by Matt Gross
The
Malevolent
Witch
The Book of Khayin
Volume One
By
M.R. Gross
Copyright © 2017 M.R. Gross
Cover Art by Dent Niggemeyer
Author Photo by Doug Geiger
All rights reserved.
First Edition: June 2017
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN-13: 978-1547151721
ISBN-10: 1547151722
[email protected]
To my daughter Kirsten,
you are an inspiration in more ways than I can count.
To my wife Ruth,
for putting up with me while I obsessed over this book. I love you.
Acknowledgments
To Joie, thank you so much for cluing me in on what goes on in a woman’s head, though I’m sure I still got it wrong.
To Dent, for the many hours you poured into doing my cover, I just hope the book is as good as the art.
To my peeps in writer’s group; Jason, Jen, Tuesday, Nat, and Brian, you have all been instrumental in the writing process for this book and I can’t thank you enough, hopefully this is a reflection of what I have learned and not a reflection of what I have ignored.
PowerHouse Summit Members: Thank you for all the little stuff, that was not all that little.
A big thank you to all my Beta Readers, your feedback made this work better, thank you for taking the time to read through the first iteration of this book.
And lastly; To all of you who bought this. This is my first of hopefully many. I cut my teeth on this book and I am so glad to share it with you.
Thank You!
Chapter 1 The Bet
It had been hours. The room stank of smoke, booze and bodies that hadn’t seen soap or clean water for some time. There was a quiet that fell over the place, only the sound of breathing and the occasional mug hitting a table. The two men stared at first each other and then the cards in front of them. No Limit Texas Hold’em was the game, and the game had gone on through the night. Dawn was breaking and only two players remained.
The table was in the corner of the large open room and Khayin sat with his back to the wall, his chair balanced on its back legs. A cigarette hung from his mouth, with ash over an inch long barely winning the fight against gravity. He had a wide brimmed hat and a loose fitting white button down shirt. A leather cord with a pentacle hung around his neck. Over the shirt he wore a black leather vest. Two holsters lie empty on either thigh. He had to check all his weapons at the door before entering El Diablo’s. His opponent was every bit the Mexican stereotype and he wore it like a badge of honor. His large sombrero covered his eyes, making it difficult to read his facial expressions.
“Your bet, pendejo,” Juan said in thick accented Spanish.
The quiet in the room was so absolute and so long that the words startled Khayin. He lost his balance and the front of the chair came crashing down to the floor. The sudden jerk in movement made the ash from his cigarette fall into his lap. The comical slapping at his crotch to rid his pants from ash drew a thunderous burst of laughter from the few spectators that managed to stay awake.
“Balls!” Khayin yelped. He smirked while he tried to regain some composure.
Khayin was undoubtedly the chip leader and Juan was a terrible player. Khayin purposefully stretched the game, winning and losing hands in hopes of keeping all his opponents in the game long enough to bleed them dry. He lifted the corner of his down cards.
He let the cards snap back and eyed the community cards in the middle of the table: an Ace of clubs, a Ten of clubs, and a Five of diamonds.
He studied the cards in front of him and then Juan’s face. He had to keep Juan in the game so he didn’t want to bet big. The Mexican’s pile of chips was small, but winning it would net Khayin an even 50,000 chips. That amount could get him back to Chicago in time to catch the original Star Wars trilogy. He loved those movies and was thankful that the wizard who magicked them back to life loved them as well. Someone else would have done it eventually; it was a money maker, and they were clearly the favorites among the people of Chi-Town.
The Great Cataclysm, or 'The Day Magic Returned', as some have coined it, was over 200 years ago, and magic wasn't the only thing that returned. The creatures that relied on it returned as well. Dragons, faerie folk, mermaids, unicorns--everything from fantasy come to life. Atlantis popped up in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Mysterious islands and isolated lands that were once totally uninhabitable became populated overnight with people that have been living there for centuries or millennia. The down side, and there was always a down side, was that the electricity went out all across the world, but some ingenious wizards had figured out a way to use magical energy rather than electrical.
Khayin glanced at the community cards then back to Juan. After a moment he tapped the table to signify that he checked his bet before picking up his glass and downing the last of his whiskey. He had asked for top shelf, but if it wasn’t tequila it wasn’t really top shelf. He grimaced from the hard liquor then turned his attention back to the game and his opponent’s face.
“Check?” Juan smirked. “You checked? You not very confident in your hand, bounty hunter. Maybe luck is turning around?” He peeked at his down cards and adjusted his glasses. The Mexican glared at Khayin while he fiddled with his chips. Counting out his bet, he slid it across the table adding their number to the pile of chips already sitting at its center.
“Player bets one thousand chips,” the dealer said in a monotone voice. He was middle aged and wore green coveralls. He’d been stoic the entire evening; he even remained neutral during Khayin’s display with his cigarette and chair. “The bet is to you, sir.” He stared at Khayin.
