The Forbidden Library

by David Alastair Hayden

  Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  01

  02

  03

  04

  05

  06

  07

  08

  09

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  Afterword

  Storm Phase: Book Three

  The Forbidden Library

  David Alastair Hayden

  dahayden.com

  Published by Typing Cat Press

  Cover illustration by Leos Ng "Okita"

  Graphic Design by Pepper Thorn

  Version 1.0 | July 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by David Alastair Hayden

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this work may be reproduced or distributed through any means without permission from the author.

  Prologue

  A lone girl knelt on the ice, a white-steel longsword clutched in her hand. Blood dripped from the blade’s tip. Gore stained her tattered, mismatched clothes and dark bruises splotched her pale baojendari skin — evidence of the battle that had left her stranded alone in this frozen waste.

  Her panting breaths turned to anguished grunts as her slight frame stretched and expanded. Over the span of mere moments she grew several inches and cords of muscle knotted along her limbs. The lines of a pentagram formed like a bruise on her forehead, matching the ghoulish purple in her once bright-blue eyes. Her fingernails lengthened into wicked claws. Fangs extended down from her gums.

  In Awasa’s mind, hatred and love battled, and the object of both was the same: Chonda Turesobei. She was no longer the Awasa who had foolishly set off from Ekaran weeks ago, driven by the desperate hopes of a silly girl afraid of losing the boy she thought she loved. She wasn’t even the same Awasa from a few minutes ago. As her body had changed, so too had her mind.

  A crimson sun sank into the horizon, casting shadows across the endless expanse of ice that was the Ancient Cold and Deep. With snow crusting in her unkempt black hair, Awasa stood and snarled at her enemies.

  She was surrounded by massive yomon, nightmarish savages, beings of chaos and destruction. Ragged pelts covered their vermillion skin and heavy tusks protruded out from under their white, bristle-broom mustaches. Their onyx weapons, razor-sharp, glittered in the dying light. Less than an hour ago they had numbered one hundred and eight. Now they were but ninety-one.

  Their solid black eyes locked onto her as they trudged forward, seething with anger. The Winter Gate, the way to Okoro, the way to freedom and vengeance, was closed to them once again.

  Awasa did not fear them.

  Howling, a yomon charged her. Awasa ducked under its spear-strike and plunged the white-steel sword into its gut. The yomon screamed and died. She pulled the blade free. Ninety.

  From opposite sides, two more ran at her. With blazing reflexes she had never before possessed, she slipped out from between them and spun on her heel, swinging the sword in a wicked arc. Such skill was new to her as well. The blade sliced deep into both yomon who then collided with one another. They dropped their clubs and stumbled, grasping at their wounds, their magical flesh smoking and peeling away.

  Awasa slashed deep into the shoulder of one of the wounded yomon. It crumpled and turned to dust. Eighty-nine.

  The other collapsed to his knees and Awasa stabbed him in the throat. Eighty-eight.

  The rest of the yomon closed on her.

  “Enough!” she screamed. “Enough!”

  She pulled out a medallion she had tucked into a belt. She held it up. The air shimmered and suddenly eight copies of Awasa appeared, identical to her in every way, except that their faces were blank — no eyes or noses or mouths — and long claws extended from their fingers.

  The yomon paused.

  Awasa glanced at her copies and grinned devilishly. Proudly she hung the medallion of Barakaros the Warlock from her neck. Despite this magic, the yomon could have overwhelmed her easily, but they hesitated. Though unused to fear, they had suffered greater losses this day than they had experienced in centuries. None wanted to face the white-steel sword, and they had seen this girl transform from a soft child to a killing machine in moments. What more surprises did she hold in store?

  Spinning slowly around, Awasa pointed the white-steel sword at them. “You will not attack me. You will follow me. I am your mistress now. You will obey me!”

  A yomon stepped forward and growled, “Why? We outnumber you. You can’t kill us all.”

  “If you wish to try, then go ahead.” The yomon did nothing. “I didn’t think so. You need me. I can get you what you want. I can get you out of here.”

  “The gate’s closed again,” the yomon replied. “There’s no way out.”

  “Trust me on this, Chonda Turesobei will find a way out.”

  “The Storm Dragon? We don’t want to face him again.”

  “You can, and you will. I was too weak when he brought us here. Too weak to slay him when he fled with the others. But I’m strong now, and my power’s still growing. He can’t keep that form forever. He will become human again.”

  “Who are you?”

  Ignoring the question, she held up her hand. It was coated in drying blood. Though cold ravaged most of her bare skin, the places coated in blood were as warm as if bathed in the summer sun. She glanced down. The body of a child lay on the ice before her, a child she had killed. Awasa dipped her hand into the Winter Child’s wound. She took the blood and smeared it onto her bare forearm. The cold vanished from that spot. She knelt and painted her face with the blood. Fangs extended, she bit into the child’s neck and drank until she could stomach no more. The yomon watched silently, unmoving, puzzled perhaps. Warmth spread throughout Awasa’s body. As the Winter Child had been immune to the cold, so now was she.

