The Dark Eve: Anamar Warrior

Anamar Warrior

The Dark Eve Book Four

By T. K. Thompson

Published By Fat Lemon Media

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Contents

Chapter 1: Vedic

Chapter 2: The Awakening

Chapter 3: Made of Stone

Chapter 4: The Unexpected Path

Chapter 5: Reunited

Chapter 6: The Run Down

Chapter 7: What Becomes Us

Chapter 8: Reunion

Chapter 9: The First Steps

Chapter 10: Trouble Below the Deck

Chapter 11: A New Deal

Chapter 12: Foreign Land

Chapter 13: Woodmor

Chapter 14: A New Golden City

Chapter 15: A New Crew

Chapter 16: The Undesired Path

Chapter 17: The Lost Colony

Chapter 18: The End of My Enemy or Me

CHAPTER ONE

Vedic

To wake him is the same as calling forth a titan.

Molivan walked down a spiral staircase. The gray stone walls shimmered with moisture, the sunken tomb newly drained from the flooding sea water. The footsteps of his brothers sounded behind him. A heartbeat vibrated the air, growing stronger the further down he went.

Through a telepathic connection, he could see the Atlantian King Solon, far away on his throne, safe in the heart of the ruins of Atlantis.

Solon leaned forward and watched Molivan’s view as he descended. The fine black lines circling his white, hollow eyes vibrated as he focused on the priest’s every step.

A titan cannot be reasoned with. Vedic is Atlantian, Solon said.

Molivan continued with the other five council members now on his heels. The ancient engravings woven into his robe began to glow a low blue, as did his eyes. I still advise against this.

Your brothers do not agree with you, Solon said.

At the bottom of the stairs, a large statue of a Grecian woman twisting in pain stood in the center of the room. The doom of their future actions resembled the horror on her face. I am unsure whether, even after thousands of years, his anger has died.

The domed room had six circular metal seals on the ground around its edges, one for each of the sextuplets. Behind the statue was a huge iron door.

Molivan veered for his seal. Vedic is not our deliverer.

Solon growled. Neither is Acantha.

His brothers made their way to their spots. Each seal had a specific design relating to the talent of the sealer: an axe for the forger, a scroll for the scholar, a crescent moon and star within a sun for the astronomer a tree for the genealogist, a bundle of wheat for agriculturalist, and under his silver-scaled robe, a bottle for the master of apothecary.

We must be patient, my lord, Molivan said.

Solon seethed. I will hear no more on the matter. When Acantha is found, she will be cut down where she stands. Continue forward on your assigned task.

The beating heart thrummed louder, as if in anticipation. All six masters shared glances.

Molivan spoke aloud, shutting out the king. The time is not yet.

Brother, we are aware of your concern, Motibar, master forger, said. His tight amice layered up his neck, making it appear more slender. Staring at each of the masters was the same as considering a mirror: an identical long face and low blue eyes reflected back.

The stars have spoken that the deliverer is alive. Montlain the astronomer reflected up toward the spiral ceiling. It is projected that the deliverer will be human.

Acantha is alive. I know it, Molivan said.

We were all once human, including him. Matalli, master of agriculture, nodded toward the iron doors.

Not all believe that she is the chosen one, Montlain said. It is said a blood moon will reveal the champion. We should hold off on this action until then.

Our king has given the order, Motibar said, and the other brothers nodded.

Defeated, Molivan turned toward the great doors. Each master had the same ancient symbols woven on different parts of their robes. With each of them in place, the words on their garments flared bright, along with their eyes. Beams of light shot from their bodies, striking the round seal on the door, cracking it. The masters lifted a hand, and the door scraped metal against stone. A colossal, pale, lifeless man laid within, strapped to a table. Another circular seal in the wall behind him pulsed with red light.

Motibar moved forward with a great hammer. All six brothers touched the handle. It is time for our sin to be removed, Motibar said to Molivan.

Molivan glanced back at the agonized statue. We cannot release her.

Motibar stepped up to the seal. She is not ours to redeem.

With one mighty swing of his hammer, he broke the seal. Molivan retrieved a golden box from beneath and opened the lid. The stone heart glowed with every beat. He eyed each of his brothers, now surrounding the defeated warrior. Vedic’s stature alone was enough to shake the courage of any foe, but the horrible battle scars that marred his face and body truly made him a monster to behold. Only a hollow pit was left as one of his eyes.

