The Living Keystone: The Heroes of Wamara, #1

By Laina Lloyd

The Heroes of Wamara Series Book One

 

Immobile as a petrified carcass of human flesh, our hero waits as the army of felines march closer. The ground rumbles, causing him to tremble in fear. Warm air escapes her nostrils as she faces him, nose to nose, and he sweats. "Who are you? And where did all these animals come from?" he asks, her fur scratching his forehead. Then his skin prickles and he learns she is the Lion Queen, and those animals are her loyal subjects.

 

"Blayz Attenbery," she says, her voice roaring between his ears, "I commission you Retriever of the Sacred Keystones of Wamara. The task will be difficult, with many lives at stake."

 

Her words vibrate the truth and he knows Wamara, his country and beloved home, depends on him to retrieve the keystones to ensure their safety against the encroaching darkness that threatens their destruction.

 

Will Blayz succeed and save the Kingdom of Wamara, or will he die trying? Enter Blayz's world to find out. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laina Lloyd Author LLC
• Release date: Nov 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215577592

Laina Lloyd

Laina Lloyd is an author whose writings have touched the hearts of many through the magical world of dreams, faeries, danger, and triumph. She has received accolades of praise from readers of all ages. Laina’s mission is to strengthen and inspire others through the written word. Leading into Authorship, Laina was a dream counselor, helping others through workshops and classes to gain a better understanding of messages brought to the conscious mind through dreams. This resulted in her first book, a beginner’s guide for understanding dreams and visions, “Do Butterflies Dream?”. Outside of being an author, Laina is a dance instructor and office administrator at her daughter’s dance studio. She enjoys teaching music, milling around in her garden, taking walks, and watching movies. She is also an experimental cook, magically creating recipes without dairy or grains having everyone wanting more. Laina believes that all of us are Warriors of Light, commissioned for a special purpose in life. She believes everyone can find that purpose if they listen to the spirit and embrace the light. Laina writes a weekly blog about her journey and experience as an author. Sign up to receive her posts at www.lainalloyd.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Orla the Lion Queen

Blayz

The pull overpowers me like an anchor wrapped around my heart, demanding entrance. The darkness is oppressive. Invisible claws dig into every inch of my soul. My body shakes. Resistance is pointless and I press forward, sweat dripping from my brow. With each step, the evil abates, and I breathe easier. The gloom ridden shadows fade into a nightmarish memory. Light Fountains, leaders from days long ago, told of this sinister darkness and prophesied of brave warriors with talents given by the Great Creator who will fight the evil that threatens to overtake the land. My name is Blayz, and I am one of the gifted warriors born for battle. 

Blayz means protector, Sophie said when I was a small boy, and you are a Protector. To know a person’s inner spirit is one of Sophie’s gifts. As the village mid-woman who assists with the birth of children, she can see the inner essence of newborns. We call her Seer, a person held in high esteem in our world.

The search to receive my commission, or what people say is a life’s purpose, is leading me to the forbidden part of the Wamara Forest, where a bewitching presence thrives. However, today the surrounding forest is quiet. A whisper of silence dusts every leaf, every flower, every living thing in comfort and protection. Even though the silence may feign comfort, danger lurks like a pestilence waiting to attack, causing my hair to stand on end.

The name of my country is Wamara, and the sinister darkness prophesied years ago now plagues us. In a village on the outskirts of the forest, we are familiar with harpies and other enchanted creatures. Parents warn us of marsh monsters that live where the air stinks of rotting fish. Teachers tell us to listen for the gurgles and croaks at the water’s edge, insisting that the monsters are there waiting to catch us. Wizards teach about changelings who steal whimpering babies from cribs, and craggy giants called cyclops who eat everything in sight, and remind us of gray elves, vicious faeries with teeth sharp as daggers, and infamous griffins that nest in cliff tops. Somehow, the encroaching darkness is different. It’s unfamiliar and precarious, and today as I cross the land, the mysteries housed inside the forest weigh heavy on my mind, yet the pull to learn my commission is stronger and I’m compelled forward.

It annoyed me when my younger sister Eirianne received her commission before me. Your directive will come when the time is right. Age is not significant, my father said. I recognized that, yet his advice did not bring comfort, just a gut full of nauseating frustration. 

