The Kala Trilogy: An Urban Fantasy Box Set

by Teagan Kearney

  Forked Lightning pictured his spirit guides; Meoquanee, the fiercely beautiful Cherokee warrior princess with her waist length raven hair and cloak of shimmering white feathers, and Qaletaqa, the Hopi elder with a short length of cloth wrapped around his middle, a headband decorated with wildflowers and feathers, and his beaded necklaces of many colors. The shaman called to them, asking for their aid, and sent a prayer to his teacher, Changing Sky. He begged the Spirits Above for an answer to his appeal. He could only hope the obstacle he’d met wouldn’t be a hindrance to his spirit guides.

  Within seconds, the two effulgent spirits, Meoquanee, with her white cloak shimmering around her, and the ancient Hopi elder, his skin a glowing gold, appeared before him.

  "Thank you for answering my call," said Forked Lighting. "I am deeply grateful." He'd said nothing to Eva or Fabio, but when he was unable to shadow Tatya's path, he'd worried that his power was too weak, but now he felt reassured. "I seek Tatya, my spirit sister."

  Meoquanee held up her hand. "We sensed your concern and searched for her, but she is not visible to our eyes. The ether is disturbed, and we are sure she did not go willingly and did not undertake a spirit quest of any kind. We have uncovered traces of an unwelcome presence and will continue to investigate where that leads.” Meoquanee's voice soothed like flowing water

  “Of Otakay, we found no trace, and we do not know if he is with her or not," Qaletqa spoke in a rumble of deep thunder.

  "There is another task for which I beg your cooperation. If we are successful, it may increase our chances of finding Tatya."

  "Speak, and, if it is within our abilities, we shall help you."

  "Is it possible to remove this?" Forked Lightning pointed at the weapon embedded in Vanse's chest.

  "Do not be anxious little brother, your strength is enough, and along with ours is sufficient for the task. Grasp the handle firmly and pull."

  Forked Lightning obeyed, but the instant he clasped the handle, an icy numbness crept into his hand and spread up his arm.

  Without delay, Meoquanee and Qaletaqa laid their hands on his shoulders, and a luminous shaft of light filled his body, warmed his blood, and traveled down through his fingers into the handle. As soon as the radiance entered the blade, the brightness intensified and spread into the tiny space between the dagger and Vanse's flesh.

  Forked Lightning shuddered with the force of their power. His fingers trembled, his hands became slick with sweat, and the knife began to slip from his grasp.

  Vanse's body shivered as the blade slid deeper into his heart.

  "Now!"

  The word boomed in his ear. Forked Lighting reacted instinctively, and with one sharp movement, yanked the blade free.

  Chapter Twelve: Darkness

  She opened her eyes. Darkness. She closed them again seeing almost no difference. She lay on an unyielding surface, and she was cold, so cold she couldn’t stop shivering, and the knee-length sleeveless shift did nothing to keep her warm. She rolled over onto her side, and curled up into a ball, trying to pull the thin material down over her legs. Where was she? Who was she? A black hole of nothingness sat where her memory should be. Someone screamed, and she flinched at the rawness of the pain. After the screaming ceased, faint moans and cries came from nearby. A sudden fear of drowning in the misery filling this place overwhelmed her. She must have done something terrible to be punished this way, but she couldn’t remember committing any crime.

  As her eyes adapted, she made out lighter and darker patches in the gloom. She sat up and touched the wall behind her, jerking her hand back as the freezing stone burned her fingers. Resting her forehead on her knees, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Her heart flushed with a sudden flush of warmth, and she noticed a faint gleam of gold, but as she watched, it vanished. After a while, despite the chill that crept into every part of her body, she lay down and drifted into a restless sleep where a beautiful man with red-gold hair, brilliant blue eyes, and black feathered wings tortured her endlessly.

  A loud bang woke her.

  "Hsst!"

  Her heart beat faster at the noise, and she stared into the darkness seeing a crack of light appear and a flap near the bottom of the door open. Something was pushed inside.

