Forbidden Era

By Amanda Mondoux

The fight for power begins and ends in flux.

Myraza is an innocent in a wounded era when magic is forbidden. Her power to alter time sets her as a tool for some, an object of desire for others, and a cursed beast to the confused. She is rescued from an isolated tower only to find herself wishing she had never left. Reality is difficult when one chooses not to bask in ignorance.

A power struggle occured hundreds of years in the past that created a flux in time, threatening to devour life. Events unfold faster than Myraza can respond, and she is soon on the road, searching for the truth behind the flux while jumping from one dangerous event to the next, never understanding her purpose or who her true enemy is. And she trusts everyone.

The answers are shrouded in darkness and saturated with blood. The world is in peril, and Myraza begins to fear that she may be both the cause and the solution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Mondoux
• Release date: May 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985592202

Amanda Mondoux

Amanda Mondoux was born in Nashua New Hampshire in May of 1980. Her primary passion growing up resided with animal care, making it easy to understand her later profession of a veterinary technician. And then there was reading, and of that she did plenty. Her love for writing developed later in life, and has flourished since. Amanda’s love for fantasy and mythology started at the young age of six, her first “adult fantasy read” being JRR Tolkein’s “The Hobbit.” Her education was then split between English and writing courses and classes pertaining to animal care, and the two curriculums served to enhance the reality and beauty of the worlds she creates.

Book preview

Forbidden Era

Amanda Mondoux

Copyright 2012 by Amanda Mondoux

Smashwords Edition

Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Forbidden Era

About the Author

Coming soon

Title: Forbidden Era

ISBN-10: 0985592206

ISBN-13: 978-0-9855922-0-2

Copyright: Amanda Mondoux

Publisher: Mondoux Fantasy - Smashwords Edition

The right of Amanda Mondoux to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are creations of the author that exist solely in writing.

Dedication

There is no greater purpose, no finer reward, than to share my worlds with readers young and old. It is for this reason that I dedicate this book to any who would open it and share in the adventure woven in the pages.

This book is for you.

Acknowledgement

I consider myself one of the luckiest women alive. This begins with my husband, for without him I would have never continued, never moved on or grown into what I am today. My family has been wonderful, and my friends treasures. Everyone who has touched my life has contributed to this book in some way, and to each I send the warmest of hugs brimming with my overflowing gratitude.

Prologue

Fire rained over the battlefield, spit from a crimson sky. Eyes formed from the scattered clouds, two malicious suns watching the death and fueling the inferno. Thousands of people ran, jumped and rolled about the solid ground trying to snuff their torment to no avail. Armor melted into flesh and muscle, eyes oozed from their sockets, and the screams blended in a symphony of terror and agony.

A woman stood in the center of the field beside a man bathed in silver light. Her face was drawn and hair rode the turbulent wind in onyx waves as she studied him, fear eating at her resolve, not of the flames that couldn’t reach her, but of the man she dared to call an ally. He held a blade of black energy, gas rising in a dense sheet to blend with the smoke surrounding him. Muscles rigid, he stared at the sky with a cold expression that could be either devastation or fury.

What can we do? Her question was lost in the wailing.

Fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, he turned. Gold orbs stared, his gaze backed with layers of ice. His energy darkened to midnight, and the ground convulsed and air twisted. The world warped further, all motion ceasing only to join in a whirlwind of blended colors.

He lunged forward, driving the blade through her chest with a sickening snap of her ribs. The pain was quick to pass, the hands of death grasping her soul and pulling it to another plain.

Their eyes met again, a deep sorrow mixed with determination flowing from his to hers. Forgive me, but this is the only way. The flux must be rectified. Each failure strengthens it, driving us closer to pandemonium. He jerked the sword upward, completing the kill. The world faded with his face the last to ebb. The bitter conclusion to this era begins the life of another.

