Shadowsoul
Katera rising
J.D. Evergreen
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Shadowsoul
J.D. Evergreen
Published by J.D. Evergreen
Copyright 2018 J.D. Evergreen
Katera Rising Series
Book One: Shadowsoul
Book Two (coming soon): Ethira
Discover other titles by J.D. Evergreen:
The world of Katera
Katera: book one of the Celestia series
Short reads:
Accidental Time Travelers
Non fiction
Our world is in your hands
Contents
Shadowsoul
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Sneak peek look at Katera
Book one of The Celestia Series
Did you like Shadowsoul?
Acknowledgments
“She believed she could,
So she did.”
-R.S. Grey
Chapter One
The Arena
Scarlet guards drag me along a dark and uneven path. The harsh flicker of their torches provides the only light and does little to hold back the darkness in the cavern. The heavy chains that bind me chafe my wrists. Every merciless tug from the guards pulls painfully at my raw skin.
I am at the back of a line of gladiators. Each of us scarred and battle worn from seasons of torment and fighting. No one speaks. We discovered early on what it means to kill a friend. Our captors have a particular fondness for setting us against one another. They enjoy watching the bloodbath that comes from the desperate need to survive, coupled with the mental anguish that comes from killing a person you care for.
Another sharp tug yanks me from my thoughts, and I stumble through the near darkness. The guards weave us around rock pillars with expertise that comes from having made this trip hundreds of times before.
A command from up ahead forces the line to stop. We stand still in the darkness. My legs ache from the cold, and I resist the temptation to rub feeling back into them. I search for a distraction, and a steady drip catches my attention. Droplets fall from above and land with a splash in the puddle near my feet.
Inside the small pool sits a tiny lump of rock that will one day become another giant pillar within the caverns of Shadowsoul. But that will happen many seasons from now, long after my bones are dust.
Will there be another young woman here then? Chained up and waiting to enter the Arena?
The guards remove a group of slaves from the line and lead them in another direction. They will enter the Arena through a different door. They will be our opponents.
Too often I have been put into situations where it was my life or someone else’s. Every time I have made the choice to live. And every fight has cost me a piece of my soul. In my heart, I know today will be no different.
An officer with impressive shoulder armor barks a command, and the line resumes our weary traipse from the Compound to the Arena. All for the amusement of those who captured us.
My foot finds an unseen rock, and I stumble, the heavy chains pulling me forward. I land heavily on my knees, grateful for these tough leather pants.
A guard grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me back into line. “Open your eyes, you stupid slave.”
I bite back a retort and focus on keeping up. A loud grating sound, like grinding metal, comes from ahead, and a section of wall moves away, revealing a dark tunnel that winds its way down and under the Arena.
We file down the steep tunnel, struggling to keep our balance on the loose gravel covering the ground. But even with our best efforts, feet slip and the clink of chains echo through the dark space.
We follow the narrow tunnel to the bottom, and I look into a chamber scarcely taller than myself. Even the guards that led us here have to stoop to fit inside. They light the torches and hold them as high as they can in an attempt to fight the inky darkness inside the chamber. My sense of smell is assaulted by the stench of charred flesh, and the echoing cackles in the black void around us confirm my suspicions. Goblins.
We half walk, half crawl our way through the space—this place wasn't built for the comfort of humans. Shadows of smaller creatures dart around the edges of the ring of light cast by the torches. The clicking of their long claws on the stone floor does nothing to settle my nerves.
The guards, undeterred by the beasts lurking in the dark, force us over to a rock wall and chain us there. One of the monstrosities dashes from the darkness into the firelight, sensing helpless victims. Eight skinny legs attach to its spine at odd angles, struggling to carry its hairy body. The monster ignores the guards and weaves among us, snapping at our ankles and tearing at our clothes, its many eyes glinting eerily in the firelight.
A shiver spreads across my skin, like a thousand little bugs running for cover. Arachnidias are malicious. Unlike other creatures that kill for food and survival, this species kills for fun. Slaughtering their helpless prey in horrific ways and then leaving the remains scattered in the dirt. This one is large enough to be a serious threat to us.
As if sensing my attention on it, the disgusting thing rushes toward me and lifts its body onto its hind legs, waving its front limbs menacingly in front of me. Long hooked feet catch my clothes with every swipe. I give it a good shove with my foot, and apparently decided I'm too much effort, the Arachnidia’s legs drop to the ground and it scuttles down the line, hooked feet clicking with every step.
It lunges at the man next to me and bites into his leg. He cries out in pain and frantically shakes his leg, trying to dislodge the beast, but this only deepens the Arachnidia’s hold. Blood dribbles from the sides of the monster’s mouth and its eyes glitter happily in the firelight.
The guard's roar with laughter. Furious, I fight against my own chains. Pain flares through my wrists as I stretch as far away from the wall as I can manage. Finally, I wedge my boot between the beast’s mouth and the man’s leg, and together we pry off the monster.
