The Covenant of Shadows Collection

by Kade Cook

  “You cannot be certain that you will even find them.” Tynan turns to his Elder. “I will go. Let me go.”

  Orroryn smiles at the brave guardian and shakes his head, placing a hand on his arm. “No. I will go. As Elder, they are my responsibility…” The center of Orroryn’s green eyes darken, revealing the storm within. Tynan’s image reflects against the mirror of tears in his eyes as they unleash over them. “And he is my son.”

  Tynan grips his hand around his Elder’s bicep and gives it a final squeeze then releases, backing away and nods, knowing there is no way he is going to convince the Elder to let him go instead.

  “I can try to cast a temporary shield of Magik around you,” Cimmerian offers, “but it won’t last long. Even the power of my magic is nothing in comparison to the wrath that you are about to face.”

  “I know.” Turning to Cimmerian and nodding in agreement, Orroryn welcomes his offer. How exactly Cimmerian is involved in all of this, he is not sure, but it is the least he can do to help. He will deal with the Elder later, after he returns with Shane and Gabrian…if he returns.

  Closing his eyes, Cimmerian inhales a deep breath. His hands crackle and sparks shoot from the center of his palms as the Black Magik springs to life on command. Whirling in his hands like the arms of the time keeper, marching on—for time waits for no one—fractals of violet Magik spring forward toward Orroryn’s massive form, spinning around it, and makes his ebony skin glow in an ominous shade of darkness within its casted spell.

  Growing impatient, and feeling the pressure of the wasted moments passing him by, Orroryn shouts out his frustration unable to wait any longer. “That is enough, now open the portal.”

  “But, the spell…I’m not finished,” Cimmerian chokes out, waking from his moment of incantation.

  “It will have to do…open it.”

  Shaking himself awake, Cimmerian does as he is asked. The ground tremors as the portal is revealed. The smell of Erebus, the undeniable scent of death, catches in his lungs as the Schaeduwe steps into its grips on a mission of the impossible to save his son.

  65

  A FRIEND, A FOE, OR SOMETHING IN BETWEEN

  Orroryn’s lungs swell, wanting to burst in his chest as he enters the thick murky mist. Even with Cimmerian’s spell, the Magik is no match for the other world’s power. He rushes forward, lost, with no idea which direction to go. A wave of panic washes over him as his vision starts to blur.

  He yells out their names into the void but as soon as he does, he regrets it. His throat closes in, searing in pain of what he has done, and begins to cough. Spots dance across his eyes, a warning of what is to come next. He has to hurry.

  Stumbling forward, he hears something—the distant muffled voice of a man. Not knowing if it is a trick of the undead or not, he follows it. It is his only lead to a sign of life, he hopes.

  Once more the voice sings out but this time he understands what he is saying. “They are over here.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Orroryn advances but approaches with caution once he sees the owner of the call. “Adrinn,” he whispers. He stares at him for a moment then looks past the monster. He sees Gabrian and Shane, or what is left of them, huddled in a ball. A light cloaking of shadows covers their bodies.

  “What did you do?”

  “What did I do?” He shakes his head and turns to glare at the accusing Shadow Walker. “Why is it that everyone thinks I am responsible for everything that goes wrong, everywhere? I am flattered, really I am, but you truly overestimate my level of badness.”

  “Listen, you…” Orroryn reaches his hand out, wanting to throttle the monster before him, but grabs at his own throat as the toxins tear at him from the inside and the purple hue of Cimmerian’s Magik flickers, wavering against the sting of toxic underworld Magik.

  “Look,” Adrinn interrupts, “there is no time for your uppity Schaeduwe snobbery. Are you here to save them or are you not?” he hisses at him, watching the Magik as it begins to fail.

  Orroryn nods his head once.

  “Then you must trust me.”

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Because I am the only one that can save you now.”

  Orroryn’s eyes pinch at the edges as the toxins bite at him, burrowing their way into his flesh as the monster’s words gather more validity.

