Born In Darkess: The Celestials, #1

By Ann Bakshis

Katarina Whylde takes pride in her work as an assassin, and relishes that moment when the last breath of life escapes her victims. What she doesn't know is why. Still, as a member of the Najem—a group of hired thieves and killers—she's taught not to question such things. 

All of that changes when the Forum sends her on a special assignment that awakens memories of a past she'd long forgotten. Now, Kat finds herself second-guessing the intentions of the very organization she swore allegiance to. 

Can Kat unravel the web of lies and betrayal tightening around her and uncover the truth of her origins? Or will the next bounty claimed be for her head? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Bakshis
• Release date: Nov 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393032304

Book preview

Born in Darkness

The Celestials, Book #1

A Novel by Ann Bakshis

Copyright © 2021 by Ann Bakshis

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living and dead, actual event, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Published by AB Books, 2021

For Aunt Marylou

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

One

It hurts! I scream until my throat is raw while I lie on the bed, my chest pressing into the thin mattress.

I know it does, sweetheart, but it’s an unfortunate necessity, my father says rather impatiently.

Why? I whimper.

Not now, the man injuring me utters, sounding both annoyed and exhausted.

The pain spreads across my upper back as tears rain down my face with every needle inserted under my skin. I try to squirm, but the leather straps around my small body hold me tightly in place. I holler continuously. However, the mutilation doesn’t stop. After what feels like hours, the man ends my torment, removes the restraints, then hands me a simple mirror. My hands tremble as I glance into the reflection from another mirror dangling behind me. The only thing I notice is red and blistered flesh. The entire upper portion of my back burns from the procedure. I’m not sure why this was done to me, and my father will never explain no matter how many times I might try to ask.

He keeps his secrets extremely well.

Stay here and rest. My father gets up from the chair alongside my bed. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.

He locks the door behind himself and the other man while I wail, my tiny body shaking with each moan, which only causes me more agony and discomfort. I know my life is meant to be full of darkness and pain, but I didn’t expect it to start at such a young age. I’m not even seven and already I’ve been through more horrors than a normal person should experience in a lifetime… at least I think so. Though I’m not sure since I live alone with my father and have never seen another person until recently—the man who mutilated me. I try to move, but the throbbing becomes so intense I pass out. My eyelids eventually flutter open as my father’s face comes into view when I’m roused from a restless sleep.

It’s time, little one. He pulls me from the bed and hands me off to the man who tortured me. Take her.

Yes, sir.

I kick and scream as I’m tossed over his shoulder, and we leave.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes as they slowly open, a pit forms in my stomach. That horrid memory has haunted my dreams on and off since I was younger. It’s the only thing I truly recall from my childhood. I don’t have many memories from when I was little, which is probably a good thing given the type of people I live with. They’re not known to be kind… even to one of their own. It’s best not to put too much stock in acknowledging the past.

That’s where ghosts live.

My legs dangle over the side of the hammock I regularly sleep in. The makeshift bed swaying in rhythm with the propulsion engines for the ship I call home. The entire third level of the rear segment of the Turion is lined with them and, for the moment, I’m the only one in the sleeping quarters. Everyone else is either on missions, are traveling for supplies, or tasked with ship maintenance.

This level holds roughly two hundred people, but not all are onboard at the same time. There are, at minimum, dozens I’ve never met due to the chaos and isolation life here can be. Some of my crew-mates can be gone for months or years at a time, while others it’s merely for a few minutes or hours. It all depends on what we’ve been ordered to do by our superiors.

I grab my set of long blades, which rest in their scabbard hanging behind my head, and swing them in time with the ship’s movement. They’re my favorite weapon, but I don’t get to use them often enough in my line of work. The Ebon rifle or handgun is supposed to be an assassin’s armament of choice. I don’t like to use either, since it takes away from the intimacy of the kill. I enjoy feeling the last breath of my target hitting my face while escaping their lips. I revel in the blood as it drips from the hard steel. Though I’m not sure why. It’s been months since I last used them, so I ache for the next opportunity.

After a few minutes I jump to the floor, strap my scabbard across my back, and swing the blades into place. I know Caen will groan when she sees them, but they’re an extension of who I am, so she’ll just have to put up with it.

The stairs to the upper decks are right next to where I sleep, so I take them two at a time until I’m on the primary level. I proceed down the darkened passageway, which connects the rear segment to the navigation center at the front of the ship. A few people man the communication stations and navigational charts when I enter, but it’s Caen I’ve come to see.

