Awakening (Redeemer Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Redeemer Chronicles 1: Awakening

  By Julie C. Gilbert

  Dedication

  To Chewie, whose dare inspired this story.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Magic Bracers

  Chapter 2: Katrina

  Chapter 3: Tellen

  Chapter 4: Grander Games

  Chapter 5: Shadow

  Chapter 6: Ghostly Visitor

  Chapter 7: Breakthrough

  Chapter 8: Unexpected Aid

  Chapter 9: Reluctant Redeemer

  Chapter 10: Coldhaven’s Bargain

  Chapter 11: Shadow’s Choice

  Chapter 12: Collaborators and Captives

  Chapter 13: Breakout

  Chapter 14: Battle for Coldhaven

  Chapter 15: Sara

  Chapter 16: The Long Road to Fort Amareth

  Chapter 17: Family Reunion

  Chapter 18: Awakening

  Chapter 19: Chosen Redeemer

  Chapter 20: War Ahead

  Other Works

  Chapter 1:

  Magic Bracers

  Victoria Saveron

  Temporary Camp, Foot of the Karnok Mountains

  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that my life has gone the way it has. Some people are just doomed. I—Victoria Amaryllis Saveron—am not a complainer, honest, but there comes a time when one has to examine the hand dealt by Fate and draw some conclusions.

  My conclusion is this: life’s not fair.

  Let us examine the cards I’ve been dealt.

  Cards one and two: a dark maternal heritage and a paternal legacy of eternal strife. Without going into the sob story, I’ll simply say my parents’ short love story and marriage wasn’t exactly favored by the Saroth—Mom’s folks—or the Arkonai—Dad’s folks.

  Marina Castaloni-Saveron—Mom—was a witch. I mean that in the most literal way possible. I’m not talking about a society of old ladies with bad complexions, creepy cats, and a depressing taste in clothes. I’m talking about an ancient and powerful, often dangerous, people with Gifts beyond this world. Mom was the black sheep, which means she secretly taught herself the healing arts and devoted herself to helping those in need.

  Given that, naturally, Daniel Saveron—Dad—descends from the Arkonai, those proud guardians of the Bereft—those without magical powers. I asked him why they’re called Bereft if they never had any powers to speak of. He grunted and said I’d understand one day. I really hate it when he says things like that. It makes me feel like a stupid child. Why can’t he simply answer questions like a normal human being? Never mind that he’s not normal.

  Cue sappy music.

  Short version: Dad met Mom because he was tricked into hunting her by Uncle Jack, Mom’s crazy younger brother. I’m told nearly everybody has a crazy Uncle Jack. Not sure I believe that, but I do know I have an uncle, his name is Jack, and he’s definitely nuts and evil. Someday I’ll have to ask him why he impersonated an Arkonai Huntmaster to put a hit on his sister. That’s just wrong. It’s no way to treat anybody, especially not somebody related to you. I don’t have a sister, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t hire somebody to kill her if I did.

  After a patient hunt and rousing chase, Dad inevitably caught his prey, solved the mystery in time to avoid killing her, got past the whole awkward sorry-for-almost-killing-you phase, and successfully won her hand. That made nobody happy—except Mom. She was ecstatic to marry for love, though her former fiancé was rather put out, her family officially disowned her and put a bounty on her capture, and Dad’s family snubbed her.

  The Saroth are obsessed with bloodlines, lineage, and birth order, so they tried to arrange her marriage to Marcus Polani. Personally, I’m happy not being his daughter. Katrina Polani’s a decent person, but she bit down hard on the whole I-am-better-than-everybody-else-because-I-have-magic Saroth nonsense.

  With all the cheery goodwill going around, it’s no surprise my parents fled to the woods to hide out, raise a family, et cetera. A horde of zombies attacked my parents when I was a cute, squishy baby. My parents prevailed in that fight, but Mom and I were both bitten. Why the blasted creatures bite is far beyond me. They carry supernatural swords, yet they insist on biting. It’s so uncivilized. Stupid zombies. Then again, I’m not sure why they bother conjuring the swords since they always lose their arms.

