Darkness

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Erika Knudsen

Published by Eris Publishing at Smashwords

Discover other titles by Erika Knudsen at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/erikaknudsen

All rights reserved.  No part of this book covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for reviewers who may quote brief passages.  Any request for photocopying, recording, taping or storage in any information retrieval system of any part of this book shall be directed in writing to the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Knudsen, Erika, 1976-, author

          Darkness / by Erika Knudsen.

(The Azamaté chronicles)

ISBN 978-0-9687479-7-1 (pbk.)

I. Title.  II. Series:Knudsen, Erika, 1976- .  Azamaté

chronicles.

PS8571.N83D37 2015          C813'.6          C2015-902125-1

Cover design by: Psykotic Graphics

www.erispublishing.com

* * * * *

This book is dedicated to

Christoff, Jessica and Heather.

* * * * *

Darkness

The Azamaté Chronicles

By Erika Knudsen

Eris Publishing

* * * * *

Wiccan Credo:

The Wiccan Rede (pronounced reed) is the governing Wiccan behaviour.  It permits Wiccans to engage in any carefully considered action, as long as it harms nobody, including themselves.  The Rede is reinforced by the Threefold Law.  This is the belief that any harm or good that a Wiccan does to someone else comes back to hurt or benefit them―magnified three times over.

* * * *

Mind the Threefold Law you should, three times bad and three times good.

Eight simple words fulfill the Wiccan Rede:

An’ it harm none, do what ye will.  Blessed be to thee.

* * * *

Definitions:

Azamaté: [Pronounced Az-ahmatt-tay] Secret society where men and women study, research and record the paranormal. Many of the members possess supernatural abilities such as those listed below and practice magicks.

Magicks: Tapping into the power of the universe to give energy to a witch’s spells/rituals.

Medium: An individual who can communicate with the dead. There are two types: visual and auditory.

Intuitions touch:  The ability to ascertain information through the touching of objects.

Precognition:  The ability to see the future through dreams.

Necromancy:  The ability to drain life from any living thing and/or return the dead to life.  They are able to summon a spirit and pull them from purgatory.  With their powerful energy they can create life from blood itself.

Pentagram:  A circle around a pentagram contains and protects. The circle symbolizes eternity and infinity, the cycles of life and nature. The circle touching all 5 points indicates that the spirit, earth, air, water and fire are all connected.

Anthame:  [Pronounced ah-THAW-may] Ceremonial dagger with a double-edged blade. It is the main ritual implement or magical tool.

Grimoire: A witch’s personal collection of instructions for casting spells, how to create magickal talismans, invoke supernatural entities, etc.

* * * * *

Prologue

Personal Journal of Mackenzie Sinclair

If, as a young boy, someone had told me that I would be laying in a hospital bed—for a second time—from fighting the good fight against evil, I would have probably said, cool! What boy didn’t want to be some sort of Ghostbuster? But then again, I would have laughed at them. Ghosts didn’t exist. People who could see them didn’t exist. And magicks? Magicks couldn’t be real, right? Ha!

I often think about how one of my earliest memories is of a ghost. Not of my mother tucking me in and kissing me goodnight; not of my father and I playing with my toys on the floor. I can still clearly remember, at three, seeing my first ghost. Luckily, it wasn’t a malicious spirit, but the spirit of a sweet chubby old grandmother who loved children. She appeared to me out of the blue one afternoon, and would always materialize once my mother put me down for my nap. Her soft British accent was soothing, and if I happened to drop my teddy bear, she would always pick it up and tuck it beside me in my bed.

At the time, I wasn’t capable of understanding why I couldn’t touch her. And I never understood why, all of a sudden, she stopped coming to see me. As an adult, I can conclude that something in her afterlife had shaken her from her ghostly loop—that she had accepted her fate and had moved on. Most of the dead that I see have no clue that they’re dead, though some choose to stay here on earth, to haunt the living. They are, to put it bluntly, pissed off at having died. Those spirits are the ones that, if left to linger, will eventually become malicious—always.

This memory, for the most part, doesn’t sadden me. However, when I have slumped into a dark place in the past—and currently—I can’t help but strongly dislike the fact that I truly am a freak, as my sister Michelle loved to call me as a kid. I have accepted who I am, but when you’re laid up in a hospital bed, hopped up on pain meds, sometimes you just have to wonder: Why the hell do I have to fix things? Why was I given these gifts?

