Given Blood

By Eric McGough

One man’s destiny; to stand against the power of evil.

Cal, (Calderon) a young home-loving blacksmith, just like his father and his father before him, is torn from his comfortable life into a world of evil and magic.
Destiny decrees that his personal future is tied irrevocably to that of the land and the evil masters who control the population with merciless cruelty.

Cal’s journey starts out simple and happy enough as he travels to his bride-to-be’s hamlet to bring her back to his home and the wedding that they had planned since childhood. But things turn out to be not so simple, as he meets with difficulties and disasters along the way.

Dragged from the doors of death by an aged witch, captured by a young girl and caged to await judgment by a tribe of primitive people, only to undertake a perilous journey into a world of ancient beliefs and powerful evil beyond his wildest dream and fears, yet he must prevail.

A prophecy of hope and redemption decrees it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric McGough
• Release date: Jul 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463447895

Book preview

Book 1

‘GIVEN BLOOD’

Book 2

‘WARRIOR LORD’

Book 3

‘THE SWORD OF VOITRA’

Book 4

‘SOUL REAPER’

Expected early 2018

Copyright © 2016 by Eric McGough

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced,

without the permission of the author.

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/Fantasyart

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The keening fuelled itself from his pain and his body convulsed with the onslaught. His shocked mind collapsed in on itself. He staggered backwards, two jerky steps toward the edge. Mara leaped and pulled him back as his left foot trod the air over the drop. She dragged him five or six feet away from the edge.

He dropped to his knees. The Keening held its peace no longer. It burned through him. From the core of his being it burst into flame, setting the whole of his body alight. The power was too much. His arms and legs thrashed out. The ground started to spin. He lost his sense of left and right, up and down. The ground flew away. He found himself on his back covered by black sky and jewel studded stars.

Mara had watched all this, silently witnessing the intensity of his experience. She did not see the spectral form of his mother, but she knew he had seen her. Now she became seriously worried as he flipped onto his back. There was golden light radiating from him. He seemed to be in agony, thrashing about on the ground at her feet. She dropped to her knees and held his shoulders, trying to calm him, but he was unaware of her. His face was shedding golden light as if it were a furnace. Within the halo, tiny flames licked themselves free of his flesh and wriggled to the outer edge of the golden aura. They broke free and floated away into the surrounding night.

Mara had no idea what was happening to him. But she was sure about one thing; she was not going to let go of him until he was normal again, or dead.

She saw her hands catch fire. They burned like torches, but not with the blistering heat that the sight of them would suggest. It was cold. It did not burn the flesh. The flames were golden on the outer edge, bright yellow within, turning to blood red at the base. The core was a living green colour. It started to spread up her arms; she could see it burning through her tunic sleeves. It travelled up both arms, turning at her shoulders and headed to meet itself across her chest. Three fingers of green reached out from each shoulder, they met in her heart, coming together like the tendrils of some exotic vine. Her heart became a flame. It spread through her body. Ecstasy and pain mixed into one.

She saw images flash through her mind; scenes of battle. Men staggered past her inner gaze, bathed in blood. She saw a sword held high. It flashed with flame in the putrid air of the battlefield. A man with a black cloak, his back to her, held the sword. He stood in a huge flame which towered above him. He swung the sword. It screamed a sickening cry as it reaped souls from flesh. Soldiers were cleaved in two as the sword swung in its deadly ark. Then black night collapsed back in on them and it was over.

CHAPTER1

There was a loud banging on the workshop door and the people inside shot nervous glances at each other. A man shouted through the thick planks, his words ripped from his lips by the snow-laden wind outside. Let me in. It's me, Dani, he shouted.

Merdan, the village elder, drew back the heavy bolts, and the door opened allowing Dani to stumble into the workshop along with a flurry of snow. Merdan forced the door closed and bolted it again, while Dani stood gasping for breath. They're coming! Dani said, between gasps.

How many, asked the elder?

I counted twenty, all soldiers by the look of them, and they're moving fast. They should be here in about ten minutes.

