Dark Lands: The Not-Where

By Lyn I. Kelly

The betrayal at the Requiem has passed, but the foreboding presence of the Dark Man still exists. While whispers of a new threat roll across the Dark Lands, Webb Thompson is plagued by a recurring nightmare that warns of a looming evil powerful enough to transform not just his life, but also that of his sister, Sundown, and her counselor, Raven. After the Dark Man initiates a move that destabilizes the shaky balance of good and evil in the Dark Lands, Webb realizes the only resolution may lie within a shadowy region known to few and traversed by even less. But does the cryptic Not-Where hide the source of tribulation or is it a place to release more insidious forces? As the paths of Webb, Sundown, and Raven surreptitiously intertwine, they realize too late that despite their caution and steadfastness, destiny cannot be tempered as new evils are unleashed, secrets are revealed, and a vast army rises. Now only time will tell if they can stop the Dark Man from escaping his otherworldly prison.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483452081

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DARK LANDS:

THE NOT-WHERE

A Novel

Lyn I. Kelly

Copyright © 2016 Lyn I. Kelly.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5207-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5208-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908029

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 03/05/2019

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

T o those reading the second edition of Dark Lands: The Not-Where , I want to assure you that the difference between this and the first printing are nominal. There is nothing to be missed in the overall narrative if this printing is optioned over the first printing or vice versa. The reason for my optioning a second edition has primarily to do with my own proclivities. After Dark Lands: The Not-Where was in circulation, I came to appreciate there were areas of the story that could use more background, coloring in details I knew but the reader would only be able to infer. There were also some grammatical choices that I wanted to amend based on the recommendations of Angela Thang, the editor for Books One, Three and Four in the Dark Lands series. As a bonus, this edition does feature a sneak peek at Dark Lands: War of the Sentinels as well as some of Mike Murdock’s artwork in the Appendix.

Lyn Kelly

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A s with the first book in my series, there are so many that I need to thank who enabled, inspired, or just simply tolerated me while I wrote this book. It is a true Blessing from the Good Lord above that I have such people in my life.

My wife, Hera, is the first of these I wish to thank because she has had to endure more than most during this process. I can be a difficult person to be around, no more so than when I am trying to write. I Love You Very Much and cannot ever offer enough recompense for all you did to allow me the necessary free time to write and the sheer belief you have in my abilities.

Hera and I have four children between us, and they are all unique, each of them a Blessing and inspiration. My oldest daughter Kalyn, who has inherited my imagination and personality (but thankfully not my looks), is the free spirit of the group, wanting to make her own path as opposed to venturing on those paths already worn. My oldest son, Seth, reminds me so much of myself at his age excepting he has more talent and is exceedingly better looking. He is the subtlest of our four, but I know where he is coming from because he is so much like me. My youngest son, Logan, is the genius of the family. He is more computer savvy than most people three-times his age. I jokingly call him the Q of our house (James Bond’s Head of Research and Development for those not entrenched in Geekland). My youngest daughter, Lacey, is one of the sweetest and most empathetic souls I have ever known. She is selfless, caring, and the biggest lover of cats you will ever meet. All four of them are unique and all four of them help me in my writing one way or the other.

Of course, no man can make it far in life without his mom and I have the best in the world. She has always supported me on whatever path I ventured. She, however, was always there when my chosen path got rough, and still is to this day. My brother, Owen, is another rock in my life. He is possibly the most dedicated and focused individual I have ever known as well as one of the most generous. He is a man who I look up to and admire despite his being the younger sibling. He has always been there for me and I for him regardless of the situation. That is just how brothers are. I only have one brother, but I would be remiss if I did not mention here my best friend and brother, Mike Murdock. Aside from being a friend like no other, he is an artist like no other. It was he who designed the Black Kitty Productions logo that designates a project in which he or I or both of us are associated, and it was he who created the Dark Lands’ creature designs. He, like Owen, is generous to a fault, and this world would be a far better place if there were more individuals made from their mold. Clichéd I know, but clichés are popular because they generally ring true. My dad is another foundation in my life. From him, I garnered my love of running and love of reading which both keep me grounded during times of good and bad. He has given me insight on things of which I was not aware or just misunderstood, and that is something all people, especially boys, need.

I would like to thank my editors, Keidi Keating and Angela Thang, for polishing my work, making it presentable for publication. I would like to thank Darryl Gregory, my Marketer, and a founder of FST Pulp, the first Publishing Company to believe in my series. There are numerous others I need to thank such as Linda and Dale Gray, Kalee and Erik Wulfers, Leslie and James and Beau Stegmeier, Suzi Kelly, Lou Murdock, the rest of the Murdock clan (Karen, Delaney, Jack, and Ryan), Katie Grace Kelly, Hank Kelly, Jeffrey Fleck, Tami Ledbetter, Carol and Ron Bafus, and so many others. My apologies that I could not place all your names on this listing. As unusual as it sounds, I would also like to thank my hometown of Wichita Falls, Texas for being my place of solace and the town of De Kalb, Texas where I enjoyed many a rainy day writing this book. I also give thanks to Jesus Christ, who makes all things possible.

