The King Trials 2: Beyond.

Nightfall betides and a first quarter moon lounges on a throne of stars.

And it is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen.

The dark celestial sky blends with the Night Desert. There is no boundary or mark to discern the one from the other. Both a sparkling imitation of each other. The glimmering black sands a perfect reflection of the heavens.

Kelan rallies the convoy to converge and make an encampment for the night. Then recommence the journey at first light. Kelan and I dismount and I make my way to Reinsbure.

His hand brushes down the Arabian’s neck, its tail swishing in delight.

“Reinsbure. Thank you for being a good custodian, but I think it’s time to return my bow and quiver to my custody.”

He nonchalantly continues to massage the horse. “It is well, Hera. I can bear it.”

“I do not doubt that but—”

Aurora. Be still and listen.

I bristle. Not because of the omniscient voice in my head, one that only I can hear. Not the voice, but its words. The last time I heard them, only mayhem followed.

I walk a few steps backwards, outstretching my arms. Revolving, I say, “Stop, do not move, any of you. I can hear—I sense something.”

A hush falls between us all from where I am and to the farthest soldier.

Dario’s wry chuckle shatters the silence. “I think the only thing you were sensing was your own fears, Hera.”

“The only thing you will sense is pain if I hear your voice again,” Vince warns with an icy tenor.

“Control yourself, barbarian.”

“The lot of you!” Anthia yells. “Turuk ka-neyet.” I suppose that means to keep quiet. “The Hera is right. Something is coming. Many of them. Xelek.”

“Offensive positions,” Kelan orders.

Immediately, the soldiers shepherd the Anthia, her brother, the Herems and I to the centre as the squadron forms a fortified wall around us. The horses remain vulnerable out in the open.

“What is a Xelek?” Vince asks, his hand ready on the grip of his Sorcian sword.

“Desert demon. They have no sight, weak hearing, but they have heightened thermoreceptors. With overly developed thermoception that can detect thermal radiation in all living beings. Since our bodies naturally exert heat. We are living targets.”

“I do not hear a thing,” Brennon remarks with utter jadedness. “This is ridiculous—”

An eldritch shriek bellows from the darkness. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Dread seizes a breath in my chest. I hurry to Reinsbure and demand my weapon. He complies and briskly hands it back to me. Hurriedly, I strap on my quiver and I yank out an arrow, notching it and I draw the bowstring back, muscles gathering in my back, prepared to let it fly.

A cacophony of bloodcurdling shrieks sounds, rebounding all around us. Slinking out of the shadows, it begins to take form. A frightening white, faceless creature emerges, skulking on its hind legs. Its flesh is torn, unravelling in thin layers. Suddenly its featureless face slowly begins to open slowly, splitting into four, the flaps of its face reveal clustered rows upon rows of wickedly sharp fangs.

Another shriek wrenches from its jaws, its talons elongating at its side. It rushes at one of the soldiers and he timely embeds the blade in its chest. On cue, a white tide of faceless creatures burst forth and many of them manage to leap over the protective wall.

Concentrating my thoughts, I hone my vision on my target, the edges of my sight blurred. I release the arrow and it sinks deep into its thick haunch. Unfazed, the creature rises on its hind legs and lets out another piercing screech. Treyton strikes with a deadly swing of his mace; the creature evades and unleashes an onslaught. The Herems collaborate to slay the fiends as they come, the ones that manage to breach the shield-less wall.

On my left, three manages to get passed, leaving two soldiers dead in their wake, splayed on the sands. I slide out three arrows and launch them. The one hits centre forehead, the other dissolves into the second one’s chest, only injuring it. Markiveus finishes it off. The third arrow missed completely, burying itself in the sands. But I never miss.

The third screams in fury and charges at me. Before I can even reach for another arrow, it pounces on me. My body splashes on the sand— the quiver digs into my back. I hold up the bow like a shield. Globs of saliva strings down from its jaw, mindlessly swiping its talons at me, it manages to rip its talons into my skin and tears it back out ruthlessly, extracting a wail from me.

