The Soul Eater (Chronicles 1): The Book of Roland

by James Master

  Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA): 3724 Cowpens Pacolet Rd., Spartanburg, SC 29307

  This edition published in 2017 by Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA)

  Copyright © Jim Master, 2017

  Cover Design Copyright © Kelly Stanley/The Missing Piece, 2017

  Edit copyright © Ashlee Pruitt, 2017

  Edit Copyright © Edd Sowder, 2017

  Interior Design © Foundation Formatting, 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  Also By James Master

  Anthologies

  Crossroads in the Dark II: Urban Legends

  Table of Contents

  START

  Also by James Master

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue: An Entry from Ashley's Diary

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  *** 1 ***

  The monk entered the dark halls of the monastery tired and weary from his previous mission. It had taken him outside the vine-covered walls of the secluded monks and into the cold desolate town of Dwight, Colorado. There he had battled the evil and corruption that had rooted itself into the very fabric of the town. Limping down the halls that led to his warm comfortable bed, the monk reflected on that tiny insignificant town. He had left a year ago to infiltrate the town and study whether or not an ancient evil was attempting to gain access to the numerous human souls that lay on the surface world. It had been decades since any sign of the Soul Eaters, but the brotherhood that protected the human race from them were not hesitant to investigate when one did surface.

  Opening the door to his room, the monk wasn’t surprised to find everything just as he had left it. Setting his pack on a rocking chair in the corner of the room, he shook off the trench coat that had protected him from the winter cold that had been a side effect of the emergence of an ancient seductress known as Lilith. The katana he wielded in the final conflagration was once again placed on the wall; its shorter twin welcomed back it's sibling. The belt that held two leather gun holsters was taken off and hung upon the rocking chair. The guns were as tired as the monk that wielded them and both needed to be cleaned and oiled, but not at the moment. The monk sighed as he sat on his long desired bed. Blood soaked clothes were thrown into a hamper in the far corner of the room. Even though he didn’t want to, he stood wearily, limped to the plain dresser made of oak, and changed into his standard brown robes.

  Three heavy knocks on his door froze the monk in his footsteps. Sighing, he made the visitor wait until he was sitting on the familiar bed.

  “Come in.” The only thing the monk wanted to do was to lie back on his bed and let his mind drift away into oblivion as sleep claimed him. Instead, he watched as another brother entered the room.

  “Brother Timothy, I am glad you returned from your adventuring from the south. Did everything go as planned?” The monk winced as pain lanced through his left leg, a reminder of the last battle. The injured monk offered the brother the seat in front of his desk.

  “To what do I owe the honor of your presence at such a late hour Brother Steven?” Sitting down, Steven smiled at the injured monk. It was a smile that Brother Timothy had seen many times. He regretted each of those times.

  “Can’t a man visit another man that he hasn’t seen in over a year?” As Timothy gently massaged his wounded leg, a laugh slipped out of his mouth that embodied equal parts humor and pain.

  “It has always been my experience the answer is no. What do you want Steven? I want to sleep and the last time someone denied me that I lopped off their head.” Steven grinned and stood.

  “The council wishes to congratulate you on your victory against the ancient evil. They also would like to debrief you on the situation.”

  “They can have my report in the morning concerning Lilith after I’ve eaten breakfast. Goodnight Steven.” The monk walked to the door, opened it and then turned around.

  “You’ve heard me wrong Timothy. They don’t want to debrief you on what has occurred, but what might occur. Apparently, there are signs that Velius might be summoned. They want you to investigate.” The pain in his leg suddenly traveled to his head as Timothy wished he hadn’t survived his last battle. At least then he could sleep.

  “Why does the council want me to investigate?”

  “Because you are the only one qualified enough to do such a thing and live to tell about it.”

  “Where will I be heading this time?” Steven displayed that grin that Timothy knew he would most certainly regret.

  “Indianapolis, Indiana.” With that Steven turned, switching off the bedroom lights leaving Brother Timothy in complete darkness. As the monk sprawled out on the comforting hardness of his bed, he uttered only two words before falling into sweet oblivion.

  “Why Indiana?”

  *** 2 ***

  A classroom full of teenage boys and girls watched the clock as it tortured them with the eternity long ticks of the second hand as it eked towards three o’clock. Their teacher, a man standing tall at twenty-six years of age, grinned at their need for freedom as he wrote their assignment on the white dry-erase board. New to teaching, Roland was sad when he entered his classroom to find the black chalkboards usually covered in a film of dusty white had been replaced by the sterility of the dry erase boards.

  This school year was the first of his professional teaching career. After five years of college, one year of student teaching, a Bachelor’s in Education, and over thirty thousand in student loans, Roland was out of college and loving most of it. As the bell shrilly ran throughout the building, teenagers rushed out of the classroom as if the three o’clock bell was a fire alarm instead. Summoning up not so distant memories similar to the events occurring now, Roland didn’t try to admonish them.