May the mother of Atlantis forgive you, Molivan said to the king. He placed the heart in the open cavity of Vedic’s chest.

Solon’s anger was drowned out by Vedic’s cry. The grotesque man sucked air into his lungs. His one black iris lit with a dark purple hue. Tissue animated in his chest, growing out of his body to cover his heart up again. A strangled yell gargled in his throat as he thrashed against the restraints that held him down.

CHAPTER TWO

The Awakening

Acantha couldn’t tell if she was dead.

The faint, slow churning water grew into a distinct, flowing sound in her ears. The change of particles was so gentle that she never thought anything would happen until motion vibrated through her fingers. Even that fraction of an inch sent awakening pulses through her mind. Her eyes opened.

Only smudged glints of light registered before everything darkened again. The water’s consistency remained thick around her, but still she sensed the gradual release. There was no resistance from her lungs to want to breathe. The restriction still held her captive in the cavern pond.

Despite it all, the broken hilt of the sword was in her hand.

It could have been hours before the fluid began to rush more, releasing her body in sections. Finally she gave a slow, blind kick and felt a minuscule upward movement. Her heart panicked that once again the water would harden, trapping her. She swam against the thickness. She wasn’t far from the top, but still a pulling sensation thwarted her efforts. The ascent dragged, and every part of her body strained to breach the surface. The thought that freedom would never come radiated fear within her, until she broke through.

The top of the water thrashed like normal water should. Fluid spewed out of her, choking her. The violent upheaval felt never-ending until she gasped, her lungs filling with air again. Pain seared her throat. She groped her way over to the stony edge of the enchanted pond. With her sight dark and fuzzy, she could hardly perceive her surroundings.

A pair of feet thudded next to her head. Firm hands seized her shoulders, pulling her free. Totally helpless to her rescuer, she still recognized the shape and build of him.

Jennings. Her mind relaxed.

She imagined his tall, dark-skinned figure covered in tattoos and bulking strength.

Captain. His deep voice was muted.

Jennings. The name echoed in her head. I can’t see you.

Just sit tight, he said.

What choice did she have? Barely capable of moving, she cradled the hilt in her arms and clasped it tightly to her chest. It dug into her skin, the only thing that proved this wasn’t all a dream.

Light flickered hazily. Everything was out of focus, but warmth from a crackling fire tickled her skin and a wool blanket wrapped around her.

◇◇◇

Captain. The annoying call echoed in the back of her head.

After a few more hails, her eyes fluttered open, seeing clearly.

Something was wrong.

She stared at the familiar brown eyes, but more wrinkling age affected them. Vaster, her first-hand man, had more strands of white in his hair, and his beard was thicker and longer.

She scanned the cavern. The glowing pond sat only a few feet away. She sat up, feeling dizzy, but not enough to deter her. Jennings, on the other side of the fire, moved to braced her from falling over. He too had aged and had a thick beard, which was not typical of him. They both wore layers of shabby clothes.

What’s happened? Her words echoed off the walls, hurting her head.

Her mind flashed back to the last thing she remembered. They had discovered the catacombs on the mountainside, filled with ghosts and guarded by a great demon statue. A ghost they called The Saint led her to the olive tree garden where she learned her long-time nemesis’s name.

Versaius.

Acantha closed her eyes. Relief washed over her to finally put a name to the haggard witch. All she had to do to defeat her was swim to the bottom of a pond in a cave and retrieve part of the weapon that could kill her. The Saint had warned her that in order to obtain the hilt she would have to face her worst sin—or all of them. She couldn’t remember.

Vaster glanced to Jennings with furrowed eyebrows. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it.

Ye should rest a bit Captain, he said at last.

How long have we been here? She glanced over to the water, afraid of touching its surface again. She remembered the frustrating attempts to break through the glowing, rock-hard surface and retrieve the hilt buried at the very bottom.

Seven years, Jennings said.

Acantha sucked in a gasp. Seven years. The answer vibrated in her ears. Nausea built in her stomach even though there was nothing to come out.

The words of the fortuneteller Madam M haunted her thoughts:

Seven harvests, and you must seek those who went before you. They will direct your path. It is a tangled web, and many are caught up in it. It will take you seven years. There will be a traitor. Watch your crew—he may already be among you. In the end, the dead will guide you, and God will free you.

