The Sons Of Solomon

By Jason Norton

Twins Daniel and Jacob Solomon are heirs to mystical rings of power and charged with protecting the world. Danny is the brilliant one, his senses enhanced and able to access most of his brain. Jacob is tough as diamond, being nearly invulnerable and with strength beyond normal men. Together, they travel the world, taking on whatever evil they encounter.

Trouble is, they're not the only ones with rings...

...and then there's the were-creatures.

When a top secret shadow organization suckers them into a deadly hunt, the Solomons will have to rely on their brains and brawn or end up as prey.

This two story collection also features Tales of the Eel, a charismatic master escape artist with a penchant for ending up in sticky situations. Many love him, many hate him and The Eel finds himself in a corner that he may not be slippery enough to get out of!

SONS OF SOLOMON by Jason Norton. From Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Apr 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370112289

Book preview

SONS OF SOLOMON

By

Jason Norton

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

SONS OF SOLOMON

A Pro Se Productions Publication

All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This book is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Written By Jason Norton

Editing by Wayne Carey

Cover by Chris Burke

Book Design by Marzia Marina

www.prose-press.com

SONS OF SOLOMON

Copyright © 2017 Jason Norton

Table of Contents

THE SONS OF SOLOMON AND THE BEAST-MEN OF SCEPTER

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

Epilogue

SHOCKING TALES OF THE EEL: ALL’S FARE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For Sterling Norton, who introduced me to four-color comic book heroes and for Bob Fitts, who pointed the way to their black and white ancestors.

With special thanks to cover artist, Chris Burke; our high school dream has finally come true

.

THE SONS OF SOLOMON

AND

THE BEAST-MEN OF SCEPTER

I.

The thing with more arms than legs dove into the spidery weeds and crouched tight to the mud. The stream was close; it remembered that much. It so desperately wanted to drink. Its tongue felt like it had doubled in size; breaths had become gasps.

It wanted to drink.

But it knew the risk.

It sniffed the air, turning just enough to peer through the darkness toward the footsteps that clattered on the far hill. They were a small herd; frail-looking little no-furred things without hoof or claw. But they had the thundersticks. It had seen what they could do.

But it had to drink.

The creature dug twenty fingers into the dirt, coiling low. It sprung, rocketing its bulk forward using only the propulsion from its arms. It covered a dozen feet with the leap. It could’ve done better from a run, but the constant shifting of the flora would create a wake that would easily betray its position. It launched again immediately upon touchdown, seamlessly changing direction with the instinct born of eons of evolutionary coding. Briars and brambles snagged the scruff of its belly; an orphaned patch of sawgrass bit at its scaly knees.

But it didn’t slow down.

The Airswimmers squawked a warning as they circled overhead. The creature paused but for a moment to nod its appreciation. It didn’t risk looking back again. There was no need; its pursuers were loud and clumsy and slow. They’d barely descended the great hill and were still a great distance behind. Their meat-soured scent had dulled but remained just potent enough to help it track their movements.

The creature’s chest thudded, its whole body taxed with the effort. They’d begun their chase not long after the Great Dark had fallen. It had watched them claim two of the Airswimmers and a Horn Snout during the last Great Dark, wondering when its time would come; when it would become prey. The Great Light would do away with them. They always abandoned the hunt once the Great Light appeared but the creature could tell—could feel—that it would be a while before the warm brightness arrived.

It kept in the wad of the brush for as long as possible. It followed the three small slopes, then gave one great last leap into the stout branches of the tree with the sweet leaves. It waited, listening; watching. They were slow. That bettered its chances. It dropped to the grass once more.

The creature stayed low, sidling up to the crop of boulders on the near side of the stream. They were cool against its side, momentarily quenching the fire in its chest. The trickle from the other side of the rock thundered in its ears. It took every bit of restraint to fight the primal urge to dive head first into the stream and slake its thirst.

The thing chanced a final glance back toward its pursuers. They were hard to see in the deep thickets, but the White Master, ruler of the Great Dark, illuminated the tips of their thundersticks. They were still far. The thing offered a quick word of thanks to the great orb, praising its sovereign mercy. It was time.

The thing slunk around the side of the boulder, dragging as much of its bulk as its quadratic arms could manage. The talons of its plumed lower body skittered over the smaller rocks as it descended to the calm of water’s edge.

