Eldryan Elders

LILLA

Groaning, I blink my eyes open. The ground shakes under my numb body. I am lying on my back, staring up at the sky.

With effort, I scramble to my hands and knees. My vision contracts to a pinpoint. A concussion hammers my head with near unbearable pain. Nausea and dizziness threaten to overwhelm my body.

Explosions mix with shouts of anger and agony, creating a chaotic cacophony. Blood flows to my neck from the various cuts on my face, then to my back under my black shirt, stinging all the wounds. My vision blurs. I swipe a long strand of dark violet hair out of my eyes, trying to figure out how I got here. There is no time for that! Moira yells in my mind. We are in the midst of a battle! Get up, now!

I push to my feet. Swaying, I take in the battlefield.

Fights rage around me like a churning maelstrom. The army of the Arch god of Chaos and Destruction surrounds black-clad Teryn warriors. How are we going to win? I ask Moira. We are outnumbered a hundred to one.

Even now, more humongous dark fiends and rotting dark servants from all over the Seven Galaxies advance from among the thick, vine covered, and orange-brown trees of the Cathal jungle.

Don’t give up! Moira snarls, her voice strained and tired. You are the Sybil and the true Teryn! We never give up!

Thank you for the reminder, I snap back, as if I could forget. I wasn’t plan ning to give up.

I gather multiple threads of Fla’mma, T’erra and A’qua magic from my pulsing bright white magical orb. The familiar hot-and-cold-and-hot-again feeling envelops me as I layer them on my glowing right arm.

Around me, sounds of laser shots blend into nightmarish snarls and howls. The air smells of blood, rot, smoke, and disturbed soil of the jungle floor. The worn Teryn warriors, many in their beastly battle forms, combat the nightmarish army, who has seemingly constant reinforcements. The ground shakes again under my feet.

A thirty-foot-tall shadow passes over me, blocking out the orange sun for a few seconds.

We are running out of time, Moira yells.

I know.

Lifting a thick thread of Fla’mma from my arm, I shape it into an infernal spray and burn the pressing feline dark fiends. They shriek and draw back. I curse under my breath, wishing I could use my Lume magic, but I have to preserve it.

A rustling sound comes from a nearby thicket.

I whirl toward another group of dark fiends that look a lot like A’ice wolves. Without waiting, I wrap them in A’qua threads, freezing them the second the ribbons touch their rotting furs. They drop to the muddy ground among the twisted roots and vines, growling but staying put.

Black dots dance in my vision. I am dangerously close to overusing my magic. A consequence I never had to deal with before, nor do I dare to risk, as I still don’t know what overusing my Lumenian magic entails. Do something! Moira yells.

Like what?! Maybe instead of complaining, you could offer some solutions? Moira lets out a frustrated roar.

Not helping.

A group of dark fiends approach me from the left, stepping over their in jured brethren. One of them, an insectoid, lunges at me.

I kick out. My foot hits its chitinous chest, propelling it backward. Then I grab the last magical ribbon I gathered, T’erra, and shove it into the ground—a magical fighting technique favored by my mage friend, Ragnald.

The ground opens up under the insectoid fiend’s feet, swallowing it up to its waist. It scrambles with four of its jointed arms but stays stuck. More dark servants reach toward me with their emaciated arms but stay in place as if they are waiting. Then they part for an Acerbus-disguised dark

figure, its face hidden under a black hood.

My heart jumps into my throat. I recognize the repulsive and powerful magical ripples emitting from the figure—the new Ankhar. Hiding behind the smoke disguise of Acerbus—the anti-element of my own magic, Lume. “We meet again,” it says in a distorted voice. “How fortuitous.”

TWO WEEKS EARLIER—LILLA

I wipe the sweat off my face and try to shake exhaustion as we enter our vast compound near the black foreboding Teryn ship.

We spent the morning hours in the Cathal jungle, training with laser weap ons, then moving on to tactical marches and scenarios. My pack weighs at least forty pounds, but Callum—our unit’s leader and my beloved husband— insisted on getting accustomed to carrying it.

Caderyn—praelor or emperor of the lethal Teryn Praelium, and my fa ther-in-law—wasted no time in creating this compound. In the three weeks since we arrived on Cathal, he established a well-functioning center of opera tions with room for everyone to stay outside the humongous spaceship which could house a small city.

The Archgoddess of the Eternal Light and Order—or The Lady, as I like to call her—ordered us to come to this uninhabited jungle world, but She never explained why. The Lady has not been in contact with me since, leaving me guessing.

Caderyn demanded camouflaged orange-green tents to be manufactured in quick order—they have a whole area in the spaceship designated for this very purpose—then had his Teryn warriors set them up as barracks, mess halls, medical centers, command centers, armories, and storage. Luckily, my friends got a separate barrack. Since Callum and I are married, we got our very own tent at the edge of the compound. Not that it provided much privacy.

The overgrown jungle soon gave way to a military city run tightly by the praelor.

Caderyn also enacted strict security measures and sent many of his warriors off on reconnaissance. The only information they brought back was that of wild animals and strange ruins overgrown with plants throughout most of the jungle.