* * *

Myraza sat before the bronze vanity, running a brush through her ebony hair in long strokes. The candlelight cast shadows over her fair skin and her irises severed the gloom in unfaltering beams of lavender, lightless yet vibrant. She stared into those eyes, wondering if anyone else held the trait.

Her vision strayed, sweeping over her room. The sunbeams danced over her canopy bed from windows set high in the peaked ceiling. The chair Kinian and Jarrod often used sat in shadows, while the bookshelf crafted from white wood and covered with decorations and drawings received the brunt of the day’s light.

She focused on the wall opposing the door. Beyond this lurked a world larger than hers, far grander than her tower room; a place where she didn’t belong. The thick stone protected her as did it prevent harm to others. Jarrod would tell her of life outside while Kinian reminded her that her curse was deadly and she needed to get foolish notions of leaving out of her head. She understood that he meant well, but just once she would like to see past the dismal stone.

Jingling drew her from her thoughts, and her gaze drifted to the door. They always had trouble with the key, or so it seemed. The metallic objects would clang and clunk as they unlatched the numerous locks, and then the visitor knocked. This, she had been told, was polite and proper of a gentleman.

Yet Jarrod rushed in without the expected rapping. Myraza set the bristled brush aside and turned to greet the prince with a smile which froze before completion. Sweat dripped from his tanned brow and his hazel eyes were wild, slivers of red connecting in a web. He wore a torn, silver-trimmed doublet, splattered with blood and complemented by frazzled hair. The sword held low had a slick red coating.

He grabbed her hand, the action urgent yet gentle. We have to get you out of here. Father has gone mad and three armies are breathing down our necks. You are not safe.

His words moved as slugs through her befuddled mind. Everyone is safe so long as I remain in here. She smiled and wiped some of the blood from his cheek. Were you painting? Did you mark the walls? Is this why Kinian is mad?

Air rushed from his lungs; a laugh lacking humor. Yeah, you could call it that. He grasped her fingers again. We need to move. We are losing time.

She tipped her head. Time for what, Jarrod?

The distance to the door diminished, her steps failing to match his large strides. To leave. We must escape before—

Myraza stopped, her body rigid. Jarrod stumbled back a pace. Oh no. I must stay. Kinian said that if I left bad things would happen to nice people.

The prince straightened and spun on her, arm swinging in wide arcs. He lied! The only bad thing to happen was your imprisonment!

She shied from his insane expression, one of desperation etched in tight lines outlining muscles. She stepped back. You are scaring me.

I… Eyes closed, breathing steadied. Sorry. Father was wrong to lock you up like this. You deserve better; you deserve a life.

Her confusion deepened. But I have life. I breathe, and talk and I eat, too. She pointed to the bed. I even sleep.

He gestured around her room, fingers directing at the cold stone walls hiding her from the world. This is not life, but imprisonment. You need to be free. He shook his head. You are too innocent to be by yourself. This kingdom is done. Tonight we run from here, together.

What has the kingdom done? She frowned. Can it do things? Is the castle alive? Her lips drooped as she tried to make sense of what she felt were ramblings.

I— Jarrod spun at the sound of clashing steel. Too late. At this rate they will hunt me, but you… He turned and kissed her soundly, his desperation emerging through the caress of soft lips. She stumbled back a step. Forgive me for not seeing the truth sooner. I am sorry for everything. Please seek freedom.

Jarrod dashed from the room, leaving her to stare after him. Her fingers brushed her mouth. A kiss was a new concept for her, and she wondered if it was another way to say good-bye. It excited her just as much as his new fierceness, the deviation from his typical docile nature. She would question him when he returned.

Every part of the conversation bewildered her. She settled before the mirror, and the brush continued its passage through soft fields of black while her mind hovered on uncertainty. The crashing and pounding outside her haven went unheard as did the shouting and cries of pain. She knew her room and all the luxuries gifted to her. The world beyond the walls remained an enigma, one best left to others, or so Kinian claimed.

