Stormcaller (Book 1)
EVERET MARTINS
STORMCALLER
Book One of
THE AGE OF DAWN
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Dedication
To coffee and nicotine gum, my faithful stimulants throughout many long days.
CONTENTS
Chapter 3 – The Festival of Flames
Chapter 16 – Iron Sharpens Iron
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Chapter 1 – Awakening
“I come to you with open hands, bowed head, and a heart laden with vengeance.”
–from
Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness
Asebor stirred under the crushing weight of the dense lodestone tomb, his Milvorian manacles held tightly to his limbs. The force of life deep within his chest, a flowering lotus, opened into his consciousness, returning the ancient spark of thought to his mind. He flexed his fingers open, white, vicious talons rasping against the side wall like a knife on whetstone. His eyes snapped open, revealing dull glowing violet slits, as he sharply inhaled the first breath of this life. He arched his bony back, stretching his chest as he remembered what it felt like to be contained within a body.
The seal of The Age of Dawn must have finally broken. Is it possible?
The agony of a decaying body joyfully wracked his flesh, confirming his return to glorious life. He growled, revealing cascading rows of razor-sharp teeth. He opened his palms and pressed on the tomb’s massive cover. He fought to harness a sliver of the Power of the Dragon, stone dust raining on his eyes. He struggled in the stream of power. Asebor had trials ahead of him, having only a husk of the power he once held. He finally snatched it like a spear through a fish, the Dragon filling his veins with strength and a maelstrom of anger.
He roared and smashed his hands against his cold prison, throwing the tomb lid against the wall. It fissured and crumbled into foot-thick pieces, revealing the inscriptions of the ward that once contained him. He violently flexed his biceps, pulling against the white chains that bound his wrists, the spikes lining the inside of the dense chains spilling his freshly flowing blood.
He extended his bladed right index finger, focusing brilliant green flames of the Dragon at the chain on his opposite hand. He grinned, knowing in time he would be free. In time, the day will be night once again. The only future for peace is war. There is no hatred, there is only retribution, cold, hard, and final. “I will not fail you again,” he said, voice grating.
**
Walter woke from his slumber on his feather-lined bed, listening to the rooster bellow his morning salute. He propped himself up on his elbows, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as the morning sun bathed his face with warmth. Glancing through his bedroom window facing west, he could see it was going to be a beautiful day.
The cumulus clouds from the Abyssal Sea brushed the tips of the Denerian Cliffs, flowing into the green vistas that wound into the already bustling town of Breden. A strong sea wind arced the thin line of towering smoke that puffed from the Ars Volcano, pushing it further west into the boiling sea. A distant eruption rumbled through his window. The volcano had apparently also awoken from its slumber.
The snorts of the hogs waking carried into his room, awaiting their morning scraps. He beamed at the aroma of his father’s morning elixir wafting into his room. He pushed his shoulder-length, honey-wheat hair out of his emerald eyes and behind his ears. He rubbed at his square jaw, tension fading from what might have been the most bizarre nightmare he could remember.
I was spinning a metal chain over my head, or was it a lash?
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
Breden was a small town of about a thousand denizens according to the last survey. Most were elixir-bean farmers or fishermen. Breden was known throughout the realm of Zoria for its fragrant beans, ones that elicited a delightful energy and focus-enhancing effect. Some farmers, such as Walter’s family, were fortunate to have settled in an area with superb soil, yielding a highly sought-after bean variety known as Redbud Beans. They were named for their extraordinarily bright colors. There were only a handful of other farms that could produce this bean type, putting Walter’s family in an excellent position for this nature of business.
He rolled out of bed and onto his feet and let his body hang into a deep hamstring stretch, shaking off the soreness of yesterday’s training. Walter stood at roughly eighteen hands, had a fair complexion, and thick eyebrows that drew to a furrow when he focused. Minutes later, he kicked his legs behind him into a push-up position and started working his muscular body.
He remembered the drawl of his scarred Sid-Ho master Noah: “I’ll make you lads hard wood when I’m through with you.” Being a young man, Walter asked himself if he was taking this too seriously, but sloughed the question off as he continued plowing through the last few push-ups. Just as he finished and was nearly standing, the red cedar bedroom door burst open with a slam. Wiggles the black hound tackled him and smothered his face with sloppy tongue laps. “You crazy dog! C’mon!” Walter laughed while he defended himself from the onslaught of saliva that coated his sun-conditioned olive skin.
Walter’s father Aiden sat sipping a cup of black elixir at the heavy barn wood table, eyes focused and clearly lost in a tale from
Thieves of Gold
. His mother Isabelle turned and beamed at Walter when he entered the kitchen, her blue eyes sparkling in a morning sunray. She prepared eggs and mouthwatering ham that incited grumbles from Walter’s stomach.
“I hope you guys are hungry, the girls are cranking out eggs faster than usual,” Isabelle chuckled and she flipped a sunny-side-up egg.
“I’m ravenous!” Walter said, getting plates from the cupboard.
“Are you boys excited for the Festival of Flames tonight?” Aiden asked, dog-earing a bookmark in the tome and pushing it to the edge of the table.
“Absolutely! We’ve been waiting for it all year! I’m going to meet Juzo at his dad’s, and then we’re going to pick up Nyset on our way,” said Walter, eyeing the frying ham slices from across the room.
“Alright. Well, make sure you harvest at least two baskets of elixir cherries today and set them for pulping. I need to get a batch to Shipton for the goats Hal sent us last week,” said Aiden. He took another quaff of his aromatic brew and allowed his gaze to rest upon Walter. “I had the strangest dream last night,” Aiden said. He rubbed his scruffy chin and then the back of his neck.
“Oh yeah?” said Isabelle.
“Yes, there was an army that stretched as far as the eye could see, not entirely composed of men, but also of the most bizarre creatures, not quite human. You stood at the head of this battalion, Walter. Your face, however, was much older, contorted by years of – well, suffering. You seemed wiser… and harder, with deep lines like a worn stone.”
“Are you saying I’m not wise now?” Walter said. Aiden rolled his eyes, returning to his book.
“It was such a vivid dream. It’s been a while since I’ve had one that felt so realistic.”
Coincidence? No such thing
,
Walter thought.
Isabelle bumped Wiggles out of the way while deftly placing three fried eggs and a large piece of ham on Walter’s plate. “Don’t forget to bring the goat cream to Mrs. Camfield,” said Isabelle. Walter groaned, “Is that all? I’m really looking forward to
such
a relaxing day.”
“Character building. One day you’ll thank me,” intoned Aiden.
Walter decided it was prudent to remain silent for the rest of morning supper, and avoid negotiating with his father today. He really did want to go to the Festival of Flames. John, one of his father’s hired workers, should be around, and he would certainly be useful if convinced to help.
On his way out of the kitchen he pilfered four honey buns from the silver tray, stuffing them in his pockets. He leaped down the stairs, whistling as he exited the beautifully wood- and iron-constructed house. He turned, looking up at the fascia, inspecting for more woodpecker infiltration.
Damn woodpeckers.
The intricate swirls and spirals carved into the trim were a marvel. He reminded himself to ask his father who in Breden could teach him how to craft something so striking.