De'Vas Chronicles Book 5: Chapter 3

Cleo - Vas

Cleo looked out of the window into the yard of Markal Castle, watching those who lived here move about their daily tasks. The blacksmith worked the forge, bakers filled their ovens, and hunters returned with wild game —all scenes that were once very familiar to her before she came to Earth. Now, even after a year living in the castle, it felt odd to her as if she were a stranger in the lands she once ruled.

“Morning,” Zara said with a yawn.

Cleo’s heart jumped at the voice breaking the silence, and she turned to scowl at the sphinx woman.

“I swear, Zara, you need to wear a bell,” Cleo growled.

Councilwoman Zara ducked under the doorway as she carried two mugs of coffee into Cleo’s bedroom.

“Is that a cat joke?” she asked as she handed Cleo a black cup of coffee. “Because if it is, I’m going to knock your coffee cup onto the floor the moment you set it down.”

Cleo smirked before taking a sip of the brown liquid.

“You’re the one cat napping at noon,” she answered.

Zara’s feline ears went flat as she leaned against the wall, looking out of the window.

“Can you blame me? There’s nothing to do in the castle except hunting in the forest or watching them build the damn portal.”

At Zara’s words, Cleo looked over to the far side of the castle yard, where several rune masters were working on a large doorway. One that would connect Earth and Vas more efficiently than the silver and brass balls could.

“We’re doing this for the good of all paranormals and De’Vas,” Cleo reminded her.

Zara huffed and looked away from the window.

“I know, I know. Councilman Loki gave us both the lecture when he assigned us this mission. I just miss my TV series and shopping,” she said, stepping away from the wall. “The bastard could have told us we’d be gone this long.”

Cleo had to agree with that. The way Councilman Loki had made it sound was that they would only be on this side for a month or two, not a damn year. She sipped her coffee again, her mind drifting to thoughts about Ash. She wondered how much he had changed over the year. His letters could only tell her so much. She needed to see him with her own…

The sound of shuffling papers caused Cleo’s eyes to widen, and she quickly turned from the window to spot Zara at her desk picking up the papers.

“What are you doing!” Cleo demanded as she set down her coffee. She shifted into fog and appeared beside Zara.

The sphinx gave her a shit-eating grin as Cleo pulled the papers from her hand.

“I was just wondering if there was anything spicy from your pen pal,” Zara teased. “I bet you and the cute human boy send each other very tantalizing letters.”

Cleo glared at Zara as she took the letters and slipped them into a drawer of the desk.

“My, my. So naughty you won’t even let me read one page?” Zara teased, her cat tail swishing behind her.

“Ash is watching over my vassals while I’m on this mission. He’s merely keeping me updated,” Cleo stated.

Zara laughed.

“You get and send a letter each week when they drop supplies off for the portal project,” Zara said before leaning close to her. “Also, I’ve picked up your scent enough times on those days to know you get very excited for your letter.”

Cleo’s eyes narrowed.

“Zara, I’m about to throw you out of the window to see if you really will land on your feet.”

The sphinx smirked until the sound of a trumpet caused both of them to look toward the window.

“Rider approaching!” a voice boomed from the ramparts.

Cleo and Zara both moved for the door of the room, making their way to the ramparts of the castle. When Cleo arrived, she saw a single elvish rider flying the banner of the closest settlement to Castle Markal, a small city-state called Riverbend.

“Queen Blackthorn!” the rider called out. “I come bearing a message!”

Cleo frowned and looked to Zara, whose brows were furrowed.

“What’s the message?” Zara shouted.

The rider’s horse pranced in place as he looked up at them.

“Queen Amelia of Everwood wishes to meet with you at Riverbend in three days!” he shouted.

David - Earth

David leaned against the doorway as he watched Ivy work. The satyress’s brush dipped into the green paint before making another stroke on the wall. The subject of her portrait, an old orc, was sitting patiently in a nearby chair, and Ivy would occasionally glance over at him before resuming her work. The orc’s image would join the other heroes on the wall, those who David had promised would not be forgotten in their struggle to free the others.

“David, are you just going to watch us?” Ivy asked as she made another brush stroke.

