Descended

Prologue

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Many years before…

IT BEGAN IN A rain of fire. As one, the human men of Tirard sent up their flaming arrows at dusk, as was previously agreed. Across every plain, throughout every village and valley, the men hid in bushes and behind trees, mud smeared on their faces to better hide themselves. As one they watched as the fires startled their so-called gods and goddesses out of hiding, if only to see what the commotion was.

The gods and goddesses of Tirard. Nobody knew where they came from or how long they had been there, only that they always were. They never aged, despite the generations that had come and gone in their time. They simply shared the land with the humans, keeping to themselves and performing their magics.

Oh, how they loved to remind the humans of what they could do. Blodeuedd, waving her bare arms over the fields, causing blooms and crops to sprout unnaturally fast. Or Cerridwen, setting up her cauldron in town to tell the fortunes of villagers in exchange for secrets. Taliesin simply had to walk past the wives to have them fawning over him.

It was witchcraft, and the people of Tirard had had enough. Of course, not everyone hated the magic bearers. There were those who worshipped them, who took their word as gospel. Those who bred with the gods and raised their offspring. These people eventually converged together, calling themselves the Ordú Fola.

They would be dealt with next.

As the fires drew the magic bearers out across Tirard, the humans carried out the next step. From high above, hidden in the trees, nets woven with iron strands and enchanted with words stolen from the gods’ own books fell onto their heads, rendering them as helpless as a human. Screams of outrage and even a little fear were drowned out by the chanting that began as the third and final step of the humans’ plan was carried out.

Is mian leis an talamh a choinníonn tu ort níos mō. Tosu ar an lā seo, agus go deo!

As one, each chanting man held up an amulet, twelve total. One for each god and goddess, tailor made to match them personally. As the words were repeated, each magic bearer slowly stopped struggling until they all lay limp on the ground.

Silence was all that remained.

The men warily looked to one another, unsure if their plan had truly worked. The only sound was the crackling of the dying fires until finally a man spoke, staring down at the prostrate body of the goddess of war, Agrona, the nastiest of the bunch.

Has it truly worked, sir? Are we free of them?

The future king nudged the limp form with his boot, smiling wickedly at the horror around him. That we are, soldier. Send the order to get rid of the bodies, then we move on to the next step.

The soldier hesitated, only slightly. Are you sure, sir? Some of them are only children.

The future king bared his teeth at the hesitation. I don’t care if they are young or old, I want every offspring of these beasts dead. Every single blood-sharer needs to be eliminated. Immediately.

There was no more hesitation. The next few years were filled with blood and horror as each and every spawn of the gods was hunted down and slaughtered like pigs. Even if a person was merely suspected of being a descendant of gods, they were slain.

Lands were divided and kings were crowned as life in Tirard went on without the gods. The humans were too divided in their beliefs to live as one unit, so the kingdoms of Haul and Noson were born, separated by a vast amount of land they called Neodrach.

As the years passed and the generations who had lived among the gods and goddesses perished, life began to resemble something close to normal. The descendants were gone, along with the cult who used to worship witchcraft. The humans were finally equal and free of any higher powers.

Or so they thought.

Chapter One

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ELEVEN DAYS. AMELIA HAD been trapped in this gods-forsaken circle for eleven days. She sighed, gouging yet another tally into the dirt to mark her time. She was exhausted and frustrated, but most of all she was just confused.

Amelia had awoken in this spot eleven days ago, brain foggy and completely disoriented. The first thought she had was that she was very far from home; the air was warm and heavy, the landscape surrounding her covered in green. She had never seen so much green. The ground was covered in plush, thick grass, dotted with wildflowers in varying shades of purples and blues, while the trees towering above were topped with leaves the colors of emeralds. Within the glade was a small lake, the clear water glistening in the fading afternoon sunlight. It was the most beautiful sight Amelia had ever seen.

Her second thought? What in the hell was going on? The last thing she could remember clearly was walking home from Chéile, cursing the ever-freezing winds. She had still been wearing the same clothing she had picked out to wear into the city: sturdy yet fashionable black trousers, a light blue tunic with long sleeves to combat the cold, her boots, and her heavy traveling cloak. Back home the outfit was perfect for the season. Wherever she had woken up, however, it was stifling. Whoever had brought her here obviously hadn’t cared about her comfort.

