Fractured Spirits Read online

  Fractured Spirits

  Fractured Lands Book 4

  By Greg Alldredge

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9781797975481

  Contact the author at

  [email protected]

  @G.Alldredge on Facebook

  @MrAlldredge on Twitter

  greg.alldredge on Instagram

  © 2019 Greg Alldredge

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Ryn Katryn Digital Art.

  Melinda Campbell, Copyeditor

  www.MCEdits.com

  To my wife, Connie, for always believing in me. The readers, who have read my books. Thank you.

  Chapter 1, Saunders Coleson:

  Chapter 2, Hayline Shoemaker:

  Chapter 3, Alerga:

  Chapter 4, Hope Shoemaker:

  Chapter 5, Six:

  Chapter 6, The Spy:

  Chapter 7, Kanika:

  Chapter 8, Fox Villa:

  Chapter 9, Verity Shepard:

  Chapter 10, Jo Villa:

  Chapter 11, Chastity Shoemaker:

  Chapter 12, Zorra Villa:

  Chapter 13, Captain Talen:

  Chapter 14, Hope Shoemaker:

  Chapter 15, Angel James:

  Chapter 16, Rachel Morris:

  Chapter 17, Della Villa:

  Chapter 18, Lane Stone:

  Chapter 19, Ollie Shoemaker:

  Chapter 20, Zorra Villa:

  Chapter 21, Louie Hicks

  Gods of the Shards:

  Chapter 1, Saunders Coleson:

  Daylight and warmth seemed a distant memory, and the austerity of Saunders’s priest’s cell a luxury he would never see again. The towers of his temple in Abaraka, now a distant memory. That day… he never thought his discovery in the library would have taken him so far. When he closed the wall behind him, he expected… told himself… honestly, he didn’t grasp what to expect. Assuming it would only be new and different, Saunders never anticipated this new version of hell: forever dark, forced to wander the tunnels under the earth until his death. However, he refused to give up. It was not time to roll over and die. That day might come but not today.

  Saunders worked his way through the catacombs. His god, the Son, must have traveled at his side. He found water shortly before the rough-hewed tunnels ended. Needing to break through a weak masonry wall that covered the farthest end, now he traveled a natural cavern.

  His survival depended on the water he found, and the fire he kept going with his torch of tattered cloth stolen from the dead. His journey left him in awe at how fragile life was. Unsure how deep or far he’d traveled, he felt the light and warmth of the sun call to him.

  As soon as he found the trickle of water, he thought his best bet for freedom from the darkness was to follow it backward. To his knowledge, water flowed downhill, and up meant the sun and warmth.

  His food ran out long ago. Even supplementing his diet with the few blind insects, he discovered he needed to cinch up the rope that held his robes on, or he would have continually tripped over their growing length.

  He stopped to give his leg a rest. A shooting pain in the joint still came when he bent it, but the splint he constructed from bone helped to steady his limp. The makeshift torch hissed as it burned. Saunders understood he should press farther before sleeping, but his energy waned with lack of food. It had been an unmeasurable time since he caught a cricket, and his stomach growled in protest. The rags still covering his body came from the dead. He tore a small piece off the end, dunked it into the water and chewed it. The urge to vomit almost overcame his need to fill his stomach with something. He looked overhead, trying to think of happier thoughts.

  There in the torchlight came a most unexpected discovery. Someone had climbed to the ceiling of this most inhospitable place and painted the rocks overhead. He scratched his chin, his beard now longer than his fingers thick. He estimated it had been several weeks since he shaved. Who would have come so deep underground to paint symbols on the ceiling?

  Excited, he took out his journal and copied the features of the artwork as best he could. By the looks of the drawing, it was old, but he had no way to judge its age. He saw clear human stick figures. Several hunted what looked like giant animals with spears and bows. Not unlike the weapons of war he’d become too familiar with. He also found what looked like stars painted in patterns unrecognizable to him, but they must have been significant enough to go to all this trouble.

  Why go to all this trouble unless he was closer to the exit than he thought…? He continued to copy the figures in the dim light of his femur torch until he came to a picture that made his blood run cold. The artist had taken the time to use color on this portion of the wall, at eye level, it was easy to see. He had never seen a dragon himself. The folklore concerning them remained legendary, but there in front of him stood the scaly face of a giant lizard maw opened wide, fangs glistening on the damp wall. Saunders almost shat himself.

  A sudden chill ran down his neck. Fear or caution forced him to scan the area to make doubly sure he stood alone, which of course he did. With haste, he finished his sketches, closed his book, and did one final search for more drawings. With a deep breath of relief, he continued his chase of the tiny waterway uphill. The small piece of rag he chewed was now dry. He thought it better to distance himself from the cave paintings, especially the ones of the dragon. Everyone in his circle assumed them to be extinct. That was one discovery he did not want to make alone and on his own in this cave or any other.

