Shattered Lives (The Wizard's Legacy Book 1) Read online

  The Wizard’s Legacy

  Shattered Lives

  Book 1 of The Wilder Invasion

  H.R. Rekow

  Shattered Lives

  Copyright © 2017 by H.R. Rekow

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  “We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”

  ~ 2 Corinthians 4:7

  Hearts like fragile clay jars.

  Fragile like glass.

  Hearts of glass.

  To Essie, my beautiful li’l sis.

  I’m so proud of your faith in Christ, no matter the struggles you face. Such strength is much needed

  in this dying world.

  Prologue

  A young boy stared down at his warm and sticky hands. Night veiled all, yet he knew what slicked his fingers; blood, but not his own.

  His shadowed form stood amid a cluster of cottages. The village slept on, oblivious and undisturbed. Horses soundlessly slept in their stalls. A bat flailed past, its fanged mouth open in a silent scream. A breeze touched all with cold fingers. The lad’s mud-caked bare feet sloshed back and forth as he frantically grasped for reality. The night’s chilled air forced goosebumps along his arms and he shook; not with cold, but with terror.

  At his feet lay another lad, sprawled and trembling. His labored breath filled the silent village as his hands clasped his stomach, blood pouring from a gaping slice onto the sludge-covered ground. The attacker stepped back, his chest heaving. He let the knife slip from his hands. The two looked at each other with equal horror.

  A scream tore through the silence.

  The attacker wheeled around. He eyed a young woman standing in the doorway of the cottage nearest to him. Her face paled, whiter than her nightgown, as the dress dragged across the door’s threshold. He swallowed hard. She looked at him with a hand over her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears. She backed away, her beautiful face contorted by panic.

  “No, no, no,” she moaned, shaking her head. “Ralker, get up. Please, love! You can’t—we’ve got to marry and be together and . . . Get up!”

  The youth watched her hug herself, rocking, a gesture he knew meant horror filled her. He wiped his hands on his clothes as though to hide the blood, never wanting to cause her pain. Red blood smeared with the mud already soaked through the fabric. The wind raced between them, her nightdress flapping like a trapped bird’s wings. She turned to the murderer, her watery gaze searching his hunched form, as she fumbled to understand. “What did you do?” He turned away, suddenly cold. “Warrick! What did you do!” Her words pierced the lad’s heart.

  He fumbled for words as he listened to Ralker’s desperate gasps. The girl scoffed, tears streaming down her paled cheeks. “How could you do this?” Warrick had no reply, his heart quivering. “You’re a dog, Warrick. A Wraith’s dog!”

  Buzzing whispers lifted from the cottages as a dog began to bark. Voices drifted through the village and people stepped from their homes. Some lit hissing torches and looked out with squinted eyes. The guilty lad stared at each in turn, his fire-red hair bright in the torches’ glow. A shiver snaked up Warrick’s spine as he saw their wide eyes, confused and searching for answers. They would see his bloody crime, see the young man battling for life at his feet in the mud.

  He turned back to the lass as a tear slid down her ashen cheeks.

  “How could you—”

  He charged down the muddy streets and through the village he had once called home. His lungs burned as he ran. His eyes looked intensely into the darkness that lined the horizon. As he rounded a corner, he slammed into a man. They staggered and nearly fell. The murderer caught himself and hurtled onward before the man could react. A wail jutted through the night, and he knew the villagers had discovered his deed. Ralker lay dead in the mud, and Lahanna . . . she had looked at him with such hatred—

  Warrick flew from the village. The wind slapped his face, stinging his nose and cheeks with ice. His heart beat against him as he ran over one hill, then another, the hills’ tall grasses tangling his legs like green fingers. The darkness on the horizon grew nearer until he could see the forest’s jutting silhouette. The young man stopped once he reached its edge, and collapsed.

