WAKENED (The Silvervane Chronicles Book 1)

by Rachel Berlynn

  WAKENED

  - A Silvervane Chronicle -

  Rachel Berlynn

  WAKENED

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Berlynn.

  All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Berlynn

  Cover Design © Paper and Sage Designs 2020.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations or references with regard to reviews or critical articles. For information, visit: www.rachelberlynn.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Berlynn, Rachel

  Wakened /Rachel Berlynn-2nd ed.

  p. cm.

  I want to dedicate this book to everyone who has contributed to this storyline throughout the years. A special thanks to my sister Noriah, who stayed up late into the night brainstorming with me about this fictional world in the beginning. To my mom, for championing me throughout this eight-year process and reading several revisions along the way. To my friend A.C., for reading, editing, and giving me valuable feedback on this book. I couldn’t have done it without all of you! And finally, to my dog Alister, who stayed by my side as every word was written.

  Table of Contents

  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

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY- SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  R yder Payne stood in the pouring rain with his black umbrella still folded and clenched in his left hand, as a steady stream of water trickled from its tip down the side of his leg. His messy brown hair was dripping across his forehead and high cheekbones. His chocolate brown eyes were narrowed in unnerving concentration. His father’s memorial service had ended forty-five minutes ago and he had been the only one there to witness it. The angry gray clouds overhead were no match for his mood, nor did the frigid gusts of wind chill him. Water was splashing from the headstones of nearby graves, as the grounds men struggled to fill in the newest burial plot before the wind tore the portable canvas covering away, exposing everything to the elements.

  Ryder didn’t care about the rain. He didn’t really care about anything at the moment. He couldn’t take his eyes from the spot where he’d seen his father’s casket disappear into the earth. He felt dead inside, like his heart had stopped beating. His feet were numb from standing outside in the cold mountain air so long. His right hand was shoved deep into the pocket of his long black trench coat; clasping the letter his father had given him in his dying moments.

  He hadn’t read it yet. He refused to accept his father’s death until he’d seen the last shovel full of dirt tossed onto the grave, concealing the casket forever. He watched in reverential silence as the grounds men sealed the gravesite with patchy clumps of grass and sod. He remained rooted to the semi-frozen earth beneath him, as the canvas was taken down. The burial crew threw their shovels and tools into the back of an old rusty pickup truck and

  climbed in, giving him a solemn nod before driving off.

  Now he was alone—in every sense of the word.

  Ryder walked slowly back to his car. He paused with his fingers on the handle of his silver Camaro, remembering how excited his father had been to give it to him for his eighteenth birthday.

  That had been only two weeks ago.

  He drove home in vacant, emotionless, silence. Nothing would ever be right again. His family was gone. Every person he loved on earth had been taken from him, and his father’s death had been far worse than all the rest. His father had been his anchor. His stability. His compass. Without him, Ryder didn’t know who he would become.

  He pulled up in front of Payne Mansion, the castle-like home that had belonged to his family for centuries and now belonged to him. He put his car in park and slid out of the shiny Camaro, entering the mansion through a side entrance, the quickest way to his father’s study on the second floor. After climbing two very steep, winding staircases, Ryder found himself standing in the middle of the room, pulling the letter from the damp pocket of his coat. He was still dripping from head-to-toe, but he didn’t even notice. He carefully opened the melted, wax seal bearing his father’s initials and extracted the letter from its envelope, unfolding it slowly. He forced himself to take his time, knowing that these were the last words he would ever read from his father.

  Dear Ryder,

  If you are reading this letter it means something terrible has happened to me. I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have left you with the secrets the journal contains. Now you are in great danger. I had hoped to spare you from the pain and suffering that undoubtedly lie ahead and I am grieved that you must face Edryd’s Order alone. I hope that someday you will understand why I couldn’t join them. I know how angry you must be but you cannot join them, Ryder. Finish what I started. Find the Prince. Find freedom at any cost. I will be watching over you—even from beyond the grave.

  Love Always,

  Your Father

  Ryder crumpled the damp piece of paper in his hand and threw it angrily across the room. He didn’t care about the worthless, old manuscript his father had left him. He was dead now…along with everyone else Ryder had ever loved.

  And it was all because of an old journal.

  He glared at the brown, tattered cover with disdain. His great-grandfather had copied legends from a forbidden, ancient manuscript that had been passed down in his family from father-to-son for centuries. His father had now passed it on to him and expected him to continue the quest for the Lost Prince, but he wanted nothing to do with it. Everyone who had ever laid eyes on the journal wound up dead…and that was no exaggeration.