When I was sixteen, the Azamaté took me in after the death of my parents. There are many Azamaté houses around the world, most of them in Europe, though you don’t realize they exist until you need their services. I reside at the one in Toronto. The only other Canadian house is in Vancouver. There are also a few across the United States: New Orleans is the largest, the one in Boston runs second and then there’s Fort Collins. The largest, and the very first, was created in 1108 by Geriant Wyn Bennett in a former monastery in Kiev.

If it weren’t for a scholar named Lucien—a strong and skilled Wiccan himself—who took me under his wing, I would bet that I wouldn’t be feeling sorry for myself right now. I’d be dead. He became my surrogate father. He showed me how to use magicks to my advantage, how to enhance and control my abilities.

During those early years, I learned that I came from a long line of powerful witches. Being male made me an even rarer breed in and of itself, for magickal abilities ran mostly on the female side of my ancestry. My cousin Josef is the only other family member that I currently know of that has inherited these abilities. The only other family resemblance is that our eyes are similar—a very unique shade of blue-green that changes colour depending on mood and surroundings. He’s a bit taller than me—closer to, if not over, six feet tall. Josef is also broader in the shoulders and has more of an athletic build.

I was the one who brought Josef back with me to the Azamaté house in Toronto. Both he and I knew that Josef needed guidance after our nearly fatal incident with a vampire ghost named Vlad. It was there that I started teaching him magicks to help him centre himself—for his ability, more than anyone else I have ever known, is so in tune with nature and the universe.

Everything was seemingly perfect. I was free of Vlad, I was helping at the Azamaté house, as well as outside of it doing little ‘jobs’ here and there. I had family—Josef—by my side. I was able to visit my sister, Michelle, and my Uncle Kevin when time allowed. But as weeks turned into months and the anniversary of Vlad’s death neared, things between Josef and I began to change. Even those closest to me at the Azamaté house seemed to change. It felt like they had a constant underlying fear of me, like they were waiting for my head to do a 360° and to vomit pea soup or something. Or maybe it was just me, finally seeing past the illusion of decency and honour that they emit.

Through the ever-widening cracks, it became glaringly obvious that the much vaunted integrity of the Azamaté was nothing but highly organized hypocrisy.

The god and goddess know I’ve been in dire places before, but this was different. It was devastating for me to witness the once serene nature of the Azamaté fall into iniquity—ultimately because of who we were.

Chapter 1

The young Lycan’s golden eyes narrowed as he glared at me.

"I am relaxed!" he spat at me. I fought back a grin and thought to myself, sure you are.

Fine! Caleb blurted after a brief moment of telling silence. Irritated, he brushed the wavy shoulder-length dark blond hair away from his face and attempted to calm himself.

"Okay, let’s try this again. You are getting the hang of it. It just takes practice," I encouraged. As I reached for the bundle of dried flora, Caleb cleared his throat.

Do you have to burn more of that shit?

What, the wolf’s bane? Yes, it’ll help you to differentiate your human self from your animalistic side.

Well, I don’t like it!

"You don’t like anything that I do," I retorted sarcastically.

Caleb scowled at me. Ha...ha.

Ignoring his wishes, I pulled the Zippo from my pocket and flicked the lid open. Sliding my thumb over the flint, I brought the flame to the brittle and already burnt ends of the wolf’s bane. I blew the flames out, letting the herbs smoulder. Quickly I gave a glance at the back of the barren room. Ethan’s six-foot six-inch silhouette stood stock still in the shadowed corner. I could just make out his stubbly facial features and the four wide scars on his right cheek that stretched toward his ear. His full head of thick white hair and its streak of black down the centre, was the most visible thing about him as he stood in the shadows.

He was always present during our sessions. Caleb’s strength, even in human form surpassed that of any other man. Ethan was there in case anything got out of control.

When we first started our sessions in 2010, Caleb was shackled with iron manacles at his feet and wrists. His rage was so intense it was frightening. It took several weeks before Caleb’s anger waned enough for him to control; but every now and then, Ethan had needed to step in and hold him down when Caleb was unable to contain his animalistic urge to maim.

