Dark Rising

By Sheldon Perkins

My name is Caitlyn O'Herlihy. I have had many names over the centuries, but this one is close to the original. I rather like it. This was to have been a time of quiet…a decade or two of peace before returning to the of being the last of my race in a world that knows I exist, and fears that existence. It was supposed to have been quiet, but someone is using black magic to summon demons. Some…THING has murdered innocent tourists…slain simple people going about their lives…killed my FRIEND! But, with the help of Sledge, a biker ‘club' of humans, orks, elves, and a troll; the assistance of a frightened little girl who lost her family, and perhaps the touch of an angel, I plan to stop it. I plan to kill it. It is what I do. It is what I am good at. I am Caitlyn O'Herlihy, and I am Dark Elf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647016524

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Dark Rising

Sheldon Perkins

Copyright © 2020 Sheldon Perkins

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64701-651-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64701-652-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter One

Catalynnina Ohanaleney, a deep voice spoke up from in front of the cash register.

Now that was a name I had not heard in a while. My birth name…my elvish name.

Curious.

All activity in the store stopped at the words. I saw Juddro dodge around to get a better view of the speaker. I motioned for him to stay. If it was who I thought it might be, Juddro would not get the drop on him.

No matter how hard you try to keep a low profile, there are always those who see the last of something as a trophy. Or a prize. I suspected this was the case with this speaker. Still, I would really appreciate knowing how they found me.

And now the past finally caught up with me in the form of High Elves, nobles of the Court of the Lord of Light.

Oh, I forgot to mention…I am an elf.

Not one of the tiny little creatures you see in fairy tales, but an offshoot race of humanoids that has existed alongside humans for millennia. Sages I have spoken to theorize that humans and elves have a common ancestor. Where…when…I do not know. I personally know that humans and elves are genetically compatible. I have…had two brothers that were half human. Several of the fey races are genetically compatible with humans. I truly do not know where the fey races came from. I am not a philosopher, nor even a scientist. I go my own way, do what I need to do to stay alive. You see, I am the only one of my race still alive. I am the last of the Court of the Lady of Darkness. The last of the Dark Invocation.

That I know of, anyway.

The trouble with trying to stay under the radar is that I tend to be noticed. I suppose the fact that I am a little over six feet tall, which is tall for a woman, even one of my race, as I remember is one reason. My hair is white, my skin is a golden bronze year-round, and my eyes are lavender. You would think that with so many people into the fantasy-magic craze these days, someone would peg me for an elf, especially since I do not do anything to hide my ears. And yes, they are pointed.

So there is no misunderstanding, they are not huge, needle-sharp symbols announcing my heritage. But when my hair, which hangs past shoulder length, moves a certain way or I wear it pulled back, which I often do, the difference is noticeable. Not overt and often requiring second looks, but there.

My name? In this place at this time, it is Caitlyn O’Herlihy. I have been different people at different times, depending upon my needs. But living here in Virginia Beach within sight of the ocean, people know me as Caitlyn. I rather like it. I have been Caitlyn for almost ten years, and with luck, I will get five to ten more years out of her before I think about moving on. Maybe more, since it is a resort area. There is a lot of turnover in this part of the beach.

I have had to move a half dozen or so times. Twenty or thirty years in one place and people start to get suspicious when you don’t age. Fortunately, resort cities and tourist towns are good places to blend in, which is why I came to the States. It’s been fifty years, I think.

I run this little souvenir shop. Souvenirs, T-shirts, postcards, curios… you know the type. Typical tourist stuff, for the most part, at least in the brick and mortar store. There are a few intriguing items in the back corner to give the place a vibe. It is harmless, I make sure of that, and it brings in the wannabees. Those in the know pass up the junk on display to speak with me personally. I show them the real stuff, if I have it. Nothing immoral and mostly legal…just hard to get.

Enough about me.

It started like any other summer day. Hot. Maybe a dozen customers wandered the heavily loaded displays. I knew more than half were just trying to avoid the heat, but I did not mind because we got more than our share of impulse buys from people trying to cool off. Most were tourists… after the years, I can usually pick them out. Thirty-somethings with an infant… older couples that come in together but go to separate parts of the shop.