Born with a Huntress spirit, Eirianne spends her days in the hills and wild woodlands near our village, carrying her trusted crossbow and arrows. Despite our parent’s constant urging to remain close to home, her fiery nature pushes her further into the unexplored. She often returns with engaging tales of adventures among the enchanted lands of Wamara, and one morning related a stirring tale that happened while hunting:

A huge Great Horned owl flew near me with a wingspan of at least five feet, swooping so close that a gust of air from its massive wings burned hot as a summer wind, almost knocking me over. He landed on a low-lying branch near where I stood. The branch dipped from his weight, causing it to touch the ground, and he smelled of feathers mixed with dust and spit with a black and gray beak surrounded by a mustache of white fluff.

Eirianne stopped, took a breath, and then continued. I know it sounds unbelievable, yet it’s true. She wrinkled her nose and laughed. He made a strange clicking sound, looked into my eyes and with a gruff rapping voice said, ‘You will receive your commission soohoohoon. Youhoohoo must prepare.’

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. This sounds like a faerie tale.

I’m serious, she said, hands firm on her hips. He said life will never be the same once I receive my commission and then flew away, relieving the branch of its heavy burden, which snapped back into place like a whip. Her cheeks flushed from the memory, and I believed her. In fact, I found her story fascinating. I didn’t tell her that, though.

I’VE HAD NO VISITATIONS or counsel concerning my commission, yet today it calls, drawing like a magnet. I trudge forward, walking through a forest of moss-covered trees, crunching on fallen limbs, and slipping on rotted leaves. After several hours of searching, I see a forest glade and lick my salty lips. Shivers from the ever-present magic crawl along my skin, and I force myself to continue. I expect answers.

Get on with it, I say. Remember, you are strong and fearless. Stop self-doubting. I proceed onward. Progress is slow, like sloshing through a puddle of putrid soggy swamp mud, only without the stench, or the puddle, or the mud. I advance at a snail’s pace into the meadow. At least I’m moving. A downy mist tangled in warm sunlight touches my face. It penetrates my skin, causing a gentle tingle. The air is crisp, void of the phantom scent of decomposed matter that dwells within the forest, and my eyes water from the crystalline sunlight.

Strengthened with a surge of renewed energy, I amble past the edge of the forest and gape at an emerald, green meadow of soft grass dotted with yellow wildflowers. Insects with translucent smoky silver, sea-foam green, and periwinkle wings fly past in wisps of blended hues. On closer inspection, I discover they’re not insects at all. They are flower faeries, and they stare at me, flapping their wings in unison. One whizzes near my face and sniffs, emitting a vibrating hiss. It whisks away disinterested, eager to consume the sweet nectar of a nearby wildflower. Then a cluster of birds fly around my head, chirping in animated melodious tones.

"At least you’re happy I’m here."

Water trickling through a small creek at the center of the meadow is barely audible over birds chirping, bees buzzing, and unfamiliar sounds. After scanning the area for a spot to rest, I notice a variety of unfamiliar creatures scattered throughout the meadow. Sweat snakes down my back and slithers around my face like an angry predator. I swipe at it, willing it to leave. The memory of the darkness grips my mind, refusing to let go. My instincts urge caution, and I recall a time in my youth when my parents taught about different beings living in our world:

Sometimes people exist in their inner spirit form, or Vital Elan, as we call it. And sometimes they live in their human form, like us, my mother said. I stared; my face scrunched like a prune.

Dad chimed in. For example, a child having a Wolf Vital Elan would most often exist as a wolf. It’s more comfortable for them to live that way.

You mean like my friend Jedrek, who is always howling and barking and sniffing things?

Yes, in a way that’s correct, son. One day he’ll morph into a wolf, and you will see what I mean. Dad smiled.

Remember, natural creatures can’t morph. They stay in their birth form, and since they don’t reason like humans, they can be dangerous. Keep your wits about you, mom said, and patted my head. Mom always encouraged us kids to be aware, and I discovered when people are in Vital Elan form, they glow or shimmer, something that took time for me to notice. Here in the meadow, couples walk in human form along the trails holding hands—some talk while others laugh. A few are silent in an attitude of meditation. Natural creatures such as bees, butterflies, a few snakes, birds, and an occasional colony of ants dot the meadow and surrounding area and mother’s voice echoes in my mind, reminding me that nature has its own hazards.

