The Waiting World: Book One

By A.R. Fuller

Elsanoka is a part of a community born with the responsibility of maintaining peace between the former gods, known as Eradene, and humanity, whose touch is poisonous to them. She walks the delicate line of living in the past and fighting against humanity's mounting fear of the Eradene, who each control elements ranging from gravity, to time, to even life itself. When a man slays one of these cosmic beings, he gains that being's powers. Esirio Osarius is imprisoned in an oblong box after slaying countless Eradene, and Elsanoka is charged with keeping him there. During Elsanoka's journey, her faith in her community and humanity itself is put to the test. As others join her journey, from a duke to a swordswoman, and even the Eradene of present time, she must open her eyes to the truth lurking in the shadows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886545913

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The Waiting World

Book One

A.R. Fuller

Copyright © 2022 A.R. Fuller

All rights reserved

Second Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 979-8-88654-590-6 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-591-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

102 AA

After Glandellian Arrival

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 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Terms and Pronunciation Key

About the Author

For my mom and dad.

Prologue

The fires raged—loud, like an unforgiving growl of a beast that tore across the brittle and dry landscape. Its red-and-orange tongues swallowed every building, sending furious black smoke billowing into—what had been that morning—a placid-blue midday. People ran for the docks. Women had scooped up their children and were flying across the grass, coughing and shielding the faces of their offspring. Men and boys ran at their heels, covered in soot and ash.

Iram-Sho could see the boats from the hillside, but they were specs on the water from where he stood. Many people on the eastern peninsula had begun to run for the ships the moment the sky had been choked with black. Others had not shared the same foresight, and by the time the flames had engulfed the mainland forest, it was too late for them. There were hundreds of ships in the harbor, but they could not wait forever.

As he climbed the winding stone steps built into the hill leading to the shrine, he watched as several set sail. The fires had not reached the port yet, but it was only a matter of time. Heat had consumed the countryside, and nothing stood in its way from making it down to the seaside village.

Others ran past him, abandoning the tower that they had adorned with flowers and gifts. Most ignored the steps, racing down the hillside and struggling not to slip in the grass and sand in their panic. Iram-Sho was calm, making his way toward the top, unbothered by the smoke that laid heavily in the air. Dark bodies fled across the stark, white shores, marking it with their footsteps, bolting across the long, crowded peers. Some fell into the crystal waters.

The ships! a man cried as he passed him, reaching out and almost touching Iram-Sho as if he intended to drag him back down toward the harbor. We have to get to the ships or we'll be burned alive!

Iram-Sho ducked him, and the man carried on, unbothered by what—by all accounts—seemed like a mode for suicide.

By the time he reached the top, he gazed at the white jasmine that had been planted to decorate the pathway to the tower. It gave a pop of color to the patchy, lifeless grass the covered the foothill. There, the sun beat down upon the Isle of Glandelle, making the beautiful blue-green sea shimmer but chasing away all the luscious life that was brought for the tower.

There, his love awaited him.

The rotunda was open, the clear, blue glass reflecting the harsh sun off in white beams. It was decades old, but the Glandellian people took great care of the building, even going as far as to scale the brick walls and clean the domed top, polishing the heart-shaped finial adorning it. Not a hint of dust or moss touched the high walls. Now, however, as black smoke filled the air, the metal and glass accents were dulled and dirtied.

Iram-Sho walked through the arched, open doorway, stepping over wreaths, countless bills of money, overturned cups of wine, and various other gifts that had been left for the Dame and the Tower. All their worshippers—all that had clamored to the steps—held their hands up in prayer. All had fled for the shore. He ascended the spiral staircase the lined the tower's walls, affording not a single look down through the wide, steep drop to the floor below and all the forgotten gifts.

No Glandellian dared tread upon the marble steps, as there was only one room in the tower at all, and no mortal wished to insight the wrath of the tower and explore such a sacred place. Above laid the Dame, the blessed enigma that inhabited the God Tower, who had needed neither food nor water in many years. Unbeknownst to them, he had provided all that she'd ever needed.

