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  The First Fear

  The Empowered Ones Book One

  M.S. Olney

  Copyright © 2018 by Matthew Olney. All Right Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover art by Reza Afshar

  A big thank you to my wife Chloé for always supporting me.

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  They would not touch her again.

  The girl stood in the centre of the flames. The screams of the bad men, friends and family merged with the roar of the fire and the crash of falling timbers.

  She watched as one of the bad men stumbled past her, his cloak ablaze and his skin cooking. It smelt like roast pork. The other cloaked figures were either dead or fleeing for their lives. No. They would not take her. She walked out of the ruins of her family home, the smoke and heat not bothering her in the slightest.

  The white-hot of the Rage she had felt still lingered in her chest, but the Fear was fading. Despite the horror, the girl laughed. Why should she ever be afraid again?

  A body lay on the ash covered ground. Cautiously the girl approached and rolled it over. She blinked. It was her mother. The flames had burnt her to a crisp. Her flesh had melted away to reveal the bone beneath. The Rage built again, but this time something else grew with it. An emotion so powerful that it felt like a lead weight in her heart.

  “You would let them take me? Your own daughter!” the girl screamed.

  Hate. The emotion she felt was Hate.

  The ground trembled causing some of the fire-ravaged buildings to collapse. The girl looked at her hands in surprise. She didn’t know how but she knew that she was the cause of the quake. The cloaked men had wanted to take her away, to take her with them so that they could use her powers.

  “Such Anger. Such Fear.”

  The girl spun around. With a blue and black cloak billowing in the heat and flame stood the leader of the Empowered Ones. His handsome face was furrowed in concentration as though he were trying to protect himself from the raging inferno. The girl screamed again and lashed out at the man. Unlike the others, however, this one swatted her blows aside with ease. Tears flowed from the girl’s eyes, and her throat was raw from her screams.

  “I hate you! Leave me alone!” the girl sobbed. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her; she could feel her limbs becoming heavy, her head felt light. She swung a small fist at the man, but this time she stumbled and fell to her knees. He stepped forward placing a palm on her forehead. A strange tingling sensation coursed through her body and her senses dulled.

  “No!” the girl cried weakly before going limp. The Empowered One caught her as she fell and held her close.

  “You fear your potential girl,” he whispered as the blackness took her.

  Chapter 1.

  300 years later

  Hesselwit Estate – Western Imperium

  Life was good. The sun was high in the sky and casting its heat over the plantation. To anyone out in the fields the temperature would no doubt be unbearable, but Baron Hesselwit was comfortable sitting under the shade of an umbrella held by one of his servants. Sat out on the terrace of his opulent manor house he took a sip from his glass of ice cold apple juice and savoured the cold chill that worked its way down his throat.

  Hesselwit lay on his cushioned couch while his slaves toiled in the fields. It was harvest time, and he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that his workers hit their quota on time. He smiled as the crack of a taskmaster's whip carried on the air.

  “A motivated slave is a good slave,” he chuckled to himself.

  The slave waving a fan over him stood emotionless. As usual, Hesselwit was surrounded by house slaves that tended to his every need. The man holding the umbrella was slowly cooking, his bare back slowly turning raw from the merciless heat. A young woman massaged his feet while another worked his shoulders. Unlike their lord, they were all skin and bone.

  “I am sure Her Supreme Majesty will be pleased with this year’s harvest. I hear all of the barons have been working their slaves especially hard. Hopefully, it will be enough to allow her to forget the unpleasantness that occurred last year,” said the baron’s guest.

  Tall and wiry, Minister Trajin was the complete opposite of the Baron. He was the leader of the Western Imperium, only the Supreme herself was of a higher rank.

  Hesselwit shifted uncomfortably under Trajin’s intense gaze. The man never seemed to blink; it was most discomforting.

  “Yes well, the peasants paid a hefty price for that little incident. It took me six months to buy in enough new bodies to replace those I lost to the executioner's axe. Just to keep up with demand I have had to work over two dozen to death already this summer!” the baron whined.

  Trajin sipped from his glass and raised a thin eyebrow at him.

  “One would think you are unhappy with the Supreme’s order. Do you perhaps feel the punishment she commanded was too harsh?”

  “No! Never!” Hesselwit sputtered.

  A smile crossed Trajin’s lips, a menacing glint in his unblinking eyes.

  “I hope not, for your sake. Her will is law. Tell me Hesselwit, do you know why I am here?”

  Hesselwit looked into the bottom of his empty glass, unable to meet the Minister’s eyes. Annoyance flared within him. Angrily he snapped his fingers, summoning over a slave girl. He liked to keep the most attractive of his stock close to hand. On his instructions, the girl poured him another glass of juice and scooped out some ice from a nearby bucket.

  “Such extravagance for such a middling baron. Importing ice from the mountains must cost a hefty sum,” Trajin noted, a hint of threat in his tone.

