The Beginning of Sorrows

By Kevin Moldenhauer

A new darkness creeps across Moirai. An ominous prophecy that is long forgotten begins to stir. Simon, an unassuming, untrained Weaver is thrust into events that are far larger than him. Simon, struggling with the thought that he might be responsible for his father’s death, was unaware of the fact that it was an accidental release of his magic that was responsible. Alyssa, a princess, and next in line for the throne, searches for a cure for what ails her mother. She rescues Simon from a small mountain village where the villagers are set on killing him for his crime. However, things begin to unravel when Simon and Alyssa return to find her mother dead and her sister on the throne. A mission of mercy has turned into a struggle for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329500006

Book preview

The Beginning of Sorrows

The Beginning of Sorrows

By Kevin Moldenhauer

Cover Art by David Magoun

Full Spectrum Arts & Services

The Beginning of Sorrows by Kevin Moldenhauer

© 2015 Kevin Moldenhauer

Cover art by: David Magoun

© 2015 David Magoun

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-329-50000-6

For more information,

See the author’s website at

www.kevinmoldenhauer.com

Written in memory to my mother Diane Moldenhauer whose untimely death in 2012 motivated me to sit down and start writing this book.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost I must acknowledge the one who provided me with the skill, creativity and desire to write. My Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Without Him, none of this would have been possible.

Next I must thank my editors, Stacey Scarba and Sandi Moldenhauer. Their time is invaluable and my grammar would be horrible without them. Next I would like to thank Dave Magoun for the wonderful cover.

Thank you to my beautiful wife Tammy for tolerating my long periods of time contained within my own mind and hours spent typing and editing. Without your love I couldn’t have finished this book. Then there are my kids, Joshua and Ashley, who were always there in the background to distract me when I needed to take a break.

To all my beta readers, thank you for your time and effort in reading and reviewing the book. The input I receive from you all helps more than you can know.

I also want to thank the various authors at Starfest in Denver for taking the time to talk to me and answer my newbie questions.

Chapter 1 ~ Born in fire

Lightning lanced across the sky. Heavy drops of rain splashed on his face as he ran. His shaggy brown hair clung to his face and he violently pushed it out of his eyes. The narrow dirt road was muddy, and in the darkness he couldn’t see the color of the grass and weeds that populated the roadside. Trader’s End was a small mountain village built to the south of Lake Gelu. Lake Gelu was fed from a river that flowed from higher up in the mountain. The water was always cold, unlike the warm end-of-summer rain that was splashing on his face. He knew the rain would end soon; it always did this time of year.

Simon slowed as he approached the north end of the village. His dark brown eyes darted around as he looked for danger. He passed the cemetery and a small grey stone church building. Passing the church, Simon was always reminded of things he would rather forget—his father. His father never did bring him to church; in fact, his father had rarely brought him to town. He knew deep down why: his father was ashamed of him. That was the reason his father lashed out at him most nights, especially after drinking.

Simon’s father owned a ranch thirty minutes north of Trader’s End, up in the foothills. No one owned it now, at least until someone bought it off the town. The mayor had confiscated it after Simon killed his father, at least Simon thought he was responsible for his father’s death. That’s what they told him, but he couldn’t be sure.

Simon remembered that night like it had happened a few minutes ago. The charred smell of burnt flesh and swirls of smoke spiraling up from his father’s body. It had happened during one of his father’s beatings. When things went wrong, Simon’s father would take his anger out on him. Simon could remember the fear as it gripped his stomach, a knot that still formed when he thought of his dad. The beatings he had endured had left him fearful and lonely. Simon knew he was unlovable; his father had taught him that. He craved the attention of others but had no friends.

It was a night similar to this. Rain was pouring down, but instead of the warm end-of-summer rain, it was a cold spring rain. Simon didn’t know what set his father off that evening, but he came into the small house yelling, the smell of alcohol on his breath. He struck Simon harder than usual, sending him back against the wall where he bounced and fell to the floor landing on all fours. His father stepped in and kicked Simon in the gut. Simon still remembered how it felt. His stomach started to burn and then he threw up. Messing up the floor only angered his father more. Simon was sure his father was going to kill him this time. He probably deserved it. Fortunately his father walked out into the rain.

