Moonshadow (Book One Preview)

Prologue

Hear, O Daughters of the Moon.
Take ear, Sons of the Shepherd.
The Children of the Fallen brought darkness,
The Thirdborn spawned corruption,
Your fathers and mothers drank deeply,
From the Cup of Elberon's Wrath.
From the Chalice of the Moon's Redemption,
Your sons and daughters will drink continually.

. . . . . . .

- The Oracles of the Twelve Pillars; Pillar 4 Canticle 3:1-8

Lost in the dancing flames within the fireplace, he almost did not hear the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. The notion of someone breaking into an office below stirred him from his lethargy. In spite of the possibility of danger, he did not move with haste, but simply stood up from his reading chair, walked over to the window, and looked down.

Shadows hiding in the midst of the trees moved swiftly and gracefully as they leapt from the darkness and entered into the building. They had finally come for him, just as Traevion had warned. It mattered not. Soon, he would again be with his beloved.

Since his light had been taken he had known only darkness and despair. His life had all but stopped. Miles away, the home that they had once shared now stood as a relic of their life together, her room preserved as if she were still living within-like an exhibit. He had not returned since the year she was killed. He had quit lecturing, quit overseeing his own college, he had even quit shepherding the Disciples of the Blood. He wasn't even certain what year it was-1935, perhaps? Nothing mattered to him anymore.

Let them come. He fumbled in his jacket pocket to find her locket, but it wasn't there.

He panicked. Where had he left it? He looked to the table beside his reading chair to find that it wasn't there either. He must have left it in the chapel.

He was not about to die without holding the locket. With haste, he opened the office window and climbed out onto the fire escape. His soul might feel like an old man on the threshold of death, but his body was still in its prime. He had traveled the world for twenty years, searching for hidden truths and shirking dangers. This would be no different.

He knew they had reached his office as he hit the ground running, but did not turn around to make sure. The chapel was just on the other side of the gardens. He would be able to make it to the sanctuary, and the locket, before his pursuers.

As he ran he looked around the small campus and surveyed his accomplishments-none of them mattered. Only one legacy had any tangible worth in his eyes and it was safe from the shadows that now hunted him.

When he reached the Gothic chapel of dark gray stone, he opened the great wooden doors and then quickly shut them once he was through. He grabbed the tall iron candelabra to the right and shoved it through the metal handles of the doors. It would only hold them back for a moment, but that was all he needed.

He rushed to the raised altar and the podium where he kept his teachings. Relief washed over him when he found the locket still laying where he had left it-in the middle of the open tome of his own writing like an elegant bookmark.

He swiftly took the locket in his hand before the wooden door exploded into countless pieces, the splintered chunks of debris scattering among the aisles and pews of the chapel. In spite of the present danger, he sighed in relief.

As the dust settled, a troubling face from the past emerged from the newly opened entryway. Two figures, their faces hidden by hoods attached to long black cloaks, followed close behind like walking shadows.