Rising Seraphs: The Lyall Series

By Fayt Lyander

Living a carefree life, a young man is forced form everything He knows, into the realm of the unknown, He must run, and seek them out, searching the world, He overcomes choices that no man can make, or no person could survive, but he isn't just a person, He's a Seraph, the Last Seraph.

Between Paradise and Reckoning stands the Last Seraph, and now He must face His greatest challenge yet, and overcome the most feared stories, myths and fables. For if He fails, the world will become lost.

Though, what He doesn't know, what He never expected, is that this is just the beginning...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456777999

Fayt Lyander

Fayt is a young man who loves writing stories, poems and song lyrics. He has loved writing since his early teens where he began with short stories, and progressed to song lyrics, until he began putting his lyrics into music. Giving the music life with the lyrics, and the lyris meaning with the music. Fayt will write for his memories, of times that he will cherish as he comes to grow with his writing ability. He will deidicate all his work into those he loves, and those who love him. He will even didicate this book to those who do not know him, for you are also a reason he writes. Fayt lives in the countryside, where the scenery captures untold stories for him to write about. He spends his time writing, and drawing. He also spends time taking walks through the country, and early morning running. He enjoys the more creative side of life, that invloves music, art, drawing and writing.

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© 2011 by Fayt Lyander. 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.

First published by AuthorHouse 05/23/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7798-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7799-9 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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.

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.

Please note: Anything in this book is purely fictional, anything that relates to a person, place or anything real, is pure coincidence.

To Tammy,

For being there, Salute!

To Sierra,

For the insufferable questioning!

To Her,

This was possible with your memory.

To You,

This would not have been known without each and all of you.

PROLOGUE

Holding his breath, he plunges for the icy water, diving deep and swims to the bottom. Reaching it, he stands and concentrates as his mind drifts to the surface. Three, I can see three!

His mind was hovering above them, the dark things that covered his part of the world now. Standing at two metres high, the skin is thick, like iron, and strong like steel. They have blue eyes, and sharp teeth, to a point, with razor claws, and oddly, spikes, symmetrical on the shoulders.

He tries keeps his focus, but something, he can feel it, is watching him, then as he turns, he freezes, his entire mind, even his body which is leagues deep below.

I found you. The words flooded into his mind,

W . . . who are you? He sends back,

I am Reckoning. Yet you, Fryal are not He who I seek.

What do you want?!

Isn’t that obvious, I am after you, but not you, I want your child!

There was nothing he could do, but he had to warn Syran. He shot his mind through Accalia, past Accalas, the grand city of the world, where High Lord Regal advises the mighty High King Daeni. Through the plains of Grynath to the borderlands of the desert and all the way to Cylian, into the room where his son should be, Syran! Syran!! His mind shouts, the words echoing through everyone in the village.

Yes, Father? His son replies, through their mind connection,

I want you to leave, leave this place, never return,

Why Father? What have I done?

Nothing, my son, but we have no time, leave now, tell no-one, hide from all the world, change your name, take nothing, start anew, this I swear, you are Syran, my son. Go, now! Run my dear boy, run! There-

His words were cut short . . . his body! He turned to his son, through they’re minds, and he told his son words that were long overdue. I am proud you are my son.

With that, he shot his mind back to his body, and hit it with force. Flailing to the surface, he broke the icy shelf, and looked up, what he saw was not the will of Paradi, there wasn’t anyway the One God would create a sky on fire, raining down ash to suffocate the world.

He climbed the shore, taking deep breaths, surrounded by dark beings he never saw before, he knew this was his end, he was told years before. Yet he didn’t want to succumb to it, not now, not with the Reckoning walking the world of men.

He faces the dark spawn, and casts magic, fireballs, to lightning, getting weaker each time, his mind swam with his vision of the deepest ocean, and his Magic, and it was like trying to drink it all up, using his hands as a cup. He fires a fireball, hitting one of the creatures on the head, but it didn’t effect it, and he swore he could see it smile, smile!

He knew this was his end, he drew all his Magic in, taking as much as he can hold, and with it, he unleashes a power never seen to Magi, it was as if Earth itself had done it.

The Water raised about ten leagues high, and washed them all away. Or so he thought, when the water quelled, and he let go of his shield, the creature that smiled was still standing, using Magic of his own . . . but that was impossible! It had to be!

His mind panicked, body frozen, as the creature walked up to him, and thrust a Magic spike into his chest, feeling himself slip away, his last words were, Run Syran, hide well my son. Taking his breath as it faded and he gave into Paradi.

Syran ran, through the desert, the heat dragged him down with sweat, his cloak was not very protective, but it held the sun from his eyes. He carries on walking as each step burns the sole of his feet, but he doesn’t feel it with the numbness he has.

He was lucky that day, but unlucky in others. That day he was running through this same desert, but at the border, two leagues form his home in Cylian, and he ran onto the sand where his father was, not knowing anything about what his father could do. He ran towards Fryal, at full speed, hitting something that felt like the sun. Flying twenty paces, he hit the ground hard, as sand covered his clothes, face and hair; it burnt through his skin and caused pain beyond imagination.

