A Crimson Tale
Book 1
Kelvia-Lee Johnson
Copyright 2014 by K.L.O Johnson
This is a work of fiction, Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if real (or deceased), are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury (or death). Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the author.
1
THE HUNTER TROLL
BRONZE COUNTRY, 1715, PLANET ZYLARIA, QUADRANT 4B
Long ago, I remember when time was not always so peaceful, when time was not always so serene. This is something I cannot completely forget. The worst part is; I know I’ll never forget. There are worlds that the humans have yet to find, there are species that refuse to be discovered and as such they are outlaws—outcasts—left to die. There are species which will suck the soul from others in order to survive and there are some species that are as harmless as a fly but still they are proven to be of value.
So they are hunted.
Or are hostile, like us. Then, they are endangered, imperil, to become extinct because some hunt what they fear in order to preserve what part of a race they believe they have. No matter how much I try not to think about being the very few of my kind, it’s still far too painful. There’s nothing worse than being surrounded by people who are not your kin.
I sit in my room, back against the wall; it is something, I’m accustom to. The gentle knocking on my door catches my attention, a soft voice follows. “Kalverya, are you, in there?” It’s odd, hearing my name roll off the tongue of others; my name isn’t something that I’m proud of. ‘Calvary’ is its derivative, the name both meaning torcher and suffering. Naturally, I’m the one people call when the supernatural and mythical threaten those around them—the ‘Outlanders’. Demons are just another claim to the ‘Dark Cartel’—another threat.
“I’m here Tessa.” I say, feeling emptier than I can imagine. I feel her back away from the door to clasp, firmly, the clipboard she carries.
“Okay. The Chief Commander wants to see you,” she declares before the sound of her gentle retreating footsteps, echoes lively on the other side of my door. Tessa knows the boundaries and knows where to and where to not step—that being my room. She too like the rest of us has obligations with her studies so there’s no surprise that she tries to have things done with little problems. I tread from my bed and pull on my black and silver cloak before moving to the door. I stop and turn over my shoulder taking in the last glimpse of the lotus at the far end of my room. Turning the handle, I leave.
I move down the halls, years of mould covers its foundations, the dampness adds to the mouldy smell of the morning shower which fills my olfactory senses in a stocking amount. I fight the urge to gag and cough from the tickling sensation in the back of my throat. I arrive at two large wooden doors; the fire lanterns sit on either side of the intimidating entrance—continuing its silent dance. I knock. “Come in.” I hear a voice say, pushing open the thick heavy doors I see a man behind a large long oak desk his eyes are dark with humour and mystery.
“Chief,” I say as I enter.
“Kalverya?” he questions with amusement in his eyes as ever and I gaze around the large stone lined room. “Don’t be a stranger and sit.” He offers in gesture to the seats before his desk. I move along the wooden floorboards and glimpse the burning fireplace behind him. He smiles. “It was cold this morning.”
“What do you expect it’s early winter?”
“Must you state the obvious?” he exaggerates. The smell of freshly brewed coffee floods my senses, it’s intoxicating and I feel, as though I’m suffocating. The Chief Commander gives me a frown, as he no doubt sees the obvious grimace on my face. I can handle a cup of tea but coffee not as well, the scent is too bitter. “I see you still scowl in the presence of fresh coffee,” he peers with a risen brow, his chin cushioned upon his intertwining digits.
“Don’t look at me, it’s not my fault.” His face still, fills with amusement, instead, his teeth stretch across his face. I tense. “What?”
“I have another mission for you that will allow you to use that Prevail of yours.” He eyes the double-edged sword present on my back with the same expression. “So, what do you say?”
“Fine by me, what is it?”
SCARVAGE PROVINCE, 10 000 km SOUTH-EAST OF THE ORDER
I scan the forest before me, where it ranges from lush green leaves to dirty yellow dabs. The sound of distant bird’s squawk in my ears. The specs of black dots, in the distance confirms their presence, far from where I stand. No matter their distance, I see the black feathers brushing in the wind as the sun reflects their glossy coat. I turn my gaze from the birds as they head towards the ragged mountains in the distance.
The air is; fiercely, still.
I remember when I felt an air this still, this inert. My recon team was sent to a deserted world in search for other Nefaliem who crashed their ship. Their distress beacon was how my—’Exelon’—my battleship barely intercepted its weak transmission and salvage what was left. So I know, the immobility of this air, calls: danger. I feel a sudden pull of energy before; I notice the drawing movement of trees. I hear screams of agonizing pain and the gashing of wet rubber. The voices: male. There are three from what I can tell their feet tatter along the hard earth in groups of two. I hear a sudden roar, the sound, ‘Lazgoli’. The Lazgoli often attack in a pack, they are like large wolves the problem is the Lazgoli are a lot larger in size.
I leap from the cliff and I watch the green forest greet me; my hand extends on impulse as I swing around the branch landing on it, comfortably. “Make sure the package isn’t lost.” I recall the Chief say. I scan the direction where the sound of snapping wood echoes in my ears. I hear their shallow breathing; I hear the gasps of the Lazgolo. I know that they have no chance of survival. Using the thick branches, I move along the tree line, using nothing but my agile form. My movement is fluid like a lethal dance upon the pinnacle of exhilaration. I follow, after.