  Despite the iced drink and the shade cast by the umbrella, Hesselwit began to sweat profusely.

  “My business interests in the mines at Hestra provide me with ample income...” Hesselwit said hesitantly.

  “Or, could it be that you have been selling slaves on the side,” Trajin interrupted coolly.

  The Baron almost spat out his juice. He felt panic rising within him, how did the Minister know? Did one of those wretched slave masters inform on him?

  An awkward silence descendant, Trajin continued to stare at the now profusely sweating baron.

  “I jest of course,” he said breaking the quiet. “I am here to ensure that you continue to send your quota of slaves to the capital.”

  Hesselwit almost cried out in relief but quickly thought better of it. The amused expression on Trajin's face suggested that the minister knew all about his little business on the side. No doubt he too sold his most attractive slaves to the pleasure palaces across the Imperium.

  “The quota will be reached, Minister. I would never fail that most important of tasks. In fact, I have a wagon load ready to depart this evening
.”

  Sending a quota to the capital had been a practice amongst the ruling class for years. What the Supreme did with them, however, was something only the high priests of the Venerable Chamber knew. If he failed to meet demand, then men like the Minister would deliver swift retribution or worse, a Hollowed may pay him a visit.

  Trajin smiled, but there was no happiness in it, his eyes were like those of a vicious predator, one just waiting for a man like Hesselwit to slip up.

  “I am very glad to hear it. Well,' he said rising from the velvet cushioned couch, ' I must be off. I have a few more estates to visit today. Remember Hesselwit; the Supreme knows all. Farewell.”

  Hesselwit slumped back into his chair and wiped his brow in relief as the Minister departed. Once Trajan was out of sight he snapped his fingers, summoning a slave.

  “Go into the manor's wine cellar and bring me a bottle of the 34 vintage. After that, I need something stronger than poxy apple juice.”

  The slave bowed deeply and hurried off towards the manor.

  The Minister was just doing what he always did. The man liked to throw his weight around and reinforce just who was in charge of this part of the Imperium. Hesselwit smiled to himself, he would play the game just as his father had done and his grandfather before that. Despite the postulations of the Venerable Chamber's Chanters, the Supreme Imperium was anything but pure. Every baron was out for themselves. Slaves meant wealth and wealth meant influence in the Capital. Overall, he was satisfied with his performance at handling the minister.

  ‘Perhaps I shall celebrate tonight;’ he thought. The raven-haired beauty that acted as his wife's body slave would do, he'd had his eye on her for a while.

  He looked out over the fields satisfied that the slaves were working hard. The taskmasters were pushing them to their limits, but such was their lot in life. They were the bottom of the heap, those least in the Supreme's favour. The men and women toiling away looked broken, centuries of oppression dwindling any fight within them. Hesselwit's eyes fell on an old man who was struggling to stay on his feet. The man was more like a skeleton, and his limbs were feeble. The baron sighed in exasperation as the man collapsed amongst the wheat.

  “There goes another one,” he muttered.

  Some of the other slaves looked up from their tasks before forlornly returning to work. To go the man's aid would only result in a whipping from the taskmasters. Servitude and obedience was their lot in life, just as the Supreme decreed -

  His heart quickened as he spotted a tall, thin man wearing a suit and tie standing in the field. They looked at each other for a heartbeat, and to his stunned disbelief, the man had no eyes, just empty holes where they should have been.

  “Who?” Hesselwit stammered. “Grimson, come over here,” He called over to one of the taskmasters. The burly shaven-headed brute jogged over to his lord.

  “My lord?”

  “Who is that over there...?” he trailed off. The strange man had disappeared. Had he been real? The sight of the eyeless figure had shaken him deeply. Where had the man gone?

  “My lord?” Grimson asked.

  “I... I must have been seeing things,” Hesselwit muttered. Troubled, he looked at the taskmaster who had a look of confusion etched on his scarred face.

  “It's just the heat, yes the heat has gotten to me. Back to work with you.”

  *

  Vavius knew things should be different. His travels across the Supreme Imperium had taken him to places that even the Supreme’s omnipotent gaze could not reach. She thought herself invincible, Vavius would prove her wrong. It hadn’t always been this way; before her rise to power the world had been free, at least that's what the Mentors had told him. He pulled the hood of his cloak tighter about his head to hide his features. Even out here in the remote parts of the Western Imperium, he could not risk someone recognising his face. He had waited until dusk to make his move, the exhausted slaves who had been toiling in the fields were slowly drifting off toward their compound that lay at the edge of the estate. He crouched in the shadow cast by a tall oak tree and watched the manor house of the Baron Hesselwit.