She’s sitting at a large, circular table, her ankles crossed and resting on top of the smooth, metallic surface. Her dark hair is spiked with purple tips, making her olive complexion darker than usual. Her nails are painted in black polish and her ears are adorned with several silver studs of various sizes. The crop-top she’s wearing barely covers the underside of her breasts, and the thin bar embedded into the cartilage of her nose needs to be cleaned. I sit in a chair across from her, waiting to be noticed, which doesn’t take long.

Need something, Kat? she asks, scrolling through a small tablet clutched in her fingers.

I lean forward, clasping my hands. Where’s Nash?

He’s on a job and should be back shortly.

I startle at the news. Why wasn’t I sent with him? Normally, Nash and I are partnered together for assignments, so I’m surprised it didn’t happen today.

This was a one-man operation, and Nash has more experience than you do in these types of ‘delicate situations’, she responds, emphasizing the last two words while her gaze never leaves the screen.

I could’ve handled it.

Yes, I know. This time she looks up, her dark eyes piercing me, but not in a threatening manner. You can have the next one.

What do I do in the meantime? I complain, angry about being left behind. There isn’t anything other than menial work to do on this old bucket of bolts.

The corners of her mouth curl in an attempt to smile. Missing your boyfriend?

Kat has better taste than that, a booming voice answers behind me.

I turn around just as Rheegan enters. He’s somewhere in his fifties, stands well over six-feet, has thick arms and legs, graying hair, and a few wrinkles on his well-chiseled face. His biceps are decorated in massive tattoos resembling claw marks, as are Caen’s. These symbols indicate a successful kill, and their length signifies the importance of the target we assassinated. Everyone has them. Myself included, though not as many. We wear them proudly, but the downfall is they give us away to those looking to terminate us, like the Elarians: universal guards who enjoy masquerading as bounty hunters to earn extra money and circumvent the laws they’re charged with upkeeping. This forces us to cover up our markings whenever we’re working or are on a neutral planet, of which there are very few.

Rheegan is not only our leader, Caen his second in command, but he’s also the man who brutalized me many years ago… the one from my dream. I haven’t been able to escape his hold, and now I’m not sure if I can survive without him.

We’re the Najem, a group of hired thieves, spies, and killers. There are many who purchase our services and, for that, we all wear prices on our heads. But our most notable patron is the Forum—the governing body for the Cyllene System. We help them retain power over the planets that call our part of the universe home. They also hire the bounty hunters to track us down if we fail to complete a mission. This is why the Turion is constantly in motion. We never land, and our cloaking device prevents the Elarian ships from finding us. I’ve met a few of these men during my excursions. Thankfully, they weren’t pursuing me at the time.

The Forum have charged the Elarians with the safety of the system and all its planets. They’re successful at their job, for the most part. Except when it comes to us, since we’re able to elude them easily. These so-called universal guards are unaware the Forum is working both sides of the same coin, which gives the Najem the upper hand. I’m sure if or when they do, war will erupt with many of the planets aligning themselves with the Elarians, purely for safety.

The planets’ leaders fear the Forum since they rule by fear, intimidation, and murder, which is where the Najem come in. However, if given the chance, these rulers won’t hesitate in slaying the creatures who control their lives. The downfall being none of them have the firepower to accomplish such a task, whereas the Elarians do. Unfortunately, the universal guards will never turn their backs on a governing body who permits them to get away with indiscretions that are far more gruesome than ones committed by the criminals they seek.

Where’s your nexus? Rheegan asks, pointing to my right wrist.

It’s charging.

Go get it. I’m taking you to Duniya.

Caen puts down her tablet, leans forward, and glares at the man, clearly not pleased. Why?

We need a few things, and Kat is the only one here who isn’t busy. Rheegan cocks his head. Why, Caen? Do you have a problem with that?

She purses her lips before answering. Kat’s never been there before, so make sure she understands their rules.

Yes, Captain. Rheegan salutes in an exaggerated manner.

Caen rolls her eyes while he laughs.

After leaving the navigation center, which occupies the entire front of the ship, we enter the stairwell between the center and rear segments. Rheegan advises me to meet him in the transport bay, which is on the third level of the center section.

What about my swords? I inquire.

Leave them. Weapons aren’t permitted on Duniya.

I grumble as I take the stairs down while he goes up to the top where his and Caen’s private quarters are kept. The second level in this part of the ship houses the crew lockers, or stalls as some like to refer to them, showers, and toilets. It’s also the only place on the ship with a charging station for our attainment nexuses.

