Ancient Echoes Book One of the Elese Saga

By RJ Clawson

Elese lives in a brutal medieval world where people have been trying to kill her since she was eight-years-old. Not that she blames them. After all, she is a monster. But in order to live peacefully she must hunt down those that are hunting her and at sixteen she is stronger than most men. She considers herself invincible and those she loves most will suffer for her naivety.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RJ Clawson
• Release date: Aug 18, 2010

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ANCIENT ECHOES

BOOK ONE OF THE ELESE SAGA

BY RJ CLAWSON

COPYRIGHT 2010 BY RJ CLAWSON

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

RJ Clawson on Smashwords

Ancient Echoes:

Book One of the Elese Saga

Copyright © 2010 by RJ Clawson

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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For my mom,

Who encouraged me every step of the way.

For my husband,

Who put up with me every step of the way.

For my daughter,

Who made me smile every step of the way

Prologue

Elese, eight-years-old

They were running again. Elese was more than just tired as she slumped in the saddle in front of Wardolf. They had been traveling for a long time now; she had lost track of the days that stretched behind them. Where would they hide this time, she wondered wearily. It was all her fault again. That much she knew. Those men had come to kill her again. Wardolf would never outright say they were there for her, but she knew. Who wouldn’t try to kill a monster, even if that monster was a little girl?

She shivered and Wardolf tucked her in tighter against him, bulky muscles overlapping her bony frame. The horse’s smooth steps rocked her in and out of consciousness, but each time she was semi aware, the ring of horseshoes on stones seemed sharp and accusing.

Quiet now, Wardolf whispered to her, a little too urgently to be soothing.

Elese hadn’t realized she was making any noise, but as soon as he called for quiet she heard the low whimpers that were passing through her lips. Clenching her teeth closed to shut off the noise, she tried to force herself to be more alert. They weren’t out of danger yet.

Their horse had no problems with the steady clip Wardolf was asking the animal to go as they weaved in and out of trees barely visible in the moonlight. How much farther? How much longer until those men were behind them? She wasn’t sure and she was half sure Wardolf didn’t know either. The thought was not a comforting one.

Their horse came to a sudden halt of its own accord, ears forward as if it was listening to something ahead. It was a breathless moment before Wardolf tried to heel the horse forward again. The sorrel gelding took a few more steps, head high and alert before it once again stood still. Elese felt the horse’s belly bounce as it whickered in greeting to something unseen. Another horse, unseen in the dark ahead, answered. Wardolf gripped her so tight it was hard to breathe. Her heart felt as though it had dropped to the pit of her stomach and refused to rise again.

I know you’re there. At least make yourself seen, Wardolf growled loudly into the night.

Just give us the girl and we’ll leave you be, came the bodiless reply.

You’re outnumbered this time, a voice to the left of the first informed them.

There’s no running anymore, yet another voice called.

Just put the girl down and turn around, a voice, closer than the rest encouraged.

Four to one… even Wardolf wouldn’t survive those odds.

Elese, Wardolf growled into her ear softly, I’m going to get down and you’re gonna kick this horse as hard as you can back the way we came. Don’t stop until the horse can’t walk anymore. You hear me?

Elese shook her head in mutiny, panicked by the thought of racing through the night alone.

Do it! he hissed. Or I will give you a strap to your backside, understand?

He had never hit her before, never even threatened before. Wardolf shook her hard, impatient. This was not something he would be disobeyed in. She nodded furiously and the rough treatment ended. He crushed her to him in a bear hug and then too quickly was sliding down to the ground after thrusting the reins into her smaller hands. She felt a vague sense of dizziness beyond the more intimate feeling of unreality. Cold, cold and distant her thoughts were slow in forming. This can’t be real. I’m dreaming. Wake up, Elese!

Wardolf grabbed the horse’s bridle and turned him around. She only had time to look down at him over her shoulder; his face was covered in shadows and unreadable. His ghost white hand slapped the horse’s rump and she was forced to face forward and ride or be bounced to the ground. Each stride the horse took felt wrong, terribly wrong without Wardolf there. The saddle felt too large and empty without him.

She let the gelding run until they were out of earshot and then brought him to a stop. Her hands were shaking and she was frightened, but there was no way she was leaving Wardolf to be murdered. She was eight now. She could fight. Wardolf was the best fighter she had ever known and he had taught her some. At the very least she could distract the murderers while the both of them faded into the darkness. Elese tried to quell the sick feeling that rolled in the pit of her stomach, trying to tell herself it was the fear of leaving Wardolf, not the going back that scared her the most. The gelding didn’t offer any resistance when she turned him back around and heeled him to a quick trot.

