The Nhasu

By J. M. Simmons

Fate and destiny do not always align...

Betrayed by those who raised him and forced to run from the only home he's known, Baldric has vowed to redeem himself by finding and protecting the Elemental. But, she narrowly escaped death at his hand. If he can find her, will she be able to trust him?

Svanhild has been given a mission, one handed down by the gods themselves. In order to find the other three Elementals, she is forced to leave behind the ones who rescued her. But, the world beyond their sanctuary is filled with danger. Will she be able to trust in her own power to guide her?

A plague outbreak in the north is overshadowed by the death of the king. Faith is lost, even between brothers, when the Svalkin falls victim to a mysterious illness. To save the kingdom, they need to find a cure. But, as the attacks against the royal family continue, there aren't many left whom they can trust. Tensions rise as they are forced to make decisions that will affect the entire kingdom, and they are running out of time.

Amidst the power struggles of the nation-states, warring racial factions, and the dying will of the Old Gods, these characters will come face-to-face with trials of faith, courage, and betrayal. The world as they know it is about to change; all that’s left to decide, is what they are willing to fight for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. M. Simmons
• Release date: Aug 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734532210

J. M. Simmons

J. M. Simmons is a cofounder of First Table on the Left Book Services, and is a self-published author. She has published a #1 New Release nonfiction title in Neopagan Literature on Amazon. She has published books in several genres, including epic fantasy and LGBTQ+. She enjoys spending time with her husband and two dogs, and enjoys working with other self-published authors.Follow for news, promotions, and upcoming works!

Book preview

Fate and destiny do not always align...

Betrayed by those who raised him and forced to run from the only home he's known, Baldric has vowed to redeem himself by finding and protecting the Elemental. But, she narrowly escaped death at his hand. If he can find her, will she be able to trust him?

Svanhild has been given a mission, one handed down by the gods themselves. In order to find the other three Elementals, she is forced to leave behind the ones who rescued her. But, the world beyond their sanctuary is filled with danger. Will she be able to trust in her own power to guide her?

A plague outbreak in the north is overshadowed by the death of the king. Faith is lost, even between brothers, when the Svalkin falls victim to a mysterious illness. To save the kingdom, they need to find a cure. But, as the attacks against the royal family continue, there aren't many left whom they can trust. Tensions rise as they are forced to make decisions that will affect the entire kingdom, and they are running out of time.

Amidst the power struggles of the nation-states, warring racial factions, and the dying will of the Old Gods, these characters will come face-to-face with trials of faith, courage, and betrayal. The world as they know it is about to change; all that’s left to decide, is what they are willing to fight for.

The Nhasu

Book Two of the Breath of Eternity Series

J. M. Simmons

Copyright © 2020 by J. M. Simmons

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

IBSN: 978-1-7345322-1-0

Credits:

Cover Artist: Teresa Guido

Editor: First Table on the Left Book Services

Formatter: First Table on the Left Book Services

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Acknowledgements

About the Author

This book is dedicated to:

My childhood friend, Lauren E.

Our world is as big as we can imagine it.

Chapter 1

Go! They’re coming!

Heavy footfalls pounding down the hallway proved Mathias’ words; however, their only exit from the small room was the window, which was two stories from the ground. Baldric slammed the door behind Mathias as he skidded into the room, and then the two of them began to drag the heaviest furniture they could find to block the door. Their other three companions were already opening the window and judging the distance to the ground.

Do you see anyone out there? Baldric called to them, fearing that the building might be surrounded; they had no idea how many hunters were after them.

No. I think we can make it. Bjorn told him.

Then the tallest Svalkin climbed up onto the windowsill, crouching before he slipped beyond the pane, and vanished into the darkness. The cold night air penetrated the room, and the tense silence was shortly broken by a thump as he hit the ground below.

Good? Castien called down.

Good. Let’s go.

The dark-haired man then helped their other companion, the only female with their group, lowering her gently by her arms before letting go. She hit the ground a moment later.

Baldric and Mathias had just finished barring the door when it was rammed solidly. Every hair stood on end and a cold, prickly sweat broke out across the hunter’s skin, aware that the thin wood was all that separated him from those who would kill him and torture his friends.

Go! Baldric roared at Mathias and Castien, adrenaline-filled blood pumping through his veins.

He would stay back to hold the barricade in place. Castien helped Mathias out, then glanced back at him before climbing out himself. 

The hunter did not need help jumping down.