  Mom could heal herself or me, not both, so she saved me. I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if she’d saved herself instead. Of course, I wouldn’t be around to see it, but she could have done so much more with her life. Dad found a powerful friend to make a pair of magical bracers that kept me from turning into one of those nasty little biters, hence the metal bracers—that often look like simple silver bracelets—and the thick leather gloves I wear. I don’t really have to wear gloves on both hands, just the one that’s gray and corpsified, but I find it less conspicuous to wear the pair.

  Card three: I should be dead. The optimist in me says that fact—namely that I’m not dead—is an accomplishment by itself, but the pessimist says that’s only delaying the inevitable.

  Card four: people want to kill me. It’s not my fault I have two magical bloodlines within me. As far as I know, they’ve practically canceled each other out. Otherwise, I’d have cool powers like Katrina’s ability to shapeshift or Tellen’s ability to fry things with lightning.

  What did I get? The most useless power ever. I glow when zombies or other dangerous or exceptionally powerful supernatural beings are near. The glow is not everywhere, thank goodness, but the whites of my eyes, my teeth, and my bracers light up like beacons if something possessing strong magical properties—especially dark ones—draws too close. These days, more often than not, that’s when something is trying to kill me.

  Card five: my two closest friends, Katrina and Tellen, hate each other. Hate might be too strong a word, but it’s easier than saying they “have a strong aversion” to each other. I’ve already explained that Katrina’s Saroth through and through, so as Fate would have it, Tellen’s an Arkonai. He’s an outcast among his people because of his destructive magical abilities, but that doesn’t mean his upbringing didn’t leave him with a well-developed prejudice against Saroth.

  Dad says the idea that every Saroth delves into dark magic and every Arkonai sticks solely to light magic is complete rubbish. Though I hate to admit it, I think he’s right. In any case, Katrina and Tellen are both cool with me because their masters—respectively, the great Saroth Shapeshifter, Talini, and the current Arkonai Supreme Huntmaster, Jordan Lekros—sort of ordered them to be my companions. I think they—the elders—know something they’re not telling any of us.

  Card six: I have no idea where the heck I’m going or how to get there. This whole crazy thing started when my father disappeared on another one of his hunts, leaving me with Katrina and Tellen. I sense a conspiracy. The first few days went fine. Then, yesterday we were having a nice game of darts when my bracers lit up, my eyes felt like they were on fire, and light poured from my mouth like airy drool.

  Zombies came, zombies died, we swiftly packed parcels, and ran like cats with our tails on fire.

  Card seven: I have a very uncomfortable feeling this is going to turn into one of those crazy quests to save the world. Since when did I sign up to be a hero? Somebody up there must have messed up the roll call.

  ***

  Katrina Polani

  Temporary Camp, Foot of the Karnok Mountains

  Vic looks worried. She tries to hide her feelings, but any Saroth with the smallest Minder capabilities could read her. I am uncertain about whether or not she knows where we are going. Some say quests must have an object or end g
oal in mind. For now, the goals are simply to stay alive and find Vic’s father.

  My young friend bears the mark of the Chosen Redeemer, but she does not yet realize it. I would like to tell her of the prophecy, but Father has forbidden it. I do not agree with him on this matter, but I shall honor the order for now. My ultimate task has always been to protect the interests of my people. Father has been meeting with the Dark Man again, and while he—Father—has a mind of his own, I fear the Dark Man’s influence is growing. A time may come wherein I must tell Vic everything I know, but for now, I will keep silent.

  Vic’s marked for greatness, so she might as well have a large target painted on her head. Yesterday’s attack confirms this, but I am just realizing what that means for me and my people. A world without zombies is a worthy cause to fight for, but destroying every link to the spirit world may destroy magic itself. I do not know what the Arkonai think about that, but my people will stop at nothing to prevent the Chosen Redeemer’s coming if it heralds the end of magic.

