Eternal Dawn
Aeternae Noctis #2
Jade Kerrion
Copyright © 2017 by Jade Kerrion
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Eternal Dawn/ Jade Kerrion — 1st ed.
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Cover Design by Covers by Combs
Contents
Eternal Dawn
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Eternal Day
Aeternae Noctis
Urban Fantasy and Science Fiction entwine in the world of the DOUBLE HELIX
Other Science Fiction and Fantasy novels by Jade Kerrion
The Aroused Collection
The Ensnared Collection
The Inflamed Collection
The Maligned Collection
About the Author
Other Books By Jade Kerrion
Eternal Dawn
Aeternae Noctis #2
Immortals and mortals struggle to co-exist.
An enemy is changing the rules…
All parents in Aeternae Noctis have lost children to the culling, among them, the herbalist Rafael Varens. Humanity's remnants rise in rebellion against the ruthless rule of the three immortal icrathari and their vampire army; yet again, they are crushed.
When the icrathari Siri seeks a salve for her chronic pain, she and Rafael strike a bargain. He will cure the poison in her blood if she expands the settlement and frees the children, including his son. Their tentative alliance ushers in unexpected friendship, until it is shattered by the cruelest betrayal.
From the darkness below the earth, an ancient and implacable enemy rises, twisting their pain and turning Rafael and Siri against each other—his first step in the destruction of Aeternae Noctis…
Chapter 1
In the city square beneath the shadow of the tower, Rafael Varens stood among hundreds of other people, watching the full moon climb to its zenith. Its light shimmered through the curve of the dome that enclosed the city of Aeternae Noctis, washing over its slate roofs and cobblestone streets, its fields and forests.
Rafael’s grip tightened around his five-year-old son, Stefan. His attention drifted past his son’s blond head to the scorched landscape outside the dome. The jagged peaks of mountains flashed by as the city, carried aloft by massive repulse engines, traveled through the night.
Someone in the crowd whispered, tremulous and low, “It’s time.”
In the city square, the murmur of conversation subsided to hushed whispers and eventually fell silent. Rafael held his breath as an icrathari soared from the uppermost floor of Malum Turris, the black tower supporting the apex of the dome. The creature sliced across the arc of the moon and glided to a landing in front of the church. Bat-shaped wings flared to its full ten-foot span before folding against its back.
Only five feet tall, the immortal and powerful icrathari was greeted by silence born equally of awe and resentment. Her silver hair, cut short, framed her face. Her features were delicate, and her large violet eyes slanted upward, enhancing her ethereal appearance. A red silk gown clung to her body; a crimson scarf accentuated her neck.
The man standing next to Rafael gawked at the icrathari, but there was no place for any emotion in Rafael’s heart, except despair. He inhaled deeply, the sound shuddering through his aching chest. He glanced up and searched the sky. Where were the other two icrathari—Ashra, the queen, and Tera, the warlord?
Why had this icrathari—one largely unknown to the people of Aeternae Noctis—come to deliver the monthly sentence of death?
The mayor, a somber-faced and heavy-set man, climbed the church steps. He too swallowed hard before holding out his hand to the icrathari to receive the list.
The mayor read the names aloud. At each name, Rafael heard a soft gasp, a quiet sob. Families shattered, lives unraveled. A child’s voice whimpered, “I don’t want to go.”
With a heavy heart, Rafael counted each child named. He knew many of the children. He and the midwife had been among the first to welcome those children into the world.
“Varens, Stefan.” The mayor folded the piece of paper and returned it to the icrathari.
Sixty-two names. Stefan had been the last child named.
Rafael squeezed his eyes shut. His arms trembled, tightening around the child in his arms. No, not Stefan. Please don’t take him. He is all I have left. Rafael fought the frantic need to run and hide his son, but Aeternae Noctis, the city of eternal night, offered no sanctuary from the icrathari and their vampire army.
“Daddy?” Stefan’s voice whispered in his ear. The boy’s voice sounded congested. The chill of the night air had caused phlegm to build up in his chest again. The palliative tonic was brewing over Rafael’s kitchen stove, but it would no longer be needed. Stefan had come a long way from the sickly infant he had been. The midwife did not think he would survive a fortnight, but with care, he had made it to five years, only to be culled by the icrathari three days after his fifth birthday.
To the icrathari, Stefan was too flawed to keep alive.
In a single second, the icrathari, masters of Aeternae Noctis, invalidated the countless hours Rafael had spent watching over Stefan as he wheezed through the nights. With their decision, the icrathari mocked the years of Rafael’s meticulous research into herbs that would fortify Stefan’s constitution.
All that care, all that love, had been for nothing.
Rafael pressed trembling lips together. No, not for nothing. Never for nothing. It had been for his son and for the five years of joy that accompanied him.
