Chapter 1 of ©Angelic Darkness

This is the first installment of the book I am working on. It is fantasy style. I am putting it on a Hub to get some feedback from other writers and readers. I have no problem with helpful feedback, but please do not be rude. I will be posting more chapters as time goes on. If you enjoy my story please continue to watch for more! Thanks and enjoy.

©Angelic Darkness
(Chapter 1)
Darkness. It seemed it was always dark or getting dark to the solo inhabitant of the cave high in the Dalhoth mountain of Talons Rest. Darkness meant safety. In his solitude, precious little gave him joy, but the freedom darkness afforded.

He was safe under the enveloping blanket of stars. Even with 2 of Dalhoth’s four moons almost full this night, he could travel with ease on the old roads, rarely used by the folk of the village far below him.

As he stood on the rocky crag and gazed into the distance, he saw the lights of the palace of the Arc dazzling, as it rose up to dominate the Eastern vista and dwarf the village of Ebondale. The gentle breeze played with his long dark hair and whispered to him long forgotten stories only it knew. Stories of years past when one of his station would have been respected and revered.

He silently wished for those days to come again. To be free to touch a bight blue sky and admire wildflowers of a vast array of color, and to walk tall and uncloaked through the streets of Ebondale. But it would never be. He was alone.

His only companions were the tiny night dragons who emerged at sundown to dot the evening sky with their fiery glowing tails. They alone did not fear him as they sailed gracefully about on tiny gossamer wings. They sometimes landed on his hand or shoulder for a brief rest before returning to their dance of lights. How alike they were, he often thought to himself, as he witnessed these creatures. They too must hide from the day lest they be caught by children and held captive in a jar for the sake of an entertainment.

Yet when the sun slept, they were free to roam in relative safety as no other creature would prey on a night dragon. People were the only real enemy Yet he who lived among them in the mountain aerie they accepted, as if they knew that he too would be made captive if anyone knew of his existence.

For 12 lonely years he had spent his days and nights in his mountain, only venturing to town for supplies. Even then, it was only at night and completely cloaked, to hide what would bring his doom if discovered. Most never could look past his strange eyes that were an unnatural shade of ice blue shot through with hints of violet. They would sell him goods and ask after his family, as was custom to one of his breed. He would smile politely and answer in customary fashion “They are well” and quickly depart as the vendor bowed to him.

Family. Such a strange concept. When a human baby enters the world it knows nothing but what it learns from its surroundings, but when an angelic is born, it is born knowing certain things that it will never forget. It knows its parents joys and sorrows instinctively and because of this, the bond of an angelic family is very strong.

An angelic child knows stories passed down generation to generation through memory, thus little history is ever lost. They were named at the moment of birth, and the name is whispered into the ear of the infant five times. From that moment, the power of the name can take hold and help guide the child though life.

All angelic names held meaning and he could remember when his name was whispered into his ear. It was not sweet and gentle as it should have been, and there was no celebration of his birth. It was the voice of his mother choked with tears, sadness and shame that whispered the name “Ash”. It was the only word he would ever hear his mother say.

Upon receiving his name, which in angelic means (something that is ruined), there was only silence and Ash knew shame and suffering. His newborn cries received no answer from those who should love and protect him. He was left alone and he felt fear.

When sleep at last came Ash was near death from cold and hunger, but fate saw fit to grant mercy in the form of an old woman of the wood called Teresa. She happened upon the bundle on her way back to her remote cottage deep in the forest. Having no children of her own, she put the tiny baby to her chest to warm him and hurried to her home, determined to keep him for her own.



Upon inspection she saw why this newborn angelic had been left to die. But being a woman of the woods, Teresa decided to keep him regardless, and keep his life a secret. She knew that whoever this child’s parents were, they would assume he was carried off by wild beasts. She was a mortal woman but had known her share of angelics and knew they were a superstitious and proud race. This helpless infant was an abomination and must be kept hidden lest he be taken from her.

After Teresa filled his belly with fresh goat’s milk, she laid him to sleep in a reed basket by the hearth. His face was beautiful and smooth with a tuft of black hair on his head. His limbs were well formed and his strength was obvious as he had not perished when left in the cold. Upon his back was the glory of his race, two tiny folded wings. Wings that should have been white as new driven snow and illuminated by some unknown force making them appear to shimmer. But they were not. This child had wings black as the deepest ebony.

