Disclaimer- I do not own Storm Hawks, Deltora Quest, or any other copyrighted material.
CHAPTER 3
BROKE AND FOR HIRE
term guide-
Cear Draconis-an inescapable prison located in the remote tundra of Morius, one of the planet's most inhospitable lands and nations. Only the most notorious are sentenced there, and are treated to torture on a daily basis.
Quinto-Amihawkian money, accepted as legal tender globally.
"How the hell did you lose so much of our money!?"
The shout sent desert buzzards squawking away from where they had been basking in the sun. It was a fair assumption many other creatures had fled the area too at the sound of Somra's rage.
"Ah...I guess I spilled a lot of it accidentally when I ran-I mean, strategically retreated." Lehvahk offered a smile, which unfortunately doubtless looked sheepish despite his best efforts.
Somra didn't appear very impressed. She still looked exactly like she wanted to kill him and flay him alive. It wouldn't surprise Lehvahk if she had skinning knifes hidden in her vest.
"In other words, bastard, you ran like a little brat and didn't care what you left behind," Takar growled the words from the helm. He crossed both arms and glared at Lehvahk from under his shaggy mane. "Thanks a lot about that."
Lehvahk spluttered in outrage, then squeaked in terror as Somra raised a fist threateningly. "Enough," Fearon rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache growing. Adding it to his sighting of the weird shadow earlier, Fearon was starting to become uncertain whether he was just tired or going mad.
His usual health conditions had included weariness and headaches often enough. Fearon had gotten used to living with those side effects, caused by his decision long ago-but since glimpsing the shadow in the alley, they only seemed to be intensifying.
Whatever. They had bigger problems. "Somra, he made a mistake, but that doesn't mean you need to beat the life outa him. We need ideas, people."
The bridge filled with a brief silence. There was a brief rustle of paper as Somra yanked a piece of paper from her pocket. "Maybe this'll help," she grumbled.
Fearon moved closer, while Brendon beat him to it. He smoothed out the paper on the metal table, then gaped at it.
"What?" Fearon peered over Brendon's shoulder. His own eyes widened at the sight of the big number at the bottom-designated as money by the very prominent quinto sign.
"Well then..." Fearon quickly read the rest of the poster. "A wanted poster. This'll be about right for our talents, don't you think?"
"Well, it does involve a beat down. Laying it on that sucker seems fun to me," Somra grinned and cracked her knuckles.
"Sure. You little fools just love going out and nearly getting all of us killed." Takar growled dryly.
"And what, you aren't coming with us?" Fearon's voice unintentionally lifted. "So you'll stay behind and sulk?"
"I never said that, blade swinging fool!"
"Sure what it sounded like to me, techno recluse!"
"You're both missing the point!"
Fearon flinched as Somra's sharp words broke the fight up. A brief flash of guilt was all he felt. With a growl he stopped glaring at Takar and turned away. Somehow Takar always managed to antagonize him and vise versa. Both of them wanted to know each other's secret pasts, but neither was telling. Fearon wasn't sure if it was due to them feeling true trust couldn't be achieved till then, or if they wanted to help each other but were just too scared to admit anything.
"Anyhow," Brendon broke the silence, his cheer sounding slightly forced. "Where would we even start with finding this..."
"Ac-Acry-something or other, you mean?" Lehvahk was turning the paper left and right, squinting at it. "How do you say this dude's name?"
"It's Fracastian. 'Acryonoi Gavriino, designated to be practicing dark shamanism. Convicted for the crime of practicing dark magics,'" Brendon read, after grabbing the wanted poster from Lehvahk. "This guy's already done some pretty hell bent stuff, worthy of Cear Draconis*. It's no wonder his likeness has been sent all over."
"The poster says he's been spotted in the Shifting Sands," Somra added. Despite trying to sound casual, a light thrill of fear could be detected in her tone.
"There?" Brendon seemed to get paler. "It can't…oh, it does-"
"Exactly. Where would he be in that desert, aye?"
In her savage cheer, Somra had invoked a key question. "Well. There are oases around the edges. It could be a good start." Brendon didn't sound very hopeful. It didn't make Fearon eager about what he would say next. "But the word should have reached the towns in them about this by now, whether it's by internet, newspaper...passerby."
