Curse of the Forbidden Book Read online

  Published by Warner Press Inc, Anderson, IN 46012

  Warner Press and “WP” logo is a trademark of Warner Press Inc.

  Copyright ©2013 by Amy Lynn Green

  Cover Design © 2013 by Warner Press Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or any other method of storage—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 9781593174934 (Print Version)

  ISBN: 9781593174880 (E Version)

  Editors: Karen Rhodes, Robin Fogle

  Cover by Curtis D. Corzine

  Design and layout: Curtis D. Corzine

  Printed in the USA

  Chapter 1

  No one would call Demetri a coward, unless they enjoyed the pain he would inflict for such an insult. Back home in District Four, where he was a captain in the king’s Patrol, he was famous for his bold capture of all outlaws and bandits who dared come within a half-day’s journey of Nalatid. Though young, he had survived several battles, defeated fierce beasts of the desert, and killed many men.

  Still, as he followed the court messenger through the outer parlor into the chamber of the governor’s adviser, he fought to keep his hands from shaking.

  It was not the reputation of the man that frightened Demetri, though he had heard that Chancellor Doran, chief advisor in District Two, was a brutal, vicious man. It was not the dark, foreboding room that he stepped into. It was not even the fact that the guards at the palace gate had confiscated his weapon, leaving him without so much as a dagger at his side.

  It was the smell.

  Somewhere in the chamber, incense was burning, a kind that Demetri had smelled only once before. The odor of pure evil. No, do not think of it, he told himself, trying to slow his rapid breathing.

  For the hundredth time in the past five years, he wished the memories, ones that haunted him more than any ghost, would go away. He wished he could forget.

  He clutched at the medallion around his neck, the one given to Guard Riders. It made him feel better, somehow, as if the smell of the incense had been smothered just a bit. Or perhaps I have become accustomed to it.

  “Ah, the young Patrol captain,” a voice from the dark said. Demetri stepped forward, squinting. He could barely make out the outline of a man in flowing robes, kneeling on the far side of the room. Chancellor Doran.

  “Please pardon the darkness,” the chancellor continued, standing. “I have just finished my evening worship.” He picked up a candle that burned near the stick of incense and lit a trough of oil on one side of the room. The chamber filled with flickering light.

  Slowly, regally, Chancellor Doran crossed to the other side and did the same. Normally, Demetri knew, a servant would perform such menial tasks, but Demetri had insisted that this meeting be in private.

  “I have a message concerning the Youth Guard,” Demetri said, bowing stiffly and trying to keep his voice level.

  “Yes,” Chancellor Doran said, nodding. “Aleric mentioned that he had commissioned a new Guard Rider.”

  It was a title Demetri was not proud to bear. Guard Riders, the most elite of the king’s forces, shared a common goal: destroy the young men and women who joined the Youth Guard. Demetri had joined their ranks against his will.

  Chancellor Doran sat on a gilded chair on a dais at the back of the chamber. “Tell me everything.”

  So Demetri did, starting with his chase of the three Youth Guard members through the desert, where they had evaded his capture. Demetri had then tracked them to the Deep Mines in District Two, where a cave-in had killed them.

  “And you are sure that they are dead,” Chancellor Doran had interrupted at this point in the story. His eyes, nearly slits, made it look like the story had bored him to sleep, but Demetri could tell from his sharp tone that he had heard every word.

  “Yes,” Demetri said. “We guarded the entrance for three days and saw no sign of life.”

  “That is not what I asked.”

  “Sir?”

  Chancellor Doran stood and began to pace. “I mean, Captain Demetri, that many of the Youth Guard through the years have escaped our grasp through carelessness. We have killed hundreds, of course, but some are unaccounted for. The Guard Riders assigned to them lost sight of them in a hurricane, saw them buried in an avalanche, and at times, even left them to face a beast or enemy, assuming they would die. But sometimes they live, Captain.”

