Lord of Lykos

By LOURDES URREA

Valton Wyatt is a wealthy, cool kid with not a care in the world other than obtaining decent grades to keep his father happy, until strange visions and dreadful nightmares reveal a family secret that menaces to destroy Valtons carefree existence. He will now fi nd himself in a terrifying race from the cobblestone streets of London to the steep, cold mountains of Spain, to find the truth, before it is too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palibrio
• Release date: Feb 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781463319953

LOURDES URREA

Lourdes Urrea has dedicated her life to education in many different ways. As a writer, she believes that reading can not only amuse and educate, but also inspire, and transform. She is the author of the “Cuentos de Escalofrío” and “Castillo del Terror” series for young readers, and of “English for the Latin student” and “Spanish for the foreign student” language text books. She has also written two books of Poetry “Versos Prohibidos” and “Historias familiares” as well as numerous essays and newspaper articles. As a speaker, her commitment to promote reading has taken her to all sorts of audiences and countries. Her multimedia lecture “The goodness of Reading” has been presented in libraries, schools and theatres around the world, and inspired children and adults to take up reading as an enriching life experience. Her writing depicts her vast traveling and the author’s desire to give children a glimpse of the diversity of cultures in the world. Each one of her stories takes place in a different country. In 2008 Lourdes Urrea was honored with the Doctor Honoris Causa appointment by the Latin American Council of Education, for her contribution to education in Latin American countries. Get in touch: www.lourdesurrea.com [e-mail] www.institutodelalengua.org

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Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Mukerdale, England. 1987

A reddish full moon shone over the quaint farming village of Mukerdale. It was not a quiet night. People were gathering in the church: men armed with hoes and rifles, women carrying their little ones, covering them from head to toes. Long menacing howls filled the air, making them shiver in fear. The wolves were getting closer.

We must do it! a farmer shouted, rousing the crowd.

Let’s do it now! the other men hollered in response.

To the manor, good people of Mukerdale! the farmer raised his right arm and marched towards the entrance door. Follow me!

Wait! In the name of God! the priest addressed his parishioners from the pulpit of the old chapel. These are not the ways of the Lord. If you have proof of your accusations, you must look for help from the authorities. Look for justice, not revenge.

Where were the authorities when they killed my daughter? a man holding a rifle said out loud.

And my sheep? I´m ruined! yelled another farmer.

They took my husband away, a woman cried. Who is going to protect my family now?

You say justice, Father; is justice going to bring me back my boy? said an old man with a mournful face. I say: let’s kill them!

You must calm —

But no one heard the priest’s reply. His voice was muffled by the shouts and footsteps of the men marching out.

In the middle of the village, someone died at the stake that night. A young boy who had just turned eighteen was burnt to ashes.

Five years after that dreadful night, in the island of Mykonos, a middle-aged man stared at the horizon, immersed in his thoughts. The stringy notes of a balalaika blended beautifully with the rhythmic, soothing sound of the waves of the Greek Mediterranean, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

Costas! Costas! there is a long distance call for you said his wife walking towards him with a telephone in her hand.

Long distance? asked the man suddenly alert.

Yes, from England

Ah! At last! he grabbed the phone with trembling hands. He had been expecting this call for a long time. His face changed from excitement to horror as he listened. It was a short call, but the few words said, had carried a terrible meaning.

What is it, Costas? his wife asked as he hung up the phone.

Andrea Lykos is dead — killed by the hand of her own blood, he answered.

Holy Father! exclaimed his wife, making the sign of the cross with her right hand.

I must call the Brotherhood immediately, he muttered. This changes everything.

What does, my husband? -.

Andrea had a child, a boy…

How is that possible? – the woman asked.

Costas paused before answering, already focused on the events to come.

Her husband has the baby. We must help him, was his reply.

Does he know? she whispered. But he didn’t hear her. He had already rushed into the house.

That afternoon, Costas packed enough for a small trip and said goodbye to his wife and two children. With the years, it was becoming more difficult for him to separate from his family and from his quiet life on the island. The upcoming five-hour flight made him feel anxious. He changed planes in Athens, where a member of the Brotherhood provided him with the gear he needed to perform his very special task.

It is all very well concealed inside leaded wrapping, you will have no problem going through customs, his contact said.

Wish me luck my friend.

I’ll meet you here in a few more days. Godspeed, Costas.

He arrived in London a little after eight o’clock, under a rising, full, summer moon. As his friend had predicted, the silver bullets and the disassembled gun went unnoticed by the customs officer. The Brotherhood was meeting at nine o’clock. Time was of the essence. He rushed from the airport.

Taxi, sir? offered a man.

Thank you, Costas said, waving off the cab driver’s attempt to help him with his scarce luggage. I´m in a hurry. 3425 Kingston Road.

I’ll do my best, sir. There’s a road block ahead; they’re fixing some pipes.

A good tip awaits you if you step on it, said Costas.

Thank you, sir! My name is Lars. At your service.

They rode in silence. Costas looked out the window at the full moon, which seemed to follow them as they took a bumpy detour and left behind the lights of the highway. It got so dark he could hardly see the road. At some point, he asked the cab driver, Are you sure this is the right way?

Oh, yes, it is, Lars answered, stopping the car.

What are you doing? Costas snapped.

We have been waiting for you the man replied.

What? I…

It was too late when Costas realized what was happening. He tried to get out of the vehicle but the doors and windows were locked. He opened his luggage and made a useless attempt to grab the gun, but it would take him too long to put it together.

There is no escape, Lars growled, before lunging at his victim. You have made us very, very angry his eyes had a reddish, wild, glow. The sharp claws reaching for his throat was the last thing Costas saw…

CHAPTER ONE

Present

T he nightmare repeated until I felt the morning sun on my face. I opened my eyes and shook my head, trying to get the horrible images out of my mind. I didn’t want to get up. I tossed a little, looking for the most comfortable spot to try to doze off again when I heard the door of my room open.

Master Valton, said Marcelo. It’s seven thirty.

What day is today? I asked. My head felt as if it were splitting in two.

Friday. There are still two more weeks of class before you can enjoy your not-so- deserved vacation.

I’ve told you not to call me ‘Master’ — this is the twenty-first century, man! Are you going to stand there until I get up?

Yes, Master.

I don’t want to get up. I can’t. I didn’t sleep well.

But you must. You have finals this week, remember?

I hate mornings, I grumbled. I would finish high school in a few more days and I had been burning the candle both ends. I wasn’t used to so much studying and no sleep. And I hate getting out of bed Marcelo, don’t you know that?

It is something we must do every day, unfortunately, Marcelo replied.

Is dad in the dinning room already? I asked, yawning.

Yes, he is having breakfast; showered, dressed and ready to begin a new day. And the best part is that he has done it all by himself.

Save the sarcasm, Marcelo. It’s too early

Why can’t good manners be inherited, I wonder? Marcelo said, placing my clean uniform on the bed. Oh! And may I remind you that you have a tennis lesson today at four o’clock, and Spanish tutoring at…

I know Marcelo, thank you.

You’re welcome, Master Valton.

I didn’t like to be called Master Valton; it sounded so retro and patronizing. But there was no point in trying to change it now; our friend and housekeeper was old, stubborn, and British.  And a very important part of the fraternity, as my grandpa called our small family of four men: my grandpa, my father, Marcelo, and I.

By the time I showered, I was completely awake and