The Venex

By V. McKinnon

A coming-of-age ritual forces five young friends to leave their hidden city and embark into the warring realms of men. Struggling against their fears and their fates, they will have to learn how to survive among humans when they're not quite human themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483539508

Book preview

I

Chapter 1

Bellanque Charmlit gasped and snapped from her trance, her senses flooded with information and her head aching. In a moment of shock she couldn’t recognize her surroundings and her doe-brown eyes darted around in alarm before her befuddled brain recalled that she was in the Northwood. Having determined her location in the world, she tried to refocus on the vision she had just come upon, but already the images of a young man in a hidden ruin were loose and scattered, fading like a dream upon waking.

Unsettled, the witchmaiden shivered in the autumn air and took in a deep breath, feeling peculiarly trapped in the heavy night. The quiet of the woods and denseness of the trees made her feel as though she had been locked in a dark closet and she found herself seeking reassurance from the feeling of dread in her stomach; Bellanque turned her eyes skyward through the dense canopy for a comforting glimpse of the full moon in what she knew was a clear sky.

Above her the pale god was steady and constant, unflinching and unafraid in the darkness. Feeling a bit calmer, Bellanque returned her attention back to the task at hand. She would muse more on the erratic images of the vision later, but for now she needed to remain focused. Her friend’s life might depend on it.

The seer shifted to her knees on the levitating rug beneath her, her eyes wide and ears alert for any movement. It took her a moment to recognize that there was none; in fact it was almost too quiet. A now familiar fear crept up into her.

‘Oh why did Devona leave me here alone when she knows I’m not nearly as good as she is? I hope I don’t find him!’ Bellanque thought to herself, biting her lower lip but immediately felt ashamed to have thought such a thing. It was important that he was found and it didn’t matter by whom. Suddenly there was a sharp noise from behind her, turning Bellanque so quickly that she nearly fell off the rug.

Ma-Macadimus, is that you? She called out nervously, her fingers reaching for a potion vial in a satchel at her waist.

Bell? Where are you? I can't hardly see a thing! The voice was not Macadimus'.

Forester! I’m here! She called, relieved. There were some more crashing noises and suddenly a head of bright red hair emerged out of the brush, quickly followed by the tall, lanky body of Lukas Forester.

Any sign of him? He asked immediately, leaning and absently kissing her forehead.

Bellanque shook her head no. There has not been a sound all night, she glanced down to the empty glass vial in her companion’s other hand. Your lumagel burned out?

Forester looked absently at the vial and nodded.

I didn’t think to bring another. Add it to the list of wise things I’ve not done this night, he mused, tossing the container into the bushes. Been lost in the dark for a quarter of an hour by now.

Bellanque gave his arm a comforting pat and placed her unused lumagel potion in his palm.

The young man frowned. I won’t have you lost in the dark as well.

"I was not giving it you; I was just letting you use it while you’re here with me."

The witchson recognized the soft reproach and looked at his feet. I’m sorry, he said. I won’t leave you alone again, he offered her his hand, which Bellanque took and squeezed. Suddenly a shadow moved between the trees and another figure appeared in the clearing.

Jeroth, Bellanque greeted their new visitor with a note of relief. A trim, raven-haired young man stood in neat, dark clothing, his pale skin showing all the more starkly in the shadows of the trees.

Any sign of him? The newcomer repeated Forester’s earlier question and Bellanque answered him the same.

Damn these fools!Jeroth fumed suddenly. I can’t believe they’ve done this. He wasn’t ready!

Bellanque and Forester traded a quick look. It was proof of just how thin their tensions were being drawn to see Jeroth so agitated.

Calm yourself, Forester advised. There's no sense in getting angry just yet. We need to focus and find him, before something happens. Besides, he lightened his tone. Since when do upyre show their temper?

Swallow your tongue, witchboy, Jeroth muttered, refusing to be distracted from his anger. His companions had teased him over his 'cold shoulder' since they were children but it was hardly his fault that his people tended to advocate reserve.