What are you doing here, Syran? Fryal asks,

Yet he cannot answer, the pain racking his body was changing him, he was small and skinny for his age, and he had blue eyes, which resembled the sea and hair dark that resembled a cave.

After the change, he grew five hand spans, and his body was still skinny, but with muscle, enough to defend himself, his hair went silver and his eyes turned white.

Though what changed the most was what came next, Fryal, angry at his sons ignorance threw Magic at him, a small lightning spell to shock him, but nothing happened, the lightning hit, and his son moved a hand span, but Syran felt nothing, no pain or shock that would normally paralyze a person.

Son, are you alright? Fryal asks, a sad tone in his voice,

I am Father. Why are you crying?

My dear boy, you’ve become one of Them, you ARE one of Them . . . Fryal replies with tears streaming down his face,

One of who Father? concern in his tone,

Do you know what I am? calmly spoken, still wavering,

You said you were once something special confusion masked his voice

Yes, I am a Magi, in truth, I was the High Dylevi, and it’s the most highest rank in the Magi one can get

So what’s that have to do to me?

There was a text, only read by the High Dylevi, about people who, when hit by Magic are transformed, they called them Vylen, and these Vylen could alter the very fabric of time, each Vylen had a specific name, never called themselves the Vylen, they in truth, called them the Seraphs of Reckoning. All, except one his Father’s voice quivered with fear,

How do you know this? Syran asks

Because my dear boy, who do you think made the Magi?

You mean . . . ?

Yes, He was called Freki, and they knew Him as the Seraph of Paradise.

So what’s that got to do with me?

Easy my son, you will either give everything to Reckoning, or deliver it to Paradise,

Why me? sadness in his voice,

Because my son, you are now the only vessel for the Last Seraph

That conversation they had, the day he transformed, kept repeating itself in his mind, over and over, until his he went dizzy and passed out. He woke to the ruffling of cloaks and murmured whispers of the night, only to realise he was being carried, by who he didn’t know, but he opened his eyes, and saw a face, which was smiling, gleaming white teeth and a broad smile, his eyes where dark and he had dark hair, with cheekbones to compliment his smile, and smooth skin that glowed in the moonlight.

Rest young stranger, we will be there soon The man spoke, calm and caring, and so, he rested.

He woke again, in some sort of bed, with wooden frames and covers. He hated the feeling, and took the mattress to the floor with the pillow, and laid comfortably. A knock came from the door that alarmed him, and he immediately rose, in the stance his father taught him when fighting without weapons.

Well, looks like our guest has risen, and made himself home! the new face joked

Oh don’t be so prudent, Argyth, I swear, you spend too much time in court! joked the man he had recognised from the desert,

That, Gwear, is because I have to, as someone won’t attend his duties the other replied sternly,

Keikna, brieth netana kruk seleth? Syran replied, but the men looked blank at him, he had only asked who they were,

Did you hear that Gwear? Argyth said alarmed,

I heard something, but what was it? Gwear said, confusion trickled his voice

It was a language known only to our Xyli

How would you know that? Gwear asked

Because, I believe, as his assistant, I should know Argyth replied confidentially

Then get him here now! Gwear replied

Moments past as the guards held him still, and that Gwear person, paced around the room, mumbling to himself as the door opened to reveal a man Syran thought he recognized, and he stared blankly at him.

I hear you have a boy who can speak Raeli the man, who must be Xyli said,

I do, and he is there Gwear replied, pointing at Syran,

Viere lunef qesti poritin? Xyli asked, Is this true, boy?

Viere nant qesti? Syran replied, casually, Is what true?

I am asking if you can speak Raeli, now be tolerant and answer, Xyli said,

A thought rushed through him . . . "Hide from the entire world, change your name, take nothing, and start anew"

Obviously, since you can too, Syran replied,

Do not be arrogant! This is only taught through text! And it is only taught to th—Xyli was cut off as Syran spoke,

Taught to the High Dylevi, I know

That’s impossible, you’re not Magi! Anger shown on Xyli’s face,

I know I am not, but Magic flows in me, like a river from an ocean,

Power flooded into Xyli, angering out at Syran, he threw invisible wire to catch Syran, but Syran was quicker, grabbing the wire’s, he snapped them and remade them stronger and caught Xyli.

The room went still, Gwear stood shocked and frozen as Xyli hung in midair, unable to do anything, and Argyth was cowering in the corner, how could they not know that Fryal had a son? Maybe they didn’t.

Syran let Xyli go and smiled, Do not underestimate others he spoke, in the tongue they understood,

You can talk! Why didn’t you earlier? Gwear asked, utterly shocked,

The thing is, I did, whatever came out was what you heard Syran replied as if it was nothing,

Well, I originally came here to tell you that you are invited to our meal this evening, and you are required to attend with the Gwear walked by the wooden door, which now was half broken, That also gives me thought, what is your name?

Syran paused, his father told him to change it, and so, he