A Song of Dreams and Demons: Daughter of Time, #1

By Stephanie M. Jones

An ancient prophecy. A girl with a past she'd rather forget. A friend who isn't dead after all.

 

Eighteen-year-old Rynlee Nalis is a Purator in training, a demon hunter who relies on her magic to keep the world safe. She comes back from a mission to the academy where she trains and lives to find a friend she thought was dead. Only Jeynen has no memory of who she is, and won't tell her where he's been all this time.

 

After an assassin tries to kill Jeynen, he leaves and takes a piece of Rynlee's heart with him. She thought she was over him, but when she finds out the assassin is still tracking him, she has to go warn him. Even though it means leaving the academy where her entire life is and possibly ruining her chances of graduating.

 

Rynlee finds out about an ancient prophecy, and the academy she loves is threatened by the evil man mentioned in it. She has to gather allies and go back to her home to protect the place and the people she loves. A saboteur has infiltrated the Purators, and it's up to her and Jeynen to find out who it is.

 

Will she be able to face her worst fears and fulfill her destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie M. Jones
• Release date: Nov 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781988278018

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rynlee stumbled as she whirled to face her opponent. She’d turned to get the glare of the sun out of her eyes for just a moment. It wasn’t that hard to keep watch on her student from the corner of her eye. The first-year student she was sparring with shot another blast of magic that sent her to the ground.

Sorry! Lora ran over to give Rynlee an arm up. Once she was standing, red cloak dusty, Rynlee clapped her student on the back.

You did well. She gave Lora a small smile and walked over to the tent to catch her breath, tying the flap open behind her. She’d been going easy on Lora, as they needed to save their strength for the actual battle.

Waiting for a demon to show itself was her least favourite part of being a Purator. They had been lingering on site for a day already, and Rynlee thought it might be a false alarm. Her students were getting restless.

There was evidence enough: big splashes of black blood across the plains to the north and several crushed buildings in the city of Bhize itself. Yesterday, one of the new boys—almost too new to be fighting demons at all—nearly fell into a deep gash in the earth. This demon had to have monstrous claws to make these burial-pit sized slices.

One such slice was visible through the open flap of Rynlee’s tent. She watched as a few of the girls practiced their skills with daggers. Sitting on her blankets, her clenched muscles relaxed until a foul stench blew in from the east. Her senses awakened, she realized that the birds had stopped calling out their songs. Her head reeled with the somber silence until a sound permeated her thoughts.

Rynlee! someone called.

Rynlee dashed out of the tent and looked about her for the voice. She squinted through the dust hanging in the air, which had risen from the earth during her few minutes of rest. It made the sky turn an unsettling greenish-gray, as if some enormous animal had become sick. It smelled just as bad and left a sticky sheen over her skin.

A moment later, Rynlee caught the glimpse of a person running toward her.

As she came closer, Rynlee recognized the flouncing curls and black cloak to be Iselin, the High Purator’s second-in-command. The dust in the air had turned Iselin’s black hair to gray in parts.

Rynlee, Iselin said, gasping for breath. She must have run all the way from the heart of the village. The High Purator is asking for you. This one is too much for the juniors. We’ve already lost Darielle.

Rynlee ducked her head. She did not know many of the second-year students by name, but they were still her sisters and brothers in magic. Losing a student in battle was never easy. She swallowed, hard.

As a sign of respect to their fallen sister, the pair pressed the back of their left hands against each other’s collarbones and bowed their heads.

After a moment of silence, Rynlee drew away from the clamminess of Iselin’s skin.

And so, it has come to this, Rynlee’s voice wavered. Missions were always well planned, but mistakes sometimes happened. Her first-years were not ready for this.

From where he crouched, Sariel could see Noctair through the keyhole. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard: the dark mage had a wife and daughter.

All the time he’d known Noctair, Sariel had thought no one could ever love such an evil man. Now he was seeing this woman for himself. Only a plain dress and the silhouette of her shadowed face were visible.

Sariel ran a hand through his short black hair and strained to hear more. He felt embarrassed, even knowing they were unaware of his presence.

You’re taking a tremendous risk, the woman said.

Noctair stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. I had to see you, he whispered.