She turned to both of them and saw the seven years of waiting while she was frozen in the pond. She almost wanted to toss the hilt aside for the price that she had paid. Her insides trembled. She remembered the final epiphany that broke her through the pond’s shell, and her swim to the bottom.

It was the swim upward that she didn’t recall.

Where is my sister? she demanded. Where is Scar? Of all people, Ruella would be there, and Scar. Maybe he was with the ship.

The silence in the cavern grew much worse. Vaster and Jennings both looked away.

She tilted her head and studied them. Where are they?

Vaster twisted the end of his shirt, which he had been doing often, by the state of it. Just as he was about to speak, Jennings stood forward, touching his shoulder. The Oracle betrayed you.

Acantha froze, staring into his trusted eyes. Even as he spoke she doubted him.

"After you were trapped in the pond, she came to the ship glowing with a fierce light, entrancing the men. She declared you had fallen and took The Dark Eve. She gave me the choice of staying or coming."

Acantha’s mind flashed back to her last orders. Scar was to guard the cave, Vaster was still at the catacombs, and Jennings was over the ship.

Scar left with her? The thought was too much to handle. Ruella leaving in The Dark Eve made her blood boil, but for Scar to go as well devastated her.

No, Jennings said.

She shook her head, half crazed. No, what?

Hurt and betrayal seethed within him. She killed him.

The words burst through her chest. What? she said, not sure if she had heard him correctly.

After she took the ship, I immediately came here and found Scar murdered and you trapped in the water. Jennings’s downcast expression did not hide the seven years of hate.

She heard him, but it was impossible. It was impossible. The thought repeated in her mind. Every breath she took felt heavy. Her limbs shook and her stomach turned with a wave of nausea that became too much to handle. She hunched over, jerking with empty heaves. Jennings’s hands held her up. Her eyes closed, and unconsciousness slipped over her.

In her dreams, Acantha was trapped in the cavern pond again. The radiant blue liquid thickened and hardened around her, increasing her panic. Solidified in place like stone, the last thing she saw before everything went dark was Ruella’s pale face staring down from above.

Then Ruella’s voice descended, penetrating her mind. A tingling power transported her to a grand marble hall on the top of a mountainside. The floors cracked beneath her feet. Panic rose within her.

The scene moved in slow motion as she witnessed the Atlantian Prince Tenoras standing before the witch. She had seen him before in the murals of their destroyed home.

The deceitful old hag extended her hand, revealing a red Atlantian stone. It sucked the prince’s innocent soul from his body. The tendrils of his transparent spirit twisted, sealing within the rock, a sacrifice for their civilization.

The remaining family gaped in horror. The young princess and prince clutched their mother’s skirt. The witch’s flat expression flinched sympathetically, and then it morphed, sour and cruel.

The queen lurched to Tenoras as the last light faded from his eyes. His pale body crumbled against the cold marble floor. A crack ripped through the air. Acantha clutched the ground as it shifted and broke apart. Terror-stricken screams rang from the city below, and frothing waves boiled upward.

The witch jerked the stone back into her cloak and continued chanting. She spun her staff overhead. Her cackling, raspy voice radiated louder and louder, penetrating their inner ears as the staff accelerated.

The Prince’s soul and your restoration will be hidden among the treasures of the earth. Until the red stone is found, every surviving life will be damned with your pride, limited to the sea. Death will only trap you in the infernal intertwine of heaven and hell, to never move beyond or rest. Your sources of life are mine to live.

The room cracked in the middle, tearing in half, separating the family. Acantha watched their widened hysteria. She inched forward, trying to maneuver the protruding ground toward the witch. If she could only make it to the hag, then it would become real. If I could just touch her. The thought repeated in her mind.

With an immense swing, the witch struck the green orb at the end of her staff against the floor. It shattered, releasing a green light, and a gush of wind spread the cursed emerald particles through the mountain and the sea, infecting every living soul. The green power sunk into Acantha’s core. Her blood boiled beneath her skin. She gripped a shard of glass, and the reflective glimpse revealed that it was not her face staring back.

She was a young Atlantian soldier.

An evil cackle burst from the witch’s lips. With all her strength, Acantha leaped, but it was too late. A spin of light enveloped the witch, who disappeared along with Tenoras’s body.

