Equinox: Celestial Awakenings Book One

  Equinox

  © 2019, 2020 Lux Miller

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions, contact:

  luxmillerauthor@gmail.com.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Please note that this book contains mature content and situations that may be triggering for some and situations that are not appropriate for readers under eighteen years of age.

  Chapter One

  Nova

  “I swear! When I get my hands on you, you’re going to rue the day you were born!”

  A high-pitched whistle pierces the air, and my heart skips a beat before it starts to thunder in my chest. Shit. He’s called for the hounds. If I don’t figure out a way to shake this guy soon, he’ll undoubtedly set them on me, and then I won’t stand a chance of escape. This is the third time this week that I’ve pilfered something from one of his ships. I don’t think he’ll be quick to call them off once they catch me, either. And they will catch me. I may be the fastest sprinter in the Lost Isles, but nobody can outrun a Navian hound, and I’m not about to try.

  It’d be an exercise in complete futility to try to escape once he lets them loose. My only opportunity to get away with my loot is now. But this is why Skink sends me on these kinds of missions. I’m the youngest of our ragtag band of misfits, and by far the smallest. More often than not, I can slip into places unnoticed and make off with a decent bounty without the worry of getting caught. Among my people, I’m known as Sprite because of my pixie-like appearance and feisty attitude. And when I do get caught rummaging around, I’m extremely hard to actually apprehend, hence my current situation.

  “Stop, thief!”

  Two simple words, yelled as an order by a commanding voice some fifty yards behind me. Most people would stop dead in their tracks out of fear, but me? After his earlier threat, I do the exact opposite. I'm thankful to be barefoot instead of clomping around in some kind of clunky boots. Digging my toes into the sand, I propel myself forward with every ounce of energy I’ve got left. I’ve been trying to give this guy the slip for the last ten minutes, but he’s just not giving up. I’m not sure how much more abuse my body can take in my last ditch effort to escape. There’s no way in hell I’m stopping right now, though, because the minute I do, I’m toast.

  It’s certainly not the first time I’ve found myself in the predicament of outrunning an angry sea captain, and I doubt it’ll be the last. The life of a thief is always spent staying one step ahead of those you steal from. Nine times out of ten, I just lead my pursuer in circles until they’re sufficiently mixed up enough to give me a chance to hide. With my small stature, I can slip into some of the most precarious hiding places and wait out an enemy.

  After that, it’s a battle of wills. Most of these Navian grunts aren’t willing to wait around and get off-schedule over the meager rations that I’m usually after. Today, though… today, I stole something that’s apparently of value to the Navian this man serves. He’s not eager to let it go so easily. I have no clue what it is, since I just grabbed what Skink told me to grab, but you’d better believe he’s gonna pay a premium for it when I rendezvous with him.

  The heavy pounding of the Navian’s boots against the sand behind me pauses for a moment. I chance a glance over my shoulder to see why, slowing to a walk as my lungs burn with the desperately inhaled breaths that I gulp down while I can. The skulking man turns his back to me and places two fingers inside his mouth. The high-pitched whistle makes my skin crawl, but there’s something different about it this time. It’s longer, more pronounced… and answered.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  To my horror, three hairy beasts appear out of seemingly nowhere, bounding through the fine powder of the beach like it’s no big deal. They skid to a stop at the feet of my pursuer, heeling at the ready, their bodies taut with anticipation. Though they’re four-legged and furry, they’re hardly what I’d call dogs, and they’re certainly not what I’d call pets. They look like something straight out of a nightmare.

  For starters, they’re huge. I don’t plan to get close enough to one to measure it, but the shoulders of the one watching me with its glowing red eyes easily reaches the Navian’s waist. And the demon eyes aren’t the only thing that make these feral animals look like mythical hellhounds. All three are covered snout to tail with pitch black fur that makes their outlines hard to follow in the faint early morning light. And the sound they make as their master commands them is a vengeful roar that turns my blood to ice.

  I stand there, half-frozen in fear way longer than I should. My brain short-circuits with the gruesome possibilities of what’s going to happen when that Navian bounty hunter lowers his arms and releases his hounds. Valuable time when I should’ve been running like the wind. I need to try to find somewhere to get out of the path of the snarling jaws of the beasts that’re going to be on my ass like white on rice. My brain kicks back into gear about three seconds before the hounds’ master barks out an order that has me tripping over my own two feet to scramble through the loose sand as fast as I can.

  “Kill her.”

  Things just got serious! What the hell did Skink send me after? He’s sending them in for the kill without even bothering to ask me questions? I know who he’s working for… does he not care who I’m working for? Or is what I stole that damn important that it doesn’t even matter? I’m half-tempted to take a peek inside the tiny parcel so I can get an idea of just what the hell I’m risking my life over. Those precious few seconds it’d take me to unwrap the mysterious package might be the difference in me living to tell this tale, or me becoming puppy chow. That curiosity is gonna have to wait. If I can make it another thirty yards without letting the hounds’ jaws get close enough to snap closed around me, I just might stand a chance of making it to the tree line and to the safety of the air.