 

  His leg slowed him down, but the image of the dragon drove him to keep up his pace. Unidentified sounds that whispered through the caverns held new frightful meanings. The slight breath of a breeze gave him new things to worry about.

  He stumbled upon a much larger cavern room, one so grand he couldn’t see the ceiling. His light, his sole source of comfort, became a liability. His mind played tricks on him. The dark and quiet of the caves was driving him slowly insane. That was, until something brushed against his arm.

  He swatted in the air and hit something the size of his hand. The contact surprised him, yet again he almost shat himself. He dropped down. A new fluttering sound reached his ears. Something flew in this vaulted space.

  His letter opener dagger remained stashed in the pack, as he had felt the need for walking more pressing than the need for self-defense. That decision changed with a moment’s notice. Frantic, he dug for his only weapon. The first flying creature struck. Pain flashed into his neck as the thing sank its beak into his flesh.

  He swatted it with his torch, lighting his rags afire. It flew off and joined his friends, waiting for a better chance to strike. His pitiful blade in hand, Saunders needed to devise a way to hold a torch, walking stick, and the letter-opener-blade all at the same time. His combat training ended long ago and focused more on dispatching a human opponent, not the flying kind. The stream grew larger, but he saw no end in sight to the tunnel. He needed to leave this place as quickly as possible.

  One cautious step at a time, he worked over the slick stones. This trip had taken him too far to die at the beak of an unknown cave creature. Torch held high, between steps he attacked any of the little monsters that risked a flight too close to his body.

  With the luck of the gods, he connected with one and sent its wounded body
crashing into the rocks that lined the path. No honor among bloodsuckers, the swarm attacked the injured creature before it had a chance to recover.

  While the others gorged themselves on the fallen creature, Saunders limped as best as possible to safety. However, the respite measured a short one. The creatures, emboldened by the quick snack, swarmed his head. Fending them off with the torch and letter opener, he felt his struggle was a losing battle. The sheer number blocked his vision, and with his damaged knee, his progress became zero.

  In the chaos, he tripped. This is it, he thought. An ignoble end to a meaningless life. The water engulfed him in a huge splash. His torch when out in the icy water. The flying creatures stopped attacking him for the moment. He held his breath, but the water was cold. He had little body fat to insulate him from the chill, so his body temperature dropped quickly. He would have surfaced for breath, but the little monsters slapped against the water trying to reach him.

  He was trapped. Something rubbed against his body from underneath. Oh, what new horror is this? Saunders fought the urge to up and run. There was no telling the size of the things that had crept up under him. Under the water, the screeching still filled his ears.

  In the pitch dark, he held out no longer. He let his face break the surface of the small underground pond. With a quick intake, he filled his lungs with air. The surface of the water roiled with what might have been snakes attacking the winged creatures, pulling them to their deaths. In this place, you ate or waited to be eaten. I must escape.

  With no way to decide which faction won the raging battle, Saunders crawled out of the water. Blind, he felt with his hands for his meager equipment. His weak blade was lost in the confusion, and he wasn’t about to retreat to the water to feel around for it. With no estimation of the depth of the pool, the weapon might be in the center of the earth by now. He wanted out of this hell he found himself in. In the chaos and darkness, he was uncertain which way to continue.

  He grew certain anywhere had to be better than here. He could be wrong. His first choice was to run away, or more like hobble away. The creatures battled behind him, tearing each other apart. Saunders climbed—anything to reach relative safety—away from the chaos behind him. Exhausted, he dropped, stuffed himself into a crack between two of the larger boulders, and shivered himself to sleep.

 

  His eyes cracked open, his body shivered uncontrollably, but he lay dry and alive. He took a mental inventory in the dark. Weapon, torch, and walking stick had been dropped when he fell in the water. There was no mistaking the pack that lay under his body in a lump, but the contents might be ruined.

  The cold of the cave on his wet body seeped into his bones. With considerable effort, he struggled out of the cleft between the rocks and moved as best he could to warm up. The thought of returning to the lake and looking for food was swiftly kicked from his thoughts. The many creatures below him would not hesitate to snack on his body either. With zero weapons, he realized he would not be able to defend himself again.

  He had to listen for danger, the loss of the torch left him blind in the total darkness… or is it totally dark? Something had changed. From where he stood, he just made out a gray against the black. Not too far from him, he recognized the outline of a pillar of stone. Still shaking, he spun around and there above and behind his position, a lighter glow, the walls of the cave clearly visible. Dragging his body over the massive stones, he headed for the light. In spite of the frigid temperatures, he began sweating in no time. The sun called to him, giving new energy, with the desire to escape this hell and see daylight once again.

  An hour had barely passed when he found the blue sky, angled from the cave floor below. He forced himself to keep his attention on the broken path he followed. He found a gray limb from a long dead tree and picked it up as a new walking stick.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the patch of blue that drew him closer. The cave floor was haphazardly littered with boulders, so Saunders had a hard time navigating closer to the wall to climb out of the cave. All horrors of the attack in the dark forgotten, now his only goal was reaching the outside.

