Darkness of Day Read online

  Darkness of Day

  Hunter’s Moon (Volume 3)

  Ramón Terrell

  Tal Publishing

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Continue the story with:

  About the Author

  Also by Ramón Terrell

  Copyright © 2017 Ramón Terrell

  1st edition 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-0993723629 (Paperback)

  * * *

  Cover painting by Martin Maceovic

  Cover Font by Nicole Peschel

  Tal Publishing

  Published by Tal Publishing Vancouver BC

  Edition: January 2017

  Printed in the USA

  This one is dedicated to Moms, who has joined Pops among the ancestors back Home. Words cannot describe how much you are missed, and how much you are loved. Though I am happy for your reunion with your beloved, we are saddened by your departure. Never could I have known how aptly named this book would be, for it is the dawn of new days for you, but our day was darkened the day you left.

  * * *

  We love and miss you, and celebrate your love, life, and reunion with Pops, who has no doubt been waiting to see you again.

  Acknowledgments

  No book is created by one person. And with that, I am so very thankful to Cat Lee, who helped to proof this book. Your sharp eye has been a blessing, as has been your comments on the story and characters.

  Karen Pellet. You , my friend, have been absolutely awesome. Your comments and feedback have truly been amazing in helping to make this book even better.

  * * *

  Thank you, Jessica Guernsey, for your help in also cleaning up the book and strengthening weak spots. Your comments were not only a great help, but often quite fun.

  1

  Ramshackle huts and shacks passed in a blur as Mallika ran down the stained and dirty streets. In the poor district between the temple and her village, each street held its own signature stench. She turned down a street that smelled of humans sweating in the heat, even though it was dusk. Their odor mixed with that of the bovine inhabitants mingling in the thinning crowd as night rapidly approached. Hers was a world of tanners, fishermen, and anything that dealt with death or uncleanliness. For all of her twelve years of life, this was where Mallika lived. This was her place, her life. And it all passed by in a blur of hot, stuffy evening air as she made her way quietly through the cow pie-strewn streets, cradling a bowl of herbs in her hands.

  Occasionally Mallika had to dodge left or right to avoid a cow as it meandered lazily across her path. Cows. Considered sacred and not to be mistreated. Cows, with that musty large animal smell. Held in higher regard than her people.

  That one stray thought almost caused her to run headlong into a woman carrying a basket of fruit on her head. The woman just barely grabbed the basket to keep it from falling over and spilling its contents onto the street.

  Mallika kept running, ignoring the insults and curses spat by the angry woman. She sprinted down the stone street, her bare, dirty feet splashing in puddles of water and crunching through bits of straw and dirt.

  At a nearby stream, women and children wearing little more than gray and brown rags washed clothes that looked as though they would never be clean. Despondent men and boys scooped human and animal excrement from the streets for those considered ‘better’ to travel.

  Mallika didn’t know what smelled worse, the excrement baking in the relentless night heat, or the scent of broken spirits surrounding her.

  Mallika stole a glance down at the tattered hand-woven bowl. She’d wanted to bring some water with the herbs, but she wasn’t confident of its purity. Her mother’s survival depended on her pleasing Lord Dhanvantari, and she couldn’t take a chance in offending the Physician God by offering him dirty water. She hoped the herbs would please him.

  As she neared the edge of her village, she slowed and took more careful steps. Now was the time for stealth. During the day, her people mostly slept and remained unseen. It wasn’t till night when they went about their business. Unclean business, society had deemed it.

  She crept along the side of a stone building and peeked around the corner. She ducked her head back and lowered to the ground, making herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. She heard the footsteps of the night patrolman grow louder. Slow, casual steps. Bored steps. The authorities always had to draw straws when it came to the night patrol of the poor districts. ‘Guarding the shit.’ That’s what they called it, unclear whether they were talking about the actual waste, or the people who shoveled it.

  The guard continued on his route, disappearing around the far corner of the building. Silent as a shadow, Mallika slipped from around the building and padded across the street. Be strong, Mama. Lord Dhanvantari won’t refuse my prayers or this offering. Just hold on a little longer. Please don’t die, Mama.

  She zigzagged the street, hiding in the darkest alcoves and lying perfectly still when a guard came near. She hunkered down next to a large basket, drawing her knees up to her chest. A second guard walked by, and Mallika glimpsed the jeweled hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. Her eyes rose to take in the dark blue turban with a single feather on top. His green vest woven with simple yet attractive designs would have been beautiful if not mocking by its very existence. His loose-fitting white trousers only accentuated the jewels in the hilt of that sword.

