Orb of Light

By David Gearing

SHE SOUGHT OUT THE GODS AND FOUND DARKNESS INSTEAD.

The Shattering series comes to an exciting end.

It seems like years ago, Leanah Kaiser's village and family had been destroyed by evil. Blaming the Elder gods, she sought the power to find and confront them. If the gods had turned away from her and her village, then they were no longer to be trusted.

But every act of creation is an act of destruction, and to save the world Leanah may need to become the gods she has loathed for so long.

The gifted elemental adventurers have found Leanah hiding in the Kaverinen Mountains, where the adventure had all started. She eagerly awaits them, eager to destroy those who would wield power against her.

Meanwhile the human world has taken its own armies to stop this would-be god

Together Luca, Arrin, Lyle, and Viktor can summon the powers of the wind, water, and earth, but is it enough to stop a young woman hell-bent on seeking out and destroying the one thing that keeps the world together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Gearing
• Release date: Aug 20, 2020

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 darkness of the caves had done nothing to conceal the agitation of the hundreds of young women who had gathered into the room. They sat together in silence, waiting for the eldest to stand at the large protruding rock at the end of the cave. It had been conveniently flattened on the top that allowed a person to stand and make speeches, as had been tradition for the past three thousand years.

The cave was unknown to most people in the realm. It was a necessity of the women who had been there that they spend their time away from others, away from those that would cause harm, away from those that would alter the trails of time and space. This place had even been unknown to many of the gods.

All except Hur.

The eldest of the Hur took an unsteady step up onto the rocks and gathered her strength to stand. She had walked millions of miles in her time, in various colors of shoes and socks and dresses and tunics. This time, her shoes soft velvet slippers that had been toughened with leather on the bottoms to protect her aging, calloused feet from the jagged edges of rocky paths. And for the first time in a dozen lifetimes, they had been heavier than the words she knew she had to speak that day.

Hur’s hair was pushed off to one side. The long locks had grown down to her waist by this age, and her green tunic had been mostly invisible from the back view of her. The tunic covered a white puffy frock and pants, a style that she had adopted from some of her favorite tribes almost fifteen hundred years ago. After their eradication, she had felt it was important to maintain the style, if not for its practicality but in memoriam.

My fellow ladies, Hur said with a soft, almost guttural cry that had relayed more pain than she was anticipating on feeling that day.

The crowd had ceased immediately. Even the youngest of Hurs had stopped their squabbling and grabbed onto the legs of the taller women in the room.

Their eyes were watching her in the way that the eldest Hur remembered watching the heavens. She remembered looking up at the clouds moving quickly over a baby blue sky and hoping that the clouds would have a happy life. That they would bring life and rain and peace and calm to those who would look upon them in distant lands.

But she was no cloud, and she had no peace and calm and life to give to others.

Those that looked upon her, they knew the dread that was coming. They only had a small inkling of what was to come.

The eldest one cleared her throat. My lovely ladies, we know that trouble had come once again to our realm.

The women were still, silent. It had made the eldest one tense in her shoulders.

And yet, we are brought here because we know that it is our duty to assist in reclaiming our world. To assist in the preservation of our reality. To ensure the existence of all that will live.

A few of the Hurs in the room had all nodded in unison. A wave of pain and impatience had rolled over like a steady wave from the oceans. The oceans were calming—this wave was simply them all reading the writing on the wall. The end was certainly near.

A hand went up into the crowd. The eldest pointed out. It was a younger version of herself—perhaps almost twenty-seven in years. She had bangs that draped over her forehead, cut just short of her bright green eyes and bright, thin pink lips.

Yes, dear.

The younger one spoke up, almost standing on her tiptoes. And what do we do of the others? she asked. The crowd had all nodded unison, some of them even seeming to ask the questions amongst themselves.

Yes, I know of who you speak.

The crowd had gotten louder and the eldest one stomped her foot into the ground. The wave of force had brushed their hair past their shoulders in a soft wave of wind.

…and we shall work with them, but we must not make our appearances to them. We can only assist. We can only help.

But times are drastic, the younger one said. She seemed to almost levitate above the others to draw attention to the conversation. We are staring down the end of times. Do we not need to be more drastic than before?

