Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3

by Hayden, David Alastair

  Lu Bei opened the letter, scanned it, and began a chuckle that turned into a guffaw with him rolling back and forth on the floor, eyes sparkling with glee. Maybe someone else was releasing their adrenaline.

  Enashoma snatched the open letter before Iniru could get it. Only one look was necessary, and she started laughing as well. “Oh — oh, that’s so Awasa. They sell these in the market. You gotta take a look.”

  Iniru opened one. “What?! This is a curse — a curse for all my hair to fall out! She put my name on it!”

  Still laughing, Enashoma opened the others. “A curse for bad breath … a poor love life … a head cold … a stubbed toe … canker sores — ouch, shin splints.”

  “Shin splints!” Iniru growled. “Well that’s just mean.”

  “The curses are harmless,” Enashoma said consolingly.

  Recovering from his fit at last, Lu Bei said, “Not this time, they weren’t.”

  “I wonder what she’s going to think when she finds her box gone?” Iniru said. “Maybe she’ll think it’s a sign the curses will come true. That’d be hilarious.”

  “I guess we should hide the box, huh?” Enashoma said. “Don’t want anyone to find it and figure out we stole it. Her family did pay a lot for it. I hope Zaiporo doesn’t get into trouble over this.”

  “He is cute, by the way,” Iniru said.

  Enashoma’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you mean. He’s just … nice.”

  “We have to destroy that box,” Lu Bei declared solemnly.

  “What? Are you sure?” Enashoma asked.

  “I’m certain. Some weapons should never be used, no matter the situation. I begged Master to destroy the box after he imprisoned the tukukagi. But he wanted to keep them as a weapon of last resort … just in case. But even when things got really really bad at the end, he wouldn’t use them. It’s just that Master … well, Master had trouble letting things he’d made go free. He didn’t know how to let go.”

  “Wait, you mean you are going to go against your master’s wishes?” Iniru said.

  “He’s not here, is he?” Lu Bei replied, hands on his hips. “Master didn’t anticipate people forgetting the legend about the box, or the locking rune failing, and Master didn’t leave me any orders concerning those wizard leeches. They are not part of Turesobei’s destiny.”

  “They could be,” Iniru countered.

  “They won’t be. We will destroy it. First thing tomorrow.”

  “How?” Enashoma asked.

  “Wrap the box in paper so it looks like a gift. Take it to the High Wizard’s Tower. You’ll need Iniru with you for this. Get one of the white-steel swords and sneak off to one of the workrooms — they have sound-dampening wards — and destroy the box. One good cut will do it. The demons are vulnerable when they’re all bound to it. Don’t worry, I’m certain it will work.”

  “You think I can pull all that off without getting us caught?” Enashoma asked dubiously.

  Lu Bei bobbed his head. “Lady Enashoma, you saved your brother and all your clan tonight. I think you can do most anything you put your mind to.”

  Smiling, she scratched him under the chin. His cheeks turned dark amber. “Call me Shoma from now on, okay?”

  “Yes, Lady Shoma,” he squeaked before turning back into a book.

  Lair of the Deadly Twelve

  Storm Phase Book Two

  David Alastair Hayden

  Copyright © 2015 by David Alastair Hayden

  All Rights Reserved

  Version 4.0 | November 2015

  Cover illustration by Leos Ng “Okita”

  Graphic Design by Pepper Thorn

  No part of this work may be reproduced or distributed through any means without the written permission of the author, except for short quotations in reviews and other articles. Please purchase only from authorized sellers, and please do not participate in the piracy of copyrighted works. The author deeply appreciates your support.

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  Tucked into a remote valley in the western Orichomo Mountains lay the Temple of Winter. For centuries, people had traveled many leagues to worship there, but fearful devotion to the wintry gods of the Ancient Cold and Deep had long ago fallen out of fashion. The once-thriving temple had withered into obscurity. Those few souls who remained fanatically guarded their single treasure.

