E.R. COOK

This is an ongoing fictional serial book, one chapter published every week. If you have not read up to this point, please check out the other chapters.

Asha is a fifteen year old girl born into a savage world sculpted by tribal wars and elemental magic. She is chosen as the elder shaman’s apprentice, the akira. She is also a Raven’s Eye, one able to communicate and see through a raven’s eyes, a special talent even among the shamans. Though she will one day be powerful, she is looked down upon as the failed firstborn daughter of the chieftain of the tribe. As she struggles to understand herself and her powers along with dealing with the eternal hatred and shame of her father, she must also constantly figure out how to bring her tribe through the clouds of war and danger that the ravens tell her about.

As you can read, this book deals with violence and trauma, but it’s not all doom and gloom. Like other works of fiction, any resemblance to any living person, place or thing is purely coincidental.

The Shaman’s Pact

Screams of confusion rent the air as more arrows flew from the shadows of the trees. A hand grabbed Asha’s upper arm, pulling her to her feet. Tiran pulled her close, then dragged her into a run, heading for a small hut nearby. His eyes scanned the skies, dodging and weaving between the arrows. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She gasped. “What?”

“An attack.” He growled. “Cowards attacking during the grieving rights.”

Off in the distance she heard more howls of attack as their few soldiers responded, the cracking and splitting of wood as the perimeter fence broke. “We cannot defend ourselves. The Vark?”

“Who else? No wonder they pulled back. Let us believe they were still in the pass. They must have found a way around.”

“But why didn’t we know?”

“Your father pulled the outer patrols. Wanted as many warriors as he could for the battle.”

A horrific splintering sound rent the air as the ground underneath the main gate rippled and rolled like a wave, the stressed and weakened scorched timbers cracking and breaking. As Asha watched, the gate broke and fell. Shadowy figures ran through the gap, teeth and weapons barred, ready to meet the few battered warriors who had found their feet to face them.

“Their shaman.” She whispered. “He fights?”

Tiran’s face drained. His voice was a whisper, so light she barely heard it. “They broke the pact.”

He turned to her, his fear written on his face. “Go. To the river. They’ll be focused on the gates and the forest. Maybe. . .maybe you can get through. Get Chalese. Get whomever you can.”

“No.” She cried. “I can’t leave my village.”

“The village is dead.” He screamed. “We can hold them off but we are dead. Go. Try to live. It’s the only thing that will get me to the next world.”

Before she could stop him, he drew his blade, racing to help his comrades who were being overrun. Tears started falling down her face.

“ENOUGH!” A strong voice rang through the air, just as thunder cracked and growled overhead. The warriors froze, although Asha could see they had not stopped of their own will. Many struggled against invisible bonds, like the air had thickened. In another heartbeat, rain had started falling, trying to quell the growing fires.

Chalese was standing in the middle of the village, a white light glowing around her as she drew on the nature powers. She tapped her staff into the earth, one, two, three times. Each time, the ground rippled away from her. Her voice magnified, carrying out to the forest. “Who dares attack this village? Who dares violate the sanctity of grieving rites? Who DARES violate the pact?”

Asha watched as the years rolled off Chalese. Her white hair stood out around her head like a halo, crackling and whipping like lightning. Blazing golden eyes shone out of a strong face, her body like stone as she surveyed the carnage. When she spoke, it was if the mountains themselves had awakened. “WHO DARES VIOLATE THE PACT?”

Silence reigned. Then slowly, two men walked out of the haze of the broken gate. One wore the war bonnet of the chieftain, the other the white robes of the shaman. Asha immediately recoiled. The shaman was a man, but stooped and twisted. His gnarled hands wrapped around a large crooked staff. But what revolted her was his eyes. They glowed an angry red, like the embers of a fire dipped in blood. She closed her eyes, looking with her senses as Chalese had taught her to do.

Her stomach writhed. The man’s aura was dark, a shadow that had attached itself to him. Tentacles reached out, whipping back and forth. Whenever they touched a living soul, she could see it taking bites of it, leaving chunks and gaping wounds. She shivered.

Tiran had retreated back to her, whispering, “What is it?”

“Their shaman.” She had to force the words past her lips. “He draws his power from the dead.”

Tiran’s eyes grew wide. “The dead?”

She licked her lips. Asha couldn’t draw her eyes away from the man, like if she broke contact the tentacles would come after her. “Every shaman has a connection to nature. But while we can learn to pull and control energy from any source, we all have a way that is more natural, more powerful. Like how I can talk to ravens.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “But there is one power you should never touch. While it is incredibly powerful and destructive, it is a poison. It leeches into you, eating your soul. Once your soul is consumed, it reaches out for others. It is insatiable. You can’t control it.”

