The Scarring of the Roshanra

Book 1: The Coral and the Kingdom

by Kara SB Brown, Naomi Reynolds, Clem Flanagan, Lesley Hart

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Dragons & Mythical Creatures; New Adult Romance; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

Survive. Evade. Resist. Escape.

“The wind whispers through the trees. It hits the Roshanra, on their knees.Through pain and sorrow, they must ride, to find the truth of what’s inside.”

The Qazanat have taken over Derowa by stealing souls of the most powerful sorcerers. Held as POWs, three Earth veterans with PTSD are plunged back into the nightmare they thought they had escaped. To break free from the camp and save others, they must first break free from the cages in their minds. Before the Qazanat take their souls, as well.

Release date: March 6, 2021

Publisher: Kara Stevens

Print pages: 392

Content advisory: adult language, semi-graphic violence including sexual assault, innuendo,

Sample

1

 

 

 

Kala sat on her shower floor underneath a stream of hot water, as hot as she could get it. She held her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, watching from behind a protective screen in her mind which she had had her whole twenty-four-year-life. Blood swirled down the shower drain. Water diluted the thick red liquid to a thin, pink stream. She dug her fingers into her knees to push back unwanted memories and compared the small chunks of congealed blood with stones pushed downstream. Tears fell, indistinguishable from the hot stream of water. This time, the blood was not only hers. This can’t be real … please, don’t let this be real!

 Her legs shook as she stood. She held the grab bar as vertigo hit, wobbled, then caught her balance. Her ears rang just before her mind reconnected with her body. She needed to see. She needed to know. The lack of clarity sent thorns deep into her mind and she felt the bile rising. She swallowed and gritted her teeth. Her face throbbed and inflammation burned as she ignored the pains. Had she imagined the fiery fist? How had she broken the glass in which to stab him? How had the shards come into her hand? Too many questions, not enough answers. She focused back on the present.

Blood and water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders. Her nerves spiked, as if they clattered up a spiral staircase, running into the rails on each side as they panicked with her mind. She aimed shampoo into her hand and hissed when it poured down the drain. With a screech of agony, she swiped her non-injured hand to collect any shampoo that had not breached the drain. She did not care that blood had mixed with the shampoo. She would never get it all off, anyway. She took a deep breath, hissing again as a stabbing pain shot through her ribs.

After vigorously cleaning the rest of her body, she stepped out and dried off, avoiding the mirror. It would only show her what she knew to be true; she was broken, inside and out.

It was times like this when she yearned for her twin flame, for the hugs he could provide, for the care he offered her when she needed it. She yearned to call Daniel. She used her non-dominant hand to pick up the phone, only then seeing the bandage on her hand. When did she wrap it? Had she blacked out again?

She put the phone back down. No. He’d broken up with her, had his own problems. He didn’t need more of hers. It was why they weren’t together anymore … But she didn’t know what else to do.

She had to do something. I’ll call the police. It’s the right thing to do. Maybe it will be okay …

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“I … I … need help. I…,” She looked over. A man lay on her bedroom floor, face frozen into the rictus of rage he’d shown as his life slipped away. “I think I killed someone … he attacked me … I didn’t have a choice,” Her voice sounded distant and cold to herself. Robotic. As if she was not real.

“Stay on the line,” the operator said. No hint of emotion in her voice. An automated response from someone used to emergencies. “Some officers will be with you shortly.”

“Please, can they be females?” She felt numb, disconnected, yet she knew she needed to feel safe. “At least one?”

The woman paused, then spoke in a softer tone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Kala heard the keyboard clicking, likely the operator describing her voice, request, and the incident, like she had done a brief time after her Air Force career. Her breath quickened. The cops would want to do a rape kit and she had washed away any evidence he left on her, the blood spatter, the dirt, the carpet fibers in her wounds. They would find nothing other than injuries where the man had attacked her, and the self-inflicted cuts made when she defended herself. Adrenaline kept her from feeling her injuries, yet they throbbed to let her know they were there. She gave her information, at one point forgetting her own name until the operator said, “ma’am?”