The bounty hunter shivered, trying to shake the creepiness away. He counted out a thousand chips from the large pile he had neatly stacked according to denomination. Khayin winked at Juan and slid his bet to the pot. Juan must have a pair. Most likely a pair of Aces. He stifled a smile. He didn’t want to give away to the others what he suspected.
“Player calls,” the dealer said plainly, picked up the deck of cards and dealt ‘the turn’. An Ace of hearts was added to the community.
Khayin could see the excitement in Juan’s face, though he tried to hide it. The bounty hunter peeked at his down cards just for something to do. He knew the cards and he knew what he needed. He looked at the Mexican and that ridiculous sombrero. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the dealer staring at him. The bounty hunter picked up his glass and motioned for the waitress, a pretty girl wearing a summer dress that came to about mid-thigh. Khayin had been flirting with her all night and she was more than eager to refill his tumbler. When she bent down he lightly brushed her long black hair back from her face, letting his hand glide down the curve of her jaw, down her neck, and along her back resting on her left cheek. She breathed heavily.
“Maria, what might you be doing after this?” Khayin whispered softly into her ear. She smiled coyly.
“You done playing grab-ass with senorita? We continue?” Juan was definitely anxious to move the hand along.
“Don’t be jealous, Juan. It doesn’t become you,” the bounty hunter said with a d
evilish grin.
The waitress lingered longer than was appropriate before she slowly backed away. Khayin lifted the whiskey to his lips, sipped and checked his bet at the same time. He never took his eyes off Juan. Gently he placed the glass on the table.
“Check?!” The Mexican was obviously frustrated, but also overjoyed; the bounty hunter could see it in his eyes. Juan adjusted his glasses and counted out his bet, then pushed it to the center of the table. The stack fell over and spilled chips onto the column of community cards. The dealer, more than a little annoyed, re-stacked the chips and shot a glare toward Juan that screamed murder. Khayin stifled a laugh.
“Player bets one thousand chips,” the dealer said through clinched teeth. That was the most emotion that the bounty hunter had seen out of the dealer all night.
“You got, what? Another two-thousand chips over there? Juan, buddy, I wouldn’t be so flippant with your money.” He made a little tsk, tsk, tsk noise with his tongue as he shook his head a bit and counted out some chips. The pot grew a little more.
“Player calls,” the dealer announced.
The anxiety was radiating off of Juan; Khayin could feel it from across the table. The Mexican played with his glasses again. Khayin knew Juan had a good hand. He wasn't worried about losing, but it would definitely be his last hand; he needed to sleep. The saloon was deafeningly quiet. Everyone seemed to anticipate that the next card flipped was going to be the last card played.
The dealer dealt and flipped 'the river'. A Queen of clubs. Khayin fought down every emotion that threatened to make itself known. He had to play the betting carefully as to not scare Juan off. He looked at the Mexican, trying to read his partially covered face. His face didn't change. The Queen meant nothing to Juan, but he looked confident in the hand he held.
The dealer looked again at Khayin, who picked up his tumbler and casually sipped his whiskey. He tried to find some redeeming quality in the liquor and just grimaced with disappointment. He checked his bet a third time.
Juan slammed the table with his fist. “Check! Check! Check!” he yelled. “Is all you do?” Khayin remained stoic. The Mexican shook his head and glared at the bounty hunter. He gathered all of his remaining chips and pushed them violently to the center of the table.
The normally calm dealer seemed agitated at Juan's display. “Player bets two-thousand five-hundred chips,” he spat.
Hiding his amusement, Khayin looked at Juan, then at the community cards, sneaking a peek at his down cards and praying to whatever god was listening that his cards hadn’t mysteriously changed. He counted out his bet and looked at Juan.
“I call your twenty-five hundred and I'll raise you...five thousand more.” He smiled.
“What?!” Juan panicked. “But, I don't have any more money.”
The dealer looked at Juan. “Your own house rules, Senor. If you can't match the bet you forfeit the game.”
“Well then,” Khayin replied, “looks like I win.” He reached for the pot.
“No, wait!” the Mexican exclaimed. “I...I...”
He rummaged around in his traveling pack that rested on the floor beside him. After a minute he produced a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it and slapping it down on top of the scattered cards on the table. It was clearly a wanted poster, though the woman pictured in the crude drawing could be just about anyone. The reward offered was 10,000 chips, and further reading revealed that the woman was a witch--a Nighthag or a Schadovitch to be more precise.
Khayin looked at Juan quizzically. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Tis bounty worth ten grand, senor,” he said matter-of-factly.
“No shit, Sherlock,” he teased. “It ain't worth nothin’ to me.” He was a little perturbed by the vagueness of the poster. “It ain't worth more than the paper it's printed on.”
“Ahh...” The Mexican smiled. “But, girl is in carriage outside.” He waited a moment, watching Khayin examine the parchment. “You accept bet?”
The bounty hunter ruminated. He had come on a single horse, and had no way of taking a bounty anywhere. There was also no way of knowing for sure that Juan had what he claimed he did, even if Khayin went out to look at the merchandise. The rumored Nighthags were just that: rumors. No one had ever lived to tell about an encounter with one. And how the hell would an amateur like Juan get his hands on one? The Mexican only dabbled at the bounty hunting trade; a skilled hunter he was not. Maybe Khayin could sweeten the deal.