We are needing to preserve more now than ever. The eldest surveyed the group and spotted one that was maybe three hundred years her younger. She had remembered those years fondly, but the eruption of lives and the movements of the Chosen had shifted everything. Their very existence, their unraveling of magick had caused the world to shuffle over like a five-year-old looking for worms under a rock. They were staring at dark, rich soil and dirt that had not been unearthed in three millennia. "If we are exposed, we risk revealing too much to too many who cannot handle it. You have already seen a mortal take the throne. There is already too much damage done.

Exactly. The younger of Hurs extended a hand out to her side. A course ripping sound echoed in the halls, followed by a soothing sound like wind rustling the reeds of a pond. A dark wooden stick snapped into the cavern and found its home in the younger Hur’s hand. She smiled darkly. You have seen a mortal take the throne. We know she holds the artefacts of too many gods already. She holds powers. Plural. She has already done what no others were supposed to be able to do. We are in uncharted territory. If that does not frighten you, she said. She looked over the crowd to make her point. There was a brief moment for her to gather her thoughts in a long breath. If we cannot consider that this is the end times, then we must assume that all will work out for the best and we can dispense with this communion.

The crowd seemed to gasp. It was not the effect the Eldest of Hurs had wanted to hear, and yet she was not surprised. She knew what she was capable of. If it were not for her own rebellious nature, she would not have made it to the ripe old age of three-thousand, two hundred and fifty-three herself.

I hear you, the eldest said. Believe me. I do.

And yet? the younger one rose up yet again. A height advantage as if they were going to war.

Just because you take the higher ground does not give you the moral high ground. What you suggest is to expose everything. To reveal secrets that are not yours to share.

The younger held her staff with both hands, holding it out so it lay perpendicular to her body. I had suspected you would say that.

I have no doubts.

The younger shook her head, then looked down at the others. If you are willing to sit by and discuss and discuss and discuss until reality has been shredded around us, then by all means, stay here and keep Hur company. But I will not be shaken by these events. If anything, we are needed more than ever.

For an ancient, you know surprisingly little, the eldest said.

And you are too afraid. You know the humans and elves are strong and resilient. They are powerful. She paused, feeling the words get choked up in her throat. I will not watch as this world gets torn apart by the seams by an indignant little girl with an axe to grind against the Hidden.

If you expose anything, you will undo everything we stand in.

If I do nothing, then it will be destroyed regardless.

The two stood in a silent standstill. A face-off that was both uncomfortable as much as it was necessary. The Eldest of the Hur knew what her enemy as she knew herself.

Her opponent in this life-or-death discussion was indeed herself.

The Eldest had lost that excitement and idealism along her many years. Such things are the privileges of youth. And she knew that such things didn’t just die because your elders had told demanded it. Such things needed to be grown until they either died or consumed the garden.

It was up to the younger Hur which would occur. And for all the knowledge of her three thousand two hundred and fifty years in the realm, she was terrified and yet fascinated with the lack of concrete images in her mind.

For the first time, she saw nothing. And she feared the worst.

The man named Dontlin walked quickly down the stone hall. His footsteps echoed past through the halls and the other soldiers stood at an instant attention as he came up behind them. The castle had been well protected under orders from the new High Priest and Commander. There had been reports, though nothing was substantiated, that there were attacks happening soon.

The soldiers had been just young men, recruited recently after the disappearance of the Citadel almost six months earlier. The world had seen the change in everything and grew frightened. It was a fear that was easy to take advantage of, and Dontlin was more than happy to carry that message no matter what. He stopped at a wooden door about midway down the hallway. Three guards stood in front of it. Two of them were speaking about something when they saw Dontlin down the hall. They stopped, saluting with their fists to their chests, and stood tall at attention.

Sir, they said in unison.

Dontlin tapped along his silver chest piece and clipped the heels of his leather boots together. Relieved, he said.

Sir? the tallest one said. Dontlin thought his name was Salison, or maybe Mortimer. Either way, he, like his name was forgetful and at the moment, only useful for one purpose and one purpose only.

You may leave, he said.

Salison and the others eyed each other nervously. We are under orders—

Dontlin shook his head. He rested his hand on the handle of his sword. He flashed a quick smile, forcing the niceties since all of this was wearing thin. When he wanted something, he wanted it then and there. You are questioning me? he said.

Salison shook his head. His dark brown hair was combed off to the side, and not Sacellum acceptable. We are under orders from the Commander, he said nervously. There was a hint of sweat along his upper lip. He must have been a boy still.

And now you have new orders, Dontlin said.