Kala gave her details, including her address and phone number, both of which she needed to look up. Blasted memory … why can’t you come back at times like this?

The operator had stayed on the line, while Kala remained silent. Every few minutes, Kala would hear the woman ask if she was still there. Kala answered, then went back to her silent reflection.

She remained in the kitchen, sipping tap water, avoiding the busted side of her lip. Water drizzled out of her mouth, onto her sweatshirt, staining it with watered-down blood. She had not eaten, so ibuprofen was out of the question. Her mind asked permission to numb the pain, inside her head she agreed with vehemence.

When the police arrived, Kala rushed to the door, careful not to look at the man on the floor. A forensics team walked in behind two officers, prepared to evaluate the “victim”. She hoped she was not deemed the perpetrator; she had done what she had to, though a part of her still said she needed to be punished. Sure, she had seen death before in combat, and even dealt death in an offhanded way, but that was different. This time, she had used lethal force herself, and watched him breathe his last breath. Strange, though, his eyes had seemed brighter once he was dead.

Two detectives, dressed in nondescript gray slacks and blazers, approached her. The female’s dark hair was twisted into a tight bun. For a moment Kala wondered whether they were both veterans. She had kept her hair short in the military; longer hair was more difficult to deal with. The male had short red hair, vaguely reminding her of Daniel. She wished he were with her. Then she changed her mind. Her stress was hers alone.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m detective Campbell,” The female did the talking. “This is detective Shadow,” she pointed toward the man. “Are you the woman who called nine-one-one?”

Kala nodded, a tennis-ball sized knot in her throat kept her from speaking.

“We need to ask you a few questions. Come with us to the station.”

Kala looked over at the dead man again. Fear and self-loathing burned within her; she trembled and cried.

The detectives walked her out. “We need to get you to the hospital first. Medical exam. Do you consent?”

Kala nodded, feeling apprehensive about the exam. “I’m sorry I showered,” she said, talking faster than normal. It was impulsive—I had so much blood on me. But he didn’t rape me … I didn’t … let him …” Sobs went in and out as her brain disconnected and reconnected with reality.

“We’ll go over everything with the medical examiner. Shhh … it’s over. You’re okay …”

Kala’s crying intensified. The detectives looked concerned. They know I’m crazy. They see it. They would blame her. He was dead and she was alive—no one would believe she was strong enough; they’d think she’d planned it.

“Stop!”

The detectives halted, alarmed. “What’s wrong?” Detective Campbell turned around, “Did we miss something?”

“No,” Kala said, head bowed in shame. “My brain. I’m sick of it. I just want it to stop…”

“I understand. We can set you up with a therapist. You’ve been through an ordeal.”

Kala shook her head. She had seen therapists for years. Been through what seemed like dozens of therapies. “It … doesn’t help. Nothing will help.”

They arrived at the hospital in less than fifteen minutes. Detective Campbell took Kala into the Emergency entrance and talked with the nurses. A short wait later, Kala was on an examination table, nausea rolling her stomach until she felt she might faint.

The medical examiner assessed the damage and took the detectives across the room, whispering to them and showing them her chart. Her heightened senses allowed her to hear his whispers and she could feel his energy. He sounded clinical, but his energy seemed… cautious and sympathetic. She had several broken ribs, a busted lip, black eye, spiral fractures in her left wrist, a quarter-inch gash in her right palm, and a sprained ankle. The only area left undamaged seemed to be her genitals.

She looked down at her hand, which now itched from the stitches. She couldn’t tell anyone what really happened. They would never believe her, and she would be hospitalized, put on medications that just made her worse.

The medical examiner confirmed she had been attacked. The coroner would autopsy the man, figure out how he died. They could compare notes with what Kala told them.

When they had arrived at the Murfreesboro, Tennessee police station, Detective Campbell put her in an interrogation room, remodeled for victims to answer questions. In place of the hard-folding chairs one would see on TV and in small town police departments, an armchair sat opposite the interviewer. It reminded Kala of a therapist’s office. It was better than she had expected.

