Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1)

by Lillian James

  SPYRIDON

  LILLIAN JAMES

  Copyright © 2016 Authored by Lillian James

  Cover art by Barbara Psimas

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1519616902

  ISBN-13: 9781519616906

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015919873

  Createspace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  To our daughters.

  Be who you are.

  Do what you love.

  CONTENTS

  PART I

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  PART II

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  PART III

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PART I

  PROLOGUE

  Lan’Vercai, Spyridon

  Spyridon was falling.

  Aida raced past the darkened windows, willing her trembling legs to move faster as warships filled the sky. The battle raged in the city far below, but the outcome was almost certain. Still, she kept glancing toward the night. When she saw what she sought, her pulse jumped. The shuttle was but a blip of silver shooting away into the black, so small it looked like shrapnel as it slipped through the armada.

  Spyridon was falling, but there was still hope.

  She stepped into the room and closed the door, and then she leaned against it and tried to slow her racing heart. It was done. Seirsha had escaped. Whatever happened now, Aida had given her home its best chance of survival. And she’d given her son his best hope for a future.

  He was standing at the window, silhouetted by the flashing lights of the armada, his small hand pressed against the glass. How many times had he seen such a view? When she realized that the answer was never, her breath shuddered. Until today he’d always stood on the ships flying toward the fight.

  This was the first time he’d stood on the ground while his own home was desecrated.

  A midair blast brightened the sky close enough to make the floor shake, and she barked, “Get away from the window, Mikhél.” He jumped and turned, wide eyed and pale, and she realized how she sounded. She wondered if she’d ever be able to gentle her voice after what had just happened, but she had to try. The fear in his face demanded it. “Come here, baby. It’s not safe now.”

  Better, she thought. Not normal, but she suspected that their fractured normal had been shattered yet again. She called on a lamp and knelt before him. He studied her, his face solemn, the skin beneath his eyes darkened with fatigue. How could he look so like his father when he held nothing of the man inside him? She ran a hand over his cheek and promised herself that he would live. She would do whatever it took to make sure he lived.

  “I love you, Mikhél. You know that, right?”

  He nodded and then he asked, “Is now all right?”

  Her eyes stung, but she smiled and opened her arms. “Yes, baby. Now is perfect.”

  He flung himself into the hug with the total abandon of the young. She closed her eyes and squeezed, amazed that he could still love so fiercely after the embattlement of his short life. Despite his father. Despite the fact that he had to ask if it was safe to give her a hug—every time, without exception—because a cuddle could never be witnessed.

  She held on until boots passed in the hall, and then she forced herself to pull away. She told herself his face looked a little less drawn, his eyes a little less scared. She could do this for him, just as she’d done every day since his birth. She could hold at bay the evil that surrounded him until he was old enough to choose his own path. She just had to live long enough to give him a chance.

  He asked, “Did they get away?”

  “Yes.”

  But she couldn’t relax, and of course he knew it. He touched her arm in that gentle way he had when he was trying to soothe.

  “Then everything will be all right.”

  For a moment she only stared at him, her throat working. Then she managed, “I have a gift for you.”

  She unclasped the cord that hung around her neck and tugged free the amulet that rested there. Mikhél’s breath caught as she laid the warm, shimmering metal on his palm. When he saw the symbol, he breathed, “Spyridon.”

  “That’s right. How did you know that?”

  “The Baanrí showed me.”

  The Baanrí. Aida’s hands shook at the thought of the screams she’d heard as she’d run away from the launch room. And then of the scents of fire and something worse drifting along the hall on a bed of smoke, choking out the air until she almost couldn’t breathe.

  Mikhél said, “She’s coming back, isn’t she? She said she’d come back if she could.”

  Aida swallowed the tears that welled and shook her head. “No, baby. She’s not coming back.”

  His face fell, but he nodded and looked down at the amulet that dwarfed his hand.

  She closed his fingers over the metal. “My mother gave this to me and her mother to her. It’s been in our family for a very long time.”

  “And now you’re giving it to me?” He stared at the charm, a small and all too rare smile lighting his face.

  “Now I’m giving it to you.” She slipped the cord over his head and tucked the amulet under his armor. “Keep it hidden, but don’t ever fight for it. If he finds it, let him have it. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mama. Everything is going to be all right, isn’t it? Betha and Seirsha are safe, right?”

  She thought of the shuttle making its way toward sanctuary, and she wanted to close her eyes and pray. But she said, “Yes, they’re safe.”

  “And when Seirsha’s all grown up, she’ll help us?”

  “She’s going to save us all. You remember how to find her, don’t you?”

