The Gift of Volkeye (57 page)

**

All but Zynathian stood in a tight hug. Some of them were crying, never having been so emotionally vexed before. It was all just too much for one day.

As the platform pulled back into the vessel, Zynathian took the pilot’s seat. As he raced above the treetops, rushing to attend the wounded servants, he realized that they had, this day, altered the future.

But for better or worse?

Zynathian knew it would take years for Phyllamon to recover from everything he’d lost this day…

…but when he does recover, he’ll be all the more terrible for it!
Zynathian thought to himself, shivering.

His biggest worry was Murlach. He knew that once a scientist gained a bit of knowledge, they never forgot it.
Never.
So the fact that Zynathian had recovered his journals meant nothing. God only knew how dangerous Murlach would become if he took the ideas from the journals and began to apply a bit more imagination to them!

…After all, he does have a great mind!

He then made his decision. No matter how unfair it was to the peace of mind of his family or the refugees he’d saved, Zynathian knew it was foolish to coast happily through life, while minds like Murlach’s and hearts like Phyllamon’s were left to roam the world unchecked. That was the mistake he’d made before…look what it got him! Yes, as soon as the dead were buried, and the wounded, healed…

We must hunt them!

They honoured the dead and held burial services the next day. The morning following the funeral, Zynathian and family, plus a few friends, set off for the skies. It was now a whole day since they arrived home, and though three full nights had passed since the fight at Marcleese, everyone was still numb with angst over the losses.

There were none quite so distraught as Peenuhs Dickery, for he’d lost eight of his boys. Zynathian had invited him; his wife, Daphnie; and Seth and Samuel, the remaining two sons, back to his home for a while. Accompanying them was Rosa Lee and her son, Nicolas, who wanted to help look after Khyeryn; Annie, who wouldn’t be separated from Nicolas; her mother, Sam; and Reena and her fiancé, Lux (both of whom accompanied Nigel as a means of looking after their cousin, Alex, who’d lost an arm and leg in the battle). Also here for treatment were the two servants from Phyllamon’s castle. Luckily, Zynathian was able to stabilize them before it was too late.

Now, presently having put their sadness aside for just a moment, the entire family and friends stood inside Zynathian’s lab, entertaining polite conversation. Maugrimm had just entered, carrying Annie. They’d become good friends over the last few weeks.

“Mawg, dude, are you tryin’ to put the moves on my woman?” Nick asked.

“Waddaya’ mean
tryin,’
sonny, me already took her from ya’…she wanted a
real
man!”

“Is this true, Ann?”

“Of course not!” Annie said, giggling, as she climbed down and ran to Nick’s arms.

Nick winked at Maugrimm. “Nicolas, the ten-year-old, gun-toting playboy could never lose his woman!” he said.

Several of them were in stitches at this.

“That boy has been taking lessons from me!” Khyetarah Vyx Mune said, burping, as he leaned over to gobble up another of Belch’s famous onion rolls. These were Khyetarah’s favourite, and since they wouldn’t be returning to the Igloo for awhile, Belch cooked up a batch and sent them along.

“My God, Khyetarah, please keep that horrid onion breath to yourself!” Zynathian said.

Sing and the other two ex-servants of Phyllamon’s, Dorcey and Pema (the woman, who’d been stabbed in the stomach with a tentacle), all glanced at each other, smiling. They had quite a few stories to tell about bad breath, if that was indeed where the conversation was going!

“Zynathian, if you were ever so unfortunate to get a whiff of Helena’s breath, you wouldn’t mind Khyetarah’s at all!” Dorcey laughed, in a sluggish stupor. Because of Zynathian’s special painkiller, he (like Khyeryn) wasn’t in any physical discomfort. He was merely exhausted.

“Is this the woman I’ve seen on video?” Zynathian asked.

“Yes, Phyllamon’s wife…the one who was in the hover with him. Zynathian, I’m telling you, all she had to do was exhale once, and you’d get burns as bad as the ones Teshunua had,” Sing said. They all laughed.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“No joke,” Pema said.

“Shit, that must be some damn smelly ass breath!” Khyeryn said.

Whack!

“Ouch, Dad!” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “You could have a little more sympathy on the
temporarily crippled
, goddammit!”

