Blood Shards of a Shattered Destiny

By Austin Smith

Jace had the prince in his hand and was seconds away from slaughtering the last member of the royal bloodline who had for so long oppressed or killed people like Jace. Now he had the power to stop it. Jace wanted to see the eyes of the prince as his soul was drained, but thats when he saw somethingsomething different. In this boys eyes he saw something that he used to see in himself. Jace dropped the prince, turned on his heel, and started to walk away. As he walked, the remaining blood of the slain swirled around him as its power entered him. He had to think. Something was wrong. He created a portal from the remaining blood that he didnt suck power from, and before he entered, he turned to the prince.
I am Jace. I am no god, but a mortal, and with that he stepped into the portal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781468500776

Austin Smith

Austin Smith is a college student at the University of Mount Union, in Ohio. He is majoring in secondary education with a goal of teaching high school history and was a member of the Purple Raider wrestling team. A graduate of Wellington High School located in Wellington, OH in 2010, Smith was heavily involved in sports, earning ten varsity letters in four different sports and voted by his classmates as the most athletic male. This is his first published book, and he hopes to continue with his writing. Austin lives in Wellington, Ohio, with his parents and his sister, Taylor.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Legend Is Born

They were a newly married couple, both simple farmers from the village of Helhiem. The village was the northernmost town of the kingdom of ElfHeart. Just a few miles from the Jharal Mountains and to the east was the raging ocean of the serpent. The village was the most isolated village of the kingdom as well. The couple was looking over their newborn baby in utter horror. The boy was of average size, but had not-so-average attributes. He was glowing in a blue aura, power swirling about him. He had ghost-white hair. And his eyes—his eyes were the most terrifying part of the child. The whites of his eyes were black with glowing blue veins, and the pupils were as white as his hair. He had the blessing of the Trickster god, a curse that was declared treason by the empire and punished by death, no matter the age.

This can’t be happening. How could he turn out like this? the man exclaimed.

His wife said, Well, it did, and he’s my son. I won’t let anything happen to him!

If they see him, he will be killed. His eyes alone will give him away.

We can find a way to hide his marks; he can live among the other kids. The woman was in tears.

We can hide his hair, but what about his eyes? the man said in a tired, defeated voice. The Trickster god’s marks never manifest so early in life. What can this mean?

I’m not sure, she cried, but we can find a hermit out of town, an apostate mage to hide this.

Will that work? Won’t people question our random leave of absence?

We will be visiting family in the countryside, to show them the new baby.

With the plan set, the woman quickly gathered supplies they would need for the trip as the man got the horse and cart ready. She quickly scribbled a note to post on the door in case anyone asked questions. Once they got everything loaded onto the cart, they took off, the cursed baby in her arms.

She asked, What should we call him?

After a long pause he said, Jace—the name of the old prodigy sage, who single-handedly almost freed all magic from the kingdom.

Smiling she agreed. Jace. Yes, I like it. He is destined for greatness, and a name of greatness fits well. And with that she fell into a deep sleep, Jace wrapped tightly in her arms, staring quietly.

After an hour the man wanted to see his new son, so he pulled the blanket down. He was startled by what he saw. Jace was wide awake, with his demented black eyes fixed on his father. He was too smart. No newborn child should act like this, and that’s when it happened. A suave voice erupted in the man’s head.

Who are you, and what are you doing to me, old man?

The man was panic stricken. He prayed to Dante, the messiah of justice and bringer of peace.

The voice once again spoke. Stop praying and answer the damn question!

In his head the man asked, Who … who is speaking to me? Panic reeked all over him. What was this madness? Was he going crazy? That’s when he looked at the still staring child; a smile appeared on its face.

You, the voice, cannot be my son, Jace. This just cannot be!

Hmm, said the voice. Jace. I like it, and I take it you are my father?

Stunned, petrified in utter horror, the man had to take a minute before he could answer. Yes, my boy, I am your father.

The boy smiled more. You will do. I will not speak again till I’m older. No one knows of this, or else. I already know your plans for me, and I approve. I wish to live as much as my mother wants me to.

