Haze of Dusk (A trilogy) Read online

  What are the arclaws? They are a combination of a bat and a hungry werewolf lusting for flesh, without the hairy skin. They have the power of witches, conjuring fire from the skies, shaking the earth with their spells. The females have long leathery wings, and the males carried a strength not a hundred men can fight against. Unlike any ordinary human kind, they can use powerful magic by utilizing their hands, that’s why they’re magic is called wicked— arts of witchcraft. They are smart, and know how to progress in battles, but they are cynical, for trying to take a world that doesn’t belong to them. Nobody knows why the arclaws came to our planet, some say their planet collapsed. Others say they ate everything in their sight and had nothing left. My father used to say they entered our world because they were called upon by a powerful sorcerer or wizard for unknown reasons.

  From the bottom of my heart, I thank Srogeri for trying to teach me what he can— but not for protecting me. Since Papa passed away, Srogeri has done everything in his power to stop me from joining the war. He has committed the greatest treachery in the scripture of law; lie to the great leaders. It is because he respected and deeply cared for my father why he protects me and my brother. He feels it’s his duty to help his old friend. Every year, the leaders of Doomsvell, the ones who collect people for the war, personally come to the district to revise every apprentice’s journal of progression. Although I’m the best healer and a great sorcerer, my progression journal is marked as MI, magic incapable—brains are fit, but powers are weak. This lie he performs to protect me from the grasp of the war, but also it has affected me for no academia wants me. If this continues, I can see my future. I’m selling potions in a cart, calling out to the people that pass by. My prediction makes the hair in my skin crawl. Damn it, I have to get out of this misery.

  Duolic town is actively moderate as usual. The merchants are yelling out the sales. The citizens walk the streets greeting and asking about one’s health. The sex, color of skin, race and intensity of a being doesn’t matter like it used to hundreds of years ago. Since the arrival of the arclaws, we’re closer than ever. Duolic, a town of twelve hundred natives has a variety of races: the yolks, in which others called the gnome or little people are many in our town. Their powers aren’t great, but they are experts in mining, inventing, sculpturing and finding mystical items. The fewest natives are from the elf race, they’re similar to the yolks but taller, and their ears are too long for their heads. They’re separated by type of magic; the sovys use powers that are likely to be of Mother Nature; they can move the earth, bring out winds and command trees with spells. Their powers, highly—frightening. The least powerful but more required for our world are the elves of nature, whom can bring nature back to life and force the clouds to bring down rain, their powers, highly—necessary. It is because of their love for nature why our planet has the bit of life left. The elf race is one of the races that can use magic without the use of a staff. Still, unlike the arclaws, their powers are used to sustain life, not destroy it.

  Population increases extremely when it comes to the humans—like my step mother Morgan, they live life regularly. Magic is never an option, as it seems they can’t produce it. It has been said some humans progress magic—Papa once mentioned it’s because their mind opens up. He alleged anybody can gain powers, as long as one is devoted. Humans that grow to be wizards don’t seem to become as powerful as the ones born by nature, but mysteriously, most of them end up using magic for malevolence, consequently, it’s outlawed. So, if there is no sorcery or wizard background in the family or by the age of five the staff they hold upon to does not glow, then practicing magic is not permitted.

  “I’m home!” I call out placing my wool shoulder bag by the door. I remove my scarlet, long shawl worn by all female learners in Duolic, and place it on the standing timber coat-hook near the entrance. Morgan comes out from the kitchen with her hands taken, “oh sweetheart, help me!” Morgan holds two trays, about to drop it. She always tries to do the impossible. I hurry to her and take the bowl with black bean soup. Together, we prepare the dinner table. “How was school?” I wrinkle my face. My expression easily answers her question. “Repetitive…” she guesses. Morgan and I never bonded, but when my father passed away our relationship grew, and closeness developed. Now I can say I love her very much, although at times she becomes impossible to deal with.

