Octovilian: Book Three of The Viridian Chronicles

By A.E. Outerbridge

As Elle O'Sullivan leaves the safety of Morosa to embark on her journey to the wilds of Octovilian, she has no idea what to expect – nor is she prepared for what lies in store for her in the lakes and woodlands of this new land. The further Elle is drawn into the mystery of the four kingdoms, the more her own complicated history becomes known, revealing truths she is not ready to accept or truly understand. An incredible story is bursting at the seams, longing to be written on the blank pages of this frozen landscape, for there are deadly secrets that hover at the bottom of Olden Lake, mysteries in the land of the roguish pixies, and perils in the dark tunnels of Hollow Canyon. Join Elle and her best friends, Martine, Naomi, and Elan, as they navigate through this remarkable landscape in search of answers, the coveted Zenithal Cup, and ultimately, each other. Welcome to Octovilian, where vampires, wolves, and rivals old and new converge in book three of the Viridian Chronicles.

The ones who faded into obscurity have not faded far. Look around you, watch your friends, your enemies. Do you actually know who they are?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Aug 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780228829591

A.E. Outerbridge

Allison Outerbridge holds a BA in philosophy from Queen's University, although she does not spend as much time philosophizing as she thought she would. She lives in Southern Ontario on a horse farm with her husband, two children, two cats, and two slobbering dogs. There should be more to this bio but she is easily distracted and it is nice outside.You can visit Allison online at www.aeouterbridge.comFollow a.e. outerbridge on Facebook, and Instagram and @aeouterbridge on Twitter.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The light of the moon streamed through the trees, creating shadowy fronds that swayed and creaked in the otherwise still night. Ears on high alert and senses on overdrive, he waited. Order had been threatened; they had to act. Chaos would be biting at their doorstep if they did not end it, right now – snuff out what had ignorantly been allowed to flourish. That is what he had been told and what he believed. The horn of Liornabella echoed hauntingly over the hillside. He shuddered. There were times when he wondered why he was there, alert in the darkened wood, awaiting a sign. He felt his loyalty waver slightly, but he would not stray from his task. He was not one to go back on his word, and they had agreed. He stood in silence, absently running his gloved hand along his beard, lost in thought for a moment.

In the distance he heard heavy footfalls, something crashing through the branches and underbrush. His heart leapt knowing the chase had begun. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he ran toward his target, energized by the hunt, the kill ever closer. The anticipation tingled through him like electrical sparks on the way to ground. Footsteps thundered down the forested embankment toward him. He strode forward, striking branches out of his way as he stormed through. This should not have happened. The rules were in place to protect them all. Why had Barabus taken it too far? His blood boiled.

He stopped and crouched down, ready. The target was close. Someone broke through the thicket directly in front of him, leaping gracefully into the clearing. A man soon followed. The first was a woman, long blonde hair cascading down her back and shoulders. She appeared majestic in the moonlight as he looked on from his forested hiding place. In her arms she carried something, protectively cradling it to her chest. The man – a young man – stood guardedly in front of her, eyes darting in all directions, panic writ large across his face.

He was mere feet from his quarry, but now that the moment was upon him, he hesitated. She was just a breath away, but he found himself second guessing the plan. He was drawn to her, this beautiful young woman. How could she be so tainted? He hesitated, stepping backwards. A twig snapped underfoot, and the young couple flinched and turned toward him.

Run, Sinead! the young man hollered, and in a split second she was gone.

No longer concealed, the bearded man sprang from the bushes, hand on the hilt of his sword. He drew it and prepared for battle. The man in the clearing drew his sword as well, and it was in that moment that he saw it – the emblem of Morosa carved on the hilt. Who was this young warrior, and whatever was he doing here? As the young man looked him in the eye, a wave of recognition swept over him. He lowered his sword.

Erol?

A swoosh sounded by his ear as an arrow sliced through the night, piercing the heart of the young man before him. Erol fell to his knees, clutching his chest and collapsed to the ground. Sword in hand, the warrior left standing spun around. Who commanded the bow? Where was the assassin? Confused and shaken, the royal hunter scanned his surroundings, trying to locate the archer, but no one appeared, and no further arrows came. The night closed in around him. He could hear the guards coming, and his soldiers would be among them – on the hunt for her. He ran. He ran down to the docks, away from the young man who now lay dead on the forest floor, soldiers at his heels. He ran to distance himself from the death that could, and inevitably would, alter the future of the Viridian Isles forever.