"People live out there?" Lehvahk said blankly. "Why?"
"Rithmere natives are weirdly traditional sometimes," Takar grumbled. "They seem to like living out in the baking sun, right by a deadly desert."
Somra laughed. "And they've always sounded fun to me. All rough and tumble, and such."
"In other words, everyone living in those oasis towns will seem crazy," Brendon put in.
Fearon rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe this Acryonoi guy is there, then. Crazy places can hide a lot of loons."
"And what if he isn't? Any other brilliant ideas?" Takar sounded heavily sarcastic.
"Then we search more," Brendon responded, sounding uncertain even though he clearly tried not to.
"Anywhere else he could be?" Fearon was starting to pace now. He didn't like it when the target was so evasive. Far from enjoying the challenge, he found it tedious.
"There's the Hive."
Brendon's quiet response made Fearon unintentionally halt as the Hive's infamous reputation weaved its way into his mind. The tales he'd heard all his life about the malevolent force that controlled everything in the Shifting Sands-beyond the oases at least-had been an invoker of childhood fears.
The only way to travel over the desert was by air. Any other way was deemed insane, for uncountable dangers, environmental and bestial.
"He can't possibly be sheltering out there." Fearon knew he didn't sound convincing. His voice was tremulous, and Somra was giving him an amused look while Takar was scowling anew. "The Hive would kill him."
"Shamans control the elements, right? Maybe he could fend off a bunch of oversized bees." Lehvahk airily remarked from where he was lounging on the bridge couch.
"The Hive is historically chronicled as being very clever, powerful, and sustaining large numbers," Brendon retorted fiercely. "It hasn't been a major threat so far because the Hive's never left the Shifting Sands. Ignorance is dangerous here, Lehvahk."
Lehavhk yawned. "Sure."
Brendon glared at him. Somra laughed. "Ha, sure, dimwit. See if you're still saying that when the Hive comes after you."
"That doesn't matter right now," Fearon interjected. "If we do need to go further out, that's when we worry about it."
The desolate red sands were already in Fearon's mind's eye. He suppressed a shiver when the old legends surfaced from his memories again.
"Our best starting point is the oases."
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The Strikeflier's shadow rippled over the rocky terrain and scraggly trees. Soon a high rock wall was visible in the distance, growing ever closer courtesy of the Strikeflier's swift speed. Beyond it was the Shifting Sands.
A death trap, most certainly. It was beyond Takar why people would want to live there. Either they were all completely and utterly stupid, or they were just like the others aboard the Strikeflier-overconfident bastards.
Storming a bounty hunter keep was dangerous, but not as dangerous as this. Takar had barged in himself, guns blazing, to save them at Teresal Island. Even though his feelings about his teammates were uncertain and scrambled, one thing he was certain of was that he didn't want to lose them.
He still wasn't sure why. Takar was always wavering between trusting his colleagues as friends or family, or just seeing them on the neutral ground of teammates and nothing more. It was a constant enigma he never seemed free from. Sometimes he'd let things relating to his inner traumas slip, and had to hastily cover them up again to keep from being questioned further.
His problems were his problems. He didn't want anyone else involved. It made him too uncomfortable, and even vulnerable. Trust wasn't a concept Takar believed in. Not when the society he'd spent his childhood in had done its best to deal Takar pain and shun him.
However, for better or worse, the others had decided on their course of action. And Takar had to go with them, for the sake of keeping the only people he truly cared about alive. He couldn't handle the thought of more guilt on his conscience, more loss weighing down his soul and scarring his mind.
The wall passed below them. A large steel sign flashed by, pinned to the wall, but too far away to make out the writing on them.
"What was that? A warning sign?"
Takar snorted with mock surprise. "A warning sign? Gods, imagine that being placed before a death trap."
Lehvahk took his sarcastic response with ease, and a kind of increased confidence that Takar hadn't seen before tonight. "Death trap, so on, da da da. That's what everyone says about Teresal."
"And we barely lived through that, dumbass," Takar grumbled. "We didn't even win all that much at the end." His irritation was reaching sky high heights.
"Sure. We can live through some stinkin desert if we lived through a killer island."