She didn’t have to be stupid about it. She could be smart. She could fight smart, just like Wardolf always said, ‘If you aren’t strong, then be smart’. Guiding the gelding in the dark was harder than she thought it would be and her unsteady hands confused the poor animal.

The sound of metal sword meeting metal sword hit her ears and she felt like kicking the horse forward but she just managed to restrain herself. Be smart. The noise helped her keep her bearings even though it made her shiver with fear but at least she knew Wardolf was still alive if the sound continued. Suddenly, the gelding jumped sharply from underneath her and she was unseated. One second she had moving, breathing horse flesh underneath her and the next it was gone, replaced by air. Too late, she realized that she had been leaning too far forward, straining to hear the fighting and the reins were ripped from her hands as she plummeted to the ground at a sickening rate. Face first into the dirt she landed, the air whooshing out of her at the blow. It was a few precious moments before she could breathe again and the air moving through her body had never felt so good. Elese’s threadbare confidence was shattered.

She hugged her knees and rocked. The fight was still raging, hitting a new fury as another fighter joined in. Wardolf was going to die twenty feet away from her and she was too much of a coward to help. It was all her fault. They would probably find her here after they finished with him but she was too scared to run far from Wardolf, too scared to move. Elese had to cover her mouth to keep the sobs hidden but she couldn’t stop rocking.

As she looked wildly around for the gelding, a flash of grey in the moonlight caught her eye. A wolf, bristled fur standing on end, eyed her. A snarl was beginning to form and white teeth were becoming visible. No wonder the gelding had spooked. Her gut reaction was just as instantaneous. Wardolf! Elese scrambled up and fled without thought straight toward the sound of fighting. Fear that was already taking control of her doubled and overwhelmed her. A torch light shined like a beacon to welcome her home just ahead. She should have stopped. She should have thought about what that meant. Wardolf had not carried a torch. She should have been smart but instead all she could think of was the terror of being alone in the dark with hungry wolves.

The frantic pedaling of Elese’s legs was checked harshly by a branch just as she arrived into the very fringes of the light and for the second time that night she was thrown face down to the ground. Moving quickly, she reached to disentangle herself but her hands met softness instead of the hard wood she had been expecting. Her brain struggled to make sense of it. Fabric, cloth, the spongy feel of flesh under her fingertips – she jerked her hands away. Not him! Not Wardolf – her brain denied – too small, the body is too small to be him! Repulsed and relieved at the same time she kicked free of the young man’s body and backed away as fast as she could, watching all the while to be sure the body did not rise to reach for her. An irresistible urge to clean her pant legs swept over her and her frenzied hands brushed at them with as much thoroughness as she could muster. Then she rubbed her hands in the dirt to wipe away whatever may have been on her clothes.

That was when she was grabbed from behind. A strong hand at her throat was lifting her, turning her. Time seemed to slow as breath was cut from her and as she was turned she saw the scene clearly in front of her. Wardolf was kneeling on the ground with a man standing in front of him, over him, blocking her view of his face. There was another body on the ground behind Wardolf – unmoving – a torch still flickering beside him.

Elese’s ears felt stuffed with wool, making sound almost indistinguishable. Some part of her brain shrieked at her to struggle, to fight, but she felt strangely separate from the situation, like she wasn’t really there at all. Just a dream, she affirmed to herself even as her lungs cried out in pain. Finally she was fully turned to see the one that held her so. Blue eyes. She would always remember he had blue eyes. She had never seen blue eyes before. He was holding her at a distance as if revolted by the idea of touching her.

There was just enough room between them for the grey shape that unexpectedly appeared to leap in and slice sharp teeth into the man’s throat. Blood didn’t just spray out of the wound as the wolf dropped gracefully to the ground – it surged out. Elese could see it too clearly. She could see the severed tendons in his neck, the muscles that would never again restrict. She knew that her increased vision was unnatural; her eyes were changing from black to yellow – the very reason why these men had come to end her life. She was tainted. What she was able to do was evil, especially the way she felt her whole body being scorched on the insides by a fire that was all consuming. But the man still had her by the throat, his body slow to register his own death. He is so slow, she thought vaguely. So slow she could raise a hand to his neck and help stem his life blood if she wanted. Another gush of it hit her in the face and in that second she at last broke free of him, slapping his hand away from her neck as if it were nothing.

Elese let herself fall to her knees and she grabbed the knife hilt that was sticking out of the man’s boot a moment before he collapsed to the ground with a solid thud. The man hovering over Wardolf was turning to see what was happening and she had to wait for him. She had to wait for him to make a move that should have only taken a second. But he was slow too. It was a simple matter to flick the blade at the exact time and speed necessary to hit him in the heart. It was too easy. She didn’t remember ever being so accurate, so extraordinarily precise. He crumpled to the ground in another one of those slow movements.

