Chapter 2
“This thing belongs in a museum,” Aragon said, poking at the GPS.
“Mm-hmm.” K-7 flipped the page of the manual he was reading. They were driving back over the stone bridge, which, miraculously, had become whole again. Just mere hours ago the entire length had sunk into oblivion, wasted by the relentless fury of a tsunami that only nature could make.
“So, we have the diamond,” Aragon said. “And now, what in the heck do we do with it?”
The diamond was resting in the safest place they could’ve thought to put it in. The cupholder. K-7 ran a hand over its faceted surface. “I don’t know.” An idea popped into his head. “Hey, why don’t we keep it?” he said.
Aragon gripped the wheel to keep from swerving. “Not on your life.”
“Why?” K-7 wanted to know.
“That thing is dangerous. I mean, who knows what its gonna do to us?” He glanced at the Diamond. “It could be radioactive, for all I know.”
“What’s radioactive?” K-7 asked.
Aragon sighed. He handed the cat his phone. “Look it up yourself,” he muttered.
-Back in town-
The job had taken way longer than was usual. Especially due to the caller’s strict orders that none of the townspeople be alerted. All workers were sworn to secrecy. No wrecking balls or sledge-hammers were to be used. Instead, the demolition party had to chisel out the walls section by section with their laser cutters. There was no shouting, no loud machinery, no industrial railguns. All throughout the night they sweated and heaved in mute silence.
The next morning, a large crowd was gathered around the Professor’s old house. Gasps of disbelief could be heard all around as they realised that the building had disappeared in the middle of the night. A police officer ambled over and shooed them all off by saying, “Now, good citizens of Manasanet, there is nothing to see here. Nothing at all. Move along, now. Move along,” he repeated, speaking like he had memorised every single word he said.
The crowd wandered off like a herd of sheep. Anthone closed the gap in his curtains. Chuckling to himself, he turned on the phone and redialled the unlisted number. A person on the other end answer in a couple of rings.
“Your Excellence?” he inquired politely.
“What is it?” The same well-manicured voice from yesterday answered.
“The job is finished. No one has any idea what happened,” he said.
“Excellent.” He sounded pleased. “You shall receive the rest of your payment in full.”
He hung up. Anthone almost squealed in delight. He tapped on the phone display once more and speed-dialled Rutch’s number. As soon as the other had picked up the phone, he immediately said, “Rutch, my man. We’re rich!”
In Naradynor, at the top of Mt. Stilvercrown, there lay a palace, nestled in the silver clouds, thousands of feet above the ground. Spires made of the purest gold rose far above anything on Earth, going on through the clouds as if they went on forever. Towers and minarets caught the sunlight and sent it showering all over the city. Every wall was made of pure gold, and in each was carved an intricate tapestry of the heroic deeds of all the warriors of old. Fountains splashed seemingly right out of the marbled floor. Statues of the ancient kings lined the courtyards and the hallways. And, all around this marvel of architecture, was such a wall that never could have been imagined. Standing proudly at 75 feet high and 30 feet thick, it looked down into the valleys surrounding the city of kings, daring any foolhardy attacker to so much as step foot on the soil it guards.
A woman stood at a balcony, the opulence of a simple fixture flouting the wealth of its creators. And, it would be almost criminal to not take notice of the woman. As if anyone could have recognized her as being anything else. It may have been the manner in which she carried herself, or the proud set of her jaw, or the look in her eyes that no one could mistake for anything other royalty. A dress of spun silk, tailored to pristine measurements tapered down her slender figure and swept the floor around her legs. A young girl, not much older than 8 or 9, rushed into the room and curtseyed, her dress sweeping the floor.
“Your Highness, His Majesty has summoned you,” she said breathlessly.
Princess Miraseth didn’t bother to turn around. “Tell my father I will be there,” she said, waving the girl away with a swift gesture from her gloved hand.
“Yes, your Highness,” the girl said before rushing out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her. The princess continued standing in front of the balcony, gazing out at the golden expanse of the city. Another figure entered the room, except this one was richly dressed, and carried his head in the way of one who was used to looking down at everyone around him. He walked up to her, each step deliberately measured out as a dancer might, or, simply a peacock. I shall not judge.
“The first step of the Plan is done, Princess,” he said poshly.
A deep sigh of satisfaction escaped the Princess’ lips. “Ah, Count Heristocles. What will I ever do without you?” She turned around from the balcony. The golden light illuminated her silhouette, veiling the three colors of her face in a shadowy mask. The train of her dress swept the floor, making it seem as if she floated instead of walked. She placed a featherlike hand on his shoulder. Heristocles caught her by the waist and swept her close to his body. She smiled up at him coyly. “And when I am Queen of Manasanet, you shall be King beside me,” she said in a breathy voice.
Right now I think I had better head back to K-7 and Aragon, who was, at the moment, having a debate on what was the best decision to take. K-7, who had absolutely no clue on how to use a phone, was set on keeping the diamond for themselves. In his own words, “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Aragon, who had a little more experience (and a little more Brain), was not convinced. He wanted to head right to the royal palace and return the diamond to its rightful owners.
“Who knows what its powers are? What would they do to us?’ he argued.
K-7 scoffed. “Yeah, right. Look, nothing has happened so far…”
Suddenly, the diamond erupted in a blaze of light as if outraged for its indecent treatment. A giant lightning bolt struck mere inches away from the van, sending pieces of cobblestone shooting up into the air. More than half stuck the van, rattling against its sides and bouncing off again.
