suddenly it didn’t seem quite as tasty as before.

“Should I, I mean we, go check in on her?”

Celeste shot Cyrus a knowing smile.

“Let her be. When she’s ready, she’s ready. If she doesn’t want to see us, she won’t come to us.”

Cyrus could easily pick up on the double meaning, and he went back to eating.
Really don’t know why I’m attracted to her. Well… I know why. Her beauty. Her awesomeness. Her loyalty. And, let’s be real, her being the only real option here.

Wonder if she feels the same way back to me. Based on options, she’s gotta. But is she past Dyson? Could she look past all our past transgressions?

Should probably just focus on the magic for right now. She’s gotta turn around.

Someday.

Hopefully.

5

Just outside the entrance of
Omega One
, Crystil gazed up to the golden evening sky of her new home. The sky was clean, cloudless and full of radiant colors that the greatest artists on Monda had never reproduced. It was a testament to nature’s perfect beauty that she paused for more than a few seconds to take the last moments of the daytime in.

But it wasn’t home to Crystil.

She walked inside
Omega One
, stepping past debris she had never bothered to clean up, her room which she slept in frequently, and the panels which no longer worked. She went into the cockpit of the ship, sat down at the captain’s chair, and propped her feet up on the control panel.

This was closer to home.

Feeling better, she let out a content breath and smacked her hands together, removing any chunks of ursus meat from her hands. She leaned back in her chair, as if waiting for a new mission to come.
Just doesn’t feel right. We found water, food, and shelter. We got rid of all the threats. The Orthrans are still alive.