The Well of Many Worlds: A Fantasy Romance Epic Tale

By Bruce Lord

Devastated by her father's brutal murder, seventeen-year-old Emily Bliss is determined to find his killers, even after everyone else has given up. As Emily attempts to follow their trail, she encounters a mysterious stranger at a party. Beneath his handsome looks, physical prowess, vast wealth, intimidati

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebel Youth Productions Inc.
• Release date: Feb 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9780995858671

Bruce Lord

Bruce Lord has been a professional storyteller for more than ten years. Elisabeth Richards is a poet, playwright, and educator and has taught around the world. They have been writing together for more than twenty years. Lord and Richards live in Milton Ontario.

Book preview

One

Paris, France

Two hundred and thirty years earlier…

A handsome, emerald-eyed man spied through an open window out back of the tavern. It was nighttime. He stood just over six feet tall and was masculine and athletic, in his early twenties, with a strong jaw, pale skin, and unnaturally bright green eyes. He was dressed as a nobleman in a beautiful, lavishly embroidered green tailcoat, with a gold waistcoat over a white shirt, breeches that stopped at the knee, white stockings, and buckled shoes. His fashionable clothes were tailored from the finest materials to fit him perfectly. He wore thick gold rings with finely cut gemstones on each hand, and a longsword hung at his side. He was a man of wealth and taste, radiating a magnetic aura of strength, confidence, and power. He leaned closer to the window, listening intently to two men sitting at a table in the tavern.

It’s too dangerous, said the first man, shaking his head. He appeared to be in his late forties and spoke with a French accent. His appearance was unkempt—with a nose that was red and bulbous from decades of heavy drinking and greasy, ragged hair. The features of his grubby face sagged in worry. I want nothing to do with any of it.

Why? asked his companion in a Cajun accent. He was a handsome, strapping lad in his early twenties with thick, shoulder-length blond hair and sea-grey eyes.

You fail to understand who these people are, said the first man. In fact, I would not even use the term ‘people.’

What? The younger man laughed. You make no sense. The work seems simple enough. The pay is good. Why not?

No, said the older man. You do not understand what they are and what they are capable of.

Well, then enlighten me, said the younger man.

I dare not, said the older man, staring at the other with fear in his eyes. The smartest thing we can do is get as far away from France as possible; this whole country is a powder keg about to explode! He made a gesture with his hands to simulate an explosion.

Well, said the younger man, reaching over and patting his companion on the shoulder, times of conflict are also times of opportunity.

I am going to flee the country this very evening, said the older man. I suggest you come with me.

Two other men entered the tavern, and the emerald-eyed man stiffened at the sight of them. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.

The two new men moved with strength and authority, like prowling leopards, through the tavern directly to the table where the first two sat. One was wearing a long black cloak and black leather riding boots. His entire face, except for his mouth, was obscured by a Venetian mask in the form of a demonic goat. The other was dressed in fine riding boots, a long coat, and a high hat. He wore a similar Venetian mask, but his was in the design of a ravening wolf. He carried a half-full bottle of Absinthe.

The older man looked up at the approach of the two men in masks, and his face went pale with fear. Oh no. It’s too late, he whispered.

The two men in masks sat down at the table opposite the first two.

It has come to my attention, Henri, that you are a doubter, said the man in the goat mask to the older man. He spoke slowly in an English accent with a deep voice and enunciated every word.

M-my name is Alain, stuttered the older man.

You see, Henri, continued the man in the goat mask as he took a vial of yellowish liquid out of his cloak and placed it on the table, there is something that you must be made to understand. Faith is what makes the man. A man of little faith…is a little man. The man in the goat mask looked at the younger man with the blond hair. And what might your name be?

Sylvain DeLune, said the younger man. And you are?

The man in the goat mask didn’t answer. He snatched three empty shot glasses from the next table and poured the contents of the vial into them. Alain and Sylvain exchanged glances. There was enough for about an ounce of liquid in each. The man in the goat mask pushed one of the shot glasses towards Alain.

The moment Alain looked into the scintillating eyes of the man in the goat mask, his eyes were locked to them as if by a magnetic force. Alain’s face went blank as he stared as though in a trance.

