Unfortunately due to some errors with the publishing process, What we Become has been pushed back until 15th August. We want to make sure the book is ready and perfect when it released.
JACOB BOWER UPDATE
Work is well underway on the next book in the KOE saga, with the final redraft taking place currently. A 2026 release of KOE Book 4 is still the target for Jacob Bower.
Four chapters have now been written for the first Mirror Storm book and is progressing along extremely well. There is currently no release schedule for this but updates will be available when ever they come.
The Wiki for the Thomas Lita Universe has really come along with the first two era’s of the universe fully completed. These will be updated dailly so be sure to check it out for more information on Ilmgral and the heroes of the Ilma.
Looking forward to a productive July with some huge news from Knights of Earth Publications coming in September.
POWERS TEMPTATION: While the world still reels from Urgarak’s invasion, the revelation about halves creates new challenges for the world and for Thomas Lita. Feared, watched and supervised, the Knights of Earth attempt to navigate this new normal. However, deep in the moors, a crashed Murka jet and its precious engine core are discovered, opening the potential for the one thing desired above all else, unlimited power. The institute for the detection and protection of halves moves at once, sending Nicole on a mission to secure the Virdium engine but others have got their first. This fight will pit halve against halve in a battle for earths future. In Power’s temptation, loyalties will be tested.
Neliar, queen of the Neldivine Iloven, bearer of a ring of creation, looked out across the world she had helped save and wished nothing more than to see it burn. The wind blew cold from the mountains, falling over the vast valley, where mountain roots spread far into the distant horizon. The sun, veiled by a thin layer of cloud, offered nothing for warmth. Pools of water glistened on the battlements of her fortress, remnants of last nights rains. She could feel the power within the water, within the world. It coursed through the ring on her finger, blue topaz a mirror of the sky above. ‘I know what it is you are offering’ She said, her head turning slightly to the open doorway. She turned, her blue robes swaying in that frozen breeze she loved more than anything. Another storm was brewing. Not one of wind and water but one of the Gods. A mirror storm was finally coming again. A rare occurrence on this world She stepped into her throne room, vast in its emptiness. A lone chair of red wood, worked into the image of great waves sat upon a pedestal. Rich curtains hung over every window to cut of the breeze but they were not embroidered. No gold or silver littered walls or cabinets. The only glint of precious jewels rested on the bands of her guard. Neldivine Iloven all. Water Iloven, the men of this world called them. So little they know of our history. So little we remember ourselves in the taking of mortal form. Many of these Neldivine Iloven lined the walls. Sevent foot tall they stood mostly, hair colours of auburn all the way to grey. There skin was fair almost translucent in their colouring. Blue eyes sparkled with rage. Some men littered the room also. Rough men, with matted beards and hair in pony tails. They had no jewels and bore crude bronze weapons. Steel work had not reached these northern savages, removed from the rest of the world by the Ice mountains. One man stood different to the others. He was human but Neliar did not need look at him for long to know he did not come from this planet. He was shorter than humans were. His round face was covered in a coarse and curled beard. His skin, what little showed through his clothes. Was rough and coarse, from a land where the world was tough and men needed to be tougher. It was his clothes that most set him as an outsider. He was dressed in black leather, a dark woven cloak spreading far behind him, clasped by a broach of silver. It was magnificently wrought. Delicate, in the shape of a creature that may have been one of the giant crabs that littered the northern shores. A circlet of silver sat on his brow and set within was diamond of magnificent cut. She sat and the man stood forward. Most would be intimidated by her but not this man. Not this man who had crossed the stars to be here in her chamber. No, he intimidated them. As the man stepped forward, Neliar caught a shadow behind him. A warping of darkness that had no natural source. A dark Iloven, bound to his soul. ‘What I offer is the world.’ The man said, in an educated voice. Way to educated for the men of this planet. ‘The last storm was four years ago.’ She said to him, ‘Was that not enough time to spin your webs and schemes. What brings you to my solitary fortress?’ He placed his hand on his heart and smiled, showing rows of sharpened teeth, ‘I come to offer salvation.’ Neliar felt a sickness creep up her throat. She was chosen of Barta, immortal Iloven queen, bearer of a ring of creation, the ring of the seas and this human, a species she had helped create, spoke to her like an equal. ‘Some say you have a voice like golden honey, with words clever enough to bend nations to your will Emissary but to me it seems more like oil on water. I do not want my ears defiled by such filth.’ The man took another step forward. Green eyes locked on hers, ‘You are in so much pain lady of the sea. You talk of my voice.’ He inclined his head to the side slightly, as though he was listening to someone else speak and again that odd shadow moved behind him, ‘Selina say you once had one of the most beautiful voices that could be heard in Arasee or upon the fields of the life forge. It was said to be like water trickling down a stream and falling across gentle stones. Now it is violence. Waves crashing against a cliff face, crumbling everything in its path. True immortality has defiled you Neliar. Eternity must not have seemed daunting in Arasee or the life forge, free to travel the universe in any way you saw fit. Autonomous. Look at you now. Bound to Aurdan, trapped forever in this physical form. What would you give to see Arasee again, to be welcomed into Barta’s warm embrace once more.’ Coldness seeped through her. She had heard this man was good but she did not expect such knowledge. The words he spoke were forgotten by most in the universe and even her Iloven that lined these walls, long lived as they were, did not know a time before the long stalemate. These Iloven, if they could still be called the same, bred and died as humans did, their forebears forsaking the form of spirit and binding themselves to mortal flesh. Most would return to Arasee and work with Barta on other worlds. Not her though. That was something denied to her and the other bearers of the rings of creation. They were bound to Aurdan now to live forever until the world cracked, the seas ran dry, the fires of life extinguished and the air given back to the heavens, ‘You speak of Barta’s embrace. What warmth does your master give? I do not know what perverted thing Deagma did to bind you to the mirror storm, rider but why would I listen to someone sworn to the enemy.’ His eyes flickered to the ring on her hand and he smiled in a way all to knowing. She felt her fingers twitch. She wanted to hide the topaz, its blue now showing slightly, the slightest impure tint to its stone. ‘Deagma is an enemy only because you have been told to believe it. There are six forms of Iloven, all of one kin. Water, fire, earth, air, spirit and death. All must thrive for the universe to have life. Yes the dark Iloven are Deagma’s but has Barta not forced upon you just as dark deeds as Deagma forces upon his kin.’ He stepped towards two urns and Neliar felt her hackles rise, ‘Do you want to see them again?’ He caressed one, ‘Your husband and son. Long ago it was that they died and returned to Arasee, leaving you alone. Deagma would bring them to you. Swear to him and you could go to the storm forge at will, be with your husband at will.’ Yearning, filled her to her core. Seven hundred years had not eased the pain of that passing, ‘You are immortal.’ Neliar whispered, ‘Your soul is tied to the universal storm. You know what it is like to watch the world change around you. People falling like leaves in winter. It is our curse as immortals to bare such things.’ ‘Deagma told me of what my immortality would bring. What did Barta tell you when he sent you to this world. Blocked off from entering the mirror storm, abandoned to fight a never ending war against other immortals. Deagma promises you the storm again. You could ride it, like me and my brothers. A chance to leave this cesspit.’ ‘Stop.’ She said sharply and to his credit, he bit on his words, ‘Deagma promises me freedom of the storm. Give my soul to him what would he want in return?’ Again the emissary’s eyes went to her hand and then she knew, ‘Ahh the rings of creation. That is what he seeks.’ ‘He does not seek them for himself.’ ‘He seeks them on hands that serve him. Eight of his immortal lords still live upon Aurdan. Why does he not have one of them do this bidding. They have weapons, armies enough to smash upon my kingdom. Why do you come here?’ Humility seems to cross the emissaries face, ‘You are unique. You have loved and you have lost. You want to change. Something those lords you speak of do not want. They are too happy with their immortality, their never changing kingdoms and their trinkets. They like the stalemate just as much as your fellow ring bearers but I can feel the rage in you, the will to change.’ Again his eyes went to the ring, ‘Yes I sense it. I see you looking at your guards. The hatred you have for your fellow Iloven. Hatred because they can die. Do you even bother learning their names anymore. What do they mean to you when they can die so easily.’ He stepped towards the ring and touched it, ‘People may think that the Iloven of death are broad in their gifts. I know different. As there are five forms of the life Iloven, so are their five forms of the dark. Yet their gifts are easier to learn.’ He touched the ring and shuddered. ‘It is summer, these mountains should be teaming with life but winter still has a hold. You have already touched Deagma’s power. The power of desolation. Scorching heats and blinding frosts. Of course that is the closest one to your own powers. How many innocents did you have to kill to corrupt a ring of creation to give you such power.’ The guards twitched nervously. The wicked men of the North dropped their heads, their own hands were stained with that blood, ‘Leave.’ Neliar ordered. They did without argument. She stood, blue robe falling across the floor. He gave her a warm smile. ‘Afraid of rebellion.’ Neliar felt a darkness through her. Her ring glowed but not the blue of the topaz. It glowed with a silky green light, unearthly beautiful, hauntingly wrong. The emissary went rigid, eye bulging as the ring held the water of his physical form, locking him place. The room darkened and the green light extenuated the fluctuating shadow. Then she locked onto it. The shadow gave a scream. ‘Look at this.’ She said in a voice husky and cold, ‘You talk of the fall of my people. Look at your own Iloven ally. Bound to your soul. A parasitic abomination.’ The emissary opened his mouth wide, ‘You have the power of necromancy.’ She stared at the emissary and his Ostivanti, his demon, ‘I can see your spirits, stitched together by strands of his essence. I can see your soul tied forever to the universal storm, trapped within its violent tempest. I want to break it.’ She saw her reflection in his broach. Her skin was now white and rotten, her eyes leaking black ink, her hair falling out in clumps. She sickened herself. Slowly her hand fell, light returned to the room and the stone on her finger became again the blue topaz. The emissary fell to his knees gasping. ‘You have already given yourself to him. Necromancy is our most vile desecration.’ ‘You talk of my connection to the water allowing me the gift of desolation but that is not what I am closest too. Grief is what I carry in this ring. Constant and eternal and for four hundred years I have carried that power.’ She walked over to the urn and stroked it, Even without her ring she could still feel the spirit of her husband. ‘The night he died I prayed to Barta and in the mirror storm it was Deagma that answered.
