Temper the Dark

By L. Ryan Storms

Servant girl Alaris Kahlanik finds out about her family's gift the hard way when she discovers her ability to dreamwalk after being condemned to the Cells. With thoughts of escape, she uses her newfound ability to spy on the emperor and his secret search for something important. Nothing the emperor wants could possibly be good

• Language: English
• Publisher: RaineStorms Press
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781732849273

L. Ryan Storms

L. Ryan Storms is a writer, photographer, traveler, and dreamer. She's a member of the Eastern Pennsylvania chapter of SCBWI and the Alliance of Independent Authors. She has written articles featured on the front page of local newspapers, but mostly she writes novels near and dear to her heart. She holds a B.S. in Marine Science from Kutztown University of Pennsylvania and a Master's in Business Administration from Marist College, but writing young adult fantasy has always been her true passion.Her first young adult novel, A Thousand Years to Wait, placed first in the Young Adult category in the 2021 Royal Dragonfly Book Awards and was an award-winning finalist in American Book Fest's 2019 Best Book Awards. Most recently, Temper the Dark was a finalist in both the 2023 Chanticleer International Book Awards OZMA division for Fantasy Fiction and the Young Adult Category of the 2024 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.Storms lives in Pennsylvania with her cancer-survivor husband, two children, and a "rescue zoo" of ever-changing furry and feathered animals. When she's not writing, reading, or keeping her teens in line, she enjoys hiking, photography, and planning the next big adventure.

Book preview

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An engaging, romantic tale of a girl coming into her power, and a boy grappling with the legacy he inherited, set in a lushly original world ripe for adventure.— TESSA BARBOSA,

AUTHOR OF THE MOONLIGHT BLADE

"An evil emperor. An unexpected alliance. Magic and rebellion. What more could you want?

How about dragons? You'll root for Alaris and Kagan by page one!" — SARAH AHIERS,

AUTHOR OF ASSASSIN’S HEART

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

TEMPER THE DARK Copyright © 2023 by Lorraine Storms. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without prior permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Published by RaineStorms Press, 2023.

The paperback edition has been catalogued as follows:

Name: Storms, L. Ryan, author

Title: Temper the Dark / by L. Ryan Storms

Description: Electronic file (eService)

Summary: In an unlikely alliance, a servant girl who can dreamwalk and an empire guardsman who communicates with the Darkness team up to save a senile dragon and a divided island nation from a cruel emperor’s rule.

ISBN 978-1-7328492-6-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7328492-7-3 (ebook)

Subjects: | YFC: Children’s / Teenage fiction: Action & adventure stories | YFH: Children’s / Teenage fiction: Fantasy & magical realism | YFB: Children’s /Teenage: general interest | BISAC: YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Fantasy / General | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Action & Adventure / General | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / General

www.lryanstorms.com

Cover art by AK Westerman, more at www.akorganicabstracts.com

For Jess,

who always dreamed with me of fantastical places,

kickass heroines, dragon friends, and happy-ever-afters.

May our 16-year-old selves live on.

A picture containing text, drawing, map Description automatically generated

CHAPTER ONE

Happy Karitma

Alaris

The Throlani Guard roused me from sleep and dragged me from my bed in the darkest hours of the night. Disoriented, panicked, I racked my brain for what I had done wrong. Had I left the gates open to the henhouse? Had someone gotten sick on the food I served? Had they found out about the extra bread I stole for Nan’s twin toddlers?

Rough hands pinched my arms, but I didn’t dare utter a complaint as they hauled me through the narrow halls. I stubbed my toe on the rough-cut stone floor when they rushed me around a corner and bit back a curse. We’d taken enough turns by now that I realized we were heading for the Celebration Hall. Once a dance hall for tribal celebration, no celebrating had taken place there in a very, very long time. Why they hadn’t just renamed it the Throne Room was beyond me.

In the Celebration Hall, the guards threw me to my knees. Even though I’d been expecting it, I failed to catch myself in time and the stone floor bit into my skin. I gritted my teeth through the sting as I remained bowed.

Lower. As if to emphasize the word, the guard’s boot hit my side. I’d be covered in bruises again by tomorrow.

I focused on the floor inches from my face, placed my forehead to the cool, dark stone, and waited. I hadn’t recognized either of the guards who pulled me from my room. New stock. Probably just out of training. That time of year again and all.

Alaris Kahlanik. The voice was smooth and smug, but I didn’t recognize it.

Hearing my given name sent a jolt through my core. No one had called me that in a long time.

Rise, the voice commanded.

