Elemental Fury, Book 1: Calling Forth the Heavens

By J.P. Cordanne

The War of the Leaves united two kingdoms and left half of another in ruins.

Years later, the tenuous peace between humans and elves is shattered when human soldier-turned-farmer Japeth and elven wife Zandrine are killed by mysterious masked men, leaving behind two young sons.

On a quest for the truth, Shanadar is sidetracked by nomadic traders with a tortured past, a kindly old sorcerer with the key to his future, and a feisty young woman who longs to spite her meddlesome brother.

Meanwhile, Zandar enjoys the secluded life under the tutelage of a half-dwarf hermit, not realizing that the mere survival of him and his brother may have jeopardized all that he holds dear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365143601

Book preview

Elemental Fury, Book 1: Calling Forth the Heavens

ELEMENTAL FURY, BOOK 1: CALLING FORTH THE HEAVENS by J.P. Cordanne

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of MELODOS PRODUCTIONS

Copyright © 2016 Jacques-Pierre Cordanne. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher or the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

To contact the author, please email: [e-mail]

Elemental Fury is a trademark of Melodos Productions.

For more information on the Elemental Fury series, please visit:

www.elementalfury.net

First Printing: 2016

ISBN: 978-1-365-14360-1

Cover art by Kolupé

Printed in the U.S.A.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: The Darkness Before the Dawn

CHAPTER 2: Moon Stone

CHAPTER 3: Kidnapped

CHAPTER 4: The Wendling Woods

CHAPTER 5: Wise Leaf

CHAPTER 6: The Magic

CHAPTER 7: Death’s Cold Grip

CHAPTER 8: An Unwelcome Weary Traveler

CHAPTER 9: Journey Into the Unknown

CHAPTER 10: The Price of Power

CHAPTER 11: The Bond That Ties

CHAPTER 12: Seed of Deception

CHAPTER 13: The Grand Palace of Spirul

CHAPTER 14: Ballroom Brawl

CHAPTER 15: The Lynx and the Rabbit

CHAPTER 16: Cruel Reflection

CHAPTER 17: Springing the Trap

CHAPTER 18: The Cold Wind Howls

CHAPTER 19: Spring Thaw

CHAPTER 20: This Means War

CHAPTER 21: Turning Point

CHAPTER 22: The Heavens Called Forth

CHAPTER 23: The Moon Upon the Water

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

[Sixteen years ago.]

What shall we do now, sir?

Six years had passed with no sign of progress being made. The Spirultareans had lost hundreds of men, while the damned elves had only lost a dozen. It wasn’t enough that the Hazhurines had superior knowledge of their forested surroundings, but they also had Her on their side.

General Bordon Solidus had lost at least a hundred men to the evil she-demon alone—the Wicked Witch of the Wood, as he liked to call her. She would lure them under the guise of a damsel in distress, and then unleash some fell beast to tear them to pieces when they got close enough. (Some reports said she herself turned into the beast, which Bordon doubted. Somehow the witch always ended up getting away, unharmed, to wreak havoc another day.) Bordon considered sending female servants after the witch (there were no female soldiers in Spirultare’s army at the time), but they were all too cowardly to leave the safety of camp or the soldiers—at least willingly. He did manage to trick one enough to lose her in the woods for a day, but when he found her again—though she was hungry and shaken up—she’d had no incident with the witch. Apparently She only fed on the desires of males.

King Philip was a reasonable man. He didn’t want a war with his neighbors—or rather, a sovereign nation within his borders, now that he controlled the two kingdoms of Spirul and Tare through the clever machinations of his parents. Spirul, the breadbasket of the eastern half of his kingdom, consisted of rich, rolling plains and the Grand Palace of Spirul, the seat of the king. Tare, the western half of the kingdom, consisted mostly of lush forest and small towns until it reached the major port city of Blanysmere, overlooking the Nazur Ocean. The rugged Jaggernden Mountains separated the once two kingdoms, which were bound together by a major road and a clever union of names: Spirultare.

But Reyahan, Father of the Elves, would have nothing to do with the negotiations, stating he would not give up the land that had belonged to the elves since their god Mikhaera had breathed life into them millennia ago. Thus a war was inevitable.

