Grave Intent: The Ashdale Reaper Series, #2

By G.K. Lund

Life has never been so deadly.
 

Ben Reed's search for the truth of his identity has hit a snag. 
 

The one person who knows anything refuses to talk. When an old enemy of the city of Ashdale emerges, Ben is thrown into the chaos of a violent and lethal danger. Shocked by the cruelty of man, he begins to care more than he thought possible. When visions of old memories impose on him with more force than ever before, he begins to suspect the body he occupies can take no more of his presence. 
 

Peter's familiar and safe world changed the day Ben lost his memory. Now he must face not only the prospect of his friend never coming back but the existence of people with otherworldly abilities as well. Peter must put his doubts aside, or embrace them fully, to aid Ben in his fierce quest to corner the richest man in the city. 

But as Evy, an elusive and distrustful woman on the run, gets entangled in their mission, Ben and Peter find themselves hunted by people with mystical skills and dangerous employers. 
 
While on the run in a scarred and wounded city, Ben and his friends must work together to survive. As Ben can't contain his increasing powers, the body begins to give in. With the imminent threat, Ben is unsure if dying will send him back to his old existence or somewhere else entirely.
 

Can he even survive death?
 

Grave Intent is the second novel in the Ashdale Reaper Series, a tale of loyalty and friendships, strength, the search for truth, and souls refusing to stay all that dead.
 

The Ashdale Reaper Series is a four-book fantasy series.  

Series completed.

Deadly Awakening #1
Grave Intent #2
Dance of Death #3
Revenants of Life #4

• Language: English
• Publisher: Northern Quill Press
• Release date: Dec 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9788293663027

G.K. Lund

G.K. Lund writes fantasy and is the author of the Ashdale Reaper Series and the Ashport Mender Series. G.K. holds a BA in Medieval Studies and an MA in Archeology and will probably have to put an archeologist into a story one day. Until then, potty-mouthed and kickass characters with other jobs will have to face high stakes and save the day. G.K. also has a love of old stories and folklore; anything that's dark, weird and wonderful.  

Book preview

Chapter 1

The wire looked as feeble as my connection to everything around me. I don’t know why I noticed it. It was almost transparent, a thin line that gave the effect of a mirage for the human eye. It was on the outskirts of the busy Cury Square, between a large flower bed in a block of brick and the dull wall of a building behind it. I only saw half of it as it gave a small glint in the sunlight, and then gave the wall behind it a hint of a see-through rip in the fabric of existence. Every time it moved as the wind managed to grab hold of it – like a tiny hidden Fata Morgana.

I mean, honestly… you’ve tried everything, Peter continued beside me as he absentmindedly scratched his beard and took in all the people around us. With the sun high in the sky, the closed-in square was a popular place to eat lunch, meet friends and enjoy the day.

Mm-hmm, I volunteered as the wire moved again. Barely a flicker among all the other movement around us. I rubbed the back of the neck, annoyed at the irritation. The body I had taken over from a distraught and desperate soul named Ben, never ceased to surprise with unforeseen needs and problems. I had begun to get the hang of the necessity of proper nutrition by now, but there was always something. Itching, falling asleep without warning, yawning… what is even the purpose of that?

No amount of polite inquiries and requests are going to do anything. If we only knew what you did that made him act like this.

The prickling that persisted suddenly began spreading from below the nape of the neck and above it. It felt as odd and wrong as the skin that held every cell in place around me. Caging me in.

I still don’t know, Peter.

Yeah, I get that, it’s just… it’s so unlike you. Scaring the crap out of someone like that? And the richest guy in the city nonetheless.

The pricking changed into a tingling and pressured sensation as it spread to the head, and realization dawned on me. I had felt that before and it had nothing to do with the body I was currently occupying.

"Maybe you found out something while working for Current Magazine? Peter carried on, oblivious to the tension in me as I looked around. I just don’t see it though. They don’t deal in that kind of reporting. More lifestyle… what are you doing?"

I had stood up to look around the square. It was a large open space between tall buildings, covered mostly with outdoor sections for cafés and restaurants as well as an abundance of benches like the one Peter and I were occupying.