It knelt, as if in prayer, pressing its lips to the blissfully cool liquid. Normally, the water here was brackish with the foul of dead things, but at that moment it seemed to the creature as pure and clean as any it had ever tasted. A dozen gulps seemed hardly enough; the thing was content to stay there forever.

But it knew better.

The no-furs were getting close now. It had to move.

It poised to take one final drink, wincing at the reflection staring back. Its head had grown large like the great tree sweets; its fierce fighting fangs, thicker now, whittled short by untold battles. And its arms…

It could barely remember exactly how it had looked, but it knew it wasn’t like this.

The thing leaned out over the water.

The stream erupted in front of the creature. Before it could react, the Depth Stalker was upon it, tearing fur and flesh with its front claws. The Four-Arm beat against its enemy’s bumpy armored chest but it couldn’t shake it. Its gnarled teeth proved as useless against the water-beast’s tough hide. The Depth Stalker unhinged its bottom jaw, exposing a row of fangs that promised much more danger than those of its hairy adversary. It lunged, maw first, at the throat of the Four-Arm. The old beast blocked the attack with one of its trunk-like limbs, wrapping the three others around the Depth Stalker’s body in a bone-crunching bear hug. It couldn’t finish the Stalker with the partial hold, but it didn’t dare let go of the dangerous jaws. The Four-Arm leapt, driving the points of it talons at Depth-Stalker’s exposed belly, but the water creature skirted its salamander-like lower half to the side, dodging the potential deathblow.

Lightning-like, the Depth-Stalker recovered, coiling its squirmy tail around the Four-Arm’s mid-section.

The Four-Arm knew it only had moments. Its back was already beginning to numb from the needling chill of the Depth-Stalker’s slimy neurotoxin.

The Four-Arm was running out of options—and defenses. Gambling, it released the Depth-Stalker’s jaw, using its last appendage to completely cinch the gator-lizard’s chest. It squeezed as hard as its four arms would allow, hoping it could end the battle before the nerve venom worked its way higher. The Depth-Stalker thrashed violently, snapping at the Four-Arm’s face. The Four-Arm countered by wedging its head tight to the thing’s gullet, exploiting the limited flexibility of its amphibian neck. It provided the Four-Arm a millisecond opening. Bellowing the war cry of its Silverback ancestors, it tore out of the marsh on pinioned haunches, charging for the nearest thicket.

It turned the Depth-Stalker into a battering ram, slamming the slithering nightmare into the stout trunk of a transplanted coconut palm. The thundering collision splintered the tree’s thatched hide. Finally, finally, the Depth-Stalker’s plated back gave way; the shattering of its spine resoundingly blissful in the Four-Arm’s ears.

The furry victor staggered backward, triumphantly pounding its chest with its four weakened fists. Adrenaline surged through its veins, stilling the enemy’s poison; fueling its guttural roar.

The celebration was short-lived.

The venom grappled its way back, strangling out axons and dendrites. The Four-Arm’s feathery knees weakened. It reached for the tattered tree, trying to stay upright. Saliva frothed against its windpipe, choking the breath it struggled to capture. The rising breeze revealed their scents; the thing’s crippled nostrils barely able to discern them against the wooded backdrop. Its eyelids fluttered, heavy as stones. Inching its head skyward, it prayed to the White Master for strength.

It provided clarity instead, illuminating the shimmering barrels.

Their thundersticks boomed.

And for the first time in untold days, the Four-Arm knew peace.

II.

It didn’t happen often, but at times like this—when he was the one about to be smashed in the face with a club—Daniel wished he would’ve gotten the brawn instead of the brains.

Jacob had always been the loud one; the brazen, confrontational, impulsive twin. The third gem had amplified those traits tenfold—and turned him into a walking tank. The twins shared the same sandy blond hair, gray-blue eyes and rugged jawline—the genetic inheritance bequeathed by their father. The similarities ended there. While Jake was all bulk, Danny was lithe and long, built like a welterweight champ.

It had taken a dozen of the natives to bring Jacob down. If not for the Nazi’s Luger, he’d probably still be fighting. The German had ordered the natives to carry Jake away for questioning and sent the rest of his troops back to wherever they’d holed up for camp. Danny didn’t