“Do you need anything? Coffee? Water?”

“Water. Thank you,” Kala’s voice sounded distant again. The jitters had left her, and all she felt was exhaustion … and sadness … and sickness.

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost five o’clock. If her calculations were correct, the attack had happened during the witching hour. That figured … most violent crimes against her had happened around this time. Kala heard long ago that supernatural entities preferred three to four o’clock as their ‘playtime’. It was also known as the Devil’s Hour. Did the Devil come for me again?

Detectives Campbell and Shadow both came into the room. Detective Shadow held a clipboard and pen—the hideous smirk on his face when seeing Kala’s nervousness made him look punchable, and his vile energy stuck to her like slime. Kala smoothed her face, hiding the sneer that threatened to show itself. Detective Campbell held a glass and a pitcher of water. She placed them on the table next to Kala.

“We found your wallet,” Detective Shadow spoke. “You’re a veteran?”

Kala nodded.

“What branch were you?”

“Air Force.” Her voice was quiet. “Linguist,” she added.

“Oh, I was too. Military Police. Made sense to join the police force.”

Kala could tell he was trying to bond with her. Her stomach churned.

Detective Shadow switched tactics. “We called the VA. They’re contacting your next of kin. We also see you have a permanent and total service-connected disability. Do you want to talk about it?”

Kala shook her head. “No.”

Detective Campbell took over, “Please, tell us what happened. Whatever you can remember would help.”

“It’s foggy. I’ll do my best,” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I was prepping for bed again—nightmares kept me awake.” Nightmares that seemed real. Where her father lived a half-life and warned her of the danger she faced. “I had dried off and was brushing my teeth. Still … not dressed. I heard a noise outside my room …” She had felt his noxious presence before she heard any noise. “I’m not sure how,” She looked imploringly to each of the officers. They had to believe her, she hoped they believed her.

She took a sip of water. “I donned my robe and opened my bedroom door.” Kala’s body tensed and she felt every injury she had ignored before. She winced but continued her story. “That’s when he … hit me.” She looked at the cops. “I’d never been punched in the face before, at least not by a human.”

When Detective Campbell raised her eyebrow, Kala chuckled, a habit she’d had all her life when she needed to calm down.

She took a deep, painful breath. “Sorry, that was unclear. My ex-husband threw a TV remote at my lip once. He liked to see me cry. A horse that I helped train panicked when my brother rode a go-cart by and threw its head down on mine when I was fifteen, and I’ve fallen on my face a few times in my life.” Her mind raced, and she sighed, resisting the urge to massage the tension points around her wounds. “I never thought it would hurt this bad.”

An urge to clarify more tugged at her mind, but she repressed it. Her body remembered the abuse from her marriage, yet her mind had been abused even more. Images floated through her mind, scenes from the past, all the abuses she endured by a husband who considered himself a pimp. Elbows to the ribs or stomach, thrown to the ground from his shoulders, forced to sleep with his ‘friends’ then blamed for it, but nothing compared to the pain now spiking through her body, like a compilation of every injury she had ever endured.

Her eye swelled more each minute. She had rejected a cold pack earlier, stating it brought on migraine pains. Regret for declining its icy assistance rushed to the surface.

Detective Campbell pulled her chair closer to Kala and spoke in a softer tone, as if she could sense Kala’s pain levels rising. “Did you know the man?”

“I’m not sure. I think he worked for the apartment complex. A creepy guy. If it’s the same one, I reported him. They said he was ‘harmless’, schizophrenic,” Kala shook her head. “It’s not always harmless …” She paused again. She began to shiver, despite the warm clothing.

“What happened next? Please continue.”

“I fell to the floor. He kicked me. A lot. Then he undid his belt and jeans button. Before he could undress, I kicked back, wild, and as hard as I could. I couldn’t see, just felt him. Tripped him … He fell, landing on top of my legs. My ankle twisted under him. I felt … like he was crushing me.” Kala’s brow was creased while she spoke, trying to recall as much as possible; yet not knowing what was real or what was perceived. She knew she had bruises and cuts to prove her story but always doubted her memory.

