Volonians: Mysteries of The Vondercrat

  Chapter Seven

  The Evil Menace

  A tall man waits cautiously at a TPS station. A purple robe is draped over his head. His feet are bare, and his pale face is covered in tattoos. A massive building shields him from the harsh Volonian sun. A sign in front of him reads LOWER VOLONIA. He places his wrist to the metal box and the portal opens. He enters. When he exits from the other side, he removes his robe from his head. The man, called Molar, looks out at a dark, unsavory, underground city. The contrast between the two Volonian cities is literally night and day. The artificial sky is a dark blue color, and its gloom gives an apprehensive feel to the place. Small caves take the forms of houses; dingy lanterns line the streets, allowing only a bit of light to abate the gloom. Drifters aimlessly pass by, preying on freshly exiled witches or warlocks. Mostly Drifters, Stealths and Pop-ins reside down here. The only hope they have to hold on to is being reinstated within one Volonian cycle. The recently exiled band of Volonians has caused some havoc in Upper Volonia. They demand equality and fairness despite the unanimous opinion by all in Upper Volonia that they are clearly of a lower status. Their demotion came as a result of law breaking and ritual rejections—laws and rituals put forth by the Ancient Guardians to be ruled judiciously by the House of Lords.

  Molar continues on his journey, glancing over his shoulder from time to time. He walks to the end of the brick street. His eyes are locked on the ground and focused on his destination. Sensing a large cave straight ahead propels Molar to a quicker pace. A few warlocks have gathered outside the entrance. They are devising a plan to be reinstated into Upper Volonia. Molar approaches the group. “Do you actually think they want you back there?”

  “It doesn’t matter; it’s what I want,” one of the men proclaims.

  Molar examines the man from head to toe, his expression unforgiving. “You’re no more a Volonian than I am.”

  The man steps aggressively toward Molar, undaunted by his considerably larger stature. “I have nothing to prove to anyone. I belong up there.”

  “Yeah, sure you do. You just keep on telling yourself that.”

  Molar turns and walks away. “You have much to prove. What are you, a Pop-in at best?”

  The shorter man angrily lifts his arm, his eyes aglow. “VAMOY YO VIC.” A barrage of energy shoots from his hands and rushes toward Molar. Unfazed, Molar continues his stride. He feels the energy coming and lifts his head, his eyes now glowing too. He repels the energy, magically forcing it back toward its instigator. The sheer power forces the man into a backwards flip; several bricks tear loose from the ground as his body creates a violent impact with the surface. Dazed and nearly naked, the small man lies unmoving on the street.

  “He’s a Stealth,” says an onlooker.

  Molar enters the cave. Puddles of water cover the walkway. The outside light barely reaches into the darkness, making it harder to see the farther he goes. Moreover, the walkway narrows, and he finds it necessary to skim the walls with his hand for guidance. His legs feel suddenly heavy as the path inclines, indicating his journey’s approaching end. A ray of light beams across the cave directly ahead. A dark figure glides in his direction but never looks up. As it approaches, a collision seems inevitable, as neither person is yielding for the other. Suddenly, the figure disappears and reappears behind Molar. “Pop-ins, what a joke,” Molar says to himself.

  He makes it to the end of the cave where the narrow walkway opens into a large, dimly lit cove. The mood is somber in this crowded gathering of warlocks and witches. Their backs are turned to Molar, and their eyes are focused ahead. He tries standing on his tiptoes to get a glimpse of what holds their attention. A deep, ominous voice echoes through the hall, its tone and volume heightening with every word. Molar forces his way through the crowd, most of the patrons resisting his forcefulness by glowering and pushing back. Still, he shoves forward, noticing the transfixed expressions of the others. They are soaking up every sentence, every word. Molar finally stands one row from the front of the crowd. His foot takes its final step forward. He lifts his head, finally in a position to see what holds everyone else mesmerized. He repositions himself between the pressing bodies. Standing before him is a tall man wrapped in a red robe, elevated to an even greater height on a pedestal. He towers over all the onlookers. A hood covers his head, and in this dim place, his pale skin seems to have a glow of its own. Green veins cover half his face; the rest of it seems scaly. He waves his long fingers for emphasis as he speaks, and Molar can see they are covered by tattoos. His body is taut and sinewy. His piercing gray eyes stare out over the reverent crowd. His presence is absolutely commanding.

