Kachi Ugo's Blog, page 7

BioHazard: Words Trailer

This December 5

The three hundred ton Lockheed Martin L-27 Super Hercules II rocked and bobbed silly, like a mere sleeve of paper in a hurricane.

…

And so, as cargo MH-XZ424G fell through the sky, a tiny fault line developed on its surface. The sky’s rebellion against such monstrosity barreling through its volume was a roar that carried far. The rain pelted the steel cube, giving a machine-gun like rat-a-tat-a-tat. Heat simmered on the vault’s smooth, metal surface due to air friction; the vault trailed a thin line of vapor as it fell. Numerous electrons gathered on the slippery surface just as the cargo cleared the final ceiling of clouds and approached the dark, sleeping city of Uyo. The assembled electrons, teeming on the surface of the metal, called lightning to the vault like the hammer of Thor, god of thunder. Strike after strike, the fault line deepened and spread like the roots of a germinating seed, until the shattered parts of the vault fell away from the exposed briefcase like expended fuel tanks from an ascending space rocket. The exposed briefcase flared up immediately on exposure releasing six pressurized canisters into the air. The briefcase flared up because of the intense heat that clung to the plummeting wreckage. This intense heat affected the canisters which contained U-235 WMD agents.

 

The canisters exploded with a fire, releasing its content as a fine spray. The wind spread the released content into a blanket that covered the city of Uyo and its outskirt villages. Though the canisters and the vault’s ruins would hit ground long before the thin film would, the descending film of death would reach the city of men as sure as the sun. And when it did, there would be no end to the pan, suffering, and devastation it would cause.

…

Though she was putting up a face of anger and nonchalance, she was scared to her bones. In all her years as a nurse, she had never seen anything like this. What was causing it? If it had been an infection he had caught when he left the house, why was it manifesting so soon? Mary returned to her concoction and started stirring the milky paste. No infection—if this was in fact an infection—that had such a short incubation period ever let their host live.

 

“U … 2 … 3 … 5.” Her husband coughed terribly, spilling green vomit all over himself.

 

Mary froze for a while, unable to think. Ever since he had come into the house, he had tried to tell her something. U-235. Mary had not heard that in over thirty years. It was not something she hoped to retrieve from the lips of a dying man. Suddenly the urge came over her to scrub her body and run as far away from Akpan as possible.

 

In a moment of clarity, the wheezing and shivering and moaning of Akpan ceased, and he croaked, “Go Mary. It’s okay. Go.” He coughed afterwards, and this time, blood and tissue splattered all over the couch.

 

Fear struck Mary’s heart.

 

Strangely, the thought going through her mind was how did a biological weapon end up in their backyard? It didn’t make any sense. In fact it seemed so nonsensical that Mary began to sob. Then she cried. She turned to her husband of thirty years. He had grown silent and still, though he still breathed and lived. How had he come in contact with a bio weapon? She smirked and then let loose a laugh of sarcasm. She wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand and returned to dabbing his face. Even if she wasn’t already infected, she wouldn’t leave her husband. For better or for worse, she had sworn. For better or for worse, she would stay. However, she suspected she was already infected. If what Akpan had seen was a WMD (Weapon of Mass Destruction), then it would be transmissible by touch. There was no way out.

…

Ken shook his head. “This can’t be real,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head again, and closed his eyes, willing himself to wake. But he remained seated with a pounding heart, a heaving chest, and a head that throbbed earthquakes. He opened his eyes and the horrid scenes played out before him. He had only seen this kind of devastation in science fiction movies and maybe in Iraq or Iran during a war. It was an aerial view, so there were much details Ken could not make out. However, there was no mistaking that those were human bodies strewn about on the streets like ragged dolls. There must have been thousands if not hundreds of thousands of dead bodies everywhere, twisted in impossible ways as if they had suffered a deathly seizure. Most of the bodies were on major roads and streets, in heaps and in layers of two or three. Some were in gutters, verandas, fenced yards. But all were feast for flies and crows. All were rotting and almost unrecognizable. How could human flesh deteriorate so fast? Columns of smoke stroked the clouds. Buildings, cars, and everything combustible burned furiously. The skies were filled with ash and black birds. Not a thing moved except the birds. Whatever city this was, its entire populace had been wiped out by the virus.

…

“Shhh,” Ken said before helping the man to his feet. A pistol Ken hadn’t seen dropped out of his lap. “Tom,” Ken called. “Gun.” He gestured at the ground where the gun lay. Tom came and picked the gun. The creature had reached the tent. It was now poking at the stretched material with its nose, sniffing furiously. Ken helped the man to the doorway and into the night. Tom followed them from behind and silently, they edged toward the main road. They moved as fast as a caterpillar not because the man was brutally injured, but because there weren’t a whole lot of places Ken could hold on the man’s body.

 

Ken stole a glance behind him. A chill ran down his spine. A little bit in the distance, a herd of about ten, no twelve, dogs made their way through a web of car wrecks towards the road block. They were huge—way huger than normal dogs—and black just like the night. Their fur had on it a thick, slushy liquid; their eyes glowed bright yellow and glowered with a carnal desire for flesh; their incisors were thick, long, and razor sharp. Their claws … God, their claws were long, black spikes that stretched the length of a grown man’s foot, sharp enough to rip the head off the neck of a toddler, effortlessly.

 

“Where did these creatures come from?” Ken muttered in disbelief, watching as they ripped flesh off dead bodies with rabid intensity. Ken got to the edge of the road and tripped over the embankment. Together, he and the man he carried stumbled to the asphalt. A short wail escaped the soldier’s lips. Sudden silence flooded the night. Ken, for a desperate moment, hoped that the creatures hadn’t heard.

 

“Run!”

…

When an American military cargo plane carrying top secret medical supplies hits a lightning storm off the coast of Nigeria, the chief pilot, Captain O’Riley, and his copilot decide to dump their cargo and save their lives. As cargo MH-XZ424G hurtles through the thunder ridden night towards the densely populated cities of Akwa-Ibom, the two pilots escape death at the merciless hands of the harsh weather. However, what they could never have conceived is that they had sentenced a whole nation to a fate so dreadful that painful death would have been a mercy…

Where will you be on the 21st of December?

WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART

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BIOHAZARD: A DARK CHRISTMAS

COMING DECEMBER 5

When an American military cargo plane carrying top secret medical supplies hits a terrible lightning storm off the coast of Nigeria, the chief pilot, Captain O’Riley, and his copilot decide to dump their cargo in order to save their lives. As cargo MH-XZ424G tumbles through the thunder ridden night towards the densely populated cities of Akwa-Ibom, the two pilots escape death at the merciless hands of the harsh weather. However, what they could never have conceived is that they had sentenced a whole nation to a fate so dreadful that painful death would have been a mercy…

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It’s Coming Again! This December!!

Bio-hazard: A Dark Christmas

A Novella By Kachi Ugo

20th, December: Nigeria is a prosperous, populous nation.

25th, December: Nigeria is a wasteland with a population of only two million people.

All it took was five days…

All it took was a minuscule viral particle…

All it took was a pilot’s rash decision to dump his cargo…

Where will you be on the 21st of December?

Get ready…

WARNING: Not For The Faint of Heart.

More Coming Soon…

WAR OF THE ONE THOUSANDS, AN EXCERPT

The Great Meld has a sequel! Here’s an excerpt:

WAR OF ONE THE THOUSANDS

AN EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Since Peter Zasky returned from Wizzio, he had found it difficult to sleep. Images of his bloodcurdling experience in Wizzio haunted his nights and kept him awake. The times he managed to sleep, his sleep lasted only an hour or two and took a sort of staccato pattern. When he managed to sleep, he had nightmares. Nightmares of him dying at the hands of dark wizards or evil beasty creatures.

