Escape from the Blighted Bliss

By Jonathan Evan Hudson

It took a ratling to raze a village—but a vixen to sneak out of one.

And that vixen: Azura Snow.

A bookworm of a fox girl. Her promising future thrown away. The people that cared for her too. All to escape deadly bullies. And defeat them one day.

In this enthralling novel of epic fantasy that only the acclaimed Jonathan Evan Hudson could tell, Snow must face the unthinkable. Surpass the unstoppable. And her sense of humor: her last defense … or only escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordpulp Studios
• Release date: Feb 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393213475

Jonathan Evan Hudson

Widely traveled, Jonathan Evan Hudson spends as much time studying life as he does writing gripping tales of fantastic adventures. From the giant redwoods of California to the deserts of Israel, his thrilling stories all draw on first-hand experiences and expand them with the fantastic and his acclaimed creativity.

Book preview

Chapter

One

AZURA SNOW

It took a ratling to raze a village – but a vixen to sneak out of one.

And Azura Snow, that vixen.

The barricades were the most obvious problem. There were coils of hardened black bramble twice as high as the highest ratling.

And ratlings were thrice Snow’s height.

On average.

The best she could guess. It’s not like stake fodder like her get much to work with.

And the plump scarlet cherries growing in those coils smelled sweet and mouthwatering, but … creep a fur strand too close and pop, splat, and the agony, oh the agony …

Thank the Great Darkness for giving its great regeneration gift to lycan girls like Snow, as half-tailed as it was, and then curse it, curse it so much for nooooo instaaaaant deeeeeath.

Kinda like the maggots (or were they termites?) bursting in slow, overeating agony in these rotting logs stacked in a huge pile by the bramble.

And she had to rearrange these logs, pronto.

Make them into a nice and neat pile of rotting logs.

And the logs smelled mustier than those most ancient of libraries of Wemington she, only a few many years ago, practically lived safe and cozy in, oh Dear Dark, what she would give to be able to curl up with a nice cozy bed and read some heavy thick tome till it put her into a deep coma and oh yea, let’s throw in some hot steaming chicken soup because why not?

No.

Don’t daydream.

Especially about the past or … else … you’ll miss a chance at a better future, yes, a better future, like what … always was said … by her last master, practically her father, actually, even though he was human, and a wizard, a very very veeery old human wizard, but he did teach her lots of magic, sort of, among other things, Master Wizard Merlo of Snow.

And one of the reasons everyone called her Snow.

Not Azura.

And never Azura Snow. (Not even here.)

That was her name, Azura Snow, but she shared it with that the legendary of legendary vixen witch and thief from one of those dime dreadfuls that Master Merlo claimed wasn’t entirely pure fiction. He hinted and lectured more than once about alternate timelines and worlds and other weird ideas she still couldn’t understand and at this rate, she never would.

If only she had even half the skill and talent of that legend.

If only she hadn’t run off for the Dark for reasons stupid and … okay, yeah, everyone kept saying she was an evil eeevil darkling and and and … sigh.

After that asshole Vildro kept cutting her tail off, kept jabbing her with his knife. Thank the Dark for her amazing regeneration, but how did an asshole like him become an exorcist, given the right to slay darklings, even if it meant property damage and so on?

To make mattered worse, his role model in bullying, the insufferable Dark, Tall, and Handsome Chase Murdock got selected too.

Creeps.

It was all just so … unfair, them jabbing her over and over, taking her tail, her ears to train, for coin, so she, stupid stupid Snow, ran off to the Dark so she could stop those bullies and their buddies and … sigh.

(Maybe she should of told Jake. He promised to protect her and she believed him but … no. Those two warned … his ma would be … and his old man wasn’t around any longer to protect her … and Jake wasn’t either.)

Not that the Dark was any better but …

At least the ground here in Fort Trainclaw wasn’t as soggy and gooey as the soil outside the barricade.

Wowzy, outside the barricade the trees looked like craggy twisted zombies and they dripped so much green goo they might as well be sweating it in this crazy heat. Only darklings like herself could safely touch it too, so hope hope of rescue.

Not even Jake.

Yeah right, rescue. Nope. She got herself into this mess.

She’d have to get herself out of it.

She wasn’t stupid.

Usually.

Rumor also had it the green stuff tasted nice and minty, like the little mint cubes her ratling betters often ate with their weekly Snow bitties.

(Thank you Dark for her amazing regeneration. She wasn’t a cripple, no, just a tasty recovering treat for her betters.)

((For now.))

And the goo smelled so tummy grumbling nice and minty from here.

Snow could almost taste it.

Almost.

Mostly because whenever she tried picking up a rotting log, it broke apart, practically exploding, and she could smell and taste the bits of the log that flew up into her snout.

