Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Peace rushed over her. She would hold the Word’s hand and walk the path wherever it took her. And let Him use her gift as He saw fit.

  “Rowen, are you all right?”

  Lore held her arm and looked at her with concern. “Did what I say scare you?”

  “Yes and no,” Rowen said. She could still feel the Word’s peace washing over her. “I cannot change who I am, what I am. But I can place my power in the Word’s hands, to do as He likes.” She took a deep breath. “I must choose to trust Him.”

  The corners of Lore’s mouth moved upward, and his face relaxed. He gave her arm a squeeze. “I will not say I understand what it must be like to be an Eldaran,” he said. They began to walk through the trees again. “But I do know what it means to trust the Word. And that is not easy.”

  No, Rowen thought, it is not. But it was a choice she would be making for the rest of her life.

  29

  Valin tugged at his black glove. He could still hear the prisoners’ whispers: Shadonae. And feel the fear the word invoked.

  He remembered the first time he had been called that, back when he’d first chosen this path. He had been young then. Young, naïve. He’d still thought of the world in black and white. But now he knew better. He knew the power inside of him was his, to do with as he wanted. And what he wanted was…the world.

  Valin placed his hand on the ledge of the balcony. The city of Thyra spread out before him like a rich banquet. Hills were topped with beautiful white buildings and carefully chiseled columns. Winding streets made their way through the city, lined with oak trees, their full green branches covering the city in a ceiling of green. The sea sparkled beyond the walls as the sun set. The city of knowledge and wisdom.

  And it was all his.

  Valin turned away from the ledge and walked back inside the Senate Hall. Bright white walls surrounded the round, domed hall. Windows were strategically placed around the room so that every part of Thyra could be viewed from the circle of high-back chairs that sat around the inner perimeter, an area marked off by dark tiles on the floor. Once upon a time, the finest intellects of Thyra had sat upon those chairs. Now the room lay empty, save for Malchus and himself.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Malchus glanced up from his perch near one of the windows. His pale hair hung around a beautifully chiseled face. His eyes, though, looked haunted. Valin knew Malchus had split the curtain again to bring more shadows over. The pull always left him drained and spooked. Sometimes Valin wondered what Malchus saw on the other side.

  Valin looked out one of the windows. He inspected his reflection in the glass and brushed back his dark hair. At least his own power never left any signs on his face.

  His eyes slowly drifted away from the glass to the pictures hanging between the windows. Each one depicted a man or woman exquisitely dressed and painted in both bright and somber colors. Thick, ornately carved golden frames surrounded each picture. These were famous senators dating back hundreds of years into Thyra’s past, hung here in the Senate Hall as a memorial.

  As Valin studied each picture, he couldn’t help but laugh at how easily mankind could be seduced. These men and women had no idea how their greed, their selfishness and jealousies, their darkest fears, had given him power over them. Even if they realized that and desired to escape, they could not. No human could escape the darkness within.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Valin saw the far doors open. He dropped his hand and turned.

  Two soldiers walked in with a man held between them.

  Valin started. He knew that man. Regessus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malchus stand, a hungry look on his beautiful face. “Where did you find this man?” Valin asked, crossing the room.

  The soldiers turned their heads as one his direction. “Outside Cragsmoor,” the first soldier replied. His eyes never moved, never blinked, as he answered.

  Valin stopped a few feet away and stroked his chin. “I wonder why he returned,” he murmured. He studied the man before him. Cuts and bruises covered Regessus’s gaunt face.

  Regessus’s eyes began to flutter. “Wha-what?” he muttered. His head slowly came up. He blinked and shook his head. “Where am I?”

  Valin did not answer. He continued to stare at the man. Meanwhile, Malchus moved in like a ravaged wolf for the kill.

  Regessus looked up at Valin. His features hardened immediately. “You!” he cried and strained against the soldiers on either side of him. “You!”

  Malchus came to a stop beside Valin. Out of the corner of his eye, Valin saw Malchus begin to tug at his black glove. Regessus saw it too and renewed his fight with grunts and shouts.

  Valin held his hand out in front of Malchus. “No, wait. He might be more useful alive.”

  Regessus stopped. He stared at Valin with a look of loathing. “Never! I will never become one of your twisted servants.”

  Malchus leaned toward Valin. “I need him,” Malchus said under his breath. “This last pull took a lot out of me. We don’t want the shadows to see me weak.”

  “I know,” Valin replied, his eyes back on Regessus. “We’ll find you someone else. But this man is important.”

  “How?” Malchus looked back at the man with a frown. “I do not recognize him.”

  “He is Regessus Vondran.”

  Malchus lifted one perfect eyebrow. “That name means nothing to me.”

  “The one senator who escaped.”

  Malchus hissed between his teeth.

  Valin went back to stroking his chin. “My question, though, is why did he return?” Regessus stopped struggling and looked up. “You heard me. Why did you return here? You escaped. Why didn’t you run off to some other country? Of course, we would have caught up to you sooner or later.”

  Regessus tightened his lips and said nothing.

  “Who cares why he came back?” Malchus said with an edge to his tone. “Just let me have him.”

