Severed Veil - Tales of Death and Dreams

by Bethany A Jennings

  TALES OF DEATH AND DREAMS

  BY

  BETHANY A. JENNINGS

  © Bethany Jennings 2018. All rights reserved.

  For more information on the author, visit:

  www.bethanyjennings.com

  Creative team:

  Editing by Janeen Ippolito LLC

  Cover design by LoriAnn Weldon

  Print formatting by Julia Busko

  Digital formatting by Sarah Delena White

  EARLY PRAISE FOR SEVERED VEIL

  “A bold and thought-provoking collection that will appeal to fans of daring heroes and fantastical worlds. Highly recommended!” – Sarah Delena White, author of The Star-Fae Trilogy

  “This is not just a book of stories—it’s an experience... tender, merciful, empathetic rest for the aching soul.” – RJ Conte, author of Lucent Sylph

  “Each story has this sense of defiance and hope...” – Rosalie Valentine, author

  “Severed Veil is a masterpiece—a vivid kaleidoscope of soul and imagination that reaches far beyond the final page and nestles deeply in a reader’s heart. Jennings’ gorgeous prose and unique worlds are woven through with the reminder that even in the darkest moments, light can pierce through our nightmares and ignite our courage.” — Kara Swanson, award-winning author of The Girl Who Could See

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DIAMONDS

  HEART OF THE GIANT

  LOYAL TO A FAULT

  BLAZE

  THE DISCONNECT

  SPARKS AND ASH

  NO MORE BLOOD

  LIVING IN THE LIGHT

  THE DESTROYER PRINCE

  AETHERWORLD

  HOPEBRINGER

  DREAMSKIP

  ALSO BY BETHANY A. JENNINGS

  COMING SOON!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DIAMONDS

  I was not born this way,

  feeling the weight of the world,

  screams of the dying,

  the lost,

  the wounded,

  like tethers pulling my heart to the darkness.

  I was not born this way,

  awake to a pain I’ve never felt,

  crying for a hurt I’ve never carried,

  weeping for what could have been,

  what isn’t,

  what never will be.

  I was not born this way,

  eyes wide,

  hands shaking with rage,

  lungs tingling with flight or fight

  that would drive me to run

  if I only had an enemy to face.

  But I have none.

  Not a tangible enemy.

  Only the mirror,

  the weight,

  the darkness of no hope

  that whispers,

  “Come hither.

  You know me.

  You can trust only me.

  Turn to me, embrace me.

  there is no hope,

  there is no light.

  I am your last resort.

  I am all there is.

  I am your homeland.”

  I was not born that way,

  but I was born with the darkness.

  I grew up

  with the weight of the world

  shielded away

  (until it came crashing like a wave,

  drowning me in shadows)

  but I was born with the darkness,

  quietly eating,

  silently luring,

  caressing my trembling skin

  with promises of comfort,

  if only I would turn my gaze to its depths

  and block out the light.

  But I defy you, darkness.

  I defy your shadows,

  your comfortable blackness,

  your dullness,

  your desire of diminishing

  all that I am

  into a place where I cannot see

  cannot know

  the pains that I cause,

  the hurt I create,

  the fear I inflict,

  or worse, what I could know—

  and would not care,

  because I am cocooned

  in the darkest of places,

  where all I can see,

  all I can feel

  is myself.

  defy you, darkness.

  The light may be blinding,

  the fire burn,

  the brilliance sear,

  but it is Life.

  It slices the heart like a blade,

  it divides me from my dross,

  it blazes my bones,

  but it is beautiful.

  My uncaring,

  my dull edges,

  my dimness

  are filed away to knife-sharp points,

  set on edge,

  lit from within,

  roused in a dance,

  singing like an arrow.

  I would rather be shot

  from the bow of my Warrior-King

  than sit in the dark,

  rather stab shades in His hand

  than be buried so deep,

  rather be sharpened,

  excruciatingly sharpened,

  than left in a hole,

  in a cave,

  underground,

  away from the light,

  a lump of iron

  smug

  and useless

  and comfortable.

  I was not born this way,

  seeing the shapes of the shadows—

  for in the darkness.

  all is shadows,

  all is black.

  I was not born this way—

  I am being forged this way.

  I am a shard,

  I am a blade,

  glinting with light cast across me.

  Shadows, fall.

  Darkness, flee before me.

  I was not born this way,

  but I will be sharp as diamonds.

  HEART OF THE GIANT

  I’m not ready to go back into the Sleep.

  I grit my teeth, feeling the blaze roar across my soul—echoes of the destruction stalking the land. My hand slips up to my heart, then my throat.

  Fire. Charring. Ash.

  “Princess?” My handmaiden lowers her embroidery, leaning closer. “Are you all right?”

  “He’s back,” I whisper. “The dragon.”

  Not again. Not my country.

  Fire envelops my consciousness, turning everything else into a hazy blur. I can smell the smoke, and the blazing houses flicker in my mind’s eye almost as vividly as being there.

