The Savage Road: In Dreams..., #3

By S.I. Hayes

An Epic Fantasy with Sci-Fi elements, full of magic, mayhem, Fantasy Violence, Adult Situations and Epic world-building.
NOT A YA NOVEL!

Amara Dagon is going home...

Will she be able to ascend to High Priestess and give her people the help they so richly deserve, or will she crumble to her mother's whims? Take a walk on the shores of the Isle De' Corlen, a beautiful and dangerous land, especially if you're uninvited. Trials and tests await Amara and Morgan, and his life hangs in the balance if they fail...

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.I. Hayes
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223026877

S.I. Hayes

S.I. Hayes was born and bred in New England, currently living in Ohio. Running around Connecticut, she used all of her family and friends as inspiration for her many novels. When not writing any multitude of genres, she can be found drawing one of many fabulous book covers or teasers. To see them, check out Haney Hayes Promotions. Find more, join ARC teams or become an Influencer with J. Haney & S.I. Hayes join the mailing list- https://dashboard.mailerlite.com/forms/23226/68366423768958534/share 

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This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any person, place, or theory are in no way intended or to be inferred as fact or reference.

The work is the particular property of the Author. Produced by human intellect and was in no way created or manipulated by an AI (Artificial Intelligence) program. It may not be reproduced in whole or in part or resourced by any entity, now or in the future, in any format without written permission by the Author unless part of a Review, Interview, or public push of the work and specific other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Contains adult situations. 17+ only

Manuscripts and Designs By Human Designers With Licensed Images by

Haney Hayes Promotions

©reedit 2023 Hayes

All rights reserved.

Prologue

From the Diary of  Kacey Synerge

Do you hear it? The chiming of memories? The bells of found thoughts that once were so lost that sometimes finding them can become a revelation. Amara was one of us, born of the isle, bred to be a leader, but it was not a role she wanted. She tried love, but that was torn from her, and that loss brought with it the power she needed to save us. Upon the Solitary road, she found those who showed her what she could be. Morgan Braith took her down the Unavoidable road to who she needed to be.

I was so young when it happened. When our High Priestess returned, I didn’t understand, but I knew that change was to follow. That these two were to be the catalyst. These events proved to terrify and free us, in a consummation of blood, smoke, and fire, which I will never forget...

1

As the flyer approached the Isle De’ Corlen, a group of people waited eagerly on the shore. Amongst them was a small girl child, who watched curiously while the others chattered.

Amara Dagon is home, and she’s not alone.

It had been over a year since she had gone, over a year since they died.

The little girl held onto a doll that had been made by Amara before she was forced to leave. Clinging to it she and the other children waited, trying desperately to see past their mothers. Standing on her tiptoes didn’t help, she was tiny, the smallest of all the children her age. The murmurs of those around her as the cargo door opened and Amara stepped out of the Flyer were hard to miss. ‘Is that really her?’ ‘I wonder who he is.’ ‘She looks so different.’ The Elder Mothers, their girls included, rushed to Amara, ushering her off of the dock and into the noisy crowd.

When Morgan Braith, Amara’s companion, appeared in the opening of the ramp, everyone fell swiftly silent. Amara nervously smiling was pulled right past the little one who was pushed aside, carelessly toward the front. The Elders took Amara away and the others followed, now ignoring Morgan coming down the ramp.

‘Tough crowd.’ Morgan snickered.

The girl covered her face to avoid bruising as she was batted around, thrashed right to him. 

‘He’s so big.’ She thought as she tilted her head all the way back to see his face, knowing instantly that he was different. ‘More like me.’ She could feel something as he crouched down, looking at her. His face was kind as he smiled, his eyes shifting in the light.

With a tilt of his head, he spoke to her, without words. ‘Hello.’

The little girl heard him, she often heard the thoughts of those around her, but her mother told her never to tell anyone. Not knowing what to do, with this man who, like her, knew, she shook some.

Standing barefoot in the sand, clutching to her doll, knowing in that moment that he was the one, the one who was supposed to come and do something important. She did not know what was going to happen, but even at the tender age of seven, it was clear to her that her dreams were important, and that they had been telling her that someone was coming. She looked back at the other children. Instinct told her to run, and so... she ran, dropping her doll. 

