Veil: Tale of the 16 Moons: Tale of the 16 Moons, #1

By Abhi K

Lutra. Where a once-thriving kingdom now teeters on the brink of collapse.

 

Lutra. Where behind the facade of order, sinister forces gather momentum, orchestrating brutal acts disguised as justice.

 

Lutra. Where magic realms bounded by promises converge, ushering in an era of sorcery that reshapes the world's very fabric.

 

Yet, hope lingers in the hands of three unlikely champions, who each embody the essence of their fractured land and wield inexplicable powers, even if they cannot fathom it yet.

 

The Prince, scarred by the slaughter of the royal family, harbors an unquenchable thirst for revenge. Enduring years of torment, he unlocks an inner strength that not only transforms him but also alters the kingdom's destiny.

 

The Sorceress, daughter of the Land's Arbiter, grapples with her lack of magical abilities. Her self-imposed exile leads her on a quest for purpose, finding a way back to who she was and would be.

 

The Seer, caught in the King's oppressive regime, endures persecution by the once-noble protectors, the Riders,  turned executioners. Betrayals and tragedy shape his path, bestowing upon him both a curse and a blessing, seeing the very future that hides illusively behind closed doors.

 

In the gripping tale, 'Veil,' the trio's destinies intertwine as they strive to salvage a realm torn by darkness and treachery. I promise that you won't be able to put it down! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abhi K
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224032679

Book preview

Acknowledgments

Iam immensely grateful to my dear friends whose unwavering support and encouragement made this book possible. Your belief in me and your willingness to lend a helping hand throughout this journey has motivated me to materialize my dreams.

A special thanks to:

A.T.- Your encouragement during the challenging moments and your constant feedback kept me motivated. Your unwavering belief in my ability to see this project through really meant and still means the world to me.

One

Imprisonment

Moonlit shores defined the gleaming sandy beach.

The Moon shone brightly above the night sky, oblivious to all the forthcoming pain the world would face. Black spiky doors were on the isolated gray sand of a lonely island. Black-helmed men stood upright with halberds, spears, and sharp scimitars. These men were as white as the snow, despite being situated in the tropical sea. Inside the steel doors, guards were wandering about, but in the center, a man, bound by chains, was suspended from the ceiling.

He was barefoot, only with a brown peasant garb over his torso. However, underneath, thousands of deep scars and red-hot welts accentuated his suffering. A man with a sneer etched across his face entered the dimly lit room, and the shadows danced around the figure.

His captor’s voice sliced through the silence.

My Prince, wake up. The time has come for your dinner.

The man shuddered as his weary eyes reluctantly lifted. The guard approached with a bowl of gruel held in his hands. With a cruel twist of satisfaction, he forcefully smeared it across the Prince’s face. The scarred figure sputtered, but his eyes narrowed with a gaze that seemed to pierce the guard’s soul. His captor took a step back involuntarily, and a flicker of fear crept into his expression. However, he quickly regained his composure.

You can’t even move, Alaric, the guard spat out, voice laced with contempt. You will never escape this hell hole. But since I hold some twisted fondness for you,

The guard leaned forward, and a smirk played on his lips as he taunted the Prince’s dirt-smeared face.

They ordered more chains.

The man took out another set of shackles and clamped it over the Prince’s wrists. A grating laugh escaped the guard’s lips, and it was an abrasive sound that only fueled Alaric’s growing annoyance.

After this, I’ll pay a visit to your family and tell them how good of a boy you were. The enslaver rasped.

Alaric seethed inwardly. But then he remembered his training. Torture was a means to an end. If he didn’t calm down, his downfall would come quickly.

For two long years, he had endured, and it all led up to the impending full moon, a mere three days before his scheduled execution. That was his moment of escape. Alaric vowed to kill everyone involved in his family’s death, which burned the resentment of his captors in his mind thousands and thousands of times over. However, he grounded himself back to reality.

Manipulation was his only way out of this deadly game. Alaric’s heavy eyes began to droop, and memories of his first night of captivity flooded his mind. He was betrothed to someone he did not love, and as was the custom for royals, his sixteenth birthday marked the path to his forced wedding. But during the ceremony, chaos erupted as screams echoed through the halls. It was a blur. He fell, and a shadowy figure clad in dark colors, adorned with a blackbird etched upon his chest, loomed over him with a bow and a cynical smile. These relentless assassins had subjected him to years of torment, leaving Alaric with a desperate desire for death or ruthless vengeance. He was powerless then, but tomorrow would change everything. For now, he had to wait, biding his time until the fortress would be consumed by preparations for his execution and when they would commence the honorary death ceremony.