Sariel noticed her fingers weren’t solid. They seemed to go right through Noctair’s hands, like a ghost.

If our daughter is safe, then Ragas must be following your plan. That’s good to hear. The woman’s voice was cheerful but laced with pain.

Sariel stood to stretch his legs as silently as possible. They had grown numb and tingled from squatting. He kept one ear close to the crack of the door.

I’m sorry we do not have more time than this, my dear, Noctair said. If only—

Shh. I love you.

After trying so hard to hold it in, Sariel sneezed, the sound echoing all along the hall and the entire world seemed to hold its breath with him. He stood immediately, banging his head on a shelf, and ran down the hall, not worrying about each heavy footstep falling onto the stone floor. They must have heard that, as there were no other noises to mask his clumsy getaway. His heart pounded as he turned into the library. He pulled down a book and pretended he had been there all along. His panic lessened as the minutes went by, but he still felt self-conscious; a child caught with his hand in the candy jar.

A few more minutes passed. Sariel was about to go back to look when Noctair strode in. The mage leaned against a bookshelf and stared right at him. Noctair’s expression was unreadable; Sariel couldn’t tell if he was about to yell or cry.

How much did you hear?

The softness of the man’s voice surprised Sariel. This didn’t sound like his boss. It was a different side of Noctair.

Uh, I was just in here finding that book you wanted, he mumbled.

Noctair’s expression turned to a glare, green eyes flashing. Don’t lie to me.

Sariel bit his lip. He felt as guilty as he probably looked. He might as well go back to his brother now. I— I didn’t mean to be there. I just heard voices and…

Noctair surprised him again. The mage stepped forward and handed Sariel a piece of paper.

I have another mission for you, he said. Leave tonight, and you’ll get there in a few days.

With that, the mage left. Stunned, Sariel stood there for a moment before reading his instructions.

Rynlee released a small amount of magic from the center of her being and let it flood her veins. Its cold, blue-green glow was comforting. She shaped it inside herself until it touched every inch of her body. Then she stood next to Lady Drelralya, just outside the cathedral the demon had claimed as its home. She had just traveled a few miles of land in a single second. Already, the effect of such a spell was tiring her. If time wasn’t of the essence, she would not have dared use it.

A blast of air from within the cathedral whipped open Rynlee’s red cloak, revealing the pale-yellow dress she wore underneath. The rush of air ran its sweaty fingers across her face and through her long hair. When the air stilled once more, Drelralya turned to Rynlee.

The third- and fourth-year students will be unable to take part, the older Purator began. Even with their transportation spells, they would arrive far too late. I’ve sent the second-years to hold it back until you could come. They’ll only be able to keep it contained a few more minutes without more loss of life. The High Purator sighed. Rynlee noticed a flyaway gray hair she hadn’t seen before in Lady Drelralya’s long black locks. "It seems to me this one is a Genus locais—a demon from the age of the Drakans. It won’t go down easily."

Rynlee nodded. The Drakan species thrived over a thousand years ago, before humans ever came to the country of Jersha. No one ever saw the demons that roamed the continent so long ago—until now. The mages who summoned the demons during the war must have been powerful, she thought.

In the next moment, a few second-year Purators streamed out of the cathedral, green cloaks billowing. Behind them, the Genus locais—a mass of darkness in the form of a shadowy wolf—loomed. It was about the size of the cathedral itself. The sheer presence of the demon seemed to weigh down on the atmosphere as its shadow cast over the fleeing students.

Rynlee spread her magic through her veins once more and transported herself a few feet into the midst of the second-year students. The Genus locais waited, startled by her sudden appearance. The great demon fixed its glittering red eyes on her green ones, hatred like none other reflected there. She stared back with the same intensity, as if willing it to feel her anger. This monster had taken one of her own.

Just as Rynlee raised her arm with a layer of magic to shield herself, the demon threw a spark of pure power toward her. Its energy collided with her magic, a blazing red in contrast to her soft blue-green. The way it sparkled might have been pretty if the beast weren’t trying to kill her.

