Chapter 1

CASTING THE FIRST STONE

The driver of the slave wagon swore loudly. He had just hit someone. He knew it because he got a brief glimpse of the startled man in the van’s dim headlights just before he heard the loud thump. The vehicle slowly came to a halt as poorly maintained components squealed and protested. He looked across at his companion, who shrugged.

They sat there for a minute, getting over the shock, contemplating their next move. Eventually, they both reached the same decision. The driver drew his knife while his companion began inexpertly loading the crossbow he’d only recently acquired. If the man they’d hit lived, then they’d take him as a slave. If he died, then no one would lose any sleep over the incident.

Nearby, Isabelle’s manifestation, which was a tiny, glowing orb of light, pulsed green with relief as the battered body landed close to where she hovered. She watched as the last remnants of life left the man’s body. At the exact moment of death, a mighty curse shattered within him, sending out a turbulent shockwave of decaying magic that rippled away from his torso. Isabelle felt sickened when it passed through her. Only then did she understand the obscene amount of mana that must have gone into casting such a wicked spell. She knew that his nemeses, the fairy queen, had put the curse on him, but the power of it still surprised her.

As the curse magic faded, a pinprick of utter darkness appeared and began to expand rapidly. Its edges swirled and protested as they were forced outward until they’d formed a rough circle, nearly ten feet in diameter. A human form made entirely of shadows stepped out, followed by a scintillating ball of energy that pulsed between blinding luminescence and sheer darkness. Isabelle watched in fear and fascination as the humanoid shadow turned to face the strange form. She also noticed how much magical energy was flowing through the portal and wasted no time in soaking as much of it up as she could.

the ball of energy thought to the shadow man. There was humour in the words it spoke.

Isabelle was a gifted telepath, a rare thing among elves, so she could overhear the telepathic conversation between the strange beings. All faie creatures could communicate using thoughts, but only a telepath could read minds, allowing them to eavesdrop on mental communications and thoughts not intended for them.

it thought.

There was a mental chuckle from the human shadow.

The entity snorted derisively.

I will let the Pantheon know you are back in business. Do not forget that you have less than ten days before your energy fails, so fix that nexus quickly.>

the human shadow said. With that, it moved over to the corpse and lay down so that it engulfed the entire body with plenty of shadow to spare.

The ball of energy sank back through the portal, then both the progenitor and the gateway vanished with a loud pop.

Well, that answers that age-old question, Isabelle thought. Their god’s origin was the single most argued point within the elven priesthood. Now she knew. He really was the son of the creator.

An intense, white light poured from the corpse, encasing the body, which began to writhe and convulse as it had its divinity forcefully restored. After a few seconds, the light transformed. It became a softer, golden colour that lovingly caressed the prone figure. Bones began to knit, and lesions healed. All damage became undamaged as the divine magic worked its miracles. As the spectacle came to its conclusion, the glow changed to an energetic blue. The body began to grow, and musculature swelled to fit the shadow that engulfed it. By the time the magical light had faded, the body almost gleamed with vitality. The enforced humanity from the curse was utterly gone.

Isabelle’s god had reawakened, and she examined him more closely. Her light inadvertently turned blue as she gawked at the magnificent body lying in front of her. Her vision wasn’t up to the standards of her usual form, but she could easily recognise that he was an extremely handsome creature. His six-foot-three frame disguised the sheer broadness of his powerful-looking shoulders. His whole body was muscular yet in an athletic way. His face was toned, with a rectangular shape, created by pronounced cheekbones and a strong jaw. His striking white hair matched his steely eyes that were so intense that it was as if they could see straight into her soul even in his unconscious state. She would have to do some repentance chants to make up for the impure thoughts she was having.

****-****

Consciousness slowly bubbled up to the tranquil surface of his thoughts. Misty stars and shapes popped and swirled drunkenly around his brain.

What happened? His first conscious thought posed the obvious question. He waited for an answer to come to him; nothing arrived. Neither did his body offer him any clues. There was just; nothing. Was this even his brain?

Start with my name. My name is—is—. A word floated up to the surface. Devon? Okay, at least that’s something. It was an excellent first step. He could remember his first name. Then he wondered if Devon was his first name at all. Maybe it was his surname? Again, his mind remained silent on the matter. Everything felt changed. Devon was sure that something terrible had just happened to him; he just had no idea what.

A feminine voice screamed. The words didn’t enter Devon’s head in the usual way, though. Devon realised they had just appeared straight in the forefront of his mind.

Devon was fascinated by these words entering his brain. This time the words were louder. They appeared in flashing, neon-pink letters, along with a sense of extreme urgency. He perceived the speech without using his ears. The words even came with imagery and emotions too. Panic was the emotion he’d just received. What fun!

the feminine voice shouted directly into his brain again.

She just called me a moron. She must know me then. Quite rude, though. Opening his eyes, he faced the world. Only the world he could see was dark, or was that the sky? Verticality was needed. After all, he wasn’t getting any peace, lying on his back. He managed to rise to his knees and then clamber to his feet. He looked around. He located a ball of light flitting around and then focused on a massive, black horse. The horse gazed expectantly at him.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The urgent-sounding voice in his head sounded angry. She didn’t seem impressed with him either.

Devon turned around and immediately saw two heavyset men eyeing him with wary hostility. Ahh! So that’s what that woman’s shouting was about. She’s right, though. They don’t look friendly! One of them was brandishing an old long-knife, while the other was aiming at him with a crossbow. There was a click and a metallic sound. The noise triggered some instinct within him, causing him to tilt his right shoulder sharply back. The crossbow bolt sped past him.

