Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) (2 page)

The hood flinches and propels his body over the motorcycle seat with a cartwheel, landing on the other side. He hugs the dirt tight, cheek and stomach flat on the ground.

The creek snatches the motorcycle and jerks it high into the air.

The engine roars and sputters, white smoke billows from the exhaust as the wheels spin racing on full throttle.

The mist slowly dissipates, and the crashing waters calm.

Without a trace, all seven men and motorcycle disappear into Nocklin Creek’s depths.

Iago, still standing in the same spot and motionless, he stares down the hooded man.

The hood presses off the ground and rises to his feet. He flings open his duster with a flurry and his left arm shoots forward with a silver pistol in hand.

Bang
—

Glynn flinches from the gunshot, and a flash of light makes him blink. His eyes find Iago just as a bullet strikes the old man in his chest, lifting him off his feet and propelling him onto his back.

“Iago…” Glynn can’t believe his eyes; his heart races. Blood courses through his veins, making his head pound even more. He grips a branch to steady himself.

Iago lies motionless—gone.

The hood slides his pistol into the holster and strolls toward Iago’s body.

Tension in Glynn’s hand builds and breaks the branch.

Crack
—

The hood flinches to a stop and pivots toward Glynn’s hiding spot.

Glynn twitches, and without thinking, he just reacts, pushing off the stump and bounding into the forest. Without mercy, the unrelenting branches scrape and swipe his body as he darts through the thick pines. He rips through the vines tangling around his ankles. He feels no pain, his body numb in flight. His thoughts race.
He’s dead, he’s really dead. What to do? Don’t look back, keep going. Where is he going?

The adrenaline burst suddenly wears off, and he weakens from the exertion.

Pain travels through Glynn’s body, beaten from the forest’s abuse, and his legs fail. He trips over a root and stumbles into a small clearing and stops while bending over, sucking in deep breaths to alleviate the harsh sensation building in his lungs. He scans every direction for the danger or the way ahead. He turns toward a faint light peeking through the trees. The setting sun reveals his escape,
the valley
. He gives a quick glance behind him, seeing nothing but black, and runs toward the light. Another root catches his foot, and he loses his balance, tumbling forward into a tree. “Shoot.” He bounces off the bark and touches his bloody cheek.

“Hey, boy!” a girl’s voice says. “Over here, over here.”

Glynn spins toward the voice. “Who’s there?”

THE LIGHT

From rock to rock, a girl, fair and wearing a charcoal sweater and tan wool trousers hums as she skips over a small winding creek. Her light body strides with ease through the cattails, and her innocent but sharp hazel eyes dance with the creek’s ripples. The girl’s reflection blurs as she picks up speed, her long dark-auburn hair floats in the breeze with the swaying grass.

“Hurry up, Preta,” she says to her reflection flickering off the water’s surface. “I’m late.” Making the leap from the last stone to the creek bank, she falters, her legs unsteady from the long bicycle ride home from school.

Preta’s belly growls, reminding her it’s that time of day.
It’s Friday, Yaz and Deet always bring home something good to eat.
She focuses on her destination ahead, her gaze locks onto the trees rising in a multitude of autumn colors: crimson, orange, yellow, and green.

Her backpack bounces as she skips through the field, and she drags a stick behind her.

Winds gust, swaying the long yellow grass across her path.

The grass whips Preta’s body and wraps the wheat around her stick, pulling her to the side.

Preta battles the grassy obstacles with purpose and exacting fury. She rips the stick from the tangle and swats aside her foe with accomplished skill.

The trees draw closer, and Preta slows down. Defeating the last of the field, she hops over a small mud-laden ditch and stops at the forest’s edge.

The mixed deciduous and pine are thick yet permeable, revealing secrets within the forest’s fall foliage.

It’s getting darker, and Preta turns to the setting sun’s warm embrace. The dimming orange radiance meets her face with content satisfaction from across the valley. Her skin tingles with warmth yet it dissipates by the second. Chills run through her body, and she gives a shake from the sensation rising from the base of her neck. Preta tilts her head and sighs. “Let’s go, Preta Penter, move.” She takes a deep breath and turns away from the sun.

