Dark Lands: War of the Sentinels

By Lyn I. Kelly

Welcome to the Dark Lands...again. In one explosive instant Sundown Thompson has found herself lost in the Dark Lands past, a world with which she is both familiar and estranged. The Willkeeper has no record of her. The Glorian Council does not recognize her. And the names Webb, Raven, Caleb, and Just Jake mean nothing to those around her. In the third book of Lyn I. Kelly's Dark Lands series Sundown must tenuously navigate between a future she knows all too well and a past not prepared for what is coming. All the while an unrestrained evil known as Hekla, born during the living world's creation, marches across the centuries intent on entering the Dark Lands and claiming what he perceives as his birthright. With horrors from Sundown's future finding their way across time, she and her new allies, some familiar, some new, must stop these nightmarish intercessions before the past and future collide and the Dark Lands is irreparably marred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483473000

Book preview

Walk

CHAPTER ONE

1274 B.C.

T he hot wind slithered across the bodies like the acidic breath of a dragon, merciless and biting, petulantly stirring the fine desert sands upon which the strewn corpses lay, their eyes staring unceremoniously in whatever direction they had fallen. Their bodies, some disemboweled, were already being torn apart by ravenous birds of the land and that which would not be eaten would be bleached and disintegrated over time by the fiery sun burning acrimoniously down on the battlefield.

The warring armies had already departed this place, leaving their fallen to be claimed by the desert, the stench of the bodies pursuing them in the wind. There was truly no other recourse, given the brutal state of the corpses.

The man staring across the carnage felt neither sadness nor outrage at what lay before him. If quantified, it could be said he felt nothing, excepting maybe a slight sense of peculiarity at his circumstances. He took a few measured steps, oblivious to the winds that were growing stronger, unusually stronger, around him and then began to walk deliberately through the pulp of blood, bone, flesh, metal, and wood scattered about as far as he could see. After a few uninhibited steps, he came upon the body he sought: his.

It lay there littered with the rest, mangled and barely recognizable amongst the exhibition of butchery—his body’s frailty exposed for all the world to see. Once he had thought his body immortal and impenetrable, an unconquerable among the weak, but that had merely been a vain fantasy of his human existence, an existence that was finite in his ageless walk. For his was an old soul, created from the smoldering birth of this world. He, like so many of the ancient evils, had sown himself within this plane of existence to grow and fester, rising finally when all was ripe for the picking. Yet when it had at last come time to emerge, he had been the only one to do so, the other ancients choosing to slumber in the ground and whisper dreaming malignancies to those who would listen.

So he had walked the earth alone, searching for a transient vessel to carry his message of anger, hate, and deceit until that vessel had served its purpose and it was time again to traverse the centuries and spread his effusive rancor through yet another host. And there was always a lost generation willing to listen and absorb his evils. Had his initial forays been rebuked then perhaps he would have chosen to leave this world alone or maybe even dissolve back into the ground and slumber with the others, but that had not happened. He had his flock. Many were eager to learn his ways and use them to pilfer and destroy. There were always those pockets of idealistic resistors, but even within their ranks there was always a weak link and that was all he needed to begin his plague of disharmony.

And so he had initiated his march through time moving from primitive to primitive until the slow and steady development of evolution allowed for a more modern version of man, one more adept at learning and one more adept to following the allure and seduction of evil in whatever form it may take. From there, it had been a simple process, much simpler than it should have been, but temptation can quickly disperse rationality. He had enlightened man about greed, power, the spoils of war, and had trained them in the art of it all. He had shown them how to use their primitive chariots for war and engage in tactics, strategies, and formations alien to them. And it had worked soundly—the proof now before him in the blood and trails of obliteration along the Orontes River in Kadesh.

He looked over the horizon, away from his former body, looking at nothing, yet looking at everything. His way would spread, molding the world in his image, and he would feast on its acrimony. For those were his spoils, the raw emotions of war and rancor that effused him with an unrivaled pleasure none but him could fathom. His enemies thought him a power-mad tyrant, but that was only part of the equation. Power just for the sake of power was a meaningless vacuum, a pursuit taken by fools. Power was a means to an end and his end would be achieved. One day, this world and all the souls within it would belong to him and he would have the unlimited bounty he so desired.

