Castle Stone

By Lavanya M. Sundar

You have heard the story of the Sword in the Stone. Well, this is the story of the Stone in the Sword!

When a freak event forces young Qiara to leave her mother and flee to the forest, little does she know what awaits her. An unexpected encounter brings a magical companion, who unveils her hidden powers. But can he be trusted? What dark secrets are hiding in his past that he refuses to reveal? As she escapes from one danger to another, a series of revelations from powerful figures show her that she is expected to vanquish the sorcerer-king Raeprath who is scheming to restore his tyrannical rule. But, as part of discovering her future, she also needs to come to terms with her family and her past. Can the spunky but vulnerable Qiara do all of that?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483565019

Book preview

BIOGRAPHY

PROLOGUE

Centuries ago, the powerful king Raeprath rebelled against the Emperor Dayageon, hurling the Synthrine Empire into chaos. Armed with divine weapons, Raeprath easily overthrew Dayageon and all his forces. His blood thirst not quenched, Raeprath proceeded to conquer the other six kingdoms of the empire, which he renamed Narkrath. The tyrant believed himself to be immortal and sought to control or destroy all things magical. The furious gods dethroned Raeprath and banished him to a faraway land. Yet, Raeprath was not to be defeated so easily. Craving to regain his former power, the fallen king enlisted the help of malicious spirits to restore the dark regime of Narkrath and ascend the throne once more.

CHAPTER I

When dawn comes, the world is covered with a blanket of snow. I want to stay in the warm, safe embrace of the blanket, but I think of the starving, emaciated body of my mother and decide this is no time for laziness. I must hunt. So that at least when we freeze to death we’ll look presentable.

I grab my father’s knife and study the intricate designs carved onto the warm hilt. How it’s possible to carve leather so precisely is beyond me, but if my mother’s words are correct my father did have quite a talent for achieving the impossible.

I open the door and slip out as quickly as I can, a hard thing because if I let in the slightest breeze my mother will wake. She has always been against her daughter hunting, but when you’re starving and so frail you can barely stand, you don’t really have a choice.

It’s incredibly cold outside, and my breath makes coils of white in the air. But I don’t care. This is the best day for hunting. Where I live, the snow is always lightest on the first day of winter. Always.

I had to teach that to myself because my father wasn’t around to do it for me. My mother says the locals searched for him, but the only thing he left behind was a knife. My knife. The knife I am holding, the knife that has saved me from a terrible future in the streets, begging for food.

I enter the forest with terror unsettling my stomach. Everything about this front part of the forest is very familiar to me. I know the rotten twigs that make up the decaying log that I have snagged beetles from. I know the fresh, clean water that flows in the stream out of which I have caught fish. It is only what is beyond the front thicket of trees that makes me uneasy. It isn’t just the massiveness; I have no idea what is behind those trees. And, when you’re doing something as dangerous as wielding a weapon, aiming to kill, cluelessness is lethal. I must stay where I am.

However, after maybe ten minutes, I have reached a conclusion: no more game remains in the forefront of the woods. I must venture farther in, closer to the middle, closer to whatever unknown horror lies concealed there. I’ve never been exactly brave, and the sheer thought of treading uncharted paths makes a lump set in my throat, a lump that is only unraveled by the prospect of fresh meat. The canopy of leaves above my head is so thick, no snow can penetrate, which is the only positive thought in my head. I let myself wander deeper and deeper into the forest, and whatever is left of the early morning sunlight slowly dwindles away.

A slight movement in one of the shrubs beside me draws my attention. I have a knife, and I will use it. I must repeat the chant several times in my head in order to calm down enough to peer through the bush, and when I do, I find my reward: a gorgeous, plump young doe with fur the color of caramel. My hands are trembling with ecstasy, and I barely manage to lift my knife. A second before I hurl it, the doe turns and sprints away at such a speed I can barely register it. After a minute of stunned silence, I hurtle after it, my knife ready. I must be yelling like a maniac, but I am running so fast the wind tears the sound out of my mouth.

The doe is fast. Very fast. She darts over shrubs and logs with ease, while I have to stop so I don’t trip. I don’t know where I am going, only that the deer is my target. And that once I set my mind on a target, I must catch it. The doe stops for a fraction of a second, and I get maddeningly close before it sprints off again.

But I am closer now. And I have a better chance of catching it. I’m laughing with glee until I notice something’s off.

The doe slows down, and the air surrounding it ripples. But it isn’t a hot day. Something is wrong. By then, it is too late. I stop, and ice floods through my veins. A castle. That is all I can think, all that registers. A castle. Made entirely of glossy black stone, with glistening turrets and jagged ramparts, with a tall black cast-iron door, inscribed with three silver words: Potestas Est Omnia.

I’ve all but decided to turn and sprint for it, but the castle shudders. There’s a deafening groaning sound as metal bends, wood splinters, and stone snaps. Hairline cracks spread across the walls, creating a web of fissures, which widen to reveal raging infernos fighting to be released from their dark prison.

Parts of the castle walls come apart in earsplitting explosions, pieces of splintered material flying every which way, fanning the flames further until the fire licks the sky. The searing heat brings tears to my eyes, but yet I am still frozen.

The iron door, warped by the blaze within, staggers open on half-melted hinges, and I catch the barest glimpse of a metal sword hurtling towards me, blade softened from its encounter with the conflagration inside. Instinctively I raise my hand, though whether it is to catch it or deflect it I cannot tell. The hilt barely grazes my palm, and when I retract it, I find another object clutched in my fist. It’s a perfectly ellipsoidal jewel, presumably from the sword, yet it resembles the stone that the castle was once made of. I can tell immediately that it is not exactly the same, for it radiates a powerful aura. Something strange. Something unnatural.

I glance sideways and realize with a shudder that the doe is gone. Just dissipated into wisps of thin air. I look closely at the stone’s surface, but only my own eye reflects back at me. I wrap my fingers around the jewel and dart away from the palace. Again, I don’t know where I am going, but I must be doing something right, because in a few minutes, I am back at the front of the forest. Then I make my first mistake.

I unclench my fist and study the jewel’s exquisite beveled edges. Immediately, panic seizes me, and I sink to the floor, my eyes blurry with tears. Terrible scenes flash before me, and I have the crazy impression that the stone is looking into the