The Gathering Read online

  Book cover by Ruxandra Tudorică

  Methyss-art

  ©2017

  SPECIAL THANKS

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

  Your continued patience with this long and arduous process makes me appreciate you more and more

  Books by Michael Timmins

  The Lycan War Saga

  “The Awakening: Part One”

  “The Awakening: Part Two”

  “The Gathering”

  “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 Two

  THE

  Gathering

  MICHAEL TIMMINS

  Appendix I:

  Terms:

  Lycanthropy- A common term used to describe someone who can transform into an animal or a hybrid, part animal, part human. Most commonly referred to werewolves, but it can also mean any were-creature. Also sometimes referred to as shifters

  Trues- Refers to the original bloodline of were-creatures

  Pures- Refers to anyone who is given lycanthropy by a True

  Were- Originally delineated as someone who was given lycanthropy from a Pure, it can also be used generically in reference to someone who has lycanthropy

  Past people of import:

  Sylvanis- Druidess from ancient Celt, reborn in this time. Believes in nature and civilization learning to live in harmony. With her rebirth, her four Trues have been reawakened.

  Clint Wallace- Sylvanis’ True Werewolf

  Kat Cooper- Sylvanis’ True Weretiger

  Hank Keller- Sylvanis’ True Werebear

  Stephanie Boles- Sylvanis’ True Werefox

  Jason Randal- Stephanie’s Pure

  Kestrel- Druidess from ancient Celt. Through magic placed her body and soul in stasis until current time. Believes that civilization is abhorrent to nature and needs to be destroyed. Sworn enemy of Sylvanis. With her reawakening, her four Trues have also been reawakened.

  Samuel Pitter- Once know as Syndor, he is Kestrel’s True Weresnake

  Gordon Sands- Kestrel’s True Werecrocodile

  Shae- Kestrel’s True Wererat

  Blain Fouse- Kestrel’s True Wereboar

  Taylor Westin- Blain’s Pure Wereboar

  Joseph Clark- Blain’s Pure Wereboar

  Officer Ben Charles- Police officer investigating a murder by a mysterious creature

  Beth Harristin- Best friend of Stephanie

  Mike Vinick- Best friend of Jason

  Cirrus- Son of Samuel

  Appendix II:

  New people of import:

  Colonel Carl Simpson- Director of Homeland Security

  Hector Garza- A man with a deadly secret that could change the course of the war

  Zach Van Stanley- Leader of the eco-terrorist group, E.A.R.t.H or Earth Anger Retaliate to Heal

  Eric Moran- Leader of the shadowy organization behind experimenting on Shae.

  Jessie Brumfield- Ex-marine who has volunteered to join Sylvanis in her fight

  Prologue

  The Roman centurions were already dead - they just didn't know it yet. Calin slammed into them like a battering ram, splintering them and breaking them apart. On either side, in contrast, Adonia and Katherine slid through their ranks like water after a rain, searching for the path of least resistance down a rocky hill. Not that the Roman centurions caused them much in the way of resistance.

  When Calin, Adonia, and Katherine came across the patrol, they had been hunkered down in a copse of hardwoods, shading themselves from the afternoon sun. The Romans laughed and drank wine and rested. There had been no need for any heightened sense of concern, as the "conquest" of the isle had been all but assured as soon as the Empire turned its attention in full upon it. Mostly, the people capitulated and welcomed the Romans, adopting their ways and culture.

  There had been a few holdouts, of course. The Druids had been recalcitrant to the Romans, and they had much sway over the people of land, though not as much these days. The Roman army had been systematically locating these Druids and “removing” them from their sphere of influences. The less control the Druids had, the easier it would be for the Romans to conquer the isle.

  The patrol had been sent to remove the Druid. There had been word of an Elder Druid who lived in a village not far from the stand of trees they now lounged in, and they would arrive there early the next day.

  For the centurions, there had been little cause for wariness, though the standard practice of putting outlying sentries was still upheld and a ring of them surrounded the impromptu camp. They died first.

  As much as it grated on Calin, he barreled into the force in hybrid form. Normally, he would have fought the Romans in human form, as they were no match for him, even without his hybrid supernatural abilities. It had been agreed upon, by the three of them, any interaction with Roman centurions would be done in hybrid form, though. They couldn’t risk the Romans learning their real faces. Calin would do this, grimacing the whole time.

  The first eight centurions he killed in seconds. Arms out wide, he dragged his claws across open necks, spraying blood from the one on the left, nearly decapitating the one on the right. Turning his head, he opened his maw as he collided with a third, tearing out his esophagus by closing his fangs and allowing the impact to thrust the man away, leaving his throat a gaping hole. The impact with the centurion wouldn’t have stopped him, but he allowed it to bring him up short as he brought his arms back to him. A mass of soldiers scrambled to their feet as creatures of myths and legends stalked among them, shearing them as effortlessly as a scythe through grain.