She could only hold it for so long until the weak shield gave way, and she stepped aside to avoid the rest of the demon’s powerful strike. It stumbled closer, awkward with its thick, shadowy legs, which thrust deep prints into the ground. Rynlee was far ahead and matched its magic once again, this time using more of her strength.

As each of their magics pushed against the others’, it cracked and sizzled like lightning. The contact threw sparks through the air, a firework display of red and green.

Before its power could overwhelm her, Rynlee transported herself behind the demon. Raising the bulk of her magic into her throat, she sang.

Her voice rung out high and pure above the commotion: the combination of notes filled the space the birds had left. The essence of her magic flowed out with the music, piercing into the demon’s body. The terrible creature’s eyes seemed to swell and dim, as if drowsy, although demons didn’t sleep.

Rynlee’s mind went blank, and she faltered. She felt off balance, as though the weary ground beneath her feet were tipping, threatening to drop her. The dusty stench of the demon left her nostrils in a moment of breathlessness. Her voice broke off and her magic left the demon. It returned to its full fury all at once and turned toward Rynlee again. A picture flashed through her head of a faceless woman with silver curled hair holding a baby girl. The same image had been plaguing her mind in her dreams, and now, it seemed, during the day.

There was no time to ponder over it at this moment. Rynlee thrust her arms out to find some sense of balance. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her battle instincts.

Then the Genus locais charged, mouth opening to reveal smoky fangs each as long as she was tall. As incorporeal as they looked, Rynlee knew otherwise. A bright red sphere of magic glowed within its throat, sparkling and sizzling. Rynlee backed up, still trying to recover from her mind’s falter.

The magic exploded from its throat, sending a fork of power crackling through the air. Rynlee didn’t have time to shield herself against its attack. The force of it flung her backward against the wall of the cathedral. There was a sickening sound as she hit the ancient stone base and fell to the ground. Her head was clear now, but her right arm throbbed something awful. She bit her lip against the pain as she struggled to stand, gathering her magic. The demon was readying another attack, too. Rynlee watched with horror as it fired not at her, but at her young students who had gathered around its feet.

Despite her worry, she didn’t get to see if the demon had hurt any of them. She had to distract it. The demon roared in fury at her disappearance and swung its massive head to look for her.

Its steps shook the earth, adding the pounding rhythm to her headache. Rynlee almost lost her balance again on the peak of the roof. The hem of her dress snagged on a splinter in the beam she stood on, and the fabric tore when she tried to right herself. The end of the demon’s tail and its deadly claws glowed red now, like its eyes. Rynlee stared in shock. She had never seen such a thing in all her years of training.

The library was dark. Jeynen waited in the doorway for the old man to find his book. He had only just arrived in Nover, but Jeynen hadn’t had time to eat yet.

Jeynen looked around the tiny historian’s house. The main-floor entry room was full of worthless trinkets, statues, and ornaments of every kind. He noticed an ancient mirror on one wall, ornate brass braids decorating its edge. He glimpsed his reflection. His eyes went to the fading mark on his cheek. The cut was almost healed. In a few days it would be gone completely, although his long red-brown bangs covered it, anyway.

Impatient, Jeynen turned away from the mirror and sighed. Did you get lost in there? he called.

A muffled voice replied, but Jeynen couldn’t make out the words. He took a cautious step into the shadows and felt for the nearest bookshelf. He picked up the first book his fingers touched and brought it out into the light.

Before he had even opened its cover, the book was snatched out of his hands.

Don’t touch that, the old man wheezed. His long white hair was now holding clumps of dust and cobweb.

Jeynen held up his hands in surrender. What took you so long?

The young are always impatient, the old man complained. He had a stack of books in his arms. The one Jeynen had tried to open wasn’t one of them. Here are a few that might mention it.

The man put the books down on a nearby table. Jeynen grabbed the first one. He opened it and skimmed the first few pages.

Impatient, he thought he heard the historian mumble.

The old man left Jeynen alone, retreating up the stairs to his living quarters. Once the man had gone, Jeynen turned to the second book, then the third. None of them talked about the last priestess Alika had chosen. It had to be in one of those books.

When Jeynen reached for the last book and opened it, a small orange flame blossomed from the binding. He slammed the book shut. The flames grew. They consumed all the pages in mere seconds. He dropped the empty cover. It, too, was disintegrating.

