by Jim Melvin
Table of Contents
Praise for The Death Wizard Chronicles
Other Jim Melvin from Belle Bridge Books
Chained By Fear
Dedicated to Beth, my first daughter.
Map of Triken
Author’s note
“The moon is your freedom. Do not underestimate the power of reflection.”
Prologue
Brother
1
2
3
Demon
4
5
6
Prisoner
7
8
9
Servant
10
11
12
Conspiracy
13
14
15
Dragon
16
17
18
Escape
19
20
21
Healer
22
23
24
Whore City
25
26
27
Ziggurat
28
29
30
Sorceress
31
32
33
Chase
34
35
36
Vines
37
38
39
Titans
40
41
42
Moon
43
44
45
Epilogue
Shadowed By Demons (Book Three: The Death Wizard Chronicles)
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise for The Death Wizard Chronicles
“Adult Harry Potter and Eragon fans can get their next fix with Jim Melvin’s six-book epic The Death Wizard Chronicles . . . Melvin›s imagination and writing equal that of J.K. Rowling, author of the fantastically popular Harry Potter series, and Christopher Paolini, author of Eragon and Eldest. Some of his descriptions—and creatures—even surpass theirs.”
—The Tampa Tribune
“Jim Melvin’s Death Wizard Chronicles crackle with non-stop action and serious literary ambition. He has succeeded in creating an entire universe of interlocking characters—and creatures—that will undoubtedly captivate fans of the fantasy genre. It’s a hell of a story . . . a hell of a series . . .”
—Bob Andelman, author of Will Eisner: A Spirited Life
“Jim Melvin is a fresh voice in fantasy writing with a bold, inventive vision and seasoned literary style that vaults him immediately into the top tier of his genre. The Death Wizard Chronicles . . . is scary, action-packed and imaginative—a mythic world vividly entwining heroes, villains and sex that leaves the reader with the impression that this breakthrough author has truly arrived.”
—Dave Scheiber, co-author of Covert: My Years Infiltrating the Mob and Surviving the Shadows: A Journey of Hope into Post-Traumatic Stress
“Action-packed and yet profound, The DW Chronicles will take your breath away. This is epic fantasy at its best.”
—Chris Stevenson, author of Planet Janitor: Custodian of the Stars and The Wolfen Strain
“Triken truly comes alive for the reader and is filled with mysteries and places that even the most powerful characters in the book are unaware of. That gives the reader the opportunity to discover and learn with the characters . . . Melvin has added to the texture of the world by integrating Eastern philosophies, giving the magic not only consistency but depth. He has worked out the details of his magical system so readers can understand where it comes from and how it works.”
—Jaime McDougall, the bookstacks.com
Other Jim Melvin from Belle Bridge Books
Novels
Forged In Death (Book One: The Death Wizard Chronicles)
Short Stories
Torg’s First Death
The Black Fortress
Rise of the Sun God
Chained By Fear
The Death Wizard Chronicles
Book Two
by
Jim Melvin
Bell Bridge Books
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Bell Bridge Books
PO BOX 300921
Memphis, TN 38130
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-228-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-216-3
Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 by Jim Melvin
Shadowed by Demons (excerpt) copyright © 2013 by Jim Melvin
Printed and bound in the United States of America.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.
Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover design: Debra Dixon
Interior design: Hank Smith
Photo credits:
Girl (manipulated) © Bblood | Dreamstime.com
Background - © Mel Gama
Sword (manipulated) © Jaguarwoman Designs
:Mfc:01:
Dedicated to Beth, my first daughter.
Map of Triken
Author’s note
In Book 1 of The Death Wizard Chronicles, the sorcerer Invictus imprisons Torg in a pit bored into the frozen heights of Mount Asubha. The warrior Sōbhana attempts to rescue the Death-Knower wizard from his terrible predicament, but instead, a huge and hideous spider captures her and tortures her mercilessly, eventually leading to her death.
Despite Sōbhana’s demise, Torg manages to escape the pit. He then battles a slew of monsters and is forced to slither through a claustrophic labyrinth of tunnels beneath Asubha before finally emerging from the darkness and fleeing into the northern wilds. He and several new friends eventually make their way toward Kamupadana, commonly known as the Whore City, where Torg hopes to learn more about Invictus’ plans.
Meanwhile, Laylah, the sister of Invictus, appears briefly as a sorceress whom he also has imprisoned. Unlike Torg, she has not yet managed to escape. In fact, she has been her brother’s captive for more than seventy years.