The woman awoke several hours later.

You want me to take the reins? You haven’t slept a bit.

The man was still in utter shock, horrified by what had happened the night before, and now that Jace’s eyes were on him, what should he say?

No, no, I’m fine, he said, trying to hide his fear. We are almost to the fringe of the mountains. I am sure we will find a mage.

I can see. I’ve never been so close to the mountains, have you?

No, no, I haven’t.

It wasn’t long before they found a hermit. As if he knew the thoughts of the parents of the newborn, he more or less found them.

Sir, sir! the woman yelled to get the old man’s attention.

Hmm, me? replied the hermit, in a sarcastic voice.

Yes, yes. Do you know any magic, anything to hide the curse of the Trickster?

And how do I know you aren’t of the order and are going to kill me if I do know some magic?

The husband was desperate. He feared his new son, and needed the boy to live. It was as if his son were willing him to do anything to let the kid live. Or was that just his love for his own flesh and blood?

See here, mage, this is my son. He helped his son up. As you can see, he bears the mark of the Trickster, and he’s too young to die.

The hermit fell over in shock—or was it horror? This, this can’t be … He was panicking. No one has manifested the blessing at birth since …

Since who? the woman shouted, tears running down her face.

It … It doesn’t matter. The hermit was gathering his composure. I can hide the signs for a while, but in return, you must offer a blood price.

The father spoke up now, which surprised the hermit. Yes, anything. I don’t care. My son needs to live!

This puzzled the hermit. Was this just the love for his son, or was this the abomination manipulating the soul of his father? Oh, well, it didn’t matter.

Hmm … Okay, here is my price—

The man cut him off. Anything. Please just help.

The hermit was getting annoyed now. Shut up, you pathetic worm, and listen to my price! He calmed himself down. You both give me five years of your life now, and I will hold the magic up for one year. He looked at the child. And for every year you want my protection to continue, burn a blue fire on this date. In your nightmares I will steal another year. I will continue this till your deaths, or until you stop burning the fire.

The ignorant father answered instantly, Yes, I accept this. I will take your offer.

What was it this fool saw in this abomination, this beast … this prodigy, this vast warehouse of power? This pathetic baby wrapped helplessly in a blanket in front of him could be as powerful as Jace of the old legends was.

That’s when the woman answered, Yes, I accept as well. She looked tired, haggard, and defeated.

Nice, very nice, the hermit said with a smile. This will only take a minute.

In front of him the man and woman fell to their knees, the next five years of their lives draining from their souls and blood and into the hermit. Magic filled the air. The pathetic woman screamed. She had never seen magic before, and this was blood magic—basic blood magic, but still the same. The blood whirled around them in angry fury, and then all at once was sucked into the hermit. The hermit was ecstatic. The power rushed through him, but it all came crashing down when a suave, mocking voice exploded in his head.

My parents are thankful for what you have done, and so am I. The hermit fell to the ground. Now leave my family forever, and make sure you never take more blood than is necessary for your little deal. I’ll be watching. The monster of a child was staring at him. It was more powerful than hehad ever dreamed of it eing, and it was a baby. Its eyes were piercing him, straight through his soul. He had to look away.

Child, what is your name?

It answered, Jace. Now go!

A fitting name! And with that the hermit drew the shadows around him and vanished, leaving the now recovering family on the ground.

The man awoke in his own bed, next to his wife, their child in his crib. Had this night really happened or had the whole thing been a dream? He got up and walked over to his son. He was still awake, staring, but something was different. His once ghost-white hair was now raven black, and his once demonic eyes were normal—that is, a bright blue. The man thought to himself, Thank the maker it was all just a bad dream. That’s when he looked into the mirror and realized it wasn’t a dream. He was older, just like the blood hermit had said. He sank to his knees. It wasn’t all bad, was it? He still had his son. He also knew he had many years left in him, long enough to see his son for at least, well, sixteen or seventeen more years. His son was still lying there staring, and a smile came over his face—not the evil one from before, but a truly happy, maybe even loving one. That’s when his wife woke up as well.