The steps led him through an opening in the floor, and there, he reached the top of the structure. Beyond, the Dame waited—perhaps for him, perhaps for the fire, and maybe even perhaps the death that would follow suit. Even still, a woman laid upon the white flooring in a beam of circular light cast down from the oculus in the center of the roof.

Iram-Sho had not built the God Tower, but he had given it to the love of his long, long life. Whatever the people of Glandelle had thought of it whether they thought of it as another strange building and claimed a demon had put it there or if they thought it as the face of a god, he cared very little.

The people often referred to the God Tower as the Bell Tower, as a light, bell-like song could be heard drifting down into the courtyard from above. There was no question that it was not truly a bell but the beautiful song of a woman—more than a woman to the Glandellians, not quite a god but the Dame of the Tower, the guardian of the physical embodiment of their faith. While he might've disagreed, or thought little of their opinions, Iram-Sho could agree that such a lovely voice could move a man to religion.

As he came to her side where she was laid, the light was beginning to dwindle overhead. The woman lifted her slender arm, fingers reaching out as if to capture the dying light. White, flowing cloth fell from her arm, revealing her deep-brown skin that contrasted against the endless white of her room. Wisps of hair framed her beautiful, ovular face while dozens of long, thin braids painted the floor beneath her. Thick lashes danced, sending streams of tears down her face. Her midnight eyes and the faint wrinkles at their corners did not betray her sorrow.

Iram-Sho dared not speak her name, for fear of his voice breaking upon the sound. Instead, he knelt beside her, restrained from scooping her up in his arms.

My love, shall I take you to the ships?

Suppose they will be terribly angry with me? she asked him, lowering her hand as the clouds darkened, swallowing the sun. For lying to them about who I am.

"They worship you. I worship you," he told her but knew that the same word had two different meanings. The Glandellian people would race to kiss her feet and he would as well, but he would've done so were she in rags.

Their eyes met, and she frowned. I won't be going anywhere. I have lived long enough.

Long enough, Iram-Sho thought over the words. The woman was no older than forty years, not a child at all but certainly not on her deathbed. Even if she were, it was not enough for him. A thousand years would not be sufficient for him.

Though tempted to go against his love's wishes and carrying her to the shore, throw men out of his path, and cut through the throngs to get her to safety, he doubted the Glandellians would part for her. Even if they knew her identity merely by her singing voice—were she forgiving enough to sing at his request—they would not care. Giving the woman of their worship mortality would put a foul taste in their mouths. They would no longer accept her, and they both knew this.

It was a lovely illusion while it lasted. So long as it benefited her, kept her safe and loved, he didn't mind. Now they abandoned her, for surely, a god and his lady would not perish by fire.

Iram-Sho was determined to stay at her side until the very end. As her soft hand reached up and stroked his smooth cheek, he knew that he wouldn't leave until the building beneath him gave way. He wondered, as the heat began to permeate from the floor below, funneling up like an oven, if he would die alongside her. Would he, too, be reduced to ash?

But Iram-Sho had lived more than a thousand years. In an instant, he could take his beloved anywhere on the Isle. Were he strong enough, were the fire manageable enough, he might have been able to save all the Glandellians and their lives. Perhaps he could have even saved the God Tower. Yet the fires raged all over the Isle faster than any feet of beast or man and certainly much more than the immortal could ever deal with.

The woman he loved sat up, coughing, hair splaying over her delicate shoulders. She wormed her way into his arms, and he held her, breathing in the jasmine oil on her warm skin. In that moment, the Dame was ready to die. Yet he was not ready to let her.

Then she began to sing to him her final song, Through you, I've seen the sun. My moon-glint eyes stay baffled some as the waters begin to rise.

As the fire licked at the dying grass that surrounded the God Tower, he held her close, whispering her name with his broken voice until the smoke poured inside, wafting upward.

The dark will replace the tide, a brilliant horizon shine. In my arms, you will hide and call yourself mine.

There, as her loving hands rubbed his back to comfort him, he hoped that the two of them could be ashes on the wind together once the land finally stopped burning.

102 AA

After Glandellian Arrival

Chapter 1

All was quiet. The trees in the forest were still. It was as if the cicadas had abandoned the area and the wind held its breath. Although the woods—a boisterous behemoth of an entity that took on a life of its own—often creaked and sang out at all hours, it was too quiet for a warm, tranquil day.

