Vindicta (The Liquidator Wars Book 1) Read online

  Perhaps soon they would be able to fight alongside the twins. As one of the Ortis or ‘rising’ elite guard, Trace was assigned to Tarren and Jupe to Bayn. The bonds formed between guardians, and their young protégés were considered among the most sacred and permanent in the culture of the Electi, never ending even in death.

  One of the primary purposes of the training was to instill toughness and stealth in the youth. To this end, they were trained rigorously in acrobatic warfare, sword and knife play, and wall climbing with an emphasis on upper body strength and endurance.

  This particular day, as the class participants stood barefoot on the Alchemy circular symbols spaced at precise distances apart on the stone floor of their airy classroom, Trace’s practical joker streak kicked in as Natalia, regal as ever and not missing a step though totally blind, entered the front of the classroom.

  All the students automatically bowed in deference, shouting, “Oracle” in tribute to her.

  This was custom when addressing their teacher and all other elders within their race, and it had been ingrained in them since they were able to understand the action.

  Natalia began as she usually did, with a lecture on the merits of Stealth Training and a historical retrospective of battles in which the stealth of the Guard had contributed in some grand way to the victory that was guaranteed to come to them as long as they held to these merits.

  There were strict rules concerning classroom behavior with no horseplay or eating in class allowed, but as Natalia continued speaking, Trace, who had arrived late to breakfast, removed a bunch of grapes from the pocket of his gym shorts. He crammed a few in his mouth and then holding them up so that Jupe, who was standing to his right, could see them.

  Jupe held out his hand, and when Trace threw him a grape, another student saw it and hissed at him to throw one to him also.

  As more and more of the gathered students became aware of the game, they held their hands out also to catch the grapes Trace was dispersing. His face flushed with excitement, Trace lobbed more grapes at eager classmates, barely stifling a laugh when one of the most athletic of them jumped straight up and caught the grape in his mouth.

  He was having an excellent time. Part of his enjoyment was putting one over on Natalia. Although he had respect for her, after all, she was an Oracle yadayadayada, he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. It amused him to take advantage of her lack of sight. His classmates were certainly enjoying the joke.

  Then one of the girls up front, her dark braided hair wrapped around her head, motioned to him. Trace tossed a grape her way, but she missed catching it, and it plopped to the floor rolling in front of Natalia, who often paced back and forth as she lectured. It rolled under her sandal just as she stepped forward.

  The squishing sound it made seemed to echo in the chamber, sounding like it was on stereo in the silence of the room beside Natalia’s words. Natalia stopped short, and Jupe threw his best friend a look of horror.

  Natalia reached down and removed her sandal from her slender foot, her glazed over eyes unfocused as they flicked over the room.

  “Trace Vexo, will you please come to the front of the class,” she said, the tone of her cultured voice echoing against the walls.

  Gulping, his heart beating loudly in his chest, Trace walked to the front of the classroom. It seemed a long walk. With her eyes glazed over by the opalescent film that Oracles always had, Natalia seemed more formidable close-up and somewhat frightening as he approached her.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, future Guardian?” she said.

  Trace found himself tongue-tied as he scrambled for his next words.

  “I apologize, Oracle,” he said, hanging his head and meaning it, “I meant no disrespect.”

  At this Natalia threw back her head and laughed, startling him and causing his head to jerk up in surprise.

  “That is as preposterous a statement as I have ever heard uttered within these walls. You are too close to the end of your training for childish acts. Certainly, there is a time and a place for frivolity and mirth, but not inside these walls. These walls contain the future of the Electi. It is a serious business to show disregard for the knowledge that assures our survival. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Oracle” Trace replied.

  The classroom had gone deadly silent, and he wished fervently for the stone floor to open up and swallow him whole instead of being forced to face the embarrassment of Natalia’s lecture.

