The Shadowbelt

By Jestin Lightner

Sick of reading mediocre classic fantasy books? Looking for a remedy? When a psychic and a priest cross paths a paradox is bound to occur somewhere along the line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jestin Lightner
• Release date: Mar 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452323152

Jestin Lightner

I learned how to play guitar from the devil himself. I wrote short stories and songs throughout the years and most of my short stories were oriented around the planes because planescape was cool back in the nineties and spelljammer was old. I also wrote a five hundred page poetry book based on love and LSD trips back in the nineties. That was back while I was playing in a band called Hollow and plotting to take over the world with a religion based on my music. It was alot to ask for someone coming from a garage and a donut shop. Later on in life I was sitting in jail and was like, WTF, I can write better than this crap they are force feeding us in here and so I finally finished my first book. I now have a few titles to please my audience including original home brew Vampire The Masquerade adventures and a D&D supplement on top of The Battle For The Red Gates and EVN. Also if your interested I have prepared an ebook on the subject of writing your own ebook and it is perfect for the newb in us all.Here is my reverbnation page if you wanna check out some of my music...http://www.reverbnation.com/Hollow8Nothing

Book preview

Battle For The Red Gates:

The Shadowbelt

By

JESTIN LIGHTNER

Published By Smashwords

Title Copyright (C) 2010 Jestin Lightner

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Must see About the Author Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18SUFbABxNQ

If You Like this book Check Out My Other books as well

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/34923

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12893

Acknowledgements

Shit, this really has been a long hard road man. So many people have helped guide me through all this shit during the last few years, I’m sure it’s gonna be tough not to leave anyone out. If I did, as John from Ekotren would say, enter your name here ___________. Gotta first thank Stephen King for his major influence and for spelling my name right when I met him backstage about fifteen years ago. I wanna thank all of Simplekill, Ekotren, and Nonpoint for not only their influence but also for the mutual loyalty we’ve shared over the years. Also wanna thank Ankla, particulary Oscar and the rest of my guitar center family. And of course, I gotta thank mom for pulling my wisdom teeth. When I first spoke with Matt Laplante and he mentioned I should begin working with Karnivool I was skeptical. They only had maybe a dozen people in front of the stage when I saw them live but they were amazing! It was cool meeting the guys back stage at rampage that year and I am extremely pleased that they certainly did not fail to deliver. Cheers to them! With that said, I would also like to thank each individual at the Bieler Brothers Records office as it has been a real life changing experience working with everyone at my home label. Sometimes I don’t know where I’d be without my brothers. Nowadays I can sleep in the woods if need be and wake up with a smile on my face and just not give a fuck.

It wouldn’t be right to fail to single out Skindred and offer a thank you for bringing me into their inner circle during the release of Shark Planes and Dog Fights. That project really gave me something interesting to do when I needed a break from working on The Shadowbelt. If you like the cover then get with me and I’ll refer you to my illustrator Yuri, he’s fuckin awesome at what he does. He’s even worked in animation for that Marmaduke movie and the new Yogi Bear flick neither of which I have had the time off to check out yet . Didn’t even charge me a dime for the work though  As well I had a little bit of well needed editing assistance FREELY DONATED by some Barnes N’ Noble people, particularly Robin, aka: Mrs. Clive Barker. Also, last and certainly not least, I wanna offer an extra special thanks to my homes Daniel Yetnikoff for coming up with the title of the first installment of the Battle For The Red Gates. He’s got a new record coming out sometime soon so keep an eye out for it. With that said, I should take the time to figure out some beautiful, profound, maybe even prophetic conclusion. Instead, I’ll just leave you with a quote from The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe by the late great Douglas Adams. There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the universe is for and why it is here it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another that states that this has already happened. Well, then again there is another theory from that same series that suggests god is just a fat man sitting on a porta potty writing a book. Go figure.

Chapter 1

A rampant string of carnage had pinned down the people of the coutryside for weeks. Rain fell down upon the roofs of the lone village while waves of fear and uncertainty arose like a zombie’s hand bursting through maggot ridden dirt. It didn’t matter how hard the peasants mourned. It didn’t matter how many caskets were lowered. The monstrous killer continued to ruthlessly flood the citizen’s minds with hopeless clouds of crises and despair.