  Demetri frowned. “Aleric said they were dead. He said he could no longer call up visions of them.”

  “Aleric is a fool,” Chancellor Doran said, his lip curling in contempt.

  Demetri said nothing. He could not imagine anyone speaking of the powerful Chief Rider in that way.

  “He does not understand. There are other ways for the Youth Guard to be shielded from his vision besides death.” Now Chancellor Doran looked straight at him, and for a moment, Demetri thought his eyes were glowing in the near darkness. “Are they dead, Captain?”

  Demetri felt like a stuttering fool. It’s the incense. Ever since he had entered the room, his mind had seemed to move more slowly. “Sir?”

  “Did you find their corpses, check for breathing or a heartbeat?”

  All Demetri could do was shake his head.

  “Then we do not know for certain,” Chancellor Doran said. He stared straight at Demetri, and Demetri felt the sudden urge to find a place to hide. Then a thin smile curled on his lips. “I will record what we know. They are likely dead. You seem to be a thorough man, Captain.”

  “Thank you,” Demetri said. All he wanted to do was run out of the chamber, away from the darkness and the oppressive smell of the incense. Then he thought of something. “This book that I have heard of—is it real?”

  Chancellor Doran laughed. “Many things that appear to be legend actually exist, Captain. If you speak of the Forbidden Book, then the answer is yes.”

  The Forbidden Book—a fitting name.

  “Then you will record what I told you?” Demetri asked, hoping the chancellor would dismiss him.

  Chancellor Doran nodded. “I will record it with my own hand. We received a report that one of my scribes had become a traitor to the cause, joined the Rebellion. I killed all eight scribes immediately.”

  Not a flicker of fear showed on Demetri’s face, though he felt it inside. He knew Chancellor Doran would pounce on any sign of weakness.

  “I recognize you,” Chancellor Doran said abruptly, stepping forward. He squinted at Demetri’s face. “Yes. Justis, isn’t it?”

  It had been a long time since Demetri had heard his real name, and it was almost startling. He had gone by Captain Demetri for five years, ever since the disaster.

  “How do you know me?” Demetri demanded. He had never been to District Two before, much less inside the governor’s palace.

  “Have you forgotten? I am the chief scribe, the Keeper of the Forbidden Book. All of the drawings of the Youth Guard members and information about them go through me, and I study them carefully. Your name, too, is written in the Book.” Chancellor Doran gave Demetri a look that made him convulse inside. “I remember your story well.”

  As do I. Demetri closed his eyes, tried to forget.

  “Perhaps that is why you are afraid to be here.”

  Without meaning to, Demetri glanced over at the incense.

  Chancellor Doran followed his gaze. “A tribute to the Great One,” he intoned. “Per
haps you would like to join me in my worship?”

  The thought nearly made Demetri sick. “No, thank you,” he managed.

  “Yes, I sensed as much.” Chancellor Doran again pierced Demetri with his gaze. “You do not believe in the Enemy either, do you?”

  “I only believe in what I can see with my eyes,” Demetri said, trying to put his usual firmness back into his voice. “The only enemy I fight can be cut apart with a sword.”

  “Yes,” Chancellor Doran said slowly. “You continue to think that, Captain. It is better that way. That is, if you are continuing this fight with us.”

  This was the moment Demetri knew would come. He had a choice. He could walk away, return to life in the flat, dry desert. Or he could join the Guard Riders for life…to have that kind of power….

  Chancellor Doran picked something up. It was a medallion, one with Demetri’s family crest—a red dragon—on it. “An interesting choice for a crest, the dragon. The symbol of the Great One.” He shrugged. “You see? You and your family were destined to serve him.”

  Maybe he’s right, Demetri thought. So much had gone wrong in his life. Perhaps he had been fighting destiny, fighting on the wrong side for all those years.

  Chancellor Doran held out the medallion. “It’s yours if you want it. You can give me the emblem of the Guard Riders and go back to your old life.”