Sylvain was alarmed by his friend’s reaction and gripped his chair as he looked back and forth between the men. I asked, who are you? said Sylvain, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

The man in the goat mask looked at Sylvain. You are quite the lady-killer, he said. The man in the goat mask nudged the man in the wolf mask with his elbow and looked at him. Do you think he is as much a lady-killer as you?

The man in the wolf mask looked at Sylvain. In his dreams! He said, also in an English accent, and snorted.

Perhaps you should slay that wench, said the man in the goat mask to the man in the wolf mask, gesturing to an elderly waitress with his chin as she walked by.

Bah! The man in the wolf mask snorted again. I can do better than that. Like Cupid I aim for the heart. But unlike Cupid I am not blind. I aim only for the heart of a peach, a sweet heart, not the heart of some sour artichoke, for that would choke my art. He laughed and took another drink. Get it? Art-i-choke…choke my art? He guffawed again.

But I would wager that you would happily choke a tart, said the man in the goat mask.

Haha! Indeed! said the man in the wolf mask, slapping his palm on the table.

The man in the goat mask returned his gaze to Alain. You drove a carriage for Princess Katharina, did you not?

Y-yes, stammered Alain.

What do the words ‘Vadas Asger’ mean to you?

What? N-nothing, said Alain.

The man in the goat mask stared into Alain’s eyes, and they both seemed to go into a momentary trance. Then the man in the goat mask picked up his shot glass. Cheers, he commanded. The blood of the world is the blood of the God.

The blood of the world is the blood of the God, said the man in the wolf mask, holding up his shot glass.

In a trance, Alain clinked glasses with the masked men, and they all drank the yellow liquid as Sylvain watched.

Woo! That has a bite! shouted the man in the wolf mask drunkenly as he slammed his empty shot glass down upon the table.

Delicious! said the man in the goat mask, sticking his pinky finger out pretentiously.

As soon as the liquid was down his throat, Alain began choking and sputtering. His face turned beet red as he clutched and clawed at his chest and then collapsed on the floor.

I read his mind, said the man in the goat mask to the man in the wolf mask. He knew nothing.

Useless fool, grunted the man in the wolf mask.

What have you done? What have you given him? demanded Sylvain, leaping to his feet in alarm as two waitresses rushed over to help Alain, who was now foaming at the mouth and convulsing on the floor. Sylvain drew his sword. Who are you? he demanded.

The man in the goat mask slowly removed his mask. He was handsome, in his late twenties. There was a powerful aura about him. He wore his hair slicked back, and it was brownish red, the color of dried blood. His skin was pale as milk, and there were dark circles under his black and hypnotic eyes. I am darkness visible, he said.

The man in the wolf mask took off his mask. He looked to be in his late thirties and had pale skin, a large nose, a high forehead, and curly brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He took a swig from his bottle of Absinthe and stared at Sylvain.

This is Squire Griffith, continued the man in the goat mask, gesturing to his companion with his chin. And my name is Baelaar. I collect the venom of the deadliest snakes in the world, he said, shrugging as he placed his empty glass upon the table. A truly refreshing beverage. He looked at Sylvain. And now, you will be coming with us.

With the speed of striking snakes, Baelaar and Squire Griffith leapt up, grabbed Sylvain, each taking an arm, and dragged him struggling towards the door of the tavern.

What are you doing? shouted Sylvain. Take your hands off of me!

As they passed a table of drunken revelers, Baelaar reached into his cloak with his free hand, pulled out a live snake, and casually tossed it at them. Shrieks erupted from the table as the three men fled the tavern.

The emerald-eyed man drew his sword and strode along the alley towards the street and the front of the tavern.

Out on the street, Baelaar and Squire Griffith released Sylvain.

Good sirs, said Sylvain, slowly backing away, I…I am an upstanding citizen. I am not interested in becoming involved in anything…

An upstanding citizen? Squire Griffith guffawed. You’ll be a horizontal citizen if you don’t do as you’re told. He roared with drunken laughter at his own joke and jabbed Baelaar in the ribs with his elbow. Did you hear that? Horizontal citizen.

Shut up, Baelaar snapped and turned his attention back to Sylvain. I only wish to hire you to drive us in my carriage to the Palace of Versailles. Since my manservant has disappeared and my friend here is so drunk, I fear he might fall off the carriage and do himself an injury. Baelaar glanced sideways at Squire Griffith and smirked.

