by R. T. Donlon
Contents
Title Page
Other R.T. Donlon Novels
Copyright
Dedication
Portizu Tribelands
Character Index
Darkness Beneath the Dying Light
Prologue
Kyrah of the North (Present)
Touched (Before)
Secrets Told To Keep (Present)
Dark Control (Before)
The Great Hunt (Present)
Flame and Pyre (Before)
Ceremony Elite (Present)
God-Strength (Before)
The Killing Floor (Present)
Pain (Before)
One of Our Own (Present)
The Wall (Present)
Rose Petals (Before)
The Shadow and the Tree (Present)
Epilogue
Kyrah Will Return. The City of Shadows Awaits...
Darkness Beneath the Dying Light
Book 2 of the City of Shadow & Dust Series
A Novel by R.T. Donlon
Other Novels by R.T. Donlon
More Free Writing at www.rtdonlon.com
Walls
Henry Walters has set his mind on a return to the overrun, quarantined city of Boston to find his girlfriend. To Henry, rescuing her may seem as momentous as a zombie tale can get, but he will soon discover that there is much more to his story than outrunning the Dead. A greater evil lurks and will attempt to change the world for the worst.
The Reaper Trials
Vy Black has been cursed from the beginning. Even from the time of his birth, his hometown has originated a deadly plague that kills entire populations, destroying the place and the people he has come to love. Now, in order to save the world, he must enter the Reaper Trials to convince the Dark One why humanity should be saved from extinction.
The Edge of a New Beginning
Book 1 of the City of Shadow & Dust Series
The Shadows are real. They are in hiding, but they are out there. The Ix’a Elders have trained scouts from centuries to eliminate enemies of the Light and now, the new generation of Ix’a students have accepted the Rite, including Lider York, who has accepted it early—too early. There are rumors that he is something more than just an orphan boy—something dangerous—and, when the Elders begin threatening him in the Tests, he begins to believe it himself.
Kingdom Flare is sick. A maddening disease has spread and, even worse, it has taken control of the King. At the edge of town, a girl in the brothel possesses extraordinary gifts, but she is not happy. She aches to leave. One day she will find the courage to do just that and, when she does, she vows that the Great Range will finally know her name. Everyone will know the name of Tae Jean.
Copyright © 2017 R.T. Donlon
All rights reserved.
All characters, events, and actions presented in this novel are purely fictional.
Any connection to real persons, places, or actions are coincidental.
Cover Design: Creative Edge Arts
ISBN-13: 978-1979588560
ISBN-10: 1979588562
To the people who show me what real patience is.
This one’s for you, Mom and Dad.
Everything changes, except for family.
The City of Shadow & Dust Character Index
The Portizu Characters (See Map)
The Northern Lands
Kyrah Laeth - Girl Warrior of the Northern Lands
Jae Laeth - Father of Kyrah Laeth
Taris Laeth - Deceased Mother of Kyrah Laeth
Velc Tahjir - Warrior Elite of Portizu Tribes
Jeras Laeth - Uncle of Kyrah Laeth, Leader of the Northern Tribe
Shara Laeth - Aunt of Kyrah Laeth
Salo Geru - Healer of the Northern Lands’ Tribe
Razz Braida - Boy Warrior of the Northern Lands
Reana Sill - Girl Warrior of the Northern Lands
Dersx Corss - Warrior of the Northern Lands
Taela Kreval - Warrior of the Northern Lands
The Highlands
Chieftain Al-We Ultara - Political Leader of all Portizu Tribes
Curala Shuth - The Right Arm of the Chieftain
Merasda Trena - Lead Strategist of the Chieftain
Axile Annie - Master of Portizu Rituals
Relu Berauda - Lauded Warrior of Portizu Past
Chieftain Arydyn Zazana - Respected Chieftain of the Relu Age
Jennison Fairtherre - Diplomat of the Light City of the Relu Age
The Flatlands
Ursel Finnil - Master Hunter Turned Mercenary
The Jungle Territories
Drice Dranick - Master Spearman
The Mountain Lands
Latvala Simmelo - Former Master Archer of the Mountains
Fenir Alterre - Master Archer of the Mountains
Tyrrine Actuano - Leader of the Lost Warriors
Leaders of the Great Range
King Traysin Altruit - Ruler of All Light
King Olich Remundicus - Ruler of Kingdom Flare
Markiss Yendo - Leader of the Brack Clan
Master Tilus Leridian - Former Master of the Ix’a Elders
Solomon Harke - Ruler of the Plague Lands
Chieftain Al-We Ultara - See above (Highlands)
The Ix’a Compound and Light City Characters - (Book 1)
Lider York - Prophet of the Ruganon and Ix’a Scout
Master Tauren Harmon - Master of the Ix’a Elders
Renay Orbi - Ix’a Scout
Tae Jean - Mistress Escapee of Kingdom Flare
King Traysin Altruit - Ruler of All Light
Names of Myth and History
Brax the Finisher - King and Ruler of the Shadows
Xan - God of Death
Turisic - God of Pain
Mirioda - God of Anger
Albrien - God of Light
Saichan - Goddess of Energy
Zynt - God of the Unwanted
Nuhwa - God of Peace
DARKNESS BENEATH THE DYING LIGHT
PROLOGUE
You are the Prophet, the voice in his head spoke, and through you I shall be free.