One recurring nightmare is about when he was back in the classroom conjured by one of the dark wizards, trying to rescue his son, Simon. He would always navigate the tortuous path created by the metal desks arrangement on his knees, a ravaging battle between the wizards above him, only to get to his son’s seat and find out he had been ripped apart by a dark wizard. Peter’s eyes would rain and his heart would ache, from dream to reality.

Peter felt cursed. Cursed with the knowledge of Wizzio. Cursed with the knowledge of magic. He felt like his whole world was falling apart, like he was losing his mind, since he had returned from Wizzio three weeks ago.

Right now, it was seven in the morning and Peter had been awake since three. June was asleep beside him, her head and thick blonde hair resting on his chest. Sunlight poured into the medium sized bedroom from the large window to his right. It reflected against the life sized mirror on his left and made the blue paint of the room look white.

Peter lived with his wife and son in Maine. It was one good thing that had happened to him since Wizzio. He and June had reconciled. He had quit his job and had moved in with her. Although he still owned his sprawling mansion on Parkwood Street in Brooklyn, New York. Peter had gotten a new job that allowed him leave home late and return early.

One other good thing that had happened to him since Wizzio was that the block in his heart had disappeared and his cholesterol levels were normal. He was perfectly healthy. He discovered recently, during the mandatory physicals for his new job. It must have been the healing potion James had given him when he had broken his arm in Germany. The potion had not only healed his broken bones, but also healed his heart and cleansed his blood.

Thinking about James, Peter had not spoken to him in three weeks. In fact, Peter had not spoken to any wizard since he had returned to earth. The truth was Peter itched to get back to Wizzio regardless of his mild aversion for magic (the aversion was because of his nightmares). He itched to help them in the coming war even though he didn’t see how he could be of any assistance. The war of one thousands was an unwinnable war. Though Count Luziver, dark count and master of the dark wizards, had lost with the great meld, he could never lose with the war of one thousands even if he tried to. The days of good and justice in Wizzio as Peter had come to know it was at an end. The sacred order would never survive and Peter couldn’t do a thing about it. He couldn’t go to Wizzio and help out…Well not that he couldn’t. He could. He had his wand and his robe in the drawer in the corner of the room and he knew the spell.

Peter raised his left hand into the rays of light that flooded the bed and observed the magically etched inscription on his wrist. He could still not understand what it said, but he knew it showed that he was a wizard of the first order. So he could go anywhere in Wizzio. The problem was Maldrom had banned him from setting foot on Wizzio. Maldrom had specifically instructed him to remain in earth and protect his family, especially Simon. Maldrom had said that as long as Count Luziver was at large, Simon was in grave danger. The dark wizards were everywhere and still alleged to Count Luziver. Peter had to remain in earth and protect his family.

Peter had complained to Maldrom. He had told Maldrom that he was no match for several dark wizards coming against him at once. It was as good as leaving his family undefended. Maldrom had then forged a bond between him and Simon. Peter could access a measure of Merlin’s power and use Merlin’s wand without Simon’s blood. Any dark wizard that dared attack his family wouldn’t know what hit him.

But still, Peter longed to be in Wizzio.

The door bell rang thrice, but Peter didn’t go to see who it was. He heard the bell, but he was too deep in his thoughts to process what he was hearing. At the fourth ring, June grumbled.

“I’ll get it,” she mumbled and sluggard out of bed. She went out the room wearing only a white T-shirt that barely covered her upper thighs. June left the room sleepy-eyed, but after about one minute, she returned with every trace of sleepiness vanished from her eyes. From the concerned look on her face, Peter knew something was wrong.

“They’re here, Peter. James and the other wizards are here,” June said. “It doesn’t look good, baby. Something is wrong.”

Peter got out of the bed. He knew they would come, finally. He didn’t know it would take this long. “I’ll be with them in five minutes. Get Simon ready to leave.”

“We’re leaving now?”

“They are here babe,” Peter replied. “It has started. It’s no longer safe for you and Simon here.”

June didn’t reply. Peter could tell she didn’t like it. He hoped she could tell the he didn’t like it either.

She turned and left the room.

Peter took a hurried bath, wore a rumpled blue polo shirt, a black jeans and snickers, and went down to the dining room to meet his friends. James Walden, Bella Laquine, Jason Zeebel and two other kids that Peter didn’t know their names cluttered the dining room. They wore brown gowns that showed that they were wizards of the order (like law enforcement agents). When Peter saw the look on their faces, he knew something was really terribly wrong. They wore long tired faces and Peter could sense the depression and desperation.

He was about to say something when James raised his left hand to his lips in a shush gesture and pulled out his wand from his robe with his free hand. His eyes began to burn gold as he whirled his wand above his head. The tip of the wand began to glow white and he muttered. “Illumino…Silencio.” The white glow sparked and died. Following that, a thick blanket of darkness descended in the house.

Surprised, Peter looked at where the window should have been, but saw only darkness. Darkness had descended on the whole neighborhood. For how wide, Peter could not tell.

“All right guys,” James said in the darkness. “Light up the house.”

Together, Jason, Bella and the other two wizards spelled.

“Illumino.”

Four pairs of eyes glinted gold in the darkness. Four wand tips sparked brightly, twice, and then filled the room with light. The two other wizards threw their hands towards the door leading into the living room. The light at their wands’ tips shot out, shot into the living room and headed upstairs. Jason and Bella swung their wands as well. One light went into the living room and lit it up while the other shot to the ceiling of the dining room providing them with light.

Peter glanced at James for an explanation of what had just happened.

“Even light tells tales,” James said. James looked the same. Slender, tall, long fingers, eyes that burned with mental concentration. The only thing different was the beards. They were gone. And his long hair made him look imperial and beautiful.

Peter invited them to sit around the table. They did, except the two kids. James explained that they were wizards of the first order and could not sit amongst them. When Peter pointed out that he too was a wizard of the first order, James conceded. But he explained that since Peter had a measure of Merlin’s power surging through him, he was as high ranking as a senior wizard if not a seventh order wizard.

When they had all seated around the dinning, Peter spoke first. “It’s great to see you again.”

“Same here, Peter,” James said. “I wish we had come under better circumstances, but it’s really terrible. Wizzio is falling apart.” The tone in James voice told Peter all he needed to know about just how bad it was. And from the look on their faces, it was about to get a lot worse.

Peter asked James, “What did you mean by light tells tales?”

“What we are about to tell you is a secret,” James answered, “It could very well determine if Wizzio stands or if it falls. There are some people that might be listening in, so I have casted a covering spell. Whatever is revealed here stays here.”

“But that’s just the lights or sight,” Peter said. “What about the walls? What about sound? And the air?”

This time Bella replied. She was as beautiful as Peter remembered; a tall elegant brunette with a toothy grin and an oval face. “The lesser is included in the greater,” she said. “The highest form of eavesdropping is using the lights to see, hear and feel. Once the light is silenced, all other forms become null and void.”

Oh, Peter thought. For James to have gone through all that trouble to conjure such a powerful spell, Peter wondered what secrets they could possibly know. It these secrets could help them save Wizzio then he was definitely interested.

“Peter, Wizzio is falling apart. The situation is more terrible than we expected.” This came from Jason, the sandy haired nineteen year old son of count Zeebel; witch of the seventh order and member of the sacred order. He continued. “The sacred order is tasked beyond their capacity trying to maintain law and order in all five realms. The senate is in an upheaval. Wizards are choosing sides and dark wizards are springing up from everywhere. These dark wizards are casting spells that have not been cast for several thousand years. The very balance of magic is about to be tipped. There’s chaos across cities in Wizzio. It’s our end of days, Peter. Our end of days.”

Peter’s mood darkened with each word. Wizzio was as much his home now as earth was. His home was falling apart and he had to do something about it. But the way Jason gave the information, the tone in his voice, the water in his eyes, the pain bleeding through his voice suggested to Peter that there was nothing to be done for Wizzio. It made sense. Whatever Maldrom and the sacred order were doing, it was useless. The war of one thousands could not be won. They were doomed.

