The Empty Read online

  The Empty

  By Thom Reese

  Published by L&L Dreamspell

  London, Texas

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  Copyright 2012 by Thom Reese

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  ISBN- 978-1-60318-363-5

  Published by L & L Dreamspell

  Produced in the United States of America

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  * * * *

  Acknowledgements

  With each book I grow as both a writer and as a person. Not because of any keen insight from within, but from contact with those who support and encourage me along the way. As with each project, my wife, Kathy, has been my biggest fan and discerning critic. Her insights help me to strive for a better story, and my manuscripts would be lesser things without her input. Thank you, sweetie, for all you do. My girls, Trista, Amy, and Brittany, are a continual source of inspiration and joy. I could never adequately convey what each of you mean to me. Thank you to my constant reader and dear friend, Jeff Granstrom, for his feedback on this and all of my projects, to Deborah Lynn for her literary input, and to Edgar Cox for guiding me through some of the medical aspects of the tale. A big thanks to Lisa René Smith and Linda Houle at L & L Dreamspell for believing in me, and to my editor, Cindy Davis for her contributions. I hope to work with each of you again soon. I’d also like to thank Randall Dunn, Stephen Forbus, Travis Szynski, Crystal Neher, Kurt Mueller, the Leeney clan, Ed Walczak, Gaylon Kent, Kym Low, and all of the others who have cheered me on through those long hours at the keyboard.

  * * * *

  To Kathy, Trista, Amy, and Brittany. Without you I am truly empty. With you, my life is rich beyond measure.

  PART ONE – THE MOLTS – CHAPTER ONE

  1897

  Dolnaraq was only eight winters into existence, but knew the smell of prey. Oh, and he loved prey. Loved the hunt. Loved the kill. But this prey would be different. This prey would not warm his belly. His teeth wouldn’t penetrate this flesh. The animal’s blood would not dribble down his chin and onto his chest. No, this one was reserved for quite a different purpose, something nearly divine in scope and meaning. “Do you smell him?” whispered Dolnaraq as he drew in a long, sweet breath.

  Tresset nodded, though the young male wore a curious expression. “Yes. To the east. Maybe over that next rise.”

  “We must be quiet,” whispered Dolnaraq as he moved in the direction of the scent.

  “Dolnaraq,” whispered Tresset. “Are you sure?”

  Only two winters Dolnaraq’s senior, Tresset liked to assume superiority over his younger friend, over any who would let him, really. He would organize hunting parties with the young of the pack and direct their movements, deciding who should flank a beast and who should charge, which of them should scout ahead and which should ideally strike the killing blow. But this hunt belonged to Dolnaraq. He’d contemplated it for many weeks, determining which type of creature to seek, imagining what that animal might add to him. He’d thought of how proud his father would be when he first saw Dolnaraq anew. For Dolnaraq would have done what even his father feared to do. Oh yes, father would be proud. He also knew his mother would squeal like a baby pig. But that was what mothers did. She would adjust. She would one day approve. She would be forced to concede that Dolnaraq was no longer a pup, but had entered a state of maturity, which deserved respect and maybe even awe.

  Dolnaraq paused, gazing at Tresset. “Am I sure?” he asked in response to the question posed him.

  “It is a major step. One best come to with the counsel of your father.”

  Dolnaraq scoffed. “You never get counsel.” He lifted his head again, sniffing at the air. “The scent grows weak. We must hunt before the creature finds its hole.” Dolnaraq moved slowly toward the small snow-covered rise, and then glanced back at Tresset. “Do you come or stay? Either way, I go.”

  Tresset hesitated for only a moment, then nodded and went to march past Dolnaraq as if to take the lead.

  “No,” said Dolnaraq, holding out his arm to block Tresset’s way. “This one is mine. I’ll lead.”

