Hurakan's Chalice (Talisman Chronicles Book 3) by Aiden James & Mike Robinson

Author:Aiden James & Mike Robinson [James, Aiden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620073261
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Published: 2013-09-19T05:00:00+00:00

y senses would need time to adjust. Yes, stating the obvious here.

On passing into the very heart of the Yitari homeland, called Paititi, I felt a little queasy. It wasn’t a realm tailored to ‘normal’ human physiology. Wherever we had come from―the trees, the fog, the camp―it had been more or less an in-between place. A transitional plane between the dimension I knew and this more alien one, where angles and colors were markedly absent from my vision. I perceived only in loopy, wavy snatches the gleaming gold towers all around and below me, each wrapped in Carnac vines. It was like making out a reflection in rippling water. No wonder I felt nauseated.

“It definitely takes getting used to,” Jeremy said. “I’m still rough around the edges.”

‘Rough around the edges’ was an interesting choice of words. I’d describe it more as blurry, or watery, around the edges, if at that point we could even classically define edges.

We maneuvered toward a crop of gold-white towers reminiscent of some elongated, smashed-together version of the Taj Mahal. Closer in, I could make out large doors and more looping vines and gilded railings and banisters where more Yitari in lavish-looking garb stood by a landing ledge, waiting for us.

Our sphere touched down and disappeared around us. I felt I’d been eviscerated, and it was as clean and liberating as it was disconcerting. As if I’d taken on the weight of a feather, vulnerable to any passing gust. My queasiness reached its peak, and I bent over and vomited right there, probably not more than four feet from the gleaming sandals of the Yitari closest to me. I tried to stand erect, to reorient myself, and utter my displeasure to Jeremy, Tampara, or anyone who cared to listen. Jeremy placed his hand on my shoulder and gestured toward the regal figure at whose feet I’d just lost my lunch.

“Jack,” he said. “This is King Bashaan, of the Yitari. Ruler of Paititi.”

Great. Just fucking wonderful!

“And you couldn’t warn me the disorientation was like this?” I hissed, eyeing my brother angrily.

Though, at that moment, no more to me than an impressive shadow, King Bashaan certainly carried a kingly presence, one that transcended mere shiny trinkets, crowns, or robes. My sense of him was palpable; I could almost tell what he looked like from his energy alone, as an extraordinarily sensitive blind person might sketch in their mind’s eye a form or feature simply by other phenomenal inferences.

“I welcome you, Jack, brother of Jeremy Kenney.” Bashaan’s warm smile reached me through the haze of my adjusting vision. He placed his hand on my other shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I said, referring to the barf. My speech came out almost drunken, so it felt.

“Never mind that,” Bashaan said. “This can be a trying time for your mind and for your body. Let’s get you rest.”

Jeremy and Tampara ushered me along into the castle. I almost resisted their efforts to lead me down a huge, cool-whispering hallway, and to a bedchamber, where I was laid flat.

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