Stirring Embers: An urban fantasy action adventure (The Light and the Void Book 1)

by Willem Killian

  It could also lie in ambush, another part of her warned.

  She increased her pace, and so did it. It moved faster into the woods, and Eleanor started to sprint.

  Before long, she ended up in the shadowy, cooler part of the park. It should have been a relief from the hot summer's day, but the sudden slight drop in temperature gave Eleanor goosebumps. As she got deeper into the woods, a dark foreboding gripped her tightly. Eleanor became convinced that she was going to die here. She couldn't shake the feeling.

  The pathway that the Thing had taken was one frequented by trail runners. It looped deep within the woods itself, with thick greenery pushing in from the sides; shrubs, twigs, vines and ferns grabbing at her as she passed. The path had many twists and turns, which made visibility a nightmare. By now, Eleanor had the revolver in her hand. She didn't care who might see her. She needed the reassurance of it in her dominant right hand. She even carried the TASER in her left hand as a backup. Every turn in the trail was a test of her will. She went around most of them blind, expecting to be gutted. Instead of thinking about it, trying to overcome her growing fear, she ran harder. She went into every turn as if she was going to run into the Thing. She expected it to be there, every time, but the fore-knowledge didn't make it any better. Her nerves were shot, and the deeper she ran into those woods, the more terrified she became.

  She was about to turn back, common sense and every instinct telling her to run the other way, when she heard the cry. It was short-lived, but had sounded like someone started to scream, and then the scream was cut short. It had been high pitched, but Eleanor was convinced that it had come from a man. There had been pain in that cry, and Eleanor shuddered at what she might find up ahead. She couldn't stop now if there was even the slimmest chance of helping.

  She had left the pedestrian in the city. She wasn't about to turn coward twice.

  But that had been different, a part of her defended itself.

  There had been other people there. Bystanders who had been much closer than she had been.

  And besides, the pragmatist said, there wasn't much you could have done anyway. You aren't a nurse or a doctor. You've never even done a basic first-aid course.

  That didn't assuage her guilt, though.

  She still felt terrible at abandoning an innocent victim at the hands of that Thing. And that was why she pushed on. She knew it might be a trap for her. Knew that the Thing might be luring her in, getting ready for the kill, but it didn't matter. If there was a chance that she could help this person, then she would. And if not, then she at least relished the chance to stand up to the Thing and put a few hollow-points in it.

  Urøk loved the smell of fresh blood. He almost loved the smell as much as the warm coppery taste of it.

  The man's eyes were bulging, uncomprehending, but very much still alive. Urøk had appeared before him only seconds ago. He allowed the man to see him. To let out a scream, and then he slashed the man's vocal cords. He realized too late that he had slit an artery and that the man would die within a few short minutes.

  He didn't care if the human lived or died. He worried whether the meat bag would survive long enough for the female to find him. He wanted to see her reaction when she was confronted with death up close. Would she turn and run, or stay and help?

  Urøk hoped that Eleanor wasn't too far behind. He tilted his head and listened, hearing her crash through the forest like a bumbling, raging bull. Her pursuit was deafening and Urøk smiled. He admired her bravery and persistence. Surely, she had to know that she was nearing her own possible death? She was a good sport, this one.

  Urøk hadn't decided whether he was going to kill her just yet, or whether he wanted to toy with her a little more. The younger ones looked more enticing and would make better pets. Especially since both of them had a Glow.

  What were the odds? he wondered. Three women living in such close proximity and each of them had a Gift. The odds had to be astronomical. Oh well, he smirked, God works in mysterious ways.

  He nearly started to laugh then, but managed to stop himself. And just in time. If he had started laughing, he might have missed the imminent danger.

  All of a sudden, Urøk was no longer the hunter. He was being stalked by another. Instinct kicked in and Urøk retreated as quickly and quietly as he could. Staying here could mean death and he intended to fight another day.

