ALSO BY MICHELLE MUTO
NOVELS:
The Book of Lost Souls
Don’t Fear the Reaper
The Haunting Season
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS:
Nature’s Fifth Season
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Michelle Muto
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Skyscape, New York
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477849392
ISBN-10: 1477849394
Cover design by Cliff Nielsen
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014916804
In memory of my mother, who knew what it took.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Declan
I live here among them, waiting and watching. They do nothing now and have remained motionless for over a century, but I watch them all the same. We have come to an understanding, a mutual respect. I study them still, though I know more about them than most.
Before we settle into our story, I ask that the mortals among us come closer. Yes, that is much better.
A few of you have some knowledge of this place, for it is not so unlike other places you may have been. Shadow Wood is old, almost as old as I am. I have lived out the centuries here, although duties call me elsewhere from time to time. Most of these castles have fallen from the hands of kings and queens and have been turned into retreats or museums. Shadow Wood, however, remains privately owned, as it always must. I know you can understand the many reasons why. Shadow Wood is more than a mere castle; it is a sanctuary.
We shall talk more about the castle itself later, because that is not why we have gathered before firelight tonight, is it? Each of you came here to hear the tale, and so shall it be. But first, let me tell you more about them. Ah! They are magnificent in presence and in thought. You have seen them, hmm? Of course! How could you have missed them on your way in? You would be surprised how many people go on with the hustle of their daily lives without noticing a single one.
Amazing when you think all one has to do is look up! While those mortals living in the outside world may shudder or look upon these creatures with disgust, I see past that, straight to their inner beauty and purpose. Yes, I realize that trait is to be expected from me—I am their creator, after all. Among those I created was Praesus, the one with the power to unleash the others. That was hundreds of years ago, when mankind felt safer with the demon angels to watch over them, to protect them and their dwellings. Since then, the gargoyles have been cast in the stone images of humans, animals, and things beyond a sane mortal’s darkest imagination.
Humans know these creatures as grotesques or gargoyles; I know them as silent witnesses to the passing of mankind’s conscience and of time itself.
But that was long ago, when humans had a different sense of right and wrong. While I am not here to judge, the gargoyles are. They still judge by old standards, and there is no way of changing them.
I welcome all of you to Shadow Wood and wish you a most pleasant visit, but if you are to stay for long then there are things you must know. There are things here you will not find in the mortal world. Take care not to leave the path on your way back to your room. You might also find it best not to roam the halls alone at night.
Come. As it grows dark and the winds howl among the trees, the stone walls, and along the hallways, as the shadows grow thick with those who visit and live here, it is time to tell the tale.
CHAPTER ONE
Declan
“The killing will start soon. Without a sentinel, they’ll awaken,” Von Hiller said, a hint of alarm in his voice.
A wry smile crept across Declan’s lips. “Most unfortunate for some of the mortals.”
Von Hiller huffed, as if this were an understatement, but continued to walk toward the woods.
Even though both appeared to be in their midthirties, Declan was older than his friend, the warlock named Von Hiller. No one knew Declan’s exact age. No one dared to ask him. He had been at Shadow Wood for as long as the castle had stood—at least four hundred years. Von Hiller had lived there as caretaker a mere two hundred.
Up ahead, the wolves called to one another. The hunt had begun.
The pack elders had a head start, leaving the less experienced to follow the scent of the beast from behind. Their howls carried across the cool, early autumn air and into the open field where Declan and Von Hiller followed a few of the younger wolves into the woods.
Bright moonlight spilled gently over the dying grass behind them. At the woods’ entrance the open landscape gave way to an earthen path surrounded by craggy underbrush and gnarled trees. The glow cast upon the foliage and the hardened soil was cold, harsh, and as unforgiving as the nature of the woods where the prey sought refuge.
Refuge that Declan knew would not come. Not in these woods. Not from those who hunted it. He spoke quietly as they made their way along the path so as not to disrupt the hunt.
Nearly oblivious to the two men, a young wolf trotted alongside them, its amber eyes scanning the woods in heightened anticipation. Three more wolves darted in and out of the underbrush, ears alert and tongues panting almost rhythmically.
Although Declan often took walks with the wolves, he rarely attended their hunts. For the wolves, these were private and celebratory events. But tonight was different. There had not been a hunt such as this since Von Hiller had decided to take up residency at Shadow Wood.
Neither he nor Von Hiller appeared dressed for a hunt, much less a midnight stroll through the woods. Both wore long black overcoats, dark slacks, thick sweaters, and leather loafers.
