The Gift, page 26
part #2 of Realm Wardens Series Series
“You see the future?” Zaden asked moving closer to her.
“It’s fragmented, but yes.”
“Niviel is in it?”
“Yes, you as well.”
Zaden wanted to ask the next question but was terrified of the answer. He wished he could go back to when the man came to his forest and deny him access. He loved his new friends, but he didn’t want any more of the darkness to come out of him.
Clairla leaned down from her saddle and put a hand on Zaden’s shoulder. “As a fae I never believed I could take another’s life. It is against our nature as well. However, a time came when my people realized we needed to take a stand and go against our nature. I went against everything I thought meant the world to me. Violence was something I watched from afar, I did not participate in it. Then the Shadow War came, and I realized then what you must realize now. It’s about more than survival of you, but of many. Millions are counting on you, Zaden. Millions. If you cannot play your role during these events, then millions will die.”
Zaden stared at his feet, fat tears falling from his eyes.
“Look at me dryad,” she said pulling Zaden’s chin up to look in his eyes. “The darkness is coming still. You are not that darkness. You are not the cause of the darkness. But you can help stop it. Do you understand?”
Zaden gave a slow nod and wiped the tears from his eyes, then he lifted his hand to tap his chest. Clairla tilted her head at him. When he noticed he became protective of the stick hidden within his coat.
“Is that your stick?” she asked.
“How do you know about my stick?”
Clairla gave a quick eye roll and dismounted from her horse. She dropped down in front of him and held out her hand. Zaden looked at her hand then into her eyes. “Come on, I don’t have all night. You need a better way to keep that stick safe. It being a big long stick in your coat is not that way.”
Reluctantly he slid it out of his coat and handed it to her. She studied it for a second then went back into the barn. Zaden followed close behind, not letting the only thing that was keeping him alive out of sight.
Clairla pulled a couple silver pieces out of her satchel. She knelt down and held the pieces between her hands. She closed her eyes and began to whisper under her breath. Zaden could feel the air become thicker around them, a build-up of static. Zaden knew powerful magic was being used. As she worked her spell, she rubbed her hands together until he saw what she was doing.
When she was done, she had a long, thick wire made from silver. She picked up the stick and ran her hand along the length of it. Whispering again she made a mashing motion with her hands around the stick.
Zaden began to sweat from nervousness. He didn’t know what she was doing to his stick but if she broke it… He opened his mouth to say something when Clairla produced three round pendants made of wood. Each was about an inch thick and an inch around. She took the silver wire and wrapped the edges of each pendant with it, then she took three leather straps and intertwined the wire with the leather to make two bracelets and a necklace.
“Here,” she said handing them to Zaden. “Wear one on each wrist and one around your neck.” She wiped the sweat from her brow and stood. “Make sure that you are wearing at least one of those at any given time.”
Zaden sat and stared at what was left of his stick in his hand. He could still feel the magic emanating from them. When he looked up to thank her, she was gone. He put the bracelets and necklace on, stood, grabbed the bow and arrow, and headed back outside to practice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It had been a hard five months. The weather had turned frigid and the snow was too deep to pass in some areas. Niviel and Zaden tried to stay close to the foothills of the mountains to avoid the western side of Misandria’s boarders. As the months moved along, the days became shorter and the encounters with the shadow soldiers increased.
Now they were at the end of the foothills and far past the boarders of Misandria. The land ahead of them was flat as far as the eye could see. In the distance sat a dark speck, the Ruins Labyrinth. It had been a gamble coming all this way and expecting Prydwen to still be there. It had been nearly a year since Niviel had seen her last.
“Will we get there before the end of day?” Zaden asked, touching his neck where the wood pendant encased in silver hung on a leather band.
“No, it’s much farther than it seems. We’ll keep going for a few more hours but set up our perimeter before nightfall. If the Shadows come tonight, we’ll be completely exposed.” Niviel replaced his fur-lined glove and lifted the fur-lined hood of his jacket over his head before mounting his horse.
“Do you think they will have sticky buns in the village?”
Niviel smiled down at his trusted friend. “I would be surprised if they didn’t.”
Zaden shifted his bow from one hand to the other in order to mount his own horse. He secured the bow to his saddle and pulled himself up. As he swung his leg over the saddle he glanced up at the full moon that hung in the sky. Even during the day its outline could be seen. “Do you feel that?”
Niviel nudged his horse forward. “What?”
“It’s been getting stronger the last few days, but today it’s like static in the air. I think it’s the blood moon.”
Niviel knew what the blood moon was. He also knew that many magic users conducted strong spells and incantations during the blood moon. In the past, his own people had crossed the veil to utilize its power. But the most significant thing about the blood moon this time was that four thousand years ago to the day, the blood moon was used to enhance the power of the spells used to close the veil to the Shadow Realms.
He was certain the High King planned to have his sacrifice on this night. If the moon was used to seal the veils it would need to be used to destroy them. He wished he knew if Jardeth was successful. But since his friend didn’t touch magic, he couldn’t contact him through the magical channels.
Zaden stopped his horse, nocked an arrow on his bow, and lifted it. Niviel stopped a second later and looked to the direction Zaden was pointing his weapon.
