Light Rising: The Swords of Truth

By Elizabeth Pettersen

Driven by hate, Azelus and his evil servant-creatures will stop at nothing to wipe out the strong but peaceful Natori people from their magical land of Vale. Just as all hope seems lost for the Natoris, a mysterious stranger appears on the scene claiming he has been sent from afar to vanquish Azelus and crush his dark reign of terror. But has the stranger arrived in time? Or is it too late for him to save the Natoris from the clutches of their merciless foe?
Light Rising is the first of three novels from author Elizabeth Pettersen about Vale, a world of beauty and mystery, and the winged Natori tribe living there. Elizabeth writes in a voice and style that’s relevant to the current youth generation to deliver an entertaining tale aimed squarely at young fantasy-adventure enthusiasts.
This Christian allegory illustrates the dramatic struggle between good and evil, and will draw young-adult readers to the truth about God's love and His redemption of humanity through Jesus Christ. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Creation House
• Release date: Jan 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781621367758

Book preview

years.

Chapter 1

IT WAS A morning full of expectation. The villagers awoke to the birds singing; the sound of a new day beginning. But it wasn’t just a day like any other. No, the Annual Spring Festival was well underway. It was a festival that marked the glorious anniversary of their freedom, and every single Natori family had been eagerly preparing for the celebration banquet that was to be held that evening in the village square, many of them rising early to begin final preparations, whilst others dozed lazily through the dawn, their energies spent from their labors during the hours before nightfall.

Amidst the still quiet of the morning appeared a sight not unfamiliar. For, far out on the horizon, striding across the top of the hillside was a tall, imposing figure in a deep red tunic and long, tan, leather boots. The figure headed to the brow of the hill, making a line toward the edge of the forest; his lengthy, dark brown hair waving across his broad shoulders as he walked. He began to trudge effortlessly and purposefully down the gently sloping hill and through the mist toward a large cluster of oak trees, and as he did, his dark blue eyes sparkled with a fresh exuberance at the beauty of the morning. His well-defined, strong features held a peaceful expression, but his deep eyes revealed a wisdom and sadness marked by experience. Most noticeable of all his features were those on his back. Stretching out from the back of his tunic and rising beyond his shoulders, high above his head, were the most magnificent pair of iridescent bronze gold-tipped wings anyone had ever seen; they pounded rhythmically in the breeze as he walked. Every Natori born to Vale possessed strong wings, but none seemed as powerful as these. They glowed so brightly they almost outshone the sun, which, as any traveler would observe, was an intimidating reflection of his inherent greatness. These wings were seldom used as it took far less energy to walk; however, they were invaluably useful for travelling long distances in a short span of time, escaping danger, and, most commonly, in gaining an advantage over the enemy in battle.

As he made his way down the slope, he marveled at the two suns’ beauty and the delicate balance between them. The larger, yellow sun hung behind the smaller, red sun. Individually, they were both equally transfixing, but without the other to bounce light back and forth from, neither would be much of anything at all. He stood in awe of the awesome ingenuity of creation. For it was these suns that gave their world its energy and warmth, gave the plants their food, and living daylight to those such as himself who dwelt beneath their glorious rays.

The figure pressed on toward the forest’s edge. Placing his fingers firmly against his lips, he forced a loud whistle from his mouth. Immediately, a black stallion came galloping over the hill, as if it had been waiting eagerly for its master. Aeron mounted silently, and together they disappeared into the dark forest.

For the children of the peaceful little village, the atmosphere was buzzing with excitement. They barely noticed that the elders of the village were perturbed and distracted, though they attempted to conceal it. But Amberlea had noticed. In fact, it was impossible not to. As the young daughter of the village leader Darus, high elder of the Natori clan, it was common for her daily life to be interrupted with the comings and goings of village elders, strangers, and the like. Indeed, for days past her home had been inundated more than ever with elders visiting her father. Tensed faced, although attempting to conceal their strain around her, they would smile, pat her on the head as they passed, and withdraw upstairs to her father’s library to discuss important business. In other words, business she wasn’t permitted to hear. And although this had been a regular occurrence in her home from long before the day she was born, there was a deepening sense of urgency about it this time. Something was different.

