Radiation, p.1
Radiation, page 1
part #2 of Of Cats And Dragons Series
Content
Copyright
Dedication
Timeline of Books
Chapter 1: Quest
Chapter 2: Radiation
Chapter 3: The Thing that Crawls
Chapter 4: Green
Chapter 5: Home
Chapter 6: Family
Chapter 7: Curse
Chapter 8: Tyrin
Chapter 9: Templar
Chapter 10: Hex
Chapter 11: Transgression
Chapter 12: Cages
Chapter 13: Nightblood
Chapter 14: Lost
Chapter 15: Homebound
Chapter 16: Sundragons
Chapter 17: The Dark Heart
Chapter 18: Music
Sneak Peek: Summer's Fall
Want More?
Thank you!
About the Authors
Get In Touch
Copyright
Radiation
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Carol E. Leever and Camilla Ochlan
All Rights Reserved
Original art and cover design by Carol E. Leever
Cover copyright © 2017 by Carol E. Leever
Visit our website at OfCatsAndDragons.com
Like us on Facebook @OfCatsAndDragons
Dedication
For our siblings: Kim, Ted, Robert, Christina, and Csilla.
Timeline of Books
Counted from the year of the last Covenant, 14,000 years ago.
❖
14,021 Autumn: Night's Gift (Book 1)
14,021 Autumn: Feline Interlude: Tormy's Journey (short story)
14,021 Winter: Winter Tithe (novella)
❖
14,022 Spring: Radiation (Book 2)
14,022 Spring: Feline Interlude: Tyrin's Trek (short story)
14,022 Summer: Summer's Fall (Book 3)
14,022 Summer: Hollow Season (Book 4)
14,022 Summer: Autumn King (Book 5)
14,022 Summer: Solstice Thyme (short story)
14,022 Autumn: Lilyth's Hunt (novella)
14,022 Winter: Lilyth's Midwinter (novella)
14,022 Winter: Ven'tarian Silence (Book 6)
❖
You can get Night's Gift (e-book Book 1) for free when you sign up for the Of Cats And Dragons Newsletter.
Most of our short stories and novellas are free with our Newsletter. Check out the stories on our website at OfCatsAndDragons.com and sign up so you don't miss out!
Chapter 1: Quest
OMEN
Omen Daenoth stared hard at his pony-sized cat. Tormy had grown rapidly in the last six months — going from a fluffy, thirty-pound kitten to a robust adolescent that Omen was no longer capable of lifting. He looks like a Shindarian tiger — without the black stripes. Must weigh at least four hundred pounds.
Utterly silent for once, the large cat balanced on his furry toes and stretched his long, orange body in an effort to reach a thick leather-bound book high on a shelf in the section of the sprawling library designated as off limits.
The Divine Library of The Soul's Flame, nestled in the realm of its namesake, had become Omen's latest refuge. He loved the quiet calm, the mythology-inspired art of the concave ceilings, the storytelling mosaics of walls and floors, and the smoke and vanilla scents mingled among the endless collections of books and scrolls.
While Omen's ability to focus had improved with Tormy's arrival, he still had needed to contend with the constant distractions at home in Melia — friends inviting him out, his sister asking to play with Tormy, his father piling on new fields of study, his mother surprising him with random magic quizzes, and Tormy "feeling peckish" and sweetly demanding second breakfast, pre-lunch snack, after-lunch nibbles, afternoon pudding, before-dinner appetizer, tummy-settling post-dinner digestive, or late-night test breakfast. The library had become his place of concentrated, uninterrupted study — until now.
Tormy swiped at the thick book again, catching its edge and scooting it a quarter inch off the shelf. Omen held his breath, watching and waiting for the inevitable.
They were alone in the Divine Library of The Soul's Flame. Unable to take his eyes off Tormy's antics, Omen absently chewed on the tip of his quill, even as he pushed the scroll he'd been reading aside.
