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This novel is the immediate sequel to Book One of Melody and the Pier to Forever. In other words, this is the book you read immediately after Book One, not Book Two. I know it's confusing, but hey. It's just the way this story goes.
This is a very popular story with those who have read the series thus far. But it is very dark, and very violent, and does what most fantasy authors refuse to do with their stories: it actually visits the violence and evil done by the villain and watches it for more than a chapter or two.
Kaza was conceived a full three years before I started writing him in earnest. When I completed him, I decided that Melody would eventually have a host of these side stories: tales of other heroes who wouldn't be given just consideration were I simply to concentrate on the main story arc. That didn't seem fair to me, and it didn't seem I would be doing the world of Aquanus any favors, either. It's a world that deserves to be described as fully as possible through the eyes of those heroes.
I've always loved stories that take no one for granted. There are no "secondary" or "tertiary" characters in Melody's world. I don't write that way, and I don't respect writers who treat their characters in such a cold and inhumane fashion.
Enjoy.
Kaza was conceived a full three years before I started writing him in earnest. When I completed him, I decided that Melody would eventually have a host of these side stories: tales of other heroes who wouldn't be given just consideration were I simply to concentrate on the main story arc. That didn't seem fair to me, and it didn't seem I would be doing the world of Aquanus any favors, either. It's a world that deserves to be described as fully as possible through the eyes of those heroes.
I've always loved stories that take no one for granted. There are no "secondary" or "tertiary" characters in Melody's world. I don't write that way, and I don't respect writers who treat their characters in such a cold and inhumane fashion.
Enjoy.
And
from the wreckage I shall arise
Cast the ashes back in their eyes
See the Fire, I will defend
Just keep on burning right to the end
Cast the ashes back in their eyes
See the Fire, I will defend
Just keep on burning right to the end
--Asia
~~*~~
The
following events have been verified by
His Excellency Luis R. Arroyo, Most Senior Healer, Commander, Sentinel Phantasme,
Saeire Insu
His Excellency Luis R. Arroyo, Most Senior Healer, Commander, Sentinel Phantasme,
Saeire Insu
~~*~~
1.
~~*~~
~~*~~
A
DEMON was eating his sister.
It
had lifted her thrashing, screaming form off the wooden floor of the living
room and, like a drumstick, sank its huge fangs into the soft flesh of her
midsection.
“KAZAAAAA-A-A!”
she shrieked. “OH GOD—!”
Kaza
stood frozen. He couldn’t seem to get his legs to move; he couldn’t avert his
eyes from the unspeakable sight. Lesa shrieked and gurgled and then fell silent
as the demon rumbled in sickening satisfaction, digging in deeper. She twitched
one last time, and from her bloodied person a small green glass jewel flew,
skipped to a stop at his feet. Kaza, who was peering around the hallway corner,
bent to pick it up the same moment the demon noticed him—
—no,
the object. The beast indifferently dropped his sister’s lifeless body to the
floor, and with a vile rictus covered in her blood, tatters of clothing, and
innards spewed, “SS-R’ACKCK LEES PFVOR! ASĒ! ASĒ!” It advanced on him—
He
didn’t think to simply drop the object—which, if his singular terror had
allowed, he would’ve noticed was very cold, like a cube of ice, and shaped like
a lens—but pocketed it and, his mind white with the primal urge to survive,
flew into his small bedroom at a dead run. It wasn’t to hide: he spied the
curtained window in the last tenth of a second before he dove through it. The
glass bit into his flesh an instant before gravity claimed him; he careened
shoulder blade first to the slanted roof, tumbling, then over, spinning
helplessly in mid-air to the earth ten feet below, where he bounced hard half
on his back, half on his side, the wind knocked out of him. He didn’t feel the
glass embedded in his shoulder and arms—or the cracked rib in his chest—or that
his pinkie was bent at a perverse angle—or that a cluster of serrated thorns
from the vine of a s’memine fruit
bush stabbed into the base of his skull—or that he had bitten through his
tongue and that his mouth was full of warm blood. He came to his knees, sucking
wind in desperate, insufficient gasps, then to his feet, where he spun in
place, casting about.
Half
the house was aflame—where were Mom and
Dad?—the barn, too … In the distance—Look
up! Look up!—dark freakish monsters stalked about, or circled overhead with
huge batlike wings, screeching hideously. There were men as well: armored men,
the brass-colored metal of their shields etched with a symbol—a broadsword thrust
down through a flaming ring. They were sweeping through the farm, setting fire
to everything. One noticed him, shouted, pointed—
Lesa’s
killer suddenly burst through the back door, wood and glass flying everywhere—
“UCC’C-KRSI!”
the demon bellowed, pointing at him. “KRSI SSE!”
More
had seen him. He was very rapidly being surrounded—
He
turned and bolted away. He could hear shouts, orders being given. He heard in
very clear Thesean: “Kill him!”
Arrows
zipped over his head, very close. He sprinted, zigzagging, for the high trees
at the edge of the farm’s property.