AN UNUSUAL CLICK-CLICK, rap-rap-click sound captures my attention. Birds adorned in downy feathers of gold and pearly white bask in the afternoon sun. Each one manifests a close resemblance to an owl while ticking a hypnotic melodic rhythm. The effect is mesmerizing, and I stare until a loud snapping distracts me.

What amuses you, boy? says a large, gray heron boasting a head full of fluffed feathers.

Are you speaking to me? I take a second to compose myself when I notice a glow radiating around him and the other birds. All of you are in Vital Elan form? I’ve never seen this many gathered in one place before. The herons snap with laughter. Disappointed by their rudeness, I retreat and take a seat on the grass near the parliament of owls. After a few moments, the herons stop their heckling.

Lying on a soft field of grass, hands crossed behind my head for a makeshift pillow, helps me unwind until a giant shadow blocks the sun. A deafening roar erupts, and I roll to my side, narrowly escaping the leathery wings of a black-scaled, fire-breathing dragon. Smoke erupts from its nostrils as it soars above my head, and the sky swarms with hordes of dragons. A swath of green mingled with vivid purple and crimson red blur across my vision as they fly past at inconceivable speeds.

Sea Dragons flap their white tipped blue wings, emulating waves in a storm. Dull gray Battle Dragons with leathered skin cracked from combat create a muddy cloud of hazy hues along the blue horizon. They hover, resembling mighty sentries stationed to guard their prey. I gape at their long heads, broad shoulders, and thick scaly limbs, and think it couldn’t get any worse when Wizard Dragons, radiating waves of luminous magic off their ribbed backs, join the horde, whipping their tails while they flip and turn, filling the space with sparks of firelight. Red flames burst from Gargantuan Fire-breathing Dragons as they boom, rumble and howl, causing the air to burn with deadly heat, making breathing difficult.

Small, feathered dragons, their plumage gleaming a rich purple tipped in dusty white, cluster by my side, doing their best to avoid the dragon fire. They snort with irritation, and I roll to protect my skin from the searing sparks. We need shelter, or we will burn to a crisp, I tell them, as if they can understand. Then a gang of Forest Dragons, pesky as a pile of ants at a picnic, give chase to the feathered dragons, causing them to squawk from mounting irritations. It looks as though there’s no safe place, I mumble over their cackling splutters.

The animated scene continues for several minutes. My clothes are burned, hair smells of sulfur, and it hurts to breathe. You could have given me a little warning. I would have moved out of your space. The dragons tilt their heads backward as if laughing, and land on the grass, coming to a full stop.

Was it something I said?

Stillness crashes through the meadow, engulfing everything in sight. Will someone please tell me what’s going on? My eyes twitch and body trembles. No one answers. Every creature lay prostrate, motionless. I struggle to bend, to join the bowing throngs.

Fear seizes me and I freeze.

Move, boy, says the obnoxious heron. Bow.

I’m trying.

He snaps and looks northward as thousands of immense furry beings enter the meadow. They march toward us, exhibiting a ferocity and majesty unparalleled in the human realm. Massive predatory felines with coats shimmering tawny yellow and gold eyes surrounded by long, thick lashes, stride in uniform rhythm. My breaths come in quick, shallow bursts and I realize I’m in their direct path.

What power has me frozen in place? I ask, wide eyed, mouth so dry I couldn’t spit to save my life, and still the heron is silent. The army of felines enters the meadow that, a moment before, was a haven of peace.

My feet are icebound and won’t budge. I say to the bird.

He glares.

Please, help me.

He does nothing.

The felines come as rolling clouds in a thunderstorm, majestic lions marching in a confident, mesmerizing cadence. With each step they growl—with each step the ground rumbles—with each step every beat of my heart explodes. I’m a petrified carcass of human flesh. Then, like a ghost, she appears, inches from my face. Warm air escapes her nostrils and my skin sweats from the heat. Large eyes the color of rubies, round and glowing with moisture—look into my blue eyes dripping with tears. She smiles and purrs and I sag into her body, releasing an enormous sigh. A musky scent engulfs me as her golden fur scratches my skin. Forehead to forehead, we stand, the huntress and her prey. My chin trembles, and I remain still.

