Son of Saints: A Dark YA Fantasy Adventure: Renegade Guardians: Book Two Read online

  “Or became casualties in someone else’s war.” The knots in Viktor’s stomach twisted. A bitter taste rose from the back of his throat. Thousands of innocent lives lost in the blink of an eye. His head swam, his knees weak. “What else?”

  Savina rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know. Little things. A soiled doll left in the center of the street. No horses or livestock, no birds or insects. No life. Not a single soul.”

  Viktor clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting for the shock to wear off. He had anticipated bad news, but the severity of her premonition left him hollow. “What can I do?”

  “What can any of us do?” Savina grimaced, her mouth twisted into a deep frown. “Angels and demons draw their power from the gods. Feyfolk and passives are no match for their strength, even in droves.”

  “So we surrender our world as their battlefield?”

  Savina barked a bitter laugh. “As if you’d ever consider sitting on the sidelines watching the world burn.”

  Viktor shrugged. “Not my style. I’m not apathetic to the world. Yet. Need a few more centuries to decide it isn’t worth saving.”

  “I’m not sure how much you can do, dear. Even with the camphelem by your side. You can’t fight fate. The universe demands balance in all things, no matter what measures we must take to achieve it.”

  If only Savina realized how much of his life he’d spent outrunning destiny.

  “And a war is the best way to achieve said balance and harmony?” Viktor snorted. He tried to focus on Savina’s words, but his blood heated as he pictured soft blonde curls wrapped around his fingers, Lili’s starry silver eyes staring at him with hope. “How does your vision fit into this demand for balance? Is this about Lilianna?”

  Savina shook her head once more. “I told you all I can. The visions I have don’t always make sense. I wish I could help more, but the pieces are still fuzzy.”

  A heaviness settled into his bones. Viktor placed a hand on Savina’s shoulder. “Thank you. As uncomfortable as your visions are, I have confidence in their ability to save lives.”

  “I wish I had a way to share my visions with you with more than words. You wouldn’t rush into danger if you witnessed what I have. Both sides have considerable armies, Viktor. Forces innumerable to count. The demons will cover every corner of the land in darkness. They have weapons and magic unlike anything Astryae has encountered, enough power to decimate a small village in a heartbeat. The Forsaken are conniving tacticians and formidable soldiers. On the other side, the angels invented the art of war. Their thousands of soldiers have more years of training than all the kings’ armies put together, not to mention their divine powers. This war will tear the world asunder.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” Viktor moved for the exit, his lungs aching for fresh air. “Please reach out to me should you spy anything else.”

  Savina responded with a mirthless smile. “Safe travels, sweet boy. And best of luck. I will pray to whatever gods are left for your success.”

  * * *

  By the time Viktor returned to camp, few hours of night remained. His legs ached as he trudged through the forest towards the campsite, his limbs heavy and sore from the long hike back. He weaved through the mess of birch, fir, and pine trees with his hands in his pockets, his thoughts still with Savina.

  He’d expected to find the fire long extinguished, but smoke tickled his nostrils as he wandered through the Whispering Wood towards their campsite. Red and orange flames danced in the small stone fire pit they’d assembled on Viktor’s first night. Jett Tatlok stood next to the fire with his palms extended for warmth. He arched a brow when Viktor approached.

  “Better late than never, I suppose.”

  Viktor shook his head, too tired to bite back with a quip. Savina’s news had drained him of every ounce of fight he’d clung to for weeks. He had no desire to defend himself or trade banter. All he desired was rest. He lifted his gaze to the branch above Jett’s head. A small spotted owl perched on the lowest limb. “Worst night I’ve had in months. I might need to sit for a spell.”

  A sharp breeze blew through the trees. The Whispering Woods lived up to their name, a soft chorus of indistinguishable whispers drifting through with each gust of wind. Viktor had resisted setting up camp on blood-soaked soil, but Jett had insisted the proximity between Carramar and Wevaria was ideal for their purposes. Viktor had regretted giving in every night since they’d built a small shelter and a fire pit in a narrow clearing. The voices made it hard to think, let alone rest.

