The Brightening

By Sharon Hannaford

With scars on her hands and stars in her eyes, she is humanity’s only hope.

When the apocalypse came, it took a form no one expected. The effects of the Great Blight will be felt for generations, but its consequences reach far beyond the visible and obvious. Such an ocean of death and misery unbalances more than just everyday lives. It corrupts the very nature of the energy that gives us life, tipping the balance in favour of those who feed on war and suffering. In a world poised on a knife-edge of recovery or catastrophe, only the Leveller has the power to balance the scales.

Cassidy St Clare holds a senior position in one of the most important industries of the post-blight world. There is no job more crucial to the survival of the remaining human population than growing seed for fruit and vegetable crops. While she loves her position, none of her co-workers realise that she always knows how they’re feeling – exactly how they’re feeling – or that she’s gradually losing her sanity. Aside from her slow trip to Crazytown, she’s perfectly content with her quiet, but vital, niche in life. That is, until she meets a man who is playing host to someone else entirely. Someone with dark wings, dangerous secrets and some hard truths for Cassidy.

As Cassidy’s protective cocoon of lies begins to disintegrate, something new and extraordinary must emerge from the chrysalis; something able to touch life and death in way no one else ever can. This will not be an easy transformation; the challenge she’s facing is unprecedented, so vast that it seems insurmountable. She wants nothing more than to return to her old, mundane life, but if she does, humankind will be ravaged by the hell of a second apocalypse.

As always, where there is darkness, there is also light. The scattered and untrained members of the Order of Libra are regrouping, finding each other and discovering the depths of their unique talents. They will need to be smarter, tougher and more steadfast than any of their predecessors if this new world is to survive the rising of the Necromancers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon Hannaford
• Release date: Sep 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370568727

Sharon Hannaford

Sharon has been calling herself a writer since she was eight years old. She wrote her first auto-biography at age ten. As a teenager, she was teased about being a witch, because she wore lots of black and walked around with her black, Oriental cat on a lead. She never disagreed too loudly, after all, that may have drawn attention to the herd of unicorns that lived in her back garden. Born and raised in South Africa, she has called New Zealand home since 2008. Her life consists largely of looking after her husband, two kids, three cats, a dog, a pony and a horse, but her working day is spent writing, and her occasional hours off usually include books, horses or a glass of good red wine. Though she has had many jobs over the years, her favourite is, without doubt, being paid to write about the characters who take up residence in her head. After an early foray into writing for children, Sharon discovered Urban Fantasy; the genre that felt as though it had been created with her in mind. She loves nothing more than to create strong-willed, female lead characters, who challenge those around them almost as much as they challenge themselves. Sharon also loves animals of all shapes and sizes. She has owned all the usual suspects one would keep as a pet, and a few more exotic ones thrown in for good measure. She spent her teens working at a tourist farm and animal park, and as a result has handled everything from porcupines and warthogs, to ferrets and hedgehogs. She has been surrogate mom to many orphans including; kittens, lambs and an eagle owl. No matter how hard she tries, animals always seem to steal the limelight in her novels. She loves to hear from readers and welcomes messages via any of the usual channels.

Book preview

The Brightening

Order of Libra Book 1

By

Sharon Hannaford

COPYRIGHT

The Brightening (Order of Libra Book 1)

Sharon Hannaford

Copyright © 2017 by Sharon Hannaford

Cover Artwork by Jessica Dueck

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and occurrences are fictitious and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the copyright holder.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Other Books by Sharon

DEDICATION

For all of you who light a candle to keep the darkness at bay.

Every encouraging smile, every kind word, every thoughtful gesture is a victory against the chaos.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Huge thanks to Pauline, Jacqui, Karin and Tim for joining me on this new adventure. Your input, as always, is valued and appreciated.

As a proudly Indie Author, I rely heavily on my existing reader base to promote my work. I thank each of you who buy my books, join me on social media, leave a review or nudge a friend to try a new author (even if they don’t have a big-name publisher behind them). I owe you all a huge debt of gratitude. Your comments, emails and encouragement truly do keep me going.