Tormy's claw caught the golden-lettered spine of the thick tome. The book tilted forward, hung suspended in the air for an infinitesimal moment, and then plunged to the floor with a loud thump. Omen thought he heard a brittle crack in the mosaic tiles. I think Tormy just fractured the antler of the constellation of the Fallow Deer. Hope Etar doesn't notice.
"Read this one, Omy!" Tormy squealed. The cat's sweet baby voice had deepened as he had grown, but his joyful enthusiasm still imbued his every word.
The cat pushed the enormous leather-bound tome across the gold-and-cream mosaic, passing more of the myriad of constellations and artistically-rendered calculations that made up this section of the floor. Diffused light from gleaming crystal ceiling orbs illuminated the long fluffy orange and white fur around the cat's ears and ruff.
Omen set aside his quill as he rose. He rolled his stiff shoulders back, blinked to clear his vision, and quickly crossed to Tormy's side, hoping to spare the ancient volume grievous mistreatment by the floor.
Tormy proudly planted a silken paw the size of a dinner plate on the book's textured cover.
He's so pleased with himself. The big kitten had been trying to help him study all day. Omen crouched down to look at the book, waving Tormy's paw away. He recognized the language the book was written in: Sul'eldrine, the Language of the Gods.
"The Book of Cats, by the Architect," he read the title — upside down as it was facing Tormy — out loud.
"I is thinking this is the bestest book ever!" Tormy's amber eyes widened with excitement. His whiskers flared.
Curious in spite of himself, Omen opened the cover and glanced at the first few lines written inside. "It does appear to be a book about cats," he told Tormy. "But it's not what I'm supposed to be doing, remember? I'm learning my spells."
"I is knowing!" Tormy seemed undeterred as he pushed his nose into the pages and then turned several of the sheets of parchment with one paw, claws carefully sheathed. "You is doing this spell!" He planted the same paw on the page for emphasis.
Omen turned the book. He recognized the lines and strokes of the pattern — a magical spell, just like the ones he'd been studying. There was a drawing of a mouse above the pattern — no doubt the reason for the cat's interest. Clever cat — he recognizes it as a spell!
The books stacked on the desk behind him were filled with magical patterns his mother had determined "beginner level." The bulk were spells she believed Omen should have learned long ago. "Remedial," he grunted under his breath. To his burning embarrassment, his mother had called his lessons remedial.
"You're not really supposed to cast spells from books, Tormy," Omen explained to the cat — this was a lesson his mother had drummed into him early on. "I have to memorize the patterns first, internalize them. When you cast a spell out of a book or from a scroll you can't really control the energy properly."
Tormy's excitement did not dim. His pink ears perked forward, his long fluffy plume of a tail flicking uncontrollably. "I is not knowing what that is meaning," he purred. "You is casting my spell for me?" The cat's hopeful tone made Omen pause.
"It means that if I don't memorize the spell first I can't . . ." He trailed off, faced with Tormy's eager anticipation, and glanced down at the spell once more.
While he didn't exactly know what the spell was — it was labeled MICE just under the drawing of the mouse that had caught Tormy's attention — he could tell that it was a minor cantrip. The spell was uncomplicated — only two sets of circular lines describing the pattern. Cantrips are harmless. He reasoned that the spells his mother wanted him to study were of the same variety. It is technically the type of spell I'm supposed to be learning.
"Well, all right," he agreed. "Can't hurt to try once."
Tormy leaped in the air and spun around several times, before landing with his paws splayed, head down, hindquarters in the air as if ready to pounce. Amber eyes sparkling, he looked from the book to Omen and back again.
Chuckling to himself, Omen took a deep breath and sat on the floor in front of the book. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of magical energy all around him. Magic feels amplified here, stronger. This is a divine realm — I bet all my spells will be affected! A sense of glee flooded through him. Maybe learning these spells will be easier than I thought!