Jeynen swore. He’d come all this way only to trip over such an amateur spell. He watched as the last of the leather and paper burned to ash at his feet.

In his anger, Jeynen picked up the other books and threw them into the library. It was too dark to see where they’d landed, but he heard a satisfying crash.

The old man was back in a flash.

What have you done to my books? He stood with his hands on his hips, a rather comical sight.

The one I wanted was spelled, Jeynen countered. He was too frustrated to worry about the consequences of ruining the old man’s library.

Well, you don’t have to destroy the rest of them, too. The historian hobbled past Jeynen into the darkness to pick up the books.

A voice came into his mind.

It is not your fault.

Jeynen clenched his fist and tried to push her away. The Immortal’s voice just sounded louder in his head. You are too strong to give up now, she said.

He sighed. I know that, he thought back to her. I can’t believe I didn’t check for spells first. I’m getting too overconfident.

Jeynen broke his connection with the Immortal he served and walked out of the historian’s house.

With that copy gone, he’d just have to see if another library might have one. It wasn’t likely. It had taken him long enough just to locate this one, and it was one of the last. There was no clue where he should go next—south to Shanroe or east to the library in Bhize?

Jeynen took a coin from his money pouch and flipped it. East it was.

He located a tavern to pay for a quick meal. After eating, he left the city toward the southeast.

It wasn’t long until he heard the screaming. He could feel his magic rising inside him, as though the distress were his own. There, just on the outskirts of the capital city, was a terrified woman with two children huddling behind her. It took Jeynen a moment to recognize what was scaring them. It was a demon, an ancient spirit from the Netherworld. This demon had taken the form of a person, with shadowy arms and legs.

Before it could get any closer to them, Jeynen jumped up on his horse. He rode his stallion, Monarch, between the demon and its targets.

He only had a moment to shield himself before the demon attacked. The force of it almost knocked him from the saddle.

Go! Jeynen yelled over his shoulder to the woman. Get into the city walls.

He didn’t look back to see if they had entered the city. He could hold up against this creature. With a single burst of his own magic, Jeynen froze the demon where it stood. Its hand reached out toward him. The yellow glow of his magic flashed over its unmoving form.

Jeynen let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. At least that should slow it down until help could come. He kicked Monarch into a gallop southwest, knowing he’d have to abandon his search for the book for now. It was Jershan law that anyone who saw a demon had to report it to a Purator school. He knew the closest one was on the southeastern coast in Sträuslin. Perhaps their library would hold something useful.

Chapter 2

With all the energy she had left, she tried to calm her beating heart. Rynlee took a deep breath and sang again. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the demon with her magical sense. She could feel the demon’s power from its center. It felt like darkness—hate, torment, and a fierce anger. She kept her mind empty, attempting one last time to take control of the Genus locais .

Frustrated that she’d let go before, Rynlee sang with renewed vigor. Her voice sounded through the late morning, clearing the foggy skies. It was an ethereal melody.

The Genus locais thrashed as if bound by invisible chains. A ringing cry came from its smoky mouth. Its soulless entity was now under Rynlee’s command.

They set a makeshift infirmary up in a house at the edge of the town. On a farm between the main streets of Bhize and the battlefield, a woman lent the Purators her home and fed them. Not all the Purators fit inside the house; the most injured were sitting in the main room. Two uninjured second-year boys tended to them one by one.

Rynlee sat on a stool, cradling her aching arm and waiting her turn. She noticed a small child helping to hold a bandage while a second-year Purator wrapped it around a girl’s leg. When the child turned and looked at Rynlee, she guessed the boy to be about ten. She wondered if he was used to cleaning bloody wounds and gathering firewood for funeral pyres.

She watched the second-year, Hake, press his hand to the bandage he’d just finished wrapping. Rynlee knew he would feel the pulse of the wound, his magic reaching out to heal it… and then the pain would disappear. Rynlee couldn’t; she’d never been able to use healing magic.

When it was her turn, she couldn’t look at Hake. He never looked down on Rynlee, but some other Purators her age did, as if not being able to heal herself somehow made her less of a Purator.

