by L. A. Jones
Tales of Aradia the Last Witch Volume One
Copyright L.A. Jones 2010
Published at Smashwords
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Written by L.A. Jones
Edited by Harrison R. Bradlow
Cover Art by Kimberly Mattia
I, L.A. Jones, dedicate this story to my two best friends in the whole world, Nuby Caceres Sanchez and Kimberly Anne Mattia, who have always accepted me for who I am in spite of everything. Although I will never be able to thank them enough for being the greatest friends I have ever had, I hope this story will be a start.
LA, thank you for allowing me to be part of this project. Working on this novel has been a joy and I look forward to editing future Volumes in the Aradia series. My wife Amy, you have been, as always, incredibly supportive as I spent so much time and energy working on this book. My part in Tales of Aradia I dedicate to these two great women.
++Harrison
Prologue
"We are innocent!"
The cry echoed in Rome's ears as he held his face stony still. He stood motionless at the head of the room and watched as his men executed their gruesome orders. Victims screamed for mercy before the noose silenced them forever. For the luckier ones, the drop broke their necks, killing them instantly. The less fortunate hung by their throats and flailed their feet, finding only the air for which their lungs desperately screamed. The rest watched in horror as their loved ones were murdered, all the while knowing they were next. The women's blouses were soaking wet from sweat and tears as their sobs competed with those of the children they tried in vain to protect. Many were dragged, weak as dolls and with a broken look in their eyes, to their places of death.
One, however, managed to break her captor's vise-like hold and raced toward the only door. Rome noticed her pitiful attempt at escape, of course, and leisurely headed her off. He grinned as he slammed the double doors behind him, completely blocking her only, dim hope of escape. Ever so slowly he turned and strolled toward her, still grinning and with fangs extended. The woman stopped, frozen by the menace he exuded. In a room full of evil, she could feel he was the worst of it all.
As frightened as she was, she mustered the courage to demand, "Why are you doing this to us? We have committed no crime!"
Rome scoffed loudly. "Oh but you have. The gravest of them all: treason.” He circled the helpless woman as he spoke. “For more than a thousand years we have remained hidden and kept the humans unaware of our existence, but you and your kind have betrayed all of the hidden race. The humans now know about you. How do you suppose that happened, hmm?”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “Whoever told them of us, if anyone told them of us, it was no witch!”
Rome shrugged. “Regardless, there is only one appropriate response, only one way to make sure the leak ends here. You and your people know the law. By mutual decree, we of the hidden race must remain hidden at any cost. To protect the greater number of us, you must die.”
“This is not the spirit of the law,” she muttered. “This is not right.”
“But it is the will of the Sovereign. You and all of your people are condemned."
Rome snickered as he reached out, pulled the woman's neck to his face, and sank his teeth into her. She moaned in agony, and he in pleasure, as her lifeblood gushed from the twin wounds down his throat.
"Call it good measure," he said with a snort, dropping her limp body with a thud. He had drunk until he’d had his fill. Under normal circumstances, he would have shared the vessel’s remainder with his closest men. Today, though, there was blood in such glorious, lavish, wasteful excess, that it could be allowed to flow freely.
Every one of his heightened senses was excited by the scene. He savored the taste she left in his mouth. He held on to the memory of her hopelessly writhing against him while he fed. He admired the sight of so many dangling bodies, with the shrieks and cries forming a sweet melody. All the while he relished the mingling odors of death and fear.
One of his soldiers then suddenly tapped on his shoulder.
Irritated at the interruption, Rome growled, "What?"
Voice quavering slightly, the soldier said, "I am sorry sir, but checking the coven’s records against those we gathered, I have discovered two appear to be missing."
This detail definitely aroused Rome's interest.
"Who?" he snapped.
The soldier made a conscious effort not to gulp before managing to respond, "The Seer of the coven and a baby."
“And you have thoroughly searched the area?”
“Yes, sir.”
One of Rome’s lieutenants, a slight man by the name of Abdiel, appeared at his right and said to the soldier, "You have allowed a mere woman, encumbered by a baby at that, to best you? For that you will be punished.”
“Yes,” Rome agreed. “And your recommendation regarding the two missing witches, Abdiel?”
He shrugged. “If we’ve already searched and failed to find them, they must be long gone. I say let them go. They can’t accomplish much with their whole coven dead.”
Rome whipped around and slapped his lieutenant hard across the face. The force of the blow knocked Abdiel to the floor, his lip split and murder in his eyes.
"For that you will suffer for their escape as well. Didn't you hear what I told her?" Rome pointed to the dead woman at his feet. "It's good measure."
Several other soldiers overheard the conversation. One, brave and hoping to curry his commander's favor, stepped forward and offered to find and dispose of the missing witches.
Rome shook his head though. "No. I would rather deal with this myself."
It was plodding work, but finally he found them hiding out in a lonely cottage.
“Fools,” he cursed them. Had his pursuit gone any longer, he’d have had to take cover before daybreak.
