Ray of Light

By David Gearing

The Journey Continues as Lives are Lost

Book 4 of The Shattering series continues as Luca, Lyle, and Arrin chase down Leanah Kaiser to stop her from bringing forth the Shattering of the world. Along the way, they discover a new people that was long thought hidden.

Meanwhile, Leanah Kaiser continues on her quest to find the Elder gods and make them answer for the destruction of her village. Tired of searching for the gods, she must find a way to make the gods come to her.

The Shattering Series is a magickal fantasy series of would-be gods and reluctant heroes torn between justice and revenge. Ray of Light promises to push the series in a bold, darker direction that will forever change the lives of its heroes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Gearing
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463855799

David Gearing

David Gearing is a recent transplant from the harsh Arizona deserts to the green forests of the Pacific Northwest. He plots, he games, he pretends to be his own living room rockstar when no one is looking. His other books range from various genres from thrillers to gothic horror and beyond. You can find him at his webpage DavidGearingBooks.com or at his publisher's website AkusaiPublishing.com

Book preview

Prologue

The young man grunted as his spine hit the thick, rough bark of a tree. The wind had escaped his lungs. He rolled down the trunk, twirling about. As he landed on his hands and knees, he looked up at the thin cloaked figure that had effectively put him in his place.

When will you go easy on me? the boy said.

The red shirt barely clung to the young man’s body. It had been ripped from the struggle. No doubt, from the cool drafts against his back, the tree had torn into the back of shirt as well. His shorts stopped at the knees, so he could feel every squishy bubble of the damp, reddish-brown soil beneath his knees. His sandals were, he was not sure where they were.

He had lost them a few rounds ago. Maybe the sixth time his sparring partner had knocked him off his feet.

His mother would blame him for losing those. He knew of that.

And she would make him re-make the shirt.

When you learn to fight effectively, you will not need me to ‘go easy’. The man stood tall, wearing a red tunic just under a black hood that barely covered his face. His bright blue eyes were a stark contrast to his dark skin and wide cheek bones that had given his face an almost flat appearance.

He looked weak, but he had just put the young student a few more rungs below on the social ladder.

They stood on the top of a flat mountain peak, only a few meters wide, twenty or thirty meters deep. It was the closest they had to plains in the mountainous region that the Elders had called their home.

The boy picked himself up. He pushed the soft grass and splintered tree bark off of his black knees and elbows. His knees ached, his hands felt raw. His knuckled throbbed though the pain screamed in his wrists.

We can do this all night, the boy said. He peered down at the ground and dug his feet into the hardening soil. It had not rained in weeks. The dark clouds above were a blessing, but also a curse. The air was growing thick with moisture.

Hard to breathe. Making the air feel heavy in his lungs.

But with that air came an understanding. A weapon.

The man shook his head. I can. Perhaps. But you? You have already given up.

The boy gnashed his teeth and charged forward. He tried to remember to breathe.

Never hold your breath.

As he ran, he pulled back his fists and felt the air wrap around them like soft cloaks. While in mid-run, the young boy snapped his fists forward. A sharp arc of air propelled itself out of the boy’s hands. The boy tried to dig his feet into the soil. He had hoped to stop in time.

He opened his eyes wide. Watching. Helping.

But the cloaked man simply raised his arms forward, bending them at the elbow and creating a shield with his forearms. As the sharp blades of magic hit the man’s forearms, they simply disappeared into the mountain air.

The only thing the young boy had accomplished was the rustling of the grass that had surrounded their sparring ring.

The boy blinked to steal blue eyes. His shoulders dropped, his fists unclenched. How did you?

You stopped breathing, the man said.

The sharp, wide arc of wind appeared as white as the doves that visited the village in the mornings. So compacted. So tight, using the wind as a weapon.

The boy closed his eyes in impact.

That arc. It was impossible to beat. He could never make that.

Never in a million years.

As the arcing blade of wind slammed into his body, he felt his feet leave the soft, grainy surface of the soil. Blades of grass exploded from the ground into the air around his feet.

And the boy watched around him as the world spun around as quickly as he could blink his eyes.

Then, it all stopped. The soft ground met the back of his bald head with a thud and a splat. He blinked the world back into focus. His hands reached out around him.

Then, the shadow of the cloaked man. His thick leather sandals were only inches from the boy’s fingertips.

But it was over. He was beat.

The man bent over, lending an empty, open hand to pull the boy up.

The boy slapped the hand away, rolling away from the cloaked figure.

I don’t need your help, the boy said.

You do need my help, the man said. You are much too young to take that kind of a beating graciously. Allow the healers to look at you, at least. I cannot have my nephew walking around with those kinds of bruises.