The small room erupted into activity. Women sobbed, men snatched up crude homemade weapons, and Merdan called for calm. Quiet! Listen to me. We all know what we must do. There’s no other option open to us. Women into the root cellar, you men to your positions ...

We don't stand a chance. a small man interrupted.

Merdan rounded on the man, his lips pulled back into a snarl. We stand every chance! There are twenty of us men, and I know they're soldiers but they don't know we're aware of their coming. We have surprise on our side. Do nothing and we may all die, or would you have the women stand with us to even the odds?

The man hung his head in shame. Merdan could see that he was shaking with fear. We are all afraid, he said, placing his hand on the man's shoulder and looking around at the strained faces. None of us are fighters. We have decided to fight because there are no other options. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had to act now, while his resolve still held. Now get to your stations before it's too late, he demanded.

He turned to his daughter and his expression softened as he looked at her beautiful face for what he felt in his heart could well be the last time. Florinda, move the women, now!

Florinda gave her father a last tearful look and then ushered her mother, Marta, and the other women through the small, low door into the root cellar. Once inside, she drew the newly fixed bolts into place and began piling crates and sacks against the stout little door. She heard the outside door bang shut, as the last of the men left to hide in wait for the attack. This is a nightmare, she thought. Days before my wedding to Cal and this happens. She tried to imagine what these soldiers wanted. Was this what lay behind the rumours of homesteaders disappearing? She wondered. Her father seemed sure that they would die at the hands of these men if they didn't fight them off. She knew in her heart that they stood no chance against soldiers. Her wedding now seemed a lost hope and she wondered what Cal would find when he got here. Florinda hugged her mother close as the fearful women waited in silence.

Merdan took up his position in the open, facing the soldiers as they came into the Hamlet. Gusts of wind tore at his cloak as he steadied himself with his crudely made spear, which he had planted point down into the deep snow making it look like a simple staff. The villagers had had scant warning; barely an hour since the two Travellers had rode through shouting danger, danger, armed raiders heading this way, coming from the forest. It was all that he could do to set up this poor defence, which was no defence at all really. The soldier's faces were grim as they lumbered toward him. He lifted his left hand in salute. Ho! I am Merdan, elder of Piers Hamlet. I would know your business on this foul day. If you come as friends you are welcome, if not, beware.

The soldiers burst into laughter and then jeering. Their ranks parted and a hooded figure came forward. He wore no weapons. His black robe stood out stark against the snow, but unlike the soldiers at his back, the thickly falling flakes did not seem to land on him. The hooded man held up a thin, bony hand and the soldiers moved back a few steps.

Merdan decided that he had waited long enough. He unplanted the spear from the snow bringing it up to his shoulder. He would send the spear into this menacing figure and his men would leap out to attack the distracted soldiers from both sides. But even as his arm began the thrust, the outstretched hand flicked in Merdan's direction, and Merdan felt a wall of force slam into him knocking the spear from his hand and the breath from his lungs. The blast of power knocked him off his feet and onto his back in the snow. He found himself unable to move.

The black-robed man swept his hand around in a wide circle. One by one, the men of Piers Hamlet came staggering into the open. With gaunt faces and eyes filled with fear, they assembled beside their fallen leader. To Merdan's dismay, none of them carried their weapons. Merdan looked on with dread as the grim figure pointed at the workshop sending two of the soldiers inside. They were soon outside again reporting.

Merdan heard one of the men address the dark figure as Father. If this man is a priest, he thought, he is a priest of evil.

The priest's bony hand swept the men of Piers Hamlet back into the workshop. Merdan followed the others inside, where the soldiers pushed them to the very back of the cabin.

The priest came in and stood before the small door to the root cellar. After a moment, the bolts were drawn and the little door opened. The priest stood back, and the soldiers herded the men into the root cellar with the women. Marta and Florinda threw their arms around Merdan. Marta was sobbing and Florinda was trembling. He heard the door banging shut behind him.

Marta sobbed. We had no choice, she said, something dark and evil came into our minds. We were helpless to resist. I just had to open the door. I couldn't resist it ...

