Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Katharine E. Wibell

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Giahem’s Talons

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Edition September 2019

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronical, including recording, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission by the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Phaesporia Press

  Copyright © 2019 Katharine E. Wibell

  DEDICATION

  To April, for without you my first series would not be where it is today.

  CONTENTS

  Map of Northern Elysia

  Map of Southern Elysia

  PART 1

  Prologue

  1 One Prayer Answered

  2 Sightless

  3 Six Questions

  4 Onyx’s Return

  5 Kitchen Banter

  6 Beyond the Plains

  7 Gold Wings

  8 Amargo Bound

  9 Grudging Agreements

  10 Oldest of Enemies

  11 Unbound

  12 Rise!

  13 The Lion’s Enemy

  14 Crane and Lift

  15 Murder is Great

  16 Ring of Fire

  17 The Jackal in the Room

  18 Waiting

  19 Giahem’s Talons

  20 Rhadamanthus of Old

  21 The Chamber Above

  22 The Gray Time

  Part II

  23 The Water Source

  24 The Storm Breaks

  25 Úlfhéðinn

  26 Conspiracy Theory

  27 Suada’s Venom

  28 Origin of the Beasts

  29 Flame in the Storm

  30 Powdered Rain

  31 Observation Tower

  32 Entering Nott’s Embrace

  33 The One

  34 Siege

  35 Void

  36 Kamikaze

  37 The Final Council

  38 Upon Rooftops

  39 The Last Stand

  40 The End of Honor

  41 Hail and Farewell

  42 Odyssey

  Epilogue

  Appendices

  I Diagram of Theriomorph Pantheon

  II The Theriomorph Pantheon

  III Pronunciation Guide

  IV Elysian Military Ranks

  More to Come

  Learn About the Incarn Saga

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  SPECIAL THANKS

  To April Wells-Hayes, my editor; to Karen Wibell, who served as reader and preserved my sanity; to the Madison Writers Group, who encouraged and supported me during this process; and OliviaProDesign for the cover.

  And I tip my hat to all those who told the stories that became the myths and legends that I read while growing up—and still do.

  GIAHEM’S TALONS

  PART I

  Prologue

  Darkness was their ally, like a vigilant brother always watching, always protecting. In the shadows, they lurked as silently as the ghosts they helped to create. Even when the thin eye of the moon was swallowed by the massing clouds, they could see as clearly as the giant night cats that lurked in these mountains. A decision was to be made, and soon.

  At last, the one for whom they waited manifested out of the blackness. After a silent greeting, he observed the cargo in the middle of the clearing.

  A low moan emerged. Too early, they all knew.

  Another moan accompanied a few feeble movements.

  One of the black-clad figures, taller than the rest, approached. A long needle was withdrawn from a hidden pouch; flesh was pierced in a move as quick as a viper’s strike. The bound and blindfolded captive immediately went limp. Stepping back, the tall figure avoided the oozing liquid from the captive’s reopened wounds. Blood might be smelled miles away. Caution must be taken.

  A soft glimmer of starlight sifted through the ragged clouds as the sack covering the captive’s head was removed. Long auburn locks streaked with blond tumbled over a face not yet marred by an abundance of years. Bare-chested, the prisoner’s skin, which should have been pale, was deeply tinted and freckled by sunlight. His horsehide pants identified his origin.

  “You were ordered to kill any that crossed the borders.” This was the voice of authority.

  “He is different from the rest,” responded the tall one.

  “He is human like the others. Same build, same look, same garb. Kill him, or I will.” A glint of silver could be seen in the speaker’s hands.

  “No! Wait! He possessed something. Something you will want to see.”

  An item was brought forth, a bow that appeared to be made of gold but was far too light to be of that metal. Even the bowstring appeared to be formed from threads of spun gold. More extraordinary, the bow produced and disseminated warmth when touched. The weapon was unsurpassed in its strange, unnatural beauty. Each part of its workmanship vied for the observer’s attention.

  The clouds parted, and the silvery light above met the golden glow below. In the illuminating moonlight, the leader raised the bow so all could see the strange runes incised upon the weapon's handle.

  The gleam of the runes was reflected in the black depths of their leader’s eyes.

  “Do you understand the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  The others remained silent.

  “The end of our age has arrived.”

  Chapter 1

  One Prayer Answered

  She had survived.

  But why? She was responsible for every horrible thing that had occurred. Her mistakes were unforgivable. Unforgettable.

  When the tunnel opening collapsed, countless stones had beaten down on her and her comrades. Terribly cut and bruised, she should have died in that granite tomb. Yet after the rumbling and cracking of shifting rock had subsided, she had heard voices calling out to her, “Lluava! Lluava Kargen!”

  Lluava ignored her gloomy recollections. With her uninjured eye, she scanned the slow-moving caravan. A half-dozen Obsidian Guards, wearing black, skin-tight uniforms that revealed only their eyes, led the way on midnight-black steeds. Known as Shadows, their attire and accoutrements suited these elite warriors, who were rarely talked of and less often seen. Despite the futility of it all, they continued to pursue their single purpose: to defend and protect the king. Their leader, Regin, was determined that all would not be lost. Foolish man.