  It wasn’t long before the sun dipped below the horizon and lanterns were lit. He narrowed his eyes; only four guards were positioned at the entrance to the walled complex. Vavius smiled. Hesselwit’s reputation for arrogance and overconfidence was well founded it seemed. He pushed off into a sprint, the tall wheat providing cover. The wind whistled in his ears as he ran, his eyes fixed on the manor houses outer wall. He reached the wall without being spotted and eyed the top of the stone coping. Bending his knees, he channelled his emotions, a smile crossing his lips as he harnessed the power of Joy. He jumped, clearing the ten-foot-high wall in a single bound. Switching to Anger, he felt his body strengthen. Switching emotions on the fly was easy for him after so many years of practice. He landed in a crouch, his enhanced legs absorbing the impact of the fall.

  Looking around, he saw that he was now in the manor’s main courtyard. He shook his head at the baron’s slack security. If the man knew that there was an Empowered One in the area, he would surely have garrisoned an army, or worse. Swiftly, he crossed the courtyard and ducked down a flight of stairs leading to the manor’s cellar. If all went according to plan, it should have been left open for him. Voices caused him to pause and duck into the shadows. Two armoured guards ambled by, completely oblivious to his presence.

  Once they were gone, Vavius turned and tried the cellar door handle. He smiled. The latch was open. The slave he had bribed the previous night had done her job well. Carefully, he opened the door and slipped inside. The cellar was dark save for a single candle casting a flickering light. Barrels and racks of wine bottles filled the space. A flight of wide stone steps was at the far end of the room, and he made his way towards it. He kept low to the ground, keeping his footfalls light. Above him, he could hear guards patrolling. Tilting his head, he listened. Just one was in the corridor above him. He reached the bottom of the steps and ascended quickly. There was no door at the top of the stairs. Instead, there was an open archway that led into a wide carpeted corridor.

  Vavius pressed himself tightly against the cold stone wall and peeked around the archway. He had been right, just one lone and bored looking guard was doing his rounds. The man was looking at a painting hanging on the wall. From his vantage spot, Vavius could see that the image was that of a beautiful brown-haired lady. ‘The Baroness no doubt,’ he thought.

  Darting out from the archway, he crept up behind the distracted guard and with a sharp movement wrapped his strong arms around the oblivious man’s throat. A quiet popping noise sounded as his power enhanced limbs snapped the guard’s neck with ease. Maintaining his grip, he dragged the corpse to the archway and down into the dark depths of the cellar. Vavius blew out the candle to make it harder for any curious folks discovering the body. Once the grisly deed of hiding the corpse was done, he hurried back upstairs and down the corridor. Turning right, he headed towards the baron’s quarters. The time he had spent pretending to be a slave had proven invaluable; he knew the manor’s layout like the back of his hand. His back still ached from the sunburn he’d suffered holding the umbrella over the fat baron. The conversation between Hesselwit Minister Trajin had been interesting, but it had been of no benefit to him.

  Encountering no more guards, he crossed a small inner courtyard that was dominated by a bubbling stone fountain. Lavender and other sweet-smelling flowers grew in borders around the courtyard’s edge adding to the splendour of the place. Anger flashed in Vavius, men like the Baron lived in luxury while countless others lived in misery and despair. He froze and listened. For a heartbeat, he thought that he’d heard soft footsteps behind him. He waited – nothing.

  Quickly, he crossed the courtyard and entered the manor house’s living quarters. A red carpet lined the floors, and mahogany panels decorated the walls. A tapestry emblazoned with the Hesselwit crest hung from the wall, and sma
ll statues of previous Hesselwit barons stood on pedestals. The arrogance of the man was breath-taking. Vavius pressed on, finally reaching the baron’s quarters. To his surprise, the door was open. Cautiously, he crept forwards and pushed the door open with the tip of his boot.

  Lying on the four-poster bed dominating the chamber was the baron, his throat slit and his eyes bulging in a death stare. Next to him was the Baroness, a deep cut across her delicate neck. The room stunk of blood. The bodies were a surprise, but the creature standing over them made Vavius recoil.

  Tall and thin with a long narrow face and dressed all in a suit of black stood a Hollowed.

  “You’ve finally arrived. We were beginning to grow impatient,” the Hollowed said in a deep emotionless voice. “Were you looking for this?” it added. In its hand was a scroll. At seeing it Vavius’s heart sank.

  The tall and unnaturally thin figure turned from the bodies and looked at Vavius. Just like all Hollowed it had no eyes, just black holes where the organs had once been. Vavius tensed, no one had ever fought a Hollowed and lived. He turned, trying to flee, but another eyeless figure now barred the passage behind him. He'd been followed. There was no escape. He had failed.

  ***

  Chapter 2.

  Fork – Northern Imperium

  The path wound its way through the woods like a river cutting its way through a canyon to the two teenagers walking down it. Both were covered in thick, black mud, a testament to their success in catching newts that lived in the river that ran through the heart of the woods. The boy, Elian, had blue eyes that appeared to be almost unnaturally bright against the thick black mud that caked his face.

  “I cannot believe you pulled me in after you,” Elian said with a goofy grin. His mother would tan his hide for ruining another tunic.

  “It was your fault for trying to play the hero as usual.”