Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  My cheeks grew warm. “I… he is?”

  She nodded. “Indeed. Seek him out. Trust him. Together, you will all know what to do.”

  “Hey!” called Dad, standing by the ship’s exit. “Aren’t you coming, Alex?”

  “I’ll be right there!” I called.

  “Hurry up. It’s beautiful!” he hollered, his voice breaking, almost as if he was on the verge of crying. “It’s… unbelievable!”

  “Go,” she whispered. “Don’t wait for me.”

  “I can wait. It’s okay.”

  “Nonsense. In fact, this is as far as I’m going, I think.”

  “What? Aren’t you coming?”

  She shook her head. “Actually, no. I don’t deserve to be here. None of my kind do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Honey, this place… Planet Z, as you call it… was never meant for the Cylf.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I said, feeling suddenly very anxious.

  She chose her words carefully. “Almost twenty years ago, your home planet was invaded by… by my species. The Cylf. They killed most of you and the remaining survivors were whisked away to our planet. To become… hosts. Basically, so that our kind could live forever.”

  My mouth dropped in horror. What she was saying sounded preposterous, but insanely, I believed every word of it.

  “What exactly do you mean by ‘hosts’?”

  “When our bodies wear out, we can discard them. Like an old pair of shoes. You were brought to our planet to replace our bodies when needed.”

  “Wait a second. We were brought to your planet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yours,” I repeated, unable to believe it.

  “It’s called Celtophor and is located in the Andromeda Galaxy.”

  My eyes widened. “I thought that we were headed to the Andromeda Galaxy.”

  “Another lie.”

  “That’s crazy in itself but, honestly, wouldn’t my parents know that they’ve been living on the wrong planet?”

  “When they first left the planet, they both knew. Your parents were being controlled by the Cylf, in one way or another. Your mom actually hosted the queen.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  Dorey smiled grimly. “She did, but you made a deal with her, and the queen found a new host.”

  “I made a deal with the queen of the Cylf?” I grunted. “I guess I don’t recall that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her eyes shining. “And I don’t blame you.”

  “What kind of a deal did I make?” I asked, searching her face. She looked like she was about to cry.

  “You saved your family. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I wish I could remember,” I said, rubbing my forehead.

  “Nobody remembers. In fact, both of your parents had their memories erased after you made the deal with the queen. Just like everyone else, their memories were scrubbed and re-wired to believe that you’d left Earth to save all of mankind.”

  “Why didn’t the queen just keep us on Earth to begin with? Wouldn’t that have been so much easier?”

  “She wasn’t ready to give up her planet, even though, as you’ve probably noticed, it’s not an ideal place for human beings to thrive.”

  I frowned. “But, the history books? The pictures in the archives? Everything looks so similar as to what we’ve read and learned about. ”

  “It’s true, some of it is similar.” She touched my arm. “But, believe me, when you step off of this ship, things will become so much clearer. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  I waved my thumb toward the doorway. “Why are we even back here then? If the queen wanted to stay on her planet why would she drag all of us back to Earth?”

  “Because she finally conceded to the fact that our planet is toxic to you. She had no choice.”

  I didn’t know what to think about this. It seemed way too over-the-top. It all did. And yet, my gut told me that she was right. “Why all of the lies about this mission?”

  “She thought it would be easier to control humanity this way. She didn’t want a revolution, but, in the end, she got one anyway.”

  “Alex!” hollered my Dad once more.

  “Go,” said Dorey, smiling. “This is your home, Alex. Your real home. Go and enjoy it.”

  I felt like I was in a cloud as I shoved the flash-drive into my pocket. It was then that I found a second one inside of the liner and more images flashed through my mind. Hamilton, Maelshuck, Dorey, the queen. Blayze. Everything was beginning to fall into place.

  “Isn’t she coming?” asked Dad as I stopped next to him.

  “No,” I whispered, staring in awe at the view before me. It was breathtaking.

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I replied, drinking it all in. “It’s… stunning.”

  “Take a deep breath,” he said as the wind blew my hair across my face.

  I inhaled, filling my lungs with fresh, clean air and smiled.

  “Come on,” he laughed, grabbing my hand.

  Our ship had landed in a field of tall, green grass, and wildflowers so vibrant, that they made my eyes water. There were mountains in the distance and trees so colossal, that they seemed to touch the clouds. I’d never seen anything so magical.

  “Are we dreaming?” I said, smiling in wonder as two black and yellow butterflies fluttered near my dad’s knees.

  “No. This is real, Alex. I have to admit, though, this has exceeded even my expectations. Wow, would you look at how blue the sky is,” he said, raising his face toward it. He closed his eyes and smiled. “You can feel the warmth from that giant star shining down on us. Doesn’t it feel amazing?”

  “It’s the sun,” I said, bending down. I plucked a flower with yellow petals and brought it to my face.

