The Resurgence of Granaz

Book II of The Demons of Destiny

When anger consumes the vanishing thoughts,

When hope fades beyond the destruction of sanity,

When love descends upon pain and distress,

There shall be only one thing left to do.

Breathe.

SYNOPSIS

Darych and Karyna must bear the mountain storms and descend into the unknown world of northern Yannina. There they will confront war and adversity, where hope seems as tainted as the elusive truth. And when the hope they sought dissolves into a nightmare of violence and hatred, both Darych and Karyna are forced to make grave decisions, choices they have no right to endure.

Riordan embarks into the Pales of Nothingness, where he learns of the shocking lie that has haunted Yannina since the beginning of time. Confronted with reality, Riordan will have to choose between his faith and his people, while the cure to save his mother hangs in the balance, and only his return to Corrona will determine success or failure.

Adan, who has been taken hostage by a Dryden warrior, will confront his greatest battle. The demon plague turns him against those he loves, and waiting for him is his younger brother, already alienated by the deadly disease. Can an old friend and a loved one rescue him before it’s too late? Or will Adan destroy his own family and kneel before the god who ordered his sentence?

Before Adan can save his brother he must first save himself. And while the threads of fate strangle their hold, a new power shall rise above the rest, and in its wake will come a resurgence that will ultimately destroy them all.

Prologue

Myron’s muffled voice woke Adan from a dream. “Adan…Aren…are you two awake?”

             Adan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. The gentle light from the silver moon pressed through closed shutters, dusting the high points of his blanket with its eerie presence. He peeked through a crack in the slats. “Myron, it’s late, go home.” What’s he doing here in the middle of the night?  

On the other side of the room his twin brother, Aren, stirred from his sleep, then climbed out of his covers and made his way to the window.

            “Come outside, I want to show you something,” Myron persisted.

             Aren opened the shutters and the moonlight flooded in. “Show us what?”

            “It’s a secret,” Myron replied anxiously.

            Adan covered his head with his blanket. His mother had a long list of chores for him to do first thing in the morning. Bloody Myron.

            Aren pulled his blanket away. “You know he won’t give up until we go with him. And we better, before he wakes our parents. I’m sure we won’t be long.”

            Adan grumbled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. When he sat up the cold air wrapped around him. “I’ve heard that before.”

            They donned their cloaks, worried of the consequences should they wake their pregnant and irritable mother. Adan already lost count of the warnings their father had cast upon them: their mother’s rest required value above all else. He followed Aren downstairs and out through the door where Myron eagerly awaited.

“Follow me.”

            Adan shivered from the cold breeze and chased after them, yawning and trying to keep pace. They sprinted to the main road and then turned toward the village: the shops were closed and abandoned for the night, except for Barley, the local watchdog, who only whimpered and pawed at the air when he heard their footsteps rustling the frosted ground. Adan smiled. Fortunately Barley was a terrible guard dog.

            The trail Myron led them along was difficult to follow in the dark, but the moons were on the rise, illuminating the steep path with their red and white light. At the crest of the hill, the crooked peak known as Whistle Rock stuck out of the earth like a rusty blade, stabbing at the silver moon. Adan assumed the landmark was their destination, however as the trail turned Myron charged into the thick bush, then warned them of steep drop-offs and sharp boulders. Adan screened the darkness, attentive to their location, hoping Myron understood his own intentions.

            At the base of an elk tree, centered in a clearing, he stopped them, removed steel and flint from his pockets and lit a torch in a holder fastened to the trunk. As the three of them stood in the shadows of flickering flame, Myron pointed upward to a hut hiding within the branches of the tree. A ladder made of rope and wood wrapped around the trunk.

            “Who built this?” Aren asked.

            “I did,” Myron replied. “For us. It’s our hideout.”

            Adan rubbed his neck. “I like it, but why do you have to show us in the middle of the night?”

            Myron climbed the ladder with one hand, his other clutching the torch. “Because we’re only to come here after nightfall. During the day we must stay away. We don’t want anyone to know about it.”

            Aren tested the strength of the ladder and followed. “Even Maureen?”

            “Especially Maureen—no girls allowed.”

            Adan smiled to himself and wondered how Myron would feel if he knew about his feelings for Maureen. He grasped the rickety ladder with both hands, the trunk swayed back and forth as Myron and Aren climbed above him. About half way, Adan realized how terrified he was and forced himself to look up instead of down.

            Inside the hut he felt safe, despite the holes in the ceiling and walls, the unevenness of the window revealing Myron’s inexperience in building. Myron latched the door shut and placed his torch in a holder centered in the room, its flame light dancing in their eyes. His grin stretched from ear to ear. “The first time I did this I almost burned the place down.”

            Aren picked at the wall with his fingers. “We can turn this into something special, Myron. I can’t believe you managed to do all this on your own.”

            “My grandfather told me how to build it, out here safe from prying eyes. He’s the only one who knows of its existence.”

            “What a great idea,” Aren acknowledged. “I love it.”

            “Tomorrow he’s going to give me my first crossbow. He’s built one especially for me, and told me it’s time that I learn to shoot.” Even in the darkness Adan could discern the excitement in his eyes.

            “One day you and I will journey to Wyndhaven,” Aren said, “where we’ll compete in the tournaments.”

            Myron nodded. “What about you, Adan? Don’t you want to learn?”

            “Not really. You know I have little interest in fighting.” Surely there could be rewards in life without violence.

            “What are you going to do when you’re older, then? Work in the mines?” Myron asked.

            “I don’t know yet. I’d like to stay here in Ruhln…I think.”

            “I’m going to become a powerful warrior,” Aren announced. “I’ll travel across Yannina and work for those who pay me.”

            Myron waved his hand. “And I’ll always be at your side, covering you with my bow.”

            Adan smiled. “Well, I’ll be here at home, probably in bed.”

            Once their laugh subsided the quietness of night took over, except the soft sputter of the burning torch. Myron’s expression turned serious and he said, “My grandfather told me that as we grow older our lives will change. That’s why I wanted to build this for us. No matter what happens, this will be where we’ll always remember that we were friends.”

Adan frowned. He couldn’t bear to think that there might be a day when they were no longer friends.

            “Why wouldn’t we be? Myron, don’t be ridiculous.” Aren gave him a shove.

            Myron chuckled and batted his arm away. “My grandfather told me the courses of our lives are unpredictable. I want to be your friend forever, no matter what happens.” He sobered. “Even after death.”

            Adan held out his hand. “Why don’t we swear on it?”

            They clasped. “Friends forever. Even after death.”

            Even after death…

            Death…

            Adan opened his eyes. He rubbed his cheek where the scars burned from the tears caressing his face. Inhaling, he tried to release the anger trapped inside him, inside his chest, tight and restricted. With each heartbeat the tension grew stronger, churning amid the rise of hatred that engulfed him, sparked by the memory from his youth. Fate was never supposed to unveil itself like it had. Myron and Aren had deserved a better end.

Adan pushed his chest into the air and screamed. He screamed again and again, urging the pain to unbind the bitterness that consumed his soul.

            But the screaming never helped and the pain only worsened.