Merdan tried to calm his wife as best he could. He told the women what had happened outside and about the unholy priest with the soldiers.

The soldiers are bad enough, they are hard and armed to the teeth, he said, but this man is too powerful. We cannot fight such evil. Merdan looked around at the frightened faces. We must give him no reason to harm us. Maybe we will get a chance to escape at some point. All we can do is bide our time and see what happens.

They were held in the cellar for about two hours while the soldiers had a rest and fed themselves in the workshop above. At least it was comparatively warm in the root cellar with all of them packed in tight. They huddled together listening to the soldiers laughing and joking. Then the little door opened, slamming against the wall, and a soldier told them to come out.

Merdan was the first to climb out of the cellar. He was pushed outside into the freezing cold air. The rest of the men followed him, and then the women.

An ugly brute of a man came out last, his arms wrapped around Florinda from behind. He made no effort to conceal his lustful desires for her as he roughly handled her breasts. He leaned his leering face over her shoulder and mouthed her exposed neck. Florinda turned her head and bit his ear. He gave out a loud yell as he let go of her and clutched at his ear. His comrades burst into jeering. The surprise on his face from the bite changed in an instant to rage. He clubbed Florinda on the back of her head with his fist, dropping her face down in the snow.

Merdan threw himself at the soldier, intent on tearing the man apart with his bare hands. The priest stopped him with a simple flick of his bony hand.

As he lay pinned on his back in the failing light, Merdan heard the two logging horses crashing through the scrub behind the stables. Spooked by the power of this unearthly creature, they had quit the shelter of the stable for a colder, but safer place. Then he saw something truly bizarre. The sky darkened even more, as a dark cloud appeared above him. The sound of flapping wings accompanied the dark cloud as it swirled overhead. He realised that it was a mass of birds. It seemed that all the birds of Piers Hamlet were in the air in the darkening dusk. They circled the tiny hamlet once, then, like a cloud driven by storm winds, they swept from the cluster of homes into the southwest.

The soldier made to kick Florinda's face, but the cruel kick did not land. The ghastly black apparition turned his way and the soldier froze, his boot raised. Silence fell upon the whole assembly. The man's face slowly turned red, and his eyes began to bulge. Merdan thought that the man was going to burst with what appeared to be enormous pressure in his skull. Then the creature released him and he fell to his knees. He bowed his head to the dark figure and stammered apologies.

Florinda had recovered now and she scrambled to her father. The bony hand flicked casually in Merdan's direction and the force that held him disappeared. They got to their feet. Merdan wanted to protest, but he was not able to speak.

Marta and Florinda both felt the creature's mind filling their heads. Florinda stared into the dark recess of its hood, but she could not make out any features of the man’s face. The unholy priest's mind issued instructions, and Marta understood that she was to go to her home and pack bedding and travelling over-clothes for her family. The priest warned her against leaving any messages, or signs.

The women went silently to their homes and Florinda and another young woman went back into the root cellar to pack food.

The snow was heavy on the strong northwest wind, as the dusk finally gave way to a bitterly cold night. Merdan's streaming tears had frozen on his cheeks. He felt despair to the depths of his being. He blamed himself for insisting that they fight, yet what else could they have done? He knew now that whatever they had decided it would have come to this in the end. This priest did not seem human, and his power was absolute. What worried him now was the fact that they were clearly going to be travelling at night and in these dreadful conditions. No sane person would even begin to consider such a thing. Yet it was obvious that they were leaving soon.

Merdan's people consisted of twenty couples, plus six young and two older men, and six young women. That was fifty-four in all, the total inhabitants of Piers Hamlet. Just for a moment, Merdan saw an image of the hamlet devoid of life. The houses empty and the fields left to weed. How long would it be before their plight would be discovered? But even as the desolate images of a deserted Piers Hamlet came, they were gone again in the pressing need of his people's plight. Four of the couples were elderly, some others not in the best of health. He feared that these would not travel far in such low temperatures. They would probably not even last the night. A cynical thought occurred to him; that they might be the lucky ones.