CHAPTER 1

The snow had a purity that elevated the spirit; the land made as pure as blank pages ready for new stories. They had been riding for only a few hours, and Elle still recognized the Morosan terrain. Pots Covert lay to the east, and the Basalt Cliffs, plummeting to the ocean, stretched out to the west. Her party of riders had not yet reached the Brulurq Mountains, and the sun was not halfway to its midday perch in the winter sky. Its warm rays lightly kissed her skin, warming her numb fingers and icy toes. They would be stopping soon to rest horses and riders alike. Elan rode nearby and smiled when he caught her eye. She smiled back, her heart swelling at the sight of him.

The days leading up to this journey had been filled with excitement, fear, and ultimately sadness. Elle and her four teammates were competing in the coveted Zenithal Cup; a competition between four elite universities in the Viridian Isles. The first leg of the race had taken place at Morosa’s Caillagh University, and Elle’s team from Eidolon had come out on top – a win for the Isle of Liornabella. Swimming, hand to hand combat, weapons, and riding were all part of the race. As if that weren’t enough, add a vampire or two and a shapeshifter to the mix and that would sum up Elle’s four months in Morosa. Her semester at Caillagh University had been filled with exploration, discovery, and risky adventure both physically and mentally. In the end they had triumphed over the vampire Lilith, but she had not gone down without leaving a mark. She had killed Jared Haliwell, one of the Anatolia University team members from Wisterian, and his death had left them all grief-stricken and rattled. The Caillagh headmaster, Allister Twillian, was riding with them on this journey, at least until they reached Olden Lake. Once across the border to Octovilian, the Rolfshire headmaster would take over as chaperone along their journey. Elle wondered if this had always been the plan, or whether the incident at Caillagh with Lilith had prompted a change.

The events of the last few weeks had left Elle weary, and she was grateful that Eowyn, her trusted horse, was so steady. They would be stopping late-day to set up camp in the long shadows of the Brulurq Mountains. The following day they would ride to Olden Lake, nicknamed The Deep by the locals, which was on the border of Morosa and Octovilian. The line between the two countries crossed the lake in the middle, an unusual border to be sure. Rein, a friend and competitor from Caillagh, told Elle he would regale her with the local folklore surrounding the lake when they finally stopped to make camp for the day. The idea of relaxing by a campfire kept her inspired – it wouldn’t be long now.

Elle’s thoughts turned to her friends who had left Morosa to go back to Liornabella that morning. Martine, Naomi, and Arthur were probably already on the ferry sailing to the country that Elle called home. Only the competitors for each team were allowed on this part of the journey. The assistant coaches would join them later, when they finally reached Rolfshire University in Octovilian. It did not feel the same without them. They left a void. Elle’s chest ached for their company, their laughter and camaraderie. The last four months being together had been amazing – they felt like family. A cold breeze gusted from the west, whipping her ginger hair across her face from under her helmet. Elle tucked her chin into her coat. Her green eyes watered from the cold and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

Everything okay? Elan said, riding up beside her. Are you crying?

Just cold, Elan. Not much of a weeper, as you know. She smiled. I hope we are going to stop soon. I seriously have to pee.

I am sure we will stop soon. You don’t have to cry. Elan grinned. I can hold Eowyn, if you want to cop a squat in the woods there. He motioned to a treed area to the right.

Elle pursed her lips. She really didn’t want to pee in the woods but riding with a full bladder was rather unpleasant. She guided Eowyn to the right and Elan followed. Elle hopped down and handed the reins to Elan once he had dismounted as well.

No peeking, she said.

Elan took the reins and turned his back to her. I will not look, and I promise to shield you from the others. Oh, hey Rein!

Elle whipped around and found only Elan, smirking. Just kidding. The others have already ridden past. You’re good. Elan motioned to the woods. As you were.

Elle struggled through the knee-deep snow; she felt sure there was more snow in this particular spot than anywhere they had ridden so far. She used her already numb hands to move some branches and crept under a tree. After much struggle she relieved her bursting bladder and re-assembled awkwardly in the snow. Men were so much better off in situations like this, she ranted in her head. As she prepared to dig her way back to Elan, she heard another rider approaching to the far right. She instinctively ducked down and remained still, thankful she hadn’t been caught with her pants down. She soon realized it was more than one rider, and it was not long before she heard a male voice.

I understand you are sad, Gwen, but you need to pull yourself together. We have a job to do and I am not going to allow your grief to impede our progress. I didn’t even think you liked him. He sounded exasperated.

