Category: Fantasy Type: Fiction
Pages: 392
Copyright: jan 1, 2010
Shakti is sent to kill in the Outlands once again. This time her target has the energy scent of Nyxra, but looks more a native. Unable to kill one with the scent of her people and with their unique blood abilities she decides to stay and watch these strange pale skinned Angithic to learn more. She will earn her freedom from her mage masters at all costs.
Shakti becomes allied with the Angithic and when other Nyxra are sent across the border to kill and kidnap more of the Angithic’s half-breed offspring she is willing to help them find answers. She believes the Angithic are the way to win freedom for all her people. On her way to help retrieve the kidnapped children she enters her homeland again and it is there she encounters the Nyxi. To her the Nyxi feel like enemies to the pack and as a result there is a irresistible instinctual response to attack, but instead she finds herself unwilling mate bonded to the Nyxi messenger and promising to help release their captured consort of their queen. Somehow by helping the Angithic with their children she must start a rebellion to over rule the Creed, free her people while trying to prevent the Nyxi from attacking their northern border.
Excerpt
Her Keeper halted at the edge of the steep incline, overlooking the valley below. His gaze was sharp as he surveyed the jungle layered landscape. Her eyes slid away from him and fell on the white stone city, nestled at the base of the wide valley. Framing the valley were two broad hills, just a bit smaller than the old rounded mountains they passed through, with mist hovering around the upper slopes. The border city was quite small but spread out; she could see flashes of stone through gaps in the thick foliage where the city lay.
Instead of being surrounded by farm lands it was surrounded by the lush vegetation of the rain forest. It was isolated in the northern hills, close to the pass they had traveled through, bridging one continent to the other. It was just a brief stop for merchants and seemed to survive solely on their traffic and the business brought in by the semi-nomadic people of the forest. It truly was a defenceless and weak city.
Beads of sweat collected on the Keeper’s forehead. The man still wore his gray Keeper robe, a straight cut smock style uniform without embellishments, and trousers. Although the moisture in the air alone likely made the material wet and uncomfortable. The assassin assumed his attire was to remind her of his status. More, it reminded her of his lower level mage status and human weaknesses.
He gestured downward impatiently. “That is where you will find the target, Nyxra. Is there anything else you need to know about this mission?” he asked, with a mocking smile.
If she had any questions he would not answer them anyway. There was always punishment for asking questions and the assassin refused to give him a reason or the satisfaction. She was not indifferent to the task assigned her, but she could feign disinterest easily.
This Keeper was even more tedious than the last and it seemed the infrequent times he chose to speak were solely to annoy her with his snide and condescending tone. It was amazing he had lived so long around her kind. It was likely he had spent the entirety of his career tormenting young trainees and not handling trained warriors. Or at least not skilled assassins who survived by being dead inside. Her hatred for his kind was the only thing she felt in many years. “What part of this task do you think eludes me, Keeper? The traveling into the Low Born city or the killing of the target?”
He was not fazed by her cold tone. He ought to be. It was not as though the Creed could be bothered with day to day administration and ordering Nyxra around. As all Keeper’s he was High Born, but not talented enough to be Creed. So he would have no power except through her accomplishments, likewise her failures were his. He had far more to lose than she did. She just needed to survive. His pale gray eyes studied her flatly. “May I remind you of the last mission you performed?”
She shrugged indifferently. “The target died.”
“As did several others.”
“They were in front of the target.”
“We were displeased by the scene you created.”
Pressing her lips together in irritation, she tried to restrain her temper. “That was different. This is a city full of Low Born. Harmless and mundane humans. There are no Brethren or Creed here. I have learned their language well over the last few months.”
“All the more reason you do not create a scene. If a Nyxra were to be seen killing one of their citizens it would be something they would recall. It is not often they see assassins with blood red eyes and white hair. Even though these people have not been exposed to your kind often, I suspect it will be easy to discover who sent the assassin. And as for the language, you have learned it, not mastered it. You do not have the refinement of the skills required for subtly entering a foreign culture.”