I rose slowly but kept my gaze fixed on the floor even if it was not the emperor seated on the throne. I wished to keep my eyes intact. Lifting them before an invitation was extended was the best way to ensure they were removed from one’s skull. Fala tried it just once last year. Now, she worked the docks, mending the fishing nets—a job that could be done even by the blind.

You may look upon me, the voice said.

I lifted reluctant eyes, unsurprised to see someone other than the emperor. I’d never laid eyes upon this man before, but the imposing figure occupying the throne was strangely familiar. Long, dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck was perhaps the least remarkable of his features. Strong, high cheekbones and calculating dark eyes—eyes that examined my every move—commanded attention. A long, smooth scar stretched in front of his left ear as though someone once tried, and failed, to chop it off.

His scarlet and gold uniform was typical of the Throlani Guard, if more decorated. He wore the traditional loose pants that allowed the Throlani to move quickly and without hindrance in battle, and a shirt of two wide gold straps, one over each shoulder. The straps were buttoned neatly into the waist of his pants.

He was the only Throlani I’d seen to wear a gold shirt instead of red. A matching wide swath of gold fabric around his middle served as a belt. Gold-plated wrist cuffs covered his forearms, their surfaces adorned with etchings of fierce dragons in fighting poses. His entire physical presence meant to convey a sense of fear. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t working, but a hateful pressure built in my bladder. And still, as I observed him, I couldn’t place why he seemed familiar.

I am First Order Throlani General Matookh, sitting for Emperor Patuk. Alaris Kahlanik, you are to be taken to the Cells immediately for conduct unbecoming the Servant class. He looked down upon me, seeming to enjoy my terror as he spoke the words.

The infamous General Matookh, I thought. Then, the Cells.

My stomach turned, but I refused to show him my discomfort, my rising panic. Instead, I made no effort to suppress my mouth from slipping into a scowl. I glared at him. I had, after all, been given permission to look.

The smirk of amusement on his face wasn’t surprising. The Masters always enjoyed making the Servants suffer a little more. The guards gave me no chance to protest. They hauled me away again, this time to the Cells. Imprisonment. A different kind than what I was used to maybe, but still imprisonment.

****

The Masters used fear.

To control, to manipulate, to keep the Servants in line. Fear of pain, fear of darkness, fear of seeing loved ones tortured and killed. It was an effective strategy. I’d give them that. It was why they’d woken me in the middle of the night instead of hauling me off during waking hours, which they just as easily could have done.

The best way to guard against their use of fear, of course, was simply never to love. Lose yourself deep within and you are no one. You have no one.

And no one can harm you.

It’s been my strategy for the last three years, ever since…well, ever since they took Reya, which was my fault. I never should have befriended the serving girl, but, at thirteen, I was starved for any hint of companionship, some form of comfort from another human, a confirmation I was not alone in this rotting hell that had become our lives.

Reya was gone now. Long gone. But not before they ensured I’d seen how they’d crippled her hands. They’d brought her before me, bruised and bloodied, and made sure I’d seen every one of her ten broken, twisted fingers. They’d made sure her hands were good only for scrubbing toilets when they were done with her. They’d made sure I knew it was my fault. All because Reya covered for me when I stole a meal to bring to one of the sick girls confined to her bed. All because I cared.

I’d been careful in two ways since that day—I’d never gotten close to another human. And I’d never given them reason to suspect I maintained a shred of hope.

My imprisonment might have been bars this time, but even when it wasn’t, the menial work was just as confining—bone-weary labor to keep the Masters fed, clothed, happy, entertained. In some ways, bars were preferable. At least I had the silence to think, and my thoughts were better company than most of the people I’ve ever met.

I’d now been sleeping on the bloodied cot for nine days. I knew this because I had been counting the nights until my karitma, the day I’d entered this world. Count the sleeps, Alaris. That’s what Popa said when I was little. Count the sleeps until my day.

Tomorrow, I’ll turn sixteen. And I will have been imprisoned for ten days.

I stared at the ceiling of my cell, if it could be called a cell. Like all cells in Na’uni proper, it was a repurposed cave with massive stalactites that, depending on one’s current mood, provided either a constant soothing, or horribly maddening, drip. The mildewed mattress of my cot was evidence that it had been beneath one of those stalactites for a long time before I arrived. I moved the flimsy frame to the end of the cell and flipped the mattress in search of a dry side only to find the entirety of the mattress’s underside stained a hue that looked unsurprisingly like old blood. The fabric was stiff and scratchy with the dried substance, but old blood was better than wet mold.

They still hadn’t told me why I’ve been locked away, not that anyone has ever told me much of anything anyways. At least, not since Emperor Patuk took over. Not since the uprising. Not since…

Better not to think on it.