Well, it’s not broken, Hake said, removing his hand from Rynlee’s arm. Take it easy.

Rynlee nodded and walked out of the house. She met up with Lora and Mina. The two second-year girls didn’t smile as she walked over.

That was some fight, Lora said, scratching at a cut on her cheek. It was minor enough it would heal on its own without magic. I wasn’t there when the demon got Darielle, but I still feel like it was my fault.

Lora, Mina protested, reaching out to stroke the other girl’s black hair. It’ll be okay.

Lora looked up at Rynlee. What do you do, when…

Lora’s chin trembled, and she hugged herself. As their teacher, Rynlee had the responsibility of teaching them more than just how to fight, but how to deal with the lifestyle Purators lived. They were all feeling the effects of the battle personally.

Don’t dwell on a past you can’t change, Rynlee advised her student. We’ll all miss her, but you can honor her memory by fighting another fight and leave the past in the past.

Lora just nodded, tears turning into streams down her face. She turned her head toward Mina, who put an arm around her.

The light of the early afternoon sun groped its way toward the earth as the Purators made their way home. The summer’s heat had cracked the ground beneath their feet. Robes of yellow and green clung to the Purator’s weary forms.

The few who had stayed behind in the complex were waiting with a grand welcome-back for the arriving party. Rynlee’s apprentice, Cherylt, rushed out, pushing ahead of the others to envelop her mentor in a hug. The girls held each other for a moment, glad to be together again, before following the others inside.

Guess what? Cherylt pulled on Rynlee’s sleeve on their way to their room. Someone came to leave a demon report last night!

That was nothing new. Rynlee untied her cloak and dropped it onto her bed. She was still tired and feeling the effects of using up a lot of her magic.

Rynlee sighed and reached out to ruffle the girl’s long blonde hair. We’ve had guests here before; rarely, but we have.

But this time, he’s handsome. Cherylt raised her blonde eyebrows and grinned. Such a teasing expression looked comical on the girl’s small, round face.

If you’re so eager to find a handsome guy, there are plenty in your advanced magic class. Who knows how old this stranger is, or if he’s a criminal, or married, Rynlee chided her, rubbing her tired eyes. Cherylt was only a year younger than she was, but she had always seemed like a baby sister to Rynlee.

You might find him nice to look at. Cherylt’s grin widened.

Well, unfortunately for him, I’m too busy for any handsome face. Let’s go eat now. I’m just a little more hungry than I am tired.

Cherylt didn’t say anything more and went ahead of her mentor to the dining hall for a late dinner.

Rynlee paused in her room a moment before following. She looked around the hall, stepped back inside, and closed the door. She reached under the neckline of her dress, pulling out a silver chain. It was supposed to be transparent but had begun to regain its visible shape and color. Deep in thought, she rubbed her fingers over the two rings that hung from it.

She heard footsteps in the hall and hurriedly whispered a few words to renew her spell. The necklace and its rings went invisible again. She thought of the boy she’d given it to a lifetime ago. Rynlee tucked the necklace back into her dress and left for the dining hall.

Sariel blew on the smoking wood, finally coaxing a few small flames into existence. Their orange glow filled the alcove of rock he huddled under. He could just hear the cackle of the fire above the drumming of the rain.

He blinked raindrops out of his eyelashes and ran a hand over his short black hair. He slumped against the damp cave wall, his long, muscled legs stretched out to ease the stiffness his journey had caused. Reaching for his pack, Sariel drew out a smooth wooden box. The carvings that covered its surface told a story of sadness and poverty, but also of hope. He needed to have a reminder to himself if he ever forgot why he’d returned to thieving. He smoothed his fingers over the intricate marks, and then slowly opened the lid. The hinges creaked a little, and the contents filled his nose with the wood smell of paper. Inside were stacks of clean white envelopes, still sealed. He looked on them with the sigh of a man remembering pain he’d felt years ago, still lingering but numbed.

Sariel dug beneath them and brought out a clean sheet of paper and an empty envelope. Dipping his pen into a jar of ink, he wrote.

---

Dear Cavesh,

My master has sent me on another mission.

He’s asked me to kill someone this time. I don’t know if I’ll