The assassin flexed her Shakre hand, thinking seriously about showing the fledgling mage a lesson as she had done to Keepers in the past. The Shakre that wrapped around her hand was a powerful weapon, but it was useless against Creed and Keepers. She was made for warfare, just as all her Brethren, but she had been taken from the ranks once she mastered her particular blood abilities. Now she must always be quiet and careful to kill only one specifically selected person. More irritating was that she was issued her own personal Keeper and she was always away from her pack.
Masking her anger with feigned amusement, she smiled at him thinly. “But I do not look like Nyxra, do I?”
He studied her carefully. “The illusion does hold, but it won’t bear the scrutiny of any mages.”
She touched her hair, which retained its soft curl, but she knew it appeared a mundane brown color. “How could it?” she remarked, with a grimace of distaste. “I feel coated with the repulsive scent of Creed magic. The foul stench of it clings to my skin.”
He smirked. “Then I suggest a bath. Thankfully, mage born don’t have the Nyxra ability to smell distinctions in energy, but they certainly can see spell alterations, even if this one is quite subtle in nature. Remain hidden and study your prey from afar. Don’t make contact with the locals. I will make a permanent camp up the valley a sun walk away from here. You have one passing to accomplish your task and only one dose of Atrumis for the entire duration. So use your powers sparingly.”
When he handed her the wooden box that contained the Atrumis she grinned widely. “I will be back very soon.”
He nodded curtly. “If you use up this dose and the Madness takes you, you won’t be coming back at all.”
She nodded, although, his statement was clearly a lie. Empty threats. There was no way the Creed would allow a Nyxra in full Madness to rampage through a foreign land causing the natives to learn important facts about Nyxra nature and Creed interest in their country. After all, the purpose of issuing her a Keeper was so that if the Madness took her, he would hunt her down and bring her out of it. He would camp a distance away, but he would use spells to visually track her from afar.
She turned from him and started down the hill without looking back. After she made it well down the incline she turned into the thick woods, where only patches of sunlight breached the heavy leaf barrier. Then she started back upward and began to sing a song to herself. There was a lady dressed in red; she killed several men dead, hmm, hmm, hmm. She shifted her course slightly east, her feet sinking into the moist dirt making no noise. There was a lady dressed in blue, could not count the men she slew, hmm, hmm, hmm. When she reached the top of the incline she paused to sense where the Keeper had left. She moved more quickly when she caught a trace of him. Her Keeper was weak for a mage, but the mage stench left by him was easy to follow. There was a lady dressed in black, tortured many men on the rack, hmm, hmm, hmm.
It was not long before she caught sight of him, heard him fumble around, and she circled carefully behind him. She let him trail far ahead of her, so that all she saw was a slight flickering movement as she followed him north. When they were all dead, they danced around their heads, hmm, hmm, hmm.
Her prey was not very careful, not as cautious as a Keeper ought to be. The Nyxra did not respect weakness. If he survived her attack then he will have earned her respect, otherwise why should she suffer to be controlled by such a man? Where could such glee be, but the Madness within thee? Hee, hee, hee.
When they took her away from her pack she had been furious, but they had tamed that fury when they sent her back to the fortress for rigorous training. They thought they had made her obedient, but they had only encouraged her determination to free herself. Now she traveled out land with only one Keeper to make her obey. It was too easy. Certainly Keepers had power over their charges. They had the Atrumis and they had ways of punishing disobedience. She was simply stubborn by nature and by traveling away from the restrictive environment in Dairmar she was always tempted towards disobedience and thoughts of freedom.
As she expected the Keeper chose to make camp early so that he could travel the next morning to their meeting place. It was to be anticipated since humans trended to have little endurance and feared the shadows of nightfall. She remained hidden and watched him patiently. Hours after he settled down to prepare a late lunch, she decided to act. Very carefully she inched closer and still he did not sense her. For all his magical spells she was amazed he could not feel her behind him as Brethren could. He had set up no protections around his camp and likely thought he would not need any in the land of Low Born.