  He was packing his briefcase, an old leather gift from a love long lost, when an older man dressed in a tweed jacket and a bowtie walked into the classroom. “Well young man, how are you catching on with the profession of teaching eager young minds?” Roland could detect heavily sarcasm in his elderly voice.

  “I doubt most of them aren’t as eager as they were back when I was a kid.” The older man smiled and sat down at a desk in the first row. “They never are eager at that age. When I was their age it was all about the war, playing kick the can, and chasing girls. At your age, I can bet it was all about loud music, hair bands, and chasing girls. Kids these days only care about cell phones, video games, and that damnable Facebook. It’s also acceptable to be chasing both boys and girls.” The old man shook his head in disgust allowing Ro
land to sneak in a held back bout of laughter.

  “What are you and the missus planning for the weekend? We could discuss your career here at South Bend High and I know the wife could use another view on the latest gossip.” Roland sat down and absently placed his right hand on his wedding ring. Painful memories started to sprout up throughout his mind piercing into his thoughts like thorns from a rose. He glanced up at the elderly teacher then away towards the outside window.

  “My wife isn’t well. She hasn’t been in some time.” He could see the regret shown in the older teacher’s face. It looked as if he had just burped in public.

  “Is it that nasty stomach virus everyone and their brother has been getting? Ma had a terrible time with it couple weeks back.”

  “No, she had a complete mental breakdown a year ago. It was so bad that she was placed in the facility just outside of town. That was one of the major reasons I moved to this town. I can be closer to her.”

  In an attempt to change the subject the older man asked what town he was originally from to which Roland responded, “Indianapolis.”

  *** 3 ***

  In her dream, Ashley stood in the center of a giant arena littered with dead bodies. She turned in a full circle to catch every detail. Normally, her dreams were about going to the prom or high school. Her dreams never included football fields that were soaked with so much blood that the grass was tinted a reddish green color. She was standing on a scaffold that was about twenty feet tall by her guesstimate. Ashley turned in reaction to the sound of someone standing on a metal bleacher. The normally unnoticeable metallic twang sounded more like an explosive gunshot. Standing in the northern most area of the stands stood a single figure. Smoke rose from the two guns that the figure held. Ashley looked from the thin wisps of smoke to the figure’s face, meeting the sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce into her very soul. A vicious gurgling roar filled the arena suddenly. Ashley turned around to see a pair of crimson eyes peering from the announcer’s box.

  She woke up screaming.

  *** 4 ***

  The sun rose quietly over the town of South Bend, Indiana as Roland finished his first pot of coffee. Filling the pot for the second time, Roland went over the crazy events he read on the internet and watched on the local news. None of the big news stations had picked up on what was happening in Indiana yet, but Roland thought that they would in time. The headline he currently watched crawl across the screen was of the mysterious group of rioters coming from Indy. There were also some headlines telling of a plague or terrorist attack in downtown Indy. Roland was startled to see that the governor of Indiana had come onto the air and announced that the federal government was placing the state of Indiana in quarantine. All residents and visitors of the state were not going to be allowed out until whatever it is that is happening is quelled. The governor himself admitted to not knowing for sure what was wrong, but whatever it was, the government didn't want it spreading.

  Roland had made his first pot of coffee after a telephone call from his brother at two in the morning. His brother roughly said, “Roland, I’m sorry about the past, but Hell is full brother. The dead walk the Earth. Meet me at the mall in Rochester. I’ll be waiting. Safe travels.” His brother had spoken quickly, and even groggy, Roland understood the message. Roland climbed out of bed and started his first pot of coffee. Breakfast Blend from Seattle’s Best, Roland liked it the best because of its strength. He usually needed a strong coffee in the morning to get him going. Roland poured some cream and sugar into his coffee, sat down in front of the television, and turned on the news.

  Usually, the local news isn’t on for another three hours, but there they were, reporting about the current events. As the coffee ran down his throat, a horrid feeling crawled up his stomach. As he waited for the second pot to brew, Roland packed the necessary items: food, water, a revolver, his father’s WWII M1 Garand, and ammunition. Arranging the other items in his backpack, he stowed the revolver in a hidden compartment. Roland needed to be arrested for a concealed weapon when all Hell was breaking loose like he needed a hole in the head.

  The last thing Roland did was strap on his waterproof steel toe boots and grab his hunting hat. The hat reminded him of the character Robert Muldoon, the Game Keeper in Jurassic Park, his favorite novel. Roland favored the version in the movie better the books. The one in book survived but was drunk most of the time. In the movie Muldoon died while tracking his prey, teaching Roland a valuable lesson. Never underestimate your prey, they might turn around and hunt you instead. The hat served to remind him of that.