“What is it?” Niviel asked reaching for his own bow.
“There’s movement in that tree line.”
“Sprites?”
“No, there haven’t been any sprites for months now. Those trees are just empty husks. The magic—there did you see it?”
“Shadow soldiers.”
“It’s still mid-day, why are they out?”
“Maybe they’re waiting for the veil to fall, then they’ll come out of the woods.”
“Or they’re following us and waiting for night.”
“That’s likely, too. Either way, we should have enough time to make camp and set up a perimeter before they decide to come out of the darkness of the trees.” Niviel put his bow away and nudged his horse forward.
Zaden heaved a breath. No matter how often he had to destroy a shadow soldier it was still quite difficult. He struggled with his guilt every day. He pulled his bow string back and took aim.
“You won’t hit it from here,” Niviel said. “It’s too far. You’ll just waste an arrow.”
Zaden released the tension on the string and placed the arrow back in its quiver before spurring his horse forward to catch up to Niviel.
They rode in silence for the rest of the day. When the sun began to dip they stopped and set up their camp. The snow was a bit deeper in this area and they used it to create walls to block the wind. Their tent was low to the ground to help conserve heat and Niviel had bundled wood up and brought it with them as they left the cover of the tree line.
Niviel set up the magical wards they’d learned a few months back from a farmer and her husband, they lived close to the tree line where the Shadow’s frequently appeared. The wards deflected the creatures by giving off a false sense of daylight. Niviel and Zaden couldn’t see the difference but the Shadow’s did. Zaden covered the horses with heavy blankets and checked their feet and legs for any issues. By the time Niviel was done with the wards, Zaden was done with the horses.
Once the fire was lit, they heated up some snow for water and cooked a simple meal. Niviel kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. The moon was full and took on a shade of red but still managed to give off enough light to reflect off the snow and brighten the area. They would have a relatively easy time spotting any shadow soldiers emerging from the trees.
Zaden sat cross-legged in front of the fire sipping his tea and doing maintenance on his bow. He had learned the necessary skills in their months of travel. “I’ll take first watch since you did last night.”
Niviel nodded. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems tonight. Those Shadows from earlier today seemed to have lost interest in us.” He propped his own bow and quiver up at the opening of their tent and moved to crawl in when the air seemed to change. He stood back up. “You feel that?”
“Yes,” Zaden stood just as there was a flash of light in the distance, followed several minutes later by a boom.
It rattled them both, nearly knocking Zaden from his feet and causing Niviel to stumble. It blew out their fire and crumpled their tent. The horses nickered and one of them reared, nearly getting free. Zaden ran to settle them and stop them from bolting.
“What was that?” Zaden asked.
“It came from the High Kingdom.”
“What does it mean?”
“The child has been sacrificed.”
Niviel and Zaden stared at the now-darkened distance. Niviel didn’t need to explain it to Zaden. They both knew what it meant. The best they could hope for was that Jardeth had been able to feed the elixir to the child, that its magic had been changed enough that all the veils didn’t collapse at once.
Jaredth will return in book 5, Lost Dragoon.
To Continue Your Adventures Grab Your Copy Of Tor
A Note From The Author
Ah, so we meet again! Since you already know how the series works and you can expect to meet a few new faces in Tor, I won’t go on about how awesome it is to read a story in this way. Instead, I will just let you know Tor is the conclusion to this three book arc and you won’t want to miss it! Plus, we get to see some familiar faces.
I wanted to chat briefly about the Young Chronicles trilogy. I know, I know, why would I want to steer you away from Realm Wardens when things are just getting good?! Not to mention that Young Chronicles is a contemporary fantasy.
I’m not trying to chase you off in a different direction. Rather, just letting you know of an offer I have waiting when you’re ready. An exclusive not available anywhere else, short story based in the world of the Young Chronicles. It’s a nice little jumping off point to introduce you to the trilogy. On top of that, you get to hang out with me at least once a month.
That sounds like fun, right? Right? Yeah it does, you’d love it there. You’ll get insider information on upcoming projects and promotions. You’ll be the first to hear about anything going on with me. Trust me, good times!
And the best of it, you become a part of my Thunder.
That’s right, my Thunder. You’d be one of my Glorious Dragons. Who doesn’t want to be a dragon?! We get the best of the shiny things! If you want to be a Dragon and want a shiny new short story, snatch it up at the end of the Tor preview.
Now let’s get back to your regularly scheduled programming…
Grab Your Copy Of Tor To Find Out How It All Ends
Tor
Chapter One
Hues of reds glowed over the hill on which Tor sat, the orc village of Kalfskeen decimated from the attack moments ago. It was not even a kilometer away, yet it felt like millions as her home burned. Tor gripped her father’s limp body tight as her childhood home became cinders, the heat singeing her skin. Her arm throbbed, bleeding from the gash one of the bandits had administered while she’d tried in vain to defend the youngest of her brothers. But it wasn’t the orc’s way to wallow, and she knew she needed to get up and go after those who’d killed her family and burned her village.