The creature falls onto its back, its many legs grasping at the air as if that will somehow provide enough friction to turn it over. It changes tactics and rocks from side to side. Within a few moments, the creature manages to flip itself back over and launches itself at the man again. This time I am ready for it, and I land a solid kick to the Arachnidia’s body as it comes into range. The power of my kick sends the creature sprawling in the dirt just inside the ring of light.
The guards finally tire of the terror the Arachnidia causes, and one of them shoos it away, saying, “You can have the scraps that are left of them later.”
The man beside me nods in thanks, and then we immediately go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist. One of the guards saunters up to me and lands a solid punch to my stomach. My body folds as the heavy blow pushes the wind from my lungs. I girt my teeth, determined not to let him hear me cry out.
The man straightens his armor and slicks back his oily hair. “That’s for ruining th
e fun. I lost a bet because of you.”
He struts back to the group of guards. Grumbling, he drops two gold coins in the waiting hand of a smiling comrade.
The betting doesn’t stop there. The guards walk up and down the line sizing us up, placing bets on who they think will come back from the Arena alive. They are loud in their speculations about who and what we will have to fight. I should be used to it by now, but my blood boils. It is unpleasant enough knowing I am in line for my death; the last thing I want is to know how much money a guard is going to make from it.
One guard leaves the group and inspects a line of small wheeled cages. He gives each pen a good shake, ensuring they are sturdy and ready for use. Those are the cages that will confine us when we are transported into the Arena to fight whatever awaits us there. Most gladiator fights are between two slaves. But occasionally we are forced to fight beasts. Creatures bred for their ferocity. Few gladiators survive those battles.
Cheers erupt from above us, and from the sound, the spectators have taken their seats and await their morning entertainment. A man in fine armor and impressive shoulder pads walks past, inspecting the line. An officer. He stops and points to a well-built man with shoulder-length black hair. A group of guards grab the man and hold him with more force than necessary as they unlock his chains from the wall. The moment his bound hands are free, the man fights them. He pushes them away, landing a solid punch to the nearest guard and the man crumples. But it is hard for a man in chains to overpower four armored men with batons.
Eventually, he relents under their beating. The guards shove him in a cage and leave him there for further inspection.
A small red goblin waddles out of the darkness and up to the cage, munching on a chunk of overcooked meat. He approves the chosen victim, nodding as he scribbles on his clipboard. The creature’s wrinkled snout is covered in tiny bristles of oily hair and take up most its face, leaving the tiniest amount of room for their small watery eyes and long jagged teeth to be jammed into the remaining space. Goblins are not evolution’s finest creatures.
He barks an order, and the cage is pushed into the Arena. The iron gate slides open revealing a blinding amount of light before it shuts behind him plunging us back into darkness. The gate does nothing to muffle the noise of the crowd. The sounds of their excitement paint gruesome imagery of the fight taking place in the Arena. I grit my teeth and stare at the floor, doing my best to ignore everything around me. A drop of water falls on my neck and runs down my shirt, creating a wave of shivers as it warms itself against my skin.
The battle ends with a disgusting roar and a guttural scream of pain. Slowly the gate is opened blinding me with light, I squint my eyes and the screech of wheels accompanies the empty cage as it is wheeled back in. The metal barrier is closed with a thump and the guards return to our line.
I crouch as low as I can and watch in silence as people are taken one by one. The collection time is signaled by a monstrous roar of enthusiasm and chanting from the crowds above. The numbers in the line dwindle until only I remain.
The guards watch the fight through windows in the gate, their raucous laughter only occasionally drowned out by the creatures in the stands screaming for more blood.
I recall the stories my mother used to tell me about a person filled with the gift of a magic crystal who would one day rise to free us from Darkmor's grasp. I sigh. That person better hurry up and rise, it is very likely I will die in a gladiator match before this individual shows up.
I pull at my chains, hoping they had forgotten to lock them. They clink with the movement and the lock wriggles into my vision. It’s shut tight. I’m out of luck. I let out a sigh; the chance had been slim.
I shift my feet in an attempt to expel the sensation of pins and needles that riddle my legs. A shriek comes from above, and I cringe. Judging by the increased anticipation from the citizens above, their current entertainment had just ended. And I’m up next.
I curl my lip. “Barbarians,” I mutter under my breath, disgusted by the world I’m forced to live in.
“Where is Gladiator 1408?” calls a high pitched voice.
My eyes dart over to the source—a sickly green goblin with tiny brown eyes. He stands nearby, not even two feet tall, clad in a dirty yellow tunic that is far too tight for him, his massive flabby stomach peeking out from under the hem.
