A-Viking (Betrayed by Faith Book 3)

by Paul C. Middleton

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Griffin's Diary Entry

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Author's Notes

  To those who supported me, all of you from 20 books.

  But Especially to

  Cover Design / Illustrator: Deranged Doctor Designs

  Final Copy Editor: Kat Lind

  Editorial Team: Bree Buras, Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, Tom Dickerson,

  Amber Cottingham, Katherine and Jim Albert and Sha

  This Book would literally be less than half as good without you. Your support and commentary to a new author cannot be more appreciated

  Technical Thing: Kat Lind and her team (and the SCARE program)

  Other: The Innana’s Circle Game Group

  And the 20 Books Crew. We’re all on this crazy journey together.

  Thank you for your encouragement.

  And apologies to anyone I have forgotten. You have my email or facebook, tell me if I missed you and I'll add you for the next edition.

  Disclaimer

  This book is an Urban Fantasy novel, set in a world like ours in many ways, but very different in many others.

  This book is a work of fiction, all the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Similarities to current events can be considered 'timey wimey wibbly wobbly'

  Any references or portrayals of religion are not intended to provoke offense, but rather provoke thought.

  If there is a God or any Gods they obviously intended us to think - look at the Yapok and the Platypus.

  Copyright (c) 2016 Paul C. Middleton

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This Book is dedicated to my Sisters, Angela and Jaki.

  That they didn’t kill the brat I was growing up still surprises me sometimes.

  I always loved you and always will,

  No matter how much we might get on each others nerves.

  (and thank you for your patience with me over the years)

  Prologue

  Griffin found himself in complete darkness. He saw nothing. He could feel nothing but the rough rock beneath his hands. Groping in the blackness, he felt something on the floor other than rock grit, the hilt of his sword, and rolled towards it. Once he had it firmly in his grip, he carefully rose to his feet. Once standing, he carefully looked around, seeing if there was light from any direction. There was none.

  Closing his eyes. He focused on movement in the air. A sense of dread enveloped him, as he felt no breeze or shifting air, only stillness. Finally, he felt a shifting in the air to his left. Moving slowly he turned towards that movement. With infinite care he pushed into the airflow, following it to its source. He walked carefully, barely lifting his feet from the ground. The last thing he needed was to trip over loose rocks in this complete darkness.

  The movement of the air became stronger against his bare arms as he walked. He knew it was a likely sign he was moving towards an opening, and hopefully some light. His travel seemed to take hours, and he began to wonder if he was actually headed toward an exit after all that time. Gradually he discerned a glimmering spot of light at the end of the tunnel. For at least he assumed it was a tunnel, as several times he had bumped against the edges of what felt like a rough cave wall.

  As he drew closer to the cave mouth, he could identify the murmurs of at least a dozen voices outside. Moving slowly, he still reached the exit to the tunnel far faster than he expected. It was almost as if the tube was dragging him towards its exit. Griffin looked at the faces of those standing around the entrance. As he exited the cave mouth, he recognized each and every one.

  The first was a young man who fought hard, delaying Griffin while his wife and child escaped. Griffin never tracked them down, although the Order listed them as dead rather than placing them in the watch file. The next was the face of an elderly man Griffin had hunted down through the Appalachian Mountains. This man had seemed at peace with the world, he had welcomed Griffin's attack, and even appeared to be at peace with his own death. Almost relieved to die. The third face was of a matronly woman, one who had been caring for orphans. The Order had claimed she had been corrupting them with demonic magic. Griffin now believed she had been looking after the children of Godsborn killed by the Order or in other conflicts.

  All the others had similar stories. He saw now how blind he had been. The accusations from these Phantoms of the dead haunted him. Cut him to the soul. Then he saw the last face. It was of the young woman, the one he had killed mere months ago. It was all he could do to not fall to his knees when he saw the accusation in her eyes. Then they spoke:

  “Demon spawn!”

  “Kin-Slayer!”

  “Traitor!”

  “Failure!”

  “Murderer!”

  “Soulless Killer!”

  These accusations were hurled at him by his phantom enemies. They continued for some time. Finally, when he could take no more, when his will to survive, his belief he could achieve redemption, was almost at its breaking point, they attacked. He had intended to let their blades take his life. But his body moved against his will. He was faster, and more skilled, than any of them. He moved through them like a farmer reaping a field of wheat.

  When he fought his way to the last attacker, the last of these phantoms, he found himself facing the young woman whose death weighed most heavily on his soul. His body again moved without his consent and struck her in an identical manner to how she had been killed by him the first time. Within moments the light of life slipped from her eyes.

  Her last words could be heard by him this time, in a voice achingly similar to his apprentice’s. “Why?” she gurgled as her last breath escaped her lips and she fell from his blade.

