Darkness & Lies: A Brotherhood Novel (#1) Read online

  18

  Darkness and Lies

  a

  Brotherhood

  Novel

  by Brandi Salazar

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, places or things living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Darkness & Lies: A Brotherhood Novel

  Printing History

  2011

  All rights reserved © Copyright 2010 by Brandi Salazar

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form,

  Without the prior

  Written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-105-07035-8

  Acknowledgments

  For my bestie who stuck by my side and rooted me on throughout the making of this novel. Thank you for all your input and constant pushing. Without you and your unfailing faith in me this book would still be tucked away in some dusty file on my laptop.

  For my husband who read it, liked it, and pushed hard to help choreograph some of the more, um, enticing chapters. I swear I had no idea that one of the characters (you know the one) so closely resembled you. It’ll be our little secret.

  More books by Brandi

  Faerie Tales: The Misfortune of a Teenage Socialite

  A Flash of Inspiration: A Collection of Very Short Stories by Indie Authors

  Available FREE at www.smashwords.com

  Midnight Masquerade

  Available September 2011

  Darkness and Lies

  A Brotherhood novel

  By Brandi Salazar

  Prologue

  950 B.C. Mount Hekla, Iceland

  The earth growled ferociously, shaking homes to their foundations in a righteous fit of anger. Rock tumbled to the ground. Men, strong and brave, took to the streets gathering the women and children, hastily retreating from the threatening plumes of ash stained clouds looming just beyond the village edges, devouring what little light remained in the sleepy afternoon sky.

  The ground shook violently, toppling buildings, destroying homes, knocking the frightened, scampering humans to their knees. They did not know what was happening for they had never experienced such an event during their too short lives. All they knew was when their quiet existence was suddenly disrupted, and their sun kissed skies plunged into crippling darkness, that all was not well.

  Erias emerged from the stone dwelling, his electric blue eyes frantic as they searched through the throng of bodies, friends, acquaintances screaming in terror as they fled for their lives. He had never seen anything like it; he thought, glancing up at the looming snowcapped mountains. Snow that was now quickly melting as the air heated around it. Around them.

  The earth trembled again, and Erias had to brace himself against the wall of his home to remain standing. Beneath his fingers, the mud bricks he had made with his own hands, crumbled. Falling, Erias stumbled, grasping at air as the walls of his home fell apart as if it were merely dust. Landing hard, his linen pants tearing when his knees crashed onto the cobbled ground.

  Picking himself up, Erias hardly noticed the blood soaking his clothes, hardly noticed the sting of his broken skin. His mind was elsewhere.

  Where were they? Where was his wife? Where was his son? Last he had known they had gone to the temple to make an offering to the gods. The greedy bastards were never appeased, no matter the gift. Erias had long ago lost his faith. If he could have his way, he would have torn down the building brick by brick until nothing was left standing.

  With a direction in mind, he started forward, battling his way through the wall of bodies pushing in the opposite direction.

  The growling of the mountain had long since become a constant, a promise of what was to come. What that was, he did not know nor did he much care. His focus was single minded—get his family and get out.

  Golden brown rock peeked at him in the distance, its majestic columns rising to kiss the midnight sky. A peeked roof carved with angelic depictions. Cherubic faces gazing at him as his feet ate up the distance. Trees tall and strong, green, laden with plump red apples, anchoring the building at its four points—north, south, east, and west.

  A cry of fear cut through his worried mind like a sword through bone—harsh, piercing. Painful.

  “Mommy!” the child wailed and pointed as he peered over his father’s shoulder.

  For just a moment, caught in the forcefulness of the child’s terrified cries, the couple turned. Instantly, the color drained from their faces.

  The small woman cast a horrified glance up at her husband, grasped his hand and bowed her head, her lips trembling as they made a silent prayer to the gods. Erias’s stomach knotted painfully as he followed their lead and looked up.

  The mountain bore down on them becoming a living entity, its force rocking the earth, promising death and destruction. The heavy clouds had long since turned black, slithering down the mountainside. They would soon blanket the village, suffocating its inhabitants.

  With his heart pounding through his chest, Erias leapt into action. “Run!” he screamed at the young family held captive by the sight. “Run, get out of here!” he screamed again when they blinked slowly as if waking from a dream.

  With a start, they heeded his warning to save themselves, and ran.

  Erias himself continued on his path further into the heart of town with no worry for himself, only his family. Always, his family. Without them life simply was not worth living.

  Ascending the stone steps, Erias called out, beckoning his wife and child to him, his voice becoming lost in the raucous thundering of the angry mountain. He called over and over, cupping his mouth with his hands to amplify his voice until his throat was sore, raw from overuse.

  “Erias!” “Daddy!” Two of the sweetest sounds his ears had ever heard finally answered.

  Spinning on his heel, he looked beyond the temple walls from whence he came, his eyes falling on a long-legged brunette, hair flapping wildly behind her. Her dirtied face streaked with dried tears, fresh moisture cutting new paths across her temples, soaking her hair as she ran toward him.