She looked at Wardolf. He was watching the man in front of him fall to the ground. Then his eyes traveled slowly to the man with the ruined throat at her feet. Then they traveled to her – her glowing yellow eyes and her face smeared and dripping with blood as if she had been the one that had bitten the man’s neck away. An emotion was slowly flooding his face; one she had never seen before on his features and it took her a long second to understand. Horror. Hadn’t he seen the wolf? Surely he didn’t think she was capable of… but the wolf was gone and with her monstrous eyes glowing with abnormal light and her blood soaked body, she realized that was exactly what he thought – that she was a monster. She was an animal and he was frightened of her.

Elese stumbled forward, trying to form the words to explain but her body felt suddenly numb. Her legs buckled underneath her as her heart broke.

Better to have died than to see that look on his face… Better to have died than to know without doubt my father thinks me a monster…

Blackness consumed her vision as she fell into unconsciousness.

That was the first time. The first time that someone else’s blood had been spilt by her hand. And she could feel, in the very depths of her bones even then that it wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter 1

Droch-fhear

Elese, sixteen-years-old

The soft leather of her high boots made a quiet stretching noise as she crouched on the hilltop and gazed down at the camp. A breeze ruffled her weathered cloak, causing it to billow behind her as the crisp air promised a colder night to come. The clearing that her camp sat in was ringed with ancient trees, giving it a nestled, almost homey pretense. Night had folded in swiftly and only half of the usual amount of campfires were lit. Once-white tents stood out sharply against the night-darkened ground. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, single-handedly, she hid her face in its depths.

Her men had found someone - probably another assassin. They gathered around him like wolves to a dying bull moose, afraid to come too close, but knowing blood would soon be tasted. They scanned the nearby tree line for her, eyes gliding past her without pause. To them, she was just another shadow. The massive trees behind her stood as silent sentries, watching over her shoulder as the prisoner staggered in the center of the human circle.

After shouldering her bow, she rose. An arrow that had been mindlessly spinning in her agile fingers was returned to the quiver on her back. The prey she hunted had come to her tonight. Making her way effortlessly down the grassy hill towards the circle of men, she listened, trying to catch the words floating from the men, straining for one voice in particular.

A shadowed shape in the form of a man broke from the pack, seeing her before the others, and headed for her. He joined her, matching his longer stride to hers.

Elese, I wish you would tell me before you wander off. I would prefer to guard your body while it still breathes.

The gruffness of his voice was common for him and she took no offense at the semi growl that was just as much a part of him as his burly frame. That gruffness came in handy often when giving orders to the group of men that were all at least twice her size. Men usually followed a rough, shouted command faster than a woman’s quiet one, and she wasn’t of a mind to persuade them otherwise. She preferred to remain apart. The more the men were left in the dark where she was concerned, the safer the both of them would be.

Peace, Wardolf, I was hunting, she said squarely. I had other watchers with me at the time.

Grunting roughly for his reply, he sounded only slightly more satisfied. This conversation between them was more for the men that were eavesdropping than for each other. Wardolf knew perfectly well that it was a rare occasion when she needed his protection.

Keep them guessing. Keep all the men unsure and the spy among them would be too afraid to act other than report.

Wardolf shifted the thick leather strap that ran across his broad chest before he spoke again, a clear sign of irritation. He didn’t care for the deceptions that they had to play at any more than she did.

Fyrsil saw this one before anyone else, nicked him in the side with an arrow.

Fyrsil? she questioned, taking a sidelong glance at him behind her hood, her black eyes briefly glistening with laughter. She lowered her voice to make sure the remainder of what she said stayed private between them, Are you slipping so that a man who can’t even track a wild pig during the day is now our sentry?

After a snort he growled, half ruefully, as she handed him her short bow, I was busy doing your bidding about the camp, girl. Someone else appointed him sentry.

As they came upon the circle of men he furrowed his eyebrows and sternness returned to his face. A few of her men cleared a break plenty wide enough to let her through, and the berth of space provided belied their unease at being this close to her. Apparently, despite their – her –precautions, rumors were getting around. Nothing for it now, she sighed internally. At least they haven’t tried to turn on me, yet. The prisoner fell heavily to his knees in exhaustion as the bigger part of the attention was diverted from him.

Wardolf raised his voice, including the rest of the men in on the conversation. The assassin was caught creeping into our camp with this.

Tomos, a younger man, more of age with Elese, was standing next to Wardolf and passed him a wooden scabbard. Wardolf pulled out the dagger it held and handed it to her. As she flipped it over in her hand she examined each side carefully. It was a miniature, unadorned kris blade. Nothing out of the ordinary, no tale-tell mark from the maker where the assassin might have bought it; nothing but a small red ruby set into the plain metal hilt. Her nose twitched as a strange smell emanated from the tip of the blade.

