Follow the Ashes: Book 1 of the Executioner Trilogy

  Follow the Ashes

  Book 1 of the Executioner Trilogy

  Kindra Sowder

  Published by Burning Willow Press, LLC

  Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA): 3724 Cowpens Pacolet Rd., Spartanburg, SC 29307

  This edition published in 2015 by Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA)

  Copyright © Kindra Sowder 2015

  Illustrations copyright © Darque Halo Designs 2015

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  To my husband, my partner, and my best friend for never letting me give up on my dream;

  Also to my mother for being my rock and my inspiration to keep writing, no matter what others said.

  Prologue

  She was quickly walking through the broken and shady streets of Whitechapel, England, in the year 1888. It was the time of Jack the Ripper, the madman who was tiptoeing through the streets, killing women as they worked the lanes, and striking fear into anyone who dared venture through the dark and dank alleyways. She wasn’t his victim of choice but she still feared that she would come upon him. She didn’t want to witness the calculated lunacy of a man whose psyche was so traumatized and demented.

  Couples, lonely men paired with unfortunate women, were scattered throughout the alleys. She couldn’t help but notice that a few of them emanated a kind of energy that screamed with evil intent. Especially some of the unfortunates. Unfortunates were the prostitutes who roamed the streets looking for men to take full advantage of. The energy they projected was more of a radiation of power and malevolence that rolled off of them like smoke. They would dress in their ratty fashions and parade down the streets, luring customers with their sexual prowess and rotted smiles.

  Her dark wavy hair was worn down with no flourishes, and her bright green eyes shone in the light of one of the scattered streetlamps. The shadows forming across her features made her look even more out of place. She was making her way to a small Gypsy camp, and because she was also a Gypsy she would be most welcome to take her place among them with open arms. As she walked by alley after alley, moans and gasps escaped from excited - or dying - temporary tenants. The iron smell of blood overwhelmed her senses. It almost had her in a fog as she made her way along Berner Street. There in the darkness, she could hear the quick work of Jack himself, which was what she had been hoping to avoid.

  The metallic odor of life pouring from opened veins was almost enough to make her run away and never look back. She refused the temptation and continued to walk as if this was a regular occurrence–and in this gloomy place, it was. Whitechapel was a hotbed for violence of all shapes and forms.

  Not many people knew what Jack was really like, but she did. She could sense it, this buzzing energy around him that told her exactly what he was. It screamed at her. As she passed, the red glow of his eyes in the darkness confirmed her suspicions. Jack was a vampire. She almost always knew when and where these creatures of the night would turn up.

  When she finally arrived at the Gypsy camp, children were surrounding an elderly woman as she told a story. They sat cross-legged on the ground and listened, so engrossed in the story that it seemed nothing else mattered. Gypsies didn’t have a written language. All stories were passed from the adults to the children by word of mouth. This continued from generation to generation. The woman’s gray hair blew in the light breeze as if it had a will of its own, and her brown eyes were aglow with the story of what they called “The Executioner.” Her face was heavy with wrinkles, and as she spoke her voice sounded soft but gravelly, having endured years upon years of use.

  The Executioner was a man or woman who stalked the night and slayed the most evil of creatures, mainly the type that had long eye-teeth and killed the innocent by taking their life force from them with such violence it shook the soul. The Executioner had immense strength and impeccable stamina that no one could rival, not even the creatures they hunted by night. The Executioner held the power of fire, and they had a partner in their fight against all that was evil in this world. This person would be a witch who would possess the power of supernatural foresight.

  Together, they would lead the battle in the war between good and evil, and they would be an unstoppable force. They would save the world from the darkness that would arise from the depths of Hell to wreak havoc on those who occupied the Earth. They always said it was just a story, but she knew it as fact. She knew this because she was a witch who had the power of premonition. She was awaiting the arrival of her partner. There was no way to know who it was until fate put them together.

  As she observed the children watching this woman in adoration, she couldn’t help but think that there would be a day that the possible incarnation of herself would be the one to lead this battle. Of this, she was hopeful.

  Varying trials are in his sight.

  An angel in the darkness,

  Mangled and torn,

  Prepared to take his stride

  Into the never-ending night,

  Reaping the will of the monster inside him,

  Every step he takes an abomination.

  .

  Chapter 1: The Hunt

  Present Day

  Nothing in the world could make anyone feel more alive than hunting. At least, that’s how it was for me. This was nothing like deer hunting, though. Not even close. This was one hundred times more dangerous, and my prey a million times more lethal. My prey was the vampire.

  I couldn’t think of anything that relieved more stress than that. As I was being circled by a male vampire, I didn’t move a muscle. I would let him do his routine while he had the chance. I had just killed his mate, who was hard enough to take down on her own. Now I had this. A pissed off male who would do anything to avenge his mate, even if it might mean his death. Vampires were the sort that were driven by revenge as well as the taste of human blood. I had never met a vampire who didn’t find joy in either of these things. I was betting I never would.