Baldric waited as long as he dared, and then he released his hold on the old furniture. The hunter ran forward, ducking his head before diving out the window, and then he felt the cold, night air envelop his body for a brief, weightless moment. He landed on the dirt road, tumbling to avoid injuring his ankles, but the others were already moving.

No one looked back; they had to get out of town. Now.

This way!

Mathias had once taken an oath as Baldric’s guide, which meant that it had been his charge to know his way through any given city. Now, they used this skill against the Temple. They flew on light feed through the darkened streets, the five of them blending in with the shadows as they made their escape.

This routine was becoming dangerously familiar, Baldric thought bitterly. They slept with their boots on and their packs ready, always aware of all possible escape routes in case they were ever found. This was not the closest their pursuers had come; he now sported a new scar on his face from a mistake only weeks before. But these close encounters were becoming far too frequent.

They had been hunted ever since their escape from the Temple at Shanga. The other three creatures running with them, the Svalkin, needed to be returned to their kingdoms in the north. Baldric could only assume that whoever was chasing them knew this, and was using that information to figure out their next move.

But they were so close now. They were only days from the city called Enndael, the city to which the female Svalkin, Sicae, belonged. If they could get there, the others believed they would be safe. Baldric knew the terrible truth, however. No matter where they went, the Temple would send more hunters after them. They had escaped their dungeons, he knew of their experiments and their eugenics, and now they had proof that the Temple had committed hostile action against the Three Kingdoms of the north. This would bring war against the Temple if they weren’t stopped.

And so, the Temple sent hunters after them. How quickly the hunter became the hunted, Baldric thought darkly to himself.

Behind them, he could hear feet, though he knew the sound would be inaudible to the others. Hunters knew each other’s techniques. He knew that their pursuer would be desperate to catch them before they made it to Enndael. Once they were within the thick walls of the ancient kingdom, the queen would know what had been done to her Svalkin, and the Temple would face her wrath.

A single kingdom on its own was not a threat to the Temple, but Enndael’s queen would have allies. The Three Kingdoms would come together against the High Master. Baldric knew this was not something the Temple desired, and so they were being hunted down like animals.

Since their escape, they had dodged attack after deadly attack. Of their party, Baldric was the only one who was not apparently immune to death, and he knew that his brethren would not hesitate to kill him. The others, the three Svalkin and Mathias, would have to be captured.

If he had been the one hunting them, Baldric thought morbidly, he would aim for the tendons in their legs.

This way, Mathias’ curt whisper led them around a tight corner.

Stables? Baldric asked hopefully, but his heart sank when Mathias shook his head. Then what?

We’re going to hide, his voice was breathless, but held a dark confidence.

The hunter was bewildered. They had been caught in this small town, with nothing but open grassland between them and Enndael. The assassins from the Temple would tear this place apart to find them.

There was nowhere to hide.

How?

Mathias hushed him, slowing their pace as they clung to the cold, stone wall. The snow had been patted down here by many footprints, but they would still leave their own tracks behind. The hair on the back of Baldric’s neck stood on end; he did not want to stop and try to hide. His instincts screamed against it. But he trusted the hooded man in front of him, so he did his best to hold still and observe the scene before them.

Even though night rested upon the small town, not everyone was resting. In the small district Mathias had led them to, the market clearing was a seething mass of black movement. The dark windows above were oblivious to this chaos, and it took Baldric’s eyes a moment to understand what he was watching.

They were montisvir merchants. They had marketed and traded until the stroke of midnight, and now they were disassembling their stalls and stands with remarkable speed and coordination. This nomadic band would not sleep here, they would pack up and head out and sleep on the road to the next township. Hopefully, that would be the kingdom of Enndael.

Baldric watched as the courtyard before them transformed from a market square into a deserted circle filled only with caravans and carts. He had never seen the nomadic troops Broar had spoken of, and so he watched in fascination as the stands became carts and the stalls became a caravan. The wagons were tall and had large, canvas coverings that made them look distinct and foreign. There were montisvir of different ages and genders working seamlessly together to get the troop ready to move, and Baldric waited with the Svalkin behind Mathias, only able to guess at what he was planning.

But their guide didn’t move. He waited, pressed against the cold brick as they sheltered in the darkness. He was watching so intently he wasn’t even blinking, those blue eyes looking wide and strained in the darkness.

Baldric was able to see easily in this light, but he did not know what Mathias was looking for, so he was not able to help him. They waited like that, the cold wind surrounding them in the alleyway as they hid in the shadows from their pursuers. Baldric’s ears twitched and strained to catch any noise which might come from behind or above them, but he heard only the wind scraping rooftops.

Finally, Mathias moved.

