Reaping the surge Read online

  Reaping The Surge

  Trials of Turton Series Book 1

  K.M. Wilding

  Contents

  TRIGGER WARNINGS

  Glossary

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  Reaping the Surge Copyright © K.M.Wilding 2022

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

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Book design by Books and Moods

  Format by Books and Moods

  Edit by SCW Editing Services

  Mum, I wish you were here to see this.

  I did it!

  TRIGGER WARNINGS

  This book is a dark fantasy romance, please check the trigger warnings below if you have doubts about reading this book. If this isn't for you, please don't continue. If it is, sit back and immerse yourself into the land of Turton.

  Graphic sexual scenes, Graphic violence, Gore, Emotional abuse, Ptsd, Torture, Blood, BDSM, Spit play. Domination. Swearing, Decapitation, Mental health issues, Assualt, Blood, Kidnapping, Execution, Murder.

  Glossary

  The Surge- Elemental powers.

  The banished- Dark powers.

  The Damned- Mind powers.

  Clavine- is the village of the Surge.

  Bromon- is the village of the Banished.

  Droxla- is the village of the Damned.

  Turton tower- is the village of the reapers.

  Borelands forest- Home to the beastly creatures of Turton.

  Turgor- Where corrupt souls go for eternity of torture.

  The valleys- Eternal resting place for those of innocence.

  Skinwalker- Soulless beings who steal the souls from the living.

  Vanora- A beast who lures people into water.

  Grapper- Large creature who thirsts for blood.

  Death came first, followed by four beings who were gifted with phenomenal powers from death itself. Death required help in maintaining balance within the lands and so bestowed unique abilities onto each of the beings.

  Elemental powers- the surge

  Mind powers- the damned

  Dark powers- the banished

  Unknown powers - the reapers

  Each of the beings took a village within the land of Turton, living somewhat peacefully. Over the years, one being had become jealous of the success the other villages had. They set out to plot against the other beings, hoping to take control for themselves. Death sat, watching everything unfold. The being who was granted the gift of dark powers went on to create something so monstrous it caused chaos throughout Turton, a creature who could suck the souls of the innocent, leaving their corpse to turn into something unimaginable. The dark magic inside these creatures brought the souls to the banished, to their leader, giving them enough power to take over another village.

  Or so they thought.

  Death could no longer sit back and watch this unfold, so Death appeared before the beings once again reminding them that the powers they received came with severe consequences if any of the them caused harm to the innocent they would be sent for eternal torture for eternity. Death could not intervene or change the course of events that had already happened, so instead Death offered just one of the beings something that would change the course of Turton’s future forever.

  Aideen

  “They were not just hanged, Aideen.” My mother Rosa stood next to me, a hint of anger in her hazel eyes as she listed the horrors of our history. “They were tied up against their will, burned after being left in decaying piles of flesh for days. Blades cut through skin, blood of the innocent coated the streets, turning them red.”

  “I know Mama.” I sighed quietly enough so Mama couldn’t tell I was bored. I had heard the story repeatedly but I knew to listen and nod along to keep the peace.

  I watched as she inched closer, the intimidation tactic she used regularly, steely eyes remained on me, as she pursed her lips in annoyance, making her physical presence known. “Do you? It doesn’t sound that way.” She stared, unblinking at me, eyes wide, as she waited for my response.

  It didn’t sound that way because this argument was stuck on repeat and had been for years. My mother constantly reminded me of the harrowing past of my home and my family. She did this to keep me safe and obedient but it was annoying to hear the same words over and over. Many years ago, any being with power was brought forward in the Trials of Turton and mutilated before meeting their end. I knew exactly what she spoke of and the severity of what happened in the trials. I just didn't need to hear it every other day because the outcome of our history hasn’t changed.

  “Your sisters are aware. They know the history, they understand how dangerous it is for us to be here, we could be discovered at any moment.” Chancing it, I rolled my eyes, it didn't go unnoticed. She threw her hands in the air, frustrated, pacing the small kitchen. I’ve tried responding both ways but it doesn’t seem to make her reaction any different. I internally sigh, waiting for this conversation to end so I can carry on with my day.

  “I know.” She clenched both fists as anger took over her.

  “I won’t tell you this again, Aideen. They are not stories. It is our history, who we are. It shapes our very being. The Hestia blood that runs in me and your sisters, runs in your veins too. Have you no pride?”

