Tales of Elandria: Book One: Sowilo

By LeRissa Crider

In a faraway land parallel to ours, Elandria has rules of its own. Magic and betrayal run rampant as Shiloh, a born Gypsy, is forced to walk a thin line between freedom and death.

Soon after escaping her longtime tormentor, Gorgahl, she is thrown unprepared into a land that has been laid under a wintry curse. Armed with her magic, and a strong spirit, Shiloh's love for life shines through the darkness, leading all who live in Elandria into the light of a cured land.

Her quest to reunite her family is just beginning...and Gorgahl wants her back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781684984312

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Escape

Chapter 2: Home

Chapter 3: Alone Again

Chapter 4: Gorgahl's Message

Chapter 5: Magic

Chapter 6: The Meadow

Chapter 7: Betrayed

Chapter 8: The Long Road

Chapter 9: To Meet the King

Chapter 10: Turning the Tide

Chapter 11: A Friend

Chapter 12: Elves

Chapter 13: Killian's Tale

Chapter 14: Xylina

Chapter 15: The Climb

Chapter 16: Aditya

Chapter 17: Aditya's Truth

Chapter 18: Alakai

Chapter 19: Wet Socks

Chapter 20: Gorgahl

Chapter 21: Sowilo

About the Author

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Tales of Elandria

Book One: Sowilo

LeRissa Crider

Copyright © 2023 LeRissa Crider

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-68498-437-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88763-582-8 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-68498-431-2 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

I dedicate this, and every book I ever write, to my daughter Illyana—

I hope you follow the light that lives within you,

and ride the winds of adventure as you listen to your soul above all else.

To each beautiful soul who gives this book a chance—

Thank you.

Prologue

In this life, we are faced with a number of challenges. We, as humans, are often thrown into situations well outside of our control, and it is our reactions to these circumstances that are the truest reflection of our character. There are many who allow the pain and devastation that befalls them to define the limits of their potential—but when tragedy is met with grace and acceptance, the soul within grows a little wiser, a little more resilient.

It is said that when a tree encounters tempestuous weather, its nature is to lean into the storm. Whatever winds rage around this solid figure only succeed in making it stronger. Its roots reach further into the soil, anchoring deeper into the earth.

After each period of unrest, when the skies clear and the earth calms, the resilient soul within this mighty tree becomes stronger and more confident in its position, continuing to move through the cycles of change that this life inevitably brings with it.

It is up to us to define our purpose and our potential—we must not allow the shadows of our past to darken the remainder of our journey. Somewhere between making it and giving up, the deepest and truest forms of ourselves burst forth to illuminate a better way. Just as the sun does not dwell on the inevitability that the night will come to steal away the attentions of the earth, we must not dwell on the knowledge that darkness and malcontent will fall into our lives.

These lessons and many others have been passed down through generations by the people of Elandria, a special place on Earth that was touched by celestial magic eons ago.

Tales speak of a great love affair between Mother Moon and Father Sun, celestial beings that met during an eclipse long ago. Having fallen so deeply in love, it seemed impossible for them to part. They knew, however, that if they did not continue their fated rotations, chaos would inevitably ensue. Their union was so powerful that when their bodies touched, a surge of energy pulsed from their entangled figures, creating a place on Earth that was saturated with magic. In this special place, magic could thrive; it was in that moment Elandria was born.

Children of the Moon and Sun were created as tokens of their devotion to one another. The children of Mother Moon were Gypsies who instinctively traveled the land in sync with the cycles of the moon. They watched over the seasons on Earth, giving each period its rightful time. Children of Father Sun were Elves; they were a powerful people with nearly incorruptible spirits. They did not roam as the Gypsy did; instead they set up long-term homes and villages. They would use their magic to assist the creatures of the Earth as they went through the cycles of life and death.

