The Burton Chronicles: The Guardians

By Gordan Graham

When a dark prince captures the one man who knows the secrets of the Book of Adam and its power, four unlikely heroes must face their fears and together against all odds rescue the mysterious prisoner, find the Book of Adam and destroy the evil prince of darkness, the only way to succeed is by. . .
The second book in the series, The Burton Chronicles, will answer a lot of the questions the readers of the first book have, The Borton Chronicles: Skillie
Travel back in time and take a trip aboard a clipper ship and enter the fantastic world were the Guardians can speak with the animals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gordan Graham
• Release date: Apr 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301120307

Gordan Graham

Growing up as a child, I was raised on a farm under the shadows of the Appalachian Mountains, where I found a true love of animals and the great outdoors. Unlike most farms, we had a wide variety of farm animals, from cows, horses and mules, to chickens, turkeys and pigs. One of my favorite past times, when I wasn’t doing chores around the farm, was to go to the woods on our property and cut a large grape vine and swing out over the deep hollows. Living in the small community of Greeneville, TN, I was influenced by the wide range of Historical events as well as the stories of the older folk that I enjoyed to spend time with. It was their stories that made me want to become a writer. One of my favorite television shows growing up was the “Waltons”, not just the stories of John Boy and the rest of his family but at the ending of each episode, by the reading of Earl Hamner in which the series was based on his writing. Not just his calm voice, but also the power of the words he used moved my heart closer to family and friends. After suffering a devastating injury in 1999, my wife and I lost everything we had worked so hard to obtain. It left me with no choice but to retrain for something else because I was unable to do the work I had grown up doing. I graduated from a trade school where I also landed the job as teacher of the Graphic Arts department. I have been very fortunate to spend the last thirteen years as the instructor. After writing several short stories and other uncompleted works I decided it was time to jump into the deep end of the pool and write my first book, “The Burton Chronicles: Skillie”, and after several years of dealing with the fear of releasing the book I finally broke down and made it in print. Book two of the series, “The Burton Chronicles: The Guardians” is almost ready for print and online digital publishing. I would like to thank Smashwords, for their help in making my dreams come true and I hope I will have a successful partnership with them for the foreseeable future. Gordan Elvis Graham

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The Burton Chronicles: The Guardians

Gordan Graham

Published by Gordan Graham at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Gordan Graham

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Discover other titles by Gordan Graham at Smashwords.com:

The Burton Chronicles: Skillie – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/280892

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The Burton Chronicles:

The Guardians

Book Two

By

Gordan Graham

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Chapter 1

It was cold and the temperature hovered near freezing as the drizzling rain fell through the pines. A thick fog covered the landscape, as the sound of hoof beats grew closer. It was beginning to grow dark and the rain would soon be replaced with a fresh blanket of snow. The steady panting of a horse and its rider could be heard as they emerged from the pine forest and made their way across a small open field. As they passed the great oak, the black castle came into view.

The rider wore a leather cloak with the hood drawn over his head and a sword was fastened at his side. His hands were the only things visible and they were pale white, like those of a dead man, long and bony fingers held the reins with a hidden strength and purpose that only the rider knew. The horse and rider were one and suddenly the rider snapped the reins and the warhorse increased his speed. It was clear; they were heading toward the castle.

A moat and a high wall surrounded the castle with turrets on each corner. The large stones were very old and covered with moss, which had turned black over the years giving it its ominous appearance. The rider slowed the horse to a walk as they made their way toward the main draw bridge that was being lowered as the rider approached. Lining the road on both sides was a row of vertical poles with partially decomposed bodies impaled, faces frozen in agony. The warhorse pawed at the bridge, jerking his head as each hoof pounded against the thick boards. Two armed soldiers stepped into view and bowed their heads as the rider passed through the castle’s thick wooden gates. The soldiers stepped out from behind the walls to see if there was anyone else following the rider. They turned and the heavy doors swung shut and the cross beam slid back in place as the drawbridge slowly began to rise and fold back onto itself.