But Peter knew James and co had not broken protocol just to come to his house and whine. He suspected they had a plan–a way to save the order. Whatever it was, Peter concluded from their grim looks that it had only a slight chance of success. Maybe so slight that it was bordering on foolishness.

While Jason had been talking, June had walked into the room. She stood in the door and listened. Whatever decision would be made here depended on her. James and the others had come for him. If he refused to help, June could persuade him to help. If he agreed to help, June could dissuade him from going. James understood this which is why the next time he spoke, he spoke not to Peter alone, but to June as well.

“Peter, we need your help,” James started. “Seven days from now, on the day of the summer solstice, the war will begin. Maldrom has kept most of the dark wizards away from earth. But he weakens every moment. It won’t be long before earth is deluged with dark magic. If Wizzio falls, earth will fall first.”

“So what can we do?” Peter whined. He was mildly upset that James would try to coerce his cooperation with the threat of earth’s destruction, even though Peter suspected that the allusion was directed to June.

From then on, the secret spilled out in hushed tones.

Bella started. “The day the war of one thousands was declared, Maldrom had us second order wizards scour the library for more information about the war.”

Jason continued. “We read every script, every paper, every parchment, every book and searched for days until I found the Tozar–”

Bella cut in. “The book of ancient sorcery. He found it in the forbidden section of the library. The only reason why he wasn’t punished was because the library is in his mother’s realm.”

“Yeah, well as I was saying,” Jason continued with a rough glance at Bella. “I found the Tozar. Though I didn’t find any information regarding the war itself, I did find something interesting.”

“Every spell,” Bella continued, “as long as it was cast by a wizard wielding a wand can be ended by concluding the wizard.”

Peter understood the specific use of ‘concluding’ rather than ‘killing’ or ‘destroying.’ Peter had used the concludo spell to prevent the great meld. But he had used it on the Sappiregrum. He wondered what effect the spell would have on a wizard. It would certainly not be pleasant, that was if it didn’t kill the wizard.

“When we got this information,” James said, “We figured since Luziver used Merlin’s wand to cast the spell of the one thousands, we could prevent the war by concluding him.”

“But when we shared our findings with the sacred order,” Bella continued, “They informed us that Luziver could not be located. They had used all tracking spells known to wizards and had failed to find him. It’s as if he had fallen of the face of the universe.”

Peter sighed. Back to square one.

“They said they were able to locate Krastov, Luziver’s right hand man,” Bella said, “But he had taken refuge with the wizards of Eingrad and they had refused to hand him over to us.”

Peter had never heard of Eingrad so he asked James where Eingrad was. James explained that Eingrad was a small and separate realm in Wizzio. Eingrad was an autonomous state and was therefore under no obligation to the sacred order. Eingrad was home to the most immensely powerful wizards in Wizzio. Serperus, the wizard that had enacted the Serperus agreement, Mortalitas, the wizard that had created the kill spell, and Merlin, the most powerful wizard of all time, had all been born in Eingrad. Though the witches and wizards of Eingrad honored the Serperus agreement and desisted from invoking the Mortalitas curse, that was about as similar as they were to the other realms.

“The wizards of Eingrad have taken Krastov under their protection,” James concluded, “They will not give him up and we cannot challenge them. Maldrom may be the most powerful wizard, but he’s no match for four wizards of Eingrad. If we can apprehend Krastov and interrogate him, he may lead us to Luziver.”

“Yes, but the Eingradians won’t give him up.” Venom spouted out Peter’s mouth the same time ‘Eingradians’ did. He apologized to June and Bella for his use of profanities.

“Eingrad is within Rapner’s realm. Rapner has managed to pinpoint Krastov’s exact location in Eingrad.”

“So?”

“So, we have to get into Eingrad undetected, locate Krastov and interrogate him. Then get out undetected. Of course should we get detected, that’s the only time Eingradians are allowed to use the Mortalitas curse.”

June winced at that.

Peter had told June about everything that had happened to him on Wizzio, including his close calls with the Mortalitas curse.

“How do we get in?” Peter asked.

“There are two ways into Eingrad,” James answered. “The first way is the zoop.”

Jason smirked. “But if you appeared in Eingrad without being invited or being approved for entry, you’ll be destroyed.”

“The other way?”

“The other way is through the forest,” James replied. “Eingrad is surrounded by a thick, huge forest. But this route is worse than the first. The forest is rife with the horrors of magic; evil magical creatures that possess dark magic and are impervious to magic. One scratch from any of these creatures not only tears the flesh, but also tears the soul.”

“Are these Eingrad wizards evil?” Peter asked. He had thought they were just pompous brasses. But from the sound of the forest, he began to think otherwise.

“They are neither evil nor good,” Bella answered. “They are both. They use evil and good to serve their purpose. They are wizards that take honor seriously and won’t hurt an innocent person minus those who blatantly break their rules. The horrors of magic are products of their experiments gone wrong. The Eingradians let these creatures run loose in the forest to dissuade entrance through the forest.”

At first when Peter was told about Krastov and how they could interrogate him and get a positive fix on Luziver’s location, he had thought there was maybe a chance for them to save Wizzio. But now, hearing about Eingrad’s shoot on sight policy and forests rife with magic proof, soul-tearing monsters, Peter thought it wasn’t a chance at all. It was a homicidal mission. They would never make it past the forest without their magic.

“We would never make it past the forest without magic,” Peter told them.

“Yes, we won’t,” James said. “But we could, with a sword of light.”

“Sword of light?”

Jason stood up and pulled out his wand. He stuck it out in his front. “Stoma…Lumous.” Immediately, the whole wand flashed into a long sword made of pure, white light. It looked like a light saber from one of those Star Wars movies except the hilt was made of light as well. The blade gave off a low hum and Peter could perceive the ozone in the air. It was that sharp.

“The sword of light,” Jason said, waving the sword in the air, “will rip any creature, magical or not, to pieces.”

“Retracto,” he then said. The sword vanished and was replaced by a wand. Jason sat.

Nobody spoke for a while before James broke the silence.

“That’s it, Peter,” James said. “That’s all we have. Are you coming?”

Peter wanted to go but Maldrom had instructed him to stay put. Peter told them about Maldrom’s instruction.

“That’s no problem,” James replied. “Since Maldrom’s concern was for your family’s safety, then Troniel and Ussif, the two first order wizards, will protect them.”

Well that was one problem solved, Peter thought. The other problem was his wife. He had lost her once, he would not lose her again. If she didn’t want him to leave, he wouldn’t. Peter turned to June and asked her consent without speaking. Though the others could never have known, Peter could tell that June was scared out of her mind. The signs were there; her lips were pressed hard against each other, her eyes were narrow, her head was slightly angled upwards.

June sighed and closed her eyes momentarily.

Peter knew what she was going through. The inner conflict she experienced. It was similar to what wives of service men experienced when their husbands were being drawn into a conflict in Iraq or Afghanistan or somewhere. Only in June’s case, it was multiplied a hundred fold.

“You have to go, Pete,” June said softly. “If Wizzio falls, earth will fall first.”

Peter stood to his feet. That was all he needed. They were going to Eingrad.

Peter and June left the wizards in the dining room. While June went to collect Simon for their journey to a safe place, Peter hurried to their room and changed into his robes. He collected Merlin’s wand and stepped out of the room.

He met Simon and June in the living room across the hallway from the dining room. He hugged and kissed them and said his final goodbyes.

“Be safe,” June said.

“Always,” Peter answered with a smile. His persona of bravado was a façade. Inside, he was petrified.

Peter ruffled his son’s hair. “I have to travel,” Peter said to his twelve year old son. “Take care of you mom for me will you?”

Simon nodded.

Peter went into the dining room. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to bring the lights back?” June asked from the living room.

“Once we leave, it will return,” James replied.