  When he looked back up, tears filling his eyes, he spotted an armored man walking from the shadows. The figure’s voice boomed at Griffin, “You are a failure. You cannot even die to atone for your life's mistakes. You should have accepted death rather than my judgment!” The spectre drew a glimmering sword as he finished his words.

  As the helmeted and armored figure drew the weapon, Griffin yelled, “I seek to atone for the wrongs I caused.”

  “How can you atone?” the oddly familiar voice asked.

  “By aiding our kind against the Order.”

  “It is not enough,” the voice answered. “Prepare yourself!” He continued forward as he raised the blad
e. Griffin felt his body fall to its knees and freeze in place.

  “At least let me see the face of my executioner,” Griffin said, desperation in his voice, fear filling his heart - Not a fear of death, but a fear of what might await him. Without a chance to atone, he felt sure he was due a horrific afterlife.

  “Very well,” the voice answered, and it slowly lifted the visor off its face.

  Griffin screamed as he saw his own face, staring back with disgust, anger and recrimination etched on it. No mercy was held in his own eyes. He was judging his own actions as they deserved.

  Griffin found him jerked awake, covered in sweat, his throat sore. Looking around, he saw he was in his bed in Einar’s safe house.

  He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t go with the others and be a burden on their goals. He needed to leave, be by himself. There had to be a way to atone. Without finding peace in himself, he could never be an asset to the cause.

  Diary entry of Griffin, February 28, 2014.

  I have been a fool. For the past two hundred years, I have let faith and belief blind me to the harm I might be doing. Now I must pay the price. I believed in God. I thought what I was doing was just. By failing to think for myself, I failed myself. It seems, from what I have learned, that there is no God. So the blame lands squarely on my shoulders.

  With all the information I have been given, I find myself thinking the best I can claim is that I was willingly fooled.

  The Order may have started with the best intentions. It may have held to them longer than many institutions do. In the end, it failed and has been corrupted by the manipulations of faithless me for personal gain. That it used me despite my 'demon blood' is proof enough for me -claiming my own abilities and powers came from God -and I find that evidence more compelling, if less provable, than anything else. The Order has become a sickening perversion of what they claimed to be.

  So I embark on this a-viking, this walkabout, this journey to find myself. I hope I can accomplish that goal before those who defected with me need me at their side in full command of myself.

  I hope I can find in this journey a path to redeem my actions of the past and build a better path for the future. I pray for the souls of those I slew without any right or self-awareness. I pray that they may find some small peace as I try to make amends.

  The only good that has found its way to me in all of this has been the loyalty of my comrades-at-arms when I decided on the truth and the discovery of my brother. But alas, they have to support the more capable - myself or Agatha, rightly so. And that would be her.

  I hope I find more good along this path, though I deserve it not at all.

  The Blue Mountains, March 3, 2014.

  It was a cool, crisp morning in the mountains when Griffin got up before dawn. The air carried the sharp scent of the eucalyptus all around. Birdsong in the pre-dawn gray just added to the atmosphere. The view from his chosen camping spot, off the Six Foot Track, was spectacular. It took in the surrounding cliff, valley, and mountains.

  He started on this walk the day before after hitchhiking to the onset of the track. While trying to get a ride he stowed the axe and gladius in his large hiking backpack to prevent alarm. Walking the path, he kept within sight of a group of three other hikers just to follow the safety suggestions. His campsite was near theirs, but with enough space between them for privacy.

  Nearly any other person would have taken the time to admire the wonders of nature around them. Griffin normally would have, or as he referred to his past self, the Griffin that was. Now Griffin considered the nightmares that haunted his sleep. Sleep was not his friend now. It no longer refreshed him. Each night since he found out he had been formed into a weapon to hunt down relatives of one type or another, those nightmares haunted him.

  Most of them were of his victims. People he should have been helping, not killing. But one continued to recur. Every night he would wake up to the memory of killing that beautiful Godsborn. Down to the moment when he twisted his blade inside her, and the spark of life fled her eyes.

  The terror, pain and hopelessness on her face haunted him now. He had taken no notice of it at the time, considering her a Demonspawn that had to die. Others were of himself lying dead on the ground. A part of him had split from the spirit that had left his body and was judging the actions he had taken in life. That judgment was not kind. There was no God to sanctify his misguided actions, even after death. It all filled him with such regret that sometimes he was tempted to end it all. He’d considered placing himself just right to catch a treefall as he chopped it down.

  He couldn’t do that.

  There was only one place he could really put his regrets, and the blame for his actions. Himself. Oh, his actions had been masterfully puppeteered over the centuries. That was, at best, a weak excuse. He was a poor excuse for a human, Godsborn or not.