  He nodded and touched the panel tucked against his back. “What if he finds her first?”

  “He won’t.” She said it to convince herself as much as Mikhél. “He doesn’t even know she’s alive.”

  More soldiers approached. This time she knew by their gait that they would stop at the door. Her palms grew damp at the thought of what would happen to Mikhél if her worst fears were realized, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. “He’s coming.”

  “He doesn’t care about us. He’ll leave us alone.”

  She wished it was true, but she knew better. “He’s different here. If he’s losing the war, he might punish me. If that happens, do you remember what to do?”

  He said gravely, “I hide my heart.”

  Her eyes stung again at the cruelty of such a necessity even as pride welled within her. “That’s right, baby. You hide your heart.”

  The door opened with a cras
h, and soldiers poured in. Two of them grabbed Mikhél and pulled him against the wall. She felt his fear surge, but it didn’t show in his face, and she sent him her thoughts, as she’d been able to do since he’d just begun to walk.

  That’s good, Mikhél. Hide your heart, and you’ll be safe.

  But he shook his head. I’ll tell him it was my fault. We’ll both be safe.

  No! If you do that, you’ll never be able to bring Seirsha back. And you have to bring her back, Mikhél. She’s the only one who can stop him.

  And then he was there, the man who’d brought both the best and the worst to Aida’s life. He drew close to her, and something in his flat black eyes had her blood running cold. He had that look he’d had in times past, as if events had unfolded exactly as he’d known they would. She glanced at his chest, where she knew the book was hidden, and she couldn’t help but wonder.

  Did he already know of Seirsha’s existence?

  And then he said, “The girl is gone.”

  Her stomach dropped, but she tried to school her features. “What girl? Tell me what happened. This is my home. I can help.”

  “You did this.”

  She started to deny the transgression, but she knew it wouldn’t help. He would hurt her whether she’d wronged him or not. He never needed a reason. Instead she said, “Please. Not in front of the boy.”

  “You forget. He doesn’t care.” He sneered the last word, as if to mock her love for her son.

  And then his fist drove into her stomach.

  She doubled over as her lungs seized, hands clenched while he waited for her to draw in a breath. She tried not to make a sound. After all this time, she knew exactly what he wanted, and she told herself she wouldn’t give it to him. But her throat wheezed with the inhalation, and he struck again, as if that breath was a signal. As he always did. And her eyes filled, as they always did. As he wanted them to.

  Her mind strained to block his fists, but her gift failed her. She’d known it would, and still the defeat had her crumpling onto the cold stone floor. He didn’t just want to hurt her. He wanted to remind her that she was powerless here. And today, as she had every other day, she remembered. She would never stop him.

  But Seirsha could.

  Mama?

  At the sound-feel of Mikhél’s voice, she met his eyes. His face showed none of what churned inside of him, but his belly burned. She’d failed to shield him from this, and she could think of no crueler mistake. As the boots began to drive into her side, she knew she wouldn’t long be able to hide the pain from her son. And as soon as he felt it, he’d let loose the emotions they’d worked so hard to keep hidden.

  Unless she helped him.

  She closed her eyes and searched her memories until she found what she sought. She wanted him to see beauty, even in this moment. To know that love and joy could coexist with pain, as they’d done for her every day since he was born.

  Mikhél, she sent. It’s going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right. Do you believe me?

  Yes, Mama.

  For the first time, she thought he might be lying to her, and her heart wrenched. But she sent, You’re so good at hiding your heart, baby. Keep it hidden no matter what. And whatever happens here, don’t cry.

  When he nodded, she knew he would obey. She closed her eyes and focused on the memory. With the last dregs of her strength, she sent it to him, and they sunk into it together.

  The room faded away. In its place spread a flat lake, the water an inch deep and as wide as the eye could see, a mirror for the blue of the sky. Hundreds of trees rose out of that water, their thick white trunks rippled with age, their branches bare but for the blanket of large, pink blooms gone tired with the end of the season. Then the wind ascended, a huge rush of the coming cold, and everywhere around them flowers loosed their grips on life and flew. Silken petals kissed their skin, and Mikhél, her quiet, serious boy, grinned and spread his arms wide with joy.

  She pulled out of the memory enough to see him, held fast by soldiers, his face slack in the grip of recall. Then she realized the kicking had stopped. She looked up into the eyes of the man who hurt her, and her vision started to gray. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to think.

  But she was still alive. Maybe Mikhél was right. Maybe everything really would be all right. Seirsha had escaped. Spyridon would be saved. And she would survive this day to see it.