The body of the Lazgolo is large; covered with brown and white fur, it moves as its sharp paws swim under it, aggressively. Before it; are three men, two are dressed in the same uniform, the other is different. The men in uniform are clothed in white and gold breeches, boots and tunics. They wear the colours of Midra. What are they doing here?
I see the group rush through the forest with the Lazgolo at their feet, their screams echo in my ears. The Lazgolo corners the group against a wall of stones that pile high. The twigs stick out here and there, while an eagle peers down from its nest at the sight, from its position on a dead tree lodged in the large stones like the other dead branches. One of the men is dressed in Midra’s uniform and stands before a man dressed in brown breeches and a white tunic.
His golden blond hair emphasizes his pale features as his blue eyes dart between the two men before him. A man in Midra’s uniform turns over his shoulder and I stop, perching myself on a branch, still in the shadow of the forest. I watch and scan their forms—no package… “Run Varden.” I hear one say his voice low.
“No!” Varden states and I frown at his stubborn nature. He shouldn’t disrespect his fellow soldiers, giving up their life is an obvious commitment and honour that will never be d
isregarded.
“Please!” pleas the other. “We don’t have a lot of time.” The same man swings his double-edged blade at the large wolf-like-beast, it growls. It snaps its sharp teeth towards the trio more in rage than earlier. You’re only agitating it!
“I won’t leave you.” He stands his ground, the Lazgolo screeches. My ears perk at the thundering hearts of the men. They were scared. Who wouldn’t be? I drop down from my place suspended upon a branch. The ground is stable under my wedged heels. I crawl along the earth slowly, until, I find myself hidden behind a thick shrub. The men in Midra’s uniform fly across the clearing opposite each other in a spontaneous motion, one glides along the ground before he becomes motionless his black eyes stare back into mine. The other is sent into a tree where his blood drips from the sole of his white boots.
They underestimated the beasts’ brute strength.
I move through the hedging plant slowly; the large leaves pile out of my way as I leisurely enter the clearing. I take a deep breath and allow my mind to relax. I pull my Prevail from upon the metal sheath on my back, under my cloak. A gentle zing chimes throughout the clearing, the Lazgolo stops what it’s doing and turns to where my form was. Now, I soar high above the clearing and flip. The cool wind touches my face as the warm sun heats my black hair I bring the blade down, separating the Lazgolo’s head from its remaining still body.
“Shit!” I hear the man gasp. I clean my blade on the black section of my cloak. Still holding my blade, I turn to him. His blue eyes are wide with fear as he glances down at the blade in my hand. I frown, I may have done a few horrid things in my life but killing an innocent was never one. I slip my blade back in place.
“Relax.” I say as I move to make my way towards him. His eyes scan my uniform, black scales clinging to my skin as one; the silver layered armour wraps itself around my outer thighs and upper arms before covering my shin and forearm braces. My scales were my skin to a degree; it perfectly held my natural shape, well. “I’m not going to kill you.” I say. I see his shoulders tense as he nods his head.
I don’t blame him not trusting me. I think. I wouldn’t either.
“Are you General Griffon?” I question. He shakes his head and turns to the man, who dangles lifeless, in a nearby tree. “Do you have the package?”
“Here,” he admits as he taps the sac on his waist. I regard it for a moment before turning my gaze back to him; I pull out a badge from the centre of my silver utility belt. I flash him it. I would often have to do this since people wouldn’t exactly believe I wouldn’t kill them given who or what they were that is.
“Commander Rodregas, Silver Knight’s Artillery division.” His eyes are wide and I return my badge back to its place, where he perceives it. I ignore him. His eyes fall to the same badge upon the right side of my chest that holds my cloak together. “Come with me.”
“Wait, what?” he questions. “Why?”
“You have the package; I’m here to escort you back to the Order’s Headquarters.” I turn my back on him, before; he has a chance to protest. Entering the forest, I hear him sigh before jogging to stride behind me.
“So where’s this Order place?”
“Lament Island,” He stops.
I turn over my shoulder to see his face in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“When, am I not?” It was rhetorical I didn’t expect him to answer that since we only met a few moments ago but still I seem to find him annoying. I turn from him and move through the forest, knowing that this is going to be a long journey.
“But that’s three days ride.”
“Six.”
“Huh?”
“It will take six days on foot since, I didn’t come by horse.” I admit, I preferred to walk rather than to ride, the saddle is alright for some time and is faster but it’s my mind, I prefer the solitude of the forest, the solitude of the countryside.
“Why on earth would you not own a horse? You’re a Commander for heaven’s sake!” I turn to regard him, his face drops. My gaze never wavers nor did any expression mask my features. Over a period of time, when you realize that you’ll do nothing more than suffer the smile that people seem to have and share is no more but a memory. “What?”
