Ammolite

By Amanda Heit

Some people have their calling in life handed to them. Others have to find it for themselves.
For Tifa, it's both at once.
Holding onto a magical stone that could start the largest war she's ever seen, she's on a mission to deliver her sister's tomb marker to the aspen tree where Lula can ascend into heaven.
It would be easier if Tifa knew where the tree was. Simple if she didn't have groups of spies hunting her down to get back what she is carrying. Easier still if the ammolite at her back didn't grant either life or death, hurtling the latter continuously after her.
The one thing she has going for her is Riker who knows the way.
As much as she wants to trust him, it's hard to do when she discovers that his secrets are louder than her own. Fully assuming to reach the tree and die right after, Tifa explores what life offers that makes her want to stay, even if some kinds of power should never be touched, and some loyalties can never be changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Heit
• Release date: Jan 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781949858273

Amanda Heit

Finding meaning in life—feeling like you’re contributing to all of humanity in a good way—is a large undertaking. When I write, it’s the task I take on. Sometimes, that task is daunting. Sometimes, it’s full of laughter, joy, and fear. Reaching the end of a book can put me on top of the world or cause me endless frustration. But I can’t stop myself from trying. I can’t stop the inner clock that ticks and tells me that writing is something I enjoy the heck out of and there is nothing that will stop me from writing for long. As one of the quiet people in the universe, my best joy and flow in life comes when I’m creating new worlds and exploring characters. For me, each book I create finds new friends that share with me the intimate tangles of their lives. They cheer and I cheer. They succeed and I rejoice. They fall and I’m there hoping for that happy ending right along with them. I hope that you can find something in the stories I create that will bring you the same type of thrill. Thanks for sticking to the end!- Amanda Heit

Book preview

Ammolite

Amanda Heit

This is a work of fiction. All similarities to real life are coincidental and unintentional. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Enjoy the story!

First written in 2021

Copyright © 2023 by Amanda Heit

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or means without written permission.

Heit, Amanda.

Ammolite/ by Amanda Heit.

1st edition.

Paperback: 978-1-949858-26-6

Ebook: 978-1-949858-27-3

Printed in the United States of America

January 2023

Dedication

To those who wonder what life is about. Live like you’ve never lived before. Breathe in the air. Take in the light. See the world anew. Find wonder in the ordinary and joy in the journey.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

A Special Thanks For You!

Chapter One

It’s an age-old tale that the strongest man wins the girl. He wins the fight, the battle, the trial of the heart, and the pride in the accomplishment. One hero rises and claims the beauty, for the woman is always beautiful, and the man always handsome. None of that was happening to me, and yet, as I lay stoic with my heart beating, I couldn’t help but ask myself which man had won the battle, no the privilege, of carting me around. I was being carried, slung over a shoulder so that my stomach shoved uncomfortably into a firm set of bones. I probably grunted because the hero shifted and set me down. Soft dirt brushed across my round face. The rest of me couldn’t feel anything.

What’s that? a gruff voice asked.

What’s it look like? came the answer from my questionable hero. He probably wasn’t the hero type more of the I got stuck with the dead body type.

Where did you get it? the same man asked him.

The dirt below me filled the cavities of my nose. Exhausted, woozy, and faint, I tried to mumble where I was going only to pass out again. Visions brushed the synapses in my brain forcing me to recall what had brought me here. The ammolite stone. The miniature tombstones that I’d promised to hang on the single aspen tree along the Cian Trail. The sharp cry of pain from my sister, Lula.

I had been unable to watch, but more than able to run. Until I reached the point where running turned my feet bloody. Then I crawled. That was until my hands and knees echoed my feet. Then I plopped down on the ground not sure if I was in the middle of a highway or beside a den of hungry, alert bears. At that point, I had no idea what was happening or where I was. I only knew that I was still alive and that they hadn’t found me yet. Probably none of that mattered anymore. I’d been picked up, so I was probably robbed stupid by now. All that I had left were the bad memories that would never leave because they had changed my entire life and turned me into a wretch.

Branson saw it wedged between a hedge, came the reply. Seeing as he’s already got himself a woman, I got this one.

I was an it, and I was no one’s prize woman despite my wish that I would be taken care of for a few days so I could recover and be on my way again. I tried to mutter a reply, only to fail.

That one’s dead.

I know. Branson thought it hilarious to give me this one.

