Darayan

By Cara Violet

Another story, another planet away, an erased memory resurfaces... A sub-story running the same time-frame as the Kaianan trilogy, here we see a young man delving into his past, understanding his purpose, and accepting the fate which intertwines hi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Violet Tourbillion
• Release date: Jul 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780995366725

Book preview

PART ONE

Prologue

The crying infant was loud and becoming unbearable. Clenching his fists together, Darayan wished the women looking over his mother’s body would stop talking so much. His mother, who was laying drowsy in her bed, was cradling her new, unsettled baby—Darayan’s new sibling. But he couldn’t get a good look, the two women servants had turned into six, and now there were several men walking into his mother’s bedroom.

It had been hours, cooped up in this room of the tiny bluestone house, and besides staring at the wooden Miry chest of drawers, side tables and opaque hanging light as a distraction, Darayan was angry his view of her been taken away from him just after he found out he had another sibling. He wanted to see, wanted to find out who it was.

Mama, he called out. Nothing. So he called again. No-one was listening to him. One gentleman almost knocked him to the timber floorboards as he destructively paced around Mama’s bed. The dark-skinned man snorted in his direction and said nothing. Darayan had never seen anyone so huge; it frightened him. He barely reached the man’s knees; the man was bigger than any Gorgon, and Darayan had heard the whispers and myths about the immortal folk. The robes this man was wearing, they were different too; this wasn’t Gorgon attire, it was similar to the folk that worked in the Felrin Bank.

When the man’s blade was exposed under his white robe, Darayan gasped. A hard grimace formed over the warrior’s shadowy face as it turned towards him; then he looked away, uninterested.

The voices became obscure. Questions were being asked and his mother was answering them but Darayan couldn’t determine what the words actually were—and it wasn’t because he didn’t understand. It was because he couldn’t get close enough to hear or see what was going on.

His mother’s bedroom, once warm with thick cream curtains and lots of sparkling ornaments and pictures, suddenly seemed cold.

Take him away, he heard a voice say.

When solid arms were grasping him, he fought against them. MAMA! Darayan screamed. His body was being violently tugged. His mother was now yelling and screaming the same pitch as his younger brother or sister. Darayan had no idea what was happening. He was thrashing now.

MAMA! He kept shouting and pleading to be let go.

He was moved out and away from his mother’s house, along the asphalt streets in the moonlight to another bluestone house. He felt the exhale of the person holding him and their big strides bumping him up and down as he tried to count how far back his house was. They all looked the same; it was hard to say exactly how many he passed. Darayan was keeping vigilant. He would find a path home as soon as he was left alone.

He jerked his head up; assessing his captor. It was the tall, broad man dressed in white robes with the Felrin royal seal who was shoving him inside, kicking and screaming into the arms of a much older woman. She had such a kind face, Darayan almost felt like she was a part of his mother’s family. She seemed so familiar. She had big green eyes like he did. He reached out to touch the soft skin on her face, feeling it wrinkly with age. She brushed her long grey hair and Darayan tensed. He’d nearly forgotten he needed to get home.

Darayan, the woman whispered. I need you to calm down, please. There are doctors helping your family. Everything will be okay. We just need to wait. She kept rubbing his shoulders, then brushing her thin fingers through the unkempt dark brown hair that ran to his neck.

The exhaustion he had felt from staying up all night waiting for his sibling to arrive, combined with the sheer aggression of his kicking and screaming, had him almost asleep, but when the timber front door screeched open sometime later and the Felrin man, dressed in those pressed white robes re-entered, Darayan was far from sleepy.

The words that this gentleman spoke, so nonchalantly, to Darayan, these words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

I’m sorry, son, the man failed to meet Darayan’s eyes as he spoke, your mother, he went on, with a slight hesitation, your mother has died in childbirth and your brother, a stillborn. And with that, the Felrin warrior simply walked out and closed the door behind him.

Chapter One: An Argument to Divide

Darayan awoke with a fright. It was pitch black and everything that had fluttered through his mind, he realised, was a nightmare. That night was over. Gone. It was in the past. In this moment, Archibel stirred next to him. Cuddled up under the white sheets, breathing softly, her bronze skin and bright orange locks calmed him. His heartbeat slowed, and after a second composing himself, he lifted the bedsheet off his legs and made his way to the bathroom.

His fingers tightened against the black basin and his eyes went up to the person staring back at him in the square mirror. With only the moonlight shining through from the small window to his left, Darayan could see a gaunt and shadowy image of his face. That little boy that was embedded deep in his brain, the one who kicked and screamed and begged for his mother, was gone. In its place was an athletic, stubble-growing, confused young man.

