Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

Celeste started to reply, but Typhos yelled, “Are we?!?”

Celeste nodded and said, “Yes.”

But now I know his weak point. Something about her and their past.

“Good,” Typhos said. “I apologize for the outburst. It looks like dinner is complete. Thank you for a lovely evening, Celeste, and consider what I have said.”

He walked her back to her prison and shut the door.

“Sleep tight. Dream about the glory I can offer you,” he said, sending chills down the young girl’s spine.

30

Cyrus opened his eyes and looked out on an expanse so vast he felt he could see the curvature of Anatolus. He turned around, expecting to see more open sky, and instead saw the side of Mount Ardor. He only had about a hundred more feet to climb, and when he looked to his right, he saw a staircase spiraling around the mountain, leading up.

“Couldn’t make it up all the way?” he asked Erda, standing on the first step.

“The concentration of magic is so intense up there, no one can teleport into it,” she said reverently. “All of us teleport down here and climb. Even as chief, I could not teleport there.”

Cyrus raised his eyes once more to the peak. He didn’t see anything of particular note, though the fog this high up was thicker and the air thinner.

“This magic, where does it come from?” Cyrus asked. “And can we use it to help get my sister back?”

Erda expanded her arms as if enveloping everything in view.

“It’s the magic of the planet, Cyrus.”

Wait, what?

“It’s true. Kastori are not the only beings who can harness magic. The planet itself is rich with magic, magic so great that it would make Typhos seem like a child.”

“And could someone harness such magic for their gain?” Crystil asked.

“Only someone powerful enough to do so. And such a someone would probably be either the essence of evil or fighting a great evil.”

So, Typhos or Celeste if we free her.

Erda took the pause as a chance to begin ascending the stairs, with Cyrus and Crystil following closely behind.

“Don’t look down,” Crystil ordered.

You don’t need to tell me.

The three walked in silence, Cyrus and Crystil in awe of what the view. They passed by three different caves that revealed nothing—not even the stars of the sky provided any glimpses into their entrances. Cyrus paused at one and approached but immediately felt the cold embrace of an evil darkness that sent a foreboding warning. He darted away and called Erda to ask her about the caves, but she continued walking.
We’re going in at some point.

Just before the peak, the stairs came to a small outlook, which split into three directions, including the one they came from. To Cyrus’ left, fifteen steps led to the actual peak of Mount Ardor. Straight ahead, another set of stairs descended to presumably more caves and another teleportation spot. Erda had already gotten halfway up the peak, and Cyrus followed, taking the steps two at a time.

Cyrus jumped the last step and came to a circular arena, roughly fifty feet in diameter. Straight ahead, and to his left and right, forming a triangle, three different statues stood—two of men, one of a woman. Each statue had a color—black, white, or red—which Cyrus presumed corresponded to the type of magic they represented. The red and the white statues held swords in their hands, the sharp, long blades pointing straight up to the sky. The black figure had an open hand, but no blade. In the middle of the arena, a triangle with extended, curving, looping arms was embedded, a large figure which extended to all but the last five feet of the stage. The ground was smooth, a dirt, rock surface, but without pebbles or jagged areas.

“Welcome to the peak of Mount Ardor,” Erda said. “This is the area with the greatest concentration of magic. Do you feel it?”

Cyrus was too awestruck to answer. The statues all had wings and what looked like engraved armor. The black statue had two sets of wings, four total, with long fingers and deep, disturbing eyes, captivating the attention of Cyrus.

“I do,” Crystil said, a surprising answer which grabbed the attention of Cyrus. “I’m not sure if I ‘feel it’ as you do, but it’s like whenever I walked into Emperor Orthran’s throne room. You could just feel the weight of his power and his presence there.”

“Indeed, this is not a place to come alone. The intensity can overwhelm even strong Kastori without proper preparation.”

She walked over to the white statue—with short hair, a thoughtful look and a smile that Cyrus couldn’t quite place—and carefully removed the sword. Cyrus half-expected the statue to come to life with the magic’s presence. Erda gave the sword to Cyrus, who cautiously took it. Immediately he felt a bonding to it, as its magic coursed through his body with a rush that made him tremble. He took a closer look at it, and saw a white emerald engraved into the hilt of the sword. He swung it a couple of times, and though it was far bigger than the one which he practiced with, it felt as light as an aviant’s feather, gliding through the air.

“Cyrus, though your greatest powers are in black magic, the white sword will prove to be a powerful asset to you,” Erda said. “Wield it, and you will be able to recover from most attacks rapidly. Wounds will heal, physical spells will have minimal effect on you, and you will be able to fight efficiently.”

Good. We need this to rescue Celeste.

Erda went over to the next statue—the one of the woman, who had long hair, half-closed eyes and an expression that could have either been sadness or curiosity—and removed the sword from the woman’s hands. It was the exact same as the sword Cyrus held, except it had a red ruby instead of a white emerald in its hilt. She offered it to Crystil, who hesitated to accept, but a nod from Erda gave her the necessary encouragement. Crystil grabbed it and swung it as Cyrus had.

“Crystil, though you are not a Kastori and cannot cast spells, this sword already contains the power to deflect and reflect spells back to the caster. In using this weapon, you can defend yourself against Typhos and his soldiers, allowing you to charge in and use your techniques to defeat the enemy.”

Erda stood between both of them and took turns looking from one to the other.

“Obviously, the black magic sword is missing. This is the one Typhos took, and since he took it many, many years ago, he has by now become a powerful wielder. This is why our goal is to rescue Celeste—her magic, combined with these swords, can defeat Typhos. But individually, he would crush us.”

Cyrus swung the sword once more, feeling powerful and confident about his chances against any magicologist.