It was always like that; she would see something, but was not allowed to tell people, so she learned to keep a mouthful at all times. She ran away from Morgan, taking the other giggling children with her.

‘Interesting.’ Morgan watched as the little girl ran off, leaving him on the dock. ‘I’m sure she heard me.’ He bent down picking up the hand-sewn doll.

It was a dingy white color, and only a doll in shape and form, it bore no eyes or clothes, it simply was. As he picked it up, he felt the breeze of the Flyer as Maggie abruptly took off. Looking back to the shore he found it was bare except for a single woman standing alone. She was short as women usually are and fairly round, with her hands on her wide and heavy hips a small smile crossed her slightly jowled face. Her feet seemed to be planted firmly on the white sandy beach.

‘Great, trapped... Like a rat.’

So, are you coming? Or did you intend to try and swim for it? She asked tilting her head with a batting of her eyelashes. 

Morgan shifted his bag on his shoulder and walked towards her. ‘Well don’t I feel so welcomed.’

‘Boy, she does like them big, doesn’t she?’ The woman raised her brow as he approached, towering over her, cracking a subtle smile.

‘Mm-hmm.’

There you go; I don’t bite. Right this way. She turned from him. ‘But this one’s darker.’

‘This one does have a name, as did the last.’ He followed her silently up the dune, having to side step low-lying vines of fragrant pink flowers, with spider-leg petals that held fast to the sand, keeping it in place. He had to pull one from his cloak as its barbs caught on the fabric. ‘Sticky little buggers.’

He sighed as the woman walked on. Her head was full of figures and inventory numbers. She was the one who kept track of the accounts, or so he gathered from her incessant mathematical redderick. Quickly, he lost interest in what she was about, as she was plainly, ill concerned with him, not giving a glance backwards or even a moment’s thought to his presence.

‘Now that’s what I call a one track mind.’ He laughed, as they came over the second sand dune and he caught his first glimpse of The Isle De’ Corlen. 

It was semi-wilderness. Rugged and mostly unfinished. The people who had been on the shore when they landed were now headed into their homes and away from him.

‘Can’t you just feel the love?’ 

With a shake of his head, he saw that the

path they took was unpaved but well-worn by heavy traffic. So much so that not even the slightest pebble moved under foot as they walked.

The trees had been cut to make a clearing and the path wound slightly up the rolling hills. Within the clearing, wild flowers swayed, dancing in the cool wind from the shore. There was a group of small houses horseshoed together. More than a dozen of them, each made of wood with thatched roofs and from some chimney stacks, smoke gently ebbed up into the clear blue sky.

‘This place is beautiful; it’s too bad the souls of its leaders are so ugly.’

Curtains moved in the windows as they passed. The people inside were evidently curious about him, but unwilling to be seen as such. As they cleared the first foothill, the land lay flat. Toppled plant stalks were scattered along in dizzying displays as waterfowl picked and settled into it. The dried stalks crackled under their tiny webbed feet.

Abruptly a small dog jumped up, yapping, spooking the birds. Their flight darkened the sky above as Morgan’s eyes followed their shadow across the hill which was dwarfed by coniferous trees.

Peeking out behind them in the distance was a mountain range that seemed to block a single side of the Isle from view.

He saw the group of women who had taken Amara up ahead of them. Finding her in the center was not difficult as she was by far the tallest not to mention, most colorful of the group. He turned onto that path as it quickly began to disappear into the trees.

Not that way, young man. Not just yet, anyhow. The woman called after him suddenly.

‘Damn, Why the hell not?’ I-um. ‘Shush, Morgan, too early to make waves.’

C’mon, right this way. With a wide swivel of her arm, she waved to him. She’ll be back, Promise. ‘So long as she’s unscathed.’ She lost her smile with the unfortunate thought.

‘Yeah... About that.’ Morgan let her lead him to an inviting looking three-story log cabin. His pride in repairing the scars from Amara’s attack, putting a small bounce in his large steps.

The lawn was lush, deep green, and thickly grown. White roses climbed eagerly up an arched trellis that stood in front of the mahogany door. He noticed a small brown spider as she spun her web between the low archways. He bowed his head to miss her weaving as the woman opened the door, holding it for him to enter with a laugh.

Sorry ‘bout that, we’re not used to such large men ‘round here.