Each Najem is required to wear one. It’s how we transport ourselves. We try to avoid using conventional carriers because they can be electronically tracked. There are a few vehicles onboard we use when gathering supplies or to carry heavy weaponry. The attainment nexus allows for quick extraction if it becomes necessary, like in the event a kill has gone wrong. I hate wearing it, but’s not the worst device in our ensemble. That prestige goes to our halos, which are worn around the neck and emit an electrical charge altering our facial features, including hair. Those pinch the skin even with the slightest movement. They have to be used so we’re not identifiable if there’s an active bounty on our heads.

The charging station for the nexuses is in the wall by the stairs. Mine is the only one nestled in its little divot, but before putting it on I go to my assigned locker to store my blades and change clothes, making sure to wear a shirt with long sleeves to cover my tattoos. I slip the thin, sleek metal bracelet around my wrist, and a soft blue glow emits underneath the recall screen covering the top of the device. After several seconds the light ceases as normal.

I’m about to close the locker when I decide to take my steel-bladed dagger, which I place inside my knee-high leather boot to conceal it. There’s no way I’m going anywhere without some sort of protection no matter what Rheegan says. Once I have everything, I head down to the third level where the transport bay is located, but have to wait a few minutes until Rheegan finally shows. We enter the carrier hangar at the front of the bay, then he steps over to a grate-covered closet along the side wall.

Here, you’ll need this, he says, handing me a dark blue, long-sleeved shroud with a baggy hood.

Why?

I’ll explain on the way. He grabs a shroud for himself, along with an empty sack, which he fills with metallic transit rings that resemble the nexus. They’re used for transferring cargo.

We climb aboard one of the carriers, the door sliding closed behind me as the engines ignite. A lengthy, flat control panel fills the entire dashboard, which Rheegan sits behind and I take the seat beside him. The carriers are self-navigating, so all he has to do is input the coordinates and open the hangar door. When that’s done, we move away from the Turion and the shields initiate. Then we switch in to near-lightspeed, the bulkier ship disappearing from view. Rheegan hands me several of the transit rings to program with the signal for the carrier.

Why are we going to Duniya? I ask after several minutes.

We need fuel for our weapons and the ship, Rheegan replies without looking up from his own set of rings.

Duniya is a warm planet. Why do we need shrouds?

They have very strict rules. One of them being that every inch of someone’s body must be covered, with the exception of their face and hands. The garments will conceal our arms and most of our heads.

What other rules are there? I inquire, handing the rings back to him.

Weapons can be carried openly by males only. However, if they’re used, even in cases of self-defense, the person is arrested and sent to Narius to live out their sentence.

I cringe at the mention of the infamous prison planet. It’s a rare occurrence for one of our kind to wind up in its clutches since the Najem are trained to self-destruct when caught. If we’re arrested and haven’t ended our life, we’re left to our own devices to escape. Najem are replaceable, so we’re always on our own when working… even if it’s with a partner. Once separated from the group, we’re not permitted to rejoin if we do manage to get out of whatever situation we’ve found ourselves in. So, many usually wind up on our kill list as a way for us to maintain our integrity and anonymity.

I lean back in my chair. Anything else?

All females, regardless of species, must be accompanied by a male counterpart at all times.

Seriously? Why? I grouse.

He finally looks at me and smiles. You’ll see.

A shiver radiates through my core as I turn my attention toward the windshield, though there isn’t anything to see. As time passes, I debate whether or not to tell Rheegan about my dream. He’s heard it all before, and hope he’ll eventually stop dismissing me.

I saw it again, I utter nervously.

He lets out a deep sigh. And as I keep telling you, it’s only a dream. Not a memory.

Yet I don’t believe you. I cross my arms over my chest, sliding further down in the chair.

Then that’s your problem, not mine.

He stands, shuffles to the back, and places the bag of rings into the pocket of his shroud, which is draped over a passenger seat. I still cling to mine since it’s keeping me warm as the carrier feels oddly chilled.

Why do you always say that? I ask when he retakes his seat.

Because, Kat, I’ve been telling you for years, your father sold you to pay off a debt. Now, I don’t want to hear any more about it.

It’s not long until the ship drops out of near-lightspeed when a desolate planet comes into view. Rheegan takes over the controls, shutting off the self-navigation so he can set us down several miles outside the trade hub. He places the carrier alongside the remnants of a dried-up lake bed, which is void of other ships. Before turning on the cloaking device to conceal the transport, he programs our nexuses with the signal for the ship in case we need to return to it quickly. I wait for him to hand me a halo as they’re kept in a box under one of the rows of seats. He doesn’t, which I find odd and unsettling. But, then again, we’re gathering supplies, not murdering anyone, so our faces really don’t need to be completely hidden. We drape on the shrouds making sure the hoods cover our heads, then step into the hot desert sun. As Rheegan straps an Ebon rifle across his chest, I grow furious over the idea that I’m not permitted to have a weapon, even though I do.