Foristen Spirarnen was a huge expanse of forest, overgrown and tough to navigate, with mysteries spanning to the days when gods walked the earth, and dangers—both real and unreal—that haunted any who trespassed without the proper protection. Bordon could only fathom what this was. Some thought protection was as simple as a prayer to the patron forces that protected the forest; others thought it was something along the more sinister lines of sacrifice. Whatever it was, it had to be dealt with. And the major denizens of the forest—the elves—had to be put to rout.

Losing oneself in the forest, only to be taunted with the sarcastic singing and sting of arrows from the elves, and worse from the witch and her beasts, was not worth the toll of human lives. Drastic measures had to be taken to ensure that Spirultare would be united geographically as well as socially.

Burn it, was all Bordon could say.

CHAPTER 1:

The Darkness Before the Dawn

The hoe crashed down upon the earth, leaving a deep furrow in its wake. A sprinkling of seeds followed soon after, plunging deep into the rich soil.

Japeth Savantes looked up at the sky, noting the position of the crimson sun, Kelis. Wiping a bead of sweat off his tan brow, he looked down at his twelve-year-old son and smiled.

Ready to take a break, Zandar?

The dirty boy beamed brightly and replied, Is it finally lunchtime? I’m starved!

The day was bright and clear, a beautiful spring day in the lush, green forest of Foristen Spirarnen. In the middle of a large clearing a quaint log cabin stood, surrounded by a well-tended garden where bees buzzed amongst the intoxicating aroma of fresh blooming flowers and herbs.

Extending from the garden to the edge of the clearing was a field where Japeth and his son Zandar toiled away, digging furrows for the grain and vegetable seeds they were planting. It was a tradition that stretched back even before Zandar was born—back nearly sixteen years—ever since Japeth and his wife had taken up residence in this secluded spot, a speck of domestication surrounded by an expanse of untamable wilderness. Japeth, a broad-shouldered human male made muscular from years of eking out an existence in such a harsh landscape, didn’t mind the daily struggle against nature.

The reason strode toward him, bearing a plate of nut bread and berries.

Even when the sun wasn’t out, Zandrine’s pale face shone with an inner light, a beauty that concealed an age of centuries. Japeth never asked his wife just how old she was—it was out of courtesy for the elven race that one just assumed, due to their agelessness, they were likely older—much older—than any human alive.

Behind Zandrine walked a sullen-faced boy bearing mugs of nectar-sweetened water. If Japeth and Zandar were day, with their sandy-colored locks and round, jovial faces, then Zandrine and Shanadar were night, with their dark tresses and mysterious ways.

The family sat down to eat under the shade of a willow tree at the edge of the clearing, the peaceful trickling of a nearby stream being the only sound amidst their repast.

That is until the gyroan—the mountain horses of Aergard—came, thundering through the opposite side of the clearing, their steel-shod three-toed hooves sending up clouds of dust over the cleared field. When they stopped before the family, Japeth counted one white, one black, and three chestnut gyroan, each bearing a masked, leather jerkin-clad man whose belt secured a scabbard that conveniently tucked away the bladed weapon he held.

With an expression of forced friendliness, Japeth looked up at the men and greeted, Good day, sirs. Care to have a bite with us?

As if in response, the black gyroan in front—large and powerful enough to be a war charger—shook his long neck, rustling his upright mane as he snorted through flared nostrils. The man upon his back, the leader judging by his position and upright posture, sneered, "We don’t need any food, not from you or your feral wife."

The leader made a slight motion with his hand, and the man next to him leapt from his chestnut gyroan towards the mother of the family. A knife flashed in the thug’s hand as it was quickly brought up to the level of the elf woman’s throat.

Japeth jumped up, grabbing the hoe that he had set against the tree. Deftly, he struck the thug hard in the shoulder, causing him to lose his grip on the knife. Then, as Zandrine knelt down to grab the knife, Japeth struck the thug again, this time in the face with the metal end of the hoe. The thug staggered back, holding a gloved hand to his broken nose as blood seeped through the mask.

The leader gestured again, and his other three fellows quickly dismounted. Two charged Japeth and Zandrine, daggers drawn, while the third ran towards the children.