  As he circled me I could hear him sniffing the air, smelling to see if his mate had drawn any blood. Luckily, she hadn’t. Not even one drop. I had managed, by some miracle, to turn her into a pile of ash on the floor, not even ten feet away. Once the male realized her life had come to a definite end, he mourned over her ashes for what seemed like an eternity. He then turned to me with such rage that I almost ran for cover. I stood my ground instead. I couldn’t be the Executioner if I ran every time things got hairy. As far as I knew, the Executioner was a person who killed all manner of evil. I preferred the vampire. They were more of a challenge.

  I knew he would be just as hard to take down, if not harder. All I could do was wait for him to strike and see what happened. I could already feel the tension in my muscles as I readied myself for anything he had to throw at me. What I was expecting at this point was simple. It was automatic vampire behavior when faced with someone who was willing to fight for their life instead of laying it down for them to take. They were a very predictable bunch. Once they thought the blood
could be theirs, there was next to nothing you could do to stop them.

  I let him walk behind me like I had expected him to do, and I closed my eyes. I focused intently on his footsteps and the sounds I could hear coming from his throat. He was hungry for blood. Blood and revenge. I had the stake in my hand, ready to take him down as soon as he lunged at me. I was just waiting for it. I had a wooden bow with arrows on my back that I was sure I wasn’t going to have to use. I had these along with a silver-tipped machete I had specifically made for me in a sling on my back. You never knew when you would need something to make the kill a little more attainable. My weapon of choice was my bow, but that was best for long distance kills. And let’s face it. Once they know you’re there, it isn’t long distance for very long. That’s when the machete and stake come in hand.

  He stopped behind me and sniffed the air like a dog. I heard the muffled footfalls of his boots as he got into striking position, and I knew I had my chance. I was going to take him down, and do it fast. Or at least try. His mate had been difficult to take down. How hard would a male vampire with a taste for vengeance be? There was only one way to find out.

  I could sense his energy as he pounced at me. It pulsed like a heartbeat, slow and rhythmic. Much like a human being, but the vampire had no heartbeat to speak of. That made the feeling much more interesting. Why would something that was dead give off a vibe as if it were truly alive? I always thought that it was to fool its prey into thinking there was no danger. That was a disturbing thought.

  I felt him grab the hand that was holding the stake. He gave it a hard wrench, trying to work the wood from my hand. He grabbed my hair and jerked my head back, and as I felt that sting, he went in for the bite. He was planning to end my life by taking every ounce of blood I had. My blood would give him power beyond anything any other vampire had ever experienced. Enough to walk out into the sunlight. I wasn’t sure how long that would last, but I was willing to bet quite a while. Long enough to wreak complete havoc.

  This was my chance to act fast. I kicked my foot back and jammed it into his knee, and when I heard a loud crack and a scream, I knew I had hit my mark. When I turned to see his face, he was down on his other knee and he was snarling. His red eyes were filled with anger and pain. This I couldn’t have been more proud of. As I looked down at him, I knew that if it were me I would be the exact same way. Mate dead, enraged, and willing to do anything to bring death to the killer. No matter how much I didn’t want to, I felt sorry for him, but I knew what had to be done.

  I removed my machete from its sling. As the cool silver slid out with a hiss, he lunged at me. With cat-like reflexes, I slid the blade through his neck. This sent his head rolling, crumbling to ash all the way to the floor, leaving a small trail of it once it had stopped rolling. His body collapsed into a pile of the stuff with one last demonic scream. That sound always made chills run up my spine. The finality of it made me wonder where they went when they died at my hand.

  As I walked away from a place filled with ashes, I knew there would be a day when I would find that out for myself.

  Chapter 2: Our Journey Has Just Begun

  I didn’t realize just how tender I was until I lowered myself into the scalding hot water in my porcelain claw-foot bathtub. It was almost like needles piercing my muscles. The feeling was so uncomfortable I almost wanted to jump right back out. I soon relaxed. The mirror was fogged and the steam coming off of the surface of the water was a welcome sight. Nothing in this world made me feel better than water that felt like the surface of the sun, no matter how painful it was to get into, especially after an extremely difficult hunting session.

  The fight I had just ended was particularly hard. There were more vampires than I’d ever had to kill on my own. One of them was a very predatory and snarky female who was the hardest to take down. She would snarl a promise of destruction every chance she got. This had made it so much easier for me to want to end her than it already was just because of what she was. This was the mate of the male whose life I had ended right before leaving.

  As I sat there and let my mind wander, I thought of the power I had inside of me. The power I realized was there not even a year ago. I held out my hand, palm side up, feeling the water run down my arm. I could see all of the heat rising up from my skin. I slowly built up the little bit of energy and heat it took to send small trickles of flames across the underside of my lower arm. I smiled and listened to the slight sizzle of the water evaporating when the flames hit it and I saw the steam rise in greeting. A slight tingle throughout my body and in my gut reminded me of how good it felt to have that small release. Today especially.

