The Frozen Moon: Book Two of The Living Curse series + BONUS Full Version of Book Three!

by Swinn, J. D.

  He’d been too young-sixteen at most, though he was not five years older now, werewolves matured much faster than humans. The Guild had run through the town, leaving few alive. He’d killed every one of them that he saw, but he had wasted his time. He should have ran to her first, found her and protected her. But he ran as fast as he could, and he still couldn’t save her. Whether she was dead or alive he didn’t know, and that was worst of all. Hope was worst of all. Knowledge that somewhere, she could be rotting in a cell in the bowels of the earth where the Guild preferred to operate, killed him slowly from within.

  Some days he wished that he could run. Run around the entire world if that’s what it took, searching every city, every country, every continent. Then other days he wished he could simply forget. Forget the star studded nights and crisp mornings. Forget the vibrancy of her presence and the electricity he felt at her touch. But he could not forget. One cannot forget, cannot escape love.

  Now his only consolation was the group of Guild members standing assembled before him. And he had every intention of tearing them limb from limb, one by one.

  Seth’s words were a beautiful sound, if they could be called so, to Max’s tired ears. He had felt the Guild coming for too long, lived with their magic bearing down on him. It was one of the burdens of being a Senser. He didn’t like the readings he was getting from the man before them. Not at all. Nameh’s message had only reaffirmed this. In fact, never had he sensed so much power in one person, but this is not entirely what made him uneasy. What made him uneasy was the fact that the magic was deeper, locked away somewhere inside him where it was difficult to sense. It wasn’t possible, he thought, but clearly it was. His greatest fear was that more was hidden where he could not find it.

  With these fears beating down on him in pulses like tribal drums, he was aware of every aspect of his existence. He knew his time may be limited, and his body was responding to this knowledge. With his heightened senses, he could feel every hair on his body stand on end, feel each deep breath, heartbeat, blink, swallow. They were amplified by a thousand times, whispering to him that they could be his last. He tried to savor them, hold onto each autumn smell, bright color, anything. But he knew it was useless; either he was going to die or he was not.

  Though he imagined everyone was forming the same thoughts, he wished he would have lived more. The life of a Markbearer was traditionally shorter, because of the heavy taxes on the body and frequent battles, but he had not been fully prepared for this. He was not a seasoned fighter, ready to shed his precious blood for the cause, but he would now have to become one. Truly, he could finally admit to himself in what seemed like his final hour, the only thing he wanted to do was be with Nameh. He had never felt such love for another person, and already it was escaping him. Nothing he could do would change that.

  He didn’t like to sugar coat things, and the odds were against them. It wasn’t a completely hopeless situation, but the feeling of impending doom fell upon him and refused to relent. Regardless of the situation, they were all too far in to back out now. It was a fight that lay before them, and no matter how long Nameh managed to stall, it was still waiting. He gently felt the curving metal of the Relic in his pocket. I hope you were worth it, he thought. But he already knew it had been. He simply hoped that they could finish what they had started, and keep the Guild from the amulet once and for all. The whole task might have been easier if anyone in the group knew exactly what the amulet did. Power, they knew as much.

  This would be a battle unlike any he had fought before. At this thought, he was reminded of the cool silver pendant that hung loosely about his neck. The mark of the Tah was still with him, and that gave him some security, though he knew it would be useless until he could read it, which he still could not.

  He steeled himself for the battle of his lifetime, the battle that would determine the fate of the world.

  The news was surprising, yes, and the method through which she received it more surprising still. Yet she was not shocked that Nameh had a darker past than she let on, she had suspected. She wondered how quickly Seth was relaying the information, how much time they had left. Time, a funny thought. So taken for granted, yet so precious. She thought it was meant to be that way, not valued until you had so little left. Everything seems so clear and simple when your time is short, when there are so few decisions to make and little matters. If only we could have had this kind of perspective when we did have time left. She thought of all the times she’d shared with those around her, they had become a family of sorts. Today, she thought, they might die as a family.

  She hadn’t thought about death very often in the past, for it wasn’t a particularly pleasant subject. Now that it was staring her in the face and breathing its icy breath against her cheek, she wasn’t as afraid as she had thought she would be. Being surrounded by the ones she cared about made her feel capable of anything. There was no guarantee they would succeed, but no certainty that they would not either. There is always hope, she thought. Nameh had never been one to hope, was she hoping now? Even if not, she still wouldn’t give up, this much was certain to Mira.

  She wished that she could embrace Nameh one last time, and feel that security of being close to someone so dear. There would be time for that later, she thought. Time, again, so much time.

  Nameh still held Daniel’s stare, it had been about thirty seconds since Seth had began communicating with the others, and she hoped beyond hope he had been able to tell all of them. She feared his attention would not be drawn for much longer. These seconds dragged on with a meaningless dribble of speech, and yet they flitted by like the lightest of insects or butterflies with complete disregard to her desire to grip them tightly. She felt like a child chasing the butterflies through a field of flowers. She remembered rarely laying hands on them, but crushing them unintentionally from zeal. She brushed the white powder from her hands and moved on; it was time to fight.

