Haze of Dusk (A trilogy) Read online

  Jameson stands looking strong. Every part of his body is pack with muscles. His arms are hard like a rock, his neck thick, and his stomach unbreakable. I gulp, and take a quick look at myself. Jorsay is thin, good body, not much bicep. I wonder how the hell he bullied the gigantic kid. Two poundings of a bell means let the battle begin. I get on my fighting position—pick up hands and loose fist to counter my attacks. Jameson’s fighting position is close fist. His knuckles are ready to burst my face.

  I recall everything Corr taught me, and I closely pay attention to Jameson's movements. He strikes first, but I dodge it by moving to the side. He blows again, but I stir. I can’t let us meet face to face, for all he needs is one hit to make me his, and I can’t let him take that pleasure. Jameson moves forward with a stiff punch to my face, but I smack it with a hand and come out with a high kick striking him on his ribcage. I scoff. I’m shock of my skills. I can’t believe I’m doing it. I really am.

  Jameson doesn’t reveal his anxiety. He briskly stands up straight, overlooking the kick on the ribcage, and hurries to me with a kick. I push myself back, swivel to his back, and slam my elbow on the back of his neck. He tumbles, almost falling. But in a haste he stands straight. I can see his fist now shake…could it be he is worried? I smile to hear my friends cheer my name. It is a wonderful feeling. I’m amazed by my skills, but of course, I have the best fighter in the world coaching me. Corr, my sweet Corr. I can see him near my friends, also cheering for me, crossing his fingers.

  It seems as if Jameson is willing to waste time. We go in circle. I wait for his first shot, but he does nothing. I guess he wants to meet my magic. He shouldn’t want that, for he won’t ever be able to release himself from my paralyzing powers. The audience begins to shout, “fight!” Their screaming excites the kid. He tosses his body to the left, rising with a high kick, but I foolishly run from it. The crowd laughs. I exhale relieved he didn’t catch me.

  “Jorsay the girl!” Jameson's friends shout. I scoff, big morons, I am a girl.

  “Come on, fight him.” His friends bellow. What is wrong with these kids? They should know fighting means death. Don’t they care about our lives? Jameson comes in strongly, punching without any consideration. At first, I dodge a few punches, but his hands move with such a speed it's hopeless to prevent the upcoming. I become exhausted. I can no longer block. Jameson's knuckle hits me on the top of my head. The blow drops my concentration, but not my awareness. I shift spot. He dashes to me— I swing a high kick that slaps him on the chin and as he wiggles, I boot him on the chest. My force finally drops him to the ground.

  The arena falls still, and I’m breathing heavily by my many motions— I’m out of breath. Jameson stays down. He faces the filthy ground. The crowd murmurs, his stillness concerns us all. I jog to him, “Jameson… are you alright?” I ask squatting to his level. Jameson curves his body to meet with me—he glares a way that curls my skin. I’m frightened by his glower. It’s dishonest, repulsive to stare at. He boots me on my ankle transmitting an excruciating pain that drops me to the ground. I hold my ankle, digging my nails to my skin to support the sting. He stands, there is no giving up. I have to fight. I bawl as I press my leg to stand. The cracking noise that my ankle made when he hit, assures breakage. Jameson growls. He runs to me and bangs his head with mine, pushing me to my rear. I dazzle. I almost lose awareness, and I fall on my behind. I feel as if firecrackers exploded in my head, causing severe damage. My head buzzes stridently, blocking the cheers and heckling. I gulp. My body trembles, yet again I force myself up. My broken ankle throbs. I don’t want to place any weight on it. Once done, I holler a cry. This is it, I lost. Jameson is now in control.

  He rushes to me, and places a hand on my shoulder. With his free hand he punches my stomach without a stop. Not even the blood I cough out stops his beating. He has...no compassion. I fall on my knees and before my face meets the ground he grabs me from my hair. He lifts a hand gripping strength, in a haste his knuckle jabs my face, plunging me down. There's nothing more but numbness in me. In my mind, my most insightful thought… I lost the war, now I have shown weakness.

