Read The Druid's Spear (Ascent of the Gem Bearers Book 1) Online
Authors: Parker Payne,Lee Thornton III
The Druid's Spear (Ascent of the Gem Bearers Book 1)
THE DRUID’S SPEAR
ASCENT OF THE GEM BEARERS, BOOK ONE
By: Parker Payne and Lee Thornton III
Copyright © 2015 Parker Payne and Lee Thornton III
Cover Art by Novak Illustrations
All rights reserved.
First Edition: January 2016
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
PARKER’S DEDICATION
Dedicated to the woman who taught me how to read and write. My grandmother, Kathleen Payne, who opened up the world of the unusual and strange with the first letter I wrote – “A”
LEE’S DEDICATION
Dedication and inspiration to my little brother Jonathan Louis Thornton (June 9, 1981 – February 10, 1986) who helps me live life to the fullest because he’s there every step of the way.
Lee and Parker were both geeks before everyone else in the world jumped on the bandwagon. Having grown up in the era of Dragon Ball, Sailor Moon, any and everything written by Rumiko Takahashi—
sensei
and salivating over the next One Piece episode, we pretty much figured if we were going to venture into the fantasy realm, it would have to have a definitive Japanese influence.
That being said, we still needed help from fellow geeks so it’s with the greatest accolades of thanks we acknowledge the following people:
Sarah Awa
– a fellow lover of the Japanese culture, she aided us in making sure the verbiage, certain culture aspects, and sayings were correct. Plus, she’s an anime lover like we are. Any and all mistakes we lay fully at our feet, not hers.
Amanda Lynch
– our editor who should win an award for patience. A phenomenal writer and a Jedi master.
Deborah Dunson
– an avid reader of everything whose constant encouragement was a balm to tired, bleeding fingers at the keyboard.
Table of Contents
The old man walked out of the cave into the darkness of night. Around him, the outline of the trees nearby waved in the wind. The leaves chattered softly to each other, delicate wisps of sound, flute-like in the orchestra of night. He watched their movements, transfixed by the sight. Before long, he continued on the path, his bare feet walking on top of the sharp rocks and gravelly dirt without a sign of discomfort.
The trail led from the cave to the lower region of the mountains. In the presence of sunlight, the valley lent the observer a display of color. Brilliant green treetops swayed in the wind under the vivid blue of a clear sky. Birds sang. Their calls filled the valley with a delightful melody. Animals darted here and there, going about their business of survival. In the day, the mountains erupted with life and activity.
Night brought forth a hushed form of commotion. Nocturnal creatures made their living under the cool comfort of the silver moonlight. Murky clouds moved along the horizon and cast shadows on the earth. The old man stopped in his tracks and observed his surroundings. How long had he been locked in the cycle of light and day? For many years, this soothing consistency of nature had warmed his soul.
This night, the familiarity of the cycle refused to console him.
Chilly, vigorous air whipped at his garments. Within his body, he felt a rising discomfort, not of the flesh, but in his soul. He walked on and the course continued downward from the cave. Indigenous bushes lined the trail as if they’d been placed there by man. Light, scattering sounds of anxious, tiny feet could be heard, and he supposed they were small critters on the hunt for food. Though his bones ached with age, he plodded along until he came to a clearing. Bereft of plant life, it led to a small shelf of a cliff hanging over the width of the valley, where the forest rested in the center. The old man stared down at the sight. In the past, the picture before him had eased his mind with comfort as he lost himself in the majesty of nature’s beauty.
Not this night.
Gingerly, the old man sat down cross legged on the ledge. His bones protested loudly at the position. Settled at last, he reached within the folds of his garments and withdrew a small, oblong piece of jewelry. The brilliance of the honey-hued stone sparkled with the intensity of a minute sun. Carefully, he placed it in the center of his hand. He closed his eyes, and his thumb touched the stone.
His mind’s eye opened.
The ledge of the cliff dissipated underneath him, crumbling into the black abyss of space. In his hand, the light from the jewel wrapped his body in a golden glow. He floated like a feather caught in the wind. He turned around and saw the Earth from afar, a pale blue ball that hung on the cusp of eternity. His body rotated as he made a survey of the cosmos. The old man squinted at the radiance of the sun. Blinding light and leaping flame merged together in a dance of vitality. Heat flowed over his flesh in waves of liquid fire without harm. The orb pulsed with life.