If only he had heeded the warnings while there had still been time. Two months had elapsed since the rumours had arrived of the first family to disappear from the surrounding area. He had been told that a working farm, with a strong, hardworking family, were gone without a trace and without warning. Then news had arrived of two others, just like the first. There was a reason to believe that several of the Travellers, folk who traversed the plains selling their handcrafted wares, were also missing, but that was hard to verify; it was Travellers that had spread the word. How could he have been so stupid and so inflexible? But he knew his reasoning; the harsh winter conditions holding out late this year and the isolation made worse because of the cut off of communications. How could he have justified taking the residents south to Teachers Hamlet or Pellior in such weather? Surely that would be asking many of them to walk to their deaths. And even with the suggestion mooted not one of his fellow villagers wanted to leave their family homes and the life that they had made so idyllic for themselves. Yet here they were about to do just that, as prisoners of these unholy men.

While Merdan had mused on his failure the women had returned. Marta interrupted his inner turmoil with an oiled coat, which she insisted he put on. Their old eyes met in silent pain. She knew that he was blaming himself for this nightmare. In spite of what had befallen them, she was proud of her husband. He had been strong where others would all too easily have given in to fear and weakness. That his strength had not been enough did nothing to diminish him in her eyes. Faced with this un-natural being no man's strength would have prevailed. Marta linked her arm in his and held him close against his isolation and his pain. He held himself responsible for the welfare of these people and she loved him for it.

CHAPTER 2

The people of Piers Hamlet picked up their bundles and obediently followed their captors north into the teeth of the bitterly cold wind. There was no whipping, no shoving, no threats, or beatings. They went without resistance, knowing that no other choice existed. For them it was the end of choices. Resistance was meaningless.

They left the hamlet heading north along the old logging trail. The snow fell in big, thick flakes, driven into deep drifts by the biting northwest wind. Progress was slow, although the passing of the soldiers before them made their way a little easier. They walked non-stop into the frozen night, always northward. Flaming torches lit their way. The younger people had to help the older members of the group continuously. Merdan feared for their lives if they could not keep going.

They entered the forest in the early hours of the morning. The forest covered the northern most area of land from Lost Souls Swamp in the east to North Roam in the west; three thousand square miles of mostly unknown, ancient forest. The folk of Piers Hamlet and North Roam knew only the very margins of the Great Forest. They believed that a great evil permeated its deep and secret places. It was believed that anyone who went too far into the foreboding forest would be captured and used by whatever evil had its dominion there. Because several people had disappeared into the forest and not come back over the years, the fearful and highly superstitious people were convinced that the myths were fact. They stayed away.

Merdan had a sudden realisation about the gruesome being who was their captor, and who had so easily taken away their resistance. Could this be the source of the evil in the forest? They were in the forest now, who else would want to go there? The more he thought about it the more he was convinced that he had it right. Even so, it was of little help. All they could do was follow where the creature led.

After entering the forest, they marched for another couple of hours. They were exhausted to the point of collapsing. The forest floor was uneven and tree roots snagged their weary feet. Thankfully, the snow was not deep under the trees and the mass of trees also reduced the wind. Finally, they entered a large clearing, where they would camp for the night.

The soldiers set up a crude camp, building a large fire in the middle of the clearing. Most of the villagers simply unrolled their bedding and fell into an exhausted sleep. Merdan tried to comfort his people. He helped tend the small injuries that some had received from falls, while Florinda and her mother made soup for everyone.

The unearthly priest did not stay in the camp with the soldiers. Merdan did not see him go, but when he looked to see where he was the man was nowhere in sight.

It occurred to Merdan that escape was possible, at least for one of them. With the dense forest for cover, one of the younger men could slip away unseen. He could get help. But as soon as it had occurred to him he realised the futility of such a plan. The nearest help was Teachers Hamlet, many days away. By the time help could return they would be lost forever in the dense, foreboding forest. As if to put a final seal on his desperate plan, the soldiers set men to keep watch around the perimeter of the camp.

After what seemed like only an hour or so of fitful sleep, the soldiers kicked them awake as a grey dawn crept through the upper canopy of the forest. They were given time to eat a hasty breakfast and repack their things. Then the march resumed.