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Khyeryn lay there, rubbing the back of his head while the others laughed. Peenuhs, however, wasn’t fairing as well as his wife and sons, who were only able to laugh for a moment, simply because they’d already shed so many tears. He, himself, hadn’t cried at all yet but simply shut down.

Upon learning of his son’s deaths, he swore off the bottle for all time, realizing life was too precious to spend it destroying his liver. He hadn’t had a sip of anything other than water since he received the news, and the fact that his body was going through withdrawal, added to his moodiness, making the pain all the more difficult to contain. It had finally begun to take its toll on him, and he got up to exit the chamber before he burst into tears in front of everyone. Zynathian noticed.

“All right there, mate?”

Peenuhs collapsed. He looked up at Zynathian, shaking his head.

“I can empathize with your pain. Remember, I lost my wife, Ya Minj, to circumstances beyond my control. It’s hard right now, I know, but it does get easier, I promise,” Zynathian consoled.

Thankful for his kind words, Peenuhs got up to leave the room. Daphnie followed, as to look after him.

The entire room was silent once again, taking on a somber note. The Dickery boys, fighting back their own tears, went to Khyeryn and kissed him on each side of his face, then gave him nuggies on his forehead. Khyeryn’s cheeks and ears went apple red. It seemed that he and Teshunua had become members of the Dickery family, as a means of compensation for Seth and Samuel’s lost brothers.

“Good luck, little brother,” Seth said to him as Samuel gave Khyeryn a big smile. Seth then looked to Alex, Pema, and Dorcey, wishing them the same. They turned to leave, and Zynathian addressed the others.

“It’s time, everyone,” he said.

At this, the room cleared with the rest of the family wishing them all successful operations and speedy recoveries. Asha remained behind, because she was going to be helping Zynathian with the operations. Just then, a dozen Mechs entered the lab. Leading the team was Marcia, Fritz, and Bazu, Zynathian’s three favourites.

“We’re going to work on you first, Pema, as your procedure is the simplest. Though I took care of your pain three days ago, I still have some abrasive cleaning to do in your wound. God only knows where that tentacle had been! I’ll make sure your stomach doesn’t scar, but I’ve decided to let your wound heal naturally…so stay rested and try not to agitate your injury afterward…and no roughhousing with monsters for awhile, okay?”

Pema smiled.

“Dorcey, are you sure that you don’t want a different type of arm? You know that I can do some interesting things.”

“No thank you, friend. I like the way God made me just fine,” he replied with a grin.

“I respect that…one ‘normal’ arm coming right up!” Zynathian said, now looking to Alex. “And you?”

“Well, you know I’m a mechanic by trade, so if you could think of something unique to help with that, I’d be much obliged, Master Volkeye!”

“Hmm,” Zynathian said, rubbing his chin, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay, squirt, what’ll it be?” Zynathian asked his son, knowing that his active imagination would’ve already dreamt of numerous additions to his body, some of which were likely to be the most absurd things possible.

“Dad, I was thinking that maybe my legs could have rockets on them, or something like that…ya’ know, so I can fly!”

“Boy, you don’t even know how to use the damn hovercar yet, and you expect me to give you the ability to fly? You’ve lost your mind! Uh uh, no sir!”

“C’mon, Dad, please!”

“Khye, this isn’t just simple mechanics we’re talking about! You’re asking me to do to something with many pain-in-the-ass technical details! Have you any idea how much heat and fire is required to create rockets like the ones you’re talking about? Then I’d have to think of cooling mechanisms, so that you don’t overheat and die…drag fins, for when you want to slow down…not to mention all sorts of things that I haven’t foreseen. The answer is ‘no!’ ”

“Dad, c’mon! You can do it! Do you have a SUPER-BRAIN, or do you not?”

“That’s not the point, boy!”

“Okay, maybe my request is a bit overboard. But just make me cool…cooler than Teshunua!”

“You and Teshunua…without fail, always competing!” Zynathian rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll try to think of something
unique
, but I’m not making any promises, Khye,” he smirked at him.

Khyeryn seemed to be pleased.

“Asha, honey, hit that switch over there, so that their chairs will stretch out flat.”

She went to the wall and tapped a gold button. All the chairs laid flat and doubled in size. Asha then gave each of them a pillow. Next, she helped Zynathian place a small plastic mask over each of their faces, fitting them snug. She kissed Khyeryn on the forehead and smiled at him.