Elle strained to see who was speaking. She did not recognize the voice, but it set her teeth on edge. Peering out she saw the legs of Gwendolyn Saxon’s white horse, and beside that was a dark horse and the fringe of a blue and silver cloak she recognized as belonging to the new Anatolia team member, Gareth Hightower. He was replacing Jared and appeared to be trying to get Gwendolyn in line – and rather insensitively it seemed. Shifting, Elle could make out Gwen, head down, heavily laden with grief no doubt. They rode on in silence. When it was safe, Elle made her way back out to Elan.

She took the reins from him. ‘That was close."

What do you mean? Elan asked, brow raised.

Gwendolyn and Gareth rode by on the other side of the tree there. She gestured to where she’d just come from. I think the new Anatolia competitor is a bully. He was telling Gwen to pull herself together. I don’t imagine Gwen will get over the death of Jared anytime soon. They were not just teammates, they were friends. I think she looked out for him in a big sister kind of way. Elle put her foot in her stirrup and was soon back in the saddle. We’ll need to keep an eye on Gareth, he has a job to do, apparently.

"What does that mean?" Elan asked as he urged his horse, Zephyrhawke, forward.

Nothing good. You know I am not the biggest fan of Gwendolyn Saxon, but I fear Gareth Hightower might be even worse. Elle felt her mood darken. What would the next part of the race have in store for them all, she wondered. The sun had slipped behind a blanket of low-lying cloud threatening to take the warmth from the air. It was very quiet now that they were alone. Elle shivered and pulled her collar up.

Shall we catch up with the others? Elan said, breaking the silence. Not waiting for her answer, he picked up the pace and tore past with a taunting expression. Eowyn, never one to be left behind, leapt forward in pursuit. Snow flew from underfoot and spirits soared as they galloped to catch up with the rest of the riders. Their laughter cut through the tomblike silence that seemed to haunt this part of the land. The fangs of her darkened mood soon lost their grip and frittered away in a funnel cloud of snow.

CHAPTER 2

Naomi’s body ached. The wood against her back, unyielding, was rigid and rough, and the swaying motion of the wagon made her nauseated. Now that the sun was on the rise, the confined space felt too closed and smothering. Arthur, lying beside her, squeezed her hand.

"Tell me again how it was decided that he would drive and we would ride in the covered wagon?" Naomi breathed in Arthur’s ear.

I believe it has something to do with him looking best in the large brimmed hat, Arthur whispered back. He could feel Naomi shake her head.

That sounds about right. Naomi sighed. How long do you think we are going to be in here? Just as the words left her mouth, they felt the wagon slow to a stop. Arthur stiffened beside her.

Why are we stopping? he said, in a barely audible whisper. Naomi squeezed his hand.

The tarpaulin that covered the wagon rippled as someone fumbled to loosen the ties. A shadow loomed overhead, leaving both Arthur and Naomi speechless. Naomi felt Arthur’s grip tighten on her hand.

Greetings stowaways! A bellowing male voice said, followed by a whisper. The coast is clear.

Martine! You scared me half to death! Naomi clumsily climbed out of the wagon. Her legs ached and her back was stiff as a board. Martine held his hand out to Arthur and helped him down.

Naomi looked around to get her bearings. Where is Valdis? she whispered, looking to Martine for an answer.

Pointing to a long driveway, he nodded and kept his voice low. They drove up there to that house on the hill.

Naomi turned her gaze to the narrow driveway that snaked its way up a precariously steep hill. Perched at the very top loomed a dark, skeletal looking house. The windows were shadowed with thick blinds covering each pane like eyelids; the eyes into an empty soul. There would be no sneaking a peek inside – or looking out for that matter. The house lay in darkness, shrouded in obscurity. There was no movement nor sound as Naomi’s eyes took in the scene before her. No birds flew nearby; the wind seemed paralyzed. The very sight of it left her with a palpable sense of fear that lingered even when she averted her eyes.

Naomi, Martine and Arthur had been all set to board the ferry back to Liornabella that morning. That had been the plan at least. However, Valdis Lockheart, the most powerful vampire in the Viridian Isles, disembarked from the ferry, flushing their well-made plans down the drain. He was in Morosa, something they had been trying to prevent – and believed they had, until that very moment. They could not possibly leave Morosa knowing he had set foot in the country. He was searching for something or someone, of that they could be sure. Why else would he be here?

