Immortal Storm Read Free Page A

settlement crying out toward the heavens. Their voices rose and it seemed as if they were trying to invoke one of their pagan gods. At the crescendo of their ceremony a hollow scream pierced the aire and made the hair on my neck stand. Shouts rose anew and their horses raced around most frantically before galloping away. The silence that followed yielded its own terror and it were impossible to find sleepe again that eve. At dawn, I and four others went out to check the walls of the campe. We found them untouched but the ground were tore open as if the ponies were fleeing Satan himself. At the rear of the camp, closest to the sleeping quarters, we came upon a dried pool of bloode.
    We have taken to a rotating watch after darke. I was beginning to think we would not have any more problems, for it seemed the natives had moved on, but this very morne something terrible came to passe.
    When the nighte watchman failed to report, Isaac went to his poste. That ’ s when a scream was heard across the campe. They found the watchman sprawled on the floor with his throat ripped out. He was my brother.
     
    * * *
     
    Niccolo’s throat was tight. He’d been running for over a century noit yw, and he was tired of it. He’d fled into the night back then, only narrowly escaping execution, though his crime had been unintentional. He was bitterly alone: any family he’d ever had, gone long ago. He tempered loneliness by living in cities bursting with life: London, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo, Johannesburg, Rio.
    This place was temporary too. A few years here and then he planned to head south. He enjoyed the crisp temperatures and busy life of the north, but the south with its thick humidity and orange-blossom scented air were much closer to his native Italy.
    In the meantime, he’d keep searching for an answer. How was he to stop creatures that made death look like a good meal and a warm bed?

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
     
    The sound of horses munching their morning hay was balm to Dori’s wounds. She turned out the last of the brood mares and set off toward the gelding barn, checking fence lines as she approached the lower building. She rubbed her chapped hands, trying to warm them.
    The horses welcomed her with knickers as her footsteps crunched on the gravel path. A sliver of the sun appeared on the horizon reminding her that the day was fleeting and her list of chores was endless.
    “Here you go, Merjan. Here’s yours, Dawar. Easy Sultan, yours is coming.” Dori went down the aisle dumping grain and smiling as each horse’s crunching was added to the chorus. By the time she finished the aisle, the first horses were ready to go out. Leading them four at a time, she soon had all of them grazing in the sunshine.
    The morning routine was as rushed as always. Switching roles, Dori headed back toward the main house where she did her best to keep the children quiet and let her husband recoup some of his much needed rest. It didn’t take long to get them dressed, bundled and off to the sitter’s house. Before she knew it, she was kissing them goodbye for the day and heading back home.
    Once back at the farm, Dori donned her boots again and joined the farm hands who were busy mucking the hundred plus stalls that made up Whispering Brook Farm. Eventually only one stall remained. The farmhands took off their gloves; they weren’t allowed in with Latif.
    “Ralph, will you throw him a flake of hay?” The middle-aged man headed off toward the stallion run with an armful of hay. From the depth of the shadows Latif snorted his warning, followed with a sharp kick that left the stall door rattling in its track. He lunged at the metal bars of his stall with his ears pinned back and snapping his teeth.
    “Knock it off, Latif,” she said firmly. “Joe, go around back and get ready to shut the turn-out door. Bring the whip with you.”
    “On it.”
    Latif’s ears pricked up in attention as he watched Joe leave and heard him circling the barn.