Arcana the Maiden (A World of Wade Novel) Read online




  ARCANA: The Maiden

  A World of Wade Novel

  Catherine Stovall

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Arcana: The Maiden: A World of Wade Novel

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Text Copyright ©2013

  All rights reserved

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Elizabeth A. Lance

  This Book is Dedicated To

  My Fans!!

  Yes, you, reading this right this moment. This book is for you. You have taken the time to read my words, your imagination is breathing life into each character, and you are creating a special kind of magic that only a reader can.

  Thank you! To each and every person who reads this, I send out love and appreciation. For an author’s words are only words until a reader reads.

  Xoxoxo

  Arcana: The Maiden

  A World of Wade Novel

  Prologue

  The Great War began, as many wars have, over religion. The High Priestess and the Magician stormed into the world of Wade claiming that they were the reincarnated Samsarian Goddess, Mirabai and her immortal consort, Ishwar. With massive amounts of charisma and magical power, they drew people to them and created an army. The High Priestess wove a tale of visions and prophecies, which foretold the falling of the Empress and Emperor.

  She convinced the masses to turn away from false religion and a life of technology driven capitalism. All were promised that the magic within them would be reawakened as Mirabai had intended when she created the world. The High Priestess aimed to send Wade back into the dark ages, and she succeeded.

  Electricity, technology, cars, and the luxuries in life were the first to go. The High Priestess convinced her followers that such things diminished their connection with the Goddess. The change started slowly, but the masses quickly gave themselves over to the zealots.

  When they tore down the power lines, mothers wept. When the schools announced they would no longer teach the traditional education, fathers raged. Schools no longer took classes in Health, Economics, or Business. Alchemy, Botany, and Hermetic Arts became the required courses instead. The new laws forced every child to learn the new religion. Perhaps the most shocking change was the rewriting of the world’s history.

  Before the war, hundreds of religions had existed. After the High Priestess and the Magician gained control of Wade, the old religions became illegal. Many of the families held to the old beliefs despite the threat of being punishment. They celebrated the holidays, said the prayers, and read from books hidden beneath floorboards.

  Pretending to follow the High Priestess’s rules, the people stock piled and prepared on the hope that someone would save them. They concealed their hatred as they lost everything they held dear. Raving inside, all of Wade longed for the days when the Emperor and Empress led their world with love and freedom.

  Chapter One

  The Sun

  I spent three years in the darkness with no sun. The time without feeling warmth on my skin seemed like an eternity. Sometimes, I dreamed about it. In my night time visions, I was younger and the world was the way it had been before the war. I remember clearly, what life was like before the High Priestess’ Age of Magic.

  I had disliked the way of life we lived then, but I learned to hate it so much more. I would gladly have gone back to living a restricted life outside the walls of the Tower. In my dreams, I laid on my back in the thick green grass with one hand shielding my eyes as I watched the clouds drift lazily across the topaz colored sky. I could feel the warm sunlight almost as if it were a heavy hand laid upon my chest.

  My mother hummed softly to herself in the distance as she hung sheets on the line. The light snapping of the fabric in the wind was as comforting as the little tune she sang while doing the wash. Before the Great War, my mother had owned machines that did the laundry, just like every other person. Yet, she had still hung the sheets outside to dry, saying that she would never sleep on a bed that did not smell like fresh air and sunshine.

  The gentle breeze carried other sounds up from the barn. The distinct sounds of my father and his farmhand, Jonathan, corralling up a few of the cows to take to auction drifted lazily on the air. Handsome and strong, Jonathan appeared in my dreams as a fallen angel with sun bleached hair and golden skin that glistened with the dampness of sweat. He worked side by side with the men as if he were their equal, though he was only fourteen.

  I turned my face into the sun, bright orange and yellow light exploded behind my closed eyelids. The birds sang as they dipped and fluttered in and out of the trees and the sound of the people I loved formed a melody with the steady beat of my heart. Just as a smile of sweet satisfaction curved my lips, a shadow fell across me, blotting out the glare of the sun. I found myself plunged into darkness.

  The dream changed to a nightmare every time my dream-self opened her eyes to discover what hovered above me. Without fail, I would see the soldier. The rankness of his breath filled the space between us as he leered down with glassy, hate filled eyes. The nauseating pungency of his unwashed flesh nearly made me gag.

  The worn and bloody uniform that he wore was clearly marked as the property of the Baphomet, the High Priestess’ soldiers. The insignia of the horned God above the right breast struck a cold fear in the pit of my stomach. Even after the battle for power had ended and the High Priestess held the throne, the soldiers continued to terrorize Wade.

  When he reached for me, I would wake up screaming until my throat burned. The trauma left the image of his cruel face etched into my memory to scar. The terrible recollection forced me to live my last day in the sun in a vivid and horrendous retelling every night.