Salison hesitated, then nodded to the others. We can go, he said, I suppose. He shot Dontlin a look that was rather aggressive considering his position in the Knights. He and the other two began to walk down the hallway, the three of them, when Dontlin turned to Salison.

You may stay.

All three of them stopped, turning around to Dontlin. Dontlin pointed to Salison.

You. Stay. The others, you may go. Dismissed.

The other two looked at each other and left, an expression of confusion shared between them. Salison walked slowly, probably suspicious of the intentions behind Dontlin’s command for him to stay. Sir, he said. You need me to stay?

Dontlin nodded, but sighed deeply and loud enough for the boy to hear him. Yes, he said. And if you make me repeat myself again, your job will be to clean the latrines for the next twelve months.

Salison expression changed quickly to a stoic sense of fear. Sir. He nodded.

Dontlin let himself in to the room. An old man, bald and tattooed up and down his hands and arms, lay on a bed. He was stretched out, his arms behind his head. He seemed to pay no mind to Dontlin’s sudden appearance. It was just as well.

Dontlin drew his sword, letting the edge of it drag along the stones.

That is bad for your sharpened edges, the man said.

Oh, did you see that, as well? Dontlin looked over to the far corner. There were brushes—unused—and wide-rimmed jars of black ink. Smaller jars of different colored inks and mixtures of distilled flowers and roots were set aside. The jars were closed, still sealed from when they were gifted.

The man shook his head. He stared above at the stone ceiling. Nothing was of interest up there, but this was how he functioned in this room.

We saved you from certain doom, and this is how you repay us? Dontlin said. He approached the thin layers of tarp and leather that were stretched among wooden frames to make a canvas. You were promised safety in return for your gifts, Dontlin said. I am disappointed by your lack of attention to your side of the bargain.

You are hardly keeping me safe. He sat up in his bed, looking at Dontlin with eyes that were both tired and yet fierce and angry.

Dontlin caressed the handle of his blade. One swift swing would be enough to end this tireless frustration. And yet, here you are. Fed, watered, and kept in plenty of sunlight.

You speak of me like I’m some sort of plant.

You might as well be. All you do is take up air and do nothing else. Dontlin picked up one of the blank canvasses and dropped it in front of the man. You were to give us your visions. We know something is at hand. What will it be? Where is the witch?

The man shook his head. I could not tell you where, the man said. I am a shaper. Not a fortune teller. I can show you the visions that come to be, but if nothing comes to me, then I have nothing to show you.

Dontlin had noticed a thin line of ink along the edges of one glass jar. Black lines as if ink had dripped out upon opening it. You say this, and yet, I doubt the truth of the words. Dontlin stood over the shaper and pulled him up off the bed by the shoulder. The man’s shirt was stretched up. His feet left the floor, and he quickly tucked them under himself, onto the bed, to keep from dangling from Dontlin’s strong grip.

Dontlin tossed the shaper to the side. He landed on the cold stone floor, falling onto his left arm.

I do hope you weren’t left handed, the man said.

The shaper grunted and looked away, rubbing his arm. You are a monster, he said.

And you are a liar. Dontlin gripped the bed and flipped it up and over. Just underneath of the white cushion, filled with straw and goose feathers, a series of lines and figures drawn with thick lines. Dontlin turned to the shaper. The brushes were unused.

The shaper had held up an index finger, waving it as if he were saying hi.

Dontlin examined the image from underneath the bed. He looked over his shoulder at the boy Salison who stood at the doorway. Come here, take this bed out of the room. It bears examination.

Please, the shaper said. Will I get another bed.

Dontlin shook his head. There is plenty of floor here for you.

Please, I will deliver more to you. The shaper rose to his knees and pressed his hands together. Please, have some mercy on me.

I have no mercy to liars and thieves.

Thief? I am no thief.

All of your images are mine, Dontlin said. And you withheld it from me. He pulled the cushion off the bed completely and handed it off to the boy. You are a thief, he said plainly.

The shaper shook his head. Please. Do not.

Dontlin drew his sword.

The shaper had maybe seen this coming, maybe not. Either way, there would be only one outcome. The shaper scrambled to his feet and started for the door. He pushed past the boy and managed to make it out the door in a matter of seconds. His bare feet slammed against the door, the pitter patter a sign of his struggle to remain upright and pick up speed.

Dontlin simply looked to Salison.

