TODAY'S GUEST AUTHOR, KIRSTY F McKAY, IS SHARING AN EXCERPT FROM HER BOOK, 'THE VEILS OF VALORIA', BOOK ONE OF 'THE MORVANTIA CHRONICLES'

Eva Bielby
Jul 12
9 min read

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE OF 'THE VEILS OF VALORIA'

(The Morvantia Chronicles Book 1) By Kirsty F. McKay

The storm howled with frustration as Finn escaped from its wildness and cruelty into the only sanctuary he could find. Hidden within the darkness, ignoring the foul stench that made him almost retch, he squeezed his eyes shut and instead whispered a thank you. Despite his current discomfort, an overwhelming surge of relief flooded through him, knowing that the force raging outside was enough to mask the sound of his teeth chattering in the confined space and the tremulous pounding of his heart.

Paying no heed to the cold that bit its way deeper through sodden clothes, Finn attempted to adjust his position and relieve the grinding ache of his limbs, crushed in his haste to seek protection from the tempest. His wound screamed out in protest, and he clamped a hand firmly over his mouth and waited for the pain to subside.

A sudden warmth seeped down his leg, confirming the injury as much more than just a mere graze. Unwilling to yield to its torture, Finn gritted his teeth and instead suffered his torment in silence, not daring to risk revealing his location. The storm’s arrival thankfully had brought him back to his senses and saved him from making a terrible mistake. No longer would he give in to the fear that had threatened to take hold of him these past few days. If that meant he had to hide away in this wretched tin can, then so be it.

Something scuttled from the furthest corner and briefly brushed against his ankle. Swiftly pulling his leg back, Finn smothered another cry of agony, and prayed that the scent of blood held no attraction. His attempts to search for whatever it was that had stirred proved futile in the darkness. Head swimming with the intensity of his senses magnified, Finn waited for his companion to return, a sigh escaping when he felt nothing further.

Running a hand through his hair, he swept back the tendrils that had fallen and dripped water onto his face. His eyes were stinging, a consequence of the contaminated atmosphere of this world or the noxious smelling contents of this strange sanctuary. Finn could not be sure. From his observations, both were a distinct possibility, given that the dwellers of this world paid little regard to their natural environment.

Rubbing the irritation free from his sight, his hand grazed against his skin and prompted a pang of longing in response. How he missed the comforts of his home, his usual well-cared-for and groomed appearance, a far cry from what he must look like now.

Losing count of the number of times he had wondered that day, Finn considered once more why he had been the one sent to find her. What had possessed him to agree? Perhaps it was utter madness that had goaded his decision.

Yet, as he sat alone in the darkness of this strange tin box, he realised that he could not escape the real reason behind such folly. It was neither bravery nor stupidity that had driven him through the portal, but a feeling that he could not understand or explain.

Powerless to resist the need to respond to her call from across time and space, Finn had willingly agreed to the Council’s request, and had stepped through the portal without any hesitation or consideration as to what he may find waiting for him on the other side.

Listening to the damage created outside, Finn felt pity for the village inhabitants, doubting whether they would have seen the like of such a power before. It had been fortunate for them that in the split seconds before the storm’s arrival, he had sensed the sudden and unnatural shift in the surrounding air, and had run, guided by an unknown instinct to head away from the centre of the village, and, in doing so, protecting the occupants from its eye. The storm had immediately given chase. It had seemed with one purpose: to thwart him. After a few moments of taking refuge, however, Finn realised the storm had, in fact, been a blessing in disguise.

Hidden away in this temporary sanctuary, the gift of time had been offered. An hour or two at least for him to gather his strength and create as much distance as possible between him and them: the creatures that lurked within the Shadowlands and thrived on the pain of others. They were driven by an inexorable thirst to consume. Devoid of any emotion, and with no physical form, these abominations were known only as the Fallen, the source of all nightmares.

Their power should have been unable to reach beyond the dream realm, or so he had first thought. Somehow, the Fallen had been able to shed their shackles, and within days of Finn’s arrival snapped like wolves at his heels.

Kane, Finn cursed, the anger rising from the pit of his stomach. The Master’s latest Commanding Officer had found not only the means to bring these creatures through a portal, but also to give them substance and enable them to travel in this world.

Last night had been close; too close, Finn reflected, his blood running cold at the thought. Thankfully, luck had been on his side, and, albeit only narrowly, he had evaded their capture.

Finn imagined that mistake would have cost Kane dearly in the eyes of the Master, and he felt a momentary flicker of satisfaction.

Tonight, his fortune had changed, and Kane’s determination not to fail a second time had Finn backed into a corner. With all hope gone and nowhere to run, Finn had finally resigned himself to whatever fate held in store.

Sensing his surrender, and that he had almost risked it all, the storm had exploded around him, leaving little doubt in Finn’s mind of the message delivered by the Council. Its intensity and pursuit of him had made that all too clear. Their anger had been palpable with every piece of debris that had clipped the back of his heels and finally crashed him to the ground. Finn had only briefly registered the searing pain in his leg as his survival instincts had seized control and spurred him on.

The storm seethed around him, and in its air carried along a rush of depraved excitement. Kane had closed in on him with such an eagerness to have ignited the Fallen’s appetite. Their hunger was insatiable.

Unable to see his way through the deluge, Finn had scrambled to his feet and searched for somewhere to hide. With his heart hammering and fighting for breath, he’d jumped into the strange metal container and immediately smothered the urge to vomit. No option but to wait to be discovered unless Lady Luck had finally switched sides and smiled favourably on him once more.