Entering the forest, Preta hums as she advances deeper into its mysterious realm. She stops and blinks; the dark surroundings blur her vision. Preta drops her stick, swings off her pack, and bends over to inspect the white-speckled mushrooms dotting the dank floor. She plucks the fungi from the pungent ground. “These will do nicely,” she says, gently placing each mushroom into a white cloth.

An animal running through the forest makes her flinch. Her body straitens. She squints in concentration, peering into the grey-hued gaps between the trees.

Crack, crack
—

More branches break, and Preta freezes.
Yaz and Deet—here?
She places the wrapped mushrooms into her pack and moves deeper into the woods. Her eyes narrow in strained focus to make out any movement.

The darkness plays tricks on her vision. Preta kneels, pawing the ground for her stick.

Crack, crack, crack
—

More branches snap, and she scrambles behind a large rotting log and hides. Preta grips her stick, and pokes her head out to get a better look. Rotting bark breaks off the log, and her hand slips. Her body collapses to the side, and her palm plants flat on squishy moss.

Heavy panting grows louder, and she presses off the ground and peeks over the log.

A flickering outline darts through the trees. A boy, appearing no older than Preta, flutters in and out of sight between the grey and black.

The boy stumbles through the thick forest at a fast pace, swatting the air to avoid the branches jutting out at him from every direction. He reaches the clearing thirty paces in front of Preta and comes into full view. The boy clutches his side and bends over, breathing heavy, sweat pours down his brow, dripping to the ground from the tips of his disheveled hair.

Preta doesn’t blink. She covers her mouth with her hand.

The boy glances toward the sky and grimaces, blood streaks down his cheek. He peeks back in the direction he came then looks toward the valley and runs for the opening. A root catches his boot. He tumbles forward, crashing into a pine tree and bounces off the bark. “Shoot!”

Why is he running? Is he in danger? Does he need help?

Preta springs out from behind the log and waves and yells, “Hey, boy! Over here, over here!”

Startled, the boy stops dead in his tracks and scans the muted forest to locate the voice. He pinpoints Preta, and their eyes meet.

An eternity passes as they stare each other down, measuring the threat.

The surroundings go silent, and Preta’s chest beats in erratic intensity. Her irregular breathing rattles the stick in her hand.

The boy’s body relaxes, his shoulders slouch and his face changes from fear to relief, which calms her.

Their eyes fixed, Preta curls her mouth into a timid smile, and she drops her stick as she steps forward.

Crack—

A branch snaps.

Preta freezes.
Something’s wrong
.

The boy’s face and body unnaturally stiffen. He raises his limp hand toward Preta, his eyes wide with fear. The boy’s face contorts with anguish and confusion. He mouths words though nothing comes out. His gaze locked on Preta, he folds forward in slow motion, every muscle turning off at once. He crumples to the ground, motionless, a knife handle protruding from his back.

“No!” Preta says, extending her hand and grasping the air with her fingers.

A shadowy figure emerges in the corner of Preta’s eye. She holds her breath.

The man’s dark cloak shields him from sight. He removes his black shroud. Long white-blonde hair tumbles out, falling onto a woman’s shoulders. The woman’s pale skin and sharp features contrast with the dark surroundings, revealing her sinister beauty.

Startled, Preta steps back. Her body twitches in shock, and her fingernails dig into her sweaty palms.
Did she see her
?
She killed him, she killed the boy.
Preta continues inching away, hoping the woman doesn’t see her.

The woman’s wicked blue eyes lock on Preta. Her thin lips curl into a menacing grin.

Preta’s feet stop and don’t move. She trembles in place. Her body rigid, tears form. Preta stares at the boy lying motionless on a patch of grass. Above, the moon’s rays leak through the canopy, illuminating the clearing.

The woman flaps open her dark-brown duster coat and unsheathes a silver dagger. She steps toward Preta then suddenly stops and turns toward the dead boy.

A dim, glowing aqua-blue mist emanates a few inches above the boy’s body. The hazy light dissipates, unnaturally sucking back together in a snap, then transforms into skinny strings of light radiating like a spider web crawling along the ground.

