Haze of Dusk (A trilogy) Read online

  Haze of Dusk

  A trilogy

  Copyright © 2012 by Immer C.H

  All right reserved.

  This Novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Any people depicted in the cover imagery is provided by Depositphoto and are models. Such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. © Depositphotos.com/Heckmannoleg

  -1- Rose to amend

  -2- Converting

  -3- Beyond ordinary

  -4- Surroundings

  -5- Distortion

  -6- Disastrous actions

  -7- Problematic

  -8- Discontinue

  -9- Finding truth

  -10- Preparation

  -11- Capricious

  -12- Judyala’s Verdict

  -13- Deadly Flames

  -14- Breakable

  -15- Haunted

  -16- Manners

  -17- Conflicts

  -18- Untouchable

  -19- Surge

  -20- Falsehood

  -21- Distance

  -22- Deadly burden

  -23- Opposite directions

  -24- Territory

  -25- Ally

  -26- Discomfort

  -27- At long last

  To Nani and Alex

  Prologue

  I didn’t think running away from home would drain my life. The suns disturb my inhalation. I can’t breathe—I can’t move. I’m gradually vanishing with the heat rays, but it doesn’t matter anymore because if I die, I can be with Papa again. It’s because he died I left home. I overheard my step-mother cry to my instructor. She doesn’t want me. She thinks I’m reckless. She only loves Jorsay, her real son. Without Papa I’m alone, without Papa there is no home.

  It’s been five days, lacking food, and water, walking far from hometown in search of nothing. Perhaps for a moment I sought freedom from the tenderness my chest carries, but that can’t go—it won’t go away. It hurts too much, nothing can take it away. I drop to the filthy ground. I lie down with no strength. My beige dress and body is cover in dirt. My white skin is flush, irritated by the heat waves of the suns.

  “Papa come back…please…don’t leave me alone…please,” I whisper. My eyes blur. My life gradually is being pulled from this world. Dusk approaches, the sight is beautiful. The main sun is bigger, illuminating a prettier sight. The second sun is smaller, yet it is brighter. I think it’s what makes the world hotter.

  My eyes fall in exhaustion—a thumping on the ground boosts me back up. I squint around the pale ginger field. Fuzziness overtakes my sight. Even so, I see a figure rushing to me. I gasp, almost glad. Can it be someone sees me and came to save me?

  I gaze at the figure. It’s near, but the closer it comes, the faster I distinguish the being. My heart pounds in my chest and I swiftly stare stupor by my fright. I was wrong. Nobody came to save me but to bring me harm. Hurrying to me is a ten feet ogre with an axe. His body carries such weight it shakes the earth. I wish to fight, use my special abilities, but my fear and fatigue won’t allow me to do anything but wait for the outcome. He runs to me, swinging his axe—roaring as he heads my way. His skin is a dirty golden color, his face is frighteningly fiendish. I can see his teeth, all sharp like a lion. The ogre’s jaw sticks out, from below long fangs obtrude.

  “Papa,” I whimper. I expect the worst, when a fearless boy appears from behind me. He runs to the ogre and jumps high—both his feet on the air. He smashes his feet on the ogre's chest, dropping the ogre to the ground in a shot. I gawk, petrify by his skill, questioning his ability of putting down a nine hundred-pound monster. The boy runs back to me. I watch him speechless by his courageousness.

  “Hurry, a lot more of them are coming,” his accent is deep, like the people from the north, like my guardian Srogeri. I hold his hand, and I scuttle, but exhaustion catches up with me dropping me to the ground. He holds me. He doesn’t know me yet he worries for me. The boy takes me in his arms and carries me like a shining prince. His gentleness startles me. I feel good with him. I feel protected…even loved… like when with Papa. “You need water...” I’m not sure if he's asking or he's suggesting. We ascend to a high hill. I stay in his arms. I gape at him, still taken by his strength.

  “We are safe now,” he murmurs, softly putting me down. I look around.

  We reach a mount far from the field, a place with many stone towers. “Are you good to walk?” he asks in a low voice. I blush, dreamy by his kindness. I push a nod. He grasps my hand and leads me to an alleyway. I’m taken by his good charms. His long straight-black hair is wet from the sweat. We walk further into the towers. Passing some dried trees we enter a place that takes my breath away.