Looking down upon the slumbering babe Teresa silently prayed that the stories were wrong, that she had not let her doom in by the front door and set it to sleep by her hearth. How could this beautiful helpless creature have a soul black and evil as that of any demon? Could it be possible that the legends were true?

“Dark Angelics” as they were called had not been seen for more than 300 years in Dalhoth. Once in a while a story of one being spotted would pass about but most thought it was just to frighten children and paid it no mind. They knew the dark ones had been put to death after the 2nd war.

The Dark Angelics were led by a fierce warrior called Jarreth Nightwind who was the captain of the Arc’s royal guard. He and all the angelics he commanded bore black wings and when called to duty, were merciless.

The Arc during the time of the 2nd war was known as Terrelian The Cruel, a warlord king who demanded every race bow to his whims or be slaughtered by his dark guard. He was not beloved of his people but none would dare rise against him.

The true origin of the Dark Guard is not known. What is known is that Tarrelian ruled wisely for 20 years and brought prosperity and wealth to his people. In the 21st year of his reign a strange visitor arrived in the court of the Arc claiming to be an alchemist from the land of Eldinar far across the sea. He claimed to have learned secrets from the mysterious elven race that lived there and would share these secrets with Tarrelian for a price.

The Arc, hoping to further the interests and prosperity of his kingdom, took the stranger on as his personal advisor and sage. At first all seemed well, but then a change began to take hold in the once wise ruler. He began to hunger for more power and land, and grew discontented with his own kingdom.

What happened next is a mystery, but the story is, that Tarrelian sent his court and all his advisors away, shutting himself up in his stronghold with only his alchemist advisor for many months. The mortals and angelics of his kingdom were frightened and worried for their Arc.

When Tarrelian finally emerged he was almost not recognized by his people. His once blond hair and turned snow white and his great luminous wings lay slate grey and lifeless on his back. His blue eyes were cold and the color of hard steel.

Behind him there appeared a host of more than two thousand guards with huge black wings. Everyone knew the Arc and his alchemist had been alone in the palace, and they were terrified at the sight they beheld. The Arc announced to his people that a new era would come to pass and that he would rule the entire known world with the help of his new royal guard and his personal advisor.

Over the next fifteen years the Dark Guard led by Jarreth laid siege to any kingdom that apposed Terrelian, burned villages and murdered any who would not pledge fealty to the True Arc. It was rumored that the Dark Guard were warlocks who corrupted the Arc and used twisted magic to control him. Some even said they were demons summoned from the bowels of the earth by the alchemist.

They seemed able to command the forces of nature to do their bidding, even calling upon ancient beings imprisoned long ago to aid in their evil cause.

The known world had been ravaged by Tarrelian’s guard and he was setting his sights next upon Eldinar across the vast Northern Sea. A few rebel groups had tried to fight the guard but none were successful. Many had seen spear and arrow strike the captain, and yet he lived, continuing to lead his army in merciless conquest.

A secret council was called of all the remaining mortal and angelic leaders. The high priestess said that only one could defeat Jarreth, and that only with his death could the Dark Guard be defeated. A champion was chosen from the rank of remaining angelic warriors.

His name was Owen Brightwing and he agreed to face the leader of the dark guard. The priestess gave him the angelic’s most holy relic, The Spine of Virtue, to aid him. The dagger, she told him, when plunged into the black heart of Jarreth would defeat him and cause the Dark Guard to fall without a leader. This she said she had seen in a vision.

The story goes that Owen Brightwing took the Spine of Virtue and drove it though the heart of Jarreth Nightwind from behind, while he was aloft surveying a village the guard were about to invade. The champion swooped down upon him and dealt his blow with such speed, that Jarreth fell like a rock to the earth and upon impact, exploded into dust. The Spine Of Virtue vanished into a crack that split the earth, lost forever. A disembodied voice was heard to say in the wind, “I shall return and have my vengeance”.

Their leader gone, the Dark Guard were quickly rounded up in their disoriented confusion. The palace stronghold of Terrelian was taken and the Arc himself put to death along with all his guard. They were burned and the ashes scattered to the four winds. The alchemist was never found or seen again. Many think Jarreth was he, but no one has ever know for sure.