Because he had been living, if you could call it that, in the bush—the outskirts of a small city Northwest of Toronto called Orangeville—he had given in to his inner beast to survive. From what Caleb was able to recall he had killed many small animals to survive. But he had also killed a family of five who happened to be camping in the vast Luther Marsh Wildlife Management area. It took nearly three years’ worth of sessions before his guilt-ridden conscience would even reveal to himself, let alone to me, that he had done such a thing. It was a constant battle within him and it was sad to witness.

When Caleb was discovered, during the search for that poor murdered family, he was giving in to his animal self and was still in wolf form—well past a full moon.

Ethan told me that Caleb was quarantined in an isolated, seemingly abandoned, building on the Azamaté grounds for six months before he was even deemed safe enough to be brought into the main Azamaté house. And even then, he was kept in the basement within a room where stone walls surrounded a decaying wood floor, with only a cot to sleep on and a wooden chair.

He had come a long way and I couldn’t help but feel pleased that I was able to help him reach that point. After three years of hard work and dedication, Ethan believed that Caleb was now open to the next step. Months ago, I had suggested doing an anger calming spell, but Ethan was afraid that it was it wasn’t time yet; that it would have an adverse effect. So, I waited for his cue, and it had finally come.

I was apprehensive, the way I always feel before executing a significant spell. I could feel the nerves in my stomach bubble as I started the ritual. Part of me was more nervous for the fact that Ethan didn’t fully explain to Caleb what I was going to do. He just informed him that I was going to perform a calming ritual. Ethan didn’t want to use the word spell, in case it freaked Caleb out. Ethan didn’t want to tell him that it was going to be cast on him, on his being, either.

Sitting in the centre of the cellar-like room that had been his dwelling before moving to one of the bedrooms upstairs, Caleb sat with his eyes closed, his long limbs making the chair look like a child’s seat. Because of his youth, his features were more delicate and less filled out. There was an odd balance between his youth and the beast that lived just below the surface.

Taking the smouldering wolf’s bane, I waved the smoke from his left side, over his head. Once I passed his right side, I slid it under the chair to allow the smoke to cascade up and around him.

Okay Caleb, I’m just going to light some incense and candles. If you’re feeling relaxed, go with it. Keep your eyes closed and focus on your breathing.

M’kay, he mumbled in a meditative state.

I reached for my black canvas bag and grabbed a small brass bowl and three white candles, which had been anointed with lavender-vanilla oil before I had come down to the basement. I had also inscribed the candles with two runes each.

The first rune was to aid in calming distressed emotions; the second, to restore one’s mental equilibrium and perspective. The third was to help bring harmony back into the household; the fourth rune was to assist in healing all affected. The last two were to help renew peace and bring a positive ending to the situation. While carving the runes into the side of the candles, I visualized Caleb happy, calm and relaxed. I visualized him becoming one with his wolf and that a healthy, content balance had been created within him.

I positioned a candle on both sides of him and one behind him, lighting each one as I placed them. As I did this, I uttered softly: Of hearth, of home, stable as Earth, stable as stone; oh, elements, lend me your strength as I bestow this calming upon Caleb.

He shifted in the chair. Even though his eyes were still closed, he scowled. I paused and watched for a brief moment. Figuring it was still all right, I continued.

In front of him, I set a small brass bowl and lit the cone of sandalwood incense and recited: As smoke fades to nothing, so does the anger that lies between you and your wolf. Let no ill feeling remain that may cloud your heart, mind or soul. So mote it be!

Uhm, guys... ca—can we stop? I—I don’t feel so good, Caleb stated, opening his eyes. I looked up at him, feeling like I had just been caught stealing cookies—awkward and guilty.

What’s going on? he exclaimed. I could see his anger rise. What are you doing? he spat at me.

Just remember to breathe and keep calm. I’m only doing an anger calming spell. It’s for your own benefit. Dammit! I thought to myself as I let the word ‘spell’ slip. He looked at me questioningly, but I could see he wanted to trust me. Just have faith, okay? I added, trying to be persuasive. Caleb breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. He did this three times and nodded for me to continue.

But hurry. I really don’t feel right, he added, quickly, almost like he was holding his breath.

All right, I agreed, but deep down I felt I needed to stop. I looked over at Ethan, questioning. He nodded for me to continue. I gave him an imploring look, but he only sent back a frown and mouthed the words: Go on.