Shanadar, the sullen-faced youngster, bolted. Zandar stood his ground with only a plate to defend himself with.

You leave us alone! the boy bellowed, holding up the plate as the thug jabbed towards him with his dagger.

Hearing that her son was in danger, Zandrine drew back, throwing up her arms. A dazzling white light surrounded her, blinding her attackers as the daggers swished harmlessly by her side and her husband’s. Zandrine then turned and charged her son’s attacker from behind, thrusting the knife into the soft spot of his right thigh through his trousers, as the thick jerkin protected the more vulnerable parts of his body.

Damned elf bitch! the thug exclaimed as he whirled around. He took one step forward and toppled over in pain, effectively hamstrung.

Quick, Zandar, get out of here! Zandrine ordered.

No! the boy exclaimed, though not in defiance.

For beyond the dazzling light surrounding his mother, he could see the leader, now dismounted, draw his sword and stalk towards his father. In a split second, Japeth was hit with a blow he never saw coming, a sword point cutting straight from his back through his stomach. He fell forward as the leader pulled out his sword, contemptuously kicking Japeth in the back, sending the man sprawling face first into the dirt.

"Kaenyali[1]!" Zandrine shouted in horror as she turned around, the light around her dimming.

Having seen her husband struck a deadly blow, Zandrine was too concerned about him to care about what happened next. While she dropped to her knees to aid the stricken Japeth, the thug who had threatened her son staggered up behind her, grabbed her long dark hair, and slit her throat. Zandrine collapsed, her lifeblood mingling with her husband’s as she lay over him.

"That’s what you get for not choosing to be with a respectable, human woman, the leader sneered, giving both Japeth and Zandrine’s bodies one last kick for posterity’s sake. Now, where are those filthy, little, crossbreed bastards?" His cold eyes surveyed the field through his mask.

There was one right— the hamstrung thug stopped short when he noticed the spot where Zandar had been standing a moment before was now empty.

Well, don’t just stand there, find them! the leader bellowed.

His four underlings limped and staggered about the field and around the house and into the house. But when they emerged, all they found of interest were some books and foodstuffs.

The leader surveyed the horizon, noting how close the sun was to dipping behind it. "Rach[2], it grows late, he growled. Leave them. They will just die without their parents, anyway."

Either that, or the children’s differentness would be a great curse and mark them as outcasts in the world—a fate that, in the long run, could end up worse than death.

* * *

The bright day suddenly turned dark as evening approached. Large, ominous-looking thunderclouds rumbled in, obscuring the crimson sun. Zandar and Shanadar did not pay much heed to this portent, however, as their own thoughts were clouded with the deaths of their parents.

What are we going to do now? Zandar asked after he and Shanadar watched the thugs ride off.

Shanadar slid down the trunk of the willow tree he had escaped to and climbed up as soon as he saw the thugs meant them harm. Zandar followed soon after. Shanadar crept over to the bodies of his parents and sat down, fearful to look at the slashed vessels yet still tied by the bonds he had shared with them in life.

Shanadar did not answer—not with words, anyway. Shanadar’s sullen expression, head propped up by his fists, told of his grief and reluctance to do anything other than sit where he was.

Hullo! a familiar voice boomed.

Zandar and Shanadar looked up to see their stocky half-dwarf neighbor approaching them.

Zandar ran over to the man. Lenden!

Lenden, the old hermit who’d taken up residence in the area before Japeth and Zandrine called it home, had been a good neighbor, never having any quarrel with those who had decided to start a family next door, even if it did disrupt his solitary life. Lenden’s bushy, mouse-colored brows crinkled over his broad, flat nose, his bearded face forming into a frown as he noticed the dead bodies. What happened here? he asked.

Zandar followed Lenden’s gaze, then turned his face downward in sorrow. Zandar stuttered, Some—some people came and—

Killed them, Shanadar finished quietly for his brother.

Lenden squatted down beside Shanadar. Who did?

Staring straight ahead into the leaden sky, Shanadar’s voice was as cold as his stone-gray eyes when he spoke, Some men did. They came on gyroan. They had swords and knives. They killed our parents and stole our things. What more do you need to know?

