by C D Beaudin
Beyond the Bridge
C. D. Beaudin
Contents
Map
Foreward
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Book 2 - Excerpt
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Beyond the Bridge: Mortal’s End Trilogy: Book One: C.D. Beaudin
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Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
ASIN:
Editor: Meg Amor
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For all of those out there who have a story waiting to be told.
Dark is the dawn of current times.
With a shadow over the land we love so dear.
And the evil hand of the sorceress stretched out,
Our fate is oh so near.
But she, locked in darkness will come to be a light in our eyes,
And the man with the bronze bow will unite us all,
Giving life to our now gray skies.
Returneth o creatures of light,
Give back the joy of day.
Abolish our dark and crooked ways,
And return the Kings back to the thrones where they reigned.
For the land we once adored has turned to stone,
And the growing darkness relishes,
For death we are prone.
Cloaked in the darkness,
She rises like a tree.
With branches of blackness,
Blocking out the moon for no eye to see.
Rise, oh heroes of the East.
Hear our call, hear our plea.
Save us from this land we once called home,
For it is ruthless,
And dangerous as the sea.
Chapter One
Lord Tamon corners her in the castle hall. Against the steps, Awyn struggles on the marble floor, pain-ridden, and crawling like a dog. She’s sure there is nothing but fear in her eyes as Tamon takes out his sword. The sound of the metal sliding through the sheath makes her shudder at the terrifying truth that's about to reveal itself; her imminent death.
“No. Please.” She holds up her hands, her ripped dress hanging from her arms like strips of cloth on a clothesline. Her face is stained with both tears and blood, her body aching. She tries to move up against the stairs of the dais, but they only dig into her back. Her dry throat tastes like blood from her bleeding mouth as she tries to swallow. “Please, just don’t do this,” she pleads.
“I remember when your father would take you out horseback riding,” Tamon says. “It was in the morning, not even breakfast, when the sky was still gray, and the birds still asleep. The breeze would be icy, but you liked it that way, so he’d take you out whenever he could. He loved you so much.” He says these last words breathlessly as if he’s hurting inside.
Awyn grimaces in pain, adjusting her position on the stairs, trying to relieve the hurt.
Tamon breathes shakily, his lips quivering. “But there was one person he failed to love.”
Awyn looks up at him. “Who?” She struggles to speak as pain washes over her body.
“Your mother, the queen.”
Awyn’s eyes widen slightly, not expecting that answer.
Tamon’s lips tighten. “And she suffered from it. I loved her, but she didn’t know, couldn’t tell, she was so blinded by your father's betrayal.” Something like a laugh leaves his lips. “I wanted her to love me.”
Awyn knew her mother and father were…estranged, but…Tamon sounds like a man obsessed. Possessed.
“Tamon—Uncle, please, you don’t need to do thi—”
“Shut your mouth, snake!” Tamon snaps.
Awyn grimaces painfully at the order, knowing she’d better be quiet.
He takes a shuddery breath, continuing, “I wanted her to be loved.” There’s a short, painful pause. “So I killed your father.” The words are so blunt, it almost shocks Awyn. Tamon closes his eyes like he’s remembering, perhaps seeing the image of his brother's struggling body as the knife in his chest tore the life from him. He exhales—looking like relief, regret, fear, and anger is all tied into one short breath.
“Shall I describe his death to you?” His eyes open as he says this, a new spark in the dead brown gaze. His lips curl into something like a smile. “Your father’s eyes held disbelief and betrayal. I remember stroking my brother's cheek, and what I said to him.
“Dear, brother. You took the one thing I wanted and squandered it. You threw it out, leaving it for the dogs to feast on. You betrayed those you claimed to love.”
A short, sadistic laugh leaves his lips.
“’And now it is my turn,’ I said. I leaned in, inches from my brother's pain-riddled face. ‘You hurt her,’ I said quietly. I brought my lips close to my brother’s ear, and whispered, ‘Now I hurt you.’”
He says this almost with a smile.
A tear falls down Awyn’s cheek as she trembles from the memory of her father's body upon the wood pile, and the priest setting it aflame. The fire grew bigger, hungrier, and the priest sang the Spirit Song—the haunting lyrics still with her to this day.
Spirits take the fallen,
And lay them in the grave.
For this night a new soul you receive.
Watch over this land tonight,
As the living that loved begin to grieve.
Looking up at Tamon, Awyn cowers as his malevolent gaze fixates upon her. His brown eyes are dark and insane. “Your mother locked herself up in her room, crying for hours upon hours.” He walks closer to Awyn as he says this, his eyes awash with tears. “After what I did, she still didn't come to me, not even to grieve. She was still under his spell.”
