The Eternal Knott: Forged: Forged

By Silan Nyte

This is about Induma:
There are many creatures on this planet that is much like earth, it was ''made'' according to their belief by Evangeline-the ''Angel'' of redemption. Moriane was born on Evangeline's star but was banished for her bloodthirsty nature-Tarn the Demon of the underworld is much like we would see Hades but a little different-he has compassion. Anyway Induma has one sun (the Great Star) and two moons (the Arrents') the normal Stars they call 'Tears of the Angel' or simply 'Orbs of light, Sparks from the Life-bringer' (the sun). At night in the summer, sometimes (but only if there are no Arrents, the Plants' flowers will glow, sand, patterns on certain animals and such will shine-its kind of like camouflage) Induma is 'Destined' to fall right before the angel is healed and returns home. What survives her wrath and retribution will be lead by her healer in the second book. the healer is Arikka the daughter of Elysiums' king Matyus and Tartaroos' queen Lyndsey, but the child is ''illegitimate'' and her mom tried to kill her-later Jaysen adopts herKFor more read the book.


This one is about Jaysen:
He has cobalt blue eyes that are shot through with slightly tarnished silver. He is a knight and message bearer to both kingdoms-his heart belongs to his wife Marria pronounced Mariah, he is about 5'7'' and weighs roughly...135lbs. He has a generous mouth, chiseled features and usually has a 5 o'clock shadow. He is loyal to Tararoo and King Rodryc, he despises Elysium and King Matyus, has pity on Queen Shyloe and kills Queen Lyndsey. He adopts children and helps many others, but he usually does not keep the children he finds. His parents died of some illness when he was young and he was raised by the Klyne so he is a little detached and has a raw undertone. He doesnt really like the ''Angel'' Moriane but loves ''Her Consort'' Tarn. Jaysens' true name is Mitah while the name most know him as is Knight Jaysen Night or simply 'Messenger'. The knight likes helping and his greatest fear is that he will not make a difference in the world he so loves. Jaysen is...loyal only to those he really loves. He is human to a fault he is a telepath and a self-healer, he also can heal others. His blood creates roses (colored by his emotions, thoughts, or whim) in the great-stars' (the suns) light, the light is also the only was he can heal himself or others. Occasionally he cannot heal himself, and usually will not heal others especially if he has been sick, injured recently or suspects himself of being poisoned because his blood transfers the poison or illness. Not only that but it also hurts. Jaysen can kill without feeling until he is by himself or trying to sleep. The Pulkan (vampires, lycans, ect as well as gifted humans ect..) have a special interest in him because he is supposed to raise a child who is too heal Moriane (the angel) and send her back to her domain with Tarn, returning a different creature to look after the remaints of the inhabitants of Induma. (I hope you fall in love with him, I did..)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479788682

Silan Nyte

Silan Nyte, is a high-school graduate, a centennial class member and is 17 years old: her favorite flowers are white lilies. She currently lives with 13 siblings and both of her parents. She likes to watch the sun rise, the moon set, and see pictures of the ocean. Her greatest goal is to travel the world and obtain a charm from each country for her bracelet. Silan was inspired to write her novel by really hot showers and night-time walks, as well as the occasional wolf that wandered through. She plans to further her education, and have fun.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Wake up! hisses a dark-

haired beauty as she shakes the bare shoulder of her husband. Wake up, someone is pounding on the door. her beautiful pale-hazel eyes are bright with worry and no small amount of fear.

The young man blinks with sleep-filled eyes and a smile. What’s wrong darling? he asks through a yawn and brushes a lock of her dark chestnut hair behind her ear. It is the middle of the night. he smiles.

There is a man in palace livery here, keeps pounding on the door. she whispers, I tried to tell him to go away but he said he’d drag you out… she pulls a thin blanket around her shoulders with a slight tremble to her full, rosy lips.

I will be right there. The man gets to his feet, pulls on a pair of pants and as he is tying them stumbles to the door, pausing only to look out the window to check the time, four-thirty in the morning. Doesn’t the king EVER sleep? Wonders the man absently as he pulls open the heavy oak door. Stifling a yawn he glares at the foot-men. What now? he growls.

Apparently the younger men are taken back by his disheveled appearance and the certain loathing in the air that radiates from the man in the door-way. The K-kin-ng M-mat-tyus-s w-want’s y-you. stutters a mere boy with the Capitan’s insignia on his breast pocket.

When? asks the man as he brushes his hair back to the nape of his neck and ties it with a bit of leather.