Something’s wrong, I said, the voice distant as if spoken by another body. Peter got to his feet beside me.

Well, yeah. That’s what we’re trying to figure out remember?

I scanned the square, but the eyes quickly returned to the wire. It was not supposed to be there. Why was it then? The head almost vibrated with an electric sensation, alerting me to… a presence. I had felt it before. Knew what would follow. This had nothing to do with Old Ben’s body, and everything to do with me. Whoever that was. In addition to Old Ben’s mortal body, I had also caught an unfortunate case of memory loss when taking over. It had enabled living life as Ben without knowing anything about him, but made nothing but trouble when trying to figure out who I was. The warning now screaming inside the head wasn’t all that troubled me. I felt as if I was almost remembering something – like it was on the tip of the tongue.

And then I saw them. A few teenagers seated on a couple of benches that faced each other. Listening to music and bothering no one, but blocking the way between the benches and the block that contained the flower bed. And the group of people that steered to their left to avoid the obstruction. They headed straight for the wire.

I realized too late what it was.

Recognized instantly what it would lead to.

Could feel it in my figurative bones. Not the feeble carbon-based ones that currently held me upright.

There were five people heading straight for something that was now inevitable. Three men and two women. Friends? Couples? Relatives? I never had time to look close enough to guess. There was nothing to do for them.

They’re gone already. I heard the words leave the body, more than felt the movements in the throat and mouth. I barely registered Peter turning toward me, eyes wide at something he saw in the face in front of him. There was no time to worry about that. The man who walked first of the five, a mere step in front of one the women really, chatted along with her as he strode forward, happy and unaware of his end waiting for him. I saw him move his leg forward, then look down in confusion, mid-sentence as something snagged on his shin.

What the hell is that? I heard Peter say, voice frozen in horror as I reacted.

Down, I said as I grabbed hold of him and threw the both of us to the ground.

Wait, Ben what— he managed as we crashed onto the hard cobblestones that covered the square. They created a soft red and gray pattern of waves rolling through the large space. They might look beautiful but sure didn’t feel like it as the body impacted, pain shooting through it, despite Peter taking the brunt of the hit.

Damn it, everyone’s looking, he said as he groaned in pain and tried getting up. That’s when the loud boom reverberated through the square. It sounded like a crack in the fabric of existence as the sound was flung between the buildings. I felt Peter go still next to me as I glanced up, pain forgotten for a brief moment, as I saw brick and mortar, plants, clothes and people fly away from the place of the wire, the shock wave carrying everything through the air as if it was as light as feathers or leaves. People nearby fell next, the debris hitting them as they stood in its path.

For a mere moment, there was no sound but the echoes of the blast, a dull sound, like thunder as it closes out. Dust covered the area and still followed the initial path of the shock wave. Those who hadn’t fallen all stopped and watched in disbelief.

Then the cries of the wounded rose, a joined agony cutting through the silence like a blunt ax. It was the call sign for the panic that set in immediately after.

People screamed, shouted and ran. Everywhere and in every direction. Some into the shops, cafés, and restaurants, others toward the passageways leading out of this space of violence. People were pushing each other out of the way to escape.

Stay down, I hissed at Peter as he made a move to rise again. I had a bad feeling about this. The tingling in the head had subsided, but the human factor made me stay put. Instinct I guess. Not that I was used to it, but the body wanted to live, and that drive made me listen. True, I wanted nothing more than to leave the body, to return to my true existence whatever that was, but being maimed or trampled wasn’t going to help with that. To be honest, I had no idea if dying would help free me or trap me in another plane, and I had no wish to find out.

"Holy shit, holy shit," Peter said, as he looked up. The wave of dust covered the most severely wounded now, but not the screams. A man tried dragging an apathetic woman with him, but her resistance to moving made him let go of her hand and run. On his way past us, he elbowed an already staggering man in the neck to get around him.

Fuck, Peter muttered at the sight. The fallen man rolled over, pain and confusion evident on a weather-beaten face. Peter began to move again, but I grabbed his arm and held him back. Feet trampled by us, a softer sound than the blast, but not to be mistaken as something that was not dangerous. Further off I saw two people fall before being trampled by others who either didn’t see or didn’t care.