Over the next few years, now and then an angelic with black wings would be found and instantly be put to death, lest the dark time of the past repeat itself. From that time on any angelic with black wings was said to be the demon reincarnation of Jarreth and must be killed before it could corrupt or destroy the land once again.

Should one of these evil creatures be allowed to grow to adulthood it would surely destroy the land once more. This was the edict set forth by Arc Owen Brightwing and now, 300 years later, here lay a tiny angelic child in Teresa’s forest cottage with black wings.

For thirteen wonderful years Teresa raised Ash as her own, though both knew they were not truly related. Understanding the angelic name custom, Teresa waited until the child could tell her his true name. Once a name was whispered, it was part of the soul and could never be changed.

Ash grew strong but always with a sadness about him. His foster mother could only hope she had done the right thing by adopting him. He instinctively knew what he was from a very young age, and knew the stories of his people including that of Jarreth and the Dark Guard. When he was 6 years of age, he asked Teresa if she thought he was evil. She looked into his wonderfully strange eyes, and saw no hint of malice, only warmth and innocence.

“No my son,” she told him, “you are not evil.”

“Why must I stay hidden? Shall I ever be able to see others like me?” he asked.

Teresa’s heart broke for the lonely child ,with only her for company. “The others would be fearful of you my child. They would seek to harm you, for fear of what you would become. In my eyes you are beautiful my sweet son, but they do not know what I know, and would not allow the time to learn.”

When Ash reached his 10th year, his wings were mature and, in cover of darkness, he learned to fly. Teresa was terrified each time he took to the sky that he would be seen by a traveler, and begged him to hover low over the tree line. He obliged her when he knew she was looking, but he would sneak out and fly as high as he could when she slept.

He ascended to where the air was thin and few angelics ventured. At first it was hard to breath, but over time, Ash learned to control his lungs and needed little air in the towering heights to sustain him. One night, while exploring the sky, he noticed a cave hidden high up on the tallest peak of Talons Rest mountain.

When he alighted in the entrance, he saw the cave was vast and its mouth shadowed by a ledge that made it hard to see. He had noticed it only because the moon’s position was such, that it cast a dim light upon it. Ash spent the next few nights making the cave his secret hideout, bringing things to it from home.

Teresa began to notice things disappearing from the cottage and asked him about it. He merely shrugged and suggested that she had misplaced them. She was very old by this time, and accepted the notion that he was right, and she had forgotten.

Ash continued to visit his cave and add to it over the next few years. Teresa had made him fine leather flying garments, and taught him about rare herbs used to make all manner of goods suitable for trade or consumption. These too he brought to his cave as his “treasure”.

One summer afternoon, Ash was hunting for certain forest mushroom Teresa had requested in the glen behind the cottage. The glen was always safe, and far enough from Ebondale that he could run about safely in daylight. But on this day, something was different in the glen. The creatures were noticeably out of sight and no bird sang.

From a grove of trees, Ash watched as a large man with great golden wings stalked quietly through the glen. He held a long bow, and a quiver of arrows was tied to his back. The hunter seemed to be trailing something and Ash, sensing danger, tried to back away from the tree line quietly. A dead branch suddenly broke under his foot and instantly he froze. But it was too late, the hunter snapped to attention and focused directly on Ash.

At first, all he saw was a child standing in the shadows, but a second look betrayed the child for what he was. The hunter saw wings the color of ebony jutting from between his shoulders.

Knowing what he knew, Ash turned to run, and hearing the fast footfalls behind him he shrieked in terror. Flight was impossible here, as the tree cover was too dense. He had to make it back to the cottage to hide. He turned only once and saw the big man was gaining ground rapidly, and hurling all manner of curses.

Finally Ash broke the tree line, and the cottage was in sight. Teresa was hanging linens on a line to dry and turned when she heard him shriek. The sight she beheld was shear terror, as her beloved son came tearing into the cottage clearing pursued by one of the biggest angelics she had ever seen. The look of pure hatred on the hunters face, coupled with the look of pure fear on Ash, caused her frail heart to stop in mid beat. Ash was no more than 10 feet away when the old woman fell to the ground, spilling the pile of clean linens into the dirt.