"Whatever. Let's just go down there and talk to the sand savages."
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The small oasis towns, interlocked by a series of covered roads, were definitely a pure example of the local, traditional culture, almost like the group had gone back in time. Colorful tents mingled with small sandstone buildings, tarps fluttered above the streets, and the majority of the people rambled about in face paints of varying colors. Races of all kinds were well represented.
For some, the experience could be considered fun and interesting. For Takar, it was neither. The place was too hot, too sandy, and generally too crowded. The pilot felt ridiculously hemmed in, trying to take up as little space as possible. He partly knew that he shouldn't have any reason to be claustrophobic-people weren't coming within three feet of him-but he couldn't help it.
"Look at them," He grumbled. "Scrambling around out here. Their loons, every one one."
Then again, who was he calling loons? Takar laughed inwardly. He had voices in his head. He knew he was a mental wreck. It was entirely possible that the desert people were more sane than him...
"Don't be so harsh, would you?" Brendon was excitedly snapping pictures on his phone. "This place is almost like a throwback to ancient Deltora. It's fascinating."
"Only to you."
"He has a bit of a point." Fearon shrugged, brushing his hair back. "There aren't many places like this anymore."
"Exactly," Brendon agreed ecstatically. "Amihawk itself began twenty billion years ago. Up until fourteen billion, this is probably what Rithmere looked like at it's start."
"Weren't there people in tents on the city outskirts today?"
"Yes. More examples of culture."
"Good gods, you get excited about the strangest things," Takar growled. He scuffed the ground with a sandaled foot. The heat had forced him to abandon his boots, and trade his pants for a pair of ragged shorts. He had still found no opening to wear his coat, and it didn't make him happy. He felt much more protected in his normal garb. Less cloth meant less between others and his skin. And the pilot didn't want anyone touching his skin, especially his back.
Takar tensed as Lehvahk threw an arm around his shoulders, or tried to-the pilot was two feet taller than the brown blizzarian. "Oh, come on. You get excited over ships and tech, don't you? That bores the rest of us, but we never bother you about it."
Unable to take the physical contact any longer, Takar roughly shoved the sharpshooter away. Lehvahk stumbled, grumpily mumbling. "Be a little rougher, why don't you?"
"I don't talk so damn much when I'm interested in something." Frustrated, Takar turned away from the others, crossing his arms. The others probably didn't think much more of him after that, but he hadn't been able to think of a better way to get Lehvahk's hand away.
The pilot let his shoulders slump. He knew well enough he wasn't likeable-he'd only heard that said behind his back millions of times, or just sensed it. Takar let out a humorless snort. Why did they even want a wreck like him around?
Bitterly he wondered if they didn't, secretly. No ever had, after all. And it wasn't like they complimented him much for maintaining the Strikeflier, or being a genius with tech and machinery. Or they might have, but he had simply never believed them.
"Well, anyhow, here we are in the desert land." It was Fearon, talking to Brendon, if he had to guess. Takar hunched his shoulders. He still didn't feel like turning around...
"You mean the savage land. There's nothing else this place can be called."
"The rest of the world would say the same about Deltora as a whole, Takar."
Takar tilted his head up, looking at the pale blue sky. "Let them think what they want."
"We start the way we agreed." It was Fearon, his tone in what was called, 'business mode.' "We comb the streets, ask about Acryonoi-"
"Uh, guys?" Takar looked over his shoulder, confused by Lehvahk's tentative tone of voice. "I think we lost someone..."
Everyone looked around in confusion. Takar felt a million curses welling up. Somehow Somra had slipped away from them-even from him. The pilot felt he should have heard her run off, but then there was the sand to think about. That, and the large amount of people-and the plain fact that his nerves were more of a mess than usual.
"We have to find her." Fearon sounded remarkably protective. He started forward, only to have Lehvahk quip, "Oh, you definitely love her."
"Don't tempt me to hurt you." Sounding unusually flustered, Fearon began to walk briskly away. Lehvahk smiled knowingly. Brendon sighed, a slight smile growing. Takar just ignored it. They had a awol teammate to find.
As it turned out, tracking Somra was ease in itself. The lights and sounds of a fight were apparent to the west-and it was common knowledge that is was what Somra liked the most.