  Tresset paused, narrowed his eyes, and looked to contemplate the request. Like all reyaqc, the youth’s eyes were as mother’s milk, devoid of all color except for the tiny black dot of a pupil at the center. Even so, this one had a dark intensity in his gaze that sometimes caused even adult members of the pack to pause. It went beyond the physical appearance of the eyes to whatever lay within. Unremarkable, yet anything but, Tresset Bremu was a strange one. But for all that, in this instance he gave a slow deliberate nod, allowing his younger companion to pass, taking the lead in this most precarious hunt.

  Dolnaraq sighed within. He was glad the older youth accompanied him. For all his bluster, this was a frightening thing he meant to do, and having a companion beside him would bolster his resolve.

  Both youth were accomplished hunters. Their pack was nomadic, living beyond the confines of the civilized world—of the human world. Like the prey they fed upon, they moved with the seasons, for the most part staying well hidden within forested areas. The land they inhabited was known by humans as Siberia, it was late in the nineteenth century, though Dolnaraq knew none of this, nor did he care. He often wondered though, why the pack did not move further and further south until they’d left this bitter cold land behind. But Dolnaraq’s father insisted the more comfortable climes were fully inhabited by humans and that the reyaqc should fear unnecessary contact with these similar but very dangerous people. Humans are a superstitious breed, and could never understand the needs and drives of the reyaqc.

  Dolnaraq did not care for humans. There was a need for them, yes. The reyaqc would always need to dwell within hunting distance of their towns and villages. But, nothing more than that. Just within hunting distance. Dolnaraq despised those reyaqc who called themselves gypsies, wearing human clothing, singing human songs, living in traveling caravans that skirted the borders of human civilizations. Most humans thought these gypsies strange, often believing them to have occult powers. But they believed them to be human. The majority of gypsies were human to be sure, but they often traveled in the same caravans as their reyaqc cousins. Dolnaraq couldn’t understand why a reyaqc would feign humanity, no matter how similar in appearance. Dolnaraq was reyaqc, and he was about to become even more so.

  They were over the rise now, gazing down into a small icy field. Dolnaraq saw it—the fox. His prey. Oh, how that shiny red coat gleamed. He could imagine that fur covering his own skin. How silky it must feel. Those eyes, so bright, so intelligent. And the teeth. Dolnaraq wanted the teeth as his own.

  The two young reyaqc were silent, communicating now only through hand signals. Dolnaraq indicated that Tresset should circle around to his left. He saw his companion’s expression tighten at the instruction—Tresset liked giving the orders—but still he moved accordingly.

  Dolnaraq proceeded slowly, never allowing his quarry to leave his direct line of sight. He was upwind of the fox. The sly creature would not smell him. All he needed was to remain silent and invisible. He wondered if the fox would hear his heart beating. It seemed to be pounding so hard that surly every creature in the forest would hear its thump. He needed to calm himself. He knew that. But Dolnaraq had been dreaming of this moment for so many weeks now. How could he poss
ibly hope to remain calm?

  And frightened.

  Dolnaraq would never admit this to Tresset, but he was terrified. Yes, he wanted this—more than anything—but if something were to happen, if Tresset stepped on a brittle stick and scared the thing away, well, Dolnaraq would be relieved. He would feel cheated and relieved at the same time. He’d be angry at Tresset, but thankful too. This was a huge step, and Dolnaraq wasn’t yet all that huge.

  Stop it, he thought. If he remained this distracted he’d scare the fox away himself and then Tresset would accuse him of doing it on purpose.

  He was almost there now.

  Just a little closer.

  Just a little closer.

  As Dolnaraq was about to lunge, the fox sensed him and bolted to the left. But, Tresset was there. It scurried right, but found Dolnaraq. It slipped under a fallen branch and then into some low brush, but both of the young reyaqc appeared, cornering it, driving it into their grasps. Dolnaraq lunged but lost his footing on a small patch of ice. Still, he caught a fleeting grasp of the tail, slowing the fox enough for Tresset to snatch it in mid leap. The creature struggled and snapped, piercing Tresset’s right earlobe and drawing a surprising amount of blood. It wriggled and wormed, its sleek legs pumping frantically against Tresset’s bare thighs, leaving scarlet ribbons across his legs. But still the young reyaqc pressed the thing close to his chest, using his forearm and elbow to trap it against his body, while squeezing its jaws shut with both hands.

