Allison's Defeat (The Calnis Chronicles): Rise of the Emissary 1

By J R C Salter

The further she runs from her fate
The closer the Devil's Emissary marches to his.

'An enjoyable ride. I'm definitely glad I read it.'
-Brandon Hale, author of the Day Soldiers saga

Sixteen year old Allison has definite plans for her future. A Fender Stratocaster, to marry her childhood sweetheart, and the cover of Rolling Stone is all she wants. So when a new school friend tells her she is to be God's warrior, and a black cloaked woman enters her life with murderous intentions, she fears her dreams will soon evaporate.
Though Allison refuses to believe in any divine being, her conviction is tested as she confronts her growing psychic abilities and struggles with knowledge she cannot possess. She is thrown into a life where immortal beings battle in a millennia-long war, and Fate has recruited her. At the centre of everything lies a sword, bathed in a bright light, its transparent blade stabbed into the wooden floor; a symbol of her ultimate fate.
Beyond her confusion and dismay, the Devil's Emissary awaits the fight.

Word count ~77 000.

WARNING
Contains violence, strong language, and scenes of a sexual nature.

The Calnis Chronicles.

The once great realm of Calnis lies in ruins. Few know of its existence except in fairy tales and myths. Older even than the nation itself is the ancient power that still lies beneath the capital — a power that must never be wielded.

Today the nation's legacy lives on through the Tarimain, immortal soldiers fighting for the good of all existence. But the forces of Hell are intent on reigniting the war that began before time itself. A war between Gods and Mortals that will lay waste to the Twelve Worlds.

The Calnis Chronicles is a series of novels, short stories, and other ephemera. The main collection will consist of four series.
Rise of the Emissary
Prophets foretell the arrival of the Devil’s Emissary. He will topple nations upon his arrival, and his power will cloak the world in darkness. Fate has recruited a solitary girl to ward off this destruction. First, though, she needs to confront her ideas of reality.
A series of three stand alone books. Each one chronicles the life of a particular character, and their importance to this pivotal stage of history.
The Calnis Chronicles of the Tarimain
The Tarimain, immortal soldiers tasked with fighting on the front lines of the eternal war uncover a dark demonic plot to raise an army. As Earth approaches a worldwide war, they hunt a Great President of Hell, and the mysterious Man with the Eyes.
A series of short stories that follow on from one another, and are collected in volumes of ten.

J R C Salter was born in the English Westcountry in the mid-Eighties, the first child of Karen and David, and he has two brothers and one sister.

He trained and practiced as a chef for many years, and now he works as a barista while publishing books on the side, with the aim of becoming a full time author.

He still likes to cook, and enjoys baking cookies, as well as reading, coding, and making giant Star Wars models from Lego.
He currently lives in the small town of Cullompton in Devon, and his main inspirations are Tolkien, and the works of Joss Whedon.

Allison picked it up. It felt lighter than she thought, but still weighed enough. She grabbed hold of the scabbard and pulled. Out came a long, double edged sword, transparent as glass, with a tendril of opaque material running the length from hilt to tip. She gasped and whispered, ‘I know this sword.’
‘Really?’ Cat said. ‘Where?’
She continued to look at the sword as it projected rainbows across her face. ‘I see the future, and it is this sword. Only this sword.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: J R C Salter
• Release date: Sep 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301304615

J R C Salter

J R C Salter was born in the English Westcountry in the mid-Eighties, the first child of Karen and David, and he has two brothers and one sister. He trained and practiced as a chef for many years, and now he works as a barista while publishing books on the side, with the aim of becoming a full time author. He still likes to cook, and enjoys baking cookies, as well as reading, coding, and making giant Star Wars models from Lego. He currently lives in the small town of Cullompton in Devon, and his main inspirations are Tolkien, and the works of Joss Whedon.

Book preview

Preface

Introducing the Chronicles

The idea behind the Calnis Chronicles has a curious history. For some time during my teenage years, I had been wanting to write a series of books. Around that time I had read The Lord of the Rings and was heavily into Buffy the Vampire Slayer on television. These two things would influence my ideas for years to come. The fantastical, yet grounded reality of Tolkien’s work, and the depth with which he created the world and languages fascinated me. Unlike many other readers, I never skipped over the foreign phrases; instead, I would read them in my head with as much interest as the rest of the book.

Buffy gave me a different outlook on storytelling that I had never really picked up on before. That of the character-driven plot, and how a character would naturally change over time and influence yet more plotlines. In recent years, I have found more instances of this, however it was Buffy, and its accompanying Watcher’s Guides detailing the story-making craft in addition to episode guides and cast interviews, that introduced the concept to me.