Amelia had learned fairly quick that the toadstools circling her were more than just natural decoration. They were her prison walls. She had attempted to walk over to the lake to try to wash the nasty taste out of her mouth, only to slam into an invisible wall. That little jolt managed to clear the last wisps of her brain fog, leaving only anger behind. She spent the next few hours screaming, kicking at the invisible barrier, calling for help. But no one came. Not a soul. Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep. Ever since, she had spent the hours with nothing to do but think, her mind running wild with the possibilities of what happened.

Who ever had taken her knew about the old magic. Had been able to actually wield it. Did that mean they knew about her? Was it possible? She had been so careful. So very, very careful.

Apparently that hadn’t been enough.

There were very few left alive who knew much about the old magic. Who knew the tales of the deities living amongst the humans are much more than just bedtime stories. All of the old texts were burned, the evidence of magic destroyed along with every bloodline connected to the gods. Well, all except hers of course.

That first morning started in confusion. Where am I? What happened? And most importantly, Why did this happen to me? But that confusion quickly faded into outrage as she slowly began to remember. Remember waking up alone and trapped, left here to die. At least the view was nice. Sighing in resignation, she brushed her long pale hair out of her eyes, sitting up to watch the sun rise behind the trees. What she saw instead had her biting back a scream.

Animals. Animals of all types, just sitting there at the tree line. Staring at her. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, even a few deer. Just sitting there, completely still. It was eerie, to say the least.

Amelia stood slowly so she wouldn’t startle the creatures. Not a single one stirred. Barely even blinked. Definitely creepy. Could they sense what was within her?

Trying to ignore her audience, she walked the perimeter of her prison. Her stomach tightened in hunger. Food. How was she supposed to get food? Or water? How long would she last without either?

Panic settled in, causing her blood to thrum, her secret trying to rise to the surface. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

Amelia learned at a young age that her magic was linked to strong emotions, especially panic or anger. It would do her no good to lose control here. Wherever here was. She had no idea who might be around, who might see her. Her father’s number one rule floated through her head: never let them see the truth of what you are. She would be murdered on the spot if anyone ever knew her secret. If they ever discovered that the old gods’ magic flowed through her veins. Gods-blessed, her parents called her.

Cursed was more like it.

The magic was volatile. It had a mind of its own, it seemed. She had been trying for years in secret to try to harness control, but every time she thought she had made progress, the second she began to panic or got angry, the magic reared its ugly head. And each time she used these powers, the side effects became stronger. The aches and emotional turmoil were not worth anything using that damn magic could give her. She hated every bit of it.

She had to focus. Think.

Once she was satisfied that she was in control, she scanned the area once again. She was relatively close to the forest on one edge of the ring, but that wouldn’t help her one bit if she couldn’t get beyond the toadstools. The lake was too far off to even dream about snagging a drink from there, so she moved on quickly.

There was nothing else. She only had grass within her prison and the trees at her back. The animals were still watching her from across the small glade, as if waiting for her to notice something.

So, she scanned the limited area once again. Her father had practically raised her in the forest, teaching her how to hunt and how to track, how to tell any edible plant from a poisonous one. She had never enjoyed the hunting portion, but scavenging for edible things in the woods had always been a fun game for her.

Eyeing the trees nearest her once more, she noticed a smaller one clustered in with the towering trunks, almost hidden in their shadow. She recognized the leaves, the shape of the small trunk.

Her mouth began watering as she spied the ripe fruit hanging from the branches.

So close. So close, and yet so far. The gods must be taunting her, to put her so near a precious food source without any way to actually obtain it.

She silently cursed those gods. If she wanted to eat, to survive, she would have to tap into that old magic flowing in her veins, if only to try to push some of that fruit within the boundaries of the ring.

Fists clenched, she whirled to pace, her frustration rising once again. Her woodland audience had vanished, but she was too upset to be freaked out by how silently they had dispersed.

Surely she could last a few more days without food. She’d be tired, weak, but she’d survive. Would it be worth it to use even a little of her magic to gather the fruit to her? Was she willing to expose herself in such an open and unfamiliar place?

When her stomach tightened once again in hunger, she realized she didn’t really have a choice. Use the magic, or die slowly. Those were her only options.