  A crimson-leafed maple drooped over the temple compound’s north wall. The autumn wind gusted; a k’chasan qengai leapt into the tree. The limbs trembled, and leaves rained into the courtyard. But neither the guards patrolling the grounds nor those at the door noticed her. A charcoal bodysuit and a scarf mask hid the assassin’s features, except for a hint of downy fur around a pair of catlike amber eyes.

  Iniru crouched, perfectly still, and waited. Her tufted ears twitched to catch every sound: leaves tumbling, a loose shutter banging, a guard wheezing from a cold. The bright moon bathed the compound in silvery light. She just needed — there! A cloud swept across the moon. Iniru sprang down and weaved through the shadows. Not a single leaf crunched underfoot. Her mother would be proud.

  The moon peeked out. A guard turned his head. Heart pounding, she surged forward. Iniru didn’t have time to neutralize them, and she didn’t want to have to kill them. She ducked around to the back side of the temple.

  None of the guards reacted.

  Iniru laughed silently. She lived for this rush. Nothing else made her feel so … alive.

  The stone building, four stories tall and topped with a blue slate roof, loomed before her. Fractures from earthquakes and two thousand winters webbed its surface. Perfect. She flexed her hands. Claws popped out from her fingertips and toes through holes in her leather gloves and shoes. Jamming her claws into the cracks, she scaled the wall.

  Glass windows, closed and shuttered, dotted the second and third floors. She ignored them. A window on the fourth stood open.

  She peeked in.

  A puddle of light, broken up by the shadow of a guard in the hallway, spilled out from under the only door. Iniru scanned the room looking for her target. So many antiques cluttered the bedroom that she almost missed the small figure curled up on the massive bed, lying atop the covers.

  The Winter Child.

  Sleeping in a room with an open window. The people running this place were amateurs. Missions from the Sacred Codex just didn’t get any easier. This was a thousand times less dangerous than helping Turesobei recover the Storm Dragon’s Heart.

  Not that it made up for what the prophecy asked of her.

  She couldn’t think about it. She had a job to do. Nothing else mattered.

  Iniru slid through the window and padded over to the door. Regulate breathing, ease the lock into motion, move with patience … the bolt tucked into place without a click. From her belt, Iniru drew a sickle-bladed dagger. She crept up to the bed.

  Hair as white as snow fanned out on the pillow. A bare arm clutched a knitted rabbit doll. The Winter Child was eight years old. Her skin was ash grey like any zaboko’s, but her hair was white instead of black. A plump cheek twitched. She snuggled her knitted rabbit tight against her chest.

  One cut. Then this would be over. The prophecy fulfilled. The world a better place. Iniru could return home and forget this mission ever happened. Or try, at least.

  Why this child? Why today? It didn’t matter. One had faith the prophecies were correct, or one did not become a qengai.

  The blade trembled in Iniru’s hand. This was her purpose in life. She had no other. For twenty-three generations her family had kept the prophecies from their chapter of the Sacred Codex. The good book said this girl, the Winter Child, must die. So die she must.

  One swift cut — silent, painless.

  Iniru squeezed the dagger hilt tight.

  A tear streaked down her mask.

  A guard deep within the temple cried out an alarm. The girl woke. Her ice-blue eyes flew open.

  Iniru clamped a hand over the girl
’s mouth and glanced back at the door. The guard right outside drew his sword but didn’t enter.

  What in Torment was going on?

  Shoes clacked on the stone floors — more guards, rushing toward the room. The Winter Child tried to squirm away, but Iniru pressed her down. If she didn’t kill the child … disgrace … dishonor. Failure was one thing, but refusing the mission … the words of the prophecy in their chapter of the codex would turn crimson, and the clan would know. She would have no home to return to.

  “I’ve got to see this through.”

  With a sigh, the child sank down into the bed and closed her eyes. Iniru stopped breathing. Her muscles twitched. The blade touched the child’s skin.

  Bile rising, Iniru gasped and drew away.

  “I can’t — I can’t do it.”

  The Winter Child started to cry out, but Iniru shook her head. “Shh! Someone else is coming.”

  The guards in the hallway screamed and fell, gagging and coughing. Iniru’s nostrils flared. A sulfurous scent seeped in from under the door. She took a breath — pain, as if a clawed hand had gripped her lungs. She doubled over, stifling a cough.

