The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by Aaron Patterson

  “I tried to cry out when they took her from the bed, but they struck me and everything became dark. I thought I had died. Oh, Kreios. I am so sorry.”

  Kreios knelt and embraced her, then stood, malice flashing in his eyes. “I must go. They came for me. They will not harm her as long as I am alive.” It was a desperate plea. He hoped it was true, but in his heart he suspected he would never see his daughter again.

  Kreios filled his pack with a few barley cakes and then quickly grabbed a skin for water. He waved Zedkiel off when he pledged to go with him. “You need to be here to protect Maria. They will come again.”

  Zedkiel paced about with a lost look on his face as Kreios finished his preparations; the inner turmoil he felt was obvious. In the end, he pulled Maria close by the fire and sat as Kreios turned to go.

  Kreios donned his cloak and drew his belt tight. If it was battle the Brotherhood wanted, it was battle they would taste. In a moment he was gone, flying in the black under the stars.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE AIR WAS BITING as Kreios flew through the sky. His thoughts raced with reckless fantasies in which he cut the enemy to bits and pieces. He issued the battle cry and fell upon them with the Sword, praying there would be more demon flesh in reserve so that he could cleave that too. Then his mind turned toward the Seer, and what he would do to him when they met this time.

  His body was shaking with rage and his eyes burned with righteous hatred for the cowards who had taken his daughter. He had every right. He would personally send every last one of them to hell.

  After having lost his wife, he was broken and desperate. Now that he had lost his daughter—and he wasn’t sure if she was dead or alive—he felt the eyes of the heavens upon both him and his quest for justice. Now vengeance would belong to Kreios, and he would deliver it without mercy.

  He breathed heavily. Tears streamed down his face, but the wind took them as it took his desperate scream, the cry of a father for his missing daughter. There would be a time to mourn, but this was not it; he was strong enough right now and that was how he would choose to remain.

  He descended into the trees and alighted softly, deep in the dark wood near the main road from Gratzipt. He could smell horse manure. The demon horde would be flying from his retribution on their black mounts, moving quickly by horse through the forest to make as much distance as they could.

  He moved toward the road quickly.

  At its edge, he stopped. He could now smell dust in the air along with the scent of their horses, a fetid scent choked with the unmistakable signature of decay. They passed not long ago.

  He withdrew to the cover of the wood and climbed a tall tree, leaping into its uppermost branches. He observed the terrain for miles around, looking for any trace of his prey. He could sense they were near. He could hear the clop of hooves on the dusty hardpan of the road, moving west toward the setting moon.

  He knew which way to track them now.

  Kreios wanted to break into their midst with sword drawn and slice them to pieces, but he feared what would become of his sweet baby girl in such a skirmish. He silently dropped to the ground in the dark shadows of the forest and pulled the hood of his cloak low on his brow. With graceful speed, he began to close in on the enemy, sprinting in stealth along the roadside, dodging brambles and leaping over fallen trees.

  Ahead of him at a wide spot in the road there stood two war mounts, black as night. Sweat was pouring from them; they had been ridden hard. A stream murmured nearby.

  He observed the enemy from a position of cover behind the mossy storm fall of a log among giant ferns in a small, snowless glade. The riders stooped to the stream to drink. These must be the extreme rear guard of the battalion. The rest would have gone on ahead and probably had his daughter.

  Kreios took a moment to listen to the sound of the wood. An owl called out. The little creek steamed as it flowed over rocks and under old logs. The clean smell of receding snow, the tang of deep forest decay, of moss and rotting redwood and fungus, filled his nostrils. Nature’s sounds and smells, including those incongruent anomalies that did not belong, flooded his senses. He could hear their blackened hearts pumping, the slurping of their lips as they bent on all fours and drank like dogs.

  There was an adjoining meadow by the roadside. It was filled with dormant stalks of tall grass spent by the heat of summer last. Kreios slipped into the field and moved forward, a panther stalking its prey.

  Then, close by and muffled, Kreios heard a baby’s cry. There was a jiggling movement in one of the saddlebags. A horse moved in reaction, which brought the cry to his ears again, this time more insistent.

