Horns and Halos Read online

  Horns

  and

  Halos

  By: Nia Rose

  Copyright © Nia Rose 2022

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  HORNS AND HALOS

  Book design by Poisoned Apple Publishing

  Editing by Poisoned Apple Publishing

  ISBN: 978-1-955222-02-0

  Published by Poisoned Apple Publishing, L.L.C.

  www.poisonedapplepublishing.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Coven Chronicles series by

  Stand Alone Novels by

  Prologue: | The World We Know

  Chapter 1: | Close the Gate

  Chapter 2: | Gnashing Teeth, Scratching Claws

  Chapter 3: | Those Gold, Uncaring Eyes

  Chapter 4: | Only Rest for the Wicked

  Chapter 5: | The Chains that Bind

  Chapter 6: | All That We Stand To Lose

  Chapter 7: | Sweet Nothings

  Chapter 8: | Carried Away

  Chapter 9: | The Sacrifices We Make

  Chapter 10: | Freedom Has a Price

  Chapter 11: | The Skin of Our Teeth

  Chapter 12: | Nowhere is Safe

  Chapter 13: | Unkept Secrets

  Chapter 14: | Lose to Me

  Chapter 15: | A Bitter Tasting Apple

  Chapter 16: | A Glass Never Empty

  Chapter 17: | We Can Make a Kingdom

  Chapter 18: | Escape Artist

  Chapter 19: | Keeping the Fires Burning

  Chapter 20: | Seeing Double

  Chapter 21: | Fever Dreams

  Chapter 22: | On the Road Again

  Chapter 23: | The Breakdown

  Chapter 24: | The Burning Truth

  Chapter 25: | A Strange Welcome

  Chapter 26: | All that Glitters

  Chapter 27: | The Trouble with Devils

  Chapter 28: | What is Expected of You

  Chapter 29: | Within these Walls

  Chapter 30: | Confession

  Chapter 31: | The Land of Milk and Honey

  Chapter 32: | Soul Collector

  Epilogue: | He is the Hope

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  Also By Nia Rose

  About the Author

  Coven Chronicles series by

  Nia Rose & Octavia J. Riley

  SPELLBOUND & HELLHOUNDS

  SECRETS OF THE SANCTUARY

  SPIRITS OF THE BLACK FOREST

  SAND DUNES AND BLOOD MOONS

  SMOKE, LIES, AND GRIMOIRES

  Stand Alone Novels by

  Nia Rose

  SONS OF STARS

  KING OF CROWS

  HORNS AND HALOS

  Dedication

  God,

  thank you for carrying me through the darkest parts of my life and for delivering me safely on the other side.

  This is for all of the toxic loves that I learned some of the most valuable lessons in my life from. To the ones that came behind you and loved me despite all my brokenness. To me learning to love myself even though I was not who I used to be, and I felt fractured in every way a soul can be.

  To finding a way to trust in love again.

  Sometimes you have to go through Hell before you find your place in Heaven.

  Prologue:

  The World We Know

  Contrary to popular theorists, it was not difficult to come by simple household items like soap, food, and weapons after Armageddon hit. Too many people had banked off the sea of knowledge Google Search had to offer. Along with people finding way too much time on their hands when quarantine happened fifteen years before the collapse of our world—as we knew it—came to pass, many had new skills and trades learned. They were drowning in baking, do-it-yourself projects, and finally learning how to do a few odd crafts that had almost been lost by time itself. The resurgence of soap making, blacksmithing, knitting, and sewing was off the charts. There had been a major rise in the average person having un-average knowledge.

  Not such a bad thing, if you ask me.

  Also contrary to popular belief, the world wasn’t done in by nukes. It wasn’t done in by wars, or poisoning, or sickness. And no, it wasn’t zombies either. It was demons. It was rapture. It was scripture on crack and pure nightmare fuel. It was every twisted fear mankind could imagine, and it was spat at us with fury and vengeance.

  Personally, I would have preferred the zombies.

  Chapter 1:

  Close the Gate

  They say that the more you struggle, the more you grow. With that theory alone, it stands to reason that we all feel ancient by now. None of us should have gone through this hell. And yet, we have. Saying that we’ve survived this long is a half-baked truth. We have managed to not die—that much is true—but the price we pay for it is deep, flawed, and only gives more pain to those left living. That is if we can be considered to be doing that anymore. Living. Yeah, I’m not sure that’s what we are doing. At least, it doesn’t feel like it.

  A hundred years ago, people used to talk about how they had seen this coming. Now, no one really talks about the past. Almost like it has been banned from our tongues and minds, or as if it’s too painful for us to dream of a time when things weren’t like this. When things weren’t like Hell on Earth.

