House of Falling Rain (Eyes of Odyssium Book 1)

by C. A. Bryers

  The Magsem, Salla thought and gave a nod.

  “Spirits and the afterlife are just a belief to many. It is the core of the Ancestric Faith that tells us our beloved departed ones are there waiting for us, guiding us. We Majdi know there is much more to it than that.” She slipped off her eyewear, giving him a frank look. “Lochmore was possessed by one such spirit. From what we can tell, it may have happened several years ago, probably shortly before we noticed his change in philosophy, that he should determine whether one stays in the Order or goes. We took his word that he urged them to leave the Order due to their failings because we had no reason not to trust him. Lochmore had been a reliable Majdi for many, many years, fought bravely during the Quelling, and that’s why we entrusted him with the operation of a largely autonomous facility such as the House of Falling Rain.”

  “That’s what Rainne saw in him? A spirit inside?”

  Delflore nodded. “This was no ordinary spirit, however. It becomes very complicated quickly, but I’ll try to explain. As I said, the world is filled with spirits. Most are harmless. They’ve found peace, and they simply find their rest. But there are restless spirits, spirits that refuse to accept the fact they’re lost to our world. So they search for a way back in, and over time existing in that realm, their power grows. They merge with other entities, they evolve and transform, they become things they never would have imagined when they walked these lands as living, breathing beings.”

  “Beings?” His brows furrowed at the curious phrasing.

  Delflore’s smile was like that of a mother looking down on a child who did not understand. “It’s not just we people—surfacers and underraces alike—who move on, Salla. It’s everything in the world about us.”

  Salla recalled the feeling after the mutiny on the Mayla Rose, when he’d floundered at sea with no idea in which direction he might find land. “How does all this relate to Lochmore? What kind of spirit was he?”

  “The thing that took over Lochmore was what we loosely call a Leech. Most often, these are parasites that don’t cause us much difficulty. Like actual leeches, they feed off the living in order to thrive, to grow in strength.”

  “Well, Lochmore was hardly just some nuisance like you’re describing,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Too true. The spirit that inhabited Lochmore may have been a Leech, but it was a Leech unlike any we have on record. Its strength and malicious nature puts it into a category of spirit we call demothi. Demothi are of the highest, most dangerous class of spirit we’ve encountered. The greatest indicator that this Leech was a demothi was that, according to your reports, it had the power to infect others to do its bidding.”

  “Saw that more than once,” Salla said with a yawn. “So how did that parasite in Lochmore get so strong?”

  “It had time to merge, grow and evolve before coming into contact with him.”

  His eyes narrowed, interested, but uncertain. “How much time are we talking about?”

  Delflore gave a shrug. “That one? Hundreds of years. A thousand, maybe.”

  Salla whistled, impressed. “I take it he’s not dead, then.”

  “Lochmore?” She gave a heaving sigh. “Lochmore the man, yes, I would say he is. He probably perished in the fire.”

  “But the spirit?”

  She shook her head. “No, the demothi is not gone. It’s still out there somewhere. Weakened, perhaps, but searching for its next host, I’d imagine.”

  He thought about that for a long while, the cavernous room falling silent. “I think it’s about time we talk about Rainne. She thinks she hurt that girl, Ciracelle, because Lochmore said so. I don’t think she did.”

  “If you’re concerned whether she’ll be punished, the answer is no.” The reassuring smile she wore faded. “Even if she had been the one to attack Ciracelle Belfair, given the information now in our possession that we can corroborate as fact, we cannot condemn her for what she did under command of a demothi such as this.”

  Relief spilled through Salla, followed by a pervading sense of confusion. “How did you not know this was happening? I mean, really. You’re the Majdi Order. If anyone knows about this sort of thing, it should be you, shouldn’t it?”