“Then we train and do everything we can to focus on getting Celeste back,” Cyrus said.

He saw Crystil looking at him with a surprised expression, but he didn’t indulge.
Time to focus.

“How long have these swords been here?” Crystil asked.

“As long as I can remember,” Erda said. “To be honest, we once had that information, but Typhos has made it impossible now to find that information. It’s been nearly two decades since I got the chance to see these, thanks to Calypsius, but I know they’ve been here long before.”

“Interesting,” Crystil said as she swung her weapon through the air. “Did you ever use these?”

“No,” Erda said. “No, I try and stay out of the violence as best as I can. Unfortunately, my best isn’t good enough, but in this case, we have two swords and three people and only two of them have experience. You two will train with them, and I will not even touch them.”

Cyrus swung once more before placing the sword down at his feet.
We’ll train. We’ll succeed. We’ll get my sister back. And then we’ll slaughter Typhos once and for all. Get our home back and bring peace.

“Get some rest,” Erda said as she yawned. “Training begins in the morning.”

31

I can play a part in this battle. I can make a difference.

Crystil couldn’t sleep as she laid on the smooth ground, looking up at the sea of stars. Optimism coursed through her, even as her de facto little sister remained prisoner on a planet she thought she’d never have to return to. To her left, at arm’s reach, the red sword lay parallel to her. She wanted to get up, swing it around, and practice deflections, but with no walls or even flaps between her, Erda, and Cyrus, she chose to remain silent.

Cyrus suddenly stood and walked toward the stairs, disappearing out of view. Curious and wanting to comfort Cyrus, Crystil quietly rose and followed Cyrus, who sat on the top step of the spiraling staircase. She sat close enough that their hips touched, for any distance would’ve put them dangerously close to the edge.

“You OK, Cyrus?” Crystil asked as he observed the night in silence for a long time.

“I don’t know that you could call it OK, Crystil,” he said as he scratched his head. “I feel good about our chances. If we execute this plan right, we’re not going to lose. But there’s just so much to chance we can’t control, and if I had been a better brother, we wouldn’t be here. And I’m just pissed off about it.”

“No, stop,” Crystil said. “You can’t beat yourself up like this. It’s no one’s fault. Typhos came here on a mission to find Celeste, and none of us were going to stop him.”

Cyrus snorted.
He doesn’t agree, he’s just not going to verbalize that.

“Cyrus, I love how focused you are now. How intent you are on getting Celeste back. That’s a powerful form of love that, well, I kind of wish I felt still. But take it from someone who made a living out of remaining overly focused. If you let the anger and self-blame consume you, we’re going to lose.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Cyrus.”

He sighed and turned to her. Something struck Crystil at that moment.

Under the stars, with just the two of them, there was something human about him that his cocky nature hid too well. She loved flirting with him during sword fighting and enjoyed his banter.
But I never saw this until now. Never. The support he has for his sister… it’s easy to see it when they’re together. But to see it when he needs to rescue her…

“OK, I may be a little pissed off,” he said, with a guilty smile that the stars brightened. “I’m angry that we have to go back to war. I’m angry that we have to go back to Monda, to the burial grounds of my father and many of my friends. And I’m angry that Typhos thinks he can convert Celeste to his side, and that Erda believes he could pull it off. Aren’t you angry, Crystil?”

“Yes,” she said. “But it’s a directed anger. I know when to use it. I know how to utilize it in battle. I don’t let it prevent me from sleeping or relaxing when I need to.”

A pause came, and an amused smile from Cyrus followed.

“That’s why you are awake like I am?”

The two roared in laughter, and both shushed the other out of fear of waking Erda. Crystil squeezed Cyrus’ arm to help herself calm down, and when she did finally stop laughing, she still had a wide grin on her face.

“She probably thinks we’re idiots,” Crystil said. “Goofballs who can’t sleep. But seriously, Cyrus, just… don’t let your anger get to you. I barely know Typhos, and I can tell his anger controls him instead of him controlling it.”

“Understood, philosopher,” Cyrus said, elbowing Crystil playfully.

The two giggled more, and the calming silence of the night eventually settled them down.
It’s nice to be out here and not have Calypsius. No monsters. Or, for that matter, no ships. No fighters. Nothing. It’s as peaceful and empty a place as you could ever find in the universe. Just me and…

“Wonder what Erda’s thinking right now,” Cyrus said. “She seemed pretty beat up about all of this.”

“You’re not mad at her anymore?” Crystil asked, genuinely surprised.

“I am,” Cyrus said. “But I’m trying to be empathic. It’s what Celeste would have wanted. Erda said something about old habits. Like she’s run before. From what? Fighting Typhos?”

“I can’t think of anything else,” Crystil said. “She sounded like she’s reached her breaking point, though. This is it for her.”

Cyrus nodded.

“Well hopefully if it is, it comes after Typhos is gone,” he said. “This ain’t it for me. I ain’t going anywhere, and you well better not be either.”

He stood up and dusted himself off, and reached down and offered a hand to Crystil. She accepted it, and when she stood up, their hands remained clasped together. Crystil felt their fingers interlocking, but before they came together entirely, Cyrus pulled back.
His sister. It’s all he can think about. Should think about

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Crystil,” he said as he ascended the steps. He turned back once at the top of the peak to face her, then disappeared.

Crystil watched with a warm smile as he went to the peak. She’d sleep a lot better now knowing the cocky boy she’d had to babysit just six months ago would now confidently lead the charge to rescue Celeste.

32

Cyrus rose to a sun that seemed so close, he felt like he could grab it, dousing it for extra sleep.
No, get your head right. Gotta train. Gotta get ready. Or Celeste won’t have more mornings to sleep in.