The winds were increasing at a maddening pace and within them he now heard the whispers of the ancients. Despite their sleep, they still greedily imbibed the rivers of pain and sorrow he washed over them. They were hungry and they wanted more. He heard and, moreover, felt their longing for what he could bring them. His was not a charitable soul and he resented their laziness and dependence on him, but he realized that through their inaction, he was the sole reaper of this world. He would thereby let the lazy dreamers suffice on the scraps while the lion’s share fell to him.

His thoughts were suddenly disrupted as the sun-bleached world around him began to darken from what he could only presume were storm clouds riding in over the skies. The darkening light then segued to that of a red hue, bathing his surroundings as if all natural light were being strained through a red filter. A sharp crack of thunder announced itself from behind him and he slowly turned.

The skies were indeed swallowed by dark thunderheads, much more dangerous than he had first appreciated, and they too were swimming in the same astral red as everything else. This, however, was not what held his attentions. Equidistant between him and the riding storm was an all-consuming vortex, a whirlpool in the clouds churning slowly and deliberately, the red at its center much brighter and more threatening than the dull malaise being cast around him. This anomaly did not scare him. On the contrary, he found the unusual event enrapturing, for fear was not part of his being. Fear was what he wrenched from others where it could soak the air around him like the pleasant humidity before a hard rain.

He caught motion in his periphery and he suddenly saw a mist begin to collect out of one of the bodies scattered on the battlefield before him. It began as a spindly wisp before organizing itself into the vaporous shape of a man. The mist gazed at him, opening its mouth in a silent roar, before being abruptly taken into the cyclonic vortex swirling over the massive field of slaughter.

The ancient soul’s eyes went wide at the suddenness of the abduction and he felt a primordial surge of jealousy and desire. That vortex was where he too needed to be, more so than any of those fallen on this bloodied field. Within it, he sensed a maelstrom that he could exploit. He began to march towards the ever circuitous eye in the hopes that it too would reach out for him, but for no fault of his own, his steps became staggered. He looked cursedly at the ground to find hands forming from the bloodied sand, grasping at his feet and ankles, hindering his progress. He spit ancient curses at them, but they would not abate.

"Hekla," whispered the winds around him, stopping his pursuit.

He looked down as the hands ceased their grasping and retreated back into the sand. He continued his downward gaze, not moving, remaining silent.

"Hekla, that is not your destiny. Not yet," whispered the winds.

Finally, Hekla spoke. What have I to do with those who choose to slumber?

"Move forward into the awaiting era. There you will establish your reign, a reign that will last a decade of centuries."

Hekla looked back up at the vortex still spiraling wantonly before him. But I can sense more awaiting me there.

"No, hissed the winds. That is an imprisonment, not the bounty you seek. At some point, you may need to go there to obtain the army you require to make all your own, but that time is not now. You must first sow here, before you can reap there."

Foolish riddles and drivel, he spit back.

"Forward," came the reply.

The vortex began to dissipate, its red hue ebbing and flowing to a faded color. Hekla watched its diffusion before turning his gaze back down. And what is that place?

"A place where all souls who test the boundaries of this world are eventually pulled," called the howling winds.

No more riddles. I will not seek this place today, but I must know its name.

The wind rose in ferocity before letting out one last gasp, words that echoed long after the winds had fallen back to sleep. "The Dark Lands."

CHAPTER TWO

THE COUNCIL

I t was a room Sundown had never seen before and she thought she now understood why. Of all the places she had ever ventured within Glorian , this one was by far the most uninviting.