  Jett’s copper eyes studied Viktor, his lips pressed together until they disappeared. “You look exhausted. How many did you kill?”

  “Three. You?”

  “Five. But I found two of them together in a tavern.”

  “Lucky bastard.” Viktor marched over to his makeshift bed, a few thick fallen logs covered in evergreen firs and moss. He crashed onto the hard cot and closed his eyes, his head heavy with pressure. Savina’s words nagged in the back of his mind. Her voice grew louder with his eyes closed, her prophecy more ominous.

  A stream trickled in the distance. Viktor willed himself to focus on the whisper of the wind through the branches, the gentle chirp of crickets behind them. Anything but the devastating news Savina had left him with and fate he wasn’t prepared to face.

  “I spoke to some guys in the tavern,” Jett said.

  Viktor grunted, his tongue too heavy for proper conversation.

  “Things are getting worse.” Jett’s voice dropped into a warning. “I overheard talk in the taverns of another caravan attack. Outside of Wevaria this time. The survivors said demons slaughtered his companions. That’s the third attack this week.”

  “And we’ll gut them all,” Viktor swore, his words slurred. He tugged his scabbard over his head and tossed it to the ground beside him. It would be his luck to stab himself to death while rolling over in his sleep.

  “They have armies full of well-trained angels and demons. The demons are not pleased with our work these last few weeks. And there’s only two of us. I don’t like our odds.”

  Viktor didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to, but because his tongue became too heavy in his mouth to form more words. It had all become too much to think about at once. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids weighed too much to lift. His breathing slowed as his body relaxed into the cot.

  “I wished to speak with you about something,” Jett said after a long moment of silence. “The war and the innocent civilians in Astryae.”

  Viktor wanted to open his mouth to respond, but fatigue had wired his jaw shut for the night. When had he last rested for more than a few minutes? Not in weeks, not since losing everyone he cared for. He didn’t share Jett’s enthusiasm for outdoor slumber under the stars, but after his visit to Savina, every ounce of his willpower had fled. His body demanded rest. Time to recover. Jett clocked less sleep than anyone he knew, but Viktor didn’t plan to adopt the older wolf’s unhealthy habits.

  “Great,” Jett muttered, his voice distant. “Thanks for your input, friend.”

  Something rustled in the distance. Viktor knew he ought to sit up, knew he should at least help Jett put the fire out and secure camp, but his body had other plans. Even a shifter could only run for so long without rest. He considered moving, but the gentle harmonies of nature soothed his wired nerves like a mother’s lullaby.

  Viktor couldn’t resist the seduction of sleep forever. As he faded into a deep slumber, he thought once more of Lili’s face and the way her silver eyes had sparkled with tears when he told her goodbye. He fell asleep with her name on his lips, her smile burned into the back of his eyelids.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Oath-sworn

  But do not dismiss the god of fire’s gifts for destruction; the flames of his passions created some of the most beautiful objects in existence.

  -The Sacred Texts, 121:36 (Rhayer)

  Viktor’s lungs burned. Shrill screams pierced the air. His eyes snapped open as
he bolted upright from his bed.

  No, not his bed. Not the cot in the woods he fell asleep on, but a spacious room with a bed twice the size of his scrawny frame. His adult body had vanished, the frail body and feeble mind of a child in its place. A stifling warmth replaced the normally brisk night air in his bedchamber. His heart hammered against his ribs as high-pitched wails and cries filled the air like music.

  He sputtered and coughed as he sprang from the bed. Smoke burned his eyes as his lungs ached for oxygen. Cold stone floors greeted his feet as he sprinted across the room for the door. He had to find his parents. They had to save the rest of the clan.

  Thick clouds of black vapor poured into the room the moment he opened the door. Viktor groaned as he forced his feet forward, his head spinning. He scanned the hallway but detected no signs of movement. The screams had to be downstairs.

  He glanced towards his parents closed bedroom door, conflicted. Had they made it downstairs already? Why had no one woken Viktor? He crept down the narrow corridor towards the wooden door, his chest heavy with more than smoke. His hand trembled as he raised his fist to the door and knocked three times.

