by Jason Cheek
INTO THE BREECH
Forcing her head up, she saw a ray of golden light shining down from the heavens onto Startüm as he screamed out his prayer to Ukko. The devil’s challenging roar suddenly turned into a bellow of anger as the creature momentarily backed away from the golden glow.
When the light died away, the creature immediately lunged at Startüm in a lightning fast attack, swinging its battleaxe in a whistling arc.
As if in slow motion, Beth saw the creature’s rippling muscles as it struck before she could scream out a warning. Instead of running away or dodging, she saw Startüm raise both glowing Katanas before him.
Flexing his arms, Startüm caught the edge of the weapon low on his blades as his voice rang out.
“KANSKJE!”
Unbelievably, Beth watched as Startüm stopped the massive battleaxe in mid swing!
Red glowing runes met blue in a blinding explosion as the weapons sparked like a blown transformer where they touched. The corded muscles in the demon’s arms bulged from strain as it sought to physically overpower the annoying creature that dared to defy it, but Startüm stood before the beast unmoving, meeting the otherworldly creature’s power head-on.
Bellowing in rage, the demon swung its battleaxe back into the air as it struck at Startüm with a long clawed hand.
FLIGHT
BOOK ONE
OF
THE LAST PALADIN SERIES
* * *
JASON A. CHEEK
FLIGHT
THE LAST PALADIN SERIES
Copyright © 2013 by Jason A. Cheek
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Jason A. Cheek.
The sale of this book without its cover has not been authorized by the publisher. If you purchase this book without a cover, you should be aware that neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this “stripped book”.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
Cover art by Leonardo Black
Written by Jason A. Cheek
Flight
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013 by Jason A. Cheek
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank a whole bunch of people for their continuing support, encouragement and tolerance of me personally: Patrick and Wendy Fields, Deanna Mitchell, Tawnya Coulter, Shannon Rinehart and Debora Morrissey, especially Patrick Fields and Debora Morrissey who endured the eye bleeding process of editing, Leonardo Black (dleoblack) who did the incredible piece of art for the cover and was so great to work with, and the many others out there whom I have missed, the artists (of every stripe), fellow writers who have shared their work and creative inspiration with me and lots of others over the years, and finally all the critics who have reviewed my work – even the most hostile reviews have provided valuable PR, and I’m grateful for everyone who took the time to do it.
Most importantly to my family and their continued support and patience. For all of this I have done for us. Also for Rowan and Kanchin who fill our home with so much warmth and love.
Chapter 1
Location Earth present day:
I’m sure some people think it would be pretty cool to be raised by a Werewolf, but they’d have no idea what they’re talking about.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t love my Grandsire Shadowfang, but Werewolves do not think like Klavikians do or Humans for that matter. Not that I particularly understood what it meant either being born half Klavikian and Werewolf myself.
If anything, I understood humans a lot better, since the majority of my life has been spent living on Earth.
Grandsire always said “taking care of me” was the last promise he made to his daughter, my Mother, when we fled Irlendria, but I don’t remember. Now days, I struggled even to remember the sound of her voice.
Every year, it seemed like I remembered less and less about my parents, except for the day of their death, which will be forever burnt into my mind.
I had just turned eight years old when my parents were murdered. They’d died during the fighting when the Tuonellian’s betrayed my people. Even now, sixteen years later, the memories of that day’s events still weighed heavy on my heart, but never more so than on the anniversary of their death.
This year was no exception, which was probably why I was still here walking the beach instead of heading back to prepare for my class tonight.
The sudden squeal of excited children cut through my gloomy thoughts and the chilly April afternoon.
I could smell the coconut suntan lotion and the acidic tang of sweat, before I saw the family of four walking down the beach headed in my direction. The parents were carrying a Styrofoam cooler between the two of them, with oversized beach bags thrown over each of their shoulders as they trudged slowly after their children.
The girls raced for the water laughing excitedly, when the youngest suddenly stopped to stare at me with her blue eyes and dimpled red cheeks. Her sweet face was framed by two blonde pigtails sticking out from either side of her head. With her hands on her hips, she looked at me seriously, in her little poke-a-dotted bikini with pink blowup safety-floaties on each arm, before offering me a shy smile.
I felt the sadness that had been weighing down my soul the entire morning suddenly lessen as I grinned back. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and she was off once again, running after her sister who was already stomping in the surf nearby.
The sisters began shrieking together, at the sudden coldness of the water as the first wave splashed against them. Still smiling, I watched the girls for a moment longer as they giggled excitedly playing in the surf, before turning back around. I saw Mom and Dad still trudging slowly down the beach.