  I collapse. Hands lift me, carry me through the castle halls.

  A wagging beard and pointed hat lean over me, and I catch a glimpse of the wizard’s sharp blue eyes. “Princess.”

  “I can’t do it,” I croak.

  “You have done it before, and you can do it again, your highness.”

  “I don’t want to Sleep.” I writhe, fighting against the heaviness that weighs my limbs and sucks my mind away. “I hate becoming the Giant.” At least when I was young, when I merely succumbed to the nightmares for days while the dragon descended, I wasn’t disappointing my country, attack after attack. Since the Giant was built for me, every Sleep ends with the despair of failure. The dragon is always bigger, always stronger. I choke in a sob.

  “You have no choice.” There is urgent warmth behind his gruff tone. “What was the purpose of building the Giant, what is the purpose of all your suffering, if you cannot kill the dragon and end this curse upon you and on this land? You must keep trying.”

  “Maybe there is no purpose. Maybe fire takes us all.” I shudder, and gasp as another stream of
flame tears across my soul.

  The wizard and the others fasten enchanted chains around my hands and feet, tying me tight to the throne within the Giant’s ribs. I shut my eyes—tears leave cold streaks down my face—and I surrender myself wholly to the Sleep, sinking into deep, dark dread and lonely wandering.

  The magic coils around my body. It hums with desperate purpose, melding my soul to the Giant’s heart, diffusing my unconscious mind through the frame of metal and gears. The Giant wakes, while I dream deep at its core.

  I am no longer a princess—that life feels as far away as the waking world. I am as tall as a mountain. As impenetrable as a fortress. As powerful as a dragon.

  I am the Giant.

  Shaking my iron limbs, I rise from beside the castle gate and stare with piercing glass eyes toward the south of my realm. Charred mountains reach into the low-hanging clouds, mist weaving at their feet and thunder rolling above, but in the distance, fresh black smoke rises from a southern village. A lithe shape with broad green wings circles in the air, then swoops down to spew another river of fire.

  I set off at a run, metal clanking, leaving deep craters in the moss and mud.

  When I reach the crest of a hill above the village, I launch off its peak, hurling myself at the beast’s scaly hide as a blade extends from my metal hand. My other arm catches the dragon by the hind leg, and I drag it earthward, slamming it into the rocks of a mountain pass. Our landing shudders through my frame.

  The dragon shoots a stream of fire that heats me straight to the heart. I stagger and slice my blade across the creature’s wings.

  One of them severs from its back.

  Its roar shakes the mountains. Fire lashes up the cliffs, blackening the rocks. The creature rips into my arm with its teeth, piercing the newly hammered metal. I pull away, tearing my own shoulder open. Magic bleeds from the gap, and my soul screams in pain within me.

  The dragon stalks across the top of the nearest cliff, hissing, its red mouth open and tongue slithering out between teeth like spikes. Its nostrils flare in a sneer. Then it leaps. It slams into me and knocks me to the earth, striking my metal face again and again with its teeth.

  Half blinded, I fling all my energy into a sword thrust. My weapon stabs through the dragon’s open maw as it draws back for another bite. I pierce through its throat, down its neck.

  It writhes in pain, slithering off of me. With a groan of laboring gears, I rise. I wrench my blade harder, deeper into the dragon’s throat, until it is buried deep inside, piercing its heart.

  The dragon gives a last blast of flame that torches my face and chest. And then it goes limp. I crouch frozen over its body, waiting...waiting...

  Rain begins to fall, pattering on my hull.

  Everything is still.

  For a moment, I fear that the Sleep will last forever—that I will be a Giant for all ages, stalking my rescued country as a hulk of iron and wheels.

  Then the shadows around my heart lighten, and consciousness dawns, bright and hopeful. The enchanted chains melt with the faint aroma of smoke. I rise from the throne, and throw open the Giant’s back door.

  Cool, wet air hits my face. Far below at the Giant’s feet, villagers cheer, raising grateful hands. I smile as the damp wind plays with my hair.

  My land is safe. The dragon is dead. And the Sleep will never take me again.

  The fires are going out, on the hillsides and in my soul. I shut my eyes and breathe the living scent of rain.

  LOYAL TO A FAULT

  Technically it’s illegal to be out here.

  I brace my feet against the slick shuttle floor, trying to ignore the enormous fragments of space junk floating past the window. Plenty of veterans have left dead comrades in the inky blackness, but these days, with the rumors… Only Dad would be nuts enough to ask for his remains to be scattered in the old military graveyard beyond the asteroid belt.

  And only I was nuts enough to bring them here.

  I hug myself tighter.

  Why am I even here? Mom pleaded for me to stay, for us to bury Dad normally.

  An echo of his voice rings in my mind. You’re a Murberry, Tara Jane, and we Murberries are loyal to a fault.

  He wanted his remains left with his old pals from the army. And I didn’t want to let him go until the very last second.

  A monitor beeps on my dashboard.

  That last second being now. I’m almost there.

