by Jared Stone
Legends of the Kílánór
Rebirth
Jared Stone
Copyright © 2015-16 Jared Stone
All rights reserved.
Revised Edition
ISBN-10: 1517773628
ISBN-13: 978-1517773625
I would like to once again thank all my family and friends for the time, care, and attention they devoted to this work.
I would be nowhere without the love and support of my fantastic husband, Josh Buckman, with whom I have built a life and a home that fill me with joy every day.
My mom, Pat Emmons, continues to be my inexhaustible source of great ideas, editorial feedback, and fangirl-caliber excitement unmatched by anyone else in my life.
Connor Pascale has again created a visual representation of my work that rivals anything I could write, and I feel both humbled and privileged to be working with him.
Additional thanks go to Baird Bream, April Duclos, Garret Shelenhamer, Jordan Rath, James Richards, and several others who read through the rough drafts of Rebirth and provided me with valuable feedback that ultimately came together into what you now hold in your hands.
CONTENTS
Prologue
1
1
Significance
9
2
History
29
3
Tears
54
4
Fears
77
5
Disbelief
108
6
Relations
135
7
Interruption
157
8
Control
180
9
Assistance
206
10
Names
230
11
Return
254
12
Protection
274
13
Shelter
296
14
Poison
329
15
Combustion
364
16
Descension
388
Epilogue
419
Prologue
92 CE: Rome
The prisoner sat in his stone cell below the arena. The day had been filled with gruesome competition and endless death in blood-soaked sand, surrounded by raucous cheers. Though the cacophonous noises from above continued incessantly when the stadium was full, now, at night, all around him was eerily silent. The unfortunate souls who had fallen would speak no longer, and those who had survived the day’s ravages did not have the strength or spirit left in them to make any sound at all. Tomorrow would present the same challenges as the day before. And the next day. And the day after that. It was a cycle of suffering and destruction from which one could only escape through death.
The scruffy man behind the iron bars hung his head low as he sat on the dirt floor, leaning his back against the wall. His scarred, muscular arms were wrapped tightly around the dirty knees bent up in front of him, and curls of dark brown hair stuck to his brow, caked with dried blood and sweat. His stomach growled, begging for more food than the mere morsels thrown to him by the prison guards. He had thought of trying to escape in the cover of night before, but there was no compelling reason to do so. He had nothing else to return to. His life had been stolen from him, and he would have happily died there instead of facing the harsh reality outside of those cold stone walls. And died again, if needed. And again. Whatever it took to escape the pain. With this lingering thought, he closed his eyes and tried in vain to sleep; the horrors which flashed before his eyes in the darkness were too vivid and painful.
He had lost her yet again. For so many hundreds of years he had searched, only to lose her once more. This time perhaps forever. He wondered how the gods could ever be so cruel – so vindictive and manipulative. A tear ran down from his cheek to his chin in a dirty, wet streak as he once again called to mind her curly brunette hair, glowing smile, and infectious laugh….
From outside the cell door, down the subterranean corridor, the prisoner thought he heard a noise. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. It was a familiar sound, like steel upon steel clashing in battle. But, looking through the bars which kept him captive there, he could see nothing but the flickering of a solitary torch. The man reasoned that his mind was likely playing tricks on him, firing back sensory perceptions of traumatic experiences in the arena. Between this and the ache of hunger constantly in his gut, he knew he would certainly find no comfort in sleep that night.
But, then he heard it once again: another clang of colliding metal, this time closer and more audible. The prisoner began to believe it was not just within his head, for he now heard yelling and screaming progressing ever closer to his location. He stood up slowly, feeling shooting pain through his limbs and back, and stumbled over to the bars. Peering out, he tried his best to see what was happening just outside the door, but the angle of the passageway provided only a partial field of vision.
As the din outside fell back into silence once more, the prisoner listened intently for any indication of the sounds’ origins. Yet, all he could hear now was soft plodding footsteps coming toward him. Not the typical heavy sound of Roman guards to which he had become so accustomed over the past weeks, but more like someone stalking quietly on soft, padded feet.
Off to his right, the man then saw a golden form, low to the ground, creeping down the passage. As it came close to the bars, the prisoner determined that it was a lioness, like the ones he had battled before in the arena above. Her powerfully sculpted back muscles swayed with each placement of a giant paw upon the earth, and she moved silently while licking her blood-covered lips. The prisoner stepped back from the door to the center of the cell, away from the reach of the escaped animal. For once, he was grateful for the presence of the strong iron which separated him from the corridor.
The lioness stopped in front of the bars and glared at him, her bright emerald eyes flashing in the light of the torch’s flame. Without warning, she reared up and brought one massive paw down upon the bars. As she did so, her razor-sharp claws could be heard screeching against metal, slicing through the iron as if it was flesh. The prisoner froze in terror as the lioness followed her initial swipe with a second, this time effectively opening up a hole through which she could access the cell. Without hesitation, the beast stepped over the threshold and silently crept close to the petrified man.