They walked into the hall and formed a circle in the same position he, James and Rapner had formed a circle when he had made his first journey to Wizzio. Though it was only four weeks ago, it felt like four years.

“We’ll zoop in five,” James said and started counting. “One…”

Before James reached five, Peter took one last glance at the two wizards that would be protecting his family. They were no more than eighteen years old, wide-eyed and had small statures. One was blonde while the other had black hair and angular eyes. That was probably Ussif, Peter thought. The two wizards looked anything but capable and inspired anything but trust. Peter hoped they would cause enough trouble in Wizzio to keep the dark wizards from setting their eyes on his family.

James got to five and they all spelled. “Zoopo!”

A whirl wind blew into existence, sucked them into its vortex and into the darkness of void.

###

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The Vigilante: Curse of the Sword, Now Available For Download!

Yippee!  Today is my book launch, and I’m really excited. It is not my debut story as I have earlier published a short story, which you can download for free HERE.  It is my debut full-length novel. I hope you enjoy it.

The Vigilante: Curse of the Sword

By  Kachi Ugo

Twenty-six children are gone. They have been taken by a ruthless, barbarian warlord who has only one thing on his mind: sacrifice. His fortress is high up the evil mountain, out of reach of the four governments of Lazul with the paths to it rife with all manner of murderous, blood-thirsty creatures. The council of governors has passed its verdict; no help is coming for the children. The children are left to a horrible inevitable end and their only hope lies in the hands of an unlikely village straggler, Briksan, who in the darkness of night becomes an unspeakable evil; an evil he is frightened of. In the shroud of darkness, Briksan becomes a cruel, lunatic killer known only too well among nefarious serfs as the Vigilante.

But the quest is much more than rescuing a bunch of children he couldn’t care less about if they lived or died. The quest is more about rescuing Rachael, the woman he loves, who was kidnapped alongside the children. The quest is more about destroying his two most hated arch enemies, the Baka brothers, who are responsible for the curse upon him and who are cursed as he is. The quest is really about executing a sentence of death he passed a long time ago when he discovered that the barbarian warlord, Kaza, was responsible for the death of his parents.

Haunted by ghosts from his past and propelled by blood-hot revenge, Briksan must survive fierce battles with monstrous creatures ten times his size if he is to reach the summit of the mountain. His endurance, his will and everything he holds dear will be tested by the evil creatures that roam the paths to the mountain. Yet, Briksan will soon discover that reaching the fortress is only the beginning.

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The Vigilante: Curse of the Sword, Chapter Reveal!!!

CHAPTER TEN

As Briksan backpedalled, less than a meter from Arduin and certain death, he concluded this was the end. But before the morbid thoughts crossed his mind as they usually did when he was close to death, Lillian’s scream pierced through the air. It jolted him out of his stupor.

Briksan’s eyes crossed the mass of Hellospike before him in less than a second. Clearly visible under the bright wash of the moon was a splash several meters past the middle of the river. Lillian had fallen into the river. Briksan’s heart beat in his throat. Shallow breaths passed through his nostrils. He didn’t think twice. He didn’t consider the rashness of his decision either. All he felt was the power of the urge coursing through his blood. In a moment, every trace of weakness vanished. Every wound sealed up. The world became redder.

Without warning, Briksan launched into the air, across the sea of Hellospikes who watched as he crossed overhead, and landed at the edge of the river. The ash of several Hellospikes flew in every direction. Briksan fixed his eyes where Lillian had fallen into the river and leaped again. Before he touched the river, he yelled at Sam not to enter the water.

Once Briksan broke through the surface of the river, shards of shock ripped through his consciousness. The water was so bone-clattering cold that Briksan slowly lost consciousness, and lifelessly fell deeper into Lephretes. The reptilian monsters swarmed him, biting off his skin, piece by piece. Pain ripped through his fading consciousness with each bite. Somewhere at the corner of his mind, it was settled. He was never getting out of Lephretes alive. He knew that this time, when he lost consciousness, he would not return. Though the urge waned, it was still enough to enable him breathe under water. The urge couldn’t help him. This was the end.

For a brief moment, through the flurry of the reptilians that feasted on him, Briksan caught sight of Lillian’s limp body in the distance. Huge tentacles clamped tightly around her body and pulled her deeper down the river. It was this surreal vision that changed everything.

The urge sparked within him, and spiked through greater levels in seconds. His body was so surcharged with the power of the urge, he felt he would explode. Few seconds later he exploded. The urge exploded through his body, causing a visible shockwave that rippled through the river. Everything within the blast radius including the tentacles was decimated instantaneously.

Briksan was fully alert, bristling with power.

He shot towards Lillian’s body.

The tentacles that once held her slowly descended the great darkness hundreds of meters below them, where it was attached to its host. The reptilians beyond the blast radius rushed towards them like a closing swarm of darkness. In the dark void below, there were flutters, screams, stirring the likes of tornadoes. Nanthos was rising.

Briksan grabbed Lillian and shot towards the surface and towards the barren land. He broke through the water, flew several feet into the air and touched down on the barren lands. Briksan laid Lillian on the black ground. Her face was pale, her breathing was shallow and her heart beat was faint.

Sam ran towards them.

Briksan took Lillian’s bag from him.

“My gods, is she alive?” Sam’s voice was tremulous.

“Barely,” Briksan responded without turning, feverishly rummaging through Lillian’s bag. He found what he was looking for. He opened the pouch and poured much of Daudeus potion into Lillian’s mouth and down her throat. The result was almost instant. She jerked and sputtered water out her mouth several times. After over a minute, the sputtering stopped and the color began to return to her face. Her breathing and heart beat improved.

At that instance, the sound of great winds emanated from the river. The sound carried with it flutters and screams—avian-like screams. It was the winds of Nanthos.

“Grab the bags,” Briksan commanded. He hefted Lillian onto his shoulder and ran into the black forest. Sam followed at his sides, carrying their bags. All around them were burned, leafless, black trees whose branches looked like thorns. The ground was black from the ash remains of wood and leaves.

Briksan ran as fast as Sam would allow. He knew from the start that they would not make it. Even when he saw the wind stirring inside Lephretes, he knew they would never make it away in time. His conclusion was cemented as fact when the first avian struck. It attacked them from above like a lightning strike. Briksan’s alarms went off; he knew exactly what was coming and where it was coming from. He realized they couldn’t run any longer; the winds of Nanthos had caught up with them. They had to stand and fight it.

He dropped Lillian on the ground, turned and slashed his sword upward. The descending avian was sliced into two equal halves.

Sam drew his weapon.

They both stood around Lillian.

This wasn’t going to end well, Briksan thought. Except some miracle of the urge happened—like it did when he fought the Latrogenes or when he was drowning in the river—they would fight to their deaths. They would actually die here.

The wind stirred around them, whipping black dust several feet into the air above them.

At first, the avians came in trickles; twos and threes. They were huge, hawk-like birds with sharp talons and fangs.

Then, the avians descended upon them like rain; in their thousands.

Briksan knew it was over for them that night. Sam knew this also. They fought with all their might, not because they could defeat the numerous avians, but because they knew they had no choice. They weren’t just going to raise their hands in defeat and get eaten by avians. No, they were going to take as many of these critters as they could take to their graves. It was neither bravado nor braggadocio. It was an innate character every true man of war possessed. It was valor. To die on the battle field, swinging your weapon at the enemy; not giving up in cowardice. It was valor that propelled Briksan and Sam to keep fighting the avians.

They fought in the dark, despite the bright moon. The winds had stirred a great darkness around them. Sam found it difficult to fight the monsters, until his eyesight adjusted to the low illumination. Then, he slew the avians in their hundreds, with the fierceness of a starved rabid animal as it tore at a scrap of meat.

For Briksan, with each avian torn apart by his sword, the urge worked up a storm within him. He killed many more. As time progressed, and the urge stormed higher, he obtained limited control of the wind. He bent it around his body and gave his attacks more hard-hitting power and his movements more speed and agility. Suffice to say that the avians died in their hundreds.