G, Rob and Ash; if you made less mess I could probably write more books, but I love you madly anyway.

PROLOGUE

You are positive it is the Leveller that our Diviner sensed, Danel? the woman asked, her eyes fixed on the scene unfolding outside the window.

Daniel, the boy beside her said, with quiet, dangerous emphasis. It is Daniel. You never know who is listening. He turned to face her, dragging his eyes from the writhing mass of people.

Danielllll, then, she ground out, her eyes still locked on the rapidly escalating brawl overtaking the town centre just a few metres below them. You overreact. No one can hear us over that. She gestured towards the men and women blindly beating each other with sticks, shovels, fists and glass bottles. The boy’s softly cherubic face changed in an instant, his eyes darkening to pits of solid black, his features hardening to sculpted marble.

Don’t forget to whom you speak. The venom laced into the words, delivered in the voice of a boy yet to reach puberty, could have been comical, but the woman took a step back, dropping her eyes to the faded carpet and letting her shoulders slump.

Forgive me, Daniel, she said in a quiet voice. I grow frustrated. This body has many limitations. The dark fury left the boy’s features and he ran an assessing eye over the woman with a spark of lust no boy his age should possess. The woman lifted her golden blonde head, the fear evaporating as she flicked stray curls away from her face.

It is a fine body, he proclaimed. It will serve you well.

It is good by their standards, she agreed, looking down at herself. Her breasts were on the large side, well rounded and pert, her waist narrow and her hips full. But it is soft and easily damaged. And not very strong. It will need much conditioning. Perhaps a greater intake of Chaos—

Ambrosia, the boy warned again. Always call it Ambrosia, or the recruits might baulk at consuming it. His gaze once more strayed to the writhing throng outside the window of their motel room.

Of course, Daniel, she agreed quickly. But if the Leveller is awakening, you will need me to be strong.

The Diviner was not certain about the vision; the time frame is not clear. There may be no rush at all, he countered. We have no idea what too much Ambrosia will do to these physical forms. We can’t afford to find new ones at this stage; the mad and the soulless are harder to find now. We will await more information. The boy’s tone was curt, the topic clearly no longer open to debate.

Silence reigned for several moments as they returned to watching the fracas; the number of villagers attempting to beat each other to death was dwindling, many of them lying injured, unconscious or dead on the ground. The boy opened his arms wide and breathed in deeply, as though savouring the first rays of morning sunshine, contentment radiating from him.

There are still other paths we could take, the woman suggested, her words carefully neutral. Ones that pose less risk. There is so much…Ambrosia that it will take years to clear it all. As they watched, men with bland expressions and vacant gazes moved in to begin dragging away the dead and the dying.

Yes, the boy said, but he drew the word out thoughtfully. It isn’t ideal that my host body is so weak and immature, but one must take what is presented in an hour of need. We could hide ourselves and wait for it to mature fully, for my strength to evolve to the point that I can fully harness the power of the Chaos. He seemed oblivious to his own use of the taboo word. But I have to consider the rewards of eliminating this incarnation. By the time a new Leveller is born and has grown enough to be trained, I will be strong and our army of Necromancers will be large enough to prevent the Etherian Council from ever getting to me. Every pocket of Chaos that has formed here is valuable; it will feed the army and strengthen us day by day. We need to ensure a continuous supply. I do not intend on going back to the Abyss.

But what if they send a Sentinel? A hint of concern laced the woman’s words. "They will not give up on retrieving you without a fight. There could be someone hunting you as we speak. Let us go after the Leveller for you while you stay here, where it is safe."

You would leave me unprotected? A smile lit the boy’s face as she quickly shook her head, trying to backtrack, but he dismissed her apologies with a curt wave of his hand. His grin turned malevolent. I wish to see this victory myself. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as though savouring the taste of something delicious. It will be the very sweetest of victories. His eyes reopened and he smiled. Besides, if they send a Sentinel to hunt me, they will have to focus first on protecting and training the Leveller.

