Daughter of Darkness, page 1
Daughter of Darkness
Wielder of Shadows
Allie Cole
Allie Cole Publishing
Daughter of Darkness Wielder of Shadows Copyright
© 2023 by Allie Cole
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Cover Illustration by Jaqueline Kropmanns
https://jaqueline-kropmanns.de/
ISBN 979-8-9881241-1-5 (print edition)
ISBN 979-8-9881241-0-8 (ebook)
https://alliecole.godaddysites.com/
To my twelve-year-old self, who dreamed of escaping into magical worlds.
To my fifteen-year-old self, who drowned herself in books to stop thinking and feeling so much.
To my present self, who proved she could do it.
Playlist
AVAION – Broken
David Kushner – Daylight
Ari Abdul – Hush
The People’s Thieves – Now That We’re Alone
Audiomachine - Elucidate
Lana del Rey – Yes to Heaven
Cigarettes After Sex – Apocalypse
Hozier – Work Song
Ari Abdul – Taste
Just Pretend - Bad Omens
Camila Cabello – Shameless
CALAPM – Valiant (feat. Sybrid)
Sultan + Shepard + Shallou – Raye
Important note
This book ends on a cliffhanger.
The content can entail some triggering situations for the reader, such as graphic violence, sexually explicit scenes, and sexual assault mentions.
So, please be advised and consider these warnings before reading.
Prologue
Listen to your intuition, her voice whispers in my mind.
They know where you are. They’re coming for you.
The words carry an undeniable ring of truth, erasing any trace of doubt.
Alarm bells ring in my head, growing louder as they near.
I send Ela away, with no time to explain or say goodbye. After spending the last decades doing everything in my power to ensure her safety, I must finally meet my fate.
Without me, they can’t get to her. When I die, my suffering ends, and this secret dies with me. They’ll never know.
As I lift my head, my gaze meets theirs. Their eyes still carry all the hate of this world, confirming I’ve run out of time.
Chapter One
Elanor
As I’m walking the muddy streets of the village, the smell of muck mixed with urine and trash fills the air. Lovely.
I’m not sure Grasswood can even be considered a village. It’s more like a gathering of homes connected by dirt paths, with a central road along which merchants gather. The tiny houses are made of wood and stones, giving the whole place a very earthy feel.
I leave the main street after earning a few coins in exchange for wild herbs and mushrooms I’ve gathered from the forest. I’m hoping this will be enough to buy a piece of fresh meat. The butcher’s shop is the only one not on the main road, but nothing is ever too far here, and it’s only a few minutes’ walk. My small pack, now emptied of its content, is almost weightless on my back as I head there.
Careful not to step in any puddles, I’m absently playing with the coins in the palm of my hand. I’m always a little on edge when I leave the safety of the forest, and the light clink grounds me. It’s not like anything ever really happens around here, but I carry a knife as a precaution. My modest clothing and determined look usually dissuade anyone from approaching, but the blade is here just in case, a reassuring presence.
The smell of blood and bowels assaults me right when I walk through the door of the dimly-lit shop. I’m standing in a small room divided by a counter in the middle and a back door leading to the kitchen where they slaughter the animals and prepare the meat.
“Good day, I would like to buy some meat.” I manage to say, disregarding the foul smell stuck in my throat.
The tall, brown-haired man standing behind the counter turns around at the sound of my voice. Andy is rather athletic and wide-shouldered from the hours spent carrying carcasses and expertly carving meat with knives of all sizes. His pale skin contrasts nicely with his dark eyes and the bit of stubble on his face. Overall, he’s not displeasing to look at.
His family has owned this shop forever, and he will take over at some point, just like his father and grandfather before him. That’s only if he manages to open his mouth and actually serve customers. I’m about to repeat my inquiry, since he’s standing there completely still and silent, when he finally greets me. “Hi.”
His dark gaze never meets mine for more than a second, probably because that second alone reveals more than he wishes. I think he likes me.
Everyone around here just pretends I don’t exist unless I need to buy or sell something. But not Andy. He’s different. He’s the only one who looks at me this way. He’s just shy or scared of me, which is for the best, really. The only romance I’ve ever experienced was that between my parents, and it was more its downfall than its peak. So, given the aftermath, I think I’m good. It would just hinder me. No thanks.
But with Andy standing in front of me, I consider it for a second. I’d probably drag him into my dark world if he ever voiced his interest in me. Or maybe he’d be the one carrying me into the light… as if that was even possible. Good one, Ela. As much as I sometimes envy those who don’t have to do it all alone, those who have people around who care, I can’t be one of them. The dark memories are never far behind that pipe dream.
I’ve gotten used to the solitude now, and I’ve found a strange peace and safety to it. I’ve created some stability, avoiding dangers as best as I can and keeping to myself in the forest. I’d need a solid reason to jeopardize that, and frankly, I don’t think he’s it.