  “You’re probably correct.” Delflore slid her eyewear back in place. “But there’s something you don’t understand, Salla. The fact that we’re Majdi and can even call forth spirits of the dead does not mean we can open our eyes and see them at will. Some we can sense, but most, unfortunately, we cannot. If they’ve evolved and adapted to intrude upon our world, it means they have power. They use that power to remain cloaked from the eyes and senses of the living—even us.” She folded her hands in her lap with a sigh. “We as Majdi, given that we have the use of tephic and the greatest knowledge of the afterworld, decided as recently as this last century that it should be our duty to combat this threat.”

  “I don’t understand. Combat? What does that even mean? How do you fight a ghost?”

  “There are methods, some more effective than others depending on what we’re dealing with, but that’s a discussion for another time.” Her fingers played at the necklaces hanging at her breast, lips compressing as if deciding whether to go on or hold back. “Rainne said the demothi separated from Lochmore. It got into her, but when it tried to get inside you, it couldn’t. It actually hurt Lochmore greatly. You said something to that effect in your statement as well, didn’t you?”

  Salla gave an uneasy nod.

  She eyed him further, again looking as if deciding whether she should ask a question that was clearly on her mind. “I’d like some more evaluation to take place. Iriscent can do it, if you like. But I’d like to know if that violent rejection of the spirit was a fluke, or if it was something we can replicate. I want to know if that is now a permanent attribute.”

  “Attribute?” Salla scratched a bit of cocoon residue from behind his ear, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

  Delflore took a deep breath. “We have a problem, Salla, and it’s getting worse. As you saw while in the House, Lochmore had no difficulty possessing people. Majdi. We have teams who go out into the world and try to deal with these types of powerful spirits, but oftentimes, we lose them, good men and women all. Why? Because there is no defense against possession, particularly if it is being forced on someone from a powerful demothi such as the one inside Lochmore. But if somehow the presence of the Eyes of the One and traces of the Magsem are able to keep out such invasions, that makes you somewhat unique.”

  She had his full attention now. “What are you saying?”

  “What I’m saying is that I may have a place for you, a place that is not a cell. If Iriscent can replicate the effect when Lochmore’s spirit tried to infect you, if she can prove that you cannot be possessed, then the Majdi Order may have a use for you.”

  Her words burned away a bit of the bleak shroud hanging over the rest of his life.

  “There is a division of the Majdi Order called the Malisguard, a division dedicated to rooting out these spirits and demothis throughout the world and dealing with them.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands folded. “It won’t be an easy life, Salla. These entities we send men and women out to bring to calm are amongst the most dangerous things in all of Odyssium—more dangerous than any warlord the Order faced during the Quelling, more dangerous than even your Thirteenth Paragon. I can’t say how many we’ve lost in the struggle throughout the world.”

  The weight of her words settled in his mind. A place without a cell, she had said. That was what stood out. That was what mattered out of everything she’d told him. And yet, he knew it was an offer he should not accept out of hand.

  She gave him a wan smile. “The choice will be yours. I won’t pressure you, despite the possible advantage your gift has given you.”

  The gift of which she spoke had tried to kill him many times these past months. Even when the Eyes of the One were working properly, he saw their power as a curse in many ways. The idea o
f taking these suppressed forces that were now an intrinsic part of his identity and turning them into something positive was intriguing. And better yet, it gave him a future with some measure of freedom. He would still be on the Majdi’s leash to some extent, but at least he could smell the nighttime air whenever he chose, stand out in the rain, and feel the warm kiss of the morning sunlight.

  The more he thought of those things, the more Delflore’s warning of danger fell out of the equation. Considering the terrible, otherworldly power witnessed in Lochmore, he was firm in his certainty that that danger had not been overstated. It didn’t matter. The chance to walk free, to live out his days outside a prison cell, outweighed that. It outweighed everything.

  “If I agree to this, I need a favor.”

  The way she looked at him appeared to be part curiosity and part wary suspicion. “I won’t promise anything. But I’ll listen.”

  “It’s Rainne. She said she’s leaving the Order.”

  Delflore gave a slow nod.

  “She has a grandfather. Her Afa, a man named Ulong.”