After what must have been an hour, Sam succumbed to fatigue. He collapsed on a pile of dead avians out of sheer exhaustion.

Briksan stayed up longer and protected Sam and Lillian. His body had started showing signs of weakening. The avians showed no signs of abating. They descended from above as fast as lightning with their fangs and talons poised to rip flesh apart. Briksan stood his ground near Sam and Lillian, hacking avians as the wind spun around him like a tornado.

It happened again, like it had happened when he had been attacked by the horde of sword-wielding Latrogenes. Briksan became one with the wind. The urge waxed so strong in him, it exuded a bright red shimmer through his body. Briksan became a spectator, watching as he hacked the descending bird-monsters. Every avian that missed his flaming swords got cindered on contact with the wind and the red shimmering barrier that surrounded him. And so the cycle went that the avians attacked him in great numbers and fell dead in even greater numbers. With each cycle, Briksan weakened. He knew very soon, he too would collapse to the ground.

Slowly, the avians stopped coming.

The rain of avians stopped, and they came by threes, then twos. Then they stopped coming entirely. The black dust-storm receded and the moon light penetrated his surrounding once more. The tornado that had whirred around him ceased. The urge melted away.

Briksan fell his knees to a bare ground. Every muscle in his body was sore. When he felt the bare ground on his knees, he looked around. That was when he noticed the huge wall of avians that had been stacked four meters high, encircling them in with a radius of about seven meters. Briksan had been circling Sam and Lillian because the monstrosities descended from all directions. He must have somehow whipped the avian bodies into the wall he now saw.

Although there was no scar or injury on his body—none that he could feel at this time—Briksan’s body throbbed with pain. If the avians had continued their attack for a while longer, they would have died.

The second day of their mission had ended, and they were still a long way from saving Rachael or the children. Their chances of saving Rachael and the children diminished exponentially every time they were delayed. And those chances were small from the beginning.

Briksan sighed and collapsed to the ground. Few seconds later, he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Somewhere at the bed of river Lehretes, Nanthos awoke. He awoke no less enraged than he was when the gods had imprisoned him there. He awoke with more fury, more hatred, more power. He awoke with the same purpose; to kill the gods and populate the underworld with the souls of all humans. Now he was weak, but he would get stronger. He had pulled back his finger, the Narrokks, to conserve his energy. All he awaited was a sacrifice, and then he would arise from the mire, the decrepit mud sludge of the river base. Once again, he would march on the home of the gods. Not to destroy the elder gods, but to destroy the gods.

###

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The Vigilante: Curse of the Sword, Pre-Order Now (39% Off!!!)

Three–a princess, a killer, and a hobo–must cross the forest of Arduin, the river Lephretes, and the barren lands to reach the evil mountain. Their fellowship is more likely to fail than to succeed. If it fails, the kidnapped children will suffer a fate worse than death.

The Vigilante: Curse of the Sword

By Kachi Ugo

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Vigilante: Curse of the Sword, An Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

 

Briksan Sarkson was cursed by the goddess, Arashani. At first, he had fought against it. But when he realized he couldn’t escape it—that it would follow him to his grave—he resigned himself to his fate. His only consolation was that he knew what he carried and the limits to his power, and he also knew he was doomed. But there were some people who were cursed with a more terrible fate than he was scourged with and didn’t know it. They weren’t just doomed, they were dead.

Briksan sneered in contempt as he watched Sam Lupest lumber around the busy pub. He carried a dreamy expression on his moist, milky face and sang about how his wife had left him for a rich man from the south. Sam was visibly under the influence of strong wine.

Sam was a big, muscular, pompous, good-for-nothing scoundrel. With that description, Briksan wondered little why his wife had left him for a rich man besides his wealth. Briksan knew he had no right to judge Sam because he wasn’t any better. Actually, he was worse. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge.

Sam wore a ratty cotton dress that matched the color of his skin and gave away the pale flesh beneath it. A drab brown trouser clung to his lower parts, few inches below his waistline, revealing the upper parts of his buttocks. There wasn’t any belt around his waist.

Briksan sneered again, this time louder. He wondered whether it was Sam’s thick legs that prevented his trousers from falling all the way to his feet, or whether it was Arashani holding up the trousers, having compassion on him.

The second thought seemed unlikely because it was the same goddess that had cursed him. Gods don’t turn over a new leaf. They get worse. Crueler.

Anger flashed through Briksan’s heart. The muscles in his face tightened under his skin. He hated her. She had made him into what he was now; a monster. She had turned him into a cruel beastly creature damned to roam the nights with blood thirsty eyes all because of a small mistake he had made years ago.

Briksan took another sip of the drink he had been nursing for the past hour at the corner of the pub. It calmed his nerves and the anger fizzled.

Briksan turned his attention back to Sam. Sam was his closest friend in the village—but only because they were both social outcasts and practically nobodies. Briksan sighed, silently hoping Sam’s trousers would stay up. There was only so much shame a man could take before he did something foolish. Then Briksan would have to put an arrow in his throat or thrust a sword through his heart or hack his waist with an axe.

Briksan could think of a number of ways to kill Sam, all of which would guarantee an excruciating death. He knew he would enjoy slaughtering Sam, friend or no friend. If Sam killed an innocent person, Briksan would haunt him down and kill him as if he were a rabid animal. It wasn’t Briksan’s fault that he was that way. It was what the goddess had turned him into—a compassionless and cruel killing maniac.

All around Briksan, no one seemed to pay any attention to Sam as he trudged around the pub, making his way between round tables. It was a normal evening in the most popular pub in Gyarunge. The pub was steamy hot and riotous with laughter, loud conversations and heated arguments. The eleven tables crammed into the small room were packed with at least five commoners per table, except his. At one corner of the bare, faded, purple walls was a bar. The bartender was occluded by the jammed bodies sitting at the bar.

In spite of the somewhat serene atmosphere, there was a haunting awareness in Briksan’s heart that the night was about to get murderous for him. He had to kill tonight. He couldn’t endure a night without snuffing out life from someone, almost anyone. He sneered. It was the gift of the curse.

The urge to kill would start the moment the moon cleared the western horizon, and would steadily grow stronger. If he didn’t kill early enough, the urge would become so overwhelming that it would take over. No one would survive in the entire village. He would slaughter everyone in sight until the urge lost its hold over his consciousness which was usually in the morning.

The urge had taken over only once. It had been a massacre. He had murdered every soul in the village—man, woman, child and beast. None had survived.

It pained Briksan to think of that bloody night. It was the darkest night for all of Lazul since the Tus wars. Shortly after, Briksan had moved to Gyarunge and had sworn never to spill innocent blood again. This was the reason why every night, Briksan hunted down criminals, and in Gyarunge, they seemed to be in endless supply.

Briksan took another swipe at his wine. He could feel the urge rise within him. He had to leave soon. If he stayed a while longer, he couldn’t trust himself not to butcher everyone in the pub.

Briksan tensed. Sirens exploded in his head. Something was wrong, he could sense it. It was also a part of the curse that he could sense danger before it came. He had an early warning system which manifested as sirens in his head.

Briksan shot to his feet, knocking over his chair.

The pub became grave silent, all eyes affixed on him.

Briksan’s heart raced. He considered several possibilities. Tonight was one night he didn’t want trouble. The four governors were present in Gyarunge for the governors’ council meeting. Over the past few months, tension had grown between the four territories of Lazul: the north, the south, the east, and the west. The governors had agreed to meet here in Gyarunge to diffuse the tension and plan to move Lazul forward. If any of the governors died, there would be war.

Briksan caught his breath. His mental sirens blared. His eyes widened a little—someone was running towards the pub. Briksan spun around and faced the door.

The wooden door swung open and a thin woman fell into the pub. An arrow stuck out of her left chest where blood had drenched her pale blue gown.

