Haze of Dusk (A trilogy) (15 page)

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.

“A
h…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 diff
icult,” 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 co
me.” 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 M
adam 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 me 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. L
ike 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 ca
re, 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.

“Is he…alright?” S
he breathes out, and views me.

“He …he’s dead.” I slap my hands
on my mouth. My heart squeezes. A jab punctures my abdomen, demolishing any other concerns. I fall ill again...my dragon...my powers. I'm to be blamed. “What have I done…” I hold my tears from rushing down my cheeks. It's difficult to intake her words. Jameson can't be dead.

“No-no.
It's not your fault. He overused his powers trying to fight the dragon. He gave in too much energy, so his heart stopped. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.” She assures, but I don’t believe her. I know its deathrow. One of us had to die and although at some point I sought his pain, by no means did I ever want this.

It’s difficult to swallow the fact that kid is dead. It’s sad he has to die with so much hate and anger in his heart. When he f
ought me, he wanted to overcome. He wanted me dead. How can anyone want to cause a person so much harm? I won’t lie. In the arena, I intended to do anything to survive. I just never thought the awful news would block my need for nourishment, giving me a slight illness that conjoins with every part of my body, stinging my heart and wobbling my legs.  I lay on the bed staring at the plain ceiling. It's the only activity that releases my nerves. Vaniele enters the room. I rise to meet with her. She has clothing is her hands.

“Today is the day of the ver
dict, are you well? I can tell Madam you are still unwell then—”

“It’s alright.” I cut in.  “I can go. I'm strong enough.” Really, I want to see Srogeri. I miss him dearly. I want to hug him, and beg for his forgiveness. “Do you know wh
at the punishments are?” I undertone as she places my judgment outfit by my bed. She tenderly smiles and seizes me by my chin. “Worry not. We will never let anyone hurt our future, understood,” she means it. I can tell by the devotion in her eyes. But it is not my life I’m concerned for, but my old man.

I stare at the reflection the square
mirror portrays of me one last time. I’m comfortable with my look, and I’m ready to take the verdict. Whatever it is, they won’t see fear, for us Zayras never show weakness. “This is it… let’s show the world your real face. Why are your cheeks red?” I rub my blushy cheeks. It gives my nerves away. I miss my brother’s perfect skin color, but hell, it feels great to have my face back. My clear gray eyes flicker, my wavy hair is down, touching my lower-waist, split on its side. The black leather pants adjust to my body just right. The taupe sleeveless chemise fits me nicely, the front and back of the shirt is lengthy as the sides are somewhat chopped.  For the first time in a while, I see a girl ahead of me, particularly because my busts obtrude my shirt. Either they enlarged over time or I got used to my brother’s thin body.  Vaniele smiles to see me.

“Wow. You look spectacular. The outfit suits you perf
ect,” my lips rise from a side. “Are you nervous? Everyone in the castle will see you today the way you are.” I chuckle. Yes, but strangely I’m more concerned about my friends’ acceptance than my head being chopped, odd way of thinking Judyala.

There are two sides to the great hall, the right, where the ribbons stand, and the left, where the kcowls stay clutched, waiting for an outcome.  On the central of the immense room stand three of Doomsvell leaders, in their surrounding remains all of Doomsvell instructors, protecting the great ones. Standing out from everyone on the centered platform i
t is she, the most fearsome woman in all Doomsvell, perhaps the world; Headmistress Srovio, the head of all leaders. I timidly walk the black carpet that leads us to her. The instant ribbon and kcowl members recognize me they vociferously cheer my name. The boys are much louder. I’m staggered by their reaction. I peek at Vaniele, who discreetly smiles at me. In union, we continue walking towards
she
who awaits. “Judyala marry me!” I frown to hear a boy scream.

“Be my girl!” another bawl
s.

“You’re hot!” alright,
these boys need a spanking. I glance at them in a spark, hoping to see my friends, but they are not around. We eventually reach her. She stands still, dangerous and intimidating. She beams at me, falling into a trance. She’s probably shock this girl fought Jameson…this girl stole her brother’s body and dared to break our rules. This girl is a female sorcerer or simply a
sorceress
. The three men in the golden hood walk near her. They too stare at me stupor. I gulp. The golden hood means power; they are the ones who decide the future of the deceiver. I know they don’t reside in Doomsvell, and by Vaniele, I learned those three men are sent by him, the great lord, Possessor Zorganther. If they are favored as leaders, it means they too are powerful. Who knows how powerful. Most likely stronger than a highest sorcerer, but what can possibly be superior than highest. From the corner of my eye, I see a familiar shiny bald head. Srogeri is surrounded by three castle’s guard. I breathe out strongly to see my old man is incarcerated.

“Miss Zayras…” It begins. I stand straight, and watch how the headmistress moves closer to me. I assume she’s going to start with her custom bitching, but instead she twirls and observes the skinniest of the leaders, a scrawny-ugly human
in his late thirties who seems to be breakable.  He holds a golden scroll.

“Ragum
us! Please start,” she commands.  Ragumus steps down from the small platform to meet with me; his lip rises from a side, weirdly shaking. He opens up the scroll and clears his throat. “We are here today in the great halls of judgment to give Judyala Zayras of Duolic, and Sorcerer Vin Srogeri of Duolic a verdict for their insensible actions and failure to follow the laws of Doomsvell.” He announces.

“Judyala Zayras, age 1
8. Position, vastly-dangerous-highest-witchcraft,” I gasp, insulted by what they rank me as. Witchcraft is considered the magic arclaws use, because they can instantly kill with the eyes, they’re powers are consider dark and wicked. It is an offense, for it means they can easily point me as an enemy. I’m a sorcerer, one who can fight on their side. I want to correct them, defend my rights, but Srogeri lays a finger on his mouth insisting I keep my mouth shut.