  Then she heard the scrape of metal against metal, and red gems glinted within the black blade held above her. And she realized something she should have already understood.

  Mikhél’s father would never leave her death to chance.

  Five months later

  Something crashed in the woods of Paulding County, Georgia. It skidded along the ground, channeling a deep, dark furrow into the clay and mud until the mangled lump of metal came to an abrupt stop against the trunk of a tall pine. The shock of the impact reverberated through the tree, startling a trio of birds into flight and scattering the animals nearby.

  As the weakened walls of the fallen vessel rumbled in protest, the sound of a baby’s cries filled the air. Betha clawed her way free from the wreckage. Dry sobs ripped through her as her thigh caught against something jagged and so scorching that it cauterized even as it cut. But the wound, a handbreadth long and deep enough to expose muscle, was the least of her injuries.

  If she didn’t find help soon, she was going to die.

  As quickly as she could, she turned around, heedless of the pain. She saw the box first, the colors on its surface swirling in the sunlight. She sent her thoughts toward it, and the box rose into the air. As it settled onto the ground beside her, guided by a gift that was as natural to her as breath, the temperature built within the vessel. She reached into the heat and hoped against reason that she had the strength to do what she must. Gritting her teeth, she found one small, helpless hand.

  Part of the back wall cracked and broke away. The space it left behind smoldered, sending a heady, burnt metal stench through the smoke. As if the babe sensed the urgency, those tiny fingers curled around her own. And then a huge, roaring sound filled the air, and the entire structure began to collapse.

  Betha cried out and pushed with her thoughts, and the metal creaked and stilled. She yanked Seirsha free, and then her gift gave out, and the vessel imploded.

  She pressed back into the clay, feet nearly touching the pool of molten metal, her hand trembling against the silvery down that covered Seirsha’s head. The babe nuzzled against her chest, her skin a delicate golden brown against the graying pale of Betha’s. Betha ran her fingertips over the birthmark on the child’s back and took a deep breath. They had to get away from the crash. They had to get to safety. And she had to find a way to survive, or their cause was lost.

  She looked around for signs of civilization but saw only trees and brush, heard only the sizzle and pop of the cooling metal. So she closed her eyes and opened her senses, and the forest came alive. Trees stretched and bent toward the light. Small animals tunneled under the leaves while larger fauna moved more slowly, lulled into complacency by the gentle hum of insects in the heat. Then she heard it: civilization.

  It was behind her, the distance daunting but manageable. A rumble as the ground was disturbed by an engine, the swish of air as something moved quickly through it. Surely too quickly to be a living thing.

  She twisted around, gritting her teeth as her bleeding organs wrenched, and she pushed Seirsha to more solid ground. Then she crawled through the clay, sheer willpower propelling her from the crater dug by their landing. She managed to pull Seirsha onto her hip and, because it was necessary, fashioned a harness to attach the box to the baby. Then she limped her way toward the sounds of technology.

  She hobbled through the dirt and the heat for two days while her wounds wept and her heart slowed and stuttered. By the time she reached the clearing, she could scarcely see despite the bright light of the moon. The sound of a nearby engine was filtered through the blood r
ushing in her ears. The cool of the night air magnified the agony sweeping through her. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she made small mewling sounds in the back of her throat.

  When she fell, she barely felt the ground rush up to meet her. Senses useless, Betha lay there for three heartbeats. Her hand was on Seirsha, strong and cooing against her side. Her eyes were on the stars, on the beauty she would never see again. With her last heartbeat, she thought of home and hoped she’d done enough.

  Then life left her, and Seirsha was alone.

  CHAPTER 1

  Twenty-five years later

  Atlanta, Georgia

  A child’s giggle rose in the hallway, a joyful bounce of innocence that seemed to echo in the sunlight. Jane stiffened, her bony shoulders hunched against the memory. It took her a moment to realize the laughter was real and another to calm her racing heart. Even then, her hand shook as she reached for her coffee, the scar on her wrist glaring in the morning light.

  The laughter came again, followed by a tiny bark and a not-so-tiny thump.

  She glanced warily toward the wall, but there was no answering sound from the neighboring apartment. Still, her brow furrowed as she strained to listen. When the laughter returned, layered with a series of high-pitched yips, she peered through her peephole.

  A puppy streaked past her door, a small ball of white fluff with legs that seemed to move faster than he expected. A girl raced behind him, long golden hair floating in her wake. And on her heels was a chubby, dark-haired toddler marginally more graceful than the puppy. The dog tried to stop as he reached the wall, but he couldn’t quite control his feet, and he ran into it instead.