Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers

by Joseph Paradis

  Saving The Dark Side

  Book 2: The Harbingers

  Joseph Paradis

  Saving the Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Joseph Reynold Paradis.

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook cover design and formatting

  www.ebooklaunch.com

  Edited by Mike Waitz of Sticks and Stones Freelance Editing

  www.stickandstonesediting.net

  Author Website

  www.aeneriaiscoming.com

  From the World of Aeneria

  Saving The Dark Side

  Book 1: The Devotion

  Book 2: The Harbingers

  Book 3: The Unbound

  The Swindlers And The Squall

  Her Gift, For You

  For all Hate mail and love letters:

  www.aeneriaiscoming.com/contact/

  This book is dedicated to those to braved it first.

  Mike Waitz

  Timothy Charest

  Trevor Hornbeck

  Melanie Kasparian

  Terri Paradis

  And to Brandon Courcy,

  who placed the snowflake that started an avalanche.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Safe and Sound

  Chapter 2: Judgment

  Chapter 3: The White Sands

  Chapter 4: Metamorphosis

  Chapter 5: Beneath the Clouds

  Chapter 6: Warbreak

  Chapter 7: Madness Dripping

  Chapter 8: Desert Titans

  Chapter 9: Transient Solace

  Chapter 10: Sin Blossom

  Chapter 11: Fire Dancer

  Chapter 12: Oberon City

  Chapter 13: A Whisper of a Hope

  Chapter 14: The Council’s Compromise

  Chapter 15: Grotton’s Promise

  Chapter 16: Bonds Broken

  Chapter 17: Tabula Rasa

  Chapter 18: Strength and Humility

  Chapter 19: Shadow Tide

  Chapter 20: Enter Evil

  Chapter 21: Confronting the Swarm

  Chapter 22: Coronation

  From the World of Aeneria

  From the Author

  Chapter 1

  Safe and Sound

  Cole inched closer to the fire, warming himself as he waited for Roth to return from hunting. He marveled at the flames, basking in the heat and enjoying how the glow played off the ferns that walled their hiding spot. The fire was taller than Cole, and he was quite sure it would be large enough to cook whatever Roth brought back. Along with the comfort it provided, the fire ignited within him a genuine sense of pride. Not because of how big it was, but because of how he’d created it; with magic and without help. Recalling his lesson from Deekus, he had convinced the latent heat from the surrounding forest to transfer into the wood. It didn’t take much for the first flames to crackle into existence, which was a very good thing because the spell had taxed his Wisdom to its limits.

  The fire pulsed warm against his face, massaging his eyes shut. The idea of never waking seemed appealing to him at the moment. He was trapped in a world thoroughly doomed to eternal nightmare. Surely his dreams would be a safer place than Aeneria. As he neared sleep, however, he realized how very wrong he was. Just as he slipped under his conscious self, memories of Costas assaulted him with horrible images of bodies burning by the thousands. The memory triggered his senses, filling his nose with the stench of burnt hair and fat, the taste of boiling Despair, and the roars of Hate.

  Cole woke with a jolt. He couldn’t sleep, not now. He wasn’t ready. He could barely keep his mind from darker thoughts while awake. The memories slunk back to his subself, waiting for his next moment of weakness. It seemed as if the worst parts of his life were painted on the back of his eyelids, fresh and vivid. If he blinked too long they would surely take him. Cole smacked his forehead and pulled his eyes open with his fingers before Joshy could pull him back to the cobblestone alley.

  Cole stretched, walking around the fire to calm himself. He was incredibly sore. He took comfort in the aches and stings as they anchored his mind to the waking world. His muscles were strained from their recent exertions and Rage-fueled abuse. Worst of all were the bruises and blisters from their flight from Costas. Roth had carried Cole in his iron arms for the better part of the last few days. Their pace was nauseating, their surroundings nothing but a blur to Cole. They didn’t stop or slow, not even to relieve themselves. Cole faded in and out of consciousness from time to time, and when he thought he might starve to death, Roth fed him with a rough sort of Passion. The magic did not fill his belly, but it did sustain him. Now though, he was beyond hunger. His limbs trembled and his stomach felt as if it were eating itself. No magic would fulfill him now. He needed food.