  “Hey, Judyala!” someone shouts from the lounge. I smile to see my younger brother Jorsay, whose bright face reminds me of Papa. He’s the spitting image of him—his dark hair is short like a mushroom, his face long and his nose pointy, the opposite of Morgan, whom has light blonde short hair, and a round cute head and nose. The blue eyes certainly are Morgan’s, and maybe his smile, but I’m not so sure there. I have no memory of my father’s smile, even though I was eleven when he died that memory strangely departed from my mind.

  Papa was a great wizard and a warrior. For many years, he fought nonstop without ever getting hurt. He was a legend. People bowed to him of respect, until one day his luck ran out and an arclaw took him on the back stabbing him twice, and off with his head. That was the same week he gave it to me, he gave me the Siren stone, the stone my real mother gave him to give to me when he felt he no longer needed it. I guess it is true what they say—Siren stone is magic, and it protects you for life, no matter the danger you come across. Still, in order for its power to work, the stone needs to be near the body’s most highest energy source, which is the heart. “Haze this, see what I’m capable of doing,” he says impatiently. He holds a long red staff that once belonged to our father.

  “Jorsay! I said no magic inside the house,” Morgan scolds.

  “Ah come on mom,” he says with an attitude, normal from his part, to do whatever he wants. Of course, Morgan accepts it. She rottenly spoils him. Jorsay firmly holds the staff in a laying position. As soon as he closes his eyes the floor begins to shake. The gravity changes, lifting objects. Because of the ground’s shaking, items fall from shelves yet remain floating on air. Morgan and I grasp the table for we lose our balance. I wheeze a breath out loud, I’m stunned my almost fifteen-year old brother has achieved such a rank. Only a few magicians can move the earth within the last years of secondary—by him combining gravity with the movement of the earth, it’s truly astonishing. He’s like Papa, a strong young magician who will grow to be a wizard; an admired, powerful being.

  Jorsay drops the staff. His ivory skin suddenly turns red. He tries inhaling but finds no air. He falls on his knees. Morgan and I fearfully react. We run to him. She muffles a cry becoming impatient. Her overreaction disrupts me. I take a deep breath and put my hands over his chest. The transparent red glow that comes out of my hands enters his chest giving him back his color, helping him breathe. It’s not the first time it happens. I’m aware when he has an asthmatic attack to use my healing abilities to help him take in air. Only that Morgan regularly makes a big deal over nothing. “No more magic for you!” Morgan scolds in tears, holding him. Every time he uses magic, Jorsay has an attack. It is witty, how there's no remedy for him when many potions heal extreme diseases. The Highest priestess in our town once told Papa it's because Jorsay’s sickness is deep within him why it can’t be cured. Jorsay yanks away from her and stands up in a rush. “I’m fine, stop touching me,” he growls and marches to the table. It hurts me to see him fuming. He has cried so much because of that damn disease. But because of that sickness, he’s protected from the war, and that I’m grateful for.

  We sit on the round table for three, eating in silence or at least trying to overlook the awkwardness. Jorsay always talks, so it’s weird for him to be quiet. Morgan constantly looks at Jorsay; her eyes lazy and sad because of his attitude. It breaks her apart when she sees how pathetic Jorsay feels. There are times Jorsay expresses his need of dying instead of having an illness. I’d instantly slap him, but he becomes enrage—he’s a reckless kid, temperamental. He’s very similar to our father.

  A recurring beat on the door draws our a
ttention. I let down my spoon and walk to the arch door of our small home. I pull the door open, in front of the door, flying with bizarre long wings is a rare-white hefty eagle with red eyes. It drops a golden scroll. I catch it before it touches the dirty ground—the bird flies high into the sky. I gape at the roll paper. My heart sinks. I’m suspicious of what it is. Could it be… could it be it is my time? And although it’s what I want, I suddenly feel nerve wreck.

  “Morgan!” I yell out of breath. She hurries to me. The moment she identifies the scroll her skin becomes pale white. The golden color means one thing; it's from Doomsvell. She takes it in her hands, and carefully reads it. Morgan loses her balance dropping the paper. I take her by an arm, keeping her stable.

  “What happened?” I doubt she loses her head over me leaving. Something is awfully wrong. Her petrified face speaks for her. I squat and take the scroll. I need to see it for myself. My heart races, my hands are sweaty, and I gulp down zilch. I can feel it, I can see the upcoming. My heart squeezes tighter and tighter as I read. I slap a hand on my mouth. “This can’t be. This can’t be…this has to be wrong.” I exclaim.

