Ancient Fire

By Judi Calhoun

Shonna belongs to a cohort of teens called by Yesher to fight evil and protect the children of earth. Endowed with Triune Power, armed with swords of hallowed metal and spiritually wise beyond their years, the Slayers face off with Belial's wicked minions to demonstrate Yesher's sovereignty in their small Massachusetts town.
The battle becomes very personal when Shonna's widowed mother unknowingly marries a Familiar Spirit who has taken on the human form of Ian Corbet. Distracted by her own developing relationship with fellow Slayer, Jake Hannaford, Shonna struggles to maintain her focus on rescuing her mother from Ian's nefarious plot, even if it means personally killing her new stepfather...or die trying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judi Calhoun
• Release date: May 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989144018

Judi Calhoun

Judi Calhoun is an artist and freelance writer. She is the author of Sword of Yesher, published 2007 by Round Rock Chapter Books, Georgetown, Texas. She was the winner of the Art Innovation Award in 2009 by Art Works NH. She has always loved books and grew up illustrating her own stories. Since moving to the Great North Woods from California, Judi has focused much of her time working on a series of fantasy based, YA novels. Her new book, Ancient Fire, published April 27, 2013, by Mira Publishing, is finally out and her fans are excitedly waiting for the next book in the series of the chronicles of Shonna Wells.

Book preview

Ancient Fire

By:

Judi Calhoun

Copyright 2013 Judi Calhoun

Published on Smashwords

Formatted by eBooksMade4You

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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To the love of my life and my biggest, fan Edwin Calhoun.

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Acknowledgement

Many thanks to my editor, Randy Hurtt, the traveling little critique group consisting of Jane, Ron, Ellen and Sue, and the wonderful people at the Berlin WNO I love you all. Special thanks to one extraordinary fan Lisa Jeffers and the brilliant talented resource of S. Lynn Beckett and her excellent cover art

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…For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12 NKJV

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Prologue

I didn’t scream as I tumbled downward past broken vines, dirt, roots, seeing the clear blue sky above me vanish. Below me a red glow…fire softly whispering its desire to incinerate my flesh and bones.

Orange flames twisted, stretching up, to draw me into its tormenting fire. I yielded without restraint, falling ...falling... an endless descent towards the conflagration below.

I slammed hard onto a cold, stone floor instigating a cloud of ghostly dust. I coughed once before covering my mouth. Gradually, I got to my feet, realizing that nothing had broken: no pain, no fire, no burns, nothing. Now my eyes survey the dark, intriguing, cavernous chamber, more accurately a vast ominous dungeon. The fossilized floors and high stone archways, like everything else in this place, were covered in a thick layer of ash.

Illumination came from purple, shivering flames in trenches that lined every wall. Flames licked the icy absence of light. I swallowed the taste of fire, yet bitter cold air cut into my lungs like sharp scalpels. A frosty prowler of extreme hopelessness tiptoed into my mind...the horrifying neurosis of fear...ruthless executions...screams, agonizing screams. I shuddered, realizing that all trace of joyful thoughts were systematically being erased from my memory, one by one. So this is Hell.

I saw him. The Prince of Darkness; Belial, wearing a gray, tailored Armani suit…two stubby horns protruding from his slick, black hair. He was perched on a baroque throne, carved with a dragon leering down on the narcissistic king. The heavy bodies of two black snakes encircled the chair, furnishing arms. On their serpentine heads, the Prince of Darkness rested his hands.

I could not move, my feet seemed cemented in place by some inexplicable power. I watched the many shadows creep past me, whispering, scurrying like frightened bugs into the darkness. Not one of them even noticed me standing in full view, their glowing eyes were trained on only one thing, the man kneeling in front of the throne.

You have a new job for me, Master? His voice sounded human, unlike the other evil spirits now whispering with raspy amusement.

Yet, I was struck most of all by his pale complexion, blonde hair, and white suit…a vivid spotlight completely out of place in comparison with the rest of the dark, sinister creatures.

