Kastori Revelations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

“Crystil,” Celeste said. “We’re fine. We’re not getting hurt. You have to trust me here, OK?”

“Trust that we’ll get knocked out again?” Cyrus said.

“Come,” Amira said as she walked to the entrance of the tent.

Crystil shot Celeste an angry look, and Celeste knew she had the cold, ruthless commander back on her hands. Crystil got to her feet on her own as Celeste helped pull Cyrus to his feet.

“You get a pass here because of what you did with the lupi,” Crystil said. “But you had better know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Celeste lied.

41

Crystil had never felt so much raw anger toward Celeste. She woke up with no weapons, at the complete mercy of the beings that had killed her husband, her emperor, and her home and had to trust an inexperienced young girl.

If not for the presence of the magicologist a mere five feet from her and her ability to paralyze with just the motion of her hand, Crystil might’ve done to Celeste what she did to Cyrus back in space. She let rage flow to her fists, which she clenched tightly, and her face, which felt hot to the touch. The goodwill Celeste had garnered for her actions against the lupi was fading rapidly.

“We’re dead if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Crystil said, barely getting the words out.

“You’re headed that way if you don’t follow me,” the magicologist said.

“If you’re just going to kill us, then you might as well do it now and save us all the trouble of wondering if we can escape.”

“Oh, you can’t,” Amira said. “Truth be told, I don’t trust anything that doesn’t come from this camp. You can thank Erda for staying alive. If you had stumbled upon here by mistake, I’d read you for all of the information and then kill you.”

Crystil mumbled under her breath numerous swears to Amira. Crystil refused to apologize or back down, staring at the soulless mask that gave no indication of Amira’s feelings.

The magicologist walked out of the tent, and Celeste followed. Feeling no choice in the matter, Crystil trailed her.

“Tough cookie, that one, huh?” Cyrus said behind Crystil, who ignored the comment.

Crystil noticed the number of tents before, but coming out of one made her realize how small and sparse a colony it was. If this was all that remained, Anatolus had as much bad luck as Monda did. The tents seemed poorly constructed, with numerous tears visible.

Crystil begrudgingly followed Celeste and the magicologist to the front of the gold tent. Amira turned around, sending more shivers down Crystil’s spine. Every time she saw the mask, she could see through her sniper scope an ugly magicologist striking someone down with magic. In real life, she never missed. In her flashbacks, though, she always missed, feeling helpless.

“Wait here,” Amira said. “Erda does not take visitors unannounced.”

She ducked in, and Celeste just stood there. Crystil saw an opportunity to run and better prepare—maybe even pull out the one weapon she’d held in reserve, a weapon only she knew of—to fight the magicologists.

“Run,” she said, but to her surprise, Celeste grabbed her arm.

“Not yet,” Celeste said. “Amira is cold and brutal, but her life forces her to be. Someone older and from happier times may not be.”

“Our blood is on your hands if any of us even scrape our knees here,” Crystil whispered furiously.

Amira returned.

“Go. Erda is inside.”

Celeste nodded to Crystil, who tugged her arm away but walked inside the tent. Crystil had never felt so relieved to see Amira was not following.

When she looked ahead, Crystil saw three magicologists, two in black robes and one in red robes, each with the other color on their mask, surrounding one older woman, with her mask off and golden robes on. The woman had a relaxed seated posture, long gray hair, and beautiful blue eyes. The tent had no decorations, but the woman sat on an elevated platform with carpeting.

“Welcome, Celeste, Cyrus, and Crystil,” she said with a calm, maternal voice, slow and soothing. “My name is Erda, and I am the chief of the last known remaining town of the Kastori. I apologize for how Amira acted—she does not know what it means to trust anyone, and thus reacted poorly to your presence.”

“Thanks for not killing us yet,” Crystil said coldly.

Erda stood up and motioned for the other magicologists to leave. They did so, passing by the three humans out the door. Erda wore a sad smile on her face.

“I don’t want to kill you. I’ve seen too much death in my time here, almost all of it entirely unnecessary. I want to help you.”

“And why is that?” Crystil said.

“Because, in the interest of honesty, it will help us as well,” Erda said. “Our planet suffered far too many casualties at the hand of Calypsius, and before it, its creator, Typhos. Typhos brought destruction and annihilation to this world, much as he did to Monda.”

“You know,” Celeste said in disbelief, leaving Crystil to silently note that these were indeed the same magicologists who had killed her husband and many others. She could withhold action for now, unarmed and curious for information, but would not forget revenge at the appropriate time.

“We did our best to not let him escape. But he was too powerful, and when he summoned Calypsius, we had to commit our resources to stopping the monster. We couldn’t even succeed in that. Our best Kastori were wiped out, along with your planet. I’m sorry, Celeste. This is my fault.”

“No,” Celeste said, bringing a rise from Crystil that the commander barely managed to quell.

“Yes,” Erda said, and she turned to Crystil. “I know you hate my race, and that you still refer to us by the name humans have given us. I cannot blame you and will not try to change you. I only ask that you listen to the story of what happened, and why we are asking you for help.”

Crystil thought of giving a cold one-word answer, but instead just nodded. The Kastori, she acknowledged, were genuine here.

Or possibly great at faking it.

“Typhos. He was such a promising child, one of the most naturally gifted Kastori we’ve ever seen in our history. So much so, that some thought he would fulfill the legend that there would come a Kastori who could transcend death itself, and not just be immortal, but give life back to others. I had thought that Typhos could be that Kastori.”

Erda swallowed and paused for a long time, and when she resumed speaking, her voice shook.