This morning, the men gathered once more in the upstairs room of Amberlea’s home, speaking in low hushed tones, which of course confirmed in Amberlea’s mind that something serious was taking place. In an effort to distract her rather discerning daughter, Ella, a beautiful, fair-haired, tall, and elegant creature, desperately kept Amberlea busy making preparations for the festival. She did not want her free-spirited, innocent daughter to become privy to the information that was being shared amongst the men in the room above them.

Never mind about that now, she assured Amberlea with a graceful smile across the large, stone kitchen whenever Amberlea would probe her with questions, we have work to do. The festival’s tonight . . . I’m sure it’s probably something very boring anyway, dear, she added, praying that her eyes did not give her away. Unsatisfied with her answer, but aware she was not going to get any other, Amberlea accepted her mother’s words and refocused her attention as best she could to the menial tasks she was being given.

As the morning progressed, women—young and old—from across the village arrived, and Ella became increasingly busy preparing decorations and food for the festival. Her blue gown swished furiously as she moved hastily from one side of the kitchen to the other, and it wasn’t long before Amberlea became more of a nuisance than a help in the already overcrowded kitchen.

Amberlea, you must stop getting under my feet! Ella exclaimed. Then, realizing that she was allowing the worries in the back of her mind to break through the cracks of her usually calm exterior, she looked down at her daughter’s angelic features and added gently, Go and play outside, my darling. Just don’t wander too far.

This was the invitation Amberlea had been waiting for. She beamed with gratitude toward her mother and quickly seized the opportunity to escape what was to her, the prison-like confines of the family’s large home.

What a lovely young lady your daughter is turning out to be, remarked one of the elder’s wives as Amberlea left the kitchen, and so beautiful, just like her mother.

She’s a bit wild for a girl of her stature, if you ask me, remarked another.

Well, Rusa, then I’m very glad that nobody asked you, replied Ella with a dignified smile on her face as she stared firmly into the eyes of the bitter old woman. A soft giggle came from the back of the room where Esther, a young, slender, newlywed woman stood.

Shall we continue on with our preparations, ladies? Ella added pleasantly, addressing the entire room whilst redirecting the conversation. In her heart, Ella knew there was truth to Rusa’s comment, though she would never say it out loud. Her beautiful, golden-haired Amberlea was not the sort of girl who took her family’s position within the village seriously. She preferred freedom over the responsibilities that came with privilege, and it was plain to see that her beloved daughter would much rather spend her time out in the open air with the sun on her face and the wind at her back instead of being cooped up inside with stuffy know-it-alls. And who could blame her? Ella thought quietly to herself. Amberlea reminded Ella so much of herself at that age. Sometimes Ella wished she were that young once more so that she didn’t have to put up with the likes of Rusa . . . and smile while she was doing it.

The moment Amberlea broke free into the sunshine, she felt alive. Leaving all that worried her behind her, she hastily sped over the stone wall that formed the boundary around her father’s property and followed the windy dirt road to the outskirts of the village where, at the end of the lane, she found herself once again in her most favorite place. The landscape drew back and opened out onto a sweeping hillside that gave passage to the foot of the wild mountain ranges that her village was safely nestled beneath. It had become for her a wonderful place of solitude, and since the first warm rays of the spring suns had touched the ground, the meadow had become a sea of tiny yellow and purple wildflower blossoms. Amberlea plopped down amongst them in the tall grass, her jade green dress and long flowing flaxen hair camouflaging her from the rest of the world, for which she was entirely grateful. This was her meadow. This was a place where she could remove all the constraints of family responsibilities from her shoulders and just be . . . free.

As she lay there staring up at the sky, her luminous red and gold wings folded gently behind her; she closed her brilliant green eyes and began to daydream. Soon, her mind wandered and she began thinking of her older brother, Rivven, who was probably somewhere in the middle of the preparations, making himself extremely useful. He was rather protective of her and, in her opinion, no fun at all. He was always acting so much older and more mature as her father would always say.

One day, my son, it will be your responsibility to take care of things, he would constantly remind him.