Men jumped to her aid. The pub owner, an elderly woman with grey frizzy hair like a bird’s nest, came around the bar barking orders to her workers behind the side door. She took charge of the situation immediately, tending to the wounded, young woman with the bowl of water and soft cloth one of her workers had provided her with.

“Help,” the woman muttered, “they took them.” She coughed and sputtered bright red blood over her caregiver.

“Quick,” the pub owner said. “Someone should go and get the physician.”

The two men farthest from the scene ran for the door.

“And warn the guards,” the bartender called after them.

It didn’t matter; Briksan knew that the threat was long gone. He also knew that the woman would die soon. The arrow had gone right through her heart and ruptured it. Time was running out, he had to find out as much as he could before she died.

Briksan pushed through the surrounding crowd. The young lady looked like death. Her skin was pale, almost lifeless. Her breathing was shallow and labored, and her heart beat was faint. Her dilated pupils stared at the ceiling, unfocused. Death was only seconds away.

“Who took who?” Briksan asked strongly enough to get the dying woman’s attention.

The elderly woman shot him an evil look.

Briksan frowned, his anger building.

“Kaza,” the woman muttered between raspy breaths. “He took the children. He took Rachael.”

Murmur swept through the silent pub.

Briksan staggered backwards a little. His head swirled. The warlord had struck again, and this time he had taken the woman he loved. Shock quickly gave way to anger.

“Where?” Briksan asked, but he already knew the answer to the question. There was only one place Kaza could take his victims to and there was only one thing he did with his victims when they got there.

The woman raised her shaky hands and pointed north.

It was the only place Briksan dare not venture. Panic swept through him like a flood.

“The evil mountain.” The young woman’s violent coughs drowned the whisperings of fear at the mention of the mountain. “The children shall be sacrificed to the gods at the apex of the evil mountain…Those were Kaza’s words.” Her eyes rolled inwards as the young woman went slack with death.

The elderly woman shut the dead woman’s eyelids and sobbed, covering her mouth to stifle the sounds with her bloodied hand. Her workers, five teenage girls gathered around her and wept with her. Some men cried too, but others were quiet like Briksan. The barbarian warlord had struck again. The last time he had struck, a whole village had been wiped out by his forces. Now Gyarunge had been marked. Who could stop him?

Briksan raised his head towards the north. Though all he saw was the peeled paint of the corner wall, he knew that the evil mountain stood somewhere in that direction.

Briksan could turn his eyes away and move on to the next village or better still go into one of the towns or cities, maybe the capital. He could walk away and not get involved, after all he wasn’t a soldier. He could meet Kaza on his own terms and deal out vengeance, but he wouldn’t. Kaza had made a mistake this time. He had taken Rachael, the only woman that knew who he was—what he was—and loved him the same.

The urge to kill poured into his body like molten iron into a metal cast. He could feel the curse of the sword get a hold of his body and his mental faculties. There were only two things to do; rescue Rachael and destroy Kaza once and for all.

One of the two men that had run out earlier came back in with the physician, a bent old man. “The council of governors is having an emergency meeting now,” he said and ran back out the door.

The physician thoroughly checked the woman for vital signs before he declared her dead. He spoke softly to two men standing around and they broke from the crowd, carried the dead body and followed the physician out the door.

There was no trace of blood where the woman had lain and died. No sign that she had been there or that death had transpired there. That was how life was, Briksan thought. You did all you did and then you went away without as much as a mark. Death was cruel, but time was even crueler. It didn’t matter if you were a great leader or a venerable army commander, all it took was time. Your deeds would be washed away in the ever churning, ever stormy seas of time.

Briksan left the pub and headed for the council hall where he knew the governors would meet for the emergency session. All the information he needed for his quest, he would get there. Briksan sighed once again that night. He hoped he wouldn’t kill anyone on the road. The only people that deserved to die this night were Kaza and his men.

CHAPTER TWO

 

The small path, hedged in by low wide huts with thatched roofs, and besieged by a stream of villagers, opened into a wide clearing. Word of the capture and the young woman’s death had spread through the village. All paths led to the council hall to know what the decision of the council of governors would be.

The council hall couldn’t look any more modest than it already did. It stood at the center of the wide clearing, a four walled container of brick and mortar. Its roof was made of straws as were the roofs of the other houses.

Briksan had been to many other villages around the outskirts of the north. Though the north was generally the poorest of the four governments of Lazul, to Briksan, Gyarunge seemed to like to wear it like a badge of honor. While other villages’ council halls were large majestic structures with imperial architecture, high fences and a wide paved compound, Gyarunge’s council hall was a nondescript brick encasing with nothing in the way of fencing, nothing to distinguish it as the center of power of Gyarunge.

Briksan crouched in the darkness on the roof of one of the houses lining the path to the council hall. He observed the procession with keen interest. The villagers wore long faces, some wailed with reckless abandon (probably relatives to the kidnapped children), while others wept. Briksan was four houses away from the guards that surrounded the hall yet he could clearly see their eyes and he could read the expression on their faces. It was another part of the curse; he could keenly see objects from far distances and he could sense their emotions as if he and the object were one.

The soldiers were terrified. It wasn’t just about the children being kidnapped; it was the fact that their village was marked by Kaza. Villages that had been marked that way in the past had been razed in spite of Lazul’s intervention. Now Gyarunge had been marked. These soldiers knew their chances of survival were minimal.

Briksan had been a soldier once—an army commander in fact. He could relate to the soldiers’ feelings. They couldn’t run because this was their village and they had sworn to protect it. They couldn’t fight what was coming. Others who had tried had failed woefully. All they could do was wait and die. Gyarunge would end up like all other villages Kaza had marked in the past: razed to the ground.

Briksan balled his hands into fists as he gritted his teeth. The urge had grown stronger since he had left the pub, filling his body with inhuman energy and flooding his mind with murderous rage. Briksan slightly pressed against the roof and leapt into the air in the direction of the council hall. He reached heights that no human being could have ever reached, cutting through the air with striking speed. He covered the distance to the hall in seconds and landed on the roof with a silent thud.

Briksan froze and listened intently.

No one shouted at him. No one had seen his descent through the skies.

Briksan scanned the roof. The first thing he noticed was the hard ground. The roof wasn’t made of straw like the other houses, it was made of stone. Stable straws had been strewn on it. Briksan noticed an open skylight. He crawled towards it.

The four governors sat around a table at the center of the hall. Briksan recognized them.

“Zorander!” Ulymus said, his voice echoing in the room, “Despite your sorcery, you can barely keep your people safe.” For a short man, Ulymus, governor of the east, had a loud voice. A short pudgy man with dark blue eyes and a short beard sticking downwards from his chin like stalactites in an ice cave, Governor Ulymus was known to employ wit and deception with such effortless grace that he had deluded the great Magnitus, former emperor of the east and tyrant extraordinaire, into surrendering the throne. That day, Lazul had celebrated the birth of democracy in the east, but in the corridors of power, it was decided that Ulymus was not a man to be trusted.

“Be careful, Ulymus Ualiuvus.” Zorander, governor of the North, ruler of Gyarunge, replied. “Remember you are in my territory.” Zorander was taller than most men. In addition to that, he had a slender shape which made him look long rather than tall. The shoulder edges of his regal robes shot out like spikes on a wall. Briksan had no doubt that Zorander would have loved to impale Ulymus with them. It was rumored that Zorander was a sorcerer, that he often convened with the dead and sought wisdom from the abyss. Like all rumors, there weren’t any hard evidence, but Briksan was always unsettled by the man’s eyes. They were unreadable and almost vacant like he wasn’t present in his body.

Briksan had heard of people dying by sorcery. He had tracked down and killed his own share of sorcerers. He suspected Zorander wasn’t someone he could easily kill.

