Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1)

by Sethlen, Aron

  An animal running through the forest makes her flinch. Her body straitens. She squints in concentration, peering into the grey-hued gaps between the trees.

  Crack, crack—

  More branches break, and Preta freezes. Yaz and Deet—here? She places the wrapped mushrooms into her pack and moves deeper into the woods. Her eyes narrow in strained focus to make out any movement.

  The darkness plays tricks on her vision. Preta kneels, pawing the ground for her stick.

  Crack, crack, crack—

  More branches snap, and she scrambles behind a large rotting log and hides. Preta grips her stick, and pokes her head out to get a better look. Rotting bark breaks off the log, and her hand slips. Her body collapses to the side, and her palm plants flat on squishy moss.

  Heavy panting grows louder, and she presses off the ground and peeks over the log.

  A flickering outline darts through the trees. A boy, appearing no older than Preta, flutters in and out of sight between the grey and black.

  The boy stumbles through the thick forest at a fast pace, swatting the air to avoid the branches jutting out at him from every direction. He reaches the clearing thirty paces in front of Preta and comes into full view. The boy clutches his side and bends over, breathing heavy, sweat pours down his brow, dripping to the ground from the tips of his disheveled hair.

  Preta doesn’t blink. She covers her mouth with her hand.

  The boy glances toward the sky and grimaces, blood streaks down his cheek. He peeks back in the direction he came then looks toward the valley and runs for the opening. A root catches his boot. He tumbles forward, crashing into a pine tree and bounces off the bark. “Shoot!”

  Why is he running? Is he in danger? Does he need help?

  Preta springs out from behind the log and waves and yells, “Hey, boy! Over here, over here!”

  Startled, the boy stops dead in his tracks and scans the muted forest to locate the voice. He pinpoints Preta, and their eyes meet.

  An eternity passes as they stare each other down, measuring the threat.

  The surroundings go silent, and Preta’s chest beats in erratic intensity. Her irregular breathing rattles the stick in her hand.

  The boy’s body relaxes, his shoulders slouch and his face changes from fear to relief, which calms her.

  Their eyes fixed, Preta curls her mouth into a timid smile, and she drops her stick as she steps forward.

  Crack—

  A branch snaps.

  Preta freezes. Something’s wrong.

  The boy’s face and body unnaturally stiffen. He raises his limp hand toward Preta, his eyes wide with fear. The boy’s face contorts with anguish and confusion. He mouths words though nothing comes out. His gaze locked on Preta, he folds forward in slow motion, every muscle turning off at once. He crumples to the ground, motionless, a knife handle protruding from his back.

  “No!” Preta says, extending her hand and grasping the air with her fingers.

  A shadowy figure emerges in the corner of Preta’s eye. She holds her breath.

  The man’s dark cloak shields him from sight. He removes his black shroud. Long white-blonde hair tumbles out, falling onto a woman’s shoulders. The woman’s pale skin and sharp features contrast with the dark surroundings, revealing her sinister beauty.

  Startled, Preta steps back. Her body twitches in shock, and her fingernails dig into her sweaty palms. Did she see her? She killed him, she killed the boy. Preta continues inching away, hoping the woman doesn’t see her.

  The woman’s wicked blue eyes lock on Preta. Her thin lips curl into a menacing grin.

  Preta’s feet stop and don’t move. She trembles in place. Her body rigid, tears form. Preta stares at the boy lying motionless on a patch of grass. Above, the moon’s rays leak through the canopy, illuminating the clearing.

  The woman flaps open her dark-brown duster coat and unsheathes a silver dagger. She steps toward Preta then suddenly stops and turns toward the dead boy.

  A dim, glowing aqua-blue mist emanates a few inches above the boy’s body. The hazy light dissipates, unnaturally sucking back together in a snap, then transforms into skinny strings of light radiating like a spider web crawling along the ground.

  The blonde woman ignores Preta and holsters her dagger as she moves closer to the light. She unslings her backpack and removes a foot-long silver cylinder, unlike anything Preta’s ever seen.