Simon was still troubled by the burning chill that had flooded his body that night.  It started deep down in his abdomen near where his father’s boot had found flesh. The feeling grew more intense, coursing through his body, and his right hand began to burn. Simon was just able to stand as his father entered holding a bucket of rainwater. Throwing it on him he bellowed, Clean up your mess, you worthless toad!

That’s when Simon’s whole body tensed, and his father’s clothing began to smolder. Simon thought he was going mad. He swore he saw a stream of red-orange energy surge from his right hand to his father, but that wasn’t possible. His father’s tunic burst into flames and he threw himself to the ground, rolling. But it did no good, this wasn’t a normal fire. Simon’s vision began to turn black, starting from the outside, working its way in. His stomach tensed in spasms before he felt his body fall to the floor.

Simon didn’t know how long he lay there. His whole body was wracked with muscle spasms. Simon couldn’t remember throwing up again, but as his mind cleared, he could see the mess all over his clothing and the floor. Simon realized that he was lucky to be alive.

Simon looked at the burnt remains of his father. Guilt and remorse filled him. Did I cause this? Was this my fault or was this just a freak accident? Simon thought. He knew that something had happened, but was the energy that flowed from him to his father real or imagined?

He blamed himself. Even if he didn’t cause it, and he wasn’t sure that he didn’t, he didn’t do anything to stop it. The only person who had ever paid attention to him was now dead, and it was his fault. The loneliness crashed in on him as overwhelming feelings of guilt tormented him, the tears streaming freely down his cheeks. He had no one now.

By morning, Simon had cried himself out and realized he needed to get help from Trader’s End. That was a mistake. The people of the village didn’t really know him well, and most of the kids thought him awkward and teased him. The townsfolk charged him with murder, even though they couldn’t prove he was responsible. They just assumed it to be so.

No one else was here, the mayor had said, he wouldn’t set himself on fire.

Simon knew deep down that they saw an opportunity and persecuted him. Simon was sure they had been waiting for their chance.  He was placed in the stocks on the side of the church between the building itself and the fields that were just beginning to bloom, the opposite side of the church from where he stood now. The Mayor didn’t know what to do with him.

They kept him locked in the stocks for two days before a few boys from Trader’s End, with their girlfriends in tow, decided to look tough in front of them at his expense. First it was name calling, but Simon was used to that and ignored them. When the name calling didn’t work, they began to beat him with sticks. The priest had finally insisted that the town do something about Simon. They decided to banish him, telling him that if he ever returned he would be put to death for the murder of his father. Simon couldn’t understand why they were angry. They all knew that his father was violent; many of the men in Trader’s End had fought with his father more than once. Once released, Simon fled, returning to the only home he knew, his father’s now abandoned ranch.

The ranch was empty. The plants were still blooming, but the house was cold and quiet. There was enough to live on for a while, but soon hunger took hold. Not knowing what to do Simon began to sneak into Trader’s End on rainy nights and steal any food he could. No one ever came to the ranch and he was sure he had been forgotten. Unwanted and forgotten, the story of his life.

Tonight was such a night. Simon walked cautiously towards the center of town avoiding any windows spilling light onto the street. Most of the men of the village would be at the local tavern until the rain passed. As long as he stayed out of the town square he’d be all right. Lightning lit up Trader’s End briefly, and he saw movement to his left, a dark blur. It wasn’t big enough to be a person, perhaps it was a stray dog. The village had a lot of them.

He continued his slow watchful pace towards some of the homes when something leapt at him. Simon threw himself to the ground and rolled, purely on instinct.

Simon tried to concentrate on the creature, but his vision was blurred and he couldn’t focus on it. All Simon could tell about the creature was that it was dark with eyes like embers. It walked on all fours as it stalked towards him. Simon’s vision continued to slip past the creature, almost like he didn’t want to see it.

Over here, a male voice called.

Startled, Simon began to look around for a place to hide. He may not have had a great life, but it was a life and he didn’t want to be killed.  He spotted a pair of riders on horseback that were entering from the south end of Trader’s End. Simon couldn’t make out their features in the dark and rain, but he was sure one was a man, and the other was a woman. The man leapt down from the saddle in one graceful movement, drawing his sword. Simon froze.