The mountain gave way, rending into pieces. Acantha scraped for stable ground. Everything crumbled, and before she knew it, they were all sinking into the imploding mountain.

An excruciating pain ripped through her body, forcing her to thrash and curl as she fell. Her pores felt like they were cracking opening and sprouting new skin. As she tumbled into the core, rocks rained, bludgeoning her in the dark void. Slits tore behind her ears, gushing blood down her neck. Her insides twisted, and she clenched her stomach. Her harrowing cries joined in with others. A burning engulfed her fingers and toes. Spinning head over heels, she glimpsed the dark water frothing up.

Sheer agony shocked her when she hit the unforgiving surface. She plunged beneath and sunk like a cannonball. The rocks crashed and exploded into the sea. A huge boulder dropped on the little princess; the sheer size plummeted her into the endless depths. A gigantic statue of an old Atlantian king bubbled down next to Acantha in the churning waters. Dozens of other Atlantians that were scattered around her seized and changed in the chaos.

A current flowed through her sinuses, stinging into her neck, but allowing her to breathe. The salt energized her blood. Her vision went fuzzy and then intensified, magnifying clear to the bottom of the sea.

She darted, controlling the water now with webbed fingers and toes. The falling rocks continued to attack, but now all the others moved swiftly out of the way. Underneath them, the sea floor was littered with the dead and the crumbled ruins of their beautiful city.

Acantha’s eyes fluttered open. She sat up, panting for air. Frantically, she grabbed her neck, checking her body. Nothing had happened to her.

Jennings bolted to her side, holding her shoulders squarely.

Captain. His deep voice drew her eyes up. You are safe.

Scanning over him, it all rushed her. She remembered Scar above her head, bleeding out over the surface of the pond while she was stuck below. The memories were real. Tears streaked down her face. Her insides cracked as if splintering into little pieces. Jennings put a strong arm around her, pulling her close.

The next thing she knew, a bowl lifted to her mouth and the taste of broth slipped down her throat. Her hands took over. The fire burned close by. Vaster sat on the other side, staring into the flames. Hopelessness shrouded his face. She cleared her throat, and he looked up with gleaming loyalty. Tears tugged again, but this time her will strengthened. She stood on wobbling legs. Vaster reached out to assist, but she put out her hand to stop him.

What have you been doing all this time? she asked.

He calmly grabbed the end of his shirt. I’ve been readin’. It was all I could do to figure this place out and see if I could find a way to release ya. His eyes were sincere. Her heart instantly sunk. She didn’t deserve them.

Vaster glanced about the area. Jennings— He motioned to the ground, to a makeshift bed. He’s lived here in case you were somehow freed.

Acantha saw for the first time the animal skins on ropes, the fire pit, a cup, and stack of wood along the wall. Supplies piled against the other walls, including a barrel of something, canvas, ropes, plates, and such.

Where did you get all this? she asked suspiciously.

Jennings cleared his throat. I had the men camping on the shore.

Ruella must not have cared about what they had unloaded during the time she and Acantha had spent figuring out how to get into the pond.

Take me to him. She left her belt and swords on the ground.

Peering back at Vaster, she waited for him to acknowledge her order. Then she followed him out. The sun overtook her vision, smudging her sight, but soon the glares faded and she recognized the land. Every footstep felt heavy through the winter path around the mountain. Jennings remained close, proof that they still had problems with the wolves.

Soon they arrived at a softer part of the mountain. It was out of the frozen winter and into a clearing that looked much like the Viking lands. Tall pines waved with the wind, and there was little brush. A large stone sat at the head of the oval dirt that over the years had settled.

Jennings walked up behind them with a few dead rabbits in his hands. She hadn’t even noticed he was gone. They all stood solemn and still in silence. In the stone was carved his name, Scar. The hurt rose in her chest as she imagined Ruella killing him. Was the assassin monster on the ship her doing as well? Was all of it a hoax?

Nothing would be right until her sister was dead. But reality hit her hard. There was no ship. Her men had been trapped and survived for seven years.

Sudden panic filled her chest. She reached for her swords, but her hands fell empty against her sides. She looked to Vaster.

Captain? Are ye alright? Vaster’s face squinted with worry.

Give me your knife! she shouted.

He scraped his torso and belt for a knife, but it was Jennings that reached over her shoulder with a broad blade.