  Her eyes fell on back to that hilt. Head-to-toe, the man’s uniform cost more than any possession Mallika and her mother would ever hope to have. Just the jewels alone, inlaid in the hilt of that sword, could buy them food for longer than she could imagine.

  She snapped out of her resentment and scanned the area. The presence of such well-dressed guards also meant that she was close to the temple.

  She slipped around the basket and made her way in the opposite direction as the guard. Several more patrolled near the temple so she waited, taking note of their patterns.

  The moon suddenly appeared in a gap between the sleepy clouds. The pale light held no warmth, but it illuminated the temple grounds
brilliantly, giving Mallika a perfect view of the patrolling and stationary guards.

  Finally, having established their patterns, Mallika waited till the moon was shrouded once more, then left her hiding place. She skulked along the walls and stopped at the edge of the open ground. About thirty feet of lawn separated the pillars of the temple from her position. That thirty feet seemed like a mile of vulnerability. She would have to be fast and silent.

  Her grip on the basket tightened until she reminded herself not to spill its contents and thus her only hope of healing Mama. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She’s all I have. I’ve got to do this.

  Once the guards turned away, she darted out into the opening, sprinting across the lawn. About a dozen feet from the first pillar, her foot caught on a hidden mound. Stifling a cry of pain, she clamped her hand over the basket as she went down. She hit the ground and rolled head over heels, coming back to her feet. Pain burned in her left foot, but she shrugged it off and continued until she reached the pillar.

  Chest heaving and big toe throbbing, she slowly removed her hand from the tiny basket to see the herbs disheveled, but still there. She breathed a sigh of relief and started a silent prayer to Brahma, when a guard called out.

  “Hey. Someone there?”

  Mallika pressed her back to the wall, willing herself to sink into it. She squinted her eyes shut.

  “I heard something,” another guard said. “It came from over there, near the lawn.”

  “I don’t see anything,” a second guard said. “Probably a rat, or some other rodent.”

  “That’s why we’re here. To prevent any rodents of the two-legged persuasion from sullying the temple—”

  “That’s enough.”

  Mallika’s heart skipped a beat. The voice was powerful, commanding. It had to belong to the captain. She’d never seen him, but she could imagine her fate if he found her here.

  “Go check it out.”

  She closed her eyes and arranged her fingers in the mudra of courage, and released her fear. She held still, listening to the muffled footsteps of the guard as he crossed the lawn. She prayed that the moon didn’t come back out and send her shadow stretching across the lawn.

  The steps drew closer, and Mallika forced her heart to slow, her mind to focus. Mama was depending on her to stay focused and not panic. Strong body odor revealed the guard’s close proximity to her pillar. He was coming around to her right. She slowly, quietly, shuffled along the side of the pillar, moving at the same pace as the guard.

  The footsteps stopped, and she held her breath. She was facing the row of three pillars that stood between her and the other guards. So long as she remained where she was, they wouldn’t see her. But if this guard decided to do a complete circuit of the pillar, she would be forced to slide around it where she would be facing the open lawn.

  “Eh. Probably a normal four-legged rat.” The guard’s voice was nearly in her ear, and she could tell he was leaning around the pillar, giving the area a glance. She barely registered the insult, so preoccupied was she with keeping calm.

  She heard the footsteps coming back around the pillar, faster this time, and she matched the steps.

  “Nothing there.” The guard’s voice was father away. She released the breath she’d been holding and waited till she built up the courage to glance around the column. The guards had resumed their patrols. She slipped to the left, darting between pillars until she finally came to the steps at the base of the shrine of Lord Dhanvantari, four-armed God of Health.

  She licked her dry lips, glancing down at the basket cupped in her hands. She would have to be quick. There would be no time to go through the full ritual. She would hurry to the shrine, present her offering, say the silent prayers to the God for his blessing to heal Mama, then be gone before the authorities returned.

  She waited, eyes darting left to right, feeling much like a mouse navigating a den of cats. The altar and its surroundings were vacant. Despite this, a stab of fear chilled the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t have come. No. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing.