The beast ignored the newcomers and stalked towards Simon. As the beast neared, Simon’s muscles tensed, his heart thumped in his ears, and every sense opened up. Smells, sounds and sights became crystal clear. All except the beast. He began to scoot back on the muddy road. The creature leapt and Simon’s heart dropped. Simon threw up his hands defensively knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Time slowed down as he felt a slow burn from the core of his being. The same nausea that he had experienced the night his father had died hit him in rough waves. There was a bright flash. Simon swore he saw a white, translucent energy flow from him to the creature and the beast was gone with a popping sound. The world spun around and Simon fell back onto the muddy road, his stomach cramped and the muscles of his body spasmed.

Are you ok, boy? the man asked in a gruff voice.

Simon could only stare, his mind was blank, and his chest tight. His body begin to tremble and his breathing came in shallow, rapid gulps.

Kameron, he’s in shock. Help him up and let’s get him some place warm, he heard a woman’s voice say.

Doing as he was told, the man picked Simon up and they went into the local tavern, the one place Simon didn’t want to go. The room was bright and small with only four tables, one being a long community table where several men sat.

Simon wasn’t sure what happened next, but he found himself sitting and heard a woman call out, Leave him alone!

He’s a murderer! Even his addled brain recognized old man Cranston’s drunken voice.

He’s an untrained Weaver who can’t control his magic, the one called Kameron said.

How do you know this? asked Mrs. Tarley suspiciously.

I’ve witnessed him use magic. It’s uncontrolled and dangerous, but the boy is not, the woman said as Kameron put himself between the woman and the crowd.

He murdered his father, Cranston told her.

Simon’s mind was still fuzzy as he tried to follow the conversation and watched what was going on. He knew Cranston primarily from his reputation; the man was always upset about something. Mrs. Tarley owned the tavern and had always been kind to Simon, giving him sweet treats when he came into town with his father.

He’s a Weaver. He doesn’t know how to use his ability. Anything that happens right now is wild magic, not intentional. He needs to learn to control it, the woman said.

If that’s true, he needs to die! old man Cranston roared.

No one’s dying tonight. Kameron’s hand inched across his body towards the hilt of his sword that hung upside down on his back.

He’ll pay for his crime and for being a Weaver, Cranston spat.

Simon’s body was numb and sluggish, and his mind was spinning with everything that had happened. He could feel the mood of the room change, it was turning for the worse. Simon saw Kameron’s body relax, his feet slide apart ever so slightly, and his hand gently grip the hilt of his sword.

No, the woman whispered to Kameron placing her hand on his shoulder. She spoke to the small group gathered around Cranston, I know you’re good people with good hearts. Since it was me who brought this boy back, it is me who should pay the price, not him.

Cranston looked like his eyes were going to bug out of his head.

Mrs. Tarley addressed the woman. Ma’am, she said, I understand what you’re saying, but I think this is a decision for the mayor.

Turning to the crowd, she told them, In the meantime, allow them to sit and have some food and drink until I return.

Pointing to Cranston, Mrs. Tarley said, You come with me. I’ll not leave you here to stir up more trouble and get the people of this town killed for your stubbornness.

Cranston didn’t look happy but sulkily followed her and both left together. The others began to sit, and a boy came over to take their orders.

My name’s Alyssa, the woman who was with Kameron introduced herself. This is Kameron, she pointed to her friend.

Simon’s body began to feel a little better, hunger bringing his focus back to the two sitting with him. For the first time, Simon took a good look at the woman. Her complexion was fair, her skin looked soft enough that he felt compelled to reach out and touch it. Fortunately his arm didn’t respond. Her eyes were an exotic, icy blue that stood out against her dark brown wavy hair that cascaded down to the middle of her back. In a word, she was remarkable, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As he stared, he realized his mouth was open and dry. He willed his hand to pick up his mug with some effort and downed the mead that she had bought for him.

My name’s Simon, he mumbled, Simon Locke. The serving boy returned with some bread and bowls of stew.

Alyssa smiled, but Kameron ignored him keeping an eye on the patrons around the room.

They sat and ate quietly for another ten minutes before Mrs. Tarley returned.