  The delicate glow of my skin as this happened was something some people tended to notice. It was like I had been out in the sun and just happened to tan very well. In reality I burned so much that I looked like a tomato after only being in the sun for five minutes. I never did it in public, but this glow from the heat and energy resonating inside of my body was hard to hide no matter how many layers of clothing I wore. Not even if it was gloomy outside and you couldn’t see the sun. The glow gave my skin a look of being out in the sun all day, even though I barely stepped foot out of my front door during daylight hours. Of course, my prey had a tendency to surface only when the moon was shining its light down on the world. And sometimes I could swear, there in the darkness, that this small amount of a glow would make me hard to miss.

  Where did this gift come from? I wish I knew. I just chalked it up to a big mystery that I would never solve. I was okay with that.

  All I remembered about the time I figured out I had this gift was that I was at work as a barista at the local coffee shop. I was twenty three. I had turned a warm caramel macchiato into a scalding and overflowing mess that almost burned my customer’s entire arm. I had since learned how to control it, and it was a blessing in disguise as far as I was concerned. After the near-disaster, my father realized I wasn’t going to be able to hold down a job without running the risk of burning the place down. He had actually believed that my hands would turn into burning embers.

  This was completely out of character for him. So what did he do? Bought my house and made it his mission to take care of me and all of my baggage. Yes, that was a little lazy on my part, but it gave me more time to take care of the whole “saving the world” bit. This needed to be my main focus since holding down a part time job and paying the bills wasn’t going to work for me. Not when I could light the place up without effort.

  I also didn’t hear from him often since my mother had passed away from pancreatic cancer. It was like once she was gone there was no need for further contact.

  She had fought for what felt like an eternity, but was really a three month struggle. She then closed her eyes and let out that final breath, the one that lets you know the suffering was over. By this time she had lost so much weight she looked like a skeletal Barbie doll, but she always managed to have makeup on and was looking her best, no matter how bad she felt. I had admired that about her.

  I could remember the light floral perfume she used to wear. Every time I encountered this particular scent it reminded me of her. The smell of jasmine would always fill a room when she entered, but it was never overwhelming, no matter how much she would spread over her wrists and neck. The scent was barely there, yet noticeable when she passed.

  I looked more like my mother than my father. I had also inherited her compassion and the ability to make anything my own without much effort.

  I was there when she died, sitting at her bedside as she took her last breaths. I was able to sense when her soul had departed, drifting off in an invisible cloud of purity and radiance. Even though she was no longer in a physical form, she was always there and I could always sense her, especially when I was in my darkest hours.

  A deep dream I had not too long after her death told me who I was and what my gift was to be used for. There was a woman in a beautiful, sleek white dress. The sleeves had delicate long bells on them that covere
d her hands. She was walking slowly toward me in a light mist that covered the ground and her feet. There was an air of mystery around her and I couldn’t look away.

  Her hair was long and dark, reaching her hips, flowing with a slight wave. The shine in it was like the sun was beating down on her even though there was no sun to be seen. Her eyes were the color of the spring leaves, and her skin was as pale as the winter snow and just as delicate. It was like if you touched her she would crumble to the ground one flake at a time. She reminded me so much of my mother, and I took it as a sign that my mother was the reason this message was being sent to me. Her voice was like silk as she spoke to me.

  “You will be the one who will save the world. The one to stand out amongst many,” she’d said.

  It was like I was going to be the person writing this story and only so much of what was to come was predestined. A divine power wouldn’t be writing how I would get there. Just me. All she revealed was that I had a journey I had to complete, and these gifts that were bestowed upon me were a way to help me make this journey so I could take my place in this battle. She also told me another woman with another set of gifts was going to be my companion through this journey. She would be a part of my army in the clash between the light and the dark. I couldn’t help but remember how much this woman reminded me of my mother as my thoughts drifted in and out of this memory. Even the vague scent of jasmine hung in the air when I awoke, leaving me almost breathless.

  That’s when a thundering knock on the bathroom door startled me out of the deepening pool of my thoughts. I could’ve stayed in that place forever.

  “You okay in there, Robin?” my roommate Elizabeth, Beth for short, asked through the bathroom door. I almost wished the door was made out of lead as soon as I felt the concern in her voice. That concern had me sinking farther down into the claw foot tub until the water was up to my chin. That edge to her voice always had me running for cover, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon, as far as I could tell. It contained annoyance, concern, and a tiny bit of anger that she had to wait for me at all. To be honest, she didn’t have to. She could have gone by herself if she wanted, but for some reason she felt she had to wait for me. Almost like I had asked her to, which I hadn’t.