  His heart soared to the heavens. She is alive. And not with the horde, but here. With these two.

  He must act with haste. His presence would very soon be undeniable as the energy exchange intensified.

  The putrescence of his enemy permeated the atmosphere around them. It was already powerful enough to turn a mere man aside. They smelled of burning sulfur, rotting flesh, the smoke of the damned. The parasitic exhaust of a hostile organism feeding on its host, giving off its scent in waves of cloud like the spores of a fungus, was ever present. One was consuming and excreting its waste, the other was being consumed and rotting. The connection was both eternal and temporal, both spiritual and physical.

  If Kreios had not experienced it many times before in battle, it would have overpowered him. He knew one of them was human—or perhaps had been so at one time—and one was not. He could smell the Brother, the demon. This one was of the Original Clan, from the Rebellion. These were bigger, with sharp shoulders and long arms; the claws of its warped fingers brushed the ground. Kreios stole closer.

  He was nearly upon them when the Brother stiffened, sniffing the air. Kreios silently moved his hand to the grips of the Sword of Light, knowing full well the best strategy was to kill the demon first and then finish the man, if the wretch could be called by such a name.

  The Brother turned, pulling his long black sword from its scabbard. It broke the stillness of the night with a screeching, scraping report.

  A blinding light burst forth as Kreios unsheathed the Sword and it cleared the air. It filled him with power. He swung high up and then straight down, slicing the demon’s head in half from skull to neck. Kreios pried with the Sword like he was cracking an enormous fanged walnut. The demon twitched and skidded off the Sword, crumpling at his feet, dead.

  “I was expecting this to be more difficult,” Kreios said. He brought the point of his sword around to within inches of the face of the man, who stood before him in fearful awe. “You are thinking the same thing, no doubt.” The man backed away, toward the horses.

  Kreios was not in the mood for wagers and chance. He raised his Sword high again, pointed it toward the earth, and plunged it downward into the beast’s heart. Thick black blood oozed from the twitching, prostrate body.

  Kreios turned back to the host, the point of his glowing Sword once again dangerously close to the man’s neck. The eyes of the Brother’s host and the angel were locked upon one another. The man was tall and obviously powerful. Tangles of long black hair streamed down from his head, crowning him in greasy filth. His sword was drawn and he held it like a man who knew how to wield it. He edged closer to the horses, backing away.

  “Before I kill you,” Kreios said, “tell me why. Why did you take my daughter, filth of hell? What is she to you?”

  The man looked at him, then up to the open black sky. He shifted his weight as if bargaining with a merchant, then spoke with a gnarled, hissing voice. “We knew you would come for that, pawn.” The host spat in the dirt and it sizzled where it landed. “We do not want it—we want you.” He appeared to be bored. “You puppet. You fool for a lost cause. You think you know. You know not. The power now ranged against you and your bloodmates is more than you can imagine.” He glanced over his shoulder to the west. “We will deliver you to the Seer.” The man flexed his shoulders and planted his feet. “A
live. Or not.”

  Kreios cocked his head. “Why tell me now? You know I am going to kill you.”

  “Our numbers over that ridge are many. If we, the rear guard, do not ride into camp tonight, they will come for you. We know where you and your kinsman hide. We will kill the entire village for sport.” His smile turned more wicked and filled with evil delight as his eyebrows arched. “Or perhaps I shall kill your half breed seed here.” He slowly moved the tip of his black sword toward the saddlebag, now within striking distance.

  “Leave now and I shall spare you. Go and tell the Seer to forget this foolishness.” Kreios saw instantly that his offer would not be taken. This man was determined to die.

  “We will take what we want—and for reasons I shall never divulge. What the Seer orders, we do. No matter the cost.” The man crouched, ready to strike. His eyes flashed with hatred as he pointed his sword at Kreios.

  Kreios began circling toward the horses, toward the saddlebag and his baby girl. “You would dare kill me when you are ordered to bring me alive to your Seer?” The horses were restless, sensing the tension, stamping and whinnying.