  Awasa smeared her hair back from her face and licked her fangs. “I am Ninefold Awasa. You are my yomon. Kneel before me.”

  One yomon fell to his knees, then another, and another. In a wave, the eighty-eight yomon knelt and bowed their heads.

  Awasa laughed and shouted into the sky. “I’m coming for you, my love — my betrothed! Wherever you are, I will find you! And after I kill the others, we will return to Okoro!”

  Chapter 1

  A large crystal embedded in the wall gave off timid, pinkish light, but as dawn approached, the crystal brightened and added a hint of warmth to the cramped underground room. Gravelly voices rumbled through the hallway outside. A curtain of white fur drawn across the doorway muffled the voices, but it couldn’t hold back the smoky scent of roasting meat wafting from the kitchens.

  Amidst thick fur blankets piled on the far side of the room writhed a lanky, pale-skinned, fifteen-year-old baojendari boy. Sweat pouring from his brow, he gnashed his teet
h and muttered incoherently. Neither scents nor sounds nor light stirred him. Only nightmares penetrated his exhaustion.

  The Mark of the Storm Dragon, a lightning bolt spiking through a storm cloud in a circle of black, sparkled on Turesobei’s cheek. The sigil had appeared after he shattered the heart of the ancient Storm Dragon, Naruwakiru, and absorbed most of the released energy.

  After struggling for weeks not to become like Naruwakiru himself, he had embraced the Storm Dragon to save his companions from the assassins known as the Deadly Twelve who tried to plunge Okoro into eternal winter and release the demonic yomon. Success had come at a price. He and his companions, save for the vampire Aikonshi and the monster hunter Hakamoro, were now trapped in the Ancient Cold and Deep.

  Forever.

  With the yomon bearing down on them, Turesobei had whisked his friends away and dropped them off near a village he hoped was safe. Unable to shift back into his human form, he had flown leagues away, until his fetch Lu Bei helped him return to himself. Then he crashed into the ice and was rescued by three white-furred, bear-like people known as the goronku.

  Turesobei groaned, “Naruwakiru …”

  Even now, in his dreams, he fought the urge to become the dragon, because he was certain that if he ever became the storm dragon again, he would lose himself forever.

  Nearby, two ancient books lay on top of his folded clothes and battered armor. One was a musty volume adorned with the Chonda Goshawk. The other was a diary with a polished leather cover, bound with silver wire and embossed with strange runes.

  The amber kavaru, a wizard’s channeling stone, that hung from Turesobei’s neck began to glow in response to his struggles against the dragon. The diary woke. Pages flipped rapidly and then the book spun into a dazzling cloud that coalesced into the form of a supernatural fetch. The fluttering pages turned to fluttering batwings. As big as a house cat and twice the trouble, Lu Bei was on the loose.

  The fetch, whose amber skin matched Turesobei’s kavaru, pounced onto Turesobei’s chest and shook him.

  “Master,” he said in a tinny voice. “Master, wake up!” Lu Bei chewed on his lip with his tiny fangs. His large, black eyes swelled with worry. “Master, you must fight it. You can’t become the dragon again.”

  Until six months ago, Lu Bei had hibernated in the Shadowland, where he had gone after the death of Chonda Lu, the founder of Turesobei’s clan. Turesobei carried the kavaru that housed Chonda Lu’s dormant soul, but apparently their connection went much deeper because it had called Lu Bei back. The little fetch was always going on about Turesobei’s special destiny.

  Turesobei stirred and groaned as he opened his eyes. “Lu Bei?”

  The fetch sat back with a sigh of relief. “I’m here, master.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Underground, master.”

  “How … why?”

  “Ah, you don’t remember then. Thought you might not. You were fading out when we arrived. The goronku, the ones who rescued you …”

  “I remember them.”

  “They brought you here, to their village below the ice. They tended your wounds and gave you a sip of drugged soup. You said it tasted like evil and then fell asleep.”

  That explained the foul metallic taste in his mouth. “I … I remember some of that now. But not this room.”

  Turesobei reached toward his shirt and winced in pain. His left arm was broken and now fixed to a splint. His entire body ached, but the pain alone couldn’t keep him awake. His spirit was depleted. Eyes sagging from fatigue and the last of the sleeping draught, he nearly fell back asleep.

  But then he remembered Iniru and Shoma.

  His eyes shot open and he sat up. “What time is it?!”

  Lu Bei eyed the brightening stone on the wall. “I’m guessing nearly dawn. The goronku are awake already.”

  The scent of cooking meats finally struck Turesobei. His stomach growled in hunger. A bowl of water sat nearby, but they hadn’t brought him any food.

  He reached for his shirt again.

  “I wouldn’t,” Lu Bei said. “It’s filthy and torn. Besides, it’s useless here anyway.”

  It was cold in this room, far colder than it ever got inside the High Wizard’s Tower back home, even on the worst days of winter.

  “As you were falling asleep the goronku medicine woman said they’d find you appropriate clothing. Why don’t you lay back down, master. Let me go find Narbenu. He’s the one that led the scouting party that rescued us. He’s our sponsor here.”

