The Ballad of Ring and Roses Book One: The Sword of Hope

By B.B. Hoesman

"Tell Your Story."

In the shadows of our world, a war is being fought between two factions of powerful spellcasters with the fate of all living beings hanging in the balance. In the final days of this war, a man of sinister elegance and grace rises to power, and with a terrible secret, he sets upon a path to reawaken an ancient evil.

Standing in his way are three young friends, prophesied to come together in our darkest hour to save us all. With the constant threat of death hanging over their heads, these young friends must navigate through a world that is growing ever more dangerous and discover their role in the greater narrative.

The three friends will be challenged as they learn about love and faith and hope and the power of Storytelling, but in the end, they are all that stands in the way between salvation and our utter destruction.

This is The Ballad of The Ring and Roses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491856840

Book preview

The Ballad of Ring and Roses

Book One

The Sword of

Hope

B.B. Hoesman

40901.png

AuthorHouse™ LLC

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2014 B.B. Hoesman. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/21/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5683-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5684-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Prologue      The Tamarian War

Chapter 1     The Past That Haunts

Chapter 2     Kaplopen People

Chapter 3     The House On Dearborn Street

Chapter 4     The Egyptian

Chapter 5     Three’s A Crowd

Chapter 6     A Movement Of Shadows

Chapter 7     Pen Of Life And Death

Chapter 8     Sand Beetle-Ant

Chapter 9     The Day When Evil Wins

Chapter 10   Funeral

Chapter 11   Alive And Well?

Chapter 12   Darkness Rising

Chapter 13   Rescue

Chapter 14   The Deal

Chapter 15   The Lair Of Silas Brimstone

Chapter 16   Eye Of The Dragon

Chapter 17   The End Of Days

Chapter 18   The Storyteller

Chapter 19   Rebirth

Chapter 20   The Cost Of Victory

Epilogue

About the Author

I WISH TO THANK SOME very special people in my life: my sister, Patti McKee, and my nephew, Jared Sexton, my friend Kim Jackson, Ruby Moon-Houldson; and I can’t forget the people at my local library for their help, and the people of Bellevue and Spokane for their information about the state of Washington. And a very, very special thank you goes to my editor, Jon Hueber, and to artist, Megan Clark, for the book cover. Without these people this book would never have been written and I wouldn’t have believed in myself. And a special thanks goes to my co-workers who gave me moral support during the hard times that I went through while making this book possible. I would like to thank all those people who stood behind me in the years-long process. There are so many people in the background that I can’t name them all, but you know who you are. To these people,

I thank you.

You Made My Dream Come True.

B.B. Hoesman

Snow Mountain Lily Rose

As I stand here, I speak of love to you this very night.

The trees sway and dance to love songs of whispery winds of flight.

The moon shows her beauty across the night sky.

Her silver light rains down upon the earth below, so dry.

The Snow Lily opens her arms to catch the first ray of light of life giving rain.

Causes her to burst forth seed to mate upon the air of sands.

As they fall to the ground, they wait for another season to grow.

She whispers to the wind, pick me, I’ll show you true love upon her hand

When true loves kiss with me, when I stand between two hearts I will glow."

Your love will be true and pure when the Lily Rose is white as snow.

So come to the valley below where Snow Mountain Lily Rose grows.

Look at the mountain on which I stand, a fountain flowing rose across this land.

You see another flower just like me; she’s called the Rose of Sapphire Sea.

But I’m well hidden. Only a true Wiccan will know where the love flower grows.

PROLOGUE

THE TAMARIAN WAR

FOUR YEARS PAST, A GREAT and bloody war was fought over the right of power in the world of Tamar. While Tamar is not familiar to most who read these words, it is not a distant planet, nor a distant land. Tamar is a society of Wicca; a secret society that holds the key to all of life, nature, and love and it exists in the entire world around us, every moment of everyday. But within the Society of Tamar, there arose a group who would unseat the hierarchy of good and light and bring about chaos and darkness. This enemy of good, known only as the Angels of Darkness, were once ardent followers and students of Silas Brimstone, a failed teacher, a fringe Warlock, and a rabble-rouser who publicly spoke out against the Tamarian High Council, and sought not only to rule the Tamarians, but the Cowans themselves. Cowan was a term applied to anyone that was not imbued with the spirit and gifts afforded those who are studied in the Art of the Craft. To put it simply, Cowans were non-Wiccans, or as Silas Brimstone called them, Sheep.

In the last days of the Tamarian War, the mysterious Angels of Darkness rallied their forces for one final assault on Norwick College, the only Wiccan school of higher education in North America. Norwick College was located in Salem, Washington, amidst the tall trees and lush mountains, where privacy was afforded to those seeking knowledge in the Art of the Craft. Norwick College was originally founded on North American shores in Salem, Massachusetts in the late 17th century, but after some very publicized trials in 1692, the school (and the town itself, some say) uprooted and moved to the other side of the country. There, Norwick College and Salem, Washington grew together as a mecca for countless generations of spellcasters, conjurers, and Mother Peacekeepers. But on that fateful day that darkness descended on the school, and on Salem itself, many Wiccans lost their lives, including Benjamin Ambrose, the much-loved Dean of Students at Norwick. The battle was fierce, and the school itself burned in the fires of the Hellstorm before the Mother Peacekeepers were finally able to turn the tide and the Angels of Darkness were soundly defeated. Those villains who were unlucky enough not to die in the assault were taken to Tartanues, the infamous underground prison for enemies of Tamar. Tartanues is said to rest in the rotting corpse of a fallen Titan. No one has ever come back from imprisonment in Tartanues.