The slow trek through the shifting sands causes the muscles in my legs to groan. I’m grateful there isn’t any wind or this journey would be much harder. Eventually, we come upon a ridge and briefly rest. Below is a wide collection of makeshift huts—many practically falling apart—surrounding three oblong, rectangular buildings. I start to descend when Rheegan grabs my arm, jerking me back.

Not yet, he murmurs, narrowing his gaze. I’m not sure if it’s so he can see through the blinding sunlight, or if he’s spotted something out of the ordinary. Okay, let’s go. He takes my hand, gripping it tightly.

While making our way, if I happen to take one step too far for his liking, he pulls me against his side, nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. I try not to let the pain show or fight against his confinement when we reach the denizen. What hits me first is the rancid smell, followed by masses of unwashed bodies. People of varying species lean against a few of the hut doors, leering at us. Creatures I’ve never seen before hustle past, some darting inside the small, dilapidated structures, then back into the heat in a matter of seconds.

How much for the beauty? a hideous man with barbs protruding from his face inquires.

Rheegan simply ignores him.

Let us have a look at the merchandise, another hisses.

My leader tightens his grasp.

She’ll be ours eventually, a creature croaks, then chortles.

What is this place? I ask once we’ve cleared the gambit of vileness.

They’re the peddlers for the hub, he replies, his face close to mine to keep our conversation private. If you step out of my reach, they’ll snatch you to be sold as either a slave or food.

I quiver at the notion. There aren’t any other places to obtain fuel?

No. The Forum keeps tight control over the mining of the borite crystals. They’ve restricted the selling of the fuel to here on Duniya where it’s mined the heaviest.

Are we going to get anything else? I quietly pray the answer is no.

We’ll see, he mutters in an even tone.

We cut down an alley between two of the buildings, then enter the one on the left. A fine blue dust covers much of the floor and counter tops, with the heaviest concentration being behind a warped metal stand in front of an open mineshaft. A globular creature with thick, splotchy brown flesh and sunken eyes waves us over. The gray overalls covering his body are badly torn, and the shirt underneath is heavily stained, making its color indistinguishable. He’s omitting a putrid stench, which burns my eyes and nose. Rheegan shakes the thing’s hand, greeting him like old friend.

It’s been a while.

Rheegan pulls off his hood. Far too long, Rigel.

I’m about to do the same when Rheegan snatches my hand and shakes his head.

Don’t, he says with tremendous force.

Who’s this? The creature nods toward me.

My daughter.

Yeah, right… daughter, Rigel chuckles. What do you need?

Ten canisters of borite crystals.

That’s a lot of fuel. He punches the order into a screen embedded in his stand. Are you going on a trip?

You know I never discuss anything with you, Rheegan snaps. He transfers funds on the panel in front of him.

Well, if the Forum questions me about the amount you just purchased, I’ll have no problem ratting you out, my friend.

Don’t worry, they won’t.

After a few minutes, a loud clanking noise resonates from the tunnel, followed by a cart filled with glass canisters sealed with black caps. Inside are thousands of sparkling blue borite crystals. Rigel pulls each container off the cart, placing them on the floor in front of us. Rheegan hands me a couple of the transit rings, which adhere to the exterior. I turn the ring to the right and the canister vanishes. Once all ten are gone, Rheegan thanks the creature, covers his head with the hood, and we step outside into an open-air market.

Why did you get so many? I ask as we meander around the various sellers, taking perfunctory glances at their wares.

Because we need them.

But the Forum limits everyone to a maximum of five canisters in one purchase, which can only be done every six months. Did they tell you to buy so many?

Rheegan has always been unpredictable, even defiant against the Forum at times, but never careless. What he just did is reckless and far out of the ordinary for him, which has me alarmed.

That’s none of your business, he retorts.

I step into his path. Doubling the legal amount of fuel is dangerous and could get the Elarians onto us. What the hell were you thinking?

He snatches my wrist with such force he’s going to leave a bruise. Who’s in charge here, Kat? Me, not you. Now shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business.

He doesn’t let go, but instead pulls me through an adjoining alley and into another building where there’s a noisy, smoke-filled bar. The chalky walls and dirt-covered floor are ornamented in holes, blood, and god knows what else. Species of every kind sit, drink, and talk while clunky metal drones whiz by carrying trays filled with an assortment of cocktails and other liquids. Thin, robotic arms extend outward from the round bodies to pick up the glasses and set them down, then return to the bar to collect more. Rheegan scouts for an empty table, locating one against the far wall. He shoves me into a seat, but doesn’t sit.