In Book 2, the tale is told of Laylah’s escape. Chapter 1, titled Brother, begins eighty-five years before the start of Book One, when Laylah is only five years old.
“The moon is your freedom. Do not underestimate the power of reflection.”
—Sister Tathagata, in a lecture to the nuns of Dibbu-Loka
Prologue
From his hiding place among the trees, the teenage boy had spied on the little girl for months. Though darkness was not his friend, he had endured it to be near her. How daring she was to leave her house all by herself in the middle of the night, seemingly undeterred by the specter of ghosts and goblins. How foolish of her, too. She would learn one day that monsters did exist, and that some of them were far deadlier than any her imagination might conjure. She would learn that it was better to stay locked in her room than wander the wilds after dark. She would learn because he would teach her.
Though she was little more than four years old, she already was beautiful. He admired her golden hair, which so matched
his own. And though her gray-blue eyes were in stark contrast to his deep brown ones, he permitted her this fallibility. No one was perfect. Well, almost no one.
When they were king and queen, she would birth many of his children. The first would be a son whom he would mold in his own image. After that, he didn’t care so much about the rest. But the more products of his seed that walked the world, the better.
Yes, the little girl would become his bride—whether she liked it or not. He was a god, after all. And who in their right mind could refuse the hand of a god?
Not even the god’s sister could do that.
Brother
1
Laylah first met her brother when she was five years old. He found her at the rope swing that hung from an ancient sycamore tree on the outskirts of the village known as Avici. With so many children flocking to the swing, Laylah sometimes had to wait forever for a turn. But she knew the best time to go. While her parents slumbered, she snuck out her window and scampered through the darkness. The swing hung there—lifeless but inviting—and she had it all to herself. When morning came, she returned home to sleep.
On one especially beautiful night, when the moon was full and the sky clear, Laylah sat on the swing and basked in the reflected light. Phosphorescent streaks emanated from her body as she swept back and forth. When she held up her arm, she could see that her skin glowed magically. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t really care, either. To her, it was normal.
But the boy who came to her that fateful night was by no means normal. He wore calico robes embroidered with little golden suns, and when he lifted his hood to expose his face, Laylah saw something in his expression that felt familiar. He smiled at her, exposing perfectly white teeth and disturbingly clear brown eyes. His hair was an even deeper yellow than hers, hanging long and silky about his shoulders. He sat cross-legged in the grass near her feet and rested the palms of his hands on his knees.
“Are you afraid?” he said, whispering huskily.
“No,” she said, telling the truth.
He smiled again. “Do you know me?”
“I don’t think so.”
The smile lessened. “I’m a stranger to you, but you’re not a stranger to me. Do you understand?”
“A lot of the old people know my name, but I don’t know theirs. Is that what you mean?”
He chuckled, but with a slight hint of irritation. “Not exactly. But it’s obvious you’re a very smart girl. And so pretty! I like you. Do you like me?”
“How old are you?” she said.
“I’m fifteen. And you’re five?”
“You do know me,” she said. “But I don’t remember seeing you. Are you new here?”
“Yes . . . in some ways. I was born here, but I grew up someplace else.”
“Have you come back here to live?”
“No . . . just to visit. With you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you. Do you like me?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, that’s a good start. I hope you’ll like me more when you get to know me. But I have to ask you an important question. Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes!” Laylah loved keeping secrets. It made her feel like an old person.
“Good. Well, the secret is . . . me. I don’t want you to tell anyone, not even your parents, that you talked to me tonight. If you tell them, do you know what will happen?”
“You’ll be mad at me?”
“No . . . no. I won’t be mad at you, but your parents will. They’ll stop you from going out at night. They’ll barricade your door and window. You won’t have the swing all to yourself anymore, and you won’t be able to enjoy the moonlight without anyone around to bother you.”
Tears welled in Laylah’s eyes. Being imprisoned in her room at night would be the worst punishment she could imagine.
“But if you keep our secret,” the boy continued, “you’ll be free to come and go whenever you like. Tomorrow night, the moon will be round again. I’ll come to visit. If you’re not here, I’ll know you broke our secret.”
“I won’t . . . I promise.”
“Thank you, Laylah.” He smiled so wide she could see his thick red tongue. “And I won’t tell anyone, either. See you tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” she said.
