Dreams of Darkness

by D L Pitchford et al.

  “You cannot escape me.” The queen’s cruel voice seemed to echo in Mayze’s head. “I will hunt down everyone you love. No one will be safe from my wrath.”

  Mayze roared and dashed for her, only to have her disappear before their eyes.

  “No, no, no, not again. What did I do to deserve this?” Mayze’s head hung low as she draped her body over Wyatt’s. There was only one thing to do. She would return to the castle kill the queen.

  But Verrill seemed to sense her next move. He knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder. “My daughter, the magic is in you to break the curse. If you hurry now, you can save your brother. Bite him. He won’t be human any longer, but at least she will not be able to use him against you ever again.”

  She looked into his eyes with desperation and despair, wanting to believe him but torn over whether she could or not. She leaned down, bringing her mouth close to her brother’s neck. “You better be right, old man. I can’t lose anyone else today.”

  Mayze closed her eyes, taking a moment to make a wish. Then, she took a deep breath and bit the side of her brother’s neck, gently this time, not like she’d been with the general or the guards. She fought back the urge to feed on him even though his blood tasted so inviting.

  When she felt it was done, Mayze laid Wyatt’s body on the ground and backed away.

  “Wait for it. He will wake, you will see. Give it a few moments.” Verrill put a hesitant arm around her shoulder, and Mayze let him.

  After a few breathless moments, Wyatt began to move. Waking up, he quickly rose to his feet.

  "What happened? Where’s father? “ Wyatt scanned the forest. Then he looked down at himself and waved his hands back and forth. They all marveled at the way his skin turned colors as it sparkled in the light. “No, tell me it was a dream. Dad is still here, right?”

  Mayze tried her best to keep it together when she walked over to Wyatt, putting her hands on his shoulders. “It wasn’t a dream, Wy. Dad is gone. You would have been, too, if not for the wise words of Verrill, my father. I had to bite you for you to survive.”

  Wyatt broke free from her grasp and backed far away.

  “I do have more disturbing news brother. You’re not human anymore.”

  “Please don’t tell me you trust this beast,” Wyatt spat, trying not to look at Verrill, keeping his eyes on Mayze. “He’s the reason why we're in this mess in the first place. Don’t tell me you have fallen to his nonsense. Mayze, it’s you and me forever, that’s all we need. Come on, we don’t need this fool.”

  “Wyatt, it will be always you and me forever, I promise, more so now than ever, but we must go with him. I’ve seen his castle, we will be safe. Our best chance of surviving our new reality is with him.” Mayze looked over at Verrill as she reached out for his hand. “Plus, it will give me a chance to get to know him, right?”

  “I am your family. Both of yours.” Verrill squeezed Mayze’s hand. “You have no reason to fear me. I only want the best for you, just like your father. But we must go. I don’t know how long we are safe in these woods. In my homeland, we’ll be safe. Plus, I have my own magical barrier; she can’t hurt us there.”

  “Sounds good to me. I have to ask, what’s the deal with your mind? It’s all over the place? It’s making my brain feel like mush.”

  Mayze socked Wyatt in the arm. He went flying through the air, landing several feet away with a thud. “Will you just give the guy a break?” Mayze scolded him. “I think you owe him a thank you.”

  Wyatt stood, brushing himself off. “Thank you, Verrill. My little sister knows me a little too well.” Then, to Mayze, “Hey, no hitting. This means I have the same strength as all of you? Yes, I can tell I’m gonna love this new life. Let’s go, slow pokes.” Wyatt laughed while running toward a cliff and taking a flying leap.

  Mayze joined him shortly, then Verrill, the three of them dashing off into the night until it blurred around them.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Alegra is an indie author who, at a young age, discovered a love of books. That love sparked her love of writing; since then, her love of creating new worlds filled with magical elements and mythical creatures has only grown. Alegra is currently working on the first novel in her romantic fantasy series, the Forbidden series, set to be released in 2019. She enjoys traveling, long walks in the forest, and reading novels by Anne McCaffrey.

  NL: http://eepurl.com/dv6m-z

  Website: http://www.alegrasterlingworld.com

  FB: https://m.facebook.com/Alegra-Sterling-Fantasy-Author-751524311872945/

  Twitter: @AlleothisNexus

  Instagram: @sterlingsilverguardian

  Rebirth

  by T. L. Thompson

  Chapter One

  Caladra was already hard at work in her garden when the sun crept up behind the shadows. The warm light baked itself into her dark brown skin, sinking into her cloth-covered scalp and embracing her.

  It was not enough to completely chase away the chill that clung to her bones. Even at the height of summer, four years since she left her homelands for the shores of Europa, the lack of warmth disturbed her. She had been swaddled in blankets of heat and flame since childhood. It would take more than distance from the great plains for such an adaptation to occur.

  Wiping her hands clean on her apron, she pushed to her feet, rubbing at her rounded stomach. The life growing inside moved, tapping at her insides and causing a smile to bloom across her face.