  “You have no idea that although my eyes are useless, I see more clearly than any of you,” the Oracle mused, “My blindness is a gift that allows me to see not only this world but beyond it. I saw what you were doing from the beginning. I could sense the change in your breathing, hear your whispers and the change in air currents talked to me and told me exactly what you were doing. Still, I waited, hoping that your wisdom might override your foolishness and when I called you up here I felt your sphincter tighten, and your balls shrivel up in fear. That is how well I see you!”

  Abruptly Natalia said, “You may return to your place, Trace Vexo.”

  Trace stared at Natalia, surprised.

  “Am I not to be punished?” he said aloud.

  “Of course, you will have a consequence,” Natalia told him, the film over her eyes seeming to glow. “It will be exacted on your Guardian, Tarren. As your Guardian, he has taken it upon himself to bear the brunt of your indiscretions, and you will get to watch.”

  ***

  Gwenyth was irate with her older sister, but she wanted to spend alone time with her. Even if it meant getting dressed in clothes she didn’t understand, wearing a glove without the dazzle she was accustomed to, and being surrounded by loud and boisterous human beings.

  They had been chauffeured to the Del Almo Mall and rode in silence, Gwenyth not being able to even look at Brynn. She may have overreacted to her sister’s suggestion of being able to wear the trinket her mother had left her, but she didn’t want to be a burden to her. Brynn was always protecting her from the whispers of others, but she wanted to be able to speak for herself without her big sister coming to her rescue.

  Gwenyth had to admit that her outburst was not entirely Brynn’s fault. She had felt, for the first time, dissatisfaction with their Electi lifestyle. Her own role in particular. It seemed as if her entire life other people had been making her decisions for her. First, it was their mother and father, then their Uncle Vincent, and finally her older sister Brynn.

  That had been all fine and good when she was a child, but she wasn’t a child anymore.

  She found herself smothered by the virtual cotton wool wrapping of her sister’s overprotective ways. However well intentioned she couldn’t continue to play along with it. Brynn would probably be surprised and alarmed at Gwenyth’s thoughts. Her priorities had shifted, and she wanted different things.

  She wanted to train in Warfare skills under the Craven twins. The thrill of the battle was in her blood just as surely as it flowed in Brynn’s. She could no longer deny that part of herself.

  She also wanted more freedom in her relationships. She wanted to pick her own companions without running everything by Brynn. Brynn was too quick to dismiss Gwenyth’s subtle hints about spending more time with members of the Guard or members of the School of Warfare. Every time Gwenyth brought up the name of someone she’d like to get to know better Brynn would shut her down by reminding her that she was a highborn Daughter of the Electi and as such could not associate with those beneath her station.

  Well, that was bullshit. Gwenyth knew that Brynn hadn’t been much older than she was now when she organized her army and began fighting Liquidators.

  Gwenyth settled back in the seat, a smile briefly crossing her lips.

  It was her own secret that she had made a special connection the other night. Brynn hadn’t been around when it had happened because she had elected to take a stroll with Bayn. As soon as Brynn had left, Ryder Perkins had taken a seat next to her, kissing her right hand and
repeating the oath of fealty that was the customary greeting.

  Gwenyth was flattered. She didn’t know exactly how old Ryder was, but she knew he was older than she was. Up close he was even more handsome with dark hair to his shoulders, a closely cropped beard and dark brows framing his surprisingly blue eyes. He asked after her and then launched into a genuine and natural conversation, querying her on what her hobbies were as well as her aspirations. His interest in her seemed natural and authentic, and even though Tarren, sitting a few seats away, glared at Ryder the entire time, Ryder took it in stride.

  Just before Brynn had returned, as though he could feel that his time in Gwenyth’s company was running out, he squeezed her leg above her knee and pressed something into her hand.

  “For you, Gwenyth, Daughter of the Electi,” he had said. “The loveliest lady here, and the smartest in spite of your youth. This is a keepsake, and I ask that you will wear it and think of me. If you do, I know I will be kept safe to return to you.”

