The Lifestone Chronicles. A Woman Wields the Sword

By David Stevens

The second book of The Lifestone Chronicles, regales the tale of Christine, a young woman drawn from her safe life into the magic and drama of a battle preparing to be reignited. A battle of good versus evil, of life and death, and of a search for power and control.
Christine faces the Dark Lord Nailstead, assisted by the ancient magician Vindec, who has drawn her there, along with a dwarf, a wolf, and unknown to her, the shade of a long dead king.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Stevens
• Release date: Aug 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005358808

David Stevens

Dr David Stevens is generally regarded as one of the world's leading project strategists, particularly in value management, value engineering, risk management, partnering, project alliancing and strategic planning.His academic qualifications include three Masters degrees MEng (Hons); MSc (Environmental Psychology); MA (Literature); and a PhD, (Psychology). The framework and theoretical basis for his facilitation techniques are derived from his specialisation as an organisational psychologist. He is a member of the Australian Psychological Society. Dr Stevens was an Adjunct Professor at the School of Engineering and Industrial Design at the University of Western Sydney for ten years (1999 – 2009). He has acted as an external examiner of doctoral level theses. He has authored 7 books, one of which is a major international text published by McGraw Hill. He has held several board positions and has been Chairman of an Australian Standards Committee.

Book preview

THE LIFESTONE CHRONICLES

Book 2

A Woman Wields the Sword

BDAVID STEVENS

Copyright © 2021 David Stevens

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To Sue for her understanding

and to everyone else for their expertise

and for bringing this book into the real world.

David Stevens

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 1

Peter Harrison looked up as his sixteen-year-old daughter slammed through the back door, her arms clasping an assortment of clothes and bags. He knew that look on her face; she had something to say or wanted something. Peter sat back in his chair and studied the young woman that she was fast becoming. Her nose, he decided, was slightly on the small side. Her face was nicely framed by her golden-brown hair, which cascaded in waves over her shoulders. Her eyes being a bright startling green more than compensated for any faults in her features. She stood five feet six inches and was slim, but not to excess. Her name was Christine. She was his only daughter and the love of his life since the untimely death of his wife.

Dad I’ve got something to show you! She said, reaching toward a dark black piece of cloth in which something was wrapped.

I found this earlier today and I was hoping that perhaps you might know something about it? So saying, she grasped the cloth-covered object and unwrapped it. Held within her hand, was a sight that her father had hoped never to see again. It was a weapon… a sword.

He looked into Christine’s eyes before asking the most obvious question. Where did you find that?

Christine looked uncomfortable at the question. She had known he would eventually ask, but had hoped that he might not.

Umm… Well… You see it’s like this, you know that I’m taking skindiving lessons, well I was diving this morning with the class in that old lake at the top of the woods, and I felt it. Well… felt it isn’t really accurate, but I can’t think of a better description. Anyway, when I followed the feeling it led me into a submerged cave, and there it was sticking vertically out of the bottom silt. I pulled it out, brought it to the surface, and from there to you.

Peter sat back and thought about the story that he had just been told. He decided it was flawed. Christine was not telling him the whole truth. He reached out toward the ancient weapon, his fingertips trembling. It had been a long time since he had seen the two distinctive snake heads forming the fighting-guard. Lovingly, he ran a finger along the bright steel of the blade, which was still as clean and sharp as the day it had been forged so many long years ago. Though to Peter’s eye’s the weapon had changed only slightly since he had last seen and held it, the weapon’s presence created a fear in him that he hoped he would never feel again. He looked toward his daughter, his concern welling up within him.

The time has come. My time, he thought. The Sword has been brought to me and now I must meet my destiny. Peter understood that he could not, and perhaps should not, tell Christine the reason for this sword’s existence. She would not understand the duty that its arrival ordained for him; he, it would appear, had been chosen! All that he could do was wait and see what happened next, but first he had to ensure that Christine would be well taken care of once he had gone.

The Sword was three-foot six inches of blade, fitted with a cast handle. It was a weapon constructed in the traditional British style, having a one-inch-wide blade, honed to a leading cutting edge, which tapered to a sweeping point. There was a cross-mounted fighting-guard at the hilt, in the shape of two snake heads.

The snake heads were the last point that traditional British weaponry had in connection with this particular weapon. Each of the carved heads were out of proportion to their bodies. Each upper jaw was equipped with two fangs mounted downward, accompanied by a further pair of fangs set into the lower jaw, these pointed upward and outward. Raised protrusions of bone protected each of the creature’s eyes and on the top of each side of the cranium. Still extra protection was provided to each eye socket by a ridge of saw-edged bone, which encircled and recessed each eye protecting but restricting the creature’s peripheral vision.