The old orc turned to look at him with mismatched eyes, like many on the ship. He wore an oxygen mask, but David knew Ivy wouldn’t add that to her painting. She left out the scars that WillCo had caused.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he answered.

The old orc bowed his head toward him.

“Warchief,” he said in greeting.

David nodded back.

“How are you, Thorin?” he asked.

The old orc grinned.

“I am ready for battle, my chief,” he answered.

Ivy’s brush paused for a moment before she finished the stroke. He knew she hated what was about to happen, and he did as well, but it was the only way. Stepping away from the door, David approached the orc and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for what you are about to do,” he said.

Thorin grinned.

“I don’t have much life left, but I gladly give what little I have for our cause.”

David saw Ivy’s hand tremble as she held the brush. Thorin stood, patting him on the shoulder before he started moving for the door, his oxygen tank rolling with him.

“I’m sorry, Ivy. My old bones won’t allow me to sit in one place for long before they ache. I’ll take a short stroll around the ship to stretch them and return in a few minutes,” the old orc lied.

When the door closed, David turned Ivy from the painting to face him. Tears streaked her cheeks, and he gently took the brush from her hand before wrapping her in a hug. She started sobbing as he held her.

“When will it be enough?” she cried as she clung to him.

He said nothing as he held her. Instead, his gaze drifted around their room, seeing all the portraits Ivy had done over the year of those they had lost—paranormals and mages who gave their lives to raid WillCo’s testing sites, freeing those they could.

His hand ran along her back, trying to soothe her, and he wished he could give her an answer. Maybe soon he could. This raid would be different. WillCo couldn’t sweep what they had done under the rug with this one, and the world would know.

“It’s not about revenge anymore, Ivy. It’s about freeing the others and making a place for us to be safe,” he said. “A place where we can thrive and no one will hurt us.”

She leaned her head against his chest, careful not to scratch him with her horns.

“I don’t trust her,” she whispered.

David sighed.

“We don’t have a choice,” he replied.

They stood there as he held her, feeling the gentle rocking of the ship. It was a moment of privacy and peace that was rare even on a ship as large as this one. Ivy sniffled as she broke away from his embrace and picked up her brush.

“Just be careful, my love,” she said before she resumed her painting.

He turned, walking out of the room as he pulled out a cellphone. The timer on the screen was counting down from six hours before the raid. Mages and paranormals passed by him as he walked the halls of the ship, heading to the cargo bay. Many of them were doing last-minute preparations for the raid. Carrie, a harpy, was cleaning her modified Barrett M82, runes etched along the barrel of the weapon. Not far was Ghost, a human mage, sorting the medical supplies in her pack. She was a shy girl, but she acted as their medic due to her Light Magic, which allowed her to create illusions. David owed her for saving many of his people’s lives and helping those kept by WillCo escape.

The number of people he saw diminished as he arrived at the cargo hold and stepped inside.

“Today is the big day, David,” a woman’s voice said cheerfully.

He frowned as he looked at the nine-tailed fox sitting on a large crate, three more beside her. Not far from the crates was a small brass ball on the ground that the woman had called an anchor when she gave it to him. She would always appear near it, and more than once, he had been tempted to throw it into the sea, but they needed her.

“Hitomi,” David greeted. “I hope the crates hold more than weapons.”

The fox rolled her one eye, the burns on the side of her face telling how she had lost her other one. She leaned to the left and patted the crate next to the one she was sitting on.

“Food and water,” she said.

David eyed the crate, comparing it to the ones Hitomi had previously brought them.

A week, maybe two if we stretch it.

That was how the fox did things: give them just enough to last until the next time she needed them to do something, and they were desperate.

“Also, here’s the special item I told you I would bring,” Hitomi said, pulling a metal object from her jacket and tossing it to David.

He caught it and saw it was a metal flask.

“This is the weapon?” he asked.

Hitomi hummed.

“The Flask of the Starved King. Mention the name to any of your followers who are elves and watch their eyes pop out of their heads.”

This was the item that would enable Thorin to undertake what all of them acknowledged was a suicide mission.

“How do we use it?” David asked.