In the time between the release of my first book and this book, I have sadly lost many who were close to me, many whom I thanked in my first book. Tommy Thompson, Tommy Murdock, and Keith Friend are just a few. Many were lost to cancer, a disease that has no cure, but one where headway is being made and will continue as long as the donations and funding are funneled to the right place: research. Several programs use their monies to make people aware of cancer with cute slogans and pretty colors. I believe everyone is aware of this disease. The time is now for action. One such organization is http://www.metavivor.org, and I would ask that those inclined focus some of their charity dollars there. I have several friends such as Wendi Taylor and Kelli Parker who would appreciate such a courtesy.

I, finally, want to thank you, the reader, for investing yourself in my series. Writing is a very tedious process and getting published even more so. The fact that you all have read my first book and are eager to start the second makes the writing process all worthwhile. I hope you enjoy this next chapter in the Dark Lands series. God Bless You and Yours.

Dedicate

d to

Kate McRae,

The Bravest girl I have ever known

CHAPTER ONE

AN AWAKENING

L ightning twisted through the night skies, a roll of thunder in its wake moving unhindered in the air until reaching the iridescent structure, a sole point of light aloft in an otherwise landscape of darkness. The thunder ran aground of the Glorian castle like a wave striking a seawall, the impact seeming to rock its very foundation.

The cataclysmic sound jarred Webb Thompson from his bed, freefalling him to the floor. Instinctively, he rounded towards his bedroom door with his right hand outstretched.

But nothing happened. It remained soundly on its hinges.

For a moment he remained crouched, his eyes darting from side to side, refusing to believe all was well. It wasn’t until another burst of lightning jolted him from his trance that he released the breath he’d unconsciously been holding and allowed himself to stand up, slightly embarrassed at being so jittery.

A sound much like a chirp caught his attention, and he looked to the foot of his ruffled bed where Gustafson the Felidae, a creature the size of medium dog but resembling a house cat, lay sprawled somewhere between sleep and disconcertion. Webb reached over and scratched the creature’s head. Sorry, Gus, he mumbled absently, still shaking off the disorientation of having been awoken so violently. The Felidae mewed back at him as if accepting the apology.

Webb sat back down on his bed. How much time had passed since he had fallen into the Dark Lands? He could no longer tell. Days in the Dark Lands seemed to mimic a normal 24-hour cycle, but that was an illusion, the ebb and flow of time being irrelevant and inconsequential to what was transpiring in the living world, or home as he used to know it. It was just as possible that he’d been here ten years or ten days. Or no time at all. It made him dizzy if he thought about it too much, but he took solace in the fact that he was not alone. Everyone in the Dark Lands was caught in this transitory state between life, death, time, and who knew what else.

He let go of a deep sigh and was about to settle back in bed when a sound caught his attention. It was hollow with a rhythmic pattern, much like a saloon door swinging on its hinges. Ka-klump. Ka-klump. Ka-klump.

He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and judiciously walked to his door. Swallowing hard, being that in the Dark Lands there was no telling what waited on the other side of any door, he inched it open. This time nothing was there but the medieval Glorian hallway.

It still unnerved Webb to go from the decor of his room to the stark contrast of the hallway. Ironically, Glorian was intentionally manifested that way, meant to allow each individual’s room to represent a place of solace, of familiarity. For Webb, his place of solace had always been his bedroom. For others, it might be a living room, a game room. He’d even heard rumors that someone had an arcade, but he couldn’t confirm whether that was true. Regardless of each room’s idiosyncrasies, once outside those confines the Glorian compound became one of medieval stone and chandeliers, very gothic in nature and appearance. It was admittedly a jarring transition, one that the residents of Glorian eventually became accustomed to, but one with which Webb had taken longer than most to become comfortable with.

Closing the door behind him, Webb stepped out into the hallway and looked warily from side to side. The chandeliers were swaying lithely, their lighting casting elongated shadows in his direction. This was beyond bizarre. He had never known a wind to meander this deep into the compound, much less cause the chandeliers to skew.

As strange as the chandeliers’ movements were, they were not the causal of the hollow sound echoing throughout the hallway. Webb looked to his left from where the sound seemed to be coming and caught a momentary blur, a figure darting away from him. He started. The last time he had seen such a thing was when Badego had unlocked the Glorian doors, allowing the Whoop-Dingers entrance. But Badego was no longer there, and the Whoop-Dingers were not known to prowl at this late evening. However, he knew what he had seen, and it could not be good, especially at this hour. He charged in pursuit of whoever, or whatever, had scattered by, the echoing sound becoming more prominent the further down the hall he ran.

