Excerpt from To Hold Back the Dark Chapter Four

            Church the next morning was a joyous event.  Matt stood in for Patsy as music director and Atticus announced the arrival of Patsy and Le’Vander’s boy.

            “What are you doing?” Jeremy hissed at Venutha.

            “What?  Nothing.”  She sat back on the pew.

            “You look like you’re looking for someone.”

            “I might be.”

            “Who are you looking for?”

            “A friend.”

            “Well, sit still and she’ll find you.  What, did you bathe in perfume this morning?”  Jeremy rubbed his nose.

            “It’s not a her.  It’s a him.  And he happens to like my cologne.”

“Shush!” Wren-at-Dawn commanded.  He turned his attention back to the choir and the way Lanza’s lips moved as she sang.

            Venutha stuck her tongue out at him.  Jeremy grinned.

            Debbie sat with her eyes closed.  Her head ached with the remnant of a nightmare and her left shoulder twinged.  She must have slept on it wrong.  In her lap and sprawled beside her was the dog Venutha told her last night was named Awohah.  The dog sighed deeply and Debbie rubbed his ears.

 

##

            “No kidding?  My kid has been begging me to take her to Gatlinburg.”  John Parker frothed two lattes for the couple at the counter.  “I don’t suppose you’d do me a favor?”        

            “What?” the older man asked cautiously.

            “If I give you a postcard, would you mail it from Gatlinburg?  Then she could – you know – have a piece of it.”

            “That’s sweet,” the woman said.

            “Here,” John snatched one out of his apron.  “I already had it made out and stamped.”

            The older man hesitated but the woman took it.  “Elizabeth Court.  What a lovely name.”

            “Ah, she’s a real killer, she is.  I don’t get to see her often; I move around a lot.  So she keeps tabs on me by the postmarks.  Puts pins in this huge wall map, following me around the country.”

            “Isn’t that sweet,” she smiled.

            The man held out a ten.

            “No, no.  The latte’s on me.  One favor for another.”

            “Well, thanks,” he softened.

            John Parker smiled.  He’d always been able to tell so much of the truth that what little – but vital – bit of it that was the lie was overlooked by all but the most cynical of listeners.

            Isabel Cortez made him send out a postcard every Monday, to keep track of his whereabouts in his search for his daughter.  Now that he’d found Hreno, he had to find a way to snap the leash that Earther held on him.

            When he first escaped five and a half years ago – he broke the neck of an orderly at the prison’s clinic, stole his clothes and identification, and left at the end of his shift – he discovered the wonder of this new planet Earth.  Cars – Stelt like cars – and dancing.  Stelt loved to dance.  The food was tolerable, once he got the hang of money; and got some money.  But he liked popcorn, the kind with butter and salt that left his hands all greasy.  What he didn’t like were the whores.  Women and men would befriend him and take care of him, but then they wanted sex but refused to be married.  That made them whores, and he killed every single one of them, after raping them as punishment for their promiscuity.  When he was arrested, after wandering in search of his daughter for seventeen months, he freely admitted to three of the slayings.  Had they asked him about all the others, he would have admitted to them, too, but they didn’t ask.  While awaiting trial, she showed up – Isabel Cortez.  When they were alone, she proclaimed herself as his new lord, his Strategia Oscura.  She offered him freedom of a sort, if he could find his daughter.

            “Of course I can find my daughter.  We’re connected.  She’s woven from me.  Set me free and I’ll lead you to her if she’s still on this world.”

It was completely the truth. Everything except, “I’ll lead you to her.”  He would never allow Cortez near his little girl.  She made his last Strategia Oscuro look meek.

He heard the bells on First Baptist’s tower and took off his apron.  He had the afternoon off.  And he did have plans.

 

##

 

When Debbie arrived at the old church at 9:45 Monday morning, Morgan was waiting for her.

“I turned on the air, and started a pot of coffee.  I set up the chairs in a circle.  Didn’t know if you’d need the tables or not.”  He opened the door and took the canvas satchel from her.  He frowned at the weight of the bag.