  He stormed over to his father’s mahogany desk and brushed the old manuscript off angrily, scattering loose pages all over the floor. He stomped out of the library, slamming the heavy door behind him. Barreling through one dark passageway after another, he found his way out to the Mansion’s center tower balcony. From this high up, he could see the crumbling, concrete bridge that crossed over a wide stream, connecting the Payne Estate state to Silvervane forest. His nearest neighbor was more than five miles away.

  Ryder sighed heavily. He needed to clear his head. He had inherited the Mansion and the entire estate, of course, so he didn’t have to worry about where to live now that he was on his own. Having turned eighteen two weeks ago, there were no concerns regarding legal guardianship, but he would need to speak with his father’s attorney right away to get everything settled. In addition to the wealth wrapped up in the Payne Estate, his father had more money invested than a person could spend in three lifetimes, but he would gladly give it all away just to be free of the place and the memories that haunted it.

  The only thing keeping him from leaving the haunted Mansion and the small town of Silvervane this very moment was the fact that he hadn’t graduated from high school yet. He knew it didn’t actua
lly matter since he didn’t have to get a job to support himself, but his father had instilled in him a strong value for education and the importance of developing a good mind. And besides, the secondary school he attended was the best in the northern hemisphere. He’d gotten a little behind in his studies over the years because of all the traveling he’d done with his father, but he didn’t let it bother him. He was so close to finishing now that quitting would be unthinkable.

  All those worthless expeditions, Ryder thought vehemently, remembering the trips he’d taken with his father. Like chasing an imaginary pot of gold at the end of a fictitious, magical rainbow. His father had been unbelievably stubborn and naïve. He’d spent his entire life chasing fairy tales about a lost kingdom and an immortal prince who was meant to restore true freedom and justice to the world. It was all so absurd. The world was a screwed up place—that’s just the way it was. No magical prince could solve its problems and trying to find him only led to an early grave.

  Ryder was so angry he could hardly think straight. Why couldn’t his father have taken up a hobby or pursued a gentlemen’s profession like other men of his societal rank? Why had searching for a mythical prince been more important than protecting his family’s honor and blending in with the local people of Silvervane? And if he’d known Edryd’s Order was trying to hunt them all down, why hadn’t he insisted on moving away from this place before the entire family was murdered?

  He turned to stare at the cold, limestone face of the castle-like mansion he called home. His European ancestors had built it in the 1600s, which was obvious from the French Renaissance style architecture, the asymmetrical and elaborate towers, spires, steeply slanted roofs, and concrete statues fashioned after mythical creatures. The Paynes had occupied it for more than two hundred years and the bones of their deceased members were buried in the crypt below it. Ryder understood why people thought it was haunted and he didn’t blame them for believing it—especially with all of the mysterious deaths in the last five years.

  The rest of the Payne Estate was so vast that four towns the size of Silvervane could fit inside of its 25,000 acres, with room to spare. The Mansion was nestled in the center of a large clearing, where streams, well-maintained gardens, orchards, and grassy fields dotted the landscape in every direction. Beyond the clearing, it was strategically hidden, surrounded by a massive concrete wall within the outlying boundaries of the vast Silvervane Forest. Completely cut off from the outside world, the mansion was almost entirely devoid of the modern conveniences of the 20th century. It was so large that hundreds of farmers, tenants, and housekeeping staff lived within its borders. The men typically took care of the land and stables, while their wives and daughters rarely went to high school, preferring to secure jobs as maids, housekeepers, or cooks. It was good job security and it was all they had ever known.

  Life at the Payne Estate had never evolved farther than the conventions of Victorian Era England. No one seemed to notice or care how outdated and impractical the social system and its traditions were. The older staff and its tenants rarely left the Estate and had no idea what it was like to live outside of its walls. Very few of the children were educated or accomplished enough to be admitted to the elite preparatory school in town, so most of them received less than an eighth grade education before beginning employment at the Mansion. With 25,000 acres of land and the estate’s merchant economy to cultivate, along with the vast responsibilities of the mansion’s upkeep, they had enough work to keep them slaving away from dawn till dusk.

  Ryder, on the other hand, had never been content isolated within its walls. More than ever he wanted to be free from its restrictive, outdated customs and the acres of lonely, rugged landscape that stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see. He gritted his teeth. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek, unbidden. Despite his resolve to be tough, he couldn’t completely conceal his grief. He hastily wiped the tear away. He didn’t have time to mourn.

  Edryd’s Order would be coming for him now.

