Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II, Hodges, Aaron [top 10 non fiction books of all time txt] 📗

the legends of the Divine beings that had brought about The Fall, that terrible darkness that had almost destroyed humanity centuries ago. The Gods had vanished during that time, retreating into the forbidden mountains, it was said. Never to be seen again.

Until now. Until the battle for the Illmoor.

A smile crossed Lukys’s lips as he pictured his friend Cara soaring above the river, wings spread wide, auburn feathers shining in the dying light of day.

A Goddess, hidden amongst them.

She had fallen upon the Tangata with vengeance, tearing through their ranks, hurling them aside with wing and fist and boot. More than a few of Lukys’s captors sported bruises from that encounter, and he wondered what they thought of the Divine being that had appeared amongst them. Did the Tangata know what Cara was, what it was they had fought?

The whispers continued in Lukys’s mind and he tried to focus, to draw sense from the chorus, but the words remained a jumbled puzzle, nonsensical.

He shook his head, spirits deflating once more. In the end, not even a Goddess had been enough to save them. Cara had been driven back by sheer numbers, and while she’d managed to rescue the Archivist, she could not save them all.

Dale and Lukys had been left behind.

His gaze fell to Dale again. Bruised and broken, the man had slipped into a doze. Watching him sleep, Lukys could hardly imagine this was the same arrogant noble born who had mocked Lukys on the journey south from Mildeth. The weeks of strife had changed him—had changed them both. Blood and dirt stained their uniforms to the point where the Perfugian blue was barely recognisable, yet Lukys felt more a soldier now than he ever had north of the River Illmoor.

A shame those new skills hadn’t mattered, in the end. They had been defeated all the same.

Come, human.

Lukys started as their captor’s voice spoke into his mind once more. Swinging around, he was surprised to find the female standing directly behind him. Somehow, he managed not to shrink away.

“Already?” he hissed softly, struggling to contain his anger. He gestured at Dale. “He can barely stand.”

The Tangata’s grey eyes flickered toward Dale, then returned to Lukys. He can stay, came her reply.

“Stay?” Lukys muttered. Suspicion touched him and clenching his fists, he stood his ground. “I won’t let you harm him.”

The female crooked her head to the side, eyes unchanged, unreadable. The other…will not be harmed, she said finally. You are wanted.

“Wanted by who?” Lukys asked, his voice trembling despite himself.

A face burst into Lukys’s mind in response: of himself lying on the shores of the Illmoor, a Tangata raising a blade above his head. In that instant, he sensed this was their leader. Lukys didn’t need to question further to know who wanted him.

“What does he want?” he whispered finally.

A knife appeared in his captor’s hands. He flinched at the sight of it—though of course, she needed no weapon to kill him. Before he could pull away, the blade flashed out, severing the rope that had connected him to Dale. He staggered, but a firm tug on the cord around his neck prevented him from falling. His breath was stolen away as she hauled him back up, bringing his eyes level with hers.

Come!

Lukys went.

1

The Fallen

Consciousness came slowly to Romaine. It began as an ember on the forest floor, slowly growing brighter, greater, until suddenly it burst asunder, pressing back the darkness. He fought to stay, but the pull was irresistible, and slowly he was drawn back into the cold, unforgiving light. Back to the pain.

An ache radiated through his chest as he opened his eyes, revealing a rough wooden ceiling above. He quickly closed them again as a pounding began in his skull and stifled a groan, though none of those aches compared to the searing heat that engulfed his left hand.

Or rather, his missing left hand.

Images flickered through his mind and he saw again the creature as it attacked, the terrible grey eyes staring out from an all-too-human face. The thing might even have been human once, but there was nothing natural about the way it had moved in those caverns beneath the earth. Nothing normal about the strength it had wielded, about the way it had broken him.

Shuddering, Romaine pushed aside the memories and drew another breath. It hurt a little less this time. The scent of burning coal carried to his nostrils and he realised someone had lit the brazier. Exhaling, he forced his eyes open once more and struggled to sit up. The ache in his chest turned to a lancing pain, but if he didn’t move too quickly it seemed manageable.

He gritted his teeth as his head swam and stars flashed across his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, Romaine was surprised to find himself in his own cabin. His wounds couldn’t be as bad as he’d feared if they hadn’t kept him in the infirmary. Then again, he supposed a medic could do little for broken ribs or severed hands.

His gaze passed over the cabin, though the space was hardly worthy of the name. His bed was pressed up against the wall opposite the entrance, and there were few furnishings besides the brazier in the corner and the clothes chest tucked against the wall. He didn’t need anything more than that, between taking his meals in the soldiers’ mess hall and the occasional visit to the communal bathhouse. Indeed, the cabin was more than a simple soldier could normally expect. While those of other nations were bunked in barracks of fifty, the last soldier of Calafe slept alone.

Grief washed over him like a wave, threatening to overwhelm him. He had set off on an expedition in search of hidden ruins, of a place abandoned by the Gods. Tunnels dug beneath the earth, sealed away for millennium, their secrets with them. But the site was in enemy territory, in lands that had once belonged to his people. Romaine hadn’t expected to return. He