Shackles of Light (The Mal'Ak Cycle Book 2)

by Christopher A. Nooner

  Eli refused to look at Keezie. He kept his eyes on his great uncle. "No, we have not." He was pleased at the steadiness of his voice, and a little surprised considering the reappearance of Kish’s hand. It was never fair. Light was always shackled, and dark was always unfettered.

  Kish cocked his head. "Oh? Enlighten me."

  "One, Little Sparrow was defenseless. You will find that Keezie is not." He could, in fact, see the evil her grandfather had infected her with seething just below the surface. "You should have thought better of it before you let J.D. offer his flesh and blood to be your vessel."

  Kish's laugh was genuine. "Let him? He begged us."

  Eli felt a little shame as Keezie jerked at Kish's words. Causing her more pain wasn't what he wanted, but he needed her to trust him again. Needed her to know the truth. It was the only thing that would ultimately save her.

  If Kish killed him, and got his hands on Cleve and baby Eli, the world would suddenly be a very different place.

  "What's two?"

  "Two is this; you can kill me, but you can’t kill her,” He licked his lips and prayed he wouldn't give away his nervousness, “At least not yet. I mean, what if you don't get the boy? Then you have nothing but her, and Lamech would be pissed if you killed the vessel."

  Kish snarled at him and pressed the knife into her skull until it broke the skin. "She only needs to be alive. Nothing more."

  Eli stretched and grinned. "There is a number three, as well. If you are interested?"

  "Whatever could that be?" his foe’s voice dripped with disdain.

  The world slowed. Drifting snow froze in the air. There was nothing but time, and Eli.

  He blinked once and drew Qerach from its sheath with his left hand, the blade's cold anger filled him like an old friend. He blinked again, his wings snapped up behind him, before they settled against his back. He blinked a third time and called the hot fury of his oldest friend to his right hand.

  Asahel and Qerach collided inside of him like a volcano, and a glacier. The result was beautiful destruction.

  "Me,” Eli's voice rumbled across the space between them. It shook needles from the trees as it passed.

  He was the first Mal'Ak in thousands of years to wield both swords and wear the Garden Plate. He was complete.

  Kish clubbed Keezie’s head. She crumpled into the frozen dirt.

  "Let us dance, then, I have work to do." Kish cooed. He moved with blinding speed, so fast that his body stretched from where he first stood to the spot where Eli had been only seconds earlier. He slid as he tried to stop his momentum, but it still carried him into the field.

  Eli saw his father in the distance, the horse making its way as best it could through the deep snow. Then, Kish was on him again.

  The clash of their blades sent down cascades of sparks that melted the earth and sent tendrils of smoke into the air around them.

  Eli parried and slashed, trying to replicate the success he and his father had the day before. He would have to remove more than his hand though. This would require his head.

  Kish was fast. Faster even than he had been yesterday, and his blade was coming too close. A blade that could poison and kill a Mal’Ak.

  Like a thousand times before; he silently regretted his brashness and bravado, and like a thousand more times he would find a way to back them up.

  Twice Eli grazed his great uncle; once he caught his shirt, the other Kish’s long braid as it whipped around.

  The little man faltered when his braid tumbled to the ground, but recovered enough to dive backward when Qerach’s backswing almost bit his neck.

  As Kish dove, Eli saw it. An amulet; much like his own, but black as night. He knew it for what it was, a dark blessing; a gift from Mastema to one of his most evil. Eli wondered what hateful act he had done to earn the foul piece.

  He had to destroy it. It was the only way he could shift the balance back his way.

  He didn't know the extent of his own new power, or the duration, especially coming from the place of exhaustion that he had been in.

  The amulet was tucked beneath Kish's shirt, but the cut Eli had given him exposed it just enough.

  He changed his tactic from delivering a death blow to catching just enough fabric to free it little by little.

  He tried to find a rhythm that he could lull Kish into following. It made it more challenging that he had to attack with Qerach and then Asahel. Especially in such a small window of time. It made real damage nearly impossible.

  Slash, slash, parry. Slash, slash, dodge. Jab, dodge, slash, slash.

  He moved through his forms and tried to stay loose enough to counter Kish’s necrotic blade.

  He could smell its rot in the air as it passed.

  His arms and legs burned with the exertion. He wondered how long he could last, and if it would be long enough.

  Of what he was truly capable? He had no idea, but neither did Kish.

  There were probably only two people on earth who had seen what a full Danawa Mal'Ak was capable of, and neither of those people was here.

  Kish was cautious because he was afraid. And fear was deadly.

  Eli would have to destroy his will before he could destroy his body.

