David A Willson [Willson - Finding Kai

Copyright 2019 David A. Willson

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover art and illustrations by Diana Buidoso

Map by Jackson Cunningham

For more information visit: www.davidawillson.com

He began his work, speaking the name of the earth, bringing mountains. He spoke the name of water, and the oceans rose. They formed out of nothingness, standing in defiance of the chaos. Then He spoke the name of light and it came alive, so all would see the beauty of His work. Then He smiled, for it was good.

Creation Account, First Light 1:4

1

Ennis

T he man shuffled down the twists and turns of the dim corridor toward a room with a single cell in an isolated area of the dungeona special area, for a special project. He shivered; the thin cloth soles of his shoes provided little protection from the cold stone. He should have worn boots today.

As he got closer, he heard sounds of snarling and straining, pushing him to quicken his pace. He entered the well-lit chamber and the source of the sounds became apparent. The prisoner was flattened against the bars of his cage, arms reaching out to claw the air near a second figure that was just inches out of reach.

Dressed in leather trousers and a padded cloth coat, she looked simple today. Unassuming. Far from the fancy gowns and the pomp and circumstance that occupied the days of a monarch.

Hello, Ennis.

She didnt look at him as she spoke. It was hard to read any emotion in her words, but that was always the case with her. He wondered if she felt anything at all. No notice. No courtesy. Yet another surprise visit, and he now became self-conscious about his appearance. His blemished, pale skin, balding head, and raspy voice gave him much in common with the broken people he worked on. These souls he tortured and sometimes killed. Losers at the game of life, trying to make the most of a poor hand.

The clawing, snarling creature in front of her was unceasing in its efforts, anger and hatred streaked on its face as it struggled in futility to reach its enemy. A young man of thirteen, it had pursued a normal life before its capture. Now it was huge, a misshapen monstrosity over seven feet tall, with odd bumps and torn skin where it had been hurting itself. Fitting that it would have its home in the cold dungeon, destroyed as it was, the scars of many burns over its body where tattoos once decorated its skin. The grand project. The grand failure.

Good morning, Your Majesty, he said. So sorry I wasnt here to welcome you. How long have you been waiting, might I ask?

Not more than an hour, I suppose.

An hour of watching him snarl and claw at her?

I wanted to take a final look, she said. We will move on from this one. Try again.

So sorry, Majesty. This was the best one weve made. Even so, I hoped we might still learn something from him.

She continued to stare at the creature, and there was a profound contrast between the two figures. Beauty standing before ugliness. Order in the presence of chaos. Peace staring at pain.

No. We move on.

She lifted a hand, and the immense creature flew backward against the stone wall, its head impacting with a sick, cracking sound. A moment later, the corpse fell to the floor. She took a step forward and reached a hand out, closing her eyes. The creatures body stiffened at first. Cracks started to form on its skin, and it shriveled, blackened, as if being scorched by fire. Within seconds, it was an empty husk, scarcely resembling the living being it had been a moment before.

Frightening as it was to watch, it was good that she now destroyed them. Too many of the early projects had escaped and were causing chaos about the Great Land.

She turned toward Ennis, a reddish-orange glow now fading from her eyes as she stepped, coming close. His heart pounded in his chest as she reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. He worried that she would take his life in payment for the failure, but was surprised when he found her touch to be warm. A peaceful, even comforting feeling.

Too many runes at once, she said. He couldnt handle them all, and it broke his mind. Its not your fault. Not at all. Mine alone.

Yes, Majesty. Um... I have been working on another method. Much more careful, I think. A mix of the old and the new.

An awkward silence intruded as her hand remained on his shoulder. She looked away, as if thinking of something, staring off into a corner of the room. Why do they grow so much? she asked.

I dont know. When you stretch the container, its as if the body resets. A child again, in some ways. Memory loss. And it grows like a new babe, but much faster.

I never expected that.

He nodded. It was indeed fascinating. But she hadnt refused his suggestion. Nor had she consumed his spirit as a punishment for the failure. Good things.

She lifted her hand from his shoulder, the warmth and comfort now gone. Without saying anything further, she walked past him, her footsteps soon fading around a corner of the corridor.

It took great effort to scoop the sizable remains into a wheeled cart and dispose of them in the rubbish room down the hallway. Ennis then replaced the cart and shuffled back toward his workrooms, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he moved. There were many prisoners to work on, and hed already created a gifted this week. He could make more. But gifted were not what she wanted. Not really. She wanted more, and he would deliver, somehow.

When he reached his workroom, he felt along the high stone shelf, looking for something. When he found it, his hand grasped the cool bone handle and brought the tool down for closer inspection. His ceppit. A strange rune graced the handle, formed with silver scrollwork and ebony enamel. The blade was small, causing minimal trauma to his subjects. An important tool for an important job. And so beautiful.

Thus begins another day, he said, gripping the ceppit in one hand as he stepped outside the chamber, looking right then left for a guard. He needed a fresh child to begin his work.

Guard, he called down the hallway. Nobody appeared quickly enough to satisfy, however, and he clicked his tongue in frustration. Guard! Louder this time.

An older man appeared, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he ambled toward Ennis, his chain mail armor clinking with each step.