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.
The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin. Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead. ‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the sixth temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’ He stared at the desolation and his grip on his sword almost failed. He wanted to sit upon the steps and watch the last moments of a war already lost. ‘Do not doubt.’ A voice said and Ashara looked down to his shadow, though it wasn’t his. His shadow never mirrored the sharp edges of his armour or bulk of his muscles. His shadow was slender, feminine, shapely and yet as stiff as a statue. ‘What is doubt but a biproduct of hope.’ Ashara replied, ‘What is hope but a biproduct of folly.’ ‘Doubt is the power of our enemy.’ She had a name; Elen and she wasn’t truly his shadow, but she was as bound to him as any real shadow., ‘You are Ivanti.’ She continued, ‘Angel bound, hero of an ancient order.’ ‘The last of the Ivanti. Our orders are broken, bastions in ruin. The Ostivanti have won. Daegma has won. Colimar lays in ruin.’ ‘The book.’ Elen whispered, ‘The book holds the enchantment of Daegma’s prison. If we can just get the book, then we can rebind him. Turn his forces back to dust, flame and bog. Give humanity a chance for life.’ Ashara sighed, feeling that same weight that had pressed on him ever since he had allowed himself to be bound to an angel. It was the weight of a mountain. He bound Elen in a time of peace. Then, only rare skirmishes between the orders and the occasional kingdom war had threatened the planet. Now Daegma was almost free and Barta’s watch had failed. Giants, dread spiders, the undead and the Ostivanti destroyed all in an attempt to bring back Daegma’s dominion. The book. The book is the answer. We can lift the mountain once we have the book. He turned from the desolation and the sickly, horrible, smoke-filled wind. The temple, a four spired pyramid, was covered in age old ivy and moss. Ashara couldn’t understand why you would hide such a powerful thing in such a weak relic. Every step was laborious in Ashara’s armour, but he did feel something. A power coursed through the stone that seemed to clear away the screams, the smoke and the dread. It was like Ashara had passed into a previous age. Even Elen seemed to delight in it. She was a stone angel after all. A servant of Aurda. Ashara reached the top step; a door of iron standing impervious above him. Carved upon on it, in reverence or warning, was the three headed ram. Daegma’s mark. ‘It looks like his church.’ He said, eyes searching for his shadow, but she was no longer at his feet. She stretched towards the wall and stood there at his height. She was not beautiful as such, more impervious, strong as a mountain and rooted in power that he could not imagine. The wall around the shadow shifted as she moved, elevating her features and bringing her to life in three dimensions. She turned to face him, stone face moving across the moss-covered wall. He could see in her shadowy face, the cracks where the moss once clung. ‘They hoard the book, knowing they can never release him.’ Her hand reached out of the wall. It was callous like aged stone and with it he caught the scent of things ancient. It was not the sulphurous fumes that followed one of the Ostivanti but more like the smell of summer rain on porous rock, bringing life to the minerals themselves. The door opened at her command, and she became again a shadow at his feet. He charged into the room but stopped dead. He was expected. He knew them first by the stench. Used to it as he was, his eyes still watered, and every breath was a torment. That horrible wrongness that accompanied those of the storm forge was stifling. The darkness of the chamber was overcome by the magic that bound the dead back to the earth. Every temple had been the same. An open hall, full of enemies. Skeletons, bound by blue light, lifted swords. Ghouls hung from the ceiling, their bat like wings flapping. Elen moved her shadow across the floor and Ashara followed. He felt the stone and the power of the Ivanti flowed from him. He jumped and the wall to his left pulled. He flew, sword decapitating skeletons as he soared. He adjusted his force, and the ceiling hoisted him upwards, passed green flames. A downward shift took him upon a great stone dais and from there he drove his sword through two more of the undead. Around him, Elen came and where her shadow lay, stone enveloped and destroyed their foes. Ghouls swooped down from the ceiling, their wings making a cacophony of noise. Ashara felt the walls and battled with the servants of the devil. He pulled himself between the stone in a constant dance, his sword flashing until the hall fell silent and the enemy was defeated. Ashara lowered himself to the floor. ‘Always the same,’ He said, ‘Soon we will encounter one of the Ostivanti.’ ‘The Ostivanti are weak without their master released.’ ‘And yet they have destroyed the world.’ ‘Numbers.’ Elen whispered sadly. She was missing an arm in shadow form, and she seemed to limp. This fight had wounded her. ‘We must-‘ ‘GIRL OF AURDA. MAN OF CANDOR. FOOLS OF BARTA.’ A great voice boomed. It sent shivers through Ashara’s spine. The voice was educated, normal and yet it seemed wrong and made fear grow right in his heart. Elen seemed to shiver, ‘Do not haunt us Daegma. Your time has come.’ ‘COLIMAR IS MY DOMAIN.’ The voice boomed and the temple rumbled until all became silent. ‘He presses on the world Ashara.’ Elen said in a panic, ‘I can feel him. He will crumble the temple and break his prison. We do not have much time.’ That mountain. That terrible mountain. It pressed on his lungs so that every breath was a struggle against destiny. He gripped his sword and passed through the chamber. Before him stretched a maze. He knew it would be there. It had been in the other temples. Elen appeared on the wall of the maze. She was wounded still. She even clutched at her side as if she was trying to hold in blood. ‘Stone is ours.’ She whispered, ‘Not his.’ Ashara nodded and closed his eyes. He took a step towards the stone and then another without flinching. He felt it against his foot. Firm, unyielding and yet malleable. He continued to step and the stone relented, allowing him to step through it. It felt like swimming through reed filled water. Again, that smell of life, of sweet water on rock, filled his nose. He continued to walk, going straight forward through the stone maze. It was exhausting, every step a challenge. The stone did not yield its strength willingly and only the pressure of that mountain of responsibility, kept Ashara’s feet moving forward. He nearly stumbled as he passed through the last wall of stone into the forgiving air. He stopped and for the first time in years smiled as he beheld the central chamber. Light from sky above came through a channel, bathing a large stone altar in pure light. There, the book he searched for stood. The book that would finally bind Daegma and his forces in their prison again. ‘What are you doing here?’ A voice asked from the darkness. Ashara hoisted his sword as a man stepped into the light. He wore robes of pure white and around his neck the five golden circles of Barta hung. Elen appeared on the stone and Ashara could tell from her hunched shoulders and wounded cast, that she was weary of this newcomer. ‘Priest of Barta.’ Ashara said, ‘I am one of the Ivanti. I come to bind Daegma once more.’ The priest smiled and then laughed, revealing blackened teeth. He stood now before the altar and the light shadowed his face. The priest’s eyes glowed a fervent green, but Ashara could see beneath the skin, the demon he was bound with. His bond with Elen was whole but separate. Demons consumed you from the inside. That horrible smell of sulphur nearly knocked Ashara backwards. ‘The Ivanti are dead. Barta’s guard on this world is broken. Daegma comes to claim his lands again.’ The priest lifted his hand, and the floor became nothing but molten rock. This was a demon of stone, Ashara’s opposite. Like all demons they could not make stone yield. They dominated it by force, turning it into a tool of destruction. The heat tore at Ashara’s skin, burning him and melting his armour. He pulled at the ceiling, lifting himself off the ground. The floor disappeared completely, and the demon walked upon it, the flesh of the bound human sizzling with every step. The molten rock crawled like a living thing, clawing at the altar and moving with thought towards the book. From below, Elen screamed. Magma began to tear at her stone form. Ashara could feel her power weakening. He needed one desperate lunge. He anchored himself on the altar and charged. The demon jumped and met him and together they plunged deep into the molten floor. Heat, so vast and terrible, consumed him. Ashara screamed as his flesh was boiled and pealed from his bones. Only his eyes, protected by Barta, could withstand that heat. As his body burned, he focused on the demon, holding onto him with melting fingers. Ashara channelled all his power and the demon’s scream joined his own. The skin of the demon became cold and callous stone between Ashara’s blistered palms. Together Ashara and the demon lamented, fire entering Ashara’s lungs. The demon became a statue, immortalised for ever and burning darkness took Ashara.
‘Wake up.’ Elen whispered, her voice faint and cold. Ashara’s eyes opened. The light of the sun bathed him and with it he found some strength to rise. His armour was melted, moulded and joined with his blistered flesh. He was burnt all over and the breeze sent shivers of pain. The stone corpse of the demon lay next to him. He pulled with his power to rise and used it to hover towards the book. Elen was nowhere to be seen. The floor underneath was full of waves, like an ocean locked in time. ‘Quickly.’ Elen said as a rumble echoed, and dust fell from the ceiling. Then he saw her. She was spread thin, tendrils of shadow keeping the temple from collapsing, ‘The book Ashara. We don’t have long.’ He did not answer. He had no tongue, no face. Only his eyes were protected. The mountain of responsibility was about to crush him. He reached for the book. His hands, nothing more than stubs now, opened the pages, ready to finally seal Daegma forever. His lipless mouth screamed in horror as he read the only words inscribed.
You have failed again Ashara.
The Temple collapsed on top of him.
The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin. Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead. ‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the seventh temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’
Over the next year I will be posting work from my creative writing degree, as short snippets to show the varied work I can do. Today we start off with some short pieces of prose, titled goodbye. A missed bus and the worlds end.
Goodbye I wish I had said goodbye. Such a simple phrase, common, flippant, important. You never know the last goodbye until you ponder, weeks later, when the last time you said it to someone you love. The worst realisation is knowing you never said it at all. What was it that stopped you? An argument, lack of time or simple expectation that another hello was just around the corner. The questions can become a torture. The questions are nothing. We cannot predict the turn of the earth, the subtle coincidences that cause a life to end. This is not our place. We can just hope, that every goodbye is not the last and that, even if it is unsaid, it is meant.
A missed bus. For the first time ever, John had missed the bus. He was a punctual man, neat, a man of responsibility. No button was out of place, no second wasted. Well, that was what he was meant to be. A simple switch not pressed, an alarm missed and a rush that made him forget to tuck in his tie. The bus was long gone by the time he arrived at the stop. Panting he stared at the sign while song birds mocked him from the trees above. Twenty minutes to the next bus. He would arrive on time but no morning coffee. No five minutes schmoozing the boss, greasing the wheels of future progression. What opportunities would these twenty minutes cost him.
The Worlds End. It was no use pretending. The world was ending. The war was the lost, the last remnants of the army held up in small battlefields, waiting for the final wave to sweep them all away. Oliver waded through fields of ruined machines of war and corpses left to the carrion. Not all were human. The shapes of the alien invaders littered the field also. There victories were in vain. For every beast slain five more seemed to reign from the sky. Oliver dropped to the floor among the dead while a ship soared over head, a scout searching for any sign of life. It swiftly passed and Oliver stood. For another day, he had survived.
The time is nearly here. Powers Temptation: book 3 of the Knights of Earth Saga, will release Saturday 7th October. Check out the synopsis below.
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.
Knights of Earth Publications 