  As panic rises in me, I remind myself that nobody knows how the Chosen Redeemer will rid the world of the Darkland creatures. Destroying the link to the spirit world may not destroy magic. That is simple one possibility.

  I wrench my thoughts away from my young friend’s destiny back to the present. Poor Vic. She is not a subtle person. If she feels something or thinks something, her expression and demeanor will declare it. Her crystal blue eyes cannot hold a secret inside, and she does not have the luxury of turning herself into a bug to avoid confrontations. Perhaps that is why her father has not enlightened her. He was once very highly regarded among the Arkonai huntsmen. He might have even become Supreme Huntmaster if he had completed the contract on Vic’s mother. Instead, he chose a different path. Despite this, he must know more than he has told my friend.

  Since the initial clash with the zombies at Vic’s home, we have avoided trouble. While this is good, I sense maleficent attention directed our way. I am not trained as a Minder, so for me to feel this sense of dread when thinking of Vic or our quest, something big must be happening. Vic did well in that fight, but she falls far short of the ideal warrior. For one thing, she does not like killing things, even the undead. Only crazy people enjoy killing things, but even the magic-less Bereft know there is a certain satisfaction one can draw from removing a zombie’s head.

  Interestingly, I do not believe Vic even knows she can fight well. Of course, I could not sit back and simply observe her in combat, but I believe she might have done most of her fighting with her eyes closed. She’s an odd one, our Vic.

  Normally, I know my role well. Kill this. Fetch that. Deliver a message. But this time I am uncertain whether I am to be guardian, guard, or childminder. I gaze around at the old trees rising up around us. The afternoon sun shines through clearly enough, but I know we will not be graced with its presence long. Though the weather remains hospitable enough to make foot travels easy, the night air will have a biting chill to it.

  A Shapeshifter is never truly without a natural habitat, but the woods have always been regarded as an Arkonai realm to dominate. Tellen’s off somewhere exploring, which suits me just fine. I do not trust the Arkonai boy. He claims to be here on orders from his master, but I do not trust his master either. I possess ulterior motives. I can only imagine what intricate plans have been conjured by the devious Supreme Huntmaster. Father has taught me to never underestimate any Arkonai. Personally, I find blood feuds pointlessly stupid. The world is dangerous enough without keeping the second most powerful people as close enemies.

  Corruption has seeped in from somewhere. The Arkonai blame us, and I fear they are right. Though skilled fighters and in possession of mysterious powers, the Arkonai lack the keen interest in the arcane arts necessary to open Darkland portals. My people are usually not stupid enough to open those because they can be difficult to close, but sometimes ambition outpaces good sense.

  Beyond the portals, fabled armies of undead await a mortal master’s commands. The promise of power, though alluring, also comes with dire warnings of destruction. On the whole, my people could wage an effective war against the undead, but it would be a massive inconvenience. Vic would worry about the Bereft. No doubt the Arkonai would defend them to the last hunter, fools that they are.

  The destruction of the Arkonai may be the intended plan. But who would be so bold? It has a certain level of creativity and elegant simplicity, but it still smacks of insanity. Only one bearing the Blessing of the Lady of Light could successfully control a large army summoned from the Darklands. Legends say the Lady of Light, goddess of good, loved a mortal man in ages past. Though she could not shed her immortality to be with him, she rained down blessing after blessing upon him. When war came upon the land—thanks to a previous zombie-happy crazy Conjurer—the Lady’s mortal lover took up arms to fight.

  In the final battle, the man fought brilliantly but was fatally wounded. Unable to stand his suffering and not wanting to watch him turn into a slathering creature someone would have to behead, the Lady of Light imbued the man’s bracers with enough power to stave off the eternal night. In the process, she gave him enough power to control the army and send them back through the portal into the Darklands where they belong. The magic bracers were handed down generation to generation before being lost to time.