Sir! bellowed Squire Griffith. I protest. I am only just getting started. He burst out laughing and took another swig from the bottle of Absinthe.

The emerald-eyed man raised his sword and charged down the alley to the attack, but before he reached the end of the alley, a doorway opened from the building on the left, and two big men grabbed him and dragged him inside. Inside was a large, dark empty classroom. The emerald-eyed man struggled with his captors, and all three went crashing over a desk. In a flash they were on their feet, all drawing their swords simultaneously. The emerald-eyed man leapt to the attack. He was a master swordsman and a master at hand-to-hand combat, his skills, speed, and agility bordering on superhuman, but the other two were also master swordsmen, and a ferocious battle ensued, filling the classroom with mayhem and destroying it as though a tornado had struck; desks and chairs lay smashed about in splintered fragments.

The ringing of steel on steel filled the air as the emerald-eyed man slashed, stabbed, parried, leapt, dived, and rolled with extraordinary speed, control, and precision. The other two were almost as fast and skilled, and fighting them both was pushing him to the limits of his extraordinary abilities. He dodged a sweeping strike from one of his adversaries, ran halfway up one wall, did a somersault over both of his attackers, and beheaded them as he landed with two perfectly placed swipes of his sword. We will skip the head count, he said, glancing around at his surroundings, then addressing the corpses of his victims. Class dismissed. With that he charged back out of the building into the alley and out onto the street, but Sylvain, Squire Griffith, and Baelaar were gone. The emerald-eyed man stood looking up and down the street. A deep booming sound like thunder filled the sky.

Portland, Maine

October 2020

A blood-curdling shriek exploded from Emily’s lips at the shock of finding herself back in her bedroom, sitting at her vanity, staring at her own reflection in the mysterious mirror. She let out another yelp and jumped with surprise. What the… Emily looked around, stunned, unable to grasp what had just happened to her.

BOOM BOOM BOOM! came the sound of someone banging on her bedroom door.

Emily, what’s wrong? her mother’s muffled voice came from the hallway.

Uhhh…uhhh, Emily stammered, looking around the room. Nothing…I…uh…just saw a spider.

OK, well, you’re going to be late for school! came the response.

OK, Mom, Emily yelled, vaguely realizing the booming sound she heard when she was having the vision hadn’t been thunder but her mother knocking. Emily inspected the mirror, but it now appeared to be a normal, antique mirror. What the…what…what happened? she mumbled to herself, eyes wide as she stared at the mirror and then around at her bedroom. "Did I fall asleep and have a crazy dream? That was so…weird. Mom!"

A moment later, her bedroom door opened, and her mother poked her head in. She was professionally dressed and perfectly groomed, as always. What?

Where did this come from? Is it my birthday present? Emily asked, pointing at the big, silver, antique mirror sitting on her vanity.

Her mother stared at it. I’ve never seen that before.

What? But… said Emily, looking back at the mirror. Well, where did it come from?

Maybe it’s a gift from your father, said her mother. I’m going to be late for work. Have a good day at school, dear. She ducked out and closed the bedroom door.

Emily stared at the mirror, her mind racing. Was it a dream? An out-of-body experience? An astral projection? And who was that man with the bright green eyes?

Portland, Maine

October 2020

A half hour earlier

For nearly eighteen years, Emily Bliss had led a totally unremarkable life. She considered herself to be a very grounded, logical, normal girl with a solid foundation of common sense. Quiet and a little on the shy side, she would be the last person in the world you’d expect to be involved with anything strange or mysterious, and she was perfectly happy to keep it that way. She had no ambitions for fame or fortune—or even popularity. She had a small group of close friends and was quite content with her little world.

When she awoke, on that dull, grey morning, a few days before Halloween, her favorite day of the year and her birthday, little did she suspect that the course of her life would soon change forever.

Emily had gotten out of bed and walked bleary-eyed across the floor to her bathroom, rubbing her eyes and yawning, then stopped dead in her tracks, blinking, staring at her bedroom vanity set. Sitting on top of it was a gorgeous, silver antique mirror on a short stand that she had never seen before. She stared at it for a moment and frowned in confusion. What the… she muttered to herself. Where did that come from? She walked over to her vanity and sat down in front of the mirror. It was beautiful and heavy, and obviously very expensive.