Pausing when she reached the center of the cell, the lioness did not immediately attack. She gazed into the deep brown eyes of the prisoner, and he looked back, bracing himself – almost in relief – for his own demise. But, instead of advancing any closer, the creature before him began to shift. As the man watched, the beast’s shoulders began to drop, and it appeared as though the golden hair upon her back and limbs flowed away and disappeared, revealing the fleshy tones underneath. The snout began to shrink and flatten, and the bloody teeth dulled and retracted. As the lioness transformed, she began to stand upright, as the joints in her legs slowly shifted in the opposite direction to produce front-facing knees. The tail behind her disappeared, and the ears, which had been perched above, gravitated down to the sides of her head. Within a minute, what stood in the cell before the astonished prisoner was no longer a ferocious animal, but rather a gorgeous, nude woman. Her silky blonde locks flowed down over her chest, and her olive skin perfectly encased her supple curves. The crimson blood which still lingered upon her lips accentuated them perfectly, making them plump and tantali
zing. The man stood awestruck, unable to speak or move or even think.
The mysterious woman remained still and simply stared into the man’s eyes, seemingly unashamed of her nakedness. Her sultry, elegant voice eventually broke the silence. “You are the prisoner Titus, yes?” she inquired of the man in the Vulgar Latin with which he was most accustomed.
Through his terror-clenched throat, the prisoner was able to choke out a “Yes.”
“Juno has called upon you, Titus,” announced the golden-haired woman.
At the mention of this specific goddess – who had, before, also been known to him by the Greek name “Hera” – it seemed as if the prisoner immediately snapped back to the present. With a bitter look on his face, he asked, “And who are you?”
“I am a High Priestess of the Great Mother, Juno,” said the nude woman. The man had sought more information than this, but it seemed as though the golden visitor was only willing to reveal what she wished for him to know.
“I have had my fill of Juno’s errands,” the man shot back with disdain. “I devoted my whole life to her, yet she forsook me when I needed her most. I believe I have already given enough to your mother goddess!”
At this, the prisoner turned his back to the woman to signal that he had heard enough.
“She now calls upon you once again,” the woman clarified without apology. “You have great abilities which must be cultivated, Titus. We shall be able to help you realize your potential.”
Seeing that the prisoner was still unconvinced, she continued. “We know who you are, Argus. Your alteration of material form has not deceived the Great Mother.”
Upon hearing his original name, the man’s eyes grew wide. He stood in silence for a minute, then turned back around slowly to face the woman once again. “That was long ago,” he rebutted sternly. “I am no longer that man.”
“You cannot escape who you are inside, Argus,” the woman responded, taking a step closer to the man, all the while maintaining her eye contact with him. She held out her hand, palm upward, in a beckoning gesture. “Please, come with me and all shall be explained. I am aware of the fate that has befallen Io, and you have my deepest sympathies. But your story does not end here. You must trust me.”
The man took a deep breath in. His past had taught him not to trust the gods and their manipulation of human affairs; but, looking around him, he reasoned that he had nothing more to lose.
“Very well,” conceded Argus in a reluctant tone. “I shall go with you.” The man stood there unmoving, very purposefully refusing to take the woman’s outstretched hand.
“Splendid,” said the priestess with a slight smile, lowering her arm. “Now, we must hurry. I am sure an alert has already been sent out, and the Goddess does not wish for further bloodshed in this matter.”
Turning toward the door, the woman made a move to exit. Argus bashfully looked to the side to avoid staring at her naked backside before taking a step forward himself. After a moment, he paused and inquired, “What is your name, priestess?”
“Dareia,” she stated without looking back. At this, the two ducked through the hole cut into the bars and out into the corridor to make their escape.
* * *
From an open arch in the wall of the Coliseum above, the High Priest of Apep stood watching in his dark cloak, a long staff clenched in his hand. On his forearm, a shining golden ankh stood out against the black bracer into which it was laid. Flashes of firelight from the torch to his left danced across his gray eyes, almost as if they were wandering spirits forever trapped within those glassy orbs. Gazing down, he beheld two dark forms running away from the arena through the shadows cast by the moon-light. One was a young man of strong build, the other a golden lioness treading quietly alongside. As the two figures disappeared into the night, the priest heard a clinking behind him as a frazzled soldier hurried up the flights of stairs.
“Oh, Great Venerable One!” cried the soldier as he came to a stop at the topmost stair, desperately struggling to catch his breath. “Your prisoner…. He has escaped….”
Looking out onto the dark city before him, the High Priest let a grin slowly creep across his face. “It is no matter,” he said confidently in Latin, with a strong Egyptian accent. “All is as it should be. I shall no doubt encounter them again, in time….”
