The Battle of Middle Forsda: The Kaianan Prequels

By Cara Violet

The Siliou universe vectors back in time. The Battle of Middle Forsda sends us to our heroine's childhood amongst friends and foes on Rivalex.

Before transformation, before a memo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Violet Tourbillion
• Release date: Jul 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780995366794

Book preview

Prologue

Squawk! Squawk! Squawk!

Enough out of you, Dersji toyed with his bird, Saffie, in the dark.

Soaking wet, he slammed his cabin door shut and searched for the box of wood to feed the fire; to feed his one-bedroom cabin’s only light, which had nearly died out. He threw two more logs on, snatching his prodder. After several pokes, and a while of just standing there staring at it, the flames finally spilled over.

The room was glowing firelight, still as he left it; his liquor cabinet full, his plate, which he could see in his kitchen, clean from lunch, and all his scattered belongings, from his beloved scriptures on his overcrowded desk to his dovelet’s untidy birdcage, were still in their place. He seized the teacup full of rum from the timber mantel and, zigzagging through several small, variously upholstered stools piled high with books, three tiny wooden tables full of bobs and trinkets, and two white fluffy Clee sofas, waltzed to the kitchen. He sipped on his rum, placed the teacup on the benchtop, next to the sink, and then went about collecting the onion seeds he’d spilled before he’d left for the Manor.

This was your fault, you know.

Saffie squawked in reply, but with Dersji bent over gathering seeds off the floorboards, he found it difficult to pinpoint the purple feathered critter’s location. Was she hanging on the cabin beams in the ceiling? On the wall shelves? Or somewhere below him picking at the seeds?

After he collected the visible onion seeds and restrung the mesh bag, he scoured his bedroom and unloaded some fresh night clothes from an overflowing basket to run a wash. While the clothes soaked, he ran a shower in the small conjoined bathroom and slowly undid his white chestplate, tunic and remaining wet clothes, throwing it all in the empty clothes basket. The only thing he left on was the ring hanging from the silver chain dangling down his neck. He hopped in the shower and let the warm water run over his head and body, soaking his long brown mane.

A new Menial. Anxiety gripped him. There could be no way he just bonded with a toddler mere moments ago. Shutting out the thoughts of tonight’s events at the Manor, he speedily dressed in thick warm garbs. Refilling his teacup with rum and gathering up his most recent manuscript, he sat on one of the fluffy Clee sofas and sighed. His mind drifted to the memo, to the orders he’d received at sunrise. He shook his head, pulled out the parchment with the Felrin dovelet crest on it and read again:

Dersji Brikin: This is a notice to advise, you have been reinstated to active duty effective immediately.

You are to visit the city of Layos, meet with the King and Queen of the Gorgon tonight and see to the protection of the child with the Rivalex Mark. This has something to do with the Necromancer King Warlowes and his death at the Hunted Gorge a thousand years ago. There is a plaque that has forewarned us of a child with a ‘BI’ mark.

Parameters of the Gorgon: Homo captiosus species with hybrid archaea cells. After maturity can physically transform into half-reptilian beings. No known trained aura users.

Principal Liege Prudence

Board of Principals

Felrin Congress of the Felrin Congress Estate

Dersji’s fingers went over the stained purple crest in the top right-hand corner. The dovelet was the Felrin bird of purity and peace. Dersji knew Saffie put that sentiment to shame.

He crushed the memo in his hand—curse their stupid technology and whoever they sent to leave this letter at his doorstep this morning! Didn’t the Principals know he had given up that life? That he didn’t want to return to his days as a Liege; didn’t want to work for the Felrin ever again? Yet after over a thousand years of dealing with these people, Dersji knew any direct order they gave wasn’t to be taken lightly. The last time he did decline, he was incarcerated. The memory of the night his family had broken apart, the night the blood had dried on his Felrin whites, the day they punished him for his failure, besieged him. That night, he had lost one of the most important people in his entire life …

Flashes of pain; blood over a throat; the ring simply rested on the necklace. Dersji held it; drawing it to him in a snap. Then it faded.

In the beginning, Dersji had contemplated suicide. He’d drink Mercury, the only poison that could actually kill an immortal, and put himself out of his misery. But the Felrin Congress wanted to keep him alive. They needed all eight Liege to maintain the universe. Dersji refused working ever again. He’d turned to preform drink. He’d asked for exile, away from Felrin, away from the reminders of the past, and after two AA years of being held against his will, he finally got it. Out of six planets to choose from, he chose the one with the most internal havoc, so the Felrin—pompous people most of the time—would never visit him. He was currently regretting that decision. A decision that cost him his life to a young girl of a prophecy.

He rubbed his eyelids outward with his thumb and forefinger, and instead of delving into his writing, he simply kept drinking … and drinking. Until the drink overcame him; his eyes wandered and he was sprawled, long-legged, on the couch; manuscript, memo and remaining rum all over him. Saffie landed with claws in his back, pecking at his clothes, until he was finally out cold. Deep in his slumber, the nicks on his skin morphed into Ferak Jarryd and Principal Ree standing over him alight in Kan’Ging, bending and breaking Dersji because he’d bonded to the girl. The torture endured until he begged for them to end his life, begged them to cut off this bond with the girl, the one that he didn’t want, that he didn’t care about. But nothing. He remained when they finished with him. Hollow and void. Sent back to the planet with a new duty: train her.

Dersji awoke from the nightmare, in his bed and far from intoxicated.

The vision of him stirring the evening of his encounter at the Manor and his subsequent interrogation bitterly sweeping his mind. It had been three full seasons since. Perhaps if he had never ventured to the Layos Manor that night, if he had rejected the Felrin’s orders, perhaps none of this would have happened. His heart wasn’t in it when with the girl but he remained true to their connection despite his intolerance of her. Packing his things, he headed for the door; another day of teaching Kaianan on the agenda, which had summated their total time together to barely half a season because Dersji spent two full ones completely intoxicated in his cabin.

