K: The Awakening (The Shadow Chronicles Book 1)

by K. R. Fajardo

  K

  The Awakening

  By K.R. Fajardo

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Dedicated to my three wonderful kids

  Esther, Gabriel, and Sara

  With a special thanks to Lori Wright and Salem Novak

  Copyright © 2015 by K. R. Fajardo

  Editing services provided by There for You Editing

  Cover Art by Once Upon a Time Covers

  This book is the result of the author’s imagination and is not intended to be taken as anything but the work of fiction that it is. Any resemblance of the characters, places, or events in this book to real people or places is purely coincidental.

  “Fifty years ago the Shadows betrayed me, left me to wither slowly into nothing, chained deep inside a hidden mountain cave. Meanwhile they took control of my kingdom, killing or enslaving any who would dare oppose them. But I am a patient woman … and immortal. The Shadows should enjoy their reign of terror while they can, in the meantime, I will continue to stare at these dark walls plotting my revenge. After all, it is only a matter of time, and I have all the time in the world.”

  K

  Prologue

  Jaron stood on top of a hill, staring blankly into the distance and taking in every detail of the scene unfolding below him. To his back the sun was setting, casting its last rays over the field below and painting the sky around him in a vast array of red and gold. He shuddered slightly as a cool breeze blew gently through the tall grass of the field, nipping sharply at his cheeks which had gone numb from standing exposed to the elements for too long. It was a seemingly perfect fall day, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was somewhat ironic that it was on this day life as he knew it was coming to an end.

  In the field below the hill, a montage of confusion was taking place as what remained of his troops rapidly gathered what little belongings they had before fleeing in various directions. It had taken less than an hour for the news of their last battalion’s capture to spread through the ranks, and with the Shadows and their forces now heading their direction to finish off what was left of the rebellion, all hope had been abandoned. He didn’t blame any of them for running; why should they stay and fight a battle they could never win? However, as he continued to watch them scatter to the four corners, all he could think about at the moment was what was going to become of each and every one of them once the Shadows ruled over Vanteria uncontested.

  Through the crowd he spotted his second in charge running in his direction. He was covered in blood, filthy, and exhausted. A young man for a Full-blood, being barely over fifty, Tyran had a head full of long dark hair, which he kept constantly secured into a tight ponytail behind him. Many a late night discussion the two of them had had over that hair, Jaron encouraging him to cut it, saying it was a liability on the field and was most likely preventing him from finding a wife. Tyran, on the other hand, would simply argue back that his hair was his ‘trademark’ and that cutting it would be no less than a crime, before adding rather confidently that he had no trouble with the ladies.

  Yet there would be no pleasant banter tonight, for as Tyran approached Jaron could tell by the look on his face that he too had given up any hope of the rebellion succeeding. “Jaron, come on. We have to get you out of here, they’ll be here any minute,” Tyran shouted as he came closer. Pausing a moment he placed his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. Jaron could only guess at how far the young man had run wearing his heavy metal armor. Each piece weighed more than most Terrians could lift and a full suit, such as Tyran was wearing, would crush any who dared to try. “Did you hear me? Get your things and let’s go.”

  Jaron had heard him, but his mind was lost in his own thoughts. “I have failed them, Tyran,” he said after a lengthy silence. “I have failed them all.”

  “Jaron, we don’t have time for this. The Shadows are on our heels and we have to go or they are going to kill us all,” Tyran pleaded as he grabbed a bag and began to randomly toss items inside.

  Angrily, he turned on his close friend. “I am a Shadow. Those? Those are traitors and they can’t kill me,” he yelled, kicking a helmet lying on the ground beside him. It went flying through the air, narrowly missing Tyran’s head.

  Tyran immediately stopped what he was doing and walked up beside Jaron, following his gaze into the thinning ranks fleeing below them. “I know they can’t kill you, but what they will do to you is far worse. Jaron, they will entomb you alive for the rest of time.” Tyran placed a hand on his shoulder as he continued to plead, “Please, Jaron. They are killing everyone they come across who knows anything about Kajhoul, and if they succeed in capturing you it will be as if she never existed.”

  “So your solution is for me to run, leave her and my brother behind in their clutches? That is your grand plan? Do you think me a coward?” he yelled, brushing away Tyran’s hand and turning his back to him.

  Sadness came over the young Full-blood’s face and he dropped his gaze to the ground. Jaron sighed, he didn’t mean to take out all his frustrations and anger on the young man who had remained valiantly by his side in so many close battles. He was one of the bravest men he had ever fought with and had a skill with a sword that none could match. However, even an army of men like Tyran couldn’t stop the massive hoard of forces closing in on them, and Jaron knew it.