  In her arms was a small boy, dark as midnight curly hair framed a rounded angelic face reminding him of the cherubs carved into the temple’s face. Blazing blue eyes bore into him as the boy clutched at his mother’s neck.

  His family, he sighed in relief.

  “Helena! Emile!” he yelled, his feet kicking into gear and carrying him forward quickly. He had not forgotten that danger loomed on the horizon. His heart drummed a new tempo born of new fear. Not of finding his family, because here they were, but one of saving his family.

  They had to leave now, before it was too late.

  Running toward each other, Erias tried to ignore the increasing tremble beneath his feet. Before he could escape the sanctity of the temple walls, an explosion sounded rocking the earth so hard it caused them all to fall to their hands and knees.

  Stones the size of his fist began dropping around him, pelting his legs, his back, his arms. Erias covered his head with his hands to cushion the blows. When he felt nothing else, he looked up, across the temple floor to the dirtied bodies curled on the ground outside.

  Helena was using her body to shield their son. Erias’s chest swelled with pride at the sight of her strength.

  Pressing his palms to the floor, he pushed his now aching body to a stand. Just as one foot stepped forward, another boom rocked them, raining a fresh storm of rock and debris atop him.

  A grunt spilled past his lips when the back of his unguarded head was barraged. His vision dotted, blurring over, darkening as all strength left him. Crumbling to his knees, Eria
s caught one last glimpse of his wife and son, their horrified blue and brown gazes meeting his resigned–regretful?—one.

  Just before his vision winked out, he heard a screech so perverse it seared his mind, carving pain cell deep. Helena and Emile turned their faces upward as an impenetrable darkness enveloped them. Wings, sharp as a blade, thick, black and scaled, entered his line of vision blanking out the last view he would ever have of his family again.

  In a moment of pure desperation, Erias pleaded with the gods to spare his family, to do anything they wished with him, but leave them untouched.

  A prayer that would not go unheard as darkness enveloped him.

  Chapter 1

  Present day

  “Does anyone even care that I am practically dying over here?”

  Cheyenne exchanged a bemused look with Kris. They had been scaling the side of the mountain since dawn, only stopping for a quick water break every so often. It was now noon and although the sun was beating down on them, it did little in the way of warming their bodies against the subzero temperatures this high up.

  Boots crunching on the snow packed ground, Cheyenne turned back and settled herself on the edge of a boulder. Dropping her pack into the snow between her feet, she rummaged through the contents and pulled out a small bag filled with freeze-dried food.

  “Take ten everyone,” she announced. “I want to hit the summit before sundown.”

  The group immediately dropped anchor, plunging into their bags, grateful for the brief reprieve. Cheyenne tore into her jerky, sipping at her canteen of water to hydrate it as she looked over her small but dedicated group of friends.

  Of the eight of them, Kris was the only one she had grown up with. She knew everything about him and trusted him implicitly. In turn, he knew everything there was to know about her, including who was responsible for her first heartbreak. Jeffery Rosenthal, the slimy bastard.

  Shaking her head to clear away the thought before she went on yet another mental tirade, Cheyenne focused on Tabitha’s hunched form as she rubbed her swollen ankles. Tim was crouched in front of her, his stylishly trimmed chestnut brown hair hanging in his eyes as he inspected the damage.

  He and Tabitha had recently begun dating—as in last night when they found they would be sharing a room in the too cramped B & B back in town. She had to give credit to the man though, anyone who could stand being in Tabitha’s presence for more than a two-hour stretch and still look at her with eyes that adoring was definitely a keeper in her book.

  The others, Cathy, a twenty-three-year old banker teller from Toledo (also where she was from); Harold, a fifty-two-year-old stockbroker from New York with more muscle then a man his age had a right to; and Sebastian, a twenty-eight-year-old college dropout and self—proclaimed momma’s boy from New Hampshire. Tim was the glue that held them together, always having the right words to offer to dispel any problems that might arise among them, and considering the amount of testosterone flowing through their little family, that was a blessing in itself. Tabitha, chronic complainer and socialite, lived off the trust fund her parents set up for her before their untimely death. Seeking a name for herself and an excuse to get on the cover of any major magazine that would have her, she funded their yearly trips with zeal. And Hadley, her newest addition to her circle of friends who had been recently elevated to BFF number two status, was a wife and mother of three who had stopped aging on her twenty-ninth birthday roughly five years ago, rounded out her troupe.

  Except for Hadley, they had all met during their sophomore year of college at OSU. Sharing the same passion for life, they became fast friends with each of them contributing something to their adventurous lifestyle.

  Harold introduced them to hang gliding. Cathy taught them how to handle a wave runner. Sebastian introduced them all to the art of drinking without vomiting, and Hadley was the quiet one, content to follow the crowd. She had a feeling that it was more because she was still getting acclimated to their colorful group than a lack of adventure. Hadley had an aura about her that told Cheyenne that behind closed doors, the woman was a freak.