  Closing my eyes, I dig down deep inside myself and recite a little prayer that I remember from my childhood. I’ve blocked out most of those memories, but this is one of the few that gives me peace. Peace is a good thing right now, especially since there’s a good chance I’m about to die. Clambering blindly across the shifting sand, I keep murmuring the brief remnant of childhood as I hear the hounds closing in. And that’s when I hear the distinctive yelp of one of the hulking beasts behind me.

  Knowing better than to take my eyes off the prize of the safety of the tree line, my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance over my shoulder. As I stare wide-eyed, one of the massive creatures tumbles head over paws into the sand. It comes to rest on its side with the fletching of an arrow protruding from its side. Its massive head slams into the ground as its fiery gaze lands on me. The light dims from its eye as it glazes over with a pitiful whimper from the gravely injured animal.

  As if roaring in response, the ground beneath me begins to rumble under my feet. Despite being tossed around like I’m on a dinghy on the rough seas, I stumble backwards away from the distracted animals. I reach my hands out behind me as I grasp for the familiar feeling of bark.

  Keeping my eyes focused on the remaining hounds, I nearly trip over the brambles that have begun to peeking through the sand near the tree line. I continue to back away from them as they circle their fallen comrade. One nudges the now-still animal with its snout, then throws its head back and howls balefully. The other begins to prowl closer to me, teeth bared. This is no longer a game
of chase. They’ve covered too much ground for me to have any hope of outrunning them. Right now, my only chance is to stare them down and pray for a miracle.

  And instead of the heavens above opening up and raining down light and tunes of glory, I trip over a root that’s jutting up from the ground and land on my ass. I'm now completely at the mercy of the angry hounds that are now eyeing me like I’m about to be their lunch. Just as I open my mouth to scream in a last-ditch attempt at salvation, a hand drops in front of my face suddenly. I have to slap both of mine over my mouth to keep myself from screaming out in surprise. The hand is attached to a thick arm that’s corded heavily with muscles. It's wrapped in strips of leather that criss-cross back and forth across a wrist that’s as big around as my own ankle.

  My eyes bounce between the approaching beasts and the hand exactly twice before I decide to take my chances that this won’t come back to bite me in the ass. Even if it does, staying here on the ground in front of two snarling, angry hounds is going to get me eaten. So, I think my odds are better with the discombobulated arm. I dive forward, reaching up and clasping my hand around the forearm as the mysterious hand latches onto my own. I feel myself yanked first upright, and then upwards into the tree that was just over my head. The two hounds lunge to where I was just sitting, growling and snapping their jaws.

  They’re not about to give up that easily, though. Each of them jumps up onto its hind legs, their razor sharp teeth glinting in what’s left of the moonlight. They snap twigs off the branch that I’m now standing on as I desperately cling to the massive body that was attached to the arm of salvation. “Climb.”

  The voice is stern and without emotion as it barks out the order. That I ignore, of course. I’m nobody’s show pony, so I stand there dumbly and stare at the figure that’s speaking to me like he’s crazy. At least, I think it’s a guy. It sounds like a guy, at least. And something about him has the hairs on the back of my neck prickling almost as bad as the bounty hunter. It’s probably because, aside from the brilliant green eyes that are staring at me from under knitted brows, he’s completely covered from head to toe in the tightly wound leather bindings of my worst nightmare… a Kingsman.

  I might be out of the frying pan, but I probably just jumped straight into the fire. There’s no way I’m escaping today without getting burnt. A Kingsman is a rogue just like a Navian, but a Navian operates within the command of a militia. A Kingsman, contrary to their name, has no civil master. They have a captain, if you will, but there’s nothing civil about them. A Kingsman is the closest thing that still exists to a pirate of the high seas.

  Being a child of the Lost Isles, I know all too well the potential dangers of Kingsmen and their brethren. As he stares at me, narrowing his eyes as he appraises me, I clear my throat and throw out a word that tastes bitter on my tongue. I never thought it’d become a part of my vocabulary, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Parley.”

  Chapter Two

  Drake

  When I first heard the snarling of the Navian hounds, I’d convinced myself to stay out of the way of the bounty hunters. Nothing good ever comes to those who meddle in the affairs of the Navian. With their hundred-man strong militia, they'll stop at nothing to maintain a stronghold on the shores of the civilized world. And yet, my curiosity is piqued when I hear the taunting voice of the Navian master of the hounds calling out to something. More likely, he's yelling at someone who’s probably snuck into his stores and stolen something from him.

  The bounty hunters may be efficient at what they do, but they’re terrible at security. They have literal hellhounds that legend says were gifts from Loki himself when he escaped his bonds. Yet, they can’t seem to defend their own supply houses from the rogue thieves that prowl in the night. I’ve spent many nights perched among the trees, watching them raid without fanfare. I can’t help but be curious about why a Navian bounty hunter is bothering to chase down a scamp who stole a few biscuits.