But that day never escaped him. When he left Rivalex three years ago, he was promised the nightmares would stop. Jahzara had told him: the days he spent in Layos, those he wished he would forget, she would remove from him—the powerful gatekeeper told him she would take away the burden that had followed him since he was four years old.

Except it was rubbing off. It had been nearly eighteen years since the day of that memory. And although most of the memories of his past had lessened, they had recently started to return, piece by piece. It was this recollection, the day he lost his mother, that rocked him to his core.

Darayan, are you okay? he heard Archibel call. He bent over, turned on the cold water and shoved some water on his face, his bushy dark hair sticking to the sides of his neck.

Fine, he replied.

Was it another nightmare?

Archibel, the girl who worried about him, painstakingly asked a multitude of questions every chance she could get. They were currently living under the guise of a married couple, a pretence so they could live and work on this unruly planet, her old home planet, Sari. He felt obliged to answer her, but opted not to. Ever since Archibel had joined him on his departure of Rivalex, she’d become overly dependent. They were friends … but he couldn’t help but feel she wanted a lot more from him, which was something he wasn’t willing to give.

I hate that you give me nothing, she said at his lack of an answer.

He walked into the bedroom and, scanning over the room, from the small grey lounger in the corner, across the coppery curtains shining moonlight through, all the way to her figure laying across their large, white-sheeted bed, he noticed that look of hers. She was angry again.

Ignoring her, he advanced a few steps and climbed into bed, silent.

Darayan, she said as he turned his back to her. Darayan, please, talk to me.

About what?

What’s going on with you?

He felt her hand touch his shoulder and he became rigid. Not now, Arch, please go to sleep.

I thought Jahzara said the images were gone? Are they the same ones you’re experiencing now?

It was like a broken audio reel, instead, it wasn’t the lullaby his mother used to play him to put him to sleep, it was Archibel’s consistent enquiries, over and over again.

It’s nothing, he finally said, go to sleep.

I don’t like seeing you like this. Her voice was hurt and she kept rubbing the skin down his arm.

He rotated and faced her. I said it’s nothing. Her expression changed when she could see how bitter he was.

It isn’t nothing. I know you’re lying.

He hated how close they were, how intimately she knew him.

He recalled the day he brought her home to Daley, the woman who looked after him on the night of his mother’s death and from that night onward. Daley was standing in the marble kitchen, baking some ramen rice to go with an Ebel stew.

You decided to show; young sir, scrub your fingers and hands please— Daley’s soft voice stopped. Her eyes were on Archibel. Cinnamon skin and flame hair were not something many would see in Layos, or even on Rivalex at all. Not to mention, the girl was a harrowing mess. Dirty with mud, and soot all over her. We have a visitor? Daley smiled.

Darayan discreetly assessed Archibel; the girl was unreadable, at first Darayan thought she was scared, at second glance she was staring Daley down as if wanting to kill her.

She’s hungry, mam, Darayan said into the awkward silence.

Of course she is, Daley agreed, does the young lass have a name?

Archibel didn’t answer.

Daley clutched her chin, her very wrinkled skin saggy between her fingers. You won’t be treated any differently to Darayan, young lady. I expect you wash up before I serve any stew. Darayan, please assist in the bathroom. She skimmed to Archibel. And would you like me to cut up your pumpernickel?

Archibel froze, clinging to the bread loaves shoved under her arm.

Darayan, much shorter and younger than Archibel, yanked the loaves from her and handed them both to his grandma. Here you go, mam. Then he seized Archibel’s hand and carted her on, calling out: I’ll help her wash …

Darayan returned to the present. Archibel’s big hazel eyes, as they were the day he met her, were indecipherable as she lay on her lateral, staring right into him. She exhaled, lifted her arm up and rested it on her voluptuous hip. Curly orange strands fell across her freckly cheeks, down to her chest. Her expressions were so elusive; Darayan always found it difficult to read her. He knew she was the kind of woman who, once she’d drawn you in with her magnetism, could pry anything out of you.

It’s nothing. His eyes betrayed him.

Oh nothing, like the time when you went missing at barracks and spent the night in the woodlands because you had a hallucination and didn’t know where you were? Do you know how worried I was? He was beginning to understand; her voice was laced with it. But that night was an accident, he thought he was walking here, home after his shift as a trained aura user, a Sarinese Topazi soldier in the Sari army. His brain just told him, home was through the woods, he didn’t know he was walking into a deadly habitation of carnivores. Or the time you decided to wake me up screaming Kaianan’s name, and I found you in the bathtub covered in blood?

And with that name, when she spoke Kaianan’s name, something triggered inside Darayan.

Dammit, Arch, we’ve been over this, a hundred times. He was up and out of bed again. He had night slacks on but went in search of a t-shirt and when he found one, pulled the beige garment over him. As my friend, there is a line I ask you not to cross. You’re trying to cross it right now.

