The Great Divide

by Chase Erwin

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  The Memoirs of Abel Mondragon: Volume 3 (THE GREAT DIVIDE)

  Copyright © 2019 Chase Erwin. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN: 9781076037428

  Chase Erwin on Twitter: @byChaseErwin

  Abel Mondragon on Twitter: @Abel_M_Mage

  Front Cover art by Daniel Denova - @Tartan_Kiwi

  Back Cover art by Marisha Hoza

  Cursed Amulet art by TheRamblingBard

  Abel/Kane Sketches by Demon Heart - @WindMogica

  Rook art by Siera Miller - @Dammityammit

  Volume 3: THE GREAT DIVIDE

  CHASE ERWIN

  Also by the author

  The Memoirs of Abel Mondragon:

  Vol. 1 – Captivity

  Vol. 2 – Echoes of Demons

  Bloodbound:

  Deluxe Edition

  Mind’s Eye

  The Railroad Ripper

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. The Buried and the Planted

  2. Mistaken Identity

  3. Rook and Raven

  4. Undefined

  5. A Taste

  6. The Ends Justify the Means

  7. Going Under

  8. The Broken Library

  9. Pieces

  10. Final Volume

  11. Split Infinitive

  12. Time Served

  13. The OTHER SIDE

  14. Repurcussions

  15. The Tree

  16. Targets On Their Backs

  17. For Kith and Kin

  18. Minefields

  Prologue

  I stared up at the ceiling of the surgical theater. My skin was bristling, hairs standing on end. I felt hot and cold at the same time. A paper-thin sheet over my body offered drafts of air that were both welcomed and dreaded.

  Up in the viewing room stood Ricken, the love of my life, his blond locks tumbling over a tear-stained face. He put a hand up to the glass separating our two worlds, and mouthed the words, “You’ll be alright. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I said aloud.

  “Shh,” said the surgeon. “I must gather my concentration. Now, Abel,” she said, leaning over and obscuring my view of Ricken. “As I said before, once I begin the reclamation process, there is no turning back. Whatever memories are waiting for you on the other side, they will be there, and they will all come back in mere moments. Are you sure you wish to proceed?”

  “Yes,” I said, woefully. “This is the way it has to be.”

  I looked to my right. Encased in a blue haze of light and dust was the image of my brother, Antareus. Dead for several years now, his serious face seemed to look even sadder than I had been used to seeing it.

  “I’m so sorry, little brother,” he said as he began to fade from view.

  “What for…?” I asked as the surgeon’s spell began to take hold.

  “Count backwards from five, Abel,” intoned the surgeon.

  “Five… four… three…”

  A single tear rolled down my cheek. I was incredibly frightened over what would be waiting to confront me when I came out from under the procedure.

  “Two…”

  Was this really the way to help stop the Covenant of the Grey Raven from harming any more people?

  Or am I doing just what they wanted me to do?

  “One.”

  And then I was out.

  1. The Buried and the Planted

  Four months earlier

  “Eggs are nearly ready!” Ricken called from downstairs.

  I heard him, but I was far too comfortable in our bed. I rolled to the left side, facing the window.

  Deepfrost had just started, and we were enjoying one of the last weeks of clear skies and crisp, cool autumn air before the snow set in to close out the Astorian calendar. The trees, freshly shorn of leaves, were waving their branches about to the blue skies above.

  If I were much of a painter, I would have insisted on going on the balcony so I could paint that gorgeous scene… But staying in our room seemed a pleasant option too.

  There were two rapid knocks at the door before it opened entirely. “I know you heard me,” Ricken said.

  “Mmhmm,” I mumbled sleepily.

  “So… get up!” His tone was playfully stern.

  “Mm-mm,” I said, shaking my head from side to side. I closed my eyes tightly and pulled the bedsheets up tightly to my chin.

  “Abel…” Ricken slowly approached the bed, crawled on top of it, and pecked me gently on the cheek. “This becomes a little tiresome when you do it every day.”