Chuckling returned the snarky remark. Then laughter from a few other voices that I couldn’t see. I could hardly make out what was around me through my closed eyes apart from one thing. Warmth. I wasn’t sure what caused it exactly, but it touched a very deep part of my soul that I hadn’t known existed. I wanted that warmth to curl up around me, envelop me like a blanket taken from a nearby campfire. I wanted to sink beside it and allow myself to back float, lazy and at peace, for the next seven years in that feeling.

Hey! Your dead woman is crawling away.

I was? Great. I would not stay with people who called me it.

She can’t do that! came my not-so-great hero.

I most certainly could! I couldn’t tell that I was even doing it, but I could feel the warmth increasing. I crashed into it. Whatever it was.

Excuse me. Pardon the interruption. I’m sorry to bother you, sir.

The warmth was a person then. I had crawled myself to the legs of some man in a brilliant move to escape. I was proud of myself for the sheer willpower I possessed.

"You didn’t, the warm man responded. It’s your undead girl that interrupted."

She won’t be doing it again.

Oh, yes, I would! I wasn’t about to be carted around by it man who was so desperate to talk to a girl that he would claim a dead one. No thank-you. Knowing my luck, talking wasn’t on his mind. It was the staying with him forever and being his wife thing that he was thinking about once he proved how heroic he was for saving my dead life. I was going to save my own dead life. Then I was going to hang up those graves and figure out what to do with the ammolite stone, assuming that I could find it again. Only then would I consider finding a new husband if I stayed alive.

Terribly sorry for the rude behavior.

I was being yanked. I could not feel it on my arms and legs, but my face bumped into the warm man’s legs several times alerting me to the fact that I had grabbed onto him. I wasn’t about to let go for anything. I’d pick my own hero. Hopefully he was generous and would let me go in the end, and by let me go, I really meant not stop me from walking right to my actual death—which I was doing.

I don’t think she belongs with you, said the warm man.

Great! He would stick up for me long enough to make the scavengers go away. Then I could ditch him once I got back to normal.

She is my wife. We’re taking her to the doctor.

That doctor? The one you just passed?

No. Not that doctor. She’s wearing zidion around her neck. She needs a power mage.

Well, at least I hadn’t lost my energy necklace, but I didn’t think it was doing me any good considering that I still couldn’t feel anything. Never mind. I could suddenly feel my arms at the point where warm fingers wrapped tightly around them and tugged. Release the warm legs? No. I was guessing it was the warm stranger that had touched me. Perhaps this man was carrying zidion and that was why I had crawled myself over, desperate to get the cure for what would revive my broken body so I could finish the task of seeing it break all over again.

That sounds very unpleasant.

I wasn’t sure if my newest savior was talking to the thoughts in my head, or if he was responding to the people who had found me tossed in a hedge. That was not where I had left myself. The hands probed my wrists in search of power-locked bondage. Once bonded, my life and essence weren’t my own anymore, but my husband’s. A bonded individual had a wrist that shimmered a faint blue.

No tokens of marriage. You’re a liar. You probably abused her yourself. Thieves the lot of you! You’ll always be thieving scoundrels. I can tell the same as you that she’s projecting what little life she has left to power-seal her bag.

I assure you that we are not.

I still had my bag! Holding it shut was strange though. When I was born, I had instinctively reached for a pea-sized rock of zidion. Babies grabbed at what attracted them after all. It was a rare resource, one that would have made me mighty in energy if I could use it. Instead of being gifted, I was weak with an untrustworthy inner force. I couldn’t consume purified zidion, so I was never trained. My experience level was the result of middle-of-the-night jaunts through the woods where I would rattle rocks searching for exciting impurities.

I pictured myself in my mind’s eyes, patches of brown skin torn from crawling, dark-brown hair tangled in masses, body curled into a lump with my bag glowing black from the consumption of the black zidion. It would have been a nicer picture if I could consume gold. A golden glowing bag sounded more awe-inspiring than a black one.

Scoundrels are liars, and you lied about her being your wife, continued the argument. If you were trying to help her, you’d have taken her to the doctor, not the power mage. You’re trying to pry from her cold fingers the last mortal possessions she owns. Leave the distraught woman alone. It looks to me like she’s been through enough.