  He dug as deep as he could into this well of new power while keeping his wits about him enough to stay ahead of each cut or thrust. Power was heady and distracting.

  Kish dodged behind trees and threw himself forward with controlled abandon. Their blades beat together over and over.

  Eli needed room to maneuver. He needed to be free of the trees, so he circled inch by inch. Neither giving or gaining ground, just moving. He allowed enough viciousness to keep Kish occupied with his blades not his feet.

  The answer was there nudging him. He could almost taste it.

  Finally, he stepped from the trees into the brilliant light of the sun and the brilliant white snow.

  He sank mid-calf into the fluffy white.

  Kish stopped inside the trees, his body was covered in dappled light. Eli could feel his hesitation.

  "What's wrong Uncle Kish? Afraid of the light?"

  Kish's face contorted with rage, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

  Eli laughed. "Oh, I see. You are afraid of me." He taunted and launched himself into the air. The downdraft from his wings sent tiny whirlwinds of snow skittering toward Kish.

  Something boiled behind his eyes, something that would mean his death. Just like Keezie's grandfather, Kish could not resist showing his power. He was just like all bullies. He thought he could intimidate his way to victory.

  The demon inside him, the real Kish, was going to come out and play, but Eli had a secret.

  He wasn't scared.

  Dark clouds boiled overhead. They rolled and built until the sunlight was gone, and the world was engulfed in a pseudo night.

  Kish stepped from the trees, no bigger than he was, but changed. Miasmic fog followed him, a brackish green mist that mimicked the color of the fire in his eyes. His mouth was a hollow hole, and his fingers flickered and danced with the same hellish flame.

  His blade dripped putrid smoke that sizzled and popped. Each hissing drop dissipated before it touched the ground.

  Eli grinned as leathery wings spread from Kish’s slender back.

  They would fly, and one of them would die.

  Eli saw a flash of red at the forest edge. Keezie was awake and watched from the forest.

  His great uncle rose to meet him.

  Voices whispered in his head, not memories or visions, but pieces of himself that had been missing until today.

  Ahh, the twin voices of his blades said as Kish drew near, This demon; this we know how to kill. This we were made to kill.

  Kish's first blow sent him spinning and sunk him into the snow. He leaped to the sky just as a bolt of dark destroyed the earth where he had been.

  He was braced for the second, but the shock of it nearly cost him his grip on both swords. Eli grimaced. He flew, twisting throu
gh the sky, dodging blade and dark energy.

  "Come back little one," the demon called. "I mean you no harm."

  Time and again Eli beat back Kish’s attacks, but gained no ground.

  He was close; he could feel it, but he still had no idea how to pass the wall that kept him just this side of victory.

  He could feel the demon's frustration grow. He wasn’t used to resistance.

  "She only needs to be alive," his uncle taunted. "Just a thread of life will do."

  It angered him, but he knew what the creature was trying to do, so he didn't bite.

  Eli fell. He plummeted from the sky. He had no idea why. He lost his place in the world. Where he was. What he was doing.

  The air exploded from his lungs as he smashed into a massive pine and slid to the ground.

  He shook his head and looked around, dazed and disoriented.

  Why had he fallen?

  Cold seeped into his body from the icy ground.

  Something fell from the sky and landed in front of him. He squinted. A person. Someone he should know.

  Kish.

  Hard steel slapped his face. It burned with ferocity.

  "Poor little bird," Kish’s voice was hollow. "Did you feel it?"

  “Feel what?" Eli stammered.

  "You don't even know?" His great uncle laughed. "How sad." The cold blade slapped his other cheek. He raised his hand to feel, but he clutched something tight. He checked his other hand. It too held something. He looked down. Swords. He was holding swords.

  "It was your father, stupid boy. You felt him die.”

  He remembered. He snapped back, and knew it was true. His father was dead. His family was gone again. He was alone. An orphan once more.

  He pushed slowly up, recruiting the tree he had smashed into to help him stay upright.

  "Now it's your turn, Seven Crow. You never had a chance, or a choice. Your life has never been your own, and that's no life at all."

  He was wrong. It was life; and even though he hadn't chosen it, this life was his. He could, and would, choose what to do with it from this point on. He had always chosen. It was time to stop hating his choices.

  He chose to live. He chose to fight. He chose to follow in his father's footsteps.

  He would give his life for the people he loved. He would give it for those he didn’t. He would fight for a life worth living.

  He chose to be Mal'Ak.

  He understood finally. Surrender was all that was required. So, he let himself surrender.

  He stood, arms spread wide. "Come take my life then, Uncle."