  The door rattled, but the lock held.

  “They’re here!” the child whispered.

  An assassin holding a knife to the girl’s throat hadn’t scared her at all. But now her eyes were wide and wild with terror.

  “The ones from my nightmares have come. Help me — please.”

  The door rattled again.

  Iniru dashed into the corner, between an armoire and the door. She drew from a pocket the Talisman of the Unseen, a shard of onyx in the shape of an improbably thin woman. Her clan had stolen the artifact from the Keshuno centuries ago. She held the talisman in front of her face.

  I am not here. I cannot be heard. I am not here. I cannot be smelled. I am not here. I cannot be seen. Where I am, I do not know, but I am not here.

  She disappeared into the corner, perfectly camouflaged.

  The child chewed on the rabbit’s only remaining ear and wept.

  The door exploded, blasted off its hinges and split into pieces. Four of the tallest beings Iniru had ever seen strolled into the room. Her fur stood on end. Sorcerers … wraiths, maybe. They were baojendari, but with skin far paler than most, as if they had never been in the sun before. Bone-white hair hanging in greasy tangles framed their gaunt faces. They wore crimson robes belted at the waist. Kenja currents swirled around them. She hadn’t experienced anything that powerful before, except near Turesobei, and only after he had absorbed the Storm Dragon energy. This power, whatever it was, stank of blood magic and decay.

  The first … wraith … through the doorway had a tattoo of an eight-pointed star on his forehead. His mouth split into a gaping, toothless smile, save for a pair of fangs. Glee danced in his purple eyes. The second lifted her slender hands, long fingers splayed out. Tendrils of silken webs shot out from her fingertips and wrapped around the Winter Child. With eyes like those of a wolf, the third wraith stopped and looked right at Iniru. His nose and mouth elongated into a muzzle. Fur sprouted from his skin. He sniffed toward her then scowled at the fourth wraith. This one had a gaseous green haze dripping from his hands, and patches of mold dotted his sallow skin.

  The tattooed wraith towered over the girl.

  “It is time to fulfill your destiny, Winter Child. You will open the gate for us.”

  “What — what if I don’t?”

  The wraith chuckled. “I think you will find—”

  A commotion erupted in the hallway — armor clanging, the thudding footsteps of at least a dozen men. Orders were shouted.

  The wraiths turned, and the child mouthed at Iniru: “Help me!”

  The apparent leader touched the tattoo on his forehead and a matching iron amulet that hung from his neck. The air shimmered in the hallway, and eight more crimson-robed men appeared suddenly. They were identical to the leader, except for clawed hands and blank faces: no eyes, noses, or mouths.

  Iniru’s skin crawled, ruffling her fur.

  “Kill them,” he said.

  The copies marched out into the hall. Iniru waited for the sounds of fighting as the temple guards reached the top of the stairs. Instead, all she heard were screams. The female wraith jerked her webs and pulled the girl up on her feet.

  “Time to go.”

  The girl’s rabbit fell.

  “Boppy!”

  The leader picked up Boppy and gave it to her.

  “You see, I am not uncivilized. If you cooperate with us, child, you will become a powerful queen, the Queen of Winter. Millions and millions shall worship you. Anything you want shall be yours.”

  He reached a blanket out toward her.

  “I don’t get cold.”

  The leader, the poisoned one, and the spider departed. The wolf-eyed wraith hesitated. He glanced at the open window, frowned, and scanned the room. He looked right at Iniru and tilted his head.

  Her pulsed raced. She took deep, calming breaths, and emptied her mind of everything but the talisman mantra.

  Wolf-eyes shrugged and moved on.

  Minutes passed before she dared to move. She rushed to the window. In the courtyard, the leader touched his forehead, and the copies disappeared. With the girl in tow, they stalked away, heading deeper into the valley.

  Iniru collapsed against the windowsill. She couldn’t go home in disgrace. Whatever these wraiths were up to, they needed the child to do it. And it was bad. And whatever happened as a result would be her fault.

  Iniru clenched her fists. She had to finish this mission. She had to kill the Winter Child.