Why would they worry about the Leveller when their task is to find you? A tiny frown creased the woman’s forehead.

You forget, my dearest Warrior, the boy’s eyes narrowed, a Sentinel will not exist in the Seen in the same manner we do; they are too sanctimonious for that. They will find a willing host to use like a rider uses a horse, whereas we have become the horse itself. We can thrive on what a horse eats while they cannot.

The woman’s frown vanished and a wondrous smile turned up the corners of her mouth. They would never dare to use—

They will need the Leveller or they will not survive for long. The boy finished her thought. If we eliminate the Leveller, we eliminate the Sentinel as well. He turned back to the window to watch just a handful of men still fighting each other while children huddled in groups surrounded by robed figures with pale eyes. We will be free to do as we please until a new Leveller reaches maturity.

And if we keep killing the Leveller…

We can reign supreme over a world slowly going mad, village by village, and providing us with an unending source of sustenance and power. The boy’s expression coalesced into a disturbing fusion of joy and depravity.

CHAPTER 1

Cassidy? Cassidy, is that you? a feminine voice called out as Cassidy St Clare stepped into the decontamination shower at the entrance to Greenhouse One and settled the translucent mask over her face just as a fine mist descended in a muggy cloud. Raw, unadulterated excitement assaulted Cassidy’s senses. She forced herself not to sigh inside the horrid, plastic face mask; she’d slept badly, as usual, and coffee was in short supply, as usual. She wasn’t in the mood for cheerful people this morning. Was she ever? Cassidy, get your ass in here. You have to see this. The fervent enthusiasm bit at Cassidy’s mind like tiny annoying midges.

Keep your hairnet on, Sasha, she called back, lifting the mask to get the words out. If I skip decontam again, Elliot will have kittens. She waited for the mist to clear before curtseying sarcastically for the benefit of the surveillance cameras aimed at her. Stepping out of the booth, she pulled off the protective face mask and tossed it into the appropriate bin. As much as I love kittens, he’d probably give birth to rabid ones. She checked her hairnet for escaped locks, not that there was much to stick out; with the promise of summer temperatures in the next couple of weeks, she’d taken the opportunity to crop her hair short and dye it bright blue. The cut and colour had the irksome side effect of enhancing her natural propensity for looking like a sprite from a children’s storybook, but the cut made it easy to look after and the colour annoyed Elliot, so that balanced things out nicely. When you were forced to wear beige coveralls every day, one had to take pleasure where one could.

Hurry up, Sasha practically screeched. It’s the strawberries.

The strawberries? Cassidy froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. Trying to ignore the instant thundering of her heart, she pulled two latex gloves and a pair of plastic booties from boxes on the counter next to the bin and began tugging them on even as she hurried in the general direction of Sasha’s voice.

The other woman wasn’t far off, but the greenhouse was half an acre in size and the plants ran in solid walls of green growth, cut every twenty metres by a crosswise corridor. The strawberries were in the Experimental Propagation Area, off to the far left of the greenhouse. She hopped on one foot, tugging on a bootie over her work boot, past the double wall of tomatoes strung up towards the roof, several feet taller than her five foot nothing and a half. The tomatoes had a strong, distinct smell in the enclosed environment and the bottommost fruit were a pale shade of peach, just on the edge of ripening. Normally she would’ve stopped to assess each fruit before moving on to the next crop, concentrating on soaking up the pervading sense of rebirth and rightness, which somehow soothed the perpetual unrest inside her.

With both booties on, she practically jogged past the six different varieties of beans and took a left at the first corridor before the section of green-leafys while she pulled the latex gloves on. She avoided exerting herself into panting. The air inside the fully contained greenhouse was warm and heavy with moisture, unpleasant for breathing in at the best of times, a little like drowning if you actually began to breathe hard.