A shrill scream cut through the still of the night and quickly fell into the realm of disregard. At first, it appeared no one dare risk the wrath of the blinding abyss of the night. Fresh bloodshed was discovered nearly every morning and the fear was not dealt with selflessly by the quivering majority. Uncertainty and fear was more common than the cold-blooded murders that were an ever given constant. The scream reverberated through the bitter cold air with nothing in response aside from the whimpering of a few awakened children calling out to their parents and the yelping of dogs. Nightmares had seemed all the more real as of late. Several families had been torn apart, if not limb from limb, than by the sheer helplessness they found in loss. The governor, as well as the other overlords of the province, turned away their crooked eyes and selective ears.

The bleeding heart of a family's last stand against the ultimate atrocity was a whimpering boy, no more then ten years of age. Inside a ravaged abode the child's mother held onto a consciousness blinded by blood and sweat. She reached for a fading reality buoyed by exhaustion and pain. She used the last of her dwindling strength to brace her son, Jorgren, with her arms from the kick as he stood, shaking, but trying with all of his bewildered might, to aim an ancient musket at the slobbering monster before them. Blood matted most of the feral man's naked skin that had suddenly sprouted forth a thick dark hide of black hair while foaming saliva bubbled from his jaws like an overflowing pot of boiling water.

You'll never touch her again! Jorgren screamed as he waved the barrel of the weapon around. Tears poured from the child's eyes and hypnotized the dark creature.

Do it! his mother let out a panicked yell.

I - I can't. sweat stung his eyes while he nervously stammered.

His strength began to wain and the musket began to lower away from the target. The weapon was almost as heavy as the child's confusion. A numbness of absolute sorrow and remorse entered into his heart. It pierced like a knife and made him feel as if he were dieing from the inside out. It was a feeling that no one his age should ever have to feel. Unfortunately, it was the reality that remained for him to take a handhold on. His mother's body was shattered beyond repair. The only thing that would save her was a miracle.

It's not your father. a swarm of tears fell as the broken woman cried out her last words. Just do it already!

Her words were choked by a gurgle of blood that raced up her throat like bile. Tears slipped down her face making new paths through the caking blood that covered her from the left side of her skull down. The woman's legs were broken and all she could do was lean her entire body against her son's back like the broken woman she was. She pressed her face into the back of Jorgren's shoulders as she cried and wrapped her arms around her boy, the baby that once grew inside of her, and her life that faded with each frail second.

The dieing mother's hands snaked around her child to help support the weapon that was meant to destroy the man that brought her most joyful obsession into the world. She had already lost so much blood that even if she were to survive the confrontation, she would in all likelihood be dead soon anyways. The two of them, both mother and son, tightly grasped the gun as they desperately struggled to hold a grip on their mortality. Once again, their lives were connected as if she carried the child in her womb.

The mad man's glowing red eyes dimmed as he turned his head sideways. It was almost as if he had a curious look on his monstrous face. It wasn't the blood hungry mannerism of the maniac that had ripped through the home and nearly completely tore his lover apart. It was instead a look of sudden recognition, curiosity, and maybe even remorse. He took a step backwards, then another, followed by another. The woman's sobbing filled with relief.

Oh thank god. she whimpered in praise but her vision was falling fast.

She took her eyes off of the fiend and buried her bloody face into her son's shoulders. Her head wound gushed streams of blood that ran down the length of her body and collected into the pool in which they stood. She was losing consciousness and would never awake. Her hands fell from the weapon and her limp weight fell fully onto her son. The beast's eyes blazed and it suddenly leaped in attack with its jaws aimed to lock onto the boy's skull. Jorgren screamed, the arquebus fired, and everything was bathed in blood.

An emergency bell rang out through the halls of the holy temple of Bridgetown informing it's occupants that another unfortunate victim had been discovered. The local spiritual leaders had become the only guidance the citizens had to carry them through the dark time. Where the major landowners cowered in relative safety, the parish of the region did all that it could to work with the local guard in order to extinguish the murderous spirit that plagued the villages.

A white robed priest's heels clicked and echoed from a distant chamber and made their way through the small temple's cramped halls. His robe was fringed with a black lace that matched the color of the few hairs on his head that had yet to go gray. Though he wore them well, the rings under his eyes were not from exhaustion but from age and the worldly wisdom that comes along with the hard fought decades of a retired warrior. He was a good man that never found the duties of an acolyte to be below him. The days behind him were a fine balance of darkness and light just as his duties at the temple were both mundane in nature and from time to time of great importance.

Outside, waiting in the rain, was a familiar face. Engle, captain of the town's guard, stood tall while shrouded in darkness that rest just beyond the front door of the temple. In the rain, holding a shivering child in his arms, his eyes lifted with hope as the door swung open.