A very important job Asmodeus, Belial said, as he gestured toward a silver movie screen suspended in mid-air between them, flickering with ghost light.

I struggled to make out the image, but couldn’t.

This one’s been a real problem, said Belial, his lips curling up in disgust. I’ve been careless in the past, underestimating her talents, foolishly sending the wrong servants, only to have them punished at her hands. Every attempt to destroy her has failed. Does the name Shonna Wells mean anything to you?

I gasped at hearing my name. A great roar of jeering rose from the agitated shadows, mocking.

Asmodeus grimaced and shook his head no.

Belial frowned. "I find that hard to believe. You hear what happens when I say her name. I had to deal with this same…no. No, I refuse to say his name; ever again…you

know that rat. Now this offspring…well, it’s ridiculous!"

My lord, with all due respect, you forget that I’ve been away attending to your business in the Middle East. His eyes squinted as he studied the image. I admit, I don’t know her, but...ah, yes, I do remember him. His mouth huffed with slight annoyance. What a pleasure it was to end his reign of torment.

Belial scrutinized Asmodeus as if the man were some abnormal germ specimen. I’d almost completely forgotten. His lips twitched almost into a smile. You did the Underworld a real service that day. Hmm… he rubbed the light stubble on his chin. I understand this young Slayer is beneath your usual caliber of clientele. Yet, I think this job may be perfect for you. Yes…perfect.

I am honored, Master. Asmodeus bowed slightly as he climbed to his feet. Tell me, Lord, is this the only one? Are there more offspring expected?

Well, it’s a vicious circle, my friend. One never knows. New ones are reborn all the time. Lucky for us, things have changed.

Changed? Asmodeus’ eyes went wide. There’s been a change in the System? Why, that’s wonderful news. When did this happen, Master?

Belial leapt to his feet. You fool! You dare mention the System to me! Do you think I want to be reminded? It makes me sick, the power He gives His puny minions. He spat out curses.

Forgive me, my Lord, Asmodeus said.

I took in a shallow breath, as this dark world grew suddenly silent. All demonic heckling instantly stopped. Static seemed to snap in the cold air. Tiny lines formed a mask of regret on Asmodeus’ face, but it was too late; he’d already spoken the dreadful words.

I...forgive... NO ONE! Belial voice blistered with rage. Especially my elect!

Matching his anger, large flames exploded from beneath his throne, licking the air, greedily stealing precious oxygen. His face went blank; his eyes flashed green before they rolled back inside his head, as if he’d unexpectedly dropped dead. There was an eerie sound of bones crunching, followed by the wet noise of flesh tearing. A million green scales popped out, like giant zits. His hair slid backward while his face protruded outward, transforming into the head of a king cobra snake.

The Cobra’s giant head, now fully formed, swayed absurdly from the neck of Belial’s suit. With his small lizard hands, he pointed one very long finger at the hole that dropped off into unspeakable evil. Asmodeus may join my tormented souls in prison, today? His voice was joyously mocking his own servant. Do I need to...punissssh? Hissing the last word, with a satisfying smile, a thin forked tongue slid out between razor sharp fangs.

From the darkened caverns, the mocking laughter reached an echoing crescendo.

Asmodeus’ face turned gray. Yet I could tell, he was not easily frightened, not like the other night creatures shaking with dread. There’s no need for drastic measures, Master. He raised white palms up in front of the snake’s eyes. These hands have shed an ocean of blood. Your prison is filled with victims of my great talent. You know me. You know what I can do. I am an expert at torture and deception. I can easily end the life of one insignificant, teenage girl.

I know your skills. The snake whispered. That’s why I summoned you here.

He stretched his head straight up and groaned. The fire swiftly fizzled out. Belial transformed back into his bleak human form. Deception is exactly what I want, he said, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair. Torture her if you like. Really, I don’t care one way or the other, but when you’re finished having fun... He leaned close casting a dark shadow over Asmodeus’ face, I want her dead!

As you wish, my Lord, said Asmodeus, his voice lowering to a whisper. She’s as good as dead now.

The faceless demons resounded with chant Shonna Wells is dead.

