Samara's Peril

  Copyright © 2016 by Jaye L. Knight

  www.ilyonchronicles.com

  Published by Living Sword Publishing

  Proofread by Kim Huther

  www.wordsmithproofreading.com

  Ilyon Map © 2014 by Jaye L. Knight

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in written reviews.

  All Scriptures are taken from the New American Standard Bible, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

  To my King and Savior, who always loves and is always there even when

  things are at their bleakest, and we wrestle with doubt.

  To the band, Ashes Remain, for their song On My Own, which provided so much

  inspiration while writing Samara’s Peril. Their entire album could practically be Jace’s character soundtrack, but this song has particularly special meaning in this book.

  And to the band, Skillet, whose songs have also been a great source

  of inspiration in writing Jace’s journey.

  Contents

  Historical Notes

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Returning Characters

  New Characters

  Dragons

  Locations

  Race Profiles

  Ryriks

  Talcrins

  Cretes

  Giants

  Book 4

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Historical Notes

  Ilyon Chronicles is fantasy; however, I have based many aspects on historical fact. Here I want to address two instances that might be somewhat confusing to readers.

  Peerage Titles

  While I’ve taken some creative liberties in ranks and titles, I’ve tried to stick closely to historic peerage systems, which plays a big part in this book. If you are unfamiliar with such titles (or haven’t watched as much Downton Abbey as I have), this can get confusing and I wanted clear up the facts. In this book, you will meet Henry and Evelyn Ilvaran, who are the Earl and Countess of Dunrick. However, instead of being called Lord and Lady Ilvaran, their proper titles are Lord and Lady Dunrick. Their son, Charles Ilvaran, is a viscount, and I refer to him in the book as Lord Ilvaran or Viscount Ilvaran.

  Nighttime Battle

  Historically, most medieval battles were not fought at night when it was too hard to tell friend from foe. It presented too much danger for something to go wrong. I have therefore followed this example for the battle in this book and postponed the fighting during the nighttime hours.

  - Part One -

  Discovery

  It was a dream. Somehow, even in his semi-conscious state, Jace knew it, but the realness of it gripped him—the fear, the loss, the despair. Like lurking beasts waiting to devour, they stalked him. He tried to run, but how did you run from something that was inside you?

  Jace bolted upright with a gasp, his heart battering his ribs. He ground his teeth together and curled his fists in his blanket. He couldn’t deny it now—not after five nights in a row. The dreams had returned. Though not as violent as the nightmares he had suffered in the past, they left a growing darkness that weighed down his spirit. He drew in a breath and let it out in a long sigh as he hung his head. Why did they plague him again? He had let go of the uncertainties that fueled the dreams… hadn’t he?

  No.

  He had buried them, deep down, but they remained—waiting for moments of weakness when they could climb out and torment him. No matter how hard he struggled to push them back down, sometimes he just wasn’t strong enough to accomplish it.

  Breathing deeply again, he glanced around the dim shelter. Kaden, Mick, Trev, and Holden lay still and quiet on their cots, but there would be no more sleep for him. Not today. Tyra watched him from the floor, seeming to sense his unease.

  Jace slipped from his cot, cold invading his body the moment he was free of his blankets. He dressed quickly. Even in the shelter, his breath left a momentary white puff in the air, the fire in their small hearth dead. He tugged on a warm wool shirt and his coat before he headed to the door and stepped outside.

  Dawn greeted him with a frozen world of gray and white, sprinkled here and there by bright green. Three inches of snow blanketed the forest—likely the last of the season. Spring had arrived and, after this final cold snap, the forest would come alive with greenery and wildlife. This promise of new life would be especially welcome after the losses they had suffered late last fall. Jace always craved the arrival of spring after the long winters; however, the last couple of years had brought a new challenge with it.

  Tyra bounded off, her nose pressed into the snow, following the trails of rabbits and other rodents that had passed in the night. Jace shoved his hands into his pockets and followed slowly. The forest still lay shrouded in shadows, the rising sun mostly hidden by the lingering clouds. It was fitting weather for such a day, in his opinion, though maybe he shouldn’t feel that way.

  Several minutes later, boots crunched in the snow behind Jace. He looked over his shoulder. Holden strode up alongside him and stopped. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Jace shook his head.

  Holden blew out a breath that lingered in front of him. “Today is only my second time.”

  A rolling sensation in Jace’s gut threatened to upturn his stomach. “Me too.”

  They stood in silence, contemplating. Did everyone else feel such disquiet when this day came? Did Holden’s unrest cut as deeply as Jace’s did? He wanted to ask, but hesitated to speak.

  After a moment, Holden snapped Jace out of his thoughts.

  “Want to help me start a fire and some coffee? We’re gonna need it this morning.”

