by Jason Parker
CHASING PORTALS
SWORDS AND SCIENCE BOOK 1
JASON PARKER
IRON CAULDRON BOOKS
www.IronCauldronBooks.com
Chasing Portals – Swords and Science Book 1
Copyright © 2018 by Jason Parker.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to living persons or true events found within this work are purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, address Iron Cauldron Books, 2209 Fenton Street, Richmond, VA 23231.
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First edition.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Parker, Jason.
Chasing Portals – Swords and Science Book 1 / Jason Parker
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-0-9895560-1-9 (paperback)
I. Title.
11 12 13 14 15 ICB 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This one is for Kylie and Holly
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Gandany Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
GANDANY
CHAPTER 1
Zarlyn strolled leisurely through the southern edge of the Auldhurst Forest in northwestern Marn on the way back to her cabin. She paused in a small clearing and stretched her arms skyward. Her stiff muscles reveled in the warm sun after enduring the harshness of winter. She dropped her arms and looked forward at the path winding back into the woods. The afternoon sun filtered through the budding trees, creating a patchwork quilt of shadow and light on the ground that shifted in time with the gentle breeze that stirred her shoulder length gray hair.
“Hello there,” she said, smiling as she plucked a fresh