Evil Children of Naor

By Justyna Plichta-Jendzio

There are many laws in the world of Naor, but all its creatures absolutely have to respect one: never let in, create or help the evil children of Hodgorn, the God of darkness. This is a sin that can never be forgotten or forgiven by the Gods of light. Other guilts can be redeemed and expiated. Yet, evil fights for the souls of Naor’s creatures. It hides everywhere, even buried deep in human nature, waiting for the moment to attack and possess its victims. No one is safe.

Namaris is a regular noblewoman living on the northern side of the Engaris Empire. She only desires to find a suitable husband and live a happy life. Tarion is a knight of Kemeid’s Order who carries a letter from his Grand Master to Ranidor Castle. Jansemi is a daughter of a leader of the Isher clan, living on the endless steppes of Elmor. None of them are aware that evil has chosen them for its victims. None of them expect that they will have to fight over their souls. Damnation or salvation is at stake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Oct 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781771116428

Book preview

Standing at the crossroads of life, choose the path of light. If you step on the path of darkness, Evil devours your soul.

There are many laws in the world of Naor, but all its creatures absolutely have to respect one: never let in, create or help the evil children of Hodgorn, the God of darkness. This is a sin that can never be forgotten or forgiven by the Gods of light. Other guilts can be redeemed and expiated. Yet, evil fights for the souls of Naor’s creatures. It hides everywhere, even buried deep in human nature, waiting for the moment to attack and possess its victims. No one is safe.

Namaris is a regular noblewoman living on the northern side of the Engaris Empire. She only desires to find a suitable husband and live a happy life. Tarion is a knight of Kemeid’s Order who carries a letter from his Grand Master to Ranidor Castle. Jansemi is a daughter of a leader of the Isher clan, living on the endless steppes of Elmor. None of them are aware that evil has chosen them for its victims. None of them expect that they will have to fight over their souls. Damnation or salvation is at stake.

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Evil Children Of Naor

Copyright © 2013 Justyna Plichta-Jendzio

ISBN: 978-1-77111-642-8

Cover art by Richard Yalowy

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Devine Destinies

An imprint of eXtasy Books

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www.devinedestinies.com

Smashwords Edition

Dedication

To my wonderful son Konrad Jendzio

Evil Children Of Naor

By

Justyna Plichta-Jendzio

Book One

Darkness of the Soul

Sitting in front of a mirror of polished copper, Namaris was critically contemplating her reflection. Earlier that morning she had heard her aunt mentioning something about giving her away in marriage, but Dignified Adeh had rejected her idea completely.

She’s still too young.

Too young? She’s seventeen years old! And she caught the fancy of the governor’s son. He sent gifts...

Her uncle made a puffing sound, and Namaris knew he wasn’t convinced.

The decision doesn’t rest with us!

With whom, then?

Leave it alone, woman! But you know... Her uncle paused and Namaris could only guess he tried to control himself in order not to say too much under the influence of his emotions. Let’s wait one year more. I had a premonition.

This time her aunt snapped back like an annoyed cat.

She won’t bake bread for herself with your premonitions. She must find a good husband who will take care of her.

The pattering of receding sandals informed the eavesdropping Namaris that her aunt had hastily turned and left towards the gardens. Namaris discreetly retreated to her chambers.

Namaris thought seriously about the subject of marriage for the first time. So far it had seemed to her like some distant, hazy future. She hadn’t felt the need to leave the family nest yet and go off to build one of her own. Men were interested in her, certainly. She even had a few admirers sighing at her, but she didn’t treat them seriously. She was much more interested in scholarly writings, horse riding and even gladiator fights, all things that were hardly useful when it came to housekeeping.

While her aunt grumbled about her interests, she was still a good, caring woman who acted as a substitute for Namaris’s mother. Since she died during childbirth, Namaris had never gotten to know her. Her father had gone off on a war expedition when she was very young, leaving her in the care of distant relatives living in Engaris to cultivate the traditions of the native life of Vallanor, an empire lying in the North behind the Gamenerian Sea. Her father never returned, and they never received any further messages from him. As a result, he was presumed most likely dead. A silver locket bearing a mystical griffon, hanging on Namaris’ neck, was the only keepsake from him. At her uncle’s request, she never took it off, wearing it around her neck day and night.