“Books,” she supplied.  “Crochet books.”

            “I’ll put them on the counter.”

            She watched him as he walked away from her toward the kitchen.  He was trimly dressed in khaki jean shorts and a flowered Jimmy Buffett shirt.  Leather – hand-tooled by the look of them – sandals allowed his feet a quiet passage along the Formica floor.  Debbie glanced up at the florescent lights and ceiling fans.  “This is nice. Thank you, Colonel.”

            “Actually,” he brought her a mug of coffee.  “It’s General, or it will be soon.”

            “Congratulations.”

            He shrugged.  “It means I’ll only have five years before I have to retire, but I’m ready.”

            “A lot can happen in five years.”

            “A lot has.”

            “The first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps, the third year it leaps.”

            “Excuse me?”

            Debbie looked down.  “It’s an old gardener’s saying about transplants.  It seems to apply to major life changes, too.”

            “You’re very wise.  It like that.”  He stepped closer.  “I like you.”

            He put his arms around her and drew her into his embrace.  She succumbed eagerly to his kisses.

            “Grandma, wake-up.”

            Debbie bolted upright, muffling a little shriek.

            “Geeze, sorry!” Thomas backed away.

            Debbie looked at the clock beside the bed.  “These damn nightmares.”

            “Mommy, Grandma said ‘damn’!” the boy ran down the hall.

 

Excerpt from

To Hold Back the Dark

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

 

Excerpt from To Hold Back the Dark Chapter Three

            Debbie sat under the shade of a Norfolk pine on the marble slab of someone named Rutger “Perkins” Pardulfo.  She didn’t want to intrude on the funeral; she was supposed to be at the mall.  When OD got the phone call Sunday evening that a friend of his had died, he sobbed.  Debbie had never seen OD cry, and she’d known him since he was a boy.

            Debbie was supposed to drop the family at the church and then go on, but she watched them walk into a crowd of hundreds of people who all hugged and kissed each other and got curious about this Magyar.  She walked behind the procession to a field of poppies and then wandered through the field until she came to where she was now.  She could see a massive crowd.  She could barely hear the eulogy, just sounds, not words.  It was peaceful here, with the breeze swirling the red and pink blossoms.

            A woman in her late sixties stood off to the side, watching the funeral.  Debbie watched as the woman put down her basket of wildflowers and covered her face.  Her shoulders shook as she wept.

            Debbie looked down and away, anywhere but at the older woman, crying alone.  Ashamed of her own cowardice, Debbie stood and walked over to her.

            Softly, so as not to startle her, Debbie said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

            Bea looked up and wiped her eyes.

            “Here,” Debbie handed her a kerchief.  “My foster mother told me to always keep a clean hanky in my pocket.  Just in case.”

            The woman laughed and used the hanky to wipe her eyes.  “And clean underwear, in case you get in an accident.”

            “Lord, yes,” Debbie smiled.  “Was she a friend of yours?”

            “Magyar?  Yes.  I suppose she was. She was a dog, you know.”

            “A dog?  They’re holding a funeral for a dog?”

            Bea sniffed and pocketed the hanky.  “You see all those children there?  About three hundred of them are my foster children.  They’d be dead, or worse, if it hadn’t been for that sweet dog, and others, like your son-in-law.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “The Battle of Crystal Lake.  Hasn’t OD ever mentioned it to you?”

            From across the field, a duet of Matt and Juan began to sing ‘Oh Jesus Bread of Life.’

            Debbie looked down at the ground, uncomfortable with lying, “No.”

“Good answer.  The sheriff would be proud of you.  That’s the correct answer to a total stranger.  But I’m an elder of the Refuge.  My name’s Beatrice Horne, but most just call me Mother Bea.  The Battle of Crystal Lake was when we knew for sure that the war had found us.  That man, you were sitting on his monument; yes, I saw you.  He died during that battle.  He gave his life so those five thousand children could be saved.  There were only a handful of our members that did what it took to save them.  It nearly divided the church, the fact that they went against Atticus.  But five thousand children were rescued that day.