The Shakre was useless for the task. No High Born could be touched by the weapon. The spells imbedded within her body prevented her from attacking High Born with the Shakre or any other weapon with the intent to cause bodily harm. She had tried to break through them before and the failure had cost her greatly. Still, she was born with a power even her Keeper had little defence against, since he did not have the rank nor protections afforded to the Creed. Keepers were afforded some of the same protections, but they were simply not strong enough to enforce the weaker obedience spells and so such spells could be resisted when ignited by such inferior mages. Her blood abilities were strong enough for her to successfully bring down a Keeper, although she could never challenge her Creed masters. She wanted to remove him so that she would not be watched, but inwardly she admitted she enjoyed killing Keepers because they were the closest thing to Creed. She would take what she could when she could.
She manoeuvred around behind him. Then broke cover swiftly and he did not have time to defend himself. All it took was for her hand to make contact with his neck and then he was hers. With a surge of energy she felt herself merge between his spirit and his flesh in the place that was between moments and space; a place where she had her power and he had none. Wedging herself in, she felt the resistance of his mind and spirit, as her energy filled the gaps. In the Between she could shred his mind or make it her own, but he would have the will to resist her control. Keepers were not prey one should play with.
She would have to kill him by separating his spirit from his body. She eased inward. Like a knife slicing the hide from flesh, she thought, as his essence and his body were forced apart creating a tension to the sides of her presence within him. His screams echoed around her, but his body was frozen in her grasp. Then she felt the place that tied spirit to flesh and she pushed herself deeper until she sensed the agony within him as his very essence was thinned. When she felt the tension was at its peak and the bond that made him was stretched taunt, she pushed violently through him severing his spirit completely causing it to spiral away from the empty flesh with a howl of rage and pain.
She receded out of that place between and let the corpse slump to the ground. Time in the place between was perceived differently, but she knew it had only been seconds of agonizing pain before she killed him. He deserved an eternity of torment and she hoped he had earned such an after-life.
She stared into those vacant eyes. Such a pale gray color was uncommon among humans, even though she preferred the deep crimson of her kind. Likely his ancestors had co-mingled with foreign slaves. “One had such beautiful eyes. Did you know that? I apologize for this death.” She picked up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it over his face while saying, “Das Vinias”. It was not to show respect for her victim, as it usually would, but rather to prevent his spirit from tormenting her. Then she rummaged through his things taking his money and the store of Atrumis that was meant for the travel home. She started back towards the city humming out loud this time.
The task needed to be completed. She still planned on studying the target, but now had the freedom for other things. If she could find no way to tame the Madness she would likely go back home and she could not do that without killing the target. The fact that she killed her Keeper really meant very little. It meant he was not skilled enough or that he had not been careful. In their way of thinking she was simply culling the herd. The Creed would not care unless she did not return at all. Only then would they send someone after her. However, rogue Nyxra were very rare indeed. The Madness prevented any long term plan to escape their masters. Pack loyalty ensured Nyxra would not risk escape to leave their near-kin behind.
It took her until late afternoon to reach the city. She was somewhat surprised to see the gates wide open and the guards almost completely disinterested. One rather round guard was sweating profusely in the humid heat while the other looked as though his spear was the only thing that held him up. Would they even notice if the illusion that masked her features were to dissipate? The natives had a richer olive skin tone than the red-brown tanned humans of her homeland. Their eyes were almond shaped and a deep, thick brown color. The color of mud. Humans came with many colorations, but no matter the variety they were still soft and weak. They meant nothing to her. They were no threat, had no power and were no match for her blood abilities. If she were not assigned to kill them, then they were easily dismissed.