Looking toward the expectant Christine, Peter extended the weapon to her hilt first saying. Hold it. See how it feels.

She took hold of the hilt, feeling the smooth metal mold to her hands, noticing how the snakes encircled and protected her grip. The length of the weapon’s blade gave it a feel of perfect balance. It was near on perfect for her. It felt as if this sword could have been forged solely for her, and yet it was clearly ancient. Peter watched her as she held the weapon. Perhaps, he thought, one day you too might be called upon to fight the fight and do your duty, but he sincerely hoped not.

He could not face the possibility of watching Christine, his only daughter, drawn into the mystery of this weapon and its bloody history. Thank God, he decided, that he and his wife had been granted a girl not a boy. He had been stunned when his wife had come to him one evening, sixteen or so years ago and had broken the news that she was pregnant. Neither of them could have predicted that shortly after the birth she would have been killed, leaving him, a middle-aged man, to fulfil the combined role of mother and father to a very young daughter. It was a role that he prided himself on as always having done well, but now because of that weapon having turned up, he would have to leave his daughter to fend for herself. He looked toward her, taking in her athletic build. He knew deep within himself that she was mentally strong, as well as physically able, and would face up to life without him well, should he not return.

Wow, she said aloud, as hand and weapon became unified. It’s amazing.

He had sat back and was just watching her reaction. He nodded to himself knowingly. She was indeed meant for this weapon.

Yes, he started to say, but quickly stopped himself from voicing his thoughts. Now young lady, perhaps you would care to fill in the missing parts of your story, or do I have to ask for each of the missing events?

Christine looked away from her father and sighed out loud before saying, "Okay, I did sense something, whilst diving with the class, but there was no way that I could go off looking for whatever it was with the rest of the class tagging along. So later, after the class had finished, I refilled my air tanks and returned to the same spot. Even standing on the bank I felt this overpowering urge to dive in and look. So, I kitted myself up again and entered the water. Dad, I’ve dived that lake and that specific entry point many times. I’ve never felt this way before, nor have I ever seen or found the cave before. It was so obvious to me, even through the murk of the water!

The Sword was exactly as I told you, sticking up out of the silt. It seemed to be held upright by something. When I brushed at the base it appeared to be stone, but I cannot be sure. Anyway, when I pulled at the sword it came free very easily, and I returned safely to the surface with it.

Frowning, Peter looked at her. He knew, as did she, that the first rule of diving is never, never, dive alone, no matter what. She had ignored this rule, placing herself in danger had something gone wrong, luckily it had not. His anger at her stupid action was tempered slightly by his knowledge of the insidious pull that sword would have applied in her mind. He knew that she would have found it virtually impossible to ignore the sword’s insistence, yet he could not for his own reasons enlighten her.

Well dad? asked Christine, staring into his face. When he did not answer her, she repeated her question. Well? Christine had given the weapon back to her father, who was a retired professor of antiquities, fully expecting him to be able to enlighten her as to the weapon’s age and country of origin, etc. Yet there he sat, saying nothing, just looking at the sword. Her patience was nearly at an end; she wanted answers!

There is very little that I can tell you about this particular weapon, obviously it is very old and clearly well constructed, he said lying.

Christine looked at him more shocked than she wanted to admit to herself. Her dad, the retired professor, claiming to know nothing about an old weapon! Yet in a deep corner of her mind, she sensed that he was not telling her the whole truth. The question was… why?

I think for now, he said looking toward her, that we should place this somewhere safe for the night. He arose from his chair as he spoke, taking the weapon from her.

Christine noticed his face lit up again as he held it. Perhaps he did know something, but just could not bring himself to believe it? He left the room with Christine following closely on his heels.

Although retired, Peter had a private collection of artefacts that he or his students had collected over the years; it was to the room in which this collection was housed that they went. From behind a curtain, Peter pulled a movable glass-topped cabinet fitted with locks into the center of the room. He opened the lid and reverently placed the weapon inside upon the lining. Christine watched her father very carefully, still a little puzzled by his reaction.

Standing in that room in front of the glass case, Christine felt an overwhelming affinity with the weapon from another age. Try as she might, she could not turn her eyes from it as it lay serenely locked within the case. She was not a particularly superstitious girl; she did not believe in fortunetelling or psychic phenomena. She considered her sensing of feelings and objects around her to be well within the normal. Her life so far had had its ups and downs, as did most people, and yet here she was, feeling an overwhelming urge to handle the sword once more. A voice, the sword’s voice, seemed to be calling to her. It was like no other voice that she had ever heard. It burst into her brain with the sharpness of a needle, filling her thoughts, drawing her toward who knew what?