“We’re walking.” I say and end it at that. Moving through the forest with a slow pace is a calming and relaxing sensation however; I didn’t completely relax as Varden continues to annoy me with his persistent huffing. I regard him over my shoulder every now and again just to make sure that it’s him and not a wild boar. The last thing I want is to be tusked.
“Can we stop?” he questions and I look at him with perplexity. Why would we stop? We would arrive at the Order in six days if we kept our pace. He must of been pampered his whole life to not be able to walk straight for a whole day. “I’m hungry.”
“You just ate.”
“That was eight hours ago.” he says. “I didn’t even eat that much since, you killed that Lazgolo before me which resulted in me, losing my appetite.”
“Don’t pin this on me!” I snap as I turn to face him. “You wanted food, I gave it. Be grateful!”
“A healthy man needs to eat more than once a day.” he announces I turn back to the path before me and continue our journey, “Just so you know.” I scan his slightly masculine build from over my shoulder and continue to stride, him following behind. He wasn’t like the other men I grew to know, the ones that were really large in size. They would often fight me as an exercise since the others would be out, I didn’t mind. As long as they didn’t mess up my face I was fine with it. I halt at his words. Did he just find a sexist related reason to back up his need for food? Pathetic.
I turn to face him and cross my arms, shifting my weight under my cloak that I can feel move at my motions, ever so slightly. “How long ago did you say you ate?” I ask still remembering. Not caring.
“Eight hours ago.” His stomach growls to emphasizes his claim and I inspect the woods around us. He didn’t carry any ration packs nor did he seem to carrying any food which is odd. No man or woman would go wondering through the forest, which stretches between two town’s days apart. Bandits were in these woods but that’s why I made sure I was always armed.
“Fine,” I say as I scan the horizon in the distance where it touches the tree line. I didn’t even realize it was that late. I spent my time, running through things that needed to be done when I returned to the Order. “We’ll set up camp here. I’ll find some wood, make yourself comfortable.” I say and he glances around.
“What here? On the ground,” I stare at him. He no doubt has had everything that this world can offer, that really annoys me more than I can even admit.
“Would you like to sleep in a tree? That can be arranged.” I say, growing less patient. He’s like a child! In need of looking after, he had no food, no water and if we were attacked, I would have to protect him since he did not have the decency to carry a weapon with him.
“The forest floor’s fine.” he manages quickly.
“Good.” I turn and move through the woodland. I examine the trees for kindling that I can take in one go, we did not need that much since I would sleep just after dusk. Normally I would sleep in the trees to avoid being attacked. With this extra baggage, I am going to have to re-evaluate my plan.
I stop at the thought and look up, there is enough wood. Pulling out my sword, I run up the tree, leaping around its elbows before managing my way at the top. I flip and swing my blade, hearing the sound of thick clattering wood. I concur that this should be more than enough.
Once I had gathered enough wood, I make my way back to the clearing and find Varden sitting on a log. Not even a place is secured for the fire. He could at least clear the area or we will burn the forest down well we would have if it weren’t for their damp soil and moist leaves. I can feel the cool night on approach, as I smell cool fresh water in the distance. It’s closer than yesterday and I know, by the time we make it to the Order we’ll be knee high in snow.
>
I move to the centre of the clearing not too far from the log and begin setting up the campfire. “That was quick,” he utters. I ignore him. “Where did you find that anyway?”
“Around,” I say. He remains silent for several moments while I manage to find dry soil. Placing down the sticks with some dry leaves (I manage to evaporate the water from). I place my finger on the edge of a large log and it catches fire, I hear Varden gasp in surprise.
“How did you do that?” he asks. “Are you a Witch?”
“No.”
The sound of crackling wood fills my ears and I find my way towards the opposite end of the clearing where I lean back against the wood. It is hard and uncomfortable but I became used to sleeping rough, while on the job. “Than what are you?” he asks as I glance at him, his blue eyes now tinted with fiery orange and a warm yellow, his face several shades warmer as his hair glows like a golden halo against the shadows.
“Let’s just say, I’m not from around here.” I say and close my eyes leaving the conversation at that. I am really tired, talking exerted more of my energy than necessary, including those casual facial expressions, explaining why I gave up on that. In my field of work, I need to contain as much of my energy as possible, I don’t rely on others for it.
I hear him move from the log and onto the ground, draping something over his body. I peek an eye open to see that he’s not a complete hindrance. He pulls a black not too thick but not too thin blanket over his form. His head is popped up on his tunic as a pillow. I close my eyes and begin to drift off. “Good night.” he says, I don’t say anything but allow the need for sleep consume me. My sleep is immediately interrupted by heavy footsteps and breathing.
I snap my eyes open and sit up straight, examining the direction in which I hear the sound, opposite where Varden sleeps, peacefully, by a log. He wouldn’t hear it, the sound of its thundering heart, his hearing wasn’t like mine. The footsteps move closer and I stand. The footsteps stop. It knows, I know. I warp (leap through space and distance) from where I stand in the light of the moon before I find myself closer to the source of the sound. The forest around me is silent. “I know you’re here.”
A Crimson Tale Page 1