Veritas:

In the heart of the wilderness, a vibrant red barn stood amidst the towering trees. Surrounding it, expansive fields stretched out, adorned with tralberries and worncrop, which were the local delicacies unique to the region’s redwoods. The farmers who called the barn their home weren’t driven by profits their generosity outweighed the pursuit of wealth. Young children would often flock to them, seeking snacks, and the barn family never failed to supply them.

Pops! Pops! the scrawny barn’s son, Veritas, called out.

His Pops rose from the hay, a single blade of grass nestled between his teeth.

A gentle smile played on his lips. What is it, son? he responded.

Can I go to the market and get some food for dinner?" The small boy’s eyes brimmed with anticipation.

We have enough here, son, his father replied, chuckling softly.

But the boy persisted, and his pleas grew more fervent.

Eventually, the father relented. All right, just be sure to give your momma a hug before you leave, even if it’s just a picture on the wall, Pops reminded him affectionately. Veritas grinned widely, eagerly embracing his father before skipping out of the barn towards the connecting house. As his father had suggested, he also hugged the photograph of his late mother, longing for her return.

Memories of her sudden disappearance plagued his thoughts like always. Sadly, it was a mystery his father had guarded for years. The boy stepped out of the room that held her image and prepared himself to walk to the city. Veritas hadn’t had a horse since being associated with the Kingsmen. However, an unfamiliar apprehension gripped him this time, and it cast a shadow over his excitement. Veritas waved to his father one last time, only to find him engrossed in providing meals to the local peasants. Though fear attempted to take hold of his mind, Veritas pushed it aside, setting off along the dirt path leading to the city. He looked at the beautiful skies, and the great scenery, and sighed. The barn’s son would never get old of the life he was living.

Veritas walked along paths that wound through the sprawling redwood forest. The air was alive with the melodies of chirping birds and the occasional rustle of leaves carried by a gentle breeze. As he strolled, Veritas marveled at the intricate dance of light filtering through the thick canopy above, creating dappled patterns on the forest floor.

Each step he took seemed to meld with the rhythm of nature itself. The forest welcomed him, the familiar sights and sounds embracing him like an old friend. He passed by babbling brooks, their crystal-clear waters cascading over smooth stones, offering a refreshing symphony to accompany his journey.

The path ahead was familiar to Veritas, worn by the passage of many feet before him. His stride was steady, unhurried as if time itself had taken a slower pace in this tranquil realm. Occasionally, he would pause, observing the intricate details of a blooming flower or the graceful flight of a butterfly, losing himself in the beauty of the wilderness.

The day progressed gradually, marked by the changing hues of the sky as the sun made its slow descent toward the horizon. Shadows elongated, casting playful patterns on the forest floor. Veritas walked on, occasionally humming a tune passed down from his mother, the melody resonating through the serene woods.

The air grew cooler as evening approached, a gentle reminder to Veritas that he had been walking for hours. His steps had become more deliberate, carrying a sense of contentment mixed with a tinge of weariness. The distant chatter of wildlife started to fade as the forest settled into its nocturnal rhythm.

The first signs of civilization emerged—an approaching horse on the dusty road. Veritas strained his eyes and recognized it as a horse he knew quite personally. Veritas smiled and hurried ahead. The stallion drew near, and it carried his old friend on its back. It was an unlikely encounter in the desolate surroundings, but he was welcome to it, nonetheless. The other boy approached him quite quickly, but a grimace replaced his usual beaming grin.

Brother, what happened? Veritas inquired with concern.

His friend dismounted the horse, landing gracefully on the grass, just as they had practiced countless times before in class.

The old crew, Veritas. Riders are coming from the direction you’re heading. I was galloping to warn your family. Get on and let’s evacuate everyone from that cursed forest immediately.

Veritas cursed while shock flitted across his face. The boy started making plans but realized his friend wasn’t budging.

His brow furrowed. Brixton, why aren’t you getting back on the horse? We need to hurry back. And why are your hands...

His words were cut off by his friend. I need to check your pockets, Brixton said.

Veritas narrowed his eyes and retorted sharply, Are the Riders behind you?

Brixton stepped forward, revealing a gleaming knife, a hunting blade gifted to him by Pops. It was an ironic sight.