Myraza grimaced when the racket on the stairs grew louder. The reflection in the mirror revealed that the door remained ajar after the flight of the prince. This was the first time, and it made her nervous. Kinian always told her that her curse would harm countless lives. She had been locked away to protect everyone from her magic; herself included, though it seemed natural to her. She knew so little, however, and they had wisdom to spare. Her trust in them was all that mattered in her private world.

She gasped when a man moved through the doorway. His armor had one arm missing and lacked a helmet while the remainder of the golden suit was riddled with dents. His condition was just as ragged as Jarrod’s, but he sported more blood and some clung to his black hair in clumps. He had his broadsword ready and his body rigid.

They stared at one another, her in shock and he without emotion. Kinian will be upset if he learns that you have been here. A frown played over her lips when he failed to respond. Did he send you, perhaps? He must have. Or maybe Jarrod did? The chair slid over the floor, silk slippers moved towards the man, but only by a pace. She offered a nervous smile. Are you friends? Do you know why he is upset?

Still he stared, studying and assessing.

The brush slipped from her grasp, and her attention followed it to the floor. She flinched at its echoed clatter and bent to retrieve it. The man fell to his knees, the thunder of steel meeting stone exceeding the previous clamor. He swayed to and fro, his blood pooling at his knees from a fresh wound on his exposed arm.

Oh dear! The thought of danger failed to grace her mind. She rushed to his side and lowered to kneel before him, his blood soiling her dress. I did not notice a wound!

Myraza placed her hands over his broken flesh and pulled forth a memory of the arm prior to its injury, which occurred moments ago, lacerated by his blade but she took no notice of this. The magic moved in a silver beam of light from her to him, bringing past to present and recreating life. The blood sizzled and evaporated on contact with the current, and the injury closed. As always, she felt cold as the remnants of her power faded into the ground and air. Her gaze lifted to meet his even as her body struggled to regain warmth.

This time she felt drained, as if something sucked life from her. Her magic had never had such an effect, and this befuddled her. He seemed revitalized, and of this she was grateful. Any worry regarding her weakness faded.

You would heal a stranger? His voice was smooth with an alluring accent that commanded attention.

Well, yes. She pressed her lips in thought. If I chose not to heal you, who would?

Who indeed. She shifted and his glacial blue eyes followed her. You used magic, the forbidden arts.

Oh! She blushed and bowed. I am so terribly sorry! I should have asked.

You should have…asked? He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. Do you even realize what you have done?

The day’s disorder heightened with the odd question. Yes. I healed your arm.

He scrutinized her. And I thank you for that.

She beamed in pure delight. You are welcome.

Kindness is a contagious condition. He stood then offered his hand. My name is Altan. Do you have one?

I do. I am Myraza.

Myraza? I see. How did you come to be in this tower?

I have been here since I was little. She accepted his hand. Her head grew light while she rose, and she closed her vision to the world to help stop everything from spinning. His firm grasp steadied her by the shoulders. Thank you.

My pleasure, Myraza. This situation is disgusting; please allow me to rescue you.

She took in the view of his face, shadowed from the dwindling light seeping through the windows. What do the words rescue and des-cussting mean?

Altan grimaced. Simply wrong. He thought a moment, his attention wandering the room. To rescue is to save someone or something from a bad situation. By rescuing you, I mean to remove you from this tower and the lack of soc—I want to allow you to be free and around other people.

The use of the term free set off bells in her mind; he had to be a friend of Jarrod’s! Is this room des-cussting?

Yes. No one should be locked in a tower like this. He looked over his shoulder at loud pounding outside. A man in armor and full helmet clanked into the doorway, battled and worn. Report.

The castle is secure, your highness. We captured the king and his eldest, but his youngest is missing. The man paused his muffled words. We were concerned about you running ahead after the beast. Is it near?

Dead. Altan’s attention returned to Myraza. This woman was to be its next feast.

Myraza frowned, trying to understand the term feast and how it related to her or a beast for that matter.