Nothing unusual about the casing either, my lady, Tomos piped.

Raising her eyes from the serpentine blade, she took her first, up close look at the wounded man who was swaying on his knees with his hands bound tightly behind his back. Dark brown wool made up his clothing, and the habit, much like a priest’s, hung askew. From the smell of him she was sure the color hid stains as well. What Wardolf had called a nick was actually a messy, slit-like puncture wound about the size of a large coin. The men had obviously removed the arrow with none too gentle of a hand. Barbs on either side of the arrow’s head had done their job and caused greater damage coming out than going in. The cloth was darker around the wound and made an untidy pattern where blood flowed freely. With the amount of blood he had lost she could see why he was unsteady, but if the wound was bandaged and the raggedly broken skin stitched together, it would heal and with time he might recover.

Elese took two unhurried strides over to him and with a well-placed kick to his face sent him falling to the ground, belly up. The man made no move to rise but grunted as the air left his lungs. Good, he still feels pain. Standing over him, her legs on opposite sides of his body, she crouched with one knee hovering a little over the ground and took his sweaty face in her free hand brutally.

Bringing the blade, his blade, close to his eye she asked, Who sent you? and when he tried to squirm loose she gripped his face harder. Meaty cheeks threatened to slip from her grip. A little more incentive maybe. As she dug the hilt of the dagger into his puncture wound he let out an anguished wail, eyes glazing over. Sweat rolled off his face and formed anew across a bald head. Her stomach turned, but she disregarded it the best she could. It is someone else’s hand that tortures the man beneath me, she strove futilely to pretend.

Who sent you? she asked again, calmly.

The unintelligible sobbing noises that issued past his lips weren’t very promising. Scanning him from head to toe she felt disgusted, with him and with herself. She would do what needed to be done, but she did not enjoy keeping them in pain. More than slightly overweight, he was not the type of killer that she was used to. Her fingers, meeting no resistance that would indicate muscle, dug deeply into his face. What kind of assassins are you sending after me now?

Suddenly, the man’s eyes began to focus and he spoke coherently for the first time, "Mi deonaich gu brath geill. A’ reul-sholas anacai mi."

Translator! she barked out in her best imitation of Wardolf’s authoritative way. There was a series of shuffling movements behind her and moon shadows shifted erratically as someone was pushed into the middle of the circle. When the person stumbled, only barely able to keep their balance, she knew it was Arval. A clumsy man by nature but useful in towns were languages would take weeks to figure out. The spindly man seemed to know an endless amount of tongues and read constantly. Leather leggings became visible from the corner of her eye as he shifted uncomfortably, waiting to be certain of her bidding.

What is he saying? she demanded, having to speak over the prisoner’s mutterings.

"Cum suil air mi."

Uh, it’s hard to make out, uh, he seems to be saying ‘I will never give into you’ and then he is saying a prayer, Arval stammered.

"Faod aingeal caith sibh-,"

He says, ‘May fire consume you’.

"Mi deonaich abair sibh neoni eiriceach. Faod sibh loisg an Ifrinn." The prisoner stopped talking and breathed in shallowly with effort.

He also said ‘He will tell you nothing, heretic. May you burn in Hell.

Arval exhaled heavily, made nervous by the assassin’s daring. Elese felt Heat building inside her, coming off of her in waves. Arval backed away a few steps, as did the rest of her men. They sensed her Heat and the warning in the air it emanated. As she let the Heat build and expand, her eyes changed from black to yellow, glowing in the moonlight. Every sense was heightened in her, and she knew her men felt what any prey felt when stalked by something not of their world - dread. With her hood surrounding her head, the prisoner’s vision was filled with one thing, her yellow reflective eyes -- a predator’s eyes. He sucked in a breath and froze much like a frightened deer, forgetting the pain of his wound as his eyes widened in alarm.

"Droch-fhear," he whispered, shivering as if cold but he made no move to get away. He had chosen his death the moment he defied her.

In the dark green pits of his eyes she could see a reflection of what he saw, her own eyes shimmering like unnatural amber. She brought the knife to his face again and as she dragged the blade over the pale, plump skin of his cheek it made a shallow cut. A single drop of blood rolled forth and fell to the ground, staining the grass. The indentations her fingers had made on his face bounced back into place as she removed her hand, dropping his head and letting it fall to the dry grass. She stood and stalked away, eyes downcast so none of her men could directly meet the glow illuminating her irises. Outside of the circle of men with a deft flick of her wrist she flung the kris knife into the ground. It sank two inches and stood wavering, shining in the moonlight by patches; now

Reviews for Ancient Echoes Book One of the Elese Saga

[Tina Asbury · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved the characters and the twist in the plot just had to keep reading it