Fugitive: A Prequel to Spirit of Magik Read online

  Fugitive Fugitive

  A Prequel to Spirit of Magik By Richard Cluff Copyright 2017 Richard Cluff Published by Richard Cluff at CreateSpace To my lady. Without her, there would be no Joy in my life.

  Table of Contents

  June 7th, 1612 – Confusion

  June 8th, 1612 – Realization

  June 9th, 1612 - Letting go

  June 13th, 1612 - In for a copper...

  June 14th, 1612 – Traveling

  June 25th, 1612 - ...in for a gold

  June 26th, 1612 - The Tower

  June 27th, 1612 – Awakening

  July 6th, 1612 – Revelations

  July 8th, 1612 - The Great City Grax

  July 9th, 1612 - Shocking news

  July 15th, 1612 - New employer

  July 16th, 1612 – Experiments

  March 5th, 1613 - New beginnings August 10th 1613 - Just business

  Acknowledgements

  Catherine Fisher, Test reader

  Christian Griffin, Test reader

  Cyndi Byrd, Editor

  Ida Jannson, Cover art

  Joyce Pleeger, Test reader

  Megan Bissonette, Assistant editor Tiffany Billings, Map art

  Preface

  I wrote this story for NaNoWriMo 2015. I managed to complete this entire story in one month. It was a grueling, but enjoyable challenge. It forced me to get better at writing as well.

  Some difficulties emerged during the post-production of this work, and I had to find someone new to do this volume's first edit. I feel Miss Byrd was a good fit for the work, and she definitely helped me bring a better story to everyone.

  I suppose an obvious question to ask is "Why write a prequel, we want the sequel for Spirit of Magik!" The answer to that is simple. In order to move forward, the past has to be defined. More than anything, this story allowed me to refine the background of one of the story's more popular characters: Jirai Sonom.

  I am working on the sequel for Spirit of Magik, but it will be a while yet. I do promise one thing, though. It will not be released until it is ready.

  I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing it. Richard Cluff 11/2/17

  Thursday June 7th 1612th year of the First Great City Confusion

  Sherie woke from what felt like the deepest sleep she had ever had. She tried to open her eyes; her left eye felt like it had so much crust over it, she had to wipe it with her filthy hand to get it open. When her eye opened, she couldn't see anything through her right eye. She went to wipe it and found a soft mass covering it. It felt hollow like there was nothing there. There was a dull throb behind where it should have been.

  "What?" she thought for a moment, blinking her left eye and looking around the small bedroom. It was night time; she could see through the open window. A soft, pleasant breeze blew in and the light of the nearly full, but waning, moon streamed inside. She could see her dented and beaten armor stacked neatly in a chair nearby, with her short sword leaning beside it.

  "By the spirits!" She cried out mentally. It was like a whirlwind in her mind when the memories flooded back to her. In her mind's eye, she could see the streets of Vox, littered with the dead and dying.

  The blood had made the cobbles slick as she and Bryce had made their way from the inn, after hearing the alarm bells outside. Together they killed the first Kryss they encountered.

  Sherie, like the other Legionnaires, had been told about these undead cannibals, but seeing their white-splotched skin, and black-pink eyes for the first time had nearly sent her running. Only her training and pride had made her stand her ground. She had just graduated from the Legion Academy of Vox six months before then.

  For every living person they found, at least ten were dead, and five more had been changed into Kryss. Sherie had sent more than a few of her comrades to the afterlife after they had been spit upon or bitten. Every soldier watched every other closely. Better dead than changed had become the unifying chant of every soldier left.

  Until it was Bryce's turn, that was.

  Tears streamed down Sherie's face at the memories burning through her. Her body was wracked with physical pain when she saw it again in her mind's eye. A small cry escaped her lips. She kept going because she had to; she had no other choice. The only other option was to lie down and die, but she wasn't ready to do that. She decided to kill more of these bastards. She would make them pay. She would be vengeance for all of those who could not avenge themselves.

