CHAPTER ONE
Gabriel hit the murky sewer water with a splash. He reflexively opened his mouth from the impact and the filthy water flooded in. When he broke the surface of the water, he spat and sneezed in an attempt to remove the foul murk from his nose and mouth, but the stink remained. He grasped the edge of the walkway and pulled himself from the stale water, wet and smelling like a garbage truck. The too-tight burlap pants he had borrowed were already uncomfortable to wear, but now that they were soaked, it was ten times worse. He longed for his normal garb, a sweatshirt and jeans, but he’d abandoned them several hours prior for a more inconspicuous outfit, considering where his night would take him. If his friends at school could see him dressed like a character in a Shakespearean play, it would be one more thing to ridicule him about, but being laughed at was the least of his problems.
For as long as he could remember, Gabriel Redfeather had always had shit luck. His parents had died mysteriously in a fire, which landed him in the care of his eccentric grandfather. The elder, who simply went by Redfeather, was a retired professor who spent the twilight of his years studying things that seemed to make no sense to anyone but him. Redfeather would keep his grandson, Gabriel, up to all hours, feeding his curiosity for the supernatural with his stories of things that had branded him a lunatic among his colleagues. At the end of each tale, he would always remind Gabriel that monsters were real but couldn’t hurt him. A few days prior, Gabriel discovered a hard truth; his grandfather was a liar. Monsters were real and trying their best to hurt him.
* * *
In the blink of an eye, he had gone from a less-than-popular bookworm to a suspect in the death of his two best friends, and on the shit list of a very powerful demon. There was a bounty on Gabriel’s head, and every creature of the night in the tristate area was gunning to collect, all because of the thing that had bound itself to his soul and the girl who handed it to him.
Thinking of DeMona brought Gabriel back to the reason he had willingly jumped back into a hole he had only narrowly escaped a few minutes prior. DeMona hadn’t made it, which meant the goblins had her. They were outnumbered and out-muscled, as the goblins had swarmed the tunnel. Anything that hadn’t made it out of that hole probably wouldn’t, but he couldn’t leave her behind.
Gabriel rolled to his feet, trident at the ready, prepared to once again do battle with the fierce goblins, but there was no sign of his enemy. In fact, there was no sign of anyone. It was as if someone or something had driven the goblins away. His gaze swept the tunnel, searching for his traveling companion. He spotted her a few yards down, kneeling on the ground. She looked beaten to shit, but she was still alive. Gabriel took a step toward DeMona, and the trident pulsed in his hand, sending a cold sense of dread up his arm. It was then that his gaze picked up on what he hadn’t seen at first: DeMona wasn’t alone.
Crouching in front of her, partially out of his view, was a woman … or what he assumed was a woman. It was hard to tell from the bulky gold armor and barrel-like shoulders. When the thing kneeling before DeMona looked up, Gabriel saw the spine of bone running up both sides of its forehead and the unnatural glow to its eyes. His mind screamed demon, and he rushed to help his friend. Halfway into his battle charge, he paused and a dumbstruck look crossed his face.
The demon’s face began to wriggle and transform. The yellowish scales on her exposed flesh faded, leaving behind smooth olive skin. Her fangs retracted behind two perfectly bowed lips that were the color of rose pedals and her semi-blocked jaw rounded to a tender curve. When the horns receded back into her skull, her dark hair fanned around her face, a face that was nearly a mirror double of DeMona’s. All Gabriel could do was blink to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
* * *
DeMona wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but it wasn’t pleasant. Now that the fight was over, her adrenaline was bleeding off, and she was beginning to feel the aches in her limbs. The inside of her stomach did flip-flops, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to hold down what little food she did have in her stomach. Waves rolled under her skin as her body danced between two forms, one of peace and the other of war.
For what seemed like an eternity, her eyes remained locked on the woman standing across from her. Looking at the woman was like looking into a mirror. They both had the same beautiful features, dark hair, and tanned skin, but DeMona was younger and looked less battle-worn than her double. The most striking resemblance had to be the eyes, both sets shone with the unnatural moonlight that was the mark of their kind, the Valkrin. Though she could see her double clearly in the dimly lit tunnel, her mind was telling her it was impossible. It couldn’t be her mother, not after what she’d done to their family.
“DeMona,” Mercy said, extending her hand, “baby, it’s Mommy.”
“Don’t … you … dare.” DeMona’s voice was heavy, and her words measured. Her two forms had finally finished their debate, and war had won over peace. Long talons extended from where her fingertips had been, and her shoulders broadened.
“Sweetie, I know you have so many questions, and if you’d just let me explain—” Mercy began, but was cut off when DeMona leapt to her feet.