  My eyes capture the unreal, a waterfall. A place where the bit of water recklessly drops from above like a never-ending rainfall, streaming down the narrow pale blue river with colorful rocks that obtrude from the water—laying on the ground as if making a pathway. The water that falls from the top scatters on the river dusting a smidgen of its life to the dying land.

  “No-way! Water.” I run to the water and drink from it. The water is fresh, nothing like the well from Duolic. The refreshment is so overwhelming I want to soak into the river. “This is wonderful. Is this real or magic?” I stop to ask. I heard stories of waterfalls that are maintained by elf magic, but never did I think to be fortunate enough to see one with my eyes. He squats down to my level and takes a handful of water, splashing it to his face.

  “What is a girl doing here on her own? That ogre would’ve cooked you alive.” He glimpses my way, now drinking from the waterway. It’s the first time a boy other than my little brother stands near me. My cheeks redden. His attractive face gives me butterflies in my stomach. “You must have a death wish,” he murmurs. “I could’ve handled him,” I snap with lies, heaven knows how pathetic I was that moment. He grimaces.

  “By healing him to death,” he ridicules me. I stand straight, lift a hand and point it at the river. The water elevates and I gently twirl it, turning it into a twist. I put my hand down dropping the water. I conceitedly look at him. He chuckles. “You’re a sorcerer…thought there weren’t any female conjurers but the creatures—”

  “I’m not a creature!” I hiss. He mocks me with laughter and sits down on the edge-surface of the waterway. “What is a little girl doing here by herself? Where are your parents?” His eyes remain on the stream.

  “I’m not a little girl.” I argue. I sit next to him. “And, I ran away from home.” I confess. His small eyes rise. He fixes his eyes on me. “You… too…” he utters, again gazing at the water that sprinkles on our feet. “What do you mean? You ran away from your home too?”

  “No, I never had a home or parents. I was abandoned when I was born.” He establishes with such sadness it breaks me apart. “I ran away from Doomsvell. I’m a warrior there, but people die…everyone is dying. I guess I fear dying as well.” I pant noisily knowing what Doomsvell is, and understanding his tenderness.

  “My father, a great wizard died there too. It's why I ran away, because…I’m also alone. I have no one,” my eyes watered just thinking about it. His eyes meet mine.

  “Sorry for your loss,” he sinks his feet in the water. I partly smile and also stick my feet inside the water. "Want to go for a swim before dark?" He asks in a rush, breaking the hopeless cycle. I timidly nod. I wish to feel released by the dirt that my body withholds. “By the way, I’m Khysso,” he shouts and jumps inside the stream.

  I giggle. “I’m Judyala,” I say bashfully, contemplating on whether to enter or not, the water isn’t deep. It's his companionship I fear. “Ju
dyala, it is strange but I like it. It's pretty,” his compliment brings out my boldness. “Come Judyala, what are you waiting for?” I take a deep breath. I cover my nose and thoughtlessly hop inside the water. The refresh-sense stimulates my life.

  Fifteen year old Khysso and I play around in the river by splashing water, and betting who can last longer underneath the water, except, he always wins. When my fingers wrinkle because of the wetness, I get out of the river and rest my body on the ground. “How is Doomsvell?” I ask looking at the murky sky. He lies next to me, his hands behind his head.

  “Irrational…I am hoping to get out of there soon. Travel the world, go to all places.” I gasp. I sit up in a rush. “Me too, I want to travel the world! Can you come and get me? I will go with you. We can go to the north lands, east…west—” his laughter interrupts me. “What!”

  “Do you know the danger that lies out there? The world out there is not for a girl. Besides, there are no female travellers.” I shake my head.

  “I’ll be the first then. I can do it. I don’t fear. Can I join you, pleaseee!” I insist. I set my hands together as if praying. “Alright, alright, you can come with me.”

  “Yay, pinky promise,” I pull out my pinky. He sighs, and interlocks his finger with mine. “Done, now let me take you home. It is getting late.” I bow down my head, sadden that it has come to an end. I do miss Jorsay, and even Morgan.

