Rivera Our Darkest Hour

1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-61792-367-8
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 282 Seiten

Everything that happens must happen for a reason. Matthew, King of Hades, knows this and must use his brilliance to battle an unseen force to save the world we know. In a land of hidden magic, he battles to preserve life for humanity in a race against time. Meanwhile, Cyrus, King of Poseidon, wrestles with an entirely different threat. Creatures, unnatural and unrelenting, threaten to destroy the balance. They move to destroy modern humanity and the question becomes: Can Matthew and Cyrus out think and out match the enemy before it's too late?

Autoren/Hrsg.

Rivera, Brian

Leseproben

  Chapter 1 Matthew King of Hell             Everything that was to come for me had a greater purpose.  Mine was a symphonic destiny designed by another.  Of this I was certain.  Jogging down the spiral staircase, watching the flames that danced in the breeze my motion created, these were the thoughts that ran through my mind.  The stone dungeon was cold and isolated, but I remained unaffected by its seeping despair.  I was focused on the looming events, while never existing in the present.  The kings before me tried to teach me better than that, each and every day insisting that I be mindful of the breath in my lungs and of the environment around me.  Being mindful of the now was a paramount lesson that they attempted to drill into me.  Despite their best efforts, I found clarity and stillness in the wonder of the future, enhancing my natural affinity to analyze, thus achieving the end result of peace and serenity without the unnecessary mindlessness of the now.             Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I entered the stone passage where the prisoners were kept.  It was dark and hard to see anything in the archaic corridor, the smell of torture and decay covering the floor like a mist lingering in some cloudy form.  Others saw what happened here and ran out in horror, while only a select group of people could handle its raw reality.             I was one of the few.  My detachment from the now granted me the solace few possessed.  I paced the corridor as I would have done in any park, casually with my hands tucked in my pant pockets, whistling tidbits of songs that came to me.    Two prime examples of the select few that were able to bear this place, stood before me, guarding the cell I wished to visit.  These men were assigned to be guards, not asked.  They exhibited reprehensible personalities, the kind that would not be welcomed anywhere else.  They drew a particular delight from the dungeon and the unspeakable things they did within its walls – the things they did to the unfortunate prisoners while others turned their blind eyes.  I held no admiration for these men, nor had they any for me.  I recognized the disgust etched in the corners of their features, unsuccessfully masked, emblematic of the prejudice they held for my people.  Masked, for I was a king, and any disrespect was not to be tolerated.  “The creature is acting up, Sire.  We tried everything.  Nothing made it stop,” one of the guards said.  His name was Jackson.  He had an infamous reputation around these parts.  He was too small to be a prison guard, probably incapable of warding off any uprising.  However, what he lacked in stature he made up for in cruelty.  This I had learned through my many visits.             “What did you try exactly?” I asked, staring them in the eyes.  They never allowed their eyes to meet mine.             “We tried the isolation room first.  Then we tried not feeding him and then few beatings.  No luck.”             Jackson stuck his silvery key into the door.               “Did you consider aiding it?” I asked.  “Or perhaps asking what troubled it so?”             “No, Sire,” he snorted with a grin.  “No, it just don’t work that way down here.”             The door opened to the darkness beyond, a select few shafts of faint light drooped through a high, barred window, touching the floor.  I heard the scratching of feet on stone and caught glimpses of the ‘creature’ as it passed through the columns of light, scurrying far into the corner.  The smell wafting from within was putrid, enough so to set it apart from the rest of this hell hole.  A whisper reached my ears.  Small, haunting, barely audible as the rustling of leaves.  I could see the apprehension in Jackson the guard as he backed away.  There were words, though mostly indistinguishable.  On previous visits I had only been able to catch a select few words, usually having something to do with pain, revenge or time.  The word I heard now was different.             Begins.             The word separated itself from the chaos of half heard whispers and snaked into my ear.             Goosebumps covered the arms on Jackson, exposed by his rolled up sleeves.  Through all of his tenor, I knew he was a coward, beating others away to hide his weakness.  In time, he would regret his decisions and his true nature would be exposed.  On that day, I knew I would feel the satisfaction of enduring his sickness.  In time.             “Here’s your little friend, Sire,” Jackson said.  I noted the derision in his voice, what may normally be regarded as insubordination to a king, and grounds for penalty.  I chose to ignore it at the time, instead focusing on the events to come.              Jackson pointed with his stick to a corner where nothing but a boney foot could be seen.  Its flesh was grey and old, like thin cloth glued against a skeleton.  It looked lifeless and dead, but it was neither.  The creature loved to play possum, a jest for which the creature had been nicknamed the jester, straying from its assumed name Jakar.  Its murmurs were too incoherent to ever be certain that Jakar was its proper name.  They were sparse and nonsensical.  He would speak of the color of smell or of the conversations he carried with dead men.  Its words were usually ignored.  Lately, however, they were starting to draw my attention.             I crouched down on one knee to show I wasn’t there to harm him.  The guards were appalled, tossing jokes they thought I couldn’t hear back and forth about how only a lesser king would bow down.              “If you would speak, I would listen,” I said to the darkened corner.             The creature poked its hairless head and bulging brows out of the shadows.  Its eyes were meek and sad, but tainted with a lurking joy, as if they were winking while open.  I knew then that something terrible was coming.  Jakar never spoke with intention, never with any sense or meaning.  Nevertheless, an unseen variable had changed and his lips parted to divulge the path ahead.             “He may hear, but he will not listen.”             “I don’t know what you mean,” I said.             “He will, in time.”             Three careful steps forward, Jakar stood steady and confident, seemingly aware he was safe in my presence.  His knees bent backwards and his teeth were rotten in his crevice of a mouth.  He wasn’t from the human world, but he wasn’t from the kingdoms either.              “You asked for me, by name.  What is it you wish to tell me?” I said.             “Always purpose, never elegance.  Change this, or he will fill with regret,” Jakar said.  He turned his back to me, pouting to the wall.  His emotions and tones changed every few seconds.  He would start one sentence with a giggle then end almost in tears.  Finally, he turned his head over his shoulder to speak.  “He wishes to tell him what he is missing.  That is what he want, is it not?”             “It is.”             “The fifth kingdom remains empty, her throne unfilled.”  Jakar spun around, glaring with a stare of insanity.  His fingers continually moved as if playing an invisible piano and he rocked from side to side like he was being blown by a summer’s breeze that only he could feel.  “He will find her.  She will emerge,” he paused, biting at his fingernails, “and the kingdoms will fall.”             The snickering guards stopped, hushed and almost as intent on the words of the jester as I was.  There were five kingdoms in the land beyond what humans knew.  For centuries they were governed by the five kings as the guardians of humanity, but something went wrong.  The fifth king couldn’t be found and the chain was broken.  This had happened before, of course.  There were instances where the fifth was never found.  But I saw what the others could not.  This was no random act that caused temporary difficulty.  No, the equation said otherwise.  I could see what they so readily refused.             “How do you know this?” I asked.              “How is wrong in the question.  He must ask of why.  Why does he know?  This he must ask him.”             A blank stare locked onto mine.  He was challenging me, seeing if I would flinch or become uncertain.             “No,” I said, without breaking the stare.             His head cocked to the side, like a child overcome with curiosity.  My response fascinated him and he seemed to draw strength from it.  He crawled forward on his hands and whispered into my ear.             “He is different than the others.  He is saddened by what is to come for him,” he said, moving from one ear to the other. ...