She stared at her reflection in it. Emily gave a start. She could have sworn that her reflection winked at her, but she was sure that she hadn’t winked. She continued to stare at her reflection, and after a few moments, the image began to flow and swirl as though liquid. She jumped a little, blinked, and rubbed her eyes, then looked back at her reflection. Once again, after a few moments of concentrated staring at her reflection, it began to swirl and melt. To Emily’s astonishment the surface of the mirror took on a glowing, translucent quality. She felt herself being drawn towards it.

Replacing the reflection of her face was now a nighttime scene of the outside of a tavern. Before Emily knew what was happening, she felt her spirit leave her body to be sucked through the mirror as though into a dream.

To Emily’s amazement, she had found herself outside the tavern, standing beside a man with emerald green eyes. She looked down at her body and saw that it was vaporous, like a ghost. Hello, she said to the man, but he was unaware that she was there.

She then watched as a bizarre scene unfolded. She watched as two strange men in Venetian masks entered the tavern and murdered the man named Alain and took the younger man, Sylvain, with them. She watched as the emerald-eyed man fought off two attackers with superhuman strength and speed. Then, before she could fully grasp what was happening, she was back in her room.

Emily heard her mother shut the front door as she left for work. She got up from the chair in front of her vanity and paced her room, thinking over the scene that she had witnessed. Where was I? The older man had said that he was going to leave France, and that the country was a powder keg. I must have been seeing something that happened just before the French Revolution; the clothes they were wearing would fit that time period too.

Her mind still whirling after the bizarre experience, Emily decided to drop by her father’s apartment on the way to school and see if he knew anything about the mysterious mirror. As she drove to her father’s, she thought again about the emerald-eyed man she had seen in the vision, wondering who he was. She thought about the way he fought those other men; his incredible skill and agility was almost superhuman. She wondered if he were some sort of elite, military trained, James Bond type of superspy or assassin for that time period. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

When Emily arrived at her father’s cramped one-bedroom apartment, he was in the middle of a phone call, so she sat down on the sofa in the tiny living room. Her father shut himself in his bedroom, having a heated argument with a customer, but she couldn’t make out any of the conversation clearly through the bedroom door. Emily began worrying about him as usual. He hadn’t been the same since he and her mother divorced a year earlier. The arrangement was that Emily stayed over at his apartment two nights a week, and the rest of the time she lived with her mother. She lay there, channel surfing, waiting for him to finish.

So, what was that all about? Emily asked as her father finally emerged from the bedroom.

Hmm? What?

On the telephone just now, said Emily, glancing up at him as he walked over and sat down on the couch beside her.

Oh that. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. Just some new customers, rude and pushy, he muttered and frowned, staring pensively at the ground for a moment. Listen, he tapped her knee, I put a box in the back of your mother’s garage last night, so if you stumble across it just leave it there.

What is it? asked Emily.

It’s uh…well, maybe it’s your eighteenth birthday present. He looked at her and smiled.

Dad… Emily chuckled awkwardly, not sure if he was joking.

Just kidding, said her father. I do have a gift for you, but it’s not that. It’s just something I need stored for a bit. It’s in a big package, all wrapped up in brown paper, buried under all that crap stored in the back of the garage.

Why did you put it in the garage? asked Emily, frowning. And did you leave an antique mirror in my bedroom?

Her father raised an eyebrow. Hmmm? What mirror?

I thought you could tell me, said Emily. When I woke up this morning, there was an antique silver mirror on my vanity, and Mom doesn’t know where it came from. We thought it might be a birthday present from you.

No.

OK. Very funny, said Emily, giving a half-hearted laugh.

I’m serious, said her father.

So weird, said Emily. Well, who put it there?

Could it be a secret admirer? asked her father, smiling, then he frowned. Although the thought of someone breaking into your bedroom to leave you gifts is very worrying.

Uh…I seriously doubt it’s from a secret admirer, Emily said, then laughed, blushing. And yeah, that would be super creepy.

How very strange. Well, I’m going to alert the police.

OK. Thanks, Dad. Hopefully it’s nothing… But what were you saying about this box?