I’d end up in tears, and tears never changed anything. Besides, after eight long years, I should be stronger. I should be harder. I wiped my eyes with the back of a hand.

Had half a life of drudgery changed me so much? Beneath it all, wasn’t I still the same girl? Did I even know who she was?

A clatter from the passageway followed by a sharp curse announced that what would pass as my dinner would soon be arriving. Who would bring it today? Th'layli, Dhruv, Artuk?

I curled my lip in disgust as a figure appeared in the torchlight. Kagan. There were uglier, meaner, more terrible guards to bring my food, but, of all of them, Kagan was the worst simply for the fact that he could have been anything, but chose the life of a Throlani.

He believed in it. That alone might be worse than being forced into servitude. At least with Th’layli and Artuk, there were hesitations, micro-moments of emotion that made me believe they possessed some remorse at locking me up. Artuk never met my eye.

Not Kagan, though. Never Kagan. He acted as though he owned the island. He might as well own it for all his pompous attitude. If not for the fact he was a Throlani, I might have thought him handsome. The daughters of the Royals probably tripped over themselves trying to catch his eye. As one of the First Order Throlani, he was one the Royals hoped and prayed their daughters could ensnare. He was a waste of good looks was what he was.

But even when I’d been serving in the Celebration Hall, Kagan’s eyes never wandered, not to the Masters’ daughters, not to the serving girls, not to other Throlani. He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than I, and yet, he seemed driven only by those things empire-related. In the hall, he’d either studied books on historical tactical warfare or pored over whatever latest report on the Empire's current situation they fed him. He’d accepted the food and drink I served without a look or a word of gratitude.

Now, his eyes met mine in the torchlight as he shoved the food through the narrow opening meant to accommodate the tray and no more.

Eat, he said.

What’s the matter, Kagan? I taunted, making the most of my human interaction for the day. Don’t want to see your prisoner die before you get the orders to kill her?

His nostrils flared. I’m not in the mood for it, Kahlanik. Just eat the damn food. Gods know you need meat on your bones. He gestured to my body, disgusted by what he saw. I fought embarrassment. They hadn’t exactly given me access to a shower or a comb, had they?

I pulled the tray through the bars. Though edible, I suspected the food I’d been eating these weeks was whatever dregs were left from the emperor’s kitchens after the entirety of the guard had eaten their fill. It frequently tasted burned, as though scraped from the bottom of the pot. If I got a slice of bread, it was always a heel with an extra hardened, blackened bottom. Not that I’d been used to feasts even before my imprisonment. I’d been lucky to snag whatever food I could from the kitchens, but I’d kept myself fed.

Someone’s testy today. I sniffed at the bowl. Burned.

Kagan looked as though he might reply, then tightened his jaw, shook his head, and swept back into the corridor. His boots echoed through the stone passageway until I could hear them no longer.

I was glad for his exit. I hated eating in front of the Throlani. Some of them waited for me to take a bite before leaving. Others creepily sat and watched me for whatever deranged pleasure they gained from it. Hungry, I dug into the bowl, spooning the meat-flavored concoction into my mouth and swallowing as though I hadn’t been fed in a month. There was no meat in my bowl. They wouldn’t waste meat on me, but it tasted of whatever meat they used in its making. Pork, I think.

On two meals a day, it was no surprise I was wasting away. My arms were thinner than they’d been a week ago. I didn’t have to try hard to fit my thumb and forefinger around my wrist. My legs had begun to resemble that of Elder Naya’s.

Still, they kept me alive. Alive with no indication of when I would be released, if ever. Was there to be a trial? Would they ever tell me what conduct unbecoming the Servant class meant? A pig dung charge. Utter rubbish. They’d made up an excuse to put me behind bars.

But why?

****

Some hours later, the tower bell chimed midnight, and I sang myself a happy karitma. Had the emperor returned from his tours of the islands? Was he feeling sufficiently soothed about their state?

His absence was likely the only reason for my continued imprisonment. There would be a trial. There had to be a trial. Right? Maybe then I could find out what it was I’d supposedly done wrong.

A cool breeze elicited gooseflesh on my arms. I shivered and tossed on the cot. They could have at least given me a sheet. Pulling my knees to my chin, I rubbed my arms vigorously, trying to work some heat into them. Maybe I’d rot away in this miserable, damp cell, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about the outcome of a trial at all. I closed my eyes and willed myself to think of something else. Anything else.

Ayanna. I would think of Ayanna.

Tell me a story.