The Gypsies and the Elves quickly learned that their abilities were not celebrated by their nonmagical peers. Some thought them to be evil; others wanted to extract their powers and take it for themselves. Though they were the most loved of all creation by the celestial deities above, Elandria was a harsh place. Driven from society, the Elves mastered the art of concealment and opted to practice their magic in secret. Gypsies, however, preferred a more hands-on approach, and instead mastered the art of stealth.

For generations, there was peace across the land. However, as with the seasons of the Earth and the cycles of life, this peace could not remain.

Deep in the mountains, south of the Royal City, a boy was born into a life of torment. Unloved by his parents, who were monstrous at the best of times, the boy's very existence enraged them. He was named Gorgahl, a name that meant abomination in the dead language of his ancestors. Throughout his youth, he had many siblings; only three by birth, but hundreds would come into his home: they would stay for a short while and then leave, never to be heard from again.

The only time Gorgahl was acknowledged was when he was beaten for the sins of his siblings. His purpose was to be an example, as his parents would say. For years he endured his life, bearing his pain in silent torment as he was humiliated repeatedly in ways that painted his soul a little darker each time.

It was not until he was seventeen years old that his patience for this treatment finally reached its end. Late one night, Gorgahl left his pile of filthy rags—meant to serve as his bed—and silently crept into the room where his parents slept. As he stood over their bodies, a smile crept onto his face.

He wore his smile wider as he grabbed his mother's face with both hands, waking her. After a moment of confusion, she attempted to cry out but failed, as her son twisted her neck around until it snapped. He looked at his father, still sleeping and unaware that his wife was no longer alive. I will let you live, long enough to feel this loss. But I will return and finish this…one day… Gorgahl thought to himself.

Quietly he left the room, walking down the narrow hallway and through the weathered cedar door, into the mountainous landscape. Gorgahl stood there in the stillness of the night and raised his hands above his head in silent celebration. In that moment, he embraced his darkness, allowing the shame, anger, and betrayal of his youth to fill him, welcoming it like an old friend. Looking into the wilderness around him, his heart raced with exhilaration, and he started toward the thick of the trees.

As he walked, he whistled a tune, his spirit feeling satisfied for the first time in his life. For a week, he roamed the woods outside his home, enjoying the sounds of mourning that could be heard on the breeze back at his childhood home. He maintained himself by catching what wildlife he could find and reveling in the kill. One night, as he lay under the branches of a large cedar tree, he was stirred awake by a subtle rustling in the distance.

He sat up slowly, casting an upward glance through the branches of his sheltering tree at the full blood moon above. The glowing deity in the night sky illuminated the forest in an eerie light. Through the dense foliage around, Gorgahl saw a figure floating from the thicket and into the open area. He rubbed his eyes a bit and shook the sleep from his bones, then looked once more toward the strange sight. He could see clearer now that the figure was a woman: one unlike any he had ever seen.

She was beautiful and had a glow around her form which allowed Gorgahl to steal a better glance at her appearance. This woman had long surpassed agelessness; her cool, ice-blue skin glowed independent of the moon above. As she carried herself with divinity and grace, Gorgahl's eyes were transfixed on her approaching figure. He considered the woman as she advanced on him, watching her with intrigue and trepidation.

As she closed the distance between them, her features were illuminated by the open sky. Her body shimmered with what appeared to be constellations trapped in her celestial skin. The stranger introduced herself to him as Ophorenia, a mortal witch who had transcended into the divine by embracing a dark practice. Gorgahl was lost in the magic around her, his thoughts suspended in a foggy ecstasy. Then her voice rang out through the clouded moment, and she presented him with an offer.

Embrace my divinity, she said, her voice echoing around inside his head. Choose me, and ignore your own will. Allow me to permeate your being with my essence, and you shall become a powerful warlock.

He stared into her eyes and felt warmth inside. Wherever she is, I want to be, Gorgahl thought. As he did so, he noticed her light flooding into him. It saturated his skin; its glow illuminated his flesh for a moment, before sinking below the surface and returning to normal.