Davain felt this each time he entered: the presence of nature that swayed, rocked, hummed, and danced with all manners of life. There were times where nature would stand still in her steadiness as if she were taking a rest. However, it felt very different this time. She was trying to warn him of something.

Davain cast a curious eye over the uncanny calmness of the trees and brush around him as he made his way through it.

The odd notion of being followed crossed his mind—as if this unseen force had chased the vivid life away. However, he found this paranoia absurd. Was there anything an Eradene had to fear in being followed? he thought. Though he hesitated in his step when this thought crept through his mind, he continued after an inner chuckle at himself. He'd spent many moons alone and could only gain amusement from the occasional intrusive and foolish thought.

It was approaching the hottest point of the year. Many different groups of Kerr—or humans, as they often referred to themselves as—had different names for the seasons that came and went. If his memory served him, the Kerr called this point in the year High Breeze and it would be followed by Long Sun. There were a great many things that were unique to humanity, but their terminology always amused and frustrated him. Very little else did he find interesting.

There were also many things that he was not fond of when it came to the fleeting lives of the Kerr. There were many of them and far less Eradene—a one-to-one-thousand ratio, he'd wager. Still, they were far more frail compared to him. It contributed to the idea that he had no cause to be followed by one of them. However, that wasn't taking into consideration their toxic blood that surged through their veins. A mere touch from a human would burn him, and their blood would do far worse.

All their means to hurt both him and any other Eradene meant little if they could not outwit him, and so few did.

Davain was the hybrid of two, time-old creatures. His fur was midnight black across his canine body. He possessed a long, sharp snout packed with sharp fangs. His paws marked the earth while he traveled, towering over many other living creatures. Between his pointed, upright ears were a pair of elegant, curved elk horns. He needed to duck his head to avoid them being snagged on low-hanging branches.

He respected the elk and the wolf far more for their predator-prey relationship than he ever could the precarious and dangerous nature between humans and Eradene.

Soon, the forest emptied out into an opening. It seemed the line of trees in the distance curved like a peak, leaving the clouds above him to arch across the sky. Davain ducked his head out from beneath the brush to enter a clearing. On all sides, he was surrounded by trees with the meadow swooping downward in a bowl shape. He stopped short in his stride when he looked up and found a Kerr in the middle of the opening.

It was a female, and she stood calm within the grass, eyes locked onto him.

From his experience with humans, they came in many different forms but bore similar features all in common. He paid little mind to their details, as he had a habit of looping them all together into one collective, intolerable group. However, the human in front of him had distinct features that caught his attention.

She was far paler than many of her Kerr counterparts. Her mouth and eyes were a vibrant pink against this colorless canvas. And to frame them, she bore snowy eyelashes. Above her pale, silver eyes were a set of thin, white brows. Covering her scalp was a long, blue fabric that flowed off her shoulders held in place by a tight, thin braid of twine wrapped around her head. She wore a gown that was a few shades darker than her veil. Tied around her petite waist was a golden cord, knotted against her left side. The V-shaped collar framed her delicate neck, and golden embroidery swirled and interlocked at the edges. The long sleeves of the gown were rolled up to her elbows, showcasing more of her porcelain skin. Over her shoulder, she carried a clay-colored sack. She was barefooted.

There seemed to be something strange strapped to her back.

The young woman was short of stature and very frail looking. She shielded her eyes from the sun with an outstretched, delicate hand, a shimmer from which brought his attention to a silver ring on her finger.

She was not a typical Kerr. She was a Wirth.

I have been waiting for you! she called out in a pleasant tone. The hand that had been shading her eyes now waved to him. She was smiling in his direction as if she was unaware that he was an Eradene and she was a mere human. A Wirth, yes, and though humans and Wirth were very different, he no longer saw those differences. There was a time where he bore respect for the Wirth, but now, he lumped them together with the other Kerr.

It took quite a lot of nerve on her part to be so casual with him.

My name is Keahta'Elsanoka! But please call me Noki. You must be Davain.

Hesitant to close the gap between the two of them, he gazed around but saw no cause to draw back. Why would he display any sort of cowardice to this female?

