Primeval Origins: Light of Honor (Book 2 in the Primeval Origins Epic Saga) by Vonsik Brett

Author:Vonsik, Brett [Vonsik, Brett]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: FICTION / Fantasy / Epic
Publisher: Outskirts Press, Inc
Published: 2015-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Voices in the Shadows

Ribbons of fog crawled across the roots of creepers, laurels, and oaks blanketing the soggy bottom of the low pass. Misty tendrils reached for him as if they had sentient intent. Confused, Aren looked about and asked aloud, “What is this place? How did I get here?”

Advancing misty tendrils were almost upon him, forcing him to back away . . . away from this living fog. His sandaled feet squished in soft moist soil. Aren’s skin crawled. The air felt thick and wet, and smelled stale. Tendrils reaching out from the living fog moved in every direction, though the ones moving forward behaved as if seeking him. Aren couldn’t explain how he knew they sought him, but he did. He just knew it. He retreated southward down the pass with the misty tendrils relentlessly in pursuit. Aren’s foot caught something, a rock or a root, sending him tumbling down the pass. When he stopped rolling, he didn’t feel injured, just vulnerable lying on the ground. His heart quickened. What is chasing me? He rose and slipped on the moist earth, falling to the ground again. Panic grabbed him as he mentally calculated the mist to almost be upon him. Looking up from his prone position, Aren caught sight of the first tendril slithering its way over a large raised oak root not more than a few strides away. His heart skipped a beat. His arms and legs betrayed him as he commanded his body to rise and run. Nothing. He remained lying on the ground watching the vaporous tendrils reach out to him. They were close, almost on him. Symbols suddenly blazed from within the vapors. Those spinning tormentors formed in the tips of now a dozen vaporous tendrils an arm’s length away, calling to him, craving to touch him. Aren felt helpless as he rose to his knees just as the first vaporous tendril touched him. A shiver rippled through him at the slimy cold feel of the tendril wrapping itself around his right arm. Another took him on his left arm. Another around his waist. The slimy sensation turned to a painful burning of his flesh. Aren grunted in pain as he saw and felt those symbols being burnt into the flesh on both his arms. More tendrils advanced . . . many more. Aren realized his doom had arrived from the Pit of Kur itself. He made to scream for someone—anyone—to help him as his world plunged into a freezing darkness.

“What did you do to him?” A familiar deep voice asked out of the darkness.

“I quieted his thoughts,” an unfamiliar voice, equally as deep, answered.

“How can I be sure he is untouched by darkness?” Aren recognized the voice as Rogaan’s.

“Rogaan—” Another deep voice, familiar to Aren, sounded disappointed and chastising.

“He has much to learn,” the unfamiliar voice interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone.

Aren struggled trying to open his eyes, but his body wasn’t doing what he wanted. A swell of panic rose within him. What’s wrong with me?

“This one I know,” the unfamiliar voice said.

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