Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II by Hodges, Aaron (best romance books of all time txt) 📕

across the waters to where the ruins of the original Nihelm stood. Jagged spires of iron lay rusting on the distant shores and blackened stones formed great mounds. He suspected the fallen city’s existence had been lost from the records of humanity—certainly those humans assigned in New Nihelm never spoke of it. Even the Tangata knew little of that broken place. The time of their awakening was recalled only in the mind of the Matriarch now, passed down from her forebearers. But one thing was known: the Tangatan homeland had once belonged to humanity.

Some claimed those early days had been peaceful, that the Tangata and humanity had lived together in harmony. Adonis doubted such claims. The humans feared that which was different from themselves—especially when those others threatened their supposed superiority amongst the species of the earth. Tangata were faster, stronger, better. How could humanity not loathe them?

Besides, humanity had shown time and again they could not be trusted. Their invasion of the Tangatan homeland ten years ago had slaughtered thousands of innocents. Only the Matriarch’s harsh retaliation had prevented further losses and driven back the enemy forces.

That victory had seemed to herald the fall of humanity as a danger to his people. Even the Matriarch spoke now of maintaining the peace, of leaving the humans to live beyond the great river.

But Adonis feared the war had only just begun. Humanity had proven surprisingly resilient. Despite their inferiority, they fought with a frightening ferocity. And after ten years of war, their numbers seemed untouched, as though the more soldiers they lost, the more their pairs produced.

Meanwhile, the Tangata dwindled, their strength shrinking with each passing year.

No, the Matriarch was wrong in that regard. There could never be peace with such creatures. Their fear, their anger, their greed had proven such aspirations mere delusions. He had no doubt what the creatures would do if they ever realised the Tangata’s weakness. His people would be hunted down, slaughtered like animals.

Or worse, put in cages to be tortured, as the human had shown him.

I will burn their civilisation to the ground before I allow them to destroy us.

But for that they needed to renew their power, fresh blood to restore the Tangata to their former greatness. The Matriarch was right, the Anahera would not aid them. That left only the Old Ones.

Adonis, a voice sounded in his mind. The entrance is open.

Despite his resolution, Adonis felt a thrill of fear. Angrily he brushed it aside. Whether the Old Ones slumbered below or not, he would face them with courage. Humans allowed terror to control them; he was Tangata.

Smiling, he crossed back to where the others waited. Their strength had made short work of the mound of stone, and a hole now lay open to the howling wind. Darkness beckoned beyond.

Adonis leapt without hesitation.

18

The Fugitive

Three days passed before Erika and the others finally disembarked from the ship. By then Erika was more than a little fatigued by the endless hours of inactivity, of sitting in the bow and staring into the distance.

Unlike the ever-varying landscapes of Flumeer and Calafe, Gemaho never seemed to change. Beyond the Mountains of the Gods, endless plains stretched onwards to the horizon, their pastures stained brown by the warm spring sun, and not even the golden crops offered much in the realm of contrast. There were no forests to speak of, hardly any trees at all. While grasslands and rainforests flourished beneath the heavy rains of the west coast, here the very air seemed dry, a strange phenomenon, considering how far they had travelled on the broad waters of the Illmoor.

Now standing on the banks of the river and looking up at the towering peaks, Erika wasn’t surprised to see they offered little more in the way of variety. Here the farmlands of Gemaho ended, to be replaced with a low, almost grey scrub, the rocky soils lying exposed beneath. A stream trickled down from the valley in which they stood and a few taller bushes grew along its path, though even these barely came to her breast, and their leaves were short and stunted, their branches dotted with thorns.

Shouldering her pack, Erika glanced at Cara. The Goddess’s mood hadn’t improved much during the three-day journey, probably something to do with the shackles she still wore. At least she had shown no outward signs of resistance, other than her reticence to speak of their final destination. Beyond the Goddess, the last of their soldiers had disembarked from the gangplank, allowing the vessel to pull away. The sailors were to continue upriver to Vanror, where they would collect supplies for the war effort then return to the Illmoor Fortress, hopefully picking them up on the way past.

If we’re still alive by then.

“Ready?” Erika asked, forcing a smile as she looked again at Cara.

The Goddess held up her manacles and glared at her. Letting out a sigh, Erika gestured for the Goddess to go ahead. The chains on her legs were not so tight as to hinder her ability to walk. Several of the king’s soldiers had already started up the valley, scouting the way ahead, while those remaining spread out around Cara and Erika, their eyes alert for trouble. Only one man lingered near the shore, but upon seeing their departure, he brought up the rear behind Erika.

As they started off, Erika found herself wondering at the men and women the king had sent with them. From her conversations over the past few days, she had come to realize they knew little of Cara’s true identity—only that she was dangerous. They hadn’t asked any question, though from their whispers Erika surmised they thought Cara to be some new kind of Tangata, just as she and Romaine had believed all that time ago.

More surprisingly, the soldiers didn’t seem concerned about their expedition into the Mountains of the Gods. Erika wasn’t sure what to think of such loyalty—did it speak of a king who earned his followers’ faith, or a man