He
stood no chance. The trees were too far away. Through a barren, exposed field
he ran … the winged beings were diving for him … he had seconds to live …
He
didn’t see the half-buried log and tripped over it, falling forward into a
shallow mud-filled cart track. The object Lesa had thrown to him in her last
moment of life shot out of his pocket up by his head. He grabbed frantically
for it, encasing it in wet dirt; he flipped over onto his back as the first
winged monster swooped hungrily in on him, its shadow snuffing out the
daylight. Without thinking he held up the object between them and shouted, “GO AWAY!”
As
the monster descended, its bloody talons reaching for his flesh, the object got
abruptly much colder. Green light flashed—
Kaza
bellowed, turned his head, closed his eyes—
—a
heavy thump! just next to him—dirt
falling over him—an eardrum-splitting screech. He opened his eyes, looked—
A
thousand pounds of winged black demon flopped in the center of a respectable
crater just a couple arm lengths away. One of its wings was broken. By some
miracle it had missed him—
He
scrambled to his feet and ran, his ears ringing. An arrow buried itself in the
earth just next to him—the trees were seconds away—another arrow, then
another—he made the forest just as another screech sounded directly above him:
a white flash: a loud crash—
A
demon fell on him, along with several large branches and thousands of leaves.
Kaza, dazed, his entire person throbbing with pain and shock, struggled,
screaming, to pull himself out from under it … The monster was injured and
bloodied … Blood covered him: sulfuric, hot, rotten, greasy, puke-green … its
slickness helped him pull free … He stood just as the beast focused on him with
yellow cat’s eyes, slashed at him with wicked claws. It was the abomination
that had killed Lesa. Shreds of her clothing still hung from its slack jaws. He
ducked, tripped and fell backward—
He
had stumbled on the beast’s broadsword. Without thinking he grasped the hilt
with two hands—he had to grasp it so, it was massive—and, wrenching it from
under a splintered branch, lifted and swung it over his head, aiming. The damn
thing had to weigh what he did, but it didn’t seem to matter to the adrenaline
pulsing through him; the blade swished through the air and into the meat of the
monster’s neck, where it stuck halfway. The demon slashed again for him just as
the blade halted. It gurgled richly, grasping for the sword instead of him,
thick green blood spouting from the wound, covering the blade. He turned to
run.
Men.
They were in that same evil armor, combing through the trees just a short
distance away. Several looked right at him—he ducked—but then they went on
milling about as though they hadn’t seen him. He thought that he should hide
here, in these woods, but … where—?
The
monster gave a huge rich cough and keeled over. He scrambled away on his hands
and knees as the soldiers made quickly for it, shouting….
He
held up for several seconds under scrub brush surrounding another tree. The
soldiers were inspecting the demon’s massive corpse; several flashed into
gulls; one flew right over him—he was sure it had spied him—but it just kept
flying, just as though he was invisible … He needed to catch his breath—no time!—his ribs twinged agony with
even the slightest intake of air … Bending over, holding himself, he tore out
of the brush for the large irrigation canal bordering the farm. The ditch was
flanked by a wide road—way too wide! He
held up, glancing around, before making for the sluggish water at a hard
limping sprint.
The
canal was full. Ignoring the pain shooting through his entire body with every
step, he dove into the frigid water, surfacing several seconds later. He
allowed only his face to come up, holding himself vertical to its insistent
flow. The canal was deep—at least three times his height when it was full like
this—but he was a superb swimmer. He hadn’t planned this escape; it was as
though something inside him had known exactly what to do, and now all he had to
do was disappear underneath the surface should he spy more soldiers or demons.
Maybe
not. Because he was already very close to outright fatigue. He knew he would
have to rest, catch his breath, and soon, or he would drown.
Soldiers
stood at the ditch’s edge, just past an upcoming bend, guarding a long line of
children. The soldiers were … drowning
them. One by one. Children Kaza knew, children from the bordering farms (where were their parents?). A pair of
soldiers held them under until their small forms stopped thrashing … The kids
were waiting their turn, crying in helpless horror … Other soldiers nearby were
leisurely washing their bloodied weapons … two or three were swimming upstream,
their armor and weapons piled on the far bank. They were laughing and splashing
each other….
Kaza
gagged, sucking in a mouthful of cold water. He sank beneath the surface
coughing, his lungs emptying themselves in a single burst of bubbles which rose
placidly to the surface. The men were just ten or so body lengths away….
In
the frigid, flowing, wet blackness, as he struggled to keep from coughing
again, and as the want for air became the single point of concern for his mind
and body, he could hear a child—a little girl—cry for her mother as she thrashed
in the ditch water. She and her killers were just above and to the left of him
now; he could hear the ghastly muted counterpoint laughter of the swimming men;
he passed just next to them, grateful beyond words that they didn’t see him. He
could just make out their legs and feet, kicking in time to keep them afloat
and stationary against the current … He was close to drowning, could feel his
lungs buckling, his mind blackening like the inky murkiness swirling around him
… He would have to surface now or die
…
He
came up as slowly and as far away from the grisly scene as he could. At the
surface it took everything in his person to keep from loudly gasping and
coughing. He disconnectedly considered suicide, how he could end his own life
before the men got to him, before the demons did…. The unspeakable image of
Lesa crying out for him as the demon bit into her was indelible,
unforgettable….