  Wobbling, Cole wandered away from the fire in ever increasing circles, searching for anything edible. He took breaks when his fatigue demanded it, finding it more difficult to start back up again with each passing. Eventually he gave up and returned to his fire with a fistful of herbs for seasoning.

  He slouched against the trunk of a tree, rubbing his raw feet. He had grown accustomed to being barefoot, but he usually had his munisica to protect his soles. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon his black claws and protective shroud. He was simply too tired. With fuzzy recollection, he recalled the moments in which the black armor had enveloped him in full, his munisica the size of rakes. He was indestructible, unstoppable, and insatiable. He was Rage incarnate. Now, though, he couldn’t even find the strength to pick himself up off the ground. Even something that crashed ever nearer through the forest couldn’t rouse him. Hopefully it wasn’t a Domina.

  Roth stepped into the flickering glow of the fire. He looked the same as ever, nearly twice Cole’s height and with muscles that put comic book heroes to shame. Though he had just carried Cole at a dead sprint for three days there was no sign of exhaustion on his face, merely a quick disappointed sneer as he saw Cole lying on the ground. Drunk with exhaustion, Cole openly admired his Master’s physique, wondering how he was able to constantly maintain his munisica and black armor. The shroud covered all of his body except for his torso, neck and face. Even his hair was a weapon, appearing more as a thicket of bouncing ebony knives. No one at The Sill had managed to cover more than their hands and wrists with the shroud. But here was Roth, calm as a spring breeze with his Rage burning as hot as ever. No one had ever come close to Roth’s Rage. No one except Cole.

  “Get up and get to work,” Roth growled with a voice like polished granite. “I did the hunting. You’ll do the cooking.” He tossed the bodies of two winged-deer onto a bed of leaves next to the fire.

  Cole remained slumped against the trunk, his belly rising and falling slowly. He wondered if Roth’s eyebrows were armored too, or if they were just naturally that dark.

  Roth stomped over to Cole, his bladed feet crunching through rocks and roots. “You know my rule. I don’t care how banged up you are. You give me hesitation and I’ll give you a broken arm.”

  Cole mumbled something so feeble that not even Roth could hear it.

  “What did you just say?” Roth barked. “Speak up, whelp.”

  Cole took a deep breath. Then another. “I said, would you like the left one or the right?” He raised his shaking arms, inspecting them. “The left one’s broken already I think, but the right one only has a cut. Here,” he said, offering a shaky arm. “Go nuts.”

  For a moment Roth looked as if he would take him up on his
offer, but then Cole withdrew and fell into a fit of coughs. Roth bared his teeth in a grin. “It’s a good thing you’re abiding by my second rule, or else not even Alvani would be able to fix what I’d do to you.”

  “Give you everything I have, or something like that. Right?” Cole asked when the coughing subsided.

  “Every drop of blood and sweat.” Roth crouched directly in front of Cole, raising a single claw. “I’d wager you’ve got a bit more in you.” The tip of Roth’s claw hummed with white pulses as little snowflakes of Passion chased themselves around his hand. He flicked a flat part of the shining, bladed finger against Cole’s forehead.

  It hurt. Cole smacked his hand to his brow, rubbing it. “Ow! Haven’t I been through enough?” Cole rose to solid feet, shuffling out of Roth’s reach. “I already gave everything…” His voice trailed off, as he felt strength and clarity return to his mind and body. He looked up to Roth with a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

  “That meat isn’t going to cook itself. Get to it.” Roth sat himself cross-legged by the fire, cleaning his munisica on the middle of the flames. “You do know how to dress a kill, don’t you?”

  Cole spent the better part of the next two hours working on the dead animals. They resembled bats, except they were each the size of a motorcycle and had antlers that cupped behind their ears. Their ugly snub-noses looked like squashed mushrooms, though their velvety fur glittered like rubies in the firelight. Cole had a vague idea as to what he was supposed to do. He’d seen his unit work at it before, but no one had ever bothered to give him a part of the job. Frankly he was glad they hadn’t needed his help. The task was gruesome and granted him a mouthful of bile with every armful of organs he scooped out. Eventually he had grown so frustrated that his Rage flared to his aid. Cole stowed his dagger as his munisica made quick work of dressing the kills. By the time he finished, his lethargy returned with a vengeance and he lost his appetite entirely. He could feel Roth judging his work.

