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

by Willem Killian

  She was feeling ravenous and the breakfast was indeed perfect. She followed the hot food with her salad. It was a mixture of feta, gouda, green and red peppers, tomatoes, baby spinach, and some wild berries she didn't recognize.

  It went down a treat.

  This was followed by a cup of fresh filter coffee.

  “How did you know how to use the appliances?” she asked.

  “You pick up things,” he answered enigmatically, sitting down opposite her with a bottle of spring water.

  “You are not partaking in this veritable feast?” she asked in her best high English accent.

  Jöanth smiled. “No milady,” he countered with his own accent. “I have already broken my fast, I thank thee.”

  She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. How is it possible to have accents if we're not even hearing our mother tongue? There was no point in asking, and instead, she filled her mouth with a last bite of salad.

  “That was delicious, thank you.”

  “It was the least I could do after spending the night in your lovely home. I thank you.”

  Eleanor nodded and helped him pack the dishwasher. Jöanth admitted that it was a machine he hadn't used before, but after being shown only once how it worked, Jöanth seemed familiar with its operation.

  “What's our plan of action today?” she asked as the machine started its mechanical hum and water started flooding the chamber.

  “I would like to speak to your friends next door,” he said.

  “How did you...” she trailed off. Eleanor couldn't remember mentioning Rosewater or Charlene last night.

  “You mentioned that Charlene was with you on the train. And that the three of you were discussing the ‘Thing,’ as you called it, before you pursued it to the park and subsequently, the woods.”

  She vaguely recalled something to that effect and realized that she must have been more tired than she suspected last night. It also made her realize that she hadn't replied to the messages they had sent her since late last night.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” she added as she reached for her phone and called the girls next door.

  CHAPTER 36

  Little James “Jimmy” Troger was starting to come into his own. At ten, he wasn't falling over his own feet as much as he had been a year ago. Even he knew that he wasn't as clumsy anymore. He was more self-assured and grew in his own physical abilities, week by week. Whenever his dad called him 'little man' he believed it as gospel. He was becoming a little man, and it was important for the sheriff's son to be a man. Even if he was little.

  But it was on the soccer field where he seemed to excel. It was the one place in the world where he was always confident, despite what his grandpa said. Grandpa came to watch his Little League games, but he skipped the Saturday morning soccer club games. Grandpa Jim called it a “sissy” game. He said there was no skill involved. No tactics. No nothing. All you did was kick a ball around.

  But Jimmy disagreed. He hero-worshipped his old Pa, loving him to bits and he usually hung on every word the old man said. Up until he started playing soccer, little Jimmy had believed everything his grandfather had told him.

  But not with soccer. Soccer was something where Jimmy could run. And slide. And curve kick a ball. Okay, he admitted to himself, the last statement was a lie. He couldn't curve a ball yet, but it would come. Just as dribbling had come. A year ago, his clumsy feet wouldn't allow him to dribble the ball. It was a short little kick, followed by catching the ball with his foot and stopping it, followed by another soft kick, followed by more chasing. Now, over the last two months, Jimmy had mastered the skill of passing the ball back and forth between his feet. While running!

  He was amazed at his own progress, and so were his parents. Even his dad, the big burly sheriff of Havensford told him that he was a superstar, and Jimmy couldn't think of a better compliment in the whole world than that. His dad was proud of him. That spurred him on to do even better.

  And he did. Jimmy was one of only three players that Coach never seemed to rotate. He would take Jimmy off in the last five minutes of a match when it was impossible for them to lose. The grown-ups, of course, insisted that all the games were “friendlies” and that no one kept score. There was no losing side. Everyone was a winner. But Jimmy kept score. And so did some of the other boys who played well. They wanted to win. And then there was Coach. He secretly kept score. So did his dad. It was boring for everyone to be winners. You could only ever be equal on the sports field if it ended in a tie. And Jimmy Troger was already too competitive to ever be happy with a tie.

