The Eye of Elektron: A Clean Urban Fantasy (The Sumrectian Series Book 1) Read online

  The Eye of Elektron

  The Sumrectian Series Book One

  Leigh G. Wynn

  Copyright © 2021 Leigh G. Wynn

  All rights reserved

  www.leighgwynn.com

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Paperback ISBN: 9798527694635

  Cover design by: BRoseDesignz

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my parents, who have been my biggest supporters since day one.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Foreword

  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

  Author’s Note

  The Blood of Belua

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my alpha reader who also served as the muse of this story, to Nikki for beta reading the novel, and to BRoseDesignz, for creating the wonderful cover of this book.

  Thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged me on this journey.

  Finally, thank you, reader, for picking up this book and sharing in this adventure with me. Hope you enjoy The Eye of Elektron!

  Foreword

  The inspiration behind this story first came to me sixteen years ago as a hardened man who had lost everything but was given a second chance at life. Though the story’s concept started simple, it eventually took on a life of its own. By the time I reached college and finally put pen to paper, the man had transformed into a Sumrect, and an entire world was born. It took me another ten years to work up the courage to share my writing with the public. Needless to say, my first novel, The Eye of Elektron, is a labor of love, and I hope the characters in this story bring you as much hope and joy as they have to me.

  Chapter 1

  DAWN KNEW DEATH awaited her at the hour’s end. She understood the rules well. One hour. Two painters. The weaker painter disposed of, the other appointed as Portrait Artist of Crimson Estate.

  “You are the better painter,” her brother admitted.

  But Dawn’s mind raced as she waited before the mahogany double doors.

  She promised her parents the night they left that she would take care of Henry. She kept her promise for the past eleven years, and she was not about to break it now.

  “I won’t let them sacrifice you, Henry.”

  “Dawn… Please don’t do anything stupid. I’m ready. Really.”

  Don’t be silly. You are coming out of this alive. Dawn swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked away the fear in her eyes. No Sumrect was going to take away her last remaining family member in Fors.

  Not today.

  “I have a plan.”

  “No—” Henry began, but the mahogany doors swung open.

  “Ah, our painters have indeed arrived.” An eerie, cold voice bounced off the high vaulted ceiling.

  Hand in hand, the Rene siblings entered to meet their fate.

  Two easels stood back to back at the center of a partially mirrored, partially curtained, octagonal room. Thirty feet away, near a freestanding fireplace, sat two young, well-dressed male Sumrects and a bedizened female. The one closer to the fireplace beckoned the siblings forward, his nostrils flaring above a stiff smile. Dawn, from a year of answering to his commands, gritted her teeth at the sound of that familiar nasal voice. Atma was his official title, Vance, his name. Blonde and honey-eyed, he never appeared in anything but gold: golden ties, golden jewelry, golden suits and golden boots. Once, Dawn even caught him sunbathing in gold dust.

  She could attest there was nothing golden about his heart or spirit.

  For the past eleven years, Vance had breathed nothing but misery and destruction into every life-containing vessel in Fors.

  Careful to keep her gaze on the ground, she approached the easels. Like all Crimson workers, she adhered to one unspoken rule: Speak only when spoken to. At first, the better part of her dignity revolted against such degradation, but after enough beatings and ridicule, she learned to stay quiet.

  The female beside Vance spoke, “Ansel, how did you know the humans have arrived? One of your many hidden talents, I presume?” Her beady, dark eyes darted back and forth between the two other Sumrects while she waited for an explanation.

  Ansel bowed his head but did not respond.

  “Regina, my brother always has a surprise up his sleeve. This week he can see through walls. Next week he can fly. I mean really fly! Not like how we do… glide around like those human air-hockey pucks.”

  A high-pitched laugh sent shivers skittering down Dawn’s spine.

  “But ultimately… these are just tricks, aren’t they, brother?” Vance continued after a fit of laughter. He rolled the word “brother” over his tongue just a fraction long enough to disconcert the listener. “A mere entertainer’s illusion is not indicative of real power…”

  Dawn stole a glance at the guest whose visit was announced only hours ago. She had heard rumors that Vance’s older brother, a vile Sumrect more capable of evil than Vance himself, possessed awesome albeit horrible powers abnormal for his kind—so horrible Vance kept him in exile on the opposite side of the world.

  The image of an unkempt monster had already taken root in her mind, so she was shocked to find the guest clean-shaven and handsome, chuckling good-naturedly at what she had interpreted as a rather derogatory insult. Next to Vance’s golden presence, Ansel’s dark hair and black attire struck a stark contrast, and his soft-spoken voice could not have been more disarming.

  “It must be my superb hearing.” He turned to meet her eyes. “Our painters made quite a commotion out there.” For a split second, the light from the fireplace flickered, and Dawn could have sworn she saw a wink. Startled, she averted her eyes. Had he heard our conversation?

