Silence: Part Two of Echoes & Silence

by Am Hudson

  Echoes & Silence

  Part Two

  Previous Books in the Series

  #1 Dark Secrets

  #2 The Heart’s Ashes

  #3 Mark of Betrayal

  #4 Lies in Blood

  #5 Echoes

  Silence: Part Two Echoes & Silence

  A. M. Hudson

  Text © 2015 by Angela M Hudson

  Cover image © 2015 Shutterstock/AlexAnnaButs

  Edited by John Adriaan

  Kindle Edition

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental

  ISBN: 978-0-9942585-0-2

  Prologue

  She walked naked through barren land, a vast ocean disconnecting her from a place she once called home. Her feet knew now how rock felt to Man, her skin had met the burn of the sun, and as she stood atop the cliffs at the edge of her new world, the wind lifted her hair for the first time, dragging it behind her like a past she wished to forget. Her breasts felt cold, not cool, and her mouth felt dry, although she had no word for this. Tiny bumps covered her skin, and her fingers felt stiff around the treasure she’d stolen as she left.

  As far as the eye could see, the shadows of Death and Nothingness had owned these lands for too long, drinking Life’s essence from within the veins of the earth God created. But in her hand she held the hope of everything.

  In her hand she held Life.

  In her hand she held the future for all that He called Man.

  But Man did not dwell here as before. He did not dwell here. No one was here. No one but her and the hope she held in the tight curl of her fist.

  She chose a place beneath the sun, of the sea and of the land, and dug a tiny impression in the earth, laying the seed there and covering it carefully. For forty days and forty nights she nourished the dry sand with her tears, and as the sun rose on the forty-first day she stood back as a singular leaf broke the surface and met the light.

  Rain came down as the Tree rose upward, twigs twisting and snaking outward into branches, the ends flourishing with leaves of such intense green that the land around it began to change in colour. Lilith felt the roots connect with the earth, turning the sand to soil, thick and rich with nourishing elements. And as the roots reached down into a world beyond this and drank from the Rivers of Life, the hardened land shook and a great crack split the surface. Rushing water flooded the channel, following its path through a growing valley of green miles from where she stood.

  When the water finally settled and the rain slowed, when the earth finally stood still, the morning sun shone down on a crystal clear lake, and Lilith looked upon her creation, praising the miracle of Nature.

  She cried a tear for the joy and one for the hope, but the smallest blossom of fear unfurled in her heart for the beginning of new things. Beginning of new worlds. The end of her encasement. This tree, as it warmed its leaves in the sun, knew nothing of what it represented for her. It knew nothing of the world and all the things He created. It knew only life. It knew only what it drew from the depths of the earth beneath it. Yet it was, in all its shining glory, The Change. The Freedom. The Miracle of Man.

  “And there was,” Lilith said, laying her hand to its twisted trunk. “And it was good.”

  She looked up then as thunder clapped, the seas rising and swelling in angry bursts of white foam. Dark clouds closed in over her new world and circled above, threatening her fragile new creation.

  “No!” she screamed, shielding her tree with wide arms.

  Silver light lacquered the sky in response, and the winds tore the leaves from the branches, bending it and twisting it at odd and painful angles.

  “Why are you doing this?” she cried to the Heavens. “Why do you seek to punish me?”

  A cracking bolt of power shook the ground, and the roots of the tree receded like aged, coiling bones, shrinking and slithering back to the warmth and safety of the trunk. The great river of clear water followed and the colour of the world faded away, leaving only a lake and the darkness as the sun retreated behind dusty clouds of dry earth.

  And then it was silent.

  And then it was cold.

  The lonely girl dropped to her knees and prayed.

  For many suns and many moons she whispered pleas for forgiveness, begged and cried to all who would hear, when at last as the dawn rose one empty morning she looked up to a beam of light, shining gloriously down on a black stone she hadn’t noticed there before—marking the sacred grounds of the dead tree like a headstone.

  She got up, her knees weak and dirty, and walked slowly toward it. Somewhere deep within the impenetrable stone she could feel the pulse of Life—feel her connection to what she’d created and to the one who concealed it there. She knelt and drove her hand into the earth over and over again until it bled, then laid it upon the stone, offering the life within her to the deadness left behind.

  For seven more days and seven more nights, her blood seeped like red tears into the earth and the emptiness around her until, at last, when her soul felt as weak as her bones, the blood stopped flowing and she laid down beside the stone and closed her eyes.

  The darkness came and closed her in, concealing her from all who looked upon the past, and when the morning once more touched the lands, a great forest had risen and the land split itself in two—cutting Lilith off from the rest of the world on an island of her own.

  The stone would lay forever kept a secret of the past, lost somewhere in the future, guarded by things unseen.

  And the simple creature He called woman woke again as something more.