            “See that tall boy with his hands on the casket, crying like the world is coming to an end?  His name is Jeremy Dart.  He was one of the children stolen from Crystal Lake Middle. That dog braved soldiers of the foulest kind and personally rescued that boy.

            “So, yes.  We’re having a funeral for a dog.”

            “My best friend Rosa had a dog when I was a little girl.  When he died, I thought our hearts would break.”

            “Dogs have souls, you know.”

            Debbie looked at Bea and then as if afraid to admit it, nodded in agreement.

            Dogs began to howl, singly and then en masse.  The hairs along Debbie’s arms raised, and she felt tears spring to her eyes.

 

Monday night, after the funeral, the boys and men in his bunkhouse settled down to sleep, but Jeremy just lay there.  This was the first night in five years that he had slept alone. 

            About two in the morning, he felt a hand touch his shoulder.  He wasn’t asleep, but he’d had his eyes closed.  Venutha knelt beside him and whispered, “Ohamaha is having her puppies.  She wants you to come help.  They’re early.  She needs your help, Jeremy.  Please come.”

            “Are you crying?” He sat up.

            “Yes,” she gasped.  “Oh, Jeremy.  I’m so sorry about Magyar.”  She threw her arms around him and he clung to her, then pushed her away.  “Let’s go help Ohamaha.”

            By dawn, seven squeaky little balls of golden and black fur were attached to Ohamaha’s teats.  The new mother spoke softly, “Thank you, Jeremy.  You helped me through the night.”

            He rubbed her ears, “You helped me through the night, too.”

 

Excerpt from

To Hold Back the Dark

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

 

Excerpt from To Hold Back the Dark Chapter Two

Wren-at-Dawn was a man of his word.  He repeated the same phrase to himself as he got up early Sunday morning to live up to his lost bet.  He’d do all the stables today – his first day in charge while Pierre was off-world with Ben.  But he would take two hours off for church.  He would go to church because Atticus was a wise minister and the music lifted his spirits.  It had nothing to do with the new recruit named Lanza who sang in the choir.  Well, not much.

Lost in thoughts of a sweet face, silver-white hair and the voice of an angel, Wren-at-Dawn jumped when Hreno said, “See, I told you he’d be here by now.”

Jeremy, accompanied by his best friend Magyar, nodded and picked up a pitchfork. 

“I’m going to lay down over here, Jeremy,” the dog said.  The boy nodded.

Jeremy and Magyar spent their summers at the Ranch.  Five years earlier, Jeremy had been one of the students kidnapped by a Strategia Oscuro during the Battle of Crystal Lake.  Magyar had risked her life to rescue him.  Hreno and Wren-at-Dawn had been part of the portal which brought him home.  He had to repeat the seventh grade that year, but from that point on, he knew what he wanted out of life – to be a veterinarian – and he did everything it took to reach that goal.  His tests and grades were good enough to go to one of the International Baccalaureates or Collegiate High Schools in the county, but George Jenkins High had one of the best agricultural departments, so he refused their invitations.  He was a junior there now with a 3.9 GPA.  He’d been given a full four-year scholarship to UF and would work on his Vet degree along with his bachelors.  The scholarship was from the Refuge.  He was proud of that.  And he knew that as soon as he was able, he’d move up here and become Ben’s partner.  Ben was the best vet anywhere, all the animals agreed on that.  But they also felt it wouldn’t hurt to have one who could talk to animals, like Jeremy could. 

“I still can’t believe the Queen didn’t get her way.”  Hreno brought an empty wheelbarrow over to Wren-at-Dawn.

            “It’s about time Ben stood up to her.  She’s become a spoiled brat.”   He took off his shirt.  With his exertion, the normally pale scar bisecting the area between his left shoulder and collarbone was a vivid red against his tanned skin.  He rarely noticed the scar anymore, except when an extremely powerful portal was being woven.  Then it ached and burned. 

            Jeremy took off his shirt, too.  It wasn’t that he was mimicking his hero; it was just warm in the stable.  “More like spoiled pet.  That’s what the horses call her.”

