Angel of Darkness Books 1-5

by Mackenzie Morris

  "Because Jaylen's life is in my hands. One wrong move on your part, and I will snuff it out without blinking an eye."

  "Where is Jaylen?" Zeriel asked.

  "You won't find him, you know?"

  "I will search for the rest of my life until I find that boy. I can say this with full certainty and from the bottom of my heart. I love Jaylen Corrifus and that will never change. Distance may separate us, but he knows that I care. I will always care. So he's a slave now?"

  "My slave, among many others."

  "What kind of slave?" Zeriel asked. "Will you let me know that much? Is he a field hand? A construction laborer? A scribe? Oh, Sola's rays, please tell me he's not a bedmate."

  "He hasn't been assigned a role yet. That will be entirely up to the men I am having him delivered to. They will be his new owners. The ship should be arriving any day now where the boys will be divided up to the people of the region."

  "What region is that? He's being taken quite far away if it takes a month by one of the fastest ships on the planet."

  "Again, Aldexa is an enormous world, filled with all kinds of countries that Vilyron doesn't like to recognize as being sovereign because they don't agree with the way their governments run things. That's why over half of the world is an information dead zone where no communication occurs and the only trade worth noting is the ever-present slave trade. If you want to go scour half of the planet for one boy, then be my guest. It gets you out of my hair."

  * * *

  The human guard made his rounds in the hold of the ship, dropping a handful of dry crackers in front of each boy. Jaylen instantly scooped up the six crackers and ate them with more voraciousness than he had ever eaten anything in his life. He strained against the shackles that tethered his ankles to the wall so he could lick the crumbs from the moldy planks of wood. Those few crackers were the only food he had eaten in two days. The guard picked up another corpse of a dead toddler and carried it up the narrow wooden stairs as he left. That was the ninth death in the past four days.

  With hungry eyes, Jaylen watched the seventy-one other boys devour their bland crackers. Some of them then curled back up in the shadows and went to sleep while others crawled around in the tiny space they had where the chains would allow them to go in order to find the few buckets of fresh water before the fights broke out.

  Water was the single most prized commodity on the ship. Jaylen licked his parched lips that had started to crack and bleed from dehydration. As the minutes dragged by and the pounding headache only grew, he knew he had to do something. Jaylen wiped the blood from his lips on the tattered sleeve of his filthy tunic before turning to the brown-haired older boy next to him and tapping his bare shoulder. "Trevor? Are you are awake?"

  Trevor mumbled as he covered his face with his bruised arm. "Go away."

  "Pass the water, please."

  "I said to go away. The water is mine. Go get your own."

  "There isn't any more water. They won't refill the buckets until morning. Please. I think I'm going to pass out."

  "Too bad. I'm bigger than you, so I need more water. If you're too weak to win a fight and get your own water, then you deserve to die anyway."

  Jaylen whimpered then tried again. "Trevor, I haven't had any water since last night. Don't let me die. I will give you all my crackers when we get more."

  "Fine. You're so whiny." Trevor slid the wooden bucket to Jaylen. "I get all your crackers for the next week."

  "What? I can't do that."

  "Then no water."

  He didn't have a choice at this point. "Fine. For a week." Jaylen picked up the bucket and drank straight from it. The water was slimy and stale with tiny white maggots squirming up the edges of the bucket, but he drank greedily, feeling the warm water slide down his neck and onto his chest. It felt like Heaven.

  One of the boys on the other side screamed out as he held up a squirming grey mouse by its tail. The mouse squeaked as the boy stomped on the rodent's skull then ripped into its stomach with his teeth. He tore at the meat, even eating the fur. He licked the blood from his hands, much to the protests of the others who yelled at him for not sharing his catch.

  Jaylen leaned back against the wall and tried to block it all out. The unhealed holes in his hands had only gotten worse . . . much worse. The wounds were throbbing, purple, and red. They oozed green and yellow puss. The unsanitary conditions were not conducive to healing any kind of open wounds. With some of the water, he dabbed the swollen holes and hissed through his teeth at the overwhelming pain. They were undoubtedly infected. But the one thing that made him worry most was the awful smell and the slight black cold part on his left hand. It was much worse than his right, probably because he generally used his right hand to drink out of, so it got at least a tiny bit cleansed every so often.

