Remains of Urth Read online

  Previously, there’ve been different weapons available. This time only swords are offered. Kohl is better with a mallet, deadly even, but none hang on the wall. He picks one, refusing to show fear of any kind. Before he turns to make his way back to the center of the sandy floor, he looks over his shoulder at me. His jaw is set and his eyes are hard when they lock on mine. “Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll take him down. He won’t get them,” he says then nods toward Pike and Ara. He holds my gaze for several seconds then takes confident strides toward the center of the battleground.

  His muscles bunch and flex and he takes a few test swings. His words echo in my head but they’re accompanied by visions of Cas in the yard sparring, his swing lightning fast and precise. Kohl has never failed before. Cas may be faster and come closer to Kohl in height than anyone I’ve met, but my brother is smart. He fights smart and is strong. A thread of hope begins to weave its way into my thoughts. Though I’m terrified to cling to it, it helps me breathe.

  Cas is parading back and forth in a short path, pumping both arms over his head and appealing to the bloodthirsty Urthmen cheering him on. He turns, his back to me and to Kohl, and raises his arms again and again, inciting the crowd further. Kohl, his face set in a mask of fierce determination, capitalizes on Cas’s distraction. He races forward, away from the cage, away from me, directly toward Cas. His features are stony, devoid of fear. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. He’s attacking first. I wonder whether he’s gone mad. Or whether he feels he has nothing to lose at this point. Either way, I start to pull away from the cage door. Just as I do, the tip of an arrow grinds into my back, breaking the skin, and a booted foot thrusts me forward. My face slams into the metal grid. I withhold the groan that threatens to slip past my lips. My eyes are riveted to the battlefield, my pain irrelevant in the face of my brother’s attack on Cas. For a few moments, Cas is unaware of Kohl charging toward him. As soon as he sees him, he looks at my brother with disdain, spitting in his direction and making a sweeping motion with his hands, dismissing Kohl as unworthy of his concern. A vein of anger surges through me like a bolt of lightning. I draw in a breath, about to shout something, but that breath catches in my chest the moment the crowd quiets and I see Prince Cadogan on his feet. Kohl halts, his head whipping toward the prince. Cas stops gesturing and lowers his arms to his sides, dropping his head in a show of deference so pointed it sickens me. Prince Cadogan acknowledges him with a small nod then scans the crowd, moving his head slowly from left to right, as if assessing each and every one of them while he waits for their attention. Once all voices are hushed and the only sound I hear is that of my blood rushing through my veins, Prince Cadogan clears his throat. He raises his meaty hand to chest height. Then, he gazes out onto the battlefield. I swear his gaze clashes with mine before a sinister, satisfied grin curls this thick lips at the corners. He claps his hands, and at his gesture, a great roar swells, rippling through the Urthmen in the stands so loud the walls vibrate. Cas remains for several beats, facing Prince Cadogan. Head down and eyes closed, he appears entranced. Kohl takes off toward him. For a moment, it looks too easy. Cas is just standing there and my brother is a few steps away from him armed with both a sword and the deadliest of intentions. But just as Kohl swings, his blade carving an arc through the air, Cas comes to life. His eyes open and every muscle in his body twitches. In the space of a breath, he spins. The sound of metal colliding with metal rings out as he deflects Kohl’s strike, a swipe meant to cleave his skull in two. The Urthmen in the stands stomp and applaud. Kohl swings again. Only this time, Cas doesn’t bother blocking it. Instead, he dodges it with ease, making a dramatic facial expression as he does. He looks to the crowd and makes a grand gesture toward Kohl, sweeping his arm out to one side and screwing up his features. Both are meant to mock my brother. The crowd, enamored by Cas’s antics and bravado, cheer wildly. Indignant, Kohl’s face reddens and his brow lowers. I can see the rise and fall of his chest. He’s furious. He grips the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles blanch. He steps forward, thrusting his blade forward. Cas dances around him, circling. Smiling.