“Instead, he brought about the near extinction of our race. He forced us underground, into hiding, hiding from both he and Calypsius. Hungry for power, he discovered how magic gets passed down and how to beat the time it takes for that to happen. He displayed no empathy, and slowly lost whatever mind he had as he gained more power.”

She sighed weakly.

“Which makes it all the more tragic from where he started.”

42

“Decades ago, the Kastori lived peacefully on Anatolus. For centuries, we kept our population small, the better to fit within the planet’s boundaries and respect what the world had given us. We ruled with a council of six and a chief. Of the six council members, we had two trained in the black magic of elements, two in the white magic of healing, and two in the red magic of sense. Those trained in the elements wear black, those in healing white, and those in sense red, and wore a mask of the color of their secondary power. The chief wore gold to represent that he or she understood all magic and could command such power responsibly and for the greater good of all. Together, these seven governed Kastori society and acted as the court of law whenever disputes came up.”

“Typically, the chief would serve until his or her death, at which point someone from the council would become the chief, and a new member would be added to the council from society. But… one day, a woman named Aida became chief not because of a death, but because of a resignation by an older man named Adanus. Adanus never said why he resigned, though it was well known he and Aida loved each other, and most assumed he removed himself to appoint Aida himself. In any case, shortly after Aida became chief of the Kastori, Adanus and Aida had a child, and that child was Typhos.”

She’s speaking almost yearningly for the man who ruined Monda and Anatolus
, Celeste thought. She seemed to want the days before Calypsius was even a possibility—no, more than that, when the name Typhos seemed like a gift and not a death wish.

“Immediately, even before the child could crawl, let alone walk, the Kastori perceived the child’s power. Even for a child of the previous two chiefs of the Kastori, the potential this child had went far beyond what people imagined. Some called him the savior. Others said it was false propaganda to ensure he’d become chief some day. In any case, Typhos had a great deal of attention on him from a young age, and he reveled in it. As he grew up, he loved to show off, displaying his magical talents in humorous, sometimes troublesome ways. If I were more perceptive and had paid better attention, I might have noticed how much he wanted to prove he could escape his parents’ shadow.”

Her voice wavered at the end, and Erda had to cough to recover her focus.

“But what complaints I did hear, I just dismissed as the common one of a child of powerful parents. But things got dark for him in just six months.”

Celeste felt a chill go through her.

“Adanus died suddenly on Typhos’ fifteenth birthday, and the child did not handle it well. He was angry at his father for leaving him so soon and on such an important day. We all offered all of the support we could, but Typhos angrily rejected it, saying he didn’t need our help. Poor Aida felt overwhelmed with grief and only did her chief duties as needed. Out in public, she had the look of someone who could never get past losing her husband. But as bad as that was, it got worse a few months later, when Aida disappeared. We all eventually accepted that she had killed herself, grief stricken over the loss of her husband, as no one could sense her presence anywhere. If his father’s death had riled up Typhos, his mother’s death sent him into a dark, lonely, disturbing place that made him cold, emotionless, and ruthless.”

“Aida’s death meant that someone had to become chief. We always vote as a council for the next chief, and no one can vote for themselves. We do so until someone garners a majority of votes. A man named Radamus became the next chief of the Kastori. But problems arose when the council needed to fulfill the sixth spot, ideally with someone who practiced red magic. First, Ramadus didn’t fill the spot for years, aggravating Typhos’ pride even further. When Ramadus opened the role, Typhos, though still mourning and in a dark place, politicked for the role and explained it as his rightful duty to carry on what his parents had done. Unfortunately, I also desired the role, and I carried more maturity, patience, and understanding to the role. Typhos became contentious, arrogant, and petulant at not becoming a council member. He correctly pointed out that he had the greatest grasp on magic of anyone not on the council, but in their minds, he did not want to become a member for the greater good, but for his own ego. Eventually, they selected me as a council member and told Typhos. Our decision was justified from the perspective of serving the greater good in the context it had always inhabited. I am not sure if it was the right move in the end, given what happened next.”

Another long pause came from Erda. Celeste swore that commotion outside of the tent went silent. Even the sound of water flowing went mute to Celeste’s ears.

“Furious, he stole some spirits and drank himself into an enraged mess. He convinced himself we had conspired to keep him and his family out of the council. Of course, such a thing was not true, but you cannot convince a man who has gone mad that he is the only mad one. He ambushed Radamus and brutally murdered him with his powerful black magic. This troubled us greatly, for reasons beyond the death of the chief. You see, traditionally speaking, magic is passed down from one generation to the next. A child is imbued with some degree of magic, but when a parent dies, the magic of the parents gets passed down to the child; if the parent has no child, the magic simply vanishes. But, there is one way around it. If a Kastori kills another magically-endowed being, be that another Kastori or a summoned being, then the Kastori absorbs their power. We do not make this knowledge publicly known, and for many decades, we never had to deal with this problem.”

“But when Typhos murdered Ramadus, he immediately sensed the increase in magical powers. I felt the newest chief’s death and strongly suspected it was Typhos’ doing, so I suggested the elder black magic councilor face Typhos. Much to my horror, however, Typhos murdered him and a red magic councilor. As a group, the remaining council members and I captured and placed him inside a prison which sapped his ability to use magic, but we underestimated greatly the sympathy he had in the public.”

“Wait,” Crystil interrupted. “Your race supports a murderer like that?”

Erda gave a slight smile that both calmed Crystil and silenced her.

“Remember, at the time, Typhos was seen as the one who could bring immortality to the Kastori. He could ensure everyone lived their lives without pain, disease, and death. His parents dying within a six-month span made him a sympathetic character, and the deaths of the council members did not seem to connect with Typhos’ rage. This all happened in the span of one night. The population did not even know of his rage, because he kept it bottled up. Instead, they saw him as an unfair scapegoat.”