She had been escorted in by Kane and the Willkeeper, the room’s door deeply set into the stone masonry of the hallway. All rooms in Glorian had doors set in the walls, but this one was so deeply excavated that it virtually constituted a small hallway in itself. Walking through the door, the first element to note was that the room was swimming in a black fog that did not allow the shape or details of the room, much less its depth or breadth, to be ascertained. It could have been circular, square, some amalgamation thereof, or infinite in all directions, but there was truly no way to know. Above the room hovered a white orb that cast a limited halo of white light across the room, the fog that swirled throughout the chamber occasionally coupling with the light to make shadows and illusions dance across the floor.

Where the light burned at its most intense, it cast a harsh spotlight on a stone bench arched inward, crystalized white in color, with seven strong back chairs behind it, and that was what Sundown found herself standing before, Kane and the Willkeeper slightly abreast on her right and left respectively. Five of the seven chairs were occupied, the two chairs on either end being empty. The only person Sundown recognized of the five was Mathias, sitting right of center from her vantage. He offered her a passive smile, not one of recognition or friendliness, but one of mere courtesy. The remaining four figures remained stoic to her presence.

So this was the Glorian Council, she ruminated silently. She knew of them, but had never seen any of its members excepting for Mathias and Kane. She had most certainly never been in their meeting chambers. She had always heard there were seven members, but there were only five silent figures before her, all men.

For but a moment, an uncomfortable silence monopolized the room before the man sitting directly at the center of the bench spoke. Explain yourself, young lady. His voice was crisp with a hint of an English undertone to it.

Sundown opened her mouth, unsure as to how she would begin her account, an account she had already driveled to Kane and the Willkeeper frantically more than once, but just as the first hint of enunciation was about to form on her lips, the familiar, dulcet tones of Mathias interrupted her.

Hays, is that how we wish to begin this session? With intimidation?

Hays grumbled. We do not have time for niceties, Mathias. This is a serious matter.

Oh, I most certainly agree, Mathias responded exuberantly. "This is a most serious breach, one I dare say has never occurred in the archives of the Dark Lands," he continued, looking towards the Willkeeper in the process.

The man in the brown cloak with the disheveled hair and beard, known only as the Willkeeper, nodded back almost imperceptibly. His task was the recording of all occurrences inside and outside of the Dark Lands. If he had no record of it, then it had not happened.

Mathias looked back towards Hays. But if we wish to uncover the truth of what happened, I suggest we offer a bit more hospitality to this young lady.

Thank you, Mathias! exclaimed Sundown.

Mathias cocked an eyebrow in her direction before turning back to Hays and continuing his entreaty. And since she seems to know who I am despite my never having seen her before, I think we should definitely proceed more graciously.

Sundown swallowed back the urge to cry. She was swimming in a madness she had not experienced since first arriving in the Dark Lands so long ago. Had she not resided in the Dark Lands for quite some time now? Had she not just moments prior been engaged in the defense of Glorian against the Dark Man? His monstrosities were swarming the castle walls and she was there helping to fight them. But despite her memories no one apparently knew her here. She was being treated like the proverbial stranger in a strange land. Her mind protested the incongruity. Instinctively, she clenched her fists and the Reclaimer in her took over, stopping time around her. When she realized what she had done, she willed time forward again, a slight blush of embarrassment and anxiety mingling with her cheeks.

What did you just do? asked a dark, rather swarthy looking man sitting to Hays’ immediate right, his voice soft and honeyed.

What do you mean? answered Sundown.

You clenched your fists and then your image seemed to…skip…for lack of a better term, the man elaborated.

What are you asking, Pilot? spoke Hays turning towards the man.

She’s a Reclaimer, he smiled, his gaze never wavering. I have been here long enough to recognize the time skip when a Reclaimer stops and starts time. Their image jumps.

Is that true, child? asked Mathias.

Sundown nodded her head fervently.

Care to prove it? came Hays’ brusque voice, a slight hint of disbelief in the trailing words.

What would you have me do? asked Sundown uncomfortably, wondering why neither Kane nor the Willkeeper had not disclosed this first to the Council. Maybe they did not believe her? Maybe there was some protocol? Regardless, it was now her show.