  “Let us go over this hour’s objective, shall we?” Vance rubbed his hands together as though readying himself for a feast.

  “I selected you two from hundreds of Crimson workers to paint a birthday portrait for my daughter. As you already know, one will be offered up as sacrifice. A high honor, for sure. The other shall be appointed portrait artist and enjoy double food rations on this day forward.”

  Dawn’s stomach churned in disgust at Vance’s nonchalant disregard for human lives.

  “Take your seats,” he said.

  Dawn squeezed Henry’s hand one last time before the siblings parted to take their places behind the easels.

  “Our guest—a studied pai
nter himself—will be the judge.” Vance gestured to Ansel with a devious grin. “The best works of art are born from the struggle between life and death… Isn’t that right?”

  Ansel neither agreed nor denied, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped the teapot in his hands.

  At that instant, a massive indigo bunting rammed into the floor-to-ceiling window next to Dawn. The teapot Ansel held exploded into a thousand pieces, dumping boiling tea onto the floor. Unruffled by the collision, the bird flapped its majestic wings and stared right through the windowpane at the dark-haired guest.

  Irritated, Regina opened the windows in a hurry. The magnificent bird zoomed in, accompanied by a rush of icy December wind.

  “Moira, you gave us a fright!” Regina chided at the bird.

  Dawn’s jaw dropped. The bunting twirled and chirped until it transformed into a laughing child of ten. With her perfect golden curls, Moira took after Vance in appearance, but she seemed the antithesis of her father in every other regard. Her warm and spunky presence chased away the winter chill.

  “Uncle Ansel!” she shrieked in delight while a beaming Ansel whirled her in the air.

  “Bravo! What a superb display of the morpheum! You can teach me a thing or two.” Ansel’s eyes sparkled with amazement.

  Less tickled, Regina pursed her lips. “She’s getting harder to control by the day.”

  “Just like her father…” Ansel mused.

  The comment struck a nerve; Vance’s reaction was not one Dawn expected. He slammed the windows shut with a snap of his fingers and whipped around to glare at Ansel like a raging bull. If Moira had been absent from the room, Dawn figured he would have charged.

  “You! Human! Clean up this mess,” Regina said quickly before Vance could pounce.

  Out of habit, Dawn took out a cleaning rag from her pocket, but Ansel halted her with a raised hand.

  “No need.”

  He kneeled next to the spillage and hovered his palms an inch over the puddled tea. Immediately, the water and the broken teapot evaporated to form a mist between Ansel’s hands and the floor. While Moira marveled, goggle-eyed and open-mouthed, a strange expression spread over Vance’s features. Dawn noticed a curl form at the edges of his pressed lips. Was it contempt? Scorn? Or perhaps, jealousy?

  Soon, not a drop of liquid remained.

  Three slow, distinct claps reverberated through the room. “You are treating us to quite the show today.” Vance fixed his honey eyes on Ansel.

  “Not a show. Just cleaning up the mess,” Ansel said sharply, and for a moment, Dawn sensed palpable hostility between the two.

  Again, Moira broke the tension. “Uncle Ansel, will you take me riding later?”

  “Of course.” He stood and turned to Moira with a tight-lipped grin. Her earnest eyes made it impossible for him to refuse. “I brought you a birthday present.”

  From his shirt sleeve, Ansel drew a dazzling turquoise necklace made not from beads and jewels but… no, it can’t be…

  “Water!” Moira was giddy when he helped her tie the necklace. “How beautiful… dyed with my favorite color too… It’s perfect for the portrait!”

  Sure enough, numerous thin, braided, glistening streams weaved around her neck.

  “Thank you, Uncle Ansel! I’ve never seen anything like it before!” The pride in her voice was hard to miss. Dawn knew Ansel to be a living apocalyptic force, best left alone and unprovoked, yet in the eyes of Vance’s only child, she saw nothing but admiration for her uncle. She is still much too young to understand, Dawn reminded herself. She cannot fathom the amount of tragedy her uncle has caused.

  Vance shot Ansel a harsh look before he grabbed Moira’s hand and led her to a chair in front of the curtains. As she sat down, the curtains parted, exposing a glass wall overlooking the snow-covered Crimson grounds. Soft morning sunlight spilled over the pine forest lining the Estate’s edge. Despite a death sentence hanging over her head, Dawn wondered at the beautiful sunrise—one of the few treasures from her childhood the Sumrects had not been able to steal. She might not live to see another day, but Dawn found peace in knowing through the upheavals that plagued each generation and lifetime, a truth remained constant: Even the darkest night gave way to light.

  Moira settled into her seat against the snowy backdrop, spine straight, two hands laced together on her lap.

  “How do I look?”

  “Like the most beautiful Sumrect on this planet.” Vance flashed a rare, genuine smile. He glided to the fireplace, on top of which sat a large hourglass.

  “Sixty minutes”—he flipped the hourglass—“starts… now!”