  Stepping out of his house, he breathed a sigh of relief. So far so good, he thought as he took the first steps into the most dangerous hunting grounds he would ever traverse. He thought back to his first hunting trip with his father and brother. They were hunting in Maine during the deer season. His father loved to hunt and therefore shared his past time with his sons. Roland was the elder son and his brother was younger by a couple of years. Their mother, who hated hunting, had forbidden him to take the boys hunting until they were sixteen years of age. Roland’s father had served in the army during World War Two and had started hunting since he was nine. On many of these hunting trips with his sons, he would tell those stories about his adventures in Germany and about the fight against the Nazis. It was on one of these trips that he told them about zombies and the Nazi’s connection with them.

  His father was drunk as usual when he told the two of them about the time his company invaded a concentration camp. It was there that he had discovered that the Nazis were using Jewish prisoners as test subjects for the zombie virus they were creating.

  Roland opened up his garage and pulled the tarp off the dirt bike he rarely used. He had bought it when his wife was still around, thinking how it might spice up their relationship. Roland struggled to hitch a small buggy, served as a trunk, onto the back of the bike. In the buggy, he stored a full canister of fuel and his backpack. His father’s rifle was stored in a holster that Roland had jimmy rigged into the bike some time ago. Kicking the bike into gear, Roland didn’t bother to shut the garage door behind him. He probably will never come back, so what’s the use? Roland headed south as the sun was beginning to come up. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his mirrored glasses.

  *** 5 ***

  It was still dark in the Capitol when the man looked out into the city. He had just finished the last preparations that his master had bidden him to accomplish. He took off his flat brimmed hat and set it on the table. Next, he gathered his loose hair behind his head and tied it into a ponytail. His hand left his hair and traveled to his neck, where he plucked the sign of priesthood from his shirt and flung it into the trash can next to him. He didn't deserve to wear it any longer.

  Chapter Two

  *** 1 ***

  The sun dawned on the little town of Walkerton. It was easy for the sun to blanket the tiny town with its rays of golden light. The population ranged from one to two thousand on a good census taking, the town is nowhere near the size of its neighbor to the north, South Bend, but it has that small-town familiarity that made it a magnet for those Mayberry kinds of people. Ashley personally didn’t like the town, but then again she was born and raised in Walkerton. Ashley saw it for what it truly was: a town with secrets. Most secrets were those little ones that no one really cared about, but others were darker. Ashley doesn't think of them as secrets, though. Most of the town knew about them, but they were never taken care of. She was walking down the street to her job at the local grocery store, Steve and Sue’s, when she noticed old man Master acting strangely on his porch. The elderly man was usually heating pennies on his skillet on the porch to throw at children when they got too close to his lawn. The Sheriff of the town, an obese slovenly man, never followed up on parent’s claims that their children had been burned by the heated Lincolns, but that was mostly because he was still afraid of the old coot. That was another secret Ashley thought about as she watched the old man.


  He was on his porch with his wheelchair lying next to him on its side with the airborne tire spinning wildly. Old man Master was walking stiffly like one of those zombies in the movies. Shambling was the term Ashley was thinking of as she walked by on the opposite side of the street. She stopped to watch the man walk across the porch. It was odd watching him walk, because to her knowledge, he was paralyzed from the waist down, an old battle wound from the Vietnam War. She watched as one of the regulars from the store speed walking past the old man’s house.

  He turned to look at the old vet and waved. “Mr. Masters! You’re walking again, huh? That’s great. Congratulations!”

  The passerby turned to continue his trek when the Old Man Master jumped off the porch and started running towards the man. Ashley was about to call out when the old man tackled the speed walker. Ashley watched as the man struggled to get Old Man Masters off him. Old Man Master had pushed him down on his face; to Ashley, it looked like the senior citizen was ready to bite him in the back of the neck. He would have too if the speedster hadn't moved, attempting to push the man off of him. Instead of biting his neck, the old man ripped a chunk of his shoulder. He howled in pain as he violently convulsed. It took the walker a few seconds to get the feeble-looking old man off of him so he could stand up. Looking down at the man, he touched the place where he had been bitten. He looked at the bloodied hand and then at the elderly man with a mix of anger and confusion.

  “What the hell man!? You took a chunk out of my shoulder.”

  She watched as a group of people started to gather towards the pair. Ashley heard someone talking to someone on their cell phone, possibly 911. She saw more people holding out their phones using them as video cameras, getting everything on tape. Ashley decided to keep on walking to work, she was going to be late and that would be her second time. Her bosses Steve and Sue were anal about people being late even five minutes no matter what the excuse. Her light stroll became a brisk walk as the grocery store came into view.