  Zion, a scrawny, younger warlock stands nearby. His hair hangs down his face, which is covered in black spots. He glances over at Molar. “You know who that is?”

  Molar stares straight ahead. “That’s why I’m here. To find out.”

  “His name is Menace. He’s the most powerful warlock in Lower Volonia.”

  “He doesn’t look so powerful to me.”

  “Legend has it he was up for Lordship several cycles ago.”

  “And?”

  “And the people didn’t approve. He’s Class Eight.”

  “Class Eight? Well why would he be slumming it down here with the likes of you?” Zion takes offense to his statement, but Molar turns away, unconcerned. He shifts his attention toward the speaker.

  Menace’s powerful voice climbs to a fevered pitch as he steps from the pedestal. His sadistic glare drives a few patrons back. “I am here to give you something they’ll never give you: a choice!” Menace’s tone suddenly adjusts to the gravity of the message. He paces, his eyes on the floor. He pushes his hands into the folds of his robe. “True judgment is on the brink. Each one of you has a duty-- a duty to the exiled Volonian! We must take back what’s ours.” The crowd cheers in agreement, and several fists shoot toward the sky. “We must forge a battle that will give all Volonians the freedom they seek, and the only way to do that is to bring down the House of Lords!” The crowd cheers in elation, the noise is deafening. Menace puts his hand up, briefly calming the commotion. “One question remains.” He steps closer to the crowd, his eyes piercing their souls. His raspy voice lifts with conviction. “Are you with me?” The crowd erupts into a frenzied chaos of anger and hope and pure adrenaline.

  A few spectators make their voices heard over the commotion. “We will kill for you!” “Lower Volonia forever!” “Take back our powers!”

  Menace’s job is done. With a sinister grin, he stares into the crowd. A woman’s voice carries over the crowd from the rear of the room. It is aggressive yet flirtatious.

  “And if we don’t side with you?” Gradually, a confused hush falls over the rowdy patrons. A woman strolls forward from the rear of the space. The crowd slowly parts as she struts towards the pedestal, creating a clearing in which all can view her. Their eyes are fixed; their mouths drop. It is Olivia. She wears a snug, white robe that falls open to reveal a sexy, purple corset. It’s tight, forcing her full bosom to swell at the top. She knows she has the crowd’s rapt attention. Mel, bonded to Olivia since their meeting at the Judging Chambers, follows closely behind her. His expression is intimidating, and his stance is strong and on-guard. Olivia reaches the front of the room and stands face-to-face with Menace. She gloats as she looks out into the silent crowd. “Are we too late for the party, Joriyah?” She smiles wickedly, but his grimace reveals pure hate. “Or shall I say, Menace?”

  “What do you want?” he snarls.

  “I just want to talk. Nothing more. Just a friendly conversation between two old friends.” Mel keeps a close watch around the room. Olivia leans in to caress Menace’s robe. “Nice…”

  “I see Roman finally let the cat out to play.”

  Olivia, seemingly bothered, turns to the crowd, distain in her eyes. “Get out!” The crowd slowly backs away. “We need to talk. Now.”
Menace reluctantly lifts his hand and makes a slight pushing motion toward the back. The crowd exits the space. Olivia and Menace face off in the center of the room. “How long are you going to hold these pep rallies, Menace?”

  “The day awaits, Olivia, when I will rule.”

  “And when is that day coming?”

  “It is upon us. I owe you no explanation.”