DeMona was a ball of emotion. Her mind whirled with thoughts of how her mother had abandoned them, and her father’s murder, and she snapped, “He died because of you.” She lashed out twice, leaving eight slashes across Mercy’s face, but the wounds healed just as quickly as they’d come, which only infuriated DeMona more. She raised her hand for another strike, but Mercy caught her arm in midswing. DeMona came around with the other talon, and Mercy stopped that strike easier than the first one. DeMona was stronger than most humans and some supernatural beings, but she was no match for her mother.
Still holding DeMona’s arms, Mercy rose and regarded her daughter, the piece of her she had left behind. She saw so much of Edward’s kind spirit in her, but she also saw the rage. Their race thrived on war and anger; it was in their genetic make-up. DeMona may have had a human father, but she was all Valkrin, like her mother. Mercy thought of what her daughter must’ve had to endure trying to live in two worlds with no one to guide her, and it broke her. There were no words that Mercy could find to mend her daughter’s broken heart, so she did what came natural and hugged her.
“Let me go.” DeMona struggled against her mother, but not enough to break free. She was resentful, but being in her mother’s arms was the closest she had come to being at peace since she left. “How could you just leave us like that?”
“I am so sorry, DeMona.” Mercy sobbed into her hair. “I swear if there had been any other way, I’d have never left my family behind.” Mercy continued consoling her daughter until she remembered the human. When she noticed the trident in his hand, she recoiled and bared her fangs. Though she had never laid eyes on it, she knew what it was, and the tale behind it and its twisted master, the Bishop.
Several centuries prior, a mystic storm had torn a rift in the veil that separated the worlds of men and monsters. It was called the Dark Storm. It marked the beginning of what would be known as the Seven-Day Siege, a war between hell and earth. With the demon horde threatening to enslave humanity, the world once again needed heroes, and the church provided them with one—Bishop Michael Francisco. He was chosen to lead the secret order of the Knights of Christ into battle against the demons, armed with one of the church’s most closely guarded artifacts, the Trident of Heaven.
The weapon was powerful indeed, and decimated the dark forces, but the Nimrod’s services came at a price. The temptation of commanding power of that magnitude was overwhelming, even for those as devout as the Bishop and the knights he led into battle. The corruption started with him, but soon spread through his ranks, and he was eventually betrayed by his second-in-command, a knight named Titus, and struck down with the weapon he had wielded so faithfully. He sought to claim the trident as its own, but the Nimrod was not ready to part with the Bishop, and instead of letting his soul pass to the afterlife, it consumed it before turning on knights and demons alike. In the end, it was a young knight called Redfeather who was able to bring the trident under control and end the Seven-Day Siege. For centuries it was said that the trident, and the soul trapped with it, drifted through time and space waiting for the day when it would once again be commanded by its true master, the Bishop.
Mercy bared her fangs and stepped between her daughter and the weapon, prepared to either fight or die to protect her daughter.
“No, he’s a friend.” DeMona touched her mother’s hand, and it seemed to soothe her. “This is Gabriel Redfeather.”
Mercy scoffed. “So, this is the fool who woke the Nimrod and set the wheels of the apocalypse in motion?”
“Hey, it’s not like I did it on purpose, so I’d appreciate it if you and everybody else got off my case for a little while,” Gabriel said heatedly.
Don’t let your tongue cost you your head, young hunter. The Valkrin are quick to anger and quicker to murder, the Bishop whispered into his ear. The soul captured in the trident had been silent until then, but being in such close proximity to the demon unnerved him.
Mercy’s head cocked to one side, and she gave Gabriel a quizzical look. “It’s true what they say, isn’t it?”
Gabriel abandoned his conversation and looked up at her. “It depends on what they’re saying.”
Mercy moved closer to get a better look at the trident, but didn’t dare go within arm’s reach. “They say the Bishop’s spirit still lives, and secretly orchestrates events through those whom the Nimrod chooses as his puppets.”
“I’m nobody’s puppet!” Gabriel declared.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Mercy asked.
DeMona stepped between them. “Back off, Mercy. When the shit hit the fan, Gabriel was there for me, which is more than I can say for you.”
Mercy sighed deeply. “DeMona, I know you’re upset—”
DeMona cut her off. “Upset is an understatement.”
“Fine, you’re angry. You have every right to be, but you have to understand that I did what I had to do to protect you.” She took DeMona’s face in her hands, and the girl didn’t resist. “To your father and me, you were the most beautiful thing we had ever laid eyes on. To the Valkrin, you’d have been an abomination, flawed and weak because of your human blood. Had the Valkrin come to claim me, instead of me going willingly, can you imagine what they would’ve done to you?”