In the before times, I’d beg Ayanna every night for a story as we lay side by side in our shared cot. Six years older than me, Ayanna and her wild tales never failed to capture my young mind. Each night, as I listened in rapt attention, she would weave fantastic tales of fierce, dragon-riding tribal leaders, sea serpents guarding treasured jewels, giant fish who fell in love with goats, and many a peasant girl turned warrior princess. I didn’t dare fall asleep until she breathed the last word.

Ayanna supplied my head with visions that filled my dreams and kept my imagination entranced with ghosts, sea fairies, and impossible monsters far more interesting than our assigned tasks of collecting eggs, scrubbing clothing, and preparing food.

Tell me what you want to hear tonight? Ayanna asked as she smoothed a lock of hair from my forehead onto the pillow. She smiled at me in the dim moonlight that came through the window of our little hut.

Dragons! Your dragon stories are your best ones, Ayanna!

Really, Alaris. You’re not tired of them, yet?

Never! I growled with a six-year-old’s ferocity.

Alright. Another dragon tale is what you’ll get then. Have I told you the one about The Dragon’s Eye?

I shook my head, my eyes growing large as I leaned in. I resisted the urge to suck my thumb. Loma said big girls didn’t do that. I tried to be a big girl, even though I sometimes still woke up with my thumb suctioned tightly between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

Loma also said it was the effort that counted and that the village hadn’t been built in a day. I didn’t really know what the village had to do with my thumb, but I think she meant she wasn’t upset.

What happened to the dragon’s eye? I asked.

Nothing happened to the dragon’s eye, of course. It was the Dragon’s Eye.

I frowned at her. Was she trying to confuse me? Sometimes Ayanna liked to do that.

She laughed. The Dragon’s Eye is a magic orb, a glowing stone more precious than all the pirate’s treasure in the sea. It belongs to the dragon.

What does it do? I said.

Well, let me tell you! Our dragon hero, you see, is over two-thousand-years old in this tale—

I interrupted. That’s old. I bet he has lots of wrinkles. Like Loloma.

Shh! Don’t let Loma hear you talk about Loloma that way. She’ll make you gut fish with her tomorrow!

I stuck my tongue out. Get back to the dragon.

So, our dragon—

What’s his name?

Ayanna gave a great sigh that shook the bed. Alaris, do you want me to tell the story or not?

I nodded earnestly.

Then stop interrupting! She continued as I pretended to lock my mouth with my fingers. She sighed, then asked, What do you think we should call him?

Gooseberry!

She closed her eyes, her expression almost like the face I made when I pricked my finger on a great thorny vine, and I didn’t want to watch her pull the thorn from my skin because it hurt to see.

Gooseberry?

I pouted. Why not?

It’s not very…dragon-like. How about we call him Nuiteniho? For he was very big and very fierce and all in the land feared him. Well. All but one little girl.

I sat up. What was her name?

Ayanna gave a sly smile. How about you tell me her name?

Alaris! I exclaimed.

Ayanna fought a laugh. Yes, okay, Alaris. Like all in the tribe, Alaris had heard of the great treasure that was the Dragon’s Eye, a treasure that allowed the dragon to see the future, every possible future for as far as the dragon’s mind could imagine. And dragons have very, very good imaginations.

Like you?

Yes, a bit like me, only better. So, one day Nuiteniho took to the skies on a quest to find the girl he saw so many times in the vision of his Eye.

Why? Why did he see her so many times?

Because she was special. Because he saw in many futures that she was very wise and she would be his friend. And he would carry her across the sky as she spread her message of peace across the lands.

Was there war?

Ayanna nodded. In many places, yes. But our heroine, Alaris, didn’t know about that yet. Her island was peaceful and lovely and she had never heard of such things. So when Nuiteniho finally found her, she wouldn’t believe him when he told her he’d seen a horrible future for her kind. She wanted to stay on her island, eat fruits, be happy, and play her music—for she was very fond of playing instruments. She didn’t want to think of such things. She told him she would only believe him if she saw these futures in the Dragon’s Eye. And no human had ever seen the Eye.

I pouted. "I don’t like this Alaris. I would have believed the dragon. I would have spread the message of peace!"

I got the impression Ayanna was laughing at me. "I am sure you would. But my story is not over. Nuiteniho traveled to his cave and snatched his Eye to show Alaris. She would believe the Eye."

Why would she?

Because when a human girl sees the Dragon’s Eye, she cannot deny the truth. The Dragon’s Eye shows only truth within, and if Nuiteniho could get Alaris to believe him, he could help her save the lands.

Was he the only dragon?

What?

Was he the only dragon? Why is he so worried about people? Where are all the other dragons?

I don’t know. That’s just the way the story goes. So, yes. He’s the only dragon.