What are you doing? she asked.

Nothing, he replied. Nothing at all.

Chapter 2

A Mad God, a Trickster, and a Mage

The sun was just peaking above the mountains when Jace woke up. Yet another day among these worms, he thought to himself. If only he could be his true self, the Jace with power to crush these wretched fools—but no, he had to blend in, and he knew it.

Jace, are you up yet? his mother called from the other room.

Yes, Mom. I’m changing now … He got out of bed and threw his britches and shirt on. His lousy pants were tanned leather. His shirt was a dark blue, and complemented his false eyes very well. He grabbed his cloak and ran downstairs; they couldn’t be late to the morning prayer. His mother and father were both waiting for him. The poor fools were only in their thirties but looked well over fifty, all to keep him alive. He did feel bad about it—it was them who had brought him into this world.

We better hurry, said his father. We can’t be late today; the order priest will be talking about your namesake. Should be interesting.

Hmm, I guess so, said Jace in an annoyed voice. Well, let’s go already.

They left their house and traveled to the order covenant. The covenants were giant marble buildings with large, elaborate columns. The funny thing is they were all built by magic before magic was banned, and because of this they gave off an almost godly glow. Each covenant was different; in fact they all represented a different arm of the maker. The one in Helhiem represented the first creation of the world, the Jharal Mountains. Once in the building Jace and his family took their seats near the middle of the room.

Jace, why don’t you go sit with the other kids in the balconies?

No, thanks, Mother, right here is just fine with me. The truth was that Jace hated the other children. They were so dumb and weak, and most of all they picked on Jace, the one kid who could crush them with a glance. But he didn’t have a death wish; he would let them have their fun, for now. The other problem was that if he went and sat with the kids, he wouldn’t be told the whole story. The priest would water it down for those mush brains, and Jace knew that at the age of eleven, he was smarter than anyone in the village.

Before his mom could argue more, the Archpriest stepped forward to the golden podium and started his story. It was about Ramos, the first evil mage. Ramos grew up in the fishing village of RavenFeather. He wasn’t a smart kid. In fact Ramos had mental problems and was restricted to a hospice house where he was looked after. On his fourteenth birthday, Ramos was struck by the curse of the Trickster god. Back then there was no order and magic was allowed, so the priest of the order worked with him and tried to teach him healing magic, hoping he could be put to good use with his superior amplified power. But the whispers of the Trickster and the Mad in his ear were too much for him to handle, and in a divine joke he lost control, and the Mad god, or demons, took over his soul and body.

The Archpriest continued, but Jace didn’t hear him; this story was all too familiar. The whispers of the Trickster and the Mad were real. He heard them every second of his life; in fact, he heard them right now. They pried and pried, trying to break Jace, trying, trying hard to start a new comedy in the name of the Trickster and the Mad. Jace was strong, though; he was no Ramos. If a new comedy was going to manifest, it would be by his will and soul. He would not let the Mad corrupt him, and he would not bow to a god—any god. In fact, Jace was smiling now. He would make the Mad and Trickster bow to him. He vowed it.

Jace then remembered the Archpriest’s speech and blocked out the whispers and his own thoughts. He listened. This was one of his favorites, the sage that was his namesake. Before he started talking about Jace Fang, the preacher realized he had forgotten one powerful detail about Ramos, and that was that magic was punished by death, no exceptions. Then he started his story. No one knew where Jace Fang came from, except maybe some apostates and hermits, but it was like he was born out of a tidal wave of blood, blood that he could twist and manipulate at his will. In a frenzy Jace Fang gathered a following, an army of apostate mages, in numbers the order could not believe. As fast as lightning, Fang struck. He pounded the order hard and fast, and they could never guess where he would strike next. Finally with his magic at its climax, Fang blew in the wall on the empire, ready to take on the king of ElfHeart himself. With that another mystifying event happened: a man named Dante appeared, and challenged Jace. They were each other’s equals. Jace was a messiah of death in the eyes of the order and of life in the eyes of the mage. And Dante was a messiah of justice, or a messiah of the mages’ final death. Jace and Dante battled furiously, and soaked the entire land in blood. Jace Fang was down and Dante stood above him, with his final bit of power. Jace sacrificed his last bit of lifeblood to scatter the remains of his mage army, saving them and sacrificing his life. Dante sacrificed his life in return but in a different way. He molded himself into an amulet that would allow the Grand Archpriest the ability to summon him once a year, for however long he would be needed, making him an immortal weapon against magic.

