by Aubrie Nixon
Darkness Whispers
Book 1 in The Darkness Trilogy
By: Aubrie L. Nixon
Copyright © 2012 Aubrie L. Nixon
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1539394328
ISBN-10: 1539186873
For my fellow black-hearted minions of darkness: you are not alone. We are many.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
The light from the moon was unnervingly full and bright, with a strange blue tint that kissed the air around it. There were no stars to be seen. The creature she was hunting bowed its head to drink from the stream, unaware that anyone was watching it. So peaceful, so beautiful. It was a majestic black stag, with antlers white enough to rival freshly fallen snow. She unsheathed an arrow and held it steady on her bow, reminded again of how impersonal the weapon was. Truthfully, she wasn’t very good at ranged combat, but what she lacked in skill with the bow, she made up for tenfold with her hands and her blades. The huntress inhaled deeply and quietly, saying a quick prayer to the gods of the hunt that she wouldn’t miss. Then she fired.
The stag let out an unearthly sound as the arrow grazed its powerful leg, wounding it only slightly. Sephera cursed under her breath. The beautiful creature began to shake violently. It screamed and swayed. Its once pristine, black fur ripped apart, and another creature emerged. The beast was twelve-feet tall with claws the size of daggers and a face like a wolf. It growled, its red eyes searching the shadowy direction from which the shot was fired. The bow slipped from her hand. She cringed at the incriminating sound it made as it hit the ground.
Terror seized Sephera. She couldn’t get her legs to move. She could only stare at the newly transformed beast, her eyes widening with horror. What was this creature? She had never seen anything like it. The animal moved with dark grace—a predator on the hunt for its prey. Like a fly caught in a web, she could do nothing but breathe.
The monster was a few feet from her hiding spot. She glanced around the brush, assessing her surroundings. In thirty seconds the beast would be upon her. She had to take it by surprise to get the upper hand. She jumped out from behind the Mygylo bush, directly in front of her target. The monster growled in surprise, and in that second, she dragged her blade across the ground sending handfuls of dirt into the beast's face and eyes. The beast swiped at Sephera with its massive paw, narrowly missing her face and giving her the opening she had been waiting for. She lunged at its side, as high as she could reach, leaving a shallow cut just below its rib cage. A paw came crashing down as she parried, catching her blade. The force would have broken her arm, but she let go just in time. The creature rested its paw on the weapon, using its other paw to cover the freshly exposed flesh on its side. The wound was superficial, but it had served its purpose. The creature's head was now within reach. Sephera darted away, but quickly doubled back and charged straight at the beast. Using a log for leverage, she vaulted, landing on the beast's shoulders. Immediately, it tried to buck her off, but she straddled the back of its neck. Before it could reach up and grab her, she unsheathed a second weapon and drove it directly into the beast's eye—the one spot vulnerable enough to be penetrated. The curve of the weapon guided the blade directly into the brain. The beast howled, its back arching violently and tossing her high into the air. Then it came crashing and tumbling to a halt against the very same log she had used just moments ago.
She laughed in triumph as she stood up, sheathing her weapons. It was a hollow sort of laugh, one originating from fear and adrenaline rather than amusement. She sighed through the end of her laughter and sat down near the dead beast. The air smelled of fresh death. The moon shone down on her long, raven hair and blood-covered face, making her look like a dangerous and deadly monster herself. She closed her eyes and leaned against the slain beast. “I shall call you Latiff, gentle giant,” she said playfully to the corpse beside her. She laughed again. Her voice was hoarse, her legs ached, and her arms were worn-out. She had been hunting the stag for a fortnight. Her mission was to kill it and bring it back to Baleem, her master. The creature’s organs were to be harvested and were said to have wondrous powers. This creature, however, was no stag. Had her master known that?
She sat up straight, opening her dark eyes, which were filled with flecks of blue and gold. It was a strange combination, one that sparked desire in many and curiosity in others. But she paid no mind to their interest; she was far too cold.
She felt something wet trickling down her cheek. She brushed it with her fingertips, and stared at the red blood that stained her fingers. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been injured. The wound was deep enough it would probably leave a scar.
“Ugh,” she groaned. Now she needed stitches, along with a bath and a proper meal.
She got up slowly, stretching her arms high above her head and rolling her neck in a slow circle. Breathing deeply, she began to make a large fire in which to burn the body after she harvested what she needed from it. As she watched the fire grow, she prepared the cloth dressings and bags she would need. Not having the time or the energy to clean the body the proper way, she opted for the quicker, messier route. She grabbed her dagger and curved blade and then began cutting into the fresh carcass. The tough flesh was difficult to pierce, but eventually she was able to cut it away enough to pry apart the skin and muscle, revealing a cave of dark blood, organs, and bone. Frowning slightly, she began to cut out its heart, followed by the liver and other essential organs. She lifted them carefully onto a cloth, wrapping each in layers of protective dressings. After she was finished with the organs, she sawed through the neck, effectively spraying herself and everything around her in a thick layer of black blood. She grimaced, closing her eyes tightly as she continued cutting through the thick flesh and muscle. The sounds of fraying tendons filled the air.
