Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread

by Adams, David

  “Now you know my secret,” he said, his voice suddenly soft but holding dire malice. “No one can know that and live.”

  “My king, I know nothing,” she begged.

  “You know far too much.” He struggled to sit up, his anger not quite enough to overcome the alcohol that impaired his senses.

  Sasha backed toward the door.

  “Go ahead, call for help, run out the door even. They won’t aid you.”

  Sasha did not doubt the truth of these words, but still she reached for the door.

  The candlestick she had knocked over earlier suddenly banged against the wooden doorframe, missing her head by mere inches. The king rose and stumbled toward her, forcing her to circle around the room, trying to keep the bed between them.

  Landri retrieved the candlestick and stalked toward her again, his gait wobbly and unsure. “Hold still and we can make this quick.”

  As he came around the corner of the bed, Sasha rolled across it. He lunged forward, hoping to grab her skirt, but instead lost his balance. His head smacked against then heavy wooden footboard of the bed with a sickening, wet thud, and he slumped to the ground.

  Sasha stood in absolute stillness on the far side of the bed for two minutes that felt like an hour. Keeping as much distance as she could, she finally found the strength to move and check on Landri. He was propped against the bed, a thin stream of blood flowing from his right temple, which had already started to bruise and swell. His breathing was deep and steady. She considered her plight frantically, believing she could leave now, but sure he would come for her when he regained his senses. His drunkenness had saved her for now, but his threats were far too real. She looked at the candlestick and the unconscious king, a fleeting thought passing through her brain that she could kill him, but she knew that wouldn’t free her, wasn’t sure she could do that, even now. Flight was her only choice, but once she left, she was sure she could never be safely seen again by Landri or anyone else at the castle, that she would be a refugee with nowhere to call home. And if that were the case, then there was little risk in learning what secret the book might hold, and if that secret gave some advantage, some hope that she might escape Landri’s clutching grasp, so much the better.

  Outside the door she heard the guards muttering to one another as replacements came on duty. She heard a few low, knowing laughs, and realized she was likely the topic of conversation. She heard the shuffling feet of the relieved guards moving away, and then things fell still once again. The brief interlude reminded Sasha that time was passing. She decided she needed to move on.

  Sasha carefully removed the chain and key from the secret panel, then laid the chain in the king’s partially open hand. Thinking better of this, she risked slipping it over his head, gently whispering in his ear as she did so, the king smiling through his drunken stupor at the empty promises she made. She slipped the key down the front of his shirt and left him to his drunken repose.

  For a long moment she stood looking at the book. It felt foreign to her, a strange thing full of malice and hate, but it was dear to this king who had brought so much harm to his own kingdom, who ruled cruelly and without mercy, and who, upon waking, would never allow Sasha even the simple, hard life she had known. Fighting off her instincts, Sasha grabbed the book and held it to her chest. That done, she moved quickly, ignoring the rising bile in her throat and pushing away her fear of this last hurdle she needed to cross to attain the dubious freedom of the fugitive. She tousled her hair, pulled on her sleeve to exaggerate the tear in her blouse, then went to the door. She opened it only enough to allow herself out, shutting it swiftly but quietly behind her.

  “King Landri does not want to be disturbed,” she said as she moved past the guards and down the hall, keeping her head down and avoiding any eye contact. As she fled she heard a few snickers of laughter but not what she feared most, an order to stop, a question about the book.

  Sasha walked briskly down the stairs, through the servants’ quarters and outside the castle without pausing to look at or speak to anyone. Her time here was at an end.

  Once outside the castle walls Sasha fled into the night’s dark embrace.

  Chapter 2: The Book

  Darius Stoneman hefted another basket of corn, feeling the oddly pleasing dull ache in his back as he poured the ears on the cart. It was an ache born of a good, honest day’s work, and just like the sweat that covered his body he knew it would soon be gone, leaving him with the satisfaction of what he had accomplished.

  He looked to the summer sun, sinking fast toward the horizon, and if he needed any other convincing that the work for the day should be considered done, his rumbling stomach reminded him how late supper would be. As his brother, Luke, added more corn to the cart, Darius said, “That’ll do for today.”

  “As you wish, my liege,” Luke replied, adding a mock bow to hide the grin that spread across his face.

  Darius didn’t try to hide his smile. He and Luke had always gotten along well, and he knew there was no malice behind the words. Being seven years older, Darius had spent many of his teenage years with Luke tagging along, wanting to join in on his elder brother’s adventures, and Darius had rarely found it an imposition. Luke was smart, quick with a joke, and good with a secret, and as the years passed an honest friendship grew between them. When Darius had been forced into service in Longvale’s army, he was surprised at how much he missed his little brother. Darius shook away the creeping dread that stalked him when he thought of the army. His leave would soon end, and he would be thrust back into service. And it would not be long before the king’s men came for the seventeen-year-old Luke as well. Luke was still filling out, still thin although not overly so for his age, but thinking of him being in the army almost made him look frail to his older brother. Darius frowned as he pictured Luke having his wavy brown hair shorn close, and then having a sword and shield shoved into his hands. He rubbed his own hair, the sandy-colored locks that once touched his shoulders reduced to little more than stubble.