With the end of the great saga of Dante and Jace Fang, the mass of people were released from the covenant. The parents returned to their houses to get ready for their two days off, which they got at the end of every week, and the children played in the street. They always played the same game: the evil Fang against Dante. Marcus was always Dante; he always got his way, and they always, always tried to get Jace to be the evil Fang.

Hey, Jace, why don’t you get yourself over here so my armies and I can tear you apart, yelled Marcus.

Jace ignored him and kept walking, walking to the north woods, the only place he could be alone.

Aww, little Jace is going off to cry, isn’t he? Marcus was smiling like a freshly fed dog, but once again Jace ignored him and entered the woods, the village’s many voices dying behind him. On the last days of the week Jace was able to practice his magic—the little he figured out on his own—and it was safe. All the kids were too afraid to enter the woods with its towering trees, their trunks the size of houses, and no adults would be hunting, because these were their two days off. Jace learned to levitate and move items; he also learned to summon lightning from his hands. He could create balls of it and have it just sit there. He would catch himself staring at it for hours on end, mesmerized by its pure primal power. This was him: pure power. But this one day was different. He was practicing levitating a rock—not a small rock, but one about the size of a newly born baby—when a Heartstone bear tore out of the underbrush behind him. Jace was too slow to dodge the first swipe, because he was still concentrating on his levitation, and the bear struck him hard, drawing blood from his left forearm. Jace was terrified. He was too young to die, but he had no way to defend himself. His magic allowed him to do only small things. He could summon lightning but not throw it or use it as a weapon. Was this truly how he was going to die?

He was frantic, dodging the giant’s claws, his life flashing before him. That’s when the Tricksters stop whispering and the Mad spoke. This was not a whisper or a trick; it was truly the Mad god. He spoke of the old war magic, blood magic, the magic of Jace Fang. The Mad god no longer tried to will Jace to do anything. Now he was ordering, trying to save Jace. He put images of death and destruction before him, and columns of blood rising from the masses of people. Jace was shown how to use the blood magic … and he listened. Jace felt the magic in his blood; he willed it with his mind. With every word—no, every command he spoke—the blood listened. It pulsed out of his body, killing him and giving him power. He ordered it to kill, destroy … no, enslave the bear. The blood flowed like a riptide around the bear, flooding it, pouring into its body through every opening, its eyes, mouth, and the pores of its skin. The bear was his slave. He commanded its blood as well. With ease he forced it all out and into his own body, its magic filling him. Then everything went dark.

Jace awoke to laughter, the laughter of a god.

Ha. Now you see what power lies within you! said the Mad god, with a total laugh.

You owe us your life, silly boy, and now you will give us your body! the Trickster chimed in.

The iron smell of blood filled the air, complemented only by the dried corpse of the bear. Jace ran to some bushes and threw up what was left in him, the bile searing his throat, then sat gagging.

Poor boy, just give us your body and everything will get better, the Mad chattered, more happily than any whisper before.

No! I am no fool. You shall never have my body. No one controls me! If you wish to work with me, so be it, but you will never have me!

This silenced the gods … for now.

Jace sat there, still shocked, stunned about the events that had just taken place. He couldn’t believe it. He, Jace, had just wielded one of the most powerful and ancient magics, and a forbidden one. He slowly, very slowly, staggered to his feet. What time was it, and what day was it? Oh well. He walked to the bear, and removed its claws and largest teeth—always a good trophy. By now the voices had picked up again. He ignored them: he