Ari of the Sha huddled against the base of a weathered tree, shielding himself from violent winds and sideways rain. It was midday, but the sky was as black as midnight in winter. He attempted to open his eyes against the storm, but he could see nothing. The Dark not only blanketed the land, but suffocated it. Ari buckled against the shivers racking his frame, muscles clenched to find any semblance of heat within himself.
With me you shall find endless power, the voice continued. It will not be easy, but you will never feel like this again.
Beyond the rustling of a violent wind through trees ahead of him, a single light poked through the branches. It was nothing more than a shimmer immersed in black, but it caught Ari’s squinting eyes for the briefest of moments.
“A house!” Ari cried. “In the distance!”
Not any house, the voice explained. It was your home.
The light flickered away, dimming until it could no longer be seen. Another wave of shivers nearly sent the boy into fits.
Your mother and father—
“Do not talk about them,” Ari spoke through gritted teeth.
The pain behind those words seemed both undeniable and inconsequential simultaneously. When it came to the loss of his parents, he had no words to offer.
What happened with your parents is not your fault, the voice continued. You must understand that.
Ari took a deep, controlled breath. The pelting rain and violent winds had yet to let up, but he sensed a swirling calm unraveling at the center of his chest. He allowed himself to lean against the conjoine
d roots of the tree for more shield, huddled uncomfortably against his upturned knees.
“Can you bring them back?” Ari asked. “Can you bring back my parents?”
The voice in his head faltered.
I have the ability to do many things, the voice spoke, but I cannot do that.
“Cannot,” Ari whispered, “or will not?”
Again, the voice faltered in his mind.
Some things are meant to stay as they are.
Ari suddenly found it hard to breathe. The whip of wind and rain had soaked every inch of him now and had only increased against the ever-deepening Darkness. Cold zeroed him to his core and had already begun numbing his fingers and feet.
“I have nowhere to go,” Ari said. “When I die, no one will know my name.”
The last threads of the boy’s strength snapped. He had reached a breaking point—one that closed his weary eyes, settled his racing heart, and quieted his choppy breathing. The cold embraced him as though he were a forgotten friend once again found. He no longer possessed the strength to fight its bite.
You are right, the voice said. If you choose to die here, no one will know your name.
The boy could feel the knot in his chest bind tighter, wrap into a bundle of death threatening his very existence, his very consciousness. It was getting harder to hear the monster’s voice from the depths of his thoughts.
“Choose?” Ari whispered. “There is no choice here.”
There is always a choice. Choose to accept your fate…or choose to die.
The beating of his heart grew fainter. He had only seconds left.
“How can anyone possibly choose between Darkness and death?”
You have seen what comes next. You have seen what the Shadows will do. Sometimes death is the only thing that can give birth to new life.
The breath in his lungs failed him with every passing word. If he did not speak now, he never would.
“I—” he wheezed, “—accept.”
His heart quickened, embraced by the heat of an inner spark. The warmth broke the pain of his harsh breathing rattling up through his throat and relaxed the chill from his muscles. The rain continued its lashing, but it no longer affected the boy.
“It is you,” Ari said. “The warmth inside of me…it’s you.”
You will never again be alone. I will always be here, with you. You have accepted your fate. You and I are now one. What happens to you, happens to me.
The warmth in his chest resonated through the rest of his body. A vibrating force shook his muscles, tingled the surface of his skin.
“I was dying,” Ari whispered. “I was moments from—”
I know you cannot understand, but you will. One day…you will.
The shimmer of lamplight in the far distance appeared once more, dancing among the raindrops. For an instant, Ari remembered his past life—falling asleep against his mother’s shoulder, his father reading the yellow-worn pages of a leather-bound book next to a glowing fire. But those memories only lasted for the briefest of moments. The dread of his new life—the fate of his acceptance—came rushing forward.
The old you has died, the voice said, but the new you? He’s just getting started.
The dread lurked inside his thoughts, but a sort of excitement lived there, as well.
“Someday,” his mother had told him, “you will be a man known to the entire world. You will be a man of legacy.”
He had always disregarded his mother’s words as bias—nothing more than a mother’s affection for her own blood—but the monster had changed that. The Ruganon had changed all of it.
What I am asking you to do, the voice continued, you cannot do alone. We must find the others.
“The others? There are more of me?”
The voice scoffed at the boy’s naivety, then answered.
