Shackles of Light (The Mal'Ak Cycle Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One - I look to find
Chapter Two - But never see
Chapter Three - Buzzing things
Chapter Four - That torture me
Chapter Five - I look to see
Chapter Six - And never find
Chapter Seven - Things that buzz
Chapter Eight - My tortured mind
Chapter Nine - I catch a glimpse
Chapter Ten - Beyond my view
Chapter Eleven - Of things you see but never do
Chapter Twelve - I shed a tear
Chapter Thirteen - To catch the light
Chapter Fourteen - But catch instead a tortured sight
Chapter Fifteen - Of skimpering things
Chapter Sixteen - That dance and dart
Chapter Seventeen - And put cold fear in tortured hearts
Chapter Eighteen - I hide my face
Chapter Nineteen - Behind my hands
Chapter Twenty - To dream a dream
Chapter Twenty-one - Of tortured lands
Chapter Twenty-two - I wake and scream
Chapter Twenty-three - Run in fright
Chapter Twenty-four - In hopes to flee
Chapter Twenty-five - My tortured life
Chapter Twenty-six - I stop to sleep
Chapter Twenty-seven - But when I do
Chapter Twenty-eight - The nothing there
Chapter Twenty-nine - Obstructs my view
Chapter Thirty - As a madman
Chapter Thirty-one - There I lie
Chapter Thirty-two - The cruel cold creatures
Chapter Thirty-three - Won't let me die
Chapter Thirty-four - My tortured head
Chapter Thirty-five - Won't let me dream
Chapter Thirty-six - Or let me care, instead I scream
Chapter Thirty-seven - As I drift
Chapter Thirty-eight - I see a sight
Chapter Thirty-nine - That chills my bones, inside the light
Chapter Forty - I see a madman
Chapter Forty-one - By my side
Chapter Forty-two - But Gneechees there
Chapter Forty-three - Still cloud my mind
Chapter Forty-four - I pray to see
Chapter Forty-five - Within the lights
Chapter Forty-six - But only find
Chapter Forty-seven - More tortured sights
Chapter Forty-eight - The nameless things
Chapter Forty-nine - That follow me
Chapter Fifty - Won't let me die
Chapter Fifty-one - Won't let me see
Chapter Fifty-two - Still I pray
Chapter Fifty-three - To find the sight, and put aside this tortured life
Coming Soon - Crown of Darkness
Chapter One
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 Christopher Nooner
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
ISBN-13:
Acknowledgments
One way or another it always comes down to who is in your life and how you let them affect you.
In the year since Shadow Souls was released there have been some amazing things and people come into and return to my life. Friends that it has brought me closer to, and new friends that it has blessed me with.
Thank you all. There is an enrichment that comes into life, beyond words exchanged, when you have friends. I wish I could list everyone here, but there simply isn’t space. Just know if you are reading this and we are friends that I mean you.
I do need to give special thanks to one of the first redheads in my life. Thank you H.E. Majumdar for the cover art. It is spectacular just like you.
Thanks also to the most prominent redhead in my life, without whom this book would definitely not have happened, especially with a move across multiple states. Your belief and encouragement amaze me. Thank you, thank you. Your love is astonishing.
My kids, who are also inspirations to me, have given me years of joy and excitement. Maybe this series will give you and yours excitement as well. I love you both.
Mom and Dad…I hope you can see that I completely acknowledge the fact that you, in multiple ways, gave your lives for me and my siblings. Thank you for teaching us that there is beauty in everything and that we are capable of whatever we set our sights on.
To my dad…
Truly the kindest and wisest man
I’ve ever known.
If I can be but half the man you were…
Eli paused in his search for herbs when the unnatural quiet seeped past the thoughts in his head. The more he listened, the more the silence ate at him. An uneasy hush settled itself over the forest around the Way Hut. No wind rustled the red and gold leaves. No birds called in the dim forest light. No choruses of cricket or cicada. Just humid oppressive silence.
He reached down and ran his fingers through Usok's thick fur, thankful for the company. The hound raised his head and chuffed, his yellow eyes cut through the shade forced twilight. Eli nodded and scanned the trees for the source of the silence.
There were things, bad things, that could be the cause. There were things he didn’t particularly want to think about.
It could just be the quiet of the world before a storm; the silent acknowledgment of Mother Earth’s power.
It wasn’t though. He knew it in his core.
It was something else entirely.
He shuddered as memory overtook him.
The town was quiet as he stepped from the cover of the trees onto the dusty road that led between the thin row of buildings. It wasn’t much of a town, really; just five or six shanties that lined each side of the rutted, dry path.
He knew the Hatak Haski were here. He’d followed their scent to this place. Their scent, and their trail of death.
He peered at the shuttered and boarded windows and doors as he strode down the middle of the dirt path that passed for a street. He wondered if he looked like a gunfighter or a frontier dentist to whomever stared out at him.