A fantastic read for the young teenager. Full of fantasy, action, laughs and friendship. Join Tomas Lita on the start of his fantastic and tragic story.
Foreword
This universe is just one in a long line of failed universes. In those before, beings beyond our comprehension played with the fabric of reality and manipulated the lives of those they created. Learning from their creations love, jealousy and eventually a hate that sparked wars between them until they ripped the universe apart and the cycle started again.
In Besan Gretan, the realm that is, Gadrika, God of life, hearing the echoes of those before him, decided to give select mortals the powers to level the playing field so that this universe could reach its chosen path. The Ilma, so majestic in form and spirit, were chosen custodians of the universe but greed comes often to those already with power. Dark events drove them from their righteous path and the Graul, the servant race, were gifted powers so that the Ilma did not become tyrants in their toppling of the Gods. Empires were split at this decision and the Ilma, now spread far across the stars, battled for dominion over the universe. Peace came at a heavy price and in that ruin, the Ilma sort for a chance to turn themselves back to a proper path. They sort for a new power, one not foretold by the Gods and in their search, they found Humanity. A love for mankind came swiftly to the Ilma, who saw in humanity the true custodians of the universe. Through experiments they tried to merge their DNA with ours, to give the powers bestowed upon them to the people of Earth. Then they departed, to allow Humanity to thrive and waited for any sign of their success…
Shadows danced in the halls of Agraldin, the realm of those yet to be born and those who have passed. Where Gadrika, the God of Life, nurtured souls and set the dead to task weaving the passage of time. To some, Agraldin was a place of beauty. A mirror of the realm that is but eternal and majestic. In these places were the halls of Gadrika, where the souls of those who would soon be born were nurtured by his hand. This part of Agraldin though was dark and full of terrors, imagined by the Vassal of death. Here all iterations of Hell came, and many doomed souls found themselves here, where they toiled under the eyes of Agral, repairing the universe but always to his own end. Many of his followers opened the hall of nurturing and the Vassal of death corrupted souls to do his bidding once they were born with Besan Gretan. Green fires flickered in great chasms as the Tempter walked paths made from shadow. He had been pulled there, out of Besan Gretan, the realm that is, by the call of Agral. There on Earth he was doomed to wander forever, a creature of temptation, an echo of the curse that had doomed his once pious race. He came to a structure that appeared out of the shadow. It seemed to the Tempter like a four towered church, covered in gargoyles that stared at him with moving eyes. He soon realised that this was a mockery of a church that really existed. A church that revered Agral. Had they created it from his design, or did he build it, in remembrance of his power over the Ilma. The gargoyles were creatures that had once lived, their eyes moving unceasingly. Human, Graul and other creatures were merged with the shadow, souls who had failed Agral. There were no Ilma though. They were bound now to Besan Gretan and they could no longer return to Agraldin, or rest in splendour in the realm of Livinden. That had been Agral’s first victory over the Ilma, though they saw it not as a defeat but more of an escape from the hold of the Gods. The Tempter stepped into the structure and came immediately to a study. Agral was sat at a table made of the same shadow as the walls. On the table, Agral held a sculpture of a girl in his blackened hand. She seemed human and the Tempter took notice of her long sweeping hair and sad green eyes. ‘Another one you have been able to touch?’ The Tempter asked. Agral regarded him with black eyes. He was dressed all in black as well, apart from chain mail around his chest that glowed a faint, sickly green. A broken sword hilt lay on the table and thrown over his shoulder was a cloak that the Tempter knew was white once, but it had been stained by blood that had, in a time long forgotten, flowed through Agral’s body. Suddenly the Vassal of death laughed, and it was dreadful to hear, “My brother cannot keep me from the sanctuary, and I touch all the realm that is.” A chair appeared and the Tempter was beckoned to sit. He did reluctantly and stared at the girl, “What scheme will this one do?” “The Ilma and Graul grow too numerous again. The Light maiden worries this may soon break the balance achieved after the last great war.” Agral seemed to find this amusing, “A new enlightenment is being woven into the tapestry even now. Soon they may learn how to pass out of Besan Gretan and hold a power that only we are meant to hold. A thousand new souls of Ilma and Graul are being prepared in the hall, a war would see that number drop.” “You must not like that.” The Tempter smiled grimly. Agral had forgotten in his years of service, that he was once of the Ilma. Death’s eyes became full of malice, “My Curse has played a part but that is not the reason that you linger on Besan Gretan is it? If it were not for your forebear pledging to me, you would be resting in the halls of Livinden right now, serving Livella.” “Livella no longer cares for things that live.” The Tempter said as an image of perfect light filled his mind. That was what once would have been the fate that awaited all who bore his name before the darkening of the Ilma. “She does not.” Agral agreed, “She wants another war. She fears the next stage of the Ilma’s advancement.” He studied the girl and stroked at her hair. The sculpture seemed to shiver. “And what do your brethren make of that? You were sent into the world as Vassal’s to protect the Ilma, to guide them to be the custodians of the universe.” “The Ilma never earnt that