Dark Memory – Dark Carpathians Read Online Christine Feehan

Categories Genre: Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal, Vampires Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 141492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
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“I want to know exactly what you saw and felt.”

Amastan never raised his voice when he issued his commands, but she knew better than to disobey him.

“Without this man coming, everyone will die. Everyone. Not just us, Jeddi, but our entire tribe will be wiped out and everyone in the city of Dellys. The harbor, the fishermen. The world as we know it will be gone. Even our soil will no longer be the same. There will be blood and death everywhere. More than the horror of war. Torture and cruelty beyond measure. One can’t imagine the depravity. The images were not to be seen, and I only glanced for a moment.”

“What did you see of this man who is coming?”

“The stranger has battled these vile creatures for centuries, sometimes winning and sometimes losing, but always gathering more information. He appears very knowledgeable and battle savvy. He brings with him five men, fighters such as he is. There is no chance without him, and truthfully, after seeing what is coming at us, even with him and the others, I don’t see how we are going to make it through this.”

She gave him the strict truth. A strange calm had descended now that she knew the reality of the situation. She was no longer terrified. She accepted that they would be facing an enemy far beyond anything she’d imagined, yet she’d trained her entire life to defeat it. She’d trained hard, and she had to put her faith in those who had gone before her. They had done their best to prepare her.

“I know you think we should have told you about all this, Safia,” Amastan said as he reached the entrance to the labyrinth of caverns. He paused and looked back at her. “You have to remember, we were not alive when these battles took place or these promises were made. They were simply stories to us, just as they were to you. They were told around campfires and handed down mother to daughter and father to son. We honor the traditions, and we follow the old ways, but we were not alive during those times.”

He turned back to the entrance, the doors that allowed entry when guides were present to take others through so as not to disturb the beauty inside. He was Amastan Meziane, and he merely nodded to any guarding the sacred caves as they would him. No one would think to prevent his entry.

She didn’t know if her grandfather was apologizing to her, but she hoped not. She was slightly ashamed that she’d doubted him. She had needed time to process that she’d been promised to a man outside her people. She loved being Imazighen and took great pride in her identity.

Safia followed her grandfather through the doors. Most tourists interested in seeing the caves used this entrance, eager to see the interior, with a guide explaining the formations inside. Her family followed the old tradition and beliefs of their people, choosing to worship as they had for thousands of years. The caves were very important to them.

They followed the well-marked pathway through the columns of stalagmites. The twisted spikes were beautiful formations of various colors and sizes, depending on the way the ceiling had dripped. Overhead, the ceiling had formed long, gorgeous stalactites. The colors were beautiful. Every time she entered the cave and viewed the creations nature had formed over thousands of years, she was awed.

Hidden behind one long rounded configuration that looked very much like a series of flowers on a vine was a slim crack that allowed the two of them to slide into another corridor. They were extremely careful to leave no tracks. The corridor was narrow and led steadily downward. There were no sconces or twinkling lights to add to the wonderland of what could pass for a fairy-tale world above them.

Safia had been on this narrow path many times in her young life with her grandfather. The stones beneath her soft-soled boots were familiar and felt sacred to her. When they came to the fork in the passageway, her grandfather led them to the right, the path that took them even deeper underground.

“I will find out as much as I can about this man you are promised to, Yelli.” her grandfather said as he continued walking along the uneven stones.

“There is no need. We already know he is a man of honor willing to sacrifice for others. We have no idea if any of us will live through this war. If we do, we can deal with that later. What we need is as much information as possible on our enemy. The more we know, the better the chance we’ll have of defeating them.”

Her grandfather tossed her an approving smile over his shoulder. In the dim light from the headlamp she wore on her forehead, he looked eerie.



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