The drizzling rain had now turned to snow and the sentries were busy preparing for the night. The smell of the stables and wet hay was strong and the inside walls of the castle were lined with torches casting eerie shadows across the castle grounds. The rider dismounted the warhorse and stopped for a drink at the well, which was located in the center of the bailey. He kept his head covered and the servants that were pulling water up for the night’s supply all bowed before the rider, making sure not to make eye contact. He reached for the metal ladle that was hanging on the brace beam and quickly dipped it in the main water trough. He ignored the servants as he took a long drink and hung the ladle back in its place. He turned on his heel and headed for the keep. There was a long sigh as the men standing by the well all exhaled in unison, they were glad the rider walked on.

When he reached the door two sentries quickly stepped aside and bowed their heads in reverence. The rider quickly walked through the door as the sentries pulled the doors shut behind him. He seems to be in a mood, the sentry whispered to his companion. The other nodded his head in agreement. I think it’s the new prisoner they brought in last night, he answered with a low voice as well.

Through the maze of rooms the rider made his way to the back of the keep where a long spiral staircase wound down into the lower parts of the castle – where the dungeon was located. Muffled voices, cries in the dark drifted on the damp air making their way up the winding stone steps. The stench of sweat and blood began to fill the air. The rider raised his right hand and pressed his long bony finger to his nose in an attempt to hold back the smell. The smell of human feces and urine was almost overpowering but the rider continued on. There was something else he smelled – it was fear and the rider had a taste for it. He would get some answers tonight or else.

The dungeon was well lit and configured in an octagonal shape with small barred cells lining the outer wall. In the center of the room hung a large circular chandelier with eight large oil lamps suspended from the ceiling by a rope and pulley system that tied off near the only doorway leading out of the dungeon. The dungeon master worked diligently near the oven made into the castle’s wall plunging a hot iron into the fire that would be later used to brand the prisoners. Facing the door to their cells was a chain fastened to the wall with a prisoner at each end of the chain. There were eight prisoners in all. Servants lowered wood down a long shaft through the stone ceiling and when it called for it, bodies were pulled back through the shaft and thrown into the dung pit located outside the walls in the rear of the castle.

The dungeon master was a big man with a bald head. His neck was thick and his arms were the size of a regular man’s legs. He wore no shirt and his pants were cut off at the knee. His body was covered with thick black hair and a patch covered one eye. He shoved the branding iron back into the fire and walked over to hooks embedded in the walls that had several devices attached which he used in torturing prisoners. A low gravely sound came from his throat, he was laughing as he looked with great anticipation, knowing he was about to have some fun with the prisoners. He pulled a knife from one of the hooks that had a curved barb at the end of the blade and turned toward the prisoners. The prisoners who could raise their heads turned in his direction, he had their full attention.

You’re lucky, the master wants me to wait until he returns, the dungeon master said in a low voice. He didn’t have to speak up; the prisoners knew all too well what he said. They were shaking, their hair soaked in blood and sweat – all except one. He was the last of the prisoners brought in from the night before. Some of the prisoners had traveled from a great distance, brought to the Carpathian Mountains located deep in the Transylvanian countryside by an evil prince in his search for power.

Have you questioned the prisoners yet? asked the rider as he stepped into the dungeon. The dungeon master turned and bowed before the cloaked rider. No, I have been waiting for you, my Lord, he answered as he turned back to the wall and hung the knife on its hook. The rider pulled his cloak back revealing his face to his captives. His face was bony and pale white. But there was strength, some sort of evil power that seemed to emanate from the rider, some unholy purpose behind the black eyes that stared at his captives with an unyielding glare.

The rider pulled a small rope near the entrance door as he stepped on into the room. He walked to the fire and grabbed the now glowing iron and held it out in front of him as he started walking around the room. He walked slowly past each prisoner never taking his eyes off the red-hot iron.

