Emergence (Book 2) (40 page)

"Where am I?" His voice came out as a croak, but carried the weight of a demand and the tingle of power. He had not lost those. "Who are you?"

Who are you?
The question returned, little more than a breath of sound that sighed and hissed like an errant wind. Echoing as though repeated by a multitude of sibilant voices.
You carry our names, but we do not know you. You are not she.

"She?"

She who called us.
The voices rippled around him.
She who walked with us.

"The priestess?"

Where is she?

"Dead."

Slithering laughter.
Death does not claim one such as her. Darkness holds her. Darkness surrounds her.

"Who are you?" Donovan asked again.

The air moved. Breezes, like phantom touches, whispered across his skin. Played with his hair. Trickled across his flesh. Sudden images bombarded him, swirling in a chaotic frenzy that made his stomach lurch. Memories he had kept locked and barred were laid bare. All the long years of his life spread out before him, picked through, examined. The debacle on the wall played out before his eyes: his daughter, the priestess, the General.

The voices reached a fevered pitch at what they saw.
Who
they saw.

That one.
They fell over one another in a tumult of hissing, groping at Donovan's thoughts with clammy fingers.
Darkness has touched this one. Darkness will claim this one.

Something shifted in the distance, and the voices fell silent with all the intensity of an imminent storm. A presence loomed, and the shadowy figures fell away before it without a sound. Immense. Oppressive. It surrounded Donovan, removing even the hint of light, stealing away the air itself. Sweat ran down the back of Donovan's neck, and his palms became slick. An emotion he had not felt in three lifetimes of men clenched around his heart, and he dropped to one knee, head bowed. He dared to breathe only because he refused to die. He had come too far to give in to that petty master.

A touch beneath his chin lifted his face, but only blackness met his searching eyes. Donovan shivered at the chill that claimed him, fighting to quench the racing of his heart, to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. He would give in to terror as easily as he would give in to death.

A sense of curiosity radiated from the specter. Donovan tried to pull away, reaching for his power. The crone's answered instead, tearing through him as though ripped from his chest. Donovan screamed, and the sound shattered him. Scattered him like bits of splintered glass. He clung to consciousness through force of will alone.

Then, even that deserted him, leaving nothing but Darkness.

~ Finis ~

~
Continued in
Edge of Darkness

Book Three of the

Darkness and Light series.
~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K. L. Schwengel lives in southeast
Wisconsin on a small farm with her husband, a handful of Australian Shepherds, Her Royal Highness Princess Fiona the Cat, and assorted livestock. Growing up as the youngest of nine children, and the daughter of a librarian, Kathi spent many hours between stacks of books, and secluded away in dusty archives, drawn to tales of medieval heroes and conquering knights. With so many characters and ideas spinning in her head, she had to get them onto paper or risk what little sanity she possessed. She has been penning wild tales of magic and mayhem as long as she can remember, but opted to follow her artistic muse first. After earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts and spending many years working as a freelance artist, grocery clerk, art teacher, graphic designer, stable hand, advertising account coordinator, dog trainer, and process technician (among other things) she answered the call of her writing muse. When not writing, Kathi trains and trials working Australian Shepherds, still paints, dabbles in photography, graphic design, and anything else creative her assorted muses send her way.

Connect online
at…

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