Squawk!

Well then? Dersji said, leaving the door wide. Are you coming? Quick stop before the Manor, my senile friend.

Saffie spread her wings and glided her way out Dersji’s cabin, landing on a tree branch not too far away.

Further west, he pointed for her to go on.

Squawk! She left him to keep going.

Dersji walked slowly today. Each step he took in the damp floor of the Valley Woods gave him time to recalibrate. He was rusty, and it was unforgiving as a Liege with a new Menial.

You missed out on a bright trip, he sniggered to his bird when he’d arrived at the clearing.

Squawk. Squawk.

No, he said to her, I enjoyed the scenery, I mean look at those two suns burning; like the melting pools of a volcano.

Squawk? Squawk, Squawk, Squawk.

Alright, Dersji stammered, maybe I am an angry mule attempting to hide the fact I’ve had enough of this.

Ssssquawkkkkk. The bird nodded in agreement.

Put a dilwarkie in it, will you? he said.

Squawk.

Yes, I know we’re not on Valendean. Dersji ignored Saffie who continued to rant. Removing his metal blade and holding it in his right palm, he clasped the hilt softly as he requested his mind to relax. Kan’Ging seeped out of him; smoky flames of deep lavender. The rush amplified his body, he felt rejuvenated. Thrusting his blade one way, his opposing hand shot Kan’Ging up and out. Dersji sent a cascading line of beams forward. He aimed the beams at several different trees and commanded his Kan’Ging to pull forward. The seven lassoed aura beams sprang toward him, ripping the trees down with them –

Squawk!

Saffie, in a flurry of wings, rose in the sky as the branch under her flung forward.

Timber. He let go. The trees oscillated, returning upright to their places; Dersji twirled in aura and practised free time movement to stand above the clearing, in another tree. He smirked at his work.

Squawk. Saffie landed alongside him.

Too much? his eyes frowned at her.

Squawk, Squawk.

His eyes followed the direction of her beak. Several Gorgon royal guards fluttered by through trunks and branches of the Woods. I wonder, what exactly is going on here?

His Majesty, the King, wants several hectares of Woods moved into the trade zone, one guard said to the other.

More?

Yes.

Dersji ‘ported in; from a distance, he assessed the assessors.

Northern point to the southern, the guard continued.

Any sections to remain?

No.

The Felrin’s cabin?

Ah, not sure yet.

Clear around it perhaps?

Why hello? Dersji interjected, appearing in a smoke screen of dissipating aura, frightening them. I see you’ve chosen to begin deforestation.

No sir, the guard began, finding his feet, just assessing.

Oh, I see, assessor, you’re assessing.

Ah, yes.

Well, don’t mind me, just heed my advice, Dersji tilted his head sideways, setting only the top of his cranium alight, appearing as though he had flames coming out of his head, any removal, clearing, clearcutting or deforestation of the Valley Woods anywhere near my cabin will see you all cremated in my burning aura.

S-s-sir?

I’ve said it once; good day gentlemen, and in a burning inferno of Kan’Ging, lighting all the trees and landscape on temporary fire as he left, the Felrin spun in ‘portation.

KIDULTHOOD 4–8

Chapter One: Death by Annoyance

Sir, the older boy said, tugging on the Felrin’s robe in the glittering, gold-painted ballroom Guest Hall.

What is it? Dersji hissed, snatching the thick white material from Xandou’s hand. At least today, suited in his azure Giliou robes, the long-haired blonde boy was clean. His adolescent face suddenly appeared serious.

I’m coming with you today, Xandou said proudly.

I don’t think so—

Ah, Liege Brikin! The Queen was shouting. Dersji lifted his chin, scrutinising Agantha pitter patter down the white steps of the staircase. She seemed disjointed. Dersji eyed her outfit. She couldn’t move properly because the huge peachy gown, especially from the waist out, was heavier than Dersji’s armour, and with the top part so tight to her neck and wrists, Agantha looked almost stiff. But she got to him. Somehow.

Glad you’re here, I have a request of you, she said, seemingly flushed. Dersji studied the overly excited twelve-year-old Giliou boy who had grown in stature seemingly overnight flank her, then returned to Agantha who continued: Kaianan is spending the day with us and our entourage … Dersji zoned out, hardly listening. … My husband and I request you take Xandou with you to the Hunted Gorge today and produce a report, she finally concluded.

He glowered. I’ve already told you—

"He knows the area, and he will need extra information now he is near his adolescence—"

Dersji was in overdrive, arguing with his brain to take over and think of a thousand possible reasons why this would be a bad idea … nothing.

Fine. Dersji snapped. We’re leaving.

The Queen smiled, sent Xandou a kiss through the air and swayed up the stairs, out of view.

Sir!

Dersji felt his jaw clench. We’ve only just reached the Swamp Lands, I told you, no talking until—

A loud burst of exploding air shot out near them as they trekked through the acidic gunge and bubbling sludge of the notorious Swamp Lands. The Swamp, home of the Ebel, the thick, long, scaled sea serpents, was reasonably quiet during the day. In contrast, at night, the Ebel were hunting, screeching, killing and making the walk through the Swamp much more difficult.

Nevertheless the late morning sun, and Xandou’s loud voice, won out over the tired Ebel and they left them to pace along the worn Swamp trails in relative ease; and even though it was awful mould-sprouting scenery, and the steamy air gave their bodies reason to perspire, neither sensation was as bad as the repugnant smell of dead fish guts and holom-knows what kind of animal carcasses that wafted stink