Unconcerned that their children were already playing in the water while they were still so far away, which wasn’t exactly smart.
Unlike most South Florida Beaches, Jupiter Beach didn’t have any lifeguards stationed to watch out for Reef Sharks, or colored flags to warn beach goers about
tidal conditions. There was a little chalkboard that was updated every morning with the latest surf report. It was strategically positioned near the middle of the two mile stretch of coastal road, next to the main stairwell, where the local surfers tended to hangout.
Otherwise, that was it.
You entered the water at your own risk, which wasn’t a problem for the locals. If you wanted a guarded tourist beach, you could head four miles south to Juno Beach, which boasted a small boardwalk and an expensive parking lot.
That was pretty much the same story for every beach south of Jupiter all the way down to the tip of Key West.
Jupiter Beach was the dividing line between tourist and local beaches. I didn’t believe that was accidental for one second. Locals further north liked their own beaches to relax on without having to fight the seasonal tourist crowds on the weekends.
Not that I could blame them, I disliked the crammed pack tourist beaches as much as any local.
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Although, northern beaches came with a certain amount of risk, which most Floridians accepted without a second thought. Most natives were familiar enough with the seasonal variances of the Atlantic Ocean to know how to mitigate those risks almost instinctively, whereas tourists tended to run into problems.
It’s something that I had to learn for myself the hard way, during my first half year of living here.
Even though I knew they couldn’t hurt me, it was still unnerving having several hundred Reef sharks swim under my surf board. It happened one day while I was a half of a mile out from shore, when the sharks annual migration south caught me by surprise one sunny afternoon.
Grandsire’s only comment, at the time, was that a true Werewolf would have been smart enough not to go into the ocean in the first place.
Needless to say, I didn’t miss a surf report after that!
Anyway, there was no explaining to my Grandsire why I surfed. He just couldn’t understand how I felt. The reason I surfed was that it naturally subdued my Werewolf half’s violent tendencies. Surfing was the only place I felt free from the bestial rage inside of me.
After a couple months of living in Florida, I could normally fit in and not do anything obviously stupid that would scream tourist, which was saying a lot. But then again, I was used to blending in after being raised around the world.
Usually, Grandsire and I moved to a new country every year or two, which generally stopped any problems from occurring with the local governments.
I nodded my head at the tourists as they passed by. Mom looked like your typical mid-westerner with a stocky frame that of screamed of German and Irish ancestry. Her skin was white as a sheet, and she wore a brightly colored floral patterned one piece that you’d find in any resort shop. Her husband was around six foot two with a massive barrel-chest. He probably went bald in his early thirties and now had only puffs of hair around his ears, which gave him a Friar Tuck look to his face. If I had to guess, I’d say he weighed a solid two hundred and thirty pounds that screamed meat and potatoes diet.
Now that I was nearer to them, I could smell them both over their suntan lotion. The woman was nervous, even though she gave me a broad smile, but her odor was quickly overwhelmed by the stench of fear and adrenaline coming from her husband. Walking past me, the tough guy gave me a hard stare.
Immediately I felt my shoulders begin flaring out as anger surged through my veins.
My first instinctual reaction was to confront the man’s challenging gaze and dominate him until he submitted, but with Klavikian stubbornness, I refused to give into my violent urges. Instead, I subdued the animalistic rage with an iron fist as I struggled against the beast welling up inside of me, fighting to be released.
Forcing my Werewolf half back down, I made my feet keep moving past the guy as I continued my walk down the beach. Not being controlled by my Werewolf’s instincts was the main difference between me, a half-breed, and a full-blooded Werewolf, which was primarily due to my Klavikian blood and a strong sense of self more than anything else.
Not that I particularly blamed the man for his extreme reaction to me, I’d experienced that my entire life.
Although people’s behavior varied dramatically when they met me, invariably the first thing that they commented on was my size. I’m tall, just over seven feet and weighed nearly five hundred pounds. Most people would expect someone with my kind of mass to be extremely overweight, but, with me, it was all toned muscle.
If I were human, I would have weighted in the range of two hundred and eighty pounds for my size. Grandsire explained that I weighed so much more because of my Werewolf bloodline, which gave me a much denser bone and muscle mass than any Human or Klavikian possibly could have.
Either way, the black XXXL T-shirt I’d thrown on, before heading down the beach, was so tight that it looked painted on my chest, but it was the largest T-shirt I could find. At least it covered the Rök rune tattoos that covered my chest and back, but that still left the runes running down my arms and legs visible. Along with everything else, include my goatee and crew cut, and most people mistook me for a Professional Wrestler or a Bodybuilder.
I was twenty four Earth years old, but still got carded whenever I bought alcohol.