Before continuing, I reached deep into my jeans pocket and pulled out an amethyst stone. It was rough cut and fairly large, for it was just a bit smaller than the palm of my hand. Cupping it between my two hands, I took a deep breath and started again. Fulgentemque lunam sub augue ut cum egrediemini, ut in ea stabilitas reperitur terra et legibus mater natura, I began in Latin. May you go forth with balance under the radiant moon; may you find stability with the elements of earth and by the laws of Mother Nature. So mote it be! I repeated this three times to complete the spell.

Bowing my head, I silently thanked the god and goddess for their protection and assistance with the casting of the spell and took a moment of silence to cleanse myself of the dark energies that I felt during the casting. It wasn’t until then that I had fully registered it—the dark energy. It was an odd sensation and I had just pushed it down, thinking it was only my nerves. But by this time, I realised what it truly was. This is not good, I thought to myself.

I opened my eyes when I heard Ethan begin walking in my direction. Raising my hand I mouthed the word: stop! Sitting on the floor by Caleb’s feet, I knew I had to wait for the candles to burn down—even if it meant eight hours. It was crucial that this was followed through. Not wanting to break the silence, I had no way to tell Ethan what I was doing. He just had to follow my lead—and he did. He stepped back into the shadows, leaned against the stone wall and waited for me to do what I had to do.

Sitting still, with eyes closed, I rested my hand that still held onto the amethyst on top of Caleb’s knee, which felt warm even through his jeans. Although all Lycans feel warmer than humans, I noted that he felt warmer than normal. He jumped slightly at the contact and I noticed that he had begun to sweat profusely. Despite this, he shivered periodically. This was a sign that the spell was working, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to be in his benefit, or do him more harm. I couldn’t shake that heavy feeling of worry and concern.

Letting my body go numb, I felt light as a feather as I meditated for Caleb’s well-being and an end to his overwhelming anger. I started to feel that familiar sensation of astral projection, like I was floating up to the ceiling, yet also the sensation of slowly sinking and melting into the earth below me, and I submitted to it.

I wasn’t sure as to how much time had passed, but I knew it hadn’t been a great amount for I could still feel that lingering pressure of dark energy fighting my light energy. I began to worry that it was Caleb that was fighting the positive, not allowing it to penetrate his being. It was then that his breathing began to increase.

Without warning, a breeze brushed past me. It was neither warm, nor cold. There were no windows and no furnace vents in this section of the basement. Something was definitely amiss. I opened my eyes to see the flames flicker, and they continued to dance long after the breeze disappeared.

Caleb stirred in the chair, but his eyes were still closed. This time his face scrunched, exuding discomfort.

Ethan... I called out softly, trying to sound calm, but even I heard my fear. It was then Caleb’s turn to utter Ethan’s name. A shiver ran down my back. Caleb’s aura, like a switch being flicked, changed from the usual faint billowing red and black to being bold in colour—almost solid. The depth of the red that surrounded Caleb’s body was enshrouded with black that went outwards into shard-like extensions. There were no other colours. My heart sank. I hadn’t seen him like this since the first time I had witnessed his change from human to Lycan.

I clambered to my feet and scuffled backwards a few steps. Ethan! I cried out again. I watched in shock as the bones in Caleb’s body begin to break, shift and change under his skin.

Caleb screamed out in pain. What the fuck did you do to me? The fear in his eyes was alarming. Why did he look fearful and not like he wanted to rip me to shreds?

The change into his Lycan self was a physical pain and torture that I could never fathom, nor did I ever wish to. I could hear his bones cracking and I watched as they shifted into his animal form.

This was happening too fast and it wasn’t even near a full moon! Ethan, seemingly nonchalant, walked over to us, stood somewhat in front of me and grunted his concern and confusion.

Caleb’s fingers were now elongated and his nails lengthened into claws. His body swelled as it grew, becoming even stronger, and his clothes began to tear. Caleb ripped off the rest without thought. Although he kept a somewhat human form with bulging biceps and thighs, his legs did alter into more of a canine’s, and his skin darkened to a greyish brown and his mouth and jaw began to elongate into an animal snout. With every snap and change of his physiology into Lycan, Caleb cried out in agony.