A gust of wind made the swinging doors of the bawdy house squeak. He guessed this was where they were, since it was the only door that wasn’t boarded up.
Mamat’s instructions were so vague, sometimes, that he wondered what the little troll was after. He also wondered why he always had to go in blind. Why couldn’t he know anything? It was irritating.
He angled his path to the swinging doors and pulled Asahel from the ether.
Eli wanted to set the building ablaze. It would serve the vicious brutes right to be roasted to death; especially after what they had done. But, he was afraid of damaging the artifact he was supposed to retrieve, and his success record of late hadn’t been great.
He took a deep breath and pushed into the dim light of the saloon.
A group of towering men lounged along the bar proper. All the liquor had been arranged on its top to allow for ease of access.
There were six of them. Two groups of the normal three. That in and of itself was interesting. This artifact, whatever it did, was powerful and important enough to send two Talons instead of one.
Eli yawned and blinked. His nose crinkled at the sour smell of liquor fermenting in the cracks of the floor.
“Look boys, someone’s come to play.” The man poured a small glass of unidentifiable spirits down his throat and tossed the empty container at Eli.
He snagged the glass from the air just before it reached his forehead then dropped it carelessly to the ground.
The soldiers said nothing, but their attent
ion was all his, now. Their backs were straighter, and their hot glares were awake and focused on the stranger in their midst.
The man who spoke, lifted his chin just enough to be considered movement. It was all his men needed to fan out around him.
Eli grinned. He stepped farther into the room and to the right, away from the door. He kept his body loose to avoid the tension that gave away intent. His grin widened at the nervous shifts of weight this caused around the room.
That made his opponents wary. He watched a few sideways glances and wrinkled brows but saw no hesitation. Never that from the Hatak Haski.
He smirked as he remembered Helam saying, “Nothing is more terrifying than facing an opponent who has no fear of you. That quiet confidence can shake a man’s resolve more than the screaming and prancing of trying desperately to convince you both that he is the better.”
He knew how true that was. He flicked Asahel like a snake striking a rat. The man’s arm spasmed as it dropped to the ground. His hand still clutched the Colt he had tried to clear from his holster.
The man’s silence impressed Eli as he tried to staunch the geyser of blood that rocketed from where his arm had been. He had no time to consider it further, as the other five were moving.
Eli’s smile grew as he made a game of the confrontation. Each time one of the big warriors attempted to draw a six gun or sword, Eli would slap his hand or arm with the flat of Asahel’s blade adding just a touch of flame to singe their exposed skin or clothing. It was a challenge to move fast enough to get them before it would finally dawn on them to draw all at once, but he did. He rewarded the last one by turning Asahel’s edge on the man’s wrist slicing through skin, bone and tendons.
The game continued for over a half an hour before the soldiers started eyeing the doorway. Eli was almost finished, and he maneuvered his way in front of the exit to block them from running.
He set Asahel’s point into the wood plank floor and looked up at the four men still standing. He then glanced at the two who had bled out on the floor.
Wispy smoke rose up from the singed lumber and past his face.
“Which of you has the vellum?” He watched them stiffen. Again, he was impressed that none of their eyes darted toward the holder.
The one who had first spoken flicked his eyes to the floor. It was enough.
Eli raised his hand and beckoned them all to him. “Come, die like men.” He didn’t wait for them to move; his body was a blur as he finished his work.
Eli was grateful that Asahel cauterized as he opened his foes. He hated the smell of entrails.
He didn’t look back as the flames consumed the dead men.
He carefully rolled the scroll tight and slipped it into one of his many hidden pockets. His feet took him back up the street to the forest beyond the dying town.
A low rumble of displeasure from Usok pulled Eli from the memory and underscored the quiet around them. The absence of the growl left Eli hollow when it trailed off to nothingness.
Something skittered at the corner of his vision. He reached for Asahel and spun to meet the oncoming threat. Nothing was there.
His eyes narrowed.
Usok growled again.
He saw movement to his right and sidestepped bringing the black blade in between him and the threat. Silent, empty forest greeted him again.
What the hell is going on? Eli ransacked the crevasses of his mind for a hint of what was happening. Maybe a long-forgotten lesson or shaman’s tale.
Pain piercing and hot brought him back to the present. His cheek ached, and he could feel blood slipping down his face.
He whipped his gaze around the nearby trees, but nothing seemed out of place.
Usok yelped and snapped his teeth at the empty air around him.
Tiny lights flashed in his periphery to the left. He turned his head as quickly as he could, but they had already moved around to his right. He spun and charged at the nothingness before him. Sharp agony lashed his left arm. He snatched it up and turned to confront his attacker. Three thin lines of blood were all that he found.
The whips of light amplified. There were more of them and they came with greater frequency.
Usok howled, his snapping frantic. No matter where Eli turned their assailants were already gone, their movements only visible for the briefest of moments from the corners of his eyes.