  “That’s enough you bastard. I'll kill you. I'll challenge you and I will kill you bastard. You leave him alone!” I recognize that voice. It’s my good friend Ramuso. I want to tell him I’m fine, even though it’s a lie. “It hurts doesn’t it? It hurts… but don’t worry, I’m not going to finish you just yet. It’s my staff that will take your peace of shit life. I might’ve not been great before…but now… I have gained control …now, I can finish your little ass with one blow.” He says as I lay on the ground, choking on my own blood. He hauls away from me, and looks at the crowd. He raises his hands.

  “I will prevail!” he shouts, his friends cheering for him. I hear it all, so many voices, so much screaming, but everything is distant. What pounds strongly is my heart, for I have decided to forget kindness. Once the bell rings, and magic is allowed… forget paralyzing him…I will destroy him. So yes…waste time little boy, because in me, there is no more forgiveness. I will annihilate you.

  I force myself to stand on my two feet. I will fight until the end. I won’t show weakness. “Jorsay! What are you doing? Stay down!” I hear Corr holler, in union with other voices insisting for me to lay low. I frown. I’m upset he too thinks I can’t make it. I’m broken by everyone’s doubt towards me. When I was winning, they cheered my name. Now, they beg me to stop fighting. No, I’m never quitting. A Zayras never quits. I never quit. I get on my fighting position. Jameson gnashes his teeth. “You still want some of this,” he says through his teeth. The anger in him is unreasonable. He hurries to me, and punches my face. I mean to block, but his preserve blows confound my determination to fight. He gives me no chance. I protect my façade by throwing my arms on my face, letting him hit my elbows, hoping he sees I fear another blow, but he gives no less. He wildly punches me getting to my right cheek, and severely crushing my lower face. My jaw cracks. And with that pound I fall on the ground, this time without any purpose of getting up.

  I’m partly dead, yet I hear the kid laugh. He praises words I hear far-away, for my numbness is brutal. “Magicians, magicians-magicians!” he shouts, and rapidly many kids scream with him. I scoff. I’m shock the kid has no heart. Really, he has no soul. That’s it, I’m done for. I can’t do this anymore. He’s going to kill me before the next bell. “Thump, thump!” it is the sound of a bell that helps my heavy eyes open. Finally, the time has arrived, the time to use magic, and I’m going to destroy him.

  I cough out blood, with my only working eye I observe Jameson get his staff from a friend. He’s excited, ready to end me. Because of his beating I’m inflated. My lips are slit. My nose is twisted. My ankle is broken, and my hearing is damage. Because of him, I’m feeling a pain I never thought I would ever, and I’m covered in my own gory hell. He lifts his staff high in the air, absorbing great powers. By the tingling in my skin, I can tell it’s an electrifying power that will reach the pulse of my heart, immediately shutting it down. I force myself up. I hear many scream,

  “Jorsay run!” “Jameson stop it!” “Don’t do this!” but nothing touches that boy’s heart…nor will it touch mine. I chuckle, lightly consuming my powers by using my mind. He’s guzzling too much power. After that…he is done… for his energy will be too fragile. Rule number one for magicians; never start with strong tensions when striking.

  “Rot…in…hell!” he bellows, sending a lightning, but I slow it down by using my mind. I break it and whiz it to another location. He now looks at me in panic. I can see him shaking. His fear accelerates my needs to overcome.

  The skies darken, and the clouds beneath us slither with lightning. I change the gravity around us, its intensity raising me to the air. I paralyze Jameson. I want him still for what’s coming. “Don’t do it!” his voice makes me consider forgiveness, but it is too late. I'm furious. The rocks around us elevate. The walls of the arena are deranged with fire. I’m now in control of the d
eadly twist. My main attraction is staying alive. I send out more power bringing my creation to me. The sudden scream of the viewers doesn’t alert me. They fear what I have summoned, the blue snake dragon, he who will consume his enemies. He moves in the air quick, a powerful wind escalates, seizing everyone around, bringing apprehension to the audience.

  “No please…no…” Jameson knows what’s coming to him. Now he’s the one tearing. I gradually raise a hand, “annihilate your enemy.” I command the dragon whose body is radiant with voltage, and his roaring shakes the earth. He streams to Jameson, his intentions are fatal. “No… Judyala, no!” Srogeri yells. I glower. Judyala…no…but I’m Jorsay. I observe my hands. They are delicate, and my fingers again sensitive yet pale. My long red hair flows with the wind. I gasp.