  Realizing now’s her chance to escape, Preta backs away slowly. She glances back and forth between the woman and the light.

  One step, two steps, three, four— Preta groans, her right leg buckles, her heel locks into a small log. She collapses backward, her butt slams into the ground with force, and her momentum propels her flat onto her back. Preta claws the dirt and moss to get to a knee, and she frantically locates the woman and the light.

  The glowing blue web morphs into fewer semi-linear wavy streaks and only extend toward the woman.

  With intense focus, the woman grins and raises the silver cylinder.

  Preta scrambles to her feet, rustling the leaves and scraping the dirt.

  The woman flinches and shifts her attention back toward Preta.

  Preta realizes her mistake as the woman scowls and turns in her direction.

  Zip—zip—

  Two arrows zing through the trees and strike the woman’s chest. The woman’s sinister grin fades to a scowl, her anticipation replaced with shock and pain. End over end, the silver cylinder tumbles out of the sinister woman’s hand, landing softly in a bed of orange pine needles. She falls to her knees gasping for air, both hands clinching the arrows sticking in her chest. With a single convulsion, she collapses onto her side and doesn’t move.

  Preta stares at the blonde woman, unsure of what to do.

  The glowing blue light flashes and it retraces away from the dead woman and back into the boy’s body.

  The glowing web inches toward Preta. Again, the strings morph into a few semi-linear wavy streaks, dancing along the ground.

  It’s coming. “It’s coming for me.” Run!

  Preta turns toward the valley and leaps over the log. With athletic speed and precision, she dodges the branches and skips over roots and vines. Her fear disappears, and flight takes control. Preta feels no pain, she sees everything in accentuated clarity: every twig, every tree, every bush, every glimmer of light seeping through the patchy canopy.

  Preta’s fluid body traverses the organic maze with ease. Her head bobs and weaves as her arms sway like a conductor pushing aside the branches and vines. The valley, the valley, run, don’t stop, don’t look back.

  Preta leaves the forest and leaps into the field, and she doesn’t slow.

  The glowing streaks of light pick up speed, transitioning from multiple streaks to a few. The closer the light gets to Preta, the faster it moves. More streaks disappear until only a single beam weaves through the trees tracking its intent.

  “Run, run, run, run,” Preta chants in rhythm between gasps for air. She picks up her pace, moving over open familiar ground. Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back, go, go, go, go.

  As if by force, Preta’s body slows. She twists her head to look behind her to see if she outmaneuvered the danger. Preta sees nothing, and relief washes over her. Preta exhales and spins around, fully facing the forest. “No!”

  A single streak of blue light flashes and strikes Preta in her chest.

  The powerful jolt collapses her body, not allowing her to breathe. It lifts her off her feet driving her backward. And everything goes black.

  THE BOYS

  “Preta—” a man’s voice echoes from off in the distance.

  Together, two men exit the forest and jog into the field.

  A well-built man, twenty-something with thick, short black hair and a tidy beard, intelligent eyes, aware, carries a torch. The torch’s flame reflects off the side of his head revealing an out of place pure white splotch of hair above his left ear. His black wool sweater and
dark-brown wool trousers blend in with the night sky.

  Behind the dark-haired man, a taller man, younger with light blondish-brown hair extending down to the middle of his neck, carries a bow. His light-grey wool sweater, the color of the moon, brightens his face as the torchlight illuminates his angular features.

  They reach Preta lying flat on her back, unconscious and barely breathing. Preta’s blue lips contrast with her pale, clammy face, and her body lies lifeless with legs splayed.

  “Deet, what the hell was that light?” the long-haired man says. “What’s wrong with sis?”

  Deet bends over and gently touches Preta’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Yaz. Preta—Preta, wake up.”

  Yaz leans in for a closer look. “What the heck was that light?”

  “I said I don’t know.”

  Yaz points at the forest. “And who was that woman and boy?”

  Deet shakes his head. “No idea, never seen them. Preta, Preta, wake up.”