  His dad told him that the whole point of sports was to be competitive. It taught you to give your all, play for your team and always go for the win. Jimmy agreed with his pistol-toting sheriff dad. Winners kept score. And so, Jimmy did.

  It was halftime and his team was already up by three to zero. Jimmy had scored two of the goals. Life was good. Mom and Dad were standing on the sidelines cheering. The sun was shining. There was a slight breeze to cool you off. Nic Kameloff was having a good game in the center and was getting a lot of ball to him. Coach looked happy. Dad looked happy. Jimmy gave his dad a wistful little wave as he took a last bite of his orange wedge. Dad gave a thumbs up and Jimmy's heart swelled. Maybe he had a new hero. His dad wasn't as grumpy as Grandpa Jim. And his dad seemed to like his soccer matches, even though Dad still preferred watching NFL on the television. And his dad could wear a gun to work. How cool was that?

  Coach came over and patted him on the shoulder. “Ten more minutes, Jimmy,” he said with a smile. “Then I have to put Mark in.”

  “Kay, Coach,” Jimmy saluted and the coach smiled.

  Orange peels were returned to a plastic bag, Jimmy had a last sip of water and then the reserves scurried off as the match was about to start again. It was the opposition's turn to start the second half, but Jimmy wasn't worried. Their midfield didn't seem to be very strong. His team would have the ball again soon.

  The referee blew his whistle and the weirdest thing ever happened.

  The two center players seemed to be stuck in place! They swung their arms and tried moving their legs to get to the ball on the center marker, but neither could reach it. It was like they were being held back or frozen in place. Okay, Jimmy admitted to himself, frozen is the wrong description since their bodies were moving. They just couldn't seem to move forward and get to the ball.

  And then with a pop that seemed to frighten birds into the air and hushed everyone, even the rowdy parents, the ball exploded. Jimmy was reminded of a balloon being stepped on. One second the ball was there and the next, pop! it was lying there in pieces, flattened to the ground.

  Weirdest thing ever!

  No one knew what was going on and Jimmy could see everyone looking around confused. The referee just kept staring at the ball.

  And then Jimmy was pushed and he fell backwards, hitting his backside painfully, the breath knocked right out of him. Now it was the weirdest thing that ever happened to him! There had been no one there. An invisible force had knocked him over!

  He was about to get on his haunches when he was pushed down again. It felt like something had a grip on his shoulder. And then he heard a voice in his ear.

  “Your dad's a dead man, little Jimmy. Better say goodbye to him.”

  There was no time to react to that coarse, low voice. There was the sound of fabric tearing, followed by a sudden bright, flaring pain across his chest. Then something that sounded like someone spitting and hissing at the same time, and sure enough, something slimy splattered against his chin, neck, and chest. It burned! The slime wasn't as bad as the burning sensation from his chest, but it burned his skin nonetheless. Jimmy knew that it was some kind of acid slime from an invisible man or thing that could talk. He franticly wiped at it, trying to get rid of it and lessen the burning. He wiped at his chin, and neck with both hands and then wiped it off on his shirt, which aggravated the burning on his chest.

  It fe
lt like his entire world was on fire.

  Jimmy Troger rubbed his hands on the cool green grass, then tucked and rolled as if he was on fire, even though he didn't see any flames, and then he heard the screams.

  The screams were coming from him.

  CHAPTER 37

  Eleanor invited the girls over under the guise of a brunch. With the help of Jöanth, who was surprisingly helpful in the kitchen, she spent the rest of the morning baking a few scones and getting her thoughts in order. It wasn't every day that you introduced someone from a different world to your friends, so she had to get it spot on.

  When the girls arrived, on time, she noted, which was rare for modern girls of seventeen, the teapot had already brewed into a flavorful broth that mixed well with the smell of freshly baked scones. Butter, cream, and an assortment of jams and cheeses completed the spread.

  It was all neatly presented on the dining room table and the girls took chairs next to each other, opposite Eleanor.