  “He can revive you as long as your head is intact. He can stitch you together. I will kill you, bring your body to him, and regain my place as captain of a hundred. Do not tempt me to cruelty.”

  “As you wish.” Kreios sheathed his sword and stepped closer to the horses, in between the attacker and his baby girl. He had certainly heard the man mention that he had been demoted as centurion. He was amused that any man, especially an incapable one, thought he could stand in battle against one of the Sons of El, and without his demon Brother to give him strength.

  The man attacked, his sword across his body. He had closed with Kreios in two steps, faster than most. The wicked host gave a shout as his sword slashed, slicing Kreios’ chest to the bone. But the man stopped in shock when Kreios didn’t respond to the wound.

  Kreios removed his slashed cloak, now useless, from his body. His pure white skin glowed faintly against the bright red slash his enemy had delivered.

  Staring, the man took a step back as the wound healed before his eyes.

  Kreios smiled, remarking to himself that he was not even cold as he stood bare-chested in the freezing wind. He only wore human clothes to blend in better with them. A naked man with flawless alabaster skin would not go unnoticed anywhere.

  The saddlebag wriggled and his daughter’s plaintive voice rose to him from within it. Kreios ground his teeth, turning back to his enemy, shouting and roaring at him, his anger boiling over. “I shall end this now. You dared to steal her from me.” He was upon him in a flash. He grasped his enemy by the hair and flung him into the sky, sending him screaming high above the treetops.

  The horses finally spooked. They tried to bolt away from him, but Kreios seized the one that carried his daughter, wrapping an arm low around its neck. His feet skidded on the road as he struggled. He kicked the horse’s front legs out from under it, hobbling it momentarily, exercising caution for the saddlebag that carried his little girl. The black horse crashed onto its knees. Kreios unsheathed the Sword and cut the bag loose as the horse regained its feet and fled, panicked.

  The man he had flung into the air was now descending, screaming in terror. Kreios returned the Sword to its scabbard with a grunt that signified his new priorities. He would deal with the man when he was ready to do so.

  Kreios lifted the flap and peeked into the saddlebag. He carefully nestled his daughter on a hillock of tall grass by the stream. “Shh,” he cooed. “Father must now go and kill a very bad man. I shall be right back, love.”

  He then leaped into the sky, met his foe in the air, and buried his fist deep into his midsection, shattering the rib cage, taking him higher again. As they gained altitude, the pathetic man frantically tried to grapple with him, but as they crested and began to fall back to earth once more, his will was replaced by shock and terror.

  Kreios hurtled downward, the man held out before him like a shield, gathering all speed, a bolt of lightning. When they made impact, the ground thundered, sending grass and chunks of hard, frozen dirt into the air.

  Kreios stood up in the crater and cleared the rubble from his person. The man was dead, a sack of shattered bones. Blood began to pool where he lay.

  He then found his torn cloak of furs nearby, and taking the baby in his arms, he wrapped her tightly in it. Then, like a comet, Kreios streaked through the night sky, his beloved daughter snuggled in his arms once more.

  Kreios could feel it. Not far off, the eyes, the insipid hollows sunken into the face of the Seer, looked up at him and observed. And hated. “Ah, daughter,” he whispered. “You must be very special indeed.”

  CHAPTER XIX

  KREIOS TOUCHED DOWN IN the woods just outside Gratzipt. The smoke from warming fires inside houses hung low over the ground in graceful striations, like a blanket. Kreios finished his journey at a run, down the main road to the humble house where his brother had hidden his little family. It was just before dawn, the moon long ago set. A crackle of firelight on the eastern horizon prophesied the coming day. Though death and darkness could be sensed consorting in danse macabre at the fringe of the primeval, the town slumbered still.

  Zedkiel opened the door to find Kreios beaming with his daughter swaddled against his chest. “I have her. She is safe, but we cannot stay any longer.”