The creature clutches my bow and crumbles it under its might. I grip onto the remnant, the part with the steel-tipped edge, I turn it and thrust it into its gut, and it howls in pain. I take the opportunity to throw its tremendous heft off me and I roll on top of it. I whip out both daggers from their scabbards and I hurl it down, jabbing them inside its chest until the hilt.

The creature falls limp beneath me, and I yank out my daggers. I shoot up to my feet, staggering dazedly to the side. I glance at the wound in the top part of my arm, deep claw marks leaking streaks of blood.

With my bow destroyed, I can no longer defend from a long range. Because of my daggers, I only have the choice of close quarter combat, where I can only slay these vile creatures when they come dangerously too close to me.

A swarm of flesh-torn creatures swarm the Avangard, causing the formation to splinter then to break completely. Anthia snaps out her arm and from the voluminous sleeve, a surge of black spearhead shaped blades rockets forward, assailing the gush of white, many collapse to the ground, impaled by hand-sized blades.

Aries balls his hands and expands his arms, an array of round, black force fields materialise between his palms. He draws his elbows back and punches the air—a foray of force fields slices through the incoming swarm, puncturing some and even decapitating others.

An unnatural force collides with me, tackling me to the sandy ground. I jerk my head aside—the sands swallows its talons. I fire both daggers up; the blades penetrating the shrivelling flesh. The creature slackens, I rip out the daggers and shove it off me.

Before I can bask in relief. My victory is short-lived.

Something coils around my leg, just above my boot.

With a violent tug, I’m brutally dragged, my body bursting through the sands. Whilst being rapidly hauled by the leg, I heave my shoulders to look at the deep abyss I’m being pulled to. I fall back down, mustering strength. I hoist up my torso and yank hard on my leg, forcing it to my chest—close enough. I curl forward with a quick slash; I sever the bond.

An ominous pain blazes in my mind in a pendulum motion, burning from temple to temple.

Then an ethereal verve invigorates my entire being, adrenaline masking my pain.

I ascend to my feet. A few paces from me, Dario is on the ground, his bloody hand gripping his side. I feel a smirk tug at the corner of my lips. I hurry over to him. Another creature leaps into my path out of nowhere, baring its face of fangs at me, rattling my skull with its ear-splitting shriek.

I dodge an assault, diving to the ground in a gentle roll—releasing a spray of sand. Near its legs, I impale its thigh and it screeches in pain, lowering itself to lunge for me. It throws its other leg at me; I fall on my back to evade the kick and with the momentum generated; I flip back onto my feet. With one dagger, I lacerate its throat with lethal precision. The creature drops to the ground.

I step over it and I creep towards Dario. His face distorted by agony, he hauls himself to sit upright but then slips halfway down, leaning his weight on one elbow.

I stand beside his deserted blade, looming over him.

He looks up at me expectantly. “Are just going to gawk at me or are you going to help?”

Among the multi-connections in my brain. Something snaps. The ominous pain returns and this time it is all consuming.

Aurora. Do not succumb.

But my will is not as strong as I thought. Something overpowers me. It’s like my consciousness has been snatched from the light of control. And something else, something dark has taken its place, pulling the strings of my limbs like a puppeteer. I, a guest in my own mind, forced to watch whatever will unfold.

Dario scoffs at me. “What kind of master forsakes his student; regardless of what he has done?” He drags his body like a deadweight towards the sword. “It seems you’re not as caring as people believe. I will do it myself.”

He edges towards the sword.

Suddenly my boot stomps on his hand. Dario poorly stifles a cry. He looks up at me desperately, fear flashes in his eyes.

“Aurora. What are you doing?”

My foot remains cemented on his hand, unable to remove it.

Terror etches itself on his face. “Hera, I beg of you. If you will not save my life, at least allow me to save my own!”

My boot lifts. Dario urgently rushes to his sword. But I am faster. The side of my boot slams into the pommel, sending it sprawling across the sand.

“Aurora, please!”

My torso leans forward. “If you’re going to proceed to sound like you’re dying.” The voice is mine, but the words are not my own. “Please do so silently.”