Her uncle was always saying it was part of her family legacy and a part of her identity she should respect because it was the only thing linking her with her past and ancestry; it was her family’s crest.

Namaris remained obedient to her uncle, a lawyer who was the administrator of one of the estates of the nomarch Bahume. The nomarch governed the provinicial second sepat of the Engaris Empire. Namaris had to admit the marriage proposal was extremely tempting. Her aunt wouldn’t consider an inappropriate or irresponsible candidacy, even though she’d rather her match was some other Vallanorish nobleman. However, the Engar, with his birth and position, was a great temptation, even though her aunt had attached great significance to doing things only by tradition. The language of Caesars was spoken at home, and all of the servants and slaves came from her family’s country.

It was the son of the nomarch himself who broke down her aunt’s resistance. Namaris had asked her relatives several times why they had settled in Engaris if her aunt loved her family’s country. When she never received a satisfying answer, she finally stopped enquiring.

In the evening, she went down to the main chamber of the homestead. Her aunt, Mrs. Salene, was lying on the sofa with a friend and both were listening to poems recited by the local poet. Namaris waited until the artist finished reading and the ladies applauded.

Dignified Aunt, she said, asking for the usual permission for conversation.

Everyone’s eyes turned to stare at her.

Can I visit Amaniris tomorrow afternoon and stay with her for a week? I got an invitation by mail just yesterday.

Amaniris? Salene paused for a moment. Ah yes. Is this the daughter of the main architect of the building of the temple in Buher?

Yes, Aunt. I would like to take part in the procession in honour of Finieri.

Dignified Salena thought for a moment. I think your uncle will have nothing against it if you stay under the care of your friend’s family. Just remember, you come from a respectable family; don’t bring dishonor on us, she warned.

Namaris knew her aunt was well aware that after formal celebrations, Engars would be celebrating and feasting in their houses. Finieri was the goddess of beauty, love and art, so young people used this holiday to satisfy their sexual urges and so-called fun. As a Vallanorian, Namaris wasn’t prudish, but she adhered to the image of the perfect woman being a faithful wife, not reveling on the feasts. Namaris promised to care for her respect, bowed gracefully and walked away.

The next morning, she began to pack travelling chests with the help of the slave. Her uncle had also agreed and prepared a comfortable chariot for her with a specially constructed small bench, baldachin screening her from the burning sun’s rays. Her personal things, a supply of food as well as a travelling tent, were loaded onto the light two-wheeled cart that was dragged by two mules, with two servants followed shortly after.

The road from the oasis where they lived to Buher city was too far, and the slaves wouldn’t have been able to carry her sedan chair on their shoulders all the way there. A covered, four-wheeled cart would be too heavy for the sandy wilderness of these parts of the nomes, and end up just delaying them. This left them with a fast and light chariot.

She was glad to see her uncle had added one loose riding horse to ride alongside the four armed, mounted guards who were escorting her. She knew it was considered unseemly for a woman to ride on horseback, but he had always understood how much she loved horse riding. Namaris also guessed he didn’t want to hear the grumbling of his better half, who claimed women shouldn’t sit astride on the horse as a man would.

Getting on the chariot, Namaris thanked her uncle with a look.

But remember... he started to remind her.

I know, I know. I will never take it off. With her right hand she meaningfully seized the locket hanging on her breast.

May the gods protect you, her uncle finished simply.

Namaris nodded her head goodbye towards her worried aunt, and Adeh sent a meaningful look to his trusted servant. Namaris new her uncle was convinced that, if necessary, the servant would lay down his life for the girl.

As soon as her home disappeared behind the horizon, Namaris moved with joy to the spare horse.

Would you like to gallop, Miss? asked Ungaru, the trustee of her uncle.

Radiating excitement and laughing eyes were her reply as Ungaru accompanied her on the ride. Keeping himself a few strides behind her horse, he let her enjoy the speed and freedom. He knew that Namaris was an excellent rider and wasn’t afraid that she might lose control of the horse. The well-rested stallion was rushing ahead, snorting with satisfaction and tearing out the bit that was stopping him.