  As she left, she lay her apron on the tree branch that hung just outside the cottage, alerting her husband that she had headed into the village to barter her harvest for the feast components. Lifting the basket, she hoisted it above her head before settling it there, resting one arm at her side as she held onto the handle with the other.

  They lived a few stones’ throws away from the main village, but the winding, rocky path kept townsfolk from visiting too often. In the beginning, they had braved the jaggedly laid path in droves; children peeking behind greenery to catch a glimpse of her dark skin; elders with smiles on their faces but disdain in their hearts. Now, things had settled down and Caladra found herself if not welcomed, then at least tolerated by the village folk.

  Beside her husband, Paul, and his goodparents, there were a few that had reached out to her. One in particular had decided she needed guidance and gleefully showed her the ways of a proper woman. Caladra raged at the need for such lessons but allowed herself to be trained, trading dignity for security.

  “You’re fit to burstin’, Caladra. How you are still on your feet I will never know.”

  Caladra removed the basket from her head and slid it onto her arm as Diana turned the corner. Easier to avoid the disapproving look Diana was sure to greet her with otherwise. “There’s too much to be done to spend the day in bed. Paul is out hunting and I have to ensure that the church harvest has been reaped and sorted before Sunday service. Then there’s the…”

  “The day’s hardly begun and you’ve already accomplished so much.” Diana laughed and reached over to remove the straw-woven basket of fruit from Caladra’s hands. She struggled with it for a few moments but was left gasping after the attempt, unable to bear its weight. “I’ve hardly gotten anything done myself.”

  As their feet met the smooth stone of the village path, Caladra listened with one ear as Diana spoke about her morning being waited on and dressed by her serfs. Her friend meant well, but she had never experienced hardship in her life and had no desire to. Letting her feel as if she had the power and was assisting Caladra adjust to a life of culture was necessary. If she derived a bit of pleasure from it as well…

  Caladra smiled, tucking her arm through her friend’s and leading her through the village toward the vicarage, past the cramped wooden homes and shuttered smithy.

  “That basket is too heavy, Caladra,” Diana continued. “I ought to box Paul around the ears for leaving you alone at this time.”

  “Now’s the best time to hunt deer,
” Caladra explained. “If we want a proper meal for…”

  Caladra winced, pulling her companion to a halt. Pain rippled through her body, beginning in her belly and spreading to her back to settle at the base of her skull. She clenched down so hard on her companion’s arm that Diana jerked away, shrieking with surprise.

  “Christ, Caladra,” Diana rubbed at the sore portion of her arm. “What’s gotten into you?” You’re acting the savage.” She gasped as soon as the words were past her lips, as if hoping to remove them from the air before they were heard.

  Caladra gritted her teeth, long used to the sorts of comments. She heard them often enough, whispered behind her back around the village. “It’s the pre-birthing pains,” Caladra wheezed, swaying on her feet. “They’ve been coming faster and faster the past day.” Her breath left her in a hiss of air as she fought through the pain and steadied herself.

  “Mayhap it’s time to see the apothecary.”

  “Not yet. Not yet. Paul has not returned and the young one is not due until the half moon rises. Father Naylor assured us so.”

  “Father Naylor, bah.” Diana spat, turning away so her spittle landed in the mud. “What would a man, even a man of God, know about birthing? It’s woman’s work. Has been and always will be.”

  Diana took Caladra’s arm and steered her toward a bale of hay that sat beside the town stable. Layering her skirt appropriately, Caladra sat down, sighing in relief as the pressure eased from her swollen ankles and sore feet. Diana sat at her side, using the corner of her sleeve to wipe the sweat beading at Caladra’s brow. Together, they watched their neighbors go about their day.

  Richard carried pails of milk, steaming and frothy, from his family’s farm on the outskirts of town to the inn and Old Ben who had a standing order. Young Beatrice Smith walked with her mother. Her straw doll dragged along in the dirt as they went, its golden hue turned brown and muddy from the damp earth following last night’s rain.

  And by the apothecary’s shop, adorned with dried herbs and alchemic symbols, stood Yusir conversing with Old Maude, the midwife. From what Diana had told her, Yusir was from Arabia and was only tolerated because he had denounced his false god and been baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.

  Caladra had spied Yusir across the village many a time, and she was interested in learning more about him and his trade, seeing a kindred spirit in his darker skin and hunched frame. Someone like herself, who had left their home and travelled to a land filled with strange, pale faces. She knew instinctively, as he did, that it was best the village not see them together.

  Old Maude was another story. She had come to the village seven moons ago and had quickly established herself as the village expert on children and childbirth. Mothers were taking their young ones to the older woman for their aches and pains as soon as she had settled into her hut. Newly married couples would visit with her as soon as they were wed. Even then, she was ill-liked in the village, ignored outside of the times couples sought out her aid.

  “There’s Old Maude, now,” Diana said. “Let’s go and have a chat.”