  “You only have a limited window,” Adrinn hums, reaching out his hand to Orroryn with his tone softer and eyes pleading with the Elder. “And you must save them, your son and my daughter.”

  Orroryn pulls away from the Vampire, eyes flashing from the unexpected confession. Letting his son slip from view for only a moment, he looks upon Adrinn, not wanting to concede with the fiend but what choice does he have knowing the monster speaks the truth.

  Breaking into a severe coughing fit, he feels the fabric of Cimmerian’s Magik about to deplete as the purplish haze around him sparks, nearing its end. “Fine, just get us out of here.”

  Adrinn’s mouth twitches, his eyes lower, and the mist that cloaks them all shifts as he raises his hands—gathering them all together into a huddled group of souls.

  Caught in a whirlwind of death, Orroryn turns his head from side to side, feeling the sting of the toxins taking their toll on his body as the Magik of his fabric rips and he chokes as his final barrier is breached. He can see the silhouetted figures of the Gargons emerge from behind Adrinn’s swirling wall as his skin starts to sting, burning from flesh to bone and he yells out to the madman he has entrusted their lives to. “Hurry, whatever it is that you need to do. Just do it.” He coughs again. Dragging in a deep scorching breath, he continues. “Do it now!”

  Adrinn grins and turns away, just for a moment. His eyes open and glow with an eerie fiery orange flare swirling within the edges of his irises. He reaches out from the web of swirling mist and grabs onto something and drags it into their circle. Cloaked in a dark purple aura, and crumpled into a ball, is a woman. “Tell Cimmerian we are even—a daughter for a daughter.”

  Orroryn is still, his mouth drawn open but silent as he gathers the meaning of Adrinn’s words.

  “Now go. Save them all. Please.”

  With a thundering roar, Orroryn’s body is thrown with the fury of a storm, thrust forward, penetrating through the dark mountain of thousands of Gargons so eager for their demise.

  But they will have to wait for another day to feast.

  Shards of sharp pain pierce through Orroryn’s form. With one last massive rush forward, he plummets weightless for one breath, then his body hits hard against an upward rushing Earth—welcoming them home with a crushing arrival.

  Hearing the high-pitch frantic voices of their welcoming party, Orroryn’s lungs gulp in a much-needed breath and picks his hurting body from the ground. Bounding from his fetal position, he pulls himself toward the huddled pile of bodies beside him, scrambling to find life within them. Pulling at the large mangled body of what resembles his son, Orroryn separates Shane—still tightly bound to his fragile retrieve—and lays his head on Shane’s chest. He holds his breath as he listens for sound. It is there but barely. Following the same protocol, he listens to them all.

  Nameless voices chatter in the background.

  “Are they okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Orroryn whispers.

  “Are they alive?”

  “One is…”

  “What about the other?”

  “I don’t know,” Orroryn shouts out to them over his shoulder, pulling himself back to Shane’s side, and wraps his arms around him. “I am taking my son into the Veil. Ethan, Kaleb, pray to the Gods for a miracle.” Catching Cimmerian’s drawn out face in his view, he shakes his head, the words of the monster that had saved them all falls from his mouth. “Cimmerian, I have a message for you. He said to tell you that you are even—a daughter for a daughter.”

  Not caring if his words were heard or not, he vanishes, leaving the rest of the Elders to pick up the pieces of what is left behind.

>   Cimmerian steps forward then drops to his knees, digging them into the cold dirt beneath. His eyes blur as he reaches out, hands trembling, and his heart tears in his chest as he fears to touch her, that this is nothing more than a mirage—a trick—one more torturous piece of the game the monster is playing with him still deep within Erebus.

  Touching the tangled ebony locks shrouding the delicate face beneath, Cimmerian cries out as he pushes her hair to the side, revealing the face of the girl he has mourned for a quarter century. Slipping his hands beneath her small body, he gathers her against his chest and looks to his peers.

  “She’s alive,” he whispers, tears flowing freely down his face.