Questions explode in my mind, and somehow, I know she can hear me. What is this place? Who is she, and where did all these animals come from?

My skin prickles from the penetration of her thoughts as she infuses her answers into my mind. "I am Lion Queen Orla, and these ‘animals’ are my beloved subjects, my army, the bravest souls in all the land. This is my kingdom, Blayz Attenbery. Show respect."

Her thoughts roar. I wince and cower. "Please forgive me, Highness."

The Lion Queen’s chest pulsates in a steady rhythm of authority. The space around us hums and a blanket of fog glosses over my eyes as she reveals her human form. Silky black hair ripples in soft waves, drifting over her shoulders to the middle of her back. Lashes thick as feather reed grass in the spring encase golden eyes shimmering radial streaks of ruby-red. Her skin, soft and subtle, unlike the scratchy mane of her lioness form, glows a copper brown.

She’s gorgeous.

Elegant and barefoot, with only a simple gown over her feminine form, she stands before me, confident and composed. I am here to direct you. Remember, you are light, be the miracle. A voice, soft as a flower petal floating in the wind, has charmed me and I am overcome with admiration. She leans close, her fingers reach for my eyes, and I flinch. It’s all right, this won’t hurt, she whispers. Her touch is heavy and hot. My vision blurs and I see. Not with my human eyes—with my spirit, my soul, and my thoughts reach out to her with questions:

"What are these things in my vision? Am I dreaming?"

No, we are in a mind link.

Are you infusing me with knowledge?

Yes.

Am I being prepared to receive a commission?

A soft smile caresses her face. I hear a low chuckle and know it’s true. I allow my mind to receive instructions until my muscles shake.

"Let the light within absorb the knowledge, she says out loud. Don’t force remembering. The information will be there when you need it."

I take a deep breath. A lock of hair falls over my eyes, and I brush it away with a steady hand. That’s better, she says. Now for your gifts and powers.

A hum, shallow and low, comes from her chest. I lean in and she moves away. I yearn to have her near, and then my legs give out and I fall to the ground. The queen lowers a hand, and the feline army bows. I can hear them breathe; see their steady huffs steaming in the cool air. Prickles burn my skin, and my muscles bulge and ribs expand. What’s happening? I ask.

No one answers.

My heart beats like I’ve run a marathon and threatens to burst from my chest. Tears spill in torrents as the pressure builds. I moan from the scorching agony that consumes me. When I think death would be a welcome relief, the pain subsides, leaving me empty, unable to move, unable to speak. My skin is damp, and I shiver.

Stand. She says and points to my body.

It takes monumental effort to rise. My legs wobble like a newborn calf. I struggle, yet I’m victorious and scan each bulging muscle to discover a mass of welts covering every inch of my skin. Are these scars?

In a manner of speaking, yes.

My brow wrinkles. What’s their purpose?

This gift is vital to your commission, necessary for your success. What you have received is a suit of body armor, tough as any metal found in our world, yet flexible as silk. Movable, near invisible, breathable and—

Incredible.

She laughs.

You are a Protector with a warrior spirit. Few beings could endure what you experienced.

I doubt that, yet I thank her anyway. Although, when I touch my leathery skin and inspect the armor, I have second thoughts. Maybe what she says is true. Maybe I am a warrior.

What else do you perceive?

There’s the Attenbery family crest of two lions guarding the royal crown of Wamara. It covers my shoulders.

The design terraces downward to your elbows, ending in a point at the joint and continues along your forearms, dispersing as gloves over your fingers.

I feel the armor that has also spread along my thighs and above my knees, where it continues along my calves to my ankles. While running a hand through my wet-matted hair, I discover an etched band wrapped around my forehead, extending over my ears. What’s this?

It’s a banded crown. Orla’s eyes spark with excitement.

Impressive. I touch every swirl, line, and crease where it angles downward over my ears to an unusual slit similar in construction to ones found on predatory birds. Even though the slit is small, my ability to perceive is unhampered. The crown descends over my nose to a slight point where it spreads over my cheekbones, creating extra protection for my face.