From behind, hidden within the shadows she felt the presence of another. A mind so involved in her life that she imagined that it was always there, waiting, just out of reach, hidden but watching her. For the fourth time in so many days, she turned, hoping for a glimpse of the person that she felt to be watching her, if they existed. As with every other time there was no one there, watching her. She shuddered, shaking off the feeling, returning her thoughts to the weapon in front of her.

Her father had drawn her attention back to the weapon, by saying, Fascinating, isn't it?

Christine nodding dumbly and turned away from the glass case. They left together, saying their goodnights as they retired to bed. The enigma of the sword faded from her thoughts, as did the hidden feeling of being watched from afar. She felt unbelievably tired and just wanted to fall into bed and sleep. It had been a long day.

Sleep washing over her tired body had been the last conscious thought she could recall, before a hand shook her roughly out of dreamland. Gone were the warm friendly flowers of her bedroom wallpaper. No longer in sight was her battered old stereo system or the familiar ragdoll she called Scruff. It should have been sitting on her chair. For that matter… where was the chair? Stretching out her hands, she could not even feel the warm comforting embrace of her cotton-covered duvet.

Shadows jumped nymph-like from the coarse stone walls of a cave. An old man stood looking down watching her. He had a long thick grey beard and deep wrinkles lined his smiling face. She could not accept any other impressions into her still sleep filled brain. She suddenly propelled herself bolt upright, casting nervous swift glances to her right and then left. Her wandering eyes finally came to rest firmly locked upon the old man standing over her.

Quiet my child, he said. Rest easy, you are safe here. His voice seemed to float gently upon the airwaves. Even so, it was crystal clear, not harsh to her ear, yet it implied strength and an immediate feeling of trust. His smile radiated from tired, old, deep blue eyes, which also inspired a safe feeling of confidence in her, along with a deepfelt inner peace and tranquility.

Where am I? she asked looking into those eyes.

All will be revealed in its own time and place, now sleep, he told her, and surprisingly she did.

Unknown to her, she slept because of the calming effects fed into the ancient magic that the old man had used to drag her into his cave home.

Rock cliffs rose smoothly and vertically in excess of one hundred feet, capped by a blanket of craggy peaks; indifferent to the petty whims of all that resided within the domain they surveyed. The cliffs stood resistant to all but the gradual encroaching erosion of the harsh winter winds.

Standing close at the cliff’s base was a completely black cowled figure, its arms raised skyward, reciting a complex incantation. It filled the air and chilled the land around it, with a withering soul-destroying feeling of evil. Fire, redder than the bloody walls of Hades, began to emanate from fingers that lay concealed deep within shielding sleeves. Twin streaks of flame emanated from within the sleeves, joining and then entwining, forming one brilliant glowing finger of raw unadulterated energy. This energy exploded from him toward the base of the cliff, appearing firstly as an insignificant dot of light on the rock. It grew quickly in intensity and depth, expanding at a rate faster than the human eye could follow. Forming, cutting, creating a seemingly endless tunnel which burrowed toward the very heart of that inhospitable mountain of granite. Having completed its master’s wishes, the power-filled light retracted back into its lair within its master’s sleeves, to wait, dormant.

Gliding within the recently formed tunnel, he (if indeed ‘it’ could be defined as a he) entered. Rocks reverberated, falling and melting as they restructured themselves behind him to leave no visible sign of the male shrouded figure having passed into the granite cliff face.

Moving to the center of the recently opened cavern, the figure stood arms raised as power resurfaced from within. One single blood red bolt of globe shaped raw energy, ejected from his concealed fingers, struck the opposite wall and then became stationary; to hover harmlessly a few feet clear of the cavern floor. Streaks of flaming matter then fired bullet-like from within the globe of light, punching their way out vertically, straight up through the globes uppermost part. Heading sky-wards, the flaming matter carved through hundreds of feet of granite rock; the color changing as it proceeded upward. Red faded to blue, and then it halted momentarily, before plummeting downward. Stopping at its original starting point against the cavern wall in front of the cowl-encompassed figure; the globe halted. It glowed with its own inner intensity, pulsing with the brightness of a new-born star, driving darkness into nonexistence by its overpowering presence.

Gliding toward the now fully formed star, the cowled figure entered its glowing light. He then faded into nothingness, leaving behind no trace of his passing in the cavern. After his passing, the steady pulses of the living star remained, held securely deep within a restraining wall of granite rock, hundreds of feet thick, awaiting his return.

