Vital - Book 1 (On hold: to be rewritten)

Prologue

The fog hung heavily in the air, blanketing the hills around the house. The twisted limbs of dead yew trees pierced the mist every now and again. The sleeping air was disturbed only by the crunching of heavy boots on the stoney path that snaked up to the house; a huge, white granite building, half strangled by knotted vines. 

The owner of the boots was a man named Thomas Erinar; a tall, thin being, covered by a black cape. The hood was drawn up, shadowing his face. 

Thomas Erinar was late for one of the most important banquets of the year.

He knocked briskly on the huge, oak double doors. It swung open a crack, revealing a pale, thin girl, dressed in a smart, shiny blue satin dress.

Mortimer’s daughter, Coralina. 

She frowned for a second, and then seemed to realise who the man was. She silently pulled the door all the way open, and let Erinar inside, pointing towards the tall, polished wood doors of the banquet room. Coralina and Mortimer’s son, Damien, who happened to be in the hall at the time, watched silently as  Erinar opened the doors to the room and walked inside. Erinar was strangely unnerved at the intensity of their gazes.

“Erinar! So glad you could join us,” drawled a voice so chillingly familiar that Erinar almost jumped.

“Master.” He nodded at the man at the head of the table, who’s blue-green eyes glittered menacingly through his black hair. Mortimer.

“You know, if you weren’t such a useful fighter, I’d kill you for your tardiness.” 

Erinar knew he wasn’t joking. Mortimer could kill by looking at someone.

“Sit.” He nodded towards the empty seat in the centre of the table. On the wall, a flickering projection danced on the blood red wall-paper. The projection, Mortimer had said, was a film taken just a few days before, on the street outside an orphanage in Prague. A girl, barely older than nine, hood drawn up around her face stood up suddenly as the doors behind her opened and a tall, thin woman walked out. Light spilled onto the darkened street. The girl, terrified, leapt into the air and landed seven metres away from where she had been sitting before, landing crouched in a ball. Her green-blue eyes, almost exactly the same shade as Mortimer’s, shone with terror.

“And you say she has all three of the Three Gifts?” Asked someone. The man at the head of the table stood up and banged his fist on the table. The discarded plates and glasses rattled.

“Of course I said that, Dolakopf, you idiot,” he said cooly, lazily pulling back is hood.

“No. No. Master, please!” Dolakopf cried, struggling in his chair. But he seemed glued to it. The projection continued to play in the background, over and over, again and again.

The man’s hood was around his neck now, and he focused his gaze on the terrified Dolakopf. He screamed once as he made eye contact, then slumped back in his chair, eyes rolling back into his head.

Mortimer dusted his hands on his cloak and sat down, resting his feet on the table. Erinar was hardly suprised at the turn of events. Mortimer killed when he wanted to.

“Let that be a warning to you,” he said. “Don’t ever ask me stupid questions. Can someone please take him out? I don’t want him stinking up my home.”

Two men rose and pulled the corpse to the door.

A little boy was exposed behind it. He looked about twelve, with short, dark brown hair and green eyes. The wore a pair of knee-length army trousers and a dirty white t-shirt. 

“Dad,” he breathed, biting his lip. “Corrie’s stolen a-”

“DAMIEN!” Yelled the man, storming over to the boy and grabbing his t-shirt. “How long have you been listening for?” The man was struggling to keep his temper with his son. 

“But Coralina-”

“I don't care what your sister did. Answer me, or you shall face the consequneces.”

“A few minutes.” It sounded more like a question.

“Damien.”

The little boy crumpled. “Since you began.” He looked close to tears.

“Go. GO. Don’t let me see you again this evening.” 

Mortimer slammed the door.

“It seems that my son will have to be taken care of sooner than I thought. I’ve made enough mistakes This girl could be the most powerful Darkling to ever exist. I need her.” 

“Master?” Asked a deep voiced man from the middle of the table. “Would you like a few of us to ‘keep an eye on her’ until she comes of age? Do excuse me, but hasn’t your son proved that children are no good at becoming Darklings?”

“Yes, Harlem. I think Damien has proved that well enough. And yes, I would like a few of you to keep an eye on her. Watch her. We will wait until she is old enough. We will force her to be Decided, where she will become bad, like the rest of us. Then we give her something she cannot resist, and she will come. You must understand, my people, that we cannot operate without this girl. Damien will be taken care of.’

‘The girl is priceless. Wren Shadow is vital.”