I’m stunned, Highness. No wonder that hurt.

Indeed. She hums and the sound thunders in my ears. I drop to the ground, crouching in pain. Eirianne and her commission come to mind, and I’m filled with empathy and understanding concerning the pain she must have experienced when receiving her gifts.

Is this another gift? I groan, rubbing my ears to ease the reverberating pound of her rumble.

Yes. Her voice is thick with excitement. Sensitive hearing and echolocation similar to the jungle bat are now yours.

Her tone intensifies dizziness, and I stammer. I’ll need time to adjust to this one. Then my eyes sting and swell with tears and I watch the meadow glow in vibrant colors. The grass sways, dewy and tall, spears of vivid earthy green. Wildflowers burst with shades of blushing pinks, luscious yellows, vibrant reds, and vivid violets. The sky, as deep blue as the Great Seas, begs for my attention and I want to dive into it with my entire being, getting lost in its majesty forever.

You are enjoying newfound vision sharp as an eagle, and powerful as the great horned owl. These gifts, plus an increased sense of smell, are all valuable powers required for you to fulfil your commission. Please remember that many people depend on your success. Are you ready to receive your commission?

Yes.

I’ve waited years to receive my commission and all I say is, yes?

Orla laughs. I forgot about the mind link.

Blayz Attenbery, son of Senon and Robyn Attenbery, I commission you Retriever of the Sacred Keystones of Wamara. Two powerful guardians protect these keystones hidden for centuries in a secret cave. Once you retrieve the gems, do whatever you must as a Protector Vital Elan to keep the stones safe until returned to their home scepters. This placement will activate the sacred light, the Heart of Wamara, a shield for our people from the encroaching darkness that threatens to destroy our kingdom.

I’ve never heard of these keystones or the Heart of Wamara.

A chosen one will teach you what you need to know. The task will be difficult, with many lives at stake. Live in the light. Avoid the shadows of fear and doubt to allow increased wisdom and understanding. Can you do this?

Her words vibrate truth, and I gaze into her eyes. Yes, yes—I can and will.

There will be times when you may falter and make mistakes. Wisdom often comes from making mistakes, yet you will learn, she says with the familiar spark of excitement. Listen to spirit. Become familiar with your gifts. Pay attention to your inner impressions and follow your intuition. Live in the light and be the miracle, she says, and leans in for a hug.

As we embrace, I’m engulfed in gratitude when a fog appears, distorting her form, and I back away. She morphs into the Lion Queen. Her nostrils tic and I wonder if she is taking in my scent. She lifts her head and huffs.

I’m honored, I whisper, bowing to the ground. Thank you.

With a nudge from her wet lioness nose, Orla encourages me to rise, then speaks in a low rumble. Tell your family about your commission and they will direct your path.

I will.

The majestic queen raises her head, ears pointed, unmoving. A purr rumbles through her chest, increasing in volume to a deafening roar crashing like thunder through the meadow. I fall to the ground as every fiber in my being trembles and every sense expands. This time the pain is tolerable, and with utmost respect I take a final bow before the queen.

The air swirls, tickling my skin. The dragons ascend into the sky streaming colors of red, green, and yellow, huffing clouds of smoke, sending trails of fire like falling stars as they exit the enchanted field. Orla’s army stands and nods in my direction. I nod back, knowing I will never call them animals again. In rhythmic unison to the queen’s majestic stride, they disappear. Everyone gathered in the meadow acknowledges me with a nod or a smile, a wave, or pat on the back, and proceed with their activities as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. I glance at the heron. He snaps, Well done, boy. Well done, and then flies away, a stolid figure of strength and balance.

Thanks.

I’m confused and stunned by what happened and wonder if this entire day was a dream. I look at my arms and legs. Touch my head and rub my ears. My body armor shimmers. No, it wasn’t a dream, it was real and I’m more alive now than any previous time in my life.  

