Shifting Fate (The Chronicles of Fate, Book 1)

By Alexis DeSousa

Times in the mystic realm of Lizon are changing. The Great War remains a distant past for many, but for others, the bleak past is all too clear. When the royal family of Alii is targeted, the kingdom's only Princess begins a quest to set things right. In a world completely controlled by fate, Brynn of Alii must fight against the Shifters, bent on altering the predestined future, to save the world she knows and secure destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexis DeSousa
• Release date: Mar 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458078728

Alexis DeSousa

Alexis DeSousa (1987 - ) was born and raised in Pennsylvania. She attended Arcadia University as an undergrad and majored in Computer Science. She is completed her MS degree from Drexel University in Software Engineering. She enjoys writing and has been doing so since she was young. When she is not writing, she is reading and cooking.

Book preview

Shifting Fate

Alexis Leno

Copyright 2011 by Alexis Leno

Smashwords Edition

Prologue - Retaking the Throne

The darkness was utterly quiet. Not even an owl hooted from the thick woods surrounding the entrance to the underground kingdom of Len. Evening encroached on a small group of men, cloaked in black robes of night. The group was so tightly knit together around the mouth of the cave that they appeared as one entire structure. They waited for their master. They would wait as long as it took for him to come.

A cave opened before them, leading into the depths of Len. Predominantly colonized by Underlings, this kingdom was a world in and of itself. The Underlings were largely seen as an abomination; their dark skin and grotesque features making any human – mortal – cringe. They were known to be physically fit, but mentally incapable of dealing with anything beyond their own survival. It was rare that they would venture forth to the world of men where the bright sun stung their eyes and burned their skin.

Out of the swaying trees, a tall man stalked forward, towering above the others. He was dressed in the same black clothing, wearing the cloak as a shroud around his muscular body. With arms outstretched, he breathed in deeply the night air. His teeth were so white in the darkness that they stood out like the glowing of the moon against its black backdrop. Each man stared at his master; his eyes were dark, blood red. Their eyes mimicked his. He had marked them and they had been changed to reflect his image.

We proceed, he whispered. Eldric motioned with his eyes to the cave’s mouth. It had been many years since he had returned, but he still could recall the familiarity of the dense caverns and hear the slow trickle of water from above. He easily adjusted to the lack of light, but he knew the others would have trouble finding their way without his guidance. He reveled in being their leader: the one man that could guide them to victory.

He dragged his pale hand along the wall, though he did not need to. He knew the path into the caverns depths better than he knew the contours of his own body. His pale, almost silver skin, stood out strikingly against the black robe as he caressed the rough rock beneath his fingertips. He felt a shudder of excitement run through his body like an electrical current.

In his anticipation, his thoughts wandered. He was finally returning home to claim what was rightfully his. His chest swelled with hurt at the thought of his parents, both dead from the Great Len Uprising. Upon their death, he had been driven out of his true home, the rock palace, and fostered by another ruling family. Being educated and disciplined by others was not the same. Eldric held an awful amount of hatred in his heart and had been an unbearable charge. His soul had always ached to return to the sanctity of his former home.

Men had continuously ruled the grotesque inhabitants beneath Lizon. The gods had never trusted the inane creatures to rule themselves and had proclaimed human inheritance to the throne, something Eldric hoped to grasp again. Twenty years had passed without a human leader and it was time for man to return to his rightful place. It was time for Eldric to avenge what had happened to his parents at the hand of the sick animals that cowered in these depths.

Eldric could still recall his unfortunate departure from the city below. His breath emerged evenly, no anger or frustration showed on his unblemished face. He remembered himself at four, being dragged from the palace by the last remaining member of his family’s personal guard. The man had staggered; a mortal wound draining the life out of his weak body. Eldric had pulled on him with much resistance, making it harder for the dying man to save his life. All he wanted was to return home to the sweet smell of his bedroom and the familiar surroundings of his palace.

When the man (his name had long been forgotten) had let loose a gasp filled with exceptional horror, Eldric turned and halted his tantrum. As his body twisted, his eyes had darted around, immediately falling on the source of the guard’s horror.