I hear we have... said a stern voice. Well, what do we have here? the mayor’s voice softened as his gaze settled upon Alyssa, a smile spreading across his face.

You must be the man in charge, Alyssa said flatteringly.

It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, the mayor took her hand and kissed it. I was told we had a problem here, but I don’t think we need to make a big deal out of it. If you need to get out of the rain, you can stay at my house, the mayor offered Alyssa. Simon didn’t know if he could trust these two, but he wanted to get to know Alyssa more. He debated with himself about inviting them to the ranch.

Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We should be on our way soon, but thanks for your hospitality, she said.

The mayor put on his best smarmy smile, walked over to the short bar and sat down to talk to Mrs. Tarley while throwing the occasional glance and smile at Alyssa.

We should probably leave soon, Alyssa said quietly.

We can stay at my father’s place, Simon mumbled his voice sounding strained, It’s north of town, about half an hour ride.

We should take Simon up on his offer. It’s wet out there and we need sleep before the climb tomorrow, Alyssa told Kameron.

We don’t know this boy, Kameron said.

We need him. He needs to be trained.

You are not a Weaver, Highness. You cannot train him. It was obvious to Simon that Kameron didn’t want him around.

I can teach him control, if nothing else, she smiled at Simon.

Simon’s heart skipped a beat at her smile. Or was it just a response his body was having to whatever had happened? While he ate, he tried to piece together everything that had happened and finally decided to ask about the creature that had attacked him.

Neither answered him for a while and Simon saw a look pass between them. Alyssa eventually spoke up. I don’t know, she paused, I believe it was an ancient magic, some sort of summoned being maybe.

Why would this thing attack me? Simon asked.

I’m not sure. Maybe just luck of the draw, maybe it was drawn to your magic.

Simon didn’t want to be a Weaver. If what they said was true, he would be able to use life to create magic. He was disgusted with the thought. Weavers were evil and he wasn’t evil. They sucked the life from babies to fuel their magic, or so he was always told.

Seeing the frown on Simon’s face, Kameron told him, No need to worry about that thing coming back, you destroyed it.

It’s not that, Simon said hastily, not wanting them to think he was afraid. How do you know I’m a Weaver? I don’t want to be a Weaver, he rushed out.

Alyssa laughed. The laugh was hypnotic and Simon found himself grinning at her. He composed his face as she answered his question.

You were able to expel Elan to defend yourself, she said matter-of-factly. Only a person who can access Elan can do that.

Elan... wait but Weavers are evil! I’m not evil!

She laughed again, No, they aren’t evil, they just aren’t understood. It isn’t magic that makes a Weaver evil, it’s how they fuel it and use it. A Weaver uses Elan, she continued, which means essence in the old tongue, or life force to fuel their magic. Weavers can then use that Elan through their bodies and are able to weave together patterns or spells. She paused to look Simon over. Are you about 15 or 16? she asked.

I’m almost 17 and I don’t want to be a Weaver or take people’s lives from them, he complained.

"It’s called being Born in fire. When a Weaver awakens, it’s usually due to a traumatic event unless he goes through training prior to his awakening.

Elan comes from more than people. Most Weavers use plant life, some use animal life, if needed. Only those who are unscrupulous would drain life from a person.

Are you a Weaver? Simon asked figuring she knew so much that she must be.

No. We have the only Academy in my home nation, in Avalaria. It’s the only school for Weavers to safely learn to weave. I was able to train there, the education is excellent even for non-Weavers.

We should go, Kameron said, motioning towards Cranston and two men who just entered the bar.

They got up to leave and Simon watched the two men approach them. Simon recognized them as the Pratchet brothers. Both worked for their father, the town blacksmith, and both led the way in his beating while in the stockade.

They can be mean, Simon whispered.

Kameron stepped in front of Simon and Alyssa, intercepting the two brothers with several long strides. Kameron’s lean body stood six feet tall, about five inches shorter than both of the brothers. Kameron’s hair was dark brown like Alyssa’s and cut finger short. His eyes were a bright blue, his face scruffy with a week’s worth of growth.

Can I help you boys? Kameron asked as the brothers came up to him.

We want him, the older brother said pointing at Simon.

He’s not for sale, Kameron retorted without hesitation.