  “And her devotion to him is, unfortunately, the reason why her commitment to the Majdi Order was brought into question.” Delflore’s tone was neutral, but guarded. “She was here for the wrong reasons.”

  “That makes her decision to leave the right one. But it doesn’t mean a good man has to die because of it. So here’s what I want. After she’s gone, I want her to retain access to the Order. Just in regards to the medicine, treatment, and research of her grandfather’s condition.” He rubbed at the back of his neck but kept his eyes on the elder Majdi. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

  Her brows lifted, those brown, almost black eyes remaining flat. “It’s not as simple as you make it sound, either. The rules that keep our knowledge internal are there for a reason.”

  Salla’s gaze fell, standing at the threshold of Delflore’s rejection. He had no leverage to make demands should she say no. If he refused because she denied him the request, where would that leave him? Back where he did not want to be, locked in a cell because of the possibility his dormant powers could awaken once more.

  She sighed regrettably. “It’s a terrible position for her to be in, I’ll admit. To lose the only person she calls family so she can begin one of her own. I’m not a cold-hearted person, Salla, but what you ask is no small thing. As far as I know, it’s unprecedented to let someone back into our circle who has no intention of rejoining the fold.” She cocked her head to the side, the hint of a smirk playing at her lips. “But I’ll meet with the Chamber to discuss it. I don’t feel Rainne represents any threat to the Order. I can’t guarantee it will happen exactly as you stated, but I think at the very least we’ll be able to dispatch someone from time to time to aid in his treatments.”

  Salla gave a silent nod of thanks, the gravity of the situation beginning to dawn on him. He had just pledged himself to the Majdi Order for perhaps the rest of his life. Only a short time ago, had anyone told him this would be his future, he would have laughed himself to tears. It was a new beginning. Perhaps eliminating these threats in service to the people of the Odyssan Archipelago and elsewhere would go a long way toward wiping the slate clean for the harm he had done as a scrapper aboard the Mayla Rose.

  The Mayla Rose. Already it seemed a lifetime ago he had last trodden upon her deck, despite the fact it had only been a matter of months since she had sunk to the bottom of the sea. He thought of Natke then, with unshakable doubt that his second vanishing from her life was but a bump in the road for her. He envisioned her carrying on with her life as she always did, regardless of what adversity did to block the path she was destined to take. Her strength had always been a source of strength for him, and even now it bolstered his will to take these first steps toward what promised to be a dangerous unknown.

  Hers was and would always be a lifetime of adventure. Now it was time for him to begin his own.

  THIS ENDS HOUSE OF FALLING RAIN, THE FIRST INSTALLMENT IN THE EYES OF ODYSSIUM SERIES.

  SALLA SAAR WILL RETURN IN A SONG OF SILENCE, AN UNUSUAL TALE THAT VENTURES INTO TRAGEDIES OF THE PAST IN ORDER TO ILLUMINATE HIS WAY INTO THE FUTURE.

  FIND IT IN THE ODYSSIUM ANTHOLOGY: VOLUME ONE, OR IN ITS INDIVIDUAL DIGITAL RELEASE AS TALES TOLD IN SILENCE WHERE IT WILL BE PAIRED WITH A COMPANION NOVELLA, THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE.

  THANK YOU

  I’d like to thank you for taking the time to read HOUSE OF FALLING RAIN, the first book in the Eyes of Odyssium series. As an independent author, it’s the invaluable support and encouragement from readers like you that keeps me writing, and through that, allows the horizons of the world of Odyssium to continue to broaden. If you enjoyed this book, please consider returning to the site from which you purchased it, and leave a review. I very much hope you’ll continue Salla’s adventures as Eyes of Odyssium continues, as well as explore the other avenues ventured in the upcoming ODYSSIUM ANTHOLOGY: VOLUME ONE. Until then, take care and feel free to drop me a line at my website, www.cabryers.com, or on social media at the following links!

  www.facebook.cabryersbooks.com

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  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13499952.C_A_Bryers

  TO DISCOVER OTHER BOOKS BY C.A. BRYERS, CLICK THE LINK BELOW!

  www.cabryers.com/more-by-cabryers/

  BEHIND THE SCENES OF

  HOUSE OF FALLING RAIN

  PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!