  Valin studied the tall, gaunt senator. “You know I will eventually find out. Even now, my people are looking for your hiding places.”

  “We can tell those who have been twisted,” Regessus said with a sneer.

  Laughter bubbled up inside Valin’s throat, bursting out in a low, hearty guffaw. He smiled one long smile, enjoying the look of confusion that spread across Regessus’s face. “You don’t really think everyone who works for me is twisted, do you?”

  Confusion turned into a frown.

  Valin had him. “My dear senator, you should know that people can be bought with promises. And there were those here in Thyra who were willing to pay for mine.”

  Regessus’s face turned to stone. He stared up at Valin.

  “But you are a man of principle.” Valin began to walk around Regessus and the two soldiers. “The only one I found, I might add. So you leave me two choices: let Malchus here have your life…”

  The senator’s face paled.

  “…or let me twist you.”

  Valin came to a stop in front of Regessus.

  Malchus came up beside him. “You’re like a cat with a mouse,” Malchus whispered. “Just let me have him, and be done with it.”

  “No.” Valin eyed Regessus. “He wants that. He wants to die.” A smile crept back across his face. “He is afraid to be twisted.”

  “Twisting him won’t get you any information.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why not let me have him?”

  Valin began to pull at his glove. “Simple. Demoralization. And fear.”

  “That is not enough of a reason, Valin. Stop playing around, and let me have the man. The senator is more useful to me.” Malchus finished pulling off his glove.

  Valin stepped in front of Malchus and extended his hand toward the senator.

  Regessus pulled back from the two soldiers holding him, his eyes growing white as he watched Valin’s outstretched hand draw near.

  Valin could feel rage and fear emanate from Regessus. He breathed it in as if it were a fragrance. Closer, cl
oser…

  From far away inside his mind came an unfamiliar blast of wind, heat, and light. Valin stopped. His vision faded from the room.

  The torrent around him grew until Valin felt like a lone tree against a storm of light. Somehow his hands found their way to his face. He covered his eyes, but still he saw the red glow behind his eyelids. Then the light faded. The redness grew faint. Slowly, Valin pulled his hands away. He found himself back in the Senate Hall.

  “Did you feel that?” Malchus said in a hoarse whisper.

  Valin looked back at Malchus. His face looked even paler than usual. “Yes.”

  “It’s not possible. They’re all dead.”

  “Not all of them,” Valin said, shaken by the vision. “Mercia escaped.”

  “You let her go!” Malchus glared at Valin. “I told you to not let your emotions interfere. And now all that we have accomplished might be undone because of you.”

  Valin shook his head. “No, the wolves would have found her and killed her, eventually. Besides, it doesn’t matter. Mercia never had the gift.”

  “So we thought. But what else can explain that light? Perhaps she did survive—”

  “Enough!” Valin turned away. Malchus was starting to get on his nerves. His eyes wandered back to Regessus. “Take him away,” Valin said with a fling of his hand.

  “Wait, you’re letting me go?” Regessus said, shocked.

  The two soldiers lifted him to his feet.

  “No, I’m simply delaying for now.”

  Regessus began to shout in protest.

  Valin turned toward one of the soldiers. “Take him to Cragsmoor and lock him up.”

  The two men nodded. They dragged Regessus from the room, his long legs sliding along the tiled floor. Valin watched.

  Malchus moved past him and closed the door. The shouts and screams muffled instantly. “I know what you’re thinking,” Malchus said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “It’s not her. Can’t be. Only a powerful Eldaran could have done that. So even if she did survive, Mercia did not have the gift.”

  “Neither did Anwar. Or any of the others. No one did.” Valin folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the tiled floor. He let out his breath. “But that raises the question: Then who just shook us? Who else was left?”

  Malchus shook his head. “I don’t know. But whoever it was is far away. The shaking barely reached us.”

  “True. But reach us it did.” Valin lifted his head. “Should this Eldaran ever come to us, he or she could jeopardize our plans.” He looked over at Malchus. “Alert your shadows, especially the one down south. Tell them to watch and listen. Impress upon them all the danger of this person and to let us know the moment they hear anything.”

  “It will be done. But I must say something,” Malchus looked at Valin, his eyes turning an icy blue. “If it is Mercia—if somehow she survived all these years and the wolves never found her—you cannot let her live this time. She must die.”

  Valin turned and stared at the door Regessus had been dragged through minutes before.

  “I know.”

  30

  Awaken, Son of Truth.

  The words bounced around inside his mind. Caleb slowly drifted toward consciousness. Son of Truth… Son of Truth…

  “Ugh.” Caleb blinked a couple times. Cold, hard ground pressed against the side of his face. Slowly he lifted his head and looked around.

  Darkness. Nothing but darkness. Except for a beam of light that seemed to shine right above him.

  Caleb looked around again. It was a strange darkness—not the type found on a moonless night or deep inside a cave. It felt cold…and empty. He shivered and pushed himself up off the ground. A jolt of shock raced across his body. He looked down.

  And found he had nothing on.

