Keltoi

Terence Clay

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Terence Clay

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it,

or it was not purchased for your use only, then please

return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Final

About the author

Dedication

To my Laura for finding the good stuff in what I write, when all I

can see is crap. For putting up with the lonely nights when I'm in

my 'office' writing, sometimes until daybreak. To my family and my

kids for their support, my mum for having me and raising me with an

open mind. To the contraceptive pill, for not being 100% effective.

Prologue

Susan awoke to a noise. She laid still and quiet, waiting to hear it again. She wondered if it was a noise in her unit or just in her mind. What the hell was I dreaming? She drew a blank. The silence was deafening. If there was another noise she would get up, or she could just stay frozen in her bed like a child. She pulled her soft cotton blanket up to her chin, scrunching it in her fingers.

As a child she'd had the same blanket to keep her safe from the monsters of a child's mind, which hid in the darkest shadows.

Tap...Tap...Tap...

They came in quick succession, then nothing. Her blood froze, as she stared at her bedroom door. It stood slightly ajar and a dim light from the street shone through the opening. Call the police? No, the phone was in the living room. Hide under the bed? Stay frozen in her place and pretend she heard nothing?

Shit Susie, you’re a hell of a girl in a tight spot.

Tap...Tap...Tap...

Wait, she recognised that sound. She had heard it when she first moved into the unit a few months ago, and it scared the hell out of her then too. It also brought back flashes of her dream.

A white lace curtain moved with the breeze through the open window. She was being watched. The giant ginger or light brown dog waited outside on the edge of the street. It was hard to distinguish the colour because of the street light. Was it a dog? It was huge. The dream, as dreams do, was disintegrating from her memory.

The tapping came again and Susan felt her face flush from relief and foolishness. It was the weights sewn into the bottom of the netted curtain, tapping against the wooden window ledge. Susan was breathing heavily, gasping for air. She realised she had been holding her breath in fear. The sound must have caused the dream, like falling asleep with the television on. Did she forget to close it? It was possible. What if she had not forgotten? That would mean...

'Oh shit,' Susan whispered to herself. Was there someone inside the flat? She slid quietly out of bed and hunted around the bedroom for a weapon. She didn't keep a gun or even a bat. She picked up a curling iron and grimaced, but it would have to do. Susan tiptoed to the bedroom door. Her childhood fear of the dark may have finally served a purpose. The chilled air gave her goose bumps through her thin pink cotton pyjamas. Susan peeped through the opening. It wasn't just the street lights that were causing the light, but a full moon. She could see the window in the lounge through the crack in the door and through it, the moon It watched like a single eye staring down at the cowardly girl.

Her eyes roamed the small section of the lounge room that she could see as she watched for shadows and listened for any noise, but all she could hear was the tapping of the curtain. Clutching the curling iron to her chest, Susan opened the door wider and stepped out, still on tip toes. She wondered just what she would do with a curling iron as a weapon, what was she thinking?

She really did a number on him officer, just look at that perm!

She could see the curtain swaying in the breeze. She crept toward the window, searching as she did so. By the time she got to the couch she felt like a fool. There was nobody else in the room. She had obviously forgotten to close the window.

Susan stood straight and took the last few steps, casually, to the window. She pulled the curtain back to reach the window’s handle. Taking hold of it she froze once again. Below, under a street light was the biggest dog she had ever seen. Was that a wolf? Its fur was black, and the light from the street lamp glowed in its eyes. Even stranger was the way it just stared up at her, as though it was waiting for her.

She closed the window slowly and locked it. Susan pulled the curtain back across but held it. It was so unusual. She peeked out of the curtain again, but the wolf had gone. Was she imagining it? Perhaps she was still in a dream. Susan pinched herself on the back of her hand. 'Ow.' Well she wasn't dreaming. It was different to the animal in her dream. 'Stop spooking yourself Susie,' she said into the empty flat.

The digital clock on the microwave oven read 3:50. Susan slumped and lumbered back to bed, throwing the lethal curling iron back on the dressing table before flopping onto the bed. She pulled the blanket over and up to her chin. She had seen the wolf's eyes, even if for only a moment, and now the blue orbs pierced her memory as her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off into sleep once again. As she lost clarity she realised she had forgotten to iron her skirt for the next day.

Damn!

* * * * *

Quinlan walked the dark streets in his wolf form, hugging the shadows. Tonight he would hunt, but not near the girl, he needed to move away from watching eyes. They wouldn't follow him. They were only interested in protecting the girl. It was too easy in the city, so many homeless. They were just waiting to be slaughtered. So why kill the innocent? Because there were no innocents, that’s why. Humanity was built from treachery and blood. One civilization building their great cities and churches on the broken remains of another they had destroyed. For centuries Quinlan had watched humans thirst for blood and power, posing as demi-gods.

Two men staggered along the pathway. They had spent the remainder of their meagre pension in the local bar. Most days and nights were spent begging and drinking cheap wine or methylated spirits, but once or twice a week Mick and Alvin drank in style, the good stuff. Scotch Whiskey was Mick’s chosen fuel, whereas Alvin was a brandy drinker.

