Free Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) by Jefferson Cram Page A

draw some of its energy to him.  He used his gift to manipulate the magical em anations, bending them, twisting them again into positive energy.
    He straitened sharply as the power flowed into him.  Aches and pains caused by the premature aging process began to fade.  Some semblance of youth began to return to his ravaged features.
    Before he could fully restore himself, however, the stones below the engine buckled, and he realized he had no more time. 
    Lamenting the artifacts and knowledge that he would have to leave behind in the tower, he broke for the door.
    The flight down the decrepit staircase was a blur.  As he burst through the exit, Reynolt wondered how he’d been able to keep his feet all the way down the steps.  He took no time to ponder it, however, and continued to run down the rocky path toward town, as the tower cracked and crumbled.
    He stopped several hundred yards down the slope, puffing in the salty air.  He turned and watched as the tower folded in on itself, blazing light flowing from the cracks in the stone.
    The ARC engine’s whine reached a crescendo, and the rubble erupted in a brilliant flash.  Reynolt raised an arm to cover his eyes.
    As silence descended, he chanced a look.  Through the clouds of dust and drifting debris that were caught on the sea breeze, he saw only a smoking crater where the tower had been.  He stood a moment, gathering his breath and his thoughts.
    Letting out a resigned sigh, he turned and resumed his descent into Mord’s Casting.  It wasn’t until he began to see the stricken faces of the villagers that he began to wonder how he’d explain everything.

Ch apter 8
     
    Moonlight streamed through the window of his small bedchamber, but Erick wasn’t awake to appreciate it.  He tossed fitfully in his bed, sweat beading on his brow even with the cool, early spring temperature.  The young acolyte in the Temple of the Sacred Scroll was tightly held in the grip of a nightmare.
    Erick stood upon the granite steps that led up to the massive double doors which lead into the temple.  The sky was the color of rust, with bruise-colored clouds racing across it.  His shadow was unnaturally long as it climbed the steps, even though he couldn’t find the sun.
    One of the double doors was hanging oddly from a hinge, and a small crimson splash adorned the lower left hand corner.  The granite of the steps had taken on a dull, almost coal hue.  The entire scene gave the young acolyte a horrible feeling of dread.  Despite this, he felt drawn toward the yawning darkness beyond the doors.
    He thought he heard a voice, dry as burning leaves, calling him from within.  He wanted to turn away, to run from the blood, his shadow, from the entire surreal scene.  Instead, he began to ascend the steps.
    As his sandal touched the stone of the step he heard a hoarse scream echo from nowhere and ice ran up his spine.  Just the same, he continued.  Weaker sounds of pain and suffering accompanied each step, and he began to weep, unable to turn away.
    A trembling hand reached out to push open the door which remained on both of its hinges, and nearly recoiled at the corpse-like flesh that hung from his arm.  Still, he pushed on.  The door screeched as if in pain, and Erick stood on the threshold.  He gazed into the impenetrable darkness, and saw two eyes emerge.
    Like two white moons they blazed from the ink, with irises as deep and black as the space between the stars.  Erick heard high-pitched wailing in his ears and as he began to feel a malevolence flow from the doorway he tried to back away.
    He tripped over his long robes and began to fall backward.  His hands flew wide, attempting to grab at the doors to stop his descent. 
    Cold fire blazed in his wrists and he gasped at the titanic grip pressing the bones in his forearm together.
    Snapping his eyes down to his wrists, he saw white hands holding him steady.  Hands incredibly emaciated to the point that Erick would have