Abruptly Jeroth’s head shot up; he could hear something, faintly and far off. It was like padding on leaves, soft but clumsy, as if the walker was unfamiliar with his own feet. The other two saw his head turn sharply and watched him in earnest, not daring to breathe lest it make a sound. Unlike them the upyre’s senses were animalistic; only a werewolf surpassed his hearing and smelling.

It’s him, in a jarring burst of movement Jeroth was running ahead of them, weaving in and out of the dense wood with eerie ease, using his fantastic night vision to guide him through the trees.

Forester jumped onto the floating carpet alongside Bellanque and they rose quickly into the air, climbing above the foliage. From the bough-tops they floated over they could almost see the dark moving patch that was Jeroth.

Bright Illandre, he’s fast, muttered Bellanque.

Forester pointed out into the distance far ahead, where they could just barely see the abrupt swaying of brush. Aye, but not fast enough.

Perhaps we can be, she whispered. Kah! She shouted and the rug lurched forward in a gust of speed.

To the seer’s thrill she could hear Forester yell in surprise as he clutched clumsily to her. They sped forward; the tops of the trees blowing to the fore as the be-spelled carpet streaked over them. The early autumn air was harsh and stung at her eyes so that tears streamed down Bellanque’s cheeks and then blew away into the wind.

Very soon they were just over their quarry and Bellanque could see its sleek body pounding through the forest, crazed and frightened. She slowly lowered the rug, keeping it just above the crashing bushes.

Hold it steady, she heard from behind her. Bellanque glanced back to see Forester holding tight a short bow and knocking an arrow into place. Her eyes widened in horror.

You cannot be serious! He’s our friend!

Not now he isn’t, Forester answered coolly. "He’s a monster, a beast. He would not be able to tell us from any other animal. If we go down there he will attack and kill but if I can get him from up here we can at least take him back and find him aid."

Forester, I do not believe that. You can’t simply shoot him! A painful twisting rose in the witchmaiden’s stomach.

"Bellanque, we have no choice! Do you think I want to shoot my closest friend?" Forester matched her tone. The witch bit her lip and looked away. Reluctantly she brought the rug lower so they could make out most of their target’s form and closed her eyes, she couldn’t bare to see what would happen next. Then Bellanque heard a heavy sigh followed by the twang of the arrow being released.

There was a yelp of pain from below and they knew the arrow had not missed. Forester glanced at Bellanque but she refused to return his gaze and the glimmer of tears spilling down her cheeks only made his chest clench even worse.

The rug pulled to a halt and dropped suddenly, sending Forester’s stomach into his throat, but the girl was skilled with this family heirloom and firmly steadied the carpet just three feet from the ground. Her expertise with the carpet however did not include passenger comfort and Forester was sure for a moment he was going to be sick.

The witchson rolled off the rug and put his head between his legs, gasping; he couldn’t stand the Charmlits' infamous carpet. He took a final deep breath and composed himself before he reached forward a hand to help Bellanque, which she refused with a downward glance and turned to hop off on her own. He sighed as he watched her stalk ahead of him and he nocked another arrow into place before following her cautiously forward into the night.

They found the wolf easily enough. The beast was in a small clearing, licking delicately at the arrow shaft lodged in his hind leg. His broad shoulders and wide, flat head were the betraying features that separated his kind from true wolves but it was the eyes, at once human and savage which brought the painted gasp of recognition from Bellanque's throat. She knew him in an instant.

Despite his wound Macadimus immediately crouched for an attack when he realized he was no longer alone. With a low snarl he bristled and in the light of the full moon even the mane of his fur appeared treacherous, brimmed in shimmering silver. There was no realization in his wild eyes as he growled at the two, no hint of hope or mindfulness. Only bare threat.

Bellanque moved slowly behind Forester, who subconsciously shifted his body to the front, as though to shield her from the beast before them. Both knew though that if Macadimus attacked, the attempt would be futile.

Now Macadimus, you stop this. We are your friends, you know us. Come to your senses, even as Forester tried to reason with the boy that was someplace within the wolf's body he was not foolish enough to lower his bow. The beast snapped his teeth and snarled a stomach-curdling growl, saliva and blood curling along his lips. Forester could feel Bellanque’s small body cringe behind his and he tried again.