These are dangerous times. They’ve already burned down your little beloved barn. You’re the only loose end, and I never wanted it to come to this. I thought you’d perish there. It seems you’ve reached your end. Goodbye.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, Brixton lunged forward and chaos ensued. The startled horse bolted, leaving Veritas vulnerable as Brixton aimed his knife towards his rib cage. But Veritas was well-versed in their shared training and their countless sparring sessions. Thankfully, Brixton was careless, because it seemed he forgot that Veritas knew his every move. Instinctively, Veritas dodged to the right, narrowly avoiding the blade that was already heading in that direction.

Veritas knew he couldn’t overpower the other boy. He bolted, trying to sprint towards the city, assuming the riders had already reached the barn. He ran as far as his legs would take him, refusing to glance back. Only when the familiar trees of Bridgemond came into view did he move off, taking an alternate route, different from the shortcut he and his classmates used to stay hidden  behind towering brown trees, Veritas found himself overwhelmed by worry and thoughts of his family.

Tears streamed down his face as he painfully replayed his friend’s words in his mind. Having grown up together, the betrayal and the possibility of his father’s death were unbearable to the young boy. The fact that his friend was now a Rider, a town burner, made him annoyed and mad. Still, he was frozen by grief and denial. Veritas made sure to remain rooted to the spot, hoping that he wouldn’t be discovered.

Katherine:

A man, adorned in resplendent golden attire, stood regally on the balcony of a castle, perched high upon the towering mountains of Everpeak. He had a crown adorning his head and numerous titles at his disposal. The ornamented man ruled as the Arbitrator, a master of the occult void, a wizard of unparalleled power.

Despite his grand position, the kingdom remained oblivious to his true identity, for his home men were forced to spread false rumors, labeling the mountain as unholy and forbidden to enter by the gods. These baseless beliefs were readily accepted by the lower classes, and their unquestioning faith reinforced the facade.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed across the ornately decorated balcony. The Arbitrator, alert to the sound, swiftly turned around, ready to unleash his displeasure upon the intruder.

However, his demeanor softened upon recognizing the person. He turned back to gaze at the ethereal mist veiling the mountains.

Katherine, what brings you here? I distinctly recall instructing you to prepare for the ritual, he inquired.

Father, I... I am filled with worry. What if I fail to manifest any powers?

The Arbitrator pivoted away from the captivating vista, and his attention moved onto his only daughter. After placing his adorned hands gently upon her shoulders, he locked eyes with her.

I have nurtured your talents since you were but a child and you will not falter. Though the path is arduous, no member of our lineage has ever failed. You possess more skill than me and my predecessors. I have complete faith that you will acquire your disciplines.

Katherine met her dad’s eyes head-on with a steely gaze.

But what if I do fail?

She quickly covered her mouth after expressing the fact, realizing her unintended rudeness. The Arbitrator’s eyes narrowed, and he raised a hand in a gesture to silence her. Katherine’s countenance contorted with a mix of emotions. She abruptly left the room without bowing, uncaring of what the Arbitrator had to say.

Sighing heavily, the King followed in her footsteps, not to make amends for his words, but merely to summon his seer for the impending ritual.

Katherine’s footfall resounded through the castle corridors, with each heavy stomp mirroring her mounting frustration. After slamming her chamber door shut, the princess sought silence by leaning against it with her hands pressed firmly against her face.

Years of rigorous training in shadow sorcery had prepared her for the imminent threat she faced as the inheritor of the Arbitrator role. Her father, wary of her safety, had appointed a male successor and had concealed vital information about the upcoming trial. The weight of countless obstacles loomed before her, and Katherine’s readiness wavered. This would be the only way she could prove herself to the world.

A held breath escaped her lips as she grasped her polearm and began moving through her practiced forms.

The princess had dedicated a decade to honing her skills for this very moment. Despite her skill, a flicker of doubt engulfed her. Yet her conscious mind reassured her, and it boasted of Katherine’s reputation as the best female fighter in the Peaks.

Still, deep within her heart, Katherine yearned for the shadow discipline that would safeguard her kingdom’s future from impending ruin.

Before descending further into her spiraling thoughts, a knock echoed against her door, interrupting her introspection. Gathering herself, she opened the door to find her favorite maid, Mary.

The Highness is summoning you to the East Entrance. He is already in the company of the old hag, Mary announced, her eyes glimmering mischievously.

Katherine couldn't help but let out a laugh if only for a moment, lifting the burden off her shoulders briefly.

No matter the circumstance, I must proceed. Show me the way, Mary, Katherine replied with unwavering resolve. As she approached the East wing, her eyes swept across the vibrant garden, always alive with an assortment of beautiful flowers.

