1. A Story of Survival #2
“Don’t look yet,” I ordered harshly, legs shaking with the urge to run for safety. I’d take a deadly dire bear over this monster. At least I wouldn’t have to stare at twelve creepy eyes as I died.
Kane whimpered in pain, clutching his arm. His flesh was slowly turning black. He’d live if he got it amputated before the venom reached his heart.
Click. Click. Click. Razor-sharp pincers clamped together menacingly, a hair-raising warning, as the dire scorpion kicked back sand like it was preparing to charge.
I took a step backward.
Kane didn’t deserve my kindness because I was just a poor, uneducated peasant to him. I was lesser because I didn’t have gold coins in my bank account or a fancy education.
“Number Six, get out of there!” the Admiral shouted from a distance.
A good soldier followed orders. My feet slipped. I stood on the very edge of the dune.
I prepared to flee.
The scorching desert disappeared, and I blinked rapidly in confusion. I lifted my palm up. Thick snowflakes melted with pricks as they drifted onto my warm skin.
What in the damned?
It was real.
I was standing among familiar towering fir trees coated in glistening ice. The Barren Forest of the great North, home, stretched all around.
My breath came out in frosty puffs, condensing in the freezing temperature. Snow drifted softly, gathering on my shoulders and hand.
The sharp scent of storm magic burned my sinuses, and a bright emerald light glittered in my peripheral vision, but when I tried to focus on it, nothing was there.
I spun in a circle, snow crunching loudly beneath my boots.
“Help me!” Kane begged with a tortured sob.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Kane kneeled in the forest, crying as he stared off at a looming shadow in the trees.
My heart pounded painfully beneath my ribs, racing with anticipation. Hand steady, I raised my sword toward the shadowy beast.
I charged.
The desert reappeared in a disorienting blink.
What WAS that?
My fingers prickled with pain as biting cold became suffocating heat. Blinding sunlight bleached everything with whiteness. The dire scorpion was a teal outline in the light.
Concentrate, Zora.
I swiped up Kane’s discarded weapon as I sprinted past him. Holding my breath, I slid on my knees in the sand, leaning back as far as I could. Please let this work. I swung both swords out wide in a timed arc, aiming for its pincers. My spine pressed into the sand as I flattened myself.
The dire scorpion let out a high-pitched whistling wail. Bright blue blood sprayed my face. Its jaw opened, saliva splattering, and it fell to the sand, centimeters in front of my bent legs. The creature gasped as it bled out.
Severed pincers twitched on the sand with final electrical impulses.
Zora: 1.
Dire scorpion: 0.
“Me look now?” Squire chirped.
“I wouldn’t—”
He screeched with horror, straight into my ear.
“Told you,” I muttered as I got to my feet, wincing as I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. We were alone. The Admiral and other recruits were all gone.
Kane cried out, and I tipped my head back to the sun.
You can do it, Zora.
How difficult can it be?
A few minutes later, I ran with Kane across my shoulders over the endless sand, arms and legs burning from strain as I deeply regretted my life choices.
The sterile white hangar wavered in and out of focus. Intense nausea from overexertion made it hard to think. Pure agony.
“You’re hurting me, peasant,” Kane whined as his head bobbed limply. Good. We were about the same size, and he was not light. Sadly, if I didn’t hurry, the venom would get to his heart, which would defeat the point of helping him.
I was in too much pain to speak and wished with each strained breath that I’d left him to die. Another blister on my heel ruptured with a sharp sting, and my left calf seized up with a cramp.
I didn’t stop.
“Silence, coward!” Squire hooted as he balanced atop Kane’s injured arm (helpful).
Finally I lunged into the shadowy hangar. Leaning forward, I dropped Kane unceremoniously onto the polished floor, right in front of the row of parked dust-covered jet planes. Saliva and sweat ran off my face as I keeled over, heaving, struggling not to pass out. Everything hurt.
“Scorpion venom,” I whispered to a soldier who shouted for help as I gagged.
Dark spots slowly receded from my vision as my heart rate calmed enough that I could stand up straight. Still tremulous, I feigned indifference as I walked away from Kane’s slumped form. I need to lie down.
Medic Sara sprinted out, gasping as she stared down at the blubbering man and me walking away from him. “How could you throw down an injured soldier like that?” she asked, her eyes full of condemnation.
Because he’s annoying.
She shook her head at me with disgust. “Stupid Northern peasant.” She stabbed him in the neck with antivenom.
My stomach dropped, but this time from humiliation.
A group of nurses I recognized but didn’t know by name helped her cart Kane away on a stretcher. He’d live.