  Dawn exchanged a solemn glance with Henry. Don’t worry. This won’t be the end.

  ✽✽✽

  The next sixty minutes passed in a blur.

  With every brush stroke, Dawn came one step closer to capturing her subject’s essence on canvas. Moira’s portrait was easy to paint. After a year of tending to the stable where Moira kept her horses, Dawn had gotten to know her peculiarities well.

  “Miss Dawn, will you teach me how to paint?” Moira said halfway through the hour.

  “Of course. If your father would allow it.”

  In front of Moira, Dawn felt less like an inanimate object. Perhaps all beings mattered equally in the naïve yet forgiving eyes of a child.

  The Sumrects chatted while she painted, but Dawn was too focused to comprehend much of what they said. Each time she glanced up to check on Henry, she found him submerged in concentration, his lips puckered, his brows knitted into one.

  Before the last few grains of sand fell in the hourglass, she set her paintbrush down and rose to her feet. She wiped her hands on her burlap pants, confident her work would evoke the desired response.

  “Stop!” Vance boomed.

  Henry’s head shot above the canvas as the brushes slipped from his hand onto the floor. Face ashen, he stood on trembling legs.

  Vance switched his gleeful eyes back and forth between Dawn and Henry. “Come, Ansel, for the best part! The fates of these humans are in your hands.”

  Ansel did not seem to share in Vance’s enthusiasm. He sauntered to the center of the octagonal room as if he had all the time in the world.

  “What are your names?”

  The simple question took Dawn by surprise. Advanced superhumans, or Sumrects, as they called themselves, never bothered with names of the weak and insignificant. Perhaps he needs a record of who dies today, Dawn thought, trying to rationalize the unusual request.

  “I’m Dawn Rene.”

  “I’m Henry, her brother.”

  “Ah, I see. Siblings.” Ansel chewed on the revelation, examining the pair of brave faces for a suspended moment.

  Then, with a swoop of his hand, he swung Henry’s easel around.

  The portrait was bland. Adequate. The edges were too hard, the values, inaccurate. The glaring white inside Moira’s eyes robbed the portrait of its vitality. He could have done better. Much better. Cold sweat broke upon Dawn’s brow, and her ears rang with a rush of blood. Ansel’s decision would be an easy one. Wiping his eyes in haste, Henry nodded to his sister.

  From the frown on Ansel’s face, Dawn knew he agreed with her assessment. She stared straight ahead, stony-faced, not wanting to give him any satisfaction.

  Without a word, Ansel revealed the second portrait.

  He froze at the sight.

  Dawn’s painting breathed with life. Not only was it an accurate and beautiful rendering of Moira, but the shadows and shades, the fluid brush strokes, the detailed, sensitive capturing of her expression all told a story. Within Moira’s innocent features, there lay something ageless and enigmatic. Maybe it was the way her thin, bowed lips curved into a mischievous smile. Maybe it was the way her brows floated above her large blue eyes. Even before the impending judgement, Dawn painted with a lightness that complimented Moira’s youth and transmuted the ineffable.

  “Wow! I like this one better!” Moira said.

  “
Not bad, human,” Regina could not help but compliment.

  “Exquisite…” Ansel studied Dawn with a peculiar blend of wonder and bafflement on his face.

  Only Vance remained silent. Arms behind his back, he inched forward, squinting at the portrait.

  “Ansel…”

  He saw.

  “Look into the pines and tell me what you see.”

  “Masterful brushstrokes—”

  “Look closer!” Vance spat. He was no longer staring at the painting. Instead, he glowered at Dawn.

  “You!” He threw a trembling finger at her. “Why is that symbol in the painting? Speak!”

  “What are you talking about? What symbol?” Henry stepped in front of Dawn before she could answer. His voice quivered with fear.

  Hands over her mouth, Regina rushed to the portrait and traced out what appeared to be a dot in the middle of a circle, hidden within the rising sun. “The Eye of Elektron…”

  “Was this your doing?” Vance growled at Ansel.

  Unlike the others, Ansel reacted with neither rage nor shock, but a small crease formed between his brows.

  Calmly, he asked Dawn, “Did you paint the Eye?”

  Dawn nodded. More to herself than in response to him. Her plan worked. She could tell the Eye still wielded enormous influence over Ansel, just as it did the night he tore her family apart.

  “If not me, who else?”

  Her audacious response so incensed Vance that in the blink of an eye, he dangled her upside down in the air.

  “No one insults the Atma and lives!” he thundered.

  An enormous force knocked the wind out of Dawn and thrusted her against a mirrored panel, which shattered upon collision. The world went black before she dropped. When she opened her eyes seconds later, she was on the floor, throbbing all over. Henry was screaming her name. She reached to the back of her head where her fingers located a stinging wet mass. Strangely, none of the mirror shards fell on her when they rained down. Instead, the broken pieces formed a perfect semi-circle, fencing her against the wall.