My friends, Isa and Bella, fall in step next to me. The two twenty-year-old and nearly identical twin princesses glance around with their emerald green eyes. In unison, they swipe at their sweaty black hair—both styled in a bob— off their foreheads. “I’m glad we spent seven weeks training and acclimating to the heat of the jungle. It’s almost bearable now.”

Belthair, the six-armed ex-rebel captain and ex-boyfriend of mine, shoves a thumb over his shoulder. “Speak for yourselves. Not everyone can handle the humidity.”

I glance at my friend, Arrov, the tall seventh prince of the wintery world of A’ice. His light blue skin looks too pale under his shoulder-length midnight blue hair. He stumbles on his own feet and curses.

A popping sound makes me turn back.

On my left, blond Ivy, crown princess of the Marauders’ Syndicate, chews her pink hexagonal gum open-mouthed. “You know, on my home world, someone as weak as Arrov wouldn’t last a minute. He would be mugged to death, then stabbed to death, then poisoned to death.”

“Isn’t that the definition of overkill?” I ask.

Ivy shrugs her thin shoulders under her orange-green military jacket. “One can never be sure when your enemy is truly dead. Best to overkill then regret it later.”

Rhona marches next to Ivy, nodding. The Teryn colonel and younger sister of Callum says, “I concur with the Marauder. Heedfulness is vigilance in bat tle.” Then she cuts me a look, as if implying that she considers me someone who wouldn’t last on the Marauders’ world.

Moira chuckles. Rhona just used two synonyms for caution, dear. Now that’s overkill.

I thought Rhona and I had overcome our differences in the Spirit Realm. It seems I was wrong.

“How do you poison someone who is already twice dead?” I ask. Ivy flicks an elegant hand in front of my face. “There are many ways.” Belthair raises his eyebrows. “I have questions.”

Teague strides up between Ivy and me. “Wasn’t today a jollity?” “I see you’ve been hanging around Rhona too long,” I mutter. Teague grins, puts his arms around Ivy and me. “We practiced shooting

our way out of many different ambushes. Then we waded through the swamp and shot those foot-sized leeches. Then we engaged in close combat shooting and sparring. Then we—”

Ivy covers Teague’s mouth with a mud-stained hand full of bleeding leech bites. “We were there, you know. No need to remind us of that torture your best friend and our unbeloved commander put us through.”

Callum overhears Ivy’s words and strides back to us. “This is no joke. Pay attention, learn, and grow up.” A reddish-orange light flashes across his blue irises, a clear sign of his anger.

Ivy recoils from Callum’s stern words. Even Rhona glances at her brother with eyebrows pulled together.

Callum crosses his arms. “At ease.”

Nobody moves.

“What are you waiting for?” Callum snaps. “Get out of here!” My friends jump, and head toward their tent, grumbling.

I wait until they are out of earshot. “That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” I study his clear blue eyes in his tanned face framed by short black hair. Callum puts his hands on my shoulders. “It’s not a laughing matter to me. Not when it’s your life and their lives on the line. Jungle terrain doesn’t allow us to have heavy artillery or laser tank support. We have to rely on each other. Danger lurks behind those trees or in those swamps.”

He is not wrong, dear.

I nod.

Moira, the true queen of all Teryns and my melded spirit, has a lot more experience than I do. She has been alive and leading her people for hundreds of years, even if she had to rule many of those years in the Spirit Realm.

Callum slides the heavy backpack off my shoulders, taking it. I smile in thanks. “We haven’t seen any danger for almost two months now, outside those jungle predators. I doubt that will change any time soon. Maybe The Lady directed us here with the Teryn armada to teach me a lesson of obedience and patience.”

Callum shakes his head. “I doubt that. There is something vital about this planet for the Era War; we just don’t know what.” He leads us toward our tent. This Era War—the seventh one between the two ruling archgods—broke out because of the imbalance of power in the Seven Galaxies. I had one chance to stop the Archgod of Chaos and Destruction—or as I like to call Him, DLD—from advancing the war when He was in a mortal form on my home world, Uhna, but I only managed to injure Him.

My gaze snags the neat rows of latrines to our left. Not that long ago it was a beautiful clearing where Callum and I got married. It feels like it happened a lifetime ago.

Don’t let Caderyn’s antics rile you up, dear. He can’t ruin your memories. At the word “memories” a flash of images full of anguish cross my mind. When I try to focus on it, severe pain shoots from my temples. I misstep.

Callum glances at me. “Are you okay? Is the heat getting to you? Do you feel dehydrated? When was the last time you drank from your flask?” I raise a hand. “I’m fine.” At his concerned expression, I add, “Really, it was just a small headache and now it’s gone.”

Callum purses his lips, clearly not believing me, but turns his attention to our tent.

It’s orange and green, much like the jungle around us, with its roof shaped like a heptagon.

We step into a small area covered only with nets to keep the bugs and ro dents out. We leave our boots there with the socks stuffed in them. Then we enter the main area.

