Threads from the Tapestry: The God Slayer Chroncicles, #1.5

By R. A. Casias

Four tales of magic, mystery, and destiny intertwine in the mystical realm of Etherea.
In "Valen's Reckoning," a reckless Weaver apprentice struggles to control his volatile abilities, seeking answers in the Aetheric Reservoir.
Orphan Jaska discovers her own Weaver gifts in "The Shadowlands' Lure," but the dark power of the forbidden dimension tempts her down a dangerous path.
A seaside temple priestess faces forbidden desires of the flesh when a pirate washes ashore in "The Threads of Fate."
And in "The Buried Sorcerer," a young desert guide is hired to find an ancient tomb, but his client's true motives remain shrouded in secrets.
Weave together threads of fate, magic, and mortal affairs in these enchanting tales from the Tapestry of Etherea. Immerse yourself in a mystical realm where gods and mortals collide, and destinies hinge on choices that will echo through the ages." 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. A. Casias
• Release date: Jan 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798989517138

Book preview

Threads from the Tapestry

PRAISE FOR R. A. CASIAS

The Shadowlands' Lure swept me away to a darkly magical realm that was utterly engrossing.

SARAH M.

Valen's inner struggle for self-control and mastery over his volatile magic powers made for a riveting character arc in Valen’s Reckoning.

SAM W.

Dahlia's story in The Threads of Fate beautifully explored concepts of destiny, morality and the allure of power.

JORDAN C.

The Buried Sorcerer was a thrilling tale of adventure, betrayal and supernatural danger.

ALEXIS G.

THREADS FROM THE TAPESTRY

THREADS FROM THE TAPESTRY

STORIES OF MORTALS AND GODS

VOL. I

R. A. CASIAS

Resonance Press

Copyright © 2024 by R. A. Casias

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art © 2023 by Rachel Bostwick

@rachelbostwick

All rights reserved. Used with permission.

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To the dreamers and the daring—

May your lives shimmer with courage and imagination.

There are worlds within worlds, stories within stories. Every life spins its own tale, entwining in unseen ways with the greater fabric that binds us all together. Some threads are frail as gossamer, others mighty as anchor chains, yet each plays a vital role in holding the tapestry of life together.

UNKNOWN

CONTENTS

Introduction

The Shadowland’s Lure

1. A Deal with a Devil

2. A Descent into Shadows

3. A Light in the Darkness

4. A Glimmer of Hope

5. A Weaver of Light

Valen’s Reckoning

1. A Taste of Freedom

2. A Resolve Strengthened

3. A Long Road Ahead

4. A Forging of Will

The Threads of Fate

1. A Future Unraveling

2. A Guiding Hand

3. A Vision Dawns

4. A Flicker of Hope

The Buried Sorcerer

1. A Mysterious Stranger

2. A Sinister Discovery

3. A Guiding Whisper

4. A Grave Revealed

5. A Journey's End

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by R. A. Casias

INTRODUCTION

When I first conceived my epic fantasy series The God Slayer Chronicles, the world of Etherea came alive in my imagination, bursting with countless tales waiting to be told. As I began to draft book 2, new story ideas kept appearing like plot bunnies, threatening to distract me from the main narrative.

I realized Etherea was far too rich to contain just one heroic storyline. There were overlooked corners and characters that deserved their own moments in the spotlight. These standalone tales would interweave with the already established world to create a layered tapestry, complementary strands adding depth and texture.

Though some focused on everyday people unrelated to the main quest, each story followed threads that traced back to the heart of Etherea. Every new narrative revealed hidden facets of how this complex world worked, what made it hurt, hope, and carry on. Big and small lives alike mattered because they shared the same vibrant realm.

These tales made Etherea feel boundless with potential. I wanted readers to experience the interconnections while still seeing each story as meaningful in its own way. As the God Slayer Chronicles wove the main thread, these supporting stories were key strands in a holistic tapestry.