  “I'm glad to see you're okay,” Charlene said.

  “Yeah,” Rosewater seconded. “We saw the patrol car parked outside your house all night. It was good to know you had some protection.”

  “I had some added protection as well, but more on that later.” She indicated the scones, “Help yourselves while I fill you in.”

  The girls eagerly grabbed plates and started on the scones and condiments.

  “Tea?” Eleanor asked and started to pour four cups when the girls nodded a yes.

  “We expecting someone?” Charlene asked.

  Eleanor merely nodded and passed the steaming cups and a separate pitcher of milk around.

  She didn't pour milk in the fourth cup.

  “Let me give you a quick rundown of what happened last night,” she said. “I followed the Thing into the park. From there it followed one of the running trails and it slit the throat of a runner. I got to the scene too late to be of any help.”

  “That's terrible,” RW whispered.

  Charlene nodded, a deep frown on her forehead.

  “When I got to the jogger, there was a man already kneeling over the body.”

  “A man?” Rosewater asked. “Not the Thing?”

  “What happened to the Thing?” Charlene asked at the same time.

  “The Thing had run off.” Eleanor answered. “Anyway, I was in a panic and I tased the man when I saw blood on his hands. I thought at the time that he might be the Thing. That it had somehow changed its shape to confuse me. Anyway, it wasn't the Thing. I then called the police, and before Sheriff Troger got there, the man came to and bolted. I fired shots at him but missed. He got away.”

  “Who was he?” Rosewater asked through a mouthful of scone with strawberry jam and cream.

  “More important,” Charlene said, “why did he run away? Was he the one that killed the jogger? Do we have a killer and a monster in our town?”

  Eleanor smiled inwardly at hearing Charl refer to Havensford as their town. That meant the girl was happy here and saw Havensford as her home.

  “I have some answers about that, but I'll explain later.” Eleanor said. “First let me run through the sequence of events as they happened.”

  Both teens nodded encouragement.

  “Anyway,” Eleanor continued. “The sheriff got there, saw what had happened, saw blood on my hands, 'cause I naturally tried to help the jogger as well, saw the .38, and then confiscated it. The cops don't like it when citizens discharge their weapons in public. Anyway. I don't think he saw me as a threat up until that point.” She paused. “That changed a bit when I saw the man again. He appeared from out of the woods, behind the sheriff. He hadn't run off. I wanted to tase him again, only there was one problem.”

  The girls paused in anticipation, scones and tea forgotten.

  “The sheriff didn't see him.”

  Charlene and Rosewater stopped chewing.

  “He casually walked off into the forest and Sheriff Troger did not see him!”

  “What?” Charlene sputtered. “How?”

  “And then?” Rosewater managed.

  “I don't know how. Or why. Like the Thing, I could see the man, but it seems no one else could.”

  “How's that possible?” Charlene asked.

  There was a hint of anger in her voice. She didn't like not understanding things.

  “At the time I didn't know myself. I was as confused as you are. Anyway, they took me to the station, took my statement, grilled me for what felt like forever, had me compile a police sketch of the man's face, and then I came home. Deputy Giles dropped me off and stayed the night in his car. And then there was a knock on my back door,” she looked towards the kitchen. “And Jöanth came into my life.”

  “Who is Jöanth?” Charlene asked, both confused and worried.

  “The man from the woods.”

  That was Jöanth's cue and he walked casually into the dining room. Tall and regal looking, decked out in his strange, old fashioned looking clothes, broadsword slung on his back.

  The girls gaped as he took off the sword, sat down across from them and carefully rested the sword against his leg.

  He's tall. Charlene noted. And muscular. He looks strong.

  He's dreamy, Rosewater was thinking. Despite being dressed like someone from the Middle Ages. And a sword? Really? What's up with that?

  His eyes, Charlene noted. They're almost purple.

  The sword and clothes aren't the weirdest thing, RW thought. There’s something else about him. He seems to softly shine. As if his skin has a muted glow about it. It must be a trick of the light, she thought.