Salison nodded and dropped the cushion. He drew a knife from the side of his belt and ran forward after the shaper. They were maybe halfway to the end of the hall when the boy pulled out a surprising move.

Dontlin stood at the doorway, his arms across his chest. He smiled as he watched the boy stop running, toss the blade up into the air and catch it by the sharp tip. Then, one swift motion launched the blade, twirling end over end in the air and into the shaper’s back.

The shaper let out a simple grunt, landed onto his knees and slid forward. His face and hands slapped against the cobblestone floor. His lungs let out long gasp and he stopped moving.

That was most impressive, Dontlin said.

Salison stood up tall, saluted with his fist to his chest, and lowered his head. Sir. I’m sorry.

Don’t be, he said. You have impeccable aim. Perhaps we can use you after all.

Salison showed signs of a smile.

Don’t get too excited just yet, Dontlin said. He continued down the hallway, stepping over the shaper’s body. Get that cushion to the Circle and dispose of the body.

Sir. Salison clicked the heels of his boots together in a tight salute.

Dontlin simply nodded, and continued downstairs.

1

The shadows crept over the mountains. They slithered from the outer edges of the rocky hills, silently as if they had no actual form, but a faint and subtle blanket of darkness that had barely existed at all. Dozens of them crawled out from the caverns, caves, and crags of this opposite world of mist and blood and darkness. They crawled over the cold rocks and barren ditches that once carried with it the refreshing coolness of water.

There were no signs of life. No signs of plants. Not a single insect.

The shadows had gathered by the hundreds from their searches commanded by their masters—indeed, the master of this new dark world.

Leanah stood at the center of the doorway. She could have fit her old village chapel in the doorway to the castle that she now inhabited. And though she stood at the entrance of the castle—on the outside—she felt the vibrations of the castle’s stone walls and wooden beams as if they had bounced off her very bones. The tensions from the nearly rotted ropes that would later pull up the long wooden door were felt deep inside Leanah’s shoulders and back. Leanah was confident in that she was no longer the new master of the castle, she had over the last few days or months—time had lost its meaning here—she had somehow become one with the castle.

And while that had kept her feeling as strong as the stones that withstood the battles of gods and demons and weathered the worst that any powerful living organism could master, she had acknowledged somewhere in the back most, inner most thoughts that she was somehow concerned. She had given it thought that if she were one with the castle, would she fall if the castle does? Would she stand forever as long as the castle stood? At what point did she actually become this stone keep?

Leanah rolled up a black sleeve from the tunic she wore and extended her hand out in front of her. She made a tight fist and turned it upwards, bending her forearm up and stared at her knuckles. The shadows gathered as quickly as they had dispersed about the land. Leanah had no desire for reports—she already knew what they had found. Or what they had not found, as the case presented itself.

The wispy cloaks of darkness moved silently over the barren rock and jagged lands that separated her new home from the broken valley down below. It was as if they glided over the earth itself and yet, she knew well that they were part of the earth as much as she was. Leanah tensed up her shoulders and locked her elbow into place.

The shadows slithered up to the doorframe and curled around like dark tendrils and black snakes. They brought with them the faint smell of frost and decay. And while she had found it all distasteful, it was somewhat pleasing and irritating at the same time.

Come to me, she commanded.

The snakes and dark tendrils unwrapped off the walls and slapped onto the ground in thick, liquid like arms. Then, almost glimmering in the moonlight above, they molded together into a thin line of translucent darkness and wrapped themselves around Leanah’s forearm.

She gasped, the way she had always gasped when she was possessed of the darkness yet again.

You bring with you no good news, she said to her fist. She unclenched slightly. Her thumb and forefinger had cracked, and she felt the vibration of that through her wrist and up her forearm.

The shadows cried deep inside her shoulders and down her left leg. And though they made no sound, she felt every cry as clear as if they had come from her own lungs.

And yet, you bring me hope, she said.

Leanah took to the dry and jagged plains that at one time must have housed plants and homes of those who served the lord of this castle. All that remained at this time were rocks as soft as sand castles and cracked wood. There were chips of things she could not identify, and while the shadows had indicated there was once a war here, she could not tell who one or who lost. Simply there was an extreme loss here.

A loss that Leanah was saddened by. Not for the lives, but because she could not exact it herself.

The sky had been a steady flow of thin, wispy ash gray clouds that moved slowly overhead. When they were not blocking her view, the sky felt a fiery glow of a crimson orange.