  Grinding his molars so hard, I can see the small muscles around his jaw working, Kohl advances swinging. The clang of his sword meeting with Cas’s is absorbed by a swell of voices. Cas quickly veers and uses his second sword, slicing the air so quickly I nearly miss it. The razor-sharp edge drags across Kohl’s arm. Blood pours from the wound and the crowd erupts into thunderous applause and shouts of approval. Though his arm is opened high and on the inside of his bicep, Kohl doesn’t slow. He charges Cas again, releasing a war cry as he swings. Cas avoids being hit and evades the swipe. As he does so, he spins and brings one of his swords across his body, slashing the ether until the blade meets with the flesh of Kohl’s back. Kohl cries out. I cry out. Blood spurts from the gash, drenching his back in a wash of crimson. My stomach churns and bile rockets up the back of my throat. I swallow hard and call out to my brother. “Let him come to you!” I try to shout over the screams and cries for more gore. I’m shocked when he looks past Cas and recognition registers in his features. The exchange takes seconds. He squares off with Cas again, only this time, Kohl waits. Cas follows his lead and doesn’t attempt to strike either. After a few moments of sizing each other up, taking small steps to the side until they’ve reversed positions, Cas’s lips stretch over his teeth like a wild animal and he swings one of his swords. Kohl blocks the one sword and dodges the other. With his free hand, he punches Cas squarely in the face. The blow is powerful, catching Cas off guard and knocking him back. Inspired by the effect his fist has had, my brother doesn’t waste a second. He drops his shoulder and slams into Cas, tackling him to the ground, realizing it’s not likely he’ll beat his opponent with a sword but can use his size and strength to best him hand to hand. He lands on top of Cas, pinning him down with powerful legs as he delivers blow after blow to his face. Cas loses one blade when he is leveled. It falls to the sandy battleground silently. The other is forced from his hand when it rises clumsily to cut Kohl. He catches Cas’s arm and bends his wrist unnaturally until his grip falters.

  I want to cheer. My brother is ferocious. And winning at the moment. Watching my brother pummel Cas causes a sense of relief to worm its way into my thoughts. That hope falls flat when Cas gains enough leverage to lift his leg and drive his knee into Kohl’s crotch. My brother doubles over and Cas rolls out from underneath him. He spits blood and tries to scramble to his feet, but Kohl manages to grab hold of him again. Cas throws a quick jab. Kohl blocks it, but as he does, Cas quickly scoops up one of his swords. He swings as Kohl’s arm is raised and deflecting the punch and his blade drags across my brother’s chest. Kohl quickly moves to grab his chest but Cas, swinging with impossible speed, hacks at the air with his sword, chopping off my brother’s hand at the wrist. Kohl’s face drains of all color. He raises his arm out in front of him, staring in shock at the bloody stump.

  “Kohl.” I whisper his name, my heart plummeting. Blood runs from multiple wounds, but none of them are as gruesome as his wrist. Cas, on his feet now, looms over him triumphantly. He looks up, directly at Prince Cadogan. The Urthman leader nods ever so slightly, and in the seconds it takes for the gesture to register in my brain, clips of my brother and me growing up together flash through my mind. The world around me falls silent. All I see is the past. The two of us as young boys learning to climb trees, to track beasts and hunt together. Kohl and I exploring the small corner of the world in which we existed. The laughter. The quiet understanding that exists between brothers when words simply aren’t needed. All of it comes to me, crashing over me like a wave that nearly knocks me off my feet. And then I see it. I see the flash of Cas’s blade as it catches the light, forcing me back to a reality where sight and sound return on a deafening roar. Silvery steel shimmers and carves the air, and everything gels. It registers. Cas is going to finish off Kohl. Heart pumping frantically, I open my mouth to warn my brother. “Noooo!” I hear the word sh
outed as if from a great distance, my voice foreign to my own ears. I have to stop it. I have to save my brother. Kohl can’t die. I should be in the arena. It’s me they want. I killed Krono. “Nooooo!” I scream a second time, hoping against hope that Cas will turn toward me and Kohl will scoop up his sword and ram it through his back. But Cas doesn’t turn. It’s too late. I’m too late.

  Cas drives his blade through my brother’s midsection. Kohl’s eye go wide. His lips part, and a sound I cannot hear escapes him. “Kohl, noooooooo!”