By the time the group got there, it was to see Somra's familiar figure facing a unfamiliar, dark skinned human man, marked with black tattoos. Both were gripped in the abandon of combat, Somra dodging and breaking manifestations of sand, continually summoned by the Mere tribe combatant.
"There she is!" Fearon's shout contained a vast relief. Takar allowed a small, tight smile of amusement to slip into place. Even him, with inept social skills, knew the signs of obvious love.
"What should we do?" Lehvahk spoke the words out of his winded lungs. "Is she in danger?"
Fearon's eyes lit up. The Sky Knight lunged, only to be brought up short by Brendon's thrown out arm.
"Why would you stop me?" the leader hissed out through his grit teeth.
"Why would you stop the fight?" one of the bystanders, a thin human man with a camera, spoke up, clearly having overheard. "This is a mar'orak."
Fearon stood straighter and allowed his shoulders to loosen, his eyes becoming placid with realization. "I see. Never mind."
"I don't," Lehvahk remarked in clear confusion.
"How can you possibly not know? Haven't you lived here long enough?" Fearon sounded astounded. Takar was not at all surprised. Lehvahk was infamous in his book for not knowing things.
Eyes still fixed on the fight, the pilot couldn't resist a comment. "Your ignorance is incredible, bonehead."
"Mar'orak means, 'ritual battle,' in Deltoran," Brendon gestured at the fight before them. "A mutual test of skill. It was in the time before Adin people could die in these. That was outlawed when Deltora was untied into a nation under his rule."
Lehvahk rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Huh, learn something new every day."
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By now, Somra had lost herself in the fast paced battle. Her Zephyr's Speed enhancement still active, she'd just avoided a falling rain of sand arrows. "You're going down!"
Neffar, her opponent, grinned. "Don't get to angry. You may end up blind." The sand bow collapsed, sediment streaming finely through his fingers. He threw both hands forward and sand rushed forth, taking on the general shape of a sword.
Somra dodged and swiveled. The sword broke apart into sand grains again. Catching a blur of brown, she leaped. The sand grains had halted, coalesced, then arched back to strike at where she'd been standing.
"Enhancement-Zephyr's Speed!" Somra felt instantly lighter on her feet. She darted forward at blinding speeds, wind rushing past in an elating stream.
She used the increased speed to avoid sand spears, directed at her by Neffar. The instant she approached, he reacted fast.
"Sand Wall!"
Sand whipped itself into a high barrier. It began to curl inward like an ocean wave, spiky shapes flowing across it as it went-images of sandbeasts, the insectoid monsters trying to unnerve the caster's foe. Somra only felt a brief moment of panic before she regained her senses. Passing her spear into her other hand, she drew a rune in the air, casting another enhancement.
"Enhancement-Black Dragon! Zephyr's Speed!"
She was off the second the chained casts took effect. Somra drove her spear forward with a shout of defiance. The sand wall only offered a few tense seconds before breaking to Somra's currently enforced strength. She broke through, some of the sand raking across her arms, temporarily marked with enhancement runes. Landing with a thud on the other side, Neffar found her spear at his neck.
The wiry man cracked a smile. His runes disappeared, the sand dispersing in the wind. "Had this been the ancient times, I would be dead. You were impressive."
"Doubtless," Somra replied, a carnivorous smile on her lips. The rush of adrenaline was still fresh, and a tingle of disappointment was present. She would have liked the battle to last longer. But it was done now, with the decided victor-her. "And yeah, I know I'm good." She glared at Neffar as she withdrew her spear. "Anger on the battlefield completes me-doesn't blind me." She smiled a fang filled grin.
"Hell yeah, Somra!"
Somra turned at Lehvahk's shout, tilting her chin proudly. To her confusion, she saw Lehvahk whisper something to Fearon. He narrowed his eyes and pulled away, hissing something back. Then the leader's eyes locked on Neffar. "Are you leader of this place?"
Neffar smiled wryly. "In a fashion."
