Tooth and Nail: An Epic Dark Fantasy Adventure: The Cult of Lilyth, #0

Chapter One

Taran Acker hugged his knees to his chest as he hid in the closet. Flinching at the repeated sound of fists hitting flesh just beyond the door, he rocked back and forth beneath the closet shelves filled with sacks of grain and empty bottles of booze. Eventually, the violence ceased.

You threw out the liquor, you damn squall, Da said from the kitchen, breathing hard. Now I gotta go get more.

Taran listened to the floorboards squeak as Da stumbled around. The front door opened and slammed as he lumbered away from the house.

You already drank all the liquor we had, Eddie, Ma said, but only after Da was out of earshot. That’s why it’s all gone.

Taran waited fifteen seconds before pushing open the closet door, which groaned as if it’d just received its own beating. To the right of the closet sprawled the living room, where two creaking chairs rested in front of a crackling fireplace. To the left was the kitchen, where the dining table had been upended.

Ma? Taran asked tentatively as his mother picked herself up off of the kitchen floor. A wave of relief washed over Taran, and tears spilled down his cheeks.

I’m okay, Taran. Don’t cry anymore. It will be all right, Ma said. She was still beautiful even after the beating, despite where her light-blue skin had been bruised purple. Brown tresses, a sharp chin, and a lithe grace gave her the poise of an aristocrat. Yet here she was, wearing rags instead of dresses.

Ma’s lips pressed together in a thin line to hide a wince as she leaned on a rotting dining chair, gingerly dabbing a rag against her split lip. Sitting down, she beckoned to Taran. Be with me, won’t you?

Taran approached mutely, fingers trembling as he climbed into her lap. He was grateful that the chair didn’t break beneath their combined weight. While Ma was thin, Taran was a big, strong lad. A giant, considering that he was only nine years old. He looked closer to thirteen or even fourteen, but he’d never felt big around Da. Always small. Like now.

Brush your tears away, Taran, Ma said. I’m okay, see?

Taran shook his head, droplets falling from his nose onto the rough fabric of his clothes. Why do you still love him?

Well, your dad takes care of us—

No, he don’t, Taran said, shaking his head fiercely.

"He does, Taran. He’s just… Ma trailed away, staring at the front door. Even she didn’t believe what she said. That truth struck Taran harder than one of Da’s fists. Stuck in his ways."

"Da beats you every night. Every single night, Ma. How can you stand it?" Taran asked, failing to keep the anger from his voice.

Taran—

Let’s just go. Please? Won’t you do it for me? Taran pleaded, hugging her tighter as he rested his head on her shoulder. Let’s go tonight.

Go where? To a different city? Ma asked, chuckling. How she could laugh, Taran would never know. It’s all the same. You know that, don’t you? Every city—every farm—is just the same as every other one.

Then what if we left Aritrasta? Taran said, too stubborn to abandon the idea of running away. We could find a ship and set sail for… Taran tried to think of other places, but he knew little about Aritrasta—let alone what was beyond it. He’d never been smart in that way. Lamely, Taran finished, Anywhere else.

We don’t have the money, sweetheart.

"We’ll find a way, Ma. We have to do something. Taran stared at her, but Ma’s eyes were distant, as if she were already thinking of another place. Another time. He wouldn’t be able to convince her now. Nevertheless, he tried. We’ll go to Port Linfeld, work for a bit to save up some money, and then disappear. We’ll go to the islands. They’re always looking for good workers."

Since when were you such an expert on Linfeld? Ma asked in a tone meant to be light-hearted, but Taran was too agitated.

We’ll figure it out, okay? Taran snapped. We’ll get you a place of your own, and I’ll join the Armada. I’ll send money back and eventually—

Enough, Taran, Ma said, tone growing serious. She still had that distant gleam in her eye, and it was as if Taran was too far away for her to hear his words. Ma had retreated to that unknown place where she sometimes lived for days on end. Far, far away from anybody else.

Your father loves us… in his own way, Ma continued, wiping away the blood that spilled from the edge of her lip. Gently, she kissed Taran’s head and pushed him off of her lap. Just like I love you.

Ma stood, wavered for a second too long, and then pushed herself away from the table. On unbalanced feet, she retreated to the adjacent bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Taran didn’t have a bedroom to hide in. His bed had been the floor near the fireplace ever since he’d been old enough to sleep alone. It had been Da’s idea to have him sleep on the wood floor with only the ashes of the dead fire and a shabby blanket to keep him warm. Da had claimed it would make Taran stronger and tougher, but for so long, he’d only felt weaker.

Taran didn’t want to feel weak anymore.

Alone in the kitchen, Taran stared at the long knife resting on the cutting block. He grasped it, staring at himself in the blade’s reflection. Two brown eyes stared back at him from above a squashed nose and beneath disheveled hair. Pale, thin lips had curled downward into a frown. Bruises covered his right eye, but the swelling had already gone down. His neck was thick and muscular, as were his arms and legs. Even his fists were the size of sledgehammers—just like his father’s. Except Da was stronger, twice his weight, and two feet taller. Unstoppable.

But with this blade, I can stop Da, Taran thought, thumbing its sharp edge. I can save Ma.

Yet Taran’s hand shook thinking about killing Da. How could Taran do that when Da was so much bigger and stronger? Taran tried to think of a plan. Hide behind the door? Wait until Da was drunk? Wait for him to pass out again?