Alvin stopped, his arm laid across his friend's chest. 'Did you hear that?'

The other looked around and lifted his hands in question. 'What?’ He asked and looked around in the shadows, ‘I didn't hear nothin'

'There!' Alvin pointed into the darkness ahead. 'I saw something move.'

His friend squinted into the darkness, but couldn't see anything. 'Shit, Probably just a cat Alvin.'

Alvin wasn't convinced and said, 'pretty big for a cat Mick.'

'You'd be amazed at some of the cats I've...'

Mick was interrupted by a low guttural growl. Both men looked at each other, then back toward the sound. The creature was fast, they barely glimpsed a look at the razor sharp talons, before they sliced open Mick's throat. He fell to his knees, both hands around his neck. Blood streamed from the wound, through his fingers and down his chest. He wanted to scream, but when he breathed in, his lungs filled with blood.

Alvin watched in terror, as his old friend stared up at him while life faded from his pleading eyes. He turned back and was face to face with the creature. Saliva dripped from its massive jaws. Its fur was wiry and golden like a lion. Alvin had only seen lions on the television and didn’t realise just how big they were.

Alvin copied his friend and fell to his knees, with his eyes closed. Alvin heard Mick's body slump to the ground, and so he prayed. It had been many years since he was a boy in the church choir, but if there was a time to beg for God's mercy, it was now.

He felt the creature's hot breath on his face. Its tongue licked his face. The creature’s jaws stretched, as he breathed in a rancid stench and felt the sharp points of its teeth, ever so slowly, closing around the side of his head. Alvin continued to mutter a prayer as skin sliced open and bone splintered.

At first the pain was excruciating, but slowly it eased, leaving him painless. He felt nothing, hanging from the creature's mouth like a puppet. Before the final compression that would send him into permanent darkness, his last thought was of his father.

He saw him as he did when he was a child, walking down the road from the train station. Alvin ran to him and grew excited as he watched his father dig into his pocket for whatever treat he had for Alvin. His body was painless and limp, while Alvin walked in the fading light, hand in hand, with his father.

Quinlan turned into an alley and strolled to the back door of his building. DJ music blared out as he opened the door. He stopped and looked down the alley, toward the street. Nobody had followed him. He entered and closed the door behind him. Quinlan savoured the taste of his recent prey. He always thought better after a kill, and tonight he wanted to remember. Remember a simpler time, remember a brother he once had.

KELTOI

Chapter one

43AD saw the invasion of the Roman Empire into Britain, or Briton as it was known to the Romans. The natives of this island, the Keltoi people put up a fight. However, as they were constantly fighting with each other, it was impossible for them to unify their country against the invaders. Rome's Legions moved across the land like a plague. Tribes that would not kneel to the great Claudius fell to the Romans’ sword. Some, like Caractus of the Catevellauni Tribe lead rebellions against the Romans, but found it harder to find other tribes who would stand against the invaders. More tribes were forced to join Rome's Legion making them more powerful against the Britons; turning friend against friend and neighbour against neighbour.

The native Briton people were great warriors and found honour in the battle; however their brute strength was no match for the Romans’ perfected war craft. One by one the tribes fell to the Empire. In time the Tribes dissolved and Britain became yet another country controlled by the Empire. However, there were some who would never bow to these tyrants. Most of these smaller tribes were in the north, near the border of Scotland. All that was important to them was their people and their land.

They had heard of the foreign invaders. Some had fled to hide in the forests. Others had taken their chances across the border, in the land of the Picts - the Pictured men. These Picts were feared, even by the Romans. They lived and fought like wild animals, with no fear. The Picts, however, weren’t the only reason the Brits feared crossing the border. Myths and legends also kept them away. The forest spirits such as Faeries, Gnomes and Banshees. Some were known to be good spirits but others, especially the myth of the Kadzait. Wolf people, known to be terrifying creatures that hunted in the forests and craved human flesh. To most these strange creatures were just stories handed down through time to entertain and scare children and adults alike, but stories can have a certain power; and myth or not they also struck fear through the nightmares of men…

51 ACE...

Faolan, son of Greer, fell to one knee before the great oak tree at the edge of the forest. With his sword speared into the ground in front of him, he lowered his head in reverence. 'Great father of the forest, I ask for your strength. Watch over my men, my army… my family.' Faolan ended his prayer, but stayed quiet and listened to the wind, to the trees, to the creatures. Their whisper was a comfort, as he prepared for the monster that grew nearer.

Faolan stood and turned to face the men and women who would follow him into battle and into hell if he saw fit. Yet he was not a general or captain, for there were no ranks amongst the people of his village. They stood as equals against a common tyrant. Covered in furs and many of them brandishing what weapons they could gather.

The warriors were armed with weapons of war, while the farmers and village people armed themselves with handmade clubs, axes, makeshift daggers cut and sharpened from branches, spears and pitchforks.