“I had no choice,” Declan said regretfully. “I failed this sentinel, true. We all make mistakes, even here. Ages of lifelong experience do not become flawless wisdom.”
Von Hiller adjusted his coat collar, perhaps from the chilled air or from something unseen but felt. “Why choose mortals? Why not one of our own kind? Mortal life spans are far too short.”
“Because the gargoyles judge them. It is only fitting. Bes
ides, the sentinels might indeed be mortals, but they are not ordinary mortals.” Declan waved a hand in dismissal of such a thought. “When I chose the first mortals suitable enough to become sentinels, I gave them a strong allegiance to our world. That is in their lineage, passed from one generation to the next. This way, our world remains secretive.”
“The job of sentinel is hereditary?” Von Hiller asked.
Declan contemplated the question and decided on the less complex answer. “Think of it like racehorses. They might all be thoroughbreds, but not every one of them is meant to race. With sentinels, it is only a select few.”
A low-lying branch lifted on its own, the limb creaking slightly as it bent upward, allowing them to walk underneath without ducking their heads. The wolf walking closest to them gave the branch a cautious glance as it kept pace.
Von Hiller rubbed his chin. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Another wolf stood in the path ahead, sniffing the ground. Declan and Von Hiller slowed to give the animal space. It sped off again in the direction of another howl and the snapping of twigs. There were few things the wolves loved more than a hunt.
“Ironic in that mortals control the gargoyles when the gargoyles were meant to protect humans? Yes, I suppose,” Declan agreed. To an extent, the mortal race was so certain of their strengths. They believed they could conquer all. But mankind, arrogant in so many ways, had proven they were blind to their weaknesses. He had tried to help them, and it had cost him dearly.
Von Hiller gave him a troubled glance. Declan supposed that such show of emotion was unusual. Declan had always prided himself on his ability to stay calm and collected under all circumstances. But Von Hiller understood him. He had been there when Declan’s anguish over the loss of his wife had been nearly unbearable. Von Hiller counseled, but he had never told anyone else about those dark times. Small wonder Declan trusted the warlock above all others.
Von Hiller’s face grew taut, as if the sentinels’ lineage was more than he wanted to know. Through the ages, he had remained apart from the affairs of Declan and his much-loved gargoyles and, therefore, never understood much about them. This time, however, he had reluctantly agreed to assist in acquiring a new sentinel.
They continued on, deeper into the woods, the towering brownstone castle no longer visible through the canopy of trees. A single wolf remained close now. The others had joined the hunt.
“The current sentinel decided on death, then?” Von Hiller asked.
“Indeed,” Declan replied, careful not to react one way or the other.
Von Hiller shook his head in disbelief.
Several howls echoed ahead of them, closer than before. More wolves joined in the chorus, their serenade filling the night. While the circumstances of the hunt might be grim, the sound was hauntingly beautiful.
A violent thrashing erupted from the underbrush. While neither Declan nor Von Hiller had the wolves’ night vision and had yet to catch a glimpse of the beast the wolves hunted, they both were aware that the prey had circled back. More howls and several low-pitched growls echoed around them. They were not far now—a clearing loomed ahead where several wolves were closing in on their quarry.
“And the gentleman arriving tomorrow will take over as the new sentinel?” Von Hiller asked, stepping across a fallen sapling.
“Ian?” Declan replied. “No. He is a guest.”
“If not Ian, then who?”
“The gargoyles have chosen a woman. And she is already here, more or less.” With a wave of Declan’s hand, a log lying across the path vanished as he made his way into the clearing.
“A woman?” Von Hiller sounded bewildered.
Declan nodded slowly. “There is a woman who walks the halls—for about a week now. Ian, our mortal guest, will aid us.”
“Ah! Interesting choice. As for Ian . . .” Von Hiller shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Forgive me, but never before have you invited a human, a mortal, to Shadow Wood without him becoming one of us. What will happen to him if he isn’t to be a sentinel?” Von Hiller’s worried gaze darted ahead to where the wolves circled their prey.
A thin smile crossed Declan’s lips. “As the future reveals its secrets to no one, I can only offer my influence. I believe there is something else in store for Ian. Although he is not you, I do consider him a friend.”
Von Hiller raised an eyebrow.
“Everyone has a story in life. Ian has an integral part in all this, but hopefully not as sentinel,” Declan said. “And do not worry. This woman is strong-willed. You know how the gargoyles appreciate such a quality. Unfortunately, she may yet prove too unyielding, if not elusive. Time will tell.”