“I found some broken glass next to me … I think I knocked it off the table. I grabbed it … stabbed at him until he stopped moving. I think I got his neck and face. Maybe stomach. It’s all a blur … I just … I didn’t want it to happen again. Never again …”

Kala bent over crying, snot smearing her freshly bandaged hands. Her body clenched so tight, she felt she would never relax. The words he said, words she would not share, echoed in her mind. You belong to the goddess of shame; she will have your soul.

Detective Campbell refilled Kala’s water glass before questioning further. “What do you mean, never again? Had he done something before?”

Kala lost control of her mind. She attempted to breathe and hyperventilated instead. The pressure increased in her head; stabbing pains shot through her right eye. Migraine on top of the night she’d had. “Ice … please?” Those were the only two words which would make it through for another twenty minutes.

When they brought the ice pack, Kala put it on the back of her neck. She second-guessed herself, then put the ice on her eye. A sharper pain jolted through her right eye, the same one in which the fiery fist landed.

When she could breathe again, Detective Campbell said, “There’s someone on the phone for you. Can you take a call?”

“Okay,” she sniffed, still stuffy from crying. The detectives left her alone.

“Kala? Are you there?” A deep, soothing voice called out to her from the other end of the phone line. How could he know? She must be imagining things; she had wanted so bad to talk to Daniel. Had her mind manifested this call? She stood and paced, energy surging through her. The phone hurt her face and she had trouble holding it, so she switched to the speaker phone and sat back down, tapping her feet to the tune of the lullaby he created for her.

“Kala?”

“Daniel?” She sobbed through a small smile. “Is that you?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?” She could hear the love in his voice, the love that could soothe all her aches. She leaned closer to the phone, envisioning his handsome face, with the high cheekbones and wolf-like grin. 

“I … will be. How did you know?”

“The VA called me. I’m still your emergency contact … sorry I can’t be there.”

“No, don’t be. I’m not your responsibility. I didn’t want to bother you … How are you?”

Daniel laughed, but it was halfhearted. “You’re at the police station, and you’re asking me how I am?”

Kala let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I want to go home … I don’t mean where I’ve been living. I mean … I miss you.”

“I know, sweetie. You must stay there right now. I called your mom. Marnie said you can stay with her. I’m not ready yet.”

“I know. I’m … sorry,” I always do this. I always say the wrong thing. “I’m not trying to force you…”

“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupted. “Stop beating yourself up. You’ve had a hard night. I love you. Get some rest…”

“I love you, too.” The line disconnected. “Bye…” Sadness enveloped Kala, it had been a hopeless belief that her life would improve.

The detectives finished their questioning, but her mind closed off, wouldn’t allow any answer to surface. She was shattered.

Detective Campbell led Marnie into the room an hour later, Detective Shadow no longer in tow. “Kala, your mother said you can stay with her as long as you need. We talked with the VA. They said you’ve shown progress in therapy, but you’re still high-risk. They will work with the patient advocates to get you out of your apartment lease. You don’t need to be alone right now.”

Kala agreed, she needed to be around people who loved her and cared about her. But she also needed quiet. Something she rarely got at Marnie’s house. Still, she agreed to leave with her mother.

“We will need to interview you again later this week. May we come to your home? You don’t need to drive here.”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

As Marnie led Kala to her vehicle, she put an arm around her and pulled her in close. “I can see your pain; you don’t have to bear this cross alone. I’m proud of you, Kalabear.”

 

***

 

The drive to her hometown took an hour and a half. The mini-van’s bucket seats were worn and uncomfortable. Kala fidgeted, unable to find relief. An order for pain killers was in the works but the pharmacy wasn’t open yet, so she was forced to wait.

She didn’t want to take medications; she always dissociated more when she had them, but she dissociated with pain too. Where was an end to the cycle? She was born with a lack of clarity, and the traumas in her life caused a greater disconnect from reality.