Macadimus! He shouted. For a moment the wolf seemed to calm, his expression of blood lust almost softened into recognition, but just as fast the name was lost on him and in an instant he lunged.

Forester knew that this could be his death; he had been lectured since childhood of the fierce power of werewolves. Their jaws were nothing but muscle filled with curved ripping fangs. Their every sense was at its fullest and every muscle was strained to perfection. Their hide was thick and they were unable to feel any but the most intense pain and if they were an unnatural werewolf, turned by Nightshade, any bit of human conscious disappeared. They were nothing more than crazed, ruthless monsters that could not be bargained with, reasoned with, or stopped . Forester knew then that for himself there was little chance, but for Bellanque’s sake he had to try.

The witchson fired the prepared arrow, which in his fear merely skimmed the werewolf’s shoulder. Cursing his lapse he took the yew bow in hand and swung, putting every fiber of strength he had into his willowy arms. Wood and animal met in a shattering crack and the wolf fell at his side, stunned. Forester stood with what was left of his bow - two halves and a limp string - and a hunting knife as the only barriers between the beast and Bellanque who, for the life of her, couldn’t think of a spell. Already Macadimus was getting back to his paws and shaking his bruised head.

Get on the carpet! Forester shouted to the terrified girl behind him.

Fores... the werewolf lunged again and now Forester was practically defenseless. Time seemed to have slowed as the witchmaiden and witchson watched the beast fly at them, each tooth gleaming indisputable death, when a bolt of white-violet light came shooting forward from the side of the clearing. There was a sharp searing sound as it hit the animal in the ribs and once more Macadimus was flung to the side, only this time he hit the ground hard with a low thud.

In shock Bellanque turned gratefully to their savior. Jeroth shuffled heavily out of the woods to stand in front of the two, blocking them from the prostrate wolf. The upyre’s pale skin glistened with sweat and his breathing was haggard but battle energy sparked around him and he stood resolutely as a barrier between the beast and his companions.

Get up Macadimus. Take on your own form, he commanded coldly, but the wolf did not respond. He lay on the ground motionless. Get up! Jeroth shouted again, but Macadimus still did not move.

Bellanque could see blood, blackened in the moonlight, oozing from the wound in Macadimus’ side. The witchmaiden hid her face in Forester’s cloak to try and banish the image and she heard the upyre call out again, but only silence answered.

Jeroth was now beginning to feel nervous. If he had really hurt his friend he would never forgive himself, and for an upyre, never was a very long time. The entire forest was silent as though by spell, and the moon showed on the party like a spotlight, presenting to the world the crime they had committed.

Jeroth hesitantly took a step forward but Forester grabbed his arm and muttered, Careful...

The upyre jerked away without a word and started towards Macadimus. He could see no sign of movement from the wolf, not even the steady rising and falling of breath. He knelt down, reaching a pale hand out to touch the beast’s shoulder and noticed for the first time how truly large the wolf was and realized the fear his companions must have felt; knowing that against this monster their chances of survival would have been none. Even he was intimidated, but he was also proud. Only a great wer could have become so large and powerful an animal like this, especially on his first changing. His friend had what it would take to be a great werewolf, if he wasn't dead already.

As Jeroth's hand fell upon the coarse fur however, Macadimus rolled and, digging his good back leg into the dirt, propelled himself forward with deadly force. Glinting teeth snapped with a startling smack as Jeroth only barely dodged. The wolf followed but a sudden burst of energy from Jeroth's open palm slammed the him back across the clearing. Jeroth, glaring, rose shakily to his feet.

Do not battle with me, dog, you won't win! He bellowed, spit flying from his lips. The wolf threw back his head and let out a spine chilling howl that echoed off the mountains and surrounded the others like ozone. Bellanque’s breath came short as Jeroth raised his hands, palms out, and a purple glow began to flitter around his fingers.

Jeroth, you're too weak as it is! Forester warned.

Jeroth sneered over his shoulder, I have enough energy for one more spell, or would you rather try wailing at him with your broken bow again?