One of the older women, Kelsi, was in a bad way. She was burning with a fever and could not stop coughing. She was too weak to walk without support and the effort of being half dragged threatened to finish her. Merdan called to the soldiers demanding help but his cries went unanswered. After half an hour of further struggle, his patience came to an end and he called to his people to stop. This had the desired effect and a huge soldier, who seemed to be in charge of the unruly bunch, came crashing through the undergrowth to where Merdan sat cradling the sick woman. The man had his sword drawn. He towered over them cursing.

Get up! he demanded, brandishing the sword threateningly over their heads. Get up or die.

Merdan gave the man a feigned look of apology. I'm sorry, but she's ill. She can't walk. She needs rest and a healer.

The soldier kicked Merdan's legs. He looked about to burst with rage. You'll be sorry when my blade drinks your blood, you old fool. He raised the sword, its point above Merdan's chest. Then he fell back as the black robed priest came up.

Merdan looked into the dark hood, to take a look at the creature's face, but even in the morning light, there were only feint outlines of a bearded face inside.

A bony finger beckoned and Kelsi struggled to her feet. The air was humming with energy. It felt as though a lightning storm was imminent. It made Merdan's stomach clench with pain. The creature drew her to him. Merdan looked on in horror as the priest took Kelli's head in his hands and she screamed. Her eyes opened very wide, and then she dropped to the ground lifeless. Ice-cold shocks ran up Merdan's spine and he had to fight to hold the contents of his stomach against rising nausea and revulsion. A soldier stepped forward, casually picked up Kelsi's frail, lifeless body, and simply tossed it into the undergrowth.The creature swept his finger over the sitting villagers. In defeated silence, and with renewed dread in their hearts, they got to their feet and resumed their march.

To Merdan, the forest was a revelation. The sheer beauty of its many moods enthralled him. Often, he caught glimpses of sun-lit valleys, which tempted his senses with beautiful plays of light and shade. Huge redwoods soared to dizzying heights. The smell of soil and leaf, of mosses and pine needles, played with his moods as a skilled musician might tease an audience. They passed through brush and undergrowth so dense that he could see only a few feet to either side of their narrow trail. They passed through areas of ageless Oak, Beach, Ash, Sycamore, and Popular. The varieties were seemingly endless.

The soldiers walked them all of the daylight hours, save for two half-hour rests. When at last they stopped for the night, Merdan had lost all sense of how far they had travelled.

They pushed through a dense barrier of thorn, into a clearing. The soldiers dragged thorn bushes back across their entry point. All round the clearing, the thorn grew thick and impenetrable; it was like a fortress of daggers. The soldiers lit a large fire, and the company settled down to a meal and much needed sleep.

Merdan, Marta, and Florinda sat for a while in a close huddle. There was nothing to say, no plans to make, and no hopes to share. They just sat holding each other in silent empathy.

In the morning, the soldiers pulled thorn bushes from another narrow trail, and the march began again. It was another day like the last. In weary silence, they walked through the ancient forest, stopping only for food, for which they had lost all appetite. They ate at the compulsion of the dark, menacing figure, which had only to point in their direction to animate them to its will.

When night came again to the forest floor, they camped in a shallow valley with a small stream gurgling through ice-crusted boulders. The forest seemed to be endless and Merdan wondered how long they could walk its narrow trails before they must surely reach their destination.

About noon on the third day, they stopped again. They had reached the northern fringe of the Great Forest. Beyond was a boulder-strewn plain covered with thick snow. Merdan estimated it to be about eight miles across before it ran into the soaring walls of the Northern Climbs. These mountains were so tall that there was snow on the heights all year round.

Next to nothing was known about the Northern Climbs, or of the sheer cliff face of the North South Divide, which joined the mountains after running up from the south just a few miles to the east. These two impenetrable barriers, along with the sea, formed the boundaries of Merdan's world. Legends and myths claimed that an ancient people with magical powers lived on the upper land. It was thought that they had caused the earth to rise, cutting them off from the rest of the world. The lower land had been populated as recently as two hundred years ago. Merdan's people had no real history to speak of regarding their adopted home, and Merdan had no idea how the myths had originated.