The knight leaned to his other leg. That’s sick.

Indeed. Our timing could not have been better.

So it would seem. Shall I take custody of her?

She will travel with me. Altan tried pulling Myraza by the arm. He might as well have been tugging at a castle wall; she didn’t budge in the slightest. But only if she permits, apparently.

Myraza struggled to grasp the meaning of the conversation. She ended in committing everything to memory. When all grew still and quiet, she could then find reason in the complicated situation. This worked well unless the conditions worsened, if she took too long to reach a conclusion, or if a strange but kind man tried to steal her from the only world she had ever known.

Altan touched her cheek, and she looked into his eyes. I wish to show you freedom, but I need your permission to take you from here. Will you come with me?

Myraza didn’t know what to do. People would get hurt should she leave the tower. Kinian often reminded her that her curse had the potential to destroy life, yet Jarrod always scoffed at the notion. The contradiction left her torn. Like Jarrod, Altan had a gentle air about him and he held confidence that outreached the royal family who guarded her. She wanted to trust him. His words swayed her in the direction of leaving, but there remained fear of the unknown lurking beyond the door.

Jarrod told her to find freedom.

She touched the tips of her fingers to Altan’s cheek, mimicking his gesture without understanding. Do you know freedom?

Altan held up his gauntlet, halting the knight and preventing intervention. He kissed her hand and lowered it. I do, and you can as well.

I will go with you. Jarrod wanted me to find it. He wanted to show me, but he needed to leave.

Ice blue irises pierced through narrowed lids. When did he try to run with you?

Well, he came and we talked. I brushed my hair more, and then I met you.

Altan turned and tucked her arm under his. Did he say anything?

Myraza walked with him. Her muscles tensed as they approached the exit to her world, the wooden structure surrounded by stone that marked the beginning of a new and frightening life. Am I to repeat a memory?

Repeat a—yes.

She stopped, pulled her arm from his and retrieved her brush with a few excited bounds. His jaw set and his hand rested on his sword when she returned, but she failed to notice. Once before him, she concentrated on the object. Through it, she brought forth the memory of her last encounter with Jarrod. She fell to her knees.

Myraza embraced the memory and accepted the direction it offered. The conversation between her and Jarrod repeated in a vivid illusion of translucent imagery, allowing the men before her to share the encounter as if occurring right then. The air pulsed and the floor grew soft, sifting and forming around her like sand. All returned to normal once the memory ended.

The brush fell, bouncing over the floor to a rapid beat. She climbed to her feet and stumbled forward. Altan caught her with a perplexed expression. That… He picked her up before turning to the knight. I want Prince Jarrod found. Search every crevice of this pile of rubble. He must be close.

The knight saluted. Yes your highness. His state?

Somewhat mobile. I have questions.

What of her?

You witnessed nothing. A sharp edge, frigid and brutal hung between them, extending from Altan’s declaration.

Your highness?

The innocent cannot be guilty on their own. We shall find the culprit.

Myraza clung to Altan’s armor as if the steel would protect her from death. Jarrod’s words, freshened by the rekindled memory, gave her strength and a tendril of bravery. She clenched her eyes shut and stopped breathing.

Altan regarded Myraza as he exited. He released a sigh of relief and began descending the spiral stone stairs. See, Myraza? Nothing bad happened.

She studied the stone surrounding them. It looked the same as in her room, as if nothing had changed. Jarrod said bad things would happen should I stay.

Yes he did. A smart man, that. Altan smiled at her. All shall be made right, Myraza. I promise.

1

Altan’s gauntlet dropped from Myraza’s hand as she nodded off to the sounds of clashing swords on an open field. The racket tore slumber from her tentative grasp. Her rump lifted from the marble bench only to encounter it again with a reunion gift of bruising. She slid to the packed soil and released a high-pitched squeal. A dozen armed men surrounded her.