  Just nerves, she thought. Mama’s depending on me. I have to do this. Of course, Mama didn’t know she was here or she would have tried to prevent Mallika from coming. Not that she could have done much in her weakened condition. Better she not know. Mallika would tell her after she had been healed.

  Before she lost her nerve, Mallika took a deep breath and got moving. Keeping low to the ground, she silently made her way past the last row of columns, glancing wide-eyed in every direction.

  Mallika lifted her foot to take the first step when she felt the tip of a sword touch the back of her neck. She swallowed audibly, foot still hovering over the step.

  “What is this?” a voice asked from behind. “So, there was a rodent scurrying around here, eh?” The sword slipped around to the front; the flat of the blade pressed against her throat, forcing her to step away from the altar.

  “You weren’t about to dirty the shrine of Lord Dhanvantari, were you?” The sword pressed harder, and she winced. Even though it wasn’t the cutting edge against her skin, it still hurt. The guard used his sword to move her around till he was standing between her and the steps to the shrine.

  “What are you doing here?” the guard demanded.

  Mallika kept her gaze down, though it grated on her to do so. “My mother is dying. I came to make an offering to Lord Dhanvantari,” she glanced around the guard at the depiction of the God of Healing, “that he might heal her illness.” The shrine was so close, but impossibly far now.

  “And why would He deign to listen to your filthy prayers, let alone sully his hands with laying them on your mother?”

  Mallika stole a quick glance at the guard’s smug expression and clenched her teeth. She would have killed him with his own sword if she could.

  “You’ve got a defiant streak in you, don’t you?” the guard said, eyeing her. “Yes, I can see it. Too bad you were born a girl, and from slums, at that.” He jerked his chin in the direction of her home.

  “What’s going on here?” It was the strong voice.

  The owner of that voice moved quickly to them. Adorned with a more intricately designed vest, bright blue turban with a larger feather rising above it, there could be no question of his rank.

  “You were right, Captain. There was a rat running around here, and I’ve caught her.” He nodded at her basked of herbs with a disgusted snarl. “She was planning to stain the temple with her filth.”

  “Take her to the city square for everyone to see, and give her ten lashes,” another guard said. “It’s the only way those street vermin learn anything.”

  “You will be silent, all of you! This is a little girl.” The captain approached her. “Take your sword away from her neck, Badal. I doubt she’s going to overpower you, though with your current skill with the blade, it may be possible.”

  Chuckling ensued. Mallika glanced around. She hadn’t realized two more had arrived.

  The guard named Badal muttered under his breath and sheathed his sword. “You think I’m gonna touch this with my own hands?” He nodded at Mallika. “Disgusting.”

  “You should have more respect for human life, Badal,” the captain said. “You could just as easily be born in the same status in your next life.”

  “So what are you going to do with her, Captain?” one of the other guards asked. “Untouchables aren’t allowed in the temple.”

  “She should be beaten,” Badal muttered.

  The captain squatted down before her, looking into her eyes. “Why are you here, little one? Surely you know this is not allowed.”

  Mallika stared down at the herbs in her little basket. “My mother is sick,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “If I don’t make my offering to Lord Dhanvantari, she’ll die.”

  “Not such a big loss,” Badal muttered.

  “Return
to your post, Badal. Now.” The captain watched him go, then returned his attention to Mallika. “You know that it’s forbidden for Untouchables to enter the temple don’t you, little one?”

  Mallika looked up at him, allowing her anger to show. Just looking the man in the eye could get her executed, but she could hold it back no longer. “So I should let my mother die? I should just do nothing?”

  The man’s gentle tone didn’t waver, despite her insolence. “Perhaps you could offer your prayers in your home.”

  “Do you believe that would work?” Mallika asked. “If so, can’t we all just do that instead of using the altars and shrines and temples the Gods have given us?”

  “Shut your mouth,” one of the other guards barked. His fist tightened around the hilt of the sword. “Filthy urchins do not question the captain of the guard—”

  “That is enough,” the captain said. He looked into Mallika’s eyes for several tense moments. “Perhaps I can have a priest say the prayers and make the offering for you.”

  “I should be the one to do it,” Mallika insisted. Her pulse raced and her hands grew clammy. There was no time for this. She looked about the dark temple. Outside the many rows of pillars, the moon washed the outer lawn and square white buildings in its pale light. Even that beauty mocked her. She looked back into the captain’s eyes. “She’s my mother.”