The eagle, p.68
The Howler's Cry (Cross Academy Book 2), page 68
The Rebel Christian Publishing
Copyright © 2022 Valicity Elaine
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
ISBN: 9781957290164
Print: 9781957290171
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination. Inclusion of or reference to any Christian elements or themes are used in a fictitious manner and are not meant to be perceived or interpreted as an act of disrespect against such a wonderful and beautiful belief system.
Cover illustrated/designed by Valicity Elaine
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Series Order:
The Howler’s Cry
Part I
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
Part II
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Part III
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Part IV
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
Continue the series…
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Rebel Christian Publishing
Series Order:
Cross Academy
The Howler’s Cry
The Nine Births of Carnage
The Testament Relics
Cross Academy: Book V
Other Books by Valicity Elaine:
Patches
The ‘I’ Word
I AM MAN series:
I AM MAN
I AM LOST
I AM BROKEN
I AM FREE
I AM COMPLETE
Withered Rose series:
Withered Rose
Clipping Thorns
Starting Over (coming Fall 2022)
For Jesus Christ
For God the Father
For the Holy Spirit
The Howler’s Cry
Cross Academy: Book II
By Valicity Elaine
A Rebel Christian Publishing Book
His Word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones.
Jeremiah 20:9
Part I
1
Yadira
"The boy is the vessel. I saw him with my own eyes. I felt his energy up close.” Yadira stared into the flames burning in the center of the room, her silver hair glowed red from the blaze.
“Yet, you returned emptyhanded.”
Her dark eyes swept from the fire to the slender man across the room. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t need to grin for her to know he was mocking her. Yadira bared her teeth, she hated him. He should be punished for disrespecting a higher Birth, but she knew his insolence would go unchecked. No one even seemed to care that his hood was down, revealing his bronze-colored skin and long, ebony hair. Technically, they were in their lair—the Womb—so they weren’t required to keep their velvety red hoods pulled over their faces, hiding their identities. But the new guy was here and half of them still weren’t sure they could trust him yet, so the hoods remained on. Except for his.
“I hadn’t expected there to be a sundancer,” Yadira explained. “I was told the village held no blessings.” She eyed the man right beside her, her gaze full of anger. “Number Five?”
He stirred. Yadira could just make out the way his lips quivered beneath his low hanging hood as he took a shaky breath. He’s nervous. Good. He just ought to be nervous; Five was the one who’d given her that lousy intel. If she had known there was a proficient sundancer in the village, she would have been better prepared. Now she was being ridiculed by a lower Birth in front of the other members.
Five cleared his throat. “All my research indicated Wi had no blessings behind their Walls.”
“Well, your research was garbage.” Yadira crossed her arms.
“Still,” a rumbling voice interjected. Yadira glanced to the side, staring at the hooded figure next to Number Five. He was nothing but a cloaked ball of gas—like a puff of smoke had pulled on a giant red robe, its black toxins filling the sleeves and torso of the coat to make it human-shaped. Yadira had no idea where the voice was coming from, or if there was anything inside the cloak other than the dark fumes. Number Four had always been the creepiest of the Births.
“He was only one sundancer,” Four went on. “You should have been able to handle him, Number Six.”
She ground her teeth, avoiding the man’s gaze from across the room. He was still staring, his hood lowered, his sharp eyes focused solely on her. She wanted to bark at him to gawk at someone else, but she knew she would be scolded. Her failure in Wi had tainted her reputation enough, acting out at their meeting would do her no good.
“Now that I know what I’m up against,” she began, “I could try again.”
A collection of grunts rose from the red cloaks standing around the fire. All eight figures shook with amusement—even the new guy. Yadira took a deep breath as she endured her shame.
“Try again?” said the Fourth Birth. “Not a chance. You’ve already proven yourself useless. We won’t take a gamble on you again.”
“You’re still gambling with him!” She jabbed a finger at the new guy. His red mask glowed beneath his hood, flames dancing over polished leather. He wasn’t even a real Birth, just a replacement for Number Nine, but the others had decided to send him in again—even though he’d come back emptyhanded just like her.
“The Red Face did not retrieve the boy as planned,” a feminine voice joined the conversation. Yadira knew who it was even before glancing at the ladylike figure at the head of the circle. Number One, the Firstborn of Carnage. Her delicate, red-painted lips were the only thing Yadira could see as she shifted her gaze to the tall woman, the crimson hood hid all the rest of her face. “But,” the Firstborn continued, “he did more than enough damage to the Cross to make up for his failure.”
“Literally,” said the unhooded man. Now, he was smirking and the sight of it made Yadira want to summon her blades and decapitate him where he stood. His body would hit the ground before he even realized what’d happened.