  She and the others worked for an entire day, to make the trebuchets, arrows, and spears they needed to put Commander Quedesham's plan into motion. Sherie was field promoted to Corporal. Her father would have been proud of her if he still lived, but she had been too tired to care; it was a kind of mental shrug for her. She remembered asking, "Fine, what do you want me to do?"

  When the time came, she gave her all. Sherie remembered when the former Legionnaire broke one of her blades. Then she remembered the shard of steel striking her eye. Her eye... it was gone. She realized that's why it feels hollow; someone took it out. Sherie threw the blankets off of her and saw her filthy naked body. It had been days since she'd bathed, slept or ate. She slid off the bed as quietly as she could and grabbed her short sword.

  But she couldn't remember how and why she came to be where she was now. It was as if she was on the line in battle, then suddenly she was here. There was nothing in between. All she knew for certain was along with her eye being missing, every muscle in her body hurt worse than they ever had in training.

  Sherie wasn't the quietest Legionnaire ever, but she wasn't trying out for scout either. She had become better at it over the past few days. She didn't give a damn if someone saw her naked. Right now, she just wanted to make sure she wasn't going to give herself away until she knew what the situation was. No clothes meant no noise from them. With her blade in hand, she crept to the closed door and put her ear against it.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her how long it had been since she had eaten. "Don't you give me away now!" Sherie thought.

  She didn't hear anything for a moment until the man spoke, "You need to go out, girl? C'mon." She heard the thud of heavy feet hitting

  the wooden floor, accompanied by an animal whining and the scrabble of claws. The noise they made was loud enough that Sherie believed it was safe to crack the door open.

  That was when the smell of the stew that was on the wood stove hit her nose. Her belly contracted painfully, reminding her how hungry she was. It felt like it was going to devour her spine now that it had been aroused.

  Through the narrow crack between the door and the frame, she saw an old man with an ugly hound dog that skittered around his feet excitedly. The man made his way to the door and opened it, and the dog shot out of it like an arrow.

  "Stay close!" He called out to the animal as if it could understand him. The white-haired man smiled ruefully and went to stir the pot.

  Sherie could see by the light of the lamp in the room there was a short bow by the door, alongside an ax and a maul.

  Sherie crouched on her painfully knotted muscles and tried to think.

  "He's old, he would have no chance," she thought automatically. Then she chastised herself, "By all the damned spirits, Sherie, just because you're hungry, and everything has gone to hell over the past few days doesn't mean you're not Legion. He helped me, and he didn't rape me or tie me down so he could do it later." She hadn't realized until then that she had been holding her breath; she released her breath shakily.

  She saw the man perk up alertly, "Girl, are you awake?" He called out.

  She wasn’t happy she’d given herself away. "Yes, I'm awake," she said, ready to sprin
g, just in case she was a worse judge of character than she thought she was.

  She frowned and looked behind her. She grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself, covering her nethers and bosom. She sheathed her blade and put it under her wrap behind her so that it wouldn't be obvious. She held the blade in the sheath with her left hand behind her back. Then she opened the door.

  "Good, how are you feeling girl? You still look like hell," he said with obvious concern.

  She frowned at him calling her "girl" she might be young, but she was a grown woman now, not a girl. "My name is Sherie Els. I'm a Corporal in the Legion, and I feel fine," she said taking a shaky step out of the small bedroom. As she stretched her leg to cross the distance, it suddenly cramped and locked in place. She fell straight to the floor but caught herself with one hand. Her other hand never left the hilt of her blade.

  The man rushed forward to help, but her blade came right out of its sheath without her even thinking about it. He stopped instantly when he saw the raw, battle-nicked steel pointing at him, and opened his hands and spread them wide. "Well, ma'am I meant no disrespect calling you 'girl.' I knew you were Legion, but I didn't see your rank pips, you must've lost 'em in the woods, I guess. I just didn't have anything else to call you, is all. Is ma'am or Miss Els okay with you?" He asked with a quizzical look into her eye and at her blade.