She ripped the head along with its remaining tendons from the body and threw it onto a cloth, letting the rest of the blood empty. Then she coated the body of the creature with a green, flammable liquid known as Inarcate. Grabbing a large stick from the fire, she threw it onto the body of the beast. Flames instantly engulfed the body, rapidly filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. Sephera stifled a gag. The dark rot from the mysterious creature, combined with the tangible scent of burnt flesh, was almost too much to bear.
Looking down at her ruined leathers, she sighed and quickly undressed, tossing the leathers into the fire. She walked in the moonlight towards the lake and got in. She scrubbed the blood and dirt off of her body. The water felt cool and wonderful against her skin. Floating on her back, she let the water take her. She felt light and small. Her thoughts began to wander, something s
he rarely allowed. It was a small reward she gave herself after a kill. It made her feel more human, more vulnerable. Losing mental focus could be fatal in her line of work. But for now, she needed this harbored, small piece of humanity. She needed to feel normal. She let her mind go numb and float lightly along with her body. Before long, her mind grew dark and turned to thoughts of death, to the strange, burnt corpse lying on the shore. Death was easy, peaceful.
Living was the cruel joke. It was a hard game, one she had played for many years. Yet death still frightened her. She was reminded of her own mortality every time she killed.
Sighing deeply, she forced herself out of the cool water and made her way to shore. She dressed and headed down the path near the lake to the nearby town. She would find an inn and get some sleep. From there she would catch a ride with a traveling merchant back to the City of Light. Her curiosity was stronger than her fear. She needed answers. And in order for her to get those answers, she had to return to the Keep.
CHAPTER 2
For three days she rode in the back of a silk merchant’s cart. When she arrived in the City of Light, she was anxious and annoyed. Merchants normally paid her no mind, but the silk merchant wanted to talk, to get to know her. It was vexing. She had almost cut his tongue from his mouth one night as he slept, just to shut him up. Instead, she used her swift fingers to flick the back of his head every time he spoke. Eventually he stopped talking to avoid the sensation. She laughed to herself. Perhaps the merchant wouldn't speak again, even after they parted ways, due to his fear of the pain.
When they approached the gates, she stopped to take in the sight of the exquisite city. The buildings were carved from the purest stone, and the castle in the center was made of the world’s finest white marble and diamonds. It was a beacon of hope, of great power.
Sephera walked through the outer streets of the city. She smiled politely at the peasants, who lived in small, cramped housing. The wooden shacks that made up the outer ring of the city were old, and some were rotting. Some were held together by scrap wood and nails, making them appear unkempt. But despite the feral animals who wandered among the shacks and the hungry eyes of the people who lived there, this was Sephera’s favorite part of the city. It was full of honest, hardworking people: night workers, servants, farmers visiting from outside the city. Most wished her a blessed day. It always amazed her that these people, who had so little, took the time for such mundane pleasantries.
As she reached the wall that separated the outer city from the inner one, she fixed her leathers and pursed her lips. This part of the city called for poise and perfection. She passed women donning the latest fashions in boutiques with the finest cloths and imported spices. Though the market here was lavish and beautiful, the people were not. These were the Elites—the wealthy residents of the city whose riches came from the slave trade and the lands they owned and rented to the farmers. Their colossal homes and horse-drawn carriages lined the cobblestone paths. The residents wore stern faces and scowls. They had everything they could ever desire, but still, they were not happy.
Beyond the shops and parks of the Elite, in the furthest corner of the city, lay a large tract of land. A secretive compound stood on the land, walled off from the prying eyes of the public. It was known as the Keep, home of The Guild of the Great Warrior Baleem, Master of Arms.
As she had walked down the dirt roads, past the shacks and peasant children playing, and through the gates that led toward the Elite quarter’s cobblestoned streets, she had sensed someone following her. Now she took several wrong turns to see if the shadow, which trailed a few paces behind her, would disappear. It didn't. She turned down a mostly-deserted street near the Keep and grabbed a dagger from the harness around her leg. She closed her eyes and whipped around, throwing the dagger as hard as she could at the place where the shadow should have been.
She opened her eyes as the dagger sailed through the air. To her surprise, the shadowy figure caught the dagger and laughed. A long, gloved hand threw the dagger to the ground and swept off the hood which concealed its face.
"Welcome back, Sephera," said a young man with gorgeous grey-blue eyes and a lopsided grin. “I followed you for a mile before you noticed me. You are too distracted after a mission. It will be your undoing, love.” He chuckled as he ran his fingers through his short blonde hair.
“Zad!” Sephera exclaimed, annoyance filling her. She glared at the man in front of her. She had known Zad for six years. He was the closest thing she had to family, and she felt at ease around him.