  Five men converged on Calin; bronze swords held forward in fighting stances. They chose to not grab their shields for fear of being cut down before they could mount a true defense. It wouldn’t have mattered either way.

  Swatting the blades aside of the two immediately in front of him, he decided to show them how unfortunate they were. Claws extended, he punched forward with both hands, piercing their armor with such force, it folded in, piercing flesh with jagged metal, along with five incredibly sharp claws.

  Ripping his claws out of the bodies of the two men, he turned his attention to the other three. Their fate dawned on them as they watched their compatriots collapse to the ground, red blood bubbling up from the holes in their armor, their hearts punctured. Clint snarled at them, bestial and full of menace. Running full speed at them, they barely had time to flinch before he launched himself— over and past them.

  Ignoring the three in front of him, he sailed over their heads. Tucking his shoulder, he slammed midway up a tall hardwood, snapping it in half. The force of his blow slammed the top of the tree down on the confused and panicked legion, smashing and killing three more. Landing, he spun around to see how Adonia and Katherine fared.

  Adonia, as usual, was a sight to see. Her long canine snout bared sharp fangs, tinted red with blood, sharp pointed ears, tufted black, turned down. The white fur of her throat and torso was stained as well, making a contest of dueling reds, blood marked fur next to the rusty-red of the rest of her fox coat.

  Her bushy red tail, swished this way and that as she ducked and swung around scrambling soldiers, desperately trying to arm themselves and mount some sort of defense against the onslaught of three Lycan Trues.

  Adonia slashed, clawed and kicked her way through, seldom stopping to kill. She maimed and incapacitated dozens in seconds, a violent breath of
wind casually flowing through a landscape dotted with flesh and bone. She was effective and precise, her path carefully chosen to create the most discord and least resistance.

  Katherine was a different matter. Where Calin was sheer brutality and Adonia precise violence, Katherine was fluid lethality. Her tiger stripes made her stand out among the soldiers as she pounced and sliced and gouged.

  After slashing the throat of one soldier, she would leap on the next, boring him down with her weight, crushing his cuirass and caving in his chest. Before the man knew he was dead, she was gone, killing the next closest. She moved with a quickness which belied her size. They all did, but Katherine made it look as if she wasn’t fast, everyone else was slow.

  Calin could spare them no more consideration. The centurions were gradually managing to gain control of their situation. Those remaining armed themselves with sword and shield and were trying desperately to form ranks. If he allowed them to set themselves, they would form a shield wall, which might hamper him — slightly.

  Charging the centurions, as they began to form up, Calin noticed movement from either side. Straggling soldiers to his right and left had been effectively removed as a threat, as they were either dead or in no shape to join the fight. Katherine and Adonia converged on the soldiers from the sides as he made a frontal assault.

  Several moments later, the Roman centurions were no more. Calin almost felt sorry for them. They should have brought more men. One hundred soldiers against three Trues? The moment Adonia had spotted them in the copse of trees, their fate had been sealed.

  When they reached the quiet hamlet early the next day, only he and Adonia remained. Katherine took her leave to make her way to the next village. It was odd being back in this village, Calin thought. It hadn't been all that many years ago Adonia and he visited here with information about the end of the war. With the defeat of Kestrel, there had been a need to let villagers know they were safe now and the threat had been dealt with.

  The village had grown some since last he had been here. The smithy, the storage hut, and the tavern were little changed, but there was a hint of expansion. The foundations of a church were half started on the rise beyond the town center, a foundation that would welcome the death knell for the druids. Several other homesteads, in various stages of construction, sprouted up around the foundation, as if the church grew followers from the very earth surrounding it.

  Catholicism was a weed the Romans had sprinkled the seed of over the entire isle. This weed would kill everything else, till only it remained, a dangerous growth the people were starting to cultivate on their own, with little guidance from the Romans. They understood if they tried to remove the weed, it would fight back, and Calin knew which one was the strongest.

  It hadn’t always been this way. Before the war between Kestrel and Sylvanis, it would have been easy to push back the Romans. If they knew of the threat, they could have mustered their Lycan army to destroy these invaders before they had been allowed to take root in their soil.

  Not for the first time, Calin cursed Kestrel and her quest for power. Her fear that civilization would destroy nature if allowed to grow unchecked, seemed all but certain now the war had weakened the druid's power in these lands to such an extent the Romans were all but unopposed.

  Of course, Calin and the others did their best with what little resources were left. Their battles with the Romans had been lopsided. They destroyed legions of men, and only lost Weres. In recent months though, it changed. The Romans were no longer ignorant as to what they were fighting. They hunted Lycans as a hunter hunts deer. Calin knew their numbers were dwindling.