I considered myself an adult, even though on Irlendria I would only have been somewhere between seventeen and eighteen years old. This age difference between worlds gave Grandsire and me considerable grief, since he didn’t think I was old enough to make decisions on my own.
Needless to say, I thought differently.
Thinking of Irlendria once again, I felt the memories I’d been trying to hide from all day begin flooding into my head as I once again relived the final moments of my parents death. Tears ran down my face as a deep raging grief filled my heart.
Closing my eyes, I fought the steel bands of intense emotions that suddenly seemed to be crushing my chest. Breathing heavy, I felt my training kick in as I slowly began reaching out for the feelings instead of fighting them, accepting them for what they were. Separating each emotion, I allowed myself to experience the anger and despair associated with each one, before letting them flow through me.
Acceptance was the key to controlling the intense emotions. As fast as it had come, I felt the moment pass, and within seconds the painful bands gripping my soul released once more. Instead of feeling weak and helpless, I felt only a steady purpose!
Grandsire had always explained it to me this way.
Being half Werewolf meant I had to learn how to live with the beast inside of me. If I allowed my Klavikian half to hold onto hate or fear, it would drive my Werewolf half into an uncontrollable bloody rage.
Unfortunately, being a Werewolf meant that he couldn’t help me much with my Klavikian half in dealing with the Werewolf part of me. Even so, over the years I had learned to cope, but it always seemed to be a work in progress.
Somehow, I’d made it through my teen years without killing anyone I shouldn’t have or going crazy, but trust me. At times, that had been no easy feat for me, or for that matter, my Grandsire.
Clearing my mind, I breathed in the fresh ocean air.
Except for the kids playing in the waves and a couple of people walking in the distance the beach was empty, but then again that was normal for South Florida in April.
Once the temperature dropped below sixty degrees, the only people crazy enough to go into the water were tourist and surfers, which still made me laugh. Since, I’d lived in many places where sixty degrees was the summer high!
Tourists typically flocked to the Gold Coast of Florida, which centered on Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. Northern beaches like Jupiter were considered off the beaten path, so to speak. My reason for coming here was that Jupiter Beach also happened to be the closest beach to my studio that usually had decent waves for surfing.
Unfortunately, today wasn’t one of those days.
Frowning, I looked out over the gray chop of the Atlantic Ocean once again.
After fighting that soupy mess for two hours, I finally decided to give up trying to get any rides in for the day. The waves themselves were large enough, but the westerly wind kept flattening the crests too much to hold a surfer of my mass.
Probably a more accurate statement would have been that I needed a lot more practice surfing before I could handle waves like those. Although, to give myself credit, even the regulars that I’d seen earlier hadn’t stayed for more than five minutes, before heading back to their cars.
Not that I actually cared, for me it was about having fun and not being perfect for a change.
My whole life, up until I turned twenty one, had been about mastering everything demanded of me by my Grandsire, until one day I exploded. For the last three years, I’d been trying to learn how to have fun for a change, which was still a novel concept for me in many ways.
Don’t get me wrong, I still worked hard at my lessons and devotions, but now I tried to keep a couple hours a week set aside for relaxation. No
t making fun into work was still a constant challenge I struggled with, but slowly I seemed to be getting the hang of it.
Analyzing my time surfing again I reconsidered my first thought. Maybe it was more of an issue of body mass instead of lack of skills. Try catching a wave when you weighed as much as I did!
Realizing I was doing it again, I laughed out loud.
See what I mean, it’s hard just to have fun and not try to analyze every aspect of an experience. I still had a lot of work to do at just being.
Besides the fun, the next best thing about surfing was that it was essentially free. Free at least after the initial purchase of the surf board, which was essential in regards to my current financial situation.
As it was, I barely made enough money to pay my lease for the little shop off of US1 that I was currently calling home, and still feed Grandsire and me. Grandsire and my higher metabolism meant we both consumed a much larger amount of food daily to keep our denser bodies fueled than a human, which equated in today’s day and age to money.
Thankfully, the money situation was getting better since the word had been getting around about my Ukko Healing Classes. This last class’s registration had filled up a week before it was even supposed to start!
I hadn’t realized just how well known the classes were becoming in the United States. With how good it was going, I might be able to eat something other than Ramen noodles for a change!
Thinking about the class once again, I sighed inwardly. I needed to head back if I wanted to have everything ready in time for tonight’s class.
Surprisingly, there was more interest in the healing classes than the self defense courses I’d been teaching for the last six months.
In the past, the self defense courses were what drew the people in, but now, more and more, it was all about natural healing. It seemed like the word about my healing classes were spreading like wildfire, which obviously changed the feel of the classes, at least for me anyway.