Davain made his way toward her, stopping short a few meters. He could communicate with her in his current state, but he was not afraid to humor her out of his own curiosity.

His body began to break apart like fabric. His form ripped into fragments and shreds, fading in color as it tore from him, like shedding a skin. Fur and his other features fell away in strips, and as they did, they faded to ash as if they were burned. They drifted to the ground behind him, carried by the breeze. Once the gray pieces touched the grass, they evaporated into nothing, absorbed by the ground. Like a shell falling away, what remained in his stead was a human shape. He was dressed in a white, stained tunic and loose-fitting, brown trousers along with a matching, ratty cloak that covered his shoulders. Perhaps the most contested part of it all was a pair of leather strapped shoes that separated him from the fresh earth.

The Kerr face and body that he often disguised himself as was the same each time. He paid it so little attention that he hardly knew who he appeared to be. All that mattered was that he looked like them—that he blended in with them.

While all Eradene had the ability of illusion to disguise themselves at will to look and sound like Kerr, he felt disgusted by having to do so. He was fond of his true form, and to masquerade as a Kerr to avoid being hunted down or burned by them was a disgrace.

A rumbling voice rolled out of him, Why have you been waiting?

When he transformed in front of her, she did not flinch or change her affable expression. Such a sight would've elicited some sort of reaction out of a typical human. However, the Wirth were a collection of people that prided themselves on knowing much about the Eradene. They had been around for a very long time, and they were confident they'd seen all there was to see.

The female cut through the grass, leaving only several paces between them. Her gait was light and springy. Although he did not want her to come any closer, he did not back away from her.

You have committed a great crime against your fellow Eradene, her voice was soft, gentle, and yet it didn't match the words she was speaking.

Crime? he muttered.

The young woman tilted her head to one side. She surveyed him with her waxen eyes from beneath her sun-soaked white lashes. You have slain another Eradene: Yunar.

With her words, the sun began to beat down without mercy onto the valley. The change in temperature was so quick—a modest warmth to blistering heat—that it felt as though a door had opened in the sky and the sun's heat poured down onto them.

She lifted her hand to fan herself, a new expression lacing her face that danced between worry and the need to cling to her smile.

There was a shift in the underbrush around them. It occurred to Davain that other Wirth had accompanied the littlest one under his looming presence. They waited in hiding. Suddenly, it appeared that it would not be such an effortless conflict if one were to arise. One Wirth was dangerous, but a collection of them was daunting. Despite the deliberate movement within the trees, no one advanced and they remained hidden.

Yunar died of his own volition, Davain called to her in a powerful voice. I just happen to be in his presence, you puny, insolent, little wretch.

She nodded as if the words from him rolled off her. Yes, you're utilizing his influence over the temperature now, I see—an ability you only gained after his death.

What purpose could he have for denying it? What are you here for?

Her receptive smile reappeared on her face that was glistening with sweat. Please know, Davain, that we respect you! The Wirth have always respected all the Time Influencers. The control you have over the present is certainly something frightening in and of itself. However, now that you've absorbed another Eradene's abilities, the Wirth worry that you may be a danger to humankind.

Davain's face twitched with irritation. What could I possibly care of your apprehensions of me? I've done no Kerr any harm.

Her smile didn't waver. She clasped her hands together, beads of sweat trickling down her face. Davain was unsure how hot it was becoming underneath the boiling sun. Typically, he had far better discipline over his emotions, but his bequeathed influence of temperature was new to him. For as long as he'd existed, he'd halted and restarted time to his convenience with ease. While he did not have complete, limitless control over time, he'd perfected his ability to affect it without issue. The temperature, however, seemed to react more to his mental state—a side effect of garnering another ability instead of being born with it.

I'm sure that's true, she nodded, but the Wirth Council would like you to be monitored until it's determined that you're not a threat.

His nostrils flared. What?

She seemed reluctant to speak. It is not our choice, but with the last incident involving a powerful individual with influence, it is in everyone's best interest.

He was aware of what she was inferring but did not want to concede. He chose to scowl in her direction.