  Warrick’s loud gasps rattled in his throat, and his stomach turned. He doubled over with a cough and vomited. His chest heaved, fighting for air as the night’s cold, the villagers’ distant cries, and the vomit made his thoughts spin. He groaned and spit the vile taste from his mouth, eyes closed tight. Hearing distant shouts, he jolted upright and looked back. The village was dotted with dozens of torches. As he watched, some grew nearer. They were coming for him.

  The lad turned back to the forest, but he did not rise. Warrick stared at the horror-infested trees as they swayed in the cold wind, remembering unsettling tales told and retold about the haunted wood. The forest’s shadows seemed darker than the night. An owl called. It was a low, mournful song. He froze and looked for it, his eyes leaping from tree to tree. He knew the owl’s orange gaze could see his hidden form. It could tell the villagers where he knelt! It could be hunting for his blood too! With a labored breath, he struggled to his feet, and stepped forward.

  A stooped form blocked his path.

  Warrick let out a cry that hurt his throat, and fell back, gaping at the stranger who appeared out of nowhere. Before him stood a tall man hunched with age, dressed in a cloak with the hood drawn low. The wind wafted over the cloak, distorting the dark fabric like a shadow’s sadistic dance. He held his hands before him and toyed with golden rings strung on his fingers. A sharp nose poked from the hood’s empty mouth, and two eyes, so gray they appeared black, stared down sharply as though trying to cut the boy in two. The gray eyes twinkled with dark amusement.

  A smile twitched at the corner of the stranger’s mouth.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Warrick.”

  The stranger thumbed a ring and began to pace around the young murderer. The lad hunched lower into the grass as his hair stood on end. The stranger grinned, his cloak waves of black in the wind.

  “They should not have denied you Lahanna.”

  The fallen boy swallowed hard and wiped his mouth, smearing blood and grime across his face. Warrick said nothing as his mind whirled with thoughts he did not understand. The owl hooted again, long and low, like a mirthful laugh.

  “But you must come now, and speedily.” The stranger held out his hand, his eyes sharp as knives. “They are coming. I will take you to your new home, to a hidden world. I will train you to be strong and invincible so no one will have the power to refuse you any wish again.”

  The haunted boy stared up at the elder. He looked so tall, so powerful. Villagers’ voices drew closer still. He flinched at their distant cries and wiped his mouth again.

  “Lad. Do you know how long you shall kick when they hang you?” Warrick ducked low, his breath shaking as it hissed through his clenched teeth. “Your face will turn blue and your tongue will swell, protruding from your purpled lips. You must come with me. You have no other choice. You know that.”

  The villagers shouted orders, organizing themselves to begin the manhunt. Warrick swallowed hard and rubbed his throat, already feeling the noose coil his neck and wrench the life from him. With numbed fingers, he took the elder’s hand. The boy stood and faced the stranger as the wind blew between them. He looked into the man’s gray eyes; the shadow of power was in their depths. With a nod, he glanced back
at all he had ever known, his village, his family, his love—

  “Don’t look back!” the robed man hissed. The boy stiffened and dropped his gaze. “Don’t ever look back.” He motioned to the Wraith-infested forest, and the two walked forward. With a swallow, the boy stepped under the tree’s curved branches. His gaze hardened as the darkness enveloped him.

  He did not look back.

  Chapter 1

  An Unforgiving Master

  Lady Olivia swallowed hard, and eyed the king’s royal summons clutched in her hands. She bumped shoulders with her three handmaidens, cramped in her uncle’s wagon. The thudding of horses’ hooves and creaking of wagon wheels pounded in her ears. She had seen a gang of beggars trailing behind them, like dogs looking for scraps at the dinner table. They were getting braver; a few were caught within their camp the night before.

  Olivia shivered and pulled her wool cloak closer, her blue kirtle offering little resistance against the late morning cold. Mist hung over the land between the destitute villages and towns they passed. Her long blonde hair wound about her head, woven with silver ribbon bought from Han Ci merchants on her fifteenth birthday.