Now… Sir… Knight umm Night. says the boy softly, uncertainly. He wants you now.

I will be there as soon as I have my bags ready. says the Knight as he shuts the door. Darling. he calls then with a sigh continues, Our Beloved King wants me help me get ready, no-doubt I will have to go on some mission or another. The woman wears a look of resignation on her pale heart-shaped face. I wont be long, home as soon as I can. a half-smile perpetually frozen on his face as he bustles about those tasks. Fifteen minutes later the defender of Elysium mounts up on his horse, aware of his wife waving and smiling around her tears and rides away.

~/~/~/~

Under the light of two waning Arrents the siglougette of a man makes his paces on a high wall, on, and on until he spots a rider, that same man halts in his wearisome tread and places a bolt in his cross-bow, the shaft strait and unyielding as it is aimed at the stranger’s heart. Halt. snaps that same man from the gloom of a tower. Who goes there? but those words are not unkind, no they are simply weary.

The young man-turned-soldier touches the cloak and pulls it over his head with a large smile, even he wasn’t wearing armor it was to heavy and bulky for a long-distance rise. Knight and Message Bearer Jaysen Night. the boy responds while something else whispers his name.

Mitah.

Your business? asks the tower-wall guard, oblivious to the reaction the knight had when that other name had been uttered. The cross-bow is lowered ever-so-slightly.

King Matyus has ordered my presence. is the meek response, too meek for one of such rank. A flag is waved and a the siege gate is opened just enough for him to pass through with a slumped over form. Dismounting he strides into the pavilion, noting as he passes through the dark halls the golden-white walls are accented with tiny blue stones. The dome of glass, an upside-down bowl is held up by pillars and the soldier drops into a kneeling bow, one arm on his knee the other hanging to the floor, and his head ducked. Sire? he murmmers and winces when that uttered word resounds through the dark area.

I would that you should go to Tartaroo. says the king softly, as if the matter has no importance too him. And of course, deliver a message to my brother. Matyus says.

As you will Sire. responds the knight although he dares not look up as the message he is burdened to deliver is swiftly memorized. If I may? he murmmers kindly although he is feeling anything but kind. Swallowing to push down the emotions he waits to be set free.

I expect you to relay the message back to me. says Matyus with a wave of his fingers, So go on, what are you waiting for? a half-smile that is almost unseen. The knight nods silently and moves to his feet before backing out of the pavilion.

Tartaroo . . . why the Tartaric lands? Why am I always sent out on these missions, why can’t I just be a normal man? Then again I Did choose this life for myself . . . thinks the semi-noble man with an audible sigh. But at least I am a free man there, at least I am loyal to the king, at least there I don’t need to fear who I am . . . Another sigh and he is mounting up, ready to leave what was supposed to be heaven. Mere moments later and the soldier is taking a direct route from the castle grounds into the forest, he looks up noting the almost elderly guard on the wall and then is swallowed up by the pre-Star-Rise fog and shadow.

CHAPTER 1

A single figure rides hell-bent from a silent city. His mount’s hooves pound like thunder in the all too clear dawn. Behind him, the Elysium city’s gold and white gates shudder as the men who guard them struggle to close them. The gates have to close; have to protect the cities’ precious inhabitants from the known and the unknown. A metallic clang similar to a hammer on a blade in a forge fills the air as the only partially opened gates are closed. The finality of the sound rings true, rings home. They close him out, away from civilization into a strangely compelling and dangerous land, a place so barbaric that even warriors of many decades, the ones who had seen war, tremble in terror at the order to enter the forest’s dark depths, they would rather die than obey.

The young man is on his king’s errand, one that he must do, or meet a gruesome end. And, it would not be just him. It would be anyone, and everyone he had ever held dear. He has to fulfill his duty for the sake of his life, no matter how wretched, and for the sake of his beloved, his one and only. His Marria.

Eight hooves strike pale-red cobblestone and then tan earth in unison, six of them chestnut, and two of them black. Pale-white, wispy, insubstantial fog abates slowly its eerie fingers caressing the tops of the trees one last time, like a lover before it is burned away by the Greatest-Star’s light. The tiny orbs that light the pitch-black night sky disappear into nothingness after burning, crashing, and then finally dying into the distant eastern land of Tibris, where the ice blue and fiery-orange lilies grow. Far, so very far away from the green-gray water of the northern Rurien sea and the vast reflective desert to the south where white sand gleams with alluring beauty that will kill you without a moments hesitation. No chance will be given, no-matter how small, to escape the veiled wonder of your own tormented mind’s delusions.