She had known that color before. The color palette was familiar. Perhaps even the same as a certain friend she had many, many years ago—dare she even say lifetimes ago. But the color brought with it memories and a smile. The man was clearly insane, but peaceful.

He would not have lasted a single day in a place like this.

But she? Leanah was power itself.

She extended her hand to her side and waited. The vibrations carried through her fingertips to her wrist. She flared her hands out. The blade came soundlessly through the air and landed in her hands.

You kept me waiting, Kragg.

The sword had made a faint sound that was almost like a sigh.

You’re getting weaker, she said. These stunts will not fly much longer. I hope you are aware of that.

Kragg had made yet another sound through a face that was faintly carved into the hilt. Eyes were closed, a faint indentation where the nose would have been, and a simple straight slit across the bottom of a circle for a mouth.

Nothing moved and yet the sword had been alive. Very much alive for the past few years though it had seemed to go dormant when Leanah really needed it. She could wield it as well as any weapon. She commanded its strength and it thirst for blood. But as a companion as it once was, she found it severely lacking.

Leanah held the blade in her hands though she had no real intentions of using it. But she loved the feel of the handle against her skin. By keeping it against her, it was easier to control it and let Kragg know that she was its boss. She was its owner, and if need be, its destroyer.

The dry, jagged rocks in front of the castle had given way to a canyon as deep as oceans in the world of Aelis. She stood just a few meters from the edge of the canyon and peered across the world. The land just beyond used to be a forest before the caretakers of this land had gone and gotten themselves killed. She knew this as well as she knew the world of Aelis, as well as she remembered her hometown village of Vamori. But she was never here—here in this nameless realm that had existed beyond the reach of time and the physical realms. There were signs of magick here as faint as a whisper. The very air was magick itself and every breath that filled her lungs as she walked about this world for the days, weeks, or months she had been here sparked a bit of life in her blood and bones that simply didn’t exist before.

If she had this power before, this life, then her beloved village would have never been destroyed. Her father would have been his old self, as much as she despised the way he protected her.

The thoughts gathered in her head and the rush of anger and rage seemed to pour over her body from the inside out. She clenched Kragg and pulled him back. With a scream that shook the canyons down below, she launched the blade out into the air. Kragg spun in a clear circle. The air made a static-like pop as the darkened stone blade cut through it in full circles.

Leanah dropped, kneeling down, and resting her elbows on her knees. She looked down into the canyon, then across to the stone wasteland in front of her.

I will find you, she said. I will find all of you. And when I do, you will know what death and pain truly is.

The static popping sound of the blade had gone silent. Leanah pushed back some of her auburn hair behind her ear and listened for the blade to make its return.

But shadows remained still. The air went silent. Everything felt as if the world were still a deadly wasteland. And yet, she felt something deep inside—like breathing. Warmth. A heartbeat.

Her green eyes widened as she stood up. She felt a surge of energy and readiness that she had almost missed from battles. Perhaps you’ve come for me already, she said. She held out her hand for Kragg to come back to her. She expected vibrations but felt none. There was always a steady trail of hums between her and Kragg. She knew its mind, but in that moment, she heard nothing, felt nothing.

How dare you, she screamed into the open desert of sand and jagged rocks. Shadows grasped around her leather boots, moving like a black water. The shadows lifted Leanah off the ground and pushed her over the canyon. Whatever or whoever had been on the other end, they would know the feeling of remorse and death soon.

The rough bark of the elm tree had started to shed under Lyle’s intense grip. It fell softly around his head as if it were a soft brown ash. Fluttering and landing softly on the grass by his feet just like the butterflies he used to chase when he was only a boy.

The clearing in the forest had started to grow its roots again after Lyle had ripped nearly every thick plant or piece of vegetation out of the ground. He had gotten quite good at pulling most of the roots out with one quick yank. The roots in this part of the forest were particularly strong and thick, holding onto whatever nutrients it could get from the darkened, thick soil that had gone undisturbed for nearly five decades.

At least that was what the elf had said. Her pink hair was now shorter now that Lyle and Dianah had started battling in a more consistent schedule for the past six months. The moon had gotten full six times since Arrin was last seen, and yet to Lyle, it felt as if it were forever.

Each passing moon had been a pain in his gut. He felt better when his attention was focused now, in a moment such as this.

The elf stood with her hands to her side, bent knees and slightly bent at the waist. She seemed to