The Awakening Box Set Read online

  SPECIAL THANKS

  To my wife, Claribel and my two boys, Logan and Connor

  Your love and support is what got this done

  Book cover by Ruxandra Tudorică

  Methyss-art

  ©2017

  [email protected]

  Other Works by

  Michael Timmins

  The Lycan War Saga

  “The Awakening: Part One”

  “The Awakening: Part Two”

  “The Gathering”

  TBA

  “The War”

  TBA

  Shards of the Coven

  Series

  Prelude to the Shards Anthology

  “Intellect”

  “Race of the Witchguard”

  “A Town Called Ghost”

  “Starfall”

  A Shards of the Coven novel

  TBA

  The Lycan War Saga

  Book One

  THE AWAKENING

  MICHAEL TIMMINS

  Prologue

  Kestrel knew she had lost, at least, for now. The dark and musty underground sanctuary flickered with life as the Druidic fires crackled in the torches, their faint light just enough to see the etchings of the cave wall.

  Kestrel shook her head, her long black hair parted to reveal beautiful, if stark, features. In the dim light, dark eyes strained to reread the powerful contingency spell etched on the wet stone. The glass beads woven into her hair swayed as she shook her head at her unbelievable defeat. Here she was, the most powerful Druidess of the realm — forced to hide under the Calendar.

  Sylvanis may think she had won, and perhaps she had, for now. Imagine her surprise if she discovers the contingency spell? It was beautiful work. Four days of etching and carving it into the stone walls and then enacting the spell. It had left Kestrel feeling drained, and she needed rest.

  After all, it was only a matter of time before Sylvanis came for her. Kestrel’s armies were defeated and her Weres either killed or captured. Sylvanis or her Weres would locate her soon. She needed her wits about her, which after the daunting task of casting the last bit of her spell, she would have very little left.

  The sanctuary was sparsely furnished, not a fitting place for her, but it was the only safe place she could think of. The room was used by the local leader of the Druid sept, but with the ongoing war, most had been pressed into service to one side or the other, and this room was now seldom used. A low bed sat in the corner and was lavishly covered with wool sheets, had the look of not being slept in.

  A lone dresser and sitting chair rested against one wall. On top of the dresser rested an oval bronze mirror. A prize given to the Druids of the area as a sacrifice to the gods. It found better use here, in this chamber. A small chest for Druidic raiments sat at the foot of the bed. Against one wall of the sanctuary rested a stone wash basin. Four torches hung from wall sconces near each corner of the room, dimly lighting the whole room. Truly, not a place for someone as special as herself, she thought as she looked around before returning to her work.

  She only had one last touch and then she could sleep. Quietly, at first, she began the spell, her rich voice echoing off the small chamber. As her voice reached a fevered pitch, the wall with the etching shimmered away with an image of a new wall, a short distance in front of the original.

  It was a subtle magic and one that would hopefully go undetected, at least, undetected long enough for the contingency to go into effect. At that point there would be nothing Sylvanis could do to stop it. Kestrel would save this world- eventually.

  She collapsed on the bed. No matter how weak the last spell was, it still drained every bit of strength she had, and she didn’t have much after four days of etching and casting a very powerful spell.

  “Nil Las,” she muttered, and the Druidic fires snuffed out. She fell fast asleep.

  Sylvanis tracked Kestrel to the Calendar. She viewed it there, upon the horizon, like large stone doorways to nowhere. Her beautiful green eyes searched the large stone pillars and tables placed there long before she was born, searching for a different way for this to end.

  Standing there, she let the wind gather up her straw-blonde hair and dance with it as she continued to examine the Calendar. A lone feather tied within the strands of her hair tried to take flight upon the wind but failed to free itself.

  She was a slight woman, short and petite. Her cream-colored dress that stopped short of mid-thigh, shapely legs left surprisingly bare considering the cold. Light blue threading wove intricate designs sparsely throughout her dress, and a deer-horned hilted dagger was tucked in her rope belt that was cinched tightly above her hips.

  The monoliths looked gloomy and oppressive on a day such as this. Gray clouds hung and did not move, though Sylvanis knew the wind currents pushed them to the east. It seemed an almost perpetually cloudy sky here on the Isle since Kestrel had made her play for power, though Sylvanis’ knowledge of the weather told her since it was after the harvest season, this was normal and would be unlikely to change anytime soon. Still, the dark clouds were a constant reminder of the stormy events this past year. She mounted her horse.

  “You don’t have to go alone, you know,” Calin muttered with a dour look on his hard face. He brushed his curly brown hair to one side so he could look up at her as she sat on her white horse. “She is still very strong, and could defeat you, no matter how unlikely you think that is.”

  Sylvanis smiled. Calin was a good man, and if she were not a Druidess at war, she might have taken him as a mate. For all his rough angles and hard looks, he was still an attractive man. He wore his brown hair long, which allowed his natural curls to elongate and they seemed to bounce as a metal coil would, though today it was mostly plastered to his head due to the earlier rain.

  Calin was one of her Trues and the strongest one by far. Trues were the first of the Lycans to be created. Those were followed by the Pures. The ones that were gifted with lycanthropy from a True. Those who received lycanthropy from a Pure, commonly were referred to as just Weres.