Why?

Ayanna sighed again. I don’t know why. Nuiteniho doesn’t know why. Maybe that’s tomorrow’s story.

Okay.

Fish and feathers, Alaris, now I can’t remember where I was going with this.

Nuiteniho was getting his Eye.

Right, okay. So, Nuiteniho returned and showed Alaris the great orb that spun and glowed with a truth she couldn’t deny. Alaris fell to the ground and pledged herself to the great dragon and his cause to save all the world.

And did she?

She did. They did together. And I will tell you all about their adventures tomorrow night. But for now we must sleep or Loma will be angry and we’ll both have to gut fish!

I sighed, my mind already drifting into sleep with images of myself atop a great dragon’s back. We would soar higher than any cloud, higher than the volcanoes of Hikalo, maybe higher than the stars themselves.

****

Agitated, I rose from my cot and paced the cell, the memory of Ayanna’s stories anxiously rolling in the corners of my mind. Fuzzy inside, my entire body felt as though someone had brushed it with coconut husk, a disconcerted buzzing stretching across my skin straight through to my organs.

I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that bothered me. The torches in the hall outside my cell flickered as they always did, casting shadows of the same bars and stalactites upon my walls, but something…something was off. Irritated at the oddity, I squinted. The flames, normally a golden yellow from the oil, were ever so slightly rainbow-hued. I tilted my head a different angle, but the effect was the same.

I turned back to my cot to sit and contemplate the source of my unease…but I was already there. My body lay curled on the blood-encrusted mattress, my unwashed, black hair a tangled mess, eyes closed, a peaceful expression upon my face. I hadn’t seen my own reflection in nearly two weeks, yet I was certain the girl on the bed was me.

But, how could I be there and…and…here?

CHAPTER TWO

Night is for Knowing

Kagan

I couldn’t be entirely sure how I managed to convince the general not to execute the girl outright. He’d never listened to me before. That my words should make a difference now was odd. Suspicious. Maybe that had been Matookh’s intent all along.

Jovek and Erau were on post the night she was pulled. They’d been the ones to haul her from her room and drag her to the Cells. I shouldn’t have been awake. My shift long done, I’d been studying the ledgers again, trying to make sense of how the coffers always seemed to possess less than they should.

How could I not notice when they’d dragged the girl past the study? You didn’t miss that kind of thing, especially if you were First Order. And especially when there wasn’t anyone on the list scheduled to be brought in.

Once the girl was in the Cells, I’d made some inquiries of my own. Who was she? What had she done? Why was she important? Servants hadn’t been of interest to the emperor since the rebellion was quelled several years ago. There were still a few flickers of uprising, echoes of past troubles here and there, but nothing more than curling wisps of smoke easily extinguished.

And yet, I’d learned little from Jovek and Erau and even less from the general when I’d inquired. I probably should have left well enough alone and moved on, but I’d never been good with letting things be. So I had one option. An option that made my palms sweat just a little more than I was comfortable admitting.

Consulting the Darkness.

Once again, I contemplated how badly I wanted to know what the girl had done. Judging by the flopping in my stomach, I didn’t want to know at all. I ignored the sensation, left my room and headed for the float room where no light would intrude and no sound could carry. My own room probably would have been dark enough at this time of night, but there were still distracting sounds—guard boots in the halls, muffled coughs from the rooms near mine, or the scurry of a mouse in search of food along the base of the walls.

It was better to consult the Darkness in the room specifically designated for such things, though I often sensed I was the only one making use of it. I wondered. How many others could speak with it? Matookh assured me there were others, but he never told me who or how many, only that they existed. Typical. Trying to pry anything from him without offering something valuable in return was next to impossible, and there was nothing of value I could possibly offer someone in his position.

My pulse beat a little quicker as I turned a corner to the hall leading to the stairs. Things hadn’t ended well on my last visit to the Darkness. I not only made the mistake of challenging the Darkness’s wisdom, but I’d broken contact before I’d been officially released.

Stupid of me. Since the beginning of my training with the Darkness, I’d been schooled on the importance of its instruction, of heeding its wisdom, of letting it guide my actions. I had no doubt Matookh would have kept me in the float room for many hours beyond my daily requirements if the lock on the door had only been on the outside instead of in.

I never challenged the Darkness before this week. Never. But lately…lately there seemed to be a lot of things that didn’t quite fit. I couldn’t fight a nagging feeling that someone somewhere was laughing at my inability to piece together what it was that had me out of sorts. It hadn’t made for a good conversation with the Darkness.

A questioning Guardsman isn’t a loyal one. If nothing else, the Darkness made that quite clear.

I descended the dark