As Andy’s silence turns awkward, my voice sounds in the shop once again. “Andy? Is there some meat I could buy?” He blinks at the mention of his name, but before he can open his mouth to respond, his father hastens through the kitchen door and pushes him out of the way.
The older bearded man mumbles an excuse, and his stern features instantly soften when he realizes it’s me. Since I started coming alone, his attitude has changed. He’s not a talker, but he gives me those pitying glances and often tries to offer me lower prices, thinking I don’t notice. I hate it. It makes me feel so weak and helpless.
“I’m sorry, miss, we just ran out. This is all we have left.” He points to the small stand in front of us. My gaze drifts to the two pieces left on display, filled with fat and turning grey. Right. Never mind then. I guess I’m going hunting tomorrow. Again.
“I see.”
“If there’s anything else I can-”
“No.” His mouth snaps shut with my interruption, and I realize too late I’m being rude. “Thank you, have a good day.”
I give them both a quick nod and leave the shop. Once back in the street, I tuck the coins under my leather belt and head out of the village. It’s getting late, and I need to be back before sundown.
With the mushy grounds squishing under my boots, a fresh gust of wind hits me as I turn the corner of the last house, clearing up the stench in my nose. Tension instantly leaves my body when the Dark Forest is in sight, welcoming me back to its comforting cover.
Elanor
Careful not to leave traces and disturb the earth, I scan the grounds for signs of the game I’m hunting. Heading deeper into the woods, keeping my breathing slow and regular, I’m catching up with the animal’s trail. I’ve been at it for hours, silently cursing myself for not making it to the butcher’s shop earlier yesterday.
I come across a sunlit clearing and pause to munch on the last of my dried meat. As I chew on the hardened bits, my thoughts drift to my father.
Darkness. It’s the first thing I remember about that night. It was dark, and it was cold, and I was scared. With the rocks scratching my bare hands and the roots digging into my knees, I couldn’t take my eyes off his still body.
He was gone. The thought was looping in my head as my fingers dug into the wet soil, trying to catch hold of something, anything.
Gore soaked the ground. His was the only body left, but judging by the quantity of blood, at least several attackers had died at his hands or had been severely hurt before being dragged away. They left no clues for me to follow and nothing to understand why they’d come after him.
His sword was still in his hand, but my father’s empty gaze was fixed on the night sky. Waves of panic and terror broke the dam I had been trying to keep in place. I had no one left now. Trembling, I stayed hours by his cooling body, unable to speak or move, waiting for the attackers to come back and take me too. But they never did.
Something shattered in me that day, and I was left with only one thing. One certainty. I would never know peace and safety again.
Insects buzzing by a cluster of wildflowers stir me from the memory of my father.
I don’t remember much else about that night, but to this day, I have my guess as to the kind of monsters who could have done that to an isolated man in the forest.
Growing up, he was my everything, the strongest warrior to ever walk this earth, always there to protect me and tickle my cheeks with his scratchy kisses.
He’d been a soldier, fought in wars all across the globe before I was born, my mother by his side until she died. He never talked much about that time, except on rare occasions by the fireplace, when the burden of the memories was too much to bear. But, year after year, grief gradually overwhelmed him.
He taught me how to hunt and fight. I would watch him practice with his sword for hours, dreaming of the day I would be old enough to have my own weapon, and I remember my first lesson like it was yesterday.
Out in the clearing by our shack, he’d handed me a makeshift wooden sword and showed me how to wield it. After a few days of practice, he taught me how to parry and defend. And, of course, he kicked my ass.
I was so mad and frustrated, I think that’s when I swore for the first time. And the look on my father’s face was just priceless. He hated it so much when I swore. I tried keeping it under wraps with him around. But after he passed, I didn’t see the point anymore. Weirdly, every time I curse now reminds me of him.
With the strong pace I’m keeping, my foot hits a root hard enough that pain reverberates in my bones. “Damn it.” I wiggle my toes inside my boot until the pain dulls.
I close my eyes long enough to picture my father’s face, a disapproving frown on his forehead. The memory brings a small smile to my face as I step over a fallen tree and push on. Deer tracks are leading me further north, so I speed up, not wanting to linger more than necessary.
I took up my father’s sword after I buried him. At first, it was too big and heavy for me, but I kept trying, giving it my all, training for months. It was the only thing keeping me sane after his death.
I flirted with the afterlife several times myself but I can now wield his sword as well as any man would. The forest is no safe haven. Terrifying beasts and marauders hide in its dark corners, and its freezing winters are no lesser threats. I’ve been lucky enough to never encounter the Fae and other dark monsters who are said to roam the northern and eastern parts of the forest. I probably wouldn’t be here to tell the tale if I had.
My father used to tell me stories about the Fae monsters when I was little. More like horror stories, really. They were savage barbarians ruled by strict laws, waging wars among themselves, kidnapping and killing humans at will.
