“No,” said Ned, turning around and placing a wet hand on mine. I looked down at it. He was covered in blood. “I need you to see this, I need you to believe me. Martha didn’t, she didn’t and now I don’t know where she is, my God, I don’t know…”
He trailed off. There was a loud, solid thunk on the porch, followed by another. The house shook slightly. I kept my eyes trained on the outside but couldn’t see anything.
But I could smell it. And knowing my tracker skills, I should have smelled it before. It was blood and sweat and hay and horse and something unfathomable. Nero was here, a few feet away from us, hidden by the black night, half-way onto the porch.
A severe chill threaded down my back. My lungs refused to exhale.
I thought about throwing Ned’s hand off mine and quickly shutting the door but everything happened so fast.
Nero snorted.
Ned gasped.
A flash of red eyes and the horse lunged forward towards the door, his long muzzle snapping at us like a wolf, all white, powerful teeth.
Uncle Pat dropped the candle in the surprise, and joined me at the door, trying to shut it on the horse who was trying wildly to fit inside the frame, his wide girth only allowing him to come in halfway.
Ned covered his eyes and shrank to the floor, while June scooped up the candle before it managed to catch on the nearby rug. Pat and I kept trying to slam the door in Nero’s face, something that, naturally, only made him angrier.
The sides of the door frame began to crack under the horse’s pressure, the wood splintering. Between my uncle’s grunts, Ned’s child-like wails and June’s quiet repetition of the Lord’s prayer, I kept focused on Nero’s head. It should have bothered me to be beating a horse in such a way, but this was no horse. Its eyes were blood red and surrounded by yellow discharge, its mouth was a foaming, angry mess, and its only intent was to do what Ned had said. To kill him. To kill all of us. No, this was no horse. It barely even smelled like one. My father would have known what it was.
Finally, Pat and I did one powerful heave in unison and the result appeared to shatter the bones in Nero’s once handsome head. He screamed, a mix of anguish and frustration and then retreated, almost taking the door with him as he went. We slammed it shut and locked it, as if that would prevent Nero from coming in again.
“June!” Pat yelled. “Go wake up Rose!”
“I’m already here,” was his daughter’s reply. I looked to see Rose standing beside June, staring at us in horror.
He nodded, both of us keeping our bodies against the door. “Good, now go get the piano and move it over here. We have to make sure he doesn’t try and get in again.”
June and Rose scampered over to the grand piano that rested in the corner of the room. Rose loved to practice on it after dinner in the evenings and you could see the reluctance on her fair face as she and her mother leaned against the piano and slowly pushed it toward us until it was in place.
We stepped back and looked watched the door carefully, our breaths held in our mouths, our fingers twitching nervously. The piano was barely moveable to June and Rose but they were both small women and Nero was a thousand pound animal. He could easily destroy it in a few seconds.
We waited for a good few minutes, all of our ears tuned carefully, none of us making a sound. Even Ned had stopped his blubbering and was listening in-between sniffs. Rose made her way to him and placed her arm gently around his shoulders. I breathed in deeply through my nose and closed my eyes, concentrating on the animal. I couldn’t smell him anymore.
He was gone.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” I said quietly, my voice sounding deep in the stillness.
“How do you know that?” Pat asked scornfully. “Don’t tell me it’s your half-breed mumbo jumbo.”
That was precisely why, but of course I didn’t say that. I learned a long time ago that talking back to Uncle Pat got you nowhere, and if it did, it was usually a slap across the face.
Pat looked down at Ned on the floor, who was now staring mindlessly at his bloody hands, and calmly said, “Now Ned, let’s start from the beginning.”
“Yes,” I said. “What on earth were you feeding that thing?”
MADELINE SHEEHAN
Coming Spring 2014
Copyright © 2013 Madeline Sheehan Books
Prologue
The Earth’s sun and moon were lost for a while in a time that came to be called the “Beginning of the End.” For three years a hellish winter raged, food supplies ran short, and international conflicts threatened to destroy us all. Eventually, government was no more; it crumbled quickly and took with it any sense of order, leaving only anarchy and chaos in its wake.
In this new world, survival superseded morality. First there was looting and destruction of property, then came rape and murder. Society fell apart; no one could be trusted or considered a friend. Without proper health care, disease began to run rampant, and the human race began to slowly die off.
Death was ever present, but it soon changed, mutated. A new race was born with a heart that wouldn’t beat, and a soul lost forever to an undeniable thirst for blood. The bloodletters, they were called, feasted on the remaining humans and animals in an attempt to reinject a forgotten life into their veins.
It was years before the sun reappeared and when it did, it split apart. Shards of fire hurtled toward the earth, turning entire land masses into nothing more than charred, uninhabitable wastelands. Snowcaps melted, mountains fell, tsunamis claimed entire cities and buried them deep below their murky depths.
And then the ground, the earth itself, began to shake beneath our feet, splitting wide open as creatures born of legends and fairy tales punched their way free from their underworld prisons.
The fire breathers came through first. Their monstrous, reptilian bodies tore through the fissures in the earth and took flight, reclaiming a sky that once had belonged only to them.