right.” Agral said slowly, his face darkening, losing the white scales that had once shown his heritage, “They have fallen even further from it now.” He looked towards the black abyss above them, “As for my kind, Crio and those twins of the sea, linger too long on Besan Gretan. They care more for the worlds and the seas, than they do for the creatures that live upon them. Krim and his brood nurture life. They even nurture you but to no avail, and Drage. The only one who might save the Ilma. He would serve Livella to whatever end.” The Tempter studied the girl again, “She is human? Since when has that world been your interest?” “Since they became yours.” Agral smiled, “Livella is worried about them. They were never foretold in her first tapestry of stars and their path seems to have come only from her meddling. The Ilmgralite experiments are a mockery of the gifts the Ilma were given.” His face grew angry, “Abgdon and Ilmgral for a time live in peace and that peace I must destroy. Humanity and its freaks may just be the kindling I require.” Another figure appeared on the table. He was rough and a Graul by the look of the red scales that dotted his face. Agral licked his lips, “This one has found my gift. It will lead him to another.” A third figure appeared. A tall and strong member of the Ilma, with a face of almost perfect white scales. His red scales on his arms were rough like stone. The Tempter knew him well. He had even helped imprison him upon earth. “You will release Cirtroug on the humans?” The Tempter asked in disgust. “Already I have gathered him an army and matured his powers. Enough of my gift lingered in his spirit to do it.” Agral smiled and it was an ugly sight, “Urgarak will use the girl to release him and the girl shall be his servant and the path to victory on earth. Once Cirtroug has wiped out that pathetic race and turned their…” Agral paused and looked at the Tempter, “What do you call them, Halves?” He nodded, “Turned their Halves to his path, then Urgarak will gift him a fleet from Uralese and the war can begin.” The Tempter ran a blue tongue over his cracked lips and stared at his hands that were pressed against the table, “Why do you tell me these things?” The Graul and the Ilmgralite faded but another took its place. A boy he seemed and maybe human but inside him was a flame, “I know what you want with him.” Agral said darkly, “I touched his father before he entered Besan Gretan and he was sent on a deadly mission because of my touch. Then suddenly the child was hidden from me. Gadrika will choose a champion every so often to work against me but this one I think is yours.” Four more figures now surrounded Thomas Lita, three girls and one boy, “Here are your knights of Earth. I know what you have been doing, creature of temptation. You have put the foretelling in the minds of the Ilmgralite’s. They whisper of the Knights of Earth, who will save the universe from war.” Agral’s eyes burned into the Tempter and they wanted to kill, “You are not a true Vassal. You are a thing, a mutation of my curse and the love that Gadrika bears your kind. You cannot hope to stop this course of events with such meagre things.” The Tempter nodded; he did not expect to change the event just the outcome. His knights of Earth were not a tool to stop a war, they were a tool to win it, to create a united front that would not let the war descend into two forces, using the Darkness to rip themselves apart until the Ilma are beyond any form of salvation. “I know that you intend to send Thomas Lita to Curamber.” Agral said, “If the Human’s defeat Cirtroug then war may be delayed a little while but then you would bring a far greater doom upon them. One by one my hand will reach out to your knights of Earth.” One of the figures surrounding Thomas Lita, a girl with curly blonde hair, faded from the table, “And when I take each of them.” The boy faded and another girl collapsed to the table, eyes moving but body motionless, “He will become another puppet of mine and will succumb to a darkness that will give the God’s their greatest weapon.” “Yet the universe may flourish.” The Tempter retorted, “And in that time the Ilma may find a way to stop the scheming’s of Livella.” “You will use them and create a future worse than any foretold in the tapestry.” Agral reached out and touched the Tempter’s arm and for the first time in hundreds of years, he felt pain, “The Ilma have had their time. Let Cirtroug be released, let the Ilma die and the gift fade from the universe. Livella will then let all things come to a natural end.” He released the Tempter, and his eyes were like stone, “This is the way things must be or Thomas Lita will become the greatest threat the universe has ever seen.” The Tempter watched as all the figures were devoured in a sudden storm. He looked up into the face of death, “I am as you say, just a lesser Vassal. I cannot hope to stop the majesty of the Gods.” He stood and walked from the church. A door appeared in Agraldin and he stepped through into a bright classroom on Earth. The planet was such a pretty world, treasured by Thera, the God of the seas. A world that could not be allowed to come to war. Agral thought he saw all things and maybe the Knights of Earth would create something worse in the end but if the Ilma were destroyed. If the gift was allowed to be broken, then the universe itself would succumb to tyranny, ruled by a mistress of light who cares only for her own creations. Not truly present, the Tempter walked over to a desk, where a short woman with mousey brown hair studied her computer intently. “What are you doing?” The Tempter asked but not with his mouth. His voice echoed in Mrs Smith’s mind, a part of her subconscious. “Finding a trip for my year eight students.” She replied, unsure why she did. The Tempter weighed up the consequences. The fate for Thomas Lita and his friends would be dire, for that poor girl as well but it was a small price to pay for what else could happen, “Curamber.” He whispered in her ear before he slowly faded.