  “Damn, Dee, did you see that shot? Through the trees, in the dark, and at least fifty paces away, I hit that blonde bitch right in the center of her chest. She never saw it coming. Ha—”

  “Shut up, not now,” Deet says as he lifts Preta into his arms and holds her in tight. “It’s all right, Sister, you’ll be all right, just wake up.”

  Preta’s body twitches. She mumbles, “Wha-ligh-wom-boy-light-no—”

  Deet rocks Preta in his arms. “I got you, we’ll get you home.”

  Yaz moves in closer and strokes Preta’s hair. “Don’t worry, Sis, you’re safe. I nailed that bitch good and dead.”

  “Hey!” a woman says as she makes her way through the wheat field. “You two, you two over there.”

  “Who’s that?” Yaz says, squinting through the muted light and toward a mound in the field.

  Deet drops to a knee and gently places Preta in the tall grass. “Get your guard up, it could be another one like the woman who killed the boy.” Deet unsheathes his sword.

  Yaz draws the bow string and aims the arrow tip toward the woman’s chest. “That’s far enough.”

  The moon’s reflection reveals an old woman with tired but aware eyes, well into her late sixties. Her grey tattered dress matches her long matted hair. Slightly plump, though not far from the average, she carries herself with pride and a grandmotherly way.

  “I mean you no harm,” the woman says, “you have no need for your weapons.”

  Deet points his sword at the woman. “Who are you—state your business?”

  The woman points to a hill off in the distance. “I saw a bright light come from the trees.” She eyes Yaz and then points at Preta lying on the ground. “The girl, how is she? Is something wrong with her?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Yaz says.

  “What happened to her?”

  “The light you saw, it hit her and knocked her out.”

  Deet glares at Yaz. “Shut up.”

  Puzzled, the old woman cocks her head to the side, and her eyes narrow. She takes two steps toward Preta. “The light you say?”

  Yaz rocks his bow up and down. “Enough! That’s far enough, old woman. I already put two in a woman tonight. I’ve got no problem doing it again. Don’t test me.”

  The old woman rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t test you, boy. But really, I mean you no harm.”

  Yaz sneers and steps forward. “I’m no boy—old woman.”

  “Yaz Penter, if you’re no boy, then I’m no old woman.”

  “How do you know Yaz’s name?” Deet says. “Who are you?”

  “Boys, am I so hard to remember? I live in the valley.” The woman points at a small village in the distance, it’s glowing torches pierce through the black. “People call me Agna. Now I need to see about the girl’s condition. And if you’re so afraid of an old frail woman, then keep your weapons on me, boys.” Agna gives a smirk and a wink to Yaz.

  “Agna?” Deet says. “Agna Roe who lives by Selerd Creek?”

  “Yes, Deet Penter.”

  Deet lowers his weapon and motions for Yaz to do the same.

  Agna and Deet slowly move toward Preta.

  Agna bends over and gently places her hand on Preta’s shoulder.

  Unconscious, Preta breathes normal, and her lips return to a shade of rose.

  “Now, dear, let me see here.” Agna lifts Preta onto her side and pulls down her sweater top. Running her fingers along Preta’s neck, Agna circles singed skin and black markings at the base of Preta’s neck. “Hmm—interesting.”

  Deet crouches and sticks his head forward to get a better view. “Interesting what? What do you see?”

  Yaz cranes his head around Deet, stretching his neck and chin out like a goose. “What is it?”

  A small, hollow, black circle composed of six dashed lines is etched into Preta’s skin. The sixth dash is raised above the rest, breaking the circle from being complete.

  “Is that from the light?” Deet says. “She didn’t have that mark the last time I saw her back.”

  Agna looks up at Deet and Yaz. “Where exactly did the light come from? Did either of you see it?”

  Yaz points toward the forest where Preta exited. “A boy and a woman—both dead in the clearing.”

  “Both dead? Who were they, do you know?”