Over two hundred years ago, Valdis had devised a plan to have his daughter, the vampire Aurelia, marry the King of Liornabella, Barabus Grigoruv III. His plan had succeeded and Barabus succumbed to Aurelia’s charms, falling under a spell of enchantment, unable to see her for what she really was. Eventually, when Aurelia became pregnant with his child, her power over him diminished, and Barabus broke free from her spell. He turned on Aurelia and killed her on the very day she gave birth to their daughter, Sinead.

Unfortunately for Barabus, Aurelia had bit him during the death struggle, transforming him into exactly what he loathed in her. The kings of the other countries, most notably Llywelyn Hightower, the King of Wisterian, were incensed when they discovered that Barabus had married a vampire and, even worse, fathered a child with her. They would not tolerate this betrayal and years later, Sinead went missing, and was presumed deceased. On that very same night, Erol, the Prince of Morosa, also disappeared. His dead body washed up on the shores of Morosa a few days later, devastating his kingdom and most especially his father, King Abidah Lithorian.

Rumours of a romance between Sinead and Erol surfaced but were swiftly snuffed out. Whispers of a child were extinguished before they caught the wind. Over time Barabus III faded into obscurity, and Valdis cloistered himself in the mountains. Many long years went by, with no talk of vampires or the scandals of the past.

Then, without warning, Barabus and Valdis re-surfaced the year that Elle O’Sullivan was accepted to Eidolon University. Barabus turned up as the headmaster of Eidolon under the alias Devlon O’Leary and was killed in the caves during the final competition of the Quintile Cup. Valdis, however, was after something and that something was somehow connected to Elle. And now he was in Morosa.

What do we do now? Arthur whispered. Do we have a plan?

I guess we wait? Martine said.

Wait for what? Arthur’s voice broke as he spoke.

Are yew waitin’ fer me?

They all spun as if choreographed toward the sound of the unusually accented voice, Martine and Naomi knowing full well who it belonged to. Wiggins stood in a treed area not ten feet from them, nonchalantly leaning against a gnarled stump, his face shadowed by his travelling hat.

Who is that? Arthur chirped, stepping back toward Martine and Naomi.

Arthur, allow me to introduce you to Wiggins, our guide for this part of the adventure, Martine said casually, while stepping toward the safety of the wooded area where Wiggins now stood.

I am not sure followin’ us was da wisest decision, Mr. Langdon. My travellin’ companions ain’t part ov a circle yew should be aimin’ ter join. Know what I mean? Wiggins said, in a gruff, yet weakened voice.

Are you alright, Wiggins? Martine narrowed his eyes. You don’t sound well.

Don’t yew go worryin’ abaaaht me. It’s yaaahrselves an’ Ms. O’Sullivan dat need da worryin’ about.

What do we need to do, Wiggins? Martine looked at the old, weary face before him. Wiggins appeared smaller – shrunken.

In a town not mawer van a day’s ride from ’ere, der is an inn named after an old pixie, Priscilla. She was a creature ov light, but not in da light fartin’ fairy dust sense. Priscilla was greedy and ’er ’eart was full ov malice an’ deceit. Dey say in exchange fer an extravagant favour she gran’ed a wish ter a geezer ov great paaahr.

What was the wish? Naomi and Arthur asked at the same time. Naomi playfully punched Arthur’s arm, relaxing a little now that they were with Wiggins.

Wiggins explained to them that pixies were magical creatures, mischievous and playful. They could use this magic to play with humans and make them do things they otherwise would not. They could cast a charm that could make you believe anything, no matter how unlikely.

Da man wan’ed a spell like dat. He wan’ed to manipulate minds, Wiggins said, locking eyes with Martine.

Who was this powerful man? Martine asked. His thoughts had turned to the announcements pertaining to the stepping down of the royal families in Wisterian and Morosa. Elle had believed there was a spell on the announcements that made everyone simply believe the families had stepped down, even though the story seemed implausible. There was no way the people would have believed that the Wisterian Royal Family had stepped down, handed rule to the Saxon family, and disappeared. Elle felt certain it was Llywelyn Hightower, the former King of Wisterian, who had put a spell on the announcement. Llywelyn Hightower, a king who reigned over two hundred years ago.

I do not know but there can only be a few dat match dat descripshun. One ov da faaahr kings I would imagine, an’ I don’t fink i’ was Barabus III. He did not wander deese parts an’ Priscilla was rumaaahred ter be a pixie ov da Frialt Woodland and ’er territory spanned north.

How do you know all of this? Naomi eyed Wiggins suspiciously.

I get ’round an’ pride myself on bein’ a good listener. Wiggins gave her a crooked smile and continued. Da inn is called Priscilla’s Landing. Over da years it ’asbecome ‘as become a garferin’ place ov sorts fer da quesshunable ov character.