Kala could not comprehend anything Marnie said. Though she tried to listen, the communication seemed garbled, much like Charlie Brown’s teacher in the Peanuts show. “Mah, mah, mah…”

“Momma, I’m sorry. I need quiet. My head hurts … a lot.” Her mother turned the Christian music down. She still asked questions, which Kala answered in short sentences. Kala knew the urge to talk well, and couldn’t fault Marnie, until she became so overwhelmed, she plugged up her ears and pulled her sweatshirt hood down.

The sun peaked out over the horizon and Kala stared, mesmerized by the oranges, pinks, purples, and blues dancing around in her vision. Puffy white-grey clouds threatened rain, but rain wouldn’t come today; even the clouds teased Kala.

As they left the Murfreesboro city streets, farms popped into view. Cows and horses grazed in pastures surrounded by trees and hills. She remembered this route well, had memorized the trees lining the roads, areas of shadow which relaxed Kala’s mind. She loved the trees, the hills, the animals. Why couldn’t life always be this peaceful? But wouldn’t a peaceful life be boring, as well? Something told her she had more to offer than she believed, but she pushed down that line of thought, just like she pushed down the negative thoughts.

They pulled into the hidden driveway to Marnie’s house, Kala’s childhood home. The gravel path made for a bumpy ride. She missed riding horses down this path, and through the trees surrounding their house which was built into the hill.

Her younger brother, George, walked out as she stepped out of the car. He was twenty, almost three years younger than Kala, but towered over her. Would I have been targeted as much if I was taller than five-foot-six?

The brick house seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar. Not much had changed, except the energies around her. A shadow of her father’s energy remained three years after his death. She felt even lonelier than when she was alone.

The air seemed cold despite the summer heat. She focused her attention on the earth, as she was apt to do when she needed to ground her mind. Dew droplets sat on blades of grass, shaking as though they feared the sun. Clover speckled the ground. Finding four-leaf clovers had been a habit, one she enjoyed. If she found the right one, her heart’s desires would come true. It had happened before, just before she deployed and met Daniel. It would happen again, if this wasn’t a delusion of hers.

“Hey, Kala.” George grabbed her and gave her a rough hug, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You look rough, but you’ve always been clumsy. You should be used to the bruises.”

“Ow.”  She smiled, despite the pain. “Good to see you, bud.” She looked up at his face eyes. The morning sun highlighted the greenish hue in his sky blue in his eyes.

“You, too. Sorry to hear what happened.” Concern etched his face. He was reading her, figuring out what he could do to help. He was the reserved type, leaving her to her own devices unless she requested help. Like her father. Her family seemed to be composed of struggling empaths.

“Eh, it’s life,” Kala shrugged, reducing muscle tension in the process. “I seem to be a target,” Kala believed that. She had been raped multiple times; other times, men had taken advantage of her apparent vulnerabilities, leading her to their emotional torture dens like cattle. She was paranoid, stupid. Crazy.

“Nah, you’re just too nice.”

Kala couldn’t believe George called her nice. She had just killed a man! “Nice? Didn’t Momma tell you what I did?”

“You’re still nice,” George smiled at her. “Here, let me get your bag.”

“My bag?” She was confused.

“I told you, Kala,” Marnie chimed in. “I stopped at your apartment before going to the police station. I got some clothes. You need more … There was nothing but gym clothes in your apartment. You need to dress more lady-like.”

“Yeah, like dressing lady-like will get me less attention. Momma, the way I dress is unrelated. I need to rest.” With a hug to her mother, and thanks to her brother, she walked down the porch and picked up a small, black kitten. “She’s going inside with me, okay?” She looked at her mother’s face, which showed both sorrow and irritability. Kala’s mood swings always had this effect on her. “I’ll clean up after her. I just need a furry friend right now.”

“Okay, Kala,” Marnie said with a grin. “It’s not the first time you’ve convinced me to keep the pets indoors.”

Kala walked inside, holding the door open for her brother and mother.