  “I never saw them before,” Deet says. “Though the woman killed the boy before Yaz took her out.” Deet clicks open a silver pocket watch, checks the time, and nods. He snaps it shut and eyes the forest. “Yaz, stay here and keep an eye over Preta and Agna. I’m gonna check out the clearing and get a closer look at the boy and the woman.” With sword in one hand and torch in the other, Deet pushes aside the tall grass and steps toward the forest.

  “I’m coming too,” Agna says.

  “The hell you are—it’s not safe.”

  “Shut it, Deet Penter. You don’t order me around, and I’m coming.”

  Deet shakes his head in disgust and mumbles under his breath.

  They move into the thick pine trees and toward the clearing.

  “Over this way,” Deet says, ducking under a whip-like branch.

  Both move with care through the dark, stepping over slippery roots and sweeping aside branches and vines.

  As they reach the clearing, Deet extends the torch toward the dead woman. His eyes lock onto the woman’s blonde hair attached to her lifeless body.

  “Stay here,” Deet says to Agna.

  Deet circles the area, waving the torch, scanning for any danger or clues. “Huh. Where’s the boy’s body? It’s gone. I could have sworn—I thought—right here—he was here.” Deet points at the ground with conviction as he walks in a circle.

  Agna steps away from the tree and moves closer to join the investigation. “I thought you said there was a boy.”

  Deet ignores Agna and continues his search. He expands his investigation beyond the clearing, searching for any traces of the boy. Deet tracks the boy’s footsteps to the clearing and to the spot where he fell. “Right here, everything points to this spot, but his body’s gone. I’m sure he’s dead; I saw him fall.”

  In frustration, Agna waves her hands in front of Deet. “Where’s the boy?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know. There’s no signs of blood except here.” Deet points to the ground where the boy fell. “This is where I saw him last.”

  Again, Deet scans the clearing. His eyes lock onto the dead woman.

  “Let’s go,” Agna says, “your sister needs attention.”

  Deet ignores Agna and kneels next to the dead woman.

  “Didn’t you hear me? We need to get back, Deet Penter.”

  “Shhh—wait!”

  “Humph!” Agna’s head twitches, and she moves in closer to him, peering over his shoulder. “We need not be here any longer. What about your sister?”

  “I said wait.” Deet leans forward until his face is within a few inches of the dead woman’s eyes. She’s warm to the touch, and Deet opens her leather duster.


  The woman’s tormented, frozen face is filled with pain, anger, and beauty.

  He flips over her body and notices the same black circular mark that’s on Preta’s back. “Do you see the circle?”

  “It’s the same as on your sister.”

  “Right, but the placement is slightly different.” Deet traces the circle with his fingertip. “See, the second dash is raised above the rest.”

  With little care, Deet grabs the woman’s shoulder and rocks her onto her back. “Pistol.” He grins and picks up the shiny metal revolver and holds it in front of him. Pleased with the score, he stares at it for a few more seconds and then searches the woman’s pockets. Deet removes two small leather pouches and a scrap of paper from her coat. He opens the first pouch and closes it. “Bullets.” Deet angles the second pouch toward the torch and peers inside. He dumps out four gold nibs and seven whole silver and twenty coppers into his hand. Without a word, Deet drops the coins back into the pouch and ties it to his belt. He opens the scrap of paper and makes out a few names and symbols below a crude map. Barely able to read it in the dim surroundings, he squints, folds the map, and slides it into his pocket. The moonlight reflects off the silver cylinder lying atop a bed of pine needles. Deet snatches the glimmering canister off the ground, rubs the smooth exterior, and nods. “Now let’s go.”

  A SILVER SURPRISE

  Deet cradles Preta as they approach a flickering torch hanging next to an old barn, the red paint peeling and exposing the weathered grey wood.

  Inside a wooden fenced yard, an energetic medium-sized black-and-white dog greets Deet and Yaz. The dog’s tail wags as it moves to Agna and sniffs her heels.

  Yaz bends over haphazardly waving his hand. “Roscoe, back.”

  Deet points at a deer carcass dangling from a six-foot-high metal pole. “Yaz, deal with that so we can eat.”