Awyn can almost see a hint of regret in his eyes.
“I thought I had killed my brother in vain.” He stares into space for a moment. “But when I was approached by the courtier and sorceress, Revera, I knew my efforts were justified.” And the spark of regret disappears.
“She sought me out,” he continues. “She knew what power I could have. She told me of the plan she had to kill the queen, as she too, had suffered at her expense.” He takes a deep breath. “And when it was done, when Adara was dead, I was crowned regent, as the brother to the king, and there was only one thing holding me back from reigning over Mera as long as I had breath in my lungs.” His angry words turn to a breathless whisper. “You.”
“But I didn't have the heart to kill you, as you were just an innocent, young girl.” His body relaxes as if a waterfall of relief and reassurance washes over him. “So I locked you up instead.”
Awyn freezes in fear, hearing the reason, the real reason for being locked up. It’s a relief, yet so painful. Revera has had conversations with her over the years, and Awyn knew she was Tamon's ally, but she never knew the reason why she was a part of this story.
Lord Tamon takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes. For a moment, the only sound is his uneasy breathing. Standing back up, he lowers his head. “But now, I have to kill you.”
His head comes up, his eyes open, dark with rage as he swings his sword in the air.
Awyn hurls herself off the steps, onto the cold, white marble floor of the castle. Along the floor she crawls, trying to get away. But Lord Tamon grabs her dress, pulling her back. She fights but cries out in pain as the sword slides sharply into her lower back. Awyn chokes, blood spattering on the white floor, crying out in agony.
“I have not waited nine years, only for you to get away!” he shouts, reaching for the back of her dress collar.
Yanking her back, Awyn's eyes bulge as the dress strangles her. Then he releases his grip, pushing her back down to the ground. A sharp sting registers as he stabs into her arm, and another cry leaves her blood-filled mouth.
“It's a shame, really, to waste such fair beauty.” He strokes her hair. “But in the end, what is beauty? Power is the will of one's own self. And I have power.” He sighs, then a devilish smile appears on his round face. “Pity you won't be around to see it, Princess.”
He grabs her again, turning Awyn onto her back so he can see her eyes. “Do you know what I see? The little girl that once bounded in the fields by the castle. She didn’t do anything to deserve to die. Knowing this, killing her just seems…cruel. But I also know killing her is the only way to secure my throne.”
He looks away from her pleading eyes, focusing on her heart. He seems insane, talking about her as if she’s not even here. Like she’s just a ghost to him.
Awyn trembles violently, shutting her eyes to the horror. This can't be the end. She opens her eyes, only to see her uncle, with his sword swung over his head, ready to end her life. No. He can't win.
With new purpose, and an immense surge of unbridled rage, she yells, “And I have not been locked up for nine years only to die!” With all her strength she kicks his leg, hearing the sickening snap, and the cry of Lord Tamon as his knee buckles, and he collapses on the ground.
The world around Awyn seems to warp, swirling around her, with her hearing buzzing. The pain in her back amplifies as she struggles to stand up, wildly getting to her feet. She sways, tripping over her long, ripped dress, stumbling out of the throne room, down the hall, and away from the cries of Lord Tamon.
Along the wall Awyn crawls, trying not to fall, for fear she may not be able to get back up. The buzz in her ears turns to thudding footsteps as she turns a corner. The guards. She takes an agonizing breath and cries out. Her chest feels as if it will explode. It's getting harder and harder for her to breathe. Her back is soaked with her own blood—and her energy flags with her tired, beaten body. I have to run. She starts slowly, limping as the jogging footsteps grow louder, then she runs faster. I need to get out of here!
As fast as her feet can carry her, she moves, not thinking about the terrible pain in her back that could make her collapse at any moment. Through the white halls of her once peaceful home she flies, the domed, gold-layered, and intricately designed ceiling no longer shielding her from the cold of the world outside. Or, in this case, the cold inside.
Awyn approaches the pearly white doors ahead, a foreign sight to her, as is much of the castle. She looks behind her in horror to see the score of guards trailing her, only fifty feet away. Holding out her arms, she pushes through the doors, and the light of day she so missed, washes over her.
She rushes down the white steps. All around her, servants stop their work to stare at the chase that's taking place in the palace courtyard at the top of the white mountain city. The courtyard is covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt, and the servants look tired and broken. As Awyn runs, she notices a few familiar faces, but doesn’t stop as the clamor of the guards exiting the castle reaches her across the long courtyard.