Ash cried out to her as he ran for his life, but she lay still upon the ground. The tears began to pour from his eyes as he ran past the lifeless body of his foster mother. He leapt into the air and beat his black wings as hard as he could. He charged for the narrow opening in the canopy he used to attain the sky.

The sun was bright and hurt his eyes. He had never before flown above the trees in daylight. He glanced below him and caught a glimpse of the hunter trying desperately to fit his much larger wingspan through the opening Ash had used. Making it to the altitudes where the air was thin, Ash could only think of one place to hide. His secret cave hideout. If only he could make it there, he was sure he would be safe. He looked back and saw the nothing of the hunter.

He stayed in the heights until he was directly above the mountain, then dove at breakneck speed through the sky for the cave mouth. Reaching it, he scrambled inside and made his way to the farthest passage, and huddled himself down in the darkness.


Not a sound could be heard, accept the occasional drip of water in the caves damp interior. Ash sat for many hours and listened, afraid to move or even breath. When the sun descended below the horizon, he finally willed himself to investigate his security. Passage by passage he crept through the cave, stopping to listen every few seconds. Convinced his fortress has not been discovered, Ash finally had time to think about what had happened.

Teresa, the only mother he had ever know was dead. He wondered if the hunter had reported his presents, and feared he would be discovered if he dare return to the cottage. He had enough food to last him a few days at best, and the cave had its own natural spring for water. He had brought a blanket long ago to his cave and being summer, the weather was warm even at this height.

For the next three days and nights, Ash kept to his cave and remained on constant vigil, scanning the sky for invaders. On the fourth day, his food supply of dried meat and fruit ran out. He was terrified to leave, but knew if he didn’t he would starve.

That night, he left the safety of the cave and returned to the cottage under cover of darkness. He approached carefully. In the darkness he saw body of Teresa, or what was left of it. Animals had ravaged her corpse and Ash cried out upon seeing it. He quickly clapped his hands over his mouth and cried silently. He knew this was not the time to mourn, he had to get what he needed and get back to safety.

Being careful not to look in that direction again, Ash crept into the cottage and went about loading an empty burlap sack with the things he needed. There was dried meat, hard cheese, and jars of preserved fruit Teresa had put up for the winter. He realized quickly that he would need to make more than one trip. The bag was even now becoming too heavy for him to carry in flight.

Ash returned two more times that night to the cottage, being careful to avert his eyes from the terrible sight of his once mother. He found clothing, more stored herbs, leather animal hides, blankets, oil lanterns and pottery. All of this he took to the cave along with a rolled up grass matt for sleeping, which he tied to his back between his wings for transport. After arriving with his last load, Ash allowed the true gravity of his situation to sink in. He was still a little boy and missed his mother. He cried tears of grief and fear. What would become of him? Would they find him and kill him? He did not know, all he knew was that he was on his own, and must find a way to survive.

It was difficult at first, and the fear of discovery was ever present. After some time, he was brave enough to do what must be done, venture to the village for supplies. He donned the heavy winter cloak Teresa had made for him, custom fit to accommodate angelic wings. When he reached the ground, Ash carefully tucked the edges of his wings into the folds in the cloak used for that purpose. There was also a shallow pocket at the bottom hem in which to tuck the bottom feathers, preventing them from dragging on the ground. Within this garment, there was no telling what color his wings were from any angle. As long as he kept the cloak tightly closed, he would appear as any other angelic youth.

He found he could move with ease about the village, receiving smiles and nods from mortal and angelic alike. He spent many hours listening to talk. He learned the customary way to address others, and when appropriate, how to respond. He traded dried herbs for the goods he wanted, and found that the education Teresa had given him on how to find and preserve herbs and flowers was indeed useful. These items were in high demand for trade, and Ash was able to obtain whatever he needed.

For the next 12 years Ash lived this way, searching the forest at night for his herbs, and trading them for goods to stay alive. Never again did he return to the cottage clearing after that first horrible night.

Now, at 25 years of age, Ash stood on his crag and thought back on his life. It had been wrong and unnatural, and yet he had come to enjoy the small things; a moonless night, a painted sunset, and the dance of his night dragon companions. It was not the life he might have chosen, indeed not, but at least he was alive and Ash knew peace.


© 2009 Jennifer Grissom