  I gape around. I seek for something to keep as a memory. A bit more obscurity and the darkness will blur our figures from our vista. I stand and stroll to a dry-tree near us with many lengthy branches. I pull out my hair pin and with trouble I try to engrave my initials. Khysso walks towards me. He takes out a knife from his boot, and without questioning me, he initials my name, then his.

  “This tree is the reminder of your promise to me.”

  “Very well, one day we shall meet. Now let us go,” he intends to obtain my hand, but I relax them on the tree. The pale-brown color slowly converts into a deep brown. The branches grow leaves that spread round the spot. The energy I give to the tree bushes me. I think I might stop. Ready to pull my hands away, he lays his hands on top of mine. I smile at Khysso. Combine with mine, he sends out to the tree a unique power. It’s there I grasp he’s also a sorcerer; magic can be used without a staff. The alteration ends. I scowl, what began like an oak tree, ended up being a palm tree.

  “Huh…a palm tree, why?” He’s obviously stronger than me, because his idea possessed mine. He partially smiles. “It’s a coconut tree, where I come from there were plenty of dead ones. They are extinct. It does not matter. Nature’s magic law will eventually dissolve it. Why waste our powers in something that will fade?" I sigh and seize his warm hand. He stares at me bewildered. His green eyes fix on me. “In my heart, it won’t fade.” I whisper. His lip rises from a side. He says nothing but leads me far to his ride. To a beautiful blue eye creature that brings me curiosity. It’s not a horse, but a draghorn—a horse that resembles a dragon; with sharp claws, leathery wings and skin, and a long neck— a rare animal gifted to the apprentices of Doomsvell.

  What took days on foot, took Khysso a few hours. He lends me a hand. We rest by Duolic entrance. I get down from his draghorn and stare at him sappily. He somewhat smiles. “So I guess… this is farewell,” he says.

  “Not really, we’re going to travel together, right?” He scoffs.

  “That is if I make it out alive…people die in Doomsvell…” he says uncaring. As if death is amusing. I shake my head in panic. “You cannot die, not after making a promise…” I gasp. An idea blossoms in me. “Wait…I have something that will protect you. My father gave it to me before he died…” I dig into my dress pocket and pull out a bright gem. “This is the Siren stone, it’s rare and—”

  “Wow!” he stares astonish, his eyes glimmer.

  “If you wear it near your heart nothing can hurt you. I want you to have it, until we meet again.” He excitedly takes it on his hand and rubs it with awe. “I can’t believe you have this. Do you know the power it carries? It’s a god stone, only the most powerful people in the world have this…wow,” he esteems it a lot more than me. “I’ll lend it to you, but you have to give it back, and if you don’t, I’ll come and get you. That stone is very important to me.” He puts it near his heart and nods. I can see hope grows in him.

  “We will definitely meet again. I’ll bring it back, I promise.” He hops on his draghorn and beams a smile. “Until then, Judyala…” he says with a hand on the air and hurries away, flying to the sky. I miserably wave. “Until later my friend, and thank you, for taking my pain away.”

  -1-

  Rose to amend

  Present

  “You have it in you, you know. The power to grow, the power to become the greatest healing priestess.” Wizard Srogeri explains during healing class, but as common his focus is on me, as if everything he teaches, the knowledge he consumes is for me to gain. I lower my head feeling uncomfortable—classmates rumble over his favoritism. Srogeri has a bad habit of enlarging his eyes when concentrating on a certain subject. I think that’s the reason why he can lift objects with a point of his staff—his degree on magic…highly competitive. I jerk my hands from the faded-woody desk, and view the healer act book forcing interest to the well-known lecture. If I make eye contact with him, the other apprentices will gossip about our instructor’s preference. With me, the association with the twenty five girls is… beyond my reach.

  I’m what people call the isolated learner. Ever since I was a young girl, instructors seemed to prefer me, and this spins my classmates’ sentiments. It's not my fault I can easily capture the elements of magic. I’m what they call a natural. On friendship and involvement with others, I’m certainly a failure. Srogeri randomly stops his lecturing to shake his head to both sides of his shoulder, until his neck makes that cracking sound that grosses out the majority of the girls. It’s something he does because of a neck immovability defect only I comprehend.