Eldric had seen his parents, lifeless and hanging from tight ropes wrapped around their necks. Their bodies had been so still. Their skin was much paler than he recalled, as if all the blood had been drained from their bodies as they hung motionless outside their palace. His mother’s rounded face was screwed up in pain, frozen in place for all eternity. Eldric would never forget the way she looked in her final moments. The stench would eventually become intolerable and what would happen to his parents’ bodies then?

A low hiss escaped Eldric’s lips as they inched closer, echoing loudly in the silent cave. He could smell an Underling odor wafting upward and resisted the urge to let out a disgusting snarl. The others wrinkled their noses in unison, the first wave of stench filling their nostrils unexpectedly in the hollow darkness. With all of the effort he possessed, Eldric resisted the urge to speed ahead, his sword blazing brilliantly, screaming with rage throughout the city. Slowly, he took several deep, regular breaths to calm himself before moving on.

Light flittered ahead of them and Eldric knew they were close. The cavern would begin to line with lanterns, a recent effort that had been put in place to allow diplomats and visitors to find their way. The speckle of lights was a road map to the heart of Underling territory, laid out for friend and foe alike. Eldric preferred the darkness utterly and completely. When he accomplished his task, he would rectify that first. A smug smile crossed his lips at the thought of it; he could already imagine it taking place.

Upon his parents’ death, Eldric had vowed to regain the throne that was rightfully his. Once he did, it was just the first step to the greatness he deserved. All of Lizon would be his; the conquest would stretch from sea to sea and even the Gods would bend to his will. He had ideas of grandeur and he could not escape his craving for power and wealth. It was like the sweet aroma of a deeply desired flower; its thorns piercing into him and convincing him that pain often paved the path to something beautiful.

As the narrow tube began to widen, Eldric slowed his pace. The hour was late and he doubted they would reach much resistance. Despite his confidence, he remained guarded as they approached. The lights remained dim, rather than blazing with fiery beauty like the noon sun. Instinctively, Eldric pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, masking his face behind the wooly fabric. The others standing behind him followed his lead, echoing his movements with uncanny precision.

Eldric stopped at the edge of the city, pausing to analyze the current outline of the underground metropolis. The limestone wall curved upward into a domed ceiling with large stalactites piercing downward. Stalagmites rose upward and in some places the two had met, blending and growing together like a curling vine around an old fence. The columns of rock were sprinkled randomly throughout the dirt-covered streets. Small boulder-like homes littered the cave floor, providing a crowded labyrinth of brown clay and dust.

His eyes fell over the hollowed huts that provided shelter for the soulless beasts. It disgusted Eldric to even think about them living like humans. The small fires lit around the huts gave the cavern a reddish-orange glow that was only mildly irritating. The lack of adequate ventilation made the atrium fill up with oppressive warmth and smoke from the glittering hearths.

The small hole he and his followers slithered out of was just one of many poking through the walls to the hollow cavern. They sauntered along the outer wall, concealed by the curved homes. Eldric led the way forward, careful not to scrape his boots against the hard, dusty ground. The edge of the wall stopped and Eldric stepped into an open clearing, gazing upward at the tan stairs that led up to the palace entrance. He was hit with a flash of memories and drew a sharp breath. The memories reeled backwards, from the moment that he had left his home to those of him as a toddler. In his mind, he watched himself shrink and become smaller, happier.

Rage exploded in his chest. His eyes blazed with it, sparkling in the dimness, and he clenched his jaw to resist screaming into the hollow city.

Slowly, he lifted his right hand in the air to halt the men behind him. He held up two fingers, and two of them came forward. They repositioned at the forefront, their hands clenched on their sword hilts. Their fingers itched to unsheath their weapons and complete the task their master had set forth.

Eldric could sense their emotions escalating. He tapped the shoulders of the two men before him, edging them further. The entire party of six stomped up the stairs like a battalion marching to claim victory. The rock palace stood before them, carved into the outer wall. The clay steps at their feet held firm as they moved silently upward. Large colonnades stood at the entrance, flanking an uncovered and unprotected doorway. The walls to the sides of the columns had matching brown flags with pointed ends hanging downward.