The minutes that passed by felt like hours. Finn reached forward with his senses as far as he considered safe and scanned the surrounding area, careful to avoid alerting Kane to his presence. Confusion and frustration hung in the air, the only emotions he could detect. The creatures had lost his trail and moved on into the distance. The storm, he realised, had fulfilled more than one purpose. Was that the Council’s intention all along?

As much as it pained him, Finn had to admire their ingenuity. It was a damned impressive effort, although a surge of annoyance still tugged in his abdomen at the not-so-subtle reminder that they watched him closely and monitored his thoughts. In particular, Mercadia, an Elder of the Council charged with the task of keeping a close eye on his progress. Her magic was born from a bloodline that enabled her to extend her abilities far beyond the boundaries of their world.

Incapable of blocking her frequent intrusions, Finn remained an open book for Mercadia to study, and he was powerless to hide his thoughts or fears. He could still feel the trace of her touch before the storm’s eruption, and the not-so-subtle hint of temper and disappointment moments before she had unleashed her power. Her sudden silence from his mind could be explained, given that it would have taken a phenomenal amount of energy to conjure such a storm and send it through the portal. Although, knowing Mercadia as well as he did, she would not resist leaving him alone for too long.

Finn wished he possessed the same ability as his brother Aaron, his envy and regret stinging deep. If only he had paid a little more attention to their father’s lessons and shared the same devotion to the practice as his brother had, Finn might not have been in this position now. Aaron, at a young age, had not only mastered the Shroud, but had spent many years perfecting it and moving well beyond their father’s teachings. Although Finn would never bear the same amount of power, he wished that he had at least taken the time to learn and understand the Shroud’s secrets.

A master in the craft, Aaron’s skills had ensured that he remained a closed book as far as the Council or any others were concerned. Even Mercadia, with all her skills and thousands of years of knowledge, had failed to break the Shroud. Aaron’s mind could not be infiltrated, creating a perfect mole. One the Council had then wasted no time in enlisting and successfully planting into the Master’s faction.

Two seasons had passed before Finn had learned of his brother’s fate, the guilt now accompanying that familiar bite of regret. Had he not ignored Aaron’s invitations to spend time with him and pass on their father’s knowledge, Finn might well have discovered the Council’s intentions and dissuaded his brother from going along with their crazy idea. Finn could only pray that his brother still lived, and yet he feared what would remain of the man he once knew. The darkness of the Master was known to change and infect the nature of those around him. None had been able to resist his lure. If Aaron was to keep up his pretence, would he be asked to do the unimaginable, and compromise the good within him? It was a risk that the Council seemed happy to take.

Mercadia, sensing Finn’s guilt from the moment he had sought counsel on his brother’s whereabouts, had fully exploited his skills to the Council’s advantage, coercing Finn into their services too. No other Tracker had ever come close to his ability or success. The capture of the Silver Stag, the Council’s proof. Finn had vowed this would be his last quest until Mercadia had explained the prophecy, requesting he be the one to locate the girl and bring her back to their world. Finn had immediately agreed.

With little else to do now but wait for the storm to subside, Finn took the opportunity to rest. Closing his eyes, he succumbed to the demands of his exhausted body and drifted into sleep. His consciousness released. He travelled deeper towards the realm of dreams, and to her once more.

A smile formed on his lips the moment he stepped through the doorway. The emerald eyes that had haunted Finn each night since the arrival of the silver stag stared back into his own. Her fingers brushed a lock of her long chestnut hair behind her ear. When she smiled, his abdomen stirred with need.

Unable to deny himself of her touch a moment longer, Finn rushed towards her, his extended hand eager to grasp hers and pull her close. A sudden spark of light almost blinded him as their fingers collided and locked together, the energy created making him unusually giddy.

She dropped her arm instantly, her breath released in short, sharp gasps. Overcome by his desire to reassure her, Finn reached forward once more, sensing her conflict as she immediately retreated from his touch. In any other situation he had faced, he had always known what to say, but this time, the words suddenly eluded him. With all the ability of speech gone, Finn’s eyes instead implored her to trust him. His emotions were exposed and laid bare for her to see.

Her gaze searched his face, and she bit down on her bottom lip.

Finn’s heart wrenched as tears escaped from her eyes, and she turned away from him to whisper, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Finn lunged forward but was too late. His hand grasped the air as she vanished into the light. Bereft, he jolted awake.

The storm’s hush suggested that sufficient time had passed for it to lose all momentum and grip on this world. Only the faintest of rustles and an occasional roll of metal across the ground could be heard. Finn winced as he adjusted his position once more in the constricted space.

Completing a perimeter scan, he confirmed with relief no trace of Kane or his minions. Long gone by now, and no doubt reporting back to their Master on yet another failure. Satisfied that the immediate threat had passed, Finn released a healing orb and heaved a sigh as the pain from his knee dispersed and his wound closed. He waited patiently as the sphere continued travelling deeper through his core, in search of other injuries, the warmth from the healing energy treating and comforting the rest of his tired and bruised body.

As he allowed the extra time for the orb to complete its task, Finn’s thoughts returned to his nemesis, unable to comprehend precisely what favour Kane carried with the Master. From the stories he had heard whispered late on an evening, in the quiet corner of Candlebridge Tavern, the Master considered forgiveness a weakness. Mistakes, however small they were, resulted in punishment by extreme torture, or, if you happened to be fortunate, death.

For Kane to have retained his position of power for so long made him no fool, and he undoubtedly demonstrated a much higher level of intelligence than his predecessors. Finn grimaced with the realisation that he must stop underestimating Kane if he were to stand any chance at all at succeeding in his quest.

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