  I braved another sigh, pushing myself off the wooden counter I leant on. I stopped in front of my mother and placed both hands on her small shoulders. “It’s hard to have pride when we are to stay hidden.” She looked into my eyes as my words somehow hurt her. I recognised her pity for the life I now live, her steely eyes now relaxed as she brushed loose strands of hair away from my face. As I glanced over at her I could see her age had started to show, deep lines had appeared around her mouth and next to her eyes, small strands of grey hair made their way through. I knew she wanted me safe but it came at a cost. Gone are the days of freedom, not that I had much to begin with. I am to stay here with constant protection from my mother and my sisters. We were all in danger, hidden here with no one knowing who we all really were. If anyone learned the truth about us, I dreaded to think of what would become of us.

  Her voice lowered in tone, making sure I was listening. “We must stay hidden for our safety and your safety. You need to understand this, Aideen.” I withdrew my hands, gripping around my torso in a hold for comfort. “Believe me Mama, I understand.” She had asked me to help prepare our evening meal and set the table ready for it, so I concentrated on doing just that. Turning my back, I headed for the small wooden table that sat in our kitchen. Mismatched cabinets in different faded colou
rs made the room a little brighter. The oak kitchen tops were always covered in plants or ingredients of some kind. A large window sat above the sink, which looked out onto the fields that ran alongside our home.

  Flour dusted the wooden surface on the table from a dough I had been working on earlier. Peeking into the cloth covered bowl I was happy to see the rise in the dough but it wasn't ready just yet. Mama remained silent, letting me stew on yet another lecture. I could feel her eyes as they stared at the back of my head, still not convinced I’m taking what she’s said seriously. At this point,I don’t know what else I can say or do. Although the history wasn't just ours, it existed for most families who possessed any power in Turton. As a child, Mama would tell me about the Trials of Turton, how the villagers who did not possess power feared us. A public massacre, she called it. She told me there was one, the one who stopped it all, saving us. This being had saved my ancestors, giving them a secure home in Clavine, the village we live in to this day.

  A swinging door banged against the wall, letting in a gust of wind which sent flour straight into my face in a cloud of white dust, causing me to sputter out a cough as the powdery substance stuck to my throat. “Mama, where do you want this?” I opened one eye to see Zahra standing inside the doorway, her bare arms covered in blood, with a small, lifeless boar over her shoulder. Our mother spun, tutting at her. “Stop dripping blood over my floor, Zahra, take it out outside.” Zahra didn't speak, she stormed past me to the back of the house, this wasn't the first time she had done this. Mama hated her dragging the animals through the house. I jumped as she slammed the small door to our garden behind her.

  Zahra’s the oldest, though you wouldn’t think that by looking at her. She’s short with chestnut brown eyes and umber skin from being in the sun, she travels most days around Clavine gathering things we need. Most days her hair matched the colour of her eyes which she styled in a thick braid. Zahra was usually in her signature brown leather tunic and pants to match, today was no different.

  She was the complete opposite of me in physical attributes. I am taller than she is by half a foot. My hair was neither curly nor straight and the copper was more orangey than I would like. My skin was so pale that the blue of my veins stood out, I almost looked translucent. Freckles covered some of my body apart from a few places. My eyes are a cold icy blue, a stark contrast to my older sibling.

  When I was younger, my sisters teased me about the colour of my hair and my freckles. I didn't look like Zahra, who looked a lot like the other daughters who lived in Clavine, which has always left me feeling insecure. “Mama, I can’t find any colwart weed.” My younger sister Nesrin stood looking frustrated, her hair was wild, strands from her braids had become loose making her look a little dishevelled, her eyes darted around the room as she entered the kitchen, closing the door gently behind her.

  Nesrin and I were similar in many ways. Her skin was a mixture of both myself and Zahra, pale during colder months while warming up to a light bronze in the warmer months. Her jet black hair was long down to her knees. She always wore intricate braids or buns to conceal the length. Instead of the icy grey in the centre of her eyes like mine, she had a ring of warm honey surrounding her pupils. Nesrin dressed in long flowing skirts with embroidered patterns which she made herself, a basic shirt under a waistcoat that matched her bottom half. Nesrin wore mainly blue, a variety of shades which she rotated often. I did not have the sense of fashion my sisters did. I stuck to white blouses and black leggings, never saw the point in dressing up just to walk around the cottage.

  “No Colwart?” Mama asked, she sighed as her shoulders slumped in near defeat. I can see her run through other alternatives in her mind because this ingredient is important. Colwart weed was what Mama used in one of her best-selling potions. Cleverly crafted for men with problems performing… ‘in bed, at least that’s what the tag line should be.’

  “Go to the greenhouse, Nesrin. Get the closest thing to Colwart. We can try to disguise it or tell them we changed the recipe, to make it work faster. Men will believe anything if we tell them it enhances their manhood.”

  My sister discretely rolled her eyes as I hid a smile because my mother using the term manhood is funny and awkward all at once. Mama was such a prude. Nesrin winked at me as she walked over, mouthing the words ‘manhood’ with an eyebrow raised in amusement. I covered my mouth in response, biting my palm to prevent myself from chuckling and calling it something else out loud.