His sandy brown hair darkened as it lengthened to meet and rest upon his hair covered shoulders. Unlike the myth in movies, his body was not that of an actual wolf, he did not look like a dog, nor was he covered in fur. There was a long train of hair that continued down his spine and hair on his arms, legs and groin area—but he wasn’t covered in hair completely.

Just as Caleb’s body ceased making those horrific sounds of breaking and shifting bones, I heard them begin to emanate from Ethan. Unable to hold back his strength, Ethan shoved me clear of them with brute force. Stumbling backwards, I was unable to stay upright and I fell hard to the wooden floor.

Get out... NOW! he cried out and doubled over in pain as he began to transform.

I sat partially upright as I started to scramble my way backwards until my feet could register my brain’s order for me to stand. The instant I was on my feet, I ran to the door. By that time both men were no longer men. They charged at each other, canines bared. Standing in the doorway I watched nervously. When Caleb managed to escape Ethan’s grasp, he charged toward me. I slammed the thick oak door shut without a second thought and slid the iron bolt to lock it securely.

Just as I lowered my hand, a loud thud sounded as his body connected hard with the door. The iron bolt jumped from the impact. I backed away from the door in horror, only stopping when I bumped into the wall behind me. Standing there dumbfounded, staring at the door, I listened to the horrific sounds of animalistic growls and cries and the tearing of flesh. It was a wild and ferocious confrontation. My heart raced and I felt ill, dreading the outcome of their brawl.

Frozen in fear, it felt like hours before it became quiet in the room. After a long few moments, I realized I was holding my breath. Exhaling slowly, I took a couple steps toward the door, I paused short of it.

Come on… just open the friggin’ door! I scolded myself. Taking the last few steps, I reached for the bolt, slid it open and pushed on the door.

The overhead light that hung from the rafters swayed, giving the cellar room a strobe-light effect. Unable to hold it back, I gasped. Pools of blood were all over the floor, and crimson sprayed the stone walls. At first I didn’t see anyone. Stepping into the room, but only slightly, I scanned the shadowed areas. It was then that I saw blood splattered feet.

Ethan? I called out with trepidation. You guys all right? Swallowing deeply, I could feel my Adam’s apple bob. Receiving no response, I took a few more steps in. Ethan? I said, drawing out his name.

Stopping me in my tracks, I realized what I was seeing. The feet belonged to a naked, beat up, scratched Ethan and nearby lay a bloody Caleb still in his Lycan form. I thought both were dead until a low grumble came from Ethan and he attempted to sit upright.

Oh my God! I ran over to them. Standing between Ethan and Lycan Caleb, I looked between the two. What the hell happened? I don’t understand!

With the overhead light now steadied, I could see Ethan clearer. Deep scratches covered his chest, arms, face and legs, along with a few gaping bite wounds as well. His blood glistened in the dull light as he shifted his weight to sit, then eventually to a standing position. Old scars from past battles seemed to stand out against the deep scarlet blood on his chest. From the multitude of scars, it was evident he had been in many a battle, and won. Clearly, this was no other exception.

Realizing I was staring at him—at his war wounds—I became suddenly uncomfortable with his nakedness. Quickly I took my zippered hoodie off and tossed it to him. Here, I said plainly. Ethan grunted his thanks, grabbed it and wrapped the sweater around his waist.

Is Caleb all right? Why is he still in Lycan form? Should I get out of here before he wakes up?

Ethan locked his intense gaze on me. Without missing a beat, he replied calmly, He’s dead.

My jaw dropped. What? I exclaimed. Taking a few steps closer to Caleb, I looked down at his lifeless body. No, I uttered. I didn’t want to believe it.

His wolf wouldn’t back down, Ethan began, his voice deep and stoic. Your magicks worked too well.

What? What do you mean? I felt ill. I didn’t want to think it, but I knew. Deep down I knew what had happened.

Ethan reached out and touched my shoulder, trying to convey his sincerity. You wanted him to have a balance between his human side and his animal self, but his wolf was much stronger and it took over.

I was speechless.

Don’t blame yourself, Mac. You were only doing what I asked of you.

My mouth opened, but no words would come. Ethan eventually left me, standing there like an oaf, to absorb what he had said and to accept the fact that the young Lycan was dead. Overwhelmed, I watched as he picked up Caleb with ease and heaved him over his left shoulder. Walking past me, he quickly exited the room to deal with disposing of the body. I turned and watched until he walked over the threshold then disappeared