He left their group, gesturing with his hand for them to remain, and crossed the dark, now-empty area quickly. He reached his target, a montisvir male with a massive beard, and hugged him tightly.

Another contact.

Baldric had no idea where Mathias had found the time to meet so many people, nor how he remembered their names and correctly guessed at where they would be, but he honestly admitted his guide was good at his job. There was a short session of rapid speaking and gesturing before Mathias looked back at them. Pointed out, the montisvir immediately spied them, and Baldric saw the clear distrust that crossed his face. Mathias pleaded with him, and the short figure tugged at the many braids of his beard.

Then, he turned and walked away.

Mathias’ shoulders fell, and the weight of failure fell upon their group. His guide began walking back to him, his head low, when a short noise caused them all to look back at the caravan.

The montisvir slapped one of the wagons as he passed it, only pausing briefly to throw a glance their way.

He would take them.

Mathias gestured to the others and they all moved to the indicated wagon. Beneath the covering, they found that it was packed to bursting, and that they would have to sit on the uncomfortable piles of tools and goods that filled it. Still, it was a far better option than whatever the Temple intended to do with them, so they piled in. Mathias quietly encouraged them to find hiding places among the provisions, and so they each took a moment to find a way to sink down among the items in the darkness.

It smelt of spices and flour where he was, but he was able to mostly conceal himself within the cart. The others did the same, more or less, and they waited. The sound of their own breathing filled the space above their heads, and it made Baldric’s ears twitch constantly. Nothing moved.

What was taking so long?

They waited, trying to hush their own pounding hearts lest they give themselves away to the hunters. A sharp cry broke the silence, and terror flooded his veins. He began to struggle for his blade, but then the cart jerked and lurched forward, and the wood creaked and groaned as they began to move. They were on their way.

Baldric let go of his breath with a painful sigh, his chest still constricting painfully from the stress and weight of his anxiety.

Will this take us to Enndael? Sicae’s voice was almost silent.

Yes. Mathias breathed from where he was hidden at the opposite end of the wagon.

How long? The male with the higher voice, Castien, asked.

I don’t know. A few days, maybe. He whispered.

They fell silent, listening to the hooves against the cobblestone and the groaning of the weathered wood around them. Baldric was still listening for any footsteps beyond their immediate troop, but he was not able to hear far. In his mind, he kept imagining the assassins crouched on the rooftops, watching them roll slowly away as they plotted how best to corner them. He felt so helpless.

The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. The sharp, hard corners of the wooden crates dug into his muscles and caused them to ache as the night grew terribly colder. He was not from the north; he was not accustomed to these conditions. His teeth clacked together painfully, and he realized he was shivering to try to regain some of his lost body heat. The more tired he became, the colder he felt, and the more he was realizing he was cuddling a sack of flour.

None of his companions complained, but he no longer knew how much they really had in common. Mathias had seemed so human to him when they first met, and now he hardly felt as if he knew him. The more the Svalkin spoke to him, the more they told him of their kind, the more of a stranger he became. By the glimpses Baldric caught, the pain he saw in Mathias’ eyes meant that he was likely becoming just as much of a stranger to himself.

The hunter’s thoughts inevitably lapsed back to himself, and he thought that they were both dealing with crises of self after their encounter with the Temple’s torturers. Baldric had learned that his race was unethically and artificially created by the alchemists. They were an unnatural mix of many races, compiled over many years from unwilling subjects. The thought caused him to curl up on himself even tighter in shame and disgust. He was a monster, no better than any other unnatural creature that had been mutated by old magic which lurked about in the night.

Since their escape, he had not attacked anyone else, but he could still clearly see Mathias’ expression in his mind. The way the fear shone through his eyes when Baldric tackled that guardsman and drank his blood. Guilt and shame burned his face, hardly a welcome warmth. Worse still, were the feelings that their escape had stirred within him. It was as though barriers within his mind, previously unknown to him, had been broken down.

His mind was now flooded with thoughts that he had always kept at bay. He doubted. He doubted the Temple, and he doubted the restrictions that they had put upon him. He still clearly recalled his teachers showing him the limits of his strength. They would show him what he could break and what he could not. What he could escape, and where he was trapped. The more he thought on it, the more he began to see that his entire life had been spent training not just his abilities, but creating careful boundaries.

He knew now he was stronger than he had been taught. In the prison, he had torn the grate from the stone floor where it had been cemented. He had run for miles with no food and little clothing. If he had encountered such conditions before, he might have just submitted to his fate and died.