We have dark skin, the boy said. We can hide bruises well.

The man shakes his head. That is dangerous thinking. We all have bruises. It is our body’s reaction to pain. To injury. It is a sign that we need time to rest. That we are not at our best. That we are out of harmony.

I have no disease, the boy said. I can still fight.

Ah, but disease is not just sickness, the man said. He took a step back and withdrew his hands somewhere beneath his cloak. Even the word, dis and ease, tells us that the body is not at ease. It is not in harmony.

The boy shook his head. You always make no sense.

The clouds had quickly covered the sky, draping the suns over in a thick, cottony gray blanket. The boy shook his head at the cold pin prick feeling of the first droplet.

We should go inside, the boy said. He pushed himself past his uncle and stood at the edge of the mountain. We are probably late for dinner.

You lost, the man said. You do not get to eat.

The boy’s eyes widened. He turned to look at his uncle. Please, Uncle Onic, do not say such things. I might take you seriously.

But Onic’s thin lips did not turn to a smile. His cold, blue eyes remained fixed on the young boy’s visage.

The boy let out a sigh and looked out into the mountain range that extended as far as his young eyes could see. The mountains in the south were covered in snow, while the ones in the north had begun to show signs of green pastures. This was the spring, the boy’s favorite time of year.

He shook his head. Maybe I should just jump. End it all.

Uncle Onic finally laughed. His body loosened up, his eyes relaxed.

The boy shook his head again. His hid his smile through a fierce glance, even going so far to bite his lower lip to cause pain.

This family, he said, is ridiculous.

Yes, Onic said. He was only a few steps away from the boy. But cannot deny that you look just like your father. Like it or not, Arrin, you belong in this family.

The young Arrin raised his eyebrows, letting the rain gather into his wrinkled brow. He looked up, watched the rain gather into thick patches of droplets.

He raised his hand up to his forehead, turned his palm upward to meet the sky. The rain gathered in a thick veil of air that covered his head.

He turned to face his Uncle who had now stood just in front of him.

The young Arrin nodded, took a step back, and leapt off the cliff.

While gliding below, he heard the soft gasp, then sudden chuckles of his uncle. The boy’s feet hit the soft ground at the base of the mountain. His toes dug into the ground, nearly popping at the knuckles. He took in the cool air into his lungs and let it rest, warm up, then released it in a smooth, controlled stream from his mouth.

Now you breathe, the man said behind him.

The boy felt a cold rush of air push down his dirty red shirt’s neck hole. The short sleeves lifted off the boy’s narrow shoulders and then flattened again as the burst dissipated around him.

Show off.

His uncle grunted with pleasure.

A young woman wearing a simple dark brown dress and a darker blue apron poked her head out of the stone house in front of them. She squinted in the dark. As she did so, the tip of her tongue stuck out from her mouth.

She displayed a grin. This did not go so well for you, Arrin?

Arrin grunted. He walked away from his uncle toward the warm, welcoming smells of fruit and meat roasting together in a clay pot.

It was Arrin’s favorite. Something he actually looked forward to after such a humiliating defeat.

Your boy forgets to breathe, Onic said. If he cannot learn to breathe, he cannot learn to control the wind in and around his body.

Lucky for Arrin, the two hung around the doorway. Enough time for Arrin to sneak a sip from the cooking ladle.

I can hear that, the woman said.

Arrin shook his head, drops the ladle and walked away. This is absurd, he said.

I am your mother, she said, poking her head back into the small, one-bedroom home. It is my job to know what you are doing and how to protect you.

Arrin smirked. Protect me? From your cooking?

The woman rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. If my food is that dangerous, you would have died many, many years ago. But you stand here, right before my eyes, so I must be doing something right.

Arrin smiled.

And as he turned to the bedroom that lay just down the short hallway, a blow from the horns rang out into the cold, still air.

The sound of rain thudding against the roof filled the space in between the warning calls.

Arrin held his breathe, looking to his mother.

Tears welled up into her eyes. Go, she said. Hide. As we practiced.

1

Leanah pulled the sword out from her sheathe and held it up against an old man’s chest. The old man had been cloaked in fancy yellows and purples cut into patterns that were obscene to Leanah’s eyes. He had clearly thought that style was a subjective choice.

She tugged at her own green cloak and vest. The Sword of Stone pressed deeper into the man’s chest. The tear that had started as a tiny pinprick had now grown into slash that crossed the man’s hairy chest.

It was disgusting, this man and his riches. The colors that he garbed himself in.

