by C E Johnson
The Ammolite Adventures Blackstone
Copyright © 2018 C.E. Johnson
All rights reserved
Published by Clan Press 2017
Austin, Tx
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
Cover image from B-Ro
Website with maps and images: www.ammoliteadventures.com
For my Clan
and
For Xena, my bondsmate
Table of Contents
Map of Earth
Map of Acacia
Glossary of Auras
Glossary of Half-deads
Good Timber
Chapter 1: Maaca
Chapter 2: Hurricanes
Chapter 3: Malachi
Chapter 4: Disasters
Chapter 5: Droth
Chapter 6: Plans
Chapter 7: Tebah
Chapter 8: Thief City
Chapter 9: Delores
Chapter 10: Akhil
Chapter 11: The Return
Chapter 12: Lessons
Chapter 13: Departure
Chapter 14: Plans
Chapter 15: The Elves
Chapter 16: Blackstone
Chapter 17: Ships
Chapter 18: The Path Less Traveled
Chapter 19: Ladon
Chapter 20: Conflict
Chapter 21: Reunited
Chapter 22: Prime Portal
Chapter 23: Shadoe
Chapter 24: Chaos
Chapter 25: Strategy
Chapter 26: Explosions
Chapter 27: Half-deads
Chapter 28: The White House
Chapter 29: Epilogue
Glossary of Characters
Glossary of Magic
Glossary of Time
Glossary of Locations
Glossary of Possessions
Acknowledgements
Map of Earth
www.ammoliteadventures.com
Map of Acacia
www.ammoliteadventures.com
Glossary of Auras
Colors of auras, and their inborn spell advantages
Black – Speak to spirits of Ater, form Mavet raa
Blue – Shields
Brown – Shape change
Coral – Variable, fly
Cyan – Magestone shaper
Gray – Intelligence, memory
Green – Heal
Gold – Elemental control: fire, water, earth, wind
Indigo – Bondsmates, control animals
Orange – Enchant objects, prophecy
Red – Offensive spells, fight
Sand – Stonework
Silver – Psionics
Violet – Potions
White – Illusions, camouflage
Yellow – Truth-telling, aura assessment, leadership
Glossary of Half-deads
After death, some spirits go to Ater, a type of purgatory.
Through spells, spirits in Ater can be pulled back to the physical world as a Mavet raa.
A Mavet raa is a zombie-esque creature. It will follow the orders of its creator, and will die upon its creator’s death.
If a Mavet raa kills a magician, magus will be released, and the energy will transform the creature into a half-dead.
A half-dead can assimilate components of energy released by death in its vicinity, gaining vitality, knowledge and memories. A half-dead will not die when its creator dies.
Transformation from a Mavet raa to half-dead is based on the aura of the first magician killed:
Black – Vampires, night vision, agility
Blue – Gargoyle, stone-like skin
Brown – Were-creature, a single animal form
Coral – Harpy, half human, half bird
Cyan – Maricoxi, ape-like creatures
Gray – Kobold, intelligent, reptilian
Green – Dryad, nature skills
Gold – Gnomes, Undines, Sylphs, Fire-serpents. Elemental power
Indigo – Skinwalker, multiple animal forms
Orange – Wyvern, small dragons, poisonous bite.
Red – Goblins, human-sized fighter
Sand – Troll, intermediate-sized fighter
Silver – Shade, weak psionic ability
Violet – Vetala, increased speed
White – Banshees, camouflage
Yellow – Ogre, large fighter
Good Timber
The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
That stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king,
But lived and died a scrubby thing.
The man who never had to toil
To heaven from the common soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man,
But lived and died as he began.
Good timber does not grow in ease;
The stronger wind, the tougher trees;
The farther sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength;
By sun and cold, by rain and snows,
In tree or man, good timber grows.
Where thickest stands the forest growth
We find the patriarchs of both;
And they hold converse with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and of much strife-
This is the common law of life
—Douglas Malloch
Taken from Mountain Trailways for Youths
By Chas. E Cowman
© 1947. Use by permission of Zondervan
C H A P T E R 1
Maaca
There were only slight movements amongst the fallen leaves, pine needles, and moist soil along a barely discernable path in the depths of the Dothan Forest as Maaca raced through the thick woods. There was a darkness to the forest, a murky gloom that descended like a black veil even in the middle of the day. Maaca was scouting the periphery of the fortress of Shadoe, the great elf-mage, and the wooden walls of his city were tall and formidable. Although the distance stretched on and on, she didn’t slow, her energy was flowing; she could keep up this pace for hours. “What do you think of his defenses?” she asked Lyall, an enormous were-wolf that loped easily at her side. The creature was as large as a tiger, muscle-bound and agile with black eyes dark as sin. There was everything imposing and ferocious about him and nothing weak. He was power and stamina; he was wild and beautiful. The majority of his fur was as black as his eyes, but there were glints of silver in his thick coat.
