Void War: The Elemental Progeny

By AJ Watson

When Velus, a teenage street urchin, is wrongly convicted of murder and sentenced into slavery, he never thought he would be destined for greatness. After nearly two decades of abuse, an alien force destroys his master’s estate and Velus flees on foot.

Velus’ journey begins in pain and confusion, and being rather naive from decades of servitude, falls into trouble. Rescued by a trio hunting down the thief of a sacred relic, Velus joins their cause and re-encounters the savage aliens that unknowingly aided his escape. They’re working on extracting the Dral, a powerful and evil race, from their elemental prison; with the relic as a focal point for the key.
Through seemingly random encounters, he is thrown into events that will ultimately shape the outcome of a galactic war, and possibly the fabric of the universe itself.

The Elemental Progeny is book one of the Gatekeeper Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AJ Watson
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301830510

AJ Watson

AJ Watson has always enjoyed writing, but did not write her first book until college. What started out as an assignment for a class, AJ's story of a little gecko was given high reviews by her teacher and family and she was encouraged to pursue publishing. AJ also enjoys painting, designing crafts, and spending time with her family.

Book preview

The Elemental Progeny

A Void War Novel

Book 1 of the Gatekeeper Trilogy

By AJ Watson

© Copyright 2013 Anthony James Watson

Smashwords Edition

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my wife Barbara. Without her support and encouragement this novel may never have been completed.

Table of Contents

Pronunciation Guide

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

About the Author

Excerpt

Excerpt Prologue

Excerpt Chapter One

Excerpt Chapter Two

PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

Name (Phonetic Pronunciation)

Achil (Ay kill)

Astrela (Ass trey la)

Buemdh (Be oomd)

Bünd (Buund)

Cedric (Said rick)

Ceric (Ser ick)

Cestus (Ses tus)

Claudia (Claw de ar)

Colyana/Yana (Col yarn ar/Yarn ar)

Dagmes (Dag mess)

Drakon (Dray kon)

Dral (Drarl)

Dregu (Drey goo)

Gyavelus/Velus (Guy ar val es/Val es)

Hacon (Hey kon)

Jemez (Zhems)

Korana (Core ar na)

Lycanad/Lyc (Like ar nad/Like)

Lynus (Lie nas)

Mason (May sen)

Mika (Mee car)

Mordek (More deck)

Needa (Knee dar)

Qadir Spâm (Ca deer Spum)

Ryham/Ry (Ree em/ Ri)

Selig (Zel ig)

Sesqui (Ses kwi)

Shareal (Shar reel)

Shoma (Show mar)

Tataraka (Tat a rar car)

Une (Oo neigh)

Uneia (Oo neigh ar)

Unema (Oo knee mar)

Unum (Oo numb)

Yesta (Yes tar)

Zastudil (Zas too dill)

Zidmmore (Zid e more)

PROLOGUE

The mud-brick wall liquefied in an instant, revealing four burly males beyond the dripping remains. One pointed a metallic device similar to a hand crossbow - minus the firing arm - at Mr. Sel, the room’s startled occupant. He momentarily froze at the impossible sight. Not only were his quarters purposely hidden mid-ship and designed to be undetectable, but brick walls shouldn’t melt like marshmallows!

As the invading quartet navigated the red-hot remnants of the wall, Mr. Sel tossed an oil flask from his belt at the intruders, springing a fire to life at their feet. Without waiting for the full effects, he grabbed a silken pouch from atop a strongbox and dashed out the iron door opposite the impromptu hole. The bag’s powerful contents, an ancient artefact, were entrusted to him for personal delivery to a monk at this port. If his pursuers succeeded in stopping him, unimaginable torment would weep out like puss from a festering wound.

Mr. Sel rushed down the polished wooden corridors as the crew leapt aside for their guest. They drew cutlasses before charging back to his room, eager for battle. Their orders were to protect him at any cost; even though they didn’t know the reasoning, buccaneers wouldn’t argue with their captain.

Thankfully only the ship’s captain and the item’s protector knew the artefact’s value. If the freebooting crew discovered the power of the trinket within, not even the captain could restrain their greed.

Mr. Sel leapt up the ladder to the main deck, cringing at the death screams ringing behind. The pungent mixture of brine, fish, and cattle brought a slight hesitation to his stride. He’d spent the majority of the voyage below deck and wasn’t prepared for the nasal assault. He cupped his hand over his mouth and nose, while surveying the area.

