CassaDark

Chapter 1-2

Bassan pried himself from the couch and located his tablet. He tapped the device, and Drent’s grinning face filled the screen, quite the feat for those narrow cheeks.

“About time!” his friend said. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?”

Bassan blinked and composed his thoughts, the Kintal song continuing to haunt his mind. “Nothing.”

“Great! You, me, and Tarn. Our bikes and the North Face. We’re going to conquer that mountain.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Drent said, his forehead crinkling in disbelief. “It’s about time we completed that trail. Didn’t we traverse the entire length of Echo Canyon last week? It’s time. Do or die.”

“There’s a reason we haven’t conquered it yet,” Bassan said, the narrow path and sheer drop-offs swirling in his head.

“Which means it’s time. Come on, when’s the last time you took a risk?”

“It’s been a while…”

“Tarn’s game. Let’s do it.”

Upon hearing of Tarn’s commitment, Bassan knew he couldn’t back down and agreed.

“You let me know when you’re free. We’ll meet at the base and tackle the trail from there,” said Drent.

“Will do.”

Drent pointed a finger at Bassan and winked. The transmission ended, the black void a stark contrast to the energy filling the screen not a second earlier. Shaking his head, Bassan dropped his tablet onto the counter.

“You’re going to meet your match one day, Drent.”

Spoken out loud, that thought troubled him. He expected Tarn to take chances, but at twenty-seven and two years older than Bassan, Drent’s wild lifestyle and penchant for risky behavior concerned him. He stared at his tablet for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the device. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

Is it the Kintal in you talking? The new or the old? Damn, with life in such a state of turmoil and change, I don’t know anymore.

I don’t even know me anymore.

* * *

The wind whipped his face despite the face guard and goggles. Grit from the trail pelted his skin, the sand tiny pinpricks of discomfort. It even rammed up his nose, threatening a sneeze. He ignored the irritations and focused on the bike in front of him.

Bassan found himself in the rear as they raced up the North Face. He gave up competing for the front spot early, letting Drent and Tarn battle it out. While this meant he choked on their dust, at least he wasn’t responsible for leading the group. All he had to do was follow.

You always follow, dummy. One of these days, I need to be more assertive and get in front.

Enjoying the view? Drent thought.

Your ass? Not really.

Drent’s mental laughter filled his mind. Bassan gripped the handles tighter, determined not to let his friend get to him. He never led the way. Not even when they were kids. Older and wiser, Drent always took control. Even Tarn challenged Drent more than Bassan, and Sirella’s brother was younger than either of them.

Yeah, I definitely need to be more assertive.

They rounded a wide curve. Bassan focused on the trail in front of his vehicle. The sun now sank behind the crest, casting deep shadows across the path. The final stretch lay before them. A narrow sweep with a tight banking curve. And at their current speed, a dangerous obstacle.

Tarn, slow down.

Piten’s son glanced back. Resistance met Bassan’s mind before compliance set in. Their headlong flight eased, and Tarn guided them safely through the curve. Bassan’s gaze remained locked on Drent’s back as they spun out onto the crest of North Face. The sunlight hit him full force and Bassan blinked.

Dead ahead. We did it. Tarn thought.

Damn right! Drent thought.

Still blinded by the sun, Bassan eased off the accelerator. His comrades would reach the top first anyway.

A jolt of panic from Tarn shot through Bassan’s chest. Squinting against the bright light, he focused on the lead bike. Twisting at an unnatural angle, the bike and rider went down. They skidded along the trail, throwing up rocks and dust. Tarn clung tight, curled in a ball. He skidded to a stop in the middle of the path.

Drent!

Whether due to the setting sun or his inner exuberance, Drent failed to react in time. His bike faltered, teetering left and right in his approach to the fallen Tarn. Tossing his efforts to his left, Drent attempted to skirt Tarn’s bike. His wheels spun, sliding him closer to the edge.

Bassan’s breath caught in his throat. Drent’s bike caught the edge of the cliff.

His friend yanked hard. The wheels kicked up, lifting Drent and bike from the ground. When they came down, the bike went into an incredible spin. Drent didn’t so much as hang on as be tossed around by the rotations. Bike and rider flipped many times before skittering to the edge of the cliff.

Bassan jammed on his brakes and stared in horror. Tarn leapt to his feet and rushed forward.

Drent’s bike teetered on the edge, his friend tangled in the wreckage. Tarn slid into the rocks and reached for Drent.

“Bassan!” he said, grasping his friend’s arm.

A chill shot through Bassan’s body. It rooted him to the spot. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

Drent’s bike rocked, twisting his body. The vehicle tipped to the left and tumbled over the edge. Drent cried out and the bike pulled his body over the cliff.

“Bassan!”

The sight and Tarn’s desperate plea shot through Bassan.

Move, dummy.

He launched himself onto Tarn’s back and reached for Drent’s arm. At that moment, his friend vanished.

“Drent!” Tarn’s scream exploded in Bassan’s head.

No!

Pulling himself forward, Bassan looked down. His stomach knotted. Drent’s bike tumbled down the cliff, parts exploding off it with each impact. Mesmerized by the horrifying sight, Bassan could only watch it summersault its way to the bottom.

Tarn grasped his arm and pointed. “Drent.”

He peered straight down. Their friend lay ten feet below them on a wide ledge. Drent’s low cry welled deep from within, wavering like a wounded animal, and his upper body curled. A mental wave of excruciating pain burst forth. One leg remained still, already twisted in an unnatural position. Blood soaked his pants below the knee.