Lenden cleared his throat and turned to look at Zandar—he did not like dealing with the sullen youngster any more than necessary. Not much more than that. But what about you? How did you keep from being harmed?

Zandar answered, We ran and hid. When they couldn’t find us, they just stole our things and left.

After pondering on it a moment, Lenden offered a brown, gnarled hand to Shanadar. Well, at least your parents might still be alive.

Shanadar and Zandar stood staring at Lenden in disbelief. Huh?

Realizing that he’d slipped and couldn’t easily back out now, Lenden sighed and spoke softly, Shanadar is a foundling, Zandar. He was found on the doorstep the day after your own birth. Lenden paused, looking at each of the children. They were so different, in looks and in personality, yet there was a deep-rooted bond between them that made them as close as twins. Lenden felt a flush of shame as he considered himself a possible breaker of that bond. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to slip. It’s not important, anyway. He’s still your brother, even if you’re not related. Let’s just go to my hut, aye? After we bury your parents and take whatever might be left, then we can go.

---

[1] Beloved

[2] Damn

CHAPTER 2:

Moon Stone

[Twelve years ago.]

It was a beautiful, summer day in Foristen Spirarnen. The tall, stately oaks were green, lush grass filled the meadows where birds sang, and young animals romped under their parents’ watchful eyes.

A modest log cabin stood in the middle of one of these grassy clearings, everything about it speaking of a nice, comfortable home where a loving family lived, from the white-washed shutters framing the open-curtained windows, to the well-tended garden, to the newborn baby on the doorstep...

A newborn baby! Japeth took a step closer to examine this unusual apparition. He bent down and carefully picked it up. Removing the bit of swaddling clothing covering the head, Japeth saw that it was indeed a newborn baby, probably no more than a day old, with delicate features and small, pointed ears.

An elf child! the human male wondered. He thought of his elven wife. I will have to tell Zandrine.

He turned back around to face the door he had just come out of, and went back inside.

* * *

The wooden floors creaked under the pounding of Japeth’s boots as he rushed back into his house, a small bundle in his arms.

Zandrine! the man’s voice boomed through the small house.

Through the living room and into the bedroom Japeth went, coming to an abrupt halt at the end of the bed, the cheeks above his beard flushed, his breath coming in pants from the short but fast run he made through the house.

Zandrine, look at what I found on our doorstep as I was going out to do some work.

Zandrine, his elven wife, lay upon the bed with their own newborn son resting in her arms. She was exhausted from the night’s labors, but she was curious about what happened to appear on their doorstep seemingly overnight. Delicately, Zandrine handed the sleeping infant over to Japeth, who in turn handed her the newfound bundle.

Zandrine carefully unwrapped the white linen covering the bundle, and gasped in surprise at what was revealed. It was a tiny male infant who looked to have been born around the same time as their own Zandar. Around the infant’s neck was a delicately-woven silver necklace that held a glossy, pale blue stone medallion, which Zandrine handled respectfully.

This is moonstone—a precious item among my people, the elven woman spoke softly. There is an inscription on it, with the elven words ‘Cayu Shandehn.’ She chuckled to herself, as the translation for cayu shandehn was literally moon stone.

Japeth leaned over to look at the foundling and his stone nametag, while trying to calm Zandar, who was waking up and growing fussy. Why would the elves just cast off a newborn baby? the man said. I would think they’d be a little more caring to a new member of the family.

Zandrine shrugged and sighed. It doesn’t make any sense, but I suppose we can keep him. Obviously whoever left him cared enough to leave him here.

As though they knew we’d be suited to the task of raising him.

Zandrine gazed intently at the foundling, who stared back at her with quiet dignity. There was probably a reason for leaving him here, but I am not going to guess what. Besides, Zandar could use a playmate his age.

Zandrine motioned for Japeth to give her Zandar. Holding both babies, one on each arm, the babies look at each other curiously.

So, the two shall be as brothers, and we shall be their parents, Japeth said. They will be as twins.

Inseparable, Zandrine breathed, smiling.