  Darius grabbed his shirt, which he had hung on the cart while they worked, and hopped into the cart’s seat, grabbing for the reins. Luke was there an instant earlier.

  “Allow me,” Luke said. “A man of your advanced years needs his rest.”

  “That I do,” Darius agreed, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back as if to nap. With a start, he sat up straight. “Wait a minute. Last time you drove the cart, you and old Bess nearly took out half the garden.”

  “That was a rabbit that startled her,” Luke replied, “and you know it. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. Had a nice little stew for dinner that night.”

  “Fair enough,” Darius said. “Just try to stay on the path this time.” He eyed his brother, who flicked the reins to get them started with a look of utmost concentration on his face. Darius laughed and nudged him with his elbow, and soon both young men were joking and looking forward to a well-earned supper and a good night’s rest.

  The cart path curled around the edge of the cornfield, and as their home came into view so did the young woman sitting on a small rock. She was disheveled and dirty, and she looked as if she had not slept. She rocked slowly back and forth, cradling a book against her chest as if it were a newborn child.

  Darius placed a hand on Luke’s arm, a silent request that he stay put, then leapt clear of the cart and went to his sister. He knelt beside her, peeled one hand free of the book and held it in his own.

  She looked at him, and recognition spread across her face in a smile. “Darius,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were fighting the war.”

  “I was,” he answered, matching her smile despite the knot in his stomach. “Still am, actually. I’m just on a short leave.”

  She nodded, but her eyes lost focus as her mind went elsewhere.

  “Sasha,” Darius asked, “why are you here?”

  “I…don’t know where else to go. I can’t be here…it’s not safe. But…I’m so tired.�
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  “Let me help you inside. After you rest a bit we can talk.”

  “No!” she said, louder than she wanted. She calmed herself, then went on. “I’m not sure I want to go to Mom and Dad…it might put them in danger.”

  “What’s happened? Who are you running from?”

  “King Landri.”

  That gave Darius pause, not because he thought well of the king—few did—but because it confirmed for him that Sasha’s problem was a dire one. “His men would look for you here,” he stated.

  She nodded. “I shouldn’t have come, but I have nowhere else to turn.”

  “You know they’ll want to help,” he said, referring to their parents. “Regardless of the consequences. You’re their little girl. Always will be.”

  She smiled at the truth of that. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe if I tell you first…”

  Darius waved Luke on, telling him he’d catch up shortly, then listened while Sasha told him what had happened two nights ago, and of her endless flight since.

  Darius found it hard to keep his eyes from wondering to the book while she told her tale, and even now it was only with an effort that he raised his gaze to meet hers. “You haven’t slept in two days?”

  She shook her head.

  “That ends any question about coming inside. Risk or no, you need rest and food. Since you still have the book, I assume you’ve found something useful inside.”

  “I haven’t been able to open it.”

  “Really?” Darius said, surprised. He considered his sister quite capable and industrious. “Mind if I take a look?”

  She held the book out toward him, but as he reached for it he suddenly pulled back.

  She shook her head. “It’s all right. You don’t have to take it.”

  He grimaced, then snatched the book quickly, as if hurrying to take it before he could change his mind. He made a half-dozen attempts at the latch, turning the book as he did so. Giving up, he handed it back to her. “Everything about it’s odd. Gave me a shiver just touching it.”

  “Same with me. When I first took it, it was like picking up a snake or a hairy spider.” She looked down and saw the way she was clutching the book again and added, “You get used to it.”

  He rose and held out a hand to help her up. “C’mon, let’s go home. We’ll work this out together.”

  “Okay.”

  As they walked, Darius said, “What you did took a lot of guts. Not that I’m surprised. For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She laid her head on her little brother’s shoulder and together they went to the house where they had grown up.

  Kevin and Marissa Stoneman had hardly had time to let out gasps of surprise at seeing Sasha before Darius set some ground rules—they needed to talk, but Sasha needed some food and sleep before they did so. Such was the stern warning in his eyes that they did as he asked through supper, the table banter minimal and the questions that boiled inside them making discussion about the weather and the meager corn crop more pointless than usual.

  After they had eaten, Sasha modified the plan, unwilling to make her parents and Luke wait any longer. “I’ll tell my tale and then rest a bit,” she said, smiling at Darius. “It’ll give everyone time to think.”

  When she had finished Luke was red with embarrassment and anger, Marissa was weeping softly and clinging to her husband, while Kevin nodded his head, pondering what he had heard. He patted his wife’s hand as he pulled away from her, telling her things would be okay, then went to Sasha and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Sleep now,” he said, taking the book from her and laying it quickly on the table. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

  Sasha had kept herself together through a king’s assault and days and nights of uninterrupted flight, but at these kind words she finally broke down. She wept, unashamed, while her father held her. They remained frozen in an embrace for several minutes, her soft sobs the only sound. When her tears finally abated, she felt the tiredness wash over her like a deep, warm ocean wave. Her mother took her hand and led her off to bed.