  "Eat." A shrill voice commanded.

  She jumped as the flap slammed shut. For a brief instant, she'd seen a skinny pale arm withdrawing, and the light allowed her a brief glimpse of high dark stone walls running with damp and mold, a bare earthen floor, and the wooden plank that she lay on. This was a cell, in a dungeon. Shaking her head as if to knock her memory out of hiding, she groped her way toward the door—hunger pushing everything else aside as she found the food. She had no idea of how many days it was since she'd last eaten, but if she ever hoped to get out of here, she knew she must eat.

  Squatting by the door, she crammed the dried crust and the few unidentifiable bits floating in the greasy cold liquid into her mouth. She finished the meal, washing it down with the cup of bitter tasting water provided, and left the bowl and cup by the flap. The food made her nauseous, and a rush of dizziness hit as she fumbled her way along the damp wall back to the wooden pallet where she collapsed.

  Time passed, but there was no day or night in this prison, and her brain was too befuddled to think clearly. She slept, woke, and ate in a state of lethargy, unable to remember who she was, or why she was in this awful place. Sometimes she was sluggish, and the heaviness in her head made reaching the door a huge effort. An awareness she should be somewhere else, and had something important to do, flickered at the edge of her consciousness, but whenever she clutched at those thoughts, a great weight pressed on her mind, and she lost the thread. Occasionally, her heart glowed with a golden radiance, and her mood lifted, but it soon faded, and she lapsed back into her usual torpor.

  Screams and cries of pain from the other cells often woke her, filling her with terror as she wondered when her turn would come. When she did sleep, she dreamed of people whose faces looked familiar, but when she asked them who they were, and begged their help her, they turned their backs on her. Once a day, the skinny white arm shoved food through the small opening, and she'd eat and sleep again.

  One day, she was startled awake by the door clanging open and squinted as a flickering brightness filled her cell. The brilliance turned out to be a torch, carried by one of two sentries at least twice her size, who grabbed her under the arms, and ignoring her bewildered cries of protest, dragged her off the bed.

  Outside, in the corridor, a scrawny child with large dark eyes in a pale pinched face surrounded by wild black curls held a large bunch of keys.

  "Help! Where are you taking me? I've done nothing wrong!" Her voice wavered, high and weak, as she looked from one to the other.

  Her captors had arms and legs of thick gray ropey muscle, sharp tusks either side of wide mouths filled with blackened teeth, and small eyes that regarded her with as much interest as an insect. They carried long knives in their belts, and each had an ax strapped to their back. One snarled at her, a frightening growl, silencing her pleas. They hauled her along the dismal corridor, and up a steep narrow winding staircase—which wasn't an easy feat. Their considerable girth meant that one had to go in front and hold the blazing torch above his head to light their way, and the other came after her, half dragging her backward until they reached a huge black iron door.

  A different world lay on the other side of the door.

  At first, after the darkness of the dungeon, the light blinded her, and her eyes watered as she squinted against the brightness. As her eyesight adjusted, she noticed the walls were studded with jewels; radiant rubies, vivid emeralds, and the sparkle of diamonds created an ethereal effulgence. She tried to remember the route, but after a series of staircases and long empty corridors—some with doors, some without—she gave up. At last, they halted, and one of the guards knocked on a door. As soon it opened, they thrust her inside with such force, she tumbled to the floor.

  A soft han
d raised her up.

  Her chin dropped, and her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings.

  Sunlight filled the room, and a gaggle of girls stood gazing at her. They were the loveliest young women with doe eyes, long curling hair, and dressed in wide pantaloons of soft transparent cloth, the briefest of tops that left their shoulders bare, and little to the imagination.

  "Who are you? Please tell me where I am." Her voice was cracked and hoarse.

  The girls smiled, a gentle curving of their red lips, but none answered her questions. Instead, they led her into the next room, where steam rose from a large pool in the center. On the side lay piles of towels, and trays of soap and oils.

  Before she could protest, they removed her shift with quick featherlike movements. She shivered in disgust at the filth of the garment.

