A Glimpse into Darkness: Prequel of The Immortal Sorrows series Read online

  A Glimpse

  Into

  Darkness

  Prequel of

  ~The Immortal Sorrows series~

  Sherri A Wingler

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, either living or dead, are coincidental, and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2015

  Sherri A Wingler

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED WORLDWIDE

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher. Nor may any part of the publication be stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means; by electronic, recording, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise, without written permission from the author/publisher.

  Cover designed by: Danella Miller Photography

  www.danellamillerphotography.com

  This story is dedicated to the readers who keep me going. Your encouragement has meant everything to me.

  Thank you!

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  1 Clotho

  Wings of Darkness

  PROLOGUE

  1 IZZY

  2 ASHER

  3 IZZY

  4 ASHER

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books and Authors I Love

  Clotho

  The woman before the mirror was as thin as a blade, and her beauty could cut like a knife. Long, dark hair twisted in elaborate Grecian knots about her head to cascade in a bronze waterfall down her back. She barely glanced up at the sound of my footsteps. Aisa. The Greeks called her Atropos. She who could not be turned, and she was the embodiment of Fate.

  Her mismatched eyes were unsettling, even to me. One was the brilliant blue of a sapphire and the other was dark as the soil after a rain. It was said of her that one eye looked always to the heavens, and the other, always to the earth. Perhaps it was true. She certainly seemed to see everything.

  “Hello, my darling, what brings you to us this lovely evening?” She had a soft voice with a musical lilt to it, but like everything else about her, it was a deceptive thing. She turned her smooth cheek up to me for a quick kiss. She smelled faintly of the woodsy incense burning in all four corners of the dimly-lit room.

  “Nothing, mother. I just wanted to stop in and say hello.” Thousands of threads ran through her fingers and lay stretched across her lap in a rainbow display of color. They were special, those threads. Each one was attached to a mortal life. It seemed impossible that she should keep track of them all, but it was Aisa’s sacred duty to measure and cut each life in its due time. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

  Her hands were rough from constantly working the threads. Such tedious work for one of her station. I wouldn’t enjoy it, personally, but as I was the eldest daughter of the reigning Fate, someday in the distant future, I would be expected to take her place. I would spin the threads and weave the destinies of mortals just as she did. I would also hold the power of life… and death.

  She was a slave to her station, but the power she held was both terrible and beautiful. Life and death for every living soul. What must it be like to be Fate? Intoxicating, I imagined.

  “Your sister keeps me company. She’s learning to spin quite beautifully.” I ignored the unspoken admonition. I knew the old argument. I should learn to spin as artfully as my darling sister, but then one of us being locked up in the dreadful dark with the acrid incense smoke seemed like plenty to me.

  My sister, Melita came forward from her corner and dropped a curt nod in my direction. “Clotho.”

  “Hello, little spider. How are you enjoying your day?”

  She ignored my little jab at her expense. It didn’t surprise me. She would never rise to the bait as long as our mother was present. Later, when no one was near to witness, I would get an earful. It was ever her way.

  We were like fire and ice, my sister and I. Her skin was as fair as cream, whereas my own was the color of raw honey. She was a lovely thing to look upon, no doubt, but something about her needled me. She was so sweet and good, depending on her mood or her company. In private she was another creature entirely. Spiteful and vindictive. She’d always been jealous of me. Always. From the moment of her birth she’d been a thorn in my side.

  “There is a battle raging in Thermopylae.” She inclined her head towards the enormous bronze mirror as she set a platter at our mother’s elbow. “A paltry handful of Spartans against a horde of Persians.” She made a ‘tsking’ sound. “Fools throwing their already limited lives away.”

  “They know no other way, daughter.” Aisa picked up her gilded dagger once more and began methodically slicing through the threads. One after another. Once sliced they fell to the floor like teardrops. It seemed a random pattern to me, but who was I to question Fate? Her hands moved constantly. Measure and slice, measure and slice. There was a peculiar rhythm to it, not unlike the music playing softly in the background.

  Movement in the mirror caught my attention. At first glance, it reflected the room and the woman sitting before it, with myself and my sister standing behind her. On closer inspection, it became clear the mirror reflected not the room itself, but the mortal world at large, particularly a small space of it torn by battle. Armies clashed and men died. They tossed their lives away for want of women or land. For their pride. For their honor. For king and country. The list was seemingly endless and entirely tedious.

  Their mouths opened in silent screams as they fell to the bloodied ground. So much death, and all of it choreographed to the dulcet strains of the harp playing softly all around us. The music swelled and grew, punctuated only by the whispering hiss of my mother’s blade as she carefully cut each life short.

  Reapers walked among the mortals; hundreds, if not thousands, of them. One hardly ever saw so many in one place, but then this was a particularly fine harvest. They passed by the living to take the dying, and none of the fools seemed to notice the more immediate threat.