  Srogeri passes around class handing a leathery sheet with written scriptures, an exam on the matter of healing. It’s my turn to get the examination, oddly, he hands me two additional sheets. “Umm, Wizard Srogeri….” I call before he heads to the next healer. He slightly tilts his head to meet with me. His bald head is polished. There must be some type of shining substance on that head— by no means can it glimmer such way. He pulls a frown that is frequently covered by his white and brown long mustache.

  “Ah, you handed me two more,” I murmur. I’m not about to do more work than the other girls, of all days, not today. “No I did not. Each assessment is different, if you received more, then that is the one assigned to you,” his old voice is raspy. He has a deep accent like the people from the north. I grimace. The giggling of my classmate infuriates me. They’re fortunate that I respect my instructor, if not I fear what I’ll do to those snotty bitches that have rolled their eyes at me since the first years.

  I look down at the off-white, crease paper that after so many years of his lecturing, his messy handwriting is easier to identify. The first assignment revolves around the independency and the vulnerability of healing. Easy subjects to understand for a reader like me. Turning to the second sheet, I read terminology with no concern to his daily lecturing. I scoff, aware of his doing. The questions are scriptures on sorcery and arithmetic equations. I’m alright with the sorcery subject, there’s a particular familiarity, but the arithmetic throws me out the table. I want to complain, but he sits still on his desk, reading a task scroll. I see no objectivity—I’m going to guess the answers with the arithmetic problems.

  “Why do you always give me more work?” I argue handing him the complete assignment, as typical it’s me and him, alone in the room. He takes my work and carefully revises it. He sneers, his eyes move back to mine. “Because, you’re special, and it seems you did pretty well, except for a few arithmetic problems.” I scowl.

  “You know I hate arithmetic…” he puts down the sheet and faintly br
eathes out. He picks up his long wooden staff that also works as his cane and points at the open entrance. The door shut close and clicks, locking it. “I have dreadful news for you…about progression,” we’re not talking about the exam anymore. I know exactly what he means. I deeply breathe in. “The head magic division didn’t accept my request for knowledgeable magical progression,” my voice wobbles. He partly nods. I gulp in grief. It’s the third time permission to learn farther and stronger magic has been rejected. “As long as they think you’re a low rank healer, it will not be acceptable. Only the standard amid heritage wizards, healers or sorcerers can join…forgive me…” He groans, rubbing his aching neck. The age is finally hitting him. For ten days, old Srogeri missed class trying to get me to join a superlative high-knowledge academia far from land, but because of the unfairness of our world, my dreams seem to be far from my reach.

  It’s rare, to see a healer… or more like a woman, with powers of sorcery, but I'm that rarity. Unlike most of the girls in our town of Duolic, or the capital of Snegnio, I’m not only a healer, but I carry eccentric powers that can make me do things not even the greatest sorcerers can. By me being able to carry two powers at once is miraculous, but unsuitable, for if they know my truth, I’ll be sent to fight. Thinking about it, the idea doesn’t seem as bad as it sounds. My cyclical life is going to take me to a dark path. I need to get out of Duolic, and by being denied a change, I no longer care about anything.

  “Forgive me, Judyala, but besides our private classes this is the only way I can teach you the arts of sorcery, by giving you additional exams, other than that, it can’t be helped. You know you have to remain low. Your powers are unique, and if they know this, they will send you to the cynical war, and you don’t want that life, do you?” The cynical war—the scariest battle that has ever happened in our lives. A battle that has decreased our population by stealing children and killing mothers and fathers. A war so obnoxious that makes the world sick to know of its calamity, and what alternative do people have? None. By law, one member, strongest preferred, of the family has to join the war, if not, the family would be hunted down and killed by the great leaders. Since the haze of dusk, this is the life we live. We unite to battle the creatures that come every sixty days, and that on the hours of dusk, the sky opens up pulling out an orangey fog that brings into our world flesh-eater monsters called the arclaws.