  Next, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, they led her into the hot water.

  Every ache and pain and ones she hadn't been aware she possessed eased as she relaxed.

  Two girls washed her with soothing strokes, while a continuous fresh supply of deliciously hot perfumed water floated the dirt and grime away. With a delicate tender touch, they untangled her mess of hair, combing, and soaping it, till it was clean and fresh. As they dried her with soft white towels, they fed her sweetmeats and milk before oiling and perfuming her skin and hair.

  An uneasy foreboding replaced her initial relief at leaving the cell. By the time they'd dressed her in a simple robe of white silk bordered at the neck and hem with thick gold embroidery, placed heavy gold rings on her fingers, gold bracelets on her wrists, a necklace of gold and amber around her neck with matching earrings, and adorned her hair with jeweled hair clips, she was sick with worry. What was this preparation for? She felt like a sacrificial lamb being prepared for slaughter. When they brought a full-length mirror, she gaped at the unfamiliar reflection. The woman gazing back at her was thin with bruise-colored shadows highlighting the haunted look in her eyes. The sight of herself did nothing to restore her memory.

  Escorting her to the door, they handed her over to two female versions of her earlier escorts, who were equally well armed if less gruesome.

  She refrained from asking questions, sure they wouldn't answer, and as her mind cleared, she was grateful to walk under her own steam, instead of being dragged. Nonetheless, her belly crawled with fear of what was to come.

  They turned into a long corridor where bright sunshine streamed through the stained-glass windows creating a patchwork of colors and shade. She wanted to look outside, but the windows were too high, and her escort hurried her through what was clearly a vast palace, along more corridors until they stopped in front of a gleaming brass door as high as the ceiling. Her legs were trembling with the unaccustomed exercise, and beads of sweat trickled down her back. A guard pushed open the door, placed a hand on her shoulder, and giving her no choice, urged her forward.

  The chamber was enormous, with an embellished vaulted ceiling, more stained glass windows along one side, vivid tapestries decorating the other, and a white marble floor inlaid with intricate brightly-colored mosaics. At the far end, on an ornately decorated golden throne sat a figure, who stood up at her arrival, and she saw it was man clothed in a golden robe shimmering with rainbow colors.

  He strode toward her.

  Who was this man? Why was he familiar? She shivered with fear, but drew herself up, straightened her spine, and prepared to face whatever was to happen next. Yet as the distant figure came closer, his beauty dazzled her.

  He wore a band of gold around his head, red-gold curls fell around his shoulders and a pair of startling sky-blue eyes transfixed her to the spot. He took hold of her hand, his touch warm on her skin.

  “Welcome, Tatiana.”

  He called her Tatiana. Was that her name? It had a recognizable ring to it. The image of an older woman, and a young man, his brown hair in dreadlocks smiling at her, rose in her mind.

  "Do you know who I am?"

  She looked up at him. Without a doubt, he ruled here—he glowed with power. She looked away and shook her head.

  "Come. Let me show you something of my kingdom." He led her over to a window. "See, my exquisite gardens."

  She looked out at small paths winding between full-grown trees, and bushes weighted with perfect flowers and fruits of every kind and color. She could almost smell the fragrant perfumes of sandalwood, frangipani, jasmine and rose. The sky above was clear blue, and the earth was covered in lush grass. “This is beautiful,” she said, marveling at the extraordinary scene.

  He squeezed her fingers, and the heat from his touch fetched her thoughts back to the present.

  "Take your rightful position." He led her unresisting toward the dais.

  She tried to ignore the sensation where his skin touched hers as his warmth increased to a slow burn.

  "Your throne awaits, my queen." Next to his seat, was a smaller replica. He guided her up the steps, turned her round, and with a slight pressure on her shoulder pushed her onto the throne.

  "Give me your hand, my queen. I have an offer to make you."

  She obeyed, flinching at the way his skin now heated hers.