  “What have I done,” it’s the last thing revealed, before Jameson's physical beating finally catches up to me, knocking me down.

  - 12 -

  Judyala’s verdict

  An angel comes from another world to sit by me, and soothingly caress her tender hands on my face. I’m in paradise. For the first time since my father's departure, I feel loved, and I love in return. And although I don’t know who she is, her softness delights my heart. She presses her lips on my cheek, genial like a gentle bird. The sensation of her lips still penetrates me. I recognize this warmness. It is that sentiment that was taken from me when I was a little girl— kept away in a pruned ball. “Mommy…” it is her, my real mother. The one I prayed for so many nights to be loved by. My sweet mother whom I know nothing of— has she left this world to join another or is she really sitting by my side? Could it be I am fading to another world, and she personally came to get me? I want to confide in her. Tell her how much I need all of her. But even though I seek for her, I can’t go with her, not yet. There are still unsealed things in my life, and for the first time ever, I have friends. I have people to share my life with. I want to tell her of Ramuso’s trouble making nature, Osys’s fear of everything, and of Onnet's sensitivity. Ask her why my heart races when I'm near Corr. I desire to share with her so much, but my heavy body doesn’t allow me to do anything but enjoy her company. And so she begins humming that song she used to sing to me when I was a baby, as her delicate fingers stroke my face,

  Slumber in my arms my child,

  I whisper in your ear,

  How much I love you near,

  You are so dear,

  Rise up, light my heart,

  With your eyes that are full of life,

  You are my love,

  My sweetest child,

  Wake up from that nightmare,

  Smile once more to me, smile once more

  How much I love you near,

  My sweetest child, my whole life,

  Her high-note musical voice is delightful to listen to. Thoroughly within me, I confirm it. She’s not only my mother, but also an angel. I groan for she has stopped singing. I don’t feel her. Don’t leave me. “Mom…” my lips manage to call her, overshadowing the bizarre silence that encases our environment. I force my heavy eyes to apart from its intense slumber. I gasp to find a familiar woman staring down at me in a soft manner.

  “Vaniele…what…” I halt as the back of my head throbs in a distressing way. The pressure that stings my head distorts my eyes, making my head feel a lot heavier than it appears to be. I fight to sit, but my fragileness throws me back to the bed.

  “Ah…it hurts...my head,” I groan. I press my hands hard on my head. Vaniele helps me sit up. I lean on the headboard of the bed. My head tumbles to my front, but she cautiously assists me until I have enough pillows to hold me. She takes a mug from the small nightstand and gives it to me. “Drink this, it will relax your nerves, and aches.” With shaking hands I take the mug and gulp down the bittersweet drink that has a slight cinnamon flavor.

  “I feel so sick, my head, my stomach, my chest…my throat…ah,” I gag. The drink boils in my stomach. She takes the empty cup. She cares for me. I can see she worries. “Since we lost you for a few… the recovery might be difficult,” she whispers. I grimace. “Lost me…” I utter, feeling nauseous. A bit sicker and I'll barf. Vaniele lowers her head. She appears to be in despair. She explains her concerns, how the blows on my head were extreme, almost killing me. It took a while to bring me back. I almost die. In tears, Vaniele reproaches me for not following the plan. I don’t understand her concerns. She barely knows me.

  A tingling sensation in my body drifts me away from the conversation. I’m completely relaxed. I feel no soreness. I giggle to her scolding. I’m a bit foggy thanks to the remedy. “Why did you do it? Why not go with the plan?” She insists for an answer. This woman is worse than Srogeri. I shrug. “I don’t know…I guess I wanted to demonstrate to everyone that I could do it without a stone, or anyone’s help,” I gave her what she wanted, an explanation. She moves her head from side to side in disappointment. “Your bravery gave Srogeri a stroke you know.” My eyes widen. The drowsiness washes-out, I sit stifled. “Wh-what…” my pulse races. Rapidly, she blurts out he recovered first than me. The news brings me peace. I smack a hand on my chest, and I sigh in relief. If I were to lose Srogeri, I’ll die.