Stay here, he demands, finally letting go. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t remove your hood. I’ll be back in a bit. He hurries out of the building before I can object.

Great, I mutter.

Glancing around for additional exits, I find none. Currently no one is paying attention to me, but I keep my eyes sharp and try not to fall into a false sense of security.

Minutes pass into hours. The light outside gradually fades and Rheegan still hasn’t returned. I’m in the process of pushing up the sleeve of the shroud to reach my attainment nexus, when I sense someone watching me. The place is too crammed with people to narrow down who it might be, or even exactly from which end of the bar. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I hesitate in sending myself back to the safety of the carrier using the recall screen.

This is for you, a young man says, startling me. He sets down a glass filled with a green-colored liquid on top of a napkin.

I didn’t order this.

I was simply told to bring it over at this time. He quickly wanders away.

I stare after him, then change my focus to the glass. There’s no way I’m drinking anything I didn’t pour. Especially in a place like this. There’s no telling what might be in it. I go to move the glass when it slips off the napkin revealing a piece of parchment folded underneath. Discreetly picking it up, I lean back in my seat and open the note under the table.

You have ten minutes to locate your target. If the nexus returns you to the carrier before you’ve completed your assignment, I’m leaving you here on Duniya.

Fuck, I grumble, immediately recognizing Rheegan’s handwriting.

I crumble the parchment, shove it into my pocket, then look down at my attainment nexus. A clock pulses under the cover for the recall screen, counting backwards. My heart races and I sweat as the thought of being trapped on this planet both sickens and terrifies me. However, I wouldn’t put it past Rheegan to do it even if I manage to succeed. He’s never liked having me around, and he makes sure everyone on the Turion aware of that as often as possible. Caen may have known, or sensed, what he was up to, which is why she objected to my going in the first place. Though she didn’t protest too hard.

I visually search the room, but I have no idea who I’m looking for. We’re always given at least a description of the person to be murdered, so what makes this assignment different? They have to be in here, otherwise Rheegan would’ve propped me elsewhere. As I methodically study the patrons, minute details take hold; one being I’m the only female in the entire establishment.

Something about my target is specific enough to warrant a female killer. But why?

Again, I sense someone watching me, only this time they’re much closer. If I’m to draw my victim into the open, I’ll need to give him something worthwhile. I bite my lower lip as I slowly push off the hood, knowing this is a dangerous decision. It’s not long until I’m approached, but the person isn’t the same one who’s been observing me, as I still feel him somewhere in the distance.

It’s not wise for a woman to be in here alone, the older man says, clutching his drink. He’s rotund with a weathered face and stained teeth. The clothes he’s wearing appear brand new, putting him at odds with the tattered rags worn by those around us.

This can’t be my target—it’s never this easy.

I was ditched by a friend. However, I don’t intend on staying, I say, rising from my seat.

The man reaches out and places a firm, sweaty hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. What’s your rush? You haven’t touched your glass.

I ease myself back down. I don’t drink what I didn’t pour.

The edges of his mouth curl, wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes. It’s a shame to waste good liquor.

Then you have it. I slide the concoction closer to him.

He sits in the chair across from me. At the same time, out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone move to a table several rows over. It’s the person who’s been monitoring me. I’m positive. This causes me to wonder if these two are working in tandem. Or, might only one of them be my target… maybe neither. I hate mind games, and Rheegan is famous for them. Many a Najem have gone missing when he pulls stunts like this. I guess it’s my turn today. I quickly glance at my nexus to check the time: just under seven minutes remaining.

Can I buy you a drink? the man asks, pouring the contents of my glass into his.

I don’t accept drinks from Elarians.

He stiffens. What makes you think I’m one of them?

I can smell their kind a mile away due to a vile odor which clings to their bodies that sickens even the most hardened of criminals. And yours is the worst I’ve ever been around.

He leans over the table, almost knocking his glass to the floor. You better watch who you fuck with, little girl, he croaks, shaking a fat finger in my face. I can make you disappear, and no one will know your gone or even miss you.

As I bend forward, I reach into my boot for the dagger, clutch it tightly, then tuck it into the sleeve of the shroud to conceal it. I’d like to see you try.

He reaches for the Ebon gun strapped around his waist when Rigel storms into the bar, knocking chairs and people over. Drones whirl out of his path as he trudges in my direction. He grabs the shroud around my neck, lifting me off the seat.

Where’s Rheegan? he demands, his