Winters of Alnora: Birth of The Dark Angel
The Chronicles of Azulia
By Kevin J. Kessler
Lavish Publishing, LLC - Midland
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WINTERS OF ALNORA: BIRTH OF THE DARK ANGEL. Copyright 2017 ©
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First Edition
The Chronicles of Azulia book 1
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States by Lavish Publishing, LLC, Midland, Texas
Ebook Edition
ISBN-13: 978-1-944985-45-5
ISBN-10: 1-944985-45-X
Cover Design by: Wycked Ink
Cover Images: Adobe Stock
www.LavishPublishing.com
Dedication
For Piper, the Light in My Darkness
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About the Author
Chapter One
There was a chilling frost within the early morning air, and Alnora’s teeth chattered in response to its bone-numbing cold. Winter had arrived, and with it came a thousand worries that addled the solitary eight-year-old’s young mind.
Living on the streets of Caelum was never easy, but in the winter, when the snows began to flutter from the sky, food became scarce, marks stayed indoors, and the life of an orphaned pickpocket became a tumultuous storm of uncertainty and potential horror.
She had known upon laying her head down in the ramshackle hovel in which she had been squatting for nearly two weeks that today was going to be rough. Alnora had no idea how she knew this. She just did. She had learned long ago to trust her feelings. That was where the extent of her trust ended. A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. Visions of grizzly humiliations and violations she had suffered throughout her short life replayed themselves within the theater of her mind.
The morning was still new, the first rays of the dawn sun having not yet peaked their way above the horizon. The cold had roused her from a fitful sleep and struck her with such an intensity that Alnora knew her night of rest had come to a close. The filthy urchin climbed to her feet, breathing warm breath into her shaking hands. She casually brushed stray bits of soot and assorted filth from the loosely hanging, brown dress that reached past her knees at the spaces in which it was not torn. She slept in her shoes, always. It was necessary. She had been fortunate enough to find shoes and was not about to let some opportunistic sneak come in and abscond with them while she slept.
Running her fingers through filthy and knotted black hair, Alnora grunted in annoyed frustration as her fingers snagged through the rat’s nest of her locks. The child crept toward the opening of the shack and gently pulled aside the cloth that uselessly covered the entryway. The streets of Caelum were dark and deserted at such an ungodly hour as though the City of Light was unable to function beneath the blanket of black that covered the sky.
I know that’s not true, the child thought to herself. The nobility of Caelum liked to perpetuate the rumor that their kingdom was the safest in all of Azulia. They professed their homeland to be a beacon of law and order. Nothing else would suffice from the grand centerpiece of the Luxian Order. Stepping out into the barren street, Alnora could just make out the upper spires of the white Palace of Caelum, headquarters of the order.
But Caelum was much the same as any grand city of Azulia. Beneath the cover of moonlight and stars, atrocities occurred. Alnora had often bitterly wondered what the Paragon would think, seated upon his throne, if he could hear the cries of the poor, the screams of the raped, and the shuddering, final breaths of the murdered.
A flash of movement ahead tore Alnora from her angry thoughts. Panic overrode any sense of distaste for the sprawling metropolis, and the young girl ducked into an alleyway. Her breath washed out through her nose with frenzied hysteria, and the child dedicated the entirety of her juvenile mind to slowing her heart rate and normalizing her breathing. A shadowy figure moved past the alleyway, never even turning to glance in her direction. Alnora let out a slow breath. She had long ago stopped believing in the monsters and demons that children told fanciful tales of. Human beings, she had realized, were the cruelest monsters of all.
The morning did little to warm the frigid air, but with the sun came a confidence that was absent within Alnora during the still of night. The central marketplace was bustling, and Alnora enjoyed the relative anonymity that she could experience while weaving in and out of the crowds. Street urchins such as herself were nearly invisible. She had been taught early on that the eyes of adults tended to gloss over things they did not wish to see. That served Alnora’s purposes perfectly.
She weaved in and out of the busy shoppers, scanning the crowd with her dark eyes, looking for the perfect mark. The winter assemblage within the marketplace was sparser than the temperate spring or summer months, but there were still enough people milling about to provide adequate cover for her exploits.
There, Alnora thought, eying a middle-aged fat man wearing the trappings of nobility. A bloated purse jingled at his belt, and the young urchin practically licked her lips at the tantalizing treasures contained within. The noble was surrounded by two servants carrying his wares upon their backs as he sauntered through the marketplace as though he owned it.
He might, she thought, her palms itching in anticipation. Eying the crowd on all sides, she looked to see if another had already claimed this mark for their own. Seeing no one trailing the noble, she moved in. Alnora weaved in and out of several adults, grace given form as her slender body bent around the legs of distracted shoppers.