When news of the assault spread through the Magick world, Silas Brimstone claimed no responsibility, but most saw through his falsehoods and soon the MPs confronted the Warlock on his own turf. Brimstone killed the MPs, and then declared war on the entire Magickal world. Unfortunately for him, after the assault on Salem, the Magickal world was prepared, and Brimstone and his remaining followers were quickly defeated. His last act was to cast a powerful spell, more powerful than any Warlock had ever attempted. This spell caused the entire world to fear him, and to fear even his name. Brimstone believed that fear was the most powerful of all Arcana, and to wield it like a weapon, he could rule over both the Cowan and Tamarian worlds. What he did not expect was that a young student named Storm Blakely would be able to counter the spell. This young man, a student at Norwick College, and a survivor of the Angels of Darkness assault, used the innate Power of the Trine, a mysterious prophecy of union that few even know about, to block most of Brimstone’s spell. The powerful Warlock was forced to go into hiding until he would once again be powerful enough to rule over the world. All in the Magick world declared Blakely a hero, and his name became a symbol of hope, even as the embers of war continued to smolder. This young man would go on to try and live a normal life, but the shadow of Silas Brimstone continued to follow him. Brimstone knew that his thirst for power would forever be impeded by Blakely’s very existence, and Brimstone plotted to end the young man’s life in any way possible.

Storm Blakely, this symbol of hope and of love for all in the Magickal world, would have to fight for his life everyday and in every way, and with the help of the Mother Peacekeepers, and a few select Wiccans who had taken to task to protect him, together, they all hoped that the story of Silas Brimstone was over.

They were wrong. It was only beginning.

42824.png

CHAPTER 1

THE PAST THAT HAUNTS

STORM? STORM? LORTIMER DYER, THE head of security at Norwick College and one time Mother Peacekeeper First Lieutenant, called out as he walked up to the young man who was sitting by himself on a bench beside a well-manicured topiary of a dragon in the act of breathing its terrible breath on some unsuspecting passerby. I’ve been looking for you. I called your name twice. He touched Storm’s arm. Hey man, are you all right?

Oh! Storm said, as if he had been deep in meditation. His long, dark hair was tied back into a ponytail, and his striking features—the same features that made most women who saw him swoon—were shrouded in a shadow of concern and thought, including his powerful blue eyes, that stared straight ahead as if contemplating. "Sorry, Lortimer. I was thinking about what Dean Ambrose told me when I first enrolled at Norwick. About how the world is truly about two stories, ours and theirs, and for us to truly co-exist, those stories must be told together as one. He had wanted me to become a Storyteller—whatever that is, but all I wanted to do was be a soldier, maybe even an MP like you used to be.

Now, I’m sitting here thinking that maybe he had been right all along. He was a good man and I miss having him around. Storm half-handedly wiped under his left sapphire-blue eye where a tear was beginning it ticklish descent down his cheek.

Yeah, I miss him too, Lortimer said as he took a seat next to Storm on the bench. He gave me this job when I left the MPs. I will always be in his debt for that.

How long have you been a security guard here at Norwick? Storm asked.

Well, let’s see, Lortimer began, rubbing his hands through his thick, bushy goatee. It’s been twenty years now. I left—or was asked to leave, depending on who you ask—the MPs after the Apple Scandal and Dean Ambrose was very quick to offer me this job.

Storm knew of the Apple Scandal. Everyone in the witching world did. A cabal of right wing spellcasters decided it was time to thin the line between the Tamar and Cowan worlds and poisoned every single apple with a concoction spell that allowed Cowans to plainly see the spirit world around them. With normal folk suddenly seeing ghosts everywhere, the Tamarian High Council acted swiftly and reversed the spell and even levied a counter spell, which caused mass amnesia within days on the initial poisoning. It was the casting of this counter spell over the entire population of earth that some say gave the idea to Silas Brimstone to cast his Fear Spell years later.

Come on Storm, Lortimer said. I’ve been sent to retrieve you. We gotta get to our meeting with Professor Wilton.

Why does she want to see us?

I don’t know. I’m just the messenger.

I hate going up there to Ambrose’s office, Storm admitted. I still feel his presence there.

I know what you mean, Lortimer said. But we gotta go. He stood up and offered his hand to help Storm rise.