His plans to abscond down the gangway were shattered by the unloading of crates. His original thought was to leave after the cargo, but his hunter’s inconvenient timing smeared that with a sticky ball of dung.

He peered around for another exit as the deck exploded from behind; embedding flaming splinters the size of forearms into the mast, and a few unfortunate workers. The furled mainsail ignited, sending the crew into frenzied activity to contain the damage. Without thinking, Mr. Sel darted to his left, heading to the ship’s bow.

His many cycles at sea aided his dextrous traversal around the thick ropes and pulleys. He chanced a backwards gaze, to see his pursuers experience decidedly more difficulty performing the task. He grinned while turning his focus to the dock.

A sizable hay cart sat near the vessel, waiting for loading with livestock and feed barrels for another ship. He picked up speed and leapt towards the cart; desperately hoping it didn’t conceal a pitchfork.

The brisk winter air swirled up his breeches, chilling his legs while his stomach rose in his throat. He twisted moments before contact to ensure his back struck first, preventing jabs in the eye and mouth. The hay compressed with his weight, enveloping him in an amber cushion that didn’t fully deaden the impact. The cart’s wooden floor collided with his back, reverberating pain around his torso.

He rolled out gasping for air; looking up he saw his pursuers backing up to repeat his acrobatic feat. One of them, presumably their leader, peered over the ship’s edge and grinned. The raging fire glinted off his hateful eyes, making his unnaturally black teeth even more menacing.

Mr. Sel darted his gaze around, searching for anything to slow his hunters. As one of the lackeys leapt for the cart, he heaved a feed barrel into the hay, straining his weathered muscles in the process. The pawn attempted to change course mid-flight, but only succeeded in crashing shoulder first.

The barrel cracked, but its metallic bands mostly maintained its structure. The flunky wasn’t as fortunate however; the sickening crack of bone signalled an exit from the hunt as he bounced over the cart’s edge. Mr. Sel took one last look at his pursuers on deck and immediately regretted the impulse. The ebony toothed leader locked his gaze with eyes that dripped hatred. He aimed the metallic half crossbow at Mr. Sel. A high pitched squeal emanated from the device as a beam of intense cerulean light tore a path towards its target.

Mr. Sel ignored his wonder at the spectacle as his instincts kicked in to flee. While sprinting for the nearest ally, a blast of scorching heat coursed through the back of his leg, collapsing his stride and sending him shoulder first into a wall. He used the support of the structure to avoid crashing to the cobbled street. Quickly inspecting his wound, Mr. Sel found a deep groove ripping though his calf; shock momentarily overwhelming any pain. The complete lack of flowing blood caused confusion that preceded a burning torment similar to drinking a cocktail of blacksmith acid and glass shards.

The ruckus drew the attention of the town guard; Mr. Sel used them as a roadblock and took off, ignoring his injury as best he could. He hobbled through the busy streets, taking random turns to avoid easy tracking. He looked above the smaller buildings to regain his bearings. The time spire lay to the west, signalling his proximity to his destination, and relative safety. It showed the time as several tocks before midday; not long until the streets became packed with hungry workers to hide amongst. Assuming he could wait that long. His leg throbbed as if an army of pixies were jabbing their spears into his bones to the beat of a drum.

Woeful screams reverberated through the streets as a hideous death knell; his pursuers where carving a blood highway though innocent people. The shear disregard for life from these bastards shook Mr. Sel’s very essence. Panic threatened to poison his resolve as the thought of an unsuccessful mission washed over him. If these pukes obtained the artefact from him, they’d unleash unspeakable torment upon creation. He wasn’t about to let something as insignificant as a debilitating wound herald the destruction of everything he held dear.

Pure stubborn conviction drove him to stand and disregard the searing agony of each step; he stumbled the few blocks towards the monastery’s bluestone walls. Passing through the arch entrance, the composition of the structure forced him to halt from awe. The stones didn’t contain any mortar in the gaps; it was as if the engineers moulded each block to fit perfectly with its companions. The enormity of the task wasn’t lost on Mr. Sel as he limped along the cobbled path through the equally impressive topiary garden. In another life, he would have enjoyed these peaceful grounds; perhaps one day?

Several rain drops found his head a suitable resting point, as the monastery’s time spire signalled the midday chime. He hurried to the reinforced double doors as a young monk opened them. The monk’s plain brown robes darkened as the rain intensified. He wordlessly offered his body as a crutch, but it was declined with a simple head shake.