“Bah,” Ulymus said, waving away Zorander’s implied threat with his hands. “Where were those teeth when that fool, Kaza, attacked?”

“I will not—” Zorander started, his voice rising.

“That’s what I thought,” Ulymus cut him off again with a dismissive wave of his hands. “Another one of those your airy rants.”

“I do not think any of us could have done anything different than Zorander did to prevent such incursions had they happened in our territories.” Ariel’s voice was calm and even yet strong and sonorous. The governor of the West was tall, but not nearly as tall as Zorander. His brown eyes were wizened beyond his age. Maybe that was why they always carried a sad expression about them; they knew too much of the folly of men. Strands of grey hair lined his thick dark hair. Ariel’s wisdom was great throughout the lands and so was his kingdom. The west was the largest independent state of Lazul with the highest population. Leading such an enormous amount of people stretching over a vast expanse of land could cause great strain.

No wonder he had developed grey hairs at such an early age, Briksan thought, observing the grey linings on Ariel’s thick dark hair.

“Speak for yourself, Ariel,” Ulymus retorted. “If it was not for the north’s poor impoverished defenses, Kaza could not have walked into a Lazulan village and abducted twenty-six children. Twenty-six!”

“Says the son of a whore who gained power through deception and guile rather than honor and a fight.” Zorander balled his hands into the air. “What do you know about city defenses? When was the last time you fought a war?”

Ulymus flared with anger. “How dare you insult my—”

Zorander slammed his balled fist into the table. “Where were you during the Tus war? Where were you when the different factions of Lazul were unified into four governments? Where were you when Kaza struck the west and Ariel needed our help?”

Ulymus glared at Zorander, his eyes glowing in pure hatred. If stares were knives, his would be razor sharp, tearing through Zorander’s ocular muscles.

For a moment, Briksan thought Ulymus would lunge for Zorander.

Ulymus clapped, his angry face melting into a smirk. “I applaud your…heroism in battle, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that a warrior attacked one of your villages and made away with as many as twenty-six children. Zorander, son of Zakaiah, you have failed your fathers.”

Briksan could sense the tension tearing through the room.

Zorander shot to his feet. “I will not tolerate this insolence in my territory—before my people,”

The murmurings of the villagers that had crammed themselves into the council hall had quieted down.

“What insolence?” Ulymus yelled back, jumping to his feet, his lack of height made evident as he stood before Zorander. “I only speak the truth.”

“If you are trying to start a war, Ulymus,” Zorander said, jabbing his finger in the short man’s face, “I assure you, you will find out just how strong the northern army is.”

“Zorander, Ulymus, please,” Ariel begged with tired eyes. “War isn’t always the answer. Let’s—”

“War?” Ulymus replied grinning with sarcasm. “You speak of war when you cannot even defend your people? I never thought I’d say this Zorander, but you’re a shameless excuse for a governor.”

“Why you little rat! I will destroy you. I’ll raze your cities. I’ll burn your villages. I’ll—”

“Enough!” Lillian roared.

Silence swept through the hall.

Ulymus and Zorander still glared at each other, but they dared not speak. Lillian, governor of the south and Lord of the council of governors, might be a woman, but she was the most powerful of the four governors in all regards: physical strength, wealth, military strength. No one dared oppose her. When she spoke, everyone listened. Sometimes, Briksan wondered whether other territories were truly independent or whether they were all ruled from Omnitus Prime, the capital city of the south.

“Sit down, the both of you.” Lillian instructed with an edge in her voice as if daring them—begging them—to defy her. Lillian had a tall slender figure, fierce eyes and golden hair that she wore long. She was beautiful in a salacious way which Briksan thought was no fault of hers. She had become governor by inheritance being the second born of Shanitus and heir apparent to the throne. The first born, Lillian’s elder sister, had been lost along with their mother during the Tus war. Lillian was just a child then. The south had searched for years but her mother and sister were never found. They were presumed dead.

The Shanitus household was the richest in Lazul and naturally, the south was the richest territory. The south had the brightest military tacticians and the strongest military force to go with it. For all intents and purposes, the south was the greatest of the four governments and as if to buttress that point, Lillian sat majestically dressed in full body armor that sparkled even in the dull light from the surrounding torches. She stared at Ulymus and Zorander through ferocious dark green eyes that had yellow specks around the edges. Those eyes were distantly familiar to Briksan.

Ulymus and Zorander obeyed her instructions.

Briksan had a feeling that there would be more of what had just happened to come in the days and months ahead.

“Now,” Lillian said, calling attention back to herself, “Twenty-six children as well as a woman. How did that happen?” Lillian shifted her gaze to Zorander. “Tell the council and the twelve representatives and the people of Gyarunge what happened.” The twelve representatives, who comprised three persons from each government, sat in tall chairs around the governors. Behind then were three layers of armed warriors and then the teeming villagers.

Zorander shot one last angry look at Ulymus before straightening himself in his chair. The anger vanished from his face and his voice as if it had never been there in the first place. “Kaza struck during a shift change of our border patrol. He attacked us exactly where our defensive line around the village was weakest. Unfortunately, the children were attending night school with their teacher—the woman that was kidnapped along with the children. They were all abducted. Before our forces could arrive at the scene of the incidence, Kaza had retreated with his prize.”

Someone wailed in the crowd. It incited a strong response from the crowd. The people broke into factions while others cried. A huge crowd had gathered around the building that was too small to fit them. These ones also joined in, fearing to be left out in this act of allegiance. The wailing sounded like eerie cries distressing the calmness of the night and assaulting Briksan’s ears. He winced, wishing he could shut them up.

Lillian raised her right hand.

“Silence.” A guard bellowed.

Silence descended amongst the people, rippling to the crowd outside.

“Is it confirmed where the abductees were taken to?” Lillian asked.

Briksan caught what he thought was a glint of hope in Lillian’s eyes as if she expected Zorander to say no. He could tell that the issue was personal to her. The question was why? The north couldn’t be any more farther from the south than it already was.

“I’m afraid so, my Lady,” Zorander replied, a grim expression on his face. “Kaza is taking the children to the northern face of the evil mountain where he has a fortress. He has taken the route through the forest of Arduin.”

Ulymus muttered a silent curse.

A murmur rumbled through the room.

Briksan already knew the information but that didn’t prevent Zorander’s words from causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. The evil mountain was one place no Lazulan could go and expect to return. But what caused Briksan’s fear was the route Kaza had taken. It was suicide to enter the forest of Arduin.

Kaza had struck border villages before. His usual target was the west. He would pass through Rahmna and cross the Trithis marshes to get to the west from the evil mountain and back. Now that Kaza had abducted his highest number yet, he chose to enter the forest of Arduin? Risk the lives of twenty-six children and Rachael? Briksan couldn’t wrap his head around that.

“How is that possible?” Ariel asked, quieting the babbling crowd, “Kaza would have to cross the forest of Arduin with all its terrors, the river Lephretes where the winds of Nanthos stir from and then go through the barren lands which no man can cross before he is fried by the sun’s intense heat. No one can survive that journey. No one!” Ariel’s voice exuded all the fear that everyone felt.

“The details are still sketchy,” Zorander replied, “nonetheless, my wise men tell me that Kaza possesses an ancient power that will help him convey himself and his host to the evil mountain without harm.”

“How ancient?” This came from Ulymus.

“I am not sure,” Zorander replied, thoughtful. “I do know that it’s older than the new world. It originates from the old world, maybe as old as the elder gods.”

There was a silence.

Ariel broke the silence. “If what you say is true, then it would be foolishness to go after Kaza.”

“Not just foolishness, Ariel,” Zorander replied, “It would be a blood-bath.”

“During the rule of Ignatus,” Ulymus said, “when Lazul was united under one government, capital punishment was banishment to the forest of Arduin. No one ever survived because of what lay in the forest. Our rescuers wouldn’t even catch up to Kaza before they are ripped apart.”