He reached for the door. Not a problem. Holding it for her instead, he continued. After you, please. He insisted with a dimple-filled grin. ‘Just turn up the charm, they’ll eat it up. Simple minds always do.’

Thank you. She went past him. ‘Seems she managed herself a trained one, this time.’ Morgan’s eyes rolled behind her head as he caught the silent remark. ‘That’s what you think, sister.’

2

The house appeared to be a compacted inn, rustic and comfortable. The wood that held up the place was visible from the inside as well. All of the horizontal logs fused together. In front of him was a counter surrounded by four simple wooden stools, their pale flesh a contrast to the dark walls, though the counter top was painted the same green that had ‘thrown up’ in his opinion all over Maggie’s living room.

‘More very bad color choices?’ He noticed to his left a fireplace, of white and black carved stone, it looked like there were figures on it but two white wing chairs blocked his view as he walked past the counter where the woman was fumbling around underneath;

‘Now where did I put that bottle?’

‘Oh, boy.’ 

He passed a small floral printed couch as he went to take a better look at the fireplace, his feet sinking into an animal fur on the floor, serving as both decoration and a soft deep brown rug. ‘Must be imported.’

The fireplace was indeed carved with figures; it was actually carved as figures. Two of them. On the left of the hearth was a man of black and on the right was a woman of white. Their left hands were the top facing and where they joined, the stone became Grey as a chord intertwined them. ‘Thought they didn’t do black?’ He turned hearing a slight clang; the woman had put a tall amber bottle and two ceramic mugs on the counter.

It’s beautiful isn’t it? She asked looking at him.

It is. He turned back to the fireplace. What?

Hieroganos, Err, the Sacred Marriage. See how their hands are joined, bound together by the chords of love. Heart strings... So to speak. She let out a short laugh. But you’ll see soon enough, marrying a Priestess and all.

‘Like that’ll happen, don’t plan on being here that long.’ Will I? So it’s a big thing then? He wanted to get as much from her as possible, seeing how much she would willingly give up.

She did tell you she was next in line? Right? She sounded worried suddenly. ‘She better have, can’t have another tarnished line.’

‘Tarnished line?’ She did, I just wasn’t aware it was so set in... Well... stone. He laughed coming back to the counter with a glance at the fireplace. She laughed now as well, her nervousness fading easily.

I bet you could use a drink, huh? She nodded. ‘Goddess knows I do.’

I don’t really drink. He refused kindly, as he sat on a stool.

Nonsense, we have some of the finest wines and pale ales this side of the ocean. She uncorked the bottle, the smell of the Trialade hitting him vaguely. Besides, I hate to drink alone. She finished as she poured and pushed a mug to him.

His stomach jumped lightly as she stared at him.

It’s not poisoned, in case you’re wondern’ that. She laughed out loud.

‘Do I want to see where offending this woman so early on is going to lead?’ Picking up the mug, he held his breath, though she did not notice.

Thatta boy. She clanked her mug into his. To Hieroganos. She drank it down.

‘That’ll never happen.’ He quickly drank it down, hoping that it would not just floor him, choking on the last large gulp.

Sorry, son. She chuckled as he wiped his chin. I make it a little strong. She noticed the scar on his face; it ran lightly across his lips. ‘Hmm, must have been a soldier. Rosaline will not appreciate that, but her consort will want to swap stories.’

‘Rosaline must be Amara’s mother.’ No... It’s good. He cleared his throat. What’s in it? He tried to keep his dislike for the intoxicatingly sweet wine at bay.

Oh, just Pomegranate, a touch of Linden flowers, a single pinch of our sweetener and an aphrodisiac or two, nothing too special. She extended her right hand to him. Name’s Margaret, but they call me Stout, since I make them and am... Well? She put out her other hand in reference to her height and size. Obviously. She finished with a hearty chuckle.

Morgan...Braith He smiled taking a moment to gauge the woman. She did not seem Evil, as he had expected them all to be. She was a little skewed in her thinking, but mostly she was simply happy to have someone to talk with. He looked past her seeing an archaic two-way radio, a questioning look on his face, as she looked at it then him once more.

That’s to keep track of my Maggie; she’s the one who brought you here.

Oh? ‘So this is the normal ones’ mother. Explains the decorating sense.’