  Olivia glances over to Mel. “This is Mel. He’s a Stealth… for now. We come with a proposition.”

  “And what might that be?” Menace’s stare is intense,

  “The power of Volonia.” Olivia seductively circles Menace, her tone soft and seductive.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the Vondercrat.” Mel looks on with concern.

  “Are you crazy?” Menace says, taken aback. “You’ll never get to it. It takes five Lords to retrieve it.”

  “What if I told you one witch, a Class Six, retrieved the Vondercrat with a single spell.”

  Menace uneasily paces the floor. “I’m listening.”

  “Her name is Varah Cutter. She’s the ex-veil of Lord Roman.”

  Menace looks up, surprised. “Lord Roman Cutter?” He glances at Mel, then back to Olivia. “You don’t want the blood at your own doorstep, I take it.” Mel listens in intently. Olivia lifts her hand and magically a hologram of Varah floats a few feet away.

  “You catch on quickly, Menace. They are holding her for sentencing as we speak.”

  Mel stares at the hologram, and his demeanor shifts. He remembers the woman in the other glass case. “She conjured the Vondercrat?”

  Olivia turns toward him. “Yes, do you know her?”

  “No, just that she passed me in the Judgment Corridor, that’s all.”

  Olivia steps up to face Mel, her eyes searching his for the truth. “Good.”

  “How did she do it?” Menace asks.

  “She won’t tell me.”

  “But she’s a Class Six!”

  “Exactly! There is something she isn’t telling me, and we need to get close enough to find it.”

  Menace’s tone takes on a chill as he steps away, “You’re a Class Eight as well. Why do you need me?”

  “I never said I needed you, Menace. You need me. I scratch your back; you scratch mine. Opening a portal into Upper Volonia could slow things down. The House of Lords would trace the portal back to me. So let’s just say your rap sheet is perfect for the job.”

  Menace steps away, staring straight through Olivia, his thoughts focused on one thing: “My share?”

  “Once I get my hands on the Vondercrat, you’ll have full reign to carry your minions into battle in Upper Volonia. How does one tenth of the spells in the Vondercrat sound?” Menace leans in, unconvinced.

  “Fifty-fifty.”

  Olivia’s stars intensifies, her shoulders thrust forward. Her stance is unyielding. “Thirty-seventy.” Mel feels the power struggle. He cautiously takes a step away.

  Menace finally concedes, and his tone gets lighter, but a sinister grin curls on his face. “Deal.”

  Mel stands nearby. “And what about our deal Olivia?” Olivia turns toward Mel and then continues to look right past him. She strolls toward the exit, seductive and confident. Menace and Mel share an intense, parallel stare. Then, Menace lifts both arms and black smoke flows out from the bottom of his robe. It rises to cover his entire body. His sinister grin disappears in the smoke. Mel is left alone in the cove.

  Shenzara and Broc sit on the floor in a glass case, each occupying opposite sides of the room. Their faces are tense with worry. Broc yells out, his voice carrying across to the other side “What are you doing?”

  Not amused, Shenzara lifts her head. Her tone is condescending as she replies, “The same thing you’re doing, breathing!”

  “No, silly. I mean, what are you thinking?”

  Shenzara plays with her bracelet, never looking up. “Nothing!”

  “You have to be thinking something. We can’t just sit here and not think. It’s impossible.” Broc playfully swings his legs, staring at his sister with his eyes wide open. “I was thinking what it would be like at the Isle of Waterfalls right now.”

  Shenzara rolls her eyes, feeling her patience wearing thin. “Broc, can you please just leave me alone?”

  Broc stands up, offended. “Sure I’ll just leave… NOT! Zara we are in this together. You can’t ignore your way out. I believe either Mom or Father will get us out of here.” Shenzara stares at the floor, trying to block Broc out. Dejected, Broc sits down again with a look of sadness sliding down his face. “All we have is each other, Zara, we’ve got to make the best of it.” Broc buries his face in his hands, shaken. Shenzara shifts herself on the floor and reluctantly looks over at her brother. A flood of emotions comes over her. She drags herself over to the other side of the case and sits next to him.