The city itself had wide open dirt streets with stone buildings sprawled out. Most of the structures lacked doors and windows, which likely made the air circulate better in the thick stagnant heat. The traffic on the roads was just beginning to pick up as the day was beginning to cool down. People went about their business in a relaxed and almost lazy manner.
The atmosphere was quite unlike the cities of her country and utterly foreign to her. She had been trained to infiltrate many northern countries, but they at least were somewhat familiar. Having been raised among her own kind she rarely had contact with Low Born and she had no desire to pretend to be meek to fit in among them. The illusion would be enough to fool them, and if not, she had other ways to manipulate their malleable human minds. Yet it was such inferior people she was created to defend. Or kill, depending on Creed whim.
The market square had rows of bench tables and tents displaying wares. It was colourful and the people boisterous. The merchants tried to out yell each other, while their runners thrust objects into her face trying any tactic to get her to simply stop. Her lack of direct eye contact seemed a better deterrent than speaking. It was further down she found the more permanent stores and the one that interested her most. The Keeper had been right to warn her of mages, but this store was run by what the Low Born called an Alchemist. Such men were learned and skilled but like all Low Born were utterly devoid of supernatural abilities or real power.
She entered and inspected the wall behind the counter, which held rows and rows of little jars labelled carefully. Behind the counter stood an ancient looking shrivelled man wearing a moth eaten gray robe. His face was so wrinkled it looked like the wrinkles were absorbing his face and all that remained of his beady eyes were thin slits. She smiled at him trying to make herself look pleasant if not friendly, but saw by the way he tensed that she did not succeed. It seemed she lacked the ability to put others at ease, perhaps because they subconsciously understood the danger she presented. Or perhaps it was because she did not care if they were at ease. At best she could be considered socially awkward, but it was because humans did not socialize in a way she understood.
“Greetings of the day to you. Can I interest you in anything?” he asked, sounding hesitant or uncomfortable. Either he was in some way intimidated by her, despite the illusion, or he needed to have a bowel movement.
“I have no desire for your potions. I want to know if one can figure out what is in a concoction and reproduce it.”
The Alchemist gave her a puzzled look when he heard the way she spoke. For a moment she thought he did not understand her because of her thick accent, or perhaps he was deaf as well. Then he replied, “Ah, that depends on what it is. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”
She nodded and carefully pulled out the single dose box and held it out to him. “This is what I want.” She placed the box on the table and opened it gently. Inside was a small vial filled with a liquid. The vial fit into a device on her Shakre and when closed it injected the liquid into her. “Do not let it touch your skin as it is poisonous to most.”
The man lifted the vial carefully and peered in at the thin blue liquid. “Is this a poison then?”
She shook her head. “To some, but to me it is… medicine.”
“I see. What is the medicine for, if I may ask?”
“You may not ask,” she replied. “Can you make it?”
He tilted the vial back and forth, peering at the liquid closely. “It will take some time to get it down to its components and find a way to reproduce it.”
She pulled out her purse of native coin and took out three of the gold ones. “I will pay one well, yes? How long it take you to do this?”
His greedy eyes locked on the gold coins and she almost laughed. She almost did not need her powers around most Low Born, not when she had gold. “I can have it done in a passing and then in a few suns I can have more,” he said confidently.
She smiled and wondered if he spoke truthfully. From the appearance of the store the man had skill and hopefully the money was enough to provide encouragement. Of course, there were other methods of encouragement she could provide, if she felt he might actually succeed where none other had. It was doubtful. Still, she could not stop trying. She could not kill Creed while she was shackled to them by the drug. “That is acceptable. I will return in one passing, and then you get coin.”
As she turned to leave the man asked, “Can I have your name, traveler? To put on the order.”
She looked back and had no ready reply, for her Brethren had no use for names; they distinguished one another from the scent of their energy. “I am nameless,” she replied truthfully, letting him make of that what he would. “If you need a name, you can refer to me as Nyx.”
