Excerpt: Feloinain, Book One of Medi Varnl

The sky was darker than he remembered.

He was along the bank of the Plaht River, six year-old feet dancing across the grass as he chased the clouds of Dragytes that swarmed the air. It had been high summer that day – their mating season. The fragile, crystalline wings of the miniature dragons had glittered in the sun and he futilely pursued them with tiny arms as high above his head as he could reach.

Then a scream pierced the air causing the swarms to scatter with the chirping twitters of confusion. He skidded to a halt as they vanished into the trees and the rivergrass, his ears twitching before rotating back to lie flat against his head. Fear trembled into life within him and he sniffed the air.

The scent of summer – of flowers, river scent, and ripe fruit from the apple and pear trees – was gone. Terror filled the air and it made his skin crawl.

He looked up at the sky that was darker still than he remembered. There were shadows on the horizon now, writhing hideously like some monstrous river squid, and they hid everything he knew should be there.

Everything but the lone tree that stood on the hill between the river and his home. It was illuminated and he began to shake as he looked at it, wrapping his tail around his waist and clutching its end tightly in a nervous gesture. There was something there – a soul-deep terror that would not die.

“Tristol, run! Run!”

His mother’s voice raked through the air, louder than it had been in reality. It struck him to the core still and flight reflexes kicked in, his own fear responding to the tone that screamed, ‘Flee or die!’ in her shout.

He followed the example of the Dragytes and dove into the tall rivergrass, burrowing his body down into the warm shallow water and dark mud. The tiny creatures chirped worriedly around him, their wings buzzing softly as they flicked them open and closed against their backs nervously.

“He’s only a boy!”

The voice of his mother, sounding like she was just next to him but far away at the same time, drew his attention to the hill. There were shadows taken form there, humanoid in shape but still black as night with eyes that gleamed with monstrous intentions. They gathered in a circle around the illuminated tree, fire held in their hands, and one had his mother held in wicked claws.

Demonspawn. Half-devil child, croaked one of the shadows.

Another laughed, adding, Not worth livin’ – not enough human in it to deserve it!