  Upon their arrival at stables hidden in the forest, the rest of the party had been given mounts. Their trek had been harrowing, through miles of subterranean tunnels in which they had circumnavigated pits and ancient booby-traps. Head Councilman Themis had actually shown signs of delight once they emerged deep in the forest, far away from Cronus, the capital they had been forced to abandon. Themis blamed Lluava for all of this. He should. Hadn’t she been the reason for their downfall?

  Shouldn’t everyone hate her? Byron claimed he didn’t, but he was one of the first friends she had made upon being drafted into military service. They had become friends despite the fact that he was a human and she was a Theriomorph, who looked human but possessed the ability to change into an animal form. Toget
her, she and Byron had seen friends die, castles and towns destroyed, allies betrayed. He assured her that it wasn’t her fault; she had been so focused on defeating the Raiders’ army that she had not recognized the other evil lurking in their midst. Many others had made the same mistake.

  So shouldn’t Byron loathe her as well? Byron, along with all humans, had been forced to flee when all went to hell. Those who remained were being hunted down and killed. However, Talos, Byron’s military partner, had chosen to remain in Cronus to ensure the safety of his wife. Although Rosalyn was pregnant and unable to travel, Talos believed they would be safe because they were Theriomorphs.

  Lluava should have stayed in Cronus. After all, she was a Theriomorph, she—

  “Drink some water,” Byron commanded as he thrust a water pouch into Lluava’s hand. “If you are going to continue to refuse to eat, at least drink this.”

  Pursing her cracked lips, she stared at the pouch as a single droplet fell onto her horse’s dark mane.

  “There is no honor if both of you die.”

  Lluava choked back a tearless sob.

  “Drink.”

  Tilting the pouch back, Lluava allowed the cool liquid to stream down her throat. Then, gagging, she spat half of it back up. Byron looked disappointed as she handed the pouch back to him. Clicking his spurs, he prompted his horse into a trot.

  There would be no honor if she died through self-enforced starvation, that was true. However, it was not honor but penance Lluava sought—a way to atone for everything. What did Byron know? It was quite possible that Talos was safe and sound. High Priestess Yena had decreed that any Theriomorph who chose to follow her would be accepted into the new order. Talos would know what to say and do to ensure that he and Rosalyn would not be harmed. Byron’s partner was fortunate. Hers was not.

  Lluava remembered her partner’s name being shouted along with hers after the tunnel’s collapse. Varren had pulled her into his embrace, using his body as a shield, when the stone ceiling gave way. He had sacrificed himself to save her.

  She had been pulled from the rubble first. Badly bruised and beaten, she remembered being laid on the ground while others dug through the rocks to recover their king. When Varren was removed, he was so still, so very still, that Lluava thought he had been killed.

  Regin informed them that Varren was in a coma. At first, this was considered a blessing, but as the days passed, it began to seem more like a curse. If Varren did not awaken soon, he might not awaken at all.

  Several days ago, Head Councilman Themis had shouted at her, “This is all your fault!”

  She wondered if Head Councilman was still the right title, as all the human council members had been slaughtered in Cronus, their carcasses left in the very chairs they had so often frequented. Themis had narrowly escaped the same fate. And now, the last surviving councilman was still defending a king who might be dying and a kingdom that was overrun. Pathetic and sad.

  “I know,” Lluava had acknowledged. He was right.

  “I advised against allowing that rabble through our doors. I begged that the armory not be opened to them. I warned that those decisions were grave mistakes.”

  “You were right.”

  “You invited the Outlanders here,” seethed Themis. “You defended them. You assisted in their plan to overtake Elysia, our kingdom. You are one of them!”

  “Enough!” roared Regin. “Whatever Lluava’s hand in this, she will be punished accordingly in due time. Nonetheless, there is no reason to accuse her in terms of race. Being a Theriomorph does not mean that you are on the side of the Outlanders.”

  Lluava had waited for Themis to call her monster, beast, animal, but no other words were voiced. He strode off to the stretcher that carried Varren—his godson, Lluava’s partner, their king. Instead, it was Regin who affirmed, “You will be punished accordingly.”

  She might be perceived as a villain, but others were the true villains. The Raiders, certainly. For example, Thad, Varren’s childhood friend, and his Theriomorph partner, Horus, had been captured by the enemy early in the war. Horus had been brutally tortured and disfigured; he had died saving Lluava. Thad, for some unknown reason, had not been physically harmed. The torture he’d endured was mental. He refused to speak of it. In truth, he rarely spoke at all. He traveled with them, always mumbling incoherently near Varren’s stretcher.

  Yet the enemy was not always so obvious. Why had she trusted Yena? Because Yena was a high priestess of the old faith, her father’s religion? Because they were both Theriomorphs? Or maybe, just maybe, because they were both Incarn? The term soured in Lluava’s mouth. Incarn. Vessels created by the gods for them to inhabit, to use as they wished, and to mark with their own animal forms. Was Yena operating independently, or did her actions imply that the gods wanted to destroy all humans?