  Caleb stood up. “What in all the Lands?” he cried. He looked around for his clothing. Nothing. Not even a bit of silk. “Where in all the sands—”

  Suddenly everything came rushing back: the woman with the glowing hand, the blinding light, the truth… A sick feeling rose up inside of him. He lifted his hands and rubbed his chilled arms. She had seen it all, that woman with the glowing hand. Everything he had ever done. Every lie, every defilement, every act of greed, every murder—

  Caleb stopped and held out his hands in horror. Bright red liquid covered his palms and fingers. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, making his stomach turn. Sickened, he realized the red film was blood.

  Caleb flung his hands out as far away as he could from his body. Turning this way and that, he looked around for anything to wipe his hands on.

  Nothing but darkness surrounded him, except for that beam of light shining from above…

  Caleb glanced up, but looked away immediately. The light was too bright to see its source.

  He caught sight of his hands again. He fell to the ground and began to wipe his hands against the hard black surface. Back and forth, around and around. But the blood would not come off.

  Desperate now, he sat back on his knees and began to wipe his hands on his thighs, sickened at the thought of blood still on him, but better on his legs than on his hands. Anything to get the blood off his hands…

  Caleb wiped vigorously for a minute and then raised his hands. The blood remained. He rubbed them against his thighs until both his hands and legs hurt. But the blood remained. He stared at his hands and began to shake. Why could he not clean his hands?

  He stopped. Cocking his head toward his right, he thought he heard…water. But how? Looking out toward the darkness, he realized he could now see the faint silhouette of trees. Could there be a stream nearby? Sweet relief poured through his soul. He could wash away the blood. Caleb shot to his feet and listened a moment longer, then took off toward the sound.

  The light overhead seemed to expand, flashing above him as he moved in and out of shadows cast by unseen branches above. He kept his face forward and moved steadily through the dark trees. The sound of water was his only guide. Moments later, he found the source.

  A small stream wove its way through the trees, rushing over black rocks. Caleb fell to his knees and sank his hands into the cold, clear water. He waited for the blood to rinse off his hands, to float away in the trickling waters.

  But nothing happened.

  He shook his hands beneath the water, then rubbed them together. Nothing, not even a slight change in the water’s color. Fear rose in his throat. What was happening to him? Why wouldn’t the blood wash away?

  A shadow fell across the clear water. Caleb looked up—

  A man covered in scars looked back. Long, jagged wounds marred the man’s face, distorting his cheeks and brow. White smaller scars were scattered across the rest of his face. Further down, two ugly red lines ran down his neck until they disappeared into his white gown.

  Caleb staggered back. Was this another one of his nightmares? But he didn’t recognize the man. His eyes darted to the scarred man’s hands, but he saw no dagger. Caleb looked back at his face. Yes, he would definitely have remembered this repulsively wounded man.

  However, he wasn’t going to stick around and find out if the scarred man wanted to murder him. Caleb went to turn around, but some unseen force held his face. He could not twist his head.

  The man raised his hand and looked at Caleb with dark, fathomless eyes.

  “It is time, Son of Truth. The Lands need a Guardian once again.”

  Continue the Adventure…

  Read the next book in the Follower of the Word series.

  Son of Truth (Follower of the Word, Book 2)

  http://bit.ly/sonoftruth

  About Son of Truth:

  Can a killer find forgiveness?

  The war in the north is over, but the war for all the Lands has just begun.

  As the Shadonae solidify their hold on the city of Thyra, Rowen Mar, the last Eldaran and savior of the White City, awakens to find herself hunted by those she has saved.
>
  Meanwhile, the assassin Caleb Tala finds himself in the presence of the Word. The time of reckoning has come, and he must pay the price for all the lives he has taken. But in his moment of judgment, Caleb is given a second chance to change his life.

  These two hold the power to save the Lands from the Shadonae. One must escape slavery, and one must choose to forsake everything before the world is consumed in darkness.

  Son of Truth is the second book in the Follower of the Word series, a Christian epic fantasy series.

  Get Son of Truth for Kindle: http://bit.ly/sonoftruth

  About the Author

  Morgan L. Busse is the wife of a pastor, mother of four children, and the author of the Follower of the Word series.

  From the moment she first read The Hobbit, she fell in love with the fantasy genre. Both J.R.R. Tolkien and Terry Brooks are the inspirations behind her writing. Her debut novel Daughter of Light was both a Christy Award and a Carol Award finalist.

  Morgan lives on the west coast with her family.

  Website: www.MorganlBusse.com

  Enclave Publishing is the premier publisher of Christian speculative fiction.

  Whether it’s Christian science fiction books you love, or fantasy, time travel, steampunk, alternate history, spiritual warfare, superhero, or technothriller—if it’s speculative and it comes from the Christian worldview, Enclave Publishing is there. Enclave Publishing is a small, independent press that strives to get Christian speculative fiction directly into the hands of the fans who love and devour great stories.

  An enclave is a group of like-minded people in a place where they are surrounded by those who are not like-minded. It is not a place to hide, instead Enclave Publishing is a place where authors and fans of Christian Fantasy and Christian Science Fiction can come together and then go out and make a difference through worlds of words. Our stories can seem strange but underneath they contain powerful expressions of Redemption, Truth, and Hope.