A fantastic read for the young teenager. Full of fantasy, action, laughs and friendship. Join Tomas Lita on the start of his fantastic and tragic story
Walking as a child they found him. The secret knight of earth Though the humans he called kin Their skin they hid his birth but he was of a greater kind A power he had within That only tragedy could find in the mountains heart therein
And like a god he rose among the rest and found the wicked heart And they battled through a deadly test that tore the stars apart. A god fell from the sky with the devil in his head And the knight of earth saw him lie with those of the Islands dead
In a field of vibrant Green A bird fell to earth and wicked men will glean What the gods unearthed And to one will happiness be born A child with emerald eyes But from him a friend will be torn in her their destruction lies.
Join Thomas Lita and the other Knights of Earth as they discover the truth about their elemental powers, unleash an Alien warlord on the Earth and start the universe towards the last galactic war.
Long ago, when ancient Gods still controlled the lives of men, a great famine came over the kingdom of Gwynedd. Crops would not grow and wells ran dry. The people prayed to Brigid, goddess of healing, asking for the famine to end but their prayers went unanswered. It was at this time that Rol, champion of the isles, was staying in the court of King Elis of Gwynedd. Rol was deemed a warrior of great renown, who had battled the great serpent of Poseidon and bested the fiercest warriors of Europe in single combat. Above all Rol was a good man, he did not kill for sport and shared his triumphs willingly. King Elis was an arrogant ruler and while his people starved, he feasted around his enormous hearth. While the revellers danced, the flames of hearth danced to and as the fiddles played the fire grew until the hearth roared in a sudden furry. They lifted towards the straw roof, sending the crows scattering for the heavens. The flames moved until they formed the shape of a woman. As tall as she was beautiful, and her burning eyes watched the crowd intently. Rol stood forward, ‘Welcome Brigid, goddess of hearth and healing, how may we serve?’ The king stood and waved his arm towards the goddess but did not bow, ‘What a blessing on my house lady, that you should join us. Clearly my rule is divine.’ ‘Be silent.’ Brigid said in a voice that crackled like the fire that surrounded her, ‘The villagers starve and yet in this house you feast like winter will never come. Dagda stands against you. Is there none that would prove the worth of this land before it sinks into the abyss.’ ‘We feast in front of the hearth in reverence to you lady.’ The king said. She didn’t turn but her gaze moved through the flames to focus on the king, ‘I do not rest in the hearths of halls such as these. My blessings lay with those who crowd around my fires to survive and make memories in my warmth. Now those people starve. Is there none here who would seek to save them.’ The revellers did not move for they knew the games that Gods played and any request such as this would require a great sacrifice. Rol though had battled Gods before and ever had his life been entwined with their games. He raised his hand, ‘lady of fire and heat. If there be a way one man can end the suffering of so many then I would gladly see it done.’ The Goddess of flame seemed to bow and then she said, ‘You seek the cauldron of Dagda. He has used it to curse this land and so it is barren. If you are pure of heart and keen of mind, the cauldron will grant any bounty you wish, for pauper or for kingdom.’ She crackled and swayed, ‘But beware, stumble from the path and take more than what is needed, and the cauldron will reject you. Want you will know ever after. Dagda will be aware of you, and he will defend his cauldron. Aid from the dead will come and from my sprits of fire. Be yourself Rol and bring prosperity back to this land.’ Brigid faded, and the fire returned to normal while everyone stared at Rol. Undaunted he took up his armour ringed of iron. He took his bow of black yew and short sword before departing in the baking sun. In the tallest peak of Snowdonia Dagda kept his halls. For the north Rol went, through fen and barren field, through villages whose streets were lined with starving families. Soon he came to the edge of the mountains and into the enchanted wood of heaven. Here Cernunnos’s wild beasts roamed, and the dead wandered to be gathered in Arawn’s other world. Rol drove on, succumb by hunger and weariness. He turned his mind to hunting and drawing his bow of black yew he sort food. Then he saw it, a white stag, beautiful and large. It was enough to feed a village and it wandered towards him, flank exposed. He drew the arrow to his cheek, the fletch like a gentle kiss. Then a wind roared through the woods, carrying scents of strength that cured his hunger. Cernunnos spoke through the trees, ‘Take no more than what is needed, or the cauldron will reject you.’ He stared at the stag. Such a beast would spoil quickly in this heat. He lowered the bow and with a nod the beast stalked away and Rol knew to follow. To Aber falls it led him, the water a raging torrent that cured his weariness. Under the falls the stag went and then faded. Rol followed and the waters parted, revealing a dark cave. Rol drew his sword and it glowed, lighting up the cave. Wights, soldiers of Arawn, gathered around him. Their eyes were blue flame, and their mail glowed a sickly green, but they did not attack. Seated upon a thrown of bones Arawn himself sat, cloaked in a blue mist. ‘Dagda judges your people to harshly, due to the actions of your king. Now my halls are crowded with those who should be living long lives. You must reach the cauldron and restore life to your lands.’ One of the wights bestowed to Rol a serpent helm with eyes that glowed a fervent blue, ‘Dagda has shielded his mountain in shadow. This helm will allow your eyes to see into our world and break his veil.’ Rol donned the helm and saw as the gods saw. He could see the wights spirits true form and could see the breath that gave this wood its glory. Rol left the cave and spirits of Brigid guided him to the mountain of Dagda. For seven days he climbed, until at last he reached the summit and the temple of Dagda. His helm pierced the darkness and Rol, sword readied, entered. There the cauldron stood, glowing with power and beside it, Dagda loomed. He swung his massive hammer and almost crushed Rol, whose blade of light broke in two. Then all Rol could do was duck and dive while Dagda laughed at the sport. The God tired and Rol saw the power bestowed upon the axe. He grabbed his bow and loosed and the arrow took upon it one of Brigid’s spirits. The war hammer exploded, and Dagda fell back into a deep sleep. Exhausted and beaten, Rol grabbed the cauldron and Brigid came as a bird of flame and bore Rol and the cauldron back to Gwynedd. In the morning, amongst the burnt-out hearth, they found him. The king snatched up the cauldron and declared the bounty for himself. At his high table he announced, ‘I wish for a full feast for all of time.’ The cauldron rumbled and red fire entered the kings mouth. Great hunger overcame him. The king went to his table but any food or drink that passed his mouth became dust and offered no sustenance. Maddened the king fell to ruin upon his table of dust. Then Rol awakened and taking the cauldron he placed it in the middle of the hearth and the fire around it roared into life. Rol brought the famine to an end and the kingdom had bounty for all of time.
A wardrobe, a compass, a letter or perhaps a raindrop. We have all heard talks of how people stumble into fantastical worlds. A chance encounter in our own garden or maybe chosen by a pattern. I fell into my own adventure in a different but no less spectacular way. I was a young man then. My spirit was not worn down by taxes, the monotony of the nine to five or the slow decay of time. Tall, unspectacular, my limbs were likened mostly to that of a spider. A youthful dreamer, sat on my window ledge watching the world pass me by. That is where this tale begins. Sat on the ledge in late august, I was watching a storm grow ever close. A distant flash illuminated the red brick work of my neighbour’s houses, packed so tightly in what had once been a farmer’s field. The rumble of thunder echoed through the estate, rolling on endlessly. It was followed by the first droplets of rain that pitter patted against the windowsill, splashing cold against my arm through the open window. The musky smell of summer rain drifted through the warm and stuffy night. As the storm grew close, I could feel my heart beating. The rush of the storm. Primeval, the same since the dawn of time, where my ancestors must have watched in awe and fear. White, purple and blue flashes danced across my vision, the noise deafening my ears to all else. The rain continued to fall and the road beneath my window became a running stream. Then there was silence. The eye of the storm approached and with it the most brilliant flash of lightning I had ever seen. A bright flash, verdant green, it leapt from cloud to cloud in a spider web across the dark sky. I stared in shock, the flash imprinted on my eyes. I must have been dazed as the raindrops picked up that bright green and fell to earth like emeralds. Every stream and puddle began to shine with that bright light, that lingered long after the lightning had vanished. ‘HELP!’ The terrible cry dragged me from my amazement. I looked through my window, desperate to find where that pained cry had come from but all I could see was the stream of glowing water. ‘HELP!’ The voice screamed again. Without a second thought I jumped from the ledge and made my way into the storm without my coat. The green glow had faded from the water and the next bolt of lightning was the same typical white. Outside, I charged through the rain. ‘HELP!’ The deep voice yelled again. ‘HELLO!’ I called, desperate to be heard over the thunder. ‘Help me!’ The voice said. I ran, homing in on the calling voice. In an alleyway, a figure sat huddled on the floor. The lamplight stretched its vast shadow towards me. The shape did not seem entirely human, but the rain and light distorted all shapes. Indeed, as I approached, the figure seemed to shrink. It reduced so much in size that I may have thought it a child if it wasn’t for its long white hair, that stretched from a yellow cap, and lay limply across the mans face. The creature also had a beard, that was tucked into one of his bright yellow shoes. ‘Hello.’ I said just to shake away my shock. All thought of the storm or the strange green rain had vanished from my mind. The man grabbed at his right leg, the one minus the beard tuck, which was twisted at a horrible angle. The man, or thing, turned to regard me. His eyes were like crystals, and they shimmered with a light that was not natural, ‘Ah good fellow.’ The bearded man said, all of the earlier panic now gone from his voice, ‘Thank the lord my cries have been heard. I need help twisting my leg around.’ ‘Twisting it round. You need a hospital for something like that.’ I said, sounding much calmer than my beating heart suggested. ‘An infirmary Bah!’ The man said, ‘For this. No no. just a little twist is all that is necessary. I would do it myself but that takes a lot more resolve than I have.’ To my shock I knelt upon the wet ground and took his leg in a firm grip. The green fabric of his trousers was coarse wool. He was soaked through, from his yellow hat, sky blue waistcoat, down to his shoes. He looked frozen and yet his cheeks were flushed like man who had drank too much wine. I thought I must of done too. I expected to wake up any moment clutching a chair leg, for that was how the man’s leg felt. ‘That’s it fellow, give it a twist. Clockwise if you would. The other way and the whole thing might fall off.’ I laughed, thinking he must have been joking but his tone suggested otherwise. ‘On three.’ I deadpanned, ‘One, two, three.’ I jerked his leg clockwise and the fellow gave an almighty scream of pain that overcome the distant thunder. The leg gave a crack, and then to my shock, snapped completely back into place. With a surprising hop, he stood. No more than three foot tall he suddenly jumped upon his injured leg, clearing my head by a metre. When he landed, he gave a grunt and then burst out laughing. ‘Oh it does feel better already.’ He extended a coarse hand towards me, ‘Barley is the name good sir.’ ‘I took his hand meekly, ‘Daniel.’ I replied back. I took in his scent, a mix of wildflowers and motor oil, ‘Excuse me sir, if you don’t mind me asking, but what are you?’ He didn’t seem surprised, ‘Don’t have many Figwits this side of the storm huh? No that’s right no Figwits on this planet. That is what the scholars say. We have plenty of humans on our side but no Figwits this side. No centaurs this side. No trolls this side, which I must say is a relief. That is probably why you smell so fresh.’ ‘This side?’ I asked inquisitively, ‘What is this side?’ Barley laughed, ‘All science here. The magics gone.’ Barley kicked out with his once wounded leg, ‘This side is the human side. Well its where some of you came after the civil war of course. A place where humans could rule instead of being ruled.’ ‘And you came from the other side?’ ‘Not my intention good sir.’ He shook his head, ‘You see, I am a respectable fellow. A carpenter and stone mason in old Bredan’s kingdom, Barta rest his soul. Now he’s gone the necromancer has come pillaging and raiding my village. During a mirror storm of all times. No one goes out in a mirror storm. Who knows where it might cast you out. There I was running from a nasty old skeleton when the lightning came, turning all the raindrops into a portal. Then whoosh, I fell straight through a puddle into the clouds and then I was falling with the rain into this quaint street. For anyone but a Figwit that would mean death but we are built for stronger stuff than gravity.’ I will admit at the time I was completely lost and some of this speech I have added from my later studies in the hope that it makes some sense to you. At the time I just stared at Barley and said, ‘You come from the sky?’ ‘No.’ Barley looked at me like I was stupid, and in that moment, I felt it, ‘From solid ground just like this. Just from the other side of the mirror storm. It bridges the gap between our worlds. A violent thing. Water becomes a gateway. The universe in a raindrop.’ I looked at a nearby puddle and jumped into it. The water lapped up against my already sodden clothes, ‘Well its not now.’ I said. ‘It’s a puddle.’ ‘I though it was a portal.’ The look Barley gave me could have pulled my skin from my bones, ‘Are all humans so dim.’ He said, ‘The mirror storm has moved on. No way of getting back now.’ He looked at my now mud stained trousers, ‘And good thing to my friend or you would have fallen to your death. Well, you would have done if the puddle was deep enough. My village would not have appreciated that.’ ‘What will you do then?’ ‘Find some hole to line in I suppose. A badger den or something. Build myself a little home for a few hundred years until death takes me.’ ‘You seem cheerful about that.’ ‘Well what else is there to do. I cannot live amongst you humans. You like to dissect things and I like my body parts where they are. I am too old now to have things removed from me.’ Barley looked around, ‘If you can point me to the nearest woodland, I will find myself a badger’s den to await my death.’ He removed his beard from his shoe, revealing a large sack of gold tied to the end and a pocket watch. To my shock, he left an empty shoe behind and stump of a leg. He checked the time before slipping five gold coins from the pouch before handing them to me. Beard, watch and pouch, returned to the shoe and became a foot. ‘Some gold for your trouble my friend. Your help has been much appreciated. If you would write me your address I shall write to you via pigeon.’ I felt sad for the little creature. To be all alone in a badger’s den, waiting to die. I wanted him to come live with me but that would be impossible. Keeping someone like this a secret would not end well. I also wished to perhaps see this world of Figwits, Centaurs and Necromancer’s. ‘What if we caught up with the storm.’ I said, my eyes going up to the clouds that were now passing over London. ‘Storm catching.’ Barley pondered, ‘The mirror storm does not last long on each world but we may have a chance. What creature do you have that could catch a storm.’ He brightened and he seemed to glow, ‘Well I would fall somewhere over the field of Harva. A few days walk from my home but at least it will be safe. Well good sir, if you do me this favour then I, Barley of the Salar Figwits, will be ever in your service.’ I looked down at the strange fellow and wondered still when I might wake up from this fantastical dream and yet as the night wore on, I found myself walking him to my home. I went inside and fetched my keys while Barley stared, watching the distant storm. As I came back outside, he turned towards me, ‘So how shall we chase the storm. A centaur? No, you have no centaurs, but a horse would not be quick enough. What about a griffin?’ I pressed the button on my keys and the car’s lights flashed, startling Barley so much he leapt seven feet into the air. ‘I was thinking of driving.’ Barley examined the car, ‘What sort of machine is this? It reminds me of the flying vehicles of the Adar.’ ‘It is a car my small friend. Now hop in.’ I opened the door and Barley nimbly jumped inside. I entered also and when my engine roared into life, Barley grinned from ear to ear, literally splitting his face in half. Through London, in the early hours of the night, I chased the storm. A friend from another world in my passenger’s seat. London came into view, skyscrapers reflecting the street-lights below, the London eye glittering in the rain. ‘Marvels and amazements.’ Barley barked, ‘Like the great human cites or the mechanical halls of my people. How far you have come. I bet war never touched this place.’ ‘We may not have necromancers.’ I replied, ‘But it doesn’t mean that men aren’t evil. Want is in all our hearts.’ We soon reached the M25 and I sped up, the distant storm growing ever close. Barley grabbed the seat tightly as my speeds reached eighty miles per hour and the tyres began to skid in the wet road. We soon gained upon the white flashes of the storm and the heavy rain grew more ferocious. ‘We must get ahead it.’ Barley ordered, ‘And find some stream or river, where my fall will not be so great into my world. Then we can say a proper goodbye my friend.’ I continued through the heavy rain and the great storm. Soon we approached the eye and a flash of green lightning lit up the sky. The rain again carried the green hew of the bolt and the wet road glistened a verdant green. I approached a puddle and as my wheel hit it, it gripped on nothing, only a void. I nearly lost the car, but my speed took us over the portal. Such a great chase had never been seen in the history of man as I overtook the mirror storm and the lightning returned to normal. A few more miles ahead I pulled off from the road and found a village where a stream ran through. We parked up by the edge of the stream and watched as the mirror storm approached. ‘Will you be okay. With the Necromancer I mean?’ I asked. ‘The Necromancer was cast out of the mages castle and is looking for somewhere to set up his new kingdom. He will ransack our village but will not stay. It is a human kingdom he will seek to sway people to his will.’ Soon the storm caught up with us and began to soak us both. The lightning flashed across the sky, the thunder rumbled, and time came for my farewell with Barley. It seemed he could tell it to. The usual chirpy fellow seemed sad, eyes downcast, the crystals wet with tears. I knelt down to his height, ‘When I watched the storm this night, I didn’t think I would meet someone as strange and wonderous as you. In fact, I never thought someone like you existed.’ I held out my hand and he took it, ‘But I’m glad we met. Never again will I watch a storm without thinking of my dear friend and his world full of wonders.’ Barley beamed, ‘And you, my friend. I am glad I fell into your street and found someone willing to sacrifice their night to escort a stranger home. We are neighbours across the universe, our houses mirrored in the storm. Glad tidings I take home and maybe a sign of a future union.’ The eye of the storm approached, and I hugged Barley. We both stared into the sky as the great green bold of lightning spread across the sky and the mirror storm opened the bridge between worlds. The emerald raindrops made the stream glow a vibrant and beautiful green. Barley looked at it and nodded, ‘Farewell my friend.’ He bowed low, ‘Next time the mirror storm comes, perhaps you will come for dinner. My wife would love to meet you.’ Warmth filled me, ‘I will, and I will bring desert.’ Barley looked at the glowing river, ‘Find a puddle by your house and you shall fly right to my door. Though perhaps bring a parachute with you.’ With that he tipped his hat and dived into the river. There was no splash, no ripples. He passed right through it. The green glow brightened, and I thought I caught a glimpse of a village, lit by many candles. A voice called goodbye from the stream and then the vision faded, and Barley’s world was lost. Saddened, I walked back to my car and made my way back to London. Now I know you are wondering. Did I ever take Barley up on his offer? Did I ever go to this world through the mirror storm, see great kingdoms and fight the necromancer. Well, that is a tale for another day.
Knights of Earth Publications 