  Few believe that fable, but it does sound eerily familiar. If the wrong people believe the story, it could mean a lot of trouble for us.

  Chapter 2:

  Katrina

  Victoria Saveron

  Temporary Camp, Foot of the Karnok Mountains

  “Do not think so hard, you might hurt yourself.” Katrina’s comment catches me off guard.

  I might have taken offense if she weren’t more than half right. I pause and take a moment to reset the fire kindling on the stack of wood I’ve just arranged.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “What? No witty comment? You really must be worried.” Katrina comes over and takes the flint and steel away. “Here now, let me handle the fire tonight. With you this distracted, you are as likely to set our bedding afire as boil the water.”

  Part of me wants to protest, but the rest of me is too tired to care. In seconds Katrina has a steady, safe fire burning strongly in the pit I’ve dug. She didn’t need flint or steel because she’s an all-powerful Saroth Shapeshifter, imbued with the ability to light fires with her mind.

  I make a half-hearted effort to stave off the plunge into self-pity, but on par with the rest of my day, I fail. Dropping onto my blanket, I simply watch Katrina add some bits of this and that to the last of the rabbit she’d chased down yesterday. She’s so gorgeous and powerful, and it makes me sick with jealousy.

  Why couldn’t the Fates have given me long, silky, dark hair that would allow me to blend in with the shadows? Instead, I got golden hair that tries to compete with any light source, the perfect target for even the weak sight and dim wits of zombies.

  Even when she’s not in her dog or snake form, Katrina’s body radiates with lean, graceful power. I’ll never understand Shapeshifters. As a dog, Katrina’s fur is as black as bread after my attempts to toast it over an open flame. As a snake, her skin turns the same dusky shade as the dirt where she initiates the change. As an insect, she most often forms a red-brown flying beetle. As a human, she possesses skin several shades darker than mine. Her green eyes can pierce a soul at a glance.

  “If you feel like unburdening yourself, I am here,” Katrina assures. Even as she turns, she changes into a Labrador, pads over to me, and promptly invades my personal space, taking special care to draw near enough to pant in my face.

  I laugh even as I hold both hands out to keep her at bay. I want to be cross with her, but it’s virtually impossible.

  “Yes, very authentic. You’ve been working on the dog breath, haven’t you?”

  Immediately, Katrina’s back in her normal form though still crouched on her haunches and entirely too close.

&nbs
p; “I have made several adjustments to it just today. Do you approve?” A teasing grin spreads across her face.

  “Very authentic,” I repeat cautiously.

  Times like this confuse me. Katrina’s usually dead serious, but there are rare occasions such as this where she’s like a puppy eager to explore the world and earn approval. That image doesn’t exactly suit the stoic Saroth Shapeshifter I’ve known since before I could stagger forward in a straight line.

  “Excellent.” With that, Katrina shuffles back to the cooking fire to attend the rest of the dinner preparations.

  We have an odd relationship, Katrina and I. She’s in my life because the Saroth don’t trust me or my father. The same goes for Tellen because the same holds true for the Arkonai. My father encourages the friendships because it gives me something to focus on besides the fact that he’s gone most of the time. He knows they report regularly to their masters, but even after the shoddy treatment due to his marriage to my mother, Father still fulfills his duties as an Arkonai huntsman. He used to have a much higher rank. Why he obeys fools he could best while blindfold, I do not know.

  That brings me back to my worries.

  “Why does he hunt? What does he hunt?” The questions escape me before I can consider them.

  The playfulness vanishes from Katrina’s features. She hands me a bowl of stew and a spoon and studies me. After a long moment, she settles back into a more comfortable position and wraps her arms around her knees. Katrina stares forward into the dirt. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer and wearier than usual.

  “Your father is a good man, but he is only one man.”

  “How are we going to find him if he’s not in Coldhaven?” I ask, trying in vain to keep from whining. I don’t really expect an answer. The emergency plan I never expected to use tells me to seek answers with the current elder of the nearest village. Father loves his cryptic games.