The old man then focused on the planet now known as Mercury. In the ancient tongue of his people, it was called ‘Quitteca’ which meant ‘The One that Sits Near’.” Smallest of the Sun’s Children, it was by far the most ambitious. Hurriedly it raced around the Sun, anxious to please and afraid to venture too far. Pocked-face by the war from long ago, the surface of Quitteca was studded by craters.
As he studied the sphere, the old man frowned. There was something amiss about Quitteca. He ventured closer to the Sun. The jewel’s shield increased in vibrancy to strengthen his protection against the dancing flame. Something was awry, and he had to discover it.
He winced slightly as he drew nearer to the heat. The jewel’s luminosity multiplied until his vision was tinged with gold. It allowed him to get closer to the Sun without damage and view the location of the first child. What he noted sent a ripple of fear through his soul.
Quitteca was in direct parallel with his sister, known as Malaluk, ‘She Who Hides Behind the Veil.’ As the old man watched, a greenish glow emitted from the planet.
Ashen Light.
His heart thumped inside of his ribcage. His eyes widened. If Malaluk had unveiled herself, it could only mean one thing.
The modern world called her Venus for beauty, but he knew the truth. Malaluk had always hated her sister Iethiga. His people referred to Malaluk as the hideous daughter of the Sun. She hid behind her veil out of shame. Rarely did she unveil herself in the form known to man as Ashen Light. A flash of Ashen Light was a harbinger of war.
He gazed at his home, the one referred to as Iethiga, ‘The Blue Mother.’ He saw the way Iethiga shuffled closer to Malaluk. A lump formed in his throat. As trusting and kind as the Blue Mother was, she remained gullible. Had she not learned eons ago that her sister only wished for her destruction? In little more than thirty days, Iethiga would be in alignment with her older siblings.
When that happened, the others would follow to set the trap.
He floated down past the fourth planet after Iethiga, known as Gakunoik, ‘The Angry Son.’ Gakunoik burned with scorching rage as he waited his turn. Of all the Sun’s Children, his grievance against Iethiga remained ever vigilant, an ever-present scar that never healed.
Next came Solutha, ‘The Fist,’ or its modern name, Jupiter. Hinga, ‘The Ring Dancer,’ glowed brilliantly against the fabric of space, her rings ever-expanding. The twins, known collectively known as Doquonaim, which translated loosely to ‘The Brothers Who Fought and Lost’ circled each other as they’d had for countless years. The older brother, Doquoak, was known as Neptune, and the younger brother, Doquonan, was known as Uranus.
The old man came to rest at the ninth planet. Iethiga’s people had decided it no longer joined the Children of the Sun. Tisan, ‘The One Left Behind.’ Demoted to a mere solider in the protective army surrounding the Children, called the Kuiper Belt, Tisan’s wrath waxed hotter than Gakunoik’s against Iethiga. Tisan was not a warrior, but still one of the children deserving his rightful place. When the Children all came into alignment, he would unleash his rage with a blast of icy anger unparalleled to his brothers and sisters. In being left behind, he was the strongest.
Iethiga would feel the brunt of their wrath as each alignment grew in power. Then the Druid’s Spear would form to unleash the embodiment of the Children’s fury against Iethiga’s people.
Head bent under the realization of the trauma about to take place on his world, the old man lifted his thumb and found himself back on the ledge that overhung over the large valley.
The jewel in his hand blackened to dark grayish ash. As the wind blew, the remnants of it lifted away into the air.
He stood. Once again his bones protested as he rose from his seat and began the track upward to the cave. He glanced up at the night sky, the glorious crown of Iethiga. Venus sparkled diamond bright, rivaling the starlight. A shudder went through him at the sight. Fear clutched at his heart. It had already begun.
There was much that needed to be done before Gakunoik aligned.
And before Ludovicus, the evil one, awakened.
The smell of death lingered in the nursing home like the scent of an old woman’s perfume. Empty hallways lined with closed doors echoed eerily as the staff walked up and down them. Some of the personnel pushed along wheelchairs filled with slouched-over bodies, aged by time. Faces weathered and hardened by life experiences were hidden with blank expressions. Rubber-soled feet squeaked on the linoleum floor and passed by one room with an open door.