  For the past few days, he felt weaker than normal and dizzy with fever. The human waste that covered the entire cargo hold wasn't helping. None of them had seen light or breathed fresh air since they came on the ship aside from the merciful small wafts of sea air that filtered down when the hatch opened and a crew member climbed down the stairs for whatever reason. The stench was enough to make even the most fortified warriors nauseous.

  The hatch once again opened and rainwater was blown inside, sending the boys scrambling to catch it in their hands or lick it from the surfaces around them. The guard came down the steps and whistled to get their attention as more guards began filling the cramped area. "Wake up, slaves. The guards are coming around to unlock your shackles and get you all up on deck so you can wash off in this rainstorm before we anchor in port. You will each be physically examined to assess your health and given a new set of clothes. Once we arrive, you will be again shackled and separated into groups to be taken by wagon to your destination city. Some of you will be taken out into the country, some to the mining towns in the mountains, and some of you will be delivered to the urban areas as domestic helpers or bedmates. Once your shackles are unlocked and removed, line up in front of the stairs single file and await further orders."

  Chapter 13

  Jaylen followed the other boys up onto the deck and spread out his arms as his body was doused in the cool water from the rainstorm. Relief spread over him, awakening his dulled senses and bringing renewed life into his soul. He closed his eyes and took it all in while the lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rumbled overhead.

  The younger children ran around giggling and stomping in the puddles, despite the guards who barked orders at them. Others simply lied down and stretched out their arms and legs, finally free from the confined space and able to be a part of the world again. A couple of the other boys knelt down and said prayers to Sola, thanking her for letting them survive the voyage.

  Jaylen was broken out of his relaxation when a guard grabbed his hands and turned them over. "We have a problem with this one. Look at his hands. They're infected, but the left one has gangrene."

  The head slaver, in his diamond-encrusted tunic and skintight leather boots, crossed his arms as he studied him. "What is your name, boy?"

  "Jaylen Corrifus, sir."

  "Damn it. This one is Carvael's favorite. He hates damaged goods. Get him inside to the healer's room and out of this rain. We need to have him examined more closely before we send him onshore."

  Jaylen weakly followed the guards into one of the cabins on the second level and stood, dripping wet, while the thin man in white sat at a vial-covered desk and shuffled papers.

  The man looked up and seemed more than a little upset that he was being interrupted. "What?"

  The slaver pushed Jaylen forward into the lamplight. "Look at the hands on this one. He's feverish and they're infected. We can't deliver him to his Master like this."

  The healer lowered his spectacles and picked up Jaylen's hands. "His right hand is curable with some of my potions and tonics. However, his left hand is beyond saving. If we are going to stop the infection and the necrosis from spreading, I recommend immediat
e amputation."

  Jaylen pulled his hand away. "What? No! I'm a mage. I need both of my hands to channel my magic. I can't lose my hand. There has to be something else you can do."

  "Shut your mouth, slave. You would dare to speak to us that way?" The healer asked. "Strap him down and bring the saw. Someone heat a piece of metal over the fire so I can cauterize this once I'm done."

  The guards grabbed Jaylen's shoulders and pushed him down into a chair. They took leather straps and cinched him down with his left arm outstretched on a wooden board. Jaylen squirmed as they shoved a thick wooden rod into his mouth and told him to bite down on it.

  The healer prodded Jaylen's hand a couple of times before lining up the serrated edge of the handsaw with his wrist. "This will hurt, but we can't afford anesthesia for a slave. Don't worry. I will recommend that you are sent into the city for work that you will be able to perform with one hand. If your left hand is your dominant hand, you will have the chance to learn to write with your right hand. Well, I need to get going on this. Now, take a deep breath."