  “I thank you for your concern, Calin.” He frowned at her use of his first name. She sighed; he was always so formal.

  “However, I sense I will be fine in the upcoming confrontation between myself and Kestrel.” She was pretty sure of that one, she had sensed it on the winds, and the breezes had eased her fears. “I cannot assure the same for you. In fact, I have sensed if I were to bring others, needless blood would be shed.”

  That, too, she had also sensed. She pulled her straw-blonde hair back and did a quick braid. She would need her vision to be unobstructed when she confronted Kestrel.

  “Well, I still do not like it, milady,” Calin muttered. “If we sent in the Weres first, we might be able to overtake her before she could respond.” Again, he peered up at her with his bright green eyes and it appeared he was trying to convince her with them.

  “Calin,” she paused and looked back at the Calendar. “I have never known you to be a stupid man, so please don’t make me think so now. Kestrel knows we are here; knew we were here long before we could even see the Calendar. As I am sure, you already knew that.” She glanced at him from the side and saw him look down quickly. At least he had the decency to blush. Yes, she would have taken him as a mate. Perhaps, if this truly was the end of Kestrel as she thought it would be, there might be time to do just that.

  “When I get back, we will talk of your promotion.”

  “Promotion?” Calin asked, his gaze snapped back up at her, clearly puzzled. Sylvanis stifled a laugh behind her hand but said nothing. Calin continued to stare at her for a moment, as if trying to decide to ask her what she was talking about. After some time, he seemed to change his mind and asked ins
tead, “You still intend to kill her at least?”

  Sylvanis had thought long and hard about this. She had searched the wind and spoke at length with the earth for the answer to this question. She hated having to take a life, even one as tainted as Kestrel’s. The wind and the earth had been silent on this, and in the end, she was left with the decision herself.

  When she thought of all the battles waged, of all the lives lost, all the innocents forced to become Were… she didn’t believe there was another option. Kestrel had to pay for her crimes. She was too powerful to let live and risk getting free. Sylvanis closed her eyes and let the wind caress her. She felt no recrimination. Yes, she would kill Kestrel. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak the words.

  Calin continued to look at her as if expecting she would give words to it, but when she didn’t, he looked over his shoulder at the army waiting to strike. He could see the Pures, their larger Were forms towered slightly over the regular Weres. Non-Weres and Weres dotted the earth behind them.

  There were fewer now than there had been just half a year ago. The war had taken its due. Blood was spilled and lives lost. Friends he had lost. More than he dared count, though the loss of Conner hurt the most. Conner had been his dearest and oldest friend, a fellow True, and war leader. His death had hurt their forces greatly, though most of his Weres, even with the loss of their lycanthropy, continued to fight for them. It still hurt. Calin couldn’t help but wonder, though, if it hadn’t been for Conner’s death, and Calin’s subsequent quest to avenge him, which led him to Por and Answi, the war might have continued for much longer. Once he disposed of those two, their former Weres melted away from their army like early morning frost when the sun clears the horizon.

  He didn’t consider himself arrogant, but he was more than a match for most people with the sword. If he shifted, he was almost unbeatable, and though he had been loathed to use his Were form when sword fighting, he certainly wasn’t going to take on two Trues in his human form.

  He looked to Sylvanis and noticed she had already started to move forward towards the Calendar. He hoped this was not the last time he would look into those beautiful green eyes of hers. He would never voice his love for her, but love her he did, with all his heart.

  Kestrel’s eyelids flew open, “Las,” she uttered and re-ignited her torches. The outer circle had been breached and that could only mean one thing. Sylvanis was here, and it was only a matter of time before she came for her. A full day had passed since Kestrel had fallen asleep. The spells had taken their toll, but she felt rested now.

  She stood and paused, not sure what to do. It seemed to her if she must die today, then she should at least die beautiful. Kestrel was beautiful, and was very aware of it, flaunted it, in fact. Her long black hair glistened like silk in the torchlight. It framed an enchanting face, high cheekbones, small well-formed nose, oval face and soft, full lips. Only upon careful examination could you sense something was not right about her. Her eyes… Her eyes were dark and empty. It is said the eyes are the window to the soul, and for Kestrel that was as close to true as possible, for her soul was empty, at least empty of everything but greed, and a hunger for power. Her skin was light and soft looking, with a finely defined musculature, for she had never been afraid to get down and work when she had to. The long gown she wore, clung to a figure rounded and full in all the right places. The low neckline barely hid the full and inviting breasts she knew held men’s attention. Men were such fools; bare some breast and you could keep their gaze where you wanted it to be and away from what you were actually doing.

  Sylvanis was also very beautiful, but pretended to ignore it, which had always infuriated Kestrel when they were learning to become Druidess together. Sylvanis was, in many ways, her opposite. Where Kestrel had a full buxom figure, Sylvanis was lithe and slender. Kestrel’s dark hair and dark eyes were domineering features, where Sylvanis’ blonde hair and green eyes were inviting. Sylvanis always worked as one with nature to accomplish her goals, while Kestrel wrestled with nature to force it to work with her. It seemed almost fitting their lives were destined to be on opposite sides of this conflict.