The brightness of the surroundings seemed oddly mismatched with the gravity of the impending ritual. Raising her gaze to the spectators, she noticed an elderly woman standing alone in a corner of the gardens. The label given by Mary seemed apt, but Katherine understood the significance of showing respect to all, irrespective of appearance. Are you the seer? Katherine inquired, bowing to acknowledge the woman's experience and age. A weathered voice escaped the woman’s lips, laden with what seemed like a wealth of knowledge.

I'm not the seer for you and him, but I will be the final one for the others. Today, I shall be your seer, but only this once, she replied. The seer beckoned Katherine to hold her hand. Surprised by the seer’s cryptic words, Katherine hesitated briefly.

Princess, clasp my hands, or else... the old woman ominously trailed off.

The future won't unfold.

Confusion clouded Katherine’s mind, but before she could fully process the seer’s enigmatic warning, her hands acted of their own accord, reaching out to touch the aged, wrinkled palms before her.

In an instant, the world transformed and darkness enveloped the once luminous surroundings. Swirling hues of gold and black danced before her eyes as she found herself back in her bedroom. The lights were extinguished, yet Katherine could perceive her surroundings with an uncanny clarity. She attempted to open her drawers, but it proved futile. She cast her gaze upon her closet as a  hunch prompted her to investigate further. Step by step, she approached the towering doors, and swung them open to reveal nothing, save for a single velvet box.

With a mixture of surprise and anticipation, Katherine unveiled its contents—there was an identical copy of her polearm, adorned in glistening gold inside. As she cradled the weapon in her hands, an inexplicable sensation coursed through her. The weapon transcended the craftsmanship of any blacksmith. The weapon just felt different to her.

As Katherine stepped toward her chamber door, she felt the the weight of destiny loom before her. The princess believed the true test awaited beyond that threshold. Inhaling deeply, she summoned every ounce of her resolve and pushed open the door, ready to embrace what lay ahead.

The princess found herself thrust into a desolate cavern, and her eyes immediately scanned the enclosed space for any sign of an exit. Looking upward, Katherine’s gaze met an abyss that stretched far beyond her reach.

Stripped of her shoes, she discovered the sheer slipperiness of her surroundings, whichthwarted any attempt to climb out of the place. The princess struck the wall with the hilt of her polearm, but the unyielding material proved too impervious to her efforts. With only the golden polearm and humble peasant garb adorning her body, she lacked armor and the means of escape. Desperate for any clue, Katherine’s eyes eventually fixed upon the cavern’s center, seemingly the focal point of the enigmatic trial.

With little recourse, Katherine steeled herself, pushing aside the eerie silence that permeated the cavern. Slowly, she started on the uncertain path toward the center, filled with pain as sharp rocks pierced her bare feet. Yet, she was not the sole wanderer of the path.

As she ventured deeper, her surroundings revealed the grim remnants of others who had journeyed before her — skeletal remains scattered all around, while pools of congealed blood formed dark recesses on the cavern floor. The Princess’s heart quickened, recoiling from these gruesome scenes. Her anxiety intensified the closer she drew to the elusive center. Hours of grueling trekking eventually brought her to the apex, then, a realization dawned upon her as the elevation gradually increased toward the middle.

Upon reaching the top, however, Katherine’s hopes crumbled. The space revealed nothing but a vast expanse of black rock, obstructing her only escape route. Grimacing, she grappled with her disappointment, her mind scrambling for an alternative plan. Suddenly, movement erupted from behind, jolting Katherine’s senses to full alertness.

Katherine spun around, confronted by a faceless figure slowly advancing toward her. Adorned in armor and brandishing a simple wooden sword, its menacing demeanor frightened her. While curiosity swelled within the princess about the origin and nature of this apparition, she had no time to think. Without warning, the spirit charged at her with a sword raised, embodying the fierce grace of a seasoned warrior. Katherine had no choice but to defend herself.

The spirit lunged, launching swift strikes in her direction. Yet, in its relentless assault, it unwittingly exposed numerous vulnerabilities. Exploiting these openings, the princess plunged her polearm deep into the spectral figure. Resistance met her weapon’s thrust, but no blood stained the ground. The spirit crumpled, dissolving along with its armor, swallowed by the earth itself. She didn’t even need to turn around, as the next wave of adversaries surged forward, aiming to end Katherine’s life. A smile graced her lips as she reflected on the countless hours dedicated to training for this very moment. The trial appeared deceptively easy, inflating her confidence. Little did she know, her assumptions were gravely mistaken.