Rivven became so very serious as he grew older that Amberlea would often tease him for being totally boring. Where she would often find herself running from the house in search of adventure, Rivven was completely the opposite. Although he was only two years older than she, he had changed so much in the past few years from the playmate she had once enjoyed to a more serious older brother who thrived on responsibility that they had, it seemed, become completely different. And, today being no different, Amberlea found herself happily surrounded with the beauty of the meadow as she watched the clouds pass by overhead, escaping from all the tiresome chores, whilst her brother remained in the village, working hard alongside the clan leaders to get everything ready for the festival. At least he seemed happy in his tasks, she thought, even though she missed him. A flicker of light caught her eye, and she glanced down toward the forest’s edge some distance away at the bottom of the hill, where the stream was glistening in the sunlight, and sighed. Despite how enticing it seemed to be, Amberlea dared not ever enter those vast woods. It was forbidden for her and all other young Natori like her. It seemed such a shame. The stream that ran down from the mountains, the very one that her clan used to source their own water, shared the shade of the forest with the scores of different plants and animals that originated there, many she had never laid eyes on and could only dream about. Intrigued, she often imagined where the river might lead, but still she was too afraid to find out. There had been too many stories of frightening, dark places and mysterious creatures told to her as a young girl for her to wander in there alone. She had also recently learned through her father’s teachings of a dark power that shifted the seemingly direct pathways through the woods, especially in the hours from twilight to dawn. Natori who dared enter the forest would get lost forever, never to return. Of course, that was unless they took with them a pathfinder; the only creature that could keep a traveler on the right path. And these were rare and temperamental creatures indeed, from what she’d heard. Pathfinders were only one species of the many mysterious and strange creatures that lived in the forest, many that were dangerous and many still unknown to any of the tribes. The scariest thing of all about the forest was, it was said, that you could cross over into the darkness and become a walking shadow forever. Whatever that means, she thought.

Although still a young girl, ever since her fourteenth birthday or coming of age, her father had set about teaching her the history of their clan and the world beyond. It was the way of the Natori that a father must hand down this vital knowledge to his children once their time of innocence had come to an end.

"Amberlea, you must learn about this region and where it is that your people come from, but also how we came to be here and why it is that we live as we do, her father, Darus, would say. For one day you will preside over these territories, along with your brother." Her brother, as her father had mentioned with much pride in his gravelly voice, had already been learning these facts from the day he turned fourteen also; as she reflected further on this detail, she began to realize that perhaps this was the reason for his recent transformation from lively playmate to seriously boring.

Despite the fact that Amberlea’s own lessons had only just begun, she was a quick learner, and her keen interest made it all the more effortless for her father. In the few short lessons she had undergone, Amberlea felt she had gained more knowledge of their world than most of the children in their village combined, and she kept much of it to herself as she had been instructed to do. After all, it was not her place, her father had explained, and Amberlea had to agree. The more she learned the more she began to understand that the history of their world was, quite undeniably, a harrowing one. Two forces acting in stark opposition of one another; one, led by the cruel and unrelenting Azelus, standing in defiance of their true king. Her father had told her that it had not always been that way. He had told her of times when the world was peaceful and people lived in harmony, much like they did in their village, yet with one significant difference: there was no threat of an enemy and no need for warriors and watchmen to guard their way of life by protecting them from what lay beyond the forest.

It was hard to imagine the dark world he often referred to when the world Amberlea had been born into was so lush and green, so fresh and beautiful, flourishing and deeply rich, so full of light and majesty, that it seemed almost a dream, especially since she had never left the sanctuary of her village home. For as long as she had lived, her only experience of life was of her own flourishing tribe that enjoyed an abundance of prosperity and peace, which had been this way for many, many years. Yet she knew now there was another side to her world, one she hoped never to encounter.

Darus had been careful not to share more than his young daughter needed to know about the dark kingdom. There were many terrible truths he allowed to remain a mystery to her; indeed, he had not indulged his son either with details that his young mind could not wrap itself around. He held onto a hope that they might never need knowledge of it, unless of course, fate proved otherwise. What he did not know, however, was that as a very young girl, Amberlea’s overwhelming sense of curiosity had led her to discover some of these truths that he had tried so desperately to keep from her. And now, lying in the grass, she thought about the many occasions when visitors would call on her father whilst she was meant to be fast asleep. On these nights, Amberlea would creep silently out of bed and sneak down the hallway, sitting on the top step of the heavy wooden stairwell. She listened intently to them as they sat by the crackling fire in the downstairs’ drawing room well into the late hours of the night, relaying stories to her highly regarded father. They were terrifying stories; ones that recalled dark powers, bizarre curses, and fierce creatures. They recounted bloody battles that had taken place and detailed the losses they incurred. She felt a great deal of sorrow as she learned of those who had given up their entire lives for the cause, falling at the border after many years of fighting.