  I’ve heard people mention angels in whispers once or twice, a long time ago. I’ve read it a few times in books that hadn’t been lost through the years to raids, fires, and looters. I’ve never seen an angel before. I doubt that I ever will. But I’ve seen my fair share of demons, and I’ve been far too close to devils, so I hope that the winged creatures are out there somewhere. Maybe the angels forgot about us, or maybe we forgot about them. I wouldn’t know for sure. My meemaw never explained the reasons for why we were all damned now. That’s what everyone said when they trudged through the streets. That we are all damned ... forsaken. Most days, I believe them. After all, how can we not be?

  When I was growing up, meemaw told me many things. There were countless times that she would whisper to me stories by the fireside while momma and daddy fixed us supper or snacks. Her stories were ones that she said flourished in the faith cities. Grand places that were full of prosperity and peace. I always wanted to go to one. They always sounded so magnificent to me, like they were castles in some faraway and magical kingdom. It sounded like a place that was untouched by the destruction and chaos that surrounded us.

  “Sia,” she’d say while tightly braiding my long, black curls. “These are the words that they teach in the faith cities. Those places are large enough to withstand the nightly demon attacks. Their prayers and words from these stories build a city stronger than metal,” she would whisper fervently to me.

  “We have a strong city too, meemaw. We have lots of people even though we live out in the Wastes!” I remember telling her once while my large blue eyes searched the rich russet glow of her orbs.

  She only shook her head with a deep-set frown. The firelight seemed to make shadows that crept and crawled into every crevice of her aged face, and it made the mahogany tone of her skin darker. Her bright eyes held a sadness that was etched in pain. I wanted to cry while I looked at her then. The hurt mingled with the darkness and blended with the illumination of the flames dancing over her wrinkled skin. That expression scared me.

  “No, child. This place is fragile. It’s broken in a way that can never be mended. We don’t have a strong city. We have a city of glass.”

  That was the last thing I remember her telling me that night, that our city was nothing more than glass. I didn’t understand her when she told me back then. It was a warning, and I never listened. I wish I had. But there were too many secrets that I wasn’t aware of, and you can’t guard yourself against a beast you know nothing about.

  The front gate that I had once found so much comfort in was now a thing of pure horror. Wind whipped by, sending dust clouds rolling past the massive wall and the two, giant doors that stood between the village and the endless stretch of the Wastes. A fine, daunting line was drawn between dry, desolate land and everything I had ever known. And I was on the unfavorable side of it and the comforts the village had provided me with for the past nineteen years.

  My mother, father, and meemaw stood on the other side of the entrance with me. My friends and the countless residents had already said their goodbyes to me the night before.

  I should have known how wrong this all was, but I had been so blind. Now that I was on the receiving end of this horrid event that I had grown up thinking was normal, it all made sense. It was anything but normal. The lies that I had been told—that all of us children had been told while growing up—had buried the truth that I was still trying to wrap my head around.

  Once every year, everyone that was between the ages of nineteen and twenty-three would put their name into the large ceremonial bowl in the center of the village. At the end of the night, they would draw out one of the names. The chosen person would have a grand party.

  It was a wonderful event. It was a night full of food and drin
k and games and merriment. Last night had been one of the best nights of my life. In the morning, the family would say their goodbyes, and the chosen person would leave the city. What I had been told was the chosen one was to be picked up by passing caravans to join another village. As I stood there, I understood why my parents and meemaw were fighting last night when they thought I was asleep. There were no caravans. There were no travelers that had come to escort me.

  The ugly truth was I was a sacrifice.

  For the last hour, I had stayed silent as they explained everything to me. I was so lost and confused as I tried to ingest the information that was so closely tied to my fate. A fate I had no choice in. A fate that had been forced upon me.

  Once a year, a single, chosen villager was selected to leave the safety of the massive walls in order to fulfill the pact that had been made upon the founding of our village.

  “Your family is forever bound to this place, and you can never leave. Once a year, a single person between nineteen and twenty-three is to be cast out of your village in the morning, never to return. They must be chosen at random, and the person may never be swapped. You are never able to receive them if they come back. You are never able to seek them when the gates are closed. You cannot hide them within the city. If you fail to heed your end of the bargain, my protection over your little village will cease.”

  That was the deal that the founders of the village had made with the devil that they had encountered so very long ago. The years of protection that we had out in the Wastes weren’t because we were favored by luck or because of our trusted walls. The reason the lesser demons and deadly creatures of our world had passed us over was because we were protected by a devil. We were bound by a pact that had sentenced countless to a frightful and lonely death.

  ... And it was my turn to pay the price.

  My mother walked up first and hit her knees as she reached longingly for me. I had just turned nineteen three days before the yearly event. I regretted that fact now as I watched her fall apart. I dipped down to try and bring her back to her feet, but she dragged me down to her. Hurt swam in her blue irises as she held my cheeks in her hands. “Hide during the night, travel by day,” she said swiftly, tears rolling down her pale face in droves. “Don’t make loud noises. Sleep only during the dusk or dawn.” Her hands trembled terribly as she held my face. “But ... above all ...” she tried to speak, but she couldn’t. Her words were snuffed from her existence as pain snatched her up. I could see it. The hurt she silenced as she willed herself to pretend like she wasn’t being shattered to pieces. “... You have to live,” she finished in a raspy voice. She shook me indignantly. “You hear me? Live! You must live!” she growled, but the rivers of tears betrayed her commanding voice.