I need to see Brother Needa, now. The monk nodded and silently led the way inside. Mr. Sel hardly noticed the tapestries and exquisite carpeting along the halls; his pulsing leg drew the majority of his attention. The flesh around the wound started to bulge as it wept steadily, causing Mr. Sel to ponder what weapon could slice and burn simultaneously. His pursuers were a quandary; their appearance and weaponry resembled that of humans, but seemed so foreign at the same time. Mr. Sel’s musings were interrupted by the brother knocking on an oak door that opened almost immediately.

The journey concluded in an antechamber re-purposed as an office. An old man with intense jade eyes sat behind an ornate desk littered with parchment. A single massive tome dominated the centre. The old monk looked up from his studies to appraise the newcomer. Those eyes pierced into Mr. Sel’s soul, but it felt pleasant, almost as if he were a child snuggling its mother. The pain in his leg practically disappeared at that moment, as if the monk’s presence was anaesthetising.

As he approached, Brother Needa noticed the leg wound and showed concern, his eyes revealing a hint of dread before dismissing it.

Ah Mr. Sel, I’ve been expecting you. Do you have it? The monk exclaimed while setting his quill down.

Yes, you’re sure you can keep its location secret? This isn’t exactly a hidden fortress.

Certainly, hiding in plain sight is our speciality. That’s why your order chose us in the first place. I assure you it’s in the best possible hands. Now please let our apothecaries see about your wound.

NO! There’s no time, the Dral agents are still looking for me and killing any that stand in their way. I must leave immediately without them seeing I was here or my efforts were useless. He said whilst handing over the precious artefact.

Mr. Sel looked around the room for other exits, finding none he asked, Where’s the back way out?

Brother Needa beckoned to the young monk, Brother Tobian will show you the way, and do his utmost to subvert your pursuers; I wish you the best of luck. Farewell friend.

Mr. Sel followed Brother Tobian and signalled his goodbye in a tired wave. He stared at a point on the brother’s robe and zoned out, allowing his subconscious to take motor control. He turned his attention inward and thought about how he would escape his pursuers. No real plan came to mind, however his thoughts returned to his surroundings when he bumped into the brother, who’d stopped suddenly.

What is it? he asked gruffly.

The Brother gestured at the wall and nodded. His oath of reticence made precise communication impossible. Mr. Sel looked around and realised he was at a dead end. The only visible way out was behind him. OK Brother. Just how do I leave?

Brother Tobian put a hand in his pocket and fumbled around for something. Finally he produced what looked like a tinderbox and held it up to the bluestone bricks. As Mr. Sel watched, the wall started to glow an iridescent blue, and a doorway opened through the surface. Mr. Sel hesitantly crossed the threshold and felt relaxing warmth encase him. The energy suffused his skin, sending waves of a pleasant tingling as every strand of hair stood erect. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensation; experiencing pure joy.

After a few ticks of bliss, he found himself outside in the rain, and several streets away from the monastery. He could still hear the midday chimes finishing their tune. Nice trick, he muttered to himself. His uncertainty of the monastery’s defences melted away at this display. Reassured that the protectors were well chosen, Mr. Sel re-oriented himself and headed north towards the city gates, determined to leave this place.

He took a single step and dropped to his knees letting out an anguished squeal; he’d completely forgotten about his wound. Inspecting the damage of a ruptured flesh bubble, he regretted not taking Brother Needa’s offer of healing. He actually longed for the medicinal presence of the old monk.

He slowly regained his feet and searched around for a makeshift crutch. An unconscious drunk had collapsed in a corner, dropping a battered cane by his side. Deducing from the smell, the cane didn’t stop the drunk falling into horse dung, so it should go to someone who’d get adequate usage. Mr. Sel grabbed it and managed to traverse a few quiet streets before hearing a familiar grunt from behind.

As he turned, a searing pain exploded from his chest. He looked down to glimpse a gaping hole, much like the wound in his leg, only twice as large.

He crashed to his back, the physical shock preventing even basic breaking of the fall. Rain stung his eyes as footsteps raced towards him; once they stopped, a ferret faced lackey filled his vision. His rancid breath permeated grinning lips. The face disappeared between blinks of consciousness; Mr. Sel felt the ground dragging underneath as they hauled him into a side street by outstretched limbs.