Mixing these two inspirations almost seemed inevitable from then on. However, the Muses were suspiciously silent on helping me find the beginning of my epic series. And unfortunately, I cannot take too much credit for the eventual story of the Chronicles.

It was in the Summer of 2001 when I found what I was looking for. I was sixteen, and ready to go to college in a few days, when a large parcel arrived for me. This was a little unusual considering I had yet to discover the joys of online shopping, but I signed for it and placed it on the table for me to open. Nothing on the outside revealed what lay within, so I carefully tore the brown paper off the box, and cut the tape away with a pair of scissors.

Inside, among a mound of shredded paper lay a massive book, a little larger than A3 size paper. It was bound with what felt like a wood covered in red leather, and a flowing design was embossed with gold around the edge, while in the middle, a sword-like symbol sunk into the cover.

With some effort, I lifted the heavy book out and placed it on the table. I could now see the sides of the book. As well as the volume being quite a few inches thick, the sides had also been decorated with a pattern of red, gold, and silver.

I looked at the metal clasp holding it shut, and hesitated to open it. Who was this from? And why had they sent it to me?

Looking back in the box, I found a letter. It was handwritten in a neat, modern style and said this:—​

Keep this book safe. I will need it in the future. Do not let anyone have it. Do as you wish with the information inside, but the physical object must be kept out of the hands of the enemy. I know you, though I understand you cannot know me, so I can trust you will keep this.

Also, I have enclosed a gift I once gave to someone dear to me. It contains my picture so you can recognise me when the time comes.

Sorry to burden you with this.

I love you.

Kate Harris.

I looked back in the box and there was indeed something else. A locket, on a golden chain. I clipped it open and found a picture of a girl kneeling on the grass under a tree. This, I presumed, must be Kate. Though I could tell little from the size of the photo, she had a distinctive oval shape to her face with gorgeous blue eyes and full lips.

I focused my attention back to the book. Now, it was more than a curiosity. It was an enigma. Who was Kate, and what was so important about the work?

I placed my fingers onto the clasp, eager to discover the contents, but afraid of what I may find. Unhooking the clasp, I laid it down on the table with a dull thud, and lifted the front cover.

The first page sat there, a swirl of colours and flowing shapes, with drawings of people, animals, and plants all surrounding a piece of text written in some language I had no familiarity with. It was shaped into a six pointed star, and one word was written larger and more prominently than the others, with red and gold decoration surrounding it.

I flicked open some of the pages and found each one filled with tiny writing in the same strange script. If anything it reminded me of Arabic, but I knew little of the language back then to know whether it was or not.

This was a work of art, and even if it was by some unknown author, I was certain it would still have an enormous price tag attached to it.

Of course, I had no idea what to make of this, but since Kate had not told me to do anything specific, I did as she said and hid the book.

However, I did decide to look up on the language. It wasn’t easy, especially in those days where internet was slow and search engines weren’t nearly as intelligent as they are now. But I persisted and eventually found a website that taught me how to read it. This site has, unfortunately, been discontinued, but not before I learnt how to read the book.

I discovered that this work contained many chronicles from the past, present, and future, most written by Cantīra Afiræna, some by others, and some whose authorship is unclear. I chose to adapt this one first because of its modern day setting, and because I felt the story leant itself more towards a stand alone novel. What follows is a close approximation of what I found in the book. It has the major points and the same characters. In some cases it even has the same dialogue. But I have changed a few aspects that didn’t fit in the original.

After this, I will begin to adapt some of the earlier chronicles. They are shorter and seem to have an overarching structure that lends themselves to serialisation.

So, this is the product of over a decade of work. It has occupied my mind for so long, and it is a relief to finally get it finished and out there.

Thank you for reading.

J.

‘The Forgotten War is over, and Sifellon was overthrown;

but evil will rise, the Devil’s prison will shatter,

and the War will be fought anew.’

―Mary Sands, 1884 AD

Prologue

The Rising of the Storm

The dark figure stalked the hills. God’s Wrath assaulted the moors in his attempt to hinder her. Wet Mud swallowed her feet, dragging her into the ground; Wind battered her, pushing her back; Rain plummeted, penetrating her black cloak; and Lightning jumped from the clouds, threatening to strike her before she could complete her mission.

To spite the elements, the Woman continued.