His eyes implode in its sockets. His head whips behind him, the torn flesh of a creature ropes around his ankle. He looks back at me frantically with nothing but mounting horror within him. He reaches out to me pleadingly.

“Aurora, I beg of you!”

Instantaneously his body is ripped away from me, rapidly drawing into the darkness, his haunting scream echoes until silence pierces its length. I cast a look behind me and I see Solaris gaping at me like he doesn’t recognise me, like I myself am a desert demon.

“Just as I said.”

I sneak a look off my shoulder to glimpse the eidolon of Rimnick. Immersed in the shadows, a profound darkness, despite that, I can see his smug smirk.

“A darkness within.”

“Get out of my head,” I seethe. I look back at Solaris and something relinquishes its hold of me—I inhale a sharp breath—full control restored. For now.

Solaris still stands stunned, horror-stricken by what I did. What I allowed.

A silhouette darts behind him. “Solaris. Duck!” He plunges to the ground. I fling my one dagger to where he was, it soars above him and strikes the chest of the skulking creature. Solaris spins around and ends it off with a stroke of his blade.

Abruptly, swooshing sounds swell, like something rough and great is quickly ploughing through the sands. I turn to my left to watch three large transport vehicles of some kind speed towards us. All three of them are the same. A wide metal platform and what protrudes from the front is a mast-like structure that holds a billowing sail. At the flattened body, there are four long extensions that jut out of the flanks and on each of them there are beings on the appendages, all of them flailing their arms with focused intent, their graceful arm movements synchronised with every motion.

One of the beings hops off. His entire body is wrapped in innumerable layers of wraps, a kind of linen, all around its body except for its eyes, a pair of burning blue gemstones. He is clothed in a kilt-like garment worn around his waist, extending to above the knees. With a matching colour turban on his head. The being exudes ancient energy. Potent but amiable. Not a threat.

He holds a wooden staff in his hand with a crown-like head; the fingers spread like an open claw. The being thrust the staff into the air and immaculate light explodes from the staff. A wave of blinding illumination shoots out, depriving me of my vision for several seconds.

But I welcome the dissonant noise of pained screeches. The creatures are fleeing.

My vision returns. I watch with absolute despair at the scene of slaughter that surrounds us. The fallen Avangard soldiers. The advent of our well-timed saviours beckons our attention. Cautiously, we all make our way towards them.

Anthia and the one being with a turban stand face to face for a long while. But they are not saying a word to each other. Aries stands in the centre like a mediator, as if he understands what is transpiring between them.

Duce Merian hobbles over to them, looking distraught. “What. Is. Happening?” he asks with indignation entrenched in his voice. “Why are they gazing into each other’s eyes?”

Aries flicks him an irritated look. “They are communicating. Psychometry. Thought transference through extrasensory perception.”

Shock shrouds his trauma. “They are transmitting information through neurological pathways?”

Aries forces a stiff nod.

Anthia turns brusquely to face the Duce. “Zoar is the leader of the Are, an old sand tribe. He offers refuge. He says the Xelem are nocturnal and will return, and other others like its kind. The reason why no-one survives beyond their borders is because wanderers make the mistake of travelling in the day and resting at night. In the Night Desert, one must do the opposite.”

“He has also offered us refuge for the day,” Aries adds, earnestly looking back at Duce. “Zoar even agreed to accompany us to our destination.”

“I must contest,” Vince objects. “They do not us, and we them. Why would they offer aid to complete strangers?”

“They saved us,” Treyton notes. He chaffs at the convenience. “But their rescue is quite timely. Do you not think?”

Duce nods absently. “What choice do we have?” His voice grows feverish. “These damned demons killed—” he spins around to gauge a body count, “—a handful of our military escort. And we lost two horses.”

We had seven horses. Now only five remain.

We had eighteen guards. Now they are only eleven.

“Primus! Primus, what do we do?”