The air about his cowl felt heavy. Brilliant stars exploded before his eyes, scattering showers of blinding phosphorescence in a beautiful display of nature’s anger. Anger, generated by the audacity that one such as he might rend a passage between Worlds, defying the ancient laws of nature and time, purely for its own petty ends!

In a little room on a strange World, appeared the effects of transposition; from within solidifying particles appeared a black clad arm, which grew into solidity. Gradually, he reappeared in his entirety. Before his cloth-shielded eyes rested the cause of his troubles, The Sword of Power. Exhilaration pulsed through his hidden body as elation flowed. Within his reach rested the nemesis of his World — The doorway to his gaining total power.

Reaching out to clasp the ancient talisman, he encountered resistance, at the same moment a sparking crackle distracted his attention. Blue flame erupted from his left to strike unexpectedly at him. Death to most life forms would have been instantaneous, their molecules shattered and rent apart, but not to him!

Explanations… Ummm… explanations. Trouble with humans, they always require explanations! said the old man with the gentle eyes.

They were sitting before a well-provisioned table, eating breakfast. This was all that he had said since Christine had awakened for the second time. She was full of all sorts of questions about such trivial things, as where she was and to whom she was speaking? She felt an unaccountable, and all pervading, feeling of calmness. A feeling that whatever she heard or whatever happened to her, all would be well. She did not understand her passivity but felt to her core that she just had to accept the situation. Yet, questions bubbled up inside of her, unspoken. So, it was that an hour later she found herself well fed, still seated at that same table, with a drink in front of her, listening to the old man as he told her his story.

Feeling my girl. That's all. It was just a feeling of wave upon wave of flowing effluence of immortal evil, surrounding and engulfing all. Attempting to strangle and swamp all that was good in this little planet and its people. Some considerable time has passed since the first of these feelings attacked me. It was ‘Nailstead’. I knew it was he. Somehow he was back!

At this, Christine attempted to interrupt the old man, but he continued to talk swamping her interruption.

He was searching for the lost Sword of the Master. He had to be, he said, shaking his head. I felt a door rip apart the very fabric of our world, as Nailstead conjured up a trans-dimensional portal, designed to take him to the sword’s resting place. So, I enforced myself through a very powerful, and I might add a dangerous, incantation.

Christine found herself breaking into a wide grin at his pomposity, which she hastily covered up with a fit of coughing.

To be drawn through also, he continued, seemingly unaware of her reaction.

After all, she thought, she didn't want to upset this old man. Well, not yet anyway!

"With a crackle of discharging electricity, I Vindec an aged Magician found myself drawn through time and space, in the pulling wake of Nailstead, The Dark One. Flashing light all about me added to my feeling of disorientation, my chest felt as though some great weight were constricting it, making breathing an effort. With the passing of a billionth of a second, I burst from the dimension that had allowed my transposition, out into the dimness of a room, a room full of glass cases in which I observed were many ancient relics.

"Vaguely discernible to my readjusting eyes, was the cowled figure of Nailstead, whose sleeve-covered hands were reaching out to retrieve and possess the sword. My vision cleared. Glass covered cabinets housing a variety of ancient relics stood undisturbed. My entrance it seemed had passed undetected, so I tried to take advantage of my good fortune, but I failed to strike a mortal blow.

"Fire danced loosely from the tips of fingers to explode in anger toward each other. Again, and again, the energy locked together seeking advantage. Hovering above the floor, the power raged as we old enemies fought. Streaks of burning red diverged from the blue, to plunge toward me. I only just managed to halt them in mid-flight by using another, but this time defensive bust of power.

"Sparks danced; casting weird shadows as we, the combatants, circled each other. A lunge here, a feint there, seeking for the other’s Achilles heel, hoping to locate the weakness that all defenses have. With my attention concentrated on our entwined bolts of energy, I failed to see Nailstead quickly strike again, which caught me off balance. I was thrown by the surprising blow into the far wall, where I tumbled into a heap of fire encircled energy. Every ounce of my considerable ability was required to fight off the tentacles of flames that swirled relentlessly around my breathless crumpled body.

"Nailstead looked toward me through the flames, realizing that for the first time he had been able to seriously threaten, if not defeat me, his aged nemesis. In each of our other encounters, throughout our long history, each had been the equal of the other with no advantage to either. Something had changed. He believed I thought I could be finally defeated by him once he gained control of the power of the sword.

"The feeling of certainty that his destiny could become a reality this time had been growing within him over the long centuries. The newfound confidence had been the catalyst that led him to this place and moment in time. It had instilled within him once more the desire to destroy all that was, and to replace it with all that he desired it to be.

"‘I will rule this world. It will be mine… mine… do you hear me?' he screamed.