She held her cloak around her like a shield, fighting through the tempest. Another step, another foot consumed by the ground, another attempt to escape the Earth’s jaws. The Wind soon won over and stole the hood from her head. Dark hair blew over her face to reveal her fiery eyes. The Rain had soaked her through shortly after leaving an hour ago, and her hood offered little protection against the downpour. As she pulled another foot from the ground a Lightning bolt hit the horizon. She looked up. Black clouds suffocated the rolling hills and rocks as they met the low contrast of the sky. If her destination was anywhere near, she couldn’t see it. She banished the nightmares of what would happen if she failed and rubbed her bulging abdomen. They wouldn’t dare do the worst. Her child, at least, would be safe. She struggled on.

Half an hour of battling later, she looked again, her vision obscured by the Rain. Nothing but the downpour. She pulled back her left sleeve and looked at her watch. Four minutes left. A moment of despair filled her, while the Rain fell violently enough to crack the glass of her watch face. The Rain pounded her bare hands like bullets seeking their target. She put her watch away, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She knew she cried, but she could not distinguish tears from Rain. Her breath came out in purposeful bursts. She opened her eyes and continued with her journey.

Two more minutes passed as she pushed her way through the Wind. She prepared for another step after, yet again, pulling her foot from the Mud. But she stumbled, her boot landing on some unexpected hard concrete. She looked to her left; a road stretched towards the horizon. To her right, it continued until it vanished into the Rain.

The Woman had arrived.

Her arrival at the destination did not seem the triumph she hoped for. It was a road, nothing more, with no sign of her contact. She looked at her watch and, though cracked, she could still see the time. One minute to go.

The informant had never yet been wrong. She looked around waiting, and after a few more seconds a glow appeared in the distance. The sound of Rain, Wind, and Thunder muffled the noise, but the lights slowly grew brighter. Thirty seconds later, she heard a screeching, and the car slid down the road coming to rest inches from where she stood unflinching. She looked again at her watch. Impressed, she muttered to herself, ‘Right on time.’

She walked around to the right side of the car and, as the driver wound down the window, she recognised him. A smiled flashed across her face; this was definitely the one.

She looked into the rest of the car and saw a woman in the passenger seat, who, judging by the plain ring on her finger, was obviously now his wife, though they had just started going out last time she saw them. The wife wore a dark evening dress and two plain studs in her ears. She had a tired look about her and did not seem bothered about the interruption. In the back sat two children. The eldest, a girl of about six who also wore a dress; this one in pink with white flowers patterned through it. The youngest was newborn, probably a month or two old. She sat in a car seat, covered in a blanket appliquéd with horses. Her dummy pulsed in her mouth as she slept.

The Father looked at the Woman, drops of Rain darkening his light blue shirt, ‘Are you lost?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she replied, pulling from beneath her cloak a large Colt revolver decorated with images from the American west. She pointed it at the Father, ‘I came for your daughter.’

Realisation hit him. He knew that weapon. He looked closer at the Woman, and through the darkness he saw a faint glow in her eyes. They contained Fire. He looked deeper; the Fire blazed with a fierce anger. They drew him in farther and farther until the very Devil itself reached out for him, straining to break its chains.

A scream raced from his lungs, but he swallowed it, knowing what the terror-filled eyes meant. He took in the rest of her and, though aged and with longer hair, knew to whom they belonged, ‘No,’ he said, as his voice broke at the loss, ‘Not you … I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not. I’m powerful, I will live forever, I’m free.’ Joy showed on her face.

‘Yeah? And what will they do when you fail? And you will fail because you are not taking her. You call that freedom?’ He inched his hand down to the door handle, hoping she didn’t notice.

‘A small price,’ she replied, proud at the honour given to her.

‘He really messed you up didn’t he?’

Before she could retort, he pushed down the handle and swung open the door, knocking her to the ground. He climbed out the car and, as she got to her feet, he knocked the legs from under her. He moved to stand on her gun arm, but she withdrew it and pointed the weapon at him. She fired and he felt the bullet clip his left cheek. A streak of warm blood, diluted by the Rain water, ran down his face. The Woman used the moment to stand up. She pointed the gun again. The Father thrust his left arm to knock the gun away, but she fired. A sudden and blinding pain hit his little finger. Falling to his knees he looked at his hand. A bleeding stump now sat where his finger used to be. Consumed by the pain, he couldn’t see the Woman reaching into the back seat as she took his youngest daughter out the car.