This was a delicate moment in the thieving process. She had to keep her distance while not letting the target escape her line of sight. Drawing closer, she could clearly make out the rotund man’s ruddy face and ginger beard with a curled mustache. He was leaning over a table of spices, taking a long whiff of the merchant’s wares.
“I say,” he exclaimed, straightening with such gusto that his round belly shook, “I’ve not ever experienced a scent so vile. You, sir, are peddling feces in the form of spice!” The old merchant man was genuflecting, his hands making placating gestures, but Alnora could not hear his apology. The noble had been loud and boisterous, nearly shouting his displeasure. This drew the attention of a great many eyes and caused the young girl to slink back.
Alnora was a gifted thief. She had a sense about her, an ability to determine exactly who was noticing her and when. She could feel danger, like an alarm bell going off in her head. She had once believed that all children possessed such knowledge, but experience had come to teach her otherwise. She had watched others dragged away by Luxian guards or savagely beaten for their hauls by walking down the wrong alleyway. Alnora, however, had never been caught once her “thief brain,” as she called it, had activated.
While stalking a mark, it
was as though the air itself carried whispers into her mind, telling her to move this way and that, alerting her to potential hazards or interlopers. Right now, her thief brain was telling Alnora to hang back and let the man continue to move.
She was excellent at blending into her surroundings, becoming a wraith as she moved wordlessly through the throngs. It was as though she could go unnoticed simply by willing herself to remain unseen. The noble made a flippant, dismissive gesture with one hand and moved on. Alnora resumed the hunt.
She passed a group of children her own age laughing and playing as they ran through the streets. She felt a twinge of jealousy at their carefree lives. She had often wondered what it felt like to have fun, to play. Her life had been one horrid care after another since the days of her earliest memories. Swallowing the bitter thought, she returned her mind to the task at hand. She found her abilities became muddled if her thoughts wandered. She had to remain focused on the mark. Focused on the prize.
As she silently stalked the nobleman through the busy street, she noticed another child, two or three years her senior, emerge from behind a barrel, hungrily eying the fat fool. He was tattered and filthy, more so than she. His ribs were showing through the rips of the ill-fitting sack that served as his shirt. His excitement at noticing the mark was boundless, and he scanned the crowd, looking for competition.
Alnora focused in on him, willing herself to become visible to the boy’s eyes. His gaze settled on her, and she made a motion with two fingers moving horizontally before her eyes. This was a widely accepted and respected symbol between the local pickpockets. It said, “This is mine. Back off.” The boy stopped, eying her angrily, and the thin muscles upon his skeletal arms tensed as if prepared to fight. Alnora gave the symbol once more, and a moment of tension sparked between the two young thieves. To blatantly ignore another thief’s claim was a cardinal sin amongst their unofficial ilk. When Alnora had been new at the game, a misunderstanding in such a matter had nearly cost her left eye. Reaching into the pocket of her filthy dress, Alnora produced the edge of a long, jagged piece of stained glass, and instantly, the boy backed down.
Settling the weapon back into her pocket, Alnora returned to her target. She silently thanked the great spirits for averting that potential conflict. Setting her will upon a potential opponent and visualizing their retreat was usually more than enough to ward off potential rivals. This boy, however, had irritated her with his willingness to ignore their unofficial thieves’ code. The threat was merited, and his retreat brought a smirk to her face.
The oaf continued to move throughout the market, sampling wares but buying very little. As Alnora drew closer, she had to ward off three more potential pickpockets, but these quickly respected the rules of the hunt and backed off with no threat required.
“Oh, this fish is truly garish. Take it away!” the noble exclaimed, covering his mouth and nose with an embroidered handkerchief while making a dismissive wave with his free hand. The fresh fish merchant looked horrified as two more potential customers moved away from his booth in response to the fat man’s outburst. Alnora felt sorry for the merchant, and her resolve to relieve the nobleman of his purse only solidified.
She was close now, oh so close. She remained invisible, a ghost stalking the street. She was within striking distance and slowly stretched out her hand, mere inches from the dangling purse. A haze of shadow seemed to settle over the surrounding area, and Alnora felt a shuddering dread through her veins. She pulled her hand back and whirled in the direction of this ill omen that was electrifying her body with a foreboding chill.
One look at her surroundings told her that she was not the only one to sense something amiss. It seemed as though everyone on the crowded street was glancing farther down the road, and an uncomfortable hush fell over them. The fat man at her side turned as well, and Alnora hopped back to avoid his gaze. From the furthest limits of her hearing, someone cried out in alarm, and the sound of several gasps and hushed whispers buzzed the air.
The crowd parted as though by force, but Alnora recognized the haste brought on by terror that urged them all back. In the clearing made through the sea of humanity, Alnora saw a dark steel horse-drawn cart pulled by a steed so massive and black she likened it to the shadow of some great beast standing too close to torchlight. But it was not the animal nor the cart it pulled that elicited such unease in the citizens of Caelum. It was the man walking in front of it.