  CHAPTER 27

  The monster was close. Jöanth could feel it. This had been the closest he had come to tracking down his adversary in the fourteen hours he had been in this town. Somehow, the creature continued to elude him.

  Jöanth's internal radar, usually infallible, was unable to track it with accuracy. The last half an hour had been a different story. The thing had been in a single place for a long time and Jöanth had been able to close in on it. He had hoped that the Dark Creature had gone to ground, perhaps to rest in its lair.

  And then it suddenly moved away from the suburban area it was in before Jöanth could reach it. It came into these woods and Jöanth had sensed an opportunity. He welcomed this change in terrain. The forest was a much better battleground. The humans were less likely to interfere and the monster would have fewer places to hide.

  Or so he had thought. He knew he was close when he smelled the fresh blood. It had taken down a human and was probably about to feed. Jöanth felt sorry for the unfortunate soul, but he took solace in the fact that the thing would not kill another innocent. If it was feeding, it would not sense him and Jöanth would be able to dispatch it.

  Supreme hunter that he was, Jöanth managed to soundlessly approach the predator and prey from deep within the woodlands. He was aware of another human quickly closing in on their position, so he needed to act quickly, and decisively.

  Silvurn sword in hand, Jöanth pounced, rushing silently from behind the trunk of a large tree, only to find the victim, and not the predator. The hunter had fled. The man was still alive. Jöanth exhaled in frustration. He could sense the monster was already gone. It had caught wind of him and had retreated at pace.

  Sheathing his sword, Jöanth uncloaked himself and appeared to the human, he held up his hands, showing that he wanted to help, and knelt next to the bleeding man. The human wasn't going to last very long if Jöanth didn't help him. He had already lost a lot of blood. There was nothing Jöanth could do about the blood loss, but his healing ability would be able to at least close the wound somewhat, giving the man a fighting chance.

  Jöanth didn't curse his luck or question his decision to stay and help. This was his duty. Life above all else.

  The man was lying just off the pathway in a small depression. The woman coming down the path might not see them if she kept on running at the pace she was going. Hopefully, she was one of the fitness freaks who frequented paths like these. Running tirelessly in search of optimum health to attain a figure that would be appealing to others. She would hopefully be self-absorbed and oblivious of her surroundings.

  Jöanth sensed that her running was somewhat erratic. At times she would be sprinting at full speed, and then at others, slower, almost hesitant. She also wasn't wearing running attire. Jöanth could hear the scrape of cotton against skin, instead of the synthetics preferred by the modern athlete. She also had things with some weight in her hands.

  The chances of her seeing him were good, so he took a second to take his sword from his back and hid it behind a tree. He couldn't heal the man while cloaked. He also couldn't risk the woman seeing him with a sword strapped to his back. That would immediately mark him as a threat. Especially with a man bleeding to death by his feet and blood on his hands.

  Jöanth ignored the approaching female for a second and turned his attention to the injured man. Jöanth leaned across with one hand, and placed it on the man's neck. With the other, he lifted the man's legs, and pulled his feet deeper into the shrubs, away from where they had been on the path.

  Jöanth's right hand started to warm up as the healing process began. He could only
hope they wouldn't be discovered by the female jogger, who was almost on top of them.

  Eleanor ran helter-skelter through the maze of twists and turns, not caring about her personal safety. There were bigger things at play here. More important things. She knew why she was running headlong into her own doom without any fear. Self-analysis had always been one of her strong suits and she quickly figured out the reason for her gung-ho attitude. She needed to move quickly, but also somehow cautiously. There was no point in getting killed within the first second of stumbling upon the Thing and his victim. She wouldn't be able to help then. Or put a bullet in the fugly thing's face.

  She was tired of running away.