Yeah, she’s a good girl, like Amara, does well on her own. How- She was cut off by the front door swinging open suddenly, slamming back into the wall repeatedly as five little girls came rushing in, proceeding to chase each other around the couch. Morgan watched with a true smile.

‘They seem happy.’ One little girl fell after noticing him. He went to get up to help her when Stout put up a hand.

That’s enough girls. She picked up the little blond girl. He noticed that they were all in fact blond, like Margaret and Maggie. The girls ran past him and out through another door beyond him.

Yours? He asked, still smiling.

She sighed wiping off her hands on her dress pockets seeing his smile. ‘Now there’s a real one, must like kids... That’s a good thing.’

Oh yes, and quite the handful on their off days.

Off days? He began to push as the door opened again and Stout stiffened in her place against the counter.

He turned his head, a young girl with dark blond hair stood staring at them. It was parted down the middle and braided to each side, tied off with small green bows that matched the pale of her hardened eyes. Morgan guessed she was about twelve, as she passed far from him to reach the stairs by the fireplace, glancing at him twice more. He tried to get a bead on her, but Stout’s nervousness was distracting to him. ‘I don’t like that.’ He turned back in his seat as the girl disappeared finally. Stout relaxed trying to regain herself once more with a forced smile.

Yours too? He asked knowing she was suddenly afraid.

‘Evil, little girl.’ Mine? Oh, no. Just another girl here on the Isle. She laughed lightly. She’s just got herself a bit of a temper on her, so I try and stay out of the way.

‘Don’t you people discipline your girl children? Sure beat the boys into submission and let the girls scare you into a stupor, that’s plenty smart.’ Uh, huh. Morgan shifted in his seat.

Well look at me, standing here, boring you. You must be exhausted after your trip. Let me see how your room is doing. She came from behind the counter hurriedly, wanting nothing more than to be away. I’ll be back in a jiffy; you stay right there and make yourself comfortable. She smiled heading quickly for the stairs. ‘Please don’t make a scene. Not today of all days.’

Morgan stayed put with a quieted laugh, leaning on the counter top. ‘Bad acting runs

amok on this Island.’

3

As Amara was led away , the four women who had taken her hardly spoke. Not a one of them welcomed her, or asked her how she faired. They kept her surrounded as if for her own protection as they walked swiftly down the path through the trees.

‘There wasn’t such a fuss the last time, I came home.’ She could not understand why none of them would speak to her. Why did they need her to wait before coming home? ‘They didn’t even look at Morgan.’ She smiled believing it would have annoyed him. ‘I wonder how he’s doing, and where they took him for that matter.’

The trees separated and she could hear the brushing of their wings. ‘Keep it together, kid. You need to stay focused.’ Pulling down on her sleeves, she sighed heavily as they passed the wall formations. Through the gate, past the nine-foot wall, was her mother’s home. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and always housed the High

Priestess and her children. Where all the homes on the Isle were made of wood. It was the only one made of stone. Rock actually, the abandoned hives of the Hymenopteria. Broken and mortared together, stone by stone, centuries before.

She was lead to the doors and as they were opened by two men who brandished swords on their belts, she saw that their dark brown uniforms were armored on the chest, and covering their faces were helmets adorned with purple stones.

‘New guards and clothes, what’s happened since I’ve been gone?’

The men let her pass, falling into step beside her, the women hurrying on ahead. As they walked, the guard to her left gently brushed her hand, something that was never permitted. She turned her head looking across to him, as they were the same height. Beneath his helmet, she could just see his eyes, which were a dark brown, and across his brow was a scar she recognized. She had put it there.

Danny? She mouthed seeing a slight nod from him as he spoke.

Eyes forward, Priestess, Please.

The guards were the only males on the Isle permitted to order her to anything, being the daughter of the High Priestess put her socially above everyone else, but until she was High Priestess herself, she was subject to her mother’s rule, which was always enforced by her guards. Amara turned forward again, seeing the entrance to her mother’s chambers, the large double doors loomed over her as they opened and she was blinded by bright white light.

4

Morgan sat at the counter of Stout’s place. She had been gone for some time now, and he took the quiet opportunity to see what he could find out simply by listening . The children outside were playing tag, and their laughter made him smile. He found a man working in a tomato patch. At once, he was saddened by broken and frightening thoughts.