  Kevin sat down at the table and bit at his right thumbnail, as he often did when thinking. Darius and Luke waited patiently, knowing better than to interrupt. When Marissa returned, she started to announce Sasha comfortably asleep, but seeing her husband’s pose, she instead worked at the dishes, Luke joining her to have something to do. Darius sat next to his father and waited.

  Kevin glanced at his son and said, “Seems there’s nowhere in the world one can hide from trouble anymore.”

  Darius nodded his agreement. War had been a way of life in the three southern kingdoms of Corterra for nearly a decade now, and as if that didn’t create enough suffering, there had been periods of drought, famine, and plague as bad as history recorded to further deepen mankind’s misery. The Stonemans, for the most part, had been lucky. Their home was old but in good repair, their land not abundant but yielding enough to keep food on the table even after the king had excised his share. Darius had been conscripted for the war, but had survived with no outward sign of injury. Sasha, until now, had found employ in the king’s castle. All-in-all the Stoneman family would have to consider themselves fortunate. Now the two men looked at the book on the table, neither able to see it as anything other than a harbinger of dark days ahead.

  “What do you think it is?” Kevin asked his son.

  The question surprised Darius, not in its content, but that it had been asked. His father was a fair, honest man, but he rarely shared his thoughts or asked for opinions where important matters were concerned. Darius had expected a period of brooding silence, then a pronouncement of some course of action. The first had happened and the latter likely still would, but the question was a sign to Darius that his father now clearly viewed him as a man, not just a son. “A diary? War plans?” He pondered for a moment. “Sasha said the king referred to its power, as if it protected him. Information that might be used against someone, maybe? But he’s king. Why would he need to bother?”

  “He did rise to power in a way that raised a lot of questions,” Kevin said, referring to the unsolved murders of King Thrum and Prince Frelis. “Questions that no one dared ask aloud once Landri was king.”

  Darius shrugged. “Everyone believes Landri was in some way involved in the murders. But even if someone knows of a direct connection, he’d be the one holding the secret evidence, not Landri. If the book implicated the king, he’d have destroyed it.”

  Kevin grimaced and shook his head. “Your reasoning is good, but we’re getting no closer to an answer.” He took up the book with a visible shudder, and then studied the strange clasp. “We need to open it to see what’s inside. Otherwise we have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

  He had not doubted his daughter when she said the latch was not easily undone, but the rational part of his mind insisted that he at least give it a few stout pulls. He was unsurprised that the effort gained him nothing. He stood up, retrieved a dull knife, and slid the end of it into the opening between the clasp and the pages, angling the knife so the book’s edge, upon which the handle rested, would act as a fulcrum. With one hand he pressed the book tight against the table, while with the other he used his crude tool. He grunted with the strain, the muscles of his arm, toned from years of work in the fields, bulging.

  With a loud snap the knife broke, sending Kevin onto his back. He shook his head at the now worthless piece of metal in his hands. As Darius helped him to his feet, he said, “I’m half tempted to try an axe on it, but that would likely only damage the book.”

  They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the tome, which rested comfortably on their table, mocking them. “Maybe that’s the answer,” Darius said. “If the latch won’t give, then we carve away the part of the cover it’s attached to.”

  “Grab a candle,” Kevin said, as he gathered up the book and headed for the door.

  They went to a small shed where
the tools were stored, and Kevin quickly found the axe with the aid of the candle that Darius held aloft. As he headed to the stump of an old oak, he saw Luke had followed them. He paused for an instant, then gave a quick nod of assent to his youngest child, inviting him to join them. He placed the book squarely on the stump, making sure it was well supported, then lined up the axe with its target.

  “The latch first,” he announced. “One try at least.”

  Kevin lifted the axe and brought it down in a quick, sharp blow. A spark flew as the report of metal striking metal echoed in the night. The latch was unharmed.

  Kevin studied the axe’s edge in the candlelight. “Struck it square, I guess. Don’t see any damage, just bounced straight back up.”

  “Try the cover now,” Darius said.

  Kevin lined the axe up again, just to the side of the clasp. Again he raised the weapon high, and brought it down hard.

  The sound of contact was different, no metallic ping, just a dull thud. The book lifted fractionally off the stump and slid an inch to the right, while the axe bounced back a half foot.

  The three men leaned in close, Darius putting the candle within inches of the book. There was no mark to indicate where the axe blade had fallen.

  “Back up boys,” Kevin said. There was an edge to his tone that his sons knew would brook no argument.

  He raised the axe again, this time letting out a small yell as he drove it home, less concerned now with the accuracy of the blow than with its force. He struck again and again, his shouts growing with each attempt, his muscles drawing strength from the emotions he had kept buried while listening to his daughter relay what had happened to her. His last blow was accompanied by a cry that could have been boiling anger or an anguished sob, and as it landed the book fell from the stump and Kevin fell back onto the seat of his pants, totally spent.

  Darius gave his father a few moments to slow his ragged breathing, then pried the axe from his trembling hands. He set it aside, then leaned in close to the book so he could study it. “Nothing,” he reported.