  “She is clearly bargaining for her supplies, so we mustn’t disturb her. Besides, is that even her name? Or just what Elizabeth Weaver calls her.”

  Caladra wanted nothing more than to speak with her, to learn from her. But she knew better. The village had grown used to her after a time, dark skin and strange accent. If she started gathering with Yusir or Maude…

  “Does not your child deserve the best?” Diana asked.

  Caladra sighed, preparing to ignore her for the second time that day, when a second wave of pain overtook her. This time, she groaned deep in her chest, the dull ache of before now a sharp stab in her stomach. It came again and again and again, ripping the air from her and leaving her gasping, struggling to draw breath.

  “Caladra, dear, what’s wrong?” The panic turned Diana’s voice into a shrill that hurt her ears. “She’ll know what to do.”

  Caladra heard the wet thump of her feet as Diana raced away. She could picture it in her mind’s eye, her friend’s dull-colored dress gathered in her hands as she ran to the opposite end of the square toward the distinctive pair.

  The pain ebbed and Caladra took in all the air her body could handle. Her muscles, once released from the agony, were sore. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and rest.

  But she knew she could not. She had to stand up and move. Stomp through the pain as the women of her village had done and follow Diana’s footsteps before anything else happened. Gritting her teeth, Caladra shoved against the hay and forced herself to her feet.

  On the edge of her vision, a form crouched between the bakery and the smithy. A pale, wizened hand stood outstretched. Grabbing a bushel of berries from her basket, she leaned over and offered them. The hand sliced through the space between them, plucking them from her hands and consuming them with a hungry fervor. Caladra smiled and moved away.

  “Ẹ kí, first daughter,” a voice whispered behind her. The response leapt from Caladra’s lips as she turned, childhood instincts rumbling forth like elephants stampeding across her homeland.

  “Greetings, wanderer.” Falling back into the rhythms of the Yoruba language, her language, felt like a celebration. She felt whole, understood in a way that had been missing from her life.

  “Many thanks for the food, first daughter,” the elder African said, sucking the berry juices from his fingers.

  Caladra smiled, happy to indulge him as she took in the familiar features of his face. White and black curls circled the bald top of his head while a tattered robe wrapped his thin frame. He wore the sour scent of unwashed flesh. His eyes, however, were a clear blue, piercing her with a steady gaze.

  Caladra fought back the wave of history and memory that threatened to overcome her.

  “Such kindness must be paid with kindness in turn,” the elder continued. “Perhaps a glimpse of things to come as the glow of motherhood hovers about you…”

  Caladra spoke over him, taking two steps to the right in order to shield him from sight. A part of her did not want to give up this moment and sought to protect it for as long as she were able. Another part of her knew that if anyone were to see the two together, it would not end well for her or her reputation in the village. “No thanks necessary, wanderer. You have…”

  He reached out and clasped her hand, interrupting her. She felt the strength of his grip as he wrapped her palm between his, fingers digging slightly into her wrist. “You are far from home, by your own choice, yes, but vulnerable from it. You must lean on the ancient knowledge and the strength of your blood, even if you must consecrate this new land with it.”

  Caladra winced, taken aback by the resonance of his words in her mind. She could feel them, the weight they held. And remembered.

  Memories she had spent her last years fleeing from called out to her, in warning and in welcome, as she listened to the old man’s words. Pressure and power built within her, and Caladra did everything she could to reject it. There were places inside herself she had abandoned long ago. Corners that would never see the light of day again.

  “No,” she said, banishing such thoughts from her head. “I left that life behind. It has naught to do with me anymore.”

  She saw his eyebrows rise to his forehead and read the flicker in his eyes as disdain, scorn even. Her lips curled over her teeth, snarl building within her to challenge him.

  “This new land is not like ours, not steeped in the same magics, but it holds dangers of its own. Cursed lights and ancient debts circle these Hills. Blood calls to blood, and you are of the old blood. The slow, thick blood that gave birth to this world and all those who crawl across its surface. As you are transformed from daughter to mother, from life-given to life-giver, you are vulnerable in a manner that you have never been. Exposed as you will never be again.”

  “Cala, Cala, she’s here. Where are you, silly girl?” Diana’s shouting broke the web of silence that had enveloped the two.


  Caladra saw the approach from the corner of her eye but was consumed by the fires of pain.

  “Though you have sought to turn away from the orisha and their blessings, Kala’dra, they will always hear your call.”

  Wetness gushed between her legs as she turned back to the old man. No one was there to greet her gaze. She wondered after him as Diana almost bowled her over.

  “Oh my,” a female voice said from her shoulder. She turned and stared into the brown pools of the midwife’s eyes. “This child is comin’ young miss. Let’s get you to my home, shall we?

  Chapter Two

  While the menfolk gathered at the inn, drowning themselves in mead and mutton, the rest of the women watched over the children, keeping them quiet and behind the safety of their thresholds. Life and Death hung over their village, whispering to each other as they waited, anticipating which domain the child would wriggle its way into as it presented itself to the world.