Upon reaching the little dwelling, Rome was greeted with a brilliant flash of white light. It emanated from the cottage’s windows, beneath and around its door, and through every crevice of its shoddy construction. It enveloped the entire structure and was so blinding that Rome nearly fell completely off his feet.
“Witches,” he spat.
One swift kick was all it took for Rome to break the door off its hinges. Storming the cottage, he found a shriveled old husk of a woman leaning limply against a chair with a black cauldron in the center of the space. Small candles, flickering dimly, had been gathered around the cauldron. A thick black book of spells laid nearby, its thin, ancient pages fluttering in the breeze from the entryway.
"The Seer of Salem coven, I presume?" Rome asked the woman while chuckling dryly.
The Seer feebly moved her lips, but was too weak to reply.
Rome ignored her and cast his eyes around the cottage.
"Where's the brat?" he demanded.
"She is safe," the Seer croaked, as raspy as a dry summer wind. "She is safe where you and yours cannot touch her. She will be safe until the moment when she realizes her destiny."
"Her destiny," Rome repeated skeptically. "What is her destiny?"
"Her destiny is to destroy you and your Sovereign!” the seer sneered at him, her voice weak and crackling but dripping with venom.
Rome quickly crossed the short distance to her and yanked the woman from her chair by the neck. Squeezing, he hissed in her face, “What? What are you talking about?”
“It is done,” the woman cackled, even more w
eak than before. "It is done. She has been sent to where she can be happy until the time comes to avenge her people! She will destroy you! You and your Sovereign!"
"I have heard such threats before, witch," Rome whispered in her face. "Meaningless riddles from meaningless people."
He then extended his fangs and buried his face in her neck. His only regret was that she passed out from exhaustion before he’d had his fill. Rome enjoyed a meal so much more when it struggled.
"Is it done?" a deep voice like that of death embodied asked Rome as he entered the dimly lit throne room.
Rome dutifully dropped to his knees as he made his report. "Yes, Sovereign, it is as you commanded. The witches are dead. Every one, to the last man, woman, and child.”
"You lie to your Sovereign," the evil voice resonated softly from the shadows.
“My lord?” Rome replied as his master stepped forward into the flickering torchlight.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he walked toward Rome. His pace seemed casual, and yet every step was measured. Each footstep issued an ominous click against the stone. Rome was grateful that his heart no longer beat, for it would have been pounding through his chest.
Finally the Sovereign stood over Rome, a black hooded cloak hiding his face but for his mouth which sneered at him grimly.
"My Sovereign, I swear to you they are all dead," Rome pleaded, "from the witches’ leader to their Seer. They all rot even now in their precious town hall, hidden away in their secret coven."
"What of the Seer's child?" the Sovereign asked.
Rome trembled before replying, "A bluff, my lord."
The Sovereign growled. "Was there not evidence of a missing child?"
"There was, lord, but I do not believe it to be reliable. The Seer was too weak even to stand when I found her. She could not have carried a child in her state, not across the course over which I tracked her. I found no trace of a child at the cottage where I killed the Seer, and no sign that one might have been hidden at some point along the way. My men and I searched the coven and surrounding settlements thoroughly. If ever there was a child, and I do not believe there was, it has since vanished from our realm.”
“And yet you are not certain. You fail me.”
“I serve you faithfully, my Sovereign," Rome protested. “You said we were to execute the witches on charges of treason. If it might please you that I be so bold, what difference can one child, who had no part in the treason, make?"
"The difference is in following my orders and disobeying them. Your predecessor made the same mistake, so many years ago. You have held such promise since. Pity.”
“I serve you faithfully still,” Rome swore, barely maintaining his composure. “Allow me the opportunity to atone.”
“The seer's child still lives!" the Sovereign cried out as he stamped his foot in frustration.
Rome shook his head before asking, "I wish to understand so as to better serve, Sovereign. Why does the death of one little girl mean so much to you?"
"I know you don't understand," said the Sovereign as he turned away from Rome. "I neither ask nor expect you to."
Rome held himself motionless on his knees, head bent in subservience, waiting for his deathblow, but after several silent, tense minutes, he heard the Sovereign chuckle softly.
"Am I forgiven, Sovereign?" Rome asked, a sliver of hope that he might be spared creeping into his mind.
"Of course you are not," the Sovereign snapped, whipping around to face him, "but there is nothing to be done about it. At least not now. Consider your task concluded. Until I instruct you further, you will resume your standing orders. You are dismissed.”
Rome could not help but hurry from the Sovereign’s chamber. The obvious fear he inspired in his underling brought a thin smile to the authoritative vampire’s face.
“That was generous of you,” a new voice spoke, “by your standards.”
The Sovereign grunted. “I told Rome there was nothing to be done at the moment. Wasn't I correct, Morgan?"
