"Are you unharmed?" she demanded the moment Laynin slid down.
"We're all fine," Laynin replied, "just. They seemed determined to attack us. Risper at least."
Ara's face turned red, then white. "Attacking dragons…" She shook her head. "It seems we have no choice," she said, half to herself. "Like it or not, the draakin have no choice. We are at war."
Will Laynin survive the Dragonwar? Will Travin find the peace he seeks? Will Risper continue to be wise? Find out in book 2 of the Dragonwar trilogy, Dragonwings.
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About the Author
Mirren Hogan lives in NSW Australia with her husband, two daughters, dog, cat, rabbits and countless birds. She has a Bachelor of Arts (English/ history), a Graduate Diploma of Arts (writing) and a couple of degrees in education. She writes fantasy and urban fantasy.
www.mirrenhogan.com
Knight Submergent
Lee French
Knight Submergent © 2019 Lee French
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Knight Submergent is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No teenagers, squid, detectives, or squirrels were harmed in the making of this book.
Created with Vellum
Knight Submergent
Portland has a water problem.
Seventeen-year-old Brian hates his father. The man became a monster five years ago. Suddenly, he wants to creep back into the family. Over Brian's dead body will that man ever lay another finger on any of them.
When a mysterious musician sends Brian on a bizarre quest, he discovers magic isn't just dragons on TV, saving Portland from an impossible fate. He never dreamed he'd join the family business, and it'll show him a world he never knew existed.
Knight Submergent takes place in the same version of Weirder Portland as the young adult urban fantasy SPIRIT KNIGHTS series.
1
This story starts with a dog chasing me through Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge on New Year’s Day. I, a senior at Grant High School, a solid member of the varsity football team’s offensive line, and an all-star midfielder for the lacrosse team, ran like a little girl up an asphalt path to escape a loose mutt the size of a German Shepherd.
Why? It said it wanted to eat me. In English. Then its eyes flashed red.
This is how horror movies begin, and I’m not stupid.
I ran up the asphalt path where I’d gone to escape my house. Leafless trees lined the left side of the path. Through the trunks, I could see the dark blue Willamette River. A chain link fence separating the path from railroad tracks lined the right. Beyond that, I could jump into a bog.
Even though I know better, I glanced back to check on the dog. Dark fur, slavering drool, and wild eyes still followed me at high speed. The thing must’ve crawled out of Hell to come for me, but I had no idea why. Whatever I’d done, I wanted to repent.
Then I ran into something because I’m dumb enough to look back while running for my life. I hit the ground on my hands and knees and saw shoes attached to legs. Great, I’d run into a person. My lungs burned as I gasped for breath. Whatever had let me keep going for that long dissolved, leaving my limbs weak and trembling.
“Get out of here!”
For a second, I thought the guy meant me. If it meant surviving this nightmare, I’d scrape myself off the ground to obey.
The mutt whimpered. I checked, and it stood on the path with its tail between its legs and head ducked. “I just want to--”
“Enough. Leave now or I’ll drown your vessel.” The guy had a musical tone, like he ought to talk about lofty things in elegant places while wearing a tailored tuxedo and sipping expensive wine with an upraised pinky.
I saw my savior in profile. My belly flopped. Which made no sense, because I’d never had that kind of reaction to anyone. For no reason I could identify, I wanted to touch his dark hair and find out if it felt as silky and soft as it looked. I wanted to touch his tanned cheek for the same reason.
To be clear, I’m not gay. I don’t like girls, but I’m not into guys either. I mean, I like to appreciate a body like anyone, and I have lots of chances in the locker room, but I’m not gay at all. That the shape of his nose and chin, combined with his blue-green eyes, made my whole self dizzy confused the heck out of me.
No one bothered me like that.
Ever.
Except that one time with Gabriel, but that didn’t count. Fourteen-year-old me hadn’t known my ass from a hole in the ground.
Anyway.
In fairness to me, I should mention that I’d been stuck in my house for most of previous two weeks to recuperate after waking up in a hospital bed a few days before Christmas. I don’t know what happened to me that night because I can’t remember anything, nobody told me, and none of it gave me new scars. My dad, the worst human being to have ever lived, claimed I’d suffered a magical attack.
Sure. Magic. Right, dad. Go back to your asshole den and come up with a real answer next time.
Staring down an angry, English-speaking dog with red eyes, of course, gave me a new perspective on that answer. Really, he hadn’t given enough specifics. I mean, I might’ve believed him if he’d said a mutant bug attacked me, like the ones that had destroyed buildings downtown over Thanksgiving, but “magical attack” sounded like a cop-out to me.
The dog skittered down the path, away from us. Like a four-legged spider fleeing a giant shoe.
“Good.” The guy turned to me and smiled. He offered me a hand. His other hand, I noticed, held the weirdest violin I’d ever seen. The body had been made from green material reminiscent of seaweed. Instead of strings, it had long, thin, fish-like fins. Along with it, he held a long iridescent blue feather that maybe served as the bow.
