Catalyst (Book 1) Read online

  CATALYST

  The Passage of Hellsfire Series, Book 1

  by Marc Johnson

  For centuries, the kingdom of Alexandria has protected Northern Shala from the monstrous creatures lurking in the Wastelands. Now, a dark force threatens that fragile peace.

  Far from home, Alexandria’s princess is abducted. When a young villager named Hellsfire stumbles upon her and her captors, he rushes in to rescue her, alone and unarmed. His fear and fury unleash an uncontrollable magical force that grants him the power to save the princess—and change the world.

  Hellsfire has never craved nor dreamed of power. But such magic as he now possesses has not been seen in Northern Shala for a thousand years, since the devastation of the War of the Wizards and the creation of the Wastelands.

  Now Hellsfire must leave all he’s ever known, and make a dangerous journey to learn to master this wild, ferocious power—power he knows he is not ready to wield. More difficult still, he needs to master his emotions. If he can’t, the power will consume him, Alexandria will fall, and darkness will eclipse the land, destroying everyone he loves.

  In the dead of cold, the spark shall burn…

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  The darkness spilled into the world, waiting to engulf, waiting to consume, waiting to fulfill its purpose. The light, though weak, was there to stop it as it always was—as it always would be. The battle had gone on since the beginning. This time, the light wrapped itself around the darkness, trying to enlighten it. It was only a matter of time before the light failed.

  Luckily, it was not alone.

  ----

  Fierce winds howled through the winter sky. A snowstorm had swept through the tiny village of Sedah the night before, smothering everything with a white blanket. With the dawn, the storm had turned into an unrelenting rain. The sudden runoff flooded low-lying areas, damaging homes and farmland.

  On the outskirts of Sedah, the storm crashed against a rickety longhouse where a young woman struggled in labor. To her, the wind sounded like a horde of dark creatures trying to tear their way in. She longed for her husband’s strong arms and steady presence, but he was forever gone from her. The searing pain of that memory matched the pain in her body. Now she had to be strong for herself. And her child.

  “Push,” the midwife said. “Push.”

  “I can't,” said Damara. Sweat rolled off her body with each heavy breath. Her labor had dragged on for thirteen hours, and she had already endured more than she thought possible. She had nothing left.

  The sharp, tight-pain encircled her hips. Each breath felt like jagged glass stabbing her belly. She bit down on her lower lip, too tired to even cry out. With her husband gone, the miracle of life felt like the strain of death. “I'm…exhausted.”

  “I know you are, but you must get through this. Just one more good push and it'll be done.”

  Damara stared through the midwife as if she wasn't there, trying not to dwell on the pain. Despite the cold, winter weather, she was drenched in sweat. Her clothes clung to her skin, and the heat and humidity in the room weighed heavily on her.

  “I don't understand it,” the midwife murmured. “It's the dead of winter and it feels like we're in the Burning Sands.”

  Damara ignored the midwife's words. Ever since she had become pregnant, she had felt the unusual heat residing in her. The cold hardly bothered her any more. Warmth wrapped constantly through her body, sending enough comfort to remind her she wasn’t alone. Damara gathered her remaining strength. She closed her eyes and pushed past the throbbing pain, taking fast, shallow breaths. She looked at the midwife, wasting no energy on words. She gave one brief nod.

  Damara took a deep breath and screamed, matching the fury of the storm outside. Her anger and determination cut through the weariness, loneliness, and pain. As if the release of her emotions released her muscles, her body gave one final heave, and there was a violent, rushing pain. It was done.

  Damara let out a sigh, letting her emotions drain out of her. The pain in her sides faded. Both the agonizing birth and the emptiness in her life were now over. The midwife held up the baby, and for a moment, Damara could see her dead husband's face in the child’s. They finally had the family they had wanted. She smiled through her tears, wishing he could have been here with her. He would have loved seeing so many of his own features reflected in his son.

  Exhaustion overcame Damara, and her body cried out for rest. She went limp, letting her eyes close for a moment, a smile still on her lips.

  The midwife cut the umbilical cord and slapped the baby. He wailed in chorus with the wind, and a swell of heat covered the women. The shutters slammed and a tree’s branches raked against the house. The midwife jumped, startled, and glanced uneasily at the window before she finished swaddling the baby and handed him to Damara.

  “What are you going to name him?” the midwife asked, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. It seemed that the strange heat had permeated the room, for the midwife was as drenched in sweat as Damara.

  Damara studied the only man in her life. She traced his slimy form, tiny hands, and squinty eyes. Then she clutched him tightly to her, as if she had been bestowed with the most priceless treasure in the world. Unbeknownst to her, she had.

  Damara worked her mouth, trying to speak through the dryness. “I’m not sure. I was thinking of naming him after his father, but we always said that if we had a boy we’d name him—”

  The wooden door to her longhouse was suddenly flung open. The wind blew cold droplets of rain through the room, a jarring contrast to the muggy heat. Bits of parchment flew, pots and pans clashed against each other, and candles guttered. A shadow shrouded in dark blue robes loomed in the doorway. The midwife cried out and fainted. Damara clutched her baby tighter, fearing that the dark monsters she had imagined had somehow been conjured from the storm. She watched the stranger warily, her free hand sliding under her pillow to the dagger hidden there.