Callum closes the fabric door with ties and checks for any gaps. Muted light comes through the fabric walls of the tent just enough to see without having to turn on the green gaslights fueled with the same gas as the spaceship. There is not a lot of clutter in the spacious area. On the left, a portable sonic shower stands big enough for two people. Across from it awaits a waterproof mattress with dark green bedding. On the right, a green fabric armoire stores our military clothing.

The furnishings might be bleak, dear, but very effective.

At least it’s bigger than our living quarters on the spaceship. The only problem is that it provides much less privacy.

That’s true, dear, and—

I cough.

Oh, right, dear! Privacy! I’ll be taking a nap and . . . Moira falls silent, retreating somewhere in my mind.

Callum places the bags by the door. Then he pulls me into his embrace. His strong arms bracket my back, his hand caressing me.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs and kisses the top of my head, which is easy for him, being over six feet in height, while I am five-and-a-half-feet tall. I laugh into his muscular chest. “We spent all morning together. How could you miss me?”

Callum steps back. “I couldn’t do this, for example.” He unzips my jacket, then drops it by our feet.

I grab his jacket, wrestle it over his head, then throw it behind him. “Yes, I can see how that would have been quite inappropriate. Anything else you missed?”

Callum chuckles, his blue eyes full of desire. “I couldn’t do this as well.” He helps me get out of my pants.

“That also would have been very inappropriate,” I say, acting as if he does not ignite burning passion in my veins. “Is that all?”

Callum clasps my hand and pulls me into the sonic shower. “Well, there is this, of course.”

“Of course,” I say and close the plastic door behind us. Then I thread my arms around his neck while he turns on the shower. “Question is, can you keep quiet?”

He steals a heated kiss from my lips. “If I recall correctly, that was more of your problem than mine.”

Freshly showered, dressed in black military shirts and pants with matching boots, Callum and I duck into the closest mess hall. The tent is spacious enough to serve thirty people but mostly empty as usual. My fingers curl around my mom’s journal. I plan to read the worn pages again later.

We walk past a dozen green metallic tables with matching benches, head ing toward my group of friends all wearing the same military outfit as us. Arrov sleeps at the table, his head braced on his elbows. Snoring lightly, his midnight blue hair falls around him. Next to him Belthair whittles three small pieces of wood, holding them in his three left hands. On the tabletop by Belthair perches blond Ivy, picking under her long pink nails. Across from them, black-haired Rhona sits with the twins. When Rhona’s gaze connects with mine, her smile disappears, and she looks away before I can nod at her in greeting.

I stare at the back of Rhona’s head. I don’t remember offending her. Isa and Bella busy themselves with wires and fragments of a device that was probably a round digital galactic clock above the tent entrance. I glance back. Sure enough, the clock is missing.

Putting the purple journal on the tabletop, I sit next to Isa. Callum takes the spot next to me, his body so close I feel the heat emitting from him. Which reminds me of the fun we had earlier . . .

Oh, dear! Please don’t think about that.

Blushing, I say, Sorry, Moira.

Belthair blows on a piece of wood. “If you are here, Callum, to berate us because we dared to take a break from your precious jungle . . .” Callum raises an eyebrow. “Then what?”

Belthair lifts up his head, his dark brown eyes glinting dangerously. “Then I—”

“Then we will eat,” I cut in, “and enjoy our break.” This stubbornness is what made Belthair a great captain in the rebellion against my father, the ma’ha of Uhna. However, he won’t win against Callum.

Ivy scoffs. “Having dirt under my nails is not the Marauder way.” She is right. The Marauders, a Tier One faction under the Teryn Praelium’s control, are famous for their thieving, fast ships, and favoring methods like poisoning or backstabbing. They took part in a conspiracy and coup attempt against Caderyn, kidnapping him and his family and killing his two sons from a previous marriage—Callum’s older brothers.

Isa drops a screw but catches it before it could roll off the table. “I have dirt in my ear.” Bella adds, “And in my bra.”

I stifle a smile. The twins love talking in tandem, but I’ve seen them act differently when they are without an audience.

The twins giggle at their own joke then turn back to the device they are building. Not only they are great inventors and scientists, but they are also talented hackers.

“I abhor dirt,” Ivy declares.

Rhona rolls her eyes. “Why do you have to be so capricious all the time?” At least Rhona gets along with Ivy if not with me. When we were stuck in the Spirit Realm, they bickered a lot.

I dislike contradicting you, dear, but they still bicker.

I should have said they get along better.

Ivy glares at Rhona. “Don’t pretend to be flummoxed. You should know me by now.”

The others laugh.

And there it is, dear. They are nothing if not predictable.

Using his middle right arm, Belthair wipes a small knife on his leg. “Ivy, did you just borrow a big word from Walking Dictionary?” “Don’t call me that,” Rhona says. It’s a nickname she got from me because of all the big words she likes to use.

Ivy grins. “It’s hard not to call you Walking Dictionary when you always show off.”

That is true, dear. Rhona seems to be compensating for not having a meld ed spirit.