I had. It had been horrible. I wished that I hadn’t ended up holding the stone like the tail end of a bad joke. That thing had killed my sister and countless others whose names sat in my bag. The stolen artifact should have been destroyed or returned four years ago. It was one of two powers that held life or death. Crafted by the Asisi, a spiritual, yet power-eager force in Wayland, the stones were first made for Tanyi and Tov. Only special rare people could control the forces. With the stones together, the couple planned to fight, unstoppable from death, and end the bitter resource battle between Forester and Wayland. Luckily that didn’t happen. Tanyi and Tov were murdered before they could build a legacy of hate and malice.

I remembered the rumors and fear that had sprung up four years previously when the ammolite stones came into being. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. No one could have power over life and death, and if they did, it was sacrilegious. I had felt easier when I heard one of the stones was gone, but I should have known better. Such things tended to surprise. After all, what was life and death except for one grand bombshell? I wished the stupid rock had stayed away from me.

We’re taking the lady to the power mage.

You are not. You’re going to leave her with me.

Nope. Moving was an unconscious effort, one drawn by the thought that I needed to hang my sister’s grave and recite her dying wish to the tree. I tried to put action to my thoughts succeeding in moving forward into those warm legs again. Bonk. My head was smacked backward as the legs sprang forward. A man yelped. Angry growls and screaming rent the air while thuds and stomping feet rumbled the ground. The world felt tilted and drunk.

Had the warm man moved too far away? It was cold again. Cold as death.

I needed zidion. After twenty-four years, I had used up my stone. Some people went through six whooping four-inch spheres of their power element in a week. I’d never gone through anything until now so I was considered inferior. I wasn’t capable of defending the ammolite rock I transported, which was why it was so surprising that I was doing just that.

I believed that my sister had been trying to give the relic to Emil to guard, only he’d died first. When his power band linking our lives broke, I found Emil unmoving on the floor with Lula holding the stone beside him. She was shot through the heart by an arrow. My ex-husband had been too. The arrows had a yellow shaft with black fletching indicating that they came from The Order of Thallis. Only the best energy workers could join that exclusive club, so I usually paid them little attention.

They had somehow followed my sister and killed her through the open window. More arrows burst into the room. Instinct had me sensing the mixed metals trying to push the tips away from me. Lula was frantic. The stone was thrust into my hand as she explained what I needed to do. Take the tombstones and the ammolite to the great aspen tree on the Cian Trial. Leave the ammolite inside the box carved into the trunk of the tree. I was also supposed to write my own eulogy.

The memory of Lula dying before me hurt far more than the death of my husband. I can’t say that I mourned his death at all. I was his fifth wife, given to him as a gift to keep shame off my family for how weak I was. He was marvelous. I told him so many times, but my words got brushed aside. He received his praise from the other four wives instead. He didn’t need me, not for words, not for children, not for anything. We’d eaten together only on holidays when the entire household gathered together. I became the royal babysitter, caring for ten other little ones because I didn’t have my own.

... or I’ll toss another fist into the other side of your face!

Bless him. Noise was coming back. It sounded like my chosen champion had won, so I had that going for me.

Zidion. I needed more zidion! I was using too much. I tried to reach for the small stone on my necklace, only to find my wrist grasped by that warm hand again.

Wow, Riker! It was twelve against one. I wasn’t sure if you could handle it.

I don’t need your help, Myron, my hero spat.

His name was Riker. Iron-tinged blood was somewhere close because I could smell a bunch of it. It made me sick to think that I caused the fighting, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I still couldn’t get my eyes open or even my mouth to speak. The powerful hand trailed across my shoulder to my necklace.

Is that...? Myron asked.

Riker snorted as he yanked on the chain. She should be dead. You see this? You can’t even tell it’s zidion anymore. It’s been blanched white. The only thing giving away what she’s after is the letter Z on the back.

She’s bloody. Looks like they dragged her behind a team of bulls, Myron mentioned. Do you have any zidion?

Of course not! Riker responded.

I smiled. He had some. He just might not know that he did. Something he wore was coated in a different material and beneath it was impure zidion. A ring? A pocket watch? I tried to open my eyes to point it out, but all I managed to do was groan as Riker released me and I was back on the soft dirt.

You gonna leave her there?

Whatever she’s running from can’t be good, Riker noted.

Swell. I thought you’d take her with us.

No. She’s already dead, Riker shuddered. At least she’s not dead in the hands of people like them.