Raising my tingling arms, I leaned back, trying to get feeling in my overtaxed, numb appendages. Someone pushed water into my hand, and I gulped it greedily.
My elbow banged into a tall figure.
The Admiral stared down at me, his expression inscrutable. “The Marshal wants to speak with you. Follow me.”
Why does the elected leader of the Democratic Commonwealth, the highest position in the military and the leader of the Storm Wars, want to talk to me?
The Admiral walked away before I could ask anything. I staggered after him through the busy hangar into the long white halls that led deeper into the base.
He stopped, and I nearly collided with him again. Holding on to the wall for balance, I tried not to whimper as pain radiated down my exhausted legs. Stiff dark uniforms with identifying red trim headed toward us in formation.
Shadow Swords. The most highly trained, competent soldiers on the base, second only to the twin Knight Mages. They flew the helicopters and protected the Marshal.
The Shadow Swords parted, revealing a prisoner in shackles. The temperature in the hall plummeted. The prisoner towered above the Shadow Swords in stature and ferocity, his demeanor unsettling.
What.
The.
Hell?
Time warped as the prisoner approached in slow motion, chains clattering. I officially was suffering from a curse; there was no other explanation for this much bad luck.
Pale skin, unique milky irises ringed with the palest blue, and messy blond curls sauntered through the hall. He had the elegant, tightly coiled physique of someone who regularly fought to the death—and won.
A bright blue spider tattoo stretched across the lower left side of his face, rows of platinum hoops jangled in both of his ears, and DANGER was embroidered in bright orange across the chest of his gray jumpsuit.
The deadliest of all Draconis Royal Mages, the Emperor’s right-hand man, and a recent prisoner of the Storm Wars.
Tarantula.
His platinum mask fit snugly across his disgustingly handsome face—the mark of his creed as a Royal Mage. The narrow metal covered only his brow and half of his nose, while high cheekbones jutted beneath his cold eyes like razor blades.
Named after the arachnid tattooed on his face, he somehow sauntered elegantly even with his hands and ankles chained together. The shackles overlaid his personal decorative platinum wrist cuffs; the opulent accessories shone bright, identifying him as Draconis royalty.
A thick metal collar sat tight around his throat.
Light refracted across the walls, making me blink. Priceless fig-sized diamonds studded the collar. They must have been from the Commonwealth’s Treasury coffers. Legend had it that large diamonds counteracted storm magic, which meant the Crimson Army had nullified his powers.
He’s magically castrated.
I wished he was dead.
The memory of Aurora’s sightless green eyes had me standing tall despite the pain.
My sweet best friend. We had grown up together as close as sisters.
I’d helped her dye her hair pink the same day he killed her.
As if that wasn’t enough, he then threatened my mother’s life.
Tarantula was part of the reason I’d joined the Crimson Army two months ago. I yearned for his demise.
“Scary spider man,” Squire chirped on my shoulder.
Tarantula strode past, and the corner of his bloodred lips lifted as he leaned toward me tauntingly. For a second, he faltered.
His eyes narrowed as he took in my disheveled state. “What happened to thee?” he asked, leaning close enough that I could see his pupils expanding and my bared teeth reflected in his platinum mask.
I swung my tired arm.
Crack.
My fist slammed into his cheek before he could react, knuckles splitting against his mask, but I barely registered the new wave of pain. All my senses were focused on the evil.
“Harder,” he said coldly.
Rule of survival: Always attack first.
I swung again but missed.
He’d dodged.
“Thou filthy serf, I dare thee to do that again.” He raised his cuffed hands, fingers touching his blood-streaked mask. “The Emperor will make thee pay for this,” he purred tauntingly.
“What game are you two playing?” I asked, overwhelmed by his manic intensity and the mention of the sadistic Emperor. “Why do you care so much about me?” I’m just a serf from Westmere, after all.
“Thou know the answer.” For a bewildering moment, I could have sworn his lips curled up with satisfaction.
Hand throbbing, I backed away from him. “What are you talking about?”
He scoffed but didn’t elaborate.
A flush of terror burned hot across my chest. His proximity was terror inducing. I’d rather fight a hundred dire scorpions than suffer his presence. Despicable man. I had no idea what he was alluding to.
Tarantula leaned toward me.
A dark-haired Shadow Sword grabbed my arm and yanked me back, throwing me behind his body protectively.
Tarantula’s eyes flatlined, and he lunged toward us. SIZZLE. Electricity exploded from the diamond collar around his neck, and he dropped to the floor.
It’s also a shock collar?