For just a moment, he thought he'd heard a soft round of laughter. It didn't sound as though it was coming from a long distance, however. It wasn't coming from the other Wirth that hid within the shadows. The laughter couldn't have come from her, as it was far too deep and too sinister.

The little Wirth's smile wavered but did not leave her. Instead, she pivoted her body to the side and gestured her arm behind her. You may flee if you wish. It would be easy with the sort of abilities you have. The genuine warmth leaked back onto her face. But if you want to, please reconsider. The Wirth are everywhere. We would like you to accompany one of us for the time being. It'll be painless! I promise.

Davain scanned over her in muted disbelief. Yes, he could just use his influence over time and everything around him would halt, aside from himself, and he could be gone in the blink of an eye from her perspective. However, he knew they were a dominant force not to be trifled with. Their only goal was to obtain a balance between the two species, and they had the means for their abilities to never be questioned.

Therefore, Davain could not flee, at least not for long. Moreover, he knew he could freeze her out or cook the little Wirth to death in the valley if he chose to do so. Still, he had no ill will against the pale figure before him and he was not a fool enough to believe he could take on her brethren.

As he went over all this in his head, she'd almost closed the gap between them. He forced himself to stay grounded and not back away from the tiny figure. He realized that her eyes were almost white in the sun when she'd drawn closer.

I assure you that we will not take up more than a few years of your time. She peeked up from her hueless lashes, her ever-present smile not peeling from her pale, rose-petal lips. She winked at him. What is a few years to an immortal anyway?

The heat cooled. It was as if the wind had been blown out from him.

Davain glanced over toward the trees in each direction and felt the presence of her people. Evidently, the Wirth were preparing for his rejection. Though they made no sound, it was as if the forest creaked with their tensing bodies.

How had it come to this? What more could Davain do than agree? He could only sneer at her. Who will be my warden for the duration?

Oh! I'm so glad you're willing to cooperate! she chirped in a horrendous, bell-like giggle that erupted from her as she clapped her hands. The ring on her finger flickered against the light. I will be your warden. I'll be asking you to follow me on my journey if it's not too much trouble.

Davain's face contorted into further agitation as if the response to her statement was obvious but not one he could reply with. If he could recall, many of the Wirth were nomadic. These were the ones that traveled across the land, ensuring a peaceful relationship between the Kerr and Eradene, if such a feat was even possible. He believed the rest were in the southern part of the country, hidden away in the wetlands.

He hadn't seen a typical Kerr in several weeks while he hid away in the embrace of nature. He hadn't seen a Wirth in longer. It seemed fitting—the first time he'd encountered a human in all that time and it brought him trouble.

As you wish was all that he could mutter as he began to turn.

Oh, wait! she called out before he could walk away from her. He paused, peering back at her with darkened eyes as she continued. Won't you be so kind as to shake my hand on it?

Davain gritted his teeth as the girl raised her ringed hand outward to him. He could no longer hold his tongue and said, As a Wirth, you should know that just the touch of your flesh on mine is arduous. Why would I harm myself just for the sake of what—a cultural symbol of sorts?

She didn't lower her hand. Consider it a contract! When you shake my hand, you agree that I will be your warden for the time being. You're making a vow to me that you will not flee or betray the Wirth in this agreement.

It was clear across his face that he was irate but more reluctant.

The Wirth grimaced, adding a flicker of color to her palette of expressions. I'm terribly sorry that it will be painful for you. I promise you, though, it will be just a moment.

Perhaps out of his own impatience, Davain reached out and squeezed her fingers, not particularly in tune with the proper procedures to shake a Kerr's hand. The first sensation he felt was a steady burning spread across his hand as though he'd grabbed a scalding hot pipe. He couldn't remember if he'd ever touched a Kerr before—perhaps accidentally when wandering among them in his youth. It was strange that ignorance of the pain they caused had made him so willing to oblige.

He was about to release her fingers the moment he'd grabbed them, but when he applied pressure to his hold, she winced. He was confused but then he felt it. Upon his ring finger, there was a stabbing, agonizing pain that bled into poisonous burning—as if his flesh slopped off. He ripped his hand away from her with a yell and inspected it. It felt as though something had taken his finger off completely, but it remained intact. However,