Devona! Bellanque cried out suddenly, pointing across the clearing. Opposite the three companions a young woman in a scarlet cloak rushed from the trees, halting to stare in astonish at the werewolf who turned golden eyes on her.

"Finiui, Freamhaig, dol!" The girl commanded immediately and the earth under the wolf began to crumble away while green shoots of vines appeared from the soil to crawl up Macadimus’ legs. The wolf bent and gnashed at the thin roots, easily tearing through them but more were growing too quickly for him to keep up with. Jeroth, Bellanque and Forester watched as the wolf's legs became entangled and covered with the greenery while the witchmaiden stared on with stubborn concentration as she worked her spell.

Well Jeroth, the girl called to the upyre with a tight smirk. Looks as though you should be thanking your pantheon that I came along.

I shall try and remember to do that, Devona, he answered impatiently. Devona glanced up at Bellanque, who was still watching from behind Forester.

You’re all right then, sister? She asked genuinely. Bellanque felt herself redden with embarrassment. Her twin had just cast very complicated magic with little more than a blink of an eye while she herself hadn’t been able to concentrate enough to grow a weed.

Well enough, but what are we to do about him? Bellanque gestured to the wolf. Macadimus was struggling like mad beneath the weight of the vines, his growls of fury making his friends nervous. The night is early and the moon high, you won’t be able to hold him like this for long.

Devona looked as if she might argue that but Jeroth curtailed any prideful boast.

Forester, it would be good timing for a proper plan.

’Course... Forester glanced around the clearing, his eyes flicking from the upyre, to the werewolf, to the witchmaiden. Very well, he said slowly. Jeroth, you feel you have enough power for another energy bolt?

The upyre shrugged, his hands still raised offensively should Macadimus somehow break through his bonds. Forester decided that would do for a yes. He drew his heavy hunting knife from its sheath and met Devona’s eye.

You won’t be liking this, he warned. She glowered back at him.

I’m already displeased with the arrow in his leg. What’s in your head? Sweat was beginning to form on Devona’s forehead and her hands, outstretched towards her spell-weaving, where beginning to tremble under the tension of the magic she was using.

I’ll lodge my knife in his chest, Forester answered grimly. It won’t kill him, it’s not silver, and Jeroth can charge it with an energy bolt. It should be enough to disrupt Mac’s heart; if it does that then the transformation should stop.

At this both twins stared agape at Forester. You’re mad! Bellanque tugged on his arm. You’d kill him for sure!

No. He’s right, Jeroth affirmed. Macadimus would survive the knife wound, he’s survived the same before.

Devona shook her head angrily at him. "He barely survived that and you could miss. You could hit his heart." No one replied to that. They all knew what would happen should Forester’s aim strike Macadimus’ heart. Hearts didn’t heal.

Forester pulled away from Bellanque and stood next to the upyre.

Try and hold him steady, Devona. he looked at Jeroth. You’re ready?

Jeroth grunted as an answer.

Forester! Devona shouted and the two locked eyes. If you miss, I will curse you.

Macadimus, unaware of anything but his wild need, made a long frenzied howl while witchmaiden and witchson glowered at one another but Forester’s mind was made up again. He knew what had to be done and he was good at doing what needed doing. He flipped the wooden handle in his hand so that the blade fell flat in his palm and narrowed his gaze to Macadimus’ thrashing body, watching for an opening to the wolf’s chest.

Macadimus was practically roaring with rage now, thick foam dribbling from his jaws, his crazed golden eyes flashing at each of the companions with nothing less than loathing.

Then Forester moved. His arm swung forward and the heavy blade whirled at its mark, sinking into the wolf’s chest to the hilt. Jeroth moved almost in unison, aiming his final bolt of concentrated energy into the imbedded blade, sending a ripple of power into Macadimus’ body that shuttered all the way into his heart. Macadimus stopped mid-howl, his lupine face melting from anger to shock, and then he dropped to the ground.

The vines that had been firmly wrapped around him began to retreat into the earth as Devona relinquished her control and the companions stood watching the wolf, who started to struggle in the dirt, panting laboriously around the knife in his chest.