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Chapter 1

Shonna Wells is dead!

I gasped, violently jerking upright, my head filled with the strangest hum from that dreadful chant.

The white pages of my sketchpad were smeared with dirt, having tumbled from my lap. Invisible frosty fingers traced every bone up my spine. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I winced from the pain vibrating in my shoulder blade, where I had been leaning too long against the granite headstone. I didn’t even remember closing my eyes.

The Prince of Darkness plotting my death—nothing new there. Yeah, but who is the other creeper? I shook my head, some new breed of demon wearing designer clothes? I took a deep breath of clean air. What’s wrong with me? I whispered into the darkness. How is it possible that my subconscious mind could take a little trip into the Underworld Labyrinth while I slept on my dad’s grave?

I’d heard about nightmares that were out-of-body real. I was always a little jealous of people who experienced perfect recall. Until now, only bits and pieces of my dream world surfaced no matter how hard I racked my brain, but this, yeah, this was way more than just some freaky nightmare. Even the horrid smell still lingered inside my nose! Is this what happens to people who fall asleep in cemeteries? They imagine going into the Underworld Labyrinth? I guess it’s just the beginning of the crazies...

A gentle breeze tossed strands of brown hair across my nose and cheek. I brushed them away, wrenching myself to my feet, shaking loose the rest of the dirt from my sketchpad. I stuffed it deep inside my bag.

I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as they touched the cold ridges, tracing the first three letters cut into the polished granite: S-A-M. Samuel Robert Wells, just Sam to everyone else in New Bedford, but dad to me.

The moment I started to leave, I could almost feel the separation physically shredding my heart, tearing it like paper. I saw the pieces drift down right through the shiny metal lid with blue satin lining, coming to rest on dad’s sleeping chest.

That’s ridiculous! Mom said inside my head. I could not get her out. It was always the same static, broadcasting mom 24/7. Bee, you know your father’s not under that dirt. He’s in heaven.

I know, for crying out loud! Yet this was the last place I saw him, six years ago today. That’s why I come, to curl up against his stone, against him. If I am quiet—easy in this place--I can almost feel his arms cradling me saying, I love you, little bee.

His life was taken from me too soon. Mom said a heart attack, but that was a lie. I had heard my relatives whispering, stopping only when I came in the viewing room at the wake. Everything they said was true. My dad, Sam Wells had been murdered.

I glanced at my watch- 8:05. I’d been in Zombie-land dreaming for three hours. If mom were home, she’d be pacing. I was pretty sure she was still out on her date.

Stepping softly on a thick carpet of freshly mown grass, I headed for the gate, when a weird noise reached my ears. Darkness stirred. I hesitated, listening to the rush of distant wind, my focus narrowed onto Goat Hill. An eerie beacon of green light glowed bright in the night sky.

I had heard the legends. It was impossible not to hear about ghostly hauntings living in our small community of New Bedford, Massachusetts. Sure, the cemetery had old stones dating back before the Civil War and they are definitely spooky in the light of a full moon. I’d be the first to admit seeing unexplained things, but the truth is, these stories are nothing more than urban legends, yet somehow are fundamental to this town’s existence. Residents pass stories around like precious family photos, believing them to be as real as the dead saints they trust in for protection.

Still, apart from tonight’s weird light show, something didn’t feel right. Instead of leaving, I turned right at the fork. Loose gravel crackled beneath my sneakers as I climbed the steep road leading up to Goat Hill.

Any normal girl alone at night in a cemetery might be running and screaming, but I wasn’t normal. I carried a medieval sword and kill demons. There was no fear inside of me for ugly monsters. People on the other hand, were dangerous and unpredictable.

I am not the only Slayer recruited to kill demons. So I’ve been told by my Cherubim mentor, Ariel, who had trained me to destroy evil. Ariel claimed that most Slayers are teens, but I’ve never met another. It’s not like I don't want to, because I do. Some days it’s all I can think about.