  “You know I don’t, no one does, and I hope that is not what you think of me.” The young man sighed, “But, Jaron, there is nothing you can do for either of them. I saw Kajhoul stabbed with the Hypnos blade myself, and if the legends are true, it will be at least twenty years before she reawakens. It is being rumored that the Shadows gave her body to the Heralds to watch over until then. As for your brother, he is a prisoner in the Tower and you know as well as I that there is no way we can get in there to save him. If there was I would be the first to volunteer.” Tyran paused, eyes still locked on the ground at his feet. “Besides, he has probably been executed already.”

  Another sigh escaped his lips as Jaron watched the last of their troops disappear into the distance. He knew Tyran spoke the truth; the Tower was an impenetrable fortress. But what Tyran didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that he knew for certain his brother was still alive and would remain that way.

  Kajhoul, on the other hand, he was less certain about. She had told him and the other Shadows of the Hypnos blade, foolishly trusting them with one of her closest secrets. The blade, a gift from a sorceress she had known long ago, had been created so that if the time ever came when Kajhoul decided she need a break from her immortal life, it could be used to give her twenty years of peaceful sleep. However, the blade was not supposed to have been in Vanteria. It was left in the keep of those who lived on the other side of the border, and he still had no idea how the three other Shadows managed to get their hands on it.

  “You know I don’t think you a coward,” he said, looking over at his young friend, “but how can I run and hide knowing that I am leaving them both behind?”

  Tyran met his gaze with a fierce determination. “We are not running my friend, we are merely waiting. Waiting for the day when the stars realign and signal us it is our time for victory.”

  Jaron took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair.
It was all difficult to accept, but as much as he hated to admit it, he had no other choice. There was nothing he could do to help any of them, not Kajhoul, not his brother, nor any one of the men fleeing around him. He had never felt as utterly hopeless as he did right now.

  “And where will we go?” he asked after a moment.

  Spurred by the sudden acknowledgement of escaping, Tyran resumed tossing items into the bag. “There are a few of us heading to the borderlands to set up camp in the forest. The Shadows, like everyone else, are frightened of that area so the hope is they will not follow us inside. Perhaps we can make it into a safe haven for those seeking refuge from the Shadows.”

  The plan definitely had merit. The forest on the border was massive; a thick labyrinth of trees packed so tightly together that navigating through it by any means other than on foot was virtually impossible. And since most people believed it to be haunted, thanks to the strange noises that emanated from deep inside its darkness, hardly anyone ever travelled within miles of its edge.

  “Jaron, it’s time. We have to go now,” Tyran asserted, handing him the bag.

  Taking it, Jaron simply nodded. He too could hear the rumble of the Shadows’ forces coming in the distance. There was no more time to second guess; he either left with Tyran, or joined Kajhoul and his brother as prisoner of the three people he had once considered as close as family. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, it took only a look and the two of them ran into the fading sunlight, swiftly leaving the sounds of the Shadows’ troops far behind them. There was no one in their ranks—besides the Shadows themselves—that could keep pace with them, and they would not try.

  They would let him go. He had no chance of raising another rebellion against them, so he was no longer a threat. They had won. Nevertheless, this arrogance would one day be their undoing, because somehow he would find Kajhouland his brother again, and together the three of them would finish off the traitors once and for all.

  Chapter 1

  The Clinic

  Fifty years later

  “Now explain to me again how this happened,” Mikel prompted the young Terrian boy perched on his exam table while he tried his best to bandage the boy’s injured leg. However, the boy, seemingly unbothered by the large gash, continued to swing his good leg back and forth over the edge of the bed, making the process of wrapping its companion all the more difficult.

  “We were playing hide and seek, Mr. Fajar. I have a secret hiding spot in one of the old watch towers that no one knows about … well, at least they didn’t until I fell out of it. Anyway there was a piece of metal sticking out and I cut my leg on it while I was falling.”

  Mikel smiled and shook his head “It’s a good thing you have a hard head or this could have been much worse,” he said, gently ruffling the boy’s hair. The boy grinned back and continued to fidget on the bed while Mikel taped the last piece of wrapping into place.

  “Dad, Rigar is here,” Citera called from the doorway of the exam room. “He said he needs to see you, and he’s waiting outside by the back door.”

  She remained in the doorway staring at him impatiently while she worked to fasten loose strands of her dark brown hair back into a ponytail. At only sixteen years of age, she was mature well beyond her years, having taken over much of the responsibility in the upkeep and daily running of the clinic since her mother’s passing earlier in the year. Behind her the noise and bantering of the busy clinic filled the hallway. Staff members were calling to one another requesting supplies, others summoned the next patients back to an available exam room, and all of it reminded him that he had probably spent more time in this room than he should have.

  “Tell him to come in, he knows he is always welcome. Besides, it’s really busy right now,” Mikel remarked as he walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a jar of medicated cream.

  Together, Mikel and Citera lived in and ran the only medical clinic within miles of their home town of Vicaris. It was a quiet and uneventful place to live, or at least it had been until the construction of the new road began to creep closer and closer to town. Now a constant stream of people flowed through the front door, most of which were Full-bloods injured from working day and night on its construction in horrific conditions.

