by J. Thorn
Thom Meeks lives with his family in Droman Meadows under the protection of the Kingdom of Mylan. An unusually long winter creates anxiety in the village and some believe it to be the return of an ominous force known as the Shadow. When a pack of dread wolves lays ruin to Droman Meadows, Thom escapes with his wife and four daughters. They set out on the Mylan Road in hopes of finding refuge in the capital, but dark forces emerging from the primeval forest will challenge them for their eternal souls.
"I had to read this book in one sitting as the writing pulls you in. The ending is truly amazing. if you are a fan of dark horror you can not go wrong with buying this book, and if you are a true fan then this book is a must read !!!!"
Michelle from Amazon.com
"...If you are a fan of dark fantasy and horror, Shadow Witch is a must read!!"
Cheryl from Amazon.com
"Shadow Witch is an amazing book. I couldn't put it down. J Thorn and Dan Padavona work together to bring this wonderful world to life. You are pulled into the life of Thom Meeks and the terror that he goes through. Definitely worth every second."
Bonnie from Amazon.com
Shadow Witch: Horror of the Dark Forest
By J. Thorn and Dan Padavona
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Acknowledgments
The Authors
Copyright
Table of Contents
Shadow Witch: Horror of the Dark Forest
First Edition
Copyright © 2015 by J. Thorn and Dan Padavona
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Rebecca T. Dickson
Proofread by Laurie Love
For more information:
http://shadowwitch.com/
Table of Contents
I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
II
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
III
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
The Authors
Copyright
I
Chapter 1
The cold rode the wind as a phantom, flowing down from the white-capped Wyvern Mountains. It came across lifeless fields that should have produced the season’s first greens by now. Rustling, dead leaves hissed like vipers. The road through Droman Meadows, normally bustling in springtime with the garish colors of peddlers’ wagons and the laughter of children, lay silent under an opaque sun that could not usurp winter.
Thom Meeks braved the whipping wind, feeling an icy chill on his back along with a heavy wickedness. He hugged a tattered, gray cloak to his body as he strode east along the main road into the village center. He didn’t detect the usual music or laughter spilling from the Fair Haven Inn. He heard only the howling wind and his own breath.
Long, black hair fanned out behind him. He released his grip on the cloak and covered his ears with his hands, the lobes so numb he could barely feel his fingers on them.
A cluster of tiny homes with thatched roofs lined the main road with darkened windows gazing at him like black eyes. Leafless trees pressed against the desolate sky without a hint of buds, when the flora should have been in bloom.
Thom savored the sweet scent of wood-burning stoves but it also reminded him of how many months they had burned to fend off the cold. If winter didn’t break soon, families would run out of fuel and food.
“Cold enough for you, lad?”
Thom raised his head toward the Fair Haven Inn, where a bear of a man with snow-white locks and beard stood in the open doorway. Smiling, Thom waved to Rowan Sams and quickened his pace. Rowan held the door open and issued a hearty laugh, slapping Thom on the back as he rushed through the entrance.
The warm air hit Thom like a wall, as though Rowan captured the summer within the room. Two stories tall and as wide as four family-sized homes, the Fair Haven Inn towered above the rest of Droman Meadows. Built on a foundation of black stone many believed came from the Wyvern Mountains, the inn projected an unwavering strength that made Thom feel secure when he was inside. The second story’s eight rooms, framed in ancient pine, housed travelers from all corners of the Mylan kingdom, including a few princes over the years.
A fireplace as wide as two men were tall, with a mantle level with Thom’s eyes, sat inside the center section of the far wall of the common room. Round mahogany tables, polished to a fine glimmer, stood scattered across the wooden floor and reflected the fire like watercolors.
“Sit, sit,” Rowan said as Thom lowered himself onto a stool near the crackling fire. “A little ale will burn the cold out of your bones.”
As Rowan disappeared through the kitchen door at the west end of the common room, Thom gazed at the empty tables. They seemed as bleak as the leafless trees. Thom peered through the window at the vacant stables next to the inn. He sighed and shook his head.
As proprietor of the Fair Haven Inn, Rowan took pride in providing only the best entertainment, the kind you would expect to find in the cities. But no bard or juggler had come here in weeks.
“Here we are,” Rowan said, reappearing with two mugs. He placed the drinks on the table and seated himself across from Thom. “So what brings you into town on this frightful day?”
“Thank you,” Thom said, raising the mug to his lips. “I’ve nearly run through my stores, Rowan. I’m not certain we will have sufficient food for the six of us come the fortnight. I can pay for provisions and if it isn’t enough, I can work—”
“It’s not about the money. I’d be happy to give you anything you need, but the truth is I don’t have much food to spare. The wagon from Mylan hasn’t come through since midwinter and even then the stores were getting low. If this blasted weather doesn’t change soon, I’m not sure what any of us will do for food.”