  I held one of her hands in my own. My umber skin looked so dark compared to my mother’s. She had a tan from years under the sun and still, she was milky white next to me. Her blue eyes searched my darker azure gaze. Maybe I was in shock, but I wasn’t crying. I was scared, I could feel it deep in my gut, but I hadn’t screamed or cried or said a single thing about how unfair it all was. My mind was lost traveling down a thousand paths. I felt more hurt for those that I had hugged and wished happy travels to in previous years.

  I wondered if they were still alive ...

  I squeezed my mother’s hand and forced a smile. “It’s all right, momma. I’ll be fine,” I told her, but I doubted the truth of my own statement. I wanted my last words to her to be comforting. I already knew that sleep would not come to her easily in the nights to follow, and there was little I could say to change this. I would try, though.

  She practically lunged forward and wailed quietly, making sure that the villagers didn’t hear her heart breaking outside the gates. Making sure only I could. It was a sound that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  “Nastasia ... Oh ... my baby. I am so sorry. I love you ... I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.

  Frantically, I hugged her back. “Momma, momma ... it’s okay. I don’t blame you.” I pulled away and forced her to look at me. “I’ll never blame you. I love you. This will never change that.” I felt the prickling sting of salty water welling up in my eyes. I let the wind dry it as I blinked desperately, hoping that I had hidden the unshed tears.

  Daddy came and helped momma to her feet. “Come now, Marietta, the others might see,” he warned, a touch of ice to his words.

  I knew my father well. Whenever he sounded like that, he was trying to be strong for everyone. He was masking his own worries and pain so the family could lean on him. He was the quiet rock that never complained as stormy waves relentlessly crashed over him. He helped me to my feet next and passively looked at the large bag thrown over his shoulder. “It’ll be heavy to carry,” he stated.

  I nodded. “I know,” I whispered back.

  He shrugged it off. The massive, thick-woven, cloth bag thudded on the ground stirring up dust. “It’ll get lighter as you travel ... because ...” he trailed off. I knew he was struggling to speak and look strong. But even boulders can be weathered away over time.

  “With each day it will get lighter because the rations will be lesser, and I’ll slowly grow used to the weight,” I finished for him.

  An unsure smile formed on his lips. “Yes,” he managed to croak out.

  Rushing forward, I hugged him. He and I never needed many words. We could just look at each other and know what was in our hearts and what was on our minds. “I love you, daddy,” I whispered to him. “I’ll be okay.”

  He pulled away from the hug and undid a thin leather belt around his waist. His deep mahogany skin was a shade darker than meemaw’s, and I memorized every feature of his darkened face as he handed me the belt and machete that had been attached to it. The look that passed between us said it all. I knew what it was for. Daddy always made me cut wood or help with preparing meat for the village. I knew the force needed to go through bone, I knew what blood looked and smelled like. I swallowed hard. I finally understood why he had made me do that through all of these years.

  Meemaw clamped a hand over her mouth and pushed past my parents. “Sia. Oh, my little Sia!” she cried.

  “Shhh, mom,” my momma begged.

  “Shhh, yourself,” meemaw snapped back. “I wish it was me that had been drawn from that cursed bowl!”

  “It is forbidden,” father warned.

  She sobbed and ran her fingers through my braided, ebony strands. “I should have told you sooner ... I wanted to, Sia. I wanted to so badly,” she cried.

  But even without them telling me, I knew why the truth had been hidden. Even if the pact with the devil allowed it, how can the youth grow up and enjoy their moments knowing that every day, every year, they are closer to a nightmare? That isn’t a childhood. I was glad that they didn’t tell us. I had a lot of happy memories to carry with me. Last night’s feast would be cherished by me too. It would be the things that enabled me to live through the horrors I was about to face. We all knew of the dangers that existed outside the safety of the village. Most had rarely come to see them firsthand. But we had been warned and told stories daily to ever remind us of the fate that would befall us if we ventured too far when scavenging.

  “Meemaw, I understand,” I told her.

  Her wrinkled face scrunched up even further as she frowned and bent her brow angrily. “Nonsense. Stop talkin’ like you’re an adult, child,” she hissed. “None of this is right. It never has been,” she protested.

  I did the only thing I could to try and calm her down. I hugged her. I wanted to hug them each as many times as I could. I wouldn’t be able to do it after today. “I love you,” I said as I squeezed her.

  I felt her body shudder in my embrace. “Seek the faith cities,” she whispered back to me. It was a tone that was hardly audible and meant for only me to hear. “Seek out shelter at night, keep the fires low, and head for the faith city,” she urged again.

  “I promise, I will.”

  The morning was still early, and the heat would only become more intense as the day went on. I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to start my journey soon.

  “She needs to head out if she plans to make a decent camp before nightfall,” daddy informed.