  “The sun?” repeated Dad. “Maybe we should come up with something more original.”

  “Alex!”

  I turned toward the ship and standing at the entrance was Blayze Watkins. I raised my hand and waved.

  “I didn’t know that you knew him,” said Dad, as Blayze began walking toward me. “That’s Hamilton’s nephew.”

  My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest as Blayze began walking toward us, his smile almost as bright as the sun itself. “So, I’ve heard. Apparently,” I smiled, “we’ve met more than once.”

  And have had more than one first kiss…

  * * *

  The End

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Kristen Middleton had published over twenty-nine books since 2011. She also writes under the pen names of K.L. Middleton and Cassie Alexandra.

  Read more from Kristen and don’t forget to sign up for the newsletter to learn about her new releases and special sales.

  * * *

  Amazon Author Page

  www.kristenmiddleton.com

  The Magicker’s Daughter

  Aaron Hodges

  The Magicker’s Daughter © copyright 2017 Aaron Hodges

  * * *

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Part I

  Ala
stair drew in a long breath as he topped the rise and looked out across the grassy plains. A weary smile tugged at his lips as his eyes swept the horizon, taking in the slopes that would lead him down to prairies. They stretched out as far as the eye could see, the scorched brown grass stained red in the glow of the setting sun.

  He would not have to venture far though. Away to his right, a grove of beech trees stretched down the valley, leading down to the dry slopes below. Amidst the trees, barely visible through the thin green leaves, the shale roof of a cottage could be seen. It sat nestled in the crook of the foothills, hidden to all but the keenest eyes. The faint waft of smoke above the treetops was the only sign of occupation.

  Rolling his head, Alastair reached up and massaged the knot from his neck. Turning his eyes back to the path, he began to pick his way down the slope, eager to finally reach the end of his journey. Tussock grass grew in patches from the hard ground, spreading their thorny tendrils across the path. With the dust and loose rocks, the way was becoming treacherous. He made a mental note to remind his daughter to send the goat herd up before he left.

  Still, Alastair had passed this way many times, and it did not take him long to reach the grove of trees. He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the shade. Despite the late hour, the dry summer heat had long since drained the moisture from his skin. The long trek over the mountains offered no trees or shade, only the billowing wind and unrelenting sun.

  Taking a final swig from his waterskin, Alastair pressed on through the trees. It had been weeks since he’d last visited his daughter, and he was late. Thinking of the scolding he would receive when he arrived, he couldn’t help but smile. Her mother was much the same, though she had never been drawn to the wilderness like Margaret. Even as a child, their daughter had never been at home in the city. She had been far happier since moving to this remote piece of land.

  Still, Alastair couldn’t help but worry for her. He had trained her well, and knew she could handle herself. But she had not inherited his magic, and without it, she was vulnerable. Especially if his enemies ever found her.

  Within the trees, Alastair was relieved to see the way here at least was clear of overgrowth. While the path was steep, steps had been carved into the side of the mountain, and it was only a few minutes before he found himself outside his daughter’s front door. Reaching up, he gave a sharp knock on the thick wood, then stepped back to peer through the windows.

  He frowned when he saw the lanterns were unlit, a touch of worry tingling in his stomach. It was not unlike her to remain out until sunset, but he had thought to have found her waiting for him. She had known he would arrive today, that he wouldn’t be delayed too long.

  After all, tomorrow was her birthday.

  Looking around, he studied the forest surrounding the cottage. He squinted in the growing gloom, cursing the passage of time and his aging eyes. As they finally adjusted to the twilight, he began to see what he had first missed. The branches of the trees surrounding the house were torn and broken, while hoof marks spotted the dusty ground. It looked as though at least a dozen men had rode into the grove.

  Cursing Alastair spun back to face the door. Raising an arm, he concentrated on the heavy wood and unleashed the locks within his mind. Pressure built inside his skull, throbbing to the beat of his heart. Controlling his breath, Alastair allowed it to spread, until the energy filled him, begging to be unleashed.

  Gritting his teeth, Alastair clenched his fist and unleashed his power. A surge of energy raced down his arm and exploded outwards. He felt it go, then heard the groan of the heavy wood. It grew to a shriek, then a roar, as an invisible force tore the door from its hinges and hurled it backwards into the house.

  Alastair strode forward through the wreckage, his short sword already drawn, magic bubbling in his outstretched arm. He clenched both tight, though a voice shrieked within to unleash his power, to tear the house apart until he found her. But he pushed it down, knowing he could not allow his emotion free reign.

  His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom now, flicking over the empty corners of the entranceway, searching desperately for sign of life. With each footstep his panic grew, wrapping his chest in a fist of iron. Raising his empty hand, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow and pressed on.