  Zedkiel waved him in. “We have packed and are ready to leave. I agree; I have changed my position. We must go now if we are to survive the day.” A large pack outfitted with essential gear lay on the ground next to the door. It held blankets, dried barley bread, a knife, wooden utensils, a digging tool, an axe, and a few things for cooking. They did not need much food—only enough to keep Maria nourished. The rest they could hunt. They would cook over an open fire.

  “They are camped a few miles from the gorge with an army,” Kreios said. “The Seer is with them. They lie in wait.” He stuffed a bundle of rope and more dried food in his pack as he spoke. “I killed two of them. The Sword restored me faster than I have ever experienced. I healed from what might have been a mortal wound before the eyes of one of their hosts. Something is happening, my brother—and I must confess that I do not know what it is.”

  “You have your daughter. That is all that matters,” Zedkiel said. “But as for me and my family, I must take Maria away from here to keep her safe. I fear I will not be able to accompany you on your journey. We will keep your daughter safe.” Zedkiel called Maria from the bedroom and kissed her lips tenderly.

  Kreios was glad Zedkiel had seen the risk in staying at the village, that he had changed his mind. Kreios looked down at the soft eyes of his sweet baby girl and bathed his heart in her smile. She possessed her mother’s complexion and part of her essence; he could feel it. They want me? He could not believe it. He thought they had really wanted her, though he could not guess for what purpose—especially since they had let her slip from their grasp so easily. He looked at his brother and they shared an unspoken moment of mutual yearning, regret, and pain.

  Kreios broke the silence. “We will go to the mountains of Ke’elei. There we will find the great city and we shall be safe. These filth,” he gestured to the dark wood that surrounded the village and the creatures that crept there, “dare not go to it, even if they can find it. It is the last place our kind are truly free. I will show you the way, brother, but after that I must track and kill the Seer. It is time we are rid of him and his sorcery.”

  “I have heard of this place,” Zedkiel said. “I did not believe it was real. I believed they had scattered us, all of us. I thought the last of our villages had either been buried or taken to the sky for eternity.” Zedkiel was lost for a moment in thought and reflection, during which his shining face dimmed and his eyes cooled, losing their passion. “But you and I both know there is no going back,” he said. “We are outcast, cursed.” He lowered his head and a tear ran down his cheek as he remembered the home from which he had bee
n in long, painful exile. It had been a very long time, but the remembrance of the scent of perfect air, a place lit by El Himself, a sunless sky that never gave way to darkness, filled him with hope.

  Kreios thought about it too, remembering when he had walked into the Sea of Crystal and let the cool clear water flow between his toes. He remembered the beginning, after they had chosen to leave, after they had turned aside from El. Kreios felt that perhaps El had turned his back on them as well. He would have had every right, but the void of that space in between them still cut him deeply. “Zedkiel,” Kreios said. “When passion has turned to ash, persistence remains and burns hot, should we choose it. Remember,” he said, grasping his shoulder, “even though we are sojourners without a home or a place to lay our heads, we still feel and receive blessing from El because He does not change. El’s love is like rushing water that breaks hard rock. We cannot begin to hide from it. Or Him.”

  Zedkiel nodded. He stood up straight and embraced his very pregnant Maria, whose smile was radiant. They looked at each other knowingly and packed anything else they thought they might need before setting out.

  Kreios led them around back to the modest stable. Three white stallions stood there ready to ride. “They are the most potent line ever bred,” Zedkiel said. “This is the tenth generation.” He grinned with pride as he helped Maria into her saddle and then settled onto his own mount. The stallions were huge, standing over twenty hands tall. True war horses bred for power and resolve, they were looked upon with terror on the field of battle. From this breed would spring the mighty Percheron of France—horses bred for war, for strength, for power.

  Kreios rode the largest. He ran his hand over its neck, whispering into its ear. The horse grunted as if understanding, even as if in agreement.

  Soon they were on the main road riding out of town. Their journey would take three days and nights. They could not take to the sky so that the secret of the mountain city of Ke’elei would be kept. That was not worth any amount of risk. A second strategy would need to be employed, in fact, so secrecy could be ensured.