  He had disappeared from her side in an instant, but she could still feel the warmth on her knee where his large hand rested. Just his touch seemed to awaken her as though from a spell.

  She’d looked up and saw that Brynn was moving closer, obviously ticked off at Bayn for something as she usually was, but she managed to steal a glance at the curious object in her hand.

  It was a small hammered medallion on a thin long silver chain. It had a single letter engraved in fancy scrollwork on the front of it.

  It was the letter R.

  She’d hidden it in her pocket and waited until later, when she’d finally been completely alone, to fasten it around her neck. Because she was so small boned, it was virtually undetectable beneath her clothing and the tiny round medallion hung well below her small breasts.

  She had no desire to wear the family jewelry that was her legacy. The Star necklace was just for show and meant nothing.

  Ryder’s gift, however, was to her young mind a secret promise.

  That was the necklace she would wear.

  ***

  Hours after their stressful meal, Brynn, and a sullen Gwenyth came back with bags upon bags of clothing, swathed by the full moon. Now they sat in the front row to watch the ceremony that would take place that was held in the underground tunnels of the Warrior Training Academy.

  It was a ceremony to be performed with all seriousness in accordance with time-honored ritual and attended by every young Warrior in Training that resided there. But it would not be followed by a celebration.

  It was a rare ceremony that had not been held in over half a century, and it was based on the Laws of the Electi that recognized the sacred connection between young Warriors and their Mentors. It reasoned that, due to the seriousness of the bond between them both, the transgressions of either the Mentor or his charge should be dealt with in a prescribed manner.

  The ceremony was called the ‘Igitur,' the ‘Consequence,' and Natalia was in charge of deciding exactly what the consequence should be for Trace Vexo’s misbehavior in class. The ceremony was held in the Room of Fountains, an inner sanctum of the Warfare School that was oval shaped. The curving inner wall of the room held several niche fountains, each depicting a fallen Warrior hero or heroine of the Electi. During award celebrations, the fountains were lit with brightly colored lights and enhanced with music.

  For the Igitur, the fountains ran gray and silent, their carved stonework standing in what seemed silent reproach for Trace’s misdeed. Trace hadn’t taken his training seriously until Tarren, the massive Electi Warrior, was granted Guardianship over him. Because of this, he would face the consequences of that burden and Trace watched in silence as the sanctum doors opened. The Daughters of Electi were the first to enter after Natalia had prepared both Tarren and Trace for what was to come.

  The sanctum was filled with students, teachers, and Electi Warriors, all standing solemnly and wearing their formal attire. That included gray capes lined with blood red silk and embroidered in silver thread on the back with the insignia of the school. The image of the sun’s rays surrounded a Phoenix rising from the ashes adorned each cape as well as the wall behind the podium where Tarren would face his duty head on.

  On the raised twelve-inch by twelve-inch podium in the center, Trace stood to face Tarren, his Sworn Guardian, and Mentor. Natalia’s face was covered by the shadow of the hood of her long ceremonial cape. She walked around the two as she began speaking, taking each step slowly as if she walked too quickly she may stumble.

  “We are gathered this evening to restore balance,” she began, her powerful voice echoing off the stone surrounding them. “Youth can never be an excuse for failing to uphold the standards of the Warring Arts School. Depending on circumstance, any of you could be called upon to die for our kind.

  One of the fountains in this sacred place was dedicated to a fallen hero who gave his life battling Liquidators who attempted to storm the Manse soon after we first arrived. He was the first to meet the sword of the encroaching Liquidators and gave the alarm so that others might be saved. His name was Tempest Ryan, and he was nine years old.”

  Reverent silence stole the room for all of a moment.

  “There is no place for horseplay during our training sessions. You will need every bit of instruction we can impart, internalizing it and absorbing it like a sponge. The student here that is the subject of the Igitur Ceremony shall be nameless and invisible for the next four weeks. Any student seen conversing with him will face his own Igitur, and his Guardian will be punished.”