He stumbled to his feet while the Woman retreated, and he gave chase, slipping in the Mud. The Woman turned and blindly fired another three shots. The last slammed into his left shoulder spinning him around into the Mud. He looked up. The Woman ran along the horizon, too far to catch up with now. But before she disappeared into the darkness, a bolt of Lightning leapt from the heavens and struck her. The figure fell, and he pushed himself up, summoning the energy to get his daughter back. He reached the body and turned it over. It didn’t surprise him when the Woman drew a breath. It didn’t surprise him she displayed no burn marks. It didn’t surprise him that he felt relief she lived. But through the screaming of the Wind, through the growling of the Thunder, and through the thumping of the Rain, it did surprise him when he heard a baby’s cry.

He prised his daughter from the arms of the Woman and held her in his own. Tears finally fell as he said her name.

‘Allison.’

Part 1

____________________

SECRETS

____________________

‘There are certain events which to each man’s life are as comets to the earth,

seemingly strange and erratic portents;

distinct from the ordinary lights which guide our course and mark our seasons,

yet true to their own laws,

potent in their own influences.’

―Edward Bulwer-Lytton, What Will He Do With It?, Book II, Chapter XIV, 1858 AD

Chapter 1

Allison and Kate

Waist length blonde hair spread beneath her as she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling through blue eyes. Her red lips formed a smile as she thought, yet again, about tonight. Made only yesterday by both of them, it was a rash decision, but they believed now to be the right time. And today to be the right day.

Today was Allison’s sixteenth birthday.

She inherited the largest room after Lizzie, her older sister, moved out, and in the year since, she had furnished it to her liking. Her bed lay beneath a double window bordered by dark blue curtains, with one window open slightly to let in a little fresh air. To the right of her, next to the open door, a set of bookshelves hung on the wall filled with books and DVDs. To her left, her desk held a computer and printer, and next to that a small portable television sat on a cabinet containing a DVD player and a PlayStation. On a wardrobe embedded into the wall opposite her, and decorated with a large Lord of the Rings poster, was propped an electric guitar. Light blue walls surrounded the room wearing a couple more posters, and she looked at one to take her mind off the waiting.

To her annoyance, the clock by the computer read only eight o’clock; still half an hour to go. She sprung off her bed and, again, attempted to occupy her mind by pacing the room. She turned on the television; and turned it off again a couple of minutes later. She turned the radio on, but didn’t hear it. She strolled around the room for a few more moments, wringing her hands or cupping them over her mouth and nose to test if her breath was okay.

For the tenth time that evening, she pulled open the wardrobe and admired herself in the full length mirror nailed to the inside of the door. Was she gorgeous enough? The question was redundant, but she couldn’t help asking it. Her white blouse hugged her thin figure and her long black skirt made her appear taller than the five foot three she was. She wore only plain stud earrings with a small diamond in each, but no other jewellery. As she peered into her face and wondered whether she should have put more make-up on, her father, Daniel, shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Allison, we’re going now,’ he said.

One more look at herself. Everything was good enough, so she headed out her door and down the stairs two at a time. She reached the bottom and saw her father, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair cut short. His round face beamed at her as she threw her arms around him. They held each other for a few seconds, and when they let go he stroked her hair with his three fingered left hand. One of Allison’s earliest memories was of asking him what happened, but all he said was that he lost it in an industrial accident. He accompanied the story with a light remark about always following the safety instructions.

Daniel opened the door and Allison glanced at her mother, Emma. She wasn’t much taller than Allison, but she still dominated the small hallway. Her eyes showed no warmth towards her daughter, and as she put on her coat she kissed Allison on her cheek and said goodbye; though the display contained no affection.

Emma walked out the door and strolled ahead of Daniel towards the car.

‘Have a good night,’ her father said as he shrugged into his coat, ‘Be good. I don’t want to come back and find your mates have trashed the place, okay?’

‘I’ll tell Chad to calm down then,’ Allison chuckled, ‘Nah, I’m only having one person around.’

Daniel peered at her through squinted eyes, ‘Only one? It isn’t Rob is it?’

Allison grinned, ‘Can’t say.’ She pushed him towards the open door, ‘Now go, Mum’s gonna get annoyed.’

‘Okay okay. Just … be careful.’

‘Yes, Daddy.’ Allison rolled her eyes and closed the door.

Finally!

Allison tried to resist the huge grin forming, but her lips reluctantly curled into a smile anyway. She let out a sudden high​-​pitched giggle, but clapped her hands over her mouth on hearing herself make that horrible girly sound. The grin vanished from her face. ‘Don’t ever do that again, Alli,’ she muttered through her hands.