Seizing his advantage over me, Nailstead glided up to the case containing the ancient weapon. He punched through the clear glass lid, ignoring the pointed shards which shattered across it. Gloating to himself, he grasped The Sword by its pommel. He lifted the weapon up and out of the case. For the first time since the weapon had been created to defeat him and his army of evil, he had gained control of it. I realized now things would change. He could not be allowed to hold the Sword of Power and wield its abilities and ancient magic. Somehow, I had to stop him. I just had to… but how?

"Exultant, Nailstead departed from your world by the same route that he had entered, returning to our own world and taking with him the energy that he had so devastatingly used against me. Much to my shame then, there was little that I could do to resist or deter his theft, and besides, by that time my spells had begun to lose their potency. So, my only option was to return, which I did. Immediately, upon my return I defined a plan of action. Clearly, I needed help and powerful help at that. So, I set up a spell and activated it. My aim being to locate the User, as talked of throughout our legends.

Many Seek and Search Potions did I construct and release into the time continuum, trying to locate the True User of The Sword. So that we, that is the User and I, could join together as allies, with one aim. Had I located the User, we would have stood a very good chance of overthrowing the Dark One, thus restoring peace and tranquility to my world, by seeking Nailstead’s demise or re-imprisonment.

As Christine listened, she was stunned at the self-importance emanating from this strange old man as he spoke to her, let alone the content of his words!

Well, my child, he continued, so it was, that sometime later you arrived here at my humble abode. All that I can say to you is that I am very disappointed in the mistake that has occurred. It just does not make sense, he mumbled. Old, I may be, but mistakes of this magnitude, I don’t usually make!

Christine could not contain herself one single moment longer, so overpowering had her questions become, and the need to fully understand what had happened to her. Who are you? she asked.

In response, the old man looked toward her with a puzzled expression. Who am I? he said, repeating her question imperiously. I am Vindec! Oldest and most wise I might add, of The Appointed Keepers of The Ancient Codes and Magic!

Why me? What am I doing here? She heard herself asking with a slight touch of hysteria now edging into her voice. It disappeared as the calming power within Vindec’s transposition spell once more came into play in her body.

It was, as I have just said, a mistake, replied Vindec to her question. I must find the User. Muttered the old man, more to himself than in answer to Christine’s question.

What on earth is this User? She asked anxiously of Vindec, in spite of the calming spell.

Not on Earth child. From Earth, yes that’s more accurate, from Earth, he said. Finally returning to her question. The User is the chosen person. They have been selected and will be gifted with the power of The Sword. Who found The Sword do you know? He asked of her. I have to find him, for he is the chosen one, and unfortunately for some reason that I do not yet understand, my searching power locked onto and drew you here to me, instead of him!

I did, she whispered in reply with fear filling her, as she realized what her admission meant. Her being here was no mistake, as obviously Vindec believed. There has been no mistake, she mumbled. She felt shock. Shock that she could so easily be summoned from her own safe little world of comfort and familiarity. Drawn helplessly into the trauma of this topsy-turvy existence, where magic and sorcery not only existed, but also seemed to be the norm just because she had found an ancient sword!

The old magician looked hard at her, as realization dawned. His casting spell had latched onto the right target. This innocent looking young girl in front of him, was clearly the one that he had been seeking! Perhaps, he mused, his actions had been correct. After all, here before him stood the girl. It would appear then that she was in fact the True User! As shocking to him as it might seem that a mere girl could be the host for such awesome power, there was still a good chance to fulfil the prophecies and to defeat Nailstead.

Clearing his throat, the old man looked toward Christine and said confidently, once I realized that my spell had located and attached to the User, I immediately summoned suitable assistance, which unfortunately so far has failed to arrive as expected. Now I require a plan of action designed both to protect you, whilst also recovering the sword, and seeing to its safe return and concealment once more within your world.

Why?

Because child, if the User and The Sword should combine with the crystal deep in the heart of the Olar…

The what? asked Christine, interrupting him sharply.

The Olar, it is a living, breathing, changeling marsh. It exists to protect the crystal which resides at its center. When all three, that is the User, the Sword and the crystal combine, then the ultimate power will be released in some way! Only The User has ever been able to confirm the truth of the ancient legends, for only they can pass into the Olar and return from within safely, replied the magician. We must recover the sword and also see that you and it are hidden and kept safe from Nailstead.

Why?

"If you are captured, my child, he will attempt to use you, controlling your mind, dictating by his black arts all of your actions and thoughts. Within his grasp would then be all of the awesome power locked within the sword. This would place in his hands, all that was, is, and is