“A pet?  That’s how they feel about her?”  Hreno sneezed.

            Jeremy nodded before sneezing, too.

            “Bless you,” Wren-at-Dawn said.  “What she needs is a swift kick.”

Jeremy sneezed again.  “Really?” He stopped what he was doing to stare at his hero.  Wren-at-Dawn was probably only a year or two older than Jeremy, but where Jeremy was still a high school kid, Wren-at-Dawn was a man.  And Wren-at-Dawn thought that what Venutha needed was a swift kiss.  He could do that.  He could kiss the Queen.

 

            With Hreno’s and Jeremy’s help, Wren-at-Dawn only had one stable left to do.  They were showered and dressed for church and whistling up horses when Magyar rubbed her head against Jeremy’s leg.  He bent down and cupped her head lovingly in his hands.

            “I’m going to stay in the bunkhouse while you go on to church.”

“Are you OK?” Jeremy asked.

            “Sure.  It’s just been a long morning.  And Ohamaha has started nesting, so I’d just as soon stay out of her way for a while.”

            The boy pressed soft kisses on his dog’s forehead.  “I love you.”

            “I love you, too.”

            Hreno put her hand on his elbow as they watched the ancient warrior pad slowly back to the boy’s bunkhouse.  Jeremy looked down at her, tears filling his eyes, “She’s dying.”

Hreno nodded but didn’t say anything.  She was great that way.

 

Chinan pulled the truck up to the farmhouse.  The truck’s front right headlight was busted.

“What happened?” Wren-at-Dawn asked calmly. 

Chinan shook his head and tried to match the horseman’s reserve.  “I went into town this morning.”

The truck bounced as a dozen teens climbed into the truck bed or the backseat – depending on their seniority.

“Courtney’s a pretty girl,” Wren-at-Dawn nodded.

“I met with her family at Bob Evans.  They’re good people. And they like me.”

“Crazy people,” Jeremy gently shoved the young horseman’s head toward the steering wheel.

“When I came out, the light was busted.”  He picked a wadded piece of paper up and handed it to Wren-at-Dawn.  This was on the windshield.  I can’t read, but it made Courtney blush and her father got angry and said perhaps I should think about moving into town.”

Wren-at-Dawn handed the paper to Jeremy.  “And?”

“And start going to First Baptist.”

Jeremy read the message aloud, “Go home you damned freaks.”

“You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

Jeremy scowled but didn’t question Wren-at-Dawn in front of the others.

“Take a dog with you, or let one of the other horsemen ride along.”

“Yes, Wren-at-Dawn.”

“Make sure all the Horsemen and Dog Guards know this.  There are some people in town who have their minds set to hate us.  We don’t need any trouble while Pop and Dad are away.”

Hreno leaned into Jeremy’s ear and whispered, “Atticus and the priest of First Baptist are having talks.  But not a week goes by that one of our trucks doesn’t get damaged – slashed tires, busted lights, dented panels.  And they like leaving nasty messages on the windshield or painted on the doors.”

Venusha leaned into him from the other side, “Sometimes they pee in the cab.  We have to lock the doors.”

Excerpt from

To Hold Back the Dark

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

 

Excerpt from To Hold Back the Dark Chapter One

 

            “Atticus.”

            When Atticus opened his eyes to the voice, his bedroom was filled with light.

            “Atticus, wake up.”

            Atticus sat up and rubbed his eyes.  “Who are you?”

            “You know me, Atticus.  You must hurry.”

            “I know you?  Who are you?”  He tried to see into the white light.

            “Atticus, I have known you all of my life.  Trust me.  Trust me now or it will all be for nothing.  Get under your bed.”

            “Do what?”

            “Get under your bed, Atticus.”

            Atticus shrugged and then stood up.  As the six year old crawled under his bed, the window in his room shattered and gun fire riddled holes into where he had been sleeping.

 

 

 

 

“Mom, tell Dad I am, TOO, going with him to see Otka’s dragons!”  Venutha’s command could be heard by the Horsemen of Atticus as they walked onto the mess hall’s front porch.