Normally he would pull the magic inside himself, and then push it into a pattern he'd formed in his mind. For this experiment, he simply gathered the diaphanous power around him like a warm blanket. He held it for a moment, listening to the tonal shift in the buzzing as strands of energy expanded and knitted together. Then he simply thrust the magic outward toward the book as if slapping it down on the page — it felt messy and disorganized. The energy slipped from his grasp and chaotically flowed down onto the ink and parchment, swirling into the diagram as if seeking shape and form.
The ink glowed brightly as the magic streamed into it. A moment later, the light coalesced into a small blue ball in the center of the page. Omen watched with wonder as the ball of light took the shape of a little g
The mouse flitted and dodged, swerving to avoid the enormous paws of the oversized kitten. But despite being a magical construct, the mouse was no match for the cat's speed and agility. A mere moment later, Tormy slammed his paw down upon the magical rodent with a loud merrrowww. The glowing mouse exploded into a shower of glittering sparkles.
Excited, Tormy swiveled around, eyes on the book again. Another mouse formed in the center of the pattern and ran off. Tormy charged after it.
Omen watched the chase, laughing. "Magical mice. I'm going to have to add this one to my list of must-learn spells."
A third mouse formed on the pattern and raced away. Tormy shrieked, torn between chasing after one mouse or the other. He leaped and pounced in one direction, then turned and hopped the other way. A fourth mouse skittered from the book, and Tormy flipped back around in mid-turn, trying to catch it too. His claws scraped against the marble as he skidded and slid. He bowled over several chairs in his single-minded pursuit.
Omen cringed at the sound of furniture crashing. "Don't knock into the bookshelves!" he called to the cat.
Luckily the bookshelves in question were all made of solid stone and would likely hold up to Tormy's flailing as he gamboled after the glowing mice through the maze of the great library.
A fifth mouse escaped.
Omen frowned down at the book, suddenly feeling a little ill. "That shouldn't be happening." The spell was a mere cantrip; as far as he knew, it should only have been able to produce a couple of illusionary mice. The magic should have run out already. Without Omen actively pushing magic into it, there should have been nothing to sustain the spell.
A sixth mouse escaped from the book.
"Rat's teeth! The spell is not stopping!" Omen called out to the cat.
"Hurrah! More mouses!" Tormy leaped, sending another shower of mouse sparkles into the air.
"It has to stop!" Omen knew the cat couldn't comprehend the gravity of the situation. I am in such trouble!
"You is the bestest wizard, Omy!" the cat praised loudly as he caught two of the glittering mice beneath one front paw, and another beneath a back paw at the same time.
Several more mice escaped from the book.
"Think," Omen muttered to himself as more mice swelled from the book. "I'm not pushing magic into it, so it's drawing the magic from somewhere else. All I have to do is block the flow."
Block the flow! Use a shield! The only sort of shield he knew how to create was psionic, not magical. But he'd become quite adept at shielding psionically over the last few months. Ever since Tormy had appeared in his life, the mental shield he had to maintain to control his powers no longer debilitated him with mind-numbing pain. Something about the cat's presence calmed him, eased the chaotic jumble of thoughts that had tormented him through his childhood. Feline focus, his father had called it.
Omen touched the personal shield surrounding him. A slow, steady hum — a purr really — flowed through him and kept the shield in place. He used the hum as a base to craft a new song as an overlay. The song — a mnemonic device he used to trigger his psionics — started immediately. He felt a surge of energy rush through him as he formed a faint glowing shield around the book on the ground. That should block the magic from flowing into the book. That should stop the spell.
He could feel the outside pressure of magic swirling through the library and coalescing on the page. The pressure met his shield like water on stone — crashing against the barrier, held back by the sheer force of his mind. He steadied the shield against the onslaught of energy lashing wildly all around him.
I'm in a divine realm! He cursed himself for ignoring the location before attempting the new spell. Mother always warns me not to take easy shortcuts!
Tormy padded over to him a few moments later, crouching down in front of both Omen and the book, his amber gaze on the glowing dome of light covering the pattern. "No more mouses?" the cat asked plaintively. His voice cracked with disappointment.