  So color me interested when I decide to stick my nose, or more accurately my hand, right in the middle of the shitstorm that’s brewing beneath me. The little lad that I pull up into the trees with me turns out to not be a lad at all, but a feisty little brunette girl. And she looks like she wouldn’t hesitate to dropkick me to the ground below to take her place as the hounds’ dinner.

  One of the hounds below leaps up onto its hindlegs, snapping its massive jaws closed mere inches from her foot. She’s startled forward where she clings to me like her life depends on it. Which, truthfully, it kinda does at the moment, because those beasts below us are not only hungry, they’re angry. I may or may not have loosed an arrow into the apparent pack alpha, felling it to the ground. It hasn’t moved since.

  The sorrowful howl that the other two sent up in harmony when they realized their companion was lifeless was enough to chill a grown man to the bone. And the only thing more dangerous than a hungry pack of hellhounds, is a pack of hellhounds that have lost their alpha.

  One wrong move from either of us and we’re both going to the ground below. I lean back to the sturdy trunk of the tree and brace most of my weight against it with one arm, while looping the other around the pixie-like girl’s middle. She’s not familiar to me, but the way she’s dressed is. The tattered, patched-up, hodge-podge assortment of clothing she’s wearing tells me, without a doubt, that she’s a child of the Lost Isle. She's probably an orphan picked up by one of the wayward traders. Regardless of who she is, one thing is certain… we’re both going to be in pieces if we don’t get up higher in this tree. Just as the razor sharp teeth of one of the mutts just misses my foot, I growl at her, “Climb.”

  She looks up at me, staring like I’m stupid. Blinking rapidly, she shakes her head, her shortly cropped hair flinging wildly about her face. She continues to hold onto me like she’s scared I’m going to throw her to the dogs like a discarded bone. Okay, I admit, I probably look a bit on the scary side. These days, I’ve taken to dressing in the garb of a Kingsman, though I no longer serve a captain. Old habits die hard, kinda like the man I once sailed under. At least until our humble ship was destroyed by a maelstrom that struck months ago.

  Despite what those from the Lost Isles may think, the Kingsmen I’ve known are loyal to tradition. Garvin went down with the ship, giving his life to save mine and his first mate’s. Though we’ve since gone our own ways over a disagreement in who’d become the captain in Garvin’s vacancy, I’m at peace with my drifter lifestyle. I split my time between the treetops of the forests and stealing what I can steal from the scraps of shipwrecks that wash up on the shore.

  Her voice is soft, but firm as she spits out a word familiar to me, but the irony isn’t lost as it cuts straight through me when it rolls off her tongue. “Parley.”

  Parley? Are you kidding me? This little pixie is invoking Parley? Though the leather straps that protect my face from exposure during the harsh days spent at sea obscure my expression, I can’t help but smile. A deep, rumbling chuckle shakes the branch that we’re standing on, making her screech with surprise and throw both of her arms around me.

  “Parley’s cute and all, little one, but I have no captain. If we don’t get a move on and get to higher branches in this tree… the only master you’re going to be meeting today is our maker. If you haven’t noticed… those puppies are a bit pissed off. And if that Navian’s like any other I’ve ever met, he probably hasn’t fed them, either. I’d be willing to bet they’re a right bit hungry too. Now, as I said before… climb. Or do I have to carry you?”

  I glance down pointedly at the way she’s wrapped around me, and she springs off of me so quickly that she loses her balance and nearly topples out of the tree. I reach out and snatch hold of her arm just before she takes a swan dive into the waiting hound jaws below. I’m just about to blow off a little bit of steam with a deep chuckle when I hear a gut-wrenching sound… the splintering of wood beneath us.

  Without me reiterating the necessity of getting anywhere but where w
e are now, she scrambles past me. She jumps and snags a branch above our heads near the trunk of the tree and pulls herself up. I make haste, not hesitating to haul myself up behind her as quickly as I can without overtaking her. Though I could get up this tree much faster without her, I committed myself to her assistance when I offered her a hand up. Until we no longer have a pair of hellhounds trying to snack on us for breakfast, we’re a team. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t hurry things along.

  Reaching up above my head, I grab hold of her foot, just now realizing that she’s not wearing any kind of shoes. She glances down at me suddenly, hanging precariously from the branch above us as she kicks her foot that’s in my grasp. To avoid getting clocked in the face, I let go of her foot. She scampers up along the trunk of the tree faster, using her toes to grip the branches like a monkey as she scales up into the upper branches.

  I scootch up as high as I can on the side of the trunk opposite her and poke my head up through the canopy to see what kind of prospects we have for holding on. The sensation that rumbles below us is definitely not coming from the overgrown dogs. I stare in shock as the world around us trembles. The tree sways wildly in the air as the ocean that’s just on the other side of the cliffs below us sloshes about angrily.