The Gathering

This Book is a work of fiction.
 
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living

or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Shannon L. Dearing

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
 

For all information, please contact Author
at
www.SLDearing.com
.

The artwork used on the cover of this book is done so expressly by permission of the artist. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this artwork or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
 

All information pertaining to the cover art may be sent through the author at the website, www.SLDearing.com

Cover Art:
 
The Falcon Spy

Cover art by Gayleen Beyers

Copyright© 2009 by Gayleen Beyers

Edited by Coeli Jones

First Edition POD

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This book is dedicated to:

My husband, David,

For always believing in me.

My mother, Karen,

For always seeing my talent

And encouraging me to embrace it.

My niece, Kalina,

You are the angel of my heart.

My Brother, Pat, and my Sister, Mary Kate,

You are where my wit and laughter live,

What would I do without you?

My grandma, Lucy,

You were the one that taught us strength and

Boundless love.
 
I miss you.

And my father, Michael,

For always making me reach further and farther

Than I ever thought I could.

You are my hero.

I love you all.

Prologue

He felt the evil growing.
 
He knew the time had come so he ran and they followed him, running as fast as they could.
 
The frigid night air cut into their throats like knives as their legs pushed them away from the battle, each muscle expanding and contracting in rhythm.
 
He had to get to safety, but where?
 
Then he remembered his vision.
 
The caves, he had to get them to the caves.

Then he heard the sounds of horses, followed by soldiers yelling.
 
He knew they mustn’t be seen.
 
He ordered them forward as he stopped to assess their enemy's approach.
 
He stared into the distance, but saw nothing save for the flickering of torches.
 
He turned and watched his clan move through the wooded hills towards the caves in the mountain.
 
His nostrils twitched as he turned his head back towards the dark night.
 
He narrowed his field of vision and there he saw them.

An orange glow began to rise over the ridge and he drew a long sharp breath.
 
He yelled for them to hurry, then turned and ran with what little strength he had left, once again taking the lead.

The glow moved rapidly over the ridge like a great serpent spreading quickly down the hill.
 
His mouth was dry and his head pounded in sync with his legs.

Then he saw the caves, just beyond the trees.
 
He ordered his clan into the mountain.
 
They drove through the opening and plunged into darkness, each muscle burning and sore, pushed to its ultimate limit.

The murkiness of the cave made them slow slightly, but he kept them moving forward with as much speed as they could manage.
 
Despite the cold, the dampness of the stone was making the dryness in his chest ease and he was grateful.

They ran for what seemed an eternity and then he saw it, a light.
 
He ran to it and they followed, bursting out the side of the mountain like a flood.
 
In the distance he saw a glow and he ordered his clan to move towards it.
 
It was warm and comforting, not the threatening serpent of fire they had just left on the other side of the mountain.
 
After a short distance he led them off the road and into the trees.
 

He stopped once again, turning to watch for their enemies, but there was nothing behind them, nothing but the darkness of the caves.
 

He turned and ran again to the front of his people, who had stopped and were staring into the distance.
 
He could now see the source of the warm light.
 
It was a great village with a grand castle.
 
His nostrils twitched again and he walked forward, smiling.
 
This was the place.
 
That was the castle, there was the flag and she was there, he could feel it.

He urged his clan forward.
 
They moved slowly towards the village, exhausted.
 
The great walls were close now, rising high into the night sky.
 
He told them to move into the woods and they turned one by one disappearing into the trees.

When the last of his people had withdrawn, he walked towards the trees, but before he entered the forest he stopped and turned his head.
 
He stared at a window in a turret, her window.
 
He sighed heavily and smiled as he walked into the wood.

1

The early morning silence of the village was heavy in the cool autumn air, but that would soon change as it was the third Sunday of November, the Gathering.
 

This was the time when all of the villages gathered at the chosen colony to trade goods and tales, and when families and friends were re-united.
 
The last Gathering of the year would be in Lia Fail, the great pagan village, resting tall on top of the Santa Monica Mountains, just above the ruins of the old Hollywood sign.
 

The quiet of the morning was as yet undisturbed, save for the few sentinels at their posts, occasionally shifting their gaze from one end of the horizon to the other in bored observation.
 

A giant stone wall surrounded the town, allowing the sentinels to see over both valleys.
 
Every two hundred feet sat a giant tower.
 
A walkway extended the entire length of the wall, running through each tower.
 
The village was a fortress.
 

There were some gardens in the settlement, but most of the crops were outside the wall, as were many of the herding animals who grazed among the chaparral, and who were being tended to before the sun rose.
 
A creek running along the edge of the village supplied water for the community.
 
In addition to the creek, an underground spring ran through the center of the town, where several wells had been placed to benefit the settlement.