I shall tell you something secret. Then you will draw time back and reveal it to me even before I ask it, offered Hays, clasping his thin fingers together and placing his defined chin atop them.

Very well, Sundown sighed. Draw time back? That was a waste of time.

Hays offered a small grin. My wife’s name was Joan and we raised chickens in a small village near Bristol. He then unclasped his hands and spread them out as if in a challenge.

Sundown nodded and, again, everything froze, except her. Then she began to watch as the voices and actions, even the swirling black fog-like substance, began to rewind about her. She had heard those who were not Reclaimers assume that when time was reclaimed, it was like someone had hit a rewind button and everything seemed to recede into a blur. That was completely erroneous.

Reclaiming happened very slowly for the one who initiated it. A Reclaimer was simultaneously aware of everything that was drawing back—from the most mundane details to the most grandiose of actions. Time was at its most vulnerable and for those moments that she held mastery of all fates around her. Depending on the circumstances, it could physically overwhelm her, leaving her momentarily slumped and despondent. The more skilled the Reclaimer, the more control she had on the drawing back, but the emotional and mental toll were incalculable and cumulative, often making those who had long walked the Reclaimer path guarded, reserved, and distant.

Sundown watched as Hays’ hands moved back to their patronizing clasp, his words slurping back down his throat, until finally she was at the point she needed and then she willed time to begin its normal flow. "…you will draw time back and reveal it to me even before I ask it," Sundown heard Hays intone.

Your wife’s name was Joan and you all raised chickens in Bristol, Sundown exploded before Hays could say another word.

The entire Council jumped at her response, even Hays was slightly nonplussed.

Excuse me? Hays asked, meek despite his stature. Beside him, Mathias was grinning but said nothing.

That is what you told me to tell you before I drew time back, Sundown explained, a small smirk shining through her exasperation. Hays said nothing, staring back in slight disbelief.

Back in my time, Hays, laughed a younger man to the right of Pilot, we would say you have the expression of a cow lookin’ at a new gate.

Shut up, Hardon, replied Hays, not bothering to look in the man’s direction.

Now that the fun and games are out of the way, I suggest we get to the point of this congregation, came Kane’s quipped tones, finding out how this young lady came to be here and whether there is validity to what she shared with the Willkeeper and me.

Sundown glanced over at Kane. He had been so impassive during the initial conversations that she almost forgot that he was standing there. He looked at Sundown, offering a slight nod before turning back towards the Council bench. Sundown, however, could not break her initial gaze. The Kane she had always known possessed the demeanor of a rattlesnake and was marked with a scar that traveled the right side of his face from scalp to jawline, but the Kane that stood beside her now not only had a more relaxed and pleasant disposition, but his signature scar was absent.

Agreed, Hays responded. Kane, please take your seat with the Council.

Sundown watched Kane walk around the bench adorned in his black trench coat and other all-black attire—at least that had not changed—before taking residence in the empty seat on the far right next to the only member of the Council who had yet to say anything, a blond man far younger than the others. Sundown looked to the left side of the bench and noted that there was still an empty seat. She wondered if that was for the Willkeeper, but the disheveled man made no movement towards it, instead remaining stock-still behind her excepting for the occasional shuffle of his feet.

We recently lost our seventh Guide, came Mathias’ voice, drawing Sundown from her stare. Just in case you are wondering, he smiled somberly, noting her interest in the empty chair.

Sundown nodded back, but otherwise remaining silent. She recalled that the Council members were referred to as Guides. She briefly wondered if she should address them as such going forward or if she should just call them by their names. She settled on names, as that was how she had been proceeding to this point.

"So, you know of the Glorian Council?" asked Hays, his voice now more conversational.

Yes, sir, replied Sundown curtly.

Go on, encouraged Hays.

I do not know that much, Sundown began almost apologetically. "You all are the ruling body of Glorian, made up of seven Glorians as it were."

Ruling body is a little strong. I prefer to think of us as caretakers, smiled Mathias.

Yes, sir, Sundown continued. "Anyway, you are seven and you all take care of things then."