  It could be delayed no longer, and any attempt would be useless. Now was the time to kill or be killed. She did not know which, though even if she did, it would not change her course of action. Even if she were sure this battle would be her demise, Nameh still would have fought. When one has nothing left in this world, one can always fight.

  She thought for what had to be no more than a second or two about all the time she had wasted, and everything she had let pass by. She didn’t think death would be that hard, after all they had faced together. In fact, she imagined it was one of the easiest things to do. Living was difficult, dying was easy.

  But it didn’t have to end that way, she mused. They were going to fight, she thought, and there was always hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: WAR

  She couldn’t remember how it started, even now, moments after it had begun. Someone would have moved first. Someone would have struck first. Someone would have died first. But it didn’t matter now.

  Bodies blurred around her, overwhelming her senses. Metal clashed with that unworldly sound, that resounding clang which rattles the bones and fills the mind with lust. She felt her muscles tensing, urging the sword through and through, on and on. The flesh she carved through seemed endless, coming from all sides. Unrelenting.

  She stood encircled by the figures, who were still cloaked in darkness. Their pale faces shone in the setting sun, revealing the dark circles under their eyes, which were barely visible. She could not tell if they were man or woman, old or young. She simply fought, fought as though there were nothing left to live for.

  From time to time, she would spin about and catch a glimpse of her comrades, or hear a cry from them. But they were separated, fighting multiple foes, and utterly lost. There must have been around a hundred of them, and they were clearly not as well trained as Nameh had originally thought, for they fell like flies about them. Still, the situation was not bright. She had lost sight of Daniel, and she knew that could not be a good sign. She was frankly unfamiliar with the deep workings of dark magic, and she knew not exactly wha
t he was capable of. Countless enemies still remained, and her body grew weary. Her sword and arms were dripping with blood. Human blood this time.

  She drove the blade through the chest of one of the figures and immediately felt a jolt shoot up her arm and through her chest. She thought she surrendered a cry, but could not be sure. A blocking spell, she supposed, but she was unused to fighting enemies like this. It had been too long since the Guild had been at large, and their ways had fallen into obscurity. She pierced a hole in the side of the nearest man, who was really a man judging by his broad shape. The blood poured from it willingly, as if it no longer had a desire to remain in such a corrupted body, and relished the chance at escape. The thin leather they wore was poor armor, but allowed for better mobility. The man’s face contorted with pain before going still altogether as he slumped to the ground at her feet. His life dripped and stained the ground with angst, it almost seemed, mingling with the dewy grass and earth. It streaked across the autumn scene she had not long ago admired, distorting its image. The crisp Fall air was now tinted with the metallic scent of freshly-drawn blood. It was then she remembered just how human these people were. Or had once been.

  It was the impact she felt first. Strong, well aimed, and right between the shoulder blades. The pain from parting of skin did not come until a moment later, when it had registered through her body’s meager attempts. The blood ran down her back, but the pain numbed quickly as her body began to enter a state of shock. She knew she couldn’t let it happen, let it take her into its quiet chemical ecstasy of numbness. She muttered the words to a healing spell in an attempt to speed up the work her Shask was already doing as she whirled around to face her assailant. Her heel seared with pain once again, but it was easily ignored compared to the pain she had just felt. Her jaw was set tightly against the shrieks she wanted to release, and her fingers clenched tightly against metal. She saw nothing of the one who had attacked her but the dark robe enshrouding it, but this thought did not even cross her mind at the time. She was overtaken with anger, and struck immediately and mercilessly. She had never been one for second chances.

  Her sword came across its chest with a gleam off the pale orange light, ripping open a tear in its body. The scream which ensued was unexpected at best, and pierced her ears with the high pitched wail of a woman. The blade ripped through her throat next, tearing the scream from the lungs themselves and strewing it across the air as what would have been. It was clear that more Guild members had been present, and were now entering the scene in waves. She didn’t know how much longer she could fight. But then, one never does know how long one can fight until it is out of necessity.

  It simply couldn’t be possible, she thought, there were too many. They each must have been fighting whole groups at a time, the numbers were too strewn. Another blow fell across her left arm, drawing her blood, as well, into the grass. She grimaced in pain; her body was beginning to give in to fatigue and wounds. A dagger throw quickly ended the threat to her left. It parted his chest as though the two pieces had been made to fit each other and break apart quickly. It slid in with ease as he crumpled to the earth. Easy, she thought again, death could be easy.

  She knew that she must find the others; perhaps if they could find each other they would have a better chance of winning. Or at least they wouldn’t die alone. The flash of tawny fur was the first sight she had, as she was reminded of the Guild attack at the party and how she had searched for her friends there as well. Talar was ragged: fur was ripped from his hide, which was matted down with blood and dirt. Beneath his massive paws, an unlucky victim lay crushed where he faced his next opponent. In a movement of power and grace, he leapt through the air toward the cloaked figure. His teeth embedded in its throat and slashed downward, bringing its whole body down beneath him. The malice upon his face, even in this less known form, was surprising to her. She imagined in that moment that this battle was as personal to him as it was to her. Quickly, through no means of her own determination, she was astride him, and they were moving wordlessly forward through the sea of bodies. She drew a second dagger, glimmering only faintly now in the receding light, and slashed her way through with short and abrupt motions. Blood now covered her entire forearm, warm and slick.