The old ones, the fae, creatures who surpassed time and space, came next, bringing with them trickery and magick. Oddly beautiful and elfin in appearance, their deceptively harmless looks were their greatest advantage. They imbued the lands with their essence and made it their own, where like the fae themselves, little was as simple as it seemed. They were gods in their own minds and had little patience for anything but their own desires.
Lastly came the beasts, the shifters, the lowest of the low, formerly slaves in the underworld. Neither strictly man nor animal, but both, they came in every form imaginable. Hungry and empowered by their new freedom, they crept from the darkness into the light, no longer at the bottom of the food chain.
Hunted and without the knowledge necessary to survive, humans quickly became an endangered species, hovering on the brink of extinction. Few had survived the catastrophic beginning of the end of their world; the ones who had did so only because they were strong and adaptable. Together they bred even stronger, larger, more formidable humans who, despite their primitive ancestry, made a place for themselves in this new world and held on tightly.
This new reality is the world I live in. History is a thing of the past. Records are no longer kept; the written word is a novelty few have the luxury to indulge in. No one remembers what used to be. And no one cares.
Except me.
My name is Maira, and I am the only human who remembers the Beginning of the End, who remembers life before the destruction, because I am the only human still alive today who lived through it. I was fourteen when the sun first disappeared. That was over a hundred years ago…and I am no longer human.
Except in every way that matters.
Chapter One
The incessant howling to the east kept me awake yet exhaustion, both emotional and physical, forced me to remain where I was. I lay on the thick tree branch of a yew tree, senses on high alert, wishing for sleep I knew wasn’t going to come. Rubbing my temples, I sat up slowly and began easing my body down through the tangled branches of the tree. When my feet touched
the ground, my lower back screamed at me for the past hours of discomfort I had forced it to endure.
In the process of retying the buttery-soft buckskin I’d long ago fashioned as a loincloth, I sensed motion from directly behind me and whirled around, ducking just before two swooping wood sprites could hit me square in the face. Swatting at the air around them, I bared my teeth in their direction and growled.
The tiny demons, essentially minute females of Fae origin, were green in color with iridescent wings and tiny pin-sized fangs. They didn’t speak, at least not any language I was familiar with, and only communicated by using a series of squeaks and growls. They were also incredibly annoying creatures without a care in the world aside from playing.
Sensing that I wasn’t in a playful mood, they spat a series of noises in my direction and immediately took to the sky.
Alone again, I sighed softly. The howling was far enough away that I wasn’t concerned with encountering any sort of threat. Before I’d settled for the night, I’d sniffed the area thoroughly. There had been no trace of weres around this area for quite a while, but I was close enough to the Shadowlands—dark places where neither the sun nor the moon dared to shine—and my hearing sensitive enough that I could hear them as plain as day.
Stretching slowly, I looked up into the full moon that rode in a dark sky riddled with endless stars, and sighed again. Why I kept coming back here, I wasn’t sure anymore. Even as I let out a humorless laugh, my chest tightened painfully. Scratch that. I knew why.
I was effectively emotionally tied to another living being and he was out there, living and breathing apart from me. I could sense his spirit, feel his blood rushing, throbbing hot through his veins in time to the beating of my own heart…and the breath expanding in his lungs, releasing, the same as my own. Even though nearly a century had passed since I’d last beheld his beauty, I could still sense his spirit; yet no matter how hard I looked, he remained as lost to me as the day he left me.
Everyone left me.
I was fourteen when the world around me had begun to change and continued changing until everything I’d ever known was gone. My family and I, my parents and my little brother, had hidden in our home during the initial fallout after the sun had left us. Only my father would ever venture out into the cold, dark new world so that we could survive. Sometimes it took days, but he always returned to us with as much food and supplies as he could carry. Because of his efforts, our family stayed alive for three long years.
But it was during the first set of earthquakes, after the sun had returned and split apart, that I’d lost them all. We’d been running through the streets as fire fell from the sky, the ground beneath us quaking violently and splitting apart, causing houses and buildings surrounding us to crack down the middle and fall to pieces before they disappeared into the earth.
Attempting to guide us to safety, my father had been in front of me, holding my six-year-old brother in his arms, and my mother had been behind me. Even over the ear-splitting destruction that boomed all around us, I could hear screaming from behind me, my mother screaming for me to keep running, and then the screaming stopped. When I realized she was gone, I stopped running and began to wail. And as I stood there, calling at the top of my lungs for my mother, the pavement under my feet shifted and I lost my footing and began to slip, but my father was suddenly there, his large hand wrapped around my arm, pulling me out of harm’s way.
One second my father was standing there, frantically surveying the destruction around us, and the next, the ground opened up beneath his feet. With my brother still in his arms, he fell screaming into the earth.
In shock, I’d continued to stand there, remaining frozen in place. Even as flames poured down around me, even as the earth continued to roll and disintegrate, I stood there staring at the spot where all I’d had left in the world had just been taken from me. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of a stranger grabbing my arm as he ran past me, I would have died as well.
Sometimes, I wish he would have left me. If he would have left me there, I would have never have met…him.
