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Through The Valley Of Shadow - Shadow Gods Saga: Book Seven [MultiFormat]
eBook by Stefan Vucak

eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: His soul filled with hate, Master Scout Terrllss-rr goes to Anar'on, the world of the Wanderers, to find Teena his loved one, and to avenge himself against his brother Dharaklin. In a moment that would have unleashed the hand of Death, Terr is confronted by a shattering personal revelation. To slake his thirst with the blood of his brother, Terr must be prepared to forsake Teena's love and face personal oblivion. Damaged in a running fight with the Orieli, a Celi-Kran warship takes shelter on a Serrll frontier world. Not believing the enormity of the threat confronting them, the Serrll Scout Fleet receives a vivid demonstration of the meaning of total destruction. With the god of Death in his hands, Terr faces the Kran menace.

eBook Publisher: Double Dragon Publishing/Double Dragon eBooks, Published: Double Dragon Publishing, 2011
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2011

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Chapter One

* * * *

"Teena!" Terr cried in torn agony, arms upraised reaching toward a turbulent sky.

Jagged and stark, lightning touched the hills and made the dwellings along the skyline flare and dance with cold white fire. With a pealing crash, thunder ripped the heavens apart. The ground cringed and shuddered. Cold and biting, the rain came down in slanting sheets, pursued by the mournful thin wailing of the wind.

He stood there letting the power of the wind and the rain wash over him in a vain hope of replenishing something that had been drained, rent from his very soul. He lowered his arms and gripped the ramp railing until his fingers ached from the strain. A strangled sob escaped from somewhere deep within him. He buried his face in his hands and felt the hot wetness in his eyes leak between his fingers. He was not crying, just wiping the rain off his cheeks.

The hurt he felt was an agonizing throb deep inside him, of loss and betrayal and shattered faith. It was a feeling of being soiled, something the rain could not wash away. There was a pressure in his chest, an exquisite sharp pain that probed and cut, threatening to burst through him. He clenched his fists and exhaled with a shudder. Mouth set in a rigid grimace, he tilted back his head.


It was defiance to hell sent with hate and forlorn longing. It was a cry of shattered innocence and lost dreams. But there was no one to hear his torment in the storm. There was only the sound of rushing wind and hissing rain. He wrung his hands and swallowed. It went down lumpy and hard.

Shoulders hunched, he turned and stumbled back into the house. The door sighed shut behind him. His footsteps were heavy and loud in the empty corridor. Flat echoes surrounded him like a cloak, a reminder of all his yesterdays and of what might have been - fool's dreams. Now the echoes mocked him with each step he made. A wet rivulet slid down the back of his head and icy tendrils touched his neck. He leaned against a wall, weary and lost, wishing for oblivion and its peace.

Absently, he reached into his pocket and clutched her scarf, deriving a measure of comfort from its soft touch. The liquor bar lit up as he approached. He punched in something, not really caring what, simply to stop the hurt for a while. The frosted tumbler slid out and he held it with hands that shook with coiled tension. He drank the bitter mixture in hurried gulps. He breathed out the pungent fumes with a shuddering grunt.

"Anabb ought to try this," he mumbled and stared at the glass.


Anger and hate boiled within him, burning with a flame that was consuming him. That was one name he did not care to think about. With a snarl of revulsion, he hurled the tumbler against the wall. The tinkle of broken crystal was a window into the fires of his mind, a glimpse into the chaos of his thoughts.

"Damn you," he whispered with hissing intensity. "Damn you to hell!"

Blinking rapidly, he stared at the scarf in his hand. He extended his arm and looked at the clinging material, hanging limp and lifeless. He opened his hand and tilted it slightly. The sheer piece of precious cloth slithered with a rush and fell without a sound to make an insignificant pile on the carpet. That is how easy it had been to snuff out two lives. He regarded the material and his eyes misted.

"I am sorry, Teena ... sorry..."

He did not know how much he drank, but it must have been a lot. His eyes felt gummy and his mouth was dry, tasting like rotting lawn clippings. The Wall was cycling through random color patterns and he could not remember having switched it on. He finally decided that it didn't matter worth a damn.

He did not remember getting into the cable-tube and the upper level. Clutching the walls, he staggered toward the bedroom. The door slid out of his way and he blinked as pale blue light touched the walls. The bed was wide and right in front of him. He fell across it with a heart-felt groan and the lights went out, leaving only the faint green safety strip along the bottom of the walls. Her smell was everywhere; on blankets, pillows, everything. The very air held her presence and he could not see her. Moaning, he clutched the sheets as something hot broke within him and flowed, cutting deep as it went.

"Teena," he sobbed brokenly and twisted with the pain, willing her to be there. Her form shimmered beside him, pale and transparent and he reached for her. He thought she smiled. Then she was gone, leaving behind her the heat and smell of burned desert sands. He cursed feebly as darkness descended over him like a film of gossamer.

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