Oh, there you are at last, the tall, buxom woman shrilled as Cassidy rounded the end row of capsicums and entered the curtained-off alcove lined with waist-high benches. Each bench groaned under the weight of full seedling trays and small pots of sprouting plants while above them shone rows of fluorescent metal-halide tubes, casting a bright blue-white light over everything. Come and see. Sasha beckoned her over excitedly. The younger woman’s eyes were round with childlike excitement and impatience practically oozed from her pores. Her intense emotions drilled into Cassidy’s brain like hornets. She was pointing at a seedling tray in the far right corner, oblivious to the wisp of dark blond hair escaping her hairnet and hanging over one eye and the smear of dirt that streaked one of her flushed cheeks.

Cassidy moved towards the tray, barely breathing, not wanting to look. But then, as she managed to tamp down Sasha’s elation, she could feel it…them…the tiniest threads of life emanating from the newly sprouted plants. And there before her was the physical, tangible proof. Tiny narrow green leaves poking out of the dark substrate. Almost every one of the two hundred in the tray.

She spun towards Sasha. We did it, she whispered.

I know, crowed Sasha, looking like she wanted to hug Cassidy, but knowing better than to try. Can you believe it? In a couple of months we’ll be the first people to taste a strawberry in nearly thirty years.

Cassidy was stunned into silence. No one else on the staff had thought the seeds were still viable, and this was their last batch. There were no more in storage at the Svalbard Seed Vault, and she’d heard from international colleagues that it wasn’t only the UK’s seed that seemed to have been compromised. They’d tried everything to achieve germination but, until now, nothing had worked. They’d assumed the seed was dead, either too old or not processed properly before being stored more than three decades earlier. Until the strawberries, Cassidy hadn’t come across a seed she couldn’t grow; she had an inexplicable and uncanny knack for plant propagation.

Yesterday, in exasperation, she’d flopped over the tray, wanting to beat her head against something to vent her frustration, and as her head touched the tray, she’d had the ridiculous sensation that she could actually sense the seeds. She felt that their will to live was failing, the infinitesimally small spark of energy around them was about to die. She’d stilled. The sensation wasn’t unfamiliar to her, but it seemed to be getting stronger, more commonplace.

What she probably should have done at that stage was rethink the medicinal ratio of her homemade ‘therapeutic tea’, but instead she’d concentrated on those tiny sparks and imagined breathing oxygen over them, willing them to grow into tiny flames.

Her particular brand of crazy had been just strong enough that she imagined it was working, that she could sense the seeds flaring back to life, their will to live replenished. She had given herself over to the madness for a few precious seconds before dragging herself upright and back to reality. Yet, when she’d opened her mouth to tell Sasha to bin the seeds, the words that came out were, We’ll give them one more day.

And now here they were.

The first strawberry plants to see the light of day in the United Kingdom since the Great Blight of 2025.