  I sighed. “It just feels so nice,” I explained. “Warm and safe up here, and seeing all my trees and the farm out there…”

  We lived on the former site of my family homestead and farm. I had released ownership of the land to the Winds of Andusk, a local adventuring party, so they could build their stone keep. In return, they allowed my partner and I room and board, plus a full-sized tavern for us to operate and earn money.

  “Yes, but it’s time for work. So, close the curtains and come downstairs!” Ricken pecked my cheek again and left the room.

  I sighed and pointed my finger at the metal rings holding back the blue satin curtains of our balcony window. A small tingle enveloped the fingertip before a thin blue bolt of energy fired from my finger and landed on the rings. Like a coiled spring releasing, the rings shot across the curtain rod, pulling the fabric completely over the window and closing out the rest of the world.

  Shooting electricity from my fingers was one of my most frequently used magical powers, powers that I’d had for only a short few years.

  Before the tavern, before Ricken, even before the powers, my life was quite different. My house was still here, and so was my brother, Antareus. But one night, we were both abducted from our home and introduced to the world of the Covenant of the Grey Raven.

  Later I would learn the Ravens were one of the biggest crime syndicates on the continent of Londolad. They ran so many operations – money laundering, prostitution, even murder-for-hire… but Antareus and I were about to be embroiled into a science project from hell.

  Antareus did not last too long. The Ravens made me watch as they force-fed him a vial of acid, dying a terrible death at my feet. For fifteen months thereafter, I was their unwilling lab rat, drinking potions that would temporarily give me magical powers: Levitation, transmutation, all kinds of bodily changes that would, for the short term, grant me fantastical and sometimes terrifying abilities.

  Their favorite use for me while I was under the effects of the potions was as a fighting dog. Other Ravens would place bets over my survival against other prisoners – and I would always win.

  Dozens and dozens of potions constantly running through my system would eventually cause some irrevocable changes – and indeed, some of the powers would begin to stay within my body, causing me to become what is known as a wild mage. I had no idea how to control my powers, which meant I was an unpredictable killing machine.

  One day there was a disturbance at the prison where I was being held – it was a rescue operation led, I later learned, by Ricken, who was working on behalf of a spy organization called the Daggers of Allach.

  I had known Ricken long before that day. We went to school together at the Culinarian’s Guild here in Galek. I had a schoolboy crush on him since the first time we met; and, as it turned out, so did he. We were equally matched in cooking talent, and we learned we had so much in common – but our insecurities kept us from connecting romantically until after my rescue.

  The person responsible for all the mental and magical
torture was a man known only as Dr. Kane. Even after my rescue, I was never truly safe from Kane’s influence. He had some kind of mental connection to me, knew everything I knew, and could see everything I could see. He had begun to taunt me from beyond whatever mystical astral plane he had hidden himself. Shortly before opening my tavern, he had placed a special note in my personal journal – “The Doctor Will Be With You Shortly, Abel.”

  Thus began a demented back-and-forth between Kane and I. I would go weeks living my life, working the tavern, going on excursions with Ricken… and then, unexpectedly, I would see another note from Kane – scribbled in my journal, written in steam on the bathroom mirror, or, more frighteningly, in my dreams, where I was a captive audience.

  On that particular morning, several hours earlier, Kane had invaded my dreams again. I was in a deep, freshly dug grave. Very much alive, I tried in vain to climb my way out of it. Kane stood above me, shovel in hand, just laughing. I could never see Kane’s face, just an orange glow from behind his glasses. His laugh… Ugh, his laugh, so creepy and evil… his laugh began to echo as he lifted mounds of dirt with his shovel and dumped them over me.

  Just as the dirt began to trap me in place, and it became harder to breathe, I awoke, tears streaming down my face. My crying woke poor Ricken up, as it had so often before, and as usual he put his arm around my body and promised me everything would be alright, holding me tight until I passed out again.