But,
somehow, no one noticed him. Gulls and pigeons passed overhead in regular
intervals; so too demons. Surely he was visible from the sky!
Something
hard bumped into his head.
He
submerged so fast that his face barely made a ripple as he went under, his
heart hammering in his chest. The thing had latched onto him; he twisted
violently to push it away. It was substantial, heavy, like a log … it was
floating free … pink … and brown …
A
little girl.
She
floated face down in the current, her long brown hair almost lovely as it
drifted around her face. He very cautiously surfaced and carefully turned her
over, a constant eye on the banks, on the skies. He looked to see who it was,
if he knew her.
He
didn’t recognize her. Her pretty visage was almost serene in death, her nose
bleeding clear canal water. Her clothing had snagged weeds and reeds from the
water’s edge. She couldn’t have been more than three Aquanian-years old. He
couldn’t help it; tears stung his eyes at the same time a helpless rage surged
through him. He, like so many of his countrymen, had listened to the Thesean
government’s many assurances that rumors of an imminent invasion were baseless.
His father—My God, I hope he’s all right!—had
friends in Puowbalpom, the capital, officials of the government who insisted
that all reports of an invasion were nonsense. His father had trusted them, and
so Kaza had trusted them …
The
little girl was sinking. He let her go, wondering how many other bodies were
floating in the water with him.
The
canal, he soon discovered, was choked with them. Men, women, children, even
animals. Many were bloodied; many more were missing heads, arms, limbs.
Countless were burned, more often than not beyond recognition. And furniture:
rocking chairs, table legs, utensils, drapes. As he floated farther and farther
downstream, the water’s murky blackness changed slowly to blood-red. At one
point, exhausted, he eased himself to the bank, to an outcropping of small
round rocks. He grabbed one. It was a head. The outcropping was comprised
entirely of human bodies. He almost let go, but his exhaustion won the day; he
hung on to the soft skulls and hair and submerged, rubbery shoulders and legs
and torn, clinging clothing as he fought for energy, for the tattered threads
of will to continue on. The current here was insistent; the bloody water
gurgled richly as it swirled around him. He kept as much of his head under as
he could; he brought his nose above the surface only when the need for air
became urgent. He breathed in as deeply as possible as quickly as possible
before sinking low again. When he thought he had recovered enough to let go,
even for just a little bit, he did so, floating away from the submerged
massacre, his tears feeding the stream.
The
canal widened and shallowed as it wound its way towards the capital city coming
into view beyond a low, barren range of rocky foothills. Blind terror had
compressed time: Puowbalpom was hours away by horse, but only minutes seemed to
have passed since he dove into the ditch. He was surprised to be astounded by
such a trivial fact.
The
city was burning. There were many more soldiers here, at its outskirts, many
more demons. Birds of seemingly every kind flew overhead with alarming military
regularity; the black-winged monsters, too. He marveled that he hadn’t been
spotted. But the bodies floating downstream with him were ghastly in number;
perhaps their patrolling killers saw nothing but bodies, reckoning them all to
be dead. It seemed perverse to him that he felt intense gratitude that this was
so. The genocide’s sheer volume was protecting him.
The
canal was widening, the gory current picking up speed. At points his feet
scraped bottom; several times his knees knocked painfully against submerged
rocks (what he hoped were rocks). The current tossed him mercilessly about.
Without regard to how it had to appear from above, he tried floating on his
back. He knew he would have to leave the ditch before it made it into the
city—but … where? The hiding spots
sliding past his watery vantage point were all wholly inadequate.
Up
ahead another bend came into view, a sharp one. The channel narrowed
considerably at that point, calming the water. A grove of trees hung over the
ditch along the right bank just where it angled out of sight. He could rest
there for a bit while he considered his options, knowing full well he was only
kidding himself. He had none.
It
was very difficult getting to the bank. He had to navigate through more
floating bodies, all of whom he had no idea were next to him until just then,
kicking and stroking furiously between and over them. He reached a barely
submerged, slick tree root, grabbing it and hanging on for dear life. He
crawled along it, fighting the sucking current all the way, until he could put
his feet down under him.
No
bodies here … He waded ashore on his hands and knees, wheezing, spitting out
bloody water….
No.
Even here in these peaceful shadows there was death. An old man lay partially
covered in heavy foliage, twisted half on his side, his legs submerged up to
his knees. He appeared to have gotten stuck in the roots. Kaza spied a dry spot
not far from him and was making for it, trembling with cold, when he heard him
groan.
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
~~*~~