No, silly boy. There is only one like you, but the Prophet needs his followers. A leader always rallies his soldiers.
Followers. Soldiers. The Prophet.
Ari of the Sha—Prophet of the Ruganon. It had a ring to it, he had to admit.
Blankets of rain pulsed even heavier across the land as if on cue. The road under Ari’s feet sunk into pockets of washed away dirt and rivulets of swirling water. He followed the road as if it led somewhere already known to him.
“So, where to now?” Ari asked.
To the South, the voice continued. We must find the one who will keep you safe from the Shadows.
“Who?” the boy asked.
She waits for us, the monster said. The Shadow Warrior.
KYRAH OF THE NORTH (PRESENT)
Every night the dreams returned.
And every day they haunted her.
She couldn’t escape them, even if she tried. The same images surfaced behind her sleeping eyes, forcing her to replay them again and again until she awoke in a bath of her own sweat, gasping for breath against the pounding of her heart. Her mind seemed to be betraying her more and more as of late, which worried her, but she woke from her nightmares, shook them away as she was taught to do, and calmed herself by falling back against the straw of her of pillow. The humming of the jungle helped her relax—even daze off into a sort of lucid daydream—but she would never fall back asleep—never—not until the next day’s end, when she would repeat the process once again.
“The stars are most beautiful at this time of morning, aren’t they?” spoke a deepening voice from behind her.
She knew who it was. The sound of his voice comforted her in ways that most could not imagine.
“I can’t sleep,” confessed Kyrah, although she understood that he already knew.
“I used to have the same problem,” said the man. He wrapped an arm around his daughter in a comforting, familial embrace. “Every night before a hunt, I’d toss and turn until I surrendered to it. I’d let the night take me away into the stars. I would just let myself be.”
“Like father, like daughter, I suppose,” said Kyrah.
A thin smile broke from the corners of her mouth as she fingered the amulet around her neck. Whenever he was around, she found herself reaching for it, like a natural reflex. The porous rock felt rough against her skin and heavy against the chain, but it was a family gift—one that she could never part with. It literally held her life in its fragile little frame.
Like all of the other Portizu warriors, Kyrah had been trained to suppress her emotions from a very young age, but even so, her father seemed to bring out the hidden comfort in her. It felt warm to smile in his presence, so she did.
Her black hair fell to the center of her shoulder blades in one coarse braid. It had been pulled so tight that not a single stray hair emerged from her scalp. Her skin had the hue of roasted almonds freshly baked, drenched in sunlight. It seemed to change at night against the canvas of moon and starlight, but even then, in the pale hollowness of the moon’s sheen, her complexion resembled something soft, like the color of molasses running from a jar.
Her jawline sat rigidly against her heightened cheekbones, stretching the space of her mouth into lips that had not seen a laugh in years. Her eyes complemented the stern chin and rigid mouth with their own cold appearance, but it was more than that. A fire burned there, more so than any other part of her. From the shoulders down, her limbs and torso were objects of athletic beauty—muscles roped around bone, flexing against a warrior’s frame with every movement. Even among her own people, warriors envied that sort of physical prowess.
“This isn’t about the Hunt tomorrow, Father,” continued Kyrah.
Her father, unwavering, lowered his eyes from the sky, counted his breaths until he reached five.
“The dreams?” he asked.
Kyrah turned to him with direct eye contact.
“The dreams.”
Her father turned away, staring into the dark jungle, processing.
“The gods are trying to tell you something,” he began. “If it’s recurring, it must be important. It must be something you will hold in gr
eat regard.”
It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Why would the gods be speaking to her? Which god? Turisic? Albrien? Nothing seemed to fit into the puzzle of her sleepless nights. Yet, here she was, hoping to make something of it all—fit those pieces together perfectly in her mind.
“Keep your eyes open, Kyrah,” her father continued. “Never be complacent.”
Something clicked in her chest as it did sometimes in moments of significant stress, but this was not one of those times. It clicked again, then for a third time before she raised a hand to the amulet hanging from a chain around her neck. The pain within it was clear, definitely powerful, but still incredibly distant. Each click pushed like the tip of a dagger ever so slightly against her skin.
She must have grimaced only slightly because her father inconspicuously furrowed his brow. The expression vanished as quickly as the wind disperses.
“The amulet pains you,” he spoke. “It’s in the way you hold it. Sooner or later, you will have to learn to live without its powers.”
Kyrah ignored her father’s words. She held the amulet between index finger and thumb, rolling it there as if it were a charm.
“You should feel no shame in keeping the amulet close,” her father continued, “but Velc is right. The attar metal will only keep you from harm for so long.”
Hearing the same rationale for most of her life had exhausted her beyond the scope of her abilities. When she chose not to answer, her father shifted his gaze outward to the jungle. He focused, dropping slightly into traji—the calming meditation.