CHAPTER 3:

Kidnapped

The morning after the murder was dreary. Tattered remnants of the previous evening’s storm hung in the air, dark clouds drifting on a high wind overhead. The harsh storm had deluged the land with torrential rain and haunted it with gusty gales. The lightning surged and the thunder cracked, frightening poor Zandar, who, taking after his human father, normally wasn’t afraid of much of anything. Shanadar, however, was stoic through the whole storm. In fact, he seemed to take an odd interest in it. It was as if the storm were an extension of his own rage he felt after witnessing the death of his beloved foster parents.

Lenden’s hut was a crude, simple affair. It had one room separated into two areas: a cooking-and-washing area with a water basin and a hearth, and a living area with makeshift furniture. Despite its simplicity, Lenden’s hut had managed to keep a good part of the storm out, but a lingering cold bit through the walls the morning after, leaving the group of three to sit huddled together in blankets around the hearth fire as they ate their breakfast of porridge out of wooden bowls.

All was quiet save the crackle of the fire and an occasional gust of wind outside. Spirits were down all around. Shanadar nibbled at the porridge on his spoon before suddenly dropping the bowl and spoon and running out the door.

Lenden crinkled his thick brows. What’s wrong with him? he asked gruffly.

Zandar sighed, looking down at his bowl. He gets like that sometimes, he answered.

* * *

Shanadar walked solemnly along a trail some distance away from the hut, the narrow dirt pathway winding through the towering trees. He was oblivious to the chill wind creeping through his long woolen tunic and the soggy dirt-turned-mud sloshing around his leather shoes. He only wanted to keep moving, as far away from the hut as he could go.

After a while, the trail widened, and six colorful wagons pulled by shaggy brown and gray gyroan came creaking along from the opposite direction. Shanadar stopped walking and looked up to see the wagons stop a short distance away from him. Several human men and women who had been walking alongside the wagons stopped as well, then crept behind the wagons as if that could protect them from the apparition that had seemingly appeared before them.

Shanadar eyed the wagons suspiciously but did not move. The driver from the lead wagon leaped down off his wagon and headed over to Shanadar. A young girl peeked out from inside the wagon before deciding the join the man.

The driver, clad in shirt, vest and trousers made of patterned blue and green silk, was a swarthy human with curly black hair and a mustache that curled up at the edges. Standing before Shanadar, the driver tipped his feathered hat and greeted, Hullo there, lad.

Who are—? Shanadar started to ask.

The driver answered before Shanadar could finish his question, My name is Ernest. Hey, you’re not human. Ernest blinked his large dark eyes and scratched his head before straightening his hat back on it. What are they called again, Cassandra? he asked the girl standing behind him.

The girl came out from behind the man. Standing as tall as the man’s waist, she looked to be around six or seven years old. She was clad in a blouse and skirt made of the same patterned blue and green silk, while long, wavy black hair flowed from beneath the cap she wore on her head. She looked much like a small, female version of the man she was standing beside, except for the wide-eyed look of innocence that made her so much more charming.

Cassandra took a good look at Shanadar before saying, Elf. He’s an elf, father. She smiled at Shanadar. I like elves.

Ernest pushed his daughter back behind him. Enough of that, Cass. Turning to Shanadar, he asked, Do you know where Aetymere is?

Which way is west? Shanadar asked. Ernest pointed in the direction opposite the rising sun. Then I think it’s over there.

Ernest grinned. Thank you. He paused. Say, can you show me exactly where it is?

I’ve never been there...

Without warning, Ernest reached out and roughly grabbed Shanadar by his tunic. You’re coming with me, the man said as he dragged the elf boy to the wagons.

Shanadar twisted in Ernest’s grasp to look back questioningly at Cassandra. The girl just shrugged. At the back of the lead wagon, Ernest opened the door and pushed Shanadar inside. To be able to keep a watch on the new prisoner, Cassandra went inside after him. Ernest closed the door behind them before going over to sit in the driver’s seat.

"Now we’ll see if the elves attack these wagons!" Ernest muttered to himself, grinning.

Giving the signal to start moving, Ernest and the rest of the nomad drivers put their wagons into motion again along the trail.

* * *

Later that morning, Lenden and Zandar, by following Shanadar’s footprints, made it to the spot where Shanadar met the nomads. They saw the wagon tracks, but neither Shanadar nor the wagons were anywhere in sight.