Chapter Two

Blayz and Anson the Forever Child

Blayz

As I walk home, lost in my thoughts, the sunlight fades. Recollections of receiving my commission occupy my mind, and I prickle from head to toe with my new gifts and can’t stop touching my skin. The sensation is strange, oddly familiar. The body armor seems like a part of me that always was that I never knew. Listening to the cricket’s chirp is like hearing their song for the first time. The rustling of leaves in trees, the bustling sounds of forest wildlife, and the crunch of my feet on rocky dry ground are clearer, brighter, and more vibrant and I am truly alive, surrounded by raw magic. The enchantment of the green meadow where it all happened, the birds, the dragons, and Orla’s army, weave, and binds into my soul. Orla’s scent lingers on my clothes, and I’m fueled by a frenzy of sensations every time I detect it. The musky aroma of a lioness, her hot misty breath, the ruby streaked eyes, and golden skin, and her long silky black hair are impressions that will stay with me forever. My soul warms at the thought of her glory and majesty, and I’m wrapped in the memory of her beauty, engrossed in the experience that has changed my life.

Distracted by my thoughts, I stumble into a low-lying branch, startling a fox that rests nearby. He screams to scare me away, and I jump. My armor vibrates, eyes water, and nostrils burn as my senses go into high alert. Every time I hear the scream of a red fox, images of a banshee with mouth gaping wide, a boney chin covered in drool, and a pointed nose twitching as it detects prey makes me panic, and this time is no different. As a child, the blood-curdling scream of the fox gave me nightmares. Unable to shake the anxiety from the unexpected scream and my overactive gifts, I decide to jog, hoping to dispel some adrenalin.

After a few miles, silence envelopes me like a soft winter snow, and my mind stops racing. Breathing comes to a stable tempo. The tightness in my calf muscles release, and my heart beats a powerful rhythm until I think about my assignment, the stones and how unprepared I am, and shadows of doubt creep in. Recovering sacred keystones to protect an entire civilization is overwhelming. I always thought I was a Protector, not a Retriever. That title never entered my mind. It’s mine now, and pulses through my body like hot vapors. The pull to learn my commission was clear. The pull to be near Orla was unmistakable, and the pull I now sense to retrieve the keystones is building and getting stronger by the minute. 

The first time I experienced this strange pulling sensation was with my younger brother, Anson. He was three, and I was eleven. Anson’s name means Son of the Divine, and he’s a Forever Child, pure, innocent, and trusting. Black eyes, an inky pool of curiosity, absorb every remarkable, simple thing. Long curly brown hair like our dad’s, hangs in his face tangled and messy, always damp from sweat. He smells of dirt and ginger cookies, and his most wonderful gift is unconditional love. When he wants me, he says, Underwing, where aaaahre you? and I come.

The day he made me his Underwing, we were on a walk, and watched a mama bird protect its baby chick under her wing. Look Bwaaayz. Da baby is safe. You ah my Underwing cuz you keep me safe, he said.

He hasn’t forgotten that day.

Anson has my heart, and I’ll always remember when I lost him and didn’t keep him safe. At the end of summer after harvest, my friends and I stayed in the fields to goof around. Staggered crop wagons loaded to the brim with grains dotted the area. Heavy and dangerous, we knew to avoid them, but not Anson. He begged to stay, and dad trusted me to watch over him.

My buddies and I created a game called Chased by a Wolf. Jedrek loves wolves, probably because he’s a Wolf Vital Elan with an amazing nose for picking up on smells, plus he’s more alert to surroundings than most humans. With long shaggy hair and glowing eyes, he looks like a wolf. Nobody can hide from Jed except Anson—and just this one time. During the game, someone played a wolf that pursued others pretending to be sheep. Jedrek liked to go first; it was an alpha thing, and no one cared. We got caught up in fun until a pull to protect overpowered me. Feelings of anxiety pierced my chest. It felt as though I was being stabbed with hundreds of knives. Intense nausea dropped me to my knees, and my heart thumped like a sledgehammer. This was serious because my protective sense was seldom this profound.

I looked around for Anson to keep him from danger and couldn’t find him. That’s when I knew Anson was in trouble. Tears threatened to spill. I grit my teeth, refusing to let my emotions get in the way. I shouted to the guys for help. 

We will find him, Jed said, grasping my shoulders. His nostrils flared and hairs stood on end as he sniffed for signs of Anson.

Staying hopeful was difficult. Harvest fields border the Wamara forest, home to creatures who love