Souls of Fire
Authors: Vanessa Black
Souls of Fire
Book One of the Souls Series
VANESSA BLACK
Souls of Fire
Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa Black
Cover Art by
Ravven
http://www.ravven.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
This book is dedicated to Klaus,
my love and best friend.
Without your faith and encouragement,
this book would never have seen the light of day.
Thank you. I love you.
Chapter 12 * Caisleán an Draíocht
Chapter 14 * Moonlight Serenade
Chapter 16 * Sundrenched World
D
arkness was biding its time. There was no need to force that which was ordained. The future was written, no one could change it … no one would dare try!
Destined to fear, hate and destroy, all mankind had ever needed was a little nudge in the right direction. And Darkness lived everywhere, in the best and the worst of living creatures, hiding patiently in the most remote recesses of the mind.
Where human nature was frail, Darkness seized power at the right moment, turning its once planted hateful seed into a pit of purest black and opening the souls up to evil. That was all that was needed; just a tiny push … and a model member of society went over the edge, taking down whoever stood in his or her way.
Thinking of mankind’s inability to grasp the true nature behind evil, anger washed over Darkness once more. Evil was all humans ever talked about, it got all the limelight. Whenever madness ensued, it was because of evil. Darkness was sick of it!
Why would they not understand? Evil could only do so much. It was not everywhere, Darkness was. It had existed before evil … was the very foundation for it. Without Darkness, evil could never
exist! Darkness crept into the purest of souls, into souls in which evil could not penetrate. But
Darkness
was there, since the dawn of time, waiting…
And now, finally, the time had come: there would be no more waiting. The end of the world was perceptibly nigh, though humans perceived nothing! Humans … they would recognize the end when it was upon them. But then it would be too late. Then, everything would be dark for all eternity.
Everything Darkness had longed for was virtually within its grasp. The world was slowly unraveling … mankind’s true destiny gradually unfolding.
Darkness’ reign had come at last.
And no power on this earth would stand in its way…
On a dark night long ago, underneath a blood-red moon, was born a legacy, a foe, a darkness that arrives too soon.
The world will end in blazing fire, will turn to dust and blow away. Humanity will thus expire, condemned to watch, to hope and pray.
Charcoal black and red as blood, drawn like moths to the flame, desire rushing like a flood, sending fire through their veins.
Star-crossed lovers meant to die, born to a dark and twisted fate, taking down with them the sky; mankind’s outcry comes too late.
Cursed to live aside each other as they are consumed by lust; bound to one another until the earth is naught but dust.
Thus will come about the end, when the rose is in full bloom; lest another’s heart should mend, beware impending doom.
Darkness shall fall and cover earth with everlasting night. Say your goodbyes to friends and foes, to love and to the light.
I
sat on the window ledge of my bedroom looking out at the stormy clouds rolling in overhead. Sitting here on the large wooden window seat, leaning against squashy pillows and all cuddled up in cozy blankets, I always loved to look out at the stormy sky, at trees being swayed and branches being whipped in every direction by the sheer force of unrestrained nature.
It always looked like a dramatic dance to me. Trees bending over as if in desperation, their branches powerfully yet gracefully reaching out in silent pleas.
And it usually gave me a strong sense of safety, sitting in the warmth of my room while a storm was raging right before my eyes. A storm, which although so near I could see it, hear it, and smell it in the air, did not have the power to touch me in my beloved sanctuary.
But today something was off. Today I didn’t feel safe or cozy. I felt afraid and lost.
“Persephone, dinner will be ready in five minutes. If you haven’t washed up yet, you’d better do it now, Sweetie … Sweetie?”
It took me a while to get my hazy thoughts clear enough to grasp that I’d been spoken to. Although I hadn’t paid any attention to the actual content, I knew the gist of my mother’s words. I knew them by heart.
“‘Kay mom, I’ll be right down,” I called toward the kitchen.