  “I…I…w-what are we going to do?” Tears run down her cheeks. Her hands shake uncontrollably. I hold my pain, especially since Jorsay stays near us.

  “I’m-I’m going to talk to Srogeri. Don’t say anything in front of him…all right?” I beg. Her head trembles. She cleans her tears and heads back to Jorsay to give him a false explanation of our behavior. I run back to the school that’s a few blocks away from the house. It is there Srogeri stays until nightfall.

  The one-floor stone edifice is filthy of the many years it embraced. The property has three red arch doors that lead not to a simple room, but to an entire education ground. The three doors are numbered, 001 for the first years, from the beginning to the fifth grade. Door 002 for the second years, from the sixth to the tenth grade, and last of all, door 003 for the third years, from the eleventh, to the last grade. I hurry to the last door to the left, 003. A quivery magic teleports me inside a large two floor room with curl stairs. I run up the stairs to the second floor. It's there the head director headquarter is, Srogeri’s headquarter. I take the doorknob and open it in a rush.

  “Sroge…” I halt. Three of the school heads sit around him. The old man is in a meeting, except, it’s not the first time I interrupt.

  “Sorry to break in. Can we have a word,” I plead.

  “I’m in a minor gathering,” did he just give me attitude? I exhale, and miserably stare at him. He narrows his eyes, waiting for me to depart. I’m not going to leave. You know I won’t… “All right…let us speak,” he gives in. He excuses himself and walks toward me. I pass him the scroll before he reprimands for the interruption. He reads it, his round eyes enlarge.

  “Is this for real?” I ask, sucking in the tears that want to rush down my cheeks. He grasps my arm and walks me out the room. “How is this possible. Why has he been chosen if he’s asthmatic?” My voice comes out in a crack. He puts a hand over his face. Now in a deep thought. “Is this wrong, should we plea. I mean…it makes no sense, right?” I pray he admits it must be a mistake. I’m hoping he says I’m going to request a reunion with the leaders, but his silence concerns me.

  “In the meeting, we heard Doomsvell is requesting everyone, sick or not sick. I heard, they have said that-that… if you aren’t dying or a sickness is not contagious the magician, sorcerer or healer by law has to participate if chosen.” He speaks with hesitation, and intimidation. I shake my head. An extreme tweak penetrates my stomach. “We have to do something? I can’t let my brother go to war. He will die. You know he will. He-he can’t use magic, it kills him…” the sensitivity I hold inside breaks me down. I clean the corner of my eyes before demonstrating my hurting. “I don’t know, Judyala. They probably figured out if he has a healer maybe he won’t die, or they will use him to hand combat instead of using magic. I don’t know their reasons but, if he has been chosen…” he takes a deep breath and bows down his head.

  “There is nothing you can do.”

  “Then, I’ll run away!” I snap.

  “And do what, hide? They will find you, and then they will kill you and your entire family for running away. This is the law, Judyala. You have no choice but to accept it. Your brother will have to go. He will have to join the war,” he raises his voice. I can’t believe he’s giving up on me. He always fights to protect us, is there really not an option? “Then, I’ll say the truth. I’m stronger, I can fight. If they know I have the power to heal and to use sorcery, they’ll pick me.”

  “And off with my head it will be. I convinced them you were incompetent within magic. Me and many alliances here will die for lying about you.” He says strictly. I sniff with both my hands on my face. I cannot bare it. My asthmatic little brother is sentenced to join the war when he turns fifteen, which is in four days.

  “There must be a way. I will do anything…anything….” I declare vociferously.

  “Anything!” A sharp female voice says. A woman appears behind us. It is Vaniele, a surrogate instructor in our district. She’s a priestess in healing, a potion maker, and some say a seer. Rumors say she attends Doomsvell war castle, and is admired and respected, yet, still she visits her pitiable home town, Duolic.