  Her emerald eyes darted out the wagon’s window to an oversized sedan chair held by two poles between a pair of horses. Within the carrier sat two outlined figures wrapped in thick furs as their dreary gaze turned away from the other. As Olivia watched, one shadowed profile shifted and dark eyes fastened onto her. Countess Primis lifted her chin and glared at her young niece with eyes as cold as the morning. Olivia grimaced and looked away.

  A lump formed in her throat, and she clenched her hands together until her grasp threatened to destroy the summons. A small hand reached out and lay over Olivia’s. The young woman looked up, and her eyes met with those of the seasoned woman sitting across from her. The woman’s wrinkled face and gray-speckled hair contrasted from the two other handmaidens’ younger, vibrant features. Olivia and the aged woman stared at each other in silence until the younger looked away with a heaving sigh.

  “What do most think when they meet their fiancé, Nan?” the young lady asked, her voice as small as her courage. The conversation between Olivia’s two other attendants, Krea and Cedany, hushed to silence.

  Nan smiled, though her brows knotted together. She shook her head and sighed.

  "Oh sweetie, I don’t rightly know. Excited n’ maybe little jittery, I’d say. Just take a deep breath . . . that’s a good gi’l.” Lady Olivia took another breath of the rain-dampened air, but her knuckles were as white as ever.

  Olivia looked out the window again, past the barricade of her uncle’s men-at-arms, a few knights, and squires on horseback. Their armor was still wet from yesterday’s rain, and their gray cloaks matted against their backs. Her gaze lifted beyond her aunt and uncle’s own litter. Her rosy lips stiffened to a thin line as her mind drifted.

  Prince Theron . . . Prince Theron . . . Why must it be a prince!

  Couldn’t she marry that baron who visited last spring or the knight with the long beard who only talked about his falcons? But a prince! Olivia looked down at her hands and thumbed the red seal. The waxy surface was smooth and hard. A prince was different, making her life difficult. A prince meant she would be queen. Olivia closed her eyes tight as a weight pressed on her chest and threatened to crush her glass heart.

  “Sweetie.”

  Olivia blinked and turned to Nan.

  “Talk to me, child.”

  “I do not wish to talk.” Her eyes avoided Nan’s stare. She shifted her weight in her seat and lifted her chin, attempting to look unaffected. It didn’t work.

  “You must. You’re driving yourself close to crazy with this boy."

  Olivia shot Nan a sharp glower but turned away, swallowing a retort and clearing her throat. “Where is Valsara? I have not seen her for . . . stones on bones, I cannot remember when!”

  Nan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you try to change subject.”

  “Krea, have you seen Valsara?”

  Krea helplessly glanced between Nan and her lady. Cedany nudged her, and Krea shook her head without a word, her head bowing.

  “Huh,” Olivia hummed thoughtfully.

  “My lady, talk about the prince!” Nan urged.

  Olivia snuggled deeper in her cloak and flicked a strand of blond hair from her eyes. “Where’s Valsara?”

  “And why must you know so badly?” Nan crossed her arms over her chest.

  “A lady should know where her double is,” Olivia said. “Without her, my trek through Wraith’s Hallow will be much more dangerous! And those beggars they caught the other night! The men-at-arms swore they came straight to my tent. My tent!”

  “They were just looking for grub, my lady,” Nan muttered.

  “I need Valsara. Where is she?”

  “Stay focused, Olivia. We’re talking ‘bout you and that prince fellow. Forget Valsara.”

  Olivia huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s not a mere fellow!”

  Cedany and Krea bit their tongues and tried to shrink against the wagon’s seats, their lips closed and eyes darting from their lady to the older woman.

  Nan waved a finger at her mistress. “He’s still a lad.” She smiled. “He still puts him shoes on one foot at ah time, and he still practices sword handling, and hunting, and everything them men do. He is just a mere fellow.” Nan mimicked the young lady with her last words. Olivia shot her an annoyed look. How absurd Nan made her sound! But she knew Nan was accurate; she could always mimic voices with perfection.