  Natalia whipped around suddenly and addressed Tarren, who stood silent and as immobile as if made of stone.

  “Do you understand why you are being punished this evening?” she asked.

  “Yes, Oracle,” was the only answer Tarren made as he and Trace faced each other.

  Trace stood silently, but inwardly he was experiencing the kind of torture that only those that have caused hurt to those they love and admire the most ever experience. He could only guess at the disappointment in him that Tarren must feel, and he had regretted his actions ever since he disrespected the charge of a rising Electi Warrior.

  And now Tarren would be punished in his stead, basically for trusting and believing in him and taking an oath to stand with him, even if it meant taking on his punishments as his own.

  He would have rather been whipped himself, Trace thought in silent agony. But, of course, Natalia was right. The greater lesson would be having to witness Tarren punished in his place. He searched Tarren’s eyes frantically as he stood opposite him. It would have been a relief to see reproach in them or hatred, but whatever Tarren’s thoughts, whatever his disappointment, nothing in his manner gave evidence of it.

  A gong sounded. Tarren dropped the cloak he was wearing and stood bare-chested and barebacked, his torso exposed to the chill that had descended on the chamber. Trace watched as goose bumps broke out over the male’s bronze flesh, quickly disappearing as his body adjusted to the temperature of the room.

  From out of nowhere, Natalia produced a Rahaz-Estar Bane whip. One of the most elegant and deadly of weapons known to be used by the Electi and never once in battle. Tarren dropped to his knees before her in reverence and duty, his back turned to the Oracle. Very quickly she administered lashes to Tarren’s exposed back, cutting diamond shaped patterns in his exposed skin as each lash rang out and echoed within the sanctum. Tarren never once screamed or cried out, his face remaining stoic as he took the beating, his eyes closed and lips tight in a straight line.

  Natalia was an expert. She had the strength to administer blows that could slice flesh to the bone, but she held back, wanting only to deliver enough punishment to cure Trace of his foolish and immature behavior.

  As he watched Tarren accept the punishment that should have been his without flinching, Trace was unable to keep tears of shame from running down his face. Dark spots littered the inside of his cape just below his chin, his tears marking it for all to see so they could also
bear witness to his foolishness.

  When Natalia finished the whipping, the Bane Whip disappeared up into Natalia’s voluminous sleeve again, and she took a step away from Tarren’s exposed and bleeding back.

  “It is finished,” she said.

  All present filed out silently except for Brynn who watched Trace and Tarren warily, coming to kneel before Tarren who had not once moved since the lashings ended. As soon as the room was empty except for the four of them, Tarren had replaced his cloak, wincing as he did so with Brynn’s helping hand. When the warrior stood, Trace ran to him, collapsing against his broad and sweaty chest. Sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Never,” he sobbed. “Never again, I swear.”

  Natalia left the chamber without a word, and as Trace’s fervent cries echoed up the tunnel and reached her exceptionally keen ears. She smiled grimly.

  Though it would not be for some time, she had seen a vision as she whipped Tarren. She had foreknowledge of something neither Tarren, nor Trace had any inkling of.

  In spite of the bonding, love, and trust between them, an unforeseen betrayal was in store. And it would rock the House of Electi to its very foundation.

  ***

  Tarren couldn’t help but think about the rough week that was now behind him. His charge, his little Soul Brother Trace had managed to offend Natalia, one of the most powerful beings serving the Electi and also one of their most powerful weapons against the Liquidators and the Fae traitors.

  After showering gingerly the evening of the Ignitus Ceremony, he had surveyed the damages. His back had been lashed in a repeating diamond pattern by her whip, the marks already beginning to scab over. Typically, at the hand of another being wielding any other weapon, his wounds would have been completely healed in mere minutes. But Natalia’s whip was enchanted. Tarren would bear the scars from the wounds she had inflicted for six months or more and, if he were lucky, he would be able to feed to help speed the process. Hopefully, that would spare him at least two months of recovery.