During these occasions, Amberlea’s father would listen quietly and respectfully, until the end of their speech, which was when he would express his heartfelt gratitude to them for their service to their village and king by bringing him such vital information and offer them a bed for the night if they had no place else to go.

Although she felt some degree of satisfaction about the knowledge she gained of their world, Amberlea sometimes wished her curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of her. Indeed, she decided, after what she’d heard as a young girl, not to let herself think much about the deeper parts of the vast forest, or the border between what was commonly called The Barren Wastelands and the land of Vale. She especially didn’t want to consider what was on the other side of it. She didn’t speak of it either; for fear that her father would be disappointed in her deliberate disobedience in the midst of all he had done to shield her from the knowledge of it. She simply chose to remind herself that the forest was their boundary; the one that divided the two worlds her father had spoken about, and whenever she felt afraid, she thought about the strength and bravery of the warriors that protected them from what lay beyond. And most of all, she vowed never to go into the forest.

Amberlea shook the unsettling thoughts from her mind, realizing that it was not a day for concerning herself with such gloomy notions. She began thinking about the wonderful festivities that the afternoon would bring. And laying there under the hypnotic warmth of the suns’ rays, she was soon lulled dreamily off to sleep.

Meanwhile, in the very center of town, her brother Rivven was busy assisting his father in preparing everything for the festival. With his light brown locks covering his hazel green eyes, and his brow covered in sweat, he worked hard lifting the heavy wooden crates, full of supplies that villagers had delivered, out of the carts and carrying them into the village square. The atmosphere in the center of the village was electric; excitement filled the air as many of the Natori eagerly set up for what was to be the best and most extravagant spring festival yet to be held within their territory. Rivven prized being a part of his clan’s rich heritage and was proud that he was expected to be involved in running events alongside his family. He took his responsibility in his stride, and learnt well. His father Darus watched on with pride. Rivven seemed to have an ease about him, and he always strove to complete every task his father requested of him. Everything he put his hand to flourished, and in addition to this, he was proving to be a great leader amongst his peers, even at his young age, which gave great honor to his family.

Picking up the last crate he had unloaded from the cart, Rivven balanced it carefully between his arms as he tread across the courtyard. Passing the tall stone sculpture in the center of the fountain which was shaped in the image of Rivven’s great-grandfather—one of the great and noble ancestors of their tribe—he did not notice anything unusual, when suddenly, he felt a gigantic icy rush of cool water splash all the way down his back.

Argh! he cried in surprise, jumping back and instantly dropping the crate. Drenched, he spun around to see where it had come from and instantly recognized the figure standing over him, perched on the raised edge of the fountain; a dark-haired boy of his own age in a brown and scarlet tunic sporting an obnoxious grin. In his hands was an empty wooden pail, its contents evidently having been poured out over Rivven’s tunic.

I thought you needed some cooling off! You work too hard! proclaimed the boy, his dark blue eyes gleaming, full of mischief.

Ah, well, frowned Rivven, trying to look stern and highly offended as water dripped continuously from his deep blue tunic, some of us have to take responsibility for the daily running of this village, unlike you! he joked. Then, feigning to move away from him, he turned quickly back, darting forward and grabbing hold of the boy’s tunic.

The boy grabbed onto Rivven’s wrists as he desperately attempted to steady himself. Rivven calmly and skillfully held him precariously balanced over the fountain for a few short seconds then, smiling victoriously, let go and pushed him playfully into the water below. The boy fell back quickly with a loud splash! Then abruptly found himself sitting soaking wet in the deep end of the monument. He looked up with a shocked and surprised, almost amused, expression.

That’ll teach you! laughed Rivven, heartily.