My clerks and I worked the store, helping the customers when needed but mostly staying out of the way. I bring in seasonal help, especially to work on the weekends, but it is us most of the time. We are sort of a fixture around here and know most of the shop owners on the block. I wore my usual work clothes, T-shirt, and cutoffs over a swimsuit with sandals.

A group of teenage girls, a white bleach blond boy who might actually be twenty-one trailing behind them, perused the beachwear in the back. Two middle-aged couples that had come in together had split immediately, the women dividing their attention between postcards and the small leather craft section we have near the door. The men were standing by the T-shirt rack. Each time I looked in their direction, they both appeared to be totally enthralled by the shirts, but I had my own suspicions as to what they were really interested in.

An elderly woman in a very proper beach cover-up and sandals was trailed through the store by two redheaded youngsters in swimsuits, sandals, and T-shirts. I had them pegged as locals. The shirts on both boys announced ‘Spring Hill Baptist Church Vacation Bible School’.

My clerks slipped nimbly in and around the displays, quickly jumping in when needed. Juddro and Poppit were married gnomes that had worked for me in different places and identities for thirty years. Small of stature, quick of wit, and dangerously intelligent, they knew who and what I was and, like many among the lesser races of the fey, both light and dark, did not subscribe to the racial bias, instead accepting personal experience. Which meant I got the benefit of the doubt. Their small stature made them ideal clerks—alert but unseen until needed. Not like a great hulking brute such as myself, as Poppit happily points out often and loud.

I found myself near the older woman and her two boys. The attention of the younger boy, who was perhaps three or four, was fixed on a point near the ceiling. Smiling, I cocked my head to listen. Stacy Midnight was coming through the speakers, which meant Petal was dancing.

Petal is a spring blossom fairy that I took in some years ago and now lives with me over the shop. Fairies are flighty creatures, rarely aligned with either fey factions. Mostly fairies love to have fun; in Petal’s case, she loves to dance and sing, especially to the music of the human singer Stacy Midnight. Petal has named her the Bard Midnight. So I keep the radio on one of the local stations that includes Stacy Midnight prominently in its regular rotation.

I heard the front door bell ring as I glanced up. Petal spun and twirled, a six-inch ballerina floating in midair. I could see her…I am an elf. Fairykin. The little boy could see her because such as he, young and innocent, have not yet been darkened by the evils of this world.

I walked around one of the thick, wood-paneled support columns, ending up behind the checkout counter in the center of the shop, and there he was—they were, for two stood there. Not quite twins, they were tall and slender, almost delicate in appearance, with shoulder-length white hair, canted lavender eyes, and a grace that bordered on the unnatural.

They wore dark suits, their hair, thankfully, flowing down over their ears. Though High Elves’ skin color is much paler than my own as a rule, I certainly did not want any of the customers who could see them to think us kin. I studied them for a moment and then decided it best to try diplomacy.

Why have you come to this place and time, Child of Light? I asked in the old language. The light and dark tongue are virtually identical, save for a few nuances. In truth, the High and Dark Elves are racially identical in all points of importance. And yet a Dark Elf knows a High Elf immediately. And I have been told the children of light know their dark kin with the same impedance.

We have come for you, Catalynnina Ohanaleney, the taller of the two responded, his voice calm. The same speaker. You are the last Dark Elf. When the evil you represent is ended, the people shall be free to purge the remaining darkness, bringing an age of peace and beauty the likes of which neither elf nor mortal has ever known.

Evil? Me? I left to get away from all that. I denounced the Court of the Dark Lady because I could not stomach the evil of my people. I left because of my personal loss. And he knew that. All the High Elves knew it.

I snorted. Well, he could dream if he wanted. I have run into those before.

Then I frowned. There were far too many customers in the shop for my liking. Moreover, neither of the newcomers seemed anxious to make a move, as if waiting. In all, this appeared rehearsed.

Ware, Mistress! a tiny voice from overhead cried out, but I sensed the danger behind me flowing to the right and smoothly pivoting to face the immediate danger.