  Leaving the ship on auto, I unbuckle and tread to the back, where the wooden coffin sits. It smells like the warm dirt of our farm, a comfortable and familiar scent amidst the dankness of the shuttle. I don't dare open it and see his face—mangled by the farming equipment that took his life. But I lay a hand on the splintery top and take a deep breath. “Dad—”

  The floor tilts. I slam against the coffin with a scream.

  Something drags on the shuttle’s wing, throwing everything sideways.

  Gasping, I wrap my arms around the coffin, hoping it will keep me from sliding any further as the ship tilts. We jerk away from whatever’s holding us and shoot forward, only to be caught again. Grating screeches rebound on the ship’s hull. The lights flash. As we lurch sideways, the coffin loses grip on the metal floor and becomes airborne.

  Smashes into me.

  Crushes me against the wall.

  Flings me into darkness.

  My last thought is of Mom, alone on the farm, losing both her husband and her daughter in the same hellish week.

  All because I went along with this foolery.

  * * * * *

  I wake to the piercing smell of chemicals and pain like a reverberating gong in my skull. I’m being carried along on some smooth surface. Machines whir and clank in the faintly green dimness. The air is frigid.

  I seize the sides of my bed, only for my hands to chafe on moving metal. I’m on a conveyor belt! Heart pounding, I push up to a sitting position. Brief gratitude pings in the very back of my brain—my hair would have been dragged into that belt if I hadn’t chopped it all off the day after Dad got dragged into the combine.

  “This one—is still—not dead.”

  I scream. The robotic voice came from beside me, so close I could touch the thing.

  “What—shall we—do with it?” another answers from my left.

  Scrambling for the edge, I snatch the knife in my overalls pocket.

  A mechanical voice screeches. “Product—on—the move!”

  I leap off the conveyor and slam into a fleshy hulk. Arms like ice wrap around my shoulders. The chemical smell engulfs me. Bile rising in my throat, I stab my knife into cold, thick flesh.

  No reaction.

  In a flash of light I see the face. Lifeless eyes. Battle scars. And a dark uniform, like the one Dad asked to be buried in.

  I shove away, hollering, and run.

  “Catch it!” another robotic voice shrieks.

  I stagger over tools and junk on the floor, and crash to my knees. A distant window on the ceiling shows a wheeling view of stars—I must be on some kind of space station. At the other end of this long, dark room, a patch of light falls on a vehicle parked in an open area. The shuttle! I scramble to my feet again, heart racing, and terror burns in my throat as I see corpses—so many corpses—rolling past on the conveyors around me, limbs splayed everywhere, vacant eyes staring toward the knives and wheels and tools that spin down from the ceiling.

  I run three paces nearer, then freeze. The back of the shuttle is open. The coffin is gone.

  My breath snags in my throat. What is this place? What are these fleshy robots?

  Was it illegal to come out here because of the danger? Or was this the new empire’s doing, hidden out in the darkness of the void?

  Maybe I can evade the monsters—find out what’s really going on here.

  But the creatures gain on me, feet thudding heavily on the floor. With a burst of speed, I reach the battered ship.

  A hand grabs my wrist, twisting me around.

  The face lo
oks into mine. My father’s face. Torn by the machinery that took his life. Eyes blank like a wiped slate. “Dad!” I scream. His arm wraps around me—like one of his old hugs, except cold and dead and ready to crush my throat if I resist.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Here—is—the subject,” his voice drones. Nothing left in his brainpan. Like something else is living through him, moving all his muscles.

  Trembling takes me all over. “Dad,” I croak. Maybe if I get him out of here, he’ll be okay. Maybe he can recover his real self. Maybe we can escape together. “Are you in there? Do you hear me?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t flinch. His mouth moves again. “Kill it.”

  Another reanimated corpse shuffles forward with a rusted blade.

  One thought sings to the surface. Loyal to a fault.

  My mother’s face enters my mind—with her warmth, the farm, the sunlight, and everything I associate with her goodness—and desperate love revs me into action like fresh gas in the tractor tank. With a surge of adrenaline, I tear Dad’s arm off me—or rather, what used to be Dad—and fling myself away. I trip and fall, half-running, half-crawling up the gangplank of the shuttle, and collapse just inside, slamming down the lever to lock the door.

  The gangplank rises, shutting out the ambling dead who are hurrying to catch me. Their hands claw and scrape on the outside of the ship.

  Someone’s got to get to the bottom of all this, but Mama’s not losing her whole family to the empty darkness of space that haunted my dad to his grave. Not today.

  More reanimated bodies surround the shuttle as I rev up the engine. Some at the side are pulling out guns and grappling hooks. But in the distance, I see a bay door with an oxygen shield, open to deep space.

  I catch another glimpse of my father’s scarred face—but only for a moment, as my shuttle barrels over the drones and through the shield toward freedom. Toward life.

  I’m coming home, Mama. Dad is gone, but I am coming home.

  BLAZE

  I can’t stop the story,

  the movement,

  the pain,

  the dancing of visuals