His chest wound stunned him into silence; the sensation was so foreign he didn’t know how to react. However all light evaporated from his eyes as the leader strolled into view; the look of victory on his executioner’s face was devastating.

Probing hands became frantic by the tick, until finally stopping as the ferret shook his head in failure. The leader barked in a heavily accented voice, anger clearly ringing through his blackened teeth. Why’d you stop; I don’t see it in your shit stained paws? He didn’t have time to hide it. Search again.

It won’t do any good boss; I’ve searched him scalp to shoes three times already, he doesn’t have it.

The angry chief paced in circles, wracking his brain on what to do. Finally he stopped and approached Mr. Sel, slapping him hard across the face. Hey, wake up vermin. Where is it?

Mr. Sel split his heavy eyelids, stared into soulless eyes, and laughed. He couldn’t help it, he just kept laughing; even when the mongrel punched him in the nose, breaking it.

He kept laughing when the cane was repeatedly beaten into his face.

He kept laughing when a knife ripped into his guts, tearing his flesh and spilling his life onto the street.

Mr. Sel, content in his successful mission; and that these filthy bastards would never locate the precious item, closed his bloodied eyes and welcomed death with a hearty laugh.

CHAPTER ONE

A dissonant clang wrenched me from slumber, freeing me from startling dreams and scorching an ache across my brow. The recurring theme of the chase and execution felt extremely vivid; the crack of the crutch across the man’s skull often snapped me awake.

Still lying in bed with eyes shut, I fumbled for the water flask on the floor. My nightly torment disturbed me, but gulping down the liquid generally washed away the anguish.

The clatter of pots and pans from the floor below signified breakfast being prepared. The room above the kitchen could be annoying, but was significantly cheaper as a result. I rolled off the military style cot to my knees; it was easier on my headache than immediately standing.

The provided bucket of cold water was a perfect receptacle for my head; the sharp chill shattered the residual fibres of sleep. My hands trembled from the disturbing night terrors as I massaged my temples for a tock, turning the anvil smashes into a more pleasant hammering.

I dressed in my warm weather clothing before pausing in front of the cracked mirror. The young face that returned my gaze was almost foreign; my blonde hair draping my shoulders like a cat lounging on a rock. I’d bathed the night before, eliminating my usual layers of dirt and grime picked up from living on the street. I wasn’t accustomed to seeing myself clean; it was a nice change.

The mirror failed to reveal any stubble, however a gentle hand rub across my face said different. The novelty of shaving hadn’t worn of yet so I eagerly grabbed the small shaving dagger and lather. Hunger drove me to rush, and I cut myself harshly across the cheek. I cursed while trying to staunch the flow with my tunic. It took several tocks to finally stop.

Scrutiny via the mirror allayed fears of a lasting scar; it should disappear in a day or so. I tucked the small blade in my breeches; cleaning either could wait until after food.

I hurried down to the freezing common room of the inn; a fire only just started in the corner. I grabbed my share of the barely cooked bacon and runny eggs, and hid away from the fireplace. I always felt like someone would shiv me for my meal in these cheap inns. The discomfort from the chill was worth being left alone, and was better than on the streets.

A smile beamed across my face as I remembered the stupid mark that paid for this relative luxury.

My thoughts turned to the day ahead, thinking of where I might relieve someone of the burden of carrying a heavy purse. The horribly shabby state of my clothing meant I wouldn’t exactly blend in with nobles, so the merchant quarter suited best. I finished up breakfast and left for a full day of entrepreneurial acquisition.

***

The dual suns remained hidden behind a thick layer of cloud. The gloom was a poignant reminder that I hadn’t found a worthy candidate all morning. An unhealthy amount of city guard patrolled the dusty streets, forcing me into a higher state of attention than usual. Thankfully the guards’ armour has the distinctive smell of oil and leather, so it’s easy to sniff a safe path.

After circling the bustling area for a few chimes, getting a feel for the patrols, I finally found a small window of opportunity of about four tocks. I scanned the crowd just as He appeared between two stalls selling expensive baubles.

My, was he perfect! He looked like a rich merchant’s son, too obsessed with his born status, and flaunting it at every turn. He wore the gaudiest outfit I’d ever seen, all blues and oranges with jewels encrusted into the tunic. Rings and other jewellery adorned every part of his body. I moved closer and was assaulted by his garish perfume; it reeked worse than a tannery.