Tiran whistled low. “What can we do?”

Asha’s soul grew cold. “Nothing.”

Asha knew Chalese could see it too. But if the older woman was scared, she did not show it. She strode forward, her face twisted in a snarl. “You dare touch the forbidden powers, Xarax?”

The old man chuckled. Though his voice was soft, it somehow reverberated through the air for all to hear. It hissed and slithered into Asha’s ear like an eel, making her squirm and want to cry. He glared at the other shaman. “Forbidden? NO. Only for weak-minded fools who weren’t strong enough to tame the wildfire. I am not a weakling, Chalese.”

“You think you can defeat me?”

“I don’t think I can defeat you.” A wide grin split his face. “I think I already won.”

An arrow flew out of nowhere, burying itself in Chalese’s throat. Her eyes went wide, her mouth open as she gasped for a quick breath that would not come. As she collapsed, the energy she held lashed out in a blast of air that knocked everyone down.

“No!” Asha cried. The blast knocked her down, her skin shredding as it dragged and tossed her along the ground. She dug her fingers in to stop the movement, waiting for the power to pass, wincing as debris and stones dug into her skin. As soon as the power faded, she was on her feet, flying towards the crumpled body on the ground. She pulled Chalese’s head into her lap. “No. No. No. No. No.”

Chalese’s eyes still held life, but blood tinged her lips, her skin going gray. She could not speak because of the arrow, but raised a hand, caressing Asha’s face. Then it dropped to the ground for the last time. Asha felt the last shuddering breath. Her fingers drifted up, leaving bloody streaks as they closed the shaman’s eyes for the last time.

Somewhere far away, a single raven called. A lone, echoing cry. Their call to war.

Somewhere deep beneath her, deep within the earth, something answered.

“Your shaman is dead.” The chieftain finally spoke. “Throw down your weapons and beg for your lives.”

“You broke the pact.” A warrior called.

The chieftain spat on the ground. “Pacts are for weaklings. We are done playing games with children. Relent or be destroyed.”

Asha slowly stood, gently lowering Chalese down to the ground. She felt as if everything had drained into the ground. Every happy memory. Every smile. Every sun. Every laugh. All that was left in her cold, dead body was a core of simmering hatred and anger, compressed into a dense, tight ball in the middle of her chest. She raised her eyes slowly, locking onto the dark shaman.

He chuckled. “What is this? A little apprentice? What are you going to do? Throw a leaf at me?”

The enemy warriors laughed. When Chalese had died, her power had faded. The wind ties had loosened, the rain had stopped. But instead of attacking, they were standing watching the tableau between the two shamans. Her own warriors were frozen, too tired and broken before, now thrown numb by the loss of their shaman in such a cowardly way.

The orb within her started pulsing. One beat. Two. Like a living heart of anger. Of pain. My people. My family. Preen. Tiran. Chalese. With every name she said, every scar, every pain she’d ever endured, it beat faster. Louder. One beat. Two beats. Three beats.

She took a step forward.

“Stop.” The other shaman calmly said. He reached out a hand, twisting it.

Asha felt the energy surge underneath, a dark twisting energy forcing the earth to its will. Before she could react, tentacles of rock and dirt erupted from the land, encircling her, bearing her upwards, entangling and imprisoning her arms and legs. With a beckoning gesture, the tentacles surged forward, flowing over the earth, bringing her to a stop in front of the dark shaman.

He chuckled again. This close she could smell the decay on him. It was already too late, the demon had taken too far of a hold. But it didn’t matter if the shell was only a puppet. It still provided the demon with enough hold on this realm. As if in response, her new heart within her beat louder, faster, like it was trying to surge against the tentacles that held her tight.

“Enough of this.” The shaman hissed. “You will make a fine meal for my demon. Then I will consume your village.”

She felt the tentacle reaching out, her body instinctively rearing itself back with bone-crunching force, but the tentacles held her too tightly. It impacted her skin right above her eyes.

The icy cold knifed into her, driving out her breath. Like the time she fell into the frozen river, only amplified by a thousand. It drove not only her breath but her wits, her body instinctively retreating far within herself, away from the touch. From the dark, inky presence that started eating at her flesh, pulling at her energy.

She fled, down, down, down within herself. Down towards the orb.

Please. Please. I can’t. . .I can’t. . .

Failure. Loser. Some shaman you are. Can’t even protect your village.

The words echoed and rattled in her mind. The demon latched onto them, laughing, amplifying them until they bounced and crashed against her skull.