“Strong, I don’t see a chink in his armor,” Lyall grunted. He stopped abruptly and sniffed the air. Maaca slowed to stand at his shoulder. Giving a growl, deep as thunder and full of danger, he glanced toward the woods where two vampires materialized out of the gloom.
“It’s Edvard and Graciela, two of my Black-blades.” Maaca quieted the were-wolf with an app
reciative glance before resuming her jog. She was thankful for his desire to keep her safe. Her Black-blades closed the distance until they were at Maaca’s right side, sprinting lightly over the thick carpet of leaves, a hand’s-breadth from her. Maaca waited for their report with building anticipation. The path ascended at a steep angle.
Edvard spoke breathlessly, “Shadoe has sent out several platoons from his fortress with around thirty elves in each group. They seem to be searching for something.”
Maaca smiled. “They’re searching for us.” This is just the right size of enemy troops for our next conflict, she thought. “Assemble a battle-group.” She had never fought over five elves at one time, but it was time to make a statement. “Let’s give him a taste of our growing strength.” She thought of the massive gathering of half-deads that she had cultivated. They were all assembling for an epic war.
“Samil would be proud of what you’ve accomplished,” Edvard praised her.
Maaca had been created for this battle by her arch-mage maker, Samil. Her smile vanished abruptly as the events surrounding her creator’s death resurfaced in her mind. Why did you leave me? All too focused on the throbbing pain forming in the center of her body, she found it difficult to concentrate, difficult to even breathe. Her heart began to hammer away in her chest.
“Don’t think about Samil,” Lyall grunted with a touch of concern in his harsh voice while he glared at Edvard. Maaca knew Lyall had seen the change in her expression and an awkward silence formed; she didn’t want to appear weak in front of her warriors. Samil had pulled her wraith-sprit from the purgatory world of Ater, giving her a portion of his own magus to make her stronger and granting her a physical shape on Acacia as a Mavet raa.
“I wish he were here to see all of this,” Maaca whispered.
“He would be impressed,” Graciela spoke in a soft, low voice while running a hand through her hair that shimmered like pure gold in the scattered rays that fell upon her.
“Do you ever reflect on your genesis?” Maaca questioned Lyall. She could scarcely believe that she had evolved from a grotesque Mavet raa into a vampire half-dead when she bit into the neck of Laban, an ancient arch-mage who had wanted a chance at retaining consciousness after his death.
“Of course, I do,” he answered softly, “but Samil’s gone and you remain.” He spoke the obvious, but Maaca knew what he meant. She had to finish that which Samil had started. When she was younger, she thought that everything she wanted would come to her easily, but now she knew that was the greed of her youth. She had to continually tend to her talents, rigorously developing her skills to become a strong leader to accomplish her goals, which until recently, had always been one and the same with Samil’s.
“I’ll honor his memory; his death shall not have been in vain.” Maaca ran a finger along the perfect marquise-cut blackstone in the circlet around her head that Samil had given her. She closed her eyes momentarily, putting a hand on Graciela for support as she ran, thinking of Samil’s fingers running over her bare shoulders.
“There, my queen.” Maaca’s eyes popped open as Graciela directed her to a thick copse of trees where shadows danced furtively in the flickering light that barely penetrated the dense canopy above. “The rest of your troops will meet you by that rock.” Graciela nodded toward an area where several other half-deads had already arrived. A cluster of were-creatures in animal form were lying together in a pack, reeking of wet fur and brawny power. Lyall went to join his brethren.
“Well done.” Maaca fixed both of her vampires with a proud stare. “I’m going into the woods on my own, to meditate and plan.” Both Edvard and Graciela inclined their heads to her in respect before leaving her side. Walking slowly away from the others, Maaca scouted the area, immersing herself in nature. The accelerated pulse in her neck slowed and she felt soothed by the babbling chimes of a stream of water rushing through polished stones. She followed the river to where it fell into a glimmering pool. Maaca noticed a young half-dead dryad standing by herself, leaning against a tree at the edge of the small lake and she approached her; curious, dryads rarely fought. “What’s your name? Are you going to partake in the battle?”
“My name is Adrienne, and no, I’m not much of a fighter.” The dryad’s voice was musical. She was surpassingly beautiful with a green tint to her flawless, radiant skin. She was tall with flowing long black hair that the wind caught and lifted in a gentle caress. A were-creature whined nearby, and a jay chattered overhead, but the girl ignored both, focusing only on Maaca in the murky light. She spoke hesitantly, “I was curious what you plan for Emily Dalton.”
“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do to the half-elf, but my creator wanted me to kill her.” Maaca winced as a flash of the pain that she had just dismissed returned to her chest. Emily Dalton killed my creator, she wanted to scream, but she remained in control of her emotions, biting her lip to redirect her mind.
“But your maker’s light has departed.” The dryad’s voice was soft and smooth.
“That’s true,” Maaca waited for the pain in her heart to quell. She waited for the tears threatening to brim in her eyes to subside. “However, his son is still alive, and I’m to follow his directives.”