  The shadow stepped into the longhouse—not a monster but an old man with a twisted, golden staff. The staff seemed to move on its own, pulling the man into the room. It swung like the needle of a compass, then steadied, pointing straight at Damara and her child. The fist-sized pearl on top of the staff glowed bright fiery red. He had finally found what he was looking for.

  CHAPTER 1

  Fourteen Years Later

  I sat in front of the fireplace, trying to get lost in the fire the way I had countless times before. This time I wasn't able to. I kept fidgeting and stealing glances at my mother as she got ready to go to the village church. She wore her finest clothing—her only decent dress. It was also the only piece of clothing we had that wasn’t heavily mended and faded from long wear.

  “Hellsfire, can you help me with this?” my mother asked.

  I went to her, attaching her butterfly headdress to her hair. She fiddled with it, making sure it would stay on, and smoothed out the ligh
t wrinkles in her dress.

  “You look very fine,” I said, looking past the worn fabric at her elbows and cuffs. She looked as fine as we could afford. If I had the money, I would have given it to her to spend on looking as grand as possible to honor her god, even if I didn't believe in him. There were many in town with more elaborate clothes, but in my mind she outshone them all.

  My mother looked at me, her light green eyes filled with hope. “Are you sure you don't want to go with me to church?”

  I sighed and bit the inside of my lip. I did not want to have this argument again. “I'm sure.” If it weren’t for most of the people that went there, I might go sometimes. But not today.

  Her sigh was full of disappointment. I hated to see her like this, but I held firm. “All right, son,” she said, “If you change your mind, the doors are always open.”

  “I know, Mother.”

  “Goodbye, Hellsfire. I’ll be back later tonight. Be good and don’t get into any trouble.” She walked out the door and headed for the church.

  “I won’t.” I loved my mother, and I hated arguing with her. Every week, the holy day gave me the quiet solitude I needed. The town shut down while almost everyone went to church. It was a day where I didn't have to work on our neighbor’s farm, straining my back, carrying bales of hay, or wallowing knee deep in dirt, feeding the pigs for a pittance that couldn’t even keep us decently clothed.

  I waited a few minutes until I was sure my mother would be out of sight. I had learned that if I rushed out and she saw me, she’d think I’d changed my mind about going with her. I'd always feel bad saying no and seeing how hurt she was. Sometimes, I'd end up going because of it. Every time I went, I regretted it.

  Finally, the oppression of our small longhouse got to me. It was only my mother and me—my father died before I was born. My mother had always told me how he had planned on building a bigger place so they could have a big family. I wished he was around to teach me carpentry and woodworking. But if he was around, I wouldn't be thinking about a bigger home. We would have had one.

  A draft picked up and forced its way inside, up near the roof. That was just one of many places that needed to be repaired. The breeze made our dented cooking pots sway on their hooks and clang lightly together. As hard as I scrubbed them clean and tried to repair them, they never seemed to shine. And the metal was worn so thin, I always expected our meals to fall through the bottom.

  The roof I could fix. Tomorrow, I would do just that. We weren't in any danger of it raining tonight. I got up from the creaky, wobbly chair and left, not wanting to dwell on how poor we were.

  As I walked out of town, I kept getting the evil eye from all the well-dressed townspeople on their way to church. Some were polite and greeted me, but all of them looked at me as if I were doing something wrong.

  In the entire town there was only a handful of people who were like me and believed in many gods, instead of one. I learned and celebrated with them. My mother let me go to their services, even though I never told her why. When I was younger, I had made up my mind to be closer to my father. Since he was dead, this was the only way. Unlike my mother, he believed in the four gods. When I died, I hoped I walked with my father.

  I reached the edge of town, breathing easier because I didn't believe I would run into anyone else. That's when I saw them.

  A group of older boys surrounded Corwyn, who was a year younger than me. They were laughing, taunting him and pushing him back and forth like it was a game. He looked terrified—too terrified to fight back. He knew that would bring him far more trouble than he was in now.

  I could see Corwyn trying not to cry and quickened my steps. Fighting back wasn't the only thing that would push the bullies further. If Corwyn cried, they would beat him mercilessly.

  If I wanted to I could have slipped by them, but I couldn’t let them pick on Corwyn. He was one of the few people near my age who didn't judge me based on what their parents said. They wouldn’t let him be friends with me, but that wasn’t his fault. In spite of the consequences, I rushed head-long towards them.

  “Leave him alone, Nathan,” I said. They all turned and focused their attention on me. The younger boy slipped through the group. I didn't take my eyes off the bullies. “Catch up to your parents and go to church, Corwyn.”

  “Thanks, Hellsfire.”

  I nodded but didn't say a word.