Thom’s heart sank. If there wasn’t food for sale at the inn, it meant the entire village was at the end of its rations. “Not so much as a peddler since the first leaves fell from the trees.”
“Aye,” Rowan said, his eyes distant. “It’s like the rest of the world has disappeared, leaving us to fend for ourselves.”
“What talk is there of the road to Mylan?”
Rowan put his mug on the table and gazed out the window. “With no peddler or minstrel passing through in weeks, there is no news of the outside. The entire kingdom could be at war and I would know nothing of it. I don’t mind telling you, I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, descending the chimney and causing the fire to
spark like fireflies rising out of a meadow. Thom’s eyes centered on the beads of moisture forming around the side of his mug. He was lost in his own thoughts as he watched the drops run down to the polished mahogany tabletop.
“Someone should try to make the trip to the capital.”
“Someone, eh? I surely hope you don’t mean yourself, lad.”
Thom shifted in his seat, pulling the cloak closer despite the warmth of the fire.
“It’s a full two days’ ride on the fastest horse during the summer. Few villages between here and there. Mostly wilderness. Just wilderness and this blasted cold. No, better to wait. Better to wait for warmer weather and for the wagons to come through again.”
“And what if spring doesn’t come? What then?”
“That’s madness,” Rowan said, folding his arms over his chest. “Spring will come.”
But for a moment, Thom thought he detected uncertainty in Rowan’s eyes.
“I can’t sit back and wait for my family to starve. If provisions are but a few days travel away, isn’t it madness not to consider seeking aid?”
“That road is no place for a family and you are not a warrior.” Rowan eyes traveled down Thom’s cloak to a thin point protruding at the hip. “And that sword you carry is little more than an over-sized butter knife. Do you even know how to use it?”
Thom fingered the hilt through the worn fabric of his cloak.
“I’ve used a sword before.”
“Used it on what? A tree? A shadow? Swinging a sword at a man is quite a different story. Especially if he happens to be swinging his sword at you.”
Thom thought back to the time he spent with his stepfather, working the movements of swordsmanship until his fingers bled. Before he was old enough to think about girls, he mastered the basics and moved on to forms which would have challenged even the famed Mylan Guard soldiers.
“The only thing more lethal than a learned swordsman”, his stepfather said, “is a man who does not reveal his ability to his enemy until necessary. Keep your training to yourself.”
“I waste time talking of this with you.”
“No need to be angry with me,” Rowan said and leaned forward across the table. “I’m just looking out for you. The road to Mylan is long and dangerous. In times such as these, a brigand would think nothing of slitting your throat for a few coins. What good are you to your family if you are dead?”
“And what good am I to my family if all I can do is watch them starve?” Thom’s eyes traveled over the ceiling of the common room, the silence from the empty second floor deafening. “What of the inn? When was the last time a traveler came through Droman Meadows?”
“Several days I ago, I suppose.”
“Days?” Thom asked with one eye raised.
“Weeks. Why do you press me so?” Rowan asked, looking away as his voice trailed off.
“Surely you cannot support the inn on one traveler per fortnight.”
“The village folk come for food and drink.”
“Food and drink which you are running out of. And based on the lack of visitors today—”
Rowan slammed his mug onto the table, his face twisted. Thom leaned back, brought both palms up and showed them to Rowan as the innkeeper loomed above him. Before Thom could speak, the door opened and the frigid air rushed into the common room. Two hawk-nosed men with beady eyes, one a touch taller than the other, filled the doorway.
“Close the bloody door, you fools. I’ve not got enough logs to heat the entire village,” Rowan said, sighing.
As he wiped up the spilled ale with a bar towel, his eyes softened and he smiled at Thom. The smile was short-lived, replaced by a scowl as his gaze followed the two men approaching them.
“What brings the Felcik brothers to my inn at this time of day?” he asked, nearly spitting the brothers’ name. “Lunch is not for another hour.”
Dain Felcik, the older and taller of the two brothers, pulled a table toward the fireplace where Thom and Rowan sat. The feet of it scraped and rattled across the polished floorboards like wagon wheels caroming over hillocks, causing Rowan to glower harder at the brothers.
“One would be surprised to know the Fair Haven Inn has food at all, what with the entire village’s stores reduced to crumbs,” Dain said. His younger brother, Traiton, was shifting his eyes between Thom, the innkeeper and the exit.
“He’s giving his stores to Thom,” Traiton said.