Oh yes, I put the box in the garage because it’ll be safer there. I don’t have any room here, and don’t tell your mother this, but the store was broken into last night.

What? You were robbed? said Emily.

Yes, but don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t want to upset your mother. She has a lot on her plate right now. OK? I’m serious. He lit up his phone screen and began checking email messages as if wanting to end the conversation.

OK. But, Dad…who do you think did it? asked Emily.

I have no idea, he muttered. Probably just some kids.

Why would kids want to rob an antique store?

Yeah, it’s odd. I don’t know. He looked at her. I don’t know who it was. Anyways, just promise me that you’ll keep it safe until your birthday. He winked at her. And don’t open it. And do not tell your mother about it. I don’t want her worrying.

Dad that’s ridiculous. We have to tell Mom.

Emily, don’t question me on this, said her father, frowning at her.

But why?

I told you, I don’t want her upset over nothing.

Dad, listen, said Emily with a sigh. I know Mom put a lot of pressure on you like she does to everyone, but I think you two can still work it out. It’ll just take time..

Her father got a sad look on his face. Emily, I don’t want to go into that right now. Please, just promise me, OK?

OK, I promise, said Emily, standing up and hugging him.

Well, you should get going now, her father said. Time for school.

As Emily left her father’s apartment building and got into her car, she didn’t notice the bizarre creature crouching in the bushes beside the building’s entrance, spying on her. It was about eight inches tall with bluish green, scaly skin and a potbelly. A rat-like tail with a barbed end curled around its feet. It had long, pointed ears, small, bat-like wings, and a large, bulbous nose. Two small black horns jutted out from above its beady, sunken eyes, which peered at Emily intently. When she shut the car door, it vanished into thin air.

All day at school Emily had a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. She also couldn’t stop thinking about the strange experience with the mirror and the young man she had seen. There was something about him that fascinated her.

When school was over, Emily drove back to her mother’s house. She saw police cars parked outside, and her heart leapt into her throat. The car screeched to a stop, and she jumped out and ran to the house. Bursting through the front door, Emily saw two police officers talking quietly with her mother, who was weeping into a handkerchief. Inside her chest, Emily felt her heart break, though she didn’t yet know why.

So, you have no idea who would have wanted your father dead?

Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the police station the next day, Emily struggled in vain to control the tears. Her eyes were already red and puffy from hours of crying. She was utterly devastated by the death of her father and could barely function. She shook her head.

Detective Scannel leaned back and sighed, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. His face was meaty, and the corners of his eyelids sagged with exhaustion after a career filled with sleepless nights.

What about the people who broke into his store? Emily asked.

We’re following up on that. But do you have any reason to suppose there is a connection between the break-in and your father’s murder?

Emily shrugged, and the tears welled up again. Whenever she had thought about her childhood, it always appeared like one long, beautiful summer’s day. Now she felt that golden world drifting further and further away, replaced by images of horror and uncertainty.

Had your father been acting strangely in any way? Had he said anything to you that seemed unusual? The detective rocked himself back and forth in the flimsy chair. It was getting late, and it looked as though he just wanted to get home.

Emily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. When I got to his apartment, he was arguing on the phone, but I didn’t really get much of the conversation. He just told me that it was some new customer who was really pushy and rude.

And you have no idea who this person, this ‘new customer’ was? asked Detective Scannel, twirling a pen around his fingers as though it were a cheerleader’s baton.

No, said Emily. Can’t you trace the numbers on his phone?

We’re looking into that, but so far it hasn’t led us anywhere.

Do you think he was the one who robbed him? asked Emily. She wondered if she should mention the mysterious package in the garage but decided against it. She wanted to open it and see for herself what it was before she told anyone else of its existence.

Don’t know. The detective handed her a photo of a Caucasian man who looked to be in his thirties with wild eyes, like a rabid animal. He had thick dark hair, square, prominent features and a solid jaw line. His face was terribly scarred, and he was missing most of his right ear.

Ever hear your father mention the name Cady Sunner? he asked.

No, said Emily, shaking her head.

He set the photo up against his water bottle, so she could continue to examine it. He was spotted in the area of your father’s store around the time of the break-in.

Is he some kind of criminal? asked Emily.