He chose the witch Ophorenia.

In their time together, she taught him the ways of blood magic, a dark and powerful craft that required the utmost sacrifice. Soon, children began to disappear from surrounding villages. The disappearances were few and far between, at first. After twenty-five summers, however, they became such a threat that entire cities were abandoned as people, magical and not, left everything and fled, far from those cursed woods.

Tribes of Gypsies began to fall victim to the mysterious disappearances next. They slowly occurred farther and farther from the woods. Nearly an entire generation of Gypsy people was decimated in a matter of two seasons due to the rampant kidnappings. In response, the frightened Gypsy people chose to break from tradition and consolidate the tribes to live together as one people.

During this time, the darkest period of loss these gentle people had ever known, an unexpected gift was given to the tribe: a little girl who, from the moment she opened her eyes, was prophesied to bring about a universal shift in the acceptance of their kind.

She was born at the first break of dawn; those who witnessed the birth spoke of a presence near that glowed brighter than the sun, which steadily climbed the horizon. Her eyes were a striking shade of vivid violet, and her essence radiated an aura of light and hope which shimmered near her infant form, hanging in the air around her fragile body like mist. Before her story could truly begin, however, the light of the tribe dimmed.

Stolen from them in the dead of night after only knowing the Earth for eleven summers, the one destined to save her people was ripped away. She was taken to a dark and desolate hovel, away from even the faintest light, and tortured relentlessly—but like the tree leaning into the storm, it was in this place she found her strength and resilience, aligning herself with her destiny.

Her name was Shiloh.

Chapter 1

The Escape

Her feet hit the ground hard. The muscles in her legs were weak and burning from lack of use over the last six years. Shiloh's mind could focus on one thing alone: run, as fast as she could and as far as her feet would take her.

Frigid air rushed past her face and through her long, matted hair. The ground around her was covered in frost, and her frantic breaths hung in the air like little clouds, lingering behind her as she bolted. The sky grew darker with each meter gained. Shiloh pushed her body further.

Flashes of the last image she had seen—Gorgahl's mangled, unconscious body—overwhelmed her. With it came a torrent of similar images: the other children dead, the ascent up the damaged ladder to the dusty floor above… Emotion so overwhelmed her that she barely took notice of her surroundings.

She ran blindly down the uneven dirt path, oblivious to a thin layer of black ice that blanketed a sharp stone just ahead. Her foot landed hard on the unnoticed obstacle, and the ice atop the stone caused her ankle-joint to roll in its socket.

Shiloh lost her balance and stumbled over onto the icy ground. Her knees made sharp contact with the cold terrain; she winced as small rocks and frozen soil tore into the flesh on her knees. No stranger to pain, Shiloh stood shakily, ignoring the warm, sticky blood that poured from the newest wound, and willed her legs to carry her farther from that awful place.

There was damage all over her body from the blast that had secured her escape, as well as layers of intermittent scarring from the shackles that had bound her to the wall of her cell. The newest trauma from her fall did not look a bit out of place among the collective mosaic of bruises, blisters, and lacerations.

As the distance between Shiloh and her captor grew ever greater, her pace transitioned from panicked to liberated. She began to laugh openly as she continued to run, and she ran until the moon replaced the sun above her and the stars flooded the deepening sky.

Only then did she slow to a stop. Breathing hard, Shiloh felt the thunder before she heard it. A rich storm cloud unfurled its mass above her, blanketing the stars, and deepening to match the color of the cosmos. As Shiloh noticed the sudden shift in energy, the temperature dropped drastically and the sky above her opened.

She felt her legs begin to succumb to their tiredness and dissolve wearily to the ground. Her hands gripped the earth and felt its rough constitution soften with the arrival of a freezing rain. Looking around, she saw barren trees silhouetted against the dark sky, and withering bushes nearby looked to be long dead, their brittle branches void of leaves or berries.