Declan was careful not to let any sign of suspicion show on his face, for his thoughts were just that—speculative. His powers were immense, but not perfect; his knowledge was vast, but like any long-lived being in the Netherworld, he understood that the future could not be controlled and seldom took counsel from anyone. Even as wise and powerful as he was, it would be impossible to foresee everything, Lord of the Netherworld or not. But it did not take powers to make an educated guess. That came from experience. Von Hiller’s eyes held questions, but like most of those who stayed at Shadow Wood, Von Hiller understood some questions were best not asked.
The wolves cornered their prey in a thicket not far from the men. The two largest of the pack circled the beast, muscles taut, ready for the kill. The other wolves crouched nearby, their eyes shining and tails twitching. The prey could not face both wolves at the same time; the tall gray male darted in, sinking his teeth deep into the beast’s flanks. The wounded creature wheeled to face its attacker, squealing in pain and fury. The second wolf, a female, lunged, biting the beast on the base of the skull. The beast screamed louder this time, more in panic than anger. Then it fell silent, and for a moment the forest fell silent with it.
“It is done,” Von Hiller said as they approached the kill. The smell of the beast permeated the air, and he grimaced as the creature came into view. Blood streamed from the shredded remnants of the animal’s neck. Already the wolves had begun to feed.
“Our world overwhelmed him,” Declan said, watching the wolves with none of Von Hiller’s revulsion. “I thought this one was ready. Pity. The gargoyles have at least chosen a more resilient one in the woman. I would not have asked the wolf pack to accompany her on her walks if I did not agree. She seems strong, but when the shadows grow long, the grounds are rather treacherous for those unaccustomed to them.”
“Walk with her? You mean if and when she becomes the next sentinel.” Von Hiller slowed, letting Declan move ahead. The warlock clearly was not eager to get any closer to the dead beast or the hungry wolves. On nights like these, Von Hiller undoubtedly preferred to be in his chamber, drinking warm tea and perhaps going over an incantation or two.
“Yes. If and when,” Declan acknowledged.
Von Hiller shuddered slightly and regarded the woods around them apprehensively.
“This sentinel made a choice,” Declan said.
Declan studied his friend, who remained silent and contemplative.
“Yes, yes. I know,” Declan said at last as he regarded the same stretch of woods. “Do not fret about Ian. There is room for him yet. If the idea of becoming a sentinel does not suit her, perhaps we can convince Ian—and the gargoyles—that he would be a satisfactory choice. From there, it will take him some time to accept things—to see them for what they are.”
“You haven’t told him why he’s been invited? What we’re asking, for him to decide his entire life before he leaves here . . .” Von Hiller’s voice faltered, but Declan said nothing.
“You’re certain he won’t share this poor soul’s fate?” Von Hiller stole another pained glance at the feasting wolves.
Declan watched the wolves tear at the beast. A female black wolf appeared alongside him and whined. He bent and stroked her glistening fur as tenderly as a devoted master might bestow affection on a beloved dog.
Von Hiller smiled and raised an eyebrow, questioning.
“No, of course not! I do not meddle in such things,” Declan scoffed.
Von Hiller scratched his chin. “All this time, I’ve always wondered, why did you make it so the gargoyles couldn’t tell you what they were thinking directly?”
Declan sighed. “Oh, they can. But why? They must bond with the sentinel above all. Besides, how do you fully understand your creator?”
The warlock’s expression turned from thoughtful consideration to concern. He nodded solemnly. “I suppose you can’t.”
“All is not as bad as it seems,” Declan assured him. “This last sentinel made a real effort when he realized the consequences. But in his mind, his soul, he could not adapt to our world. I changed him into something else so he would not remember his life prior to coming here. Besides, the wolves needed the hunt to welcome our Sara back.” He patted the wolf on the shoulder, and she reciprocated by licking his hand before trotting off to join the others.
The wolves made room for the newcomer, one eagerly licking her black-furred muzzle. The larger ones—the elders—kept feeding, easily ripping chunks of flesh from the beast and devouring them in quick gulps.
The two men watched as the hungry pack shredded flesh from bone. Both knew that what they had just witnessed would be nothing in comparison to the events to come. The warlock’s eyes closed as he gently nodded, his face tightening in anguish at the thought of it all.
Declan kept his attention on the feasting wolves without such reflection. “Their mortal world could use a little culling. But you have been a good friend, Emmerich, so I will tell you what I know will happen and what I suspect will happen.”
Of Shadow and Stone Page 1