The young man, the boy in the swimsuit browsing with the teenage girls, rushed forward, a foot-long blade in his hand. No doubt, the analytical part of my brain pointed out, brought into the store hidden in the towel he had carried under his arm.

Thank you, Mr. Obvious.

He tried to adjust his thrust, but I continued my dodge and step, left foot forward, right hand catching his extended right wrist. I pivoted on my right foot as the left hit the floor, and my left hand came up behind his back, catching a handful of thick blond hair. Off balance as he was, the momentum of my pivot dragged him forward, aided by a firm shove from behind his head.

I slammed wrist and face into the heavy wooden counter. Bones broke, though face or wrist mattered nothing to me.

The two in the front of the shop started forward as I lifted the boy’s face with my left hand. At the same time, I let go of the wrist and reached under the counter for the handle of the metal baseball bat I kept there for…situations. I heard the blade hit the floor as I dragged the boy and the bat backward quickly. The first elf reached the counter. The end of the bat caught him in the center of the chest as he reached into his coat. For a blade or a pistol, though I suspected the former. High Elves are traditional.

Hold, cousin, I told him, still speaking in the old tongue, and he stopped. I am only one person, but I am no lightweight. One of the reasons I walked away from the conflict between light and dark is because I could. Elves came after me for a number of years. I sent them back.

Back off! I snarled, this time in English. The elf froze. His companion, circling to my left, did likewise. I motioned for him to move to the front of the shop.

I hazarded a quick glance about the shop. The girls accompanying my assailant stood together, unmoving, near the back wall. A simple spell…sleep?…paralysis? (Yes, magic exists. All elves have an affinity for it, some more than others.) Others moved along the outer edges of the interior, nervous immobility giving way to the anxious desire to vacate the premises.

And to one side, slightly more than an arm’s reach from me, where he could see everything that had happened as well as what was to happen, stood the older of the two redheaded boys. Green eyes opened like pools, wide with wonder.

Cool, he said softly.

So much for trying to keep this quiet. I sighed. Little boys are NOT quiet, nor can they be persuaded to BE quiet.

I turned to the nearer of the two High Elves. Does the Lord of Light know of this? I asked in the old tongue.

The High Elf shrugged, his expression blank. You would needs ask the young lord, Catalynnina Ohanaleney, he replied, nodding at the youth in my grip.

Lady of Darkness! I cursed at the youth in my grip. This just keeps getting better and better every moment. I tilted the boy’s face to look at his face better.

It was there, even through the blood and broken bones. The same elegant profile, refined but with the strength of long generations.

I shook my head, looking at the first elf again. Where does he stand? I asked in the old tongue, motioning for the High Elves to move back. They complied. So long as I held the boy…and the bat, which was a far more dangerous weapon in my hands than the short blades just out of reach under their coats, they would comply.

Theladarethannthal Soladinisti is a nephew, third son of the body of Anullarathannthal Soladinisti, the Lord of Light’s youngest sister, who is lady-wife of Lord Counselor Darentheertis Soladinisti, the closer of the two, the one who had spoken previously, offered.

One more branch on my funeral pyre.

I stepped forward, dragging the unconscious boy along with me. I banged his head on the counter as I lifted him up to that level. Not as hard as before but hard enough. And intentional. So sue me. I am a good person, not necessarily a nice one.

The High Elves winced at the loud thump. The silent one took a step forward, but I shook my head. He stopped.

Children are stupid, I announced in the old tongue, pushing the boy forward until he flopped across the counter. I stepped back, letting them come forward and claim him. You do not kill children.

I fell silent, watching them pull the boy over the counter. When the youth was safely behind the silent one, the speaker turned to me again.

I pointed the bat at the unconscious youth. When he wakes, tell him that should I ever see him again, I will consider him an adult.

A half smile flashed across the speaker’s face. He put his palms together, bowing slightly.

I will, Lady, he answered. Between the two of them, they carried the limp boy from the shop.

Definitely cool, the redheaded boy said.

Evan?! a woman called from the far side of the shop. The boy looked around quickly, telling me the voice was that of the older woman he entered with.

Here, Grandma! he called back.