Cursing those old gods under her breath, she stomped back to the rear of her prison, focusing all of her energy on that fruit-bearing tree. Usually whenever she tried to control her magic, it didn’t go quite how she wanted. Once, she had tried to conjure a simple breeze but brought in a thunderstorm instead. Her magic was like a living thing, an extension of herself. Typically the magic came out in bursts, no direction to be seen. But maybe, if she could shake that tree trunk hard enough…

Amelia focused, letting all of her anger and fear at being trapped against her will flow into her. She tried not to flinch as she felt the magic rising in her veins, her blood practically boiling with it. It felt like a living thing within her, writhing to get free.

She pushed it down, just a little. She didn’t want to destroy the tree, and she surely didn’t want to draw any outside attention to herself. There was no telling how close she was to a village, or a road. She couldn’t afford to have anyone bear witness to this act. She was already in enough of a mess as it was.

Steeling herself, she lifted her hand towards the tree and pushed; she felt the magic leave her in a somewhat contained burst. The tree shook, a couple pieces of fruit dropping to the ground. The round, dark fruit rolled as it hit the ground, but didn’t quite reach her.

Not enough power, she thought, drawing a shaking breath as she prepared to try again. She pushed, letting more force out this time.

The magic slammed into the trunk, causing the tree to sway at the impact.

Amelia held her breath at the too-loud noise as her magic hit, and then again as the fruit rained to the ground, almost sounding like pounding feet as they struck the grass.

The sight of the precious fruit rolling towards her sent her to her knees. A tear fell down her cheek as she watched her only chance of survival roll across the barrier. Apparently, inanimate objects could cross the toadstools without a problem.

She didn’t dare to move until all of the fruit had stilled, ignoring the spinning in her head. Once the fruit stilled, she counted the too few that had made it within the ring.

Seven. She had managed to get seven pieces of fruit.

She had run out of the fruit on the eighth day.

On the ninth day, as she sipped at the measly amount of rainwater she had managed to collect in the hollowed-out fruit husks, she saw a man.

At first she thought she was hallucinating. Her mind was still a little muddled from her magic usage, her body weak with hunger and thirst. But then the man happened to glance her way, and the complete shock on his face told her he was real.

His appearance was enough to quickly check her excitement of being found. It was the middle of the day, and he was stumbling around as if he were drunk. His clothes were disheveled, and he had dirt on him as if he had tripped and fell a few times in the woods.

The sleazy smile that bloomed on his mouth once his surprise wore off told her enough about what he was planning to do with her.

Amelia’s heart rate picked up as he prowled closer to her. She couldn’t run, she was too weak to try and fight, and screaming would do her no good.

There was nothing she could do but watch as the man got closer and closer. Could only watch as his gaze traveled up and down her body.

She backed up as far as she could. The stench of alcohol and sweat burned her nostrils; the man reeked.

Amelia didn’t get the chance to feel truly afraid, however, because as soon as the man tried to step over the boundary set by the toadstools, he was impaled with hundreds of thorns.

He managed to stumble back a few steps before he just dropped. Amelia could only stare as blood slowly trickled from every point of impact on his body. Her head swam; she sat down roughly before she could pass out.

Dead. This man was dead for trying to get near her. Whether or not his intentions had been good, he didn’t deserve death.

Two days had passed since the man’s death, and Amelia had no way to cover the body. Every time she accidently glanced at it she felt sick.

The body had an oily sheen to it, the skin starting to loosen. It was disgusting looking. There was nothing quite like waking up in the middle of the night with a corpse staring at you with dead eyes.

The heat hadn’t let up during the day, either, and the body was starting to smell. It was bad enough that Amelia was contemplating trying to use her magic to throw the body far into the woods so she wouldn’t have to see it or smell it for another second.

With her back to the corpse, Amelia spread her cloak out on the ground. She stroked her fingers along the fabric lovingly, remembering the day her mother had gifted it to her. She had been so proud as she presented Amelia with the gift she had sewn by hand. She had sewn similar ones for herself and her father as well, and they all wore them with pride, even three years later.

Amelia sighed as she thought about her parents. The act always made her sad. Were they okay? Had they tried to find her yet? Or did they think she was dead? Would they even know where to begin to look for her?

Lying on her back, she stared up at the clouds. Amelia was an only child, and her parent’s only family. Surely