Rising Wonder II: "Tavish"

Confront evil entities across unique fantasy settings, some tragic and others heroic.

Anthology Contributor: "Tavish"

Paperback $19.99 | eBook $4.99

Sample Reading by Author | Reviews

Sample

He turned just in time to see the fist blurring toward his face and hear the voices of the crowd raised in alarm. Tavish’s reaction was automatic, a reflex born of years of training, aside from natural instinct. He twisted his shoulders and turned his head just enough for the punch to pass harmlessly by and, before the attacker could regain his balance, came up under his chin with a punch of his own. The other’s teeth clacked loudly together and his head snapped backward, but his forward momentum kept him moving in the same direction. Tavish moved one foot, giving him room to stumble to the ground but, before he could fall, brought his other fist around to land another solid punch to the man’s cheekbone. The crack of impact was louder than normal, because the man’s mouth was open, blood already spilling out in a fan, no doubt from biting into his tongue. Seeing that bright red unleashed the gates on months of pent-up rage and frustration, leaving nothing behind but the rush of combat, the joy of pain, the satisfaction of unequivocal victory.

Even before the man hit the ground, Tavish’s toe slipped in to hook the other’s ankle and yank his foot out from under him. He crashed to the dirt as if dead and Tavish quickly caught hold of one of his arms to throw him onto his back, dropped on top of him, straddling his chest, and started pounding at his face with both fists. There was no thought, no reason, just a torrent of crazed furor. The man’s face was spotted with red when it began, smeared with it at the first strike, then dark with it when the second crushed his nose. The next punch closed one of his eyes, the next spattered the dirt with more dark-red. The next made that eye swell shut. Tavish kept punching, bursting the goose egg on the man’s eye, striking a tooth so hard that it bent backward, long roots tearing free of his gums and jutting forward—

Tavish’s breathing stopped as his muscles seized, everything going cold and wet. He opened his eyes. His fists were still doubled, raised and ready to continue punching, one of them dripping more blood than could be explained by being transferred from his opponent. Water was everywhere, running down his face, dripping from his arms, his chin, his nose, his eyebrows ... and he felt the sting of his ankle shackles biting into his flesh. He looked up at the Demon of Chaos that had warned him, but it was no longer there. He twisted to look at the crowd of onlookers, none of them cheering his victory ... then his gaze came to rest on beautiful Kalia. She alone stood in the open space, her green eyes wide, golden hair pulled back, the wooden bucket gripped in both hands, still dripping what little water remained from when she cast it onto his back. She was the reason he had refused promotions so he could remain in Snowcrest ... and that woman Martice had ruined it all.

“Kalia ...?”

She dropped the bucket, snatched up her skirts with both hands, and ran into the crowd, disappearing in a much more mundane way than the Demon. He bared his teeth and the tendons stood out on the sides of his neck as he raged in silence until pain in his fist dragged at his attention. Little by little, the tension seeped out of his muscles until his brown eyes flicked down to see half of a tooth embedded in his skin between the two center knuckles. He dug at it with his fingernails, squinting against the pain until it came free. He dropped it in the dirt. It was just the distraction the guard needed to strike Tavish from behind and he collapsed, stunned senseless just long enough for them to bind his hands behind his back and pull him up to his feet before hurrying toward the barracks and his prison cell.