The Parting Gift

By Noel Coughlan

In an age of death and desperation, sometimes hope must be stolen.

Certamen’s god is dead. His people, the Ors, are broken and enslaved. He finds consolation in the knowledge that they are safe... But not for much longer. Their masters, facing decimation by disease, are growing desperate. Desperate enough to kill.

A short story set in the same world as A Bright Power Rising & The Unconquered Sun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Noel Coughlan
• Release date: Nov 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781910206072

Noel Coughlan

My name is Noel Coughlan. I am married and have a daughter. I live in the west of Ireland.From a young age, I was always writing a book. Generally, the first page over and over. Sometimes, I even reached the second page before I had shredded the entire copy book.In my teenage years, I wrote some poetry, some of which would make a Vogon blush.When I was fourteen, I had a dream. It was of a world where the inhabitants believed that each hue of light was a separate god, and that matter was simply another form of light.I tinkered with the idea for a couple of decades, putting together mythologies, histories, maps etc. but world building isn't worth much without a gripping story. And then I finally found one, a tale so compelling I had to write it, The Golden Rule Duology.I also write other fantasy, science fiction, and horror stories.

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THE PARTING GIFT

by Noel Coughlan

THE PARTING GIFT

Copyright © 2015 Noel Coughlan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover by Paula Becattini

Edited by Finish The Story (http://www.finish-the-story.com/Editing.htm)

Proofreading by Proofed to Perfection (http://www.proofedtoperfection.com/)

Published by Photocosmological Press (http://photocosm.org/)

Epub Edition: ISBN:978-1-910206-07-2

For Michael Grant.

I

Certamen stared at the wooden floor as his mistress, the Sable warrior DarkGlad, scourged the Purpure, but the hands pressed to his ears could not block out the roars the creature retched forth as the whip stripped its flesh. The monster had brought this on itself. This was not the first time that, in the depths of night, it had started shrieking for no reason and roused either DarkGlad or her husband.

Certamen shuddered at the sound of every stroke. No matter how he might be favored, he was not immune to the whip if he upset his owners.

The Purpure’s desperate screeches dulled to groans and then simpers, but the whipping continued. Was DarkGlad going to beat the creature to death? An involuntary scream gurgled in Certamen’s throat. Suddenly, the lashes ceased.

Certamen, DarkGlad said, panting.

Head still bowed, his eyes strained upward to glimpse the Sable’s face. The symptoms of her exertion were obvious—the sweat drenching her round, vermilion face and the dark blotches on her cheeks. A scowl hooded her black eyes.

She handed Certamen the whip. The greasy warmth of the Purpure’s blood smeared his pale yellow fingers as he gathered the cords.

DarkGlad parted her mess of black hair, revealing the black geometric pattern on her forehead that represented the face of her race’s creator, the Dark Light, Solanum.

Clean it before you retire for what little is left of the night, she said as she flexed her hand. She turned to the Purpure. And as for you, she growled as she kicked it in the ribs, if you ever again disturb the Dark Light’s time with your screeching, I really will give you something to cry about.

The other slaves hid in the gloom beyond the candle. Most pretended to sleep as if it were possible to be so oblivious to the creature’s tortured cries. Certamen’s heart contracted as a baby’s sudden cry drew desperate shushes from its mother.

DarkGlad answered his anxious glance with a sneer. An infant’s wails won’t carry to my hall. Unlike this brute’s howls. The Purpure shuddered as her boot struck its side yet again.

After she departed, the slave house exhaled a collective breath. The other slaves stretched their limbs and shimmied about their straw mattresses. They were all Mixies—Argents or Azures stripped of their patrons’ colors. Their clumsy features provided no clue as to which race each individual belonged. Even