  My life changed forever when the soldier grabbed me. He hoisted me up by my wrist as I tried to fight him off. My kicks to his legs were pitiful and did no harm. He easily deflected me as if swatting away a fly. When he placed the blade of his knife hard against my throat, I ceased to struggle and instantly fell to weeping hot tears full of anger and fear.

  Begging like a small child, I pleaded for my life, “Please, please don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything.”

  The man’s eyes gleamed as hard and as dark as coal. My cries fell on deafened ears and an uncaring heart. The brute grabbed a fist full of my hair and shoved me forward as he growled, “Shut up, you little witch.”

  He marched me down the hill, and even from the distance, I could see something was terribly wrong. A dark substance spread across the clean sheets that hung on the line. My mind could not focus through the panic and the fear. Rational thought escaped me. At first, it appeared that a spray of mud or other nastiness had tarred the linens that gently fluttered in the breeze. We approached the house and the sounds of other men looting the barn and outbuildings filled the once peaceful day. I searched for any hint of my father, Jonathan, or my mother. A niggling of something pecked at the back of my brain, but I would not allow myself to accept the things it hinted at.

  Instead, I focused on my own situation. Small rivulets of blood slid slowly down my scalp from where the soldier gripped my hair with his meaty hand. The pain was not immense, but it was a constant sting. Struggling to breathe through my panic, my ribs ached as well. I prayed to every deity that I knew, asking them to keep us all safe.

  A gangly, middle aged man with ratty hair and mouth full of rotted teeth joined my captor and me. His scraggly and filthy appearance was even worse than the man who held me at his side. Turning toward his comrade, he asked in a sharp tone. “Dar, you sure she’s the one? She looks like every other damn farm girl.”

  Dar yanked hard on my hair, which caused my chin to tilt toward the sky. I cried out, but the men ignored my whimpers. I feared they would slit my throat and all sorts of vivid, frightening pictures of my bloody death filled my head. I renewed my struggles until the hot sting of Seth’s hand rewarded me with a slap to the face.

  Dar growled again, “Hold still, girl.”

  I felt something cold and smooth against my throat and I gasped. A shock of electricity zipped through my body. Irritating and strange, the sensation traveled into the very roots of my hair and down to my toes. Seth grunted in approval and removed the unseen device.

  The two soldiers placed iron cuffs on my wrist and ankles before connecting the two with a thick chain. The heavy weight of the harsh metal pulled at my limbs and bit into my tender flesh. Dar poked my spine with the hard tip of the knife hilt and we trudged forward. My restraints forced me into a hunched position and I struggled not to trip as they prodded me along as if I were an animal.

  We passed the place where my mother had been hanging laundry and the bloody reality of what I saw, shattered my heart and mind. My mother lay on the ground, her wicker laundry basket turned over and her linens soiled by
the muck. In a moment of horror, I realized that the stains dancing up the ivory sheets as they flapped in the breeze was not mud at all.

  I fell to my hands and knees, disbelieving the sight of her crushed skull. I do not know if the sounds I made included words, I only know an unbearable grief stole over me. I cursed the soldiers in the same breath that I begged them to help her. I tried to crawl the short distance to her, but was unable to. As I struggled to reach the place where she lie, Seth and Dar bore down on me like rabid dogs.

  I was yanked to my feet, my body slumping in grief and shock. As I sobbed hysterically, I felt a sharp sting followed by a burning sensation that traveled down my arm. The world spun and a wave of sickness ripped through me. Blessed unconsciousness set in and I no longer knew my family was dead while I still lived. The fear of what would happen to me vanished into the darkness.

  I woke, groggy and confused. The inside of my head felt as if it had been gutted and stuffed with cotton. Uncertain of my whereabouts, I found my memory of the events that had brought me to the cold darkness vague. I called out for my mother and father and when I heard footsteps, my mind was foolish enough to believe my parents could still help me.

  The door opened and in the light, the silhouette of a woman stood. Seeing that the stranger was too tall to be my mother, a jolt of trepidation crept up my spine. The room suddenly filled with light and a stabbing pain cut at my eyes like a sharp blade. I blinked rapidly to chase away the dark splotches that danced and flitted in my vision. When my eyes had finally acclimated to the harsh glare, I raised my head and looked into the face of the enemy.

  The High Priestess towered above me, a tall and beautiful foe. Her face, though obviously not young, had a flawlessness to it. I stared in unabashed astonishment as I looked upon the woman who had single handedly destroyed an entire world. I devoured the sight of her in one sweeping motion. I wanted to memorize every detail of her appearance so that I would never forget what it was to look evil in the face.

  A gold band, decorated with a ring of black stars, held an ivory coif to her forehead and her raven colored hair hung in long waves down the back of her flowing blue robes. Over the right breast, to the right of the white rabbit fur trim, she wore a decorative patch. The symbol of the Samsarian Goddess blazed against the pale-blue and austere white of the High Priestess’ habit.