It was foolish to call herself something so close to the name of her Brethren, but these people did not know their name. The word itself meant darkness in her native tongue, for the Brethren were called children of darkness by the High Born. If the man suspected he was making her a poison then he would know any name she gave him would be false. She would need a name, if she was going to interact with the Low Born and one far less obvious.
“Lady Nyx then, I’ll see you next Sundersday?
“One will,” she stated as she left. She pondered the peculiar habit of Low Born to name everything including themselves as she explored the city further. Humans had many labels they imposed on themselves; mother, wife, lover and such. It seemed unnecessary they be given another at birth to wear their entire lives. Names had meaning as well, but were often given at birth or early in childhood. Hardly a good time to name someone with a label that would last a lifetime. She contemplated various word meanings and Low Born names before she settled on one that was suitable. A name of strength among a culture who the audacity to resist the Creed.
The assassin had memorized a map and it was not difficult to find her way. The palace was in fact many flat buildings layered on a natural hill, which had the only defence of a thick wall guarded by a scant few soldiers. It was only referred to as a palace because royalty would stay occasionally during particular ceremonies or to hunt strange game in the mountains. The spies had informed the Creed that the target would arrive about four suns prior to her arrival and would remain in the city for about five moons before moving on. It was predictable of this prey’s family to hunt during the summer moons and she had to agree that it was a good season for hunting.
The assassin leaned causally against a building which gave her a clear view of the gates. She muttered her new name under her breath, as though she owned it as a title, “Shakti.” She would have to own the name in order to infiltrate this human land properly. She liked the sound of it; it was not a meek name.
Shakti observed the guards for a few hours to get their routine. She stoically ignored the heavy heat that seemed to cling to her and soon her body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She wanted to see her target before she found a place to stay.
Shakti pulled up her sleeve and looked at the long thin tattoo of a knife on her arm that bore the Shakre. The hilt of the marking was already red from killing her Keeper, as the method of his death drained her more so than any other mental ability she had. She frowned as she calculated how much more energy she could expend before the tattoo dagger was entirely red and she danced on the edge of madness. Sometimes it was hard to tell. It was easy to mistake the first symptoms of aggressive nervous energy as being in a fighting mood. The spelled tattoo helped her people know how close to the edge they were.
She had more doses of Atrumis now that she rid herself of her Keeper and if the Alchemist succeeded she would have unlimited doses to maintain her sanity. Until the Alchemist informed her of his failure or success she would have to watch her mark carefully. If she went mad she no longer had a Keeper to hunt her down and save her from her darker nature.
Her Shakre did not take much energy to use as mostly it was a magical weapon that focused raw energy. It was not a weapon the people of this land would recognize. It was simply a wrist band of metal that came up over her hand with chains linking to five rings on her fingers. If anything it looked like an odd piece of jewellery, but when she used it, it sent out a good blast of energy called the Shakre Wind. All Brethren had Shakre, but since she had been taken from her pack it was not a weapon she found much use for anymore except to give her the Atrumis quickly. If needed, it was an effective weapon that a human had no defence against and she could vary the strength to manage her power limits.
Shakti looked down the street and then turned back to the palace. She scanned the walls and counted the soldiers she saw. It was not going to be a challenge. Nyishitar was a vast country, but with a small population. She was used to seeing nobility travel with an entourage in the hundreds, but this prince traveled with a few score soldiers. It did not look like she would need to remain long to accomplish her task, which was fortunate because it was a truly unpleasant one. Her Creed Handler had given it to her to torment her, she knew. She would obey, because she must. She must survive in order to get her revenge.
Danielle enters a baking contest that the Rainbow Dream Trains are hosting to impress a small UN counsel that is coming to the Castle of Imagination. But things quickly go wrong, for a very dark reason.
This is the long-awaited 4th book of The Chronicles of Henry Roach-Dairier, a future world without people. Think Planet of the Ants, not Planet of the Apes, for young adults and adults.