Do you like your accommodations? he asked, but not to any certain individual. Looking at the branding iron, his boots made the steady sound of a heavy thump that seemed to shake the castle as he walked. The clinking sound of their chains filled the room as their eyes followed the rider around the room. They adjusted their weight from one leg to the other as they were made to stand, their chains prevented them from sitting. The rider stopped at the fifth prisoner, what is your name? the prisoner stood there but didn’t answer.

Balazs, the rider snapped. The dungeon master grabbed the prisoner by the back of his head and held him firmly. The prisoner tried to turn his head, but Balazs held him firmly as the rider raised the branding iron as the prisoner tried to scream out his name, but the rider pushed the iron onto the prisoner’s forehead. The stench of burning flesh filled the dungeon as the helpless man cried out in agony. The rider pulled the iron back and lifted it to his nose. Taking a deep breath and tilting his head as his eyes rolled back, he basked in the feeling of torturing another human being.

Your name, the rider said again as he tilted his head toward the prisoner.

My name is Jacob, he answered through broken sobs, keeping his eyes closed in pain. Balazs released the man as his legs gave out and he swung at the end of his chains. The rider took another step and stopped in front of the next prisoner. And what is your name? the rider asked as he held the iron in front of him. Johann, he spoke in a whisper.

The prisoners turned in unison toward the stairway as they heard a sound from the doorway.

You rang my Lord? a servant asked as he entered the room. The rider turned on his heel, Yes, has Zoltan returned? the rider snapped at the servant.

No my Lord, the servant replied as he bowed his head, being careful not to make eye contact with the prince. He held his hand out with the branding iron and the dungeon master took it and placed it back in the fire. The prince stood for several minutes and started to walk out when he stopped at the prisoner named Jacob. The prince turned and pulling his sword from under his cloak drove it all the way through the prisoner and stopped as it hit the stone wall cutting out a small piece of stone with the tip of its blood soaked blade. The rider looked into the dying man’s face and watched as the life drained from his body. The light slowly went out of the dead prisoner’s eyes as they glazed over, never to see again on this side of eternity. The rider jerked the blade back through the dead man’s body and he fell in a heap at the end of his chains. Balazs returned to the prince’s side and he held the sword out while Balazs wiped the blade clean with a dirty cloth he had hooked in his belt. As he looked at the lifeless body the rider spoke to the servant without turning his head.

Tell Zoltan I want to see him as soon as he returns.

Yes my Lord, the servant said and turned and left the room. The rider slid his sword back into its scabbard and turned to exit the room. He stopped at the foot of the stone steps and turned one last time to the dungeon master. Make sure none of them die before I get a chance to find out who the Guardian is. He quickly looked in the direction of the prisoners and then left the room.

Balazs watched his master leave then turned toward the prisoners, that’s all I need – having to take care of your sorry souls. Balazs walked back to the small table and hung a couple more items on the wall. He removed a set of skeleton keys bound on a single ring from the small table and preceded to put the prisoners back into their cells. When Balazs placed the last prisoner in his cell he lowered the chandelier and put out all the lights except the torch near the door. Balazs pulled the torch off the wall and left the room. The only light in the room was the small fire located across from the prisoner’s cells. A couple of prisoners were whispering to each other wondering what would become of them. The cells were dark and only the flicker of light from the fire shone on the bars when a solitary prisoner stepped close to the cell door - grasping the bars with both hands. His head was bowed and his matted hair covered his face. He slowly raised his head, looking through the bars. Lit by the fire the image of his face jolted Nick from a deep sleep.

Chapter 2

Nick sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his hands through his hair while Claire was busy in the bathroom combing her hair and putting on her makeup. She looked over her shoulder into the bedroom and saw Nick sitting with his back to her. You up? Claire asked as she leaned in close to the mirror to put her eyeliner on. Yea, I didn’t sleep very well, Nick replied as he wiped the sleep out of his eyes.