A woman suddenly appeared in a puff of dark smoke. Like the Sovereign, she was enshrouded in a deep black cloak, yet hers was soft like velvet and swirled about her as she moved. In her left hand she clutched a metallic red staff topped by a crystal ball.
She wrapped one gnarled green hand on the crystal and spoke, "Sovereign, the child is lost for now in the fabric of time and space." Her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere in the room, as if it were not tethered to her actual form. “The presence was so weak, as if influenced by fatigue or fear, barely detectable to me, then amplified, strong, stronger than most I have sensed. As quickly as that, it was weak again, then gone, gone…”
"Do you really believe it likely that the lone child of a slaughtered race will become my downfall?" the Sovereign asked Morgan while folding his arms.
The woman replied calmly and without hesitation, "I have read the signs, used the runes, conversed with the gods and goddesses of time and space–"
"Just answer the damned question!" he snapped.
Morgan shrugged and responded simply, "It is what I have seen."
Morgan was prepared for an explosion of the Sovereign's temper. Instead he merely sighed and placed his hand against his face hidden in the hood of his cloak.
He stood like that for a long time before finally asking, "Tell me, Morgan, do your visions always come to pass?"
"The future is a very unpredictable thing. One different step can make a new path."
"Then you don't know," the Sovereign replied.
“All I know is what I see. I see only probabilities,” she agreed. “The future is what we make of it.”
The Sovereign sighed and said, "You have made many accurate predictions in your service to me. Show me how we may keep this from being one of them."
Chapter One
“You'd think they'd tell us before we drove for twelve hours,” Ross Preston muttered, obviously bitter.
“Did you say something, honey?” Liza, his wife, asked distractedly. She had been gloomily staring out the car window and to the horizon for the better part of an hour.
Liza was normally quite cheery, and tended to elicit the same cheerfulness from others. A high school art teacher, she was a favorite among her students. Petite, with mousy blond hair, and a voice that was barely audible, Liza Preston was the perfect image of a ‘little woman.’
Her small stature and gentle behavior contrasted quite starkly with her husband. He was over six feet tall, brown eyed, and had brown curly hair which simply never looked neat. He was almost obsessively focused on whatever he did and shined as a promising young assistant district attorney, but tended not to handle social situations well. Quite simply, he was a loudmouthed and outspoken hard-ass of a man.
Yet to anyone who really knew them it was clear that Ross and Liza Preston complemented each other perfectly, as if they were the Batman and Robin of married couples. Ross was the father figure who could inspire even the most hardened criminal to go straight. Liza was the comforting mother figure who, just by using her soft voice and a few choice words, could convince anyone that they could change.
As opposite as Ross and Liza were, what truly united them was a fiery ambition to help anyone who needed it, no matter how far gone a person might be.
They found joy in every life they were able to influence. At that particular moment, however, the only life they wanted to guide was that of their own child, a child whom the specialists at Salem Fertility Center had just told them they could never have.
"It’s truly unfair that some doctors, no matter how questionable their choice of practice, are able to make seventeen times the amount a criminal lawyer is paid working for the state. On top of the salary, that criminal lawyer has to deal with a lifetime of stress and sacrifice. And the lawyer’s salary is supplied by tax dollars, a tiny drop in an ocean of dues and fees and taxes. That’s the kind of revenue that should make the IRS burst out laughing!"
Liza smiled weakly at Ross's
comment and said, "I'm disappointed too."
Ross sighed and said, "I don't think disappointed even covers it, Lizzy. We drive over twelve hours from Ohio to Salem, where they supposedly have the best baby-making clinic in the country, only to be told that we don't have a shot in hell of ever actually conceiving our own kid."
"They didn't say that!" Liza protested.
Ross glared at her as long as he dared before returning his eyes to the road. After an awkward and silent moment, Liza did begrudgingly rephrase, "Well... it wasn’t quite as explicit as that…”
"Liza, they basically said the odds of us ever conceiving a baby are worse than the Redskins ever winning the Super Bowl. Genetically, it’s just not going to happen.” He chuckled sarcastically before adding, “We’re just not built to be parents.”
Liza hung her head, and Ross immediately regretted his harsh words.
"Honey, hey, I'm sorry–" he tried to apologize.
"Don't!" Liza cut him off. "You're right. They had absolutely no right to speak to us like that. And to have the audacity to ask for more money to try experimental protocols on me? Please!"
"I know," said Ross with a disgruntled sigh, glad they’d redirected their frustration away from each other. "Can you believe the nerve of those people?"
Liza scoffed in agreement.
Another awkward silence hung over them until Liza asked, "So what do we do now?"
Ross proposed, "Well, we could always adopt."
Liza stared at him and said hopefully, "You’d be okay with that?”
Ross nodded.
Her mood fell just as quickly as it had risen, though. “You know how hard it is to adopt. Who knows if we’d ever be approved, and even if we were, I imagine it could take years.”
“It’s a chance at least. That’s better than what they gave us at the clinic.”