  “That’s enough.” Roth shooed him away from the mess of skin and viscera. He waved a lazy emerald claw over the fire and the carcasses floated up off the bed of leaves, settling into a slow spin over the fire. “Not good, even for your first time. But I’m hungry and we can’t sit here all day.”

  Cole stretched, arching his stiff back and reaching for the sky. He watched Roth carefully as his Master snipped off a hardwood branch as thick as his leg with two bladed fingers. The same two fingers then flashed green with Wisdom as he gave the branch a little nudge, sending it hovering over the fire where it nestled itself like a puzzle piece. Cole cleared his throat and as loud as his dry throat would allow, he asked, “How are you able to move that with Wisdom or heal me with Passion while still using your Rage? It seems like one or the other to me.”

  “Practice. Cycles and cycles of it.” Roth brought his face so close to the fire that the orange flames tickled his nose. He indulged in a deep sniff before looking at Cole. “Do you remember the bog angel?”

  Cole scrunched his nose, recalling the hideous creatures. “How could I forget? That was the first time I used Rage.”

  “Remember what you did with that Rage?” Roth asked.

  “Yeah, I smashed Chiron’s machine.” Cole stared at the bed of embers for a moment. “Come to think of it, I probably could have done it without Rage, but it definitely made it easier.”

  “And how did Chiron’s machine come to be in your claw?” Roth asked with an impatient huff.

  “Not really, it was just there when I needed it,” Cole offered, but when Roth’s expectant glare intensified, he scoured his memories once more. “I remember the barrel floating towards me. It didn’t make it all the way though, and it rolled, I mean I rolled it the rest of the way…with Wisdom.”

  “Too right you did. You used Wisdom while burning with Rage.” Roth flashed a toothy grin. “I could have stopped you. Probably should have. Chiron gave me a good mind-lashing after that. He’d spent a week of his free time making it for me.”

  “A mind-lashing?” Cole’s eyes went wide. “Did he attack your mind?” Cole imagined the two ancient ones locking their mental horns and storming at each other.

  “No. It was far worse than that.” The air boomed with Roth’s chuckling. “He lectured me for hours without relent before finishing me off with a lesson on how to make my own gravity well. Chiron was my teacher, way back when.”

  “Why did you let me break it then?” Cole asked. “It must have been worth more than my life.”

  Roth jerked his head to the side, half scowling. “Not even close. For the cost of a fancy trinket, our weakest student earned his munisica. I’d do it again, no hesitation. That is why I let you spend half the day gutting and skinning these horned serephs. You need the experience. You still have much to learn, and I’m a damn sight curious as to what else you might be capable of.”

  Even though Cole was frustrated and exhausted, he couldn’t help but feel a measure of gratitude for all the help he received. His thoughts wandered to Chiron. “Chiron was your teacher? How long ago was that?”

  Roth licked his teeth, his black eyes glistening as they took in the sizzling meat. “Just over thirty cycles. He was a lot more practical back then, but that was before he fell himself in love and mastered Passion.”

  Cole’s jaw dropped. “Chiron is a master of Passion?”

  “And Wisdom before that. He was one of the Unbound. One of Varka’s fellowship. I was too at the very end, though I never fully mastered any of the magics. We are fortunate to have Chiron among our numbers.” Roth poked the flank of one of the serephs, testing it. “The top layer’s done. Cut yourself a steak.”

  A savage craving replaced his initial queasiness as Cole tasted the first bite. The sereph meat was lean, but sweet as though marinated. He swallowed hard, taking another bite.

  “What does it take to master a school of magic?” Cole asked, using his dagger to slice off another cooked layer.

  Roth tore a hunk off a leg, bolting down a few mouthfuls before responding. “Officially speaking, one would have to enter the vaults in Oberon’s Temple. There’s one for each school. Once you enter, you either survive the trials or never come out. Or at least that’s what the stiff-necks of the Celestial Council would have you believe. Bunch of pampered bureaucrats. They’d likely slap you in prison for your actions in Costas.”