  “I am Jöanth,” he said and reached across the table with a large hand. He shook both their hands and settled back in the chair, smiling, enjoying the looks on their faces and the different colors bouncing off their auras. There was surprise, confusion, joy, uncertainty.

  Then, he used his ability to cloak himself. Rosewater continued to stare at him in wonder, but Charlene's reaction turned to horror and consternation when he disappeared from her sight.

  “What?” she shouted, pushing back her chair violently and almost falling off it as she tried to put distance between herself and the table. “Where the f...”

  Eleanor had anticipated her reaction. When Jöanth had walked in, she had quietly gotten up and walked around the table. She was now at Charl's side, placing her hands on her shoulders in support.

  “It's okay Charl,” Eleanor said.

  “Where is he?” Charlene shouted. “Where did he go?”

  And suddenly he appeared again, looking worriedly at her. “I apologize.” He said earnestly, looking at her. “I did not mean to frighten you. I should have warned you that I was going to disappear. My apologies. It was the only way I could test both your reactions and judge your Gifts.”

  “That wasn't cool,” Charlene said, giving him a death stare as she picked up her chair and grudgingly sat down again.

  Eleanor patted her on the shoulder and moved back to her chair.

  “What just happened?” Rosewater asked.

  “Jöanth disappeared,” Eleanor said.

  “But only to Charlene,” Jöanth added. “You and Eleanor both have the Gift of Sight. You can see creatures that do not belong in this realm. Charlene has another Gift.”

  “Yeah?” Charlene said, anger still bubbling just below the surface. “And what would that be?” She looked Jöanth in the eye. “Being able to spot an asshole?”

  Jöanth smiled back warmly. “I deserve that,” he said, nodding. “My apologies again.”

  His smile was genuine and the words seemed sincere. Despite her reluctance to like the man before her, Charlene could sense that he was a good guy. With a great fanfare of rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders, she accepted his apology with a brusque “Fine.”

  “He's a friend,” Eleanor piped in. “He's here to help.”

  “Okay,” Rosewater said, still a little confused. “Lay it out for us.” She still couldn't get over the lumines
cence of his skin. “Who are you? Where are you from? And what are you doing here?”

  “Well,” Eleanor said. “I think it best that he explain it all, but in short; Jöanth is a monster hunter from another world. Our Thing is called a svartálvur, and Jöanth is here to kill it.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Troy carried his son into the emergency ward at Havensford County. He trusted only one man to see his son and he called for Walther Black. The emergency staff informed him that he was in luck, that the doctor had just come on duty and would be summoned post-haste.

  Troy was escorted to a small, sterile, white room with a single hospital bed. He looked around and was satisfied that the hospital administrator, Michael O'Keene, had a firm hand on the place. There wasn't a fleck of dust to be seen anywhere. It smelled to high heaven of disinfectant, but that was okay. It smelled clean. Free from germs, viruses and other pathogens intent on harming man.

  That thought brought Troy back to the problem at hand. He looked at his son. The screaming had stopped on the way over and for that he was thankful.

  “How you feeling, champ?”

  His kid looked bravely at him, tears in his eyes, mouth twitching as if the dam was about to burst again, the wailing short on its heels.

  “Kay,” the kid said. “The burning stopped. That was bad. But now it's just sore.”

  “Sore how?”

  “Like after you cut yourself. The pain from like the start is not so bad anymore.”

  Troy nodded. The kid was a trooper. He was glad for that. The little man could have been like his mom, a constant worrier, which would have made things worse. Melissa was sitting in the waiting area, no doubt stressing her heart out. But they only allowed one person in at a time, and frankly, Troy could do without her fussing about.

  “So, the burning is gone?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy answered looking down at the strips of fabric of his soccer kit. He had no idea how that had happened. “What happened, Dad?” He tried lifting the rags and the spare shirt that had been stuffed in there to look at his chest, but Troy stilled his hand.