  * * *

  Jaylen woke up when the cart hit a rut in the cobblestone road and jerked him out of his unconsciousness. The first thing he noticed besides the intense pain in his left arm was the light. It was all around him, shining down like a far-stretching aura that never ceased to exist. It was a warm and comforting natural tingle on his skin. Through hazy eyes, he rolled over to look up at the pale blue sky and the brightly glowing orb. That wasn't mage-glow. He remembered seeing this kind of light from the early years of his childhood before it went away. So this was where the sun went when it vanished over Vilyron and the rest of the Northern Continent.

  The second thing he noticed was the fresh air that filled his lungs. It was clean and filled with all sorts of various fragrances that he had grown to miss, being trapped down in the ship for an entire month. The tantalizing scent of sweet baking pastries, freshly-cut hay, blossoming flowers, and the earthy scent of horses calmed his nerves.

  The other slaves sat near him, all dressed in clean tunics and pants, just like Jaylen was. He looked around until he saw a familiar face next to him. Trevor. Groaning from pain and weakness, Jaylen used his right hand to pull himself up to sit next to him. "Ugh."

  Trevor offered a small smile and a reassuring rub of his shoulder. "Good to see you back in the world of the living, Jaylen."

  "Where are we?"

  "We are in the city of Cilona. It is the trade hub of the entire Southern Continent. All of the cultures that the countries of Vilyron and Wolfekin say are barbaric store their troves of knowledge in the ancient tomes of the Haunted Library. The uptight bastards on the Northern Continent hate it when they have to acknowledge that Cilonan history predates the founding of Vilyron by at least one thousand years. Rumor has it that one of us on this cart has been assigned to work as a scribe in the Haunted Library. What I wouldn't give for that job. Oh, sorry about your hand. It probably won't be you, though. Look on the bright side. At least losing your hand got you out of hard physical labor, right?"

  Jaylen finally gathered the courage he needed to look at his left arm. If he wasn't completely dehydrated, he would have cried. His arm ended at his wrist and it was tightly bandaged with gauze and fabric that had been soaked in different ointments and salves.

  "Is it true? Are you a mage?"

  "I was a paladin in Ilyan. I was actually seventh in line to the throne of Vilyron. That's how far I've fallen."

  "So that makes you the Duke of Ilyan, right?" Trevor asked. "You're King Talyn's nephew."

  "That's me."

  Trevor held out his hand. "I owe you as much water and crackers as you need, my friend."

  Jaylen shook his hand. "Why is that?"

  "You don't remember me, do you? I'm Trevor. Trevor Treylan from Ilyan. We studied together in the Clerical Academy before you joined the Holy Order. I knew you looked familiar. I'm the one who you saved from being expelled when those other guys blamed me for defacing the statue of Sola in the courtyard."

  Suddenly, it all came back to him. "It is you! I just didn't recognize you with the beard and the long hair. How have you been?"

  "Apparently a lot better than you have. Where's your angel? He's the one who refused to sacrifice you in The Cleansing. I was there. I saw it all. Sola, help me. I can't believe you are sitting right here next to me. I feel so bad about being such an ass to you on the ship. I'm truly sorry."

  "You're the only one who views me as anything other than a traitor or a heretic."

  "So what happened to your hands?" Trevor asked. "After The Cleansing, I took a trip into the wilderness with some of my friends and we got lost. Then some elven slavers found us and imprisoned us for a while until they sold us in Tivareshen. My friends . . . they couldn't take the abuse."

  "They died?"

  Trevor nodded his head slowly as he rubbed his eyes. "So, about your hands?"

  "Because I was called a traitor, I had to undergo a soul purge exorcism."

  "Is that where they nail a man to the board and whip him?"

  That wasn't anything that Jaylen wanted to think about, but he felt the need to explain it to Trevor. "Yep. They don't use little nails, either. They use thick metal spikes. Then they branded over the demonic mark on my back. Only my light magic was able to save me. Now, I doubt I'll be able to use it again. How many one-handed mages do you know?"

  "None. Don't you have to have both of your hands?"

  "Exactly."

  "Oh, Jaylen. I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to help you, let me know."