She took a deep breath and shook the excitement away as she made her way to the wooden drinks cabinet in the dining room. She opened the chipped doors, worn away from years of use, and picked out a bottle of wine.

Allison turned the bottle in her hands, running the embossed lettering of the label through her shaking fingers. The name of the drink was a bunch of French words she didn’t understand, and the label described it as having a floral aroma and fruity flavour, perfect with beef. She didn’t like beef and she could guarantee the only ‘aroma’ she would get was wine. And wine was nice.

She picked up two glasses and made her way to the living room. She flopped onto the pink sofa and opened the bottle. It couldn’t be a fine wine, she thought, it only had a normal bottle cap. Good wine needed a corkscrew to open, but her father had never been a connoisseur anyway. She poured herself a glass and tasted it. She shrugged. Wine.

Tucking her feet beneath her, Allison stared at the antique style clock on the fake mantelpiece. It said twenty​-​five past eight. Two more minutes ticked by, but they seemed to last so long, she thought the clock was slow.

She jumped up and ran to the curtains, pulling them back to search the street. All she saw was the cul-de-sac she lived in populated only by a man walking a dog, and a car pulling into a driveway. She sighed and went back to sit down, watching the second hand tick away.

Ten minutes and half a glass of wine later, a knock sounded from the door. Allison’s insides fluttered. ‘Yesss,’ she said under her breath.

She took one last glance at herself in the reflection of the television screen, and with wobbly legs she stood up to make her way to the front door.

The frosted glass in the door showed a vague humanoid shape, and another smile forced its way to her lips. She took one last breath and grasped the door handle. As she opened the door, she fought the stupid grin that refused to leave.

In the doorway stood Kate. Medium length dark blonde hair hung loose about her shoulders, and she wore a long white fur-lined coat, open to show a red top and black trousers.

‘Hello.’ Allison leant on the doorframe in what she hoped was a casual manner. Kate smiled at Allison, a row of perfect white teeth and the twinkle of excitement in her eyes.

Allison waited for a moment until she could not control herself any more, and she grabbed Kate’s top, pulling her across the threshold. Kate let out an ‘Oop’ of surprise, but did not resist as Allison pulled her against the wall and planted a kiss on her lips.

They parted for a second, eyes closed, but Kate, not content with the one, leant in for more. When they stopped, Kate remained close. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said.

Allison closed the door with one hand, her other arm still around Kate’s waist, and backed into the living room.

Allison spent the next two hours curled up in Kate’s arms watching some film she couldn’t remember. She had been too busy staring at Kate’s hand and her perfectly polished nails, or running her fingers through Kate’s wonderful straight hair.

As the credits rolled, with an empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, Allison nudged Kate. ‘Well. That was good,’ Kate said, yawning, ‘What I saw of it anyway.’

‘You didn’t fall asleep?’

‘Maybe.’ Kate’s eyes moved to the empty glasses. ‘I blame it on the wine.’

‘I hope you’re awake now.’ Allison turned to face Kate. ‘Because the best bit’s still to come.’ Allison pushed Kate upright and stood up off the sofa while pulling Kate with her. Kate stood with a small amount of visible effort, and Allison guided her upstairs. She knew Kate felt her excited nervousness through their clutched hands, in much the same way as she knew how Kate felt. The near telepathic connection she shared with the other girl almost made her giggle with delight.

They entered Allison’s bedroom and Kate backed into it without taking her eyes off Allison. Allison jumped into her arms and they kissed again. When they parted Kate held out a small, neatly wrapped present. ‘Happy birthday.’

Allison smiled and took the gift, looking into Kate’s deep blue eyes. ‘Thank you.’

‘I thought that, because it’s your sixteenth and all…’ Kate shrugged. ‘It’s nothing really.’

‘It’s everything. It’s from you.’

Carefully unwrapping the pink foil, Allison discovered a blue box within and opened it. Inside, on blue silk, lay an oval shaped golden locket with a flowing motif embossed on the surface. She lifted the necklace out, putting the box on her bed, and prised the locket apart. On one side Kate’s name was engraved, and on the other she had placed a photograph of herself. Allison recognised it as the one she herself took two months ago. Kate was kneeling down in the local park wearing a red dress and Allison had captured the exact moment where her smile made her forget everything. It was July, and the Sun shone down on the park reflected off a metallic slide behind Kate, adding a touch of lens flare and a halo atop