Tall and broad shouldered, he was dressed in a black so deep Alnora felt one could be lost within it. Every solitary inch of his body was covered in dark garments down to his knee-high boots and the long, thick leather gloves upon his hands. The man was draped in a swirling dark cloak, the hood raised, covering his eyes and nose. A beard-shrouded mouth and chin were the only visible features of this terrifying figure.
Who was this? And why was his presence so horrifying? Alnora found her eyes drawn to the man, and something within her pulsated at the sight of him. A part of her seemed to recognize the figure in black and yearned to run to him, to speak with him, but the child dared not move. Whispers of the terrified populace finally reached her ears, and she gasped at the man’s identity.
“Dark Angel…” she heard a woman whisper in panicked dread to her husband who had turned so pale he was practically translucent. Alnora’s eyes bugged out at the sound of his name. The Dark Angel? The Dark Angel? Her legs nearly turned to jelly as the legendary sorcerer strode closer and closer. As he approached, the whispers died as if swallowed by his mere presence.
“…enemy of the Lux…” she heard someone whisper from far off.
“…master of the dark arts…” another said.
Alnora was petrified as the big man drew near, but she did not flee, would not even blink. The fat mark had finally realized who was approaching, and he squeaked out a whimpering moan as the dark sorcerer advanced.
As The Dark Angel passed by, Alnora noted his head turning ever so slightly, and she could feel the presence of an intense stare emanating from the darkness beneath his hood. Was he glancing at her mark? Or…could it be…at her?
The wide figure’s fingers moved, and Alnora audibly gasped as the fat man’s purse broke free of his belt, unbeknownst to the shuddering fool, and lurched into her hands. Alnora caught her prize amidst a shocked exhalation as The Dark Angel’s lips twitched into a cruelly amused smirk.
Feeling the thudding weight of the purse in her hands, Alnora’s legs solidified beneath her once more. She instantly turned before anyone was the wiser, while their attention was still diverted to this legendary figure. She ran down a nearby alleyway, giddy with her aided score.
The presence of The Dark Angel was jarring and mystifying, but it had passed. Alnora had learned not to dwell on moments that came and went. As she ran, a smile erupted along her filthy face. The purse was so heavy! She was nearly delirious imagining the scores of copper and silver pieces likely within. Her excitement warmed her flesh amidst the young winter chill from sweaty palms to flushing face.
She could buy a coat, enough food to store somewhere safe. A loaf of freshly baked bread… Her mouth salivated at the very thought of it. Alnora was so taken aback by the childish glee that accompanied thoughts of all the wonderful luxuries she could now afford that she had not been watching where she was going. She erupted out into the street and attempted to dash into another nearby alleyway. But while she was imagining the taste of warm, soft bread evaporating on her tongue, she slammed into something metal and hard.
Alnora was instantly sent sprawling back on her bum, landing with a rough thud while dropping the pilfered purse. Looking up, she saw the sight of a Luxian knight, white armor ablaze with the sun’s reflection, glowering down at her. The thief’s heart nearly stopped.
“What do we have here?” The statuesque blond man sneered down at her. His gaze traveled further along to the discarded purse. “And what’s this then?” Alnora gasped as he picked up her prize, softly shaking it as the jingle of coins could
be heard from within. “Awful lot of coin for an unwashed little maggot.”
Alnora saw her hopes and dreams evaporate in an instant, and through the fear and dread of the moment, she also felt a bubbling anger.
“Give it back!” she cried out, rising to her feet. “That’s mine!”
“Yours?” The law officer scoffed. “And where is something like you getting a bundle like this?”
“My mother gave it to me to run to the market.” The lie instantly found her lips. Alnora was quick with deceit.
“Oh? What’s your mum’s name then?”
“Marianna,” the child replied as though it were the most natural statement she had ever made.
“Ah, well, then you won’t mind taking me to meet her then,” the steel golem said, not believing her for an instant. Alnora knew the jig was up, and she turned to flee, confident that she could outrun the armored adult. But as she moved, she slammed face-first into another suit of alabaster armor.
“Where do you think you’re going, street rat?” another knight of Lux said, catching Alnora by the arm.
“Little twat thought she was clever,” the first knight said. “She’s a fucking thief is what she is!”
“Maybe a night in the stockades will fix her up.” The newcomer sneered down at her.
“No!” Alnora cried out, panic settling into her voice. “No! Let me go! Help!” She could not be arrested. Could not go to prison. She had heard tales of the awful things that happened to little girls in the Paragon’s dungeon. She would die before she let that happen to her.
Never again…
She kicked and screamed, but the knight wrapped his strong arms around the girl and carried her into the alleyway alongside his compatriot. As she thrashed in a desperate flailing attempt at escape, she heard more voices, laughing and conversing within this darkened corner of the city.
Winters of Alnora_Birth of the Dark Angel Page 1