The Romans were on a campaign to cleanse the land and had forced most of the tribes into submission to their Emperor. To the furthermost north of Britain, on the edge of the mountains, was Faolan's village. It was nearest to the entry to the hills, which led to the land of the Picts.

The Pict tribes would not join their plight against the Romans and promised death to any, Romans and Britons alike, who would dare enter their land. Faolan was not a fool and knew better than to test their threat. They were barbaric in their methods and more lethal than any in his own land.

All of these thoughts going through this warrior's mind had to be contained at this moment. He could not allow any doubt to show in front of his people. He looked over his fellow tribesmen and felt his chest fill with pride. He looked at the horizon to the south and spoke to the men and women before him. They were Iron smiths, goat herders and farmers, yet today they were warriors. 'Soon the enemy will be upon us,' he called out to them. A ferocious howl came from them to prove their readiness. Faolan continued, 'do we bow to these tyrants?'

'NO,' the crowd roared again, some waving their weapons above their heads, while others shoved each other playfully. Faolan continued, 'They come with their plight to our people, with their lies. They speak of peace and send an army, while their cowardly leader hides behind them.’ He paused, drawing a breath and looking past the small army to the top of the hill, where the enemy would soon descend. ‘Well, let them come,’ he roared, ‘we'll have enough meat until they send their next.'

The hoard of warriors and farmers alike laughed and yelled their war cries. Faolan waited until they began to calm and held a hand up for quiet. 'The light of the day will soon give way to the darkness, and these soldiers have been marching since day break. We will lead them into the forest, where we can surprise them from the trees. These Romans have only ever fought in the open.'

Most nodded in agreement while some of the younger looked to the top of the hill, on the horizon, with worry. 'All of us will be tested this day,’ He said. Faolan watched the birds fly into the air and heard the earth rumble in the distance. A breeze blew through his long dark brown hair and the wet grass cooled his feet.

The others quietened themselves and just listened to the monster that approached. This chosen champion of the people looked into the trees and saw some of the men and women positioned in the branches with their bows. Most of these were the youngest of the tribe and he had no wish to see them die in battle if it could be helped. They would pick off the enemy as they approached.

'They come,' one of the men yelled. Faolan looked again to where the land met the sky and bared his teeth. He pulled his sword from the ground and targeted the direction of their enemy. There was scattered chatter while they watched the tops of the Roman flags appear over the far hill.

'They look serious,’ Faolan said to his old friend, Quinlan, who stood next to him.

Quinlan laughed and said, ‘Dressed like that?’

The people raised their weapons into the air yelling and whooping. One of village’s holy men approached. The old man hobbled, his eyes fixed on Faolan’s, who waited patiently for the old mystic. He came near enough so that he could be heard in a low voice.

‘My son,’ the old man said, ‘the birds and animals flee at the mere sound of this army…’

Faolan placed a hand on the old mystic’s shoulder and assured him, ‘birds and animals don’t fight battles old man. Now go, this is no place for you.’

They watched the enemy swarm over the hill marching to the drumming rhythm. The older warriors stood alongside their tribal brethren and watched the horizon. A line of men came over the hill at least a hundred long. Another followed them, and another. They flowed down the side of the hill, toward the awaiting warriors, covering the land like a plague of red ants. The first few rows alone were greater in number than Faolan's small army of rebels.

They had not known what to expect. Certainly they had heard the stories from survivors that had escaped the carnage from other tribes. These Romans had degraded those who fell to them and slaughtered those who opposed them. This village had battled with other tribes for respect and honour, but never had they seen an enemy so great in number.

Faolan stepped forward and looked in each direction down the front line of his army of farmers. In that moment Faolan knew that death was upon them. However, he did not fear it, but embraced it. He turned back toward the approaching army.

'Look upon our enemy,' he roared. There were yells and laughter from the older warriors and whistles and Cooee from the trees. 'Look upon your people here. You fight for them, and they fight for you. We'll give them honour. We'll give them death!' He roared, while the rest raised their swords and shields and roared with him. Faolan turned to face the thundering army that approached and lowered his sword.

'We cannot defeat an army so massive,' a voice came from the younger of the men. Faolan looked to see who had said this. Quinlan grabbed a younger man roughly and threw him forward. The youngster fell to all fours. Faolan held his hand up to stop his old friend from bashing the boy.

'Stand up boy,' he said. The young man got to his feet and glared at the man who had thrown him down, who in turn raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

'I am...'

'I know your name Darien, and I know what is in your heart because I was fortunate to fight alongside your father, Sloan. Your words are as valuable as any other amongst us, so speak.' Faolan, with his sword in front of him, leaned on the hilt. Although the army grew closer and his own men were becoming agitated, as they looked past him, the older man was calm as he suggested with his hand for the boy to talk.

'This army has slain all they come across, some greater in number than our own. How can we hope to win this battle?' Darien lowered his head.

Faolan stepped forward and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'We do not fight to win, young man, we fight to belong. That is who we are. Should we die of old age as a slave of another, or should we die in battle in the land where we were born and where our ancestors lived?' He patted the young man on the cheek.

Darien looked and nodded. 'I understand,