He sounded rather disgusted by the men he had just fought off, so I was rather grateful that he had intervened on my behalf. I wasn’t so thrilled that he thought I was dead, especially when he walked away from me. What were a few more cuts and scrapes to my already weary frame? Warmth. I would not let it get away. Fantasies of falling into a basket of sunshine shifted into fantasies of falling into Riker’s arms. Each arm would be covered in impure zidion bracelets. Absolute bliss right now.

No freaking way! Myron cried out.

She’s coming after me! Riker agreed.

Why are you two sissies backing away from a bloody heap? came the voice of whoever else was seeing my predicament.

I hardly cared who it was as long as it wasn’t The Order of Thallis trying to kill me for the stone. I would not let them until I recited the memories at the tree. My sister wasn’t going to die forgotten. They could kill me after I gave up my painful mission. In fact, I’d been told that if it wasn’t the people trying to destroy the stone that killed me, it would be the people who wanted to keep it intact (all of the Wayland clan) that would do so. Either way, as soon as I let the ammolite go I was dead. Both sides did not need me. The only one who had ever really needed me was my sister, and I was going to do what she asked.

For one thing that bloody heap— Riker grumbled.

I fainted at his feet.

Chapter Two

Ah. My dreams of being surrounded by the warmth were coming true. I had feeling back. My curved spine was tucked very snuggly onto the lap of a person. I had to assume that it was Riker—the poor man. His arms were grudgingly holding me as we bumped along a rut-filled path. His hands told a different story, one perhaps of boredom. They had been playing in my hair. I could feel a lopsided braid tickling the left side of my neck.

I inhaled deeply, finding the scent of sweat and vanilla. So pleasant. There was a very contented sigh that probably came from me.

Did you do that? Myron asked.

Nope, Riker responded. She did it all by herself. I can’t tell you what she’s eating from me, but it’s making me nervous.

You don’t look very nervous. You look all cute. The comment came from whoever we were traveling with that wasn’t Myron.

Shut up, Riker snapped.

Thinking about arms, mine didn’t sting anymore. Somehow, I had healed my wounds with the power of impurity. Only trained people could do things like that. Then again, maybe it wasn’t my power that had done it at all, but the ammolite rock at my back. Odd. The ammolite stones of life and death needed to be near each other to work. At least, that was what the rumors had claimed, but those had been wrong before, so what did I know?

Was I carrying the power of death or the power of life? What was the power over death except to grant life? What was the power of life except to escape death? Maybe there was only one stone, or perhaps, in the four years that the first had gone missing, the second one was taken and the two joined together so that the ammolite was functional. I couldn’t claim that it was me that had healed my wounds and brought feeling back to my body. I wasn’t strong enough to do something like that.

The ride, I assumed it was a wagon now that I got a good listen to it, came to a stop.

The three of you ready to go? questioned a deep voice that approached our vehicle along with the sound of hooves. I inhaled again (vanilla!) and tried to decide my options. I could jump out now that we had stopped and run for it before Riker demanded retribution from me for stealing from him. My other choice was to do my best at puppy eyes and ask for water and food before I ran off. I wasn’t confident that I had any puppy eyes because Emil had never taken an interest in me in the three years that we had been married. It was worth a try, though. I was hungry.

The two of us are ready to cross, Myron answered. I’m not sure about Riker unless you can remove the leech.

Riker picked up a leech? No way. Not him. He’s got more crossings under his belt than the gods. Get your gear and... That’s one big leech. How did you come by that?

Jumped on me. I could carry her across, I suppose.

Or leave her, Myron offered. It’s considered kidnapping if you take her. Heaven knows we don’t need the Foresters rallying around a new idea to attack us.

She’ll crawl herself into the gulf, Riker complained. Besides, the Foresters infiltrate to steal resources. I doubt they’re trying to eat her. Might not even notice that she’s gone.

My insides did a strange flippy thing as Riker said that. He didn’t even know me and he cared about me. A good man. Yup, I’d picked a good one even if I surmised he was a Waylander. They were supposed to be greedy and selfish, but all the ones I had ever met were kind. It was us Foresters that did the majority of the stealing. We didn’t have the best of luck growing food in our rocky environment. If only all my life choices worked out so well as getting a Waylander’s pity.

You only care now because you fixed her hair. I told you not to do that, Myron continued to argue.