“Do you have to follow all of his son’s orders?” Curiously Adrienne’s eyes were also wet with emotion, and there was true concern in her green eyes that were as large as a doe. She wore a dress of white lace and the wind caught again in her dark hair, causing it to twist about her face, framing her distress and worry.
“That is the way of half-deads,” Maaca snorted. She wondered why the dryad was so sad. She was uncertain why she even cared about this creature’s inner anguish; she was a vampire-killer, not a healer. She took a deep breath, running her palm along the bark of the tree that Adrienne was leaning on. Am I going crazy? she wondered to herself as she found her mind wandering, delving from her current conversation into the history of the tree.
“Can you speak with nature?” Adrienne blurted wide-eyed, “I thought only dryads could do that.”
“My interactions with nature only began when I started killing elves,” Maaca answered. The scant light was fading. Darkness was stealing in through the trees, creeping slowly through the branches, and a stray leaf drifted down. Maaca’s hand darted out and she caught the leaf in her hand, pulling it close to inhale its subtle fragrance. She dropped the leaf and gingerly recoiled from the tree. “I should probably stay away from the elves, but there’s something about elf-magus that’s irresistible.” She arched a silver eyebrow toward Adrienne in a mocking manner, “I don’t think you’d understand. You don’t seem like a slayer.”
Edvard sauntered out of the forest toward the two. He wore a long sword at his side that glimmered steely in the budding moonlight, and he wore a confident expression on his face. His dark black leather armor brought out the onyx in his intense eyes. “Your war council is assembled, my queen.”
“Very well, Edvard.” Maaca gave Adrienne a short dismissive nod, “We can talk again later.” Maaca left the dryad and followed her Black-blade warrior. He gestured toward the leaders of her half-dead battle-groups assembled around a flat rock that served as a table, peering at her expectantly, waiting for her orders.
“How will we fight?” Lyall asked. He represented her were-creatures. He was accompanied by a shade, a goblin, and an ogre.
The metal on Maaca’s armor scraped on the stone as she leaned against the boulder to study the maps on display. “I want to follow the same strike-pattern we used on the last group of elves.” Her commanders listened in silence. “Our archers will weaken them; then the goblins will test for vulnerabilities in their formation. After we find their flaws, Lyall and ogres will launch a full offensive at their soft spots. The wyverns’ aerial attack and venom should add to their instability. I will hold the shades and Black-blades for the final conflict as my reserve force, which I will apply when I see the lapse in their guard.”
The goblin commander stroked the st
ubble on his chin as he studied the plans, setting his strong jaw in a defiant pose. Maaca wondered if he would complain about leading the first sortie where there would be scores of deaths. There was a cruel angle to his mouth and his eyes shone as bright as his chainmail as he stared at her across the stone table. “We will crush them,” he roared, pounding an armored fist into his other gauntlet. A crack rang out as metal met metal. The rest of the group added their words of support.
Maaca breathed in relief as the wind sighed through the tall ironwoods that stood sentry around their position. Thank goodness Samil ensured their dedication to me. There were rarely arguments or concerns from her battle-group. Samil had granted her the service of other races of half-deads, but the varieties of her currently assembled squads were the most dependable. The gnomes were testy and argumentative, vetalas were aloof, and she was saving her gargoyles for the main attack on Shadoe’s fortress in the future. And dryads. Maaca glanced back at the tree, but Adrienne had disappeared. She could never fully tell which side the dryads were on.
“A chill is coming up.” Graciela placed a cloak of a dark rough-spun wool on Maaca’s shoulders. Maaca tightened the garment around her while walking away from the table. As her senses were returning with the sheer number of kills she was assimilating, she was also beginning to feel the cold once again.
“I need another moment alone.” Maaca turned from her troops. She touched her blackstone delicately as she walked, feeling its mirror-image right and left sides which were in perfectly smooth symmetry. She closed her eyes, remembering when Samil had placed the crown on her head with a kiss. A damp wind swirled around her body and around her heart. She would fight hard today for her creator. Her hand left the comfort of her blackstone, and she griped both hilts of the two enchanted dark swords strapped to her back, Doom and Death. Instantly warmed by the feel of her steel, her heart stirred as she prepared her mind to spill blood. She found herself back at the pool of water, gazing at her reflection. Portions of her silver hair were bound in a bun on her head, with much of her hair floating freely to cascade down her back. Her dark cloak was fastened with a silver wolf brooch that glinted in the moonlight, and she wore strong, boiled black leather armor that fit her like a glove. She put a hand to her flawless pale skin, admiring the touch of color in her cheeks that had developed with her last elven kills. She felt more awake and vigorous with each elven assimilation, such a different sensation relative to her mental state in the horrible empty spirit world of Ater. Maaca could smell a musky perfume that spoke of pine, rich soil, and moss and she realized the dryad had soundlessly approached.