Forester you have to help him! Bellanque started towards Macadimus but Forester put out an arm to stall her, his other arm holding up the now exhausted upyre.

Wait, he murmured solemnly. Macadimus’ eyes were rolling in his head with shock and he howled pathetically but as they listened it became less beast-like and more human. The jolt to Macadimus’ heart had worked, the reaction causing his transformation had stopped.

The large wolf began to shrink; his thick fur shortened and began to recede into his body, his skull morphed and there was the crackling of bones being shoved back into place as Macadimus slowly took on his wer form. At the last he bellowed in agony as his body fought to remain alive through the transformation with a knife imbedded in his chest.

Take him! Forester ordered and leaned Jeroth into Bellanque’s arms and then ran to kneel in front of Macadimus. I’m sorry Mac, he whispered and with a steady hand he pulled out the knife with a sickening ‘plop’. Macadimus’ eyes opened wide but his ordeal wasn’t over yet.

The wer couldn’t keep still, he rolled onto his stomach and dug his fingers into the dirt, blood trickled from his open mouth, ears and nose. His body was human now but still underneath rippled his bones and organs, trying to settle. The transformation seemed to take an eternity; the young wer's screams of pain could be felt all the way into the hearts of the four friends who stood around him, unable to help and unable to turn away.

Suddenly Devona let out a frustrated cry and stooped to Macadimus’ side, putting her arms around his shoulders as he thrashed. Finally exhausted beyond measure the wer's body relaxed and slumped limply in the witchmaiden's arms. Devona silently moved Macadimus’ head in her lap, her fingers brushing back his damp, sandy hair and she gave Forester a long seething look.

We need to get him home, now, Jeroth wheezed, breaking into whatever argument was sure to erupt between the witchmaiden and witchson. Jeroth wasn’t looking very good himself; he was leaning heavily on Bellanque and his face and clothes were damp with sweat. I can take him with me to the palace.

No, that would seem suspicious. I’ll take him back to Vermuse Hall on the carpet. His sister will know what to do. Devona decided quickly. Help me carry him.

Jeroth and Forester shared a brief look and together they three lifted the wer and hauled him onto the still hovering rug. Devona swept up onto the rug herself with an elegance that made her twin cringe; Bellanque loved her sister with all the strong bonds that a lifetime together forged but rarely were twins so utterly different. Whereas Devona was gracefully confident, Bellanque felt always dispensable and awkward. Seeing her sister toss around spells with the ease of flipping a runebook page while she herself labored for that kind of concentration only made her feel even smaller under Devona’s lengthening shadow.

Frowning, Forester examined the arrow still protruding from Macadimus’ thigh. Blood trickled out around the wound and ran onto the rug, staining the magical symbols that were carefully threaded to enable it to soar along the wind. Devona smacked away his hand as he made to pull it out however.

We cannot leave it in; its silver tipped, he explained without meeting her furious eyes. His other wounds will not heal as long as it’s in there; besides, it could poison him.

Devona didn’t answer him but she made no move to stop him a second time. When he’d pulled the arrow out Forester untied his rough woodsman’s cloak and draped it around Macadimus’ bare, bloody body and with a last nod to her friends, Devona urged the carpet into the air and southward in the direction of Macadimus’ ancestral Hall.

Well that was a riveting adventure, Jeroth muttered, leaning once more against Bellanque, who was starting to struggle under his weight. Jeroth wasn’t large but neither was the witchmaiden. Suddenly his knees buckled from beneath him and Bellanque gasped in surprise. Forester turned and looped Jeroth’s free arm over his shoulder, trying vainly to mask his concern.

Hey then, it’s time to see you home as well, he said with careful calm. Jeroth spent so much of his energy to fight Macadimus off that he was now becoming alarmingly weak himself.

Forester, do not get fresh, the upyre scoffed lazily. I understand your curiosity but I only put my arms around women, he leaned towards Bellanque. You aren’t included however Bellanque, I apologize. You having betrothed yourself to my closest friend, you see, he motioned his head to Forester, I’d be shamed to invite you into my intimacies.

Bellanque patted his back gently in response.