“Daddy,” Stefan said again. “Do I have to go?”
Rafael nodded, his voice too choked by tears to speak.
The icrathari glanced at the tower. Her head dipped slightly. At her signal, the drawbridge lowered, and pale-skinned vampires emerged to stand guard at the entrance. She raised her hand and waited for silence to fall. Her voice, a raspy whisper, carried across the city square. “If you choose, you can turn your children over to us here, or you may come in and say your final goodbyes in the ark.”
Rafael sucked in a deep breath. It was the first time such an offer had been made.
A man’s voice shouted over the murmurs of the crowd, “How do we know you won’t just kill all of us too?”
The icrathari tilted her head and stared at him.
The man cringed back into the safety of the crowd.
There was no need, Rafael supposed, to wait to kill the people in the ark when the vampires could, just as easily, kill them out here. The fool’s way was to fight the battle that could not be won. The vampires would not hesitate to tear children from their parents’ arms, traumatizing both parent and child. The easy way, the coward’s way, was to turn Stefan over to the vampires immediately, but how could he let his son go alone, terrified, to his end?
The only victory Rafael kne
w he could wring out of this hopeless situation was to create from their final farewell a memory both he and Stefan could treasure.
Stefan’s arms tightened around Rafael’s neck, and he buried his face against his father. The decision was made.
When the icrathari turned toward the tower, he followed. Several other parents did too. Vampires moved with silent grace to flank the entourage as they entered the tower. The pale glow of a moonlit night gave way to an unnatural florescent gleam. The black walls were cold to the touch. Straight lines of corridors flowed into perfect curves before straightening once more. Seamless construction. Smooth, flawless surfaces.
He had entered the black tower, Malum Turris, only once before, six months earlier, but it still amazed him. Its use of steel, its impossibly perfect construction, and sterile, otherworldly appearance placed the tower beyond human skill and knowledge, beyond their time, perhaps even beyond their world.
He did not pretend to fully understand the truth behind Malum Turris and Aeternae Noctis. Even after the situation had come to a head six months earlier in a battle between Aeternae Noctis and the monstrous daevas who lived outside the dome, he had been so caught up in the aftermath, attending to the injured and dispensing medication, that he had not had time to understand what it really meant.
The truth varied depending on which drunken townsperson one listened to, but one indisputable fact emerged from the babble of gossip: the vampires and icrathari had saved and protected humanity’s remnants for a thousand years. In that moment, though, it was hard for Rafael to feel any gratitude toward the Night Terrors. They still culled a large majority of five-year-old children. A city of limited resources could not sustain a growing population.
The icrathari ushered the chosen into a room so large its ceiling and walls vanished into darkness. Within the ark, thousands of long glass tubes, each only a little longer than the icrathari was tall, stacked on top of each other like peas in a pod. Within each tube, a five-year-old child lay asleep, waiting for the release that might never come.
Sixty-two empty tubes, their translucent covers open like coffins, awaited occupants.
The icrathari nodded her head.
Vampires escorted each family or unaccompanied child to an open tube. Low murmurs of conversation and quiet sobs filled the ark. Rafael knelt in front of Stefan’s assigned tube and gently lowered his son to the floor.
“I’m afraid, Daddy.” Stefan’s voice was a quavering whisper. His trembling hands latched even tighter around Rafael’s neck.
“I know. I am, too. Why don’t you try sitting in it? You don’t have to lie down just yet.”
Stefan’s lips quivered. “Oh…okay.”
Rafael placed his son in the tube before shrugging the knapsack off his own shoulders. “Would you like some tea, like you have before bed each night?”
Stefan’s head bobbed.
Rafael removed a sealed flask of hot water and a small jar of dried flowers and herbs from his knapsack. He tipped a spoonful of the chamomile-lavender blend into the flask and added a pinch of valerian powder. It would put Stefan to sleep and ease his transition into unending hibernation. Only then did Rafael set the tea aside to steep.
Pasting a smile on his face, he ran his hand gently over Stefan’s head. The soft curls bounced under his touch. He blinked hard to hold back the tears. Oh, God, he would miss his son.
“Can you tell me a bedtime story, Daddy?”
If I treat this farewell like just another bedtime, I might be able to get through it without breaking down. “Of course. What story would you like?”
“Can you tell me about the night I was born?”
“It’s my favorite story.”
Stefan grinned up at him. “Mine too.”
“It was a dark night, cold too. The moon was a crescent—thin and pale. Your mother had been having contractions all evening, and finally, she lay down to get some rest.”
“But I didn’t give her any rest, did I, Daddy?”
“No, you were ready to come out. It took a long time—”
“Because my spirit was ready, but my body wasn’t.”