  Asahel flared. The sword's flame consumed his fingers and his arm and continued to devour his right side. This was a feeling he knew.

  Qerach's icy tendrils crept down his other, it crystalized his left side. This was a feeling new to him, but it was right. Two opposing forces. Like pleasure and pain. Sadness and joy. They met in swirl of ice and fire that swallowed him whole.

  He was whole.

  Kish howled in fear and frustration. He lunged forward to run Eli through, but he was too late and too slow.

  The Great Spirit, like the elements, had claimed Elihu Seven Crow. His Ablution was sufficient.

  Gone were the swords, gone was Eli the man. What remained was the righteous fury of an angry God.

  The purpose of his kind.

  His massive hand clamped tight on Kish's throat. Eli lifted him from the snow.

  Kish screamed as the heat of Eli’s hand melted his dark blessing and sent the black metal streaming down his chest. Eli’s glacial hand ground his uncle's putrid blade to frozen dust.

  The demon had no time to dematerialize. No chance to flee before Eli, the Danawa Mal'Ak, swallowed him, like a child sneaking a sweet.

  It was Kish’s end. One that had been a long time in coming.

  Eli roared, the ground scorching and freezing beneath him in such rapid succession that he stood on nothing but vapor.

  His eyes found his father in the distance. He was motionless on the ground behind the horse. The horse had reached the trees on the far side and was still.

  Snow partially covered his father’s body.

  Someone bent over him, tugging at his coat.

  Eli bellowed, and tore off across the white plain.

  Behind him someone called his name, pleaded for him to come back, but in front of him lay his father’s snow covered body.

  He was halfway across the field when his world and his own time called him back.

  He pulled, and scratched, and dug. He tried to keep himself in the world of the past, but even he was nothing against the tide of time.

  Coming Soon

  Eli sat up. It was dark, and chill winter air fought with the warmth of his skin. The scent of smoking embers mixed with a strange smell seeped down from the rafters.

  Usok’s growl snapped his hind back to why he was awake.

  Something is out there.

  He eased from the bed, and crept to where the giant hound sniffed at the air that wafted under the door.

  Something prowled the night around the little house. Something Usok didn’t like, and that was bad.

  The dog’s eyes lifted to meet his, and he set his giant paw on the door. It was clear what he wanted. He wanted to hunt. He wanted out.

  Eli nodded, and pulled Asahel from the ether where it waited.

  He closed his eyes, and pushed his senses into the world. There was no sound outside the rattle of brown leaves and bare branches, but a smell punched his nose and made him wince. He knew it well. Death.

  He looked back into the Gwyllgihund’s yellow eyes. Usok’s brows twitched.

  Eli nodded and pulled the door open.

  Deep night greeted him. The forest was pure black under a new winter moon. It swallowed everything.

  He scanned the trees as if he could will them to reveal their murky secrets, but their was nothing.

  He looked down. Something rested on the ground a few feet in front of the door.

  Usok sniffed and circled.

  He released Asahel, and turned back inside the hut. The flashlight Joseph had given him was on the table. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t grabbed it initially.

  That was a lie. He did know.

  He didn’t want to see. He knew what waited for him.

  He grabbled the light and made his way back to the door.

  He took a deep breath and clicked it on.

  It was a body. Male he thought. Its head, arms and one leg was missing. It lay like a macabre gift, its entrails steamed in the cold. Placed as if to be admired and appreciated.

  Usok growled again.

  Exactly, he agreed, like a cat treasure. A mouser of men.

  He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a threat or a prize. He wasn’t sure what would be worse.

  He was positive it was a message. He didn’t want to decipher it, but he couldn’t let it sit.

  There were lots of dangerous things in the world. Lots of wrongs that needed righting, but he couldn’t ignore something brazen enough to lay its darkness right at his door.

  Usok barked and bounded into the night.

  Eli wanted to follow, but couldn’t leave without releasing the man’s spirit and putting his body to rest.

  He stepped out and turned to pull the door shut. A dark smear stained the rock of the hut.

  Blood.

  Eli stepped back and shone his light on the rock.

  Kill me, it said.

  About the Author

  Chris grew up in Central and Western Arkansas where he fell in love with words and stories as well as hidden history and forgotten culture.

  He has traveled the world, but found his way to the Mid-West, where he and his family are currently loving their new adventures.

  For information on book releases, signing events or author visits please visit Chris’ website:

  www.christophernooner.com

  Or follow him on Facebook:

  ChristopherNoonerAuthor

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  Don’t miss Book One of The Mal’Ak Cycle

  Shadow Souls

  Get your kindle copy at www.amazon.com or

  a signed copy at www.christophernooner.com today.