  I wondered how Mama would feel if I said dick or cock. She would probably create a potion that would prevent me from speaking ever again. I smirked at the thought.

  “I’ll come help you.” I offer, using anything I can as an excuse to leave the kitchen. As I smeared my floured hands across Nesrin’s shirt, she shoved at me but I didn't lose my step. “Play nicely, girls.” I laughed in sync with Nesrin. It always amused me that even though Zahra was 30, me 29 and Nesrin 28, she talked to us as if we were still unruly children.

  I walked to the garden with Nesrin stopping on the stone path, large flat grey stones lay embedded in the soil below, which were becoming a little unsteady after years of us trampling over them. Our garden was large, red rose bushes took up most of the perimeter. Tall trees scattered in between them creating a nice shade in the hotter months. Wild flowers grew on one side of the stone path, white and yellow Petals stood tall, while our sacrificial altar lay on the opposite side, along with buckets and a few garden tools.

  Zahra began to butcher the boar she had caught on the altar. It was a basic set up, nothing too gaudy. Large slate coloured bricks were placed on the ground, that interlocked within a large slab of stone which rested on top of the bricks. “You don’t have to look so happy doing that,” Nesrin said, as she wrinkled her nose. Zahra peered up at us, wiping away sweat that had gathered on her forehead with the back of her hand, small streaks of blood were left along her skin. “It makes me happy because I’m imagining doing it to someone else.” Nesrin glanced at me. We both knew who she was talking about. Nesrin usually had something to say about how Zahra butchered the animals here but I get the feeling she would remain silent on the subject today.

  “You realise he is going to be there tomorrow?” Zahra shrugged, acting casual probably to steer away from the burning rage she felt inside. “I hope he is. I hope he fucks up, then I get to stab him in the throat with my dagger.” Nesrin backed up, gently pulling at my arm, motioning me to follow her. I watched Zahra as she raised her arms and plunged the blade deep inside the animal, fresh blood pooling around her knees. She smiled once more at the gruesome sight.

  After leaving Zahra to butcher the boar, Nesrin and I walked to the greenhouse. The glass structure sat to the back of our garden and was decent in size. Nesrin opened the door, holding it open for me as I made my way inside. The heat hit me instantly, as I grasped the neck of my shirt. I loosened what I could in hopes the heat would not be too overbearing. After a moment I gave up, it was never going to work. Inside is where we kept all kinds of plants, herbs, and flowers. Mama grew most of them here, she used them a lot in her elixirs.

  The colours inside were magnificent, different shades of green covered most of the walls. Ivy had begun to grow years ago; it now occupies most of the glass walls inside. Small silver metal tables lined the right side of the greenhouse. One table was lined with blood red roses, another lined with lilac coloured bluebells. And the last table was lined with golden daffodils.

  “What should we do about her?” I ask Nesrin, nodding my head toward where we left Zahra, as she searches through the mess on our working table. I watched as she picked up random bits and pieces of herbs that remained unmarked. Nesrin was brilliant at what she did but was a little messy at times. She had left odd sprigs of random herbs laying around from her last batch. I smirk watching her sniff them, shaking her head, then tossing them away.

  “Personally, I think we do nothing. She does this when she gets angry, lashing out, snapping at the ones she loves the most. She
wouldn’t do anything to risk any of us. She’s just airing out her rage and apparently taking it out on the animal.”

  I hung my head as guilt settled in. The hate Zahra held was mostly to do with me. I knew she didn't hate me, her anger was never because of me, it was because of him.

  “He wouldn’t dare try anything at the festival, Aideen. His precious mother will be there holding a tight leash on him. Keeping up appearances is what she does best, right?” Nesrin wasn’t wrong about that, yet I still dreaded going tomorrow. Every time I got close to them, close to him, my chest seemed to become tighter, making it harder to breathe.

  “Aideen, come, let’s get this done before supper.” After collecting some periwinkle, white root, and northern wisps, Nesrin and I made our way back into the kitchen. Relieved to see Mama had calmed down from our conversation earlier, she was now flustered at the lack of Colwart weed.

  “This will not work. We’re going to have to change how it’s ingested.” Nesrin suggested. Mama was quiet for a few minutes as she tried to think through various alternatives. “They usually chew the leaf of a Colwart, yes?” Mama nodded along with Nesrin’s thoughts, silently answering her question. “We grind it down, mix it with some form of a liquid. A shot of passion?” Nesrin winked again at me, knowing our mother would not approve. Her eyes were as wide as her smile and this time I couldn’t hold the laugh in. Mama threw me a disapproving look, which I ignored and went back to setting the table for our evening meal.