  Jace nodded, and they turned for the wood supply stacked along the edge of camp. Once they had a fire crackling in the pit, they hung two large coffee pots over the flames. For a long time they stood in silence, keeping warm at the edge of the fire. When the coffee was finished, they each poured a cup. The aroma soon drew the other men from their shelters.

  They gathered around, but the usual jokes and good humor were absent as everyone spoke in hushed tones. Apparently, Jace wasn’t the only one subdued this morning. His discomfort grew, and he backed away from the group. Though most of the men accepted him now—becoming friends even—it didn’t fully erase his feelings of being an outsider. Today that isolation pressed in even stronger. He
had dreaded this for weeks.

  His gaze strayed to the forest beyond the edge of camp. How easy it would be to slip away until it was all over. The urge pulled at him, but something stronger held him there. He couldn’t disappoint Rayad or Kyrin. Escape would be cowardly, for that’s what it came down to—he was afraid. Afraid of facing the significance of the coming event and the uncertainty that already frayed at the thin thread holding him to his weak faith.

  Dropping his gaze to the steaming dark liquid in his cup, he frowned. He knew what he should do. He should pray. Wasn’t that what Rayad and Kyrin would tell him? But whenever he tried lately, the right words never seemed to come. Maybe the inability and reluctance to form a simple prayer pointed back to his fear again—fear of the words echoing hollowly in his heart, unheard by anyone but himself.

  “Good morning, Jace.”

  His head snapped up, and he met Kyrin’s inquisitive gaze. A sensation stirred inside his chest—a little up-tick of his heart—something that had been happening more and more often in recent months. It was a reaction he could never explain easily or sensibly. He quickly calmed it, forcing it behind all the fears and uncertainties that only reminded him of why he could never allow it to grow into anything more. He echoed Kyrin, but even his voice lacked the strength he intended to convey.

  His gaze faltered, and he stared down at his coffee again. She could read him too easily. He could never hide his fear from her. When he finally looked up again, Kyrin still watched him, but her eyes were full of compassion. Some of his embarrassment eased as a gentle smile grew on her face. She was the only person he knew who had that sort of calming effect on him.

  This calm helped carry him through the next hour as everyone shared breakfast quietly. However, Jace declined the food. It wouldn’t have settled well in his bunched-up stomach, especially when it came time to leave camp. The tension increased, twisting his insides into an uncomfortable knot.

  Everyone in camp who claimed belief in Elôm gathered near the stable. There, several of the men each gathered a small lamb that had been born in the last few weeks. The animals came out, each one pristine white like the snow that had fallen. Jace winced at their loud bleating that echoed through camp.

  The group turned into the forest. No one spoke a word as they passed through the trees, leaving camp behind. Jace walked with his head down, but he took quick glances around him. Though everyone wore solemn expressions, did any of them feel as unworthy as he did? Perhaps Holden did, but at least he wasn’t half ryrik.

  A hand rested on his shoulder and broke him from these thoughts. Looking to his right, he found Rayad. The man’s eyes held understanding, and he gave Jace’s shoulder a squeeze. After all, they had done this together once before. Jace remembered it clearly. He’d had more confidence then, and had found some relief at the end, but he wasn’t so sure now. Things were different… things had happened. Things that had shaken his faith and left it weaker than it had once been.

  A mile from camp, the group reached a clearing. In the center, a large pyre sat waiting. They stopped, and Jace felt his stomach heave up into his throat. He forced it down as everyone divided into smaller numbers, each group taking a lamb. Jace moved to the side with Rayad’s group, along with Kyrin, her family, and Holden. They all turned to Timothy, who stood facing them.

  His gaze swept the groups, and he cleared his throat, though his voice was low when he spoke. “Long ago, the Evil One came into Ilyon, deceiving and swaying the people to join together to try to overthrow Elôm’s kingdom. Though Elôm ended the uprising, the rebellion changed our world. Evil taints all of us. It’s inherent in our nature and stains us all.”

  Jace swallowed hard through his constricted throat. He stared at the ground, feeling the most stained of everyone. He was a filthy, wretched creature undeserving of any form of mercy.

  “It separates us from our King, who is holy and pure, and it violates His perfect and undefiled standard of righteousness,” Timothy continued. “Each one of us has sinned against Him, our Lord and Creator, and these sins will continue to creep into our lives until the day of our deaths. We are every bit rebels to our God as those who first turned on Him. As such, we deserve death and separation from Him forever.”

  A deep ache pulsed through Jace’s chest from the hard thumping of his heart. His eyes stung. He deserved that death and separation, but it terrified him. His palms started to sweat despite the cold, and he clenched his fists.