  “Dolnaraq, hurry! I’ve got him!”

  Dolnaraq moved forward, but slowly. Did he really want this? There was still time. He hadn’t done anything yet.

  “Dolnaraq! I can’t hold him forever!”

  He had to do this. He had come too far. What would Tresset say if he backed out now? He would be an outcast. The others would never respect one who boasted of great things and fled the very same when opportunity appeared. This was his hunt. His time. There might be no other.

  Dolnaraq moved on instinct alone. Almost mechanically, he scooted forward on the cold uneven ground, extending his right hand as if to pet the fox. The frightened creature enhanced its struggles, bobbing forward and back, whimpering, pedaling its feet as if running, though Tresset had adjusted so that the paws now found only air.

  “Slowly,” cautioned Tresset. “Not too much. Not too fast. Once you begin, there’s no need to rush.”

  The fox’s hair was slick to the touch, and cold, much colder than Dolnaraq would have assumed. But his skin was cold too. The Siberian climate was not a gentle one for any of its many inhabitants. Dolnaraq’s palm now held the back of the creature’s neck. The time was at hand yet still Dolnaraq hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t right for him. Maybe he was too young. Maybe…

  The fox broke free of Tresset’s grasp. Dolnaraq’s reaction was immediate. The bed of tiny pin-like spines emerged from his palm, penetrating the fox’s neck at the base of the skull. The connection was made. The world stood still.

  Dolnaraq did not feel himself tumbling over as he drew the fox close to his breast. He didn’t feel the jagged branch slice him just above his left elbow. He didn’t hear Tresset’s continued warnings to be slow, to only take a small amount during this first connection. No, all Dolnaraq knew was the essence of the fox as it coursed through his shivering form. He felt fire in his veins and knew that certainly his limbs must be about to burst open. He heard the echoing chime in his head, bouncing from one side to the other behind his eyes, muddling his thoughts, obstructing all else. He felt his muscles twitch and cramp and felt his stomach wretch, emptying its sparse contents onto the whimpering and terrified fox. He felt every fabric of his person stretch and separate and then pull together, before stretching yet again and again. He seemed to be twirling around, around, and yet he was certain that he remained still. He felt Tresset’s pull as his friend sought to disengage him from the beast, but he clung closer. The fox was his. The fox was him. He felt the creature swoon, its heartbeat slow. He felt its breath grow shallow. He knew what this meant. He knew he had taken too much. He also knew he would never stop. The fox was him. The fox was him.

  Then Dolnaraq knew nothing at all. Only cold, dark nothing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dolnaraq awoke two days later, feeling strange—not himself. His arms jerked when he tried to wipe his eyes, causing him to strike the side of his own face. Every muscle seemed bound up in balls. His legs did not want to extend, his stomach was tight and gurgling. And his vision was strange—somehow the colors had become less vibrant, the images less true.

  “So, you’ve decided to become a molt.” It was his father’s voice, from somewhere just behind him. The voice was as it always had been, but the tone was unfamiliar. Dolnaraq couldn’t tell if it was anger, sorrow, or maybe even disbelief.

  A molt? His father had called him a molt. The term referred to reyaqc who, in addition to drawing essence from humans, drew from animals as well, shedding some of their more human-like characteristics in favor of those of the animal. A molt. Yes. The fox. Dolnaraq vaguely remembered the hunt, the chase, the experience. Had he done it? Had he been successful? Had he truly drawn from the fox? He lifted his quivering arm to before his eyes. Where was the fur? Where was the sleek coat he’d envisioned?

  He rolled his head in the direction of his father’s voice. “The fox?”