That’s... kind of you, Jeroth. Now when was the last time you had the Gifting? She shared a tentative look with Forester. Jeroth sneered.

The Gifting is at dawn, he drawled and then closed his eyes for a bit longer than the other two were comfortable with. With Macadimus back in his wer form and headed home, their concern quickly shifted to Jeroth, whose condition was only going to worsen the longer he went without the Gifting which his kind so dearly required. What was worse, if they couldn't get him indoors before dawn, his vulnerability towards sunlight could put him in a dangerous torpor.

Right then, Forester started to lead them roughly forward. It's a long ride to the palace from here but we should be able to get you back before sunup if you don't dawdle.

Jeroth yawned as they began to make their way back through the shrouded wood. Upyre do not dawdle. We take our time.

You dawdle.

Do you think that anyone else knows about Macadimus? Bellanque cut in, her voice quiet in the stale forest air.

No one knows but us. We'll keep it that way. Forester answered with the firm assurance that she had always admired in him.

If anyone else does know, there will be blood to pay, Jeroth added ominously and Bellanque shivered, so consumed by the chaos of the evening that she forgot all about her strange vision.

Chapter 2

Macadimus Verdun felt like his head was going to pop apart like a boiled nut. He awoke to the clear light of mid-morning and immediately he let out a groan. So much pain struck him all at once, from his head and his body, that he was left in astonish as to where he was and what, under his goddess, was wrong. It felt like he had pulled every muscle in his body and he was sure that all of his bones must be bruised.

The wer' rolled and grabbed his side, looking over his body and expecting to be black and blue from head to toe. There was a long welt along his side and a small bandage on his thigh, but covering the right side of chest was a great swath of gauze and bandaging.

Silver goddess! He whispered in astonish, looking at the bandages. Gently he pulled away some of the gauze over his chest but saw that the dried blood underside was light and there was only a small gash underneath, scabbed and pink. Still, every move he made set off a spasm of pain.

Macadimus eased his legs over the bed onto the hardwood floor and sat taking in deep breaths, fighting down the urge to call for help. He liked to think of himself as a strong wer, and did not want anyone worrying over him; he could take care of himself. The bright sunlight that was bursting into his chamber burned through his throbbing skull and he put a weak hand over his eyes, seeking whatever solace he could find in shade. As he sat he struggled to think of what beneath Moera’s blessed eye could have happened to him.

He couldn’t think of anything he might have done the day before, at least nothing that would cause pain like this. There wasn’t much that hurt a werewolf; whatever he had done would have had to have been something memorable, but nothing came to mind. He recalled working a new foal with his cousins yesterday morning and doing his sparring with his battle master that afternoon, and yestereve... Macadimus looked up. He couldn’t remember yestereve.

Oh come now, what did I have for supper? He asked himself, struggling to focus. Try as he might though, he could not remember a single detail from the night before. Unsettled, the wer took a deep breath and made to get out of the four post bed but a fresh wave of nausea and pain struck him so hard he fell back.

Whelp of Moera! He cursed, putting his hand in his ear-length locks. Suddenly he heard the door to his chamber creak open and looked to see the pale oval face of a young weress glaring at him with suspicious eyes.

Damn, she muttered and strode briskly into the room. How long have you been awake? She stood over him, her hands on her narrow hips. Macadimus gaped at his younger sister.

All of five minutes; what are you doing in my chamber, Lin?

Looking after you! Linnea was a good three years younger than Macadimus but she had a rather exasperating tendency to behave as though he were the junior of the two.

Looking after me? Lin, what’s happened? To Macadimus’ surprise Linnea’s face turned an angry pink and she reached down and punched his shoulder, which, since he was already sore, hurt immensely.

"What do you mean ‘what happened’? I’ve been waiting for you to tell me! Two nights ago Devona flies you in on a damn carpet at high-moon, you being covered in blood and mud and Moera knows what else. She doesn’t tell me a thing, just rushes you in here. Then the triplets come in, arguing and yelling and everyone telling me

Reviews for The Venex

[mwc13 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Actually a great story, followed along very well and kept my attention. Not just another fantasy but has a real story line for once.