Inside the room, rays of sunshine flooded the small space. The smell of death was absent from this room. Instead, the heady scent of flowers occupied it. Two men, both of intimidating height and girth, stood on either side of a figure lying in a bed. A beam of sunlight touched the rice white smooth skin of the woman, her black hair streaked with gray. Sweat beaded her unlined face. Ken Aoki stared down at his mother. Her eyes barely moved as she slept. As he watched, an unnatural stillness fell over her prone figure. For a moment, he thought this was it. Ken’s muscles stiffened while his heartbeat slowed.
Not now! Oh God, not now!
Then she gave a weak sigh and he nearly collapsed as the tension seeped away.
He wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. He’d never be ready.
“Just hold on a bit more,
Okasan
,” Ken begged softly. He bent his six-foot-four frame and kissed her cheek. The skin was thin and fragile. “Please give me more time to be with you.”
“Aoki—
san
?”
Ken winced at the doctor’s voice. With an effort, he drew his attention away from his mother’s face. A primal roar fought for voice and clogged his throat as he bit down the defiant statement he wanted to say. He didn’t want to leave her for a second. He hungered for every single moment his mother had left on earth. The doctor’s face was mask of bland professionalism and courtesy. The hospice nurse stood beside her. He gulped.
“A word please.”
“Go ahead, Kenny.”
Ken flinched and lifted his eyes to the source of the voice. John Lockman, his best friend, waved him away and spoke softly. “I’ll sit with her.”
Ken didn’t want to leave her. Not for a moment. What if—
The doctor’s voice interrupted. “I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Still he stood rooted to the spot, unsure. John walked around the bed and patted him on his shoulders. “She won’t be alone.”
A shuddering breath escaped Ken’s lips. He closed his eyes to force the tears back into their ducts and then followed the doctor out into the hall. The hospice nurse walked past him to go to his mother’s bed. He noticed the gentle handling she gave to his mother and the throb in his heart lessened.
The doctor reported in her melodious singsong voice that Kiku Aoki would take her last breath within the next day. The cancer had attacked her body virulently in the last six months, aggressive and unforgiving.
“We’re doing all we can to make sure she isn’t in any pain, as you both requested,” the doctor ended. She bowed and he returned the gesture automatically. Then he went back to his mother.
John looked up at him, but Ken didn’t want to meet his eyes. His friend understood and he reached and picked up a remote control to turn on the TV.
Ken’s knees weakened and he gripped the rail on the bed. The knuckles on his large hands were white. Despite his control, tears moistened his eyes.
“Thank you, man.” His voice broke as a harsh sob claimed the rest of the sentence.
Kiku Aoki loved television. Night or day, the TV was on. John’s eyes mirrored his own pain. He’d loved her as much as Ken did.
“Aoki-kasan
,” John said to the silent woman, using his name for her over the years. “I put the news on for you.”
Ken watched with wounded eyes as the slightest flicker twitched her eye lids. He fell to his knees and grabbed her hand.
Detached, he tuned into the news report. “In the United States, several major cities including New York, Detroit, and Chicago have experienced a phenomenon of dank and dense fog. The fog was so thick, witnesses noted they were unable to see more than a few feet in front of their faces. Citizens were urged to stay indoors until the fog lifted. Weather experts were unable to explain the strange occurrence. Fog typically dissipates through the day as the heat from the sun evaporates the moisture. However, the fog occurrence experienced in these cites remained solid for several days. The cause for this is still unknown, although weather experts suggest the unnatural fog stemmed from climate change within the area.”
“Did you hear that, Aoki-kasan
? That is kinda weird,” John stated as he turned the volume down.
“The fog thing?” Ken asked, not really caring as he watched his mother. Her eyes fluttered again, and for a moment he hoped she’d opened them. He longed to see the bright amber eyes just one more time.
“Yeah. People were trapped in their homes. I’ve never heard of anything like that.” John reached down and rubbed the woman’s arm. Ken followed suit, noting the clammy feel of her skin. It seemed colder.
Ken’s blood chilled.
“You hate the waiting, don’t you?” John glanced up at him, the green eyes filled with sadness and understanding.
Ken dragged his hand through his hair. “Yes. The waiting. Oscillating back and forth between dread and hope. Wanting her pain to end and wanting her to stay with me.”