  His father moved forward. His skin and hair were darker than Dolnaraq was accustomed to seeing on him. A band of gypsies had recently settled in the area and many of the pack had drawn essence from these dark strangers, causing their own tones to gradually darken as well. “Yes, the fox,” said his father. “It is dead.”

  Dead! No. He’d taken too much. When first drawing from a creature one must proceed slowly, taking small amounts of essence over several days. If too much is taken and the animal perishes, then another must be found—another of quite similar essence. Otherwise the reyaqc may become ill, the two essences not complementing one another, but rather battling for primacy. Dolnaraq sought to find his voice. It came in a harsh whisper. “Dead. But, have I…?”

  “Changed? Yes, boy, you’ve changed.” Dolnaraq’s father closed his eyes, drew a long breath. “Why?”

  “To be strong, Father. To be a great hunter.” And then, after a pause. “To make you proud.”

  “Make me proud! How could you imagine this would make me proud?”

  Dolnaraq had no words, no response. His young mind could not fathom the reasoning behind his father’s question. Of course the elder reyaqc should be proud. Dolnaraq had shown courage. He’d taken risk in order to better himself. Why would a father not be proud?

  Dolnaraq watched through unfamiliar eyes as his father drew closer yet. “Boy, have you never wondered why I have not become a molt, why so few of our pack have done so?”

  Dolnaraq had assumed it was because his father and the others were too afraid to take such a bold step, but not feeling comfortable with this response, he remained silent.

  “The reasons are many,” began his father when Dolnaraq failed to respond. “There are risks in the way of the molt.”

  “Then, you were afraid,” said Dolnaraq before he could stop himself from doing so.

  “No,” sighed his father. “Not afraid as you see it. The advantages of animal essence can be either great or minimal. Yes, you may acquire the hunting skills or the superior sense of hearing or smell. But you also may degrade your intellect, or you may become more rash and violent or more skittish and fearful. Your appearance will change making it more difficult for you to blend with humans.”

  “Why would I want to blend with humans? They stink.”

  Dolnaraq’s father offered a momentary grin. “Yes, their odor can be off-putting. But we need their essence. We need to hunt among them. Like it or not, we depend on the humans for our survival.”

  “You’re a human lover!” screamed Dolnaraq. He had expected his father to praise him, to tell him how brave he had been, to say that he wished he had the same courage
as his young son. But, all he had done was to belittle Dolnaraq, making him feel foolish. “You’re a human lover and a coward.” Dolnaraq attempted to rise from the cave floor, but found he was unable to lift himself from his bed of straw.

  His father watched his pathetic struggle for a few moments, and then said. “No boy, I am neither. The humans are not so despicable as you might think. And I am neither enthralled by them nor a coward, as you claim. But neither am I your father. Not any longer. You may rest here until you’ve regained your strength, and then you must find dwelling of your own.”

  This was the last conversation the two would have, though the young reyaqc did hear his father weeping in long, guttural sobs from beyond the cave entrance and long into the night.

  * * * *

  Dolnaraq found his feet. He was now able to hobble unsteadily about the cave. His head still ached and his stomach would not yet tolerate food, but at least he was able to move about. Though, why he’d want to, he didn’t know. His father had an old, palm-sized mirror he’d acquired from a human some years prior. Dolnaraq had taken this and viewed his image. He had changed, yes. But not as he had hoped. His nose was now dark, but still shaped as before with no other fox-like characteristic. His left ear was somewhat elongated and random shoots of red fur protruded from it. His left eye—though still milky white—had widened in comparison to his right. And, within his mouth, one long canine tooth had grown—again, on the left—and protruded stupidly from between his lips making it impossible for him to shut his mouth completely. This also caused some difficulty in speech. The fingers on his left hand were shortened and clumsy, and his left leg felt twitchy and uncontrollable. He had no sleek beautiful coat as he had imagined. His senses of smell and hearing had not been enhanced. All in all, he’d become a useless freak. As such, he’d determined never to exit this cave again. What possible use could there be for one such as he?