* * *

Shanadar sat in a corner near the back of the wagon. Cassandra was nearby, looking concerned.

"You never did tell us your name," the girl said quietly.

Shanadar looked down at his chest, clutching the medallion that hung there. My name is Shanadar, he said half-heartedly.

Shanadar? That’s a nice name. Cassandra smiled and reached out to touch Shanadar’s arm. My name is Cassandra. It’s nice to meet you. What’s it like where you come from?

Shanadar merely looked up at her strangely.

* * *

Zandar stumbled through the door of Lenden’s hut and fell onto his straw bed, crying. Lenden ambled in after him, shoulders straight but head hung low to look at Zandar.

We did what we could, Zandar, Lenden said softly.

But— Zandar sniffed.

Lenden sat down on the bed near Zandar and grabbed the boy’s shoulders. Zandar, listen to me, the half-dwarf said sternly.

How can you be like that? Zandar whined. How can you not care?

I do care, it’s just that...it’s just that there are some things you cannot change in this world. I lost my sister to kidnappers, and I have learned to deal with it. You just have to accept things like that. Your parents are dead and Shanadar is gone—there is nothing we can do.

Zandar wiped the tears from his eyes, but for some reason he could not keep them dry.

* * *

In the afternoon, the nomads stopped in the town of Aetymere to do some trading with the townspeople. The town was a good-sized human settlement, with the wood-framed, thatch-roofed houses of the locals ringing the outskirts, and the market, shops, and town square huddled in the center.

Shanadar, free for a little while, wandered about with Cassandra—Ernest would have never let the elf boy go alone for fear of losing him. Shanadar and Cassandra came across a group of pre-adolescent boys. Both being outsiders, the two merely stared at the boys quietly.

One of the boys in the group noticed the newcomers and asked them snidely, What, can’t you speak?

Indignantly, the nomad girl placed her hands on her hips and said, Of course I can...

But the group wasn’t paying much attention to her. Instead, they closed in around Shanadar, effectively cutting off the nomad girl from the elf boy.

Hey, I’m talking to you! the lead boy yelled at Shanadar. Do you have a staring problem?

Shanadar looked down and muttered, No.

Shanadar turned around to look for Cassandra, but couldn’t see her through the group surrounding him. He attempted to retreat, but the circle just closed in tighter.

He looks like one of those stupid savages, another boy said.

Oh, you mean the kind who live up in the trees and sing all night, and don’t have to work and never get old or sick or die?

Yeah! I really hate those people...

So does my dad, because one of those people took his best friend away and he never saw him again. They’re really bad because they do things like that, take you away to where you never come back. Some say they use magic to turn you into other stupid things, like toads.

Ooh, and some say they are not made of flesh at all, that they are made of air and can even vanish at will, which makes them very dangerous. But if you are able to catch one and stab him, he won’t bleed; instead, he’ll shrivel up and die, like an autumn leaf.

That’s pretty good.

So let’s prick him and see what happens.

Quickly, Shanadar whirled around and bowled over the boy who was behind him. Nimbly, Shanadar jumped over the boy and dashed off, but not without glancing around to see if Cassandra was around. The nomad girl was nowhere in sight.

Figuring that he probably knew the forest better than a bunch of town kids, Shanadar picked up his heels and ran towards the edge of Aetymere. His feet pounded upon the dirt road while his hands flailed to keep the wandering townspeople out of his way. He heard the shouts of the tormentors behind him, heard objects whizzing by his head. They were hot on his trail, and all he could think of was escape.

At the edge of town, Shanadar turned around to see if the boys were still following him. A sharp rock struck him on the side of the head. Reaching a hand up, Shanadar felt a warm liquidy substance ooze between his fingers. He felt dizzy, but he turned his attention back to the trees before him and kicked up his heels.

Being back in the forest should have given Shanadar some comfort, since he had returned to his home turf, but he couldn’t shake the pursued feeling off of him. The boys were persistent, and he wouldn’t feel satisfied until he knew they had given up.

Hey, I’ve got him, a voice right behind him spoke.

Shanadar whirled around to face