  “The Wizard wants you to marry that man, sweetie. He’s leading you here ’cause he wants you here.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Krea grinned as she set down her needle and thread. “That’s what he’s doing! Sorry . . .” She ducked away from Olivia’s stare and hid behind Cedany with her stitch-work covering her face.

  “And The Wizard won’t lead you wrongly, my lady,” Cedany said as she wound blue yarn into a ball and elbowed Krea away.

  Olivia looked between the three women and shook her head. “The Wizard did not orchestrate my marriage. It is unusual of him and unkind of you to suggest it.” She huffed and looked out the window. “Unkind . . .”

  “Ah! But what if he’s doing just that?”

  Olivia opened her mouth to respond, but she found no words to say. She shook her head and focused on the world outside the wagon. A smudge-faced girl followed a band of geese down the road and avoided a limping man and his gangly dog. Krea and Cedany exchanged glances but continued their busywork. Nan watched her mistress and sighed.

  The wagon jolted down the muddy road, and the villages’ farm fields gave way to small trees. The land transformed into rolling hills, and the number of travelers lessened. They were nearing Wraith’s Hallow. Even the commoners knew to stay away from the infected forest. It never made sense to Olivia why Duke Aldret would build his estate so close to the Wizard-forsaken tree line, or why the royalty of Tulaun sought solitude there. She looked up and saw a hawk soaring high among the gray clouds, its beady eyes staring down, feathers waving in the wind. Olivia sighed and leaned her cheek against the window’s frame.

  Uncle, she thought. Her eyes darkened to narrow slits as she glanced at the litter. She glowered at one of the darkened forms lounging inside. Why is he so . . . so . . . ?

  She stopped in mid-thought. Earl Quinn did not deserve her curses, though it seemed so at times. Olivia knew if her father was in her life, he would have asked for her approval of the matrimony instead of agreeing without her consent. She knew he would! He may be a self-centered man, but not a cruel one. Olivia gritted her teeth. She let out a slow breath, and closed her eyes as her thoughts flowed on.

  What is the prince like? What if he already loves another? Does he have a temper? She touched her cheek and prayed the mark of Earl Quinn’s slap was no longer seen. She adjusted her hair and tried not to think of the other night when he had struck her. She had been afraid of the beggars creeping about her tent and r
eacted with screams and blubbering tears. Earl Quinn had not understood her outburst, and refused to tolerate such behavior.

  Olivia lifted her chin with a deep breath, though her bottom lip trembled. How can I do this? The responsibility she would hold! She would be the hostess for lords, be present at court and stand by her king, and conduct business when needed. Who knew how many other endless tasks? Olivia wondered what would happen if Prince Theron died after they were wed. She knew the kingdom would be given to her family, as was the law. Custom demanded she promptly wed another, but a man she chose herself. She would have to lead a nation she scarcely knew. She shivered, and knew she could not live under such a weight.

  Olivia glanced out the window and saw two birds perched on a tree, their winged shoulders touching each other. Does The Wizard really want me to marry Prince Theron? she wondered. He wanted her to be at peace, and to live an abundant life. That’s what he sang of, right? An abundant life?

  1

  She swallowed hard, yet the lump in her throat stayed all the same. The cold of the morning bit her nose, but she did not draw away from the window. Her brow furrowed, and she closed her eyes. She shook her head and longed to throw the royal summons from the window into one of the road’s murky puddles.

  ✽✽✽

  “Where’s Grem?” Horven asked, his walking stick held by both hands before him.

  The young man’s sunken, red-rimmed eyes darted from hill to hill. He and Vintron were traveling through endless grassy knolls stretched in every direction, the Hilled Country, with the closest village miles away. Both had donned tattered clothes riddled with holes and stained in mud like any commoner, though they were far from it. The assassin and his uneasy apprentice walked on, though Horven could not restrain from looking back with wide eyes.