  “No, I’ve got to get to Iniru and Shoma. I’ve got to —”

  “Let me get him, master. Then we can worry about all that. One step at a time. If they survived the coldest hours of the night, they’ll be fine. Motekeru and the hounds are with them. I’m sure they’re safe.”

  Lu Bei flew off. Turesobei lay back down. He wanted to believe Lu Bei was right, but he remembered the look in Narbenu’s eyes when he’d told him about dropping his companions off near a village. It wasn’t just the fear of Turesobei’s companions facing the horrors that hunted this land at night and exposure to the extreme cold. There was a more specific fear that had danced through the bear-man’s eyes.

  The curtain pulled back. Narbenu and Lu Bei entered.

  Narbenu looked a lot like a k’chasan, except that k’chasans sort of resembled cats. Something one never dared point out in their presence. The goronku resembled bears in the same way, only with white, yellow-tinged fur. And they were a little more bearlike than k’chasans were catlike. The goronku had wide hands and feet, stunted snouts, round ears, beady black eyes, and thick frames.

  Narbenu, who had a prominent belly and a grizzled beard, wasn’t wearing his leather breastplate or carrying his hafted axe like before. He was wearing gray leather pants and a gray shirt trimmed in blue. Both the shirt and the pants were thick, so Turesobei guessed that fur lined their insides. It was so cold here that people with fur wore fur.

  Narbenu nodded. “Are you feeling better, lad?”

  Turesobei shrugged. “I’ve been worse. I could use a lot more sleep but …”

  “Your friends. Yes. I was on my way to wake you when I ran into the little creature.”

  Lu Bei bowed.

  “We need to get moving if we’re going after your friends. Tell me everything you remember about the village.”

  Turesobei tried, but he had been lost in the dragon form at the time. He remembered little, but Lu Bei knew more.

  “It was a quaint village,” the fetch said. “Stone buildings with tiled roofs. Looked ancient. Like it had been there for centuries, but it was all still in one piece.”

  “You were on the high plain northeast of here?”

  “I believe so,” Lu Bei said.

  Narbenu frowned and glanced away. “It is ancient. And it may look good but …” Narbenu shook his head. “We’ll get a rescue party together. Hopefully … Hopefully your companions … I’ll have someone bring you food and medicine. And clothes. You’ll want to be on your feet and after them right away.”

  “You’re not going to tell me to wait here and rest while you do it?” Turesobei said with surprise.

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “Because that’s what adults do.”

  “Maybe where you come from, but not here. Here you fight for your own if you can. I’d never insult your honor by making you stay behind. Nor will I insult you by giving you false hope. You’ll be lucky if they’re alive still.”

  “What’s there? Looked like a decent village to me.”

  “Decent? Hardly. It’s a place of the damned.”

  “What exactly —”

  “Think no more of it for now,” said Narbenu. “Worrying will do you no good. Rest while we get everything ready.”

  “You’re going to help me find them?”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  Chapter 2

  The light from the crystal on the wall was almost white now, with only a trace of pink, b
ut it wasn’t much brighter than a big candle. Lu Bei claimed the darkness made him sleepy and turned back into a book. Turesobei drank the water they’d left him then dozed until an old goronku woman, wearing a spectacular cloak woven of black feathers, shuffled into the room. She locked her milky eyes on Turesobei and took a deep sniff of the room. Her ears twitched. She smiled and eased over to him.

  “Hello, Chonda Turesobei. I doubt you remember me treating you last night.” He shook his head. “My name is Eira. I’m a shaman and I’m here to examine you again.” She circled her hands above him. “Your spirit has improved, but it’s still weak. Hardly stronger than that of a dying man. Except here.” She pointed to the storm sigil. “There’s tremendous spirit locked into this one part of you, as strong as a hundred souls combined. How can you contain so much?”

  “Willpower,” he answered, “and that’s fading. I don’t dare tap into the mark or I’ll become the Storm Dragon, and if I did that again I’d never turn back into myself.”

  “Too bad. I’d have loved to see the dragon, not that I can see much farther than my nose.” She chuckled. “You’re strong to resist so much. And you have yet another source of power.” She gestured at his kavaru. “You have a second soul.”

  “That’s my kavaru. It’s a channeling stone, a gem my people can use to do magic. Well, not all of my people. You must be in a certain bloodline. The soul in the gem is that of my clan’s founder, Chonda Lu.”

  She cocked her head. “It’s not your soul in the gem?”

  “No. Chonda Lu was a Kaiaru. The Kaiaru were an ancient race. Very powerful and not exactly human. Their souls resided in their kavaru gems which let them be resurrected into new human bodies using rituals that are now forgotten. But eventually most the Kaiaru were destroyed or gave up on being reborn. Only one Kaiaru remains on Okoro, the island continent where I am from.”

  “You are certain your soul is separate? Because the soul I sense in this kavaru … it’s no different from your own. They are the same. As if one were your left eye and the other your right.”