Who carried a bare violin loose in the middle of winter? I thought cold exposure damaged stringed instruments. Not that Portland winters are frigid, but thirty-five degrees still sounds bad for a violin.
“Are you okay?”
I blinked at him like a moron. Point for me, though, because I took his hand and his help to stand. The thought that I wished I wasn’t wearing gloves flickered through my mind. Then I would know how his bare skin felt. Which I didn’t want to know, except I did. But I really didn’t. Or did I?
Like I said, 100% confused.
“Thank you,” I gushed at him like a halfwit fanboy.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled.
I melted. Why? I don’t know.
“I can see you need to catch your breath. Let’s take a seat. Some of these roots are actually quite comfortable.” He draped an arm around my shoulders and guided me into the trees.
My entire body forgot how to walk. I stumbled and tripped over everything. This guy had to think me a complete moron. Which didn’t matter. Why should it? It didn’t.
“I’m Nick,” he said as he eased me into a hollow made of gnarled roots.
“Brian.” Another point to me for remembering my name.
“That dog won’t bother you in the park again. It probably won’t range far from here, so as long as you live at least a few miles away, you should be fine.” He sat across from me, on another root jumble. The everpresent Portland clouds parted to grant him a beam of sunshine to bask in.
“Yeah.” Behold my amazing conversation skills. “Cool.”
Nick chuckled and raised his violin. “Relax.” He set the feather to the fins and played a melody.
Whatever brains I had dissol
ved as I listened to the music. The melody sounded familiar, like I knew the song but had only heard it in a different key. The tune conjured memories of the park from better times.
Years ago, my father used to bring my little brother, Matt, and me to ride our bikes up and down the path. We’d come on Tuesdays after school. Dad did all his paperwork that day every week, which meant he always came home on time, unlike every other day of the week. We’d stop by the water and catch fish to throw them back, chase frogs or squirrels, or feed stale bread to ducks. Back then, we had a dog, and we’d bring her too.
The song ended. So did the happy feeling in my chest.
“Did it remind you of something you’ve lost?”
Nick’s voice startled me, breaking something fragile that had held me in place.
“What?”
He lowered his violin and smiled. “Nothing. It’s nice to have an audience. Do you like music?”
I had to think for a moment to handle a simple question. “Sure. Does that song have a name?”
“Probably. My mother used to hum it to me. I never asked what it was.”
“My mom did that too.” I’d asked her to stop tucking me into bed when I turned twelve. When I’d wanted it again because of Dad, I hadn’t known how to ask. Not that I’d admit it, but I missed her soft voice wishing me a good night, her warm arms giving me one last hug, and her love planting a kiss on my forehead.
“We ask them to stop because we’re grown men, then spend the rest of our lives trying to find someone else to step into the void she left.”
I squirmed for a lot of reasons. “Do you play out here often?”
“Often enough.”
Sure. “Right.”
Nick laughed. The sound wrapped around me like velvet. “From your perspective, my answer is probably yes.”
The squirming gave way to shivers. I wore gloves, a coat, a scarf, a hat, jeans, and hiking boots, and I shivered like someone had doused me with a bucket of ice water. For no reason.
“Goodness.” Nick set his violin aside and reached for me with both hands. “You must be freezing. Let me help.”
“What?” My teeth chattered, of course.
I felt like I had a glass inside of me that could only hold so much insanity. When it overflowed, bad things happened. Like uncontrollable shivering.
Nick knelt in front of me, unzipped his coat, and engulfed me in a bear hug. Heat pressed against me. He touched his cheek to mine and breathed on my ear. His other hand cupped my other ear.
My mind shifted from coping to flailing. “Get off me,” I whimpered.
“Ssh. Your ears are frozen. The rest of you isn’t much better.”
A guy who made me feel things I didn’t understand crowded me. If my buddies saw me, they’d never trust me in the locker room again. I panicked.
“Get off me!” With all my strength, I fought against him. I threw him off and struggled to my feet. “Jesus, you’re a fag. That’s gross!”
I ran and didn’t look back. When I reached my car, I dove inside and locked the doors. Out the front windshield, I saw that dog. It watched me with a rope of drool hanging from one side of its mouth. My keys fell to the floor as I tried to mash them at the ignition.
Nothing could hurt me so long as I stayed inside the car, right? Reaching down, I patted the floorboard until I found my keys. When I checked on the dog again, it had moved ten feet closer. Gulp.
On my second try, I got the right key into the hole and started the car. My piece of crap car, manufactured a decade before I was born, sputtered to life. I shifted it into gear and slammed the gas pedal to the floor.
The dog skittered to the side. I left. If I never returned to Oaks Bottom, it would be too soon.
2
Halfway home, I regretted shouting at Nick. Twelve-year-olds said things like that. I knew better. If not for that creepy dog, I would’ve gone back to apologize. The next time I saw him, I hoped he’d understand.
Wait. The next time?
Stopped at a red light, I rubbed my face. I had no reason to return there or see Nick again. The dog’s red eyes haunted me. Nick’s warmth haunted me. My own words haunted me.