Alaric:

Alaric’s grunts reverberated within the confines of his cell as he slowly gathered the minuscule strands of twine that clung to his clothes. With careful dexterity, he rolled the threads together, fashioning a horizontal string using his tongue—the only free body part he could use. Despite specifically requesting cooked Eocona for his last few meals, the prison’s inhabitants, in their collective ignorance, had unwittingly supplied him with the one food item capable of aiding his escape. Alaric knew that cooked Eocona acted as a potent adhesive, and with saliva as the sole agent to weaken its grip. He had deliberately refrained from using his tongue for hours, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to craft a fragile lock-breaker.

Coating the twine with the sticky residue of the Eocona, Alaric felt it congeal with remarkable tenacity. Using his teeth, he deftly maneuvered the makeshift tool, wedging it into the mechanism that held him captive. Over the course of countless years, he had diligently chiseled away at the inner workings of the lock, the concealed sections eluding the guards’ scrutiny. However, to his dismay, this method failed to release the lock.

Rather than opening the clasp, his approach had likely compromised the metal holder. It would audibly pop. Casting a wary gaze around his cell, Alaric’s eyes widened in apprehension, questioning if anyone had heard the noise of the pulling. Assured that the coast was clear, he broke the chains that had burdened him for so long, swiftly discarding his garments and tying a makeshift loincloth just around his waist. With welts and injuries marking his body, he had no choice but to venture forth with no armor or weapons for defense. Aware of the weak structure of the walls, he resorted to a military strategy he had employed countless times before, breaking through the designated right wall that would lead him beyond the confines of the facility.

With his heart pounding, Alaric sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, taking him from Winterfort to Goldacre—a treacherous and perilous path typically guarded by patrols. However, this time, those sentinels would likely be his adversaries. A gnawing suspicion burrowed within him, suggesting that his father, upon his return, would not welcome him with open arms. Political machinations rendered him a symbol of weakness, unfit for the throne. It made logical sense, yet the shocking revelation that assassins still pursued him only deepened his madness. Moreover, news of his father’s dethronement had not reached his ears, further confusing Alaric.

Goldacre, the bustling trade center of Lutra, stood as the largest city in the land. According to legends, the castle was meant to be situated there, but tales spoke of a time when people migrated from the mainland to the island. Alaric, however, remained skeptical about the existence of such a mainland. He recognized that legends were often mere fables. The races that inhabited Lutra were confined to this island, and he silently expressed gratitude to the Priestess of Lutra for sparing him the burden of ruling beyond its borders. Yet, a scowl unknowingly etched itself on his face as the thought lingered,

That might not hold true anymore...

His plan for reaching the city streets of The Acres, as the locals referred to them, involved seeking the aid of the one person he could trust—a person who, hopefully, hadn’t succumbed to corruption. In his current guise, the likelihood of being recognized was slim, but Alaric understood that this was a risk he had no choice but to take.

As long as I don’t alter my appearance, I should remain unnoticed, he reassured himself.

Finally, he had escaped the tormenting confines of the prison system.

After an arduous journey, Alaric at last arrived at the main path of the city. However, given that it was midday, he decided it would be wiser to venture forth at midnight, reducing the chances of encountering vigilant guards. Retreating to the nearby forests, he scoured the surroundings in search of necessary supplies for the upcoming night. Treading over broken logs and dedicating long hours to the task, he managed to collect ample firewood from fallen trees.

Carefully stashing it in a memorable spot, he acknowledged that it was time to proceed, leaving behind the gathering of flint and other materials for another time. With any luck, Clayton would provide him with a bed, and then he would be one step closer to his desired freedom. Alaric believed that securing a place to stay would grant him the opportunity to undertake odd jobs and sustain himself for a few years. With enough savings, he could confront the corrupt guards, armed with a formidable arsenal, should diplomacy fail.

As he hummed to himself, retracing his steps from the forest to the main road, Alaric traversed the darkness without the aid of light. His numerous excursions from a young age endowed him with a sense of navigation. Before his absence left an impact on the kingdom, he used to escape through the main window of his room, venturing into the outside world. He had walked this very path in darkness, fumbling like a fool. While such methods were no longer necessary,

Reviews for Veil

[greatninjaabhi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I thought that the book had really good development and the characters were nice. There were a few grammatical errors but they weren't that big of a deal and I enjoyed the story.