  “I want to see Srogeri, can you tell him to come.” It’s not my health I am uneasy about, but his. “I’m sorry honey. Madam wants nobody near you until the verdict. Still, you will see him soon. I promise,” I groan. I place both my hands on my forehead. “Oh Judyala, you have no idea how happy I am you are well. When Shorewen pronounced you were dead I—”

  “Shorewen…” I cut in baffle. Why did he of all people declared me dead? He is no priestess. “What do you mean he pronounced me dead?” It upsets me to hear his name. To think he’s part of my existence bothers me. His name only reminds me of his nasty love affair with that woman. “There was a weak pulse from you. Hardly heard, almost fading. I don’t understand why Instructor Shorewen was inside the arena, for it is forbidden during deathrow, but what I do know is… because of him you are still alive. When you fainted, high above the surface— if you were to hit the ground with that speed. Your body would’ve been crushed, and you would have instantly died. Fortunately, he caught you…and saved us all from mourning you.” Great, now I have him to thank for saving my life…again. I frown, something hits me. But why was I saved? It’s deathrow.

  “Why didn’t you let me died? It is deathrow after all." I ask slightly upset. She gazes at me jolt by my attitude, but I only speak the fact.

  “Judyala, you’re a girl once they saw this—”

  “What?” I break in breathless. I look at my hand. The thick manly hands are gone. My hands and arms are thin. My skin again pale white. I take a hand full of my hair. It is long and red. How did I forget? Of course, the utilization of my magic weakened my transformation. “Oh no, they know…they know…” I panic. I fear for me, but more for Srogeri. She lowers her head and nods.

  “Right this moment Madam Srovio is deciding your future. You have broken many rules, and the leaders are not contented.”

  “Then, why did you saved me? They’re going to chop my head anyway!" I reproach. She sweetly smiles. Her hands obtain mine. “Madam Srovio is not going to kill you. She saw what you are capable of doing. Your powers reach highest sorcery,” I widen my eyes. “What,” I say breathless. She sweetly smiles, and admits that I am the second being to reach such altitude at such young age. I know I'm powerful, Srogeri and my father told me this plenty, but to reach that level, never. I did it all. I surpass the magic legacy. Also, alone, I dissolved for a long period of time, a barrier that took a century to create. Because of this reason, Vaniele is sure the leaders won’t end me easily. I am extraordinary; to them my power is holy. I bite my bottom lip. If I'm the second being to ever reach such rank, then this mean, he is the first, meaning I reached his rank… in the end, Khysso and I are magically compatible.

  The remedy causes a heavy weight in me. I rub my blurry eyes, feeling an uncomfortable numbness. The relaxation remedy reaches m
e profoundly. I gradually lay myself down. The heat of my bed subdues my murkiness. “I saw my mother…when I slept… she sang to me. Like when I was a baby.” Words I can't control flow out of my mouth. “You speak absurdity. You were two years old when your father brought you to Duolic. How can you remember your mother?” Her voice is soft, putting me to sleep. “But I do… she used to sing to me…like in my dreams. It was real.” I say yawning. Vaniele sniggering convinces me I'm speaking nonsense. Dreams don't support the actual world, especially if it has to do with a woman I’ve never met before.

  Vaniele pampers me by offering me delectable food and private lessons that only the highest priestess study. She wants my healing abilities to be as strong as my sorcery. So one day, I too can become a respected and admired priestess, one who can heal not one, but many at once. Because of her care, I learn kcowl and ribbon members continuously ask about my health, wishing for my well being. The news uplifts me, bringing in me tranquility.

  Vaniele smiles as she watches me eat my soup. We sit on a round table for two in the large flowered decorated room that’s too big for one person. It’s common for a person to recover in the sanatorium, but abnormally, I’m given a room with a canopy bed, which the stands are tree like—my own bath, entertainment room, and a small lounge. The decorations are a light green, representing Mother Nature. I guess I can say I feel a bit unique, but it also worries me, for possibly they give me such luxury so later they can present the dreadful news. I smile back at Vaniele. Her staring can be a bit frustrating. Her fondness makes me think of her to be my mother, but I relinquish that idea because of her old age. She can be my grandmother, not my mother. “How is the kid?” I inquire. Her smiley expression changes to a frown. She drifts her eyes away from mine. The sudden tension hastens my nerves.