  He waited for what seemed like an eternity and seconds rolled into one. No rustling appeared on the other side. He knocked twice more. Nothing happened, and his shoulders fell. How could they abandon him?

  Run. Run, or die.

  Viktor raced towards the spiraled staircase. A cold sweat covered his body. It didn’t matter why they’d left him, not now. He needed to find them. He craved nothing more than to wrap his arms around his mother’s waist and sob into her soft midsection. His mother’s soothing voice was the only thing capable of calming his terror.

  The screams stopped just as Viktor stumbled over the bottom step. The tiny hairs on his neck prickled as he froze. He shot a glance at the closed double doors to the library on the left, then the kitchen to the right. Where would his mother have gone? Where had she sent the rest of the pack?

  He jerked to the left and raced towards the doors. The fire must have come from the kitchen. His parents were probably in there. He pictured his father fighting to extinguish the flames as his mother ushered the rest of the pack to safety. They’d assure him everything was under control. His mother would tell him she’d seen no reason to wake him. They had everything in hand. Everything would be fine.

  He raced through the empty dining room towards the kitchen. His lungs burned as he ran, his head dizzy from lack of oxygen. He ignored the ache of his legs and pressed on. He had to find his parents. His Mommy—

  “Viktor!”

  Viktor whirled around at the sound of his name. His parents stood behind him back towards the staircase, their eyes red and round. His mother held a deep red scarf over her mouth and coughed until her cheeks matched the fabric. Both still wore their night clothes, their faces soaked in sweat and ash. His father held a shaking arm out to his son as relief softened his features.

  Viktor raced into his father’s embrace, stumbling twice before crashing against his broad bare chest. He buried his face in the thick dark curls as his father wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. His mother laid her hand on the side of his face, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, my dear, sweet boy,” she said, her voice choked. “I thought we’d lost you, too.”

  Too? A heavy dread settled into Viktor’s bones as awareness crashed over him like a fallen support beam. “Where is Dezzie?”

  His mother sobbed into her scarf as his father’s grip tightened. “We don’t know. Her bedchamber was empty. We’ve searched both floors of the house, but—”

  Viktor squirmed against his father’s chest as he tried to fight free of the embrace. “I must find Dezra!”

  “Run, Viktor!”

  His chest knotted. “Not without her. We can’t abandon her. She needs us.”

  “We must pray Anja led her outside to safety already,” his father said as he pushed Viktor towards the towering gold double doors. “Your mother and I have searched every corner of this house and turned up no sign of her.”

  “But—”

  “We have no time to argue, Viktor. Go!”

  His father shoved him forward, and Viktor sprinted towards the doors without another protest. His baby sister’s name echoed through his mind. How had he forgotten to check her bedchamber the moment he left his own? He alternated scattered prayers to Anja and Cimera, hopeful he’d find his sister outside waiting with wide, teary eyes. He longed to pull her into his arms and rub her messy dark curls until she kicked and squealed. To hear her laugh or listen to her whine his name. If the gods had any mercy at all, they’d help Dezzie escape unharmed.

  He was a few feet from the golden doors when his mother’s cries pierced the air. He jolted, then whirled on his heel and raced back through the burning hallways to find her. The smoke had thickened. Not even his hands in front of him were visible in the thick dark clouds. His throat and lungs burned for air, but he stumbled back the way he’d come and shouted for his mother.

  He froze mid-stride. He opened his mouth to scream, but his voice failed. His mother and father knelt on the ground. His mother buried her face against his father’s chest. Her body trembled as she sobbed. His father rubbed an absent hand over her back, but his eyes remained glued on the imposing beast looming over them with a sword inches from their necks.

  Viktor took a few steps back and ducked behind a marble pillar supporting a ceramic vase filled with flowers. The demon stood at least twice as tall as Viktor, his bony fingers wrapped around a sword enveloped in a pale blue glow. Curled horns stuck out behind each ear. His skin mirrored the surrounding smoke.

  “Don’t do this, Andras,” his father pleaded, his voice still firm and diplomatic. “We have given your mistress no trouble.”

  The monster cackled. “Trueeee, but these orders didn’t come from Daeva.”