She blinked her drowsiness away, then lowered her head to avoid the attention from the unarmored knights, each boasting tangled expressions of concern and humor. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Sorry. I am uninjured.

Gawain squatted beside her, wearing his typical half grin. His deep eyes squinted in mirth, and the corners folded. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, appearing as clear pebbles over dark sand. Auburn spikes of hair fell over his skull and ears, saturated due to hours of training without pause.

The general offered his gloved hand and pulled her to her feet. Are we that boring?

No! Every move you teach is interesting. She brushed the dirt from her crimson gown, but stopped on noticing the hole in her white glove. Oh dear. I ruined another pair.

He laughed. You’re keeping the seamstress busy, my Lady. He retrieved her treasure from the ground and took her arm. Back to your room for you.

But I want to learn more.

You can’t hope to absorb everything about the world in a week, and definitely not if you don’t sleep. He waved, the men watching them in open amusement. Dismissed. I’ll be performing an inspection of the barracks tonight. Consider yourselves warned.

They drew closer to the castle, the stone walls looming overhead with vines and moss climbing to the sun while hiding in shadows. "What do dismissed and barracks mean?"

He returned the gauntlet to her. Dismissed is a way of telling the knights they may rest. They’re free to do as they please within reason. The barracks are where they sleep. I expect them to keep them clean.

Oh. So you told them they are done training for today and you will check their sleeping quarters tonight?

Exactly. The knight patted her arm in gentle and measured motions. You’re a fast learner.

Clouds rolled past the towers looming overhead, and birds flew from the peaks. She smiled. Everyone is kind here. I never dreamed that so much existed outside of my room.

Imprisonment inhibits growth, nurturing ignorance. He pointed his thumb at the object she embraced. You haven’t put that hunk of metal down for a moment, have you?

I like the comfort it gives me.

He chuckled. You know you can talk to the king anytime you want. You’re one of the only people allowed almost unlimited clearance. You don’t need the gauntlet.

She thought on how he formed his sentence. I have permission, then?

Yes.

Ah. He told me I could see him, but I hate to be a bother.

I’m sure he’d appreciate an interruption once in a while, especially from you.

Myraza stopped, her attention drifting after a knight passing by on a chestnut steed. "The animal he rides is a horse, right? She grinned when her escort nodded. Can I see one? Up close, I mean?"

Sure. After you sleep.

Oh, yes. She ran her finger over the cold steel as they walked.

Everyone they passed nodded or smiled, but they made her uncomfortable. Need spurred their actions more than desire, and only a handful of people lacked discomfort in her presence. Of those few souls, only Gawain remained with her daily because his job of protecting her demanded it. The other guards never spoke to her.

Flags hung from the arch of the castle’s grand entrance, rolling sheets of fabric dyed green and blue in honor of the kingdom they served, and the king. She needed to see him. Can we go to him now?

I was wondering when you’d ask. Gawain turned down a hall hidden after a line of stone knights, swords pointing to the upper reaches of the opposing wall, and shields ready to defend. He walked at a brisk pace. He’s been stressed lately and could use some cheering up.

What?

Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting. He has a big and tough job that isn’t always fun. I think seeing you would make him happy.

I hope so.

Altan had been kind to her, but he stopped visiting after her first few days in Cebast Gyre. He was a busy man. She understood this and was honored by any attention and time he spared for her. Other than feeding her desire to see him, her goal was to thank him again for granting her freedom.

Several turns and two guarded doorways later Gawain led her down a new hall. The differences between the passages she knew and this one stole breath from her lungs. They moved over a mahogany rug with long fibers that seemed to embrace her slippers. Ivory pedestals lined the walls, each holding vases and small statues of children and animals. The closed doors they passed had carvings of weaved patterns, smooth flowing designs with the ability to mesmerize an innocent woman.

Everything is beautiful here. The arches of the ceiling also held vague shapes, spirals and such. Walking while gazing up created unwanted motion in her equilibrium, throwing her off balance and causing her to sway. Her attention reverted to the path ahead of them and the world stopped spinning.