I tried. . .I tried. . .

But the demon overwhelmed her. Asha felt it invading her defenses. Pulling at her energy. She stopped fighting.

Her body drooped, numb. Broken. Done.

Her mind drifted, watching as the demon destroyed her. A lone scouting tentacle had wheedled its way through her body. Tentatively, it reached out towards the red, glowing orb.

It exploded.

Red light raced through her body, exploding outward like a bomb. The tentacles holding her shattered in a million shards. She dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch.

Somewhere in the distance, a raven screamed its war challenge.

The dark shaman had recoiled, as had the chieftain and the rest of the soldiers and villagers. He hissed, his eyes thinned. “You. You sneer at me for being a demon? What have you called forth?”

It was not Asha that spoke, but something else. Her eyes glowed a deep gold streaked with orange, like a sunset was caught within the orbs. But her pupils had shifted, elongating and narrowing like a cat’s. When she spoke, her voice was smooth and honeyed, but deep and ancient like a river. It rippled and flowed like water. A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth. “Demon? You dare call me demon, shadow puppet?”

With shocking speed she darted forward, her fingers lashing out to grasp his neck. With amazing strength she lifted the dark shaman, his gnarled fingers twisting and digging at her fingers, but they were like steel. Slowly, the nails elongated, turning into claws, digging into the flesh. He stopped thrashing, afraid that the slightest movement would impale him.

At her movement, it broke the spell of the chieftain and soldiers. He roared at his men to come to the dark shaman’s defense. But Asha merely whispered an ancient word, so old that none there could have told you what it was. As if they were loosed from a bowstring, hordes of ravens and blackbirds took to the sky from the forest. They swirled up into the heavens, turning it black. Without another word, they rained down onto the village, claws and beaks extended, the air ringing with their battle cry.

Soldiers screamed and ran for cover as iron beaks and claws ripped and tore at their flesh, searching for tender spots like eyes. Even the chief was sent running for cover, his headdress abandoned and lying in the mud, knocked loose by the fray. A small part of her noted that her own villagers and soldiers were spared the onslaught, and approved.

She turned back to the shaman, dangling helplessly in her grasp. “I am nothing like you. You are a parasite, a mutation, a scourge on the land banished to the twisting depths of hell for your crimes and appetite. I am something much older, much deeper than you could ever imagine.”

The shaman’s eyes grew wide. “Old one?”

She purred. “You dared to break the pact. You enticed this one until he gave permission, using his body to worm your way to the surface world. You killed one of my beloved. With an arrow no less. Coward.”

Her eye turned to the screaming mass of soldiers being driven back beyond the gate where they did not lie motionless in the mud. The ravens screamed victory.

“My children thank you. They have not feasted like this for years. But no more.” She tightened her grip, the shaman wriggling like a worm. “Now I will send you back to where you belong.”

“Wait, wait!!” The demon screamed. “I have information.”

“What could you know that would interest me?”

“I am not the only one who has found their way to freedom.”

Asha frowned. “How is that?”

“The bonds weaken.”

“Liar.” She snarled. “The bonds cannot weaken.”

“They cannot. Unless another Old One helps us.” He chuckled roughly. “No more shall we be mere puppet masters, lurking in the shadows. We will come again!”

He started laughing maniacally. Asha snarled. “Enough.”

Energy whipped out of her fingers, driving into the shaman, pulling the demon out and burning him with wildfire. The shaman’s lifeless body seemed to explode, first with a bright light, then it merely crumbled, blowing away as ash on the wind.

Tiran ran up, but stopped a few feet away, unsure as to what to do, not wanting to be vaporized as well. Asha turned, her golden eyes bright.

“Asha?”

The woman smiled. “Be calm. She is safe. She merely called for help and I responded. Can’t stand demons.”

The woman lifted her head, watching as the last of the ravens drifted off into the forest, their job done for now. “Tell your friend that she must be strong. The old bonds are breaking. The Pacts are no more. She will need to be strong to survive what is to come and protect that which she holds dear.”

“The bonds?”

Another smile. “Tell her to find me, when she is strong enough.”

“Who. . .who are you?”

“She will know, when the time is right.”

The light in her eyes faded as the orbs rolled up into Asha’s skull. Tiran ran forward, catching her as she fell.

He looked up over the destroyed village. Fire still smoldered here and there, the water and mud mixing with dark blood. A few ravens cawed and hopped about as they feasted on their prize. Villagers were crawling out of hiding places, tears and blood streaming down their faces.

The storm crashed overhead.