Slowly, the orb known as the Greatest-Star appears above the horizon, majestically its rays falling on the planet’s surface in a sheet of gold. warming its counterpart’s work. The Arrant-cooled land steams gently as the nightly accumulation of dew is brushed away. Then the Star floats higher and higher as the young messenger rides away. The soldier watches as the dark green of the treetops turns pale jade in color, and the Life-Bringer glides higher than the royal blue, snow-capped mountains to the Northeast. Just inside the mountain’s shadows is the towering steeple of a white and gold castle glowing with refracted light. To the South-West, a black and silver castle reflects the Angel’s work like a mirror, and somewhere between the two is a castle built for the in-between time, all gray and purple and bronze, a monument to neither day, nor night but perhaps the times that no-one remembers, those times that are too-easily forgotten or simply brushed aside as chaff.

The castles and their fortresses hold up the color-streaked sky as if it were solid, and not nearly as twisted as it really is. High above the knight’s head is the Lonesome Star destined to see his lover at the end and the beginning of each day’s reign, slowly it travels across the Angel’s domain floating on nothing, and in the vast waste of the sky.

Light filters down from between the branches and leaves in an arching canopy faintly in pale streaks. Both horses lurch forward at once into a clear spot and the young man is engulfed in flickering flames. The figment of his imagination burns upward from the hem of his gray cloak, until he is something otherworldly, and the horses bob their heads in approval. On both sides of the narrow road the green underbrush and purple and orange windflowers stir gently in the winds of their quick and oh-so-desperate run. The mere boy in black leather and gray cloth rides away, face grim, eyes alert, body language showing just how wary, how utterly terrified he is. Tormented.

I cannot fail, he thinks bitterly. Even if I die at the end of all this by the hand of a monarch, or an assassin I cannot, will not fail. Not in this. I will not fail my King . . . I will not fail my Marria. The messenger smiles grimly and then rides onward, hunched over his gelding’s shoulder like an injured man. Perhaps some part of him is injured like so many others before him.

Quickly, the horses carry the traveler away from his city, the city he had grown to love, towards another, one he has come to loath, and stops for a moment at the top of a small hill. The soldier sits up slowly, and looks back at the gleaming stone city and her gates, eyes full of longing. One last glimpse of the place he had come to call home for so long and almost angrily he urges his horses forward.

Move, he whispers sullenly, his mouth pressed into a hard line, cobalt blue eyes, usually liquid, as hard as stones. I wish someone else would have this duty to fulfill, this task theirs, not mine. Why is it always me? He wonders, hoping that somehow there has been a mistake; that he was not really being sent to Tartaroo. Of course, there never was a mistake. One could only hope. The messenger clenches one powerful fist as he prays to the Angel Moriane to be liberated, freed from this task, appeased from the torment that has been his lot since birth, loosed from Hell, to live how he pleases.

Fool. You know it will never happen. Quit sulking, and get on with it. Besides the sooner you are done with this, the sooner you will be with Marria. The fog swallows up the messenger-knight and a bend in the road takes him away, hides him.

A single guard in a tower, one just touched by the Greatest-Star’s light watches the other leave. He spits and turns to go, but is turned as if by an invisible hand. forced to watch in silence until the bell in the church steeple tolls.

CHAPTER 2

Dawn ages as the traveler rides on, to the Southeast at a ground eating pace. The illusioned boy does not stop or even slow the relentless pace he has set.

The sooner we arrive and finish our business, the sooner we can go home, he whispers to himself. The sooner I will be with Marria again, he reasons with a slight smile that barely touches his eyes. Light, and heat from the Greatest-Star intensifies as Mid-Star draws closer, the hard click of hooves on hard-packed earth lulls the soldier into a doze, barely conscious enough to steer his mount and not fall off. Not that the pair of chestnut geldings need guidance, but it is something to do. Something to take the knight’s mind off of the horrid task he has been given.

After a long while, he crosses paths with a farmer’s nag-drawn cart. The ancient graying mare bobs her head and nickers a greeting to the other horses, her ribs showing beneath a patchy pelt. Once more, the mare drops her head and continues walking, dragging the splintering wooden cart filled with straw and earthy potatoes which pulls over a rock in the road and crashes to the ground. A black calf with a white face bawls pathetically as it strains at the end of its lead and is forced to follow. Jaysen wakes up bleary-eyed.

Huh? What’s going on? he says, one large hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword.