  Chapter One

  My eyes flicked open, bright and focused as though I hadn’t been asleep. But I felt rested and renewed, and as the memory of how I fell asleep slowly trickled in past my dream, I reached across to see if it was real, and smiled.

  David lay peacefully beside me, his bare chest gently rising with his human-like breath, a soft, barely audible rumble coming from the back of his throat.

  I rolled up on my elbow and looked at him through the darkness. At some point during our first passionate act of love since I-couldn’t-remember-when, we must have shared blood, because my forearms, breasts and his neck and shoulder were smeared with dried-up smudges of red. But all I remembered was what I felt as we both reached climax together: whole.

  I gently smoothed a hand down his ribs, watching his eyelids flutter slightly around peaceful dreams. His mouth hung open with the total relaxation of his face—the cheeks soft and loose, the tight expression he always seemed to hold gone. He was clearly sleeping as well as I had been: better than we had since I was human.

  Outside, an approaching winter rattled at our windows, holding back the dawn.

  David said last night that we needed to fight for our daughter, so if that was the case, the dawn wasn’t just a passing occurrence—something I could sleep through—it was my best chance to find Lilith. She knew more than she ever let on, and if anyone knew a way to save both Jason and the baby it was her. But something deep in my core gave me warning—perhaps that she might play games and keep me from the truth—and that same concern had
me too tense to get more sleep.

  As silent as a mouse, I rolled the covers back and aimed my feet to the floor, reeling my toes back quickly when they struck the cold.

  David held his breath then, the predator in him listening for danger, and I paused in that awkward position for a moment. When he finally started snoring softly again, I ran on my toes to the stool by my dresser and grabbed my nightgown, slipping my feet into my woolly boots as I sat down.

  The small oddly-shaped bottles of perfume beside my hairbrush and comb gave off a mixture of both floral and musk, taking me by my nose back to my old bedroom in my dad’s house. All I wanted in my heart back then was to belong somewhere again—to have love and friendship and feel safe. It had been a very long battle to fight for those things, and even though there was and might always be an imminent threat to our safety or the safety of those we love, I finally felt safe in my own skin—capable of defending myself. The memories I revisited with that smell no longer fit the way I felt.

  Under a small round tray of trinkets and coins sat Jason’s journal, safely hidden in plain sight. I drew it out, laying the tray back down quietly so I wouldn’t wake David, and then flipped through the pages for a bit. Jason hadn’t really written down instructions for developing telekinesis, but there were enough ‘don’ts’ to point me in the right direction: Concentrating on the spoon doesn’t make it move. I need to focus on the air around it. It’s not the spoon that’s moving. I think it’s more to do with the elements, perhaps tiny particles of… I wish I knew. This was written so long ago that he didn’t even have his degree in scientific studies yet. Or should I say degrees. Yet that little bit of information that he didn’t know was enough to tell me what I needed to know. After reading this a few days ago I decided to focus on the air around my necklace instead of the actual talisman, and actually lifted it off my chest. However, it was a fluke, because I hadn’t managed it again.

  I placed the book back in its hiding spot and focused on the lid of my jewellery box beside it, willing it to open by power of my mind. But if Jason’s journal had taught me anything, it was that will had little to do with it. I had better luck moving things accidentally and then repeating the scenario or thought that led to it. But if it wasn’t moved by will or by forced concentration, then what did make it move?

  When a niggling ache jabbed the side of my head, and since the lid under my gaze refused to move anyway, I gave up with a little huff of frustration and just sat quietly, biting my teeth together.

  Behind me, David stirred, holding his breath and rolling over before settling again with his hand on my side of the bed. My body tingled at the thought of how that would feel—his arm wrapping my waist when he found it in the dark and then drawing my spine to his chest, cradling me warmly in the curve of his body, his nakedness hard against my bottom. We’d wake only enough to make love in the silence around us, but second by second the dawn would appear and I’d miss my chance to speak with Lilith. I mean, sure, she walked the forest at other times, but I could guarantee she’d be there when the Stone was at its most vulnerable, even if just to guard its wisdom from me.

  As I looked back at the mirror and searched the shadowy silhouette for my eyes, something about my reflection looked different. And again, with the smell of the perfume mingling with the chill in the air, I slipped to that place in my past before everything began—before I met David.

  In her silence the girl staring back showed me my mistakes, my regrets, and at the end of it all I just felt heavy and sad for that love David and I had lost. Even though things were different now—even though we were as one again—my regrets ran deeper than his forgiveness ever would.

  I opened my jewellery box and sorted through for my engagement ring.

  The past could not be undone—nothing about my innocent childhood could be restored—but my ring needed to go back where it belonged: right beside my wedding band, and right over the top of the permanent black Mark. The look on David’s face last night as I tossed it back in the box was still bothering me, filling me up with guilt.