Good lord! Come in quickly out of the cold my children. Do not hesitate! the priest silently thanked his god for sparing the child's life as he waved the visitors into the shelter of the temple. He ushered them to a hearth that rested within the immediate foyer.

The good lord has forsaken us again this night Father. the guard grumbled facetiously.

He carried the boy in his arms to the warm light of the fire. Shadows bounced about concealing the expression on the priest's face as Engle rested the shivering child upon a bench beside the flames.

The lord is testing our character with tragedy. It is only our brothers and sisters who have forsaken the lord as it has never been the other way around. We should take care to remember that. John spoke with a soft, understanding heart while he knelt by the side of the blood-spattered child.

He placed his hand to the child's head and whispered a prayer. When he had finished he looked back to Engle with tears in his eyes. John's tears were as red as blood. They slid down his cheeks and threatened to stain his crisp priestly robe. He dried his eyes with a small cloth and was unable to keep from ruining yet another robe for a single drop always seemed to have a way of getting away from him.

This is Melchem's son. he stated with conviction. There is not one single wound on the child. The blood that covers him isn't even his. Stranger still is that it appears he not only wears the blood of another but also that of some black blooded beast. Captain, what on earth happened?

Some might say that by the looks of me I am no knight; that I am no more than a gruff man with a sword strapped to his side. I have nevertheless been educated as no other should in the way of tragedy these past few months. When the livestock was slaughtered I had thought I'd seen horror. Engle slowly breathed in a deep breath, let it out, and continued. When my wife went missing a couple weeks ago and I found her torn to shreds, I had thought I'd known grief and emptiness. But what I saw tonight has pushed me further then I thought possible.

You speak as does a poet. I know that one with a heart such as your own can never fully lose his faith. The word of god will heal all in time my son. the priest spoke softly.

The word of god is accompanied by the swift stroke of a guillotine father. Nothing can stop what has already happened. Engle snapped back with a dark expression captivating his face. This boy's mother died atop of him while trying to protect him from his father whose head was nearly blasted clear off by an arquebus. It was a single shot that was caused by the hands of his own son!

So, this boy k...

No,. the captain cut him off like a leprous thumb. this boy did not kill his father. He was forced to kill the monster his father had become. He went mad and turned into a monster that slaughtered his own wife. The heavens only know how the child found the strength to protect himself!

Dear lord, a look of astonishment lit John's eyes like a dancing flame. what sort of monster could possess a man to do such a thing?

Melchem's son has destroyed the bane of the countryside. All along it was his father; a madman or some kind of shape shifter, it matters not, for he's dead now. stated the captain confidently.

I heard no blast. Are you sure Melchems dead? the priest replied.

The temple walls are well made. When I heard the shot I had to do something. I wasn't ready to go out into the night alone so I awoke two of my men to accompany me. Only old imperial navy sailors have ever carried an arquebus and only one of them lives here in Bridgetown. We ran through the fog like mad for all we knew our heels were being nipped at by the nine hells themselves. By the time we braved our way into Melchem's home it was far too late. I can not bear to tell you anymore other than Melchem's son, this boy, was the only one in there left alive.

As Engle finished his depiction of the event one of Father John's acolytes had appeared from the hall, wrapped the child in a blanket, and carried him off to a warm bath. Aside from the crackling fire in the hearth, a heavy silence loomed while the captain and the priest locked searching eyes with one another for a few gloomy moments. Shadowy illuminations danced about their faces while the fire hissed and popped in a smoldering chorus.

What kind of beast is it that stalked our people? John's strong voice eventually broke the silence.

One whose remains you must see for yourself. the sordid captain managed to speak with smooth conviction.

Side by side the two men traveled across the village through corridors of fog in boots that quickly caked with fresh mud. John and Engle braved the depths of the soggy evening after their departure from the warm confines of the temple was blessed with a brief prayer. The visibility of the night was similar to trying to see through a wall for it seemed as if a corpse in a coffin could view more while trapped in its eternal box.

If what you say is true than this tragic course of events has finally come to an end. as usual, the priest’s words pointed to a beacon of hope.

If our governor was not busy running slave trades in and out of our province while intoxicating himself on opium everyday, many lives would have been saved before this. My wife she....she... the knight stuttered.

"It is not only the corruption of the king and his nobles at fault here but also the fault of the people. They have cowered in the wake of darkness and allowed the unknown to consume themselves due to their lack of faith. You are a good man captain but what have you done to directly end the corruption of