  With one blade still in my brother’s body, tip protruding from his back, Cas lifts his other sword. He carves a wide arc, swinging with all his might and lands the sharpened edge at Kohl’s neck. The force of the blow severs Kohl’s head.

  My. Brother. Is. Dead. Butchered by Cas. Cas, a human without honor. Without loyalty or allegiance to his kind.

  Heaviness infuses my entire body, as if there’s liquid lead in my veins. I stand, staring unblinkingly, at my brother’s fallen form. At death.

  Cas sheathes one of his swords and lifts my brother’s head by the hair. He hoists it over his head, inciting the already rabid crowd further in the ultimate act of disrespect and disgrace.

  Tears flood my eyes and burn down my cheeks. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard my mouth fills with the bitter taste of blood. My entire body trembles. I feel my knees buckle. But before I collapse, my gaze lands on Pike and Ara. Both of their faces are contorted in anguish. They cry uncontrollably. They witnessed all that I have, and know they’re next. Every cell in my body flares with pain. And rage.

  My breathing becomes short and shallow. My gaze darts around the arena. The Urthmen clamor for more blood. My brother’s death is not enough. I see hate. Carnage. I see Cas.

  Eyes trained on him, an emotion unlike any I’ve ever felt builds. Iron will replaces shock, grief and hurt. I silently vow I will not let Pike and Ara meet the same fate as Kohl.

  “You! You’re next!” an Urthman guard points to Pike and waves him to the center of the arena. The gate lifts. Pike, clutching a blade between shaky hands, starts to walk to the entrance. No. No. No. The words echo through the hollows of my being, awakening something primal, something dangerous. Deadly.

  No longer caring about the arrow pointed at my back, I do not waste a second. I drop my shoulder and ram Pike, knocking him to the ground. I rip the sword from his hand and race out onto the sand.

  “Stop him!” one Urthman guard shouts.

  “Get back here!” another orders.

  Arrows whizz past me. I run in a zigzag pattern. One narrowly misses my ear while the fletching of another grazes my shoulder. I’m impervious to the sting. All I can see is Cas. He still holds my brother’s head like a hero, egging on the crowd. I race toward him. The closer I draw, fewer arrows fly. I guess they fear hitting Cas. I don’t care what they think. The second he sees me, I’m already swinging my sword. He turns in time to see his head is about to be cleaved in two but I still catch him on his shoulder, drawing blood. His expression transforms from triumphant to shock. A sick sense of satisfaction infuses me until I see nearly a dozen archers in my periphery.

  “Get back or we’ll fire!” one shouts. Bows are pulled tight and the crowd has fallen still.

  I look from face to face, then to Kohl’s mangled body. “Kill me then! What are you waiting for? Kill me!” my voice booms like a clap of thunder. But no one acts. Instead, they look to Prince Cadogan. I glare at the leader. “I want him now!” My voice is hoarse and raw as I jab my finger at Cas. The crowd explodes, stomping their feet, clapping and cheering. Prince Cadogan allows it briefly then raises a hand halfway. The noise quiets enough for a guard’s voice to be heard.

  “Get back or we will fire!” he warns.