“Rude! You need to die first,” Devon muttered angrily, designating the crossbowman as his primary target. The thug was now trying to reload. Devon reached down to the ground and scrabbled around until he found a suitably sized stone. He quickly hefted it to check its weight, then drew his hand back at waist height, and threw; hard. It left his fingers with a sound like an angry pigeon and almost instantaneously struck his target in the left eye. There was a wet, splintering sound, and then the man collapsed lifelessly.

“Well, that just happened!” Devon looked at his right hand in absolute shock. From where had all that strength and accuracy come?

Devon looked toward the other thug, who was staring down at his dead colleague with an expression of horror. He glanced back at Devon; his face wrought with fear. Not liking his new circumstances, the man turned and fled.

In a heartbeat, Devon was after him. A new strength launched him into the pursuit, pounding the ground as he ran. It took him seconds to reach his terrified target. Sensing that he was about to be caught, the man desperately spun, slashing his knife in an arc wildly. Devon caught the man’s knife-arm with his left hand and twisted sharply. He struck the man hard in the face with the flat of his right palm. The thug’s eyes crossed, then rolled as he collapsed. Devon grabbed the man’s knife, and with one swift motion, slit his throat. No thought or emotion came to him as the man fell, bloody and lifeless. A strange feeling of familiarity washed over him. Every move he’d made felt well-practised and almost automatic.

Something spiritual sparked in his mind. Devon watched in fascination as his right arm involuntarily reached forward, fingers facing upward. The two corpses began to glow as shadows resembling the two dead men rose through the men’s chests and began to drift lazily toward his outstretched hand. They sank into his palm as soon as they reached him. He felt a strange effervescence spread down his arm then onwards until it tingled throughout his body.

Everything just got a whole lot stranger, he thought.

Isabelle thought to him with added feelings of pride and relief. It was the most she could think to say. She was his priestess and had spent years trying to find him, but now that he was near her, her mind had frozen. In her opinion, he was a bit of an idiot. However, she ought to try and be a little nicer to him. Her naturally abusive nature needed suppressing, lest he turn hostile. Her snarkiness could alter the course of her people’s history.

Devon sighed. Now he had removed the threats to his life, there was time to take in his surroundings. His attention fell upon the wisp, floating in circles nearby. It now glowed a bright, shocking-pink colour. He chose to leave that inquiry for later.

Instead, he walked the short distance across to the enormous, midnight-black horse. He stood and gazed at it in wonder. It was huge. It turned its head to stare steadily at him. Without a second thought, Devon bowed. The horse blinked at him, then dipped its head in response.

Devon asked the horse. He realised that he was trying to talk to a horse, but it just felt right. Things appeared to go a lot better when his consciousness didn’t interfere; something else inside him took over, and knew what to do. He’d bide his time then go mad later when events had more time to catch up with him.

The horse tilted its head and narrowed its eyes at him as if to say, ‘really?’

Devon asked.

The horse nodded its enormous head.

He thought hard. Shadow was just too obvious a name for a black horse. It was a name that just popped into his mind and seemed to suit the large animal. He wondered if that was already the horse’s name, and he’d just remembered it. He certainly felt like this wasn’t the first time the two of them had met.

The horse seemed to be happy with his suggestion and dipped its head briefly.

Devon asked Jet, pointing behind the horse. The horse didn’t seem to object, so Devon slowly made his way around the beast. He wanted to avoid the embarrassment of getting the creatures gender wrong, so he planned to check subtly.

He paused to admire the horse’s saddle. It was black and made of plush, well-worked leather. The saddle’s seat looked comfortable, and behind the cantle, it dipped to form a second, smaller seat to accommodate a pillion. Saddlebags were slung behind the pillion and tailored to lie snuggly against Jet’s sides. All the items were finished with subtle, decorative stitching and etched with delicate patterns.

He wondered at the sheer size of Jet. The horse’s spine was over ten inches above his head. A thought suddenly struck Devon with a jolt. Wait, what? Did I get taller? How tall had he been? No idea, but he certainly felt taller now.

the voice thought. Isabelle mentally kicked herself. She had only just promised to go easier on him, and here she was abusing him for being, understandably, disorientated and confused.

Devon asked. He needed to know who his tormentor was and, if possible, stomp on them.

The wisp sped around Jet and stopped abruptly to hover just in front of Devon’s nose. Devon’s eyes crossed as he tried to focus on the tiny thing.

Isabelle thought. Being tolerant was going to be a lot harder than she first thought. She would have to try harder.

Devon made a swipe at the wisp, attempting to grab it, but it dodged his attempt with ease.

And now she had upset the one person that could help her. Isabelle thought, with a hint of amusement.

Devon started to protest, but then he stopped. Suspicion rose in his thoughts. He had been wondering about Jet’s gender, and he had been on his way to check subtly. Devon began to suspect that the wisp had some mental skills.

Isabelle said. Her thoughts tinged with regret. She could easily see the turmoil inside his head.

Another glance inside his mind told him that she was right. He’d noticed it earlier. A more thorough search of his mind still revealed nothing but his name. Although, if Devon looked carefully, there were shadowy clumps in there, upon which he couldn’t focus.

the wisp replied.

Devon looked around and saw the van to which the wisp had referred. It must have belonged to the two men he’d killed.

the wisp replied.

the wisp replied. While that statement was true, she needed to make sure his choices suited her.

he said.

She was trying to consider her responses before sharing them. Her aggressive personality was proving hard to bury. She turned purple and settled on his left shoulder. Isabelle knew that her mission was to assist him and coax him safely back to her people. She had to try to be tolerant and patient with him.

Devon felt a light tingle where the wisp landed. He considered what could have caused the wisp to go from antagonistic to subservient. She said she was here to help him. Hopefully, that meant there might be some answers for him.