They continued on to one of the sand dunes. The sea of sand and stones stretched in front of them, interwoven with sandbanks and gravel and covered with clumps of sharp grass and stunted bushes that were immune to the long-term deficiency of water. All around them were small country settlements by the wells, where residents planted all kinds of olives, fruits and vegetables or just were busy with pastoral life.

Square plots were surrounded by knee-high manmade embankments of earth, supposedly to stop the water that came during the rare rainy seasons. People exploited the land’s features, cleverly erecting terraces on the sides of the gentle hills, collecting the rainwater and pointing them with a system of stone channels to the fields. When the rain was more abundant, the water flowed into underground containers and was taken out if needed during droughts.

It wasn’t necessary to build such containers in the oasis where Namaris lived. A deep well powered by an unusually abundant underground stream allowed it to irrigate the entire area. Because of this, her homestead stood in the shadows of a palm forest—a garden with innumerable species of trees, bushes and plants. The agriculture included fields used for the cultivation of cereal crops for everything from raising cattle to games.

The lion’s share of goods produced in the oasis was spent on the purposes of the court or the highest dignitaries and priests of the state. The smaller riches were perched on the edge of her home’s oasis, belonging to leaseholders of the lands of Dignified Adeh. Thanks to that, her uncle didn’t have to work from dawn to dusk supervising all the oases, and his wife had the company of other ladies of noble birth.

In the evening, they passed a few lost villages in the wilderness. The sun was already throwing its shadows across the hills when the next village loomed into view. They decided they would stay overnight and let the animals rest and drink.

All of a sudden, Namaris noticed a shape pressed between the stones of a currently dry, makeshift water tank. She rode up closer, and was petrified by what she saw.

A mummy!

Near her horse, a human corpse was lying in a bowed position – curved at the back with its chest stuck out, hands scattered aside and fingers twisted like the talons of a vulture, as if the poor wretch had died in horrible agony. The mummy was dressed in worn-out and blood-stained clothing that covered most of its body.

For God’s sake!

One of the guards dismounted and walked around to investigate, then noticed something close to another dried corpse.

Someone’s dug up the mummies’ graves, Namaris said quietly, repulsed.

These aren’t mummies, Ungaru replied. They haven’t been prepared properly by dissectors. They’ve dried up in the desert sands.

Poor men, Namaris thought. They couldn’t afford the services of a dead house, so their bodies were buried in the hot desert sands; this preserved them naturally so they could later be buried according to custom.

What is it, then? she whispered, feeling the cool edge of fear poking her in the belly.

I don’t know. Ungaru jumped down from the saddle and kneeled by the body, all the while watching the corpse very carefully. Above the belly but below the small bridge of ribs, he noticed five regular holes arranged into a semicircle. These weren’t the cuts made by dissectors’ knives through which they took perishable internal organs out. Likewise, the big hole in the place of the navel wasn’t their work either; it was large enough to put one’s whole fist through. He had never seen something like it. Cautiously, with the tip of his shoe, he turned the body over, but found nothing unusual.

Namaris was looking at nearby village, caught in the fading rays of the setting sun. She realized she couldn’t hear anything; the dogs weren’t barking, goats weren’t bleating, children weren’t screaming and mothers weren’t calling them. She also didn’t notice any movement, and although the settlement didn’t bear the marks of falling into ruin or plundering by outlaws hiding in the desert, it gave the impression of being abandoned. She felt an unpleasant shiver down her spine and impulsively reached out for her locket, feeling the warmth against her chest.

We shouldn’t stay here.

Ungaru looked at her, jumped onto his saddle and nodded at one of the armed guards to follow him.

Guard the mistress, no matter what! he firmly warned the servants, who were still staring at the corpses in bewilderment.

Both men headed quickly to the village. Namaris watched them go into each of the houses and investigate the olive groves and gardens. They also looked into the granary dug into the ground, and she could see that Ungaru even lowered himself into the underground tank. After a few minutes, they finally reconvened.

We’re going, her guardian decided.

She didn’t ask, but he clearly read the question in her eyes.

We have to get away from here.

She knew Ungaru didn’t want to talk in the presence of servants so as not to spread fear among them.

We must go from here because the water in the well and tank has been poisoned! Everyone died, and we may be in danger ourselves.