Ben’s retort was just as loud. “Joan, tell my daughter she is NOT going with me!” 

The horsemen paused at the double doors and exchanged grins.

Jeremy put his hand on the door, “This morning’s muck chores says Venutha gets to go.”

“Boy,” Wren-at-Dawn laughed, “The day the queen doesn’t get her way with Ben is the day I will muck all the stables by myself.”

The Horsemen of Atticus chuckled and walked into the mess hall for breakfast.

The Jamaican Me Hungry Hall was large enough to seat fifty with benches and tables scattered around in a friendly way.  The three dozen horsemen and dog guards, along with Ben’s family, sat here for most of their meals.  But anyone was welcome.  The cooks and staff were refugees from other worlds, like most of the horsemen.  But they were like family, too, and the morning was filled with the smell of wonderful food and the sound of friendship.

Venutha the Queen stood off to the side, hands on hips, bull-dog tenacity on her face.  She was dressed in faux leather leggings, cuffed ankle boots, short broomstick skirt in geometric turquoise and terracotta and gold, a peasant blouse that looked useless over her flat chest, beaded hoop earring, and sterling rings on every finger.  Ugly ducklings are supposed to magically transform into gracious swans with time.  That hadn’t happened to Venutha yet.

Ben, in jeans, plaid flannel shirt and a red face, also had his hands on his hips.

Joan, Ben’s wife and Venutha’s adopted mother sat on a bench beside a high chair, spooning oatmeal into Baby Ben’s mouth.  Her stomach was swollen with five months of pregnancy.  Her face was the very picture of contentment.  A slight smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she ignored her husband and daughter.

Pierre hobbled over to them, leaning heavily on his cane.  His right knee had shattered in a parachute landing during Operation Iraqi Freedom fifteen years earlier, but what little stability the fused bones had given him were negated by a blow from the staff of a dark soldier two years ago as he and his horses fought to hold back the dark on Ganternon.  Wren-at-Dawn walked beside him, carrying a tray loaded with both men’s breakfasts.

Hreno made a little screech of joy and jumped up from her table to tackle two people in hugs:  Mitchell and Shadow.  Mitchell, Wren-at-Dawn, and Hreno first met Shadow five years ago during the Battle of Crystal Lake.  Shadow had been the weave of Lord Marcelux, but escaped during the battle and now lived in Mitchell’s dorm.  The two were always together.  But Hreno joined them as often as she could.  The young man was thick with latent muscles under a layer of softness.  His tanned face and jet black curls were average.  His eyes set him apart.  He never seemed to see what was in front of him, but what lay beyond now and here.  He was a weave without a redeemer.  Hreno and Shadow often whispered fearfully that he was in danger of loosing himself to the Weave, so they stayed close by whenever he opened a portal.

Distracted from her brewing tirade, Venutha smiled and went to join her friends.  “What are you doing here this early?”

“We’re weaving the portal for your father and Pierre.”  The blind girl embraced Venutha.

“They get to go?” she shrieked over her shoulder.

Ben curled his shoulders, his back to her, and continued his breakfast.

Venutha loved the sound her new boots made as she stomped back to his table.  “Why do they get to go and I don’t?”

Wren-at-Dawn whistled twice and counted with his fingers raised above his head: one, two, three.  The hall resounded as everyone present shouted, “It’s not fair!”

Venutha punched Wren’s shoulder.  He rolled his gorgeous brown eyes at her and smiled.

“We’re not going through to Risardia, we’re just weaving the portal.” Shadow sat beside Hreno.

Venutha stomped her new boots out of the mess hall and across the wooden porch.

Ben sighed in utter relief.  His wife leaned toward him while wiping oatmeal from Baby Ben’s fingers, “I’m proud of you.  You did a good job of letting her throw her tantrum and just taking those deep breaths.”

“You did good, partner,” Pierre patted his arm.

Jeremy raised his voice from two tables away, “Guess we know who’s mucking the stables today.”

Excerpt from

To Hold Back the Dark

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.