1 - Significance
Monday, November 17th
“What do you mean, ‘Only the beginning’?” Lucian asked, stupefied.
The blonde boy stood in the hospital room looking at his college roommate, Blake, who was still in bed recovering from the demonic possession of his body only a few days before. The space around them was sterile and silent, apart from the faint beeping of the heart monitor in the background. It was the first time that the two boys had ever actually spoken to one another, as Blake had gone missing the day before Lucian arrived at school, and neither one of them quite knew what to expect from the other.
“I mean that the demon, Zagan, was only the first step in a much, much bigger plan,” Blake responded somberly. His naturally dark features, shadowed by the harsh overhead lighting, only worked to amplify the sullen appearance of his face as he said this. “Zagan attacked you guys in the church and stole that dagger, but he wasn’t doing that for himself. He was working for someone else – someone who needed the dagger for something more.”
Lucian’s heart sank. He had really hoped that, upon defeating the demon with the power of the Spear of Longinus, his life would again return to normal; now he found himself facing a shadowy, villainous conspiracy. Lucian wondered if he was doomed to an existence forever plagued by undesired hardships and unbelievable strangeness.
“But who?” Lucian inquired of his roommate. “And why?”
Blake looked down at his hands folded atop the blanket in front of him, his blue eyes conveying a look of exhaustion and sadness. “I’m not sure…,” he admitted. “The guy always wore a mask. And Zagan either didn’t know or wouldn’t let me know all of it. All I could tell is that the masked guy’s name is Samael.”
The boy paused momentarily, as if he was gathering together segmented fragments of his mind. “When Zagan was… inside me… he normally kept his thoughts and memories cut off from mine. But, every once in a while, if he was angry or distracted or weakened or something, I caught pieces of stuff, like, leaking into my own thoughts. When he first took control, I had no clue what was going on. But eventually, slowly, I learned how to snoop around a bit….”
Lucian was still amazed by the revelation that Blake had been conscious through the entire ordeal, and he was now even more amazed to discover that his roommate perhaps held some knowledge of the strategies and intentions of these other mystery adversaries. With any luck, they would be able to use this information to their advantage in gaining the upper hand; although in the pursuit of what end, Lucian was unsure. “Well, what else did you find out?” he asked Blake anxiously.
“From what I could tell,” Blake continued, “Zagan made a deal with the masked man to get the dagger in exchange for his freedom. Zagan wanted revenge on someone for something that happened a long, long time ago. But Samael needed the dagger for some other reason, and that’s where things are a little fuzzy for me….”
Lucian was thankful for the general overview, but the lack of clarity in Blake’s account was also very unfortunate. He stood there with a disappointed frown, while at the same time reminding himself to not be too critical of the young man before him, who had just gone through unimaginable turmoil. But then, after a moment of silence, Blake’s face lit up suddenly. “He kept talking about his ‘Lord.’ I think they needed the dagger to get to their Lord somehow.”
Lucian was still less than thrilled by the ambiguity of everything Blake could recall, but at least he now had slightly more information than before, as well as advanced warning that the bad guys weren’t all defeated yet.
“Well, do you know where this masked man is?” he asked.
“Kinda…,” answere
d Blake with some hesitation. “It’s a big old brick mansion in the hills outside of the city. We went there a few times…, but Zagan had a way of just, like, showing up there. Like in movies or comics when they teleport or something. I never got to see how to actually get there in a car or anything.”
“Well, we need to find it!” Lucian exclaimed. “If we can find the place and put a stop to the whole plan, then we’ll finally be safe. Everyone will be safe.”
Blake shook his head slowly. “We can’t do that, man,” he said. “Even Zagan was afraid of this masked guy. I could feel it really strongly when we were there. I don’t know how much, but Samael is definitely tougher than Zagan was. Probably even tougher than your buddy, Argus.”
Pausing for a moment, Blake then added, “By the way, where is he? I wanted to thank him, too, for everything he did to help me.”
Lucian was shocked at first, until he remembered: Blake had been forcibly separated from the demon and had passed out before Gus had been killed. He would have no knowledge of what had occurred while he was unconscious.
“Gus is…,” began Lucian, holding back tears that were trying to creep into his eyes as he once again thought of holding his dying friend in his arms. “Gus is gone….”
“Well, where’d he go?” Blake asked.
“No, I mean… I mean he’s dead,” Lucian clarified seriously.
Blake’s face grew grim. “But how?” he asked. “He was still alive and fighting when he cut off that coin and pulled Zagan outta me.”
“Well, the fight didn’t actually end there,” Lucian responded. “After Zagan was separated from you, he came back as a giant dark energy monster of some kind. He tried to kill me, but Gus…, Gus saved me.” The boy grew silent and reached up to touch the clear white crystal which hung from his neck: the crystal which had previously belonged to his departed companion.