Flash, turn, flash, slice. He felt their rhythm. He knew when the attack was coming, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch them before they struck.
Asahel hummed with rage and frustration.
Usok snarled and yelped.
They were a maelstrom at the edges of his vision, a constant swirl around his head. It was dizzying and frightening.
Blood leaked from every bit of skin not covered by his armor. Usok was in much worse shape. His coat was soaked, and his frantic circling and biting made him seem rabid.
“Run!” Eli turned and sprinted back toward the Way Hut. It was the only solution he could muster.
He hoped the hound followed.
The barrage continued, each attack sooner than the previous one. They were everywhere except where he looked. How is this possible? Where are they?
His mind raced.
His head spun, the blood loss from a thousand plus wounds pushed the boundaries of his healing.
Where is the hut?
It was nowhere.
The slashing was constant. He looked behind him, the great hound wobbled; his tongue frothy and red, lolled from his mouth.
Eli pulled up and ran back to his companion. He threw his arms around the dog and buried his face in bloody fur to protect and cover his friend as much as possible. He slammed his eyes shut to keep hair and blood and sweat from blinding him completely.
He saw them then. The blossomed around him like a perfect night sky.
They were everywhere, swirling millions upon millions of tiny razor wings and dark teeth. “Stay down.” He commanded Usok as he stood. Asahel leaped into his hand and pulsed with wild abandon. Gneechees…the blade whispered.
Eli froze. His shock at the blade’s whisper cost him painful seconds. He pushed it aside and clamped his eyes tighter before he unleashed the fire and fury of his sword on the horde of creatures around them.
He stood firm as wave after wave assaulted him. He littered the forest floor with layers of charred paper-thin wings. Sweat and blood mixed, forming a red froth that covered his body and almost cost him his grip on his sword numerous times.
Asahel continued its work of death until it devoured the tiny monsters leaving Eli alone and gasping over the gwyllgihund.
He looked down at the slow rise and fall of the hound’s chest.
Eli released Asahel and bent to pick up his friend.
He stumbled as he carried him into the hut.
He didn’t notice the subtle retreat of darkness, or the sound of life easing back into the world.
His only thought was keeping Usok alive.
The faded hardwood floor pressed into Keezie’s back as she stared into the fan that whirred above her. She wasn’t sure whether she should acknowledge the sliver of darkness that festered inside of her.
Weeks passed before she noticed the residue, a stain really; from The Stygian’s invasion.
She thought it would fade. She was wrong.
It called to her now, sang its black song of promise and power and clawed for purchase in her soul.
It was oily, and when she took the time to examine it she felt nauseous, like she did in the Way Hut, so she would recoil and push it away, but when the power called to her once more, she explored its contours again.
She groaned and focused on the blurry blades of the fan. Her left hand moved just enough to rest on the small rolled package beside her. Her fingers teased the string that kept it closed.
It would be so easy to let go.
She tugged the binding and felt it fall open. She rolled her head to the side and looked across the floor. The lines of the boa
rds went in and out of focus as her vision closed in on the bundle beneath her fingers. It was like watching the world through a camera. The needle came into focus first, then the rubber tourniquet, then the small lighter.
So easy.
Keezie shook her head and pushed the bundle. It slid across the floor with abandon and slipped beneath the sofa.
She growled, spun as she sat up, and rested her back on the chair near her. The bundle taunted her though she couldn’t see or feel it.
It hurt so bad sometimes, the melancholy or anger or whatever.
She wished she hadn’t told Eli to leave her alone. She wished she hadn’t moved in to Mampa’s. She wished he was still alive and so much more.
She threw her head back and screamed. The scream turned to sobs, the sobs into silent shakes. She hated being weak and alone.
She cursed as she caught herself reaching for the stain again.
She rolled to her knees and scampered across the floor to the couch where she fished the little bundle from the company of dust bunnies and cobwebs.
She leaned back against the couch and cradled her secret in her lap.
I should tell someone, she thought. Someone needs to know that it’s still in me. She was ready for the surge of hate that rose from the darkness inside of her, but it still made her vision blur and stomach churn.
They will kill you if they know. They will want us dead, it promised.
Eli would never kill me, but she doubted herself. She doubted everything.
She pulled the needle from its place. It’s not so bad, she told herself, but she knew she didn’t believe her lie as tears rolled down her face.
Eli laid Usok on the bed and rushed across the room to his jars and crocks of herbs. He cursed when saw the half empty container of Yarrow flower and prayed he had enough to staunch the dog’s widespread blood flow.
He snatched the jar from the shelf and deposited it on the table before he ran to the hearth and retrieved the large copper cauldron that hung there. On his way back to the table, he grabbed his ceramic jug of drinking water and poured a quarter of its contents into the cauldron.
He dumped the Yarrow into the water and shoved in his right hand to mix it. By the time he had worked the mixture into a thin paste, his hand was numb, so he dragged the cauldron across the floor to the bed with his left hand.