Gawain grinned at her wonder. This is the royal hall. I hear they’re preparing you a room down here.

Royal is a word referring to a leader, of Altan, correct?

The king and his family, yes. This area is strictly for important people. Only two access points lead to this portion of the castle, and both are guarded constantly.

Wide eyes took in everything, and she basked in the wealth of knowledge gained from simply striding through the halls. I do not think I belong here. I am not important.

Gawain’s expression turned sagacious with a hint of humor. Our king believes otherwise, and I’m inclined to agree. He stopped before a door detailed with amazing imagery of the castle, trees, and shrubbery. It included carved water in the moat that seemed to flow while being motionless. He pounded and waited.

A man with long arms and a frail torso slipped from the room. He wore a pair of glasses at the top of his large nose, and his thin lips were pressed. What is the meaning of this, General?

The knight's visage darkened, yet he remained calm. Lady Myraza wishes to visit his majesty, Chancellor Ezer.

Ezer glared at him then scrutinized Myraza. I apologize, my Lady, but he is currently holding an important meeting. I would be happy to call upon you when he is available.

Disappointment weighed as a rock in her already tender abdomen. The eyes behind the ornament on the chancellor’s face appeared larger than they aught, more of a beast than a man. She dropped her gaze to Altan’s gauntlet to avoid trembling. Please do. Sorry I—

Gawain shifted. "Pardon my brashness, but King Regis permitted the good Lady free access to him at any time unless he specifically said otherwise, no?"

The man’s brow furrowed. He did, but—

And did he make that command for this meeting?

No.

Gawain gestured. "Then I humbly request permission for the lady to enter."

With a huff and a scowl, the man returned to the room.

Myraza leaned closer to Gawain, her heart trying to burst from her chest. I truly do not want trouble!

No worries. The captain shrugged his indifference. Just wait. Ezer’s a little too full of himself sometimes. Besides, I know exactly with whom the king meets, and I’ll be damned if you’re pushed away because of that maniac.

A deep bark pierced the quiet hall, an irate command lost through the thick embers only to emerge as a bellow lacking reason. With the identity of the brute unnamed, though she suspected an angered king, the sound caused her flesh to separate from muscle and her bones to rattle. She noticed Gawain grinning, and the tension ebbed, if only a bit.

The knight’s amusement faded when the door swung open and the chancellor reappeared. Ezer gained several shades of pale and each movement mimicked a rickety old man—tentative, shaky, and frail. He stood aside and gestured inside.

The king is eager for this visit, my Lady.

Oh thank you, Chancellor Ezer. Her attention drifted from him to the room beyond.

The room expanded to cover more ground than her housing in the tower, with enough space to fit at least six within and still have area to spare. Lush red carpet paved way from the hall to the opposite end of what seemed to be a crafted tunnel. Pillars lined the designated path, each with kingdom flags draped over wooden stakes. A glass doorway backed by a balcony dominated the far side, and before it rested the king’s desk, which was easily the size of two beds.

Gawain stalked forward, pushing Ezer aside with a brush of his arm. The scrawny man fled without a sound.

Altan stood before the glass door, but behind the protection of the desk. He faced a cloaked figure, bathed in shadows though light attempted to break the darkness hovering about him. A man loomed beside the king, boasting a human appearance with slight variations beginning with his ears. Myraza found their length and slender build to be amazing. The world weighed at them, pulling them horizontal beneath a copper field of wild hair—daggers protruding from the brush.

He had a thin face with one jagged scar under his left eye and another over his right eyebrow. A loose shirt, a robe in disguise, covered his torso, and black leggings lurked beneath. The poise he took was relaxed, yet his demeanor was fierce and his glove rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Altan wore a faint smile when his attention drifted to Myraza. He waited to speak until she and her escort stopped walking, halting several paces from the cloaked stranger. My dear Myraza, you honor us.

With one man’s