  “You okay?” Broc ignores her. “Broc!”

  “What do you want?”

  Shenzara fidgets with her hands as she tries to find the right words. She pushes her dangling, gold streak behind her ear. “I’m sorry. It’s just that changing classes is a big thing, and all my friends will have shifted and I’m stuck as a Class Two.”

  “Zara, how do you think I feel?”

  “I know. Of course you feel the same. I honestly didn’t see it that way.”

  “You never do.” “I said I was sorry. Don’t rub it in.” Shenzara leans in and straightens Broc’s robe. “I’ve been wanting to do that for the past hour. It’s perfect now.”

  Broc rolls his eyes, and moves to disorganize his robe yet again.

  “Let’s ask for Roman,” Shenzara says, suddenly hopeful.

  “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  Shenzara leaps up, a new idea giving her a surge of excitement. “Viscera!”

  “Duh, why didn’t we think of him before?”

  Shenzara yells out, clenching her hands together. “Viscera? Viscera!”

  A beam of light appears and comes to rest in the center of the glass case. The light quickly dissolves into a lively Viscera. Broc dashes over to Viscera and hugs him. “Calm down, Broc. Don’t squeeze so tight,” says Viscera.

  Unable to waste time with pleasantries, Shenzara asks, “Where did they take Mom?”

  “I have no idea, but I can’t be here long. They can trace me now.”

  Shenzara yanks on Viscera’s white garment. “Help get us out of here. We have to find Mom.”

  “Are you crazy? Viscera blinks rapidly. “Security is amped.”

  Broc pleads with Viscera, his face drooping with pity. This visual appeal hits a soft spot in Viscera’s heart.

  “All right, but if I go down, we all go down.”

  “Outside these doors are a spiral staircase leading up to a small tower with a window.”

  Broc leans in, “How do you know all this?”

  “I’m a Guide, Broc. I just do.”

  Shenzara puts an index finger to her mouth. “Shhh. Go on, Viscera.”

  “I’ll lead you to the door as you go through. Once you make it to the tower, find Lord Roman. He’ll help you.”

  “Okay, got it” says Shenzara.

  Broc psyches himself up, jumping up and down as if ready for a big game. “Let’s do this!”

  “Are you both ready?” After an assuring nod from each kid, Viscera cautiously peeks outside the door. He sees two guards. He glances at Shenzara and Broc, confirming that they’re ready. Broc gives him a thumb’s up. Viscera pushes both of his hands through the door, grabbing each of the guards’ hands and pulling them inward. The guards magically come through the wall, falling to the floor of the glass room. Viscera then grabs Shenzara and Broc’s hands and magically pulls them out through the door. One of the guards lunges for Broc’s leg as he attempts to escape.

  “He has my leg! Help!” His sister and
Viscera tug, triumphantly pulling Broc through the door. The force of the pull throws them on top of each other, and they fall into a pile on the floor. “Wow that was fun. Let’s do it again!” laughs Broc.

  Viscera whispers, “Knock it off.” He cautiously glances both ways down the corridor and then points. “The staircase is that way. It leads to the tower.”

  Broc grabs Viscera’s hand, his face frozen with worry. “You’re not coming with us?”

  “I can’t. Go!”

  Shenzara grabs Broc’s hand she turns to lead her brother in their frantic escape down the hall. Broc glances back to see Viscera waving them forward. Realizing the twins are now completely on their own brings a sense of sadness to his eyes. Slowly he disappears.

  Olivia, Menace and Mel stand in the middle of a dark and dingy street in Lower Volonia. Several members of Menace’s brood surround them. Olivia motions to Mel, grabbing his collar and forcing him closer to her. “We’ve got one shot at this.”