No guard stood watch as they entered through the columns into a large, hollowed room. The open atrium was dark, but a faint glow reached their eyes from the northwest corner. The flickering fire cast shadows all around them, only exposing a few wooden doors that led deeper into the castle. A musty odor mingled with the smell of burning wood.

He turned in a circle, observing the room he had known intimately as a child. It had changed from its sparkling, bright place and turned into something dark and depressing. Ugly brown tapestries hung on the walls and the marble had been painted in crude, bland colors. It was hard to make them out exactly without too much light, but Eldric still did not approve. The room had a rugged feel, almost as if he were out camping in the woods. Eldric kept his ears open, listening for even the slightest movement.

The shuffling of feet grew louder in the dark. Eldric stood in the middle of his surrounding men as the open atrium began to fill with the black eyes of the Underling guards. They circled Eldric and his men, cutting off their only chance at an exit. Calmly, Eldric stood with his arms folded across his chest, only a hint of a smile caressing his perfectly pale lips. His cool demeanor triggered a ripple of impatience to surge through the sentries surrounding them.

A frail voice interrupted his petty thoughts. I was expecting you, Eldric. We have long known about the hatred that you have held all these years. You have not done well to hide it. The old Underling King, Izan, stepped forward into the light. He was hunched over, but his clothes hung in pristine condition on his withered form. He wore a long robe of light gold, with only the hint of a brown stripe down the side. The wrinkles on his brown skin looked like charcoal stripes: war paint that had come with age and experience.

I never intended to conceal my anger. You should have killed me when I was a defenseless child, when you had the chance, he replied acidly.

Izan shook his head, the pain evident on his old face. There were many things he regretted and the ache of what he and his people had done to overthrow a sadistic government was one of them. Eldric was not going to accept his attempts to make him see reason. His cold eyes bored into the man, not even bothering to acknowledge his royal presence.

We have lived peacefully with man for these past two decades. Only when humans ruled our kingdom has agony and suffering befallen us. This kingdom belongs to the Underlings and we intend to rule it. You have come here to disrupt all that we have worked for. That, even in my old age, I cannot allow, Izan said. To die for his kingdom, protecting what was right, was the only thing left he could do. He and his people had spent nearly twenty years repairing the damage that humans had done to them. He would not stand by idly and let his kingdom fall into enemy hands.

You cannot stop us. You could not even kill her, Eldric spat. He could not even mention her name, let alone think it. He unsheathed his sword, letting the metal ring in the open atrium and vibrate all the way from its tip to his fingers. His men stayed steady, but Eldric could hear the murmuring and the shuffling of the guards surrounding them. Tension filled the room that could snap from the tiniest provocation.

Izan ignored him as his men stepped forward, closing in on the small party. They were outnumbered, but the men Eldric brought with him were special. Eldric had been trained by some of the best swordsmen in the world and he had passed that training on to his men. The Underlings exposed themselves into the trickle of light, revealing their crude, club-like weapons. Growls of impatience erupted from a few of their full lips and Izan did nothing to calm them.

It is time, Eldric announced. As soon as he did, his men brandished their own swords in quick unison. They stepped forward, their swords ringing against the rocky clubs. Eldric grinned, knowing the advantage was his. He let the battle ensue around him, his eyes focused on king.

Izan had no weapon in his hands. He simply stood there, waiting for Eldric to approach. The man took a few careful steps forward, unaware of the blood spilling at his sides. His eyes burned fire-red in the anticipation of death at his hands. Wanting to watch Izan fall to his knees in his own pool of blood was like a hunger he could not satiate.

Eldric’s eyes were so focused on Izan’s face, that he did not see Izan pull his hands from behind and raise them high in the air. He did not notice the club bearing down on him until it was nearly too late. He swung his sword upward with both of his hands wrapped around the hilt. Izan was old, but still strong. He pressed down on the club, trying to drive Eldric down on his back.

Eldric gritted his teeth as he used one hand to reach down to his boot and extract a knife with a long blade. Sweat formed on his brow as he tried to resist Izan with the strength of only one hand. He used all his energy to shove the knife upward and push it through the tough Underling skin, directly into Izan’s heart. He felt the blood seep over his fingers as he twisted the blade and watched the life dim in Izan’s eyes. He fell to his knees, just as Eldric had imagined. Eldric straightened and leaned forward, pulling the knife from the Underling’s chest. The rust-colored blood flowed more freely then. The battle behind him lay forgotten.