A little simplified, but that is close enough, responded Hays. Now, tell us how you got here.

Sundown looked nervously from side to side, her eyes locking with both Kane and Mathias for equal intervals before moving to an uncomfortable stare at and around Hays. She had already told her story to Kane and the Willkeeper, but now felt exceptionally apprehensive about telling the entire Council. Talking with those two felt familiar; this felt akin to an interrogation—and from all appearances, it was.

Tell it to them like you told us, but slower, came the Gaelic voice of the Willkeeper softly in her ear, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Borrowing courage from the moment, Sundown began her tale. She did not bother to detail her and her brother’s, Webb’s, inception into the Dark Lands, merely acknowledging that they both had come through at the same time. Nor did she disclose their history after that, believing it to be superfluous to the query at hand. Instead, she segued directly into her last moments atop Glorian, right before the explosion that landed her…here.

"Glorian was being attacked by the Vindicadives. Overrun is a better description. There were more creatures than I had ever seen before, she explained, her eyes glazing over at the memory. They were crawling over the battlements."

You say ‘creatures,’ interrupted Hardon. You mean Vindicadives?

I guess they’re all Vindicadives, aren’t they? replied Sundown.

All? You saw more than one type? Hardon clarified.

Sundown went quiet for a moment. Well, yes. There were the anorexic-looking human types of course, but then there were the Whoop-Dingers, the Menschenklauses, these weird spider-like creatures…

Does anyone know to what she is referring? Hardon asked, looking up and down the bench. His peers merely shook their heads in response.

They are all part of the Dark Man’s arsenal, Sundown replied incredulously, momentarily forgetting her place.

The Dark Man? Hardon again intoned.

Tell them about this Dark Man, voiced Kane sharply. That might help with the narrative.

Sundown felt a strong wave of anxiety cresting over her. How can no one know any of this? What had happened between her time atop Glorian and now? She fought back her panic. The Dark Man is the leader of the Vindicadives.

The Vindicadives are more of a barbaric rabble than anything rank and file. Leadership with them is a matter of perspective and time of day. Who shared this with you, that this Dark Man is their leader? asked Mathias gently.

You did, Mathias. Her answer caused whispering among the Council, excepting for Kane who remained with a resolute stare in Sundown’s direction, soaking in every word she had to say.

Most interesting, Mathias finally replied. Please continue.

"The Dark Man arrived and took over the Vindicadives. He then somehow began to create creatures outside of the normal ebb and flow of the Dark Lands."

No one can create anything here, young lady, interrupted Hays, a slight flicker appearing momentarily on his left index finger as he spoke. "The rules are simple: for every Vindicadive that arrives, so arrives a Glorian and vice versa."

"Yes, sir, I know. But the Dark Man somehow was able to create creatures outside of the rules, answered Sundown, a slight defiance in her voice. He already created a variety of them."

"Including those Whoop-Whatevers?" asked Hardon.

The Whoop-Dingers, yes, among other things, she replied. "The day of the attack, Webb, my brother, was lured to the Not-Where. We think, I think, the Dark Man exploited that and released more creatures from there and that is why the attack was so enormous."

"So you know of the Not-Where as well?" spoke Hays.

Yes, sir.

Then you know that very few go there and even fewer return?

Sundown nodded.

Yet, your brother, Webb, successfully got in and out? All in the presence of this Dark Man? Hays asked skeptically.

The only reason he got out was because… Sundown paused and looked to Kane, his eyes registering the connection. She did not know what to say. Kane was the one who had gone looking for Webb and by all accounts, he was the one who had rescued him from the Not-Where. However, Kane was not seen afterwards. A chill went down her spine. She swallowed down her original intent and merely finished with …someone got him out of there.

I see, answered Hays.

Sundown ignored the dismissiveness of Hays’ response and continued. "So the Dark Man led an assault against Glorian and was overwhelming our defenses."

"Yes, because he had the Not-Where on his side," smirked Hays.