Two guards unlock my chains from the wall, ensuring the heavy iron handcuffs are still clasped around my wrists. I resist them, but one holds up a heavy metal baton, and I stop. It’s reckless to get myself hurt now. I would still have to go into the Arena.
The goblin glances up from his clipboard to squint at the world around him. “Where is Gladiator 1408?”
I’m shoved forward, and I glare down at the poorly dressed goblin. “My name is Claire.”
This earns me another shove from the guard behind me. “Slaves don’t have names.”
The goblin grunts and squints up at me, his eyes watery from the effort of focusing in the firelight. After a moment he decides I am unimportant and addresses the guards behind me. “Put her in a cage. She is up next.”
A pair of guards push a cage toward me, and it creaks ominously. I can’t help it, I try to back away. Seasons of experience have taught me what’s coming next and I want no part in it.
I'm picked up and forced into the cage. The door slams shut behind me and the whole metal frame rattles from the force. I struggle to find footing on the bars below. They are slick and coated in moisture. After a few moments of slipping, I manage to find my balance, and I turn around as best I can in the cramped space. The cage itself is barely big enough for me to crouch in.
Defeated, I take a deep breath and shove my arms between the cage bars, holding my hands out so the shackles can be removed. It’s better to cooperate now and have them removed than go out there with them on.
The guards remove the shackles and await further instruction. We remain still for a long time. My legs cramp from the awkward position, and an overbearing metallic scent fills the space. A torch is moved closer, so I use this opportunity to inspect the bars at my feet. I find the reason for their slickness, they are coated in blood. I adjust as much as I can and press my face against the cold bars, trying to escape the scent that surrounds me.
At last, the order is given for my stupid cage to be wheeled into the Arena. The guards push me towards the cave opening flooded with harsh light. As we approach, the gate jumps open. Me and my cage are shoved into the light, and the gate drops between me and the dark holding pen with a loud crash. Trapping me in the blinding world on the other side of the door.
Blinking, I try to take in my surroundings, but the harsh light makes it difficult to keep my eyes open for more than a few moments at a time.
I inspect my sore wrists where the chains rubbed them raw, but there is nothing I can do about it now. Grumbling, I peer through the bars and look around the Arena, the Arena lights give everything a strange color and I blink my watery eyes trying to shed the temporary difficulty this bright light has given me.
I carefully shift my feet on the cage bars and study the Arena layout, but my eyes are inevitably drawn to the enormous high rise stands filled to bursting with goblins. Skin tones of every color speckle the stands, filling the brown bleachers with all the colors a painter would never choose for his art
Amongst them, though in far fewer numbers, are off duty scarlet guards and other creatures unfamiliar to me. From the stands come horrid screeches that can only be interpreted as cheers. No doubt brought on by the excitement of the battle to come. This is the last match of the day.
Goblins everywhere push and shove each other trying to get a better view. Many of them exchange blows, trying to get the seat of someone in front of them.
A loud screech signals the rusted front of my cage opening and draws my attention away from the stands. Hesitantly I step from the cage and onto the sticky sand.
I peer at the other end of the Arena, but both gates ar
e closed. One is for human opponents and the other for beasts that could be unleashed at any moment if a gladiator battle is too boring. I scan the ground in search of a weapon, and I spot a glint of silver. I stoop and grasp the hilt of a dagger half buried in the sand.
At least this time they left me a weapon. Every so often only one gladiator receives a weapon, usually when that gladiator has ticked off the guards that bring them in. I have been unlucky enough to go through that twice before.
I shake my legs out, dispelling the pins and needles. I brush a strand of earth brown hair away from my eyes, wishing I had anything better to tie my hair back with than an old knotted bandage.
My eyes dart around my surroundings, collecting information. Like the triangularly shaped battleground, the lack of obstacles, and the gritty orange sand beneath my leather boots. My eyes linger on the blood stains spread throughout the Arena.
I crinkle my nose. More will be added to the sand before the day is over.
The sounds of thousands screaming draw my attention once more to the stands. I watch them clap, bellow and stuff their faces with the food the slaves carry on large trays. I drag my eyes from the monsters to a rare addition to the Arena.
In the center of the stands, sits a dark grey platform. Scarlet officers surround the perimeter, and they stand at attention. In the middle rests a throne made of bones. The throne is grotesque and intimidating, but I suspect that’s probably the point.
A figure lazes on the throne, its face hidden in shadows. I squint, just making out the shape of twisted horns, the suggestion of blue skin, and a high backed cloak.
Darkmor.
My heart beat roars through my ears, and my hands curl into fists as I stare up at the creature whose fault it is that I am here today. The one who is truly responsible for the blood stains strewn across the sand.
My hand brushes the covered brand on my left thigh. My fingers run across leather feeling the bubbled skin beneath that marks me forever with the hated slave number 1408. This number is accompanied by a sword; together they mark my identity and role. A symbol of my enslavement as a gladiator and a captive of Darkmor.
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