A pair of huge lumbering doors quickly came into view, swinging in and out on par with the rhythmic echo in the hallway, affirming Webb’s suspicion that the phantom sound was indeed a door, albeit the mammoth archetype doors that allowed entry into Glorian. Over two stories tall, these structures didn’t just move at the slightest compression or flutter but here were a set of them swinging recklessly like a screen door caught in a harsh north wind. Webb slowed, his mind trying to comprehend the unusual sight, only to have his concentration interrupted by the sudden reappearance of the mystery figure bolting for, and then twisting through, the doors and out into the Dark Lands. Webb paused momentarily before haphazardly pursuing.

A crosswind caught him off guard and almost threw him to the ground. He had never felt the winds more spiteful. Everything around him seemed to have gone insane. The winds were tearing into the grounds. Lightning was violently slashing across the sky. A reverberation of thunder hummed all around him. Something was horribly wrong. Normally the skies were iridescently calm, swimming in a watercolor parade of celestials. He took a step back towards Glorian, pondering if he should find Mathias, or maybe even Kane, and let them know what was happening, but before he could another lightning strike lit up the area and revealed the running figure.

It was his sister, Sundown.

Webb’s mouth went wide, and he tried to scream out her name, but the winds caught his voice and eradicated the sound. Even so, Sundown turned and momentarily made eye contact, her gaze pleading for him to follow, but the moment was quickly lost, and she turned back into the swarming darkness.

Webb shoved his arm out, hand perpendicular to the ground, and produced a shockwave in Sundown’s direction hoping to trip her up, but the wave fell short, merely striking the ground behind her. He screamed in frustration and began to chase after her, the winds pummeling him from every direction.

Webb’s mind was ablaze with confusion. Why would Sundown run so recklessly into the Dark Lands and at night no less? What could have possibly happened? What they already knew about the Dark Lands was terrifying enough, much less what they didn’t know, but here she was running deeper and deeper into it. Webb felt sickeningly helpless, much like a man trapped in a maelstrom-whipped ocean.

Another strike of lightning burst through the sky, and Webb caught a glimpse of something in Sundown’s path, something huge and foreboding. He screamed out again, but the wind refused to carry his voice anywhere but away from Sundown. Whatever was ahead, Sundown either didn’t see it or didn’t care as she continued to run, her course in direct collision with the monstrous shape.

Webb pressed himself to run faster, his legs burning in protest as he concurrently fought the winds and his own anxiety. As he drew closer to his sister, the shape became clearer. It was a tree, but not like any tree he’d ever before come across, especially in the Dark Lands where he had never even seen a tree.

Thick rooted, its trunk and leafless branches twisted and spiraled in all directions as if it had been vomited from the ground. Its bark was dark and grizzled, shining with an abnormal sheen. Larger than any tree that Webb had ever seen, its enormity easily resisted the winds that were caustically battering Webb and his sister.

Just as Sundown drew within a few yards of the tree, she inexplicably stopped and slowly turned back to Webb. She appeared stunned, her eyes gazing more through Webb than at him. Webb slowed his gait to an almost meandering walk as he approached her, his legs harboring the effort it had taken to run her down.

Sundown, what are you doing? he asked exasperatedly. Thinking better of it, he quickly added, "Never mind. We’ve got to return to Glorian. It’s not safe out here."

It’s not safe anywhere, she replied, her eyes still glazed over, her expression vacant.

What is up with you? Webb asked, noting the eerily similarities between her composure now and when she was enveloped by the Requiem. Could they be near it? Had they again inadvertently stumbled upon it? Webb nervously searched the horizon, straining to see the iridescent pink hue that announced the Requiem’s presence, but there was nothing but unforgiving darkness around them.

Let’s go, Sundown, Webb announced fervently, grasping her arm. Just then he saw a subtle movement behind her. He turned his head but was violently knocked awry before he could register what was happening. Stumbling back to his feet, he looked up just as the tree began to horribly unwind, its branches like snakes, before spiraling unencumbered towards Sundown.

Webb leapt for her, but in no time the tree had consumed her. One second she was there, the next, she was gone. Webb, landing from his ill-timed jump, rolled back over, and fired a disperser wave at the monstrosity hoping to rip a hole in its bark affording Sundown an escape, but the attack did nothing more than cause a harmless ripple that faded into surrounding winds.

Suddenly a deep, acidic laugh began to emerge from the tree, echoing loudly over the landscape. Webb stood and took an unconscious step backward, his hand propelled for another assault. The tree began to molt, convulsing down into a smoother, darker shape until what stood before Webb was an evil he had only seen once before, but it was enough to sear itself forever in his mind’s eye.

The figure’s face was covered by a deep, blackened hood, its body hidden by robes that swirled slowly despite the violent winds whipping around them. The transformation complete, the Dark Man stepped forward before Webb.

Webb’s mouth went dry. He tried to propel a shockwave from his outstretched hand, but nothing happened. His arm dropped weakly by his side, a dull feeling beginning to spread throughout his body, encasing him in an inexplicable weakness. He tried to move, but his