by Ian Somers
There were no more words between us. He simply shook my hand and returned to his house.
I felt a little better, but it didn’t last more than a second. I turned to see Huntington leaning out the driver’s side window of his beat up 4X4 and scowling at me.
‘I don’t have all day,’ he grunted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE -
The Silent Wilderness
I climbed into Huntington’s beat up 4x4 and he floored the accelerator before I could even close the door. I could tell by his mood he didn’t want to talk to me so I didn’t attempt a conversation.
We left the Williams estate before noon and drove hard and without a break until late in the night. He seemed determined that neither the journey nor his concentration be interrupted until we reached his home. I didn’t feel like talking anyway; my injuries were hurting me greatly and it was a constant battle to hold back tears. I felt I had missed out on a lifetime of discovery with Romand. The sense of loss was horrendous.
The digital clock on the dashboard read 2.45am as we drove along a winding country highway. I thought the journey would never end, but then Huntington took to a dirt road that led to his home, a small white cottage surrounded by tall pine trees, with the Scottish highlands climbing into the night sky beyond.
The 4x4 slid to a halt on the path outside the cottage and Huntington left the vehicle without so much as a word. In fact, he hadn’t said a single word to me for the entire journey. My time with him would not be pleasant. This would not be anything like the weeks I’d spent on the Atkinson farm.
He unlocked the front door and stooped under the low doorway. He left it ajar which was the only invitation I was going to get. I noticed a carving on one of the wooden porch posts as I went to the door. It was the symbol that had been etched into the tree where Romand was buried. Huntington and Romand must have both been part of some secret society. I was sure of it.
When I got inside I found it cold, not just in temperature, but in atmosphere. There were no personal items; there was furniture and the usual fixtures, but nothing that betrayed his personality or his life.
‘Down the hallway,’ Huntington grunted as he sat on a wooden chair in the sitting room. ‘Room at the end’s yours.’
‘It speaks,’ I said, my instinctive sense of humour appearing from nowhere.
‘We’re not here to hold hands and be friends,’ he raised his voice. ‘We’re here so you can stay out of trouble. I do have other, more important, things that I could be doing so you might want to watch that smart mouth of yours. Otherwise you’ll be out on your ear and the wolves can have you.’
‘You get wolves in Scotland?’
‘I was speaking metaphorically, dumbass.’ He reached down and untied one of his boots. ‘I’m getting tired of all this talkin’. Don’t make any noise at night. I’m a light sleeper.’
All this talking? We’d spoken for two minutes that entire day and he was tired of talking? I really hoped my exile wouldn’t last too long.
My bedroom was cramped and smelled stale, like an old garden shed. The narrow single bed wasn’t all that bad though, I was grateful for that. Within moments I crawled under the covers and stretched out my aching limbs. My whole body seemed to be cramping up and the wound on my side stung like hell. The deep cut above my cheekbone wasn’t much better and Mr Williams had told me I’d have a nasty scar for the rest of my days. I didn’t care though. Such things seemed trivial now.
Before I slept I thought back to Romand’s final words and tried to figure what they meant. ‘Now you know the meaning of a true gift,’ he had said just before he died. I couldn’t quite figure out if he was talking about the true gifts or was he talking about the gift of sacrifice? Did he mean a true gift, a real gift, to someone was to put your life on the line to save them, or that having a true gift meant it was your duty to put your life on the line for others?
I would probably never understand, but either way it made sense to me. If I wanted to be a good person I would have to use my abilities for the protection of those who needed it. Romand had been a good person, and a very wise one. I now realised that. It made his loss even greater.
There was a loud bang and I jumped out of the bed with my fists raised. Huntington was standing there with his arms folded, looking even grumpier than usual.
‘What is it?’ I screamed. ‘What’s wrong?
‘It’s time for breakfast.’
I looked at the clock on the wall then turned to him and shouted, ‘It’s six in the morning! I’ve only had three hour’s sleep!’
‘We have to have an early breakfast.’
‘Why?’
‘Because your training will begin at seven each morning.’
‘What the hell do I need training for?’
‘You’ll need proper training if you’re to take Romand’s place in the Guild of the True.’
‘What the hell is the Guild of the True?’
‘Warriors with true gifts who protect our kind against any evil that threatens us. Do you want in or not?’
I seemed destined to live a strange life. I had thought things were about to calm down in my world, but now I was stuck in a cottage in the middle of nowhere with some weird gifted warrior who wanted me to join a brotherhood with a stupid name. Could it get any worse?
‘You want me to join your guild?’ I asked as a startled smile grew on my face.
‘Well?’ Huntington asked as he pointed at me. I noticed the slightest hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, so fleeting that I’d have missed if I’d blinked. ‘You want in?’
‘Hell, yeah!’
After the terrifying events at the Atkinsons’ house and the horror of Romand’s death it might seem like Ross Bentley would be glad of some peace and quiet. But when that peace and quiet involve being holed up in a remote Scottish farmhouse with Hunter, the Guild-member tasked with protecting him, Ross finds he’s never felt so alone.
With his mentor Romand dead, Ross is cut off from family and friends, separated from the girl he loves, in hiding, miles from civilisation – and he’s really miserable. Hunter’s no replacement for Romand; Ross just can’t seem to connect with him. Even the hope of joining the Guild of the gifted, learning to use his gifts to protect others and perhaps one day having the chance to take revenge on those who killed Romand now seems an impossible dream. All Hunter will say about it is, ‘All in good time, Bentley,’ as he makes Ross train, study and practise his powers relentlessly.
But suddenly the monotony is broken – Hunter is summoned by the guild. A gifted child has been kidnapped. Hunter needs to track her down, and he has no choice but to take Ross with him.
The search for the missing child, and the dangers it uncovers, take Ross to the darkest place he’s ever been. He must face danger and great grief and learn to harness his powers to face down his greatest nemesis yet …
About the Author
Ian Somers lives in Dublin and works as a graphic designer. This is his first book.
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,
12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, Ireland
Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 2012
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–527–4
Text © copyright Ian Somers 2012
Copyright for typesetting, layout, editing, design
© The O’Brien Press Ltd
Cover image and internal images: Ian Somers
UNAUTHORISED COPYING IS ILLEGAL
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or my any means, including electronic, digital, mechanical, visual or audio, or mounted on any network servers, without permission in writing from the publisher. Carrying out any unauthorised act in relation to a copyright work may result in both a civil claim for damages and criminal prosecution. For
permission to copy any part of this publication contact The O’Brien Press Ltd at [email protected].
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
The O’Brien Press receives assistance from