The memories assaulted me as I stood there staring at the moon, sweeping over me as I thought back to that time long ago. I was only eighteen years old and dying from disease when he’d found me, shaking and shivering by a low fire, where my companions had left me to die.
***
The massive, beautifully sculpted Siberian tiger had circled me, sniffing and chuffing before pressing his warm, wet nose against my limp hand, nudging me. I had stared, hypnotized by the stark black stripes against his thick white fur and the thought that as far as last sights go, this was far better than the desolate darkness of the neverending stretch of barren land surrounding me.
Letting out a low growl, the animal then flicked his rough tongue across my wrist. My mouth parted as I drew in a raspy breath. He was readying to bite me, eat me; why, I didn’t know. I couldn’t be a more unappealing meal, covered as I was in bloody sores and pustules, lying in my own waste. As ill as I was, even I could detect the stench of decay and disease that hung heavy around me.
But I wasn’t afraid; I was grateful. It had been a year since I’d lost my family, a year of running from monsters, for lack of a better word. A year of running and hiding, desperate for food, desperate for sanctuary from the chaos around us, and always coming up empty.
As for my companions, I didn’t blame them for leaving me here. We’d never formed any solid connections, and I was just one of many in a long line of humans who had died along the way. A life in hiding and being hunted meant you could never get too comfortable in one place. Being able to pack up and go was a necessity, and I’d become deadweight.
This beautiful beast would end my suffering much quicker than the disease inside me. It hurt to breathe, to move, to continue living. If I could have ended it myself, I would have.
His sharp, thick teeth sank easily into the rotting flesh on my wrist, his canines so long, they pierced the entire width of my wrist and came out the other side. Surprisingly, I felt very little pain from his bite. The longer he held his grip on me, the more numb I grew until finally, I blissfully felt nothing at all.
I tried to thank him but barely managed to move my tongue, unable to force anything past my throat but tiny exhalations of air and gurgles of blood.
The beast released me and lapped at the seeping wounds. Finished, he stretched out on his belly beside me, his head on his paws as he watched me die through ice-blue eyes, so light in places they looked white. I lay beside him, my lifeblood seeping from me, and looked up into his wide face, marveling at the beauty of his features, and wondering at the three thick lines that bracketed each of his icy eyes.
Peaceful and comfortable for the first time in ages, I filled my heart with gratitude and closed my eyes, then willed the darkness to take me.
When I awoke, the suns shone bright and hot above me. The fire at my side had long since died out and grown cold, and I was alone.
More surprising was that I’d woken up at all, that I was, in fact, not dead. Quite the opposite, actually. I felt fine…strong…stronger. I sat up, staring with confusion at my pale, unmarked skin, devoid of any markings except for the slightly raised scars of a tiger bite on my wrist. No sign of disease remained, not even the freckles that I knew for certain had once been scattered across my body.
My clothes, what little remained of them, were disgusting, still covered in blood and excrement. I jumped to my feet—although leapt would be a more appropriate description of the swift, lithe, singular movement that had me on my feet in no time—and quickly removed the offending garments.
As I stripped, my hair fell forward and I froze, reaching out my hand to finger long locks of my hair that was now snow white. It felt soft and silky against my bare skin, nothing like my unremarkable brown hair that just yesterday had been dirty, tangled, and matted.
My heart in my throat, I dove for my backpack, digging through the only belongings I had left in the world
. The contents amounted to nothing much, just a pair of jeans as filthy as the ones I’d just taken off, a large hunting knife, two dirty and empty plastic bottles, and a small plastic bag that had held my toiletries: a dirty toothbrush, an empty tube of toothpaste, an empty tube of deodorant, and a small mirror wrapped in cloth.
Fingers trembling, I unwrapped the mirror and stared dumbly at my reflection. Whoever this was in the mirror wasn’t me. This girl was…beautiful. I had always been pale, annoyingly so, but this girl wasn’t pale.
She was a flawless, colorless canvas, a goddess carved from ivory with blue eyes so light they looked like an ocean coated in ice. Over each delicate white eyebrow was a series of three thin black stripes that followed the arch before curling downward and ending in a beautiful swirl next to the corner of each eye.
Speechless, I continued to gape at this stranger in the mirror…until I saw the sharp points of my canines denting the pale pink of my bottom lip.
Gasping, I opened my mouth and pulled back my lips. My bottom canines had also grown.
I knew then what had happened, what the tiger had done to me. And yet, despite everything I’d seen over the last four years, part of me still believed it impossible.
In my travels, I’d seen animal shifters, both men and women turned into wild beasts. I’d seen them killing humans, either for food or sport, but I’d never seen them save sick, dying girls lying alone and vulnerable in the middle of nowhere.
And I’d certainly never seen them turn a human into a… Into a what? What was I? Could I become a tiger now?
At that thought, I closed my eyes and concentrated hard, stupidly trying to transform into a tiger. But nothing happened.
Was I some sort of hybrid? A freak accident?
A slight breeze drifted in from the east and before I realized it, I was on my feet, crouched and sniffing the deliciously scented air. I cried out in both pain and horror as the nails on my fingers and toes erupted, growing into dangerously curved claws, only I didn’t have time to dwell on what was happening, I was already running across the barren landscape.
Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) Page 12