“Well, I guess we’re not keeping it no more,” Aragon said, as if that decided it.
K-7 gulped. “Okay, you win,” he said, his voice sounding unusually high-pitched.
The GPS screen suddenly flickered. “Whoa,” Aragon said. Random numbers and letters flew across the screen, getting faster and faster until it all jumbled into one huge glitch. The pixelation spread over the rest of the screen. It lingered for a while, and then there was a small pop as it disappeared. The regular GPS screen reappeared after 5 seconds.
Some kind of force yanked the wheel out of Aragon’s grasp. Of course, his first thought was ‘ghosts’. Not that anyone could blame him. The past few days had been so filled with the supernatural and the paranormal that he hardly knew what to expect anymore.
“In 1 Kilometre, take the first exit on the left,” said the GPS lady, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Aragon and K-7 almost banged their heads together trying to see the screen. In front of their bewildered gaze, the destination read, ‘Naradynor’. “So,” said K-7, trying to keep his voice light. “Guess we going to the Capital after all, huh.”
“Seems like.” Aragon’s stomach was feeling like he had one taco too many. At last, his neglect of his studies had returned to bite him…
… A soul empowered is a fate sealed. The poet placed down his brush and looked at his work with a humble pride. He replaced the cover of his ink-pot and set the paper aside to dry. Just then, a servant burst open the door to his room, red-faced and very out of breath. “Sire,” he gasped. “The Wolves are attacking!”
“What?!” Cried Lord Grizeldron. He swept past the servant and rushed out of the door. He climbed the winding stairway of the highest tower in his castle. The endless stone stairway soon opened up into a single open balcony. Lord Grizeldron hurried into it, and grasped a spyglass that lay on a wooden chest in the corner. Through this he peered out at the horizon. The sight he saw was everything he had feared. The ridge before his manor was buried under a live, writhing mass of grey bodies. With every second they drew ever closer to the stronghold, their fearsome howls turning the hearts of the strongest warrior into a quivering mass of jellied pudding. Grizeldron flung down his spyglass, and cupping his hand to his mouth, he bellowed, “All warriors, to the walls! Defend the city! Let no barbarian cross into the courtyards of Urespithes! Fight! Fight! We must…!” Right then a stray arrow pierced his head, and his voice was silenced forever.
Centuries passed. Seasons of storms and drought slowly buried the ancient stronghold under layers of sand. Soon only the flag-staff atop the tower in which the lord had breathed his last breath stood above the ground, a testament to one of the greatest cities there once was. Scores of archaeologists soon took an interest, though. One team managed to scrape their way into the lord’s private chambers, where they found the poem, in pristine condition. Quickly becoming known as an archaeological phenomenon, the poem became one of the best-preserved artifacts of the Great War. The royal household quickly got wind of their actions. The archaeologists were shut down, and all the ancient secrets with them. The poem was the only thing that had survived amongst the people for many generations.
Aragon and K-7 sat in absolute silence for the rest of the journey. There would not be too much to talk about here, unless you would like to know about the manner in which they kept silent, or how long they kept silent, or perhaps how deep was the silence. Or even the scenery. I remember a song that perfectly describes the scenery in a way I never could. It went on and on and on and on and on and on…
Anyway.
Ginaseth cracked open her eyelids. For a while she wondered whether she was dead and gone on to better horizons. After a while it became clear that she wasn’t. It was simple. She hurt. All over.
She lay there with every muscle aching, as if she had run miles and miles without stopping. Her ponytail had come undone, and her pants were torn at the knee. Gina forced her aching self to sit up. For some time she sat there blinking her sore eyes in the darkness. It wasn’t long before she realised that she was incredibly thirsty. After a few failed attempts, she finally got to her feet. Looking around, all she saw was an endless sea of gravel on a horizon of pitch. Nothing else.
That’s it, she thought. No wonder I failed at everything I tried to achieve. I was destined to die here.
Surprisingly, the thought of dying didn’t bother her as much as it supposed to. When you realise that the world is against you; against itself, you sometimes feel resigned to your fate. Right then she was just satisfied to lie back down and listen to the tinny whine of the silence. A faint cheeping noise broke through the whine. Gina ignored it. The cheeping grew increasingly louder until it sounded as if it were right beside her ear. She could feel a presence beside her head. The bird let out a single cheep that went right through her skull.
“Ugh, what in the…?” She swatted at the bird. It hopped back a little, and settled right back down again. Gina was almost back to relaxing when a sharp beak rapped at her face.
“Get out of here!” She bolted upright and swatted madly at the intruder. It flew off. Gina sighed in relief. Just as she was becoming certain the bird was gone, a sudden rush of air swooshed by. The next thing she knew was a flurry of feathers right in her face.
Gina ran as fast as she could through the darkness. She had no clue where she was going, as long as she got away from the insane feathered creature. Another creature flew into her face from the right. She tried to scream, but found her mouth stuffed full of feathers. More and more birds flew into her from all sides. Soon she was completely surrounded by birds of all colors and sizes. A whirling, thunderous tornado of flapping wings and the din of squawking. Gina gasped as the gravel beneath her feet fell away to reveal a hole the size of her figure. She hovered in the air for a bit on the wings of hundreds of feathered creatures, and then fell into the hole. A rumble of ancient magic sealed the hole above her, trapping her terrified screams beneath the gravel floor.