Holy Hades and all his henchmen, her impending insanity did not need this kind of validation.

~~~~~~~~~~

Theo scrubbed his hands over his beard then ran them through his hair. He needed a haircut; it had been too long since he’d been into town. It was becoming increasingly easy to stay away from people in general. Being a hermit was so much simpler than dealing with those who didn’t see the world the same way that he did.

There were only two problems with being a hermit: running out of supplies and being left in his own company. He liked to eat more than squirrels and hares, and his own company wasn’t exactly scintillating. Some days he itched with the feeling that he was supposed to be doing more with his life. That he had some kind of calling. If only he knew what the damned calling was.

He lifted a metal tankard to his lips as he stared into the flames cavorting in the hearth. The mug was empty. Drat it. He was on his last cask of homemade wine, and fruit was difficult to come by at the very beginning of spring. It might be several weeks before he had anything he could use to make more. He heaved himself out of the chair and his right knee twinged, making him hiss in a sharp breath. His grandpapa had always said getting older wasn’t for the faint-hearted, and Theo was beginning to understand what the old codger had meant. Not that mid-forties was what he considered older, but it was old enough to glimpse what his future held in terms of an aging body.

But he wasn’t allowed the luxury of bemoaning growing older; he was, after all, one of the lucky ones. One of those who’d survived the Great Blight. His parents and sister had never got to experience old age, and neither had millions upon millions of others. He wondered for the umpteenth time if that was the ultimate source of his continued dissatisfaction. Did it all come down to survivor’s guilt? Would he have been a normal, happy person if the Blight had never happened?

Ugh, he grumbled to himself, stretching his knee before trudging towards his tiny cottage kitchen, wondering if mid-morning was too late for breakfast. Pointless internal conversations. You really do need to get a life.

Yes, you do, a voice said behind him.

Theo froze, his right hand raised to open his food cupboard, his left still clutching the empty tankard. His heart exploded into a frenzied pounding as adrenaline flooded his veins; the villagers liked to spin stories of raiders in the forest, but he’d always laughed them off.

Theodore Rufus Cunningham, the quiet but intense male voice addressed him, we need to talk.

Befuddled, Theo slowly turned to face the intruder, certain only of one thing; he’d never heard this man’s voice before.

In the kitchen doorway stood a tall stranger. Dressed in rugged work pants and leather boots with a full-length oilskin duster over a dark T-shirt, the young man was in his prime, lean and strong. If it came down to a fight, Theo had no hope.

But that wasn’t what had Theo’s mouth dropping open in astonishment.

You— Theo broke off and cleared his throat, swallowing hard. You…have…wings. He frowned after the words left his mouth, glancing down at the tankard in his hand. Had the last brew gone bad?

Yes, I do, the stranger agreed, his emotionless expression unchanging. No, you’re not mad and, no, the drink wasn’t bad or spiked. Get yourself something to eat; it’ll steady your nerves. I’ll give you a few moments to collect yourself. That said, the man backed away from the doorway with surprisingly quiet footsteps and went to stand with his arms crossed in front of the fire.

Theo blinked slowly, but when he refocused his eyes, the man was still there. A normal human figure on one level, but superimposed over that figure was another larger being. A being bright with a powerful, multi-hued aura, and one with magnificent feathered wings folded neatly across his back, the top of them towering up over his head and the bottom trailing down to Theo’s dusty wooden floorboards.

Theo had seen auras since he was a small child, sensed things about people that no one else did, even sometimes sensed the presence of those who had died, but never, in all his forty-six years, had he seen anything quite like this.

Several moments later the younger man made a sound of exasperation. Theo still stood motionless in the kitchen; the sight of the vast ethereal being overlaying the slightly-bigger-than-average human male was simply too much for his mind to process. The man returned to the kitchen and reached for Theo; his touch was warm but otherwise unremarkable against Theo’s forearm as the man pulled him into the living room. Theo moved obediently, allowing the man to push him down into his favourite chair. The dancing flames of the fire caught Theo’s attention as his reeling mind tried to recover from the shock.

The man was back in the kitchen. Theo heard the squeak of the cupboard door and the clatter of crockery. He hadn’t heard the man walk away, but then he hadn’t heard the man enter his house either. Before his mind could take him to unwanted places, his tankard was thrust in front of his nose. It was full to the brim with his distinctive bramble berry and dandelion wine. With shaking hands he took the mug, spilling droplets over his shirt and pants as he brought it to his mouth and gulped a large mouthful. He closed his eyes as the warmth hit his stomach with a comfortable burn, and he concentrated on breathing deeply. When he opened his eyes, a plate was held out to him; a roughly cut chunk of his dark bread slathered with a huge dollop of blueberry jam lay on it. He reached for it with a nod of thanks, pleased that the shaking in his hands had calmed to a minor tremor.