  He didn’t give Viktor’s parents an opportunity to argue. He lifted his palm and clenched it into a fist. His parents froze, their spines rigid and mouths slack. Their hands wiggled at their sides, but their arms remained pinned to their bodies. Their flesh paled as they gasped.

  Andras swung his sword and sliced both their necks in one clean swoop. A sinister laugh bubbled from his lips as they gurgled and crumpled to the floor. The beast shook his blade clean and slid it back into his sheath. He kicked the bodies and giggled. “There. The Kinzhal problem is now resolved. I’m sorry it had to come to this. Personally, I liked you. But we can’t afford to let the wolves amass too much power, can we?”

  Viktor’s hands flew to his mouth to smother his scream. His stomach lurched. Bile rose into his mouth. A sharp stab ripped through his chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks and onto his shirt, but his eyes remained glued on the unnatural splay of his mother’s body. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, her lips parted. His legs ached to run to her. He wanted nothing more than to curl up next to her and weep. But if the demon discovered him, their deaths would go unavenged.

  He bolted back down the corridor and out of the thick double doors. The brisk outside air flooded his nostrils. He collapsed on his knees into the snow and sobbed. A few of the servants approached to comfort or question him, but Viktor shoved them all away. He searched the small crowd of ashen faces for Dezra, but he never found her. None of his family had escaped.

  After what might have been seconds or an eternity in his shock-riddled brain, Viktor sprang to his feet and marched back across the frozen grass towards what remained of the grand five-floor gold and sandstone estate. Flames had shattered the front windows, the left side of the building engulfed in red and orange light. He stood helplessly and watched the flames devour his childhood home and family. For the first time in his life, Viktor was alone in the world.

  * * *

  A deafening crash jerked Viktor from his dreams. He jolted upright and snapped his eyes open. His hand flew instinctively to his weapon while he waited for his eyes to adjust. He passed over the scabbard full of daggers and close
d his hand over the leather sheath holding his saber. The darkness over the campsite had lifted some, but the sun had yet to claim its usual place overhead.

  Before he pieced together what had woken him, Jett’s gruff voice appeared outside his tent. “I don’t know who sent you here, sir, but you’ve made a grave mistake.”

  The ground beneath him shook. A shadow moved from the fire pit closer to the tents. Viktor snatched the saber from its sheath and sprang to his feet. He flew out of his shoddy tent and stumbled to Jett’s side. Pins and needles stung his bare feet as he rooted himself into the frozen soil and struggled to gather his bearings.

  The shadow shifted closer. Viktor’s hands turned to ice. The creature’s face had a skeletal appearance. Flames flickered from the holes in place of its nostrils and eyes. The horns protruding from either side of its head resembled tree limbs, the bases thick with thin, twisted sticks sprawling from the sides. His black, flaky flesh reminded Viktor of charred bark. Red-hot embers peeked through the cracks. He opened his mouth and cackled, his fanged mouth filled with flames.

  “What the Fey is it?” Viktor asked, raising the saber into position to strike.

  “I assumed you invited him.”

  His gut cramped. “How do we kill it?”

  “Trial and error.” Jett clenched his jaw, his eyes focused on their uninvited guest. “A quick prayer to Rhayer won’t help, but it can’t hurt either.”

  Few memories of his childhood or parents had survived the passage of time. One such memory drifted to his thoughts, his father’s voice stern as he ordered young Viktor to hold the sword steady. ‘Strike first and pray you strike last.’

  The demon’s jaw parted. Flames erupted from his mouth, his voice a deep growl. “I will burn you and everything you hold dear to ash. You will answer for what have done to demon kind.”

  Viktor tightened his grip on the handle and lunged forward. Heat prickled his skin. The beast ducked as his blade circled through the air. Its booming cackle rattled the scrawny tree branches above. It kicked and swept Viktor’s legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground. His shoulder slammed into the hard soil, followed by the rest of his body. The demon drove a steel boot into his stomach before he recovered. The air from his lungs deflated like a balloon. Pain shot through his waist and up his chest, and for a moment Viktor worried he might vomit.