What have you been through, Darayan? Tell me, talk to me. Her hands were through her hair in angst. This woman was a warrior, a Sarinese Topazi too, strong and able—right now she was on the verge of killing him and he thought she’d give it a red hot go if he didn’t keep his cool.

Please, stop prying into my personal life. He spoke with as much control as he could, and as polite. Her expression did not alter.

You think you’re the only one dealing with all of this? We’ve been here for three years, Darayan. She threw the sheets off and headed for him; Darayan realised she was just beginning her rant. That thin pink silk nightdress barely covered her body as she approached him.

How long will we have to keep up this façade as Duke and Polie of Hyravane? We’ve met too many people who we’ve made fake friendships with, what will they think when they find out the truth?

Please, Archibel. He reached his arm out and ran his fingers down her arm, to her hand. Her chin dropped and he was unsure if he caught a tear on her cheek. The only thing he could see was her chest, that bronze complexion heaving up and down shining in the moonlight—then a glint of something shone right in the centre of her bones. A pearly gleaming stone, one that was all too heart-palpitatingly familiar—she was wearing his mother’s necklace.

Darayan didn’t know what overcame him, but he snatched at the locket stone and broke it off her neck.

Archibel stood in shock, sliding against the wall to the floor.

Don’t touch my things, he said painfully. The locket was the only thing he had ever found of his mother’s after the night of her death.

Archibel was sobbing on the coppery rug, her knees bent sideways and her hands holding her body up, however, she kept her face down as she cried.

I just found it in the drawer tonight, she sobbed, I forgot I put it on, I didn’t know …

There was a small moment of silence and that’s when Darayan heard the words he had never heard in the entire eighteen years since his mother had died. She simply muttered them in a half-sob. Why do I even love you?

Something fell in the pit of his stomach, Darayan thought his knees had buckled under him but he was still upright. Did she just say ‘love?’ Dread filtered through him; she had finally confirmed what he suspected all along.

Why don’t you want to love me? This time, she stood up and got to him. She was so close he almost staggered back in fright. He witnessed her messy tears and after a long exhale, she spoke again. You’re a coward. That’s all you are. And in the blink of an eye, she reached calmly for his military jacket and quietly exited the room.

He wasn’t expecting her to leave the house, but with a slow shut of the wooden front door, he realised she did.

It’s the middle of the night, Archibel, where are you going? He said to himself and remained standing there. Alone.

He didn’t chase her. The most patient woman he knew had somehow hit her breaking point.

He didn’t know why he didn’t go after her. Tomorrow he would definitely regret the decision, but right now the ringing of Kaianan’s name was still strong in his ears. It was taking up too much of his brain to concentrate on anything else. It had been over three years since he had seen her. And after Jahzara took his memories, he couldn’t even remember if he told her goodbye. He hated to think of the moment when she realised that her two best friends had left her, when she was only fifteen and preparing to ready herself for the Period of Enlightenment.

Enough, he told himself, clutching tightly to the stone in his hand.

Archibel ran; she ran from Darayan, ran from the hope she had of him falling in love with her, and ran from the life that had become so far removed from what she really wanted that it seemed like an alternate reality in which everything that happened was from a nightmare. Staring at her feet, she doubled-checked if she had fastened her boots tightly enough, only to realise she had put Darayan’s large, black military boots on instead. She looked so out of place. His camouflage jacket was longer than her short nightdress and the boots almost reached her knees.

But it was too late to re-dress. Anger still consumed her. If she saw Darayan now she would decidedly rip his head off. One foot after the other she moved, away from the Sari capital, away from her fake life and away from him.

She remembered the first time they met.

She was eleven and she’d run smack-bang! into him. He was a scrawny little kid of seven, and she’d thought highly immature. But that day, when they were in the Layos Markets, full of Gorgons bartering fresh Ebel, and vegies … and she was thieving food again from Sprindles; he had somehow helped her escape. Two delicious pumpernickel loaves rested under her arm, but the bakery owner, a grumpy old Gorgon man, had seen her. Darayan had tripped him over, seconds before the man attained Archibel and throttled her.

I’m Darayan, the young boy said when he had found her stalking a lane catching her breath. He was nothing like the tall, dark and handsome Darayan of now, but his dishevelled hair and big green eyes were still magnetic.

What do you want? She said scathingly.

Nothing. Why did you steal? Are you hungry? Daley can make you something to eat? She’s like my grandma.

I don’t need your help. I am fine on my own.

Yes, you do. That man nearly had you in chains.

Shut up.

She’s making Ebel stew … he said to her spine as she turned to leave. Might go perfect with the pumpernickel?

Archibel stopped walking. A stew was too good to pass by. She had been starving for days. Will—er—will she—this Daley lady—turn me in?

No, of course not … Here, Darayan offered