Authors: Nerine Dorman
To her heightened senses his aura coruscated cold and opalescent–without the steady roar she beheld within her own body. Everywhere she looked she saw the ghostly afterimages–the afterburn of living matter, plants, insects and small things, which burrowed in the earth or flitted between trees.
A cold, dead hand rested on her shoulder, fingers hesitant, betraying a slight tremor. How many times had she just thought it poor circulation?
Ah, hell.
Helen allowed Trystan to enfold her in his arms and she cried for her life, which had ended, for that happy-go-lucky girl and her paintings, and her dreams. She wept because she couldn’t go back home without endangering her family. What of Troth and the oath she did not want to keep? What of this war she found herself thrust into?
Trystan smelled of rust and earth, and something else, which reminded her of dust. Cold fingers brushed the hair out of her face, felt good, despite the danger.
He could have killed her a dozen times over. He hadn’t.
Cold fingers pressed a small beadwork sun into the palm of her hand.
“Trystan?”
“Helen?”
“Take me far away from this place.”
Epilogue
Darkness unpierced by light or warmth cushioned Mantis in a slow current. Her limbs dragged along the silty bottom, raising small puffs of waterborne mud she felt but couldn’t see.
The water felt warm and her empty eye sockets no longer stung. How long would it be before her eyes regenerated? She’d never lost both eyes at the same time before.
Her limbs wouldn’t respond to her urgent summons for movement. There was no point in struggling, though. Her apparent end had happened so quickly, a bright flash and she’d flown, to crash into the water of that infernal dam, to sink fast.
Panic didn’t serve her. When nothing untoward happened save for the nudgings of an inquisitive fish, she pulled inward, biding her time until she could twitch her muscles, pin herself against a submerged tree branch.
Her fingers slid as she sought purchase, loosening tendrils of slime in her efforts.
So close. So damned close.
The witch girl wouldn’t live but she’d find the black bitch who’d thwarted her plans.
Anger lent her the strength to
reach
though her body still remained useless. She sent her awareness traveling beyond the water to where Trystan’s dark fire co-mingled with Helen’s solar flare. No good would come of that partnership. She would make sure of it.
Mantis grinned until she felt the first eel slither across her wrist. She’d never liked snakes and this was pretty damn close to a snake. Another brushed against her cheek and something tugged at her leg.
Damn fish!
But why were there so many of them sliding over her, pulling, insistent?
Get away from me!
She snatched at one, which slipped past her lips only to lose her already feeble grip on the tree with her other hand.
The eels surged around her, making the water boil, the suddenness of their impact–thousands of bodies–catching Mantis by surprise as she found herself dragged against the current, deeper, into a crevasse she had not imagined to exist in a man-made lake.
Other Lyrical Books By Nerine Dorman
What Sweet Music They Make
The Namaqualand Book of the Dead
Hell’s Music
Writing as Therese von Willegen
About Nerine Dorman
An editor and multi-published author, Nerine Dorman currently resides in Cape Town, South Africa, with her artist husband. Some of the publishers with whom she works include Dark Continents Publishing and eKhaya, an imprint of Random House Struik. Involved in the media industry, she has a background in magazine and newspaper publishing, commercial fiction, and print production management. Her book reviews, as well as travel, entertainment and lifestyle editorial regularly appear in national newspapers. A few of her interests include music, travel, history, Egypt, psychology, philosophy, magic and the natural world.
Her published works include
Khepera Rising
,
Khepera Redeemed
,
The Namaqualand Book of the Dead
,
Tainted Love
–writing as Therese von Willegen,
Hell’s Music
–writing as Therese von Willegen,
What Sweet Music They Make
, and
Inkarna
.
Titles co-written with Carrie Clevenger include
Just My Blood Type
and
Blood and Fire
.
She is the editor of the Bloody Parchment anthologies,
Volume One
, and
Hidden Things, Lost Things: and Other Stories
. In addition, she also organises the annual Bloody Parchment event in conjunction with the SA HorrorFest.
She is also a founding member and co-ordinator for the Adamastor Writers’ Guild, and edits The Egyptian Society of South Africa’s quarterly newsletter, SHEMU.
Camdeboo Nights
9781616504380
Copyright © 2013, Nerine Dorman
Edited by Mary A. Murray
Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.
Cover Art by Valerie Tibbs
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: February, 2013
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
http://www.lyricalpress.com
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
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Table of Contents
Camdeboo Nights By Nerine Dorman