A moment later, the elderly woman appeared, leading the smaller boy. Her bag rode one shoulder, and she held an open cell phone. Poppit followed the woman. I caught the gnome’s eye and glanced meaningfully toward the incapacitated girls in the back. She caught my meaning and slipped off in that direction.

Don’t you run off from me like that again, Evan Parker, she scolded the boy. Her tone said fear, not anger, though, and when she wrapped her free arm around the boy protectively, I was sure. Though he was several inches taller, he let the small woman pull him down to her embrace.

I’m sorry, the boy apologized almost automatically. Not the first occasion of the youngster foreswearing the safety of family for excitement such situations presented.

But it was sooo cool, he continued enthusiastically. She caught the guy, just like the sensei said, and—

Yes, I know dear, the woman smiled, firmly guiding him behind her. She looked up at me.

I called the police, she said, indicating the phone still in the hand now holding the older boy. Where are they? She looked around, and I could tell she was not happy that the trio were gone.

They were three, Miss…? I responded and waited for her to speak.

Madelyn Parker, she replied curtly. MRS. Madelyn Parker. She indicated the boys. These are my grandsons…Evan. The older boy blushed furiously at his grandmother’s tone, though the excitement of moments past still shone in his eyes.

And Nicholas, Madelyn Parker continued. The smaller boy giggled, pointing at something to my right. A surreptitious glance in that direction revealed Petal waving and making faces at the youngster. It was certainly one way of keeping children of that age from running wild in the shop. I am all for convenience.

They were three, Mrs. Parker, I repeated. If they were willing to leave without causing further problem, I thought it best, I finished. For the safety of all.

That one guy won’t give ANYBODY…, the older boy began. Madelyn Parker turned a withering look on him. It gave me a chance to glance into the back of the shop where Poppit, with Juddro’s assistance, aided three of the bewildered young girls. The remaining girl appeared still affected by whatever spell the high elf scion used upon them, but I could trust the small folk to perform as needed. They had not let me down before.

Faith in others is my weakness, according to my dead kin. I choose to think of it as a strength.

Madelyn Parker was staring at me when I looked back. Then her expression softened.

I suppose that was wise, she agreed slowly. I much prefer my boys safe, though I do hope they will not come back to trouble you again.

I laughed. I think not, kind lady, I answered, glancing toward the door. Those, at least, I do not believe will return here. But stay while I check on others, I asked her. I’d noticed additional customers appearing from the fringes of the shop. I will check on their welfare and then I may return and apologize more appropriately while we await the police.

You really don’t have to go to any trouble, she replied, but she seemed pleased at my words. It does not hurt to be polite. I often told my kin that very thing, but they did not believe me—to their regret.

I quickly showed the confused patrons to the front. Poppit and Juddro appeared, leading the equally bewildered girls from the back, and helped them to the exit. I left the door open, expecting the police at any moment. In truth, in my few dealings with the authorities, I have found the Virginia Beach police to be competent and skillful without the overbearing pomp of self-importance found in some law enforcement agencies, which made me curious as to why none had appeared yet.

Chapter Two

I walked back to Madelyn Parker.

Do you think you should let all those witnesses leave? the woman asked, concerned. The older boy nodded his agreement. Young Nicholas continued to giggle at Petal’s antics.

Of all, I saw them clearest. I smiled. If any is to be inconvenienced, it is only right it be me. In truth, the only reason for you to stay is that you called them.

She snapped her fingers. That reminds me. When I called them, I told them it was all but over, that the robbers were leaving, and the dispatcher said that they would have someone here as soon as possible but that there was a situation on the beach that had many of their officers occupied. Apparently, she began, and at that moment we both heard a siren. It’s nearby.

I thank you, Mrs. Parker, I told her gravely. Having to go through the necessities with the officers was inconvenient, but I would never tell her. I doubted she would ever be back, but if I treated her properly, she might not speak too unkindly of my shop.

I assure you, Mrs. Marker, I continued as a police car with flashing lights pulled up out front, this is not an everyday occurrence, and I deeply apologize for the concern and inconvenience caused to you and your young men.

Not at all, the woman smiled, and I knew that smile was genuine.