  One Reaper in particular drew my eye, just as he always did. Ashrael. The Angel of Death. He was the first of his kind and an exemplary specimen. I watched him move among the dying with precision. Neither pity nor scorn was written upon his face. Whatever he felt about his chore, he kept it to himself. He was always so cold. I wondered, not for the first time, what it might take to melt the ice around his heart. What would it take to make him smile?

  “You find the Reapers beautiful, do you not?” I startled guiltily. Aisa had been so silent, I’d nearly forgotten she was there.

  “I find them deadly and efficient, mother. Beautiful, too, but then they have to be, do they not? So much easier to capture their prey if they can lure them in with a pleasant face.”

  She chuckled. “You’ve not paid close attention if that is what you believe. The mortals fear them. They refuse to see them until the last breath is drawn, but even then they will not see their true form.” She shook her head. “Such a pity.”

  It was true. The humans fought with ferocity against each other. They wielded swords and shields like clubs, with precious little nuance. Not once did any sort of recognition cross their faces as the Reapers brushed by. All their attention remained on their opponents. None of them knew there was a much greater threat close at hand. Such is the mystery of the frail human mind.

  My gaze followed Ashrael easily enough. He came up beside a warrior and pressed his fingertips to the man’s chest at the moment his opponent’s sw
ord ran through his belly. A moment of shock and fear passed over the man’s face before he gave up his life. And yet, his eyes grew tender as he looked directly upon the face of Death. What did he see? Who? Certainly not Death.

  I hadn’t quite made up my mind if humans were amazingly stubborn or incredibly stupid creatures. I was leaning towards stupid.

  I watched as more men fell around him. Some actually stumbled away from him as if shying away from the sharp edge of a sword. They slipped and tripped in the mud to avoid him. They feared Death above all things, but then they couldn’t see him as I did. Tall and broad-shouldered, with hair so fair and eyes of grey.

  The music around us hit a crescendo as Ashrael pulled a silvery grey mist from his harvest’s chest. I found myself involuntarily holding my breath as I watched him. He was beautiful. Elegant, if such a thing may be said of such a man. He lowered the harvest’s body to the ground more gently than was needed before turning his back to us and moving on to the next one.

  “You pay far too much attention to Lord Death, Clotho.”

  I cut my gaze sideways, all attention back on my mother who saw far too much for my liking. Too much for my comfort. “Whatever do you mean?” I carefully schooled my features into a mask of bored indifference.

  My sister chimed in, just as I knew she would. She could never pass up a chance to curry favor with our mother. I already knew her opinion of Reapers in general and Ashrael in particular. She thought them beneath us, merely servants who carried out the whims of Fate.

  “Ashrael is meant for another. You would do well to avoid him.” Aisa’s words settled with me like iron in the pit of my stomach and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “Not that I have an interest, but how do you know such a thing?” I kept my tone light and politely curious.

  Aisa lowered her head and went back to measuring her threads. “Cronus told me.”

  “Cronus is insane,” I scoffed. “He mutters to himself of things which haven’t happened yet. He plays games no one has ever heard of. How can we know he isn’t making it all up for his own amusement?”

  “You would do well to listen to him, daughter. He has yet to be wrong about anything he’s chosen to share with me.” She stopped her cutting long enough to reach for the goblet of spiced wine sitting on the table at her elbow. She took a small sip, set it carefully back down again. “Believe what you like about Cronus, but I tell you it would be wise to stay in his good graces.”

  “What benefit is the grace of a fool?”

  Aisa’s lips pressed into a hard line. The way she looked at me was so odd. Cold. It was almost as if she gazed upon a stranger, and not her own child. “The fool you speak so lightly of is the most dangerous of all the immortals. Remember that, both of you. Time consumes everything in his path. He may do so with a smile upon his face, but he will do it nevertheless. Do not underestimate him, and do not cross him.”

  “I would never dream of such a thing, mother.” My sister’s hand dropped to my mother’s shoulder where it was received with a fond pat.

  “Of course you wouldn’t, my darling. You’re my good girl.” I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Of course Melita would never directly cross anyone. Her way was to sneak up and slip her blade between the shoulders before delivering the final twist with a flourish.

  Aisa dropped her threads onto her lap and took my hands in both of hers. My mother’s hands were always so warm. Her gaze was searching. I felt an uncomfortable urge to lower my eyelids.

  “You’re still so young, and the young are easily swayed by a pleasant face. I understand.” The ghost of a smile played about her lips. “I was your age once, and your father was lovely to look upon.” Not that anyone knew who he might be.

  “Noted. May I please be excused, Mother?” Heat crept up my throat. I was smothering in this dark room with its reeking incense.

  “You may.” I turned to go before she finished speaking. “Remember, darling, Death is meant for another.” She said it as if that were the final word on the matter.

  “Even if he were not,” Melita added, “he is surely beneath your consideration. He is the vessel of Fate. One must always aim higher than attracting the regard of the servants, dearest.”

  Dull heat crept up my throat and into my cheeks. What cared I for the paranoid ramblings of an old fool and my ignorant little sister? I wanted Ashrael for my own, and I would have him.