"I don't think so," Omen replied, relief ebbing over him. "I think I've stopped the flow of energy." I hope. "Sorry, little guy."
Omen took a deep breath and slowly relaxed his tense muscles, letting go of the energy of the shield, letting the song in his head wind down and stop, effectively erasing the pattern in his mind. The glowing shield vanished.
He felt it the instant he released the shield. Like water crashing against stone, the energy had not dissipated but merely backed up, building and building behind the barrier holding it. It all rushed forward now, like a raging river, flooding into the book and setting the pattern into a blinding flare. The mice formed instantly, and escaped — not one at a time, but dozens upon dozens rushing from the page and scattering in all directions. Omen felt them racing up his body and over his head, leaping past him to disappear into the stacks.
Tormy trilled and gave chase — dozens more escaped. Hundreds! Panic washed through Omen as he realized that in a matter of moments the library would be hip deep in glowing mice. He started whacking the glowing constructs as they came out of the book, striking them over and over again, making them explode into glittering flashes of light. "Tormy, get them!"
Omen could hear Tormy letting out gleeful snarls and trills while the happy cat raced around bookshelves and circled pillars, stalking his prey. Omen scrambled after him, swatting at the mice still crawling over his clothing. He shook his head — mice flew from his hair — every step he took sent explosions of light into the air. He stomped and spun, and tried to destroy as many sparkling rodents as he could.
Maybe I can crush them psionically? he thought, frantic for a solution. Or I can use my cloak — beat them out like a flame — fire! I can set the library on fire! "Tormy, catch them!"
"I is catching them, Omy!" Tormy insisted. The cat whirled in a frenzied dance, his powerful tail knocking over what little furniture remained standing.
The mice raced up the walls, swarming over the bookshelves.
Omen couldn't even see The Book of Cats anymore. It had disappeared beneath the flood of mice erupting from the surface of the pages.
Omen turned and twisted, stomping and shrieking until — on one flailing swat — he crashed into Tormy, and they both went down in a heap on the floor. In moments they were buried under a cascade of glowing mice. The shimmering fiends simply trampled right over top of them, tiny claws scratching, and bolted toward the far reaches of the library. Omen pushed at the cat sprawled across him. "Tormy, we have to stop them!" he shouted.
The wave of mice grew, streaming over them until Omen feared he and Tormy would be smothered. Drowned in a sea of rodents! He reached for a song in his mind. I have to. . .
But from one moment to the next, it all just stopped.
One second they were choked beneath a glowing avalanche of mouse bodies, and the next they were not. The mice were gone; the library was silent — the blinding glow faded back to the simple light from the crystals illuminating the room from overhead.
Omen and Tormy sat up.
Standing a few steps away was Omen's half brother and current host — Etar, The Soul's Flame. Etar held The Book of Cats in both hands, the cover firmly closed.
The mice were gone.
Omen blinked. "Um, we were. . ." His thundering pulse slowed.
"You were supposed to be studying," Etar reminded him.
"Well," Omen searched for a response. "Technically, I was studying." When Omen had asked his mother's permission to visit his half brother that day, he had promised he'd spend part of the time studying in Etar's library, learning the spells she insisted he learn. "Mother asked me to study the cantrips — this was a cantrip."
Etar — firstborn of the Elder God Cerioth, The Dark Heart — looked skeptical.
Can gods tell when you're lying? Omen wondered. He wasn't entirely certain what powers Etar did or didn't have. He'd never seen Etar do anything particularly impressive in the time he'd known him — certainly nothing that would lead Omen to believe there was anything truly divine about him. He's one of the younger gods. Godling? Godlet? Maybe they can't do anything powerful.
Omen's close relationship to divinity stemmed all the way back to before his birth. His pregnant mother had been savagely attacked by a powerful elemental force. Never did find out why the thing was trying to kill her.