  She pushed herself up painfully; the knotted muscle felt like it exploded when she forced it. She squealed painfully, but still managed to keep her blade level between them the whole time.

  "Works for me," she said as she sheathed her steel.

  "Alright then. Thanks for putting that away, I object to being stabbed in my own home," he said with a sardonic smile. "How’s your eye feeling?"

  Her fingers touched the big bandage covering it, "It's gone, isn't it?"

  He nodded sadly. "I had no choice. If I hadn't taken it, it would’ve festered, and you'd have been a dead woman walking."

  "How the hell do you know that, old man?" She asked angrily.

  "I did my twenty years in the Legion, Miss Els, and I was a medic. I've seen some damn ugly things in my day," he told her firmly.

  Instant understanding and respect for this man filled her. Not many stayed with the Legion for a life term of service. Most would leave to take the better money from a House Army. He knew what he was about if he served that long. He had probably out-ranked her too.

  "I'm sorry for being disrespectful, sir. Thank you for helping me," Sherie wholeheartedly saluted him with her fist to her breast.

  His wrinkled lips curled into a smile, and he made a raspberry sound, "Forget it, Miss Els. I might have outranked you in the service, but I haven't served for... spirits, it must be about twenty-five years or so now."

  "Still, sir, I appreciate it. What should I call you?" She asked.

  "My name is Jona Sonom. You can call me Jona, sir, Mr. Sonom or milord if you feel like it," he winked. "Are you hungry?" He asked.

  "So hungry that if you didn't offer me some, I was going to take it anyway, sir," Sherie said.

  "So, how are you feeling?" He asked with a shrewd eye on her as he ladled some stew into a bowl.

  "I hurt everywhere. I have cramps trying to creep in all over my body. My eye feels hollow, but I guess it is hollow. I feel like I have a little knife jabbing me in the back of where my eye is supposed to be."

  He walked over and set the full wooden bowl and wooden spoon down in the stew, and held his hand up, "I need to check your temperature, Miss Els," he said putting his hand slowly toward her forehead.

  She let him do what he had to do; she knew better than to argue with him. Every Legionnaire knows the worst and fastest ways to die were to piss off the medics or the cooks. Jona was doing both for her today.

  He laid his cool hand on her forehead and held it there for just a moment before taking it away. He looked at her closely. "Well, you don't feel like you have a fever, and you're not flushed. You'll live through this." He picked up her bowl and handed it to her. She took it into hand and set it down. She laid her sheathed blade beside her and dug into the stew hungrily.

  He just seemed to watch her for a moment as she wolfed down her food. Then he served himself and joined her. When she finished, he was barely into his own bowl. She tipped the bowl up and drained every precious drop of juice from it.

  "Do you want another one?" Jona asked her.

  "Yes, please," she said.

  "How does a Legionnaire end up wounded, on the side of the road and half-starved?" He asked as he filled her bowl again.

  "It's a long story. I'll tell you when I finish," she said between mouthfuls.

  "Fair enough," he nodded and ate more of his stew.

  There was a scratching at the door. Sherie instantly grabbed her sword and just clenched the spoon between her teeth when she heard it.

  Jona looked at her with concern on his weathered features. "It's just my dog. If you hurt her, you and me are gonna have a serious problem, Miss Els."

  She set the sword down reluctantly and said, "Sorry, I'm a little jumpy."

  "Just a little?" he asked with a raised brow.

  She didn't reply to that; she just watched as he let his ugly dog inside. The dog nuzzled up to the old man's leg while he scratched her ears affectionately. Then he looked at her and barked. The suddenness of the noise made her tense instantly and her heart leaped into her throat. Her hand went straight to her blade and gripped the hilt. With effort, she relaxed as the dog continued to bark at her. Jona tried to calm the animal by telling it that Sherie was a friend.