  ***

  Ashrael. He was much on my mind of late, but then why shouldn’t he be? He was as beautiful as any angel in the heavens. Beautiful and deadly. From the top of his golden head to the tips of his darkened wings, he was perfection. I couldn’t help but admire him. He would be my perfect match one fine day. We would look stunning together. My mind whirled imagining all the balls and parties we would attend as a couple. With me on his arm he would demand the respect he so richly deserved. Perhaps a promotion? There was room on the Council of Elders, I mused. Then surely even my family could find no flaw in my choice.

  I slipped the heavy brocade curtain in my mother’s salon back to peek at the skies above the sanctuary. It didn’t take long to find the one I sought. I took particular pleasure in watching him circle. Other angels played as they flew, stretching their wings and performing acrobatics to impress their fellows. Not Ashrael. He cut through them like a predator.

  He flew with a Reaper whose wings were nearly as dark as his innumerable sins were rumored to be. Samael. His brother. They spun in the air as they sparred. The dark and the light. So closely matched, yet Ashrael always kept his edge.

  His brother was too hot natured. He made a mistake. A tiny slip, but it cost him. It gave me a tiny thrill to watch the two of them and anticipate the moment when Ashrael would be mine.

  “Fortune favors the bold, and it would appear as if the beautiful Clotho does as well.” I was startled by the intrusion. Suriel had taken my moment of quiet contemplation to sneak up on me. You would think an Archangel would have better ways to spend his time.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I eyed him coldly and let the curtain fall back into place. Everything about him was dark; his eyes, his hair, even his heart, I suspected. The Archangel of Wisdom and Death. He, too, was beautiful in his way, but his was a cold, austere beauty.

  “You follow him with your eyes, you know.” He moved close so quickly. Too quickly. He startled me, but I refused to flinch away from him. “You may think no one notices, but I see. I know.” His voice was low, pitched so only I would hear him, and his breath was hot against the nape of my neck. “He’ll never love you. Not as you should be loved.” The hands at my elbows were grasping. Suriel was always so greedy. I jerked my arms out of his grasp. I refused to be man-handled in such a way.

  “Surely you know better than to think I would dally with the help?” My sister’s words sprang to my lips unbidden. They sounded ugly and cruel. Suriel’s low chuckle sent a shiver through me. He made my blood run cold. He was always watching me with such hungry eyes. Waiting for an opportunity to pounce, but I would have none of him.

  I stepped away from the window and let the curtain drop into place. I wanted some distance between us. “You should take care what you say to me. I’m not the sort you wish to trifle with.” I plucked a honey-dipped fig from the bowl on the table and placed it in my mouth. So sweet and juicy. Cruel dark eyes followed my every move. It gave me a momentary excuse not to speak to him.

  “Some sweet day, Clotho, you will need my help. I so look forward to being at your service when you do.” He bowed graciously before offering me his arm. “Allow me to escort you to dinner?”

  “Certainly.” Hungry, yes that was Suriel. I loathed the man, but I wasn’t stupid. He could be easily bent to my will and perhaps he was right. Someday I may have use for him. Better to keep him close than to alienate him. An archangel makes a formidable enemy.

  I placed my hand delicately atop his arm and smiled sweetly as I allowed him to lead me to my mother’s dinner party.


  Suriel was someone my mother would approve of. An Archangel might possibly be deemed worthy of me, but I highly doubted it. I could not begin to fathom what schemes Aisa had in store for me. Schemes within schemes, but I wasn’t a child and I refused to be treated as such. I would have my way, no matter the cost.

  My companion was all charm as he escorted me through my mother’s castle, but my mind and my heart were elsewhere. His presence at my side was a constant reminder of my station in life. I was careful to nod at the appropriate moments. The smile I kept in place felt false and unconvincing, but Suriel wasn’t looking at my face for most of our time together. I could almost feel all the places his eyes wandered. Loathsome man. Let him look and let him dream of what he would never have.

  ***

  I slipped the satin evening gown over my head and stepped into my bath. Steam and the perfume of a thousand rose petals wafted into the air around me. The hot water was so deliciously relaxing. I should be perfectly happy, and yet an errant notion nagged at me, as irritating as a biting fly. There was something there, an obstacle to my ultimate happiness.

  My mother. Ashrael would never be mine as long as Aisa stood in our way. It was impossible.

  “More hot water, mistress?” I glanced up to shoo my overeager maid away. “No, thank you. If I need you, I’ll ring for you.” She bobbed a quick curtsy and took herself out of my presence. I needed quiet time to think.

  If Aisa were out of the way, I would have the power of Fate. I would have power over Death and all the Reapers would be at my disposal. Without my mother to deny and protest, Ashrael would be mine. Entirely.

  I loved my mother, of course I did, but she was so old and due for a rest…

  I sank further into the water as I closed my eyes. I must have fallen into a dreamy state, because I didn’t hear the intruder until it was too late.