(And her fox snout ensured she got a real mouthful.)

(And a noseful.)

Beyond the bramble and their sweet horrible cherries, the zombie trees grow more than far enough apart for a few human warriors and, maybe even a couple human knights, even with their big war horses. She heard plenty how they’d all gallop through the Blighted Bliss and slaughter any monsters i.e. darklings they stumbled upon.

(Too bad they’d certainly slaughter her the moment they got the chance. No chance to reveal the Dark’s secrets, prove she was a lightfiend, a darkling that sided with the Light.)

Of course, how often had the warriors back home in Wemington reminded her again and again that without Master Merlo and … nonononono.

Not now.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen anything remotely resembling a regular squirrel. Heard nothing remotely resembling crickets since she arrived many, many years ago.

It was all howls of unspeakable (and unseeable) horrors.

But it was Master Merlo who warned her never to run away to the Dark but … she did.

Too late to run back to the Light.

Human warriors who no doubt slaughtered the rest of her clan, but she was way too young to remember that, at all, and honestly, she liked living in Wemington so much, she didn’t exactly brood for vengeance, since had her kin raised her, she’d no doubt be yearning the life she had in Wemington.

Kinda like the way she yearned for it now.

Even after all these years … almost a decade actually … but … would anyone from home even recognize her anymore?

Chapter

Two

AZURA SNOW

Well … anyway … on the bright side … with all this time in this bramble barricaded fortress, Snow could claim she’s been trained to be the finest as stake fodder ever!

Do the vixen spy stuff too.

Maybe.

(Eventually.)

She wasn’t really trained to do any of that. Yet. She was a darkling so maybe it didn’t matter? She did read plenty about it. That must count for something.

So few darklings could read!

And she read all about it in all those smutty romance and adventurous dime dreadfuls. Even those human warriors back in Wemington all had insisted she could do the seduce and slash thing just fine but don’t do it there in Wemington — even by accident — or else.

But if she could do it by accident then maybe she didn’t need training for it.

But honestly … she would kill for a bowl of chicken soup. Like right now. She’d slaughter a platoon of lightlings for one. Really.

Sigh.

She still had hours to go before she got another bowl of mystery bitties, and … wait, oh no, she … was eighteen today so maybe …

Maybe time to go stake fodder girl for realsie?

It is … what she came here for. Those exorcists … the way they … they … no! Don’t growl.

But since they were going to pelt her … she wanted, no, insisted on being able to fight back, and her time here, maybe she could now.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t trained.

(And unlike what too many dime dreadfuls claimed, even the Great Darkness knew better than to waste time and effort trying to use young dumb teenagers and kids on the battle field — except as meat shields and hostages, of course.)

Only a few steps away, there was axe propped against the rotting logs. Wow. This axe, its blade was as tall as she was.

No. Taller.

Kinda. It was … over six feet tall.

Master Merlo taught her quick eyeballing measurements, mainly for potions and alchemy and wow.

She was six feet tall?

Really. Wow. (How’d that happen?)

(This place could really use more mirrors.)

(Okay, maybe not. Too much ugly as there is.)

Its dark handle was blood iron and shaped too much like a rounded shiny spine. Like some Darkbone style, and it even smelled like fresh, well-preserved human blood.

Really.

And any darkling here knew the smell of human blood by heart, whether they wanted to or not. The axe head was molded after some starved skeletal horror, that thankfully remained nameless, but its blade was huuuuuge.

As tall as she was, and as wide as several of her standing shoulder to slim, pathetic shoulder.

She dare not disturb it.

Don’t glance at it too long.

Do that and she’d risk the wrath of its owner — no doubt her better, but its blade … it was sooooo shiny, which was flat out amazing given how messy these logs and their exploding maggots were, but so shiny and — nononononono.

Focus.

And not on the shiny.

But shiny.

Nonononono.

Vildro always ambushed her using shiny. Yanked her tail as much as he could till he sliced it off.

It still ached … despite growing back perfectly each time.

So that he could slice it off again.

And again.

And — no!

Don’t growl.

Focus.

Pretend this was training. Yes. Training to defeat Vildro and Chase by … um … somehow improving her … um …

Something?

Good enough.

Vildro and Chase and their followers would be plenty trained by the time she had her chance at them.

And these rotting logs were piled high and jagged, as if they were an abstract artwork inspired by the lower warthoggish jaw of the average filthy orc. She was to rearrange them so that they’d be an abstract artwork inspired by the lower jaw of a ratling’s snout.

Let’s say today’s overseer saw himself as a gothic artist of sorts.

One that had the help do all the dirty work.

He was named GothAck. Said like saying Goth but with a loud Ack at the end.

(Said with both capitals