The Lair of Shadows and Light (The Katalonan Chronicles Book 2)

Book summary

Caught between duty and danger, Beliza must lead her fractured community while facing threats from both within and beyond. With their elemental guides weakened and a traitor on the loose, she and her allies confront impossible choices in a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

THE LAIR OF SHADOWS AND LIGHT is a fantasy novel filled with suspense, leadership challenges, and the struggle against dark forces.

Excerpt from The Lair of Shadows and Light (The Katalonan Chronicles Book 2)

Chapter 1: Dark Allies, Dark Adversaries

A shiver ran up Tadjana’s spine, her heart logging every creak, whimper, and sigh of the forest; sounds both familiar and strange. The hairs on her arms raised like tiny divining rods, sensing any approaching threat.

She had been called to the kingdom of the lord of darkness, and everything about the surroundings felt… malevolent.

Before her, a balete tree, her portal to Karimlan, appeared to be crawling out from an underground tomb. Enormous, gnarled roots wrapped around the twisted trunk that resembled a human body contorted in agony. Its crooked branches reminded her of the knobby claws of a hag; the multitude of dark, mossy vines hanging from the boughs were like matted hair covering a bloodied face.

As the wind, carrying the fragrance of night air, blew over her, the swish of hundreds of bat wings soared overhead and into the canopy of the portal tree. The colony settled on the branches. Their eyes gleamed red like macabre festival lights. Their simultaneous chirps were deafening.

“Tadjanaaa…”

The deep disembodied voice rumbled from within the tree, cutting through the cacophony, and shushing the bats into silence. She gulped her terror down through a dry throat and glanced up—the tree had become still. Not a single leaf moved. Even the bats, though watchful, seemed immobile.

“Tadjanaaa…”

Sitan’s voice.

No one who heard it before would ever forget. She was being summoned. With a deep breath and trembling hands, she navigated the knotted roots and climbed up to the top.

There was a dark hole at its crest as if the main trunk was hollowed. The pitch-black, bottomless opening stared back at her—a gnawing maw to the bowels of perdition.

Shudders fluttered in waves from her spine to her stomach. Regret sprouted in her core, but there was no going back.

She shored up her courage—after all, it wouldn’t be called Karimlan, the dark realm, if it was bright and light. With another deep breath, she jumped into the black chasm, her stomach lurching to her heart.

***

Tadjana expected to hit something in the free fall that seemed unending. She wasn’t moving downward, or sideways, yet, somehow, she was travelling into somewhere.

She landed with a soft thud amid total darkness. The pressure on her ears made hearing impossible, but it eased somewhat until it was possible to listen. Before she could find her bearing, purple flames blazed around her.

As her vision adjusted, she picked out the silhouettes of tall, black vegetation with thick wide leaves that looked like a cross between taro plants and giant mushrooms. She seemed to be in an oppressive, though cavernous, circular, spectral hall.

Then, the air density changed. The shadows swirled and merged into one solid form, standing high and wide before her like a giant predator inspecting its prey. Twin blue flames flared in the shadowed face. Recognition hit her then.

Sitan.

“I’m here, my lord, as you commanded…” she said, bowing low.

Sitan’s silence and penetrating gaze seemed to drag on until she thought the lord of darkness summoned her here for punishment and was deciding how painful it was going to be.

“You have displayed the desire for supremacy, katalonan…”

The rumbling voice that seemed to come from everywhere made the air tremble; her gut reacted with a wild quiver. But she stood straight, head held high despite the quaking in her muscles.

“It is my life’s goal to be the best of the best, my Lord Sitan. Only with the power you will give me can I accomplish this…”

She wasn’t above reminding Sitan she had already pledged allegiance to him and was owed a reward when she conducted the pasambahan ritual for his benefit. The two-inch kalamansi thorn lodged inside her chest, with its wicked tip poised millimetres from her heart, was a constant reminder of her instant doom should she turn disloyal.

He had promised her power in exchange. And she wouldn’t sit and wait patiently for it to be given to her like crumbs handed to a beggar.

“How soon can I claim my reward, my lord?” she asked, tempering her tone.

Sitan’s eyes flared, and his fangs glistened as he spoke. “I applaud your boldness, Katalonan… but the powers I bestowed cannot be unlocked by just anyone. Only someone who possesses the will to overcome their inherent human flaw of trusting in the benevolence of another can wield the forces of my realm. Such strength requires proof of actions rather than words.”

Bestowed? Her heart hammered into bursting. Did that mean she already possessed the power? Excitement and impatience streaked like acid in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“What do I have to do to prove my worthiness, my lord?”

“You must earn it through every feat of dark magic, every power grab, every life extinguished and tortured essence set forth in Gitnaan. Only then will my gift inside you be released. The bigger the deed, the mightier your reward.”

“How much power is in me, my Dark Lord? How many feats do I have to do to tap it all?”

“It is immeasurable. But it is not the number of deeds, but the depth and breadth of your acts that matter.”

That could take her an entire lifetime to unleash. Too long. She could get vanquished before she could draw out that banked power, or too old to wield it.