  I flicked tiny earrings I would never wear and ancient charms I’d never seen aside, and at the bottom of the box, the smallest, tiniest gold leaf caught my eye. Even with my Lilithian night vision, it was hard to make out. I twisted it this way and that between my fingers, and after frowning at it for a few seconds I suddenly realised what it was: the remainder of Eve’s Spirit Crux—the one I was supposed to bury. No wonder I couldn’t find it.

  I cradled the tiny leaf to my chest and closed my eyes, knowing, with a deep and painful twist in my gut, what that meant. “I’m so sorry, Eve.”

  “Ara?”

  I glanced back at David, propped up on one elbow in bed.

  “What’re you doing, Ara? Come back to bed.”

  A long wistful sigh answered him as I looked back into the mirror. How could I have let this happen to Eve? She trusted me to bury that crux. And I let her down.

  “My love?” David’s long fingers tapered over my shoulder, his warm naked body pressing against my spine. “What’s wrong?”

  “I couldn’t find Eve’s crux because…” I showed him the leaf. “It wore down completely. She’s… her spirit is lost.”

  David took the tiny leaf and considered it carefully. “Lost?”

  “She’ll wander the earth for eternity—never able to cross over—reincarnate.”

  He exhaled heavily as he tossed the leaf on a little crystal trinket tray, then knelt beside me, turning me to face him. “My love, you’ve had a tough couple of days. Don’t blame yourself—”

  “But I am to blame.”

  “Fine. Then don’t berate yourself.” His green eyes looked onyx in the dark, but so round and open and kind that I let all the tension in my chest go and just leaned my head against his. “You have a good heart,” he added, “a good soul, Ara. There must have been extreme circumstances to make you forget something this important. It’s not your fault.”

  “Maybe I can still bury the leaf,” I suggested. “Maybe it will be enough.”

  He patted my leg and then stood up. “We’ll do it first thing in the morning…”

  “No. I can’t. I need to go see Lilith—”

  “You can see her the following dawn,” he said, and pulled me to stand. “But for today—” he rolled my gown off my shoulder, exposing the bare skin to the cold, “—I want you all to myself.”

  I let the gown fall to the floor and kicked my woolly boots off as David led me back to bed. And we slipped between the covers, still warm and toasty from his body, and snuggled in close, blocking out the autumn morning.

  He gently collected strands of my hair and ran his fingertips down them while I lay my cheek to his chest, listening for the song of his life force—a sound I’d missed more than I realised.

  “What were you thinking about, when you were looking in the mirror before?” he asked softly, his deep voice vibrating through his ribs.

  “You were watching me?” I leaned up little to look at him.

  He pushed my face back down. “Yes. But I couldn’t hear what you were thinking.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your blocks are almost always in place now. And I have a very hard time getting through them.”

  “Oh.” I smiled to myself. I liked that. “Why did you want to know what I was thinking?”

  “Because I felt something from you—maybe a vibration or… I don’t know. But, you know how you can feel energies?”

  “Mm?”

  “Well, I think maybe I’m starting to too—but just yours so far. And I felt it change.”

  “Oh.” Great. So he can’t read my mind but he knows what I’m feeling. Super. “I was just thinking about the past—when I first moved to America to live with Dad.”

  His arm tightened slightly around my back. “What about it?”

  “I used to sit in front of the mirror and try to figure out who I was. I mean, I was just so lost back then, David—in my heart, my mind and m
y soul. But now I just sit there wondering how I never saw it before.”

  He laughed and kissed my head. “Never saw what?”

  “Everything I am. Everything I believe in; it’s always been there. It’s always been a part of me. I just denied it—forced it down. Told it no. There are these rules, you know—in life, these ways you think you have to be and, David… we make them up. They don’t actually exist. All they do is force you to hide away who you truly are.”

  “And what rule are you referring to?”

  “I don’t know. I guess maybe all the things that held us back when we first met—all that indecision about whether I should love you, be with you, just because you’re a vampire.” I laughed. “How stupid could I be? I mean, I love you. How can I ever have even tried to imagine moving on without you?”

  “That’s who you were then, Ara. And I’m not sure I would’ve loved you the same if you’d just jumped right in to a very dangerous relationship with both feet. You may have been young and naïve back then, but taking time to decide if you wanted this life with me was one of the smartest things you’ve ever done.”

  I shook my head. “Even then, if I could go back and stand beside myself when you first told me you’re a vampire, I’d have to slap myself.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you did freak out a bit.”

  “A bit?” I laughed, then sobered completely as a cold memory slipped through me. “Your face—that day. I remember it so clearly. It was one of the first times I ever saw you truly hurt.”

  “It was probably the first time I’d ever actually been truly hurt.”

  “Aw, don’t say that.” I kissed his lovely bare chest. “Now I feel even worse.”

  “Mm,” he hummed, sounding so at peace that my own body sunk a thousand times deeper into him. “I think you just made up for it.”

  “Well, then—” I kissed him again, right beside his nipple. “I guess I’ll just have to do it a hundred times over.”