Witch Clan: Warriors! by John Stormm (best fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

no dark fae could bear the touch of silver. It would turn black and become as poison to them. He was instructed to never take it off, and that if at any time, this silver was to tarnish, he should stop what he was doing and examine his ways. What might seem right at the time, would be revealed for what it truly was. If he couldn't deal with it alone, Grandma had a special spell her mother had crafted, that would help him win against the darkness. He would be no monster. He would be a powerful wizard, a mighty warrior. A hero. He would dream great dreams. Someone was tapping on his bedroom window. The dreaming would have to wait.

It was still very early in the spring, and Grandpa Willard had not yet removed the storm windows. The strange man in the crimson cloak tapping on his window could not be let in that way, even if he was inclined to let strangers in through his window. Johnny sat up in his bed and pointed to the storm latches and shrugged his shoulders at the man. The next instant, this towering giant of a man was standing at the foot of his bed and removed his hood for Johnny to observe his features.

"Who the heck are you?" he asked boldly. "And what do you think you are doing in my room?"

"I am Shabriri," the giant said as he moved into the light where Johnny could see him better. "I am a Master of the Sidhe and here to teach you the ways of your father's people." In the street light that shone into his room, the pale straight hair, the high cheekbones and upswept pale almond shaped eyes that nearly matched his own spoke volumes. The tall pointed ears and the flushed red complexion were a bit more than he expected. "What is that shining at your neck?" the tall specter asked.

"My father's clan medallion," he replied. "My grandma said I should never take it off."

"It's made of silver," the Master observed. "How wise your grandmother is, boy. This will not allow you to turn to the dark side without plenty of warning. It would have saved your father's life, had he actually been able to wear it. It might even be wise if myself and my associate got something like this as long as we must stay here to train you. Our first meeting, and already you've been helpful."

"Your associate?" he asked, looking about the room and towards the closed window.

"Elder Shan," the Master said. "You can't see him, but he's here to help me. This world and this plane of existence is dangerous to our kind. Your father, for all his good intentions couldn't bear it, so we are careful here, and you must be too. It's a little easier on you, because you were born here, and your mother is human. But you have the finest human teachers already. Don't you?"

Johnny nodded.

"Well I am here to teach you about the part of you that they cannot," Shabriri said with a flourish. "First, we will have to see what you are made of. We'll test you. If you pass this week's testing, I will give you one night of a treat. How does that sound to you?"

"A treat of what?" he asked suspiciously.

"What every boy dreams for, of course: A night of flight," Shabriri said with a grin that revealed an interesting set of canines that were mirrored when Johnny smiled back at him.

"Here's your first lesson, lad," the Master said. "Among the fae folk, dominance and station are displayed by the presence of claws, horns or fangs. We show that we are not docile eaters of grass, but creatures deserving of our space and capable of enforcing it. For humans, it is happiness or some such thing. When you bare your teeth to an animal or a fae, you show your potential to be a threat. Just a smile reveals who and what you are. To make an aggressive move after that, is taken for an actual threat. You smile, and allow them their space. You do not advance upon them unless you intend to attack. You allow them to approach and offer an empty weapon hand and then you may parlay with them."

"What about humans?" he asked.

"If they note those fine incisors of yours," the Master said with a toothy grin, "they will probably take you for one of their versions of an incubus. You would probably do well not to show these when you smile unless you want to make a specific point, and that being that you intend to dominate the situation at hand."

"What's an incubus?" he asked.

"Generically speaking, " the Master explained, "it is any male of our nonhuman lineage, a succubus would be the female of the species. Among most human cultures today, these are all considered to be vampires or demons. Whereas most fae have no desire to drain human blood or ensnare their miserable souls, there are better reasons for them to fear our kind, but they don't really need any more fear than they already wallow in."

"I've already learned how to project fear," he said. "Grandma taught me."

"How nice," Shabriri said condescendingly. "But I shall do the testing here, and I shall determine what you have and what you lack as a Sidhe. Each night, I will come and tell you a bit more and then test you. The tests will be like nothing you have ever faced thus far, and have little, if anything to do with what I teach you. They are structured to make you reach for things on an instinctual level. If deep down inside you are human, then you will fail these. The aboriginal warrior will teach you human warcraft. Which is no small thing. But if you prove to be Sidhe in your very nature, I will teach you things no human could dream of. Now sleep."

* * *

It was a cold and windy night in the inner city. Johnny was standing on a street corner in his bare feet and pajamas. He could feel the wind, but barely felt the cold at all. Across the street to the right was a tavern that was a notorious haunt for the city’s underworld. The last of its patrons were leaving and vehicles departed quickly down shadowed side streets. The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. Across the street from the infamous bar, a body of a man lay in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.

“Don’t let this happen to me!” the wind pleaded him.

Walking up to the corpse, it was apparent that its head had been blown off its shoulders with a shotgun at close range. The badly mutilated neck, the powder burns on the neck and shoulders of the expensive suit and the sharp smell of cordite testified of the night’s foul activities. The head was nowhere to be seen. His gorge rose in his throat, but he had no desire to further desecrate this horrible place by vomiting. He practiced his breathing as John had taught him and set about looking for the missing head. He found it hidden in a hedge a couple houses down from the body and brought it back and set it atop the corpse for the police to find.

“Thank you,” whispered the wind in his ears.

* * *

Waking up, he felt like he had barely gotten to sleep. His feet ached as if he had walked all night, and his mouth tasted bad. The smell of Willard’s coffee wafting into his room, told him it was time to get up and get ready for school.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Willard said with a gruff chuckle as Johnny dragged himself to the breakfast table.

“Are you alright, Son?” his grandmother asked as she looked over her shoulder at him while making home fries and eggs.

“I’m okay, I think,” he said. “It was one of those nights when the dreams got really weird.”

“It was a bad night in the city altogether,” Grandpa Willard said, folding his newspaper about so he could show him the headlines. “It seems there was a Mafia style murder at that Caesar Nero’s place over in the market district. It says they blew a feller’s head clean off his shoulders.” Johnny turned pale, then green and raced for the bathroom retching.

“What do suppose got into him,” Willard asked at his retreating grandson.

“Whatever it is, won’t stay in him,” his grandmother observed, turned off her skillet and followed him into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry Grandma,” he said between dry heaves. “Maybe I am just a little sick today.”

“Does this outburst relate in any way to your weird night and your grandpa’s headlines?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said, rinsing his mouth in the sink. “A Sidhe came to my room last night to teach me something, and then the next thing I knew, I was standing in the street in front of Caesar Nero’s. I found the man’s head for him. It was awful. I never seen so much blood and guts before, but I did what I could for him, and then the wind thanked me and I woke up here.”

“This Sidhe have a name?” she asked, looking at him askance.

“Master Shabriri,” he said. “Oh, and thanks for the medallion, Grandma. He said it was a smart thing to do.”

“I’m glad he approves,” she said dubiously. “We had hoped it would had helped your father if we only had it made in time.”

“He seems to think it would have really helped,” he said, and washed his face.

“I have to wonder at the wisdom of exposing such a young boy to such a grisly scene as this,” she said. “I’m worried for you, dear.”

“He