The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4) by Everet Martins Page B
Authors: Everet Martins
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thoughts. Had she? It wasn’t supposed to work like that. Maybe there was something he didn’t understand. Had he fucked something up? Maybe, but more likely it was just coincidence.
“Nothing. Get going.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the cave.
Juzo let out a long breath, crossing his arms and watching the nameless woman as she stumbled away. She was a mirage in the scrubland, kicking up dirt inhaled by the wind. That made her his fifth surrogate. The new Tower would need more, hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers to stand against Asebor.
He peered at the plume of smoke endlessly drifting out to sea from the pillaged Silver Tower. He felt like he should feel sadness, anger, something, anything at the sight of that dark cloud. He had wanted vengeance and it felt good to have it, to watch Terar bleed. Vengeance was hollow though. It was disappointing, like expectantly cracking open an egg for morning supper, only to find nothing but rot inside.
A bright purple lizard skittered in front of his black leather boots. It raised a crown of thin flesh around its neck and hissed at him. Its wide mouth gaped open. Juzo smirked, raised his boot and rammed it down. The lizard crunched under his boot, its guts squirting out onto a rock. He stared at its entrails, which looked like a strange jam.
The Blood Eater’s he created were inextricably linked to him, their actions and will molded by his thoughts. They were much like he was once, under the control of Terar, though without the soul crushing abuse.
Baylan had said the Black Wynches controlled the Cerumal warriors through tele— telesomething. It controlled their thoughts, made them strike with coordination. It was exactly what he did with his surrogates. He brushed his skin, thinking a bug had landed on it, but there was nothing there. Did they use the same power?
“Telepathy.” He remembered. Was he like them? “No.” It felt weak coming out of his throat. It was a lie supported by rotting hay.
He vowed to be better than Terar. He would treat his surrogates fairly. He’d send them meals on time. “Meals,” He scoffed, shaking his head. He looked up from the lizard guts, slitted his ruby eye and watched his girl blend with the sand into the distance. There was no use trying to deny the truth of it. “Had to be reasonable,” Walter would have said. He had become the enemy.
----
A n oily haze engulfed the huddled buildings of Helm’s Reach. The square was cobbled and a churning river of goats were herded past Nyset’s station. Their bells rang and their throats bleated. The wood all around was swelling and smelly from the rain. The carpet of moss at her back glowed with a vibrant green. A mill house with enormous fins stood to her left, pushed by the constant breeze that drifted in from the Far Sea. Shutters from houses were propped open, dotted with anxious faces at the windows, who were eying her with unabashed curiosity.
“Who’s next?” Nyset smiled at the approaching girl. She was far too young, eyes downcast. Nyset should have immediately turned her away, but these were dark times. They demanded the help of every willing body.
Nyset rubbed the misty rain out of her eyes. She had set up her recruiting booth in the middle ring of Helm’s Reach with Vesla. She hoped the people here would be more apt to come by. Yesterday’s results in Dirt Bottom were nothing short of abysmal. Not a single person looking to join could touch the god’s essences. Today, the line was already more than they could handle in a day, winding around a bend as far as she could see.
Grimbald helped her with the construction of the booth. It was an oaken table with a sign raised up high at the front. Grim had wanted to spend weeks on it, making it perfect. She asked him to have it done in a day and he had delivered. It had coarse edges and visible nail holes. The sign read, “Join the Tower.” She had painted it in a crude red ink, knowing it didn’t much matter.
“Nothing. Get going.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the cave.
Juzo let out a long breath, crossing his arms and watching the nameless woman as she stumbled away. She was a mirage in the scrubland, kicking up dirt inhaled by the wind. That made her his fifth surrogate. The new Tower would need more, hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers to stand against Asebor.
He peered at the plume of smoke endlessly drifting out to sea from the pillaged Silver Tower. He felt like he should feel sadness, anger, something, anything at the sight of that dark cloud. He had wanted vengeance and it felt good to have it, to watch Terar bleed. Vengeance was hollow though. It was disappointing, like expectantly cracking open an egg for morning supper, only to find nothing but rot inside.
A bright purple lizard skittered in front of his black leather boots. It raised a crown of thin flesh around its neck and hissed at him. Its wide mouth gaped open. Juzo smirked, raised his boot and rammed it down. The lizard crunched under his boot, its guts squirting out onto a rock. He stared at its entrails, which looked like a strange jam.
The Blood Eater’s he created were inextricably linked to him, their actions and will molded by his thoughts. They were much like he was once, under the control of Terar, though without the soul crushing abuse.
Baylan had said the Black Wynches controlled the Cerumal warriors through tele— telesomething. It controlled their thoughts, made them strike with coordination. It was exactly what he did with his surrogates. He brushed his skin, thinking a bug had landed on it, but there was nothing there. Did they use the same power?
“Telepathy.” He remembered. Was he like them? “No.” It felt weak coming out of his throat. It was a lie supported by rotting hay.
He vowed to be better than Terar. He would treat his surrogates fairly. He’d send them meals on time. “Meals,” He scoffed, shaking his head. He looked up from the lizard guts, slitted his ruby eye and watched his girl blend with the sand into the distance. There was no use trying to deny the truth of it. “Had to be reasonable,” Walter would have said. He had become the enemy.
----
A n oily haze engulfed the huddled buildings of Helm’s Reach. The square was cobbled and a churning river of goats were herded past Nyset’s station. Their bells rang and their throats bleated. The wood all around was swelling and smelly from the rain. The carpet of moss at her back glowed with a vibrant green. A mill house with enormous fins stood to her left, pushed by the constant breeze that drifted in from the Far Sea. Shutters from houses were propped open, dotted with anxious faces at the windows, who were eying her with unabashed curiosity.
“Who’s next?” Nyset smiled at the approaching girl. She was far too young, eyes downcast. Nyset should have immediately turned her away, but these were dark times. They demanded the help of every willing body.
Nyset rubbed the misty rain out of her eyes. She had set up her recruiting booth in the middle ring of Helm’s Reach with Vesla. She hoped the people here would be more apt to come by. Yesterday’s results in Dirt Bottom were nothing short of abysmal. Not a single person looking to join could touch the god’s essences. Today, the line was already more than they could handle in a day, winding around a bend as far as she could see.
Grimbald helped her with the construction of the booth. It was an oaken table with a sign raised up high at the front. Grim had wanted to spend weeks on it, making it perfect. She asked him to have it done in a day and he had delivered. It had coarse edges and visible nail holes. The sign read, “Join the Tower.” She had painted it in a crude red ink, knowing it didn’t much matter.
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