Lortimer Dyer was tall and lean and built like an action movie star, even at his advanced age. His dark caramel-colored skin made his gray bushy goatee stand out that much more, even as it was the only substantial hair left on his head. Some say that Lortimer kept his head shaved down to skin by choice, others guess that he was hexed with a powerful balding spell. Regardless, when people thought of Lortimer Dyer, they all remembered that bushy goatee and the warm smile that he offered anyone he met. Even though he looked tough and menacing, he was one of the kindest, most gentle persons at Norwick. But get on his bad side…

Step on it, Storm. We don’t want to keep the Professor waiting for us now, do we?

I remember the first time I walked through the doors of Norwick years ago, Storm said as they walked across the quad toward the administration offices. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe to prove something to myself, I don’t know. But it seems like I have failed myself over and over. Who am I kidding? The biggest fool of all is myself.

Storm you got to stop putting yourself down, Lortimer told his young friend. Believe in yourself. Trust your instinct, as we do. Ambrose had incredible faith in you. And I do too, for what it’s worth.

Lortimer was only trying to lend a supportive hand, but Storm knew exactly what had happened in those final gut-wrenching moments of Benjamin Ambrose’s life. He was there, and he saw how Ambrose had sacrificed himself to the leader of the Angels of Darkness, a mysterious woman known only as Angelique de Choutte. Ambrose had died to protect Storm.

Tell the Story, Ambrose had said to Storm on that fateful day, as the old man’s life faded from a mortal wound delivered by the Angelique’s cursed blade. And never be afraid of the ending.

I appreciate that, Storm said. "But I don’t even believe in me. They say I have something special, something inside me that counters what Silas Brimstone is trying to do, and that makes me special. But I don’t feel special. I don’t feel special at all. I’m just a boy, really, who came to Norwick to be educated in all worldly, and other-worldly things.

My parents both died in a plane crash when I was just a baby, so I never knew them. I never had their guidance. I never felt their love. And if they knew I had the innate gift of the craft, they probably would have burned me at the stake.

I very seriously doubt that, Storm, Lortimer said.

But I don’t, Storm continued. My entire life feels like it was meant to be lived on a chess board. Brimstone wants me dead because I am standing in his way to domination. My foster parents used me as a source of revenue, seeing not a child in need, but a monthly paycheck. My life here at school is in turmoil after the attack. My friends are afraid of me because I may or may not have some power that repels evil. And even Dean Ambrose, who I thought was a mentor and friend, sought to use me for his own goals. I’m a pawn in some game where I don’t even know the rules, and I’m sick of it. I just wish I could bow out and not play anymore. I’m afraid—

Yes, you are afraid, Lortimer said. And it is a hundred percent natural to be afraid. No one knows what his or her life’s story will hold. Some say that each chapter is written, and we are only playing parts, and others say that we write our own stories by living each day, our way. You have to choose which way you want to go. Are you a reader or a writer?

Ambose’s final words echoed in Storm’s mind.

Tell the story.

Maybe I am a Storyteller, Storm said.

Lortimer smiled. "Maybe you are, kid. Maybe you are.

After the short walk through campus, they arrived at the administration offices that were located inside Crowley Hall. Lortimer stopped before opening the front doors and look down at his young friend.

You know what, I think Old Wilton can wait a bit, he said. Let’s go have us a quick drink at the Buzzard. I think you need it, and I think you deserve it.

I thought we were late and that Wilton was waiting?

Are you reading this story, or writing it? Lortimer asked. Storm thought about it for a second and then smiled.

Maybe we’ll have two.

Lortimer wrapped his arm around the shoulders of his friend and laughing, they headed toward Cauldron Avenue in the Wedgewood Mall, and to the Buzzard Bat Bar.

The Buzzard Bat Bar was the one place in all of Salem where a Wicca, or witch, could let their hair down and relax. The bar was owned by a group of ghost pirates who spent most of their time in Jamaica and the Bahamas, so they left the day-to-day operations in the hands of Jake Swallow, a tall, bald, lanky gentlemen who some say was over 200 years old, but didn’t look a day over 145.

When Storm and Lortimer stepped into the Buzzard, the patrons all turned and watched as the pseudo-celebrity Blakely took a seat at the bar. Storm could hear their whispers from behind his back, and it was times like this that he wished he could just slip back into obscurity.

What’ll it be, gents? Jake Swallow asked as he slid down the barback to greet the newest customers.

I’m actually on duty, Lortimer said. So I’ll just have Karnack on ice. Wait, make it a double.

And you? Jake asked Storm.

I’m not in a beer mood, Storm said. How about some of that Tennessee Rum? Do you still have that?

Aye, I do, Jake said as the bar light gleaned of his shaved head and gaudy gold earring. Double as well?

No. Just straight and clean. Jake went about his pour while Storm glanced around the bar. It wasn’t terribly crowded, though it was also early afternoon on a Tuesday.

Jake set the drinks down and when Lortimer made to pay, Jake waived it off. The Hero of Norwick always drinks for free.

Storm blushed. Thank you.

The two men sipped their drinks in silence. A baseball game was on the television and Storm watched the team from Seattle struggle against the team from Boston.

They may get the win, Lortimer said. But we got Salem. In that we will always be better than them murdering witch hunters. Storm smiled and gave a courtesy smile. The animosity was still there after all these years. Anger and hate towards the