Now having woven these four adventurous tales, I see bits of myself reflected in each flawed yet determined character. I truly hope you enjoy reading their journeys as much as I relished writing them. More epic adventures await in Book Two, so pardon the puns and I'll see you there! But for now, welcome to the tapestry.

-R. A. Casias

THE SHADOWLAND’S LURE

1

A DEAL WITH A DEVIL

The dying sun casts its golden glow over the ancient marble spires of Lethe as I slip through the crowded marketplace. My senses sharpen, focused like the edge of a blade. Exotic spices mingle with sweat and dust. Voices call out, sellers advertising wares, customers haggling. I weave between them, light on my feet, calloused fingers trailing over fabrics, brushing pockets and purses. No one notices me, just a girl in a loose tunic, dark hair falling in my pale face. I am a shadow, blending into the chaos.

My eyes dart, seeking the unwary. A young merchant catches my attention, showing artifacts to a buyer. I smile, drifting closer. The noise masks my footsteps. I glide behind him, reaching into his robes with practiced motions. My fingers close around his coin pouch. I hold my breath, willing my racing heart to still. The coarse pouch strokes my fingertips as I draw it out, quick as a sparrow taking flight.

I release my breath and melt into the crowd, prize in hand. He won’t notice it missing for some time. I walk on through the familiar maze of stalls and streets. Up ahead, a nobleman in fine gray robes, likely visiting from beyond the walls. My eyes fix on his coin purse. An easy lift.

I creep closer, matching his pace. Are you certain it was a whisperwraith? his companion asks.

The nobleman nods. I’m sure of it. I’ve tracked the creature here to Lethe. His eyes narrow at the crowd.

I tune out their whispers. Now’s my chance. My fingers stretch toward his purse.

They brush the fabric. I freeze. There’s a silver crest on his shoulder that I know too well. A student at the Academy of the Arcane. A Weaver.

I suppress a groan. Cursed luck. I should flee before he notices me. But the purse calls like a siren’s song. My fingers act of their own volition, taking it from his belt.

You there, halt! The Weaver’s voice rings out sharp as a blade, cutting through the noise of the market.

I gasp as an unseen force wraps around my torso, rooting me in place. My limbs freeze against my will. Panic floods my veins, my heart crashing against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape.

The Weaver strides toward me, one hand outstretched, cold eyes narrowed in my direction. Thought you could rob me in plain sight, thief? he growls.

I strain against the paralysis, my breath coming in short, panicked puffs. The purse falls from my numb fingers. I have to get away. Drawing on reserves I did not know I had, I break free of the Weaver’s hold through sheer force of will. My feet scramble over the cobblestones as I bolt through the market, the stolen purse still clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

You can’t outrun me! The Weaver’s voice booms behind me, amplified and layered with power.

I weave between startled shoppers, ignoring their shouts and curses. My lungs burn and my legs ache, but still I run. I know these streets better than anyone. I just need to lose him in the maze of side alleys and narrow corridors before he can trap me again with his magic.

I round a corner at top speed and smash headlong into someone coming the other direction. I sprawl backwards, landing hard on the unforgiving cobblestones. The stolen purse skitters from my grasp across the ground. I stand but freeze when I meet the icy stare of the old woman now looming over me.

She is tall and thin, draped in layers of flowing black fabric that seem to leech the very light from the surrounding air. She leans upon an elegantly carved cane topped with a silver serpent’s head. Wrinkles etch her face, but she holds her head high, dark eyes gleaming in a nest of tight gray curls. The richness of her dress marks her as someone important, likely nobility. Strange, threatening energy radiates from her in waves.

The woman extends one gnarled hand toward me, rings glittering on her bony fingers. Up you get, girl, she says, her voice smooth yet edged with steel. Against my better judgment, I allow her to pull me roughly to my feet.

Heavy footsteps ring out behind me. The Weaver! I turn, but the old woman’s grip on my arm tightens, her fingernails digging in painfully.