He’s been linked with some organized crime, said the detective.

You mean mafia? Emily asked. In Portland?

Drug smuggling is expanding to the smaller ports up and down the east coast. Fewer police, he explained.

Oh.

Yeah, Asian triads, the Russian mob, bikers…we’ve got it all now. He sighed.

Emily shook her head. I’ve never seen him. You think he robbed my father’s store?

We don’t know, said the detective. Whoever did it ransacked the place, but the only things missing were his books.

What books? asked Emily.

The records of all his sales and purchases.

Emily stared hard at the photo, trying to imagine why anyone would want her father’s sales records.

He only kept hard copies of his records as far as you know, correct? asked the detective.

Yeah, my father wasn’t big on computers.

Detective Scannel took back the photo and placed it in a manila folder, clipping it to the top edge before taking out another. How about this man? he asked. Ever hear the name Commander Claw?

Emily took the photo and looked at it. It was a picture of an Asian man who she guessed was in his late fifties. He had high cheekbones and a mustache. He was dressed in some kind of military uniform.

No, never seen him. She shook her head and handed him back the picture.

It doesn’t matter. The detective put the picture away and stared at Emily. We’ll do everything we can to figure out who broke into the store and who killed your father, Emily, I promise. One last thing… Detective Scannel glanced about, clearing his throat. He looked uneasy. He handed her a piece of paper and pointed to some words written in blue ink. Do these words mean anything to you?

The words read: THE BLOOD OF THE WORLD IS THE BLOOD OF THE GOD.

Emily recoiled, as if bitten by a snake. She remembered that the man from her bizarre vision in the mirror named Baelaar had used that phrase in the tavern. But how could I tell this to him? He would think I’m crazy. No. What does…what does that even mean?

Are you sure you’ve never seen or heard these words? asked the detective.

Yeah, said Emily after a moment’s hesitation. I’m sure. Why?

He cleared his throat again and looked at her as if gauging how much he wanted her to know. Because, he said, eventually, putting the paper down on his desk, these words were written on the wall of your father’s apartment. They were written in his blood.

Emily went straight to her garage when she got home from the police station, deep in thought. She was consumed with loss, sadness, anger, and confusion. She was also still totally freaked out by the strange vision in the mysterious mirror and the fact that the man in the vision had used the same phrase written on her father’s wall with his blood. What does it all mean? Emily found the package at the back of the garage under a heap of junk beside a dust-covered plastic turtle pool. It was quite a large box, wrapped in brown paper, just like her father had said.

OK, Dad, she whispered to herself, I’ve found it. She felt a knot of excitement tightening in her stomach as she pushed aside the bicycle and toys piled on top of it. Is this what those men were looking for? she wondered. Is this the reason my father is dead?

She tore the paper from one end of the box, cutting through the packing tape with her house key. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the flaps of the box and peered inside.

From the brass plaque on the side, she could see that it was a desk from a ship. It was crafted out of walnut with a leather top and drawers down one side. It looked as if it had recently been refurbished, and whoever had done it had done a fairly decent job. Judging from the untouched base, it had previously been in very rough shape. The small brass plaque on the side read: Pinalute.

Emily frowned. Hmm…definitely not my birthday present, she muttered, examining the desk.

If this was the item the robbers were looking for, why would they—or anyone else—be interested in it? It can’t be that valuable. To be honest, it’s kind of junky. Then again, she thought, maybe it was owned by someone famous or was used in some important historical moment…

She opened the drawers, but they were empty. The top flipped up to reveal a small storage area, but all that was in there was a piece of paper, a record of purchase. Emily remembered that the thieves had stolen his record books. I guess the thieves don’t know for sure if he had this desk if they couldn’t find the purchase record, she thought. If that’s even what they were looking for... As she picked up the piece of paper, she noticed some words roughly carved into the wood of the storage area underneath. Her heart nearly stopped. Oh my God, she whispered as a chill ran down her spine. The words read VADAS ASGER in capital letters—the meaning of which Baelaar had been trying to figure out at the tavern in the vision. The word demons was carved below it. It looked as though dried blood had sunk into the carved letters. What the… she murmured, another chill running down her spine as she stared at it. She turned over the piece of paper and noticed that her father had also written VADAS ASGER? on