With her head bowed once more, she asked, “Is there a quicker way, my lord? So that I may use this—your gift—as soon as possible?”

A quick glance to gauge the thoughts of the ruler of Karimlan proved futile because it was impossible to see anything in the shadowed face but the blue flames that were his eyes.

“There is. But your mortal body and twin souls may be unable to withstand it.”

Her heart pounded. She would do anything to achieve her goal the soonest. “What will it take, lord Sitan?”

The twin cobalt flames blazed; his fangs flashed white. “Your ginhawa and kalag must live through three thousand mortal hours in your dusa. Survive that and you will emerge your mightiest.”

One hundred twenty-five unrelenting days in her own dusa—the ultimate torment a spirit could go through after death—filled with unknown tortures of undefined magnitude and duration. Her kalag quaked at the thought.

Sure, this offered a quicker process, but how much pain can she tolerate?

She swallowed. “What if I fail, Lord Sitan? What will happen to me?”

“Then your stay in your dusa shall be for eternity.”

Her heart drummed against her ribs, its beat quickening as she weighed the options before her. The desire to succeed gnawed at her, but she had never experienced true suffering in all her eighteen years.

Is she equipped to overcome this challenge?

‘A bite, no matter how big, becomes manageable when chewed’, Inay Gerona, the chief katalonan used to say. Small bites it would be, then.

“I shall test my skills in Sansinukob first, lord Sitan, and earn your confidence that way. And perhaps, when I have proven myself and become stronger, I shall return to ask for a second chance to try myself in my dusa. If you permit it…”

A spark of satisfied smile appeared on the darkened face, and her pulse leapt.

“Very good, katalonan. You’ve proven you are wiser than your predecessor. Go and sow chaos in Gitnaan. And build your followers along the way.”

The ground trembled, and a disturbance stirred the air. Then she was sucked out of the dark, through a tunnel she could feel around her but wasn’t visible. And then, just as suddenly, a sliver of light appeared. The crack widened into a portal, and the forest was beyond it.

She was back in Sansinukob.

As her feet touched the muddy ground, the budding ideas of revenge against Beliza and the others, and the fulfilment of her marching orders from Sitan, took form and intertwined into one blazing desire.

***

He must have been an intense child to warrant such a name ‘Masidhi’.

Beliza surveyed the stranger who eyed her with a calmness that made her adopt the same front. Despite the blank expression, she could see the intensity of a mission in the depths of his dark pupils.

He seemed sincere. Or he could be an accomplished liar…

Did Bathaluman Lakapati really send a warrior to train us?

“You cannot fish from a dry lake, my katalonan. Invite him in, so you can trawl for answers.”

The mental gibe from Tamauro had her rolling her eyes. “Of course…” she muttered, reordering her thoughts and shaking her annoyance away.

Like their unexpected visitor, her gabay appeared relaxed. One shoulder propped against the trunk of the ylang-ylang tree, but one hand rested on the hilt of a massive kampilan. Tamauro’s defensive instinct was engaged. It was reassuring, though a tad alarming.

Tamauro’s eyebrow arched, his head bobbing towards the guest who was still observing her interact with her invisible elemental guide.

She turned back to the man. “Masidhi, right?”

At his nod, she coiled the makabuhay whip around her bent arm, then hooked it on her belt. “Please come into the house…” she said to the stranger, whose rigid stance loosened a little. The vibration of his quiet treads behind her signalled he followed her command.

She motioned for him to enter and pointed to a seat. He took off his woven backpack, placing it between his splayed feet before lowering himself to the bench.

Her gabay had followed them. He now stood by the door, bending low so he could peer inside.

“Should I show myself to him?” Tamauro asked.

Beliza smiled inwardly at the idea. “Yes, you should…”

Tamauro grinned. His fangs flashed before he shimmered into visibility and let out a well-timed snort for added effect.

To the man’s credit, a testament to his experience and skill as a mandirigma, a slight stiffening of his frame was the only indication of his surprise at the towering supernatural being who materialised to his left.

Masidhi stood up, right fist flat on his left chest, his back straight. He bowed before Tamauro.

“Pugay, Dakilang Sarangay…”

Dakila? Tamauro has a title?

The quirk on Tamauro’s upper lip mirrored her astonishment as her gabay regarded the man. She gave Tamauro a questioning glare. “Why did he call you a dakila?”

But he ignored her silent query, his focus on Masidhi.

“Pugay, Mandirigma.” Tamauro’s reply, though murmured, still reverberated. “Tell us why Lakapati sent you.”

Masidhi’s gaze was as direct as his response. “Xe instructed me to train the katalonans. The Bathaluman believes the situation brewing in Sansinukob requires additional protection for them.”

Her heart leapt. The dread that had settled in her gut since the traitorous encounter with Tadjana had been growing since. It fuelled her drive to train with Tamauro. If the stranger’s statement was accurate, then his appearance here confirmed the forewarning in her gut.

For a moment, despair cloaked her, but the glittering challenge in Tamauro’s eyes reminded her of the stakes and the katalonans’ responsibilities in the fate of Sansinukob. Avoiding it could never be an option for her and the others.