  They found the others in a cluster, already assembled back to back within a ring of attackers who were slowly closing in. As Talar and Nameh parted the ring with metal and teeth, it was already closing in again, there would be no way out, she concluded. This would be it, the final stand. The friends silently acknowledged each other, and Nameh felt a weight lift from her chest. They were all accounted for, and none had yet been lost. None were in good condition, however.

  She took a place between Mira and Seth, their arms lightly brushing as they grunted through battle. She savored the feeling of human touch when she felt that she was at such a distance from the world. It was hard to feel real anymore. Blood spattered across their skin and faces and clothes, creating a gruesome scene. Her mind blurred with exhaustion, but she fought on, plunged on. They were making headway, fewer and fewer were closing in until they stopped coming altogether. There were roughly thirty or forty still about them, but hope was sparking within her chest that she could not deny. With a second wind and new found energy, she flung a disc from the pouch at her waist and it gracefully slid through the neck of one nearby.

  “That’s why I told you not to touch those.” Her voice held a lightness that she had not felt since the beginning of the battle. She spoke for the first time since it had begun; she needed to hear the sound of her friend’s voice beside her.

  “Thanks for the warning.” She could hear the smile in Mira’s voice. Wyd stood in the center of the circle, protected by those battling, spinning defense spells and god only knew what else. Through his work, she imagined, the group felt something cool slide across their skin, like water hardening into ice around them. Nameh looked down to see that a thin armor now covered her body, where torn and stained leather had been failing. He was probably absorbing magic from those fallen around them, because now she could even sense a thin shield around the entire group, a difficult task. Cutting through her moment of reprieve was a piercing shriek that could not be mistaken. It sent chills down her spine and shivers down the nape of her neck at the realization of what was coming. Before she could find words of warning, Cal’s voice cut through the air with a ferocity and fear.

  “Harpies!” was the single word he uttered, and all that needed to be said. They were upon the cluster as the word had scarcely been comprehended, their dark bodies melding with the falling night. Her body reacted before her mind did, lashing out at the creature headed directly for her. The familiar black blood oozed from its stomach where she had wounded it, pouring onto her face and body as the monster withered to the ground. She wiped it from her eyes barely in time to see the next Harpy crashing into her, claws extended. They ripped through her stomach and shoulder, piercing skin even through the metal plating, drawing blood and knocking her body to the ground. Her breath was stolen by the impact with the cold and hard ground as the claws sank even deeper into her flesh. She gasped for air and tried to roll the creature off with no success. Its blank eyes contained only rage as they stared down at her helpless figure. She turned her head to the side to see that at least a dozen Harpies had her friends in similar situations, save Talar who was ripping through one that could not pin him down. For a moment her mind went blank with pain, she had no thoughts, no connection to the razor claws that were sinking into her body, and no knowledge of her consciousness slipping away. It was at that moment that she was able to give up, give in, and end it all.

  She had been right, she laughed in her mind at a last thought. Death was easy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: DARK MAGIC

  The kind of softness that came from giving up was difficult to shake, or rather, difficult to find the will to shake. The relenting was not entirely of her decision; her body was scarcely responding to her directions as it was. But as difficu
lt as this sometimes is, there is often a specific trigger, one thing that can push one over the edge back into the land of the living.

  Daniel had reappeared. He wielded the same sword she had always known him to, strapped to his back. But much worse, he wore the same smug grin she had always known him to. Only now it was directed at her. He saw her pinned down beneath the monster’s grasp and delighted in it. His condescending glance was all she needed to carry her back to the battlefield where she had left her broken body. Her blurry vision focused, her senses sharpened, and the adrenaline pulsed through her veins. She used her free arm to slash at the creature perched on her stomach. It fell, broken, to the side from the force of her blow, which surprised even her as she dragged herself to her feet. Her mark burned with a sense of renewal, it had not given up either. Her healing spell was still working, but it was no comparison to what Cal could do. Six Harpies lay in crumpled heaps about the group, leaving five standing. She slashed at the nearest, tearing through Mira, again and again. The vengeance which filled her was unprecedented, renewing her body and her energy. She cut down two more without a thought and ran toward Mira, falling at her side. She was stirring, alive, but barely.

  “Cal!” she called, but she saw that he was fighting off one of the Harpies. “Hold on Mira,” she said helplessly, “he’s coming.” She brushed a piece of hair from her face, plastered to the skin from sweat, blood, and dirt. She was lying with her eyes closed and her breathing shallow, almost peaceful. Like a child even. She ripped her eyes away from the unbearable sight of her suffering friend and ran toward the opponent Cal was facing. She transferred all of her momentum from running into the creature, and sank the sword up to the hilt in flesh. She twisted it abruptly and snuffed out the monster. Her hands were covered with the sickening black oil along with the metal as she pulled it out again.