  And of course, Ricken was right. Dawn broke, the birds still sang, and all was still okay.

  Groaning, I flipped the covers over and climbed out of bed. I quickly rummaged in the closet to find fresh clothes, dressed, brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom, then bustled down the private staircase directly into the tavern.

  “G’morning, Mr. Abel!” said a red-skinned horned fae. Fame, as she was called, always wore darker shades of red, making sure she stood out in any crowd. That and her bright attitude made her the natural choice to hire her as hostess for The Talented Vagabond.

  “Morning, Fame,” I said, fighting off a yawn. “What do we have going today?”

  As I checked ledgers and money in the till, Fame rattled off a list of topics as if she had memorized it the night before:

  “We have a delegation from Breezeport staying at the inn on the other side of the city. I overheard them say they were unimpressed with the lager selection at The Wilted Blossom and so I sent my handmaiden Paradigm over with some fliers to hand out in that area. I also went ahead and ordered three more kinds of beer from our supplier on a rush, just to make sure we can boast a wider selection, and Kathlyn is in the back making extra batches of her own lagers.

  “Overall, sales were up this week over last. I think our decision to discontinue the monkfish soufflé was a smart one; the replacement menu item, the beer-battered codfish fingers, was an absolute hit. We need to order more mustard seed from Sinanju along with next week’s supplies, and we are running low on peaches for our grilled peach sundae special.”

  Yawning again, I nodded. “Very good. Let’s see if we can work out a deal with the greengrocer for another 4 bushels of peaches, and if he can’t fill that order, we’ll speak with the druid to see if he can help us out.”

  Caeden, the Winds of Andusk druid, was also the keep’s resident arborist and plant expert. He ran the farmland where we grew many of our own food supplies and had a spell he could use to quickly make a fruit-bearing tree or berry bush grow in any sort of climate so we could make up deficits when they arose.

  “Food’s ready!” Ricken called as he exited the kitchen, passing by Fame and I behind the bar. “Fame, there’s some extra eggs and biscuits on the counter if you’d like some?”

  “Ohh, yes indeed I do – thanks!” Fame put down her pad and pen and made a quick dash into the kitchen as Ricken set down two plates of eggs, bacon and toast on the bar.

  “Ahh, this looks great,” I said, swinging over to the barstools on the opposite side to sit. “As usual.”

  “Thanks, sweetness,” Ricken said. “Are you… alright after that dream?”

  I nodded and sighed. “It was the ‘buried alive’ dream again.”

  Ricken frowned as he contemplated his first bite. “I wish we could figure out a way to block that man from interrupting your life,” he finally said.

  “I suppose I’m getting used to it,” I said, sprinkling salt and pepper on my eggs. “He comes, he goes… I worry, I get on with my day… it’s just like a little dance.”

  “You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” Ricken said absently. “I wish I could figure out a way to tell…”

  “Did you put cream in the eggs instead of milk?” I asked, changing the subject. “They’re much fluffier.”

  “I did.”

  “I like that a lot. Let’s do that from now on,” I said. “Speaking of, the breakfast crowd will be coming in soon. Let’s finish up and open the doors, yeah?”

  “Yeah…”

  We spent the next few minutes in silence as we finished up our plates. Then we went through our usual tasks: Ricken bused our tables while I unlocked the tavern doors and propped them open. As the cool air began to waft in from the breezeway and I swept dead leaves from the entrance, Ricken lit a fire in the public hearth by snapping his fingers, letting a spark fly from his thumb and fingertip that spread easily over the logs – creating a perfectly cozy atmosphere.

  I stood outside on the porch and took a nice full breath of cool Galekian air. Looking out over the field of the complex was a very large oak tree. During construction of the keep, I made sure all the larger trees remained alive so they could be transplanted in new places if need be. This centuries-old oak was the only one that did not have to be moved.