The shimmering metal surface reflected her face and her gut sunk at the sight of the dark mark streaked across her head. She sucked in a quick breath. Her curse was released.

Stay away from me, she yelled, batting them off. Unsure of how much distance was needed to prevent the evil from coming upon them, she stumbled away. You must stay your distance.

They stood there as ordered, with great worry plastered on their expressions.

They must think I’m crazy. Her heart pounded with the thoughts.

The land buzzed around her and swarmed with so much detail that she could hardly focus. Her mind finally came to, and she dashed for the shoreline down the mountain and through the fruit trees. Her fit of anger brewed as she stormed to the coast and stalked the water’s edge.

Despite her order, Vaster and Jennings followed, though at a distance. The waves flowed calmly back and forth. The strange, towering stone archways cascaded out of the water to the open sea. Just on the other side of them was the portal. The wondrous sight had been enthralling on the way in. Now all she could feel was the infinite, untravellable distance.

She slipped her emerald Atlantian ring off and without hesitation chucked it as far as she could. Its plunk was the only hope she had, and yet she knew it was futile. How would they find them there?

But she refused to believe they were marooned forever.

What do we do now, Captain? Vaster asked. She peered back at their sunk expressions.

We wait, she said, turning on her heels.

Vaster continued his questioning. Do ye think Jennet will be able to find us through the portal?

She didn’t answer because she had no idea.

◇◇◇

As the days passed, Acantha faded in and out of a dazed consciousness.

Too disoriented, she struggled to find herself between reality and the

dream world.

Flickering images of her past mingled with blurred faces she didn’t recognize. In one moment, the sun would blare harshly, causing her to shy away, and in the next blink, her aching body cried out against the cold night ground, struggling to be comfortable. Often, she found herself having conversations with ghosts of her past. In her dreams, her last moments with Ruella would recycle.

Ruella’s face peered down with worry from above. But now, with time to study the moment, Acantha could see the true expression. The worry that furrowed her brow was not from hoping that Acantha made it to the top. It was fear that she would.

Eeriness flooded over her, raising bumps on her arms. Not far from the catacombs, the fall season swayed all around, blanketed in orange, red, and yellow leaves. She sat in a trance as each gold-embellished leaf floated down from full canopies.

All the buzzing and chirping made her want to retreat somewhere quiet and dark.

Every day imitated the day before. Wallowing here was all she could do to keep the relentless, manic rage and depression bottled up and sealed tight during the weeks.

Jennings, her faithful, protective shadow, remained a good distance away but ever watchful. His solemn, dark-bearded face glazed with a far-off look. It could have been a mirror reflection of her own. Thankfully, they never talked.

Vaster spent most his time unraveling the secrets out of the books in the catacombs. Occasionally, he bounded down the mountain bursting with information. Upon his approach, she answered his concerned brows by turning away, not ready for the encounter.

Every night she would curl up next to the fire and lay as close as she could without setting herself ablaze. Staring into the flickering flames allowed her to clear her mind and sleep.

Acantha awoke to low flames and morning light beaming through the trees. As always, a portion of food was left for her. Rolling on her back, she scanned the area. Jennings was fast asleep on the green, rocky hillside, but he had kept the fire going and prepared the food before dozing off.

The seasons were fuzzy as she wandered through them. Bright colors and morphed details registered vaguely. The weight bearing down on her made every step a dragging torment, and yet she couldn’t stagnate any longer. Her chest thundered, threatening to explode, and her mother’s music cascaded through her mind. The tune flowed up and down and then broke with intermittent chords signifying a change in the strain. Her thoughts rambled alongside it, twisting and changing with the temperament.

It’s all my fault. What was I thinking?

She took precautions. It wasn’t like they had bolted through the entire mission.

It wasn’t true, she barked inside her head as an angry tear escaped. She wiped it away. Repeating denials rambled through her head. She wasn’t going to cry anymore.

It didn’t stir any resolve inside her. The endless slump just continued.

What did it matter anyway? They weren’t going anywhere. It was over. She couldn’t even recollect how long they had been there, and the seconds perpetually ticked away, shaking her frame.

At moments, it was like the sun and moon spiraled out of control.

A flood of crashing waves burst inside her, wanting to be free. Her fists clenched, pulling at her hair to feel the pain. Stinging cascaded up her legs as she dropped to her knees. Her hands gripped the