“We have a lot of work ahead, so you may be under for a couple of weeks, sweetie. Sleep tight,” she said, turning to Zynathian.

Bazu, Marcia, and Fritz accompanied him at the dials. It was time to turn on the gas.

“You all ready?” Zynathian asked.

“Dad.”

“Yes, son.”

“When I wake up, promise to tell us some of the stories about your younger days. Please.”

Zynathian grinned, thinking it might be time for them to learn a bit more about him. “Of course,” he said finally.

As Khyeryn pulled his mask back on and lay on his pillow, Zynathian reminisced. He thought of his extraordinary adventures with old friends, some long dead and others gone to different parts of the world. He sighed over the women he’d put through much emotional pain. Some of them had loved him a great deal, but he was just too busy being ‘
Zynathian Volkeye’ to love them back. It was meant to be, however, and he didn’t dwell on them for too long, as he knew none of them could’ve possibly measured up to Ya Minj or Asha anyway.

As he stood thinking, Zynathian also recalled the grand battles he’d been in. The chases. The escapes. The defeats. The victories. These all led up to a day on which he finally slew his enemy—
Drakys, the Great
—with his bare hands. He shook his head in awe of all that he’d done in the last fifty-two years. He’d had quite a full life, a life that no one but he and a select few others knew about.

Zynathian looked over his patients, confident about the procedures. He’d matured over the past months and attained a larger understanding of the responsibility his talent entailed. Talent was a double-edged sword, a gift and a curse simultaneously. One couldn’t afford to be careless with it like he’d been. As a result of this epiphany, Zynathian now gave much thought to the consequences of every action, as he did with these patients before him.

It’d be especially dangerous for Alex, because new talents often had a tendency to show off, and Zynathian knew that Phyllamon would eventually have spies on the lookout for anyone with special abilities. In fact, who was to say that Phyllamon wouldn’t be hunting the Volkeye family, just as they were soon to be looking for him?

I have to be very, very careful!
Zynathian thought, knowing that he could no longer perform operations and then not keep track of the people, as he’d done with Peenuhs Dickery and so many others in the past.

Now, Zynathian and the Mechs turned the dials on the machines, putting the patients to sleep. He then walked about, seeing their eyes gradually close shut.

Finally, they all lay sleeping. Dream worlds immediately called out to them, beckoning each to embark on a separate and unique adventure. Though these lands offered a different path for each individual, their final destination remained the same. The four patients leapt from the edge of the rational land from whence they came and dove into the waters of unexplored territory, bravely setting out to receive…

…THE GIFT OF VOLKEYE.

Loved as much as he is hated, Wrinklegus Ezekiel PoisonTongue is a freelance (or some would say “vigilante”) lawman, specializing in the apprehension of the worst of the worst spell weavers, who either cannot be caught by traditional methods, or whom the authorities are afraid of altogether. PoisonTongue’s style is unorthodox, as not only does he often break the very laws he’s trying to upkeep, but he’s fonder of killing than apprehending! There are many who’d have him strung up by his scaly ankles and vanquished at the might of a thousand wands, but the problem is that he has an enormous amount of supporters. With his stardom from his career as a novelist and painter (activities indulged in his moments away from murdering off the scum of society), you’d be hard pressed to escape the mobs of people (children included) defending him!

Not that he’d need their help. After all, he’s a prodigiously skilled spell weaver with an itchy wand hand! ...And did I mention that he’s half dragon? (Yes, it’s widely known that his human mother had “eccentric” tastes.) So, aside from his superhuman strength, conjuring abilities, and the fact that it would take a near impossible amount of injury to kill him, PoisonTongue is still capable of roasting an enemy alive! You may trust that he isn’t one to be tested.

It is known that Wrinklegus PoisonTongue likes to masquerade about as a human, and there’s top secret intelligence that states his currently assumed identity is that of “Marque Terrynamahr Strickland,” a 38-year-old ****** with art and writing skills that are far too similar to his own. PoisonTongue is getting sloppy with covering his tracks! Still, this sorcerer is a talent of epic proportions, and I’ll not be stupid enough to attempt to apprehend him myself, lest I be spell cast into the next life!

—An anonymous wizard

(For those wondering what “******” means, do some digging. If you want the secret, you’ll have to work for it! :)