  "Queen Tatiana has a superb ring to it, don't you think?" He smiled at her, his wide blood-red lips revealing brilliant white sharply pointed canine teeth. "We shall reign here in my domain, King Angelus, and Queen Tatiana. What do you think?"

  He leaned close, his dazzling blue eyes holding her in thrall. "Do you agree to become mine, now and forever?"

  She was puzzled by the question, and her skin crawled with dread. "May I have a little time to decide?"

  "You are here, Tatiana, your time has run out."

  Where was here?

  "Give me your answer.” His voice lowered, and the air thrummed with his impatience.

  She stared at him in confusion as shards of black and yellow bled into the blue of his eyes. Terror struck her heart when he smiled, and his canines extended into gleaming sharp white fangs. "No. I can't."

  He grabbed her wrist, and flames seared her skin. He dragged her from the throne, and with a twist of his arm, flung her savagely down the steps.

  She landed in a heap, her breath knocked from her body by the impact, and heard the sharp crack of her elbow against the marble surface, before a jagged spike of pain coursed through her.

  His face contorted with rage. "Guards!"

  The doors flew open and her troll escorts appeared.

  "Take her back." He loomed over her, furious with frustration. "Let's see how long you last in my dungeons, shall we?"

  By the time the trolls threw her into her cell, roughly removing the gold jewelry, she was semi-conscious, and her arm was racked with pain. The door clanged shut, and she knew nothing more until a soft voice whispered in her ear.

  "Wake up! Wake up!"

  Small hands patted her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to see the thin-faced waif about two inches from her face.

  "Here, drink this." The little girl held a cup to her lips, tilting it until the liquid dribbled into her mouth.

  The bitter taste made her want to spit it out, but the girl encouraged her muttering, “Good, good,” as she drank. The sharp stabbing in her elbow reminded her of what had happened earlier. Angelus. She'd displeased the god or demon or whatever he was and paid for it. She moved and cried out in pain.

  "Shh! Shh! There's medicine in the water. It will help you heal."

  "I know my name," she whispered.

  "Tell me," the girl demanded.

  "Tatiana. What's yours?"

  "Nepta. That's the name my mother gave me. Here I have no name."

  Tatiana 's eyes closed, and she fell into a deep dreamless sleep. When she next woke, her elbow no longer hurt, and the days resumed their familiar monotonous routine. After a while even her visit to Angelus’s gloriously opulent palace became a dim memory, and the white silk robe turned as grey and dirty as the rags it had replaced. The tedious darkness was relieve
d only by the daily delivery of food and water. She tried to talk to Nepta but her questions and attempts at conversation were ignored.

  One day, the marching of feet and banging of doors again disturbed the dreariness of her life. She shrank into a corner as the door clanged open. Flickering torchlight filled her tiny cell as a troll-soldier entered. He grabbed her shoulder, squeezed punishingly, and yanked her to her feet. Heavy deliberate footsteps paced along the corridor.

  Angelus stood in the doorway.

  She trembled violently at the sight of him, her guts knotting up, and she thought she would vomit. The guard shoved her, and she fell onto her knees.

  "How do you fare, Tatiana?" Concern filled his deep mellow voice. "Are you ready to accept my offer yet?"

  She did not dare answer for fear of his wrath, staring instead at the filthy earthen floor. She remembered his smile, his fangs, and his anger, and she said nothing.

  "I have all the time in the world, and you will be surrender." He barked a short laugh and swept out, accompanied by the stomping march of his escort.

  She remained kneeling on the floor and didn't move till the noise of their feet faded into silence, and the only sound was her ragged breathing as she sought to throw off her fear.

  That night when Nepta delivered her tray of gruel, she whispered, "Tatiana, don't eat the food. It's drugged, that's why you sleep all the time. The water is okay. I'll bring you some bread later."

  Tatiana remained sitting by the door, musing over what Nepta had told her. No wonder her thoughts had been befuddled. When Nepta returned to pick up the tray, Tatiana grabbed her wrist. "Thank you, but isn't it dangerous for you to help me?"