AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Prologue
Izel’s father, Djimon, grabbed Izel’s hair and yanked his head back, pain exploding in Izel’s head as his father sneered into his face. “You will never take over this tribe. You’re too weak to even lead a calf to a tit. No one will follow you. Why couldn’t you have been half the man I am?”
As if Izel could answer his father. Not when Djimon had used a metal device to clamp his mouth shut. The only thing Izel could do was glare at his father, praying the bastard got what he deserved.
“From the look in your defiant eyes, you haven’t learned your lesson.” His father pulled the whip back then let it fly, searing the flesh from Izel’s body. Even if Izel’s mouth hadn’t been forced shut, he wouldn’t have given the man the satisfaction of screaming.
The pain tore through him, and not even the drugs his father had used to overtake him dulled the pain.
Surrounded by their tribe, Izel knew this was nothing but a show of strength, of his father proving to everyone that he could still maintain power, that there was no way Izel could strip that away from him. Djimon had drugged Izel, weakening him to the point that he’d been able to drag him to the center of their village, tie him down, and seal his mouth shut, making him look weak and pathetic in front of everyone.
Izel never wanted power. He’d been unfortunate enough to be the firstborn son, which meant leadership would be bestowed to him on his twenty-first birthday.
A leadership he’d never wanted. He’d tried telling Djimon this time and again, only to have his words fall on deaf ears. In his father’s power-hungry mind, Izel had been lying in wait for the day he could take over.
Izel lay in the dirt, his body a canvas of pain, as his father sneered with pride. The tribe cheered and laughed as they stood by and watched, some with pity in their eyes, others with disgust, and a few with malicious glee.
Not a single person, not even Izel’s three brothers, protested what Djimon was doing. Brothers Izel had looked out for, protected, and cherished. His nearly twenty-one years of sacrifice, of teaching them the skills to survive, meant absolutely nothing to them.
“Is this the leader you want?” Djimon asked the crowd. “Is this the pathetic boy you want to take over and protect you?”
The tribe shouted their contempt, their jeers, and some even spat on the ground to show their contempt of Izel.
“You’re nothing but a weakling,” Djimon sneered, “a disappointment to our lineage.”
Izel remained silent, the taste of blood on his tongue as he breathed dirt through his nostrils. He knew better than to argue, to defend himself. It would only incite his father further, and the last thing Izel wanted was more pain, more humiliation.
He couldn’t say a word because of the clamp on his mouth, even if he’d wanted to curse his father.
As Djimon held up his arms, relishing the attention from the tribe, Izel allowed his eyes to flutter shut. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to ignore the throbbing in his body. He had to focus, had to find a way to escape. He couldn’t stay here, not with his father. His people, the tribe he was supposed to inherit, had turned their backs on him, betrayed him in the worst way.
But where would he go? Izel had no idea. He’d never been given the chance to explore the world beyond their borders. He was trapped, a prisoner in this isolated village.
Now Izel wished he’d left a month ago, when he knew his father would try something to keep his power over their tribe. But Izel had been foolish, telling himself that Djimon wouldn’t hurt him, that his father would believe him when Izel said he only wanted to live out his life in peace.
Even if Izel had no idea of the world outside his tribe, anything was better than this.
His body bloody and bruised, he felt his life slipping away. Djimon had done too much damage. Izel realized he wasn’t going to live past the hour. His body was growing weaker, so much blood loss, so much pain.
As he lay there, he felt a presence sweep over him. He opened his eyes to see a figure standing above him, shrouded in a dark cloak. The figure leaned down, but Izel couldn’t make out the face.
“Izel,” the figure said, his voice a cold whisper. “I am Jaden, and I have come to offer you a bargain, a chance at a new life.”
Izel couldn’t believe his ears. Was this some kind of trick? He looked to where his father stood, still basking in the adoration of the tribe, unaware of the figure standing over his son.
“Why should I trust you?” Izel asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he gasped when he realized that he could talk. His mouth was still clamped shut, but he was having a conversation. How?
“I have no stake in your father’s games,” Jaden replied. “I offer you a chance to start anew. All I want in return is your service as a reaper, to help me guide the souls of the dead to the other side.”
Izel’s mind raced. This was his chance out of this hellish life. But could he trust this stranger? Was the guy even real, or was this a trick from the drugs his father had given him, nothing more than a figment of his imagination? “Am I already dead?”
“You will be soon enough. There is no escaping your fate.”
“Why me?” Izel wasn’t anyone important. Sure, he was supposed to take over as tribe leader tomorrow, but Djimon had put a stop to that, leaving Izel a broken man on the ground—only because Izel had refused to raise a hand to his own father, even after the way Djimon treated him, even after his father had used drugs to weaken him. That was the only way Djimon could overpower him because Izel had grown into a formidable man.
His only downfall? Letting his guard down in front of his family.
“You’re getting a rank fucking deal,” Jaden replied. “No one deserves to die like this, especially a warrior.”