  I thought now might be a good time to address the question as to why I do these little “Behind the Scenes” sections at the tail end of my stories. There are a few answers, so we’ll start with the most obvious. Writing these are fun, and something I look forward to at the completion of each Odyssium book. Though I can’t speak for all writers, I enjoy talking about my books, where the series is headed, and so on. That’s exciting to me, particularly as I have some momentum for the time being in my output, and I’m practically fighting off the ideas that come storming through my brain like some oafish jock breaking up a nerd party in one of those underdog college comedies.

  Don’t get me wrong, having tons of ideas is a good thing and I’m obscenely thankful for it. But it can also be a tad…obnoxious. For example, I was jotting down notes the other day on a set of books I can’t write for at least another ten years. Why can’t I write them? Well, because several critical events need to occur before I can finally sit down to tackle those stories; I’m just nowhere near that point chronologically in Odyssium’s timeline. And I wish that was an isolated incident. But to reiterate so I don’t jinx my oftentimes dubious cranial output—having oodles of ideas is a good thing, so I try not to gripe about it.

  Back to the subject—my desire to talk about these books leads to Reason Why # 2: even at home, I don’t have the chance to talk about them much. See, my wife is my primary beta reader. She’s also very much still a reader at heart. What that means is that she wants the surprise of a new book, even if it’s coming from me, and even if it’s in the somewhat rough form of a second draft. She understandably doesn’t want to know that Character X is pegged to die horribly in the next book, or that Character Z spirals into an existential crisis when his toenail unexpectedly falls off. And since I only have a small handful of interviews under my belt, these sections provide a bit of an outlet.

  Even in the case that the series does develop a healthy and active fan base that gives me plenty of opportunities to talk about the books, I’ll probably still do these for what is hands down my biggest reason: providing additional value to the reader. For example, if I’m really into a movie, I love finding out that there’s a bonus documentary on the disc that delves into how it all came together. And maybe there are people out there with a similar weirdness when it comes to their books.

  THE IMPENDING ARRIVAL, AKA THE FIRE UNDER MY BUTT

  I’ve never written a book under pressure of a deadline before. In the past, the attitude had been a sort of lax, almost hipp
ie mentality. It’ll be done when it’s done, man. No schedule, no nothing, really. Just me plodding along toward the moment I could type out the words “The End”…someday.

  Not so this time around.

  Using that same lax, hippie-ish mentality, I agreed when my wife suggested we should try having a baby. Most of ‘em pop out sort of cute, and hey, I had plenty of time. It wouldn’t happen right away, would it?

  The answer to that question wherein I doomed myself is of course it would, and it did. Before I knew it, we had a due date of October 2015 and I was sitting there at the brink of summer with an outline that I knew would undergo sweeping changes by the time the first draft was finished. So off I went, hammering out a pretty healthy word count every day—although I never seemed able to break the wall of 3,500 words in a single day for some reason. Weird. I came within a hundred or two words on many, many occasions, but I didn’t crash through that barrier like the garage door I crashed through twenty years ago until the following year when I worked on the—

  Wait, we haven’t gotten to that part yet, have we?

  Suffice to say, the pressure was on for this one, especially near the end when Braxton Hicks contractions were shaving my calm into sawdust. That pushy kid was threatening to fly out at any second, prompting me to pound away harder and faster in a sprint for the finish line. And wouldn’t you know it? Turns out he was screwing with me. He loitered past his due date like he had a newest-gen gaming console and a stack of games in there to occupy his time, letting me finish House of Falling Rain with a week or two to spare.

  In the end, the first draft was completed in just a hair over three months, and I walked away with a shiny new book and a shiny new kid. Pretty good deal if you ask me.