She went home before dawn and slept until almost noon. Her parents, Gunther and Stēorra, constantly told her how amazed they were that she slept so much. They put her to bed every night after dark, but she rarely got up on her own before lunch. Yet she was healthy and happy, so they didn’t bother her about it too much, enabling her to continue to get away with her nightly wanderings.
Invictus met Laylah at the tree again that night, lavishing her with praise for keeping their secret. He talked to her for a long time and asked many questions: What was her favorite food? He was an excellent cook. Did she have any pets? He had lots of them. Was she satisfied with her clothes? He could buy her some really nice gowns and shoes. Would she like that?
“Yes . . . YES!”
The third night, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Do you love me, Laylah? Because I love you.”
The kiss made her feel uncomfortable, and she didn’t answer. He became annoyed.
“I won’t be around for a while.” And he walked away in a huff.
For several weeks afterward he didn’t meet her at the swing. Laylah became used to being alone again. She once tried to tell her mother about the boy, but her tongue dried up, and the words wouldn’t come. She hated the feeling of helplessness.
When the moon rose full the following month he appeared again, strutting out of the darkness with a grin on his face. He gave her a light hug and another kiss on the cheek. Whatever anger he had displayed when she had last seen him was gone. He told her how much he had missed her and how much he loved her. Did she love him? She still didn’t answer.
Four days a month around each full moon, he visited her at the swing. He taught her things, such as how to talk to him without speaking, or how to scorch patches of grass with fire from the tips of her fingers. He told her magical words. Ratana, repeated three times, turned pebbles into gems. Khandeti caused pottery to crack. Avihethana healed cuts and bruises. This delighted Laylah.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“I like you, a lot.”
“I love you, a lot.”
One time, he taught her the word Namuci, which he told her had been conjured in a time eons past by the ancient demon known as Vedana. When a demon—or a human with demon blood—spoke the word, it gave life to invisible spirits called efrits, thousands of which dwelled in the Realm of the Undead. In that eternal darkness they were harmless. But when summoned to the Realm of Life, they became voracious meat-eaters, gorging themselves on the internal organs of any living being unlucky enough to be near. The speaker of the word—because of his or her demon blood—was safe from harm.
If Namuci was whispered, one efrit responded, and one person died. But if a being of great power screamed it at high volume, thousands of efrits emerged, and any human or animal within several hundred paces perished.
When Laylah said it, a sparrow tumbled from the sky and lay dead at her feet. She screamed and cried. He called her a “little baby” and stormed away.
For several months he did not appear. Laylah began to think she would never see him again. In some ways she was relieved. More than once she again tried to tell her parents or some of the other old people about her mysterious visitor. But the words would not come. She tried so hard, her eyes filled with tears. When they asked her what was wrong, she couldn’t speak. Her tongue felt meaty and swollen.
By the time she was six years old, she had learned to spell quite a few words, but when she attempted to write something down about the brown-eyed boy, the quill smeared the ink. She even tried to draw his picture, but the same thing happened. It made her sick to her stomach.
Out of nowhere he appeared ag
ain, smiling as if he had never been gone. She told him she still was mad at him for making her kill the bird. He said he was sorry and wouldn’t do it again. Instead, he taught her good words like Loha-Hema, which turned copper to gold, and Tumbî-Tum, which caused vegetables to grow from seed to full ripeness in just a few days. He showed her how to conjure small spheres of flame that floated in the air, and the two of them tossed them back and forth like toy balls. When an adult villager, perhaps trying to walk off a bout of insomnia, wandered by the swing in the middle of the night, the boy blew smoke from his mouth and said, “Niddaayahi.” The man collapsed on the grass, his insomnia cured.
Laylah worried about the old person. He was one of her father’s many friends and often had been nice to her. The boy assured her he would take the man back to his house, and he picked up the old person and carried him away as if he weighed less than a feather. Laylah never saw the man again, but the boy came back the next night in a better mood than usual.
When she turned nine years old, the boy handed her an envelope, sealed with an insignia of a golden sun, and told her to wait until he was gone before reading the letter. He also told her to burn it with her special white finger-fire as soon as she was finished. When he disappeared from sight, she tore it open.
The letter was written in gold ink on a single sheet of silky white paper.
My dearest Laylah:
You are so smart and pretty. When we are not together, I feel sad. I miss you all the time. I love you very much.
Do you love me?
We have known each other for four years, but you have never asked my name. Why is that? Aren’t you curious about me? Don’t you care?
Remember our secret. Never tell anyone about me. Our parents will be angry at you if they discover we are friends.