Well, I guess you win again, sighed the boy, admitting defeat as he slowly began lifting himself out of the clear water. But one day my reflexes and strength will far outweigh your own! he declared impudently. Rivven laughed at the ridiculous image of his soaking wet friend standing helplessly waist deep in water.

Zane, Rivven announced affectionately, "you will never beat me. You’d have to actually do some training first, an activity you, unfortunately, constantly neglect!" He stretched out his hand to his friend and hoisted him out of the water. Zane leapt out, his darkened tunic dripping wet. Both boys plopped down on the edge of the fountain.

Which reminds me, Rivven went on, we missed you at tutoring yesterday. Out hunting wild pigs again, were you?

No such luck, replied Zane. My dad had me tending the sheep. He’s had to leave the village for a day or two again . . . to go to a market in another village to buy more livestock, he added, looking unconvinced.

You don’t believe him at his word? Rivven asked his friend, shocked. He always trusted his own father’s word, no matter what.

I . . . uh, Zane looked slightly ashamed of himself. "I guess I do."

Why wouldn’t you, eh?

Probably because the last three times he’s left, he hasn’t come home with anything, Zane replied.

Well, maybe that’s because there’s isn’t anything worth buying, said Rivven. It is the end of winter, after all. He’ll most likely find the early spring lambs worth a look this time. Zane stood up and shook his coppery wings.

Mm . . . well, let’s see if he actually comes home with something this time, eh?

Although as opposite as day and night, Zane and Rivven were great friends. Whilst Rivven had the privileges that were brought forth by his birthright, the confident Zane was the son of a poor sheep farmer and had not experienced anything at all like the upbringing Rivven had. But somehow they had hit it off from the first day they started their instructions with the same tutor at age five. Somehow, regardless of social standings and circumstance, Zane refused to be intimidated by Rivven as others were. Rather, they were in constant competition with one another, spurring each other on in good humor. Their friendship struck a balance where Zane kept Rivven well grounded, and Rivven’s presence in Zane’s life inspired him to strive for greater things. Zane was strong and rugged, quick witted and a natural leader. He could accomplish much, if he felt so inspired, that is. Zane relied on the gift of his raw instinct. Discipline was not his strongest attribute, as it was with Rivven, who was well educated, relied on his fine-tuned reasoning skills, and certainly demonstrated a great deal of accomplishment in using weapons. Zane admired his peaceful and humble spirit despite his circumstances, and Rivven prized his friendship with Zane, for as different as their statuses were, their exuberance towards life and loyal-to-the-core nature were what held their bond so strong.

Standing up to join his friend, Rivven motioned to the busyness of the courtyard.

Why don’t you make yourself useful and give me a hand? he jeered, shaking out his tunic and stretching out his silver blue shimmering wings in the sun to dry.

Tempting, Zane jeered, but I only came past to make a delivery, and I’ve got to get back to the house. I’ve left my little brother to watch over the flock while I’m gone, answered Zane. We’ll be back at sundown for the feast.

At least you know what’s most important, Rivven remarked, referring to the responsibilities of home.

Yeah, food! Zane responded in his usual brash manner, referring to the feast. They both laughed. "Anyway, I’ve got to get back and do some real man’s work," he joked, bending down to pick up the box Rivven had dropped.

Yeah, good luck with that, Rivven replied lightheartedly, as Zane handed the box to him. They parted ways, and soon Zane disappeared around the corner of an alley way that led the way to the outskirts of the settlement.

The vivid blue sky ceiling entranced Zane as he strolled towards the northern edge of the village to the cozy cottage he called home. Sitting at the end of the road, it was the last cottage on that lane and backed onto a large, flat field where sheep quietly grazed on the long, rolling grass. He loved this peaceful end of the village, away from the hustling, noisy crowds of the township center. He would often lay in the grassy hills with his hand-carved wooden flute, the rare beauty of his surroundings inspiring him as he played. He stepped across the ditch between the road and the fence, opened the gate and strode past the side wall of the stone cottage he called home, and then stopped, looking out towards the field. There he noticed his scruffy looking younger brother Dorian not far off, his faded green tunic covered in patches of dust, staff in hand. His eyes were not on the sheep quietly grazing, but were staring down the valley and over the forest to the horizon, confusion in his dark blue eyes that almost