The brothers looked at each other, confused for a moment. He’s a murderer and we’re going to take him for killing his father.

Was there a trial? Kameron asked.

The two brothers looked at each other again, before shrugging, He was banished from Trader’s End. We told him that we’d kill him if he ever came back.

Well, without a writ of judgment, you have no right to do anything to him, Kameron told them.

Getting unmistakably frustrated, the younger brother moved forward aggressively, He deserves to die for his crime.

And you’ve been appointed to carry out that punishment?

They stared at Kameron dumbfounded, as if they couldn’t believe this man’s ignorance.

Since you don’t have a writ, you can’t kill him as ‘punishment,’ or you too would be murderers. You would have to be put to death too. Kameron suddenly grinned at them. Where would it end? Who would then put to death the person that killed you?

Now boys... the mayor finally chimed in trying to defuse the situation.

Out of my way, the younger brother demanded as he tried to push Kameron aside.

Kameron slid his left leg back to remain stable but otherwise didn’t move. The younger brother took a long looping swing at him; Kameron easily slid his right leg back evading the blow. He surged forward with an uppercut to the brother’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.

Not in my tavern! Mrs. Tarley shouted. You all get out!

You lookin’ to die, too? the older brother said as he pulled out a knife.

The smile on Kameron’s face frightened Simon. It was a mixed look of exhilaration and desire. The knife dropped a little and the older brother stepped back hesitantly. Simon didn’t see Kameron move until his left leading foot was striking the head of the knife-wielding Pratchet brother. He dropped like a wet towel. The spectators all backed away from their little group, giving them room to leave the tavern.

You enjoyed that, didn’t you? Alyssa whispered as they walked out of the tavern. Kameron only smiled.

Once outside, Kameron turned to Simon, Where’s your house?

That way. He pointed north.

Even though the rain had slowed a bit, it still forced them to ride slowly, and they were soaked by the time they reached the ranch. At least the rain washed most of the mud off, Simon thought as his mind kept going over the events of the evening trying to make sense of it all. As Kameron settled the horses into the modest barn, dressing them down, Simon started a fire in the little fireplace of the house. The family room had several pillows to sit on, and one chair built by his father. There was a low table pushed to the side of the room and his father’s old rusted sword hung above the mantle of the fireplace. The kitchen was meager, containing a small cutting counter and wash basin. Two bedrooms were in the back of the house, both with a cozy bed, night stand and wash basin.

Simon and Alyssa sat quietly, each deep in thought. The silence was broken when Kameron entered stomping the mud off his boots. He took them off along with his cloak setting them by the fire to dry.

Small, Kameron said glancing around as he settled onto a large, dingy brown floor pillow that Simon’s father used to sit on.

It was just me and my dad, we didn’t need a lot of room, Simon told him.

What happened to your mother? Alyssa asked.

I don’t know, my dad never talked about her. He seemed to be afraid or ashamed of her, Simon mumbled.

Tired from the day’s events, and not wanting to get into a discussion about family, Simon excused himself to bed.

The front room was quiet for some time. Alyssa finally broke the silence and spoke softly to Kameron, obviously not intending for Simon to hear, but their voices slipped through the thin walls.

We have to take him with us.

Why? Kameron asked, knowing Alyssa’s maternal nature.

We can’t leave him here alone. He needs training and the people here will eventually kill him.

How’s that our problem? Kameron protested.

Stop being obstinate!

We have a mission, Your Highness. Remember, we are doing this to save your mother.

I know, but we can’t let him stay here to die.

What if he goes out of control with his magic and kills us? Kameron pushed back at her.

I can help him.

You’re not a Weaver, Highness, you can’t train him.

I can help him control it at least. I know the basics. Besides, there’s something special about the boy. A shadow beast wouldn’t have attacked him otherwise.

I don’t like the idea. He’s dead weight that we don’t need.

Alyssa gave him a sharp look.

But if you insist, he said throwing up his hands, then who am I to object?

I knew you’d come around, she smiled at Kameron’s blatant attempt at manipulation.

Get some sleep, we have a long couple of days ahead, Kameron told her.

Another person who doesn’t want me, Simon thought. He began to debate with himself about staying here or going with them. He still wasn’t sure when he finally fell asleep.