Drent’s alive!

Relief, followed by a wave of nausea, hit Bassan. A chill rolled down his chest. Mouth open, he stared at his friend, at a loss.

“Don’t move,” called Tarn. He yanked off his goggles and turned to Bassan. “We need to call for help.”

Call for help. Those words snapped Bassan out of his momentary shock. He reached out to the first person who came to mind.

Father!

The response came within a second. Bassan, what’s wrong?

It’s Drent. We were riding on the North Face and he wiped out. He fell off onto a ledge. He’s injured. Bad.

I’ll contact medical at once. Show me your location.

Bassan sat up and spun around, probably faster than needed. Slow enough for his father to pinpoint their location though.

Don’t move. Help is on the way.

Without thinking, Bassan nodded. Tarn flashed a puzzled look.

“Medical is on its way,” Bassan explained.

“Good.” Tarn peered over the edge. “Drent!” he called, his mental voice as thunderous as his physical one. “Help is on the way. Don’t move.”

Pain radiated from Drent and he reached out one arm, fingers clawing at the ground. Bassan winced.

Please don’t move, Drent.

Are you all right?

His father’s question calmed Bassan. Scraped and scared to death, but I’m all right. So’s Tarn.

Watch for the medical ship. They’ll be there soon. I won’t be far behind.

You’re coming as well?

Of course.

That knowledge comforted him. Bassan’s attention returned to Drent. Anguish still rolled from his friend’s thoughts, pounding at Bassan’s senses.

“Help will be here soon, Drent,” Tarn called. He elbowed Bassan, his charcoal face scrunched tight. Talk to him. Keep his mind occupied until medical gets here.

Damn!

He shifted, easing the pressure of rocks pressing into his knees. Yanking his goggles off, Bassan peered down at Drent. His friend’s face lay buried against the ground.

It’s all right, Drent. I know it hurts. But it will be all right. My father is sending a medical ship. They’ll take care of you.

Drent clawed at the loose gravel around him but didn’t look up. Damn, it burns worse than fire.

I know. Think of something else.

A new wave of excruciating agony rolled from Drent. Hurts too bad.

The sight of his friend’s bike tumbling down the mountain surfaced in Bassan’s mind and he relayed the thought to Drent. Bet your bike feels worse.

Drent opened one eye—only for a moment—but Bassan knew his friend caught the implied humor.

“There they are.”

Bassan followed Tarn’s gaze. The medical transport raced toward them, resembling a soaring bird on the wind. The hold around his chest eased.

They’re here, Drent. Not long now.

The ship rose over the edge of the cliff and hovered above them. The new design placed the thrusts around the edge of the craft, but dust still stirred in the air. Bassan squinted and ducked his head. He and Tarn moved out of the way, coughing fine sand. The warmth of the vessel grew closer, and a large hatch opened in her underbelly. Bassan and Tarn continued to shuffle farther away, and the vessel dropped even lower. The left side settled on edge of the cliff, blocking their view.

Bassan scooted back a smidgen more. Gravel crunched at his back and he slammed into something solid. He dropped to his knees.

They’ll get him, Tarn thought, sinking beside him.

Bassan nodded, unable to speak. He grasped his knees tight.

Please save him…

The medical shuttle’s door opened. A man stepped out onto the cliff and approached them at a trot, a small pack in his hands.

“Are you injured?”

Bassan found himself staring up at the senior emergency officer. He knew most Cassan officers on sight but had never met the man.

“Are you injured?” the man repeated, kneeling and grasping Bassan’s arm.

“No,” he said.

The officer’s attention shifted to Tarn. “How about you?”

Tarn coughed, dust continuing to swirl in the air. “No, sir. Just scraped up a bit.”

“Then go wait by your bikes. A second ship is on the way.”

The man returned to the ship and the hatch closed.

Come on, let’s get out of their way.

Tarn pulled on his arm. Bassan scrambled to his feet, keeping his head down. Following his friend, he staggered toward their fallen bikes. Adrenaline ebbing, his feet shuffled and dragged across the rocky trail. Bassan reached his bike and attempted to lift it. Still shaking from the ordeal, he couldn’t hold it steady. Giving up, he dropped to his knees beside it. Tarn followed suit.

They regained their breath, watching the medical ship with anticipation. Bassan didn’t know how long it would take to retrieve Drent from the ledge.

Why didn’t I move faster?

The vessel’s engine whine shifted. They watched in silent fascination as the medical ship began to rise, its lower hatch sealed. Bassan then caught sight of another ship approaching, one splashed in Tgren reds.

“That must be our ride,” Tarn said.

The second, larger vessel swung wide left and out of the medical ship’s way. The engines blasted and the medical ship dropped over the edge and into the valley below. Despite a successful retrieval, Bassan’s heart plummeted with the vessel.

Drent…

Bassan!

His father’s voice rang loud in his head. Yes, sir?

We can’t land here. You and Tarn will have to go back down the trail. About halfway to the bottom, there’s a plateau. We’ll pick you up there. Are your vehicles in working order?

I believe so. “We’ll have to meet them farther down the trail,” Bassan said to Tarn.

Piten’s son yanked on his bike. Despite his small size, he righted it easily. Tarn studied the body and nodded. “No damage other than scratches. I can ride down.”