Well, today is a big day, both of us taking a leave of absence from work – there are going to be a lot of questions, Claire said as she switched to the other eye.

What you mean is, that we are leaving for good, Nick said more to himself than to Claire who didn’t hear him.

Nick stood and stretched both arms; arching his back to stretch out the kinks from the sleepless night, he slowly made his way to the bathroom sink to wash his face. For the first time in his life Nick felt old and tired. His usual zest for life was gone with the wind. The last few weeks had left him overwhelmed.

I think its best we get away for a little while – maybe travel some, Nick replied as he turned the shower on, testing the water, waiting for the right temperature.

I agree, I need a vacation after this last vacation – no pun intended, Claire stated as she combed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail to the side. I’m just saying, the dean is not going to like it, that’s all, and she turned and walked to the closet and began looking through her clothes. What do you wear when you’re quitting your job to go out and hunt demons? Claire said as she chuckled to herself. What was that honey? Nick said as he stuck his head out of the shower. Nothing baby, Claire said over her shoulder.

Nick stood in the shower letting the water run over his head as he contemplated the recent events. Nick and Claire decided their only choice was to distance themselves from the events that happened on the mountain. They knew they could never explain what happened. In their heart they knew they would never find Kimberly alive and chances are the authorities would never locate the bodies. Nick considered the cave that entombed the body of Ben Singer to be a holy place to the Native Americans and he didn’t want to see it desecrated by crime scene investigators. Nick knew they would dig up every inch of the cave in their search for evidence, not leaving a stone or bone uncovered. Nick and Claire couldn’t take the chance of being implicated in the murder of Ben or the kidnapping of Kimberly . . . who would ever believe them. Nick stood, one arm propped against the shower wall. I can see the headlines now, Couple kidnapped by Demon, news at 11. Nick shook his head as he began to wash his hair.

Nick dropped Claire off at the building where she taught archeology. It was a small church that had been converted into a classroom, renovated by the college. Nick drove to his office that was located near the stadium. He pulled the jeep into his regular parking space, killed the engine and jumped out. He grabbed a couple boxes from the back of the jeep and headed for the Department of Anthropology to start packing his personal things. Josh, a student saw Mr. Burton from a distance and threw up his hand. Nick nodded in his direction. The young student came running to Nick and asked, How did your vacation go? Nick looked at Josh and replied, it was okay, how was yours? Nick didn’t wait for the answer but continued to walk toward his building with boxes in tow.

Nick had a lot on his mind and he just wanted to get it over with, get his stuff and go home. Nick picked up his pace, trying to outrun the student. Mr. Burton, Josh called out to Nick. Mr. Burton. Nick was trying to ignore the young student and he continued to walk toward the building. Mr. Burton, did you hear about the missing campers? Nick froze in place as an icy chill ran down his back, allowing time for Josh to catch up to the professor. What did you say Josh. Nick stood facing the building as Josh walked around to face him.

Professor, did you hear about the couple of campers last week.

No, what happened? Nick hated lying, it felt like his heart was going to stop but he didn’t have a choice. He simply couldn’t risk talking or revealing anything about that night.

They were supposed to be camping near you guys I think . . . maybe in the same area.

We didn’t see anyone the whole time we were there, Nick said as he wondered if there was a sign painted on his face that said, I’m a liar, I . . . know what happened to them, Nick thought to himself, almost making him physically sick.

Josh, I’m very busy, so I’ll see you later, Nick said as he turned and walked away leaving Josh standing there holding his books. Josh stood there for several seconds and finally turned and headed to his next class.