  He had been raised by the Order as a Paladin. No doubt some good resulted from hunting and slaying the vampires and werewolves. But in the ignorance of his heritage, he also pursued what he knew as Demonspawn.

  The revelation of his heritage had been hard on him. Add in various deceptions that the Order used to convince their members of their version of the ‘truth’ shattered his faith when revealed to him. The only good thing to come out of it all was finding out he had a family. Sort of. According to his half-brother, Einar, their father was rather a ruthless person. After all, he had ordered the execution of Einar’s mother.

  There were other problems with family. They cared. And unlike team members, their expectations were not easy to ignore. His brother was of a similar size and build to him. Similar enough that the low profile anti-ballistic armor he usually wore had been a good fit for Griffin. Griffin generally disdained armor of any sort, but Einar insisted. It definitely took getting used to wearing, but Einar had made him swear to wear it.

  “Goddamn, bullshit.” He muttered as he shimmied into the form-fitting Kevlar lined with ceramic plates. He didn’t care if it happened to be rated, according to his brother, for anything up to a heavy rifle round. It was still bloody uncomfortable.

  He remembered the conversation with Einar. His brother had said ‘Your former comrades will be hunting you, you know. We both know some of them are skilled with guns. You need this. I have a spare one. And none of us are leaving until you swear to me you’ll wear it every day.’

  ‘It’s not worth it, Einar. I live, I die. What does it matter? I’ve wasted two hundred years on a false cause. Let it go. Chances are you are the one's heading into danger. You are the ones that will need such protections.’ He’d responded in an emotionless, drained tone.

  ‘I’ve got enough food to stay here for weeks. One of us can go for more, Griffin. You will find a cause to believe in. I don’t know what it is yet, but you will find something to bring meaning to your life. And you’re the only family I have I can trust. So we can waste weeks waiting for you to agree to the inevitable, or you can just give in now,’ Einar had said, with a bland, matter-of-fact tone and stance that showed his determination. Griffin had caved before dinner. It seemed likely that Einar was every bit as stubborn as he was. In their situation any delay was dangerous. Every day was precious to their goals.

  It had definitely been a case of the shoe being on the other foot. He’d been a champion of the Order for so long he hadn’t really had to submit to demands from anyone for a long time. There had always been a way to, at worst, ignore them. He didn’t like the feeling in many ways, but the obvious respect and care his brother felt for him was the warmest thing he had in the emotional storm he was grappling with. An Anchor against the currents' life was throwing at him.

  So he’d given his word. He wouldn’t break it. It was all he had left of his sense of self. His word would always be his bond.

  Finally, he squeezed into it and got it settled on his shoulders. From there he picked out his hiking clothes for the day. First a pair of sand colored fatigue pants, then a dirt brown long sleeved t-shirt. Finally his
wool socks and sturdy hiking boots.

  He’d needed to figure out who he was without the keystone of his former faith. To do this, he needed space. He would not find it in the middle of the mixed support, confusion, and disgust of his former companions. He felt sure the trip was a good suggestion from his brother. So he went a-viking. Wandering hoping to find himself again. Rebuilding his sense of self, he hoped to find a sense of purpose. He supposed that he should call it going walkabout because of where he was traveling, Australia. Walkabout was the traditional Aboriginal Australian term for what he was doing. A-viking still better suited who he was becoming, somehow. It seemed to be less aimless and to have more purpose.

  After seeing Agatha’s barely concealed disdain at what she perceived as his weakness, and with the need to organize the Conclaves, Einar had suggested to Griffin that this would be the best way. He wanted to come with Griffin, but Agatha would require all the help she could get to organize the defense of the Godsborn and the Magus. A storm was coming. One that could devastate the planet or at least its human derived population.

  After sitting there lost in thought until past dawn, he heard the group he was traveling near start packing their camping gear. He quickly grabbed a few things that could be eaten cold out of his pack and broke camp. He didn’t want them to feel delayed by him. That was just bad etiquette for a solo hiker with a group nearby.

  *******************************************

  It was late afternoon when he heard a crack of stone and a scream. He’d let the other group pass him shortly before stopping for lunch. He rushed towards the sound turning the corner of the path. Coming into view were parts of the lookout going down the cliff. One of the group must have gone down with the chunk of the cliff face. The other two backed away from the edge.

  He ran up the path towards the lookout. As he came closer to the brink, he shucked off the hiking pack and disconnected the small under pack. That pack had water, food and a first aid kit he had prepared for short walks around a campsite as well as sixty-five feet of toggle rope. He cautiously approached the edge of the cliff, making sure there wasn’t further slippage or weakness where he trod.