“I am the Sixth Birth of Carnage,” she declared. “I deserve a second chance before he does.” Her dark eyes glared at the Red Face. “I don’t care that he set fire to the Cross.”
“You must remember, our goal is not simply to retrieve the boy, but to totally destroy the Cross. Not just the building. Not just the Walls of Jericho. We must crush their foundation—their faith.”
The room shifted, hoods turning to gaze at the man who’d spoken. He was normally a quiet Birth, only speaking when he absolutely had to. Despite the boredom in his whisper of a voice, Yadira could not deny the truth behind his compelling words.
Secretly, she had always admired Number Three. He had a quiet strength, reserved power exhibited with the utmost control. He should be Number One, she had always believed, but she kept that thought to herself. There wasn’t any proof, but demons whispered of the power of the Firstborn—that she could peer into the minds of others. If Number One ever saw such a traitorous thought in Yadira’s head, she would have her unborn—removed from the Nine and thrown into the depths of Pitch Black.
It wasn’t hell. But there were some who would claim it wasn’t much better. The chaos where the Nine had been born, crafted by Black herself—a fallen angel whose power rivaled that of Beelzebub. Yadira hadn’t been to Pitch since the Ninth Birth had been sealed away years ago. That was when the realm of chaos had begun to crumble into the void of despair it was now. Nothing but a realm of grey and sorrow and fear.
Number Nine’s return couldn’t wait a moment longer. Every day the child roamed free was another day Pitch Black tipped further into chaos. The only reason it hadn’t crumbled into nothingness yet was because of the induction of the new guy. The Red Face had joined them three years ago, somewhat stabilizing the insanity threatening to implode their realm. But he was just a temporary replacement. His Dark energy was strong, but not nearly as powerful as the original Nine’s had been.
The Rebirth Ritual had almost killed Red; they’d had to stop halfway through, leaving him in spiritual limbo. Not fully demon, but not fully human, either. Still, even as a mere half-demon, having Red fill Nine’s shoes helped keep the madness at bay. If only somewhat. Pitch wasn’t crumbling anymore, but
Their realm needed all nine of the Births. They were the pillars of darkness on which it’d been built. Without them, the imbalance of Dark energy would cause a storm of turmoil within the spiritual realm that even they could not contain. Their world would be destroyed. And that couldn’t happen, no matter what. They needed Pitch Black. It was their haven; a realm created as a reprieve from the everlasting flames of judgment waiting for them all. But once it crumbled, they would have no place else to go but hell. And they didn’t want to go there. Not ever.
“Number Three is right,” the Firstborn said. “Our goal is not merely to retrieve Number Nine, but to destroy the faith of the Cross altogether. When the Red Face set fire to the Academy, every demon of the Four Regions saw that burning cross as a symbol of hope.” She raised a fist, her brown skin illuminated by the flames. “The destruction of Cross Academy is possible. Our day is coming.”
Number Two nodded agreement, gaining everyone’s attention—not that she wasn’t already noticeable enough as she was the only one in the room levitating over the stone floors. Apparently, standing was beneath her.
She pointed at the Red Face and the figure beside him, another feminine-shaped cloak. “Red and Number Eight will return to Babel.”
Yadira stepped forward. “I must argue—”
The flames of the firepit tripled in size, Yadira could feel the searing heat kissing both her cheeks before she jumped back with a yelp.
“No,” the Firstborn said sternly, “you must not argue.”
“It has already been decided,” Number Two went on as if she’d never been interrupted. “We will not drift from our plans.”
A chuckle went up from across the room, low and teasing. Yadira glared at the unhooded Birth. “What is so funny?” she growled.
“You got passed up for two lower Births.” He laughed and the sound of it was like the cracking of ice. He’d always been a cold, crude Birth.
“I don’t think you would do much better, Hosenké,” said Number Three.
Those sharp eyes seemed to slice through the Thirdborn as he glared at him for using his real name in front of the Red Face. Hosenké had been the most vocal about not trusting the new guy, despite him proving his loyalty time and again over the last three years. Others around the fire still held on to their distrust, but that was because they had been working together as a family for centuries, three years of grunt work wasn’t enough to change their minds. Hosenké’s distrust, however, was based purely on the bitter fact that the Red Face was his best friend’s replacement. He was just angry because he missed Number Nine. Like a lovesick puppy who’d lost its owner.
The whole thing was ridiculous, really. Because Hosenké wasn’t an original Birth, either. He’d joined the family when the first demon holding the title of Seventh Birth of Carnage was defeated by a powerful Priestess of the Academy. Granted, that was over four hundred years ago, but still. The other Births hadn’t shown him half as much distrust as he had toward Red.