Merdan realised that his earlier assumption regarding the identity of their captor was now very much in doubt. It now seemed clear that they were heading out of the forest and toward the mountains.

The soldiers gave them an hour to eat and rest before heading them out of the forest and onto the boulder plain. It was hard going from the start. The boulders that were visible here and there were just the larger ones. Smaller stones lay beneath the snow could not be avoided. Progress was slow, but the soldiers had trouble with their footing also and to Merdan's relief, no attempt was made to speed things up.

It took all afternoon to cross the plain. The difficulty increased as they neared the massif walls of the mountains. The boulders were larger and more packed together. The soldiers picked out the easiest route, but even so, they often had to resort to climbing over heaps of huge blocks.

Merdan could not figure out what would happen when they finally got to the soaring walls. He considered the possibility of climbing into the mountains, but that was about as insane an idea as it was impossible. He stared in awe at the vertical sheets of rock along the foot of the mountain range as it loomed up before them. Nowhere could he see anything but dizzying, vertical sweeps rising for thousands of feet into the heavy cloud.

At dusk, they came free of the boulders as they reached a space directly under the rock. Here it was too close to the walls for dropping boulders to land. They turned east along the dripping walls as the weak sun slipped into the sea far to the west.

They kept moving, traversing below the foreboding heights for another hour, desperately tired legs struggling to avoid slipping on the ice, which had set in layers as it had seeped from the walls. Eventually, by torchlight, they entered a huge cleft in the rock and after a few minutes, they came into a large chamber. The sound of their feet echoed back at them from the distant walls. The soldiers lit torches fixed into cracks in the walls and the chamber came to life. Their captors told them to eat and rest.

Merdan had never seen so much light from such small flames. The torches gave off such a strong light. He soon noticed another difference; these torches gave off no greasy fumes. Instead, there was a delicate aroma of trees in summer, of pine or juniper resin beading on bark, or of sap rising to bud. Across the cavern thick, white columns reached up from the floor, soaring up to vaulted arches. On some of the walls pipes of glistening white stone hung in long rows. On other walls, waves of calcified stone mimicked waterfalls, while others still were draped in long graceful sweeps of the most delicate lace.

Merdan, Florinda, and Marta sat in a close huddle against the wall, some way back from the rest of the group. In whispers, they tried to make sense of what was happening. Merdan told them about his suspicion that the creature was the fabled evil of the Great Forest, and then how he had abandoned the idea when they had left the forest. Marta sat with her head in her hands. Merdan could see that she was shaking, as though she was sobbing quietly to herself.

Florinda put her arm around her mother's shoulder and held her close. I don't know how much more of this we can stand, she whispered. She looked into her father's eyes and saw the defeat written there. She experienced a shock at seeing his drawn face. Her belligerence subsided and she reached out covering his hand with hers. At least we're together, she said, whatever happens, we'll do our best to look after each other.

She looked at their friends and neighbours. Some were asleep. Others sat, like her mother, with head in hands. Some stared into an unseen distance with empty eyes.

We're all in this together, she added, we must support each other. Give each other strength, even when we have none left for ourselves.

Merdan was deeply moved by his daughter's courage. She was an example to them. He resolved to grit his teeth even more. If she could be so strong then so could they all. He squeezed her hand and she looked back into his watering eyes. I'm so proud of you, he whispered, his voice breaking with the pain of his defeat.

They were given about four hours of much needed sleep before they were once again kicked awake. The huge soldier bellowed at the top of his voice, and the sound reverberated around the chamber, as he gave them half an hour to eat and be ready to move. Merdan could not face food. He sat deep in thought, hugging his knees to his chest. Florinda had not mentioned the one hope that help may still come before it was too late - Cal. He must have been permanently on her mind from the start. She was bound to be heartbroken. To be suffering this, only days before her wedding, it must be unbearable for her. Yet she had not troubled anyone with her personal pain. Instead, she had spent her time helping everyone else