‘No bruised ones, they won’t like that. Can’t have them unhappy. That’s not good, no, it’s not.’ The man continued like this in variations. Morgan’s temper rose until a woman went to the old man, taking him by the hand.

‘That’s enough. Now why don’t we get you inside for a cool drink?’

Morgan heard her kindness, knowing it genuine he opened up farther. Catching a static of voices, the people farther from him, in homes, full of questions and speculations.

‘Where do you think she found him?’ 

‘He looks like a demon in all that black.’ 

‘Maybe he’s from the dark place.’ 

‘Perhaps she just liked his height. That other one was tall too.’ 

‘She had a lot of nerve coming back.’ 

‘Get me out of here, please.’

The cry for help alerted him. He was trying to pinpoint its source when he heard Amara’s name in hushed tones upstairs. He turned down everything around him, bringing the closer conversation to perfect clarity. It was Stout in apparent argument with another female; he closed his eyes tapping into hers, to see the other.

Stout stood in the upper hallway staring hard at a young woman with shoulder length blond pipe curls and dark blue eyes.

"You should mind your tongue, Dana." She whispered heatedly.

"Please, she’s not my Priestess." Dana huffed looking to the young girl with the braids.

Not yet, but she will be and that’s all that counts.

"She shows up and out of nowhere is engaged? So much for mourning the death of

the love of her life... Please it’s totally suspect."

‘Uh-oh, this one could be trouble.’

It’s not your place to question any of it child. You owe your miserable little life to her; you should thank her for your still breathing.

Yeah, okay, whatever. Delia here is next in line, or at least her mother, as far as I'm concerned. Because Amara’s little genocide of the hives should have voided her right to the Divine.

Rosaline has made her choice and it is hers to make, not to be questioned.

We don’t know anything about him, and she cannot be trusted. The one called Delia finally spoke up. Her voice carrying louder than that of the other two.

He’ll hear you. Dana insisted.

I don’t care; he’s a man, utterly useless, unless he’s carrying something heavy or is undressed.

‘Stout was right she is an Evil little girl.’

He has a name, Morgan. Stout cut her off suddenly, And he seems like a good man, you shouldn’t speak like that of the one you’ll eventually have to deal with. He’s out of his element right now, but once this marriage goes through, there will be nothing either of you can say, and I’m sure he will remember. If you continue as it is, you’ll be sorry.

‘Go Stout, that’s right, I have a name. And don’t you forget it.’

Sorry? Dana laughed loudly. How could I be any more sorry? It’s her fault. Now I’m stuck here.

No, it’s your own fault for playing with toys that do not belong to you. You are lucky she didn’t call for your head, as was her right. Stout would have continued but a seething look from Delia silenced her completely.

‘Toys? I take it back, Stout kinda still sucks...’ Morgan thought suddenly. ‘That’s all their men are to them.’ He cracked his neck to the side, hearing Delia again.

I don’t have time for this rubbish, Dana, let’s go... Now. She snapped, looking at Stout again, suspiciously.

5

Morgan broke contact as the two girls came down the stairs. He turned looking at them as anyone else who had been left alone for a time would. Delia walked briskly in front with her head up and eyes fixed on her destination to the front door. Dana followed slowly, coming downstairs; she stopped at the foot, looking Morgan over.

‘Mmm-hmm.’ She blinked slowly. ‘I could spend days exploring all of that.’

Morgan smiled. ‘Honey, you wouldn’t know what to do with it even if you got it.’

She took his smile as approval and reflected it, biting her bottom lip some. ‘Very nice. I’d-.’ Her thought was broken by Delia opening the door.

Dana! She huffed, annoyed; Dana hurried to her as Morgan watched them leave.

‘She needs a good beating.’ From the staircase, another young girl appeared. Her hair was light brown and fell across the left side of her face.

Morgan? She asked as if unsure, though no one else was around.

That would be the case. He answered, looking up at her.

‘Are there any adult women on this Isle?’

If you’ll come this way, your room is ready." She stayed in the shadow of the hall as Morgan got up. Just as he reached her on the stairs, she turned away, leading him up to the landing. The hallway had only four doors before the staircase wrapped up to the third floor.

Down, here. She directed him, turning her right side to him. Her features were small, especially in profile, as she walked down to the last door on the right. She stopped using her key ring, which dangled from out of her dress pocket to unlock it. Morgan bent down his head to enter past her; she shifted her face