A pool of water once sat in the center of the stone yard, grass surrounding it in a rectangle. Ceremonies were held there. Awyn sees the spot where her mother and father stood as they knighted a soldier or were present at the wedding of a close friend. Even coronations were held there, her mother’s was, near the pool, under the small cherry tree. The pink blossoms flowed through the air, riding the wind. It was magical. And now the tree is withered and black.
She runs down more stairs, passing onto the second level where the homes are. White arches and houses line the smooth, stone streets. Plants that once grew in pots placed at doors and benches are dead and brown.
The houses are small, some built into the mountainside, but the ones that are in the open are perfectly square. Small faces peer out of doorways and windows, at what must look like an insane girl. One who’s running through the city with no boots or sandals, a ripped blueish dress tangled around her feet, her black hair flying, and blood stained on her fair skin.
The citizens of Kevah scatter as the guards yell for Awyn to stop. More stairs circling onto the first level, where the businesses and trade markets are jutting out onto the plains, in a walled semi-circle. The bustling markets are filled with colorful stands, fruit, cloths, and pots from faraway places. Awyn bumps into a woman stacking barrels of apples. She tumbles to the ground, her back writhing, crying out in pain. People crowd around her, muttering to each other about the sight they’re witnessing. The woman kneels, picking up the spilled apples, cursing under her breath as she stares at Awyn with stony eyes.
Looking behind her, there are no guards. The crowds must have slowed them down. Gritting her teeth, she manages to stand up, pain flushing through her body. She starts running again through the crowd, toward the white, metal barred gate at the other end of the markets.
Through them she flies. She runs into the plains, but the relief of escaping vanishes when her foot catches in a gopher hole and she trips.
Winded, Awyn stares up at the sky, the color a calming blue, with clouds floating along. The breeze, even on the ground, whips around her hair, which feels unkempt and matted. The wind in her wounds stings, but it feels so refreshing after nine years of not feeling the elements. She closes her eyes for a moment, submitting herself to the ambiance of the world around her.
The sounds of the outside world fill her ears. The thundering rush of the river, the trees rustling and swaying in the breeze. The sound of the White City, confusion at what they just witnessed, and the angry shouts of the city folk. The plains coming alive with the wind. Memories start filling her mind. A day, not too different from this. Just under different circumstances.
Running. Running through the fields in front of the mountain the city sits on. Laughing, chased by her father, Daron. Squealing as he tickled her sides, picking her up, and flipping her over his shoulder. Cries. Not cries of agony, or sadness, but cries of joy. Landing back on the ground, Awyn had looked at the forest beyond the bridge. The darkness of it. Pointing, she’d asked, “Father, what is in that forest?”
He took her hand. “That, my dear, is a forest full of memories and pain.”
“Pain, father?” She’d looked up at him, her eyes staring into his green ones.
“Yes, my darling. Pain that you will hopefully never have to feel.”
That was only a few weeks before her father was killed. Wincing, Awyn stands up, stumbling, but getting to her feet. They carry her as fast as they can, wobbling and tripping. When she looks up, there’s a white bridge about seventy feet away from her. She remembers that bridge. Traveling along it with her dad, laughing, fis
hing, but never going over it. The forest on the other side was once full of elves but had fallen into shadow ever since the sorceress took over the lands of Asgoreth and Radian. The forest holds nothing but evil now, but she knows it's the only way she'll escape the guards.
Get to the bridge. Just get to the bridge, and you'll be safe.
The plain feels like infinity to Awyn. The bridge seems too far to reach. Her arms flail and her legs tire. She fights to keep her eyes open, and the pain in her back can no longer be blocked out.
The feeling of the smooth, white stone under her hands, the curved bridge, the running water—everything that was once good in her life… It’s now a reminder of where she must go to keep safe from those who want to kill her. However, she won’t even last a day in the Dark Woods.
Get over the bridge, Awyn. They won't follow you in there.
One step after another, she crawls along the bridge’s stone wall. It's small, perhaps only large enough to fit two horses side by side. The river under it flows swiftly, rapidly tumbling over rocks. But the forest. Oh, the horrible, terrifying forest that awaits her.
The trees are black, with gray leaves that never fall, but turn to dust if you touch them. The ground is a reddish-gray, said to be stained with the blood of the poor souls it swallows up. Those who were once elves turned to evil creatures. Some are shadows, which at a single touch, can turn one into an evil aphotic. You're gone forever—destined to live among the darkness—never resting, always wanting the next victim. Other elves were turned to trees, dripping the blood their pure bodies once contained from their bark.