  “This does not concern you, Gemma,” he growls at her. She’s his rival. I don’t know her well because I’ve never taken any of her classes, but I heard she betrayed him years ago, and he never trusted her again. Nobody knows what made them enemies, and if my head wasn’t on my brother I would’ve investigated, but my pain and interest in how to help my brother is greater. She chuckles. Her snow-white hair is curl up to her cheeks, her large eyes bright blue. Although a woman near her sixty, she has a great face and body. She wears a white gown that is faultless—her stare wily yet mysterious. “You say you will do anything, well I have an idea.” She speaks puzzlingly. “Leave I say!” He stomps his staff.

  “No! Tell me, what’s your idea?” It disappoints Srogeri I want to hear what the woman he hates with a passion has to say. But for my brother, anything. “Take his place,” I wrinkle my face. I have lost all hope. “We already thought of that…it’s not going to happen.” I say unhappily, feeling dissatisfied by her suggestion. By no means am I going to risk Srogeri’s life by telling my truth, he too means a lot to me.

  “I mean really…steal his face. Do you think I do not know? Dear, I know everything. You are a sorcerer, and you are capable of turning into him. Take his identity, and take his place. Become your brother.”

  -2-

  Converting

  “Enough! Leave this department now!” he commands, his staff abruptly glows with a dark energy that picks up all the hair in my skin. The anger he feels towards her is apparent. It’s almost hate. “I’m not afraid of you,” she taunts him, as if she knows he won’t lift his staff to hurt her, but that moment I question his patience.

  “All I can say is—it is time she faces her truth. You have tried and tried to avoid it for so many years, but ultimately, it will happen…and she… will find out," she speaks in riddles. I lift my brows. “What do you mean I will find out? What are you talking about?” I say feeling awfully uncomfortable. These are the times I wish I was telepathic. “She has no idea what she speaks of.” Srogeri says glaring into her eyes. She chuckles. They understand each other perfectly, it’s me who’s wondering what my reality is. What is Srogeri not telling me? “I’m done here…” she tactfully glances at me and walks away vigilantly—does she want me to follow her? Srogeri’s blood is certainly boiling. He dislikes my presence and calmly sends me home promising to visit me before sunset tomorrow, that way we can figure out what we can do for my brother. Even though he already declared Jorsay has no option but to join the war. But now thanks to Priestess Vaniele, I have an amazing idea.

  I explain to Morgan what Srogeri confirmed. The fact he didn’t say anything positive breaks her heart. She trusts him as much as me, as much as Pap
a did. To us, his thoughts are important. Morgan tears, we are sitting outside on the dry soiled, on the lifeless meadow by our small white house. It’s a meadow that didn’t survive the heat waves of the suns. I heard stories of the fields long ago beauty. When the grass was green, and plants grew small white flakes of flowers that flow around on a windy day spinning above our eyes—petals fell on our skin as a tiny strip. The trees that now are dried branches, once bloomed changing colors every three months. If I had the opportunity to go back in time it’ll be breathtaking. The times when the perfect meadow lie, and the children ran in happiness, when fear wasn’t always known, and mothers didn’t need to worry about their children’s departure.

  How I wish I have the power to bring the world back to peace. Even though sometimes I feel as if I’m capable of such glory if I attempt to, but instead I let Srogeri lead my life, and hide me from change, all because of my father's paranoia. Walking the streets alone was not accepted when I was younger. Leaving the house was fairly unlikely, although Morgan didn’t have the capability of stopping me. At some point of desperation— sick of my rebellious years, Papa attempted to bring fear to me by telling me unpleasant stories, but what he didn’t understand was that his will to protect me took me further into curiosity, a search for freedom, a change of path. And the more I knew of these arclaws, the faster I sought after a hazardous encounter. I never understood why Papa treated me as if I had a price, why Jorsay wasn’t treated the same, but overlooked. Within me, I know I can find out the truth, but the answers aren’t in Duolic. That's why I need to get out of this place, but how? As any decision I make first has to be consulted by Srogeri, my guardian. Sitting there, letting the heat of the suns spill its wretchedness, I realize my miserable behavior isn’t all about losing my brother, but it’s also jealousy… I’m jealous my brother is the one chosen. That he’s going to be the one to have a different life. How unfair is that?