  Kestrel sat down at a small dresser, opened the drawer and pulled out a small brush. She smiled in the mirror as she ran the brush through her long hair. A laugh almost escaped her at the deception she was going to pull on Sylvanis, and all her minions.

  She did not fear death, but she did not welcome it either.

  Her smile fled. It angered her she was beaten by lessers. She had almost won. but for that annoying lieutenant of Sylvanis. If he came here today, she would kill him. He had single-handedly killed two of her best Weres, and with that, all those in their line returned to non-Weres.

  She should never have let Answi and Por go into that battle. She knew if they were killed, all the Weres they had made would return to plain humans, and since they were forced to change in the first place, they would probably rebel and desert the battle. It just never had occurred to her those two would lose to one lone Were. That was the problem with the True Line, any Were they made lost their lycanthropy when the True died.

  Answi and Por were two of the Trues she had created with her magic to aide her in this conflict. Renwick, a third, had been captured, which didn’t surprise her. She figured Renwick was how Sylvanis had arrived so quickly. Renwick was never known for his bravery and he probably told Sylvanis whatever she wanted to know the moment he was captured in hopes she would let him go. She was unsure what had become of Syndor. He had disappeared several weeks ago, but his Weres had not changed back, so he was not dead.

  That was when the tide of the battle turned. Answi and Por were killed, their Weres changed back, and then revolted. She had been forced to run at that point since more than three-quarters of her army were from Answi and Por. She had run and finally come to this sanctuary where she waited to die.

  Her face contorted in anger and she hurled the brush into the bronze mirror knocking it to the ground. It rolled across the floor and wobbled to a stop on the ground near the back wall. She calmed herself. She wasn’t going to be defeated today; the time would come for her to strike back. That was what Sylvanis didn’t know. That was how Kestrel would win in the end.

  Sylvanis ran her hand across the rough stone of the outer circle of the Calendar. The Calendar looked like giant gravestones today. Maybe that was just how she felt, she mused, like going into someone’s grave. To think it should come to this. Why Kestrel had become what she had, Sylvanis would never know.

  Kestrel had always been brash and always wanted power, but Sylvanis never thought Kestrel had been capable of everything she had done. Killing the Elder and taking control of the Sect was not something anyone had expected of Kestrel. Then to have secretly sent out her Were to recruit, forcefully if necessary, more Weres. She had planned this for years and had kept it hidden from everyone, including Sylvanis.

  It’s not that they had been close friends, but they had gone through the rites together to become Druidess and had shared many a late talk about the future. She knew now Kestrel thought of her as an enemy, and she supposed she was. There was something wrong about what Kestrel had done and it was the right thing to do to stop her. She figured Kestrel knew she was here, and honestly was surprised she hadn’t made an appearance, yet. Sylvanis had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but she had really been given no other choice.

  With the Elder dead, Sylvanis quickly rallied those who thought the same as she and retreated, at first, to regroup. It had been a little over a year since that had happened and a bloody year it had been. Battles fought and ground gained and lost. Lives ended and lives ruined, all for some twisted belief that civilization needed to be stopped for nature to live. Sylvanis could only shake her head.

  She reached the altar stone as it started to rain. It was a soft, cold rain, the usual for this time of year. It made Sylvanis smile, she wasn’t sure why, but she felt it was nature’s way of telling her what she had to do tonight would be washed aw
ay and clean after. She moved around the Table to the stairs which lead down.

  Calin looked at Adonia and frowned. Adonia stared at the Calendar as if she would be able to see what was happening, though given her sharp eyes, she might.

  Adonia was pretty and almost always in hybrid form, a humanoid looking fox. Her fox-like features only made her more alluring. She was usually smiling, as if she knew a joke she didn’t want to tell anyone. Tonight, she wasn’t smiling, she shared a frown with him, at least he thought it was a frown, it’s hard to tell with her canine mouth, but he knew she was just as worried about Sylvanis as he.

  The soft patter of rain on armor could be heard, at first from the back of the army, but quickly moved forward to patter off his armor. He looked towards the Calendar and wondered if Sylvanis was feeling the rain and if she was warm. He realized it was a silly thing to wonder… but he wondered it all the same.

  Kestrel hated waiting. What was taking Sylvanis so long? She started to pace but stopped. If Sylvanis saw her pacing, then she might suspect something. Glancing at the stairs that led up and outside, she could hear rain falling outside and was grateful she was not out in it. She didn’t mind the rain. It’s just that out here the rain was always so cold. Her musings ended as she saw the bare feet of Sylvanis followed by the rest of her slim form descending the stairs.

  “Good evening, Kestrel,” Sylvanis said when she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked first at her then around the room, pausing briefly at the broken dresser stand.

  Kestrel looked at Sylvanis and was struck suddenly by the look of grief on her enemy’s face. Grief? Grief from what? Could it be she was upset with having to come here and kill her? How dare she! Kestrel thought. She thinks she can come down here after defeating my army, chasing me here, and then show me pity! Sylvanis must have noticed the look in her eyes and realized her expression had been read. She held up her hands.