All of us look around to search for him until we find him. Kelan kneels beside the corpse of one of his soldiers, Reinsbure beside him. Both of their backs faced towards us. Reinsbure lifts a trembling hand and lays it on his shoulder—Kelan erects like a spark that ignites him out of his world of grief and back to the reality of his anguish.

Kelan rejects Reinsbure’s gesture of comfort. He rises to his feet and marches to be at the Duce’s side. With unfeeling ease, he evicts his emotions and becomes attentive to the dilemma at hand.

Kelan eyes down the Are leader. “He offers us much needed aid. My soldiers are wounded and they need refuge to tend to themselves. From there we will heed to their counsel. We shall rest at day and travel by night.”

Some soldiers help their injured, burgundy brothers, craning them up to their feet, arms draping over shoulders.

“No,” Markiveus exclaims. He strides up to the inner circle. “I’m concerned for my safety if we do go.”

Aries grunts in annoyance. “The Xelem will return and mutilate us from where we stand. Our convoy is wounded, wounded means vulnerable. If another attack comes, we will not survive.”

“I do not speak of those disgusting fiends,” he spits out. He wheels on me and jabs an accusing finger in my direction. “I speak of the most dangerous fiend of all.”

“What your tongue,” Kelan says, his eyes alite with black spite.

Markiveus raves on unabatingly. “Do you not see? She hides her true nature under her facade of beauty and benevolence. At least with those demons they are frank about their intent, they do not conceal it with kind words and magnanimous acts.”

Treyton moves to him and reproachfully clutches his arm to invoke silence, but Markiveus wrenches his arm out of his hold. “It is her fault that Dario is dead. I saw her, she just watched him get torn away by those hellions!”

Anthia loses her composure for a millisecond. “Many lives were taken by those things,” she says, not in my defence but as a fact.

“He is right,” Brennon affirms with staunch accord. He limps over to them. “Look. Hera Aurora is singlehandedly responsible for all of the Herems’ deaths. Tamani.” I recoil, his name is like a blade in my gut. “Zekei.” I obstruct a wince. “Rimnick.” I look away. “Now Dario.”

Brennon outstretches his arms radically. “Who of us is next, Hera?”

Pained more than any wound inflicted on me. I glance at Solaris, almost as if seeking reassurance, but he dodges my gaze. And rightfully so, I do not deserve it.

Primus addresses Anthia. “Tell Zoar that we accept his offer.”

Anthia falls silent for a moment. Zoar nods curtly and walks back to one of the transport vehicles.

“What about the remaining horses?”

Anthia answers from off her shoulder, she says, “Two tribesman will stay and ride them to their settlement.”

All of us disperse and separate to fill the unrailed and open transport vehicles. The Herems and I step onto the vehicle in the centre, clustering on the platform. The other tribesmen are planted on the extended appendages. I survey the strange transport. It has no engine or propellers of any kind to launch it. The leader joins in and moves to stand in front of the mast.

I observe my side and watch the tribesmen. They initiate into a dance-like sequence with their arms, minimal use of their legs. The vehicle lurches forward—I wobble a step back. The transport fires forward and soon the other two flank its sides.

I wildly look around to locate the cause of air propulsion. But it is them. The tribesmen are the propellers with whatever movement they make; it maintains the wind-whipping speeds. Somehow, they must be ionizing air molecules around them. A way for them to achieve impulsion like a boat in the sea, driven by whims of the wind.

All three transports sail through the black ocean so placidly. A jarring juxtaposition of we had just endured. Of what I had done.

I sheath my bloodless dagger. Then only do I notice that the other’s missing. My father’s blade.

The adrenaline wears off and pain washes over my entire left side. The biting wound on my arm flares, but it is tolerable.

After what I measure to be an hour. We reach the end of the voyage. We are led off the transports, all of us following the Are, Zoar in front. Eventually, we crest a sandy cliff overlooking a gargantuan gorge, in the rock walls are carved divisions, dwellings of some kind. With white sails wafting in cool, night air like they are awnings among the caves that consume the entire one side of the gorge. Flickering, smouldering blue lights blink awake amidst the rock dwellings.