  Demetri almost reached for it. Almost.

  In the pause, Chancellor Doran set the medallion down, spinning it like a coin. “Guess. On which side will it fall?”

  “I don’t know,” Demetri said, turning away. “Not yet. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow with my decision.”

  With one last bow, Demetri hurried from the room. He knew it was rude to leave before being dismissed, but he didn’t care. Not anymore.

  The fresh air outside the chamber was welcome. What I need is a good night’s rest. He hadn’t had one of those since he had left Nalatid to pursue the three Youth Guard members. After collecting his weapons at the palace gate, he stopped at the nearest inn.

  It was sparsely furnished, but Demetri had never needed many comforts. Just a place to lay my head, he thought, pulling the thin blanket over his shivering body.

  He took off the Guard Rider medallion and laid it on the table beside him. Aleric had warned him not to, but Demetri had fulfilled his duty. He didn’t want to be contacted by Aleric. Tonight, he wanted to be the only person wandering around in his dreams.

  The moment Demetri closed his eyes he got the strange feeling of being trapped in a nightmare, although he didn’t know why. The setting was cheery enough: a small, warm fire, lighting up a peaceful desert night.

  “And you’re sure that the king seeks to have us killed?” The voice was familiar, and one glance at the hard-featured, boxy face told Demetri that it was Uric.

  “Yes,” a familiar voice answered. Demetri realized that he was the one talking. And yet, it wasn’t really him. “But we can negotiate with them. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

  Demetri felt his heart sink. Now he knew. The voice speaking was his…five years ago. Not again. He had seen fragments of this night many times before, in every waking memory and every sleeping nightmare.

  “If the king is trying to kill us, there will be no agreement.” It was Benjamin, seated across the fire from him. Sure of himself, as always.

  “He’s right.” Uric this time, arms crossed in defiance. “All we can do is try to escape.”

  “And spend the rest of our lives in this desert? Not me.” Demetri laughed—a cocky laugh, he realized now. “We can outsmart them, I know it. Just listen to me. I’ll go to the captain of the Youth Guard and bargain for our lives….”

  “He’ll kill you,” Uric said “then all of us.”

  Demetri shook his head. “I’ll tell him that if he doesn’t let me go free, the rest of you will tell all of Amarias the real purpose of the Youth Guard.”

  “Foolish,” Benjamin said. “You’ll get us all killed. Don’t you know anything?”

  The sixteen-year-old Demetri gritted his teeth. “I know plenty, and I know this will work!”

  “Justis….”

  It was Desma, sitting beside him. She was calling Demetri by his real name, the one he had used before he had joined the Patrol. She put her hand on his arm, but he jerked away.

  “It would be suicide to talk to the captain,” Benjamin said. “Our only chance is to run. Tonight, before they realize that you overheard their plans to kill us all.”

  “And I say that our only choice is to bargain with them for our lives,” Demetri—Justis said. For a moment, he and Benjamin glared at each other across the fire.

  “If you go to them,” Benjamin growled, “you go alone.”

  No, the real Demetri cried inwardly. Justis, don’t go! But the sixteen-year-old Demetri, the one they called Justis, did not slow down. He stood and walked out of the circle into the darkness. Alone.

  Then everything faded, and Demetri found himself inside a dark tent, made of heavy, embroidered cloth. It was the tent of the captain of the Youth Guard. The air was thick with choking incense. Demetri saw the source: a burning reed placed on an altar in the shadows of the tent.

  “You promised me,” he heard himself shouting. “You promised they would go free!”

  The man in front of him just smiled. He was dressed in a dark gray cloak with an A inside a broken circle on his medallion. “You bargained for your own life, not the lives of the others.”

  “No!” The cry was full of anguish, and the real Demetri echoed it in his mind, feeling the pain all over again.

