by Eric Asher
An ungodly screech sounded above them as Vicky drove her blade into the owl’s foot. A moment later a ball of black feathers hurtled into the owl, knocking it toward the ground. Jasper didn’t hesitate. Another burst of blue fire consumed the oversized bird.
“Child!” the crow shouted.
“Morrigan?” Vicky asked, frowning at the bird as it matched Jasper’s pace.
“Yes, you must retreat! Whatever that thing is, it’s not Damian.”
“Yes, it is! I can still feel him.” Vicky felt as though the bird was scowling at her, and perhaps Morrigan was, but the unblinking eyes of the crow didn’t leave her own. “He’s scared.”
Morrigan closed her eyes for a moment and then surveyed the battle around them. “You’ll only complicate matters. He must be subdued before all of Falias is lost. Hern’s drive has consumed him, child. Get away.”
“If he dies, I die,” Vicky said, her hands clenching the spiky scales of Jasper’s neck. “Sam dies.”
“Then it is true. The magic used to break your bond to the Destroyer bound you to a different master.”
Morrigan’s words infuriated Vicky, but the realization that the crow had succeeded in leading her away from the fight was far more irritating. “He’s my friend. So is Sam. I won’t let you kill him.”
“Find peace in your time, child, for we all must die.”
“I already did,” Vicky said. “I didn’t enjoy it very much, and I don’t plan to do it again for a long time.”
She pulled to the right on one of the spikes protruding from Jasper’s back. She’d come to think of it as a steering column, and the dragon had grown quick to respond. Jasper soared right, ducking beneath the Morrigan. But even as she closed once more on the massive jackal-shaped colossus that had once been Damian, the Morrigan’s words crept into the back of her mind.
She couldn’t stop them. Not like this. Not alone. But there might be one who could.
* * *
The soldier stared down at his hands, and the long rifle clutched between them. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the old field, or the city that had overtaken it, but he certainly didn’t remember the bizarre towers climbing into the heavens. Or the monster storming its gates. He remembered a battle, a gunshot as a Confederate cut him down.
He’d heard they were winning, but it didn’t stop his friends from dying. Didn’t stop brothers and fathers from being turned into lifeless chunks of meat, strewn across the ground. The sight had been madness, until there was only pain, and then nothing. Then he stood, stock still, staring as the carnage in the field slowly overtook everything. He remembered the shadows of the things that came for the men, and the shadows that the men became. But he hadn’t been able to speak in those silent days. Hadn’t been able to move. Only watch in horror at what men could do.
But now his feet moved freely. He could feel the air on his face, and smell the blood and the soil. The creatures around him might have been bizarre, but he’d seen worse. And he knew an aggressor when one made itself known. The beings that fled past him looked like fairies from children’s stories, but they were large, and armed, and many of them screamed the wail of a banshee as they died.
And that was what had happened to him so long ago. He had died, too. But it hadn’t been here. For a moment he thought he would report back to his sergeant. The man had a head for common sense, would have some idea of what to do. But he only saw a few other ghosts in the area. A few other soldiers. Most of them had an odd glow, much like the rifle in his hands. If the battle had been won, the war should have been over. So, what was happening now? He shook his head, trying to remember, instead giving in to his instincts to make for the tree line.
He’d be safer from the armies there, and whatever other monsters lurked on the battlefield. As he slid into a copse of trees, he saw the massive gray wings of what could only be a dragon from the storybooks. A shadow rose before him, and he knew the end had come. One of the corrupted men, creatures that seemed to be made of bark and rot, reached a hand out and grabbed him by the arm. Cold bled into him, but a frisson of excitement ran down the soldier’s back. He could feel, he could touch, and without thinking of what he was doing, he planted the barrel of his rifle firmly into the neck of the creature and pulled the trigger.
The boom was thunderous, and the satisfaction was undeniable as chunks of the creature exploded out the back of its head. Milky white eyes widened before the thing collapsed and seeped into the earth.
Monsters they might be, but now he could hurt them. He moved through the chaos, searching out his brothers, and avoiding the dying fragments of those wounded so long ago. Memories surged into his mind with every step, as if telling him to follow the colossus into the city and strike down the creatures for the white hand.
The soldier fought the compulsion for a time, but in the end, the dead obeyed their lord.
Note from Eric R. Asher
Thank you for spending time with the misfits! I’m blown away by the fantastic reader response to this series, and am so grateful to you all. The next book of misadventures is called The Book of the Ghost, and it’s available soon (or maybe now because I’m lazy about updating these things).
If you’d like an email when each new book releases, sign up for my mailing list. Emails only go out about once per month and your information is closely guarded by hangry cu siths. No, that’s not a typo.
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Thanks for reading!
Eric
The Book of the Ghost
The Vesik Series, book #9
By Eric R. Asher
A battle lost. A friend fallen. Cue the heroic undead…
Vicky shouldn’t be alive. Knowing she has necromancer Damian Vesik to thank for her second chance, she’s willing to do whatever it takes to return the favor.
Damian is lost, trapped inside a corrupted shell of his own power and entwined with the Fae called Hern. Time is running out as Damian loses more of himself with every passing moment, bringing the necromancer one step closer to oblivion.
But Vicky isn’t the only one who aims to stop the colossus. Damian’s allies are rallying, ready to go to battle for their chimichanga-loving friend. Time will tell if it’s enough to bring him back from the brink, though the Mad King’s ambitions may have already doomed them all.
The Books of the Dead start here. Strap in for macabre thrills and supernatural chills in this gripping installment of Eric R. Asher’s Vesik series!
Click here!
The Book of the Ghost
The Vesik Series, book #9
By Eric R. Asher
Also by Eric R. Asher
Keep track of Eric’s new releases by receiving an email on release day. It’s fast and easy to sign up for Eric’s mailing list, and you’ll also get an ebook copy of the subscriber exclusive anthology, Whispers of War.
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The Steamborn Trilogy:
Steamborn
Steamforged
Steamsworn
The Vesik Series:
(Recommended for Ages 17+)
Days Gone Bad
Wolves and the River of Stone
Winter’s Demon
This Broken World
Destroyer Rising
Rattle the Bones
Witch Queen’s War
Forgotten Ghosts
The Book of the Ghost
The Book of the Claw*
The Book of the Sea*
The Book of the Staff*
The Book of the Rune*
The Book of the Sails*
The Book of the Wing*
The Book of the Blade*
The Book of the Fang*
The Book of the Reaper*
The Vesik Series Box Sets
Box Set One (Books 1-3)
Box Set Two (Books 4-6)
Box Set Three (Books 7-8)
Box Set Four: The Books o
f the Dead Part 1 (Coming in 2020)*
Box Set Five: The Books of the Dead Part 2 (Coming in 2020)*
Mason Dixon – Monster Hunter:
Episode One
Episode Two
Episode Three
*Want to receive an email when one of Eric’s books releases? Sign up for Eric’s mailing list.
About the Author
Eric is a former bookseller, cellist, and comic seller currently living in Saint Louis, Missouri. A lifelong enthusiast of books, music, toys, and games, he discovered a love for the written word after being dragged to the library by his parents at a young age. When he is not writing, you can usually find him reading, gaming, or buried beneath a small avalanche of Transformers. For more about Eric, see: www.ericrasher.com
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