  That was why he never saw the soft tail he stepped on. He fell between the rocks on the trail when his ankle rolled, his foot having slipped off the sleeping creature’s tail, which had to be the size of his upper arm. The hissing yelp-growl struck him as considerably more imposing. From the ground, it was now impossible to miss the thing that stood before him. The largest animal he’d ever seen.

  The tail he stepped on swished in constant motion. It was attached to a body more massive than any horse he had ever seen. The monster had to weigh more than ten men. Covered head to toe in a tawny fur with dark brown stripes. Its mouth filled with fangs the size of daggers.

  With only a branch to defend himself with, he lay back, arms outstretched, waiting to die.

  The creature, shocked from its slumber, took a moment to size up its victim then attacked the breakfast that had stumbled into its lair. Imagine the surprise when a spear struck it midflight, piercing between two ribs, penetrating deep into the chest cavity and into the heart. If not for the space between the rocks Saunders fell into, the weight of the creature would have crushed him dead.

  Saunders screamed, the fear of dying getting the better of him. If he had anything in his bowels, he would have messed his filthy robes. At least the beast radiated warmth.

  A head with short-cropped light brown hair and red cheeks stuck her head over the beast’s fallen body.

  Overjoyed to be alive, Saunders cleared his unused throat and did his best to say, “Hello.”

  To which she promptly used the blunt end of her other spear to hit him between the eyes, knocking him out.

  Chapter 2, Hayline Shoemaker:

  The rain wasn’t the only thing that dampened Hayline’s spirits. The journey to the wall passed uneventfully. Too uneventful for Hayline’s tastes.

  Past the wall, past the reach of civilization and all things would be better, or at least so Hayline thought. His tutors had drilled into his head the wall marked the end of civilization. The only men past the wall should not be considered men. More monsters who would breed with anything that stood still long enough.

  Hayline suffered disappointment after agonizing disappointment. He expected an edifice as imposing as the cliffs Perdition was built upon. The wall wasn’t. It stood perhaps the height of two short men standing on one another’s shoulders. It did go on for quite a distance, but a drunken toddler could scale the blocks in seconds. Many of the stones had gone missing, and when Hayline reached the summit, he found farms and fields on the far side. A section of the barrier had been removed for a road to pass through.

  “This is it?” Giblet asked.

  “It appears so.” Hayline strolled toward the fissure that cut through the barrier.

  A wagon approached, and Hayline had questions.

  “Maybe there is another, a more… imposing one?”

  Hayline shook his head. “I don’t see any more in the distance.” Reaching the gap before the invading wagon, he loomed over the edge.

  Left hand raised, he looked an imposing force clad in the now drenched oilcloth cloak. The wagon, carrying an old man and a young girl stopped before Hayline spoke.

  “Good sir, where are the demons? Where are the monsters I heard called this land past the wall their home?”

  The old man scanned the wall and the area behind him. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  “Can we kill them now?” the little girl asked.

  Hayline shook his head. The thatch in the back of the wagon shifted into a load of dead children, by the look of it their throats all slit and their bodies drained of blood. Hayline shook his head, and the load returned to thatch.

  “I asked where are the demons? Are they farther inland?” Hayline asked again.

  “Ain’t nothing around here but farms. I’ve never seen a demon my whole life here. They are all gone
, I think, gone the way of the dragons.”

  “Kill, kill, kill them all.” The little girl sprouted horns. Her tongue flicked out, split like a serpent’s, tasting the air. The wagon was loaded with babies again.

  Hayline forced himself to remain calm, even if he felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. “And farther into the mountains? What lies past the farms?” he asked while his hands flexed on the weapon handles under the oilcloth.

  “Nothing, as far as I know, only trees, valleys, and the wild folk.” The old man’s eyes narrowed as he inspected Hayline’s behavior.

  “I want to drink his BLOOD!” the little girl screamed, standing on the bench seat of the wagon.

  Releasing his dagger, Hayline cinched his cilice tighter, shooting the pain down his leg and deep into his abdomen. He felt the blood from the device mix with the rain and dribble into his shoe.

  Giblet screamed in pain when the band tightened and the spines dug into the flesh. “Just kill the beasts already!”

  The dead babies in the back of the wagon returned to the thatch needed to repair a leaking roof down the lane.

  “Thank you, good sir, I will search the mountains for these wild men…” Hayline saluted the old man and the little girl as he let them pass.

  While the wagon passed under his perch on the wall, Hayline blacked out.

 

  The rain beating on the top of his bare head brought him back to reality. He kneeled in the center of the path, the mud and horseshit seeping into his leather trousers. He glanced up, tears mixing with the rain, and in the distance, he spotted the wagon, the old man and the young girl missing from the driver’s seat. Close to him, along the side of the road, lay the forms of two bodies. Hayline only assumed what happened. He had no doubt the cadavers were of the old man and girl. Rivulets of blood ran in the rain down his blades and puddled on the track.