  The Romans were too smart and too efficient at warfare. They used tactics to frighten the people into giving up the names of Druids, the names of Lycans. Then they destroyed them with overwhelming force, leaving nothing to chance.

  The people were not to be blamed. All they wished to do was to live their lives, raise their children, and farm their land. Between the clergy making it a sin to harbor those of the ‘old’ religion, and the centurions threatening their homes and families if they didn’t inform on those who were considered a threat, what could a simple man do? No. Calin didn’t blame them. The time of Druids and Lycans had passed — which found him in this village once again.

  The Druid Elder still lived here and upon Calin and Adonia entering, he made his way to the grounds in the center of the village with the help of a youthful lad with chaotic hair. Surprisingly, the old man’s beard had won the race and now stretched but an inch off the ground. Stark white, it looked as if the man had grabbed some passing cloud and convinced it to hang upon his chin, as it appeared light and fluffy. His hair, having deduced it would lose the race to the man’s feet with the beard, had all but given up and began to recede in a silent pout. Much of the man’s pate was absent of hair, leaving only the sides and the back of his head to carry on the task of hair growth.

  The youth beside him, his student, or so Calin believed, was a stout lad. Short and stocky, he had a solid build. Bushy eyebrows nestled under hair defiant of the forces which naturally pulled things to the earth. Standing on end in some places, jutting out in others, forward and backward, it mattered not. His bushy brow furrowed as he helped his master pick his way over the uneven ground.

  Adonia, as usual, took the lead when conveying the reason for their arrival. It wasn’t that Calin couldn’t do this, only, he didn’t wish to. Words were something he never felt comfortable sharing with strangers. While he held a deep respect for the Elder, he had no desire to converse with someone he didn’t know. At least, not when he had Adonia to do it for him.

  The reason for their visit was clear, Adonia informed the Elder. The Romans were coming and were not going to be stopped. This battle, over before it started. The least they could do was let any and every Druid they knew to seek shelter and to run from this threat. The Elder didn't agree though, judging from the shaking of his head at Adonia’s words.

  A small crowd gathered now as word of their arrival spread. It was one thing you could always count on it these small villages. With little to do with their lives other than to eat, drink, sleep and work, when strangers arrive with news of the outside world, well, you went to find out what was happening.

  A clergyman stood on the rise of his newly born church. Unable to protect itself as most babes, the priest stood defensively before it, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and eyes narrowed upon them, no doubt fearful of them, and the possibility of violence. Calin dismissed him. They were not there for him, and he had little to fear. He was a man of their god, and so deserved a modicum of respect.

  As Calin surveyed the growing crowd he again rested his eyes upon the apprentice Druid. The boy stared at him. When their eyes met, the boy searched his eyes and face, and a look of concern rested there.

  Calin looked away.

  He knew the look. It was the same look everyone seemed to give him these days, like they took one look at his face and could read the immense sadness hiding behind his well-trained façade. As a soldier, he knew how to attach a blank look to his face — the look of unconcerned detachment soldiers had adopted for time immemorial. The look, apparently, never convinced.

  He wondered how long his sense of duty would keep him alive. It was all he lived for these days. You would think, after all these years since Sylvanis’ death, he could let it go; able to wash away the pain and regret and the immense sense of loss her death bestowed upon him. And yet, it still felt as if his heart had been drained of everything which made it the vessel of life. Oh, it beat still. Its motions had yet to betray him, but the feelings it granted someone to feel love — those fled.

  Glancing back at the youth, the boy still looked upon him with tender eyes of sympathy. If Calin could dredge up an emotion long enough, he might have felt appreciation, or maybe anger. Alas, those were buried too deep to swim their way to the surface. In the end, he dismissed the boy, as he dismissed most that passed fleetingly through his life. The only ones
he still clung to with any feelings, were his fellow Trues.

  Adonia addressed the youth now. Apparently, the old man wasn’t willing to flee. Not surprising given his age. He doubtless hoped the good people of this village would understand he was not long for this world, and to surrender him to the Romans had no point. The boy was another matter. He was young, and so would be a future threat in the eyes of the Romans. They would not hesitate to put an end to him. They were the most ruthless civilized people Calin knew.

  He hoped the boy would listen. His death would be an unnecessary thing. A senseless death. Only time would tell, but honestly, they had other concerns. For the Romans, the Trues were the biggest threat. Not only were they powerful, but they could create more Lycans at will. They would not rest until all of them were dead. That could not be allowed to happen. They had a more important task to accomplish before they died. A task, even now, Calin loathed to address.

  Having said her peace to the Elder and his apprentice, Adonia turned her horse and moved to join him. They traveled in peace for a bit. Neither wished to spend the night in the village. They were hunted and could only bring unwanted attention to the townsfolk. Attention which might lead to violence.

  “The Elder would not listen to reason. He insists on staying,” Adonia informed him after they were well on their way.