She sat there on the muddy ground in silence, her feet well past being numb. Shiloh was alone. Rain fell to the ground around her body and splashed up onto her blistered skin. The smell of earth was all around her, the symphony of the night lost to the song of storm.

She turned her head at the sudden sound of footsteps nearby. Summoning all her strength, she manifested a faintly shimmering aura of concealment. This was her magical ability. From the moment she was born, Shiloh was able to manifest auras. Whatever emotion or intention she needed would appear around her like a mist, each one visible only to those who possessed magic. The aura's intention determined its color, and as she manifested this aura, a lavender mist settled around her. The floating intention threatened to dissipate—Shiloh was weak; she needed to be careful not to lose focus. As she shut her eyes and breathed in the icy air of freedom, her manifested aura strengthened in response.

It had been many long days since she had lived as the world around her lived. The time she had been locked away took from her the ability to tell when one day ended and another began… The normalcy of day and night were lost to her.

The raindrops kissed her tired eyes and washed the stench of filth and neglect off her delicate skin. With every moment that passed, the footsteps drew nearer, but there was no fear in Shiloh. After what she had lived through, she was not sure she had the capacity to fear anything in this world again.

She watched as a young woman walked past, oblivious to Shiloh's presence, and wondered if this stranger had ever known fear as Shiloh did.

Appearing healthy and well-dressed, the woman carried with her a little umbrella, upon which hung a lantern and a small basket filled with things that Shiloh could not see. As the young stranger passed, the air around them swirled and left a sweet cinnamon smell on the breeze.

As the woman faded into the distance, Shiloh released the aura and decided to get off her knees. With great effort, she heaved her body up off the ground and stood, alone and alive, and wept.

Tears mixed with drops of rain; the beat of her heart synchronized with the pulse of the storm; together they healed one another. Many moments passed with nothing but the storm raging around her. As Shiloh wept, she let out all the pain, anger, resentment, and betrayal that she had shoved down inside her heart to survive her captivity.

She released it all. She let it flow from her cheeks and into the earth, from out of her body and her soul—and as the rain ended, her tears followed suit. With the passing of the storm, both the spirit of the Earth and that of her own were renewed. Shiloh opened her eyes. As they adjusted to the darkness, she noticed that several branches on a nearby bush seemed to have been renewed with life. Little green leaves budded where once was the nakedness of a barren branch. Shiloh breathed in the smell of a second chance and smiled.

Pulling herself to her full height, Shiloh shook the collected drops from her exposed shoulders and shivered slightly beneath her tattered tunic. The time-worn fabric provided no barrier between the chilly night air and her skin, allowing the shiver to descend into her core and linger longer than was comfortable.

Suddenly, the pain in her body made itself known. Gingerly Shiloh investigated her left ankle, discovering a deep gash on the skin. It was ragged, and now that the rain had stopped, it shone with the wetness of blood. She would have to travel at a slower pace now, as the pain in her ankle was joined by the crescendo of many small, angry cuts all over her body, announcing their presence in unison.

Shiloh checked her reserve of magic. Empty. Wishing she had saved her last bit to conjure up a little magical fire, she stared out in the direction she had seen the other woman disappear. Still shivering, she decided there was no point in dwelling on her frivolous decision to conceal herself. Shiloh reasoned there was bound to be a village nearby, and, taking care where she placed her feet, padded onward.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, she discovered the edge of a small settlement. Slowly making her way farther into the place, she found there were two street carts being set up in the dark. They appeared to have the monopoly on market vendors, and the grim outlines of the men attending them looked as though they had been cut from the very same cloth. Oblivious to her true condition, Shiloh limped into the main road that ran the length of the town, hoping desperately to find herself somewhere to eat and bathe.

As she made her way down the street, the sky began to lighten. Lazily in the distance, several birds began chirping. One of the men who was setting up his market cart with a variety of fungi stopped what he was doing and stared at Shiloh. His face