  “But . . .” the word hung in the frozen air with a tone of hope, “Elôm loves us and does not want us to perish in our sin. That is why we take part in this sacrifice. It is our blood that should be spilled, but with these lambs, Elôm has provided a substitute. Innocent blood to cover us so that, when we place our trust in Him, our sin is covered and we may be looked upon as innocent. However, they are only lambs and we must continue to offer such sacrifices every year. They are a finite solution, but someday, Elôm will send us a Savior and an ultimate lamb sacrifice that will not just cover our sins, but remove them completely. Until then, we will continue to perform these sacrifices and look ahead to the day that it will no longer be necessary.”

  Following these words, each group turned their attention to its lamb. Rayad slipped a knife from his belt and tipped the lamb’s head back, placing the sharp blade at its throat. Marcus held a shallow basin beneath it.

  Jace squirmed. It was only a lamb, but it felt so much graver than that. The blade sliced flesh. Red poured down the lamb’s neck, staining the white wool, and collected in a crimson pool in the basin. Jace watched the blood flow, wanting to look away, but unable to. It should be yours, his inner voice accused. You’re the one who deserves death.

  His heart gave an irregular beat, and he gasped in the air he had forgotten to breathe, but his lungs had trouble expanding. Guilt wrapped more tightly around his chest. He was so consumed by it that he almost missed Rayad coming around with the blood-filled basin. He looked to his left as Kyrin dipped her hands in, an action to signify the blood covering her sins. When she pulled them out, blood dripped into the snow at her feet—a glaring contrast. Her head was bowed, but Jace caught the moisture in her eyes and the sorrow in her expression; yet a glow of thankfulness joined it.

  Rayad came to Jace next. Jace hesitated, the uncertainty coming on strong. Should he really be a part of this? Was such a sacrifice meant for those with ryrik blood? He met Rayad’s eyes. In them he found assurance, and it prompted him to action, though it didn’t dispel the doubts. He dipped his trembling hands into the basin. The warm blood oozed up around his fingers, coating his skin. When he pulled them out, he stared at the liquid dripping from his fingertips. At once, memories he desired to bury in the past poured into his mind to condemn him. Could a lamb’s blood ever truly cover the many layers of shed blood he already had on his hands?

  He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to close his mind to the bombardment, unsuccessfully. The accusations of his guilt were too skilled at tearing through his weak defenses, always leaving him exhausted from fighting them and leaving his heart in shreds. The suffocating touch of despair wormed in and left him struggling for a full breath as it tried to drag him back into the lonely black sea he had spent so much of his life floundering in.

  Something nudged his arm. His eyes popped open, jolting him out of the increasingly dark thoughts. He looked to his left, right into Kyrin’s face staring up at him. Her dusty blue eyes were wide with concern, but also with earnestness to help him in any way she could. He wasn’t alone in his fight. Slowly his lungs freed up, and the tension loosened in his clenched jaw.

  Now the group joined everyone else at the pyre, where they laid the slain lambs and the rest of the blood. A couple of the men stepped forward with flaming torches and lit the fuel. Standing around the perimeter, they all watched the sacrifices burn, the smoke drifting heavenward.

  They stayed until the lambs and most of the wood had burned up before following their tracks back to camp. The return hike was
just as quiet, as they still contemplated the sacrifice.

  When they arrived at the edge of camp, Jace fell behind the others and veered off by himself, craving time alone. He walked until the sound of camp died away before he stopped and stared into the snowy forest landscape. Then he looked down at his hands. The blood had almost dried. Dropping to one knee, he scooped up a handful of snow and scrubbed it across his skin. The cold substance prickled and numbed his fingers.

  He left behind a patch of red in the snow and settled down at the base of a wide oak, where he leaned his head back against the trunk. Though the intense emotions from the sacrifice had subsided, the persistent questions lingered, stemming from one all-important question: Did he really have a soul that belonged to Elôm? Kyrin and Rayad both insisted he did, but could he ever know for sure? He ached for the answer.

  Two years ago, he had trusted Elôm fully and completely for the salvation of his soul—of that he was sure—but doubts had followed, leading back to the question of whether or not he even had a soul to save. For a while, he had propped his shaky faith up against Rayad’s constant reassurance, but the death of Kalli and Aldor last spring had caused it all to crash down around him. In the last several months, Kyrin and Rayad had helped him begin to rebuild, but only a few stones were back in place, and those constantly wobbled, threatening to topple and force him to begin again.

  Jace breathed out a sigh that ended with a groan. He wanted more than anything to have the same faith and assurance as his friends. He truly did. If only he knew for certain that he had a soul, but he didn’t expect to know that until the moment his life ended. The fear of that moment clutched at his throat, and he dug his nails into his palms.

  “Elôm.” The prayer came out of desperation. “I . . .” He swallowed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if You hear me or… if I am saved. Please, show me.” His heart ached with the intensity of the plea. “Please.”