Still not having moved an inch away from the window, my gaze now followed the small glistening drops of rainwater collecting on the windowpane, sliding slowly down the outer surface and dropping out of sight.
I didn’t really know why I had this strange sense of unease, this inexplicable feeling of no longer being safe; or more importantly, this mind-numbing fear I just couldn’t seem to shake. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It felt as if the world I knew and loved was slowly but irrevocably beginning to spin out of my control.
I didn’t even know what to be afraid of. All I knew for certain was that this feeling had not developed over any length of time. It had crept up on me seemingly overnight as if something had happened, as if some cataclysmic event had occurred to set it off.
Oh man, cataclysmic event? Okay, I’ve officially lost it!
I threw off my cuddly white woolen blanket and got to my feet. I let out a long sigh and left my room to go downstairs for dinner.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, Persephone,” my mom was grinning from ear to ear, looking at me expectantly, obviously waiting for some kind of response; probably hoping that I would be out of myself with curiosity.
Not wanting to hurt her feelings or be made responsible by my dad for my mom complaining about my mood swings to him throughout his favorite television show later in the evening, I made my mouth turn up at the corners as much as I possibly could ― which wasn’t much ― and let some curiosity seep into my voice.
“Really? What is it?”
“I know you said you didn’t want us to make a big fuss about your birthday,” her voice trailed off.
“But?” I asked in a resigned voice, already knowing this wouldn’t end in the way I’d hoped, and knowing there was nothing I could do about it once my mom had ganged up on me. Even though I hadn’t glanced in my father’s direction, I knew he represented the other part of the ‘gang’. My dad didn’t have to say anything on the subject for me to know he’d automatically take my mother’s side.
“Well, I just thought we could at least have some birthday cake for dessert. That hardly qualifies as a ‘fuss’!”
I’d spent the better half of the past week trying to explain to my mother that I didn’t want a big party. Even though my mom had gone on and on about the importance of not missing out on things I would regret having missed later on in life, I’d tried to get out of throwing a birthday party or of being presented with a surprise party. Therefore, I was actually relieved to hear the surprise was only a birthday cake and nothing more. Cake I could do.
It was only the idea of throwing a big party that I just couldn’t warm up to. It was my eighteenth birthday, a birthday that deserved a greater celebration than just any birthday. But the thought of having lots and lots of people there that didn’t care about me in the least just didn’t seem so thrilling.
I preferred to have just this little celebration at home, surrounded by the people that loved me, instead of having a million people around that didn’t give a damn.
“Okay, I give up!” I cried, throwing my hands up in front of me in a playful gesture of surrender.
“Cake is fine,” I added with a smile.
Actually, my birthday was almost over. I was born at eleven p.m., so my birthday had already started yesterday. Seeing as my parents had to get up early for work and, therefore, went to bed timely, I always celebrated it the day after so that they could celebrate with me.
My dad was a sales man in his late forties. His once dark brown hair had started to go grey a couple of years back and was gradually thinning out. He was a man of medium height and medium build, not too fat, nor too thin. His face was kind, and his brown eyes had a soft warmth about them. To the casual observer, however, there was nothing remarkable about him.
My mom was in her mid-forties and waited tables in a high-class French restaurant in town, always a little stressed out when coming home from a hard day of running around for hours at a time and never failing to complain about her aching feet. She normally worked the early shift, even helping out in the kitchen long before opening hours so that she could be home earlier to do her housework during the light of day.
She had long straight dark-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a nice body for her age, which probably came from walking to and from tables for hours on end.
I loved my parents dearly and was grateful for everything they did for me, but I had never really been close to them in the sense of fully understanding them or confiding in them about my dreams or about the things that moved me.
I was very unlike my parents in many ways. There was a barrier separating us, an invisible line that kept me from telling them about my life, my dreams, my fears. Somehow, without even attempting to let them know me better, I’d always known they wouldn’t really understand me.
My parents loved me very much and would have done anything for their ‘little girl’, but that didn’t mean they knew me at all.