  Long minutes passed as he made his way through each room, searching with slow, painstaking care for any sign of disturbance. But the place was empty, untouched by anyone but his daughter. Whoever had been outside had not made it past the front door.

  By the time he came to the last room, he knew the cottage was empty. Standing in the kitchen, Alastair lowered his hands to the wooden counter and gripped it hard. The action steadied him as he sucked in a long, shuddering breath. The white-hot heat of his magic rose within him, tearing at the bounds of his consciousness. He shuddered, teetering on the edge of control, the magic wrapping about him, ready to hurl him into the abys.

  Then he released his breath, and pushed back the demon. The white heat retreated, falling back to the tranquil pool in his centre.

  Not today, he whispered in the silence of his mind.

  Even so, fear still gripped him – fear for the daughter he and his wife had born twenty years ago. It was here in this kitchen he often found her after the long journey through the mountains, slaving over a pot of food that could easily have served a small family. Despite her lack of magic, she seemed to possess a sixth sense on when he would visit – he had long ago given up trying to surprise her. He had been looking forward to seeing her, to recounting his tales of the past few weeks, and her mother’s fears for her. It was in those times he felt most alive, most connected with life.

  A groan rose from deep in his chest, his anger rising to quill the fear. Looking around the cottage, he saw it in a new light. They had not made it inside. Something had drawn them away from the cottage before they could enter. There was no sign of struggle or resistance – and with his daughter, that could mean only one thing.

  Knowing she was outnumbered, Margaret had chosen to flee rather than stand and fight.

  Gathering his wits, Alastair strode out through the ruined doorway, silently praying Margaret would have a chance to scowl at him over the damage. He would gladly spend a week repairing it, if it meant finding her alive and well.

  At the rear of the house he found tracks leading away through the trees. The heavy boots of the raiders had obliterated any sign of his daughters passage, but they would not have left the house untouched unless it was in pursuit of her.

  Sucking in a breath, Alastair began to run.

  Part II

  Alan whistled a short tune to himself as he climbed the steep slopes, taking care to plot his path between the boulders and spikey tussock grass before making his next move. There was no path to follow, but he could see his destination now, just a hundred yards above. The pass was little more than a thin crack through the sheer rock walls of the Sandstone Peaks, but for a single traveller it took days off the journey between Lonia and Trola.

  Finishing his tune, Alan searched for another as he staggered up the last few yards. Despite his youth, his head was beginning to swim in the thin air, and he was looking forward to a rest before descending into Trola to the town of Westdale.

  He grinned as he moved beneath the shade of the rocky walls, closing his eyes and savouring the cool air. The pass was thin – only three men could stand at the entrance, and it quickly narrowed as you pressed farther in. The cliffs on either side stretched up almost thirty feet high, and would be all but unclimbable without equipment.

  Taking a seat at the entrance to the pass, Alan reached up and detached his war hammer, kanker, from its strap and laid it beside him. He had been walking since early morning, and despite his fondness for the weapon, its ten pounds of steel had grown heavy on the long climb.

  Dropping his bag beside the hammer, Alan reached inside and rummaged through his clothes, until finally his hand found the dried jerky and his waterskin. With a long sigh he leaned b
ack against the sheer rock and took a swing. Scratching his wiry beard, he looked out across the plains below.

  The scholars back in Lon told him the pass towered almost 10,000 feet above the ocean. He didn’t know how they could have measured such a thing, but he knew that in all his thirty years, he had yet to see a sight to match this one. Below a patchwork of boulders dotted the tussock slope, worn smooth by the passage of time and ancient blocks of ice that had once covered these mountains. A thousand feet below, the steep slope eventually gave way to a patchwork of rolling hills, brown with the summer’s drought. Groves of trees dotted the landscape, growing denser as the hills shrank into the distance, until they finally gave way to the flood plains of eastern Lon.

  Home, the thought warmed Alan.

  Sitting there, high in the mountains, pride warmed his chest. The nation of Lon spanned everything he could see below, all the way to the oceans in the east, and as far south as the Hall River, which marked the border with Plorsea. But Lon’s history stretched back far longer than its youthful neighbour in the south, to a time before the coming of the Gods. To darker times, when they had been the ancient enemy to Trola, locked in the conflict known now only as the Great War. For decades the two nations had fought, and their hatred had brought humanity to its very knees. Only the coming of the Gods had saved them, had brought them back from the brink of self-destruction.

  But today, all Alan cared for was the freedom of the mountains. He was just happy he’d made the pass before noon. It meant that, with luck, he could make Westdale by sunset. The thought warmed him, knowing he would not have to spend another cold night sleeping on the rocky ground.

  Even so, the sight of his nation laid out beneath him filled him with pride; that he was a soldier of Lon, tasked with the ancient duty to protect this land. It made the thought of his return in a few weeks all the more bearable.