  Kris and Cheyenne introduced them all to the world of climbing. Two weeks out of the year, all of them dropped what life they had and got together for another adventure, one of exploring ancient myths and legends around the world.

  They had arrived in Iceland two days ago on a commercial plane landing just outside the small town of Hvolsvollur. With a mere eight hundred inhabitants, their crew had zero hopes of slipping in under the radar. As it was, news of their arrival and their reason for coming had already spread like wild fire and came crashing down on them in the form of Ranga, the head fisherman and owner of the little tavern/B & B they were booked to stay at. The sight of his large, burly frame descending on them would forever haunt Cheyenne.

  From the moment they crossed the threshold it was made abundantly clear they were treading on dangerous territory. The Icelanders were very much people of history and fully believed in their gods. Their journey of discovery was an invitation to death and destruction, and they were the harbingers of sorrow, making their reception as cold as the surrounding environs.

  Dinner was eaten in the mess hall of the reproduction Viking farmhouse. At least, she thought it was a reproduction. It was hard to tell with the moss laden roof and the rough, stone cut masonry foundation. Massive wood slab tables filled the length of the large room with benches lined on either side. Bodies filled every available seat leaving no room for the personal space their west–lander upbringing desired. Fire pits staggered at key points around the room staved off the draft brought on by the crisp evening winds battering the walls, seeking a way in.

  Maidens filled the halls complete with period garb, slapping down thin metal plates filled with whole salmon and heavily salted potatoes and cabbage. Beer soon followed, and lots of it. The predominately male crowd grew louder by the hour creating near deafening decibels of laughter and thickly accented words.

  Cheyenne cringed at the memory of looking into the eyes of her food. She’d had fish before, of course, but it was one thing to have a fillet and another to have it staring back at you with accusing eyes. She had gone to bed hungry that night, as had most of her troupe. Not wanting to offend their keepers, they had made a good-faith effort the following night and joined the townsfolk once again for dinner, tensely waiting for the next horror to be placed in front of them. They were rewarded with one of the best meals they’d ever sunk their teeth into.

  Kris settled down next to her, summoning Cheyenne from her reverie, and offered her a handful of dried strawberries in his upturned palm. Cheyenne glanced up at his forlorn expression and couldn’t help the smile that crept over her face.

  “You’re forgiven,” she sighed, reaching over and accepting the small peace offering.

  She and Kris had been arguing for the last week over who was the best candidate to lead the group to the summit. Every year it was the same thing, Kris wanted to be the one while she argued over how much more experience she had. The fact was—since they had both been climbing alongside each other since they had practically started walking—they were both a shoe in for the position.

  Born leaders, it had always been a power struggle between them, and they were constantly butting heads, but at the end of the day, there were no hard feelings. They always made peace and that was why he would forever retain BFF number one status in her book.

  “Good, I was getting tired of the silent treatment. I miss my friend.” Kris leaned over and pressed his lips to her temple. “So,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her into his side. “I give them another day.” He inclined his head toward Tabitha and Tim who were now inhaling each other’s face like some sort of ravenous animals.

  “Hmm, I give it a week, tops.” Cheyenne grimaced at the display before looking away in an attempt to save her eyesight from any further onslaught of misplaced acts of PDA.

  She looked up and took in Kris’s simple beauty that never ceased t
o stun her, if even for a minute. Unruly dirty-blond hair framed a masculine face. His deep-blue eyes were framed with a fringe of dark, heavy lashes and the high cheek bones and full lips coupled with naturally tanned skin betrayed his Indian heritage. Of course, with his mother being of full Irish blood, he hardly looked it.

  Working her teeth through the tough meat, Cheyenne felt a stab of longing for the succulent lamb she had dined on the previous night. Smothered in butter with a hint of salt, surrounded by sliced potatoes and braised cabbage. Suddenly, the jerky just couldn’t sustain the hunger that was quickly consuming her.

  If she didn’t get off this train of thought soon, she was likely to turn tail and haul ass back down the mountain in favor a nice hot meal at a real table. Shoving the remainder of the jerky into the Ziploc bag, Cheyenne closed her pack and slung it up over her shoulder as she straightened out.

  “You think it’s really there?” Kris paced her while he crammed his freeze-dried food back into his own bag.

  She sighed. “Hell if I know. Everything in the history books points to something being up there.”

  Noticing they had resumed their assent, the others moved quickly to catch up.

  “How much you wanna bet it turns out to be nothing more than old wives tales designed to scare kiddies when they wouldn’t go to bed at night, like the boogie man.” Sebastian wiggled his fingers in front of his face in mock horror.

  “Yeah, just like when we found out the real site of Atlantis was in the Aegean Sea last year. Not,” Harold’s sarcastic voice chimed in.

  “I don’t know. I thought it had some promising attributes,” Hadley added. “I mean, the islands alone were a pretty big giveaway. And Plato did mention islands.”

  “I’m with Hadley,” Tabitha said. “Besides, isn’t all mythology and what not based on some fact?”