  Sherie finally just said, "Dog, the old man already told me I can't skin you and eat you. I'll pretend I like you if you leave me alone," she gave the dog the stink eye, hoping to deter it.

  The dog quieted and walked towards her cautiously. It sniffed her leg and began howling as it slunk away. Jona started laughing and said, "With respect miss Els, your odor offends my little girl's tender nose. I wasn't going to mention it, but she's not as considerate as I am."

  Sherie's back rose to this, but she suddenly found herself laughing at how ridiculous it was; she knew she was filthy. "By the spirits, I know. I haven't bathed for three days at least. What day is it?"

  "I don't know. I haven't kept a schedule for a long time; I only

  keep track of the seasons anymore," he said. "Do you want something to wash that down with?"

  "Yes, please."

  Jona went outside and brought back two wooden tumblers of water for them. "What the hell happened to you?" He asked, his green eyes boring into her.

  "How long did I sleep?" She asked.

  "The whole day. I was out cutting wood this morning, and Queenie started barking. I went over to see what she was going on about, and there you were, unconscious on the ground." He told her with a serious look.

  "I don't remember everything, sir. How far are we from Vox?" She asked.

  "Oh, spirits, I don't know. If I use the roads, it takes me the whole day to get there on foot. Through the woods, you could probably cut some time off of it. It'd be rough going, though," he said with a nod.

  Sherie took a drink of her water and thought about it. She didn't know why she was here, or how she came to be here, but she reckoned that Jona should be privy to whatever she could remember about the battle.

  "First thing I can tell you is to keep that ax close. Vox is gone; it's been taken by Kryss."

  "Taken by Kryss? What are you talking about? Sure they're dangerous, but there could never be enough of them to take a City. They're not even as smart as old Queenie here," he said and scratched the dog's head.

  "If I've only been out for a day, it started four days ago," Sherie continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I was at an inn with my lover, and we heard the alarm bells outside so we armored up and took a look."

  Jona's manner changed as she continued her story. He asked, "So was he Legion, or House guard?"

  "Legion. He was deployed from Surundi. His pl
atoon had escorted wagons there with medicine for the flux, and they stayed to relieve soldiers that were sick." She wiped at a falling tear, smearing the grime that was still covering her face. "When we came out, the big speaking stones on the towers announced that there were Kryss loose in the City and that the sections of the city were going to be sealed off." He just nodded, "I've seen a few Kryss hunts in my day, go on."

  She swallowed, and said, "Well, Bryce and I went back to our units to report in. I was assigned to a patrol, looking for them. All we knew for sure was that there was a whole mess of them, it was all hands on deck. And they were wearing cloaks. Colonel Klaes announced on the big speaking stones that anyone hiding their faces would be killed.”

  "The Kryss were hiding their faces?" Jona looked at her in puzzlement. "I ain't never seen that in all of my days."

  "Well, they were. And a few hours after we started hunting for them, about half of my squad started changing into them." Sherie's voice choked, and she took a drink of water while trying to keep herself from falling into despair.

  "What did you do?" Jona asked, wide-eyed.

  "We killed 'em, what else were we supposed to do? At first, we didn't know what was happening, but when I saw Terrance's eyes changing black, I took his fucking head right off of his shoulders."

  She looked into his eyes and asked, "Do you have something stronger to drink?"

  "I do, but it's a potato home-brew. It doesn't taste good, but it will get you drunk," he said.

  "I don't care; I want to get drunk. I don't want to think about any of this," she said, running her hand through her matted hair.

  "Alright," he said with a frown, "but if I'm giving you my brew, you have to tell me more." He stood up, walked across the room and pulled a bottle from the cabinet.

  She snorted, "Fine. It isn't like I have anything else to pay with. And before you say I could pay with my ass, I should tell you that only my blade will answer that question." She looked at him seriously with her remaining eye.

  He smiled and poured her a glass. "It's ok; I like men actually. And besides, you stink like horse dung." Jona handed her an actual glass of the strong smelling liquor.