  Jaylen leaned back against the side of the cart. "I appreciate the offer, but I need to learn to do things on my own. My angel, Zeriel, he abandoned me. He was Fallen and we had a fight, so our bond is gone. It's broken. If he still cared, he would have rescued me even before I was sold."

  "Carvael is his father. How twisted is that?" Trevor asked.

  "I know. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. This is all my fault. If I could go back in time and die in The Cleansing, I would do so in a heartbeat."

  "I know things are bad right now, but you can't think that way. I can't think that way. I have a wife back in Ilyan. We had just gotten married. She was beautiful, so beautiful. I didn't even get to say goodbye. I have no idea if she even knows I'm alive. See? That's one thing you don't have to worry about, with your vows of chastity and all that."

  Jaylen's stomach turned. "True. I just hope that I'm not someone's . . ."

  "Sex slave? You are still trying to maintain your vows? Noble. Very noble of you. For your sake, I hope Sola is watching over you and hears your plight. Maybe you can clean or cook or something."

  "Maybe. If I don't see you again, I have to tell you something. Thank you, Trevor."

  "No problem. Well, it looks like we're stopping here. Good luck."

  Jaylen returned the smile. "You too."

  The cart slowed to a stop and a city guard unlocked the gate before reading a list of names off of the notebook in his hand. "I need the following slaves to come with me to the brothel for training and personal mate assignment."

  Jaylen bit his lip as Trevor squeezed his hand reassuringly.

  The guard continued. "Cryn, Don, and Verilim."

  Jaylen breathed a sigh of relief as the other boys were led from the cart then down the street towards their fates.

  A large man in dark blue velvet, who was obviously wealthy, stepped up to the cart. "I am the messenger and accountant for the Cilona Merchant's Guild. I need the following men for apprenticeship: Carlton, Alexin, Roan, and Trevor."

  Trevor smiled as he whispered to Jaylen. "Apprenticeship? I can actually get somewhere with that. I hope you fare as well, friend. Goodbye for now."

  Jaylen sat quietly as the other boys were taken away to the bakery, the street maintenance crew, the textile mill, the apothecary, and the fishery. Slowly, the realization dawned on him when he was the only boy left on the cart. Would he be the one to work in the Haunted
Library?

  A woman in a plain brown dress with glasses and her graying hair pinned on top of her head stepped up to the cart and peeked inside. "You there, are you Jaylen?"

  "Yes, Milady."

  "Milady? It is quite uncommon to find manners and refinement of any kind in a slave. Oh, you are the young disowned Duke of Ilyan. That's right. Well, get out of that cart and follow me. I am Zirla, head librarian of the Haunted Library. Hurry now. We have a lot to cover and not very much time. Literature and history wait for no one."

  Jaylen struggled to crawl with his one hand, but he made it and slid off of the wooden boards.

  The woman frowned as she lifted Jaylen's left arm and examined the bandages. "Oh, dear. You are injured. I trust that you can write with your right hand, yes?"

  "Yes, Milady."

  "Perfect. Well, we can't have you going into the library looking like you do right now. I have already made an appointment for you with the tailor and the barber. We will get you all cleaned up and at the very least, presentable. You are no stranger to higher culture. You understand the need to always portray a refined appearance."

  "Of course, Milady."

  "Unacceptable."

  Jaylen jumped as the leather strap stung against the back of his left thigh through his thin cotton pants. He turned to Zirla who brandished the whip like she was well-practiced in using it. "Forgive me."

  "You don't even know how you messed up, do you?" Zirla asked.

  "No, Milady."

  "You are to only give me yes or no as an answer, except when specifically asked to do otherwise or if the question requires a more specific response. Is that understood?"

  Jaylen felt the welt forming. "Yes, Milady."

  * * *

  After being scrubbed with flowery-scented soap, having his unruly hair cut short and spiked with sticky gel, his bandages replaced, his nails filed down, and his dry skin moisturized with lotions, Jaylen was left in a small stone room in the western tower of the Haunted Library. He hadn't gotten a very good look at it, but he was sure that he would have plenty of time to explore the architecture of the large building in the days, or years, to come.