  She had come back to Havensford to live in her parents’ house because city life had taken a toll on her. She couldn't cope with her professional life anymore. After her initial 15 minutes of fame as the reporter who had the inside track to David ICK, the child killer, she had started to look over her shoulder more and more. Infamy, she never thought of her fame as anything good, brought out the crazies. Dan had trained her and she had been able to kill the monster. After that, she was constantly under a spotlight. She was never able to outrun it, even when the brightness started to fade eventually. The constant attention had been debilitating. And with it came expectations. Everyone expected her to go on to bigger and better things, but no other story was ever going to compare to that one. She didn't want another story like that anyway. It had been too taxing on her. And so, her professional career had suffered because of it. Subsequent pieces were lackluster and didn't have the impact and depth that her adoring public had become to expect.

  The worst thing was the toll it had taken on her personal life. Always a happy-go-lucky, living life to the fullest kind of gal, she had become withdrawn, introverted, her thoughts and dreams clouded by a darkness that had settled into her soul. The nightmares had been constant. She kept seeing victims in her dreams. Dead children, lying in pathetic bloody rags. Sometimes they called out to her for help. These had been the worst of the night visions.

  The nightmares were relentless and became a nightly occurrence. She slept three hours at the most per day and eventually it began taking a toll on her body and her mental health as well. Eleanor became cold, irritable, unapproachable. A stranger to her colleagues and the few college friends she had made. Dan Almeida was the only one who persisted. He was the one who eventually insisted that she take a sabbatical and head back to her hometown.

  And so she had.

  She had run. Run away from the city that had made her a household name. Run away from her work and personal problems. She had run here. Home.

  And to a point, it had helped.

  During her first year home, she had written her book on the Ice Cream Killer, giving her firsthand account, offering insights that no one else could. The writing was good for exposing her inner demons to the light. Getting it all out. It hadn't purged her completely, but at least the nightmares became less frequent. She tried to move on. The book, however, was still only a manuscript and locked away in small safe in her cupboard. She had no intention of ever having it published. It had been solely written as an exorcism.

  But with all the introspection came the questions.

  Questions that should never have come up. But because she had been an investigative journalist, she supposed that they had to rear their ugly heads and demanded to be heard.

  She started questioning her faith. Her life. The point of it all.

  And so, she started running again. She ran away from her church. She ran away from the charities she had been involved in. She turned away from all her friends, new and old. She was even grateful that her parents had retired and moved away. She even ran away from them.

  But no more.

  She was tired of running away.

  She saw the futility of it.

  There was no running away from your problems.

  Once you did that, they seemed to multiply and grow. They invaded other parts of your life until it felt like you were consumed by them.

  Eleanor smiled as she ran down the track.

  She was grateful for the chance to face something tangible head-on. To physically be doing something about a problem.

  She even mouthed a quick prayer, something she hadn't done in a long time, and it made her feel better. The rational part of her told her she was wasting her breath, but her heart felt better. She was positive that she had been heard.

  She rounded yet another twist in the trail and almost came to a complete standstill. Her eye had caught a splattering of blood on some of the ferns bordering the path. Fearless, she stepped closer and saw someone inside a little hollow. If she hadn't stopped, she would have run past.

  She brought up her revolver and was dismayed to find the TASER, still in her left hand. She cursed herself, the doubts starting to set in. After all the training and the hours upon hours of shooting at the ranges, learning the correct stance, holding your firearm with both hands, and here she was, like an idiot, with a revolver and a TASER in hand! Luckily, being a revolver, the snub nosed .38 didn't have a safety she had to disengage, but the fact that she had another object in hand would hinder her accuracy and increase the recoil when a shot was fired.

  She was about to drop the TASER when there was movement and a shape stood up. Instinctively, both hands pointed towards the figure. She was about to pull the trigger of the revolver, when she realized that it wasn't the Thing.

  It took only a split-second for her to see that this was a man, but that it wasn't an ordinary man. There was something different. For one, he was tall, broad shouldered, fair haired, and extremely handsome. He also had a glow about him, as if his skin had a radiance that shone of itself. And his clothing looked a little off. A little out of place. Out of time almost, as if he had come from a Renaissance Faire or something.

  Then she saw the blood on his hands.

  It might be a trick after all. This could be the Thing.