Top of the morning sonny, says the old man with a wide grin. No need for that now, he adds with a touch to the brim of his straw hat. The skin around the old farmer’s eyes betrays his apprehension even as he continues. Lovely morning to be on the road don’t you agree?

The boy inclines his head slightly as he listens to the other’s words.

Morning, sir. he responds blinking in the bright light and removing his hand from his silver-etched blade. Yes, sir, it is a lovely day for traveling. Silent now, the boy returns the smile after stifling another yawn.

The pair pass each other with the old man watching over his shoulder who finally says. Say boy, what be your name? a pause. I am Nate, Nate Blue. He smiles.

The illusion clad knight blinks in surprise that the old man would speak to him again.

Sir, I am Knight Jaysen Night, he responds. It was a pleasure to meet you sir. The soldier spurs his geldings forward, toward a bend in the road without another word, or expression. The bend in the road is littered with old leaves from a lone silver ash, multiple willow trees, a small hedge of poplar trees and a pair of black pines. Each leaf, each needle is in various stages of decomposition on, and in the soft gold sand. In unison, the three beings swing in a wide arc watching the play of light on the ground, listening to the whisper of wind through half-renewed leaves. Each branch rattles like flesh-bare bones. Both horses step quickly, bobbing their heads as they are urged onward. Always onward.

The knight sits tall in the dark leather saddle; he would not be caught unaware again. One hand is on his thigh, and the other on the saddle horn with the reins between three fingers.

Fare thee well, he whispers.

The well-traveled road becomes less and less rugged at each bend in the road, at each slight hill, and at each landmark. Jaysen’s horses begun to tire, their run turning into a canter, a trot, and finally a plodding walk. Both sets of chestnut nostrils flare and contract quickly. Then, as if they are one, the pair touch noses and cry out before picking up their pace again. In the distance birds call, and squirrels chatter nervously heralding their passing. Jaysen sighs quietly to himself and rubs a calloused hand over his weather-tanned face.

Are you tired my friends? he asks softly. Of course you are, I am, too. He pats their necks affectionately, and the two horses’ tails flick to and fro as they wait for his next words. None come.

It is silent for a long time except for the clop-clop of hooves and the wildlife calling as they travel. The black-socked horse begins to limp, or rather favors a foot more than usual. Jaysen dismounts and searches for the problem, he finds it in the form of a teardrop shaped stone; he works it out and tosses it from the road into the underbrush. The horse nickers its gratitude and tosses its head, the messenger mounts and they move on.

Glad you feel better, brother, he mutters and re-sheaths his knife. Around the path everything is still; even the wind.

CHAPTER 3

Eventually, the three travelers pass a group of young women. Each girl appears to be about sixteen or seventeen, and each is dressed in colors that complement each other, and themselves. The oldest girl is the brightest, her dress is yellow and orange her blond hair bound in a thick braid down her back. The next girl, who is walking side-by-side with the eldest, is dressed in a rose pink and the red of new blood; dark brown hair adorns her brow in rippling curls. Finally comes the last girl, and unlike the others she makes almost no noise despite the bells on her person. A pale-blue and dove gray dress swirls around her pale ankles and her hair is almost entirely white. Her eyes are a forest green like the needles of a pine. Both older girls ignore the younger girl as if she does not exist, and flaunt their supposed beauty to the soldier.

Beauty is as beauty does Knight. Even if they are beautiful in a human’s eyes they are not truly beautiful in the end, not to us, hears the young messenger despite the fact that no physical words to him had been spoken.

Jaysen closes his eyes and waits for them to pass, ill humouredly. Not beautiful, not in the least, unlike Marria. She is beautiful inside and out and that is what counts, the inside, he tells himself, and believes it. Cobalt blue eyes flick open again as he waits for his turn on the narrow path, he watches them, remembering the similar trips he had taken as a boy with his cousins. His eyes watch the younger with the large basket and the Star-Light hair, she trips and her basket falls spilling the goods into the dust both older girls snicker and move off farther down the road. The goods that had been carried so carefully stop rolling and the tired girl kneels to pick them up. With a sigh, Jaysen dismounts to help her. Silently, he dusts off each bolt of fabric and re-folds it before piling it in the basket. Finally, the knight heaves the heavy hand-woven basket skyward and returning to his feet. Holding the heavy object in one hand, he helps the youth to her feet barely noting how light she is. The scents of lavender, roses, and eucalyptus combined assault him gently as she smiles at him. Glass-eyed he returns the smile. My, oh my, she is pretty. He inhales the scent. I wonder who . . .

Do not