  “I tried to, but he is acting weird and refuses to come inside. He is waiting by the cart for you,” Citera explained tapping her foot in frustration. She reached behind her, untied the blood-stained apron covering her clothes, and pulled it off over her head. Then with one hand on her hip, she cocked her head to the side, and tapped her foot as she waited for him to finish. Mikel quickly glanced back at the young boy to prevent himself from laughing aloud. She was the spitting image of his late wife who also used to strike that same pose when she was angry with him about something.

  Mikel handed the jar to his young patient. “Take this cream home and give it to your mother. Tell her to apply it to the wound twice a day and it will be healed in no time.” He had no sooner got the words out of his mouth when the Terrian boy jumped down from the table and made a dash for the door, with Mikel calling after him, “And stay out of the watch tower. If the guards catch you up there a cut leg will be the least of your worries!”

  But it was no use; the boy was out the door and gone. He shook his head and headed toward his daughter, who was still waiting impatiently in the doorway. “Shall we go see what Rigar wants then?” She shrugged, and together they headed down the hall for the back door where his clinic manager, Janil, stood waiting for them.

  “Have you talked to him?” Mikel asked as they approached.

  “No, he won’t talk to anyone but you and he is acting extremely nervous. I hope he didn’t get into trouble with the supervisors again, he can’t afford to have his merits cut anymore.” As she answered Janil turned the knob on the door leading outside. “As it is he doesn’t earn enough to buy his own daily ration, much less trying to provide for thier daughter as well.”

  It was obvious by the tone of her voice that she was concerned by their mutual friend’s strange behavior. The both of them knew of Rigar’s past problems with the supervisors on the road. He had a nasty habit of interfering and standing up for those who were unwilling or unable to do so themselves. Unfortunately for him, his quest to right the injustices of the world often ended in him being made an example of as an angry supervisor exacted their revenge. In the last year alone he had been jailed once and had his merits cut twice, leaving him and his family struggling to survive.

  “You really should have a talk with him,” Janil continued as they headed out the door. “I know he is trying to do the right thing, but if he keeps this up he will fall into a coma from starvation. Have you noticed that he is losing weight?”

  This wasn’t the first time he had heard this lecture from her; she constantly worried about Rigar, as well as many of the other Full-blood patients that came into the clinic. She couldn’t help it, it was in her nature. She had come to work for him many years ago after the clinic she ran alongside her husband in another town was ransacked by the Shadows’ forces, and her husband arrested on trumped up charges. Since her arrival, Mikel had come to depend on her for just about every aspect of the clinic’s daily functions, and more so since his wife’s passing. It was her diligence that kept the doors of the clinic open after he allowed himself to fall deep into a pit of self-despair over his wife’s death. On her own she had managed the staff, the patients, and all the materials, as well as providing Citera with the comfort and support she needed in her time of loss. It was also her who finally slapped some sense into him, reminding him that he did not have the luxury of shutting down and giving up. He had a daughter who needed a father, and it was his responsibility to care for and raise her to be as strong and determined as her mother before her.

  Together the three of them walked out the back door of the clinic where Rigar stood waiting. “Hey, what’s with all the secrecy?” Mikel called to him jokingly. “Have you taken a job as a spy for the Shadows?” But
as usual Rigar wasn’t laughing; he had always been a bit too serious. However, the look on his face at the moment made Mikel realize how truly anxious his normally stoic friend was, and becoming concerned he asked, “Is everything okay? Is your family all right?”

  The tension in the air was undeniable, as Rigar, normally an emotionless man, thanks in part to his Full-blood nature, was exhibiting a great deal of stress. He continuously scanned up and down the alley as he addressed Mikel.

  “My family is fine,” he answered nervously, “but maybe we should talk alone.” He nodded his head toward Janil and Citera, who were standing beside Mikel in the doorway.

  Mikel followed his gaze to his companions then turned back to Rigar. “I don’t know what all this is about, but anything you need to say to me can be said in front of them as well. I keep no secrets from them, you know that.”

  Rigar paused, studying the two women, and appeared torn as to what he was going to do. His hands worked nervously in front of him as he peered from one end of the alley to the other. Eventually, after a long silence, he made up his mind and turned to climb back into the cart. “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and prepared to drive away, only to be stopped by Mikel’s hand on his arm. “Hey, what is going on? You know you can trust us with anything, we are here for you, no matter what. Just tell us what the problem is and we will do what we can to help you.”

  Rigar looked at him and took a deep breath; his face twisted with doubt. He took a moment to reconsider his options, but seeming to come up with no better ideas he ran his fingers through his coal black hair, then turned and pulled the cloth covering the back of the cart away. Mikel hesitated, almost afraid to look and see what had upset his friend so badly. Taking several deep breaths of his own to settle his nerves, Mikel finally summoned up enough courage to glance over the edge.