  He saw the realization in her eyes.

  “No!” he shouted and reached for her.

  For some reason, the sudden movement caused Eleanor to react. When she had seen a man, and not a Thing, her right hand had automatically moved the pistol away from him, but her left hand still had the TASER pointed on target. When he made the unexpected move towards her, instinct took over and she pulled both triggers.

  He was lightning fast, confirming her suspicion that this was the Thing but in disguise to fool her.

  The .38 shot went past his head, but the twin metal probes from the TASER shot forth, straight and true. They would have hit him in the face, but his arm had come up and the barbs embedded themselves in his forearm, an electric jolt of 50,000 volts arcing forth. It was one of the best TASERs on the market. Dan Almeida had given it to her. He had always boasted that it was much more potent than the police issued versions. Dan had promised her that it would take down a bull and before today, she had never had the chance to use it. She had always thought of it as an unnecessary gift. Now, however, she had never been more grateful for a present.

  Dan hadn't been wrong. The stranger/Thing, went down in a spasm of unconsciousness, falling flat on his handsome face.

  Urøk hated retreating. It wasn't a new experience for him; inside the Void he had been forced to retreat from bigger, meaner foes many times. But he still loathed doing it. He understood the tactical advantage in retreating, but it still felt like a defeat to him.

  Yet, he knew better than to question his instincts.

  He had made the right decision to retreat, despite the fact that he wanted to feed and watch the woman's reaction when she stumbled across the runner.

  There would be time for that later. His toy would have to wait for a while.

  There was a new player on the board. Urøk needed to head back home, regroup and finally take possession of his new body.

  Play time was over.

  Urøk glanced at the sky. It would be dark in less than three hours. He hoped he would
be able to evade the Hunter for that long.

  Once a Tracker was on your trail, it became nearly impossible to shake them. But Urøk had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had known that the Tracker was coming, that the álvur had his scent. But Urøk hadn't been concerned. He had been able to elude the hunter thus far. Being able to change one's shape had its advantages. The beiier also planted a few red herrings to throw the Tracker off his scent. He wasn’t sure how well they worked, but they had bought him time.

  Urøk looked up at the sky. Night was coming. He nodded his head as he made his way, totally unseen through the suburb towards his lair. It was his pet's home and he had stayed there for nearly three days without the doctor becoming any the wiser. Playing mind games with the human had been so much fun. Sadly, that was about to come to an end.

  He had wanted to kill the man the first time he had laid eyes on him. Instead, Urøk had toyed with him, seeing if he could break through the veneer of that perfect white halo. Time however, had run out.

  He would do it tonight.

  His favorite pet, Doctor Walther Black, was about to become a meal.

  CHAPTER 28

  Sheriff Troy Troger was on his way to the Candlewood-Squantz Cove public boat launch. Someone, probably teenage kids of the summer folk, had left more than a dozen empty beer bottles near the launch site. Instead of just cleaning it up like a normal person, Fitz Jacobsen had decided to chew the ear off the local Sheriff. Fitz insisted that Troy go through personally and find the guilty heathens himself, throw them in jail, and forget about them.

  “We don't need these kinds of people here,” Fitz had shouted in Troy's ear.

  Troy kept his mouth shut. It was probably summer folk, just like Fitz Jacobsen, who had left the bottles. Rich people who came to their summer homes for just a few weeks a year, usually came with their own brand of problems. They thought the town belonged to them since they spent so much money here. Fitz was one of the worst. He was only ever here in summer, always skimped when it came to money, and always complained. If Fitz had used the private marina like most of the other high rollers, he wouldn't have had to go through the trauma of wading past a few discarded beer bottles. But no. Fitz didn't want to pay the fees of the yacht club. And now it was Troy's problem. Sometimes, he hated being an elected official. You were forced to kiss a few rich behinds. Naturally, Troy was grateful when the call came through of a shot fired somewhere inside Squantz Pond Park. Fitz would either have to wait, or clean it up himself. There were more important matters to attend to.