He appeared too good to be true, but the crowd seemed to recognise and ignore him - like the moocher uncle to be hidden from guests. Even the guards only took a cursory interest. Finally I’d found my mark; all it took was six chimes.

I discretely fell into step a safe distance behind, waiting for the gap in the guard’s patrol. The fool stopped at a fur stand, pretending to know what he was looking at; failing miserably. As he left the stand, the final guard rounded a corner. I quickened my pace and stumbled into him with enough force to dislodge several pieces of oversized jewellery, and his satchel.

You clumsy peon, watch where you are going. Do you not know whom I am? he shouted.

Sorry sir, I wasn’t paying attention, let me help you with those. I picked up his fallen goods while he crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. His arrogance made it extremely simple to discretely pocket a few smaller items while handing others back. Only a few trinkets easily missed, including his coin purse.

I’m so mortified; please accept my sincerest apologies good sir, I said while hanging my head in a parody of shame. My act seemed to soothe his ego, and he dismissed me with a curt wave of his hand.

Thank you sir, thank you. I prostrated myself as he went about his business, unknowing. What a dolt; I turned in the opposite direction to find a quiet spot to count my money.

A secluded alley running off the market square provided the prefect place. It must have been next to a meat monger by the odour. Hiding behind an assortment of barrels, I assessed my new property. The only truly valuable item was an emerald ring; however the ten gold sovereigns in the purse would feed a large family for a lunation. Finally I’d some wealth worth stealing. I threw the rest of the junk away and immediately thought of booze. I may only be fifteen cycles old but this amount of coin often circumvented the ale laws. I skipped excitedly out of the alley, bee-lining to the nearest tavern for food, drink and warmth.

***

After a few chimes of indulgence, I ventured out to find somewhere to hock my unwanted ring. The cold afternoon breeze quickly eroded the warmth from the ale. When tiny icicles pin-dropped from above, even the alcohol’s giddy effects were smacked away. By the time I found a jewellery store three blocks over, my scalp felt like a pin cushion. Crossing the threshold, I wondered if I ventured inside for business or simply shelter.

The store was small, but shelving and display cases used every available space. It felt a little cramped, but the warmth from an unseen fireplace made it cosy.

What can I do you for? enquired the portly old gentleman with a hook-nose; a horrendous boil bulged from the side of his neck. At least his clothing and manner were appropriate, along with his smell; some lavender perfume, but with a hint of something exotic I didn’t recognise.

I have an item I wish to sell! I replied while pulling it out of my pocket, It is a family heirloom but it’s the only valuable thing we have. See, my daddy just passed and we have no income for food. I may have laid it on a bit thick but it garnered a sympathetic expression from the old bugger.

OK, let’s take a look my lad. The old fart took the ring to his eyepiece for a close examination and seemed startled. Maybe I had a more valuable item than I thought.

I’ll be right back, I err just have to check out back about this.

Take your time sir, I said as I imagined what I would do with so much extra money. Maybe buy some exclusive clothes to mix in with the nobles to score some truly large purses. What a great day this turned out to be. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice the codger return until he was at arm’s length.

Well…? What’s it worth sir?

A trip to the guardhouse, said a stern voice behind me. I spun to see five city guardsmen blocking the door. Crap, I was trapped. The old fartbag must have realised it was stolen and contacted the guard while he was out back. I was so stupid falling for this. It must have been a set-up all along. I knew the damn mark was too good to be true, blast it.

Resistance would only get me killed, so I dropped to my knees in submission. One of the guardsmen shackled my arms while another frisked me, taking my blade and purse; lucky I enjoyed some of it first. They escorted me to the guardhouse, smacking me over the head whenever I tried to say something or wriggle around for comfort.

They took me down the back streets to the guardhouse at the south wall. Now I knew I was in trouble, the south guardhouse was reserved for severe crimes; this was serious.

My escort knocked on the large oak door, and as it creaked open, the sight before me caused a pool of urine to form at my feet. The biggest man I’d ever seen consumed my vision, muscles bulging under his loose tunic. The city tabard covered his breastplate, and a large fluted helm sat on his desk. The commanding look of power emanated from his square face. The Captain of the Guard lived up to his fearful reputation. His gaze made we want to confess to anything just so I could escape his presence.

A guard locked the door behind before taking his place to its left. The Captain beckoned me to sit down; I hastily obeyed, not wanting to upset this hulk of a man any more than he already appeared. He wrote in a large tome for several tocks while I waited to be addressed.

Out of the compulsion