  I vaguely remembered from my forced studies that the name of the symbol was Avalon. The image pictured the Goddess with her forearms stretched above her head and a crescent moon pointed towards the sky. The depiction symbolized the Goddess’ most intimate moment, the creation of her mate, Ishwar. The once beautiful creation story had been twisted into the beginning of Wade’s nightmare.

  The woman studied me as well. Her eyes scanned up and down with a look of calculation. She held up the lantern and stepped closer. In the confines of the small cell, her presence seemed overwhelming. I tried not to cringe away, but all the knowledge I held of her horrible deeds made me physically ill. To me, she was not a goddess reborn or a spiritually guided prophet. She was evil incarnate, a crazy religious zealot who had destroyed the world I loved.

  The High Priestess ignored my obvious wave of fear and disgust. Instead, she looked at me with mock adoration. Her dark green eyes sparkled as she smiled gently. Her silent scrutiny made me quiver all over and a fine mist of sweat formed on my brow.

  When her words finally came, her voice was coated with smooth ice. “Bianca, I presume. I have been waiting for you for a long time. Do you know who I am?”

  My words caught in my throat. Rage, fear, and confusion made me feel as if something sharp had been wedged into my vocal cords. My mouth fell open, moving in a mute attempt to form a coherent thought. The Priestess arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at my lack of articulate response and continued.

  “I regret that you had to be brought here in such a way, but your parents refused my many generous offers to have you act as my apprentice. I cannot understand their lack of gratitude for such an honor. In their place, I would have thanked the Goddess for her personal attention. I would think that a true Samsarian would have gladly complied. Unfortunately, your parents weren’t true Samsarians, were they?”

  I leapt from the bed, snarls erupting from my clenched teeth. Images of my mother dead in the mud destroyed my reasoning and thoughts of what must have happened to my father and Jonathan fueled the raging fire inside of me. I lunged, my arms out, with the intention of ripping at her eyes with my fingernails. A dark need pushed me forward in a wild rage as I tried to tear her throat open with my bare hands and prove to the world that she was a mere mortal underneath her glamour and lies.

  With a dispassionate flick of her wrist, my feet jerked together and my arms went to my side. My whole body froze as if I were made of concrete. The High Priestess looked slightly amused as she walked around me, studying my stiffened frame. Inside, I was full of an intense desire to cause her pain. My only desire was to cause her wounds like the ones that ripped my soul apart. However, no matter how hard I struggled, my body refused to obey my mind. An uncomfortable burn built in my tense muscles, sizzling in slow motion from the tips of my limbs inward.

  “Bianca, you do not want to be ungrateful and ignorant like your parents. I suppose, you must be angry about their…unfortunate deaths. You will come to understand in time. Now, we have one little matter to deal with before I leave you this evening.”

  The Priestess made another flicking motion and my head wrenched back just as if Dar had his fat fingers wrapped in my hair again. I tried to suck in enough air to scream, but my lungs seemed incapable of expanding further. The invisible binds tightened and I felt as if I were being smothered. A familiar object, cold and smooth, pressed to my artery and the surge of electricity crackled through my body.

  The High Priestess, apparently pleased with the results, appraised me once again before releasing the invisible chains that bound me. I instantly fell to the floor, my exposed skin grinding against the stone. I was defenseless against her while my muscles screamed and twitched in agony.

  Glaring down at me, she spoke with a voice that was as hard as iron. “I have chosen you, Bianca, because you are more special than you know. You have a divine connection to Mirabai, and for that reason alone, you still live and breathe. The Goddess created the world and a race of humans with a touch of her own blood. Ishwar, her immortal concubine, was the first of these creations. Over the millennia, the blood of that race has diluted their line by breeding with humans. I have spent my whole life searching for someone who possessed a higher concentration of DNA from the Goddess than all others in Wade, and you are it.”

  I fought against my pain, struggling to deny her words. Instead of the strong protest that my mind was determined to make, a murmured sob escaped my lips. “No-o-o.”

  At the sound of my denial, she laughed. “You will assist me, you will obey me, and you will never again try to attack me. You will address me as High Priestess and you will only speak to me when I grant you permission to do so. Any disobedience or any attempt to escape will result in punishments far more painful than a simple binding spell. If you do well and learn your place, you will find your position to be a comfortable one. If you insist on being problematic, I will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine. You have a gift and the Goddess herself marks you. Do not be so hurried to join your filthy, heathen parents and waste such a blessing.”

  She left me in miserable isolation without another word. I spent hours lying on the floor in the dark. The room was obscurely black without the light of the lantern. The only sounds that came from the blackened void that enveloped me were those of faraway voices and the occasional shuffling of feet on stone. As I lay there, lost in those small nuisances, I cried for all the things that I had lost.

  Eventually, I managed to crawl from the cold stone floor onto the small cot, not bothering to cover myself with the scratchy, thin blanket. I do not know how long I slept. Without windows, there was no way to tell how much time passed. I only woke when the gnawing pain of hunger broke through my lethargic and dreamless drifting.