And the fact that he cursed the center square of Kineesh, with its flowering water fountains and large, shady trees. The people of the town of Kineesh hovered along the edges of the town, watching from a safe distance.

They did not look half as pathetic as this insult of an embassy.

It took more effort than it should have to keep the sword steady. His head would look perfect on the bottom of a pile of other decapitation victims.

Leanah faked her smile and tucked her own auburn hair back behind her ear. You are insulting me with this offering, she said.

But I thought this was what you wanted. We, the people of Gestid offer riches and food for your kindness a show of good faith. It’s what all men in your position want.

Leanah’s smile slipped off her face.

The man’s eyes had revealed that he, too, knew this was a mistake. What I meant was, that, um.

Leanah pressed the sword into the man’s chest, past the hair and fat that had covered him like whale’s blubber. A droplet of blood poked out from the skin, then pushed itself out onto the blade. It dripped down slowly, this crimson line of rich, dark blood.

It splashed against the ground, leaving a tiny splatter.

Do you see that? Leanah said. She looked downward. His eyes followed. You can bleed just as well as the people you pretend to protect.

The man gulped. His hands fidgeted, then let go of the bags of gold coins that he had clutched so tightly a few minutes ago. He had brought with him an entourage, people who were dressed not as nicely has he was.

But they had more manners. Leanah often found that those who were dressed as peasants often made up for their social standing by way of manners and respect.

Obedience.

But the plutocracy. They had no uses for those kinds of things. Indeed, they even seemed to shirk them as their humanly duties.

You will leave the gold. Leave a servant. And leave your town.

A servant? the man said. His sweat began to shine in the rising sun. Wh-whi-which one?

Any one you think would be befitting of a woman of my position. Leanah smiled. She swore she heard her father’s voice repeat those words.

Leanah pulled the sword out from the man’s chest.

The man’s chest bled openly for only a few moments before he pressed remnants of his own putrid colored shirt against it. He winced, his white eyebrows coming over his eyes. His dark hair was a wig of some sort. Everything else about him was wait and frail. Thin skin with veins of blue that traveled up and down his arms and hands.

Please be quick about it, Leanah said.

The man leaned forward for a bit, staring down at the blood that gathered at his hands. You, he said. He turned to his entourage and pulled up a man who was bald. He had a mark on the back of his hand—something of a sand dial.

No, an hourglass.

The Shaper had shown her something like it when he was her tutor back in Vamori Village.

She nodded in approval. Agreed, she said. He looks strong.

The bald man stepped out from the line. His hands were clasped together against his abdomen. What looked like a thick, textured cloth hung around his body, though a leather strapped sandal had covered his feet.

Do you dress all of your servants in potato sacks? she asked.

The bald man looked up for a moment.

Not you, ser, she said. The sword seemed to snap back up to the rich man’s chest. You, Dontlin. Do you always dress your servants in kitchen scraps?

Dontlin bowed his head forward. Drops of clear sweat trickled off his cheek, down his pointed chin. It landed in a splat next to his blood.

Leanah nodded in approval. You will be lucky to escape with your life, she said. Please remember that next time.

Dontlin looked up from his stance. He leaned over to snatch up the bag of gold.

I said leave that.

Dontlin nodded.

Obedience. That was what they needed to learn. Soon, the humans would be obedient. Then, the others will be obedient. Elfish, the Chosen. The Gods and Goddesses themselves.

Justice will be served.

Just not yet.

Leanah waved the sword up over their heads, pointing at the gate. You may leave.

The dirt road narrowed as it approached the small gate to the town. She had come to Kineesh a few months ago, looking for information. For books. What she found was a base of operations.

She considered it a lateral move. Not forward. Definitely not backward.

But she needed more information. Information that Flint’s library just could not offer her.

She peered up into the sky. The sun had turned down for the night, returning to the mountains in the far, distant east.

Flint, she said.

The air crackled for a brief moment. She sensed the electricity deep in her chest and her fingers. The blue blast of light had erupted into a human being, wearing only a pair of pants that clung to his waist. Every other part of his thin, almost frail looking body seemed to be singed from his own powers.

You rang? he said. His teeth crackled with sparks of lightning as he spoke.

I did indeed, she said. Please see that this man is taken care of. What was your name, by the way?

The entourage had turned to the gate, but the rich Dontlin had turned around every few steps to peer a last look at his forfeited servant.

Leanah let him look. She wasn’t a monster after all.

The bald man bowed his head slightly. He spoke to the ground. I am Reignizia. Alberto Reignizia.

Well, Alberto, you are with us now. Welcome to Kineesh. She raised her hands up into the air as if welcoming the sky itself to her new town. If there is anything I can do for you, please ask Flint here.