  She nods to Menace, and he lifts both arms as he chants, “VCO LAYA VY VO.” Heavy winds tear through the streets. Dust lifts from the pavement. Olivia glances around at the eager faces of the men. Her smirk is sadistic yet determined. A large portal opens in the center of the street, and blinding beams of light jet everywhere. Menace leads the brood into the portal.

  On the other side, the portal opens in front of the House of Lords’ castle. One by one they exit.

  Moments later, a ball of fire races through the sky and quickly comes to rest on a nearby mountain that overlooks the House of Lords. The ball of fire morphs into Olivia and Mel. Olivia stares out at the House of Lords. She turns to Mel and caresses his face. “Adorable.”

  He forces her hand away and says, “Get on with it, lady.”

  She’s overcome with sadistic laugher. Gradually recapturing her focus, she lifts her head to the sky. “VCO VY SYEE.” Olivia forces Mel’s hand open. A ball of energy escapes her hand and glides into his. “This will guide you to her, provide you a couple of extra spells, and give them a boost in power. It also opens a portal once you secure her.” Mel turns away in defiance.

  “What if I don’t?” Olivia turns to overlook the House of Lords. “Have you forgotten the secret you’re holding? I’ll expose you to the Lords.” Mel contemplates. He glances out at the House of Lords’ kingdom, noticeably troubled. He inhales sharply before clutching the ball of energy and disappearing.

  Menace and his brood stand in front of the large, metal gate that surrounds the House of Lords. Menace opens his arms wide and then forces them closed. A vibration of light shoots from his arms and into the castle. The war is waged. Members of the battalion move toward the brick wall. Their leader looks on as his brood clambers onto the castle. They attempt to disappear and reappear into the castle, but a force field restricts their attempts.

  Mel magically appears in one of the highest towers. He sneaks down a corridor, tightly griping the ball of energy in his hand. He spies on a few guards patrolling the corridor, so he cautiously ducks into a nearby doorway. Then, held in front of him, the ball of energy guides the Stealth, glowing brighter with each step he takes. Mel reaches the center of the corridor and sees that it leads in four directions. He holds the ball of energy toward each direction in turn. The ball glows brighter as he points it to the east, so he dashes down that hall. Up ahead are a pair of guards who notice him and spring into position for battle. They point their staffs at him. “Halt, Stealth!”

  Mel whispers to himself, “Now what?” Lifting the ball, he says, “Here goes nothing.” A ray of light bolts out from the ball, but its power is too strong, propelling Mel backward into a wall. But the light finds its mark, and the rays of power crash into the chests of the guards, blasting them into the wall behind them, leaving them unconscious. Upon the force of their impact, the wall comes crashing to the floor, toppling onto the motionless forms of the guards. “They’re done for,” Mel reassures himself. He manages to get to his knees and crawl over to the now-still ball of energy. “Whoa,” Mel breathes as he realizes the magnitude of its power. He brushes himself off and struggles to his feet. Cautiously he crawls toward the fallen guards and peeks behind them into the hole in the wall. Shattered glass is strewn all over the floor. Varah is balled up in a corner, her arms doing their best to cover her head and protect it from the blast. Cautiously, she rises, attempting to see the identity of her savior through the cloud of dust. Mel steps inside, his muscular frame towering over her. “What do you want?”

  “Calm down, lady, we’re taking a stroll.” Mel hears the sound of footsteps in the distance. “We don’t have much time. You’re coming with me.” He grabs Varah, but she pushes him away.

  “Where’s your streak?” Mel lifts the ball of energy, its glow obscuring her face. “Lady, we can make this hard, or we can make this really hard. It’s up to you.”

  Varah collects herself. She lifts her train and reluctantly walks with Mel through the crumbled wall. Her eyes dart left and right as she attempts to devise a plan of escape. “Remove this neck device, please.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid, lady? Let’s go!” Mel drags Varah down the corridor until she reluctantly starts to run on her own two feet. They race down the open hall with guards immediately giving chase after them, prompting Mel to turn down a second corridor. He lifts the ball, and the energy beam once again shoots out, creating what looks like a tsunami, the impact destroying everything in its path. Varah looks on, unimpressed.