Yeah. Do it in his sleep—that’s where Da’s weakest. I could do it then. I could finally end this. I could even bury him out in the fields. Ma would think he finally left. She’d never know—I’d never even have to tell her… Ruminating on the idea, Taran slid the knife back into the wood block, put away the half-chopped vegetables on the counter, and straightened the table.

For almost three hours, silence reigned. Beautiful, peaceful silence. No anger, no shouting, no hitting. Just bliss. Taran returned to the living room and lay down by the fireplace to nap, if only because Da wasn’t home. These were the only times he ever slept well. At nights, he always feared waking up from his dreams to find his father looming over him. Reality was a crueler nightmare.

If it meant that Da never came home again, Taran would have stayed asleep for the rest of his days. But it didn’t.

Taran woke up as Da returned. He clambered up the porch stairs and drunkenly tried to open the door as Taran scurried back into the kitchen pantry.

Taran didn’t need to see his father to smell him. Da reeked of jambo, that putrid yellow liquor that smelled more like donkey piss than bourbon. The stench rolled off of Da as he staggered toward Ma’s bedroom—their bedroom.

As Da entered, Ma let out a startled yelp, but he shushed her gently and apologized—just as Da always did after he beat her senseless. Even with the door closed, Taran could still hear his muffled sobs.

I’m sorry, Emily, Da said. "I promise that won’t ever happen again. It’s just… the rains ain’t coming no more. Land’s so dry that we’re dying out here in the sun. Can’t get enough crops to pay the loan. Can’t even get enough to eat. We can barely even pay for this."

Taran imagined Da pointing to yet another empty bottle of liquor. The drunk never came home if there was still a drop to be drank. Even as he hid in the closet, Taran balled his fists. Ma couldn’t actually believe him, could she?

And now, we got problems with the neighbors, Da continued. Ol’ man Brazzen thinks I’m stealing his grain—which I ain’t.

Taran knew that to be a lie.

And the taxman just keeps asking for more money, which we don’t have, Da added. "I don’t know what to do! Just tell me what to do, Emily. Please. I’m begging you… Please."

It’s okay, Ma said, which hurt Taran more than anything else he’d seen, heard, or felt in all his life. It hurt so badly because Taran knew it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay.

Tired and shivering, Taran hugged a withered broom to his chest, if only because he had nothing and nobody else to hold.

Hours later, Taran creeped out of the closet to find Ma lying in a broken heap near the fireplace. Another fight. Another beating.

Ma? Taran whispered, kneeling beside her with a horrified look on his face.

Taran? Ma asked, eyes focusing for only a moment before they turned glassy. With a smile, she added, You’re such a good boy. So kind. So thoughtful. If only there were more boys like you, we’d be so lucky… I love you, Taran.

Ma, you—

Hush now, Taran, Ma whispered, her voice far too quiet. Come lie down beside me. There’s nothing to worry about.

You need a doctor, Taran said, trying to pull Ma to her feet, but she was limp.

I don’t need a doctor, sweetheart, Ma said, her voice dreamy. I just need to close my eyes for a while. Won’t you lie down and sing to me?

Taran clenched his teeth. Ma, we can’t just stay here. We need to—

Please, Taran? Ma asked. There was an odd tone to her voice that immediately made Taran stiffen—she was pleading. She’d never begged him for anything in his life. How could he say no?

Okay, Ma. Taran lay down beside her, clutching her chest as he sang to her.

Eventually, Ma stopped breathing, but Taran just kept singing until his voice went hoarse. Then he finally opened his eyes to find Ma’s sightless gaze staring through him. Taran wasn’t sure how long he stared at her, but when he finally looked away, night had passed into day.

Something within him broke.

Taran moved through a haze as he grabbed the kitchen knife and stalked onto the front porch to find his father unconscious and snoring. As much as Taran hated to admit it, he was the spitting image of his old man. They had the same brown hair, strong build, and short temper. If Taran could have cut those pieces from himself, he’d have done it.

Yet a haggard beard grew from Da’s face like moss on rocks. His hair was matted to his scalp. His stained and threadbare clothes were even more worn than Ma’s. It was as if he hadn’t been taking care of himself for weeks or months. Years even. For all his supposed strength, Da looked weak.

You did this, Da. You killed Ma. Why’d you have to go and do it? Did you even care? Taran asked as he brought the knife to his father’s neck. Yet he didn’t cut Da’s throat. Not yet. Not until he said what he’d wanted to say. "Nah. You ain’t ever been a caring man, Da. Not when all’s you do is drink. But you know what? I cared."

Taran wanted nothing more than to slit his old man’s throat, but he didn’t. Not because he was afraid, but because it just felt too easy. Too quick. Not good enough—not by half. Removing the blade from Da’s throat, Taran’s other hand formed a fist. One day, I’ll be stronger than you, old man. Then I’ll come back here, and I’ll show you just how much it hurts, Da. I’ll kill you. I won’t even need a knife to do it. I’ll just use my hands—just like you did. One day, when I’m big, I’ll come back. I swear it. I swear it on the Drowned Sea.

Knife still in hand, Taran left. He ran down the porch steps, through the fields of dying wheat and corn, and followed the dirt road that led to Port Linfeld, the southern shore, and everything that lay beyond.

Chapter Two

Taran had been walking for two days already. His bare feet had long since started bleeding by the time he heard horses approaching from behind him on a dirt