I was not fortuned with the gift of discernment like others that sure would make it easier to spot the Slayers from the rest of the blue jeans and hoodies. Unless Jefferson High suffered a major demonic attack, the Super Heroes looked like everyone else.

The moon’s hazy light cast long shadows across the ground. I moved like a ghost past tombs tangled in dead vines and rotting leaves. I inhaled that dreadful toxic mixture of sulfur and rotten eggs—the stench of demons. I should have known.

As I crested the hill, I saw a gravestone emitting green translucent shafts that stretched upward into the night sky like a steady searchlight. Magical. Hypnotic. Dangerous.

A man was standing in front of the light with his back to me. With small movements I backed, away, feeling my clothes transform into my black leather armor. Steel spikes sprang from my shoulder blades and forearms; the ribbed metal vest, in soundless fashion snapped in place. My faith is perfected; all it took now was to think, armor on…ready to kill.

I stepped lightly, my eyes focused on the back of his head. My foot found a branch causing a loud, startling crunch. He jerked his head toward me, while I ducked behind a crumbling limestone angel. My heart hammered so loud I swore he must have heard it too.

After waiting about sixty seconds, I stole a peek, squinting in an attempt to keep my gaze from the mesmerizing light and fixed only on the man. He looked nothing like the monsters I kill. To an untrained eye, he could have been any normal, shirtless guy. Except, I knew instinctively he had come from the Underworld Labyrinth. Of course, the putrid smell and the huge poisonous snake circling his tattooed torso were also a dead give-away.

I could easily take him out. Yet, some impulse kept me well hidden, watching. He glanced around like he was searching for …for what?

The green glow had a spellbinding effect. I wanted to stare at it. Was that its purpose? To distract whoever might be snooping around?

A strong gust of wind blasted the hillside, followed by a burst of brilliant light, illuminating everything green for only a second before thrusting my world into inky blackness. He was gone.

I blinked a few hundred times, trying to rid my eyes of spots before stumbling toward the gravestone. I touched the carved lettering, impossible to read, except for the sizable initials: A.E.B. Initials instead of a name. Seriously, who does that? What was the Underworld’s fascination with this grave anyway? It made no sense.

I mentally shook myself before leaving. It was really disturbing to think that other creatures had prowled the cemetery while I lay sleeping a short distance down the hill.

A thick layer of fog had enshrouded the street lamps outside the cemetery gate. That meant a temperature change, another sure-fire sign of demons. My whole body pushed hard against the Iron Gate to squeeze outside. Something not human whooshed past me, whispering. Demons.

I glanced around the nearly deserted street, hearing the rhythmic tapping of an old man’s cane on the sidewalk. The man wore a floppy hat and was at least eighty, judging by his age spots and wrinkles. His body was bent like the twisted wood on his walking stick. He mumbled in wearisome fashion, as he crept along in front of a nearby field.

Riding his back was a Runt demon…small and easy enough for any newbie Slayer to handle. For me; a fast kill and I am heading home.

The Runt’s hairy fists hammered as if floppy hat was his own personal training bag. The old man flinched with each painful blow, having no idea of the demon’s presence, like so many others believing that their sufferings are symptomatic of old age. Not true. An unseen wickedness exists with us in this world, demons…predators from Hell… preying on the weak and ignorant.

I sprinted across the street, coming up behind him, tossing my army bag into the field, feeling my clothes shift, into my armor. Instinctively, I reached across my upper arm, touching the badge that turned into a six-foot shield when torn off. No, I wont need it. Not for this small demon.

All of my instincts zoomed into focus…razor sharp, deadly, channeling Triune power. Every inch of me, from my head to the tips of my pink, polished toenails, was charged with raw energy.

He is coming, Slayer. The Runt pointed his finger toward the cemetery gate. You will die.

My eyes glanced fast toward the cemetery. It was dark, empty, another typical demonic lie. You are so wrong Runt, I said. You’re the only one who’s going to die, tonight.

His smile melted into a sneer and he made a nasty gesture with his middle finger. Then like some kind of lunatic, he laughed and pounded his fists even harder into the man’s back.

The old man’s expression was