The fact that you are dying means that fate agrees with me, Eldric whispered against the old man’s ear, go with the Gods, without peace, for what you have done here.

Izan grunted as he collapsed, face first, on the floor. Eldric turned, a huge smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. He dropped both his sword and his knife, letting them cling on the ground as the last breath of the Underling king died out behind him.

His men had been watching; their defeat of the guards had been swift and thorough. Bodies filled the atrium, but a quick count told Eldric that his men were still intact. He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes flickering in the faint, glowing light. He debated ordering a search of the palace for the rest of the royal family, but decided against it. If Izan had known that Eldric was coming, he would have hidden his family secretly. Eventually, Eldric would find them, and he would not leave any alive to seek vengeance. Now that he held the power, he could take his time inflicting misery upon the loyal servants of the dead king. He stared at his men, giving his first order as the new ruler of Len.

Burn them. Burn them all.

Chapter One - The Assignment

Get off of me! Brynn shouted, panting with effort as she tried to push off the heavy form that was pinning her down. Her heart was racing wildly in her chest, pounding in her ears, and obscuring all other sound. A trickle of laughter penetrated the barrier of noise and she kicked her leg up angrily in an effort to hear a grunt of pain. When it came, she smirked as the weight lifted off of her. She leapt upward, readying herself immediately for the next attack.

The young princess was a disheveled mess. Her bright golden hair was in a braid that extended halfway down to her waist with little strands falling out. Her pale skin was freckled along the bridge of her nose and forehead, and her bright blue eyes held an intensity that spoke volumes. She stared at the ground, her eyes falling on the moaning, curled up form. Her small hand gripped a heavy practice sword.

Rise, Gideon. I did not hit you that hard, she said, chuckling as he turned his head to scowl at her. Their faces matched with the same dark freckles, sloping nose, and identical blue eyes. His golden hair was cropped short and it glistened with sweat. As Gideon stood from his crouched position on the floor, he took a shuddering breath. When he straightened, it was obvious he was much stronger than his twin sister; his thick shoulders and strong upper arms held the blunt sword with ease.

With a pained look on his face, he stared back. She watched his body fidget as she took in the rest of his demeanor. Gripping the hilt of her short sword tighter, she waited for him to make the first move. That was wrong, Brynn, he replied as he made every attempt to catch his labored breath, so, very wrong.

Brynn resisted the urge to let her guard down. Gideon stared at her with a stern expression on his face as he hunched his shoulders forward, his dark blue tunic and pants wrinkled. One of his sleeves was torn, the edges of the tear fraying from their scuffle.

You are heavy, Gid. I could not breathe, she protested as they started to circle each other. Brynn only had eyes for him as she waited for the next strike. She knew that he was doing the same thing; it was what their mother had taught them. Never make the first move and search for the weakness in others.

He rolled his eyes and wiped the sweat away from his brow with the sleeve of his torn shirt. I would have claimed victory in about three heartbeats and we could have been finished for the day.

She thought about the truth of his words and frowned slightly. He was right; if she had simply let him win, they could have moved on to other activities. Their mother was insistent on their practicing and, long ago, they had struck a deal with her on the amount of time they spent adhering to her rules. While Gideon enjoyed the time training with a weaker and easily beaten opponent, he also wanted time to hone the skills he already possessed. To do that, he needed to practice with the warriors who were stronger and fitter than he. For Brynn, the end of training meant moving on to the library and the books in which she spent her days completely absorbed.

See, Gideon replied as if he could read her thoughts, you could already be in the library.

She glared at him and stumbled over her own feet as she lost her focus. Brynn had been in training since she was a child and, in the fifteen years since, she had not progressed at the pace her mother had expected. Her mother had outrageous expectations because she had been the first woman to ride into battle. Brynn trailed behind both of her brothers and failed miserably when it came to fighting anyone with even the slightest advantage.

She resisted the urge to drop her sword and let him call the win. The competition between the two siblings was enough to push her to attempt a victory: one that had never, ever, been had.