In other races of the region, hatred for the orcs ran deep—going back centuries. Even though the orcs rarely, if ever, crossed the swampland dividing theirs from that of men, man continued to cross into their land. The time for another war was coming. Even though Tor was a woman of healing now, her orc side wanted revenge.
Tor wasn’t even supposed to be home, she’d only returned for her brother’s joining ceremony. When Tor had received word her brother had been chosen as a mate her heart had filled with joy for him. It was supposed to be a happy time, the meeting of the two families from different villages and their coming together as one. It was a great honor to be chosen, and proved his prowess as a hunter and a warrior had spread far and wide. She had been gone for nearly ten years, learning how to be a healer at the Rejuvenation Monastery. So, her elation on just being invited—included—had her floating on air.
Tor held her father until there were only embers left of their home, the sun peeking over the horizon. Gently laying her father on his back she got to her feet, legs stiff and back sore. She took in a deep breath before moving toward the home, searching for the remainder of her family. Her two eldest brothers were laid out feet from each other, weapons in their hands.
Their eyes, now turning a milky white, stared toward a sky of radiant reds and pinks. Kertugrat, the eldest, was missing an arm, and a large gash opened his chest. Grammook, the second eldest, the one who was to be joined, had a blade protruding from his heart, and from the dark stains she knew he had a belly wound as well. Tor searched for another hour but couldn’t find Thrasoot, the youngest of the four. The last she time she’d seen him he’d been running toward the house before it was set ablaze.
He had not been formally weapon-trained, but he was twelve and at the age to start learning. She’d thought he was perhaps running for his weapons, but now she feared he’d never got out.
Tor spent the rest of the day building three pyres for two of her brothers and her father, and a vigil for the brother who had presumably burned. She prepared their bodies: washing them, stitching their injuries, dressing them in their war colors, and then placing them on their pyres with the weapons they would use to fight in the afterlife.
Tor wasn’t the only family member readying for the death ceremony; not one of the homes was left standing. There were at least two thousand in Kalfskeen Village, but it looked as though many were now ash like her own.
The men who’d come through numbered at least ten thousand, a small army. Tor didn’t know if they’d come from the north or the south, and she hadn’t recognized their colors. They wore cloaks, covering their faces, and held weapons she had not seen before. She’d felt the static emanate from those on horseback, a sign they were using magic. What kind she didn’t know, but it had left a metallic taste in her mouth. This was not normal for the magic in their realm, or any other she knew of. But it had been powerful enough to create a drop in the air pressure.
As the sun began to set once again a distant drumming could be heard, a low chant building behind it. Tor closed her eyes, tapping her chest along with the beat of the drum as she began to chant the death song. The words would carry her brothers and father to the afterlife. A battle cry warning the dead of their arrival.
She set the pyres alight and stepped back, still singing the words in her native tongue. Tears streaked her face. If only she had arrived sooner, she may have been able to save them. Tor shook the thought from her mind; it would poison the death ceremony and taint her family’s entry to the afterlife. They were capable warriors and did not need saving.
The ceremony lasted until the next sunrise. Tor was exhausted, but she had to remain on guard all night to ensure the fires did not go out until her father and brothers were nothing but ash. There was to be nothing left of their bodies in order for their souls to fully release.
As the embers died down she prayed to Goddess Thanroota, asking she take her family so they could once again dance and fight in the afterlife and be reunited with her mother, Abellah.
She turned her attention to the area around her home. Bodies of the enemy were strewn about; her family had put up a valiant fight. Before she’d arrived, her brothers and father had killed at least twenty of the enemy. It had been the last one standing who cut her arm before her father, Torerook, ran him through. Torerook had suffered his fatal blow just before, and the final look in his eyes, as he gazed at his daughter before he took his dying breath, would stay with her forever. He’d been disappointed in her as a warrior when she was young, and it was why she’d been sent to the monastery—at least part of the reason. And he had clearly been disappointed in her now as an adult, having not defended herself.
She had spent ten years at the Rejuvenation Monastery, becoming a cleric and learning the religion of healing, and was no longer considered a warrior amongst her people. Being sent to the monastery was more of an exile, since the clerics taught against everything with which she’d been raised.
Tor sighed as she bent down to pull the hood off one of the dead. He belonged to a race she had never seen before, with a deep set eyes and a square jawline. There were ridges above his eyes, his hair blacker than she had ever seen. The sight gave her a small chill. They were not men of Totriga, but the tattoo covering half his face intrigued her. Kneeling down next to the body, she grabbed his chin and turned his face to see the entire marking. Did it indicate a rank of some kind? Perhaps his tribal markings? The long, thick black lines ran from his ear to under his eye, and from his forehead to his strong jaw. Wiping her hands on her pants, she stood.
She checked a few more of the dead, hoping to find some sort of clue as to who these people were, and found both male and females amongst the dead. All with the same facial tattoo. She couldn’t leave the bodies where they were; she needed to pile them up and burn them. She grabbed the wrist of one of the females and the dead’s sleeve slide down, revealing more tattoos. Tor stopped to study them and saw hers was a simple straight line up the arm, with lettering she had never seen before. She had studied many languages, but this was not one of them. Perhaps a language from the four dead races? Was it possible they were not dead after all?