Yadira almost felt sorry for Number Seven. Except, whenever the sympathy pooled into her black heart, it was quickly washed away by his chortling snorts or his unnecessary remarks, reminders of the fact that Number Nine had been sealed away because of his stupidity.
Seven, Eight, and Nine had always been troublemakers. Making dirty deals with the witches. Taking on jobs they weren’t strong enough to handle. Their foolishness got Nine hurt so badly he’d had to be sealed away to heal himself. And then they screwed that up by losing track of the boy they’d chosen as his vessel.
Technically, this was all Hosenké’s fault. But no one was going to call out any of his failures. Because he was Number Three’s favorite. If Four’s gossip held any truth, the Thirdborn knew Hosenké when he was still a human. He’d even looked after him like some sort of dark guardian angel. Then Hosenké was reborn as the Seventh Birth, but their relationship still held the air of brotherhood.
He had a real brother before all this. Yadira snuck a glance at Number Three while Hosenké spouted off some nonsense about the importance of keeping their identities a secret from the Red Face. Number Five pointed out the fact that he was the only one here without his hood up. Hosenké set loose a string of curses—real curses that turned the flames of the firepit a dazzling blue color and sent them streaking across the floor at the older Birth. The Fifthborn held up his hand and sucked the flames into the black hole sitting in his palm.
Yadira shivered. Void was one of the scariest curses of the Four Regions. Number Five had mastered it centuries ago, proving shadow-dancing could be controlled with time and patience.
“Enough!” Number One cut in to stop the little spat that’d broken out. Everyone fell silent at the sound of her voice. “We move on as planned. The Red Face and Number Eight will return to Babel and wait for their signal to move in.” She turned to Hosenké. “You will go as well.”
Raven eyebrows lowered on a smooth, brown forehead. “Why?”
“Because we will not fail again. I’m tired of playing these games. The Moon witches are moving, possibly making alliances with other covens. If that happens, we will almost certainly lose the boy.”
No one could argue with her. The Moon Coven had been allied with the Nine for nearly the entire Demon War. Yadira couldn’t remember any other witches ever performing their rituals except those of the Moon. But that longstanding alliance was violently broken three years ago when the Red Face lost control of his power during his Rebirth. He killed over half the witches in attendance. Of course, it had been an unforeseen accident, but the Moon Coven wasn’t pleased, and they weren’t willing to accept any apologies over the issue. They wanted blood. But the Nine was not an organization to be bossed around, certainly not by the likes of a mere witch.
Their demands for blood had been met with more bloodshed. The Moon Coven was nearly decimated as punishment for daring to issue orders to the Nine Births of Carnage. While they slunk into the shadows to lick their wounds, the Nine had moved on. Now, the Moon witches were back, going after the boy to both regain their strength and get vengeance on the Nine.
The Firstborn’s worries over the witches were easy to understand but moving more than one Birth into the city could wind up causing more trouble than it was worth.
Number Three took a breath, his voice coming out as a soft murmur from beneath his heavy hood. “The Cross will notice us if too many Births show up. Our Dark energy is potent when we’re together.”
“Seven will only go in after the Red Face has begun his attack,” Number One responded. “So it won’t matter if he is noticed.”
“But why me?” Hosenké demanded angrily.
“Because you can summon the howler,” the Secondborn explained. “If the Red Face and Number Eight fail. Summon the creature and use it.”
The lair fell to a hush. There hadn’t been a howler summoned since the start of the Great Demon War. To have Hosenké call one from the depths of Pitch Black now would certainly help them get their hands on the elusive child, but it would also make it easier for other forces to grab him, too. As if it hadn’t been hard enough to infiltrate Babel without getting caught by the Academy, keeping an eye on the boy with the Moon Coven and other demons coming after him would be a nightmare.
Still. They were desperate.
The Firstborn stepped forward. “You have your orders. This meeting is adjourned.”
With a whoosh of black vapor, she disappeared into nothing. The other Births followed, dispersing to various locations, returning to whatever business they’d been taking care of before the Firstborn had summoned them back to their Womb.
Yadira remained, staring absently at the flames, wondering what she could do to fix her tarnished reputation. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone until she heard the low, whispering voice behind her.
“Worry not. All will be well once we get Nine back.”
She turned to blink up at Number Three, surprised when she saw that he’d removed his hood. Wild red hair tumbled over broad shoulders, taking no attention from his striking, calm face. Yadira was enamored, stunned into silence as she stared at him.
“You did the best you could in Wi,” he went on, voice rich and warm like the velvet of his cloak.
He’d given her a compliment. The Third Birth of Carnage had just told her she’d done her best. “T-Thank you, Seganamé.” She bit her lip, unsure if she should have used his name instead of his number.