With a clumsy foot, Brynn rushed forward, nearly tripping again as she did. Her brother calmly lifted his sword into the air to meet hers with a loud thump. His strength overpowered her with ease as he drove the sword back and twisted her wrist until she yelped in pain. Her sword dropped to the ground with a thud as she flipped over and landed squarely on her back.

Gazing up, her head aching and her vision blurry, she saw her brother leaning over her. He put his sword tip to her throat and declared victory. With a heavy sigh, she mentally berated herself for believing that she could have possibly beaten him. The odds were permanently stacked against her.

A strong hand obstructed her view as she made an attempt to stand. She grasped it and let Gideon pull her up. Her head swam dizzily as she stood, but the feeling passed almost as quickly as it had come. She made an attempt to smooth out her tight, brown pants and black sleeveless top. She barely bothered with her messy golden braid.

Good fight, Gideon said as he picked up her sword and hung both of them on the wall of the brightly lit room. All of the windows were open, the dark green shutters shining in the sunlight. The square room had several chairs around the outer edge for spectators and a large mat that covered most of the floor. Various weapons hung on each of the other three walls, from blunt to sharp. You look a mess, he observed.

She snorted and started towards the door at the east end of the room. Take a look in a mirror. Her hand pushed against the ornately carved door and it creaked open to expose a long sparkling hallway. The walls were covered in a sparkling marble and the sun twinkled in from the open windows that lined the bottom of the ceiling.

It’s fine for a man to look a little disheveled. Women like that.

Brynn gave him an exasperated shake of her head as he followed her down the long hallway. As they walked, she could hear footsteps behind her on the marble floor that did not belong to the twin striding at her side. Quickly, she turned to see a tall, expressionless guard behind her. He was dressed entirely in tiranium armor that was flexible and fit his muscled form tightly. Legends told that the tiranium had been forged by the Gods and was their gift to the people. Dead brown eyes stared back at her as she stopped.

What are you doing? she asked the man, lifting an eyebrow in confusion. In the near twenty years of her life a palace guard had never followed her around. They were stationed at various intervals and points of interest around the castle, but they had never been assigned to detail her. Gideon paused ahead of her and turned at the sound of her voice. In less than a heartbeat, he was by her side. The guard did not answer her inquiry. I asked you a question.

Silence was the only reply. Irritation swept over her as she rounded on her brother at her side. As the first-born son, he led the army of Alii. The man standing before them was under his command. Gideon gave her a shrug of his thick shoulders as he turned to the tall man. He towered above both of the twins. With a quick search, Gideon was able to determine his rank and addressed the issue himself, Lieutenant, what is the meaning of this?

The Lieutenant did not answer. A crimson flush filled Gideon’s cheeks as he took a step closer to the towering man. The guard barely fidgeted. The two stared at each other for a long moment and she held her breath, waiting for the explosion to come. Gideon was prone to giving in to his frustrations and she could see the vein pulsing in his neck as the moments slowly passed.

Abruptly, Gideon spun around and gripped her upper arm. She winced, his strong hand digging into her bare skin as he dragged her down the empty hallway. The guard silently followed them from behind. Gideon, let me go!

He ignored her as they weaved throughout the halls of the palace. The marble floor ceased at the end of the west wing and they took a sharp left northward onto a plush beige carpet. Gideon avoided a collision with a lanky young man carrying a bundle of fruit and swiftly led her through large oak doors, carved with the emblem of their kingdom. The crossed swords broke apart as the doors swung open to reveal a large open throne room.

Mother! Gideon shouted across the room. Everyone in the room looked up to see who had caused the disturbance. Brynn’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she turned her head away, staring down at the boots of the guard behind her. The sound of scuffling shoes followed the last echo of Gideon’s should. When his grip on her arm slackened, she gazed upward to meet the eyes of her father.

Both of her parents looked worried. Their faces were pale, despite the amount of time they spent outdoors. Worry lines creased both of their foreheads and their smooth hair was speckled with gray. Even as they aged, they looked striking standing next to each other. The two were a power couple, one that was trusted and revered. Neruba stared back at her two children with the same blue eyes. She smiled, but beneath her cheerful façade was concern and apprehension.

The ruby gem beneath her eye twinkled in the afternoon sunlight. The gem was a mark