Alberto looked at Flint with caution. He was a wise man.

Leanah knew she was going to like this new addition to her empire.

And what of the gold and food? Flint glanced over the bags and carts of offerings from their nearby villages. Flint lifted a finger, letting it hover over the food. The gold from a nearby sack had begun to spark light blue streaks into the air.

Do not touch the food, Leanah said. You will cook it all and then the town will have nothing to eat.

Boss? Flint said. He raised a thin, yellow eyebrow.

I told you to not call me that, Leanah sheathed the sword. I said what I said. Give it to the town. I don’t need that much food. And only give them what they will eat. The rest will go into storage for rationing later.

Flint glanced at her, even blinking in disbelief for a few moments. But he obeyed as he should.

It was one of the few reasons he kept her around.

She turned to walk away but stopped for a moment. You, she said.

Alberto stopped helping Flint carry some of the burlap sacks of food and gold back onto the cart. Let him do that. Come with me. She waved him over with a warm smile, though she felt awfully out of practice at the art. Come tell me about your mark.

---

∞

---

Arrin’s stoic, staccato voice shouted over the sudden thump of Luca’s round body hitting the ground. A-gain! he shouted. His demand was punctuated with the dull slam of his gnarled staff. He stood short, even when compared to the others in the group, but his red tunic rustled in the wind.

Luca believed that his authority came from the staff. That long staff that would twirl around faster than even his well-trained eyes could watch. Arrin’s baggy pants fluttered in the wind as well. Leather sandals wrapped his feet up to his ankles.

Luca spit out the bits of dark soil that had gathered into his mouth. There was something metallic in that taste, hidden somewhere between clumps of grass and tiny rocks.

Bits of grass still clung to his lower lip. Luca could feel all of this, cold and slick, along his lower lip.

Are you ready? Arrin said.

Luca shook his head. Wait a minute.

You have not even tried, Arrin said. We will continue until you finally try to win.

I have been trying, Luca said.

Luca closed his eyes as dirt was kicked up into his eyes and against his cheeks. He pried his eyes open. Arrin’s dark face was right next to his. What did you say? he whispered.

Luca pulled away, rolled onto his side, and pulled his hands apart. He pulled them around his body, twirling and flashing his hands together until his fingers were straight and tight against each other. A knife-hand technique.

Your powers, Arrin said. Use them. Or lose them.

Lose them? Luca said. He regretted the fact that his body relaxed the minute his ribs met with a warm, brute force.

The air had been a cold reminder that winter would be on its way out soon. The mornings were still chilly, the afternoons warm. A literal night and day difference in temperature.

Not that Luca didn’t like the cold. He enjoyed it. Ironically enough, he hated the rain that came with it.

Luca had landed again on his side, rolling with this child tucked close to his body. His sides went numb, his chest hot with Lyle’s breath pressed against him.

The boy smiled, even grunted. His dark blond hair was long enough to flutter in the wind, barely concealing the light brown eyes that hid so much joy and pleasure in power.

No, it was more than that. In life.

Luca could only smile as well.

They rolled around together until Luca held out his hand, causing them to stop.

Lyle, the boy who was stuck against Luca’s chest, pulled his head up off his chest and smiled. Hi.

Luca smiled. Hi.

Lyle pulled himself up, then extended a hand out to them. Again? he said.

Luca shook his head. No, not again. He dusted himself off, pushing off the strands of dark green grass and brown bits of stubborn resistant dust. Please. Not for a while. His own blue tunic hugged his thick, barrel chest and broad shoulders. His pants used to be white, now a strained pattern of brown and green and black as a result of days of fighting in the wooden clearing.

Far away from civilization and away from prying eyes. If anyone who was not powered were to find out about this, they would have to run yet again. They couldn’t risk that. Not yet.

They weren’t powerful enough.

Arrin shook his bald head. His once blue eyes almost seemed golden yellow in the sunlight, though Luca was afraid to mention such a thing to him.

He would only be accused of being distracted.

It wouldn’t be completely false. But that was an argument for another time.

When Arrin wasn’t ready to kill someone.

Or have someone killed by a powerful little boy.

Arrin, we can relax just a little bit, don’t you think? I’ve grown.

You have successfully created mist, and you have conjured a few droplets of water. Arrin twirled his staff above his head, then pulled his hand from the staff. It still twirled, even going faster than it seemed physically powerful. The air around him spun into a cyclone, pulling in the grass and leaves and branches around him.

On the far distant trees, nests of birds were coming apart twig by twig.

Arrin, stop it. I get it. You’re powerful.

You are lazy, Arrin said.

Ouch.

"And you forget to breath.