“I think we should start considering the possibility that Kaza would use such power against us,” Ariel said. “He has not made it a secret that he is an enemy of Lazul.”

“So we cannot send help to the children?” Lillian asked.

Zorander sighed. “No, my Lady. It would be a waste of the lives of our men. The children were already dead the moment they crossed into the forest of Arduin.”

Lillian turned her face away to hide her disappointment.

The crowd erupted into cries. Even from outside, the cries filled the night.

For Briksan, the urge grew stronger. He could barely control it. The urge made Briksan stronger, faster, more agile. Though he doubted he could save Rachael, he would still try. Rachael was the only person who made his pitiful existence bearable. He couldn’t think of life without Rachael.

“Silence!” A guard’s command stilled the crowd and brought Briksan back into the council hall.

“If we cannot go after the children, maybe he can.” Lillian said.

Ulymus frowned. “Who, my Lady?”

“Him.” Lillian looked up and pointed directly at Briksan.

Everyone looked up at him. “It’s the vigilante,” some in the crowd whispered.

“Guards, seize that man.” Zorander commanded his guards.

Briksan smiled, admiring Lillian’s tact. She had managed to sense his presence without giving any indication that she had. She was truly a warrior.

The soldiers would be surrounding the council hall now and making their way up. Briksan had only seconds to escape. He didn’t want to kill any innocents.

Briksan studied Lillian’s eyes as they looked into his. They pleaded with him to help save the children. Briksan nodded and spoke with a deep voice that filled the hall. “I will find them and return them home.” Briksan stood and turned away. He didn’t know why he had said that. He didn’t need to. There was just something familiar about Lillian’s eyes that had inspired him to say it.

The villagers that had jammed themselves in the hall were now pushing their way out. Briksan heard their whispers: can he help us? Will he help us? Even the vigilante couldn’t make it that far.

Briksan walked to the edge of the roof. All eyes were on him, villagers, soldiers and governors. In the mass below him, several held torches that lit the ground. Briksan stood at the edge and stared at the frightened villagers. His outfit perfectly concealed his identity. He wore green, hooded leather shirt and trousers with a buckle belt holding both at his waist. The green hood was a gift from Rachael. It was made of rare material in the south that refused the penetration of light.

The muscles around Briksan’s face tightened. The urge was getting unbearable. His eye sight was reddening. He had to kill someone, now.

“Vigilante,” Zorander bellowed from below. “You are surrounded, surrender.”

Briksan studied the governor of the north. Zorander stood at the center of the crowd, surrounded by two layers of soldiers. They were the governor’s personal guards, the best warriors in the whole north. Around the outer perimeter of the crowd, several archers aimed their bows and arrows at Briksan. One word from Zorander and they would unleash a hail storm of arrows at him. Briksan would never survive it.

Briksan slowly bent to a crouch and summoned all the strength that built in his body. With a wince, he stifled the urge to jump into the crowd to start hacking and slashing.

“Well?” Zorander said. “Would you rather die up there?”

Briksan managed a smile at the governor. He would die, but not today, and certainly not at the hands of Gyarunge archers. Briksan took one last look at Zorander, carefully studying his eyes. He frowned. There was fire in Zorander eyes. The goddess had told him that he would know murderers for the fire in their eyes—fire that only he could see. Zorander had that fire in his eyes, fire like a wisp of smoke swayed by a soft wind.

Briksan tensed. What had Zorander done? Who had Zorander murdered? Was that why he was so keen on catching him? Briksan clenched his teeth barely overcoming the urge to arrow Zorander where he stood.

Briksan jabbed his finger at Zorander, and the murmurs of the crowd ceased. “Murderer.” Briksan shouted, letting more anger into his voice than he had intended.

The crowd gasped.

Zorander shifted his weight to his other feet. His gaze wavered.

Briksan continued. His voice was low and deadly that everyone strained to pick his words. “When I return, I will find out the truth. Then I will come for you and kill you.”

Zorander’s expression turned to stone. “Very well,” Zorander croaked. “Archers—”

Briksan shot into the air. Several arrows whizzed by but none hit him. Briksan cut through the air, rising higher—inhuman higher, the air rippling through his cloth. He crested and descended, several yards away from the council hall and beyond Zorander’s archers’ range. Despite his velocity, Briksan landed on a roof like a dove, softly.

Briksan stood, swung around and faced the distant council hall. He made his hand as if about to notch an arrow. An arrow and bow of fire appeared in his hands. He pulled the fiery bow string and targeted Zorander’s heart. Briksan could see that far.

The crowd ran helter-skelter. The archers shot into the air. Zorander yelled orders, turning, searching for him. Briksan wanted to kill the man. He wanted to tear him to pieces and give his carcass to the birds of the air.

Briksan roared in anger and raised his bow to Lillian who was looking in his direction. Briksan let his arrow loose. The arrow zipped through the air. It covered the distance to the council hall in under three seconds. The fire whizzed past Lillian’s lower right ear, causing her hair to flail. The arrow struck a white haired man behind Lillian. He staggered backwards and collapsed to the floor, dead. The people around his dispersed like a ripple.

Almost immediately, the urge reduced. It was still there and he was still dangerous, but Briksan would not become a wild killer tonight.

The man Briksan had killed was one of the north’s representatives, Garland Nartiatun. Garland was responsible for several deaths that had plagued the north’s senate few days ago. Though he had not slashed the sword himself, Garland had ordered the hits on those senators. Garland was just as responsible for those deaths as the men that had swung the sword. He had failed Lazul.

As for Zorander, Briksan would not kill him today. Not while the other governors were around. He didn’t want to start a war. But when he returned—if he returned—Zorander would be the first person he would visit in the night.

Briksan’s eyes focused. He still stared at Lillian who still looked in his direction. At that distance, Lillian would only be able to see his silhouette.

The crowd was disbanding.

As Briksan studied the yellow specks in Lillian’s eyes, it suddenly hit him where he had seen eyes like that. Briksan’s muscles weakened for shock. It could only mean one thing. But how could it be? It cannot be. Briksan shook his head. He couldn’t bear to consider the implications.

Briksan turned away and jumped off the roof to the sand ground of the deserted street. He looked north and saw the distant outline of the evil mountain. At first light tomorrow, he would set out for the forest of Arduin. Though he wasn’t as strong in the day, travelling at that time was the best chance he had of making it past the forest alive. The dark places of the earth are the habitations of evil and cruelty. How true, Briksan thought.

Briksan sighed and pulled back his hood. He was more likely to die before he made it to Kaza’s fortress, but he couldn’t turn away now that Rachael needed his help. He couldn’t bear to allow Kaza do to Rachael what he had done to his parents. The tyranny of Kaza had to end.

The hushed conversation of approaching villagers filtered into the air.

Briksan pulled on his hood and ran into the night.

###

Available for preorder soon…

Curse of the Sword: Cover Reveal!!!

The Vigilante: Curse of the Sword

By Kachi Ugo

At night, Briksan is an efficient killer without scruples. Journeying to the evil mountain guarantees arrival at dusk. Rachael and the kidnapped children will either die at the hands of their abductor or at the hands of their savior.

Available for preorder soon…

The Great Meld: Now Available For Free!

The Great Meld

By Kachi Ugo

Peter’s crashing life is disrupted when a wizard from Wizzio accosts him, bearing an apocalyptic warning. The Great Meld approaches and Earth will not survive. He hands Peter an ancient heirloom which is the only key to Earth’s survival. Peter must now journey across worlds to stop the Great Meld and prevent the extinction of mankind. But is he ready for what he’s about to face? Can he survive the murderous dark wizards who are hellbent on seeing humanity wiped out? Can he push on in the face of certain destruction, knowing that the world depends on him?

In The Great Meld, a fast-paced, end of days, contemporary fantasy thriller, the fate of the Earth has been thrust into the hands of a dying man. Every wrong decision he makes could mean sudden destruction for Earth.

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