  His words evoke booing. Jeers and curse words intermingle. The Prince’s eyes, which have been altered to look perpetually surprised, grow even wider. For the first time, he seems flustered, as if he doesn’t know what to do. The booing grows louder the longer he delays. His gaze scans the angry faces of his people. A slight twitch besets his brow before he dismisses the guards. He glares at me and claps his hands to begin our match. But the sound doesn’t even echo before I’m in motion. I lunge and swing. Metal clashes with metal as Cas blocks my swipe. He quickly answers with the blade that was sheathed at his hip but is now out. He whips it toward me, nearly removing my nose, but I jerk backward in time. Armed with both weapons, Cas is lethal. I’m armed with fury. And vengeance. I have lost the will to live for myself. I only want to right a wrong and prevent Pike and Ara’s deaths. I don’t waste a second. I step forward and thrust my arm out, striking diagonally. The tip of my blade drags across his chest. Rich, red blood weeps from it. The wound is deep. Good. Cas cries out and looks down. Seeing his blood spill and stain his bare chest, his lip snarls over his top teeth and he charges me. Stepping backward and sidestepping his two-sword assault, I miss being stabbed in the left eye but feel the tip nick my cheek. The cut is shallow but long. I feel my entire cheek burn as blood trickles from it. Undaunted, I swing faster, our blades a furious clatter. Twisting to my right, I position myself to his side and capitalize on his exposed midsection. I carve him open at his gut. He tries to turn and drive his sword through me. I easily dodge his feeble move. He’s in too much pain to be as fast as he was. Or as fast as I am. Taking advantage of his injuries, I move in quickly, slicing his thigh. He howls out and falls to one knee. His features sag and the smug, triumphant smirk he wore capsizes. He scrambles to stand on unsteady legs. He knows as well as I do that he is already beaten. Looking at him as he is—his nose runny and his eyes reddened with anguished tears—I do not feel sympathy for him. All I feel is anger and the burgeoning need for revenge. All I can see is Kohl and how his fallen body was disgraced.

  Cas staggers toward me. Any and all semblance of his speed and agility has left him. Slow and clumsy, he raises one blade. But before it ever makes its way toward me, I slice the air laterally, the deadly sharp edge of my sword slitting his throat. Cas’s eyes round. Both weapons he clings to fall to the ground. And blood spurts from the gash opening his neck. His hands fly to it, clutching it to slow the bleeding, but it’s no use. Within seconds, his hands are soaked in crimson. I look him directly in his eyes. His gaze, though bewildered and filled with fear, is familiar. It’s exactly how my brother, Kohl, looked seconds before Cas lopped his head from his body. Reliving that moment, so recent and fresh in my mind, my stare hardens. “How does it feel, Cas?” I ask and know fully that he can’t answer. “How does it feel to know you’re the one who’s going to die?”

  Though he is holding tight to his wound, his eyes plead with me for mercy. He drops to his knees and winces. Managing to free one hand, he mouths the word “please” once. I do not feel leniency and I do not feel sympathy. I do not forgive him for what he’s done, for the life he took. All I can see is Kohl’s face.

  I don’t wait for the approval of the Urthman Prince, and I do not fear retribution from the archers. “This is for Kohl,” I growl just before I drive my blade through his stomach, pushing with all my might until it protrudes from his back. Then I twist the hilt, watching intently as life escapes him. He convulses several times before I remove it. As soon as I do, he drops to the ground in a bloody heap. The second he touches the sand, the crowd begins to chant.

  “Lucas! Lucas! Lucas!” They shout my name in unison, over and over again, so loud the walls vibrate and feel as though they’ll crumble. I spin, looking from face to face. I do not feel pride. I do not appreciate their approval. All I feel is disgust. I want them dead. Every last one of them.

  Snarling my lip at them, I throw my sword to the ground in a show of disrespect. I look over my shoulder at Kohl’s broken body, then to Pike and Ara, who watch in shock. They’ve suffered unspeakable trauma, have witnessed unconscionable horrors. Our parents are gone, their lives claimed by Urthmen, and Kohl was struck down as well. The three of us looked to the three of them for guidance all of our lives.
I realize now that I am the oldest member, the man of the family. Pike and Kohl are my responsibility, not only to protect but to care for too. Awareness prickles up the back of my neck as my gaze flickers from them to the battlefield. I realize I was born to fight, much like my father was. Watching as the grotesque Urthmen stomp and clap and shout, being the bloodthirsty monsters they truly are, I vow to not only protect and care for my siblings, but to free every human held captive here. I also swear on all that matters to me that if it’s the last thing I do on this planet, I will see every Urthman here die. They will pay for the blood of my people they’ve spilled with their own.

  I’m certain more humans exist, hiding as I hid, and I will find a way out of this place. I will seek them out and urge them to stand together as Reyna said. We will fight for our right to exist in peace. We will take back Planet Urth.

  About the Authors

  Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2009. To date, the jury is still out. But late one night, in January of 2009, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!” Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years. After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives. Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success. They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat. Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance. Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers. But the dream had never died. And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination. When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright. His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night. By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.