Look! Sundown thundered out. Do you want to know what happened or not! Her face flashed hot and for but a moment, she actually thought of reclaiming her outburst, but instead decided to let it ride.

Sundown, spoke the Guide who had been quiet up until now, the younger blond man. "We apologize for the Spanish Inquisition-style approach to the questioning. But your story is very fantastic, even within the realm of the Dark Lands, and we must make sure all is accurate."

As one who had a run in with the Inquisition, Peter, I take slight offense at the exaggeration, mumbled Hays.

Just a figure of speech, Hays, Peter replied, before turning back to Sundown. Finish up your account. We will try and limit the interruptions.

Sundown resumed slowly, the heat from her face draining as she did so. More and more creatures were coming over the battlements. It was getting hard to control. I was standing back from the fight with the other Reclaimers, drawing back time when necessary, but even that was becoming untenable. A Disperser wave went askew. I don’t know whose it was… Sundown unconsciously heaved a breath, remembering the moment vividly.

My brother, she continued, was knocked down by the blast. Before I knew it, a Whoop-Dinger was closing on him. I started to reclaim time to save him when there was an explosion…

From another Disperser wave? clarified Mathias.

"No, sir. It was unlike any explosion I have ever seen. It sent me spiraling and I felt like I was on a wave that was casting me further and further away from Glorian. I was spinning and spinning and sounds kept going back and forth, in and out."

Interesting, Mathias said to no one directly.

Truthfully, I have never been in an explosion per se so maybe that is normal, amended Sundown.

Mathias leaned forward on his elbows. No, he said thoughtfully. Willkeeper?

Yes, Mathias? he replied, stepping forward.

We are currently without a Reclaimer on the Council. Would you mind finding Shelly?

The frazzled-looking man nodded and turned quickly on his heels, returning a few short moments later with a tall Asian lady in tow.

Sundown, this is Shelly. Shelly, Sundown, spoke Mathias.

Sundown smiled at the lady, appraising her as a woman in her forties, very much a slender classic beauty.

Shelly is also a Reclaimer, Mathias continued. The woman smiled back at Sundown, but her eyes betrayed confusion.

Young Sundown here is a Reclaimer. Trust us on that, Hays interjected, registering Shelly’s puzzlement. "She just finds herself in a…situation…and we are hoping that you can provide some clarity."

Okay, spoke Shelly, her voice hesitant.

This may start to sound irrational and even crazy, but please just listen and give us your thoughts, Hays explained.

Now, intoned Mathias, looking directly at Sundown. You told us you saw your brother about to be attacked and you started to reclaim time.

Yes, nodded Sundown.

And then there was an explosion? clarified Mathias.

That’s right, Sundown reiterated.

Were you…Mathias paused, measuring his words, …were you stationed in your brother’s area? What I mean is, were you the Reclaimer watching over the area where your brother was located?

Sundown’s eyes glanced skyward momentarily before registering back on Mathias. Battle strategy on the Glorian grounds called for all Reclaimers to be stationed equidistant from one another, each monitoring the battle progress in their given area. Their sole responsibility was to draw time back in their area when the tides of war were going against the fighters they were charged to watch. No. It was Raven’s area.

Raven? asked Shelly.

Mathias put his hand up, quelling Shelly’s question. Did Raven see what was happening with your brother? he asked gravely.

Sundown suddenly felt a rush of fear, dizzying her where she stood. It was not until she felt the hand of the Willkeeper on her shoulder, steadying her, that she realized her unease must have been outwardly apparent. She flushed slightly before politely nodding to the Willkeeper that she was okay. She wanted to answer, but there was a paste of dryness in her mouth.

Sundown? Mathias implored.

Sundown’s mouth snapped open against the parchedness, finally finding a few words with which to answer. I think so. Of course Raven saw what was happening. She had to have, Sundown screamed in her head. She was in love with Webb. She was watching his every move. Especially since Mrs. Murdock had warned…

Sundown went markedly pale at the implication.

Is everything all right, young lady? asked Pilot. He had never