  Ryder had known about The Order for as long as he could remember. His father had told him all the legends about his murderous ancestors—an ancient order of corrupt druid priests with dark powers who still practiced in secret, meeting in underground tunnels and hollows. They often hid their sordid agendas and pagan practices behind the guise of an exclusive group or organization, concealing their clandestine meetings and rituals from the public eye. For centuries, they had been quietly plotting to overtake the major political systems of the world and overthrow democracy to establish a One World Order with a centralized, global Monarchy. They had already succeeded in infiltrating several prominent governmental and political structures and their ultimate goal, of course, was to bring their beloved founder, Edryd, back from a dark, enchanted sleep to make him the supreme ruler of this new world order.

  The whole concept was absurd, of course. Strong, democratic governments would never allow such an uprising to take place, not to mention the fact that these primitive druids would have to get past each country’s vast army and all of their allies before such a takeover would ever be possible. No one would give up their freedoms to a renegade group of sociopathic sorcerers—no matter how powerful they might be.

  Still, Ryder was forced to acknowledge that there was some truth to the legends. Anyone who deserted The Order, for example, or acted to help its enemies, was said to be under a curse—subjecting their entire bloodline to brutal and savage deaths. Now that every person in his family was dead, there was no denying that the curse was real. His grandfather had been the first to renounce Edryd’s Order and the first to refuse to take his rightful place among them. One by one, the rest of his family had been eliminated. Defecting was considered the worst form of betrayal among Edryd’s loyal followers and nothing would stop the curse but re-joining their ranks.

  The whole situation felt hopeless. It wasn’t like Ryder could just storm into the police station and explain that he was descended from an ancient line of sociopathic druids who had power to kill people without leaving a trace. The people of Silvervane would think he was crazy if he attempted to explain any of it, he was sure of that. They were already blaming him for his own father’s murder, declaring that his unusual upbringing had rendered him deeply disturbed and mentally unstable.

  He stood on the balcony looking out over the gloomy landscape for what seemed like hours. When the light finally began to fade from the troubled sky, he had resigned to finish out the school year and leave Silvervane forever. He went back into the mansion and wearily changed out of his soaked clothes, draping them haphazardly across a winged-back armchair to dry in front of the fireplace in his bedroom.

  There were fifty fireplaces in the Mansion, providing its only source of heat and warmth. They were lit day and night from early October through the end of May. Installing a modern heating system in a stone castle was apparently not a viable option, and Ryder had long since grown accustomed to its outdated quirks. He crawled into bed feeling nothing but emptiness as he drifted off to sleep, falling into a black hole of oblivion.

  The next morning, Ryder awoke to the sound of someone knocking on his bedroom door.

  “Mr. Payne,” the old butler called from the other side of his bedroom door. “The police Chief is here to see you. He’s waiting for you downstairs in one of the sitting rooms.”

  Ryder rubbed his eyes tiredly and forced himself to get out of his king-sized, four-post bed, dragging his feet as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He tried to run his fingers through the tangled mass of brown hair that had clumped together from being wet for so many hours the day before, but it didn’t help much. He was in desperate need of a shower, but he didn’t want to keep the police Chief waiting.

  No doubt the Chief had more questions about his father’s murder. There was no end to them. It had been the same exact way with everyone else in his family. Now, he alone would be harassed for details and answers he didn’t have.

  He took a
deep breath, and went downstairs to meet the Chief.

  When he entered the sitting room, Chief Blair was studying a family portrait on the large, marble fireplace mantel on the east side of the room. He turned when he heard Ryder come in.

  Chief Blair actually looked very similar to his father in some ways. Dark hair, dark eyes, confident expression. But this man’s confidence was more like arrogance, and his demeanor was cold and abrupt. He didn’t show an ounce of real sympathy or respect for Ryder or the death of his family members.

  “I have a few questions,” the Chief began, furrowing his greying, bushy eyebrows.

  “Of course you do,” muttered Ryder, allowing a lazy yawn to escape. “But couldn’t they have waited until later?”

  “You have school,” the Chief stated, callously. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for making you late.”

  Ryder rolled his eyes. “I hardly think I’ll be expected to attend classes today,” he said, looking bored. “I buried my father yesterday. I doubt the Principal would hold an absence against me.” He had every intention of going to school today, but Chief Blair didn’t need to know that.

  The Chief ignored his reply. “Tell me again exactly where you were when your father was stabbed,” he said, taking out a familiar pad of paper and a pen. There were already several pages of statements about the incident in the notebook he held, and Ryder was annoyed that this man seemed bent on wasting his time.

  “I’ve already told you everything I know,” Ryder said, clenching his jaw.

  “I have to be thorough, Mr. Payne,” The chief said patronizingly. “Please don’t allow your emotions to interfere with the integrity of this investigation.”

  Ryder rolled his eyes. “I was asleep in my bed,” he said each word slowly, emphasizing the last word.