  Chapter One

  The cloudy sky turned scarlet, pink, and gold as the sun sank below distant, white-capped mountains. Fifteen-year-old Turesobei leaned his lanky frame against a lightning-splintered oak on a hill outside the small city of Ekaran in the highlands of Batsakun. He scratched the sigil on his cheek. Bad weather on the way. Not a cloud overhead, but he knew. He always knew now.

  The Mark of the Storm Dragon on his cheek, a lightning bolt spiking through a storm cloud in a circle of black, was a remnant of his battle over the Storm Dragon’s Heart six months ago. When he shattered the heart of the ancient dragon Naruwakiru and absorbed the energy released, it marked him with this magical tattoo. That’s why, on those rare occasions when he took a break from his studies, he always came here. If this tree could thrive after the strike, so could he.

  Heedless of his rich emerald pants, white linen shirt, and outer robe of steel-gray silk, he stretched out on the grass. A scabbarded sword and a pouch of bamboo spell strips lay beside him. With the amber kavaru hanging from a silver chain around his neck, he looked every inch a noble-born wizard’s apprentice.

  Staring at the horizon, he sighed with a touch of regret. It wasn’t this sunset that moved him, but the memory of a different sunset, a perfect sunset, and the extraordinary girl who had walked away into it.

  His backpack wiggled, the flap flopped open, and his diary flew out. Fluttering pages turned to fluttering bat wings. So much for a quiet rest. As big as a house cat and twice the trouble, Lu Bei was on the loose.

  The fetch, whose amber skin matched Turesobei’s energy-channeling kavaru, zoomed around Turesobei, then hovered in front of him. Mischief flickered in Lu Bei’s large black eyes. He grinned, revealing a set of tiny fangs, and stuck out his forked tongue.

  Turesobei rolled his eyes.

  In either fetch or book form, Lu Bei recorded everything Turesobei saw or heard. Chonda Lu, the founder of Turesobei’s clan, had created him over two thousand years ago, using the amber kavaru Turesobei now wore. Lu Bei retrieved spell books, spied around corners, and fixed cups of tea with herbs stolen from the neighbors’ gardens. He did it all in secret. Only Turesobei, his sister Enashoma, and his grandfather Kahenan knew about Lu Bei.

  From a tattered book, bound in polished leather with silver wire and embossed with strange runes, the fetch had appeared six months ago. He had h
ibernated in the Shadowland for centuries after the death of Chonda Lu, and was back because of some special destiny for Turesobei. Only Lu Bei had mistimed his return, so now he had to wait. What the destiny was, Turesobei had no idea. Every time Lu Bei started to talk about it, Turesobei passed out.

  Lu Bei zipped away and threw himself into the arms of Turesobei’s sister, Enashoma, who was walking up to them. He clutched her shoulders with his clawed hands and flicked his pronged tail back and forth happily.

  “Shoma!”

  She giggled. “How do you always know when I’m coming?”

  “Magic!”

  “The same way I knew,” Turesobei said.

  “And how is that?”

  “I detected your energy signature as you approached. I’ve been working on that.”

  “Master’s in a stinky mood today,” Lu Bei loudly whispered to Enashoma.

  Turesobei’s lips twitched into a smile. Enashoma leaned against the tree beside him. She came up to his shoulder now. He’d have sworn she grew an inch over the last week. She was going to be tall like him. She had turned fourteen five months ago, and had been insufferable ever since.

  Her smile faded into the sort of frown people give when they think you’re getting sick and it’s your own fault. What good humor he had left vanished.

  “Grandfather said he made you take the afternoon off. You okay?”

  “Fine. Lost in thought.”

  “He said you put up a fight.”

  “I’ve got a lot to do. He’s worrying for nothing.”

  Lu Bei wrapped his tail around one of tree’s lower limbs and hung over them.

  “You’re not supposed to be outside Ekaran without an escort,” Turesobei said to her. “Does Mother know you’re out here?”

  “Of course not,” she replied. “And you’re not going to tell her.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. How do you keep conning the guards at the Outer Gate into letting you out here?”