  Nathan and his three cronies spread out and surrounded me. With my speed, I thought about trying to make a break for it, but they were equally as fast, and I didn’t want them to know they scared me.

  “You'll pay for that, Hellsfire,” Nathan said, scowling at me. “Why are you such a killjoy? We were just having some fun before church. Not that you would know anything about church. I wonder, does it have to do with your name, Hellsfire?” He grinned when he said my name, trying to bait me. I hated when people teased me about my name. When I was younger, I used to get into a lot of fights because of it. A lot of the fights were with him.

  I clenched my fists, but stood firm and held my anger in check. Anything I said now was going to earn me a beating, and my mother would want to know what happened. I couldn’t tell her the truth. Fighting my battles would only make it harder for her to be accepted by our neighbors.

  “I don't get you, Hellsfire. You're always butting into things that don't concern you.” Nathan shoved me—hard. I crashed into the boy behind me. He, too, shoved me, but with less force.

  “Why do you feel the need to pick on everyone smaller than you?” I asked.

  “Not everyone. Just you.” Nathan's blue eyes shone with hatred. He smiled like an animal baring his teeth. “Luckily for me, your friend Dorian's not around. This time, it's going to be you and me.”

  I raised an eyebrow and glanced at the other three boys around me.

  “You know your parents will be mad if you dirty your doublet before church.”

  Instead of my comment having the intended effect, Nathan's face twisted with rage. The relationship between him and his parents wasn't a good one.

  Nathan grabbed my collar, not caring that the undertunic underneath his doublet became exposed. The other boys pinned my arms behind my back. I struggled, trying in vain to break their grasp. Nathan balled up his fist. I turned my head, bracing myself for the blow about to follow.

  “Nathan!” a voice yelled. “Come here, boy, or we're going to be late.”

  They let go of my arms. “Damn,” Nathan said.

  I smiled, relieved that Nathan's father had been of help for once. Nathan took my smile as an insult.

  He balled his hand into a fist. Before I knew what had happened, he hit me hard in the gut. The pain forced me to my knees in the mud.

  “Now!” Nathan's father yelled.

  A look of fear passed over Nathan's face. It was brief, but I saw it clearly. “Another time, Hellsfire,” he said. “I'll kiss Kat for you.”

  Nate leered at me and made kissing noises. I forced myself to be calm, but I couldn’t do it. My chest started heaving. Even though it was over between Kathleen and me, I couldn't believe she was now with him. Him, of all people!

  I readied myself to rush him. I didn't care anymore about the beating I would get from fighting the four of them, or the chastising my mother would give me. Kathleen shouldn't be with him. Anyone else but him. Images of him kissing her, touching her, angered me more than I thought possible. She and I were still friends, cordial, if no longer as close as we once were. I had told myself all romantic feelings for her were gone. I was wrong.

  I waited, still crouched, for Nathan to pass by me so I could attack him from behind. He must have sensed my intentions, or maybe he was just being his usual bullying self, but as he walked by, he kicked me in the face. The blow sent me to the ground, into the mud. The humiliation washed away all my anger.

  I could do nothing but watch as they walked away. Their laughter rang in my ears. By day's end, I would be the gossip of the entire town.

  I resigned
myself to this while lying in the mud. I prayed that people would at least have the decency to not tell my mother. I tried to wipe the mud off my face, but all I managed to do was smear it around.

  When I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself, I got up. I had wanted to head to my hideout in the forest, but now I needed to go. I needed the one place where I could have peace and quiet, and wouldn’t have to deal with the townspeople or people like Nathan—the one place where I didn't have to worry about everything we didn't have.

  Despite the mud clinging to my tunic and face, it was a beautiful day. I picked up a fallen branch as I walked, brandishing it as if it were a sword. My imaginary opponents were Nathan and his cronies, and I defended other boys my age and younger from them. I dispatched them easily, like the heroes in the tales, and everyone praised me and liked me.

  I flung the branch from my hand when I reached my destination. It was a small pond filled with all sorts of creatures: ducks, turtles, fish, and frogs. I called it Peaceful Pond because whenever I was here, my mind felt at ease.

  I splashed water on myself, cleaning off the mud as best I could. It felt good to finally get it off. I wished I could wipe Nathan’s smug smile off his face as easily. But not even the fresh, cold water could scrub off the memories of the humiliation I felt.

  I picked up a few flat pebbles and caressed them in the palm of my hand. I wound my arm and skimmed them over the surface, watching them create little footsteps on the water as they hopped. The cool, wavy grass and pine-filled air invited me to join them. Become one with us, it said. I lay down on the soft grass and gazed at a dog-shaped cloud. I tried to go to sleep, but I kept thinking of Nathan.

  “Godsdamn him!” I ripped up a handful of grass and flung it, angry at him for disturbing my one place of solitude, and even more angry at myself for letting him.

  I got up and stretched my legs. If lying still wasn't going to relax me, maybe running would. I jogged around the pond, heading towards the forest, leaping over exposed roots and fallen branches. I leaped over deep impressions in the earth. And then I saw the girl.