“OK Juan, tell you what.” He didn't want a negotiation, so he tried to sound as firm as he could. “I have no way of transporting a bounty. I was actually on my way to Chi-Town from a pretty hectic job, so you throw in a horse or that carriage with the bet and I'll accept.”
“Whoa, wait a minute...” Juan didn't get a chance to finish.
“There's no way of verifying what you've got out there is a Schadovitch, or hag. You know as well as I do that that's subject to the person that posted the bounty.” Khayin explained. Juan nodded in agreement.
“Fair enough, pendejo.” The Mexican relented. “I got a extra horse. She's a good horse. All this is pointless though, Bounty Hunter, because I win.” Juan flipped his down cards over and tossed them into the center of the table. Two Aces.
Bastard's got four of a kind.
Juan realized his mistake after he revealed his cards. Khayin never called the Mexican's raise. He slapped the table, then smiled and shook his head. The tension in the room grew, those who were still awake fidgeting with anticipation. Maria stood very close to Khayin's side.
Milking the moment for all that it was worth, the bounty hunter peeked at his cards. He met Juan's gaze, then a devilish grin grew across his face. He picked up his cards and tossed them just as the Mexican had, a King of clubs and a Jack of clubs. A royal flush.
Juan's face went pale, then flashed to a brilliant shade of red. He stood up so fast that his chair flew back and crashed to the floor. The Mexican grabbed his sombrero and threw it across the room, a move that was more comical than intimidating. Khayin chuckled and stood, scooping up all his winnings into his traveling sack. He tossed a couple chips and tipped his hat to the dealer. Maria grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the mouth. She tasted just as nice as she looked.
****
Khayin followed Juan outside. “So, wait a minute, you had a bounty out here the whole time we were playing poker? Weren't you afraid of someone stealing her?” A falcon flew overhead and landed in a tree in front of the bar.
“No, pendejo. It's magiked. My carriage has special alarm.” Juan held out a plastic square about three inches wide and an inch thick to Khayin. When he looked at it more closely Khayin could see little light bulbs inside.
They walked to a carriage that was covered in a tarp, and the Mexican pulled the tarp away just enough to open the door and reveal what was essentially a traveling jail cell. The bounty hunter noticed the anti-magic sigils etched on the bars as well as the floor and ceiling, but most striking was the female form stretched out in the middle of the cell. Her head was covered in a sack. She wore a light sleeveless tunic and short pants that fell in tatters on her thin frame, and her arms and hands were wrapped in strips of shredded cloth. Her feet were bare. She sat upright in a flash and moved to the bars in front of the two men, as if she could see them through the hood.
Khayin, wasting no time, reached in and pulled the hood off her head. Her long, blood red dreadlocks spilled out of the hood and over her shoulders and back. The pale skin of her face was etched with light blue tattoos matching the color of her eyes. The tattoos didn't mar her beauty, but accentuated it. She stared at him. Khayin could see the fury in her eyes and it only seemed to make them all the more beautiful.
“Damn,” was all that Khayin could say.
Chapter 2 The Dream
The darkness was absolute. Young Kira'Tal awoke lying on a hard uneven surface. She opened her eyes, or at least she thought she did. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, acute
ly aware of the deep ache in her bones. A rocky floor wasn't an ideal place to sleep. She lifted her right hand in front of her face. Nothing. Am I blind? A sudden wave of panic washed over her. She shuddered. No, the Crone and my sisters wouldn't have blinded me. She sat motionless and meditated, steadying her breathing until the panic and jitters melted away.
Upon centering herself mentally she concentrated on listening to her surroundings. Far off she heard water dripping into…what? A pool? Cave lake? She wasn't entirely sure. She heard no other sound. Kira opened her eyes once again and she saw a faint glow, some kind of luminescence in the direction of the dripping water that wasn't there before. Or was it? The young witch stood, brushed some blood red dreadlocks out of her face and took stock of her possessions. All she had were the clothes on her back. Her feet were bare and she wore only a light tunic and pants that came down to mid-calf.
It was the night of her Gnoxel, a rite of passage into adulthood. The cave in which she awoke was home to a very ancient dragon. The witches believed the Dragon-Mother to be the last of her kind, for over many millennia no other had ever been discovered. Kira knew she had to find the beast somewhere in the labyrinth of tunnels in the cave; then her trial would truly begin.
Kira was the daughter of the tribe’s leader, the Crone. There was much expected of her. Life to this point hadn't been easy for the young witch. Her natural magical abilities had yet to manifest and her twin sister, who was younger by minutes, had bloomed and passed her Gnoxel early. The siblings hated each other; it was much more than a simple rivalry. Kira by rights would inherit leadership of the tribe, but if she didn't develop any power that right would go to her sister, Brianna'Tal. The young witch shook her head as if to clear her mind with the motion alone. She breathed in deep and exhaled through her nose trying to find peace within herself.
