When Storm Clouds Rise

By Matthew D. Ryan

Three short stories by Matthew D. Ryan.

THE GARDEN

A fantasy short story of an adventuresome youth and the trouble he finds on the road. Jak Winston is but a mere sixteen years old, but he's already seen enough trouble to last a lifetime. He's a vagrant and a tramp, but that has given him a formidable arsenal of skills all the same. It's just another day of leisure on the road for him until he finds old Jon Cutter tending to his strange, mysterious garden. He stops on a lark, but soon finds himself drawn further and further into a sinister mystery. Who is this Jon Cutter? And why is he so devoted to his garden? And what about the place does Jak, himself, find so enticing? He can't quite put his finger on it, but he better solve the mystery, for more is at stake than he could possibly imagine. Maybe even his soul.
CLOUDED VISION
It was just a painting. Richard had never seen another painting quite like it. It wasn't the subject matter that intrigued him--no, all it depicted was an endless expanse of clouds. But it had a kind of magical fantasy quality to it that defied explanation and begged his scientific intellect to explain it. After all, he was a man of reason, a human without limit. What was there that human ingenuity could not decipher? What mystery could possibly escape the mind of man? Magic? Pah! All things had a rational explanation and he would wrestle with the gods themselves to find this painting's secret. But this secret could lead to glory and praise, or to a downfall that would make death look pleasant.

AMIDST THE FROZEN WINDS
Ississifuss was apprentice mage in the aetherkin clan, a creature so alien as to be composed of air currents and swirling mist. He and his fellows led peaceful lives with but one natural enemy: humans; specifically, a human sorceress who hunted aetherkin so as to use their bodies in twisted experiments. When the sorceress attacks the clan, she threatens its very existence. Ississifuss is called on to stop her. To do so, he'll need to use every ounce of knowledge and wisdom he has. If he's successful, he'll earn the title of clan mage; if he fails, he and his people may be doomed forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew D. Ryan
• Release date: Apr 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370126576

Matthew D. Ryan

Looking for a vampire that actually kills people? So was I. So, I created one: Lucian val Drasmyr. He's not a teen heart throb. He's a killer. My first novel, Drasmyr, features him as the chief antagonist and a formidable force for darkness. Just in case I was unclear: he is pure evil. Unholy. Diabolical. A true scourge from Hell.I'm Matthew D. Ryan and I'm a fantasy author. My topics of choice include the aforementioned vampires, as well as dragons, wizards, magic ... that sort of thing. I get my inspiration from multiple sources, not least of which is my almost complete immersion in the fantasy genre over many, many years. I've read more fantasy novels than I can remember; I've been playing RPG games like D&D as both Dungeonmaster/Gamemaster and player for nearly forty years; and I've watched innumerable movies and television programs steeped in the fantastic and miraculous. All of that gives me a fertile imagination and a rich background of experience to draw upon. Writing about vampires or dragons is almost second nature for me now.My first novel, Drasmyr, started out as a short story. Then it grew into a stand-alone novel. Then it shifted into the prequel to my dark fantasy series, From the Ashes of Ruin. I've also written several small collections of short stories, a couple novellas, and even a non-fiction book about my struggles with mental illness -- I've unpublished that last for personal reasons. Additionally, I've run a number of web-sites and blogs here and there; and I've also done a couple speaking engagements on both worldbuilding and the writing process.So, if you like vampires or dragons, or are just into the fantasy genre in general, I'm your guy. Download one of my books now. I heartily recommend Drasmyr.Oh, by the way, if you go to my site: The Wizard's Inkwell (link below), I've started writing 5th Edition D & D Adventures (Under the SRD License). If you play D & D, you can download an adventure or two and make a go at it. They're great fun!

Book preview

WHEN STORM CLOUDS RISE

Matthew D. Ryan

Copyright 2018 Matthew D. Ryan

Cover Image Copyright © Can Stock Photo / loftisgCan Stock Photo / loftisg

The Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

The Garden

Clouded Vision

Amidst the Frozen Winds

Other Stories and Novels by Matthew D. Ryan

About the Author

Excerpt: Drasmyr: Prologue

THE GARDEN

At the age of sixteen, Jak Winston had already been set upon by the harsh realities of life. Both his parents had been killed two years earlier in a wildfire that had destroyed their home and left him with little more than his name.

His father, Kal Winston, had been the Chief Archivist in the Grand Library of Sestone. Learned in the classics of religion and law, he had taught Jak his letters and much more. Everything Jak knew of the gods and their truths he’d learned from his father. Ever since Jak had lost him, he’d done his best to live up to his memory, but sometimes he fell short, or so he felt. He never enjoyed stealing, but if the alternative was starvation, he did what anyone would.

He preferred to work, though; and he was not afraid to move around. He’d pass into strange towns, work a few odd jobs for the local merchants and others, then head out with his earnings and move to the next town.

Kendrek was one such place, a coastal village on the Glittering Sea. He wandered in off the boats one day and landed a temporary job unloading cargo. For three days he helped carry heavy crates off the ships and stack them in the nearby warehouses. He spent just enough time to get a taste for the town, then decided to move on. He collected his money in the morning, bought a map, and set out north, along the Old Forest Road. After a half day of traveling, he came to a second road branching to the right. An aged, wooden sign hanging on a post identified it as Cutter’s Lane.

Perplexed, Jak pulled out his map. It showed the woods, the river, the high grass meadow, but not the lane.

He took an apple from his pack, sat down in the dust by the side of the road, and began munching on the apple, pensive. He couldn’t figure out why there was no mention of Cutter’s Lane. Is the map just old? he thought. He examined it again—no, the parchment showed no signs of age and everything else seemed accurate.

After a while, curiosity got the better of him; he tossed the apple core away and started down the mysterious path. The old, dirt road snaked under the edge of a brooding forest on his right, and the afternoon sun beat down like a determined scourge. Sweat dripped off his brow, collected under his arms, and stained his shirt. Flies buzzed around him, attracted by his perspiration. He swatted one in irritation and felt a tickle of satisfaction as its small body squished against his chest.

After a quarter hour, Jak saw a house in the distance, an old, dilapidated structure that time had worn and weathered with a relentless fist, peeling away and cracking its white paint and aging the delicate wood underneath. All its windows were dark; those on the upper floor were covered with cobwebs. Sinuous, grasping vines crawled up the north side of the building while nearby a beautiful, well-kept garden of multi-colored flowers grew. The sight jarred him. The house reminded him of the dead and the dying, and the garden simply made the aura of the house that much more palpable.

At first, Jak thought the house was abandoned—then he noticed a small, stick-like man moving amongst the honey suckle and lilacs. Dressed in a faded blue shirt and grey trousers, the man stooped at the shoulders and picked his way carefully forward with a walking stick. As Jak approached, he could make out a few stray wisps of white hair on an otherwise balding head. Moving closer still, he could see the man’s skin—wrinkled, weathered, and intermittently covered with dark splotches.

Jak pointed his chin in the old man’s direction and squared his shoulders. Be direct, he thought. Perhaps he’s got work. You there, sir… he said. Near the garden, the scent of myriad flowers percolated in the air; old memories of sunlit meadows flitted through his brain, games he played with his parents years ago came back to him. For a moment, the pain of their loss returned and he struggled to hold back tears. Shortly, though, the moment passed and sorrow was washed away by the scents of heaven. He could almost taste the