Chapter 2 ~ New Beginnings

Morning arrived early when Kameron smacked Simon’s leg waking him before dawn. Simon hadn’t slept well, the nightmares of shadowy creatures haunted his dreams. As he dressed, he still wasn’t sure if he would go with them. Kameron made it clear last night that he didn’t want Simon to come along. Alyssa had disagreed though, but not for the reasons Simon would have hoped for. She wanted a project, someone that she could fix.

Simon saw Alyssa sitting next to Kameron when he entered the front room. Her pale blue eyes were bright as she focused them on him. She smiled and stood to get him some stale bread. Simon watched her brown wavy hair sway back and forth down at the middle of her back as she walked. When she turned to face him, her hair cradled her face, framing it in a way that made Alyssa’s fair complexion and perfect red lips cause Simon’s knees to feel weak. He knew then that he was going to leave with this woman.

Over breakfast, Alyssa explained how she and Kameron came to be in Trader’s End. Her mother had taken ill and had been sick for six months before Mishka, her mother’s advisor, came up with a long shot idea to help her. The healers had all agreed that there was no hope for the Queen’s survival. It was just a matter of time.

So when Mishka came to my mother with this crazy idea about finding the stones to the Elemental Wreath, she jumped on it, Alyssa told him. I think she knew she was going to die, and she had always told me that ‘a good queen must travel to better understand the world.’ She wanted me to go learn what the world was about before I ascend the throne. That and I believe she didn’t want me there to see her die.

Alyssa’s mood turned melancholy. Her next words sounded more hollow and haunted, Mishka had information on the whereabouts of the Earth Stone, Air Stone and Water Stone. He says that with these stones, the Weavers from the Academy might be able to heal her.

The problem is, Kameron continued when her voice faltered, we don’t have any idea where to find the Fire and Akasha Stones. Without those, we can’t do anything to really help the Queen.

Alyssa forced a sickly smile, I fear she has passed away by now. We’ve been gone over a month already. Between the information Mishka provided and the library in Dransia, we were able to link the earth stone to the Khor and these mountains, but the price may have been too high, she may already be dead.

You’re a princess? Simon’s mind was still focused on that part.

That’s all you got out of that? Kameron said with disgust in his voice. Tell me again why we should take this kid.

You know why, Alyssa told him. He needs to be trained and the Academy is the only place that can do it.

Alyssa fell into silence, somberly contemplating her chunk of bread. Kameron excused himself to prepare the horses for travel north. Simon packed a tunic and a tattered cloak. He rolled up a pair of pants in his bed roll and shoved it all into a satchel that he carried over his shoulder.

***

Kameron led them north for two days on muddy hunting trails. The sun was shining, but the air was still cold. While they rode, Alyssa began to instruct Simon in the art of meditation.

Meditation is the process of expanding your awareness, she told him. It helps you in silencing your thoughts and getting in touch with the deepest part of yourself.

Why is this relevant? Simon asked her. How does a Weaver do what they do? I’ve heard stories of powerful things being done by Weavers. Simon wanted to know how to be powerful and do powerful things with his magic, then maybe he’d be liked.

Most of the stories are myths, Alyssa explained. Magic itself is a nebulous concept. Most anybody can use magic, assuming they have tools to do so.

Tools? Simon never felt more like a backwoods person than he did right now. He failed to understand these things that he suspected most worldly people already knew.

Magic items or objects, she answered. Something we are no longer able to make anymore. Let me start from the beginning. Literally, she smiled. Scholars believe that there have been at least five ages, or periods of time marked by a major event or events that brought them to an end.

Simon nodded, wondering if she was talking down to him.

The Age of Dreams, she continued, is a term that encompasses a period of time that we know almost nothing about. It is believed to have existed by historians who have studied this subject.

Simon wanted to ask how they knew, but he was afraid of sounding even more uneducated than he already did. He also didn’t understand how any of this was relevant to being a Weaver.

The Age of Ascendancy, she continued, "often called the First Age, is a time of advanced knowledge and understanding of magic, at least it is assumed by historians to be this way. We know very little of this age and only a few artifacts have been found, most of them extremely dangerous. The artifacts found from this age, the Academy has been able to determine, held patterns, or weaves of magic as well as being able to hold Elan