  There were two figures standing at the trunk of the tree. Squinting against the rising sun, I could tell they were Caeden, the druid, and Beltrin, a dragonkin and the de facto leader of the Winds of Andusk.

  Beltrin caught my gaze, and he began to jog down the small hill separating us.

  “Abel! Good morning,” he began.

  “Good morning, Beltrin,” I replied. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “Ah, not right now, thank you,” he said. His silvery skin was reflecting more of the daylight sun, so I continued to squint as I looked at him. “Uh, Abel? There’s something at the tree you may want to see.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “Just… you’ll need to see it for yourself. Come.” Beltrin turned back towards the tree and began to walk back in that direction.

  Curious, I set off behind Beltrin. As we got closer, I saw that Caeden was kneeling at the tree trunk, carefully digging with both hands.

  “I’m not seeing anything else,” Caeden said as we made our approach. “I think this is all there will be.”

  “All what there will be?” I asked. I was beginning to get concerned with the level of seriousness both the human and the dragonkin were displaying.

  “This tree was in pain,” Caeden explained, scratching one of the wood-like antlers growing on his head. “Something was interfering with its older roots, so I began to dig to see what was causing the disruption. That’s when I uncovered this.”

  He nodded at Beltrin, and Beltrin picked up something from a dark wood box.

  It looked like a necklace at first glance – a small fine chain holding a pendant of some sort. I looked closer, and saw it was a crystal amulet. The amulet was glowing orange, pulsating with a beat much like that of a heart.

  “I’ve seen this before,” I said. Something was engaging deep in the back of my mind.

  “Look at what’s inside the crystal,” Caeden said.

  I looked closer, my nose almost touching the crystal as it dangled before my eyes. My heart seemed to be beating in time with the pulse of the amulet’s glow.

  Deep within the crystal was a small figure. It looked like the head of a bird… a raven. I knew immediately who this charm belonged to.

  “It’s Dr. Kane’s,” I whis
pered. “It’s his amulet.”

  2. Mistaken Identity

  It had been a few days since we discovered the orange amulet. I had been so concerned racking my brains, trying to remember what Kane needed the amulet for, worried that the Ravens would be beating down the doors trying to retrieve it – that I was unable to focus on cooking.

  Fame and Ricken took over kitchen responsibilities while everyone else tried their hardest to keep me occupied in other ways.

  Remi is a gray-and-pinked furred Felinial – a walking cat, basically. She has a cute, bubbly personality, up to a point. If you met her and had any sort of inclination to do her harm, she could lay you flat with a swipe of her wrist – or her enchanted longsword, Stardust.

  Remi tried to get me to spar with her. Five minutes into the first session she coldcocked me with a one-two closed-fist punch, then knocked me out entirely with a roundhouse kick to the back.

  “Gosh, Abel, I’m so sorry,” she said, her gray ears splayed back. “I keep forgetting you haven’t had any combat training… are you alright?”

  I scratched my head. “The 4:15 airship from Sinanju is now arriving on platform… apple?” I replied.

  A few hours later, I was in the brewhouse with Kathlyn. I was icing the back of my head while the squat, bun-haired gnome fussed about with bubbling kettles and stills.

  “Don’t you worry none,” she said with a thick, gravelly brogue, “this’ll put ye right. Have a good long guzzle of this.” She handed me a pint glass filled nearly to the top with a dark, stormy-looking liquid.

  It was odd hearing her take a caring, almost motherly tone with me. By design, Kathlyn was mistrusting and standoffish of other people. It didn’t help that her pub, The Axe and Pestle, had to close after one of her employees stole some of her best ale recipes and the clientele with it. But, knowing talent when I saw it, Ricken and I persuaded her to move her operation to our keep.

  I put the glass to my lips and tilted. As I drank, I felt a warming sensation coat my throat, which quickly spread over the rest of my head. I felt the contact wounds where my head landed on the marble sparring floor heal. My vision came back into full focus and the ringing I had been hearing since the incident eased away.