Nick had never had to lie before to cover up a murder and a kidnapping, and the stress over what had happened to him and Claire was more than what he wanted to deal with. He was not used to this and the fact that his and Claire’s life has been turned upside down, and the perception that life could be explained by hard cold facts had turned out to be a lie; that the world is not so easily explained and behind the scenes is a world that is influenced and controlled by angels and demons. Things were clearer now than ever. Nick had wondered how people in a time of war could commit crimes against humanity, atrocities beyond the normal realm of human interaction and what had been unexplainable to him was now easily explained had he only believed what scripture had said on the matter. A man’s evil heart would devise evil things, opening themselves up to demonic influence or even worse, possession. Nick had too many things on his mind to contemplate such things.

Nick stood in the hallway and just shook his head as he put his key in the lock and opened his door of solitude. He wanted to say goodbye to his students but the more he thought about it he wondered if he could make it through the class.

No, I can’t do it, Nick said to himself in a whisper. He began to go through the books and papers that he wanted to take with him. The awards he had hanging on the wall he placed in one box and emptied the drawers of his desk in another. I am going to need some more boxes, Nick thought to himself.

There was a knock at the door and Nick looked up over the boxes stacked on his desk, Come in, Nick said as he continued to stack books and other items in the empty box he had set in his chair.

I see you’re packing, Dean Richards said as he made his way to Nick’s desk. Richards reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out some papers. I need you to sign your leave papers. I couldn’t get you to reconsider leaving . . . I mean you and Claire both taking a leave of absence, this is really hitting the school hard, Richards told Nick as he came around his desk.

No, Claire and I need some time off. We’re going to do some traveling.

Richards unfolded the paper and handed it to Nick. I know you don’t need this job, but the school needs you and Claire, Richards said as Nick walked around his desk looking for a spot to sign the paper. Nick hefted one of the boxes off his desk and placed it near the door. Nick didn’t want to talk anymore about it, he and Claire had made up their minds and they were going to stick to it. He took the papers, read through them, retrieved a pen from his shirt pocket and quickly signed the papers, folded them and handed them to Dean Richards. "Claire and I really appreciate the opportunity we have had here at the University and I have enjoyed every minute of it.

Nick I need to tell you something, Dean Richards paused. There was a detective Cannon came by the campus earlier this morning asking a lot of questions about you and Claire."

Nick stopped packing, his face visibly shaken, What kind of questions? Nick asked.

What exactly happened on your trip to Greeneville? the Dean asked.

Nick, deep in thought, turned toward the window.

Nick, the Dean asked. What happened to you and Claire on the mountain?

Nothing, Nick said as he looked out the window.

Nothing? According to the detective, there are two people missing and their vehicle was found where you guys were camping. The Dean walked around the desk and peered into the box that Nick was packing. Did you or Claire see anything while you were there?

Nick stared out the window and the silence between him and the Dean began to grow until finally Nick said, No. Nick flinched inside himself, again he had to lie and he despised it, but at this time he couldn’t tell the Dean the truth, he knew he would never believe him.

Whatever it is you can tell me, the Dean tried to reassure Nick.

There is nothing to tell, Nick replied.

Well, I didn’t tell him anything.

Thanks, but I have nothing to hide, Nick said as he continued to look out the window.

Nick turned around to face the Dean who reached out his hand and Nick shook it firmly. Thank you, Nick told the Dean. No, thank you, the Dean said as he turned and walked to the door and stopped, do you need any help carrying these boxes out? the Dean asked.

No, I have a student coming by who said he would help me, Nick answered.

Well, if you need anything, anything at all, I’m just a phone call away.

Nick was looking out the window when Larry, a student, knocked at the door, come in, Nick said as he turned. Hey man, you need some help carrying your stuff to your car? Larry said as he surveyed the boxes. Yea, Nick said as he looked over the situation. There were several boxes and he wanted to get out of there before the rest of the students showed up.

Why are you leaving? There are a lot of students who are going to miss you, Larry said as he started stacking the boxes on the floor. There’s a two-wheeler in the broom closet out in the hall, here are the keys, Nick tossed the keys to Larry and left the question unanswered. Larry knew if