At half past three, I pulled my car into the garage next to Mom’s minivan. By then, I felt drained. Getting out of the car took too much energy. It only happened because I forced myself. On my way through the house, I passed the living room, where Mom sat with a magazine and Matt sat with his laptop.
Both noticed me trudging past, heading for the stairs.
“Brian, what happened?” Mom tossed aside her magazine. I blinked and she stood next to me, holding her wrist against my forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.” Even to me, I sounded like a dirty liar.
She turned me around and steered me to the kitchen. “You said you were going for a drive.”
“I did.”
“And...?” She pushed me into a chair at the kitchen table.
I hit the chair hard and gripped the table to keep from falling to the floor. “I took a walk.” So far, no lies.
Mom hmhmmed at me. “You’re supposed to take it easy for another few weeks.”
A doctor’s note in my backpack barred me from gym class and all extracurricular sports until the end of the month. Mom had asked for that wording so I couldn’t attend some other sport’s practice instead of lacrosse. Of course, I had to give Coach Rollins the note. If I never did...
If I never did and I kept feeling like this, I’d probably kill myself by accident.
My head spun. I leaned forward and closed my eyes. The next moment, Mom nudged me and shoved a thermometer into my mouth. A small mug of chicken broth steamed in front of me, and I held a spoon. Did I lose time or pass out? Since Mom hadn’t lifted my head, I thought I’d blanked.
Shock made people do that, or so Coach had warned us.
“Did you hear me?”
I turned and blinked at Mom. The thermometer beeped. She took and checked it. What she saw made her frown.
“It says normal, but you’re not acting normal. Have that and go to bed. Maybe you’re just dehydrated. I’m not sure you should go to school tomorrow.”
Until the morning in that hospital bed, I hadn’t noticed how much gray Mom had in her dark hair. Since then, I couldn’t stop seeing the wear and tear of the last few years on her. She’d done her best to shield us from Dad and keep things as normal as possible, and that effort had taken a toll.
“I love you, Mom.”
“Now I know you’re sick.” She kissed my forehead and tapped the spoon. “Eat.” Setting a stack of saltine crackers in front of me, she patted my shoulder. Then she breezed out of the room.
I frowned and picked up a cracker. When had I last told her that? Too long ago, apparently. “I mean it,” I murmured.
The broth and crackers tasted really good, like weirdly amazing. Once I forced myself to start eating, I devoured it like I hadn’t had lunch two hours earlier. When I stood, I wobbled and had to lean on the table to avoid falling over.
Had the dog or Nick messed me up? Did it matter?
Using the wall for support, I stumbled to the stairs. Matt set aside his laptop and stuck his scrawny self under my arm to help me climb up to my room. He’d done it before. My first few varsity games had ended with me so exhausted I couldn't see straight. After that, a few long slog games had done the same.
“Dumbass,” Matt muttered.
I didn’t argue with him. Fifteen counted as old enough to know when his big brother acted like a moron. “Have you been out to Oaks Bottom lately?”
“No. Is that where you went?”
“Yeah.”
Matt snorted. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He opened my bedroom door and walked me to the edge of my bed. “Just because Dad was kind of cool at Christmas doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a good guy.”
With his help, I took off my shoes. “I listen to Wendy too.” We all saw a therapist ever
y week. All of us except Dad, of course. At Christmas, he’d said he’d had his first appointment with her the week before. Three years after the divorce, he must’ve hit rock bottom.
“Act like it.”
“I didn’t go because I believe him. I went because it’s a good place to jog.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the only reason you picked that place.” Matt pushed against my forehead, knocking me over. “And I know the doctor said not to jog for at least another two weeks, moron.”
As he left, I struggled to get my feet onto the bed. “Hey.”
“What?” Matt stopped at the door.
“Thanks.”
He nodded and shut the door.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the waning afternoon light. My body didn’t want to move but my brain didn’t want to sleep. For a while, my mind gave me bland, empty static. Nothing in particular filled my head other than vague, half-formed thoughts of how I should’ve stayed in the car or walked around the neighborhood.
If I hadn’t visited Oaks Bottom, I wouldn’t have seen that dog. It wouldn’t have forced me to half-kill myself running. Jesus, I ran from a talking dog with flashing red eyes. Why hadn’t anyone called animal control about that thing?
Nick seemed to have understood it, so I knew I hadn’t made up any of it in my head. With that coherent thought, tingling flooded my whole body. I pictured his fingers playing that weird violin. They moved with delicate grace, creating haunting beauty. Those fingers had touched my ear. Warmth had poured from his fingertips like an array of tiny, intense furnaces. If I hadn’t freaked, maybe he would’ve run those fingers through my hair.
This guy had done a number on me. The music he’d played had messed with my head. That explained everything. Like everyone kept telling me, I still needed time to recuperate. I’d imagined that dog. Nick had humored my delusions so he could try to take advantage of me.
Relics and Runes Anthology Page 127