  “That’s not your magic. What are you, a Drifter? Stealth?”

  Mel ignores her and forces her forward. “Quiet!” He shoves Varah up a stairwell. They climb until they reach a door at the top of the tower. Mel peeks inside the door; no one’s there. He forces Varah inside before placing the ball of energy on the floor.

  Varah leans against a nearby wall, nervous. “What now?”

  “I turn you over to her, and I’m a free man.”

  Sounds of battle can be heard below from a nearby window. Varah peeks out “Menace! You’re with him?”

  “No, I’m with her.”

  Smoke seeps from out of the ball of energy as it morphs into a portal. A hologram of Olivia appears inside the portal. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Varah.”

  Varah backs away. “You can’t trust her!”

  Olivia speaks directly to Mel. “We have unfinished business. Bring her to me.” Mel grabs Varah and cautiously walks toward the portal. Varah’s frightened face searches for an escape. Her hands clutch Mel’s strong arms. Mel pauses.

  “Wait,” he says. “How do I know our deal stands?”

  Olivia’s voice deepens, and her eyes glow a bright red. “Bring her to me!”

  Varah pleads, “Don’t trust her! Please!”

  Olivia lunges through the portal. Her hand wraps tightly around Varah’s neck, her freakishly long nails digging into Varah’s throat; then, she violently throws her to the back of the room. Varah crashes into a brick wall, blood flowing from her mouth. She is hurt. She hangs her head, cradling her midsection.

  Olivia’s rant intensifies. “Bring her to me now!”

  Mel is unsure, so he assists Varah to her feet. His mind is racing, confused by how this scenario is playing out. Varah can barely hold on, her strength is withering away. Mel lunges for the ball of energy. He grabs it and smothers it with his bare hands, forcing the portal closed.

  Varah groans in pain. She reaches a weary arm up to him. “Thank you.”

  Mel turns away, realizing he may have made a big mistake. “I didn’t do it for you.” He strides over to the window and sees an assembly of guards. They are forcing Menace and his troops back from the Castle.

  Menace stands in the center of his army, his scepter held aloft. The House guards are too powerful for this brood. “This is only the beginning!” Menace cackles.

  Lord Roman stands prominently on a balcony in
side the castle, taking in the commotion. Menace smiles wickedly, his eyes locking with Lord Roman’s. Neither man looks away; hate overtakes them both. Without breaking the lock of their eyes, Menace spits in Lord Roman’s direction. “VCO VY LO VOLONIA.” A portal opens and Menace and his men quickly retreat. Mel looks away with regret-- his shoulders slumped. He shakes his head.

  Varah massages her neck. “I’m Varah, by the way.”

  “They’ll be after us.”

  Varah creeps gingerly over to Mel. “How did you get caught up with Olivia?”

  “Long story.” Mel moves away from the woman and paces the small room. His mind is wondering, “What is it that she wants?”

  He looks Varah firmly in the eye. “You.”

  Suddenly they hear a loud bang at the door followed by shouts. “Turn yourselves over!”

  Mel panics. “We have to go!”

  Varah runs over to the window. “Where? No! I have to find my kids!”

  “No time, lady.” The doors crash down. Mel lifts the ball of light. “VY VCO ALA VCO.” A portal opens. Mel grips Varah by the arm, forcing her inside. A few guards rush into the room, pointing their staffs at the portal, but it dissolves into thin air. Lord Roman forces himself into the empty room, his eyes darting around, unable to see the one thing he’d hoped to find. He heaves a heavy sigh; all hopes of securing Varah have failed. A new battle has begun for the House of Lords, and it is one that he is all too familiar with. An old foe has resurfaced, and this time his intentions could lead to the end of Volonia as we know it.