DeMona pulled away. “No worse than they’ve already done, by killing my father and mother,” she spat.
Mercy’s nostrils flared at the statement, but she remained calm. “We Valkrin are born warriors, and to die in battle is the highest honor bestowed upon our kind. When the call to arms goes out, all Valkrin are bound by blood and tradition to answer. To ignore the call is to die in shame, and trust me, my sisters wouldn’t have stopped until we were all dead.”
Mercy’s confession touched DeMona. She could feel tears welling, but wouldn’t allow them to fall. “We could’ve fought them together.”
Mercy shook her head. “Little one, you still have so much to learn about what we are. The enemies of the Valkrin do not fight, they die! By leaving behind the ones I loved the most, I spared you the life the Valkrin would’ve condemned you to.”
DeMona could feel her anger wavering, so she held onto it with everything she had. “Are we supposed to kiss and make up now?” she asked sarcastically.
“DeMona, I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I expect you to understand.” Mercy was calm, but her daughter could feel the anger rolling off her. DeMona was pushing it.
The trident pulsed in Gabriel’s hand, warning him of danger. His eyes immediately flashed to the dark tunnel. He couldn’t see the goblins, but he could feel them coming. There were more of them this time. “I think this is a conversation that should be had outside this tunnel, ladies,” Gabriel suggested.
Mercy was about to snap at Gabriel for interrupting but her ears picked up what the trident was trying to warn him of. She couldn’t be sure, but by the sounds of their footfalls, there were over a dozen of them. “The human is right. We’d better go before they get here.” She sprang effortlessly up through the hole leading to the upper level.
DeMona shook her head at her mother’s slur and gave Gabriel an apologetic look. She tried to mimic her mother and leap up through the hole, but she fell short. Mercy’s firm hand grabbed her about the wrists and pulled her effortlessly up. DeMona was surprised at how strong her mother actually was, and it showed on her face.
“When you mature and come into your full Valkrin strength, you’ll be able to do that and so much more,” Mercy told her.
“Maybe, unless my human blood stunts my growth,” DeMona said cruelly. “Let’s go, Gabriel,” she called over her shoulder and brushed past her mother to regroup with the others.
“Your human friend is wasting time.” Mercy was on her heels. She made no attempt to hide her mounting irritation with her daughter.
“He’s coming, so why don’t you relax?” DeMona snapped.
“Because I don’t like sitting around waiting to be slaughtered by the goblin horde. We must keep moving.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, popping up after all this time and trying to give me orders. I’ve been doing fine without you this long,” DeMona said.
There was a loud hissing which caused mother and daughter to turn around. They couldn’t see him at first because he was hiding in the shadows, but it didn’t take their Valkrin eyes long to pierce the veil. He was small by goblin standards, standing no taller than a small human child. His skin was a sickly shade of green, and his teeth were like little yellow needles. With pointed ears and a pair of useless leathery wings on his back, he looked more like an overgrown bat than a goblin prince.
“Demon!” Gilchrist tried to press himself farther into the shadows. “Kill us all, the Valkrin has come to do. Slay her! Slay her!” Gilchrist shouted.
Before DeMona could explain, Cristobel and Jak, the dwarves she had been traveling with, came to investigate. Cristobel was plump, with jovial blue eyes and brown hair, while Jak was lean with blond hair. Both dwarves were beardless, the final mark of shame the goblins had laid upon them when they stormed the Iron Mountains and stripped the dwarves of their home and their freedom.
“By the gods!” Jak drew his twin blades when he saw Mercy. Cristobel was at his side, battle-axe drawn and poised to strike. They surrounded Mercy, prepared to engage in a battle both knew they had no chance of winning. Fighting a goblin was one thing, but this was a Valkrin, and the Valkrin didn’t die easily.
DeMona tried to shout an explanation, but Jak had already made his move. Jak was incredibly quick, but the speed at which Mercy moved was unbelievable. His two blades clanked harmlessly to the ground, just before the back of her hand met with his chin, sending him flying to the other side of the chamber. Cristobel swung his axe, but Mercy easily sidestepped it, and grabbed the shaft. She yanked it from Cristobel’s hand with so much force that she was sure to have broken at least one of his fingers. Mercy regarded the axe as if it were a child’s toy, before tossing it to the side and turning her attention toward Cristobel.
Mercy shook her head sadly at the frightened dwarf. “So, these are the souls who were expected to be trusted with my only daughter’s life, on your fool’s mission into the pits of hell?” She lifted him by the front of his shirt. “Pathetic.”
“Mother, stop it!” DeMona shouted. She tried to pull her mother’s arm to free Cristobel, but she might as well have been a fly buzzing around the Valkrin.
Copyright © 2019 by Kris Greene