As he ate and drank, the man took a seat in the rickety wooden chair on the far side of the fire. Theo watched him fold his lanky body into the chair and gingerly test its strength before settling his weight in it. He sat stiffly, his knees together and his hands resting on them. His wings now seemed ghostly, as they were intersected in places by the chair, and the bottom feathers disappeared into the floorboards. This tiny detail helped Theo to focus more clearly on the man himself. He had trained almost all his life to take the strange and bizarre in his stride, not to be thrown by the auras he saw, or react to the dangers those auras revealed.

You are…an angel? Theo asked at last, with the entire piece of bread and most of the tankard of wine inside him.

For an instant the man’s eyes narrowed, a flash of annoyance crossing his even features, but it was almost immediately replaced by indifference.

My true name is Cerberus, he said. I am a Paladin Sentinel. His words were clipped and formal and they made no sense whatsoever.

Is that like an archangel? Theo queried, his mind racing through what little he knew of ancient gods and monsters.

The man made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. Humans and their close-minded definitions. He shook his head. You, of all people, should know that there is much hidden from souls in the Seen. I don’t have time to waste explaining my heritage or my duties.

The Seen? Theo was more muddled than ever.

The Seen. Cerberus gestured around himself. The world as humans know it. I am from the Unseen, the ‘other’ side.

Ah, Theo said, though it came out more like a squeak. He cleared his throat. So like heaven and earth?

Human definitions, Cerberus grumbled again, but that is close enough.

And a Paladin Sentinel is in my house because?

I have been given an…unusual assignment, Cerberus said; a world of meaning weighed on those last two words, but Theo couldn’t define any of it. I have been given a limited amount of time to right a grave unbalance in the Seen. You are integral to that balance, and it is time you fulfilled your duty. You have hidden here far too long.

Me? Theo’s shock made his voice squeak yet again. He swallowed. I mean, what could I do?

You are the Guide, Cerberus declared, with heavy emphasis on the last word. You have completely neglected your obligations. It’s not entirely your fault; your predecessor didn’t live through the Blight, so he was unable to set you on the path, but you have to know you were destined for more than living the life of a recluse.

Theo’s mouth went dry. The Guide? he asked. What does a Guide do?

The Guide is responsible for training and mentoring the Leveller. And right now, the Leveller is the only thing that can right the balance in the Seen. The only thing that can halt the advancement of the Chaos. The blank look of confusion on Theo’s face seemed to anger the Sentinel, but he gritted his teeth and visibly calmed himself. Evil is stalking the Seen and it must be stopped. You must re-establish the Order of Libra. Go to the City of London. Seek out the Scholar. She will help you and lead you to the information you need. Gather as many members of the Order as you can. Except the Leveller. I have been tasked with her initiate training. I will bring her to you when she is ready. There was a rustle of clothing as the Sentinel stood, his bright, powerful aura stretching out around and above the mortal man. In the Seen I will be called Evander, that is the name of the host who has loaned me his body for the time that I need it. Do not delay in your endeavours. I will make contact soon to check on your progress. He held his fist out as though offering something to Theo.

When Theo cautiously put his hand out, the man dropped an amulet on a silver chain into his palm. And before Theo could speak, the man and his aura had vanished from his cottage. The faint thud of what had to be horse hooves outside was the only sound besides the crackle of the fire.

Theo breathed out heavily and sank back into his chair, clutching the amulet to his chest, where his heart still beat too fast and too hard. When he’d steadied himself, he sat forward and inspected the metal disk. It was the size and thickness of a large coin. Etched on both sides was a seven-pointed star that spread out to touch the edges of the medallion, and at each point sat a tiny blue gemstone. There was something oddly comforting about the piece of jewellery, but he was confused as to how it would help with the quest he’d just been assigned. Closing his eyes to consider his options, his fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the amulet. The action felt both soothing and oddly familiar.

And then he felt it, a tiny irregularity in the otherwise even notches around the rim. A closer inspection showed a tiny catch in the metal. Using a fingernail, he pressed it, and the amulet sprang open, revealing a flat cavity. Inside the cavity was a