The blonde woman ignores Preta and holsters her dagger as she moves closer to the light. She unslings her backpack and removes a foot-long silver cylinder, unlike anything Preta’s ever seen.

Realizing now’s her chance to escape, Preta backs away slowly. She glances back and forth between the woman and the light.

One step, two steps, three, four
— Preta groans, her right leg buckles, her heel locks into a small log. She collapses backward, her butt slams into the ground with force, and her momentum propels her flat onto her back. Preta claws the dirt and moss to get to a knee, and she frantically locates the woman and the light.

The glowing blue web morphs into fewer semi-linear wavy streaks and only extend toward the woman.

With intense focus, the woman grins and raises the silver cylinder.

Preta scrambles to her feet, rustling the leaves and scraping the dirt.

The woman flinches and shifts her attention back toward Preta.

Preta realizes her mistake as the woman scowls and turns in her direction.

Zip—zip—

Two arrows zing through the trees and strike the woman’s chest. The woman’s sinister grin fades to a scowl, her anticipation replaced with shock and pain. End over end, the silver cylinder tumbles out of the sinister woman’s hand, landing softly in a bed of orange pine needles. She falls to her knees gasping for air, both hands clinching the arrows sticking in her chest. With a single convulsion, she collapses onto her side and doesn’t move.

Preta stares at the blonde woman, unsure of what to do.

The glowing blue light flashes and it retraces away from the dead woman and back into the boy’s body.

The glowing web inches toward Preta. Again, the strings morph into a few semi-linear wavy streaks, dancing along the ground.

It’s coming
. “It’s coming for me.”
Run!

Preta turns toward the valley and leaps over the log. With athletic speed and precision, she dodges the branches and skips over roots and vines. Her fear disappears, and flight takes control. Preta feels no pain, she sees everything in accentuated clarity: every twig, every tree, every bush, every glimmer of light seeping through the patchy canopy.

Preta’s fluid body traverses the organic maze with ease. Her head bobs and weaves as her arms sway like a conductor pushing aside the branches and vines.
The valley, the valley, run, don’t stop, don’t look back
.

Preta leaves the forest and leaps into the field, and she doesn’t slow.

The glowing streaks of light pick up speed, transitioning from multiple streaks to a few. The closer the light gets to Preta, the faster it moves. More streaks disappear until only a single beam weaves through the trees tracking its intent.

“Run, run, run, run,” Preta chants in rhythm between gasps for air. She picks up her pace, moving over open familiar ground.
Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back, go, go, go, go
.

As if by force, Preta’s body slows. She twists her head to look behind her to see if she outmaneuvered the danger. Preta sees nothing, and relief washes over her. Preta exhales and spins around, fully facing the forest. “No!”

A single streak of blue light flashes and strikes Preta in her chest.

The powerful jolt collapses her body, not allowing her to breathe. It lifts her off her feet driving her backward. And everything goes black.

THE BOYS

“
Preta
—” a man’s voice echoes from off in the distance.

Together, two men exit the forest and jog into the field.

A well-built man, twenty-something with thick, short black hair and a tidy beard, intelligent eyes, aware, carries a torch. The torch’s flame reflects off the side of his head revealing an out of place pure white splotch of hair above his left ear. His black wool sweater and dark-brown wool trousers blend in with the night sky.

Behind the dark-haired man, a taller man, younger with light blondish-brown hair extending down to the middle of his neck, carries a bow. His light-grey wool sweater, the color of the moon, brightens his face as the torchlight illuminates his angular features.

They reach Preta lying flat on her back, unconscious and barely breathing. Preta’s blue lips contrast with her pale, clammy face, and her body lies lifeless with legs splayed.

“Deet, what the hell was that light?” the long-haired man says. “What’s wrong with sis?”

Deet bends over and gently touches Preta’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Yaz. Preta—Preta, wake up.”

Yaz leans in for a closer look. “What the heck was that light?”

“I said I don’t know.”

Yaz points at the forest. “And who was that woman and boy?”

Deet shakes his head. “No idea, never seen them. Preta, Preta, wake up.”

“Damn, Dee, did you see that shot? Through the trees, in the dark, and at least fifty paces away, I hit that blonde bitch right in the center of her chest. She never saw it coming.
Ha
—”