Is that where Valdis is going?

Yea. He plans ter leave as da sun sets dis evening. He is lookin’ fer da pixie and da magic she possesses, but she won’t be der. Word ’as reached me dat she stays closer ter ’er ’ome deese days. Pixies like their ’omes an’ are fiercely protective ov ’em. Yew’ll know yew are close when da flaaahrs seem brighter an’ da wild animals seem tamer. Anuvver gift ov da pixies.

Priscilla the pixie is still alive? Arthur asked incredulously.

Da pixies are blessed with long life, so she still inhabits deese lands an’ll fer many mawer years ter come, unless Valdis finds ’er.

Why does Valdis need what the pixie has? Martine asked. Do you know?

She ’as somethin’ that’ll remove da restricshun ov ’is movemun’s on dis side ov da Isles. Protecshuns preven’ ’im from comin’ an’ goin’ as ’e pleases in sunlight. He found a loophole ter get ’imself in’er Morosa but ’e still can’t move durin’ da day when ’e is away from Liornabella. He is limited. Whatever da pixie ’as,’ll allow ’im ter change that. E’ll be unstoppable.

Wiggins’ eye shot to the house on the hill. A candle had flickered to life and now burned ominously in the uppermost floor. He stepped further into the wood and his voice dropped to a low whisper. Yew need to go to da Frialt Woodland and find da pixie dey call Priscilla an’ catch ’er if yew can. She could be a paaahrful ally in dis game we are playing, an’ i’ is best ter keep ’er on aaahr side. Den yew must find Elle an’ warn ’er Valdis is coming. He wants da necklace she carries. He needs da locket she carries an’ll stop at nothin’ ter get it. Wiggins’ face looked even more ashen than before. You’ll need ter trade in da wagon fer a couple mawer ’orses an’ ride norf-west toward da land ov Octovilian. For now, continue norf along dis road ter da next town called Knollwood; you’ll likely find ’orses there. Make ’aste! he hissed and quickly disappeared into the forest.

"Who was that?" Arthur’s expression was one of confusion.

It’s hard to describe who Wiggins is, Naomi replied. We know very little about him, but he is an ally in all this. A protector of sorts who is somehow attached to Elle. We need to trust him. I will tell you more when we are somewhere a bit less scary.

Arthur’s face turned serious. He nodded as if he understood, but his expression soon turned somewhat bewildered. He shook off his thoughts and turned to Naomi. Did you know that pixies like to ride horses?

Kinda diminutive to be riding horses, aren’t they? Martine asked, amused.

They are small but mighty, Martine. They can command wild animals simply with their charms. They ride on horses’ backs holding on tightly to their manes, bouncing and swinging only to return the horse with inexplicably tangled tresses. Faerie knots they call them, although those in the know recognise this mischief as that of the pixies. Arthur placed a finger by the side of his nose and gave them an all-knowing nod.

Interesting. Now get back into the wagon. Martine lifted the tarpaulin once again and Naomi and Arthur reluctantly climbed back in. Let’s find some horses and get off this road. It’s making me nervous.

Martine checked behind them before swinging back to the seat of the wagon. He clucked the horse onward and drove in the direction Wiggins had instructed, his back heavy with what felt like the eyes of evil penetrating his spine. Shuddering, he urged the horse to pick up the pace and only began to relax when the house on the hill was finally out of sight.

Knollwood appeared desolate as they drummed onto what Martine assumed to be the main street. Gusts of wind puffed the powdered snow, creating luminous shafts of white that spun whimsically across the barren town, dissipating just as duplicates materialized and followed a similar trajectory. There was not a soul in sight, only shadows of the hanging branches that poked and stretched, at the behest of the wind. Lights glowed warmly from what looked like a small tavern, and when Martine strained to listen over the breeze, he could just make out the tinkling of piano notes drifting melodically through the air. He directed the horse to a tie-up area and, after securing the wagon and telling Naomi and Arthur to stay hidden, walked into the tavern with as much confidence as he could gather. The door slammed behind him, eliminating the possibility of a discreet entrance. Martine pursed his lips and nodded to the turning heads.

Sorry ’bout that, carry on. He touched the brim of his hat and walked to the bar. He hoped his wobbling legs were not as visibly noodle-like as they felt. Miles outside his comfort zone, he felt sweat forming on his upper lip. Inhaling deeply, he attempted to calm his ragged breath.

Relax Martine, he repeated to himself as the barman headed toward him.