"We want to know something," Fearon started, tone low and measured. He turned slightly to the side and put his hands in his pockets, while giving Neffar a sideways look that radiated purpose. "There's a corrupt shaman running around. Goes by the name Acryonoi Graviino. If he's here," the leader's tone hardened. "You're telling us. Being in charge here means you know everyone, right?"
Neffar didn't seem bothered. He idly stirred the sand with the toe of a ragged sandal. The tanned human raked his fingers through his hair after replacing his hat. The narrowed eyes under them sent their own challenge-and a deliberate taunt.
Fearon grit his teeth. The bastard was clearly trying to set him off, while simultaneously saying, 'just try to make me talk.'
Fearon took a deep breath and let it out. "Look, we'll be out of your village once you tell us, with honesty, if Acryonoi's here."
"Well, that certainly hastens my decision."
"And what is your decision?" Fearon's clipped tone slipped out before he could help it.
"That I'll tell you what you want to know. There has been no one of that name living here. It's another story when it comes to outside denizens."
"Meaning?" Fearon replied tauntly. "Explain."
"I am going to tell you the honest truth. It's your choice if you want to believe me or not."
Fearon blinked, scrutinizing the stonecast face before him. Far as he could tell, there was no lie here-although it was possible he was being fooled. Given his skill at seeing past lies, though…so far, it seemed a legit confession.
Neffar dusted his clothes of-taking his time-and then continued his sentence in the same, calm dignified tone as before. "There has been a renegade shaman launching attacks on us. They stopped..." Neffar paused, a shadow overtaking his features. "When they managed to take from us one of the Rithmere Territory's oldest weapons. It was the savior of the Lapis Lazuli tribe as a whole, back in the ancient days."
Savior?" Fearon echoed, slightly baffled. "How?"
Neffar's mouth became a crescent of white teeth. He leaned closer to Fearon, as if the varon teen was his only audience. "Imagine...a blade of black obsidian, the very stuff the Hive has built their home out of for eons. Permanently marked with traces of their power. The greatest hero of this region was the one to brave the desert, chip the stone from the Hive's very spire, and make it here alive...to forge it into the Ebon Nightslayer."
"And just how is that so special?" Takar's blunt question, crossed arms and scowl showed that he was doubtful of the story.
Fearon found that where he would have normally reacted to the helmsman's contempt and indifference, he felt oddly numb instead. Neffar winked at him knowingly, even as Fearon tried to get out of his stupor.
Ebon Nightslayer. Ebon Nightslayer. The name raced through his mind again and again on an overwhelming wave of importance.
"To answer your ignorant question.."
"Ignorant?! I'm not ignorant, you little-"
"The Ebon Nightslayer holds power over the Hive, coming from the stone that makes their home. If not for it, the Lapiz Lazuli Territory would have been overrun by the Hive. This land of good furtune would have been ruined. The Hive's boundaries were set by that weapon."
Takar had clenched his fists in fury, and growled through gritted teeth. "A rocky expanse of nothing is no realm of luck, you dastardly little know it all. And no one calls me stupid. Willing to go a round two-"
"Hold on, Takar," Brendon, ever the attempted pacifist, tried to intervene. "Every tribe has their legends, and most if not all are based on fact. If this thing was stolen, it can only be that it's important..."
"A sword made of obsidian?" Somra muttered. "I should like to study that."
Lehvahk cocked his head. "Obsidian's black glass, right? How tough can it be?"
Somra gasped exaggeratedly. "You actually know something? The world's about to end!"
"Hey!"
"We're leaving. Now."
Fearon could feel eyes on him as a result of the abrupt announcement, but he had been filled with a sense of urgency that wasn't easily dislodged. And Brendon was, of course, right that all of Deltora's traditional legends tended to be frighteningly real. It held true for the vast majority of Amihawkian cultures and history as a whole.
"If this obsidian sword can control the Hive, this guy has a army." Fearon stood up straighter, glancing up at the sky. It was still bright, but the sun was ducking into the afternoon hours. "We have no time to waste now. We find the Hive, then figure out how to get into it. We get that sword back, even if we have to kill the shaman to do it."
Takar gave him a disgruntled look. Fearon matched it with a cold glare. Takar growled back, then turned a stomped back along the way they'd come.
Fearon paused, momentarily uncertain about whether he should just follow his friends or thank Neffar. On a sudden impulse, he turned and looked back.