And that was how the Temple kept control over the monsters they created. They built creatures with incredible power, but they also had to be assured that they would have complete control over them. They had to be trained, from birth, from the moment they could walk, to obey the Temple above all else. It was the hunter’s minds alone which chained them.

Baldric’s heart ached in his chest. What of the others? The other hunters. They did not know that they served evil. They did not know that they were spoon-fed lies from the moment they could listen. They were a race of bastard monsters, enslaved by humans for the purpose of power. Used like dogs.

But what was the alternative now? The hunters were not welcomed anywhere; Mathias’ presence was a constant reminder of that. They would be shunned, possibly driven out of any town they tried to remain in. Because he was a monster. A mutant race created by corrupt hands which sought only power. What kind of lives could his race have even if the Temple was destroyed? Did they even have the right to seek out their own lives, as the product of such unethical experimentation? Did they deserve anything more than death?

He only had unfortunate answers for himself, so he slumped lower into his small hole, trying to shift a painful corner out of his back and another away from the tender meat of his thigh. He tried to consider his issues chronologically. First, they needed to get out of this town and away from the hunters. Then, they needed to get to Enndael. Once Svalkin Sicae had been returned to her queen, they would ensure that the other two Svalkin were safely on their way north, before Baldric would depart to hunt the Immortal again. He would hunt for Svanhild, his once companion, and Mathias would choose whether or not he still wished to join him. Baldric still feared losing his friend, his only companion, but he would not force him to remain by his side. Not after what he learned, and what he had suffered for that knowledge at the hands of the Temple’s Masters.

Mathias had spoken very little of this revelation, however, opting to withdraw inside himself. It was a painful transition to witness, as someone so jovial and outgoing withdrew until he only spoke a few short words when absolutely necessary, and otherwise stared silently into space. Baldric could not force himself to push Mathias, however, so he instead tried to simply remain nearby in case he wished to talk. Not that he would be much help; he didn’t know any more than Mathias did, but he would do his best. Mathias had always been there for him, after all.

Their other companions, the other three Svalkin, had spoken more now that they had spent time on the run together.

The oldest was Bjorn. His age was hidden by fair skin and hair, but when Baldric met his eyes, he was overwhelmed by his age. This was not a mortal creature, and it shone through him unrestrained at times. He was wise, and spoke little of what he thought, and Baldric was left to wonder.

The second was Castien, the one with wild black hair that constantly moved about his face like a mane. He was far more talkative, but his eyes were mischievous, and glinted with the capability for violence far greater than Baldric dared to imagine. He knew this man was capable of fury on a scale that he had never witnessed.

The only female, Sicae, was different. Her face was harder, but in a way that he couldn’t describe. Her eyes were haunted, full of a thousand ghosts whereas all the other eyes he had seen only held their own soul. She had suffered as he had never known anyone to suffer, and so he was not surprised when she never smiled.

She spoke, though. She talked of Enndael whenever Baldric asked her. She told him of her queen, Queen Anahera, with a tone of admiration. Her queen was young, the youngest in three generations, but she honored her. The other Svalkin spoke of their kings in different terms. Not quite paternal, not quite affectionate. But Sicae spoke of her queen as though she were a goddess to be worshiped. Baldric genuinely believed they would be safe once they were within her walls, even if that belief was based only in faith.

Now, they were silent. They travelled, stowed like packages and supplies in the back of a cart drawn by slow oxen. They rolled on through the sleeping township until they reached the road that led north. This was the road that would take them to Enndael. When nothing descended upon them, and they were allowed to begin out onto the rougher-hewn path, the heavy anxiety in his shoulders was lifted. However, it then sunk down into a sensation more similar to motion sickness, and bothered his stomach instead. 

They were free of this small town, but it was now a race to the high walls of Enndael. If they were caught before then, Baldric doubted he would survive.

Chapter 2

Svanhild walked at a leisurely pace, her guard at her side. They spoke in low tones, though she doubted anyone would be eavesdropping all the way out here. The two of them were far from the settlement, which appeared now to be grey and toy-sized. They were heading to an ancient site; a sacred place of power where they could meditate in peace.

The tall standing stones had become familiar to her, and it was the only place in the hidden, glacial valley where she felt comfortable. This was the place where she had received her first sign from the gods, after all. She had been able to read the text of the sacred stone as though it was written in her native tongue. No one else could read it, and she felt there was great power in this language.

Today, she was not going just to look at the stones, but to meditate on troubling visions. She had been having strange, disturbing dreams for the last three nights. In her sleep, she saw flashes of mystical symbols