“What food I have remaining and who I give it to is of no concern to the Felciks,” Rowan said, balling his stony hands into fists. “Now if that is your only business here—”
“My brother means no harm,” Dain said, the transparent smile unable to obscure the deviousness of his eyes. He looked like a coyote in a chicken coop, waiting for the farmer to depart. “But if one villager were to receive favor over another,” Dain said, looking at Thom, “there would be many who would question the charity while so many others starve.”
“You are crossing into dangerous territory if you mean to threaten me, Dain Felcik.”
“I would never threaten you, or anyone else.” Dain’s lips curled into a thin smile as he brushed black hair away from his eyes. “And if you are indeed serving lunch today, perhaps my brother and I shall stay a while.”
“Then you will conduct yourselves in a civil manner.” Rowan’s gaze shifted between Dain and Traiton, daring either to make a sudden move.
Traiton was the first to look away, his legs drumming on the floor and his fingers tapping on the table as he shifted his body toward the door. “How is it you have stores remaining, feeding so many travelers each week?” he asked.
“Not that it is any of your business,” Rowan said, his face tightening and making Traiton squirm in his seat. “But I always plan for the longest of winters, as do most of us in Droman Meadows. Even if some of us are too wool-headed to think beyond the next minute.”
Traiton glanced between the table and the door, unwilling to meet Rowan’s gaze.
Dain leaned back with his hands behind his head. “It is reassuring to know your ample food supplies are the result of careful planning and not for any allegiance the village would disapprove of.”
Rowan leaned forward across the table, the air inside the inn felt like the moment before a lightning strike. Thom’s fingers touched the hilt of his sword concealed under his cloak.
“What nefarious allegiance are you accusing me of, Dain Felcik?”
“I accuse you of nothing, my friend.”
“You have no friends in Droman Meadows, least of all me. You would do well to ensure you make no enemies. Now, say what is on your feeble mind.”
Dain turned his head toward Thom. “No need for weapons. We did not come to fight.” Thom kept his hand on the hilt, his eyes shifting from his hidden short sword to Dain’s face. Dain turned his glare back to the innkeeper. “There are some…not my brother and I, of course—”
“Of course,” Rowan said. The table inched toward the brothers under his massive frame.
“One cannot ignore the signs: the unending grip of winter, when the first harvests of spring should have begun. The settings of the sun dripping blood. The call of the whippoorwill. The skies blackened and choked with grackles. The Shadow stirs. The ancient evil threatens to return and damn us all.”
“Now you sound like one of the old women of the village, carrying on about the end of days every time a crow roosts in her tree. Superstitious drivel. Not that I expect anything less from the Felcik brothers. What does all of this have to do with my remaining rations?”
“Probably nothing,” Dain said. The smile on his lips held back a hatred threatening to explode through his clenched jaw. “Though if one were in league with the Shadow—”
Rowan threw back the table. Before the ale mugs shattered on the floor, Traiton fell off his chair and scrambled toward the door.
Thom’s sword flashed in the firelight. Though he believed in a god, he didn’t believe in an evil anti-god any more than
he listened to the tales of old wives. But there was no greater insult than to accuse a man of consorting with the Shadow.
Dain sat unmoving on his stool, looking up at the hulking innkeeper. “Perhaps my brother and I should choose another establishment for lunch today. Who would want to risk their food was tainted by evil?”
As Rowan raised his fist, Dain darted to his brother’s side and the Felciks hurried for the door.
“If you dare show your faces in here again—”
The wind gusted through the open doorway like air pushed from an opened crypt. The fire snapped like a bullwhip as the Felciks slammed the door shut.
“Fools.”
As Thom knelt to pick up the broken mugs, Rowan waved his hands at him to back away.
“Stay where you are, lad,” Rowan said, exhaling. “It is my mess to clean.”
Rowan stalked through the kitchen and returned moments later with a mop and a wooden pail. As he picked up the shards of mugs, he said, “Let the fire warm your bones and then go home to your family. All will be well in time. You’ll see.”
Thom ignored the man and began tossing broken pieces into the pail.
Rowan issued a long sigh. “You could never leave well enough alone, could you? Stubborn boy.” A grin creased the innkeeper’s face and his smile seemed to fill the room with light.
“You’re lucky the inn doesn’t smell like a latrine with the way those two soiled themselves on the way out the door,” Thom said.
Rowan dropped the mop, his shoulders heaving as laughter enveloped him. “Aye. I don’t think I will be seeing much of the Felcik brothers for a while.”
As the wind howled outside, the fire sparked against the chill breeze that climbed down the chimney. The front windows in the common room convulsed and the shaking frames sounded like a death rattle.
Chapter 2