It was blowing into my face! Riker retorted.

What to do? Wake up and let Riker leave me, use the uncharming puppy eyes, or let him carry me across a gulf? How big was this gulf? Where was I? Myron and his other friend climbed out of the wagon, lugging behind their bags that I heard slide across the wood until they tossed them onto their backs. The wagon rocked slightly as they jumped.

Wake up, Riker demanded.

Okay, I answered.

I hadn’t gotten a good plan, but I wasn’t about to crawl into a gulf and die when I had other things I needed to do first. Riker stiffened as if he hadn’t expected an answer at all. I uncurled myself from his lap as I opened my eyes and got a good look at who I was dealing with.

Riker wasn’t at all like I had pictured inside the safe confines of my head. I’d pictured a man of average height, with the typical brown hair and brown eyes of the region. A Forester. Perhaps a rustic flair about him. A beard. Hatchet at his side in the least. Several bulky rings that showed off his manly prowess and wealth. My version of hot, male hero. It was not what I got at all. Even for a Waylander who tended to have lighter complexions, Riker was different.

He was albino. His skin was pale as a moonbeam and his hair was as white as flour. It wasn’t a translucent color, but the color typically associated with old age. His eyes were a pale blue, and they hardened and glared at me as if I was looking at him too long already. I looked longer.

He had a pointed chin with a slight groove at the top of his left jaw, as if he’d gotten chopped at one point. His eyes were what felt warm. It was as if he had an impurity buried inside of him that he couldn’t vanquish. I’d looked at rocks like this before. Looked and been very slow in putting them down because something about them held my fascination that I couldn’t describe. Whatever it was that enticed me? Riker had it. I shook the sensation away. Surely what I had been drawn toward wasn’t the man’s innards.

You’re—

I glanced at his hands and then his arms searching them for signs of the rare metal that had brought me back to life. He was devoid of jewelry. I looked up higher. Necklace? No. Lower? No. He didn’t wear a belt or anything visible of metal at all.

... highly annoyed with you, Riker growled as he scooted away from me and made to jump from the wagon.

Beautiful, I finished.

He flinched as if he would never use that particular word for himself. There wasn’t anything else to describe him. It was the shape of his face, I decided. The coloring didn’t bother me. It was just the opposite. For a hero, he was an intriguing one, with an almond-shaped face that made me want to watch him for a long, long time. He might have low self-esteem, but I found him to be more than fascinating.

Was he born albino? Did he get cursed with something? Was he, by chance, carrying the other ammolite so that my rock got excited and had me crawling toward his rock? He could have the ammolite of death, which was why he looked white, and I could have the one of life, which was why I wasn’t dead just yet. I was probably hoping too much. Yes, totally making things up. Life was never that easy.

Riker jumped from the wagon. Bagless. Nothing about him suggested he had anything I would ever want. If I hadn’t sensed him with my eyes shut, exhausted, I would have walked right past him without a glance. I didn’t usually stare rudely, and his avoidance to be looked at would have turned me away instantly. I’d learned my lesson the hard way what looking at an unsanctioned man could do to me.

You don’t have any zidion on you at all? Impure, covered over in another metal so that it looks like something else? That’s my favorite.

Do I look like a zidion vendor to you? I’m crossing the gulf. Goodbye, Witch.

You ever met a real witch? I questioned. I didn’t think they existed. That’s a no to the metal question.

You are a witch, Riker mumbled to himself.

There was absolutely nothing on him at all. No visible metal. His unease comment was making more sense. He didn’t even carry a bag that would hide an impure goblet.

Are you telling me, I asked as I jumped out of the wagon giving the broad tan horse that drove it a wide birth, that what revived me was the impurity of whatever curse you’re sporting?

Exiting toward the cart horse was the only direction I could head. The deep-voiced man who was waiting for this party to arrive was blocking the exit. I glanced at the stranger sitting atop a humongous black stallion. He was calloused, but lean, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a shotgun. His black horse reached well above my head and seemed to grow the further down I got.

These people were crossing a gulf, so I turned my neck until I saw it. Oh. That gulf. It was called Pecking’s Chasm. The thing was endless in depth and in claiming lives. A nine-foot-tall metal fence with spikes on the top blocked us from reaching the drop. The only way to cross was through the single guarded gate. I was guessing the shotgun man with the imposing