  “What do you mean?” Cole asked.

  Roth looked him square in the eye: “You’re a master of Rage, Cole. I watched the whole thing from my shackles. That wench struck you a fatal blow, right in the neck. I saw you die. Then I watched the shroud come up over your face and the havoc you unleashed soon after. No one but a master of Rage could have done what you did.”

  Cole shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m pretty sure that was just a boost from the power I took from your gratia stone on the baileen. It faded pretty quick. I couldn’t do that stuff again if I tried. I’m not sure if I would want to.” He took a breath, staring into the fire for a moment. “I almost killed them. I wanted to. I wanted to kill you too.” Cole turned away from Roth, shame flooding his cheeks.

  “You’re wrong. Dead wrong.” Roth voice boomed into Cole’s chest: “I’m no master of Rage, I’ve studied the school long enough to know what I saw. And as for the power I gave you, that is not how the magic works. It will fuel your body, but it will not call the munisica and shroud for you. Check your bones. You have yet to use any of it.”

  Cole rubbed his fingers over his forearms. He could almost sense a dull warmth in his bones, dense and distant. “You’re right. I can still feel it in there, but it’s more solid. I…I don’t think I can even use it anymore.”

  Roth pulled the leg off the sereph with a loud crack. “The time to call it has come and gone. Your body is claiming it now. Over the next month or so you’re going to go through some changes. Be mindful of the magic so you don’t surprise yourself at the wrong time.”

  Cole’s hands went to his shoulders absentmi
ndedly, feeling the round muscle beneath. Roth was still wrong. If it wasn’t Roth’s power that helped Cole, then his mastery had something to do with Him. Cole gazed into the fire at a glowing log that looked roughly like His face. For some reason Cole didn’t want to bring up his imaginary friend just yet; however, there was another question that tugged at him. “If I mastered Rage then why were you still so much stronger than me? Shouldn’t I have been able to overpower you?”

  Roth’s laughter shook the air, scaring a sleeping bird into hasty flight. “You wielded a master’s power with a child’s arm. At times you were stronger than me, but you were merely a fledgling taking your first jump from the nest. You couldn’t hold it steady. If I hadn’t reeled you in, your Rage would have run wild. You eventually would have lost yourself to it, or at least until Grotton arrived and snared you with Hunger.”

  Cole shuddered. “Decreath was bad enough. I hope I never see any of the Three again.” He recalled too easily what was left of Kreed when Decreath took him, the soulless, vacant smile of broken teeth and the bloody, empty eyes. “Do you think Kreed died?”

  “No.” Roth returned his attentions to the fire, speaking through a mouthful of meat. “But he isn’t alive either. Decreath has him now. He’s a Harbinger. Kreed’s body and mind now belong to the Lord of Fear.”

  Cole watched the meat sizzle and pop. His stomach nearly surrendered its contents as some of the meat overcooked to blackened char, reminding him sickeningly of the Devotion Towers. “What will happen to all the chosen? Will they be added to that Colossus? The thing looked like it was made of nothing but dead bodies.”

  Roth chewed, spitting a bone into the fire. “Once Decreath has fed on their souls he will likely create a new Colossus. That one was already bigger than we could handle so there wouldn’t be much use in adding to it. And a Colossus isn’t made of dead bodies. They’re made from chosen, and chosen can’t die. Their endless suffering fuels the magic that powers the whole Colossus. It’s a nasty bit of dark magic. We’re not sure how it works, but we do know that Sorronis is responsible for the idea. It’s some cocktail of Despair and Hatred.” Roth growled in disgust. “A Colossus has but one weakness, and if you ever find yourself facing one while fully engulfed in Rage, then you might be able to take it down. At its heart is a single priest tugging the strings to the whole thing. Just a fragile, twisted Aenerian made of flesh and bone. Kill him and the whole machine comes apart. You’d better be fully-shrouded though. Many great warriors have been shredded by the nest of bone that protects the priest. Better to just run away until you learn some better control of the Rage.”