It was a perfect lie. Everyone believed in it. The soldier who was keeping Ungaru company received a strict order to keep what he saw to himself. Namaris knew they took the words of their superior very seriously, so they would remain silent.

They rode right through to dawn and made a camp in the wilds. The servants put up a small tent for Namaris and lit a bonfire; they boiled the water so their mistress could wash herself and started cooking the fare.

Ungaru entered Namaris’ tent and saw her sitting on the bed wrapped in a shawl to fight off the cold night.

What did you see? she asked immediately.

All the peasants were dead, all of them. Men, women, and children alike. They looked like they tried to hide themselves, but it didn’t help... they all looked so...

Maybe someone survived?

He shook his head. Bodies were also lying a bit farther from the village. I doubt anyone escaped.

They were both quiet for a moment, lost in thought.

What could have killed them? she asked, more to herself than to Ungaru, not expecting a logical answer.

He shook his head again.

I’ve never seen anything like this. They all had these marks.

Namaris guessed he was talking about the holes on their bellies. What could have caused them? She felt that shiver running down her spine again, but not due to the chill of the night. This one seemed to reach her very soul. She couldn’t remember ever feeling something similar before, but the feeling seemed strangely familiar to her and seemed to reach some faded memory. Once more she impulsively reached for the locket hanging around her neck. It seemed warm... warmer than her own body. A vague memory flashed in her mind, a memory of pain and fear, but also something more...excitement, perhaps?

We have to reach Buher as quickly as possible and notify the nomarch, she said quickly, noticing how Ungaru was watching her.

Are you feeling unwell, Miss?

She smiled to hide her embarrassment, although she didn’t feel like laughing.

No, just those bodies... she lied, steering his thoughts another other way.

You will quickly forget about it during the holidays, Miss.

She smiled lightly again, though her thoughts were preoccupied with the butchered peasants. The secret contained in their murder both attracted and haunted her.

Two days later they reached Buher, the city lying at the Gamenerian Sea.

Farmlands quickly replaced the desert and barren terrain. There were now extensive olive groves, vineyards, vegetables fields, corn and fruit orchards. People were picking sweet grapes, and the kids, seeing the travelers, ran up to them, offering them bunches of juicy fruits on cane trays.

The songs of priests reached them from the morning processions in one of the small temples, and more and more houses appeared as they rode. These weren’t the centers of homesteads, but scattered households surrounded by the fields and groves. The chapels and statues of deities were standing by the road where passengers could stop for rest and prayers.

Once, from a distance, the wind brought the unpleasant stink of decomposing snails. Caught in the bay along Buher’s surroundings closest to the coast and then dried in the holes behind the city, the snails were pulverized into powder to produce an intense and extremely valuable red dye.

In the distance she could see the famous royal avenue that lead from the eastern gates of the cities toward the trail leading to the capital city. This part of the trail was decorated with royal statues depicting all the masters of Engaris, starting from the first master of the first dynasty to the present pharaoh. The imposing statues had glowing incense in front of each of them as well as fresh flowers, fruit baskets and small jars of honey. The stone silhouettes stretched out into the distance behind the olive groves. During the evening processions, priests took donations for the use of the temple’s servants who looked after the hundreds of statues. Namaris had promised a ride through the avenue together with her friend. The avenue was famous throughout the entirety of Engaris, and people arrived from all over the world to see it.

Approaching one of the chapels, she noticed a man dozing nearby. He definitely looked different from the indigenous Engarians. He had a much fairer complexion, very similar to her own. She guessed he must have come from the northlands. Even though he was dozing in the shadow, resting in a half-sitting position against the stone wall of the chapel, it was easy to notice his impressive height. His exposed arms were muscular and covered with lines of veins, indicating his great physical strength. The armour of the stranger, adapted for the climate dominating Engaris, was by North Armourer and fit his shape perfectly. He was past his prime, and it showed in the wrinkles near his eyes, but in spite of a few days’ stubble and a dusty face, he was very handsome; she could see a number of women looking at him.

A horse she supposed was his was grazing next to the man, nibbling the grass growing on the border balks and around the chapel. It was a sturdy-looking creature, unlike the short desert animals