  “If you leave this tent,” the man warned, “I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  Demetri did not care. The thick cloth of the tent flap rushed into his vision, and then the cool of the desert night as he ran outside. There were soldiers outside, Da’armon soldiers, marching silently toward the Youth Guard’s camp, toward Benjamin and Uric and Desma.

  And there was nothing he could do about it.

  Suddenly, he was there, among the soldiers who were attacking the camp. To his left, Benjamin had pulled out his sword and was holding off two of the soldiers. He couldn’t see any of the others. “Stop!” Demetri—Justis—shouted over and over again. But no one listened. No one heard.

  Beside him, Benjamin gave a cry and fell to the ground. He did not move again.

  Then Desma stumbled out of a nearby tent, her sword drawn. For a moment, their eyes met, and it was then that Demetri knew. He had betrayed her. He had betrayed all of them.

  He tried to run, tried to run to her, but the thick arm of a soldier knocked him down. A spear drove him to the ground, slicing into his upper arm. Demetri heard himself cry out in pain.

  Suddenly, everything began to blur. The clamor of battle mixed with the beating of Demetri’s heart. He dodged blows and horses’ hooves, tried to stand, to draw his sword, to run away.

  Above it all, Demetri heard the scream that echoed endlessly in his mind. Desma’s scream. And then…blackness.

  Demetri awoke covered in sweat. He cursed himself for allowing memories. The memories always brought nightmares. He could never change the horrible mistake he had made that night.

  He grabbed the Guard Rider medallion and placed it around his neck again. Anything was better than the memories, the nightmares. If Aleric and Chancellor Doran would keep those away, he’d give his life to the Riders. He’d do anything.

  That was why he had joined the Riders in the first place. After the disaster, he had been forced to swear to serve the king, or they would kill his brother. He refused to betray his brother like he betrayed Desma.

  Now the three Youth Guard members are dead, he told himself, lying back down. The Guard Rider medallion was already giving him strength, letting him breathe easier. It will be all right.

  But no matter wh
at other lies Demetri had made himself believe, he knew that was not true. Nothing would be all right ever again.

  Chapter 2

  The second time a passing traveler gave Jesse money, he began to think that Parvel was right about needing to wash and get new clothes.

  “Sir,” Jesse called, standing to return the money. His limp made it hard to catch up with the man. “Really, I’m not a beggar. You don’t….”

  But the man never stopped. In fact, he started walking more quickly, as if afraid that Jesse would try to rob him.

  When he turned back to Silas, Rae, and Parvel, he could tell they were trying to hold back laughter. “It’s because we’re sitting by the road, like many beggars do,” Jesse grumbled, sitting down next to them.

  “Then why are you the only one anyone has given money to?” Silas pointed out.

  Jesse tried to think of an answer. “Because I look the youngest.”

  Silas and Parvel, though only a few years older than Jesse, looked much older. “But Rae is fourteen,” Parvel countered, “a year younger than you. And she’s just as small.”

  “Then it’s my crippled leg,” Jesse said, feeling as if he were losing the argument. He did carry a walking stick, carved for him by his friend Kayne, but even more obviously, his torn pant leg exposed his scarred, battered left leg.

  “No,” Parvel said, grinning widely. “It’s because you’re dirty, smelly, and ragged.” Silas and Rae laughed.

  “So are you,” Jesse shot back.

  “We don’t look nearly as bad as you,” Rae said with her usual bluntness.

  Jesse wanted to argue the point, but found he could not, so he changed the subject instead. “Why are we sitting here in the open, anyway? Captain Demetri and the Patrol think we’re dead—what if he sees us here?”

  “What are the chances that he would pass by on this very road?” Silas pointed out. “The captain must have gone home to District Four by now.”

  “See?” Parvel said triumphantly. “If even Silas says it’s safe, we know it’s safe.” He had a point there, Jesse knew. Silas was the most cautious of the group. “Even if this Captain Demetri of yours showed up, Jesse, he’d never recognize you under all of those layers of filth.”