Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 29
Akar’s presence in her mind remained as well; that legacy of the Necrow’s power was not so easily lost. Keren’s beloved was looking about the hall, his eyes astonished to behold the world in its physical splendor. Even the dank stones and blood-stained throne were not enough to quell his joy. Still, the pile of ashes was a sober reminder of what had transpired.
“The Well must be covered over,” Akar murmured, “and this hall will become a tomb. None must be allowed to reproduce Belshazzar’s crimes.” He looked to the brethren, who still knelt before them. “Will you help me in this? Ensure that our sins and the sins of our master are remedied?”
The host of men nodded. “Gladly, brother. But what shall become of us? All the Necrow have ever known is slaughter and longing!”
“For now, we shall amend our misdeeds, and learn to live as men do. Longing is answered with prayer, and death with knowing what to live for.”
The brethren rose to their feet and saluted him. “This we swear: the Necrow will rebuild what they have destroyed.”
Akar nodded and said: “Go then, and free the prisoners from their cells. You may tell them you belong to Akar’s tribe, and that Belshazzar and the Necrow have been defeated. Attend to their wounds and heal their minds, if you can.”
The host of men sheathed their swords and departed.
When they had all gone, Akar turned to Keren. “Where will you go now?” he asked. It was an old question.
Keren gazed around the hall, at the bloodstained throne and the dark pool where the wraiths of death had been spawned. “I will go back to my village and visit the shrines raised to those who died. I must find what is left of my people, and if I can offer them help,” she said, her eyes downcast. “And you…?”
“This fortress will be razed, and the Well buried beneath it,” Akar said. “A new village shall be raised at the foot of the mountain to stand guard over the ruins. With time, I am certain it can be made prosperous. No other necromancers will make their home in this place, so long as I am master of it.”
He took her in his arms and murmured, “When you are ready, you will return to me.”
Keren raised her eyes to his. “Yes, I suppose I will,” she said, smiling.
So they lived out the rest of their days. As the other nations writhed beneath the travails of politics and war, Herayon prospered in the wilderness. The memories of their persecution and imprisonment were passed from generation to generation, legends of horror told to children and grandchildren around roaring bonfires.
One tribe in particular was known for its charity and wisdom. It played a great role in bringing Herayon out of the dark times, and its descendants were numerous.
After many years had passed, new stories began to be told of mysterious beasts that stalked the deep forests – messengers who brought good fortune to the faithful and comfort to the sorrowful. When the people heard such stories, they would exclaim in words spoken since time immemorial: God defends the righteous; may all His children be blessed!
THIS SERIES WILL CONTINUE IN:
HARBINGER
(A NOVEL OF RHODINIA)
On the third afternoon the armsmen exchanged muttered prophecies of imminent doom. The snow and sleet piled steadily higher, and the sky showed no signs of calming.
Mikhail sat with clenched teeth inside his tent, staring unmoving at the wall as the storm screamed and buckled the canvas in a wild frenzy. He took no food and drank only when Yaakov pressed a draught of ale upon him. His skin burned with fever, answering the challenge of the storm. No queries did he acknowledge from anyone.
On the third night, as the candles burned low and the armsmen counted their rations yet again, Mikhail abruptly rose, slid his halberd from its oilcloth, and stepped from the tent.
The Vladyka stood in the snow for a moment, listening, then turned and trod the way down the long path to the dell. His sable coat hung loosely from his shoulders, exposing bare skin to freezing wind.
The cold meant little to Mikhail; one with the proper strength of will should have the fortitude to withstand any protest of the flesh. Not for nothing did the sages choose to meditate beneath icy waterfalls or step barefoot upon glowing coals. The desires of the body were but a hindrance to the needs of the soul.
The maelstrom of hail parted before him, offering a narrow passage through the tarred night. Mikhail’s boots slogged through thigh-high drifts of snow. He moved with a certainty of direction that belied his blinded senses.
At last the Vladyka came to the dell where the stream ran mute beneath a thick crust of ice.
The wind grew still.
Mikhail stood alone, immersed in the silence. The mountains rose cold and impenetrable on every side, ominous yet serene. He breathed, and listened as the sound was swallowed by the wilderness. It was vaster even than it appeared by day, when the mists would briefly part to reveal the peaks fading into endless blue.
In the darkness the world was fathomless.
The Vladyka’s feet grew colder as he took up a guarded stance in the snow, straining to hear through the inky blackness. Soft white flakes kissed his face.
Silence.
A huge leopard padded down the cliff, its pelt the color of moonlight awash with shadows. Powerful tendons rippled as it stalked through the drifts, its monstrous eyes fixed on Mikhail. The Vladyka stared into two pools of ice as deep as the midday sky, their pupils as black as the crevices below.
The young man struck the butt of his halberd against the mountain, digging the spiked tip into the frozen soil. His hand flexed restlessly against the shaft. “I know not what manner of beast you are, nor why you have sent this curse upon us. Did we offer you some insult, spirit?”
The leopard grinned, black lips peeling back from glistening incisors. The beast growled softly, its voice vibrating through the stones beneath Mikhail’s feet, the sound of distant boulders tumbling down the mountainside. Mikhail’s heart leapt like a startled hare, kicking frantic legs against his ribs…yet he did not move. He mustn’t show fear to this creature.
The Vladyka’s hand convulsed against the shaft of his weapon. “I’ve no wish to fight.” The words came through gritted teeth.
The huge cat stalked closer, mouth hanging open in silent laughter.
Mikhail grimaced. “Surely the Magistr did not know of what he spoke. Do you mock me, spirit?”
The beast crouched ten paces away, watchful, its spotted tail twitching in anticipation above the virgin snow.
The very sight of it dredged up rage from the murky streambed of Mikhail’s heart; ire too long ignored to be contained. The Vladyka ripped his weapon free from the soil and set his feet in a battle stance. “Come at me then, and see how long your cunning avails you against my blade!”
The snow leopard gave no warning before it sprang.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks very much to my family, for giving me a steadfast example of what true faith looks like.
Thanks also to my friends, whom I can count on one hand, who supported me during the writing of this book. Long Live Video Games and Anime!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
H.C. Damrosch has a degree in Zoology and spends her days working with animals. Her hobbies include philosophical and religious reading and speculation, classic Pulp stories, and Japanese Animation.
This is her first novel.
You can read more about H.C. Damrosch at:
www.thewhatevsblog.com
Honest reviews are vital to helping others make informed reading decisions. Please consider leaving a review of this book on Amazon!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
C
hapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Preview of Harbinger
Acknowledgements
About the Author