Ada's Children

Prologue

Welcome to my post-post-apocalyptic sci-fi novel, Ada’s Children. For an introduction, see this post. The novel is complete, and the Prologue and first three chapters are free to read. After that you’ll need to sign up for a paid subscription, currently discounted from the usual $5 per month. Or binge the whole thing during the 7-day free trial period, then go back to a free subscription. I promise I won’t think less of you! Or you can read it the regular way, in both ebook and print versions, which are available through your favorite book sellers on books2read. Now, without further ado, on with the story!

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KITRAN peered into the Howling Forest, squinting through shadows between closely spaced trees. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart.

The wolves, or whatever they were, had been howling off and on all night. He’d slept within earshot of the forest, trying to bolster his courage, but the shrieks and howls had only grown worse this morning as he came to the wooded edge. Wolves were not so unusual, not with his many years trapping beaver, otter, and fox. But now he heard something else, something worse, the growls and yelps of some unimaginable beast. And screams, as if the beast was tearing a person limb from limb.

But he couldn’t turn back. He would show his people Kitran was no coward. No more would they call him “Little Kit.” And how much worse could the Howling Forest be, compared to the life he’d lived these past years? Even if the wolves got him, or if Lytta, the Angel of Wrath, sentenced him to die, it would be a mercy. Besides, the old stories said that those who dared break the taboo against entering the forest had two chances. Only on their third attempt did they disappear without a trace. But if he made it through, he’d learn at last what was beyond the trees, where the Goddess Ada, Mother of the Five Peoples, forbade them to go.

And if he made it back, he would be a hero. No more bowing and scraping before the great hunters of bison and bear and deer. No more begging for scraps from the women who didn’t appreciate the warm furs he brought them. No more being ignored by the girls from the other villages during the annual Rendezvous. He’d have his choice of a mate. She would gather greens and berries for him, sew and mend his clothes, provide him with children. Most important, care for him in his old age, which seemed nearer every winter.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the forest. He took another step, and another. Nothing jumped out at him. The sounds seemed to recede before him and spread out on either side. He kept going, pushing his way through the undergrowth between the trees. He couldn’t find a path, but continued in the direction he thought would take him straight through the forest.

He lost track of time. The forest seemed to go on and on. Sometimes the howls and screams came closer on one side or the other and he turned away from them. At last, he wasn’t sure which way he was going. The oaks, maples, and cedars grew too close together to cast shadows or to give him a glimpse of the sun. He began to wish he’d never come. He’d just die here, lost in the forest.

Then he remembered his worst moment, last winter. He’d been out checking his snares when a blizzard caught him. He staggered back into the village half-frozen, falling in the snow fifty paces from his hut. His neighbors passed him by, offering no help, telling him he should have known the storm was coming. And the greatest indignity: the young huntress, Sila, the only girl accepted into the Hunt since the Wise Women were young, helped him up, speaking kind words. She supported him as he hobbled into his hut and brought him a steaming bowl of broth. The final blow to his pride. Brought so low that he needed the help of a girl, one who was a far better hunter than he could ever be. After she left, he’d turned his face to the drafty bison-hide wall and hoped the cold would take him at last.

But he hadn’t died then, and he wouldn’t die now.

A change in the beast noises shook him from his reverie. The sounds were behind him and getting closer. Less howling, more yips and barks, and the rustle of branches. They were hunting him! He broke into a run. He tried looking back over his shoulder, but the dogwoods and buckthorn closed behind him as he pushed through. He kept running, his neck tingling in apprehension of rending fangs and slashing claws.

He saw daylight ahead and made for it. A buzzing noise came from that direction, growing as loud as a thousand bees as he got closer. He couldn’t worry about that now.

He burst into a clearing and the sight before him made him forget the wolves. Lytta, without a doubt. She shimmered like sunlight glinting off rippling water, her curved wings wafting gently, holding her aloft. She was larger than he’d expected, a giant three times the height of any person. It was hard to make out her face—hard to make out what she was. She seemed not quite corporeal, or like she was made of many small, buzzing things. But how should an angel look? He knew only that she was angry, as he should have expected. The insect whine made her seem yet more furious.

“Go back, mortal!” She had to shout to be heard over the buzzing, her voice booming across the clearing. With a shimmering, vibrating arm, she gestured back the way he’d come. “The Goddess Ada forbids any of your kind from entering the forest. You know this.”

He fell to his knees. “Oh, Angel Lytta, hear me! There’s nothing for me back in the Land. I must pass through and see what lies beyond. If this displeases you, then I offer my life.”

“Why would you throw it away?”

“Because the people of my village treat me with contempt, and it’s the same in all the other villages of the Land. No one looks twice at a lowly trapper, at least one as poor as I. And now I am growing older. The chance to take a mate has passed me by. I face many lonely years, and a lonelier death.”

“Such is the fate of mortals, to grow old and die alone.”

“It just doesn’t seem fair. I’ve worked hard at my trapping, though not always with success.” He hoped the angel wouldn’t catch him in this lie. He was known for lacking diligence, a trait that had only grown worse as his prospects dimmed. But he bore on. “Don’t I deserve someone to look after me in my old age? I thought if I could see what’s beyond the Howling Forest, and bring back some proof, I would finally earn my place in the village, and live to a ripe old age.”

“Foolish mortal! Go back, or you will be punished in ways far worse than death.”

He looked at Lytta and weighed his chances. She hovered in the middle of the clearing. If he could only get around her! He had to try.

He got up on all fours, then launched into a sprint, angling for one side of the clearing beyond the angel.

“Stop! I command you!” She leaned toward him, outrage written across her face. Or not quite a face, but something made of many parts, all moving at once to form this ghastly visage, with two holes for its eyes, its mouth open as if to devour him. The buzzing was nearly unbearable now. He put his head down and ran for the trees.

He couldn’t see Lytta once he entered the forest, but her noise was all around him, and from behind came the yips and howls of the wolves.

A pinprick in his neck. He reached up and pulled out the dart, its shiny, thin point made from a substance far harder and sharper than any arrow point or bone needle he’d ever seen. The buzzing and howling withdrew and the forest grew quiet.

He slowed to a walk to catch his breath. Was the angel letting him go? That made no sense. Neither did waiting to discover her true intentions. He broke into an easy trot, making for what he hoped was the forest’s far edge.

He lost track of time again. Lytta and the wolves returned, this time from within his own head. The angel’s leering face rushed toward him, and he saw the wolves rushing at him too. And far worse, beasts out of nightmares, six-legged, eight-legged, two-headed monsters with double rows of sharp fangs dripping green slime. And always the buzzing, the incessant buzzing.

Another pinprick to the neck, but he was running too fast to bother with it. It wasn’t long before his legs grew heavy. He slowed to a walk, soon falling to all fours to crawl away from his tormentors. They kept coming as he fell forward on his face, too drowsy to fight them off, not caring if he slept forever. And then he knew no more.

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Up next: Chapter 1 - The Hunt