An officer entered the front of the shop, his hand on his holstered pistol. For the next thirty minutes, the Juddro, Poppit, myself, and the Parker family recited what we knew of the robbery attempt. I walked the policeman through the events in which I’d played a part. He appeared to be of the type that was mature enough to have the newness of the job washed from him, yet not so far along in his career that small crimes failed to intrigue. He was tall, nearly my height, dark-haired, and serious. He took down our words in his notebook using some kind of shorthand scribble, even recording the insistent little Nicholas’s statement about the little flying lady.

As Officer Reed finished with Mrs. Parker, something lightly touched my arm. I spun, not full speed but fast enough to startle young Evan. He hopped back quickly.

Ah…sorry.

I grimaced. What is it, child? I asked, harsher than I should.

He shrugged. I, uh, I just wanted…that is… He looked up. Could you show me that thing you did with the guy…the one with the knife?

I smiled in spite of myself and started to reply. He did not let me, running on without seeming to take a breath.

See, I’m a blue belt, and it was just like the sensei teaches us but real. And faster…it was so fast I really didn’t see it all, and I want to show the sensei so he knows I pay attention…and…and…

I held my hands up in surrender.

I will show you, young Evan, I replied, grinning. Ask your grandmother first. I do not wish to anger her further.

Awww, He sighed, then looked up. She’s not really mad, you know. She’s just still scared. He hurried to where Madelyn Parker still spoke with the officer. After much discussion (and no little wheedling—he was good), she nodded. Evan rushed back, but Madelyn Parker followed close behind, the giggling Nicholas in tow. Officer Reed, who overheard the Parkers’ conversation, also joined us.

I demonstrated the move slowly. For those who taught me, it was a very basic move, simple but effective. Reed nodded on the second walk-through, but young Evan kept reaching with the wrong hand, stepping with the wrong foot.

Then he succeeded and again on the next attempt, letting go with a happy little Yes! when I told him he had performed it successfully.

That’s enough, Evan, Mrs. Parker addressed the grinning youngster, who continued to practice the step/turn. It’s time to go.

Do we have to?

Yes, she answered firmly, fixing the boy with a stern stare. Quickly he nodded, ducking his head. We have been enough trouble to this young woman.

I chuckled. Mrs. Parker, you have been no trouble at all, I told her. In truth, you have been a delight and the soul of patience.

Something touched my leg. I reached down, and a small card was pressed into my hand.

Please take this, I continued, holding out my business card. Standard info, of course, but under the shop number I saw that whichever gnome had passed it to me had printed my personal cell number.

If I can ever be of service to you, or your boys, I nodded to each youth in turn. You need but telephone either the shop or my personal cell. I tapped the handwritten number.

I realize this visit has been most unnerving, I continued, and though I was doing the make nice, I was sincere. This was a nice woman. But I do hope you will return another day as my personal guest. You and these delightful young men are always welcome.

Well, that is…, she began, genuinely flustered. Well, I can’t promise. Then she smiled. But we’ll try. It is quite a nice place, she added, looking around. And the boys do like it. It’s so seldom they agree.

Yes, Evan said in an excited whisper.

I clasped her hand one last time, ruffled the two red heads, and then Juddro was there, gently guiding them to the exit.

Bye-bye. The little boy waved, but I knew it was not I he addressed. When I had a moment, I would have to tell Petal how pleased I was with her actions.

Officer Reed looked after the departing family and then at me.

I cannot remember seeing that move exactly, he began thoughtfully, But I know enough martial arts to know that smashing the face probably isn’t how it ends.

I nodded. It was true. With someone that helpless, any number of killing strokes were possible.

But what if he doesn’t overextend himself, like this guy must have?

I held my hands open. Strike, I offered.

He pushed his right arm forward, stepping with the thrust. He did not, as did the High Elf youth earlier, overreach. When I caught his wrist, he pulled back firmly, which is the proper reaction to my response for a trained warrior. Such a warrior did not overextend in the manner of the youth, even when striking a target unawares. It is the difference between someone who trains as a warrior and someone, such as the elf child, who plays at war.

I did not so much step as flow with him, and when he recovered and stood straight, I stood beside him, my