Let go, Ben.

Stay calm, I told him.

We need to help that guy. Can’t you see he’s wounded?

I glanced at the man. He was bleeding from the neck. The elbow he’d been dealt to the wound had not helped. Nor had his subsequent fall.

What are we supposed to do about it? It’s not like he’s going to die.

I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that, Peter said and twisted his arm free from me before he crawled closer to the man.

What? That he’s not going to die? I said. Isn’t that a good thing?

Peter didn’t respond, and for some reason I found myself following him.

Chapter 2

The man was too traumatized to talk. That was what I figured at least. The damage to his neck hadn’t caused a life-threatening injury. He was bleeding, but the red fluid was not spurting out of him. Always a good sign if you ask me. Of course, Peter didn’t ask me. Instead, he pulled off his jacket and pressed it to the man’s neck to stave off the blood. Even I understood the need for that. I knew the man was in no mortal danger, but he could end up spending a life in misery if he was wounded hard enough.

Ben. Hold this, Peter demanded as I reached them. I did as he told me and took over. Near the man’s neck, I could see the blood turning Peter’s gray jacket dark as it flowed into the fabric. The man stared up at me in his fear, letting Peter check him for further injuries. I took the time to look around. The screaming didn’t subside. People were frantic, and the smoke confused them. I saw people fall, some get trampled as others now left the little shops and eateries, not daring to stay put. They thought it was a bomb. They were only sort of right. I had no idea how I knew this though. But the sound, the sudden and booming crack, the shock wave, the debris flying everywhere. I had seen it before. Countless times. I knew I was remembering something. It felt like the facts were there, though not the context. Old Ben’s amnesia might have been a perfect excuse to inhabit his body but not his memories, but I did truly suffer from it. The glimpses I saw now and then, forced themselves upon me, often triggered by something around me. Without context, I could never grasp the true meaning of them. Like now. I looked toward the shattered brick flower bed, the dust flying around, slow movements on the ground. The electric tingling in the head subsided as I saw one raised arm, begging for help maybe, slumping down on the ground. They were all gone.

It all happened so fast. Isn’t that what humans always say? All these impressions happening in a short succession of events, everything sticking to the mind as they watch, or react. I wondered if the panic allowed all of them to take everything in. Maybe someone observed like I was doing.

A pressure to the left arm brought my focus back to the bleeding man. He grabbed at the forearm, bloody fingers twisting the green jacket I was wearing. I could see the droplets of it seeping into the fabric, melding into a dark color.

A shadow to the right made me look up. Two panicked teenagers, crying as they ran blind, heading straight for the bleeding man’s head. I have no idea why I simply reacted. Grabbed his shoulders, his hand still clinging to the arm of the jacket, and yanked him toward me. It wasn’t much, but enough for the girl who came nearest not to trample his head.

Hey, Peter yelled, angry at being disturbed as he was tending to a wound on the man’s right knee. Oh, he added as he noticed the backs of the retreating kids.

A garbled sound escaped the man, and I looked down again. His eyes were pleading for help. Silent, but clear. Eyes wide, brows slightly creased, mouth barely open, an almost sad look in his eyes. He didn’t want to join the people who had walked into the wire. At first, it was an interesting observation. I understood his need on an intelligent level. All I had to do was keep Peter’s jacket in place. It seemed the decent thing to do, no? And yet… something made me do something more. Empathy is not something anyone is born with. Everyone has the capacity, but it has to be learned. Perhaps I had been in Old Ben’s body long enough? I certainly knew what I didn’t wish to happen to myself. Wasn’t that the beginning of empathizing with others in their plight? I didn’t really know. I was still pretty much new to the whole thing. Still, I looked at the wounded man and despite it not being necessary, said the only thing I could think of.

Don’t worry, you’re not marked for passage yet.

The voice sounded strange coming out of me again, and I saw the man’s eyes widen at something he saw in the face I was trapped behind. Then his features softened, strained lines smoothed out and he gave the smallest of nods as he could barely move his head.

What did you say? Peter said as he came back to my side and took over holding the jacket in place again. I didn’t answer him. The odd currents that began in the neck had come back, the sensation building and moving.