He taught me how to recognize them by spotting the long and pointy ears heightening their senses. Although their eyes could appear similar to ours, the color varies based on where they are from, telling you what kind of Fae you’re up against. And that’s where the resemblance ends, as their speed and strength are greater than any human’s.
A dried branch snaps loudly under my foot and I curse myself silently. The quiet forest as my only response, I check my surroundings.
There’s no threat in sight, but I still mentally recap what my father taught me. Time doesn’t kill Fae, but blades can. Some of them wield strange magic to heal their wounds, so the best way to kill a Fae is to behead it. If I encounter one, I run as fast and as far as I can.
I distinctly remember the night he made me promise to always hide from the Fae. It was the only time I ever saw fear in his eyes. I merely caught a glimpse of it, but knowing that he, too, was afraid of something robbed me of the last bit of peace I was holding onto after my mother died. He taught me about darkclaws and other beasts, but nothing ever rattled him the way the Fae did.
By the time I make another halt to drink from my waterskin, I realize the sun is much lower in the sky than I expected. It’s getting late, and I should head back, even if it’s empty-handed. Another mile or two, then I’ll go back.
The light and shadow dance across my skin as I lift my face. With birds humming around me, I take a moment to inhale the pine and earthy smell before continuing. Although dangerous, this forest is home to me, its familiar mossy trees, fallen branches, and hollow trunks silently watching and witnessing the passing of time.
A subtle crack sounds to my right, and I quietly turn around. As if my memories had conjured him, a Fae warrior is standing maybe thirty feet ahead of me. He is heavily armored, carrying a double-bladed sword on his back, plus several knives. His weapon is unlike any other I’ve ever seen, so massive it rises above his shoulders.
I freeze, instinctively holding my breath. My heart is pounding in my ears as I’m trying to decide what to do. I don’t think he’s seen me yet, so maybe I can outrun him. Or perhaps, if I stay very still or slowly crouch against the tree, he won’t notice. But, as I hesitate, his head snaps in my direction, and his gaze bores into me.
My training finally kicks in, but in the seconds it takes me to unsheathe my father’s sword, he’s upon me, taller and broader than any man I’ve ever seen. His eyes. God, his eyes. Blood red with a spark of gold. One side of his head is shaved right above his ear, which is pointy and decorated with several golden hoops. His long, almost white-blond hair is partly braided on the other side while the rest flows freely around his face.
I’m immediately struck by his appearance. I would have expected a more beastly and repulsive being, yet there’s a strange appeal to him. His fair skin is softly highlighted by the rays of light piercing through the branches. The charm of a hunter who first baits you... As the warning sounds in my head, I am reminded of the countless men and women from the village whose bodies were found dismembered, burned, and tortured atrociously by those monsters.
Still as death, I’m holding my sword up in front of me.
“Where did you get that?” His low voice startles me. He nods towards my sword, not breaking eye contact.
It’s a beautiful sword, the double-edged blade wider by the guard, with engraved symbols along its center and on the hilt. I never asked my father if they have any particular meaning. He said it was his most prized possession, so I vowed to keep and cherish it until I die.
I’m paralyzed, barely remembering to draw a breath, unsure what to say, if I can even speak. My father’s warning is ringing in my ears, and it’s all I can think about. I should have run and tried escaping this blood-eyed monster. He had warned me, and now I’m going to die at the hand of this savage.
“Where did you find that sword?” He enunciates each word slowly and with force, as if I didn’t understand the first time.
A gust of wind hits us, whipping his hair around his cold face. His unanswered question is probably the only reason I’m still breathing, but regardless of whether I talk, I realize my odds of making it out alive are practically non-existent. Well. If I die today, I’m not dying a coward frozen in shock.
“This was my father’s sword.”
“Impossible.” The Fae takes a step toward me and inclines his head slightly. “Let me see it.”
“Over my dead body. Who are you? Why do you want to know about my sword?” I ask, emboldened by his reaction.
“Who was your father? Tell me his name,” he says, flames dancing in his eyes.
“My father was Tan Vahorn.” Lifting my head higher, I hold the Fae’s gaze as the name leaves my lips, and for a split second, his eyes reveal a glimpse of panic. This is no random Fae. The name made him flinch, I’m sure of it!
Intrigued now, I decide to push my luck. “Did you know him?”
He pauses for a moment, carefully studying me. “I did.”
My mouth drops open at the confirmation, and my grip loosens. Time stops as I blink rapidly, racking my brain for an explanation. But just as I’m about to protest, he abruptly turns and walks away.
“Wait! How did you know him? Who are you?”
My shaky voice does nothing to stop him. Should I go after him? Logic is telling me to run far, far away in the opposite direction. But panic suddenly takes me. My father was killed four years ago now. I have been on my own for four years, afraid of losing memories of him, of forgetting him. And now, someone who knew him, maybe better than I did if they met before my father put his fighting days behind him, is walking away! Instinctively, I step forward to follow him.