Do not move, she hisses. Before I can react, darkness swallows us. I gasp as inky shadows boil up from the very stones beneath our feet to engulf us in their chilling embrace. The woman remains a pillar of cold calm at my side. I cling to her arm, though her flesh is icy to the touch. All light vanishes, leaving us in a void where strange currents of frozen air swirl and buckle around us.

Hush now, girl, the woman murmurs, a whisper tickling my ear.

I peer through the unnatural darkness and see the surrounding market distorted as if viewed through warped glass. The crowds continue about their business, but their voices sound muffled and distant. We stand apart from them now, half in this world and half in another.

Then I see him. The Weaver stalks toward our hidden corner, beads of sweat standing out on his reddened face. His head swivels side to side as he searches for me. I see his lips shape words I cannot hear. The air around his hands shimmers as he weaves a finding spell. He is so close I can make out each breath fogging the cold air. But his gaze passes over and through me, failing to pierce the concealing shroud of darkness. After a prolonged, fruitless search, he turns on his heel and retreats down the alley, vanishing into the market once more.

The woman releases me from her crushing grip. The darkness fades, restoring the chaotic noise and press of bodies in the marketplace. My knees wobble with the aftershock of fear and I have to brace a hand against the soot-stained bricks. Never have I felt so small and helpless, at the mercy of powers beyond my control or comprehension.

I turn to the woman who looms over me still, casting a long shadow despite her slight frame. Thank you for helping me, I say, pressing a hand over my still pounding heart.

The woman’s red lips twist into a knowing smile. This city has become a dangerous place for girls like yourself, my child, she replies, tilting her head to one side. Haven’t you heard of the young women who have gone missing of late, vanishing without a trace?

I suppress a shiver. Her words conjuring the rumors and wild tales whispered in the shadows of the city at night. I’ve heard the stories, I answer carefully. No need to let her see how they frighten me.

The woman steps nearer, lifting my chin with the silver serpent head of her cane. Her touch is cold and makes my skin crawl. Poor thing, you look so lost and alone, she practically coos. But nothing I cannot fix, hmm?

I jerk my head out of reach, fixing the woman with my fiercest glare, though my hands tremble at my sides. What do you want from me? I demand, proud that my voice does not quaver.

The woman laughs, a soft, sinister sound. Such fire! I can see the potential in you, child. What is your name?

I hesitate, weighing the risk, then lift my chin higher. Jaska, I tell her. No point denying it. She already helped me escape the Weaver’s clutches. For now, I owe this woman my gratitude whether I like it or not.

Jaska, the woman repeats slowly, as if tasting my name and finding it to her liking. Another chill passes through me. Well then, Jaska, I have an offer for you. Come work for me, as my servant and apprentice. In return, I will teach you the secret arts that allowed me to save you from the Weaver. Her eyes gleam with dark promise. What do you say?

My brows draw together in a frown. The lingering chill of her strange magic still haunts my bones. The magic you used back there...it didn’t feel right, I say carefully.

The woman’s red smile widens. It is a forbidden art, child, one your cherished Goddess Solara would tremble to witness. Do you wish to know why? I nod hesitantly. The woman steps closer, lowering her voice to an eager, conspiratorial whisper. Because in the darkness dwells true power. The kind the gods hoard greedily for themselves. I can teach you to claim that power as your own. You need only pledge yourself to me.

I chew my lip, weighing her words. All my life I have worshiped Solara, bathed in her nourishing light. To dabble in shadow magic seems unthinkable, blasphemous even. But the thought of possessing magic, enough to protect myself and avoid the clutches of Weavers and their ilk in the future, is undeniably tempting. Perhaps Solara led this woman to me for a reason.

Very well, I say, meeting the woman’s anticipatory gaze. I accept your offer. I will be your servant and learn the arts you can teach me.

The woman’s smile spreads impossibly wider. Excellent. You may call me Ara, child. Now come, we have much work ahead of us. She turns with a swirl of dark fabric and taps her cane decisively down the alley. I hurry to follow in her wake, still clutching the pilfered purse close against my side.

Tell me, Jaska, Ara says as we weave through the crowded streets. "Does it not strike you as odd that a trained