“That’s right.” Rafael offered the flask to his son. “Drink slowly. It’s still hot.” He stared at his son as Stefan sipped. He wanted to capture every moment; after this night, the memories were all he would have left. “The midwife and I worked hard to turn you, and finally, you came into the world, a wee thing, not moving, not breathing.”
Stefan nodded sagely, apparently having heard the story enough times not to doubt the happy ending. “And then Mommy kissed me.”
“Yes, she did.” Rafael could still remember lifting the silent, unmoving infant to his wife’s face. Ariel had pressed her pale cheek against the baby’s cheek and kissed those tiny lips. With a soft sigh, an oddly contented sound, she had cuddled the child between her breasts and closed her eyes.
“I think I’ll sleep now.” Her voice was a weak whisper.
A dull ache settled into Rafael’s chest. They had lost the child, but mercifully, Ariel was all right. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and gently stroked sweat-soaked locks from her fevered brow. The long labor and difficult birth had exhausted her. She would need a tonic to restore her strength and energy. Fortunately, he had the right ingredients—ginseng, eleuthero root, licorice root, borage leaf, hawthorn berry, and oat seed. He wrapped a heavy blanket around her before pushing to his feet and heading to the kitchen.
The tonic was brewing on the stove when he heard a soft whimper come from the bedroom. He straightened, disbelief surging through him. The baby! He ran into the bedroom. The baby, still cradled in Ariel’s arms, had latched on to her breast and was sucking hard.
A burst of laughter tore from his lips. “Oh, thank God. Look, Ariel, the baby. He’s alive!”
Ecstatic, he placed his hand over hers.
Her limp hand fell away from their son, away from him. Her eyes were closed; her final breath had frozen into a sweet smile.
In that moment, his world shattered. He had picked up the pieces—a single father struggling to do the best he could for his son—but the broken pieces had never quite fit back together. How could it after he lost the only woman he had ever loved?
Stefan’s voice piped up, “And then what happened, Daddy?”
With effort, Rafael struggled to keep his voice steady. “And then you were all right.”
“But Mommy…her spirit wanted to stay, but her body wouldn’t let her, would it, Daddy?”
He drew in a deep breath. “No, she wanted to stay, but couldn’t.”
Stefan handed the flask back to his father. He wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before settling down into the tube. He wriggled and then yawned. “It’s not as comfy as my bed, Daddy.”
“I guess not.”
“I’m getting sleepy.” His eyes fluttered and closed. “Do you think I’ll dream tonight?”
“Of course.” Rafael smiled then and wondered if the curve of his lips was as bittersweet as the ache in his heart. “You’ll dream of your mother and of me. We’ll be together at last. We’ll be a family once again.”
“You promise, Daddy?” Stefan’s voice was a sleepy mumble.
“Yes, I do.” He leaned down and kissed Stefan’s cheek. “Goodnight, my son.” Goodbye. He kept his hand on Stefan’s chest until his son’s breathing settled into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Only then did he step away and allow the vampires to prepare his son for the cryogenic process.
The vampires and icrathari froze the children, placing them in suspended animation, until such time when the city was able to support more people. Their intention was not evil, but the rationale was irrelevant. Rafael knew he would never see Stefan again. The expanded city with sufficient resources was a pipe dream, never to be attained, at least not in his lifetime.
Likewise, the emptiness in his heart, hollowed by the loss of his wife and now of his son, would never be filled, at least not in his lifet
ime.
He repacked the flask and the jar of herbs into his knapsack and ran a hand against the side of the sealed cryogenic chamber, caressing his son’s face through the glass.
Stefan looked at peace, as if he were merely asleep. At least Rafael would have that image to take with him to his grave.
He swiped his hand across his damp eyes and turned away.
The icrathari stood no more than five feet away, silently observing him. Her violet eyes revealed nothing.
Heartsick, he followed the vampire who escorted him from the tower.
The city square was empty, as were the winding roads and backstreets that led to his doorstep. He staggered past the medley of scents rising from his floral and herbal gardens and crossed the threshold into his silent house. He passed the open doorway of his son’s bedroom. A broken sob rose from his throat.
Rafael could not stop himself. His strength gave out as he stumbled forward, desperate to hold on to his last happy memory. He curled in his son’s bed, breathed in the familiar scent on the pillows, and wept.
Chapter 2
Long after the sixty-two children were cryogenically frozen and their sobbing parents escorted from the ark, Siri kept a lonely vigil over the rows of sleeping children. The silence shrouding the ark accentuated the bleakness of her thoughts. She had spent hours agonizing over the list of names, calculating and analyzing exactly how many lives the city and its limited resources could sustain, and how many lives would have to be culled.
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