Stay down, I told him, as I did the opposite. I stood and let the eyes glance over the square. There were few people left running near us now. The ones who were left, were either wounded, dead, panicked or helping others. The screams echoed between the buildings. Panicked shouts. Voices screaming into their cell phones. Barely any time had passed since the man stepped forward and dragged the wire with him.

I turned and saw the stampede of panicked people trying to get out of the square. They were caught in a bottleneck as the narrow passageways between the buildings didn’t yield to them. They were meant to be narrow. No cars were supposed to pass through. I saw several people veer off and head for even tighter streets to get away from the danger. At the sight, the head positively ringed with the currents vibrating through it. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t pleasurable. It only was. Like a warning sign, that made me think more of the warning than the way I received it anyway.

I glanced down one of these passageways, unable to see in front of the runners, but certain I knew what was waiting for them there. See-through and thin, glinting in the sun if the sun had been able to shine through the crowd.

It was going to happen again.

Steps behind me made me turn to the left. A woman came running. She didn’t look panicked, only determined. Long chestnut-colored hair flowing behind her as she sprinted forward, in the direction of the narrow street straight ahead of me.

Apparently, I was all about altruism that day. I thrust the left hand out and snatched a hold of her, stopping her mid-sprint and whirling her around. Her face went from one of deep concentration to wild surprise as large eyes widened in a different bewilderment than the bleeding man. Her mouth opened to utter a sound that never came out, before she stopped, linked to me by her right hand.

Hey, she yelled to be heard over the screams surrounding us. What are you doing?

Get down, I yelled back. Of course, she didn’t listen. She twisted her hand so her fingers touched me.

Let go, idiot, she said as the most peculiar sensation hit me – a jolt of some sort, reminiscent of the tingling current ringing in the head, alerting me to the change about to happen to the people who had now reached the narrow passageway. The jolt felt like a sting, though without any real force behind it. It hurt, but lack of force or not, it shouldn’t have come at all should it?

I looked up at her from our hands, the question clear on the face. Yet there was an apparent look of confusion meeting me. Something had happened that she didn’t expect. I took advantage of her confusion as the sound of the explosion broke free from the passageway.

Down, I heard myself shout as I yanked her to me, managing to get us to kneel as the roar of the blast pushed itself back into the square. It found the way with least hindrance. In unison we lay down flat on the cobblestones, Peter doing the same mere feet from us, as the deafening sound pushed at us before other things followed in its wake. In the chaos I felt something hitting me, leaving me dazed as the side of the face rested against a cool red cobblestone.

Chapter 3

Screams, the sound of thunder that surely had to be feet hitting the ground near me. The smell of blood, a nauseating sweetness. The body felt heavy, the head pounded at me. Thump, thump, thump. A slow steady rhythm. The eyes closed without me telling them to. I forced them open. They fought me on it. I lost. Damn body. Weak, frail thing. Thump, thump, thump. It was the pulse beating against the skull, wasn’t it?

Or was it?

A steady rhythmic sound shut most other noises out, roaring at me as I opened the eyes, looking down at a grassy landscape. Lush hills and shallow valleys went by down there as I flew above them. The sun was about to set in the west, already half hidden behind a hill that rose in a curve that flattened out on top. It was a beautiful sight, the streams of light breaking between the trees that covered the top of the hill. I was traveling north, and far ahead I could see the Ashdale River as it wound its way between other hills. Was I heading there? I realized I had no say in where I went. The thumping sound had a hard beat to it now, mixed with a whooshing noise. Certainly, the head would explode if this sound came from within it.

That thought didn’t sit quite well with me. What if dying would trap me somewhere more abhorrent than the daily life of Ben Reed? What if that were to happen before I could free myself and leave on my own? To go back to whatever existence I’d had before?

A jerking motion caught me off guard, and I almost stumbled were I stood. Stood? I realized I was not flying on my own accord. The feet were planted on a metal surface, a rubber layer put over it.

I turned and saw what was the inside of a helicopter; the rhythmic noise the rotors moving outside and above. Four people sat strapped in, three men and a woman, in addition to a pilot up front. Not one of them reacted to my sudden appearance, but I wasn’t there was I? I knew