“You know, you are still the only one who calls me Zad. Everyone else just calls me Zadkiel.”
“Zadkiel is such a ridiculous mouthful. It doesn't roll off the tongue quite as easily as Zad. Plus, what kind of name is Zadkiel anyway? Who names a child such a thing?” She laughed mockingly.
“A woman mad out of her mind, that's who.” Zad chuckled, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
She cocked her head and flashed a smile. "I'm sorry about the dagger, I thought—”
“—that I was going to kill you?” Zad interrupted. “Kidnap you? Sell you to the slavers?” He raised a mischievous eyebrow.
“I would have gutted you before you even laid a hand on me.” She smiled wickedly.
“Always so violent, Beasty,” he said, suppressing a laugh. She shot him a glare. She hated that nickname.
She threw the pack containing the severed head and wrapped organs at him. "See that these get to Baal. I need to eat."
He wrinkled his nose, "No antlers?"
“There were . . . complications.” She continued walking toward the Keep. “Where is Baal?”
“He’s at the stables with Elis. She’s giving birth to the pups as we speak. I am sure he will be eager to hear what happened on your journey. You might, however, want to take a bath first. You reek.”
He laughed, scrunching up his nose. She punched him in the arm and headed to her rooms.
* * *
After bathing and grabbing a quick meal from the kitchens, she walked to the stables. Baleem was there, with Elis, his prized hound. She was breathing heavily and lay exhausted as six black-and-white pups tugged at her teats. Baleem looked up as she arrived. She studied him carefully. He looked much older. She noted the deep shadows under his eyes and the way his beard was growing at odd angles, as if he had been under great stress. She knew that he was adept at hiding his emotions. But so was she, and she had been trained to read the face of even the oldest and best of spies at a young age. His dark brown eyes filled with warmth as she approached. He looked relieved, happy to see her.
“My girl, my Sephera! You have returned. I feared you would not.” His voice conveyed the depth of his worry.
“Yes, but sir, there is something I need to tell you, about the stag . . .” She looked at her master. His face warped into confusion and something else she couldn't quite place—fear perhaps.
“I know. I sent a message with Attom. He left a few days after you did, following your usual route, but he hasn’t returned yet. He was supposed to send word that he had reached you. I assume from the look on your face that he never found you?”
“I haven’t seen Attom since before I left. What was he supposed to tell me?” She chose her words carefully, trying to assess the situation.
“I think you know, girl, and again, I apologize. There is much we need to discuss. Please, tell me what you encountered.” His voice held a mild tone of interest.
She spent the next half-hour describing what she had seen. He listened politely, his eyes narrowing in deep thought at certain points. When she finished her tale, he arose silently and beckoned for her to follow.
He led her across the grounds and into the Great Room. The vast hall was made of cobblestone and supported by wooden pillars. The vaulted ceilings rose forty feet over their heads, and an entire wall was covered with an enormous tapestry made of black velvet and gold threading. It told the story of the Great Dark War and t
he battle between the Dark Realm and the Light Realm. There were hundreds of books scattered throughout the room—tales of heroes and stories of mythical creatures, all written with great imagination. Two lions carved out of marble stood as sentinels on each side of the fireplace. The heads of deer, bears, and leopards were mounted on the walls. The chairs and furniture were made of the finest leathers, polished weekly to maintain their supple sheen. Her favorite piece was the large bear skin rug that covered the floor in front of the fireplace. On cold nights, when she was too restless to sleep, she would venture down to the room and lie on the rug and watch as the fire devoured the logs from within, making them glow with red scales.
She sighed and returned her attention to Baleem. He lowered himself into the chair closest to the fire and motioned for her to sit. He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He let out a deep breath and looked at her intently.
“There are whispers, strange tales from beyond the city and throughout our world. The stories I have heard are troublesome and frightening, even for me.” His voice held a raspy edge, and he paused, deep in thought.
“There are things in this world that are very powerful and very old,” he continued. “Things that are coming out of a long slumber. The world needs to be ready when they do. It is important that you trust no one, not even yourself, my darling girl. I have done things to get you here, to make you what you are. I feared I had lost you to one of the creatures of darkness this past week. Yet here you are, standing in front of me, without a scratch. You are truly remarkable. There are things I must tell you, things you must know. I am sorry it has taken me this long." He closed his dark eyes and rubbed his temples, sighing.
“When I found you, you had been left out to die, and I knew I had been led to you. I’d had a dream, you see, of a child, thrown out and abandoned to perish in the cold of winter.”
She knew this story well. Her parents had been disciples of the Light, zealots who followed their own interpretation of the Book of Light. They were cultists—superstitious and wary of anything different. She had been born with a small, dark mark on her forearm. Her parents took it as a sign that she was of the darkness. When she was only a few days old, she had been taken to the woods and left to succumb to the elements.