  Lluava had not wanted to harm her human friends, especially Varren. Yet she had. Themis was right to have disliked her. Her decisions had resulted in monstrous events.

  Looking back at the forested path, she envisioned the silhouette of Cronus in the distance. At the capital, Elysia was being destroyed by two different enemies: Theriomorph Outlanders, led by Yena, and the human Raiders, who were led by some brutish man Lluava had not met and perhaps never would.

  Was Elysia truly lost? With the infrastructure of their government all but destroyed and no stronghold yet claimed, Lluava’s sorry band of survivors had become refugees, fleeing their birth home. Wherever Regin was taking them, it was far away from Cronus.

  “I have ruined everything.”

  No one contested her statement; perhaps they were too far ahead to hear it. What did it matter? Did she want sympathy? No. She watched as Varren’s stretcher was pulled by his would-be mount; Regin held the horse’s reins. At twenty-one, Varren’s features had taken on a look of someone much older. Yet neither his soft, loose ringlets of dark hair nor the lips that could turn into a brilliant smile had changed. Under those closed eyelids were his ever-kind blue eyes. Still, he lay unmoving, and she was responsible.

  The heat of anger no longer exploded inside her, forcing her to shift into her dual form, a white tigress. Instead, she was filled with self-loathing. Why had she allowed Hyrax and the other Guardians to convince her to pursue some ancient prophecy? This secret society had manipulated her, an unwilling Incarn, just as the High Council had manipulated Varren’s grandfather. She should have known bad things would follow, but she was eighteen and foolish.

  Up ahead, Varren’s pallid face looked desiccated. Like hers, his lips were chapped. Like hers, his body was silently screaming for nourishment. Lluava would not eat until he awoke; if he died, she would die alongside him. That was fitting, was it not? Military partners leaving this life simultaneously?

  How else could she handle the guilt of having placed Varren, the man she loved, in such a predicament? She still loved him, or at least she used to. Once, she had hungered to hear Varren say he would marry her. Now, she might never get that chance. Then again, did she actually want it? She was so confused, and Apex was responsible.

  Apex. What had happened to him? Was he dead? Was he yet another victim of her mistakes? She could still hear his last scream on that horrible night. He had remained in the tunnel to give the others time to cross the narrow subterranean bridge and escape. Reaching the far side of the chasm, she had heard him shout her name as if imploring her to help. Turning, she had seen the massive silhouette of the Yorrick wolverine attacked by numerous Theriomorphs. Apex’s scream had transformed into a thunderous roar so powerful that the entire cavern collapsed.

  Lluava would have run to him had not Varren grabbed her at that moment. Her partner had thought only of her well-being. She was unworthy of either man.

  “We are nearing Tindil’s branch of the Okeanos River,” Regin announced from up ahead. “We will make camp there tonight. This day is at its end.”

  Lluava was ready for all this to end. Her stomach cried out as her energy continued to diminish. It
was a wonder that she could still sit upright in the saddle. Yet, she had survived a prolonged starvation period once before, imprisoned at Fort Brinsdale and left to die. But she hadn’t died. Some had said it was unnatural. Had Theri—also known as Issaura, Goddess of War—intervened and kept her Incarn, Lluava, alive? Would the goddess do so again? If Lluava was being protected by the goddess, and Theri actually cared about her feelings, wouldn’t Varren be well and Apex at her side?

  Then again, Apex was Incarn to Ullr, Tyr, God of War. Maybe his god had kept him alive as well. But to what purpose? And was either she or Apex strong enough to overthrow Yena, Incarn of Crocotta, Queen of Gods? Would Yena punish Apex for helping Varren escape? Surely she wouldn’t kill him. As Incarn, he would be too valuable. At least, that was what Lluava hoped.

  “Let me help you dismount.” Byron had come over to assist her. He understood how weak she was. It seemed he alone cared whether she lived or died on this journey. Byron’s strong arms lowered her. His hands, callused from sword fighting, gripped her gently. When she stepped onto firm ground, she felt dizzy and her body swayed.

  “Walk me over to Varren.”

  Lluava noted the sorrowful look on Byron’s face as he assisted her to the king’s stretcher. She sank to the ground and laid her head on Varren’s chest. She listened to his heartbeat and felt the slight rise and fall of his rib cage.

  “Please wake up,” she quietly begged, holding his hand in hers. She ran her finger over his signet ring with its royal crest, a prostrate lion at the feet of a raven carrying an olive branch. Varren tended to fiddle with the ring when he was nervous. Lluava found that she missed his quirks, the sound of his voice, his assuring presence near her.

  He seemed so distant now. His breath no longer smelled of rosemary and fennel but of something at the point of decay. His complexion hinted of yellow.

  “Come back to me,” she whispered in his ear.

  Lluava had been angry with Varren for a long time. She blamed him for falling under Selene’s control and considering matrimony, even though that hadn’t been his fault. All Incarn had special abilities. Selene manipulated people, especially men; Yena foresaw glimpses of past and future events; Luka used trickery to his benefit. Of the five known Incarn, three recognized and exploited their gifts. Apex and Lluava had yet to identify their own.