Fearon's pulse seemed to stop. The man was gone. And the frozen onlookers had started a new fight, like the recent scene hadn't happened. Either they had short memories, or maybe the last few minutes really hadn't happened.
"You have the look of one who has seen Death."
Fearon whipped around again. Neffar had reappeared, standing off to the side of the road a few yards ahead. His hat hung idly from his hand.
The swordsman squinted at the desert dweller's eyes. He thought he could see a steady tint of silver filtering in, like with Crewfy in the alley-but even more pure. The same sheen that, historically, had always belonged to the eyes of the gods.
He stared at Neffar in both awe and, although he really didn't want to admit it, fear. "What are you?" he hissed.
Neffar smiled languidly. "I can assure you I am Deltoran. And..partly human. But exactly what I am doesn't concern you."
Fearon glanced further up the road. None of his teammates seemed to have noticed he wasn't following yet. Similarly, everything sounded muted and the desert dwellers didn't seem to be paying them mind either.
It was making him nervous. Too many things Fearon couldn't explain were happening. "Are you the shadow that was following me? Earlier, in Rithmere?"
The unknown entity before him chuckled. "No, no. But you'll find out who it is. There is a trial waiting for you out in the desert, before you reach the Hive. I am warning you to prepare yourself, mentally and physically. Try your best to master Lightning and Fire-I know you've been trying for some time. God Specific spells are raw power-a very tempting possibility. The Battle God's signature spell, especially, doesn't come easily."
"How the hell do you know that?" Fearon was suddenly aware that his scales were dotted with a cold sweat.
"I can see everything in your mind. And you still haven't answered my first question. Have you seen Death, and returned to the world of the living...from the realm of gods and spirits? Did you nearly die...but manage to claw your way back by accepting the challenge of the Edolith?"
Fearon's breath stuttered in his chest. Memories flashed through his head- a foggy courtyard, a bony dragon that wasn't a dragon, but a god, looming over him, seeing the god's face become more and more skeletal the closer he came to relinquishing life forever. The pain and despair washed over him anew, the link with his earthly body fading all the while, the cavernous face of the Edolith looming-
Viciously he stomped the memories out. The dark and misty spirit court and rocky incorporeal grounds of the Edolith faded back into the depths of Fearon's mind. He took a series of gasping breaths and hacked out an answer. "I saw Scorothos, yeah. And I did come back. But I'm not telling you anything else." Breath recovered, Fearon stood straight again, glaring at Neffar. His eyes were completely silver now, twin metal disks. "I get your warning. Now let me free of whatever side realm you've pulled me into."
The man's shoulder's rose in a slight shrug. "Certainly. But eventually, you will be grateful to me, Redskye."
He snapped his fingers. And Fearon found himself blinking in real sunlight again, just a step behind his friends-who seemed not to have noticed he'd been gone. Quickly Fearon fell back into step with them, shoving the encounter to the back of his mind.
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Neffar's form flickered, like a mirage. He replaced his hat on his indistinct form and spoke to seemingly nothing.
"Lord. I suppose you are wondering what just happened? After all..."
"After all, it wasn't on my orders, spirit," a voice rumbled from nearby. Another pair of silver eyes blinked open not far from the mysterious desert dweller. A surge of power came along with it, one that would have made any lesser creature balk in fear and flee the battlefield in the face of such a superior presence.
"But you approve?" Neffar turned a slow pivot, until the spirit that had been the Mere tribe's leader and hero long ago was facing the god that patroned the united lands of Deltora.
Goldclaw cocked his head to one side. The Battle God's dragon form gleamed bright gold in the sunlight, yet none took notice of the patron entity of their nation. His pack of weapons clanked as the god drew himself up to full height.
"But of course. This Redskye is destined to be a legend, even more than his father. And is friends, too, will be legends one day. They are, as some call it, the new beginning of the Sky Knight order. Mercenaries and heroes at the same time, shedding the outdated rules." The god of the battlefield chuckled lowly. "I do wonder if my siblings have any potential beings of power under their wings."
"The other gods may well have such beings," Neffar replied with a certain amount of amusement. "But I suspect you will only know...with time."