  “Take her to my house,” Ethan offers, closing the distance between himself and the last of the rescued trio.

  Cimmerian nods unconsciously and vanishes with his daughter in tow within a thick swirl of black violent wisps of Magik that erupts around him.

  Tynan, already kneeling on the ground and holding the tiny fragments of what remains of his niece in his arms, cradles Gabrian to his chest. Trying to stand, shaking at the knees, he looks to the Elders. “She can’t be...” he whispers to them, his plea so heart wrenching that it drowns them all in his sorrow. “Help me, please…I cannot lose her too.”

  66

  BITTERSWEET ENDINGS

  Gabrian blinks her eyes.

  The world around her is so much darker than she remembers it.

  She can feel tiny grains of sand slip between her bare toes as she walks upon the edge of the shore. Soft breezes surf through her hair, causing her unfastened ebony tendrils to dance and sway as the waves run in to meet her—whispering their ancient secrets—then rush back into the sea.

  Her hands float at her sides and her eyes play hide and seek with the ghost of a sun she cannot see, hidden by a blanket of thick white haze that drifts upon the midnight world all around her, softening its eternal oblivion.

  “It is quiet,” she hums, her words soft and unrestrained.

  So quiet. At least the screaming has stopped, her memory whispers to her.

  She nods and takes in a long breath, filling her lungs with air that smells of summer and life. A flicker of sadness brushes over her heart, reminding her of something she cannot recall.

  Something ahead shifts, different shades of grey stir within the mist as figures slip through the layers of their shroud and move closer to her. Gabrian curls her lips into a smile of greeting. Her fingers slip through the thin veil of vapor in front of her and her touch trails along the cheek of a slender, blonde-haired woman with eyes the colour of amethyst as she draws near.

  Gabrian widens her smile, compelled by her alluring beauty. “What is your name?”

  The woman offers Gabrian the name Eva through a voice that cannot speak aloud.

  “Are you dead?”

  The beautiful woman nods and blinks, her eyes brighten to a warm hue of violet.

  “Are you Gargon?”

  The woman nods again.

  Gabrian looks past the beautiful female. She sees others, waiting patiently, their bodies cloaked behind the shroud of the mist, yet she is still able to make out their faces.

  More Gargons.

  Gabrian’s sight flickers between what her conscious mind recalls and what stands before her. The cold and daunting stares of the soul seekers she once knew are now soft and inviting, like old friends welcoming her home.

  Something warm drapes across the top of Gabrian’s hand and she lets her focus drift away from them and down to the touch. Eva’s small delicate fingers are now interwoven in her own. Her hands, Gargon hands, are no longer clawed nor jagged but lovely and delicate, warm beneath her touch.

  “Am I dead?” Gabrian pushes the words over her lips in a hushed breath, returning her eyes to lie upon the woman.

  Eva’s mouth draws wide to reveal a smile so warm and tender, filled with so much love, that Gabrian’s heart swims within her chest in a flood of adoration, floating in a trance, and willingly caught in euphoria.

  It is within the mist of Erebus that Gabrian Shadwell determines two things in this life to be certain:

  One: Living and staying alive is hard, very hard.

  And Two: That dying, well…dying is much easier.

  One last message to all you amazing readers, if you like a book and wish for more adventures by your favorite authors then please take a couple moments and leave a review. It means the world to us. Big hugs and bigger dreams – Kade

  The Covenant of Shadows

  SILVER

  Book Three

  Kade Cook

  In a world filled with chaos and calamity,

  The smallest act of kindness can forge bonds

  That shine like beacons in the darkest of hours.

  Prologue

  Truth and Hope

  From within the shadowed halls, the tension in the air weighs heavily with the mournful concern of those who sit, quietly pondering over what remains of their once powerful and absolute regime.

  So many barren seats surround the High Table—an obvious display of loss in the aftermath of an intricate web woven by devious spiders who unleashed a sinful plan upon them all which costed some their loved ones.

  “Is there really any sense in being here?” Ariah exhales from her small perch, glancing at Ethan. “I mean, Orroryn is somewhere within the Veil, Vaeda is dedicated to Tynan’s aid with…” She bites her tongue, sensing the tension around Ethan build as the obvious reason is bared and his concern brought forefront to the space.

  Ethan lifts his head to the sound of her voice, pulling away from the inner privileged dialogues that hum beneath the surface of the table. His mind reels in the unrelenting questions bombarding the silenced room around him. So many decisions to be made, so many doubts to be put to ease, but with so much unrest within the people, even he is questioning the future of the Realm.

  And his heart aches for his friends, one in particular.

  Such a tragedy her life has become.

  Ariah pushes forward with her course of concern. “…and with Cimmerian and Caspyous being incarcerated within the Guardians watch…”

  “Yes, Ariah, I know how it looks.” He exhales. “But we must remain resilient, a show for the people that the Elders are still maintaining order within the Realm. Even within the chaos, there must be a display of command.” Not knowing when or how this will be sorted out, Ethan—as well as the others—knows that without direction, disarray will quickly follow. Regardless of all the loss that has occurred, they must persevere to maintain order. “This is our liege and our obligation to the Realmsfolk.”

  Ariah lowers her eyes and nods, knowing he is right.

  Arramus leans in, engaging the already disheartened conversation at play. “Since we must push forward, a starting point is needed. So, Ethan, what do you suggest we do?”

  All those in attendance straighten their backs and still their wandering minds to listen for the much sought-after answers. As the Eldest of the group, Ethan feels the sudden urge for guidance on his shoulders, the inevitable duty of direction his role plays. Raising his head from his steepled hands and pushing back his own cloud of dismay, Ethan inhales, eyes darting around the room. There are no easy answers he can give. There is only the truth and trust that the universe knows what it is doing.

  “We gather ourselves as best we can, seek out the rest of the Elders for an immediate decision on council, and then” —Ethan rubs the edge of his chin and pauses— “we hope for a miracle.”

  Chapter One

  The Man in the Mist

  A faded daydream of a faraway world drifts in and out of Gabrian’s thoughts as soft grains of sand sift through her toes. Her bare feet press small indents into the seemingly endless shoreline of Erebus and a warm breeze tickles against her skin, making her smile as she lifts her face to the grey sky above her, soaking in the invisible sun. Her pace is slow and unhurried but Gabrian’s course is predestined by her beautiful Gargon escort gently c
oaxing her onward, their fingers entwined.

  Gabrian opens her eyes and drops them, lingering over Eva whose presence somehow does not leave a mark on the edges of the pristine beach. She takes brief notice but lets the thought go, consumed once again within her whimsical state of wandering. Such trivial things are of no concern to her—at least not here.

  Eva’s form drifts in and out of the mist as they promenade along the shore until Gabrian notices a string of tension in the air from her escort. In the distance, a figure dressed in white flowy cotton fabric cuts through the fog. The edges around his form are sharp and pristine rather than faded like the edges of the others she has seen here.

  A slight hitch in Eva’s step draws Gabrian’s attention as they continue their direct collision course with the figure. The closer he draws near, the more familiar he seems to Gabrian. She chuckles at the absurdity of it. They are in Erebus; certainly she knows no one here.

  A couple of feet in front of them, the man halts. “May I have a moment, my dear?”

  Unsure of whom he is speaking with, Gabrian remains silent and hears the soft, hollow echo of Eva’s silent words of protest ring through her mind.

  “Don’t worry, you will see her again if she so chooses,” the familiar stranger hums, a tender smile blossoming on his lips.

  Eva peeks up at Gabrian, eyes holding a sincere sadness that Gabrian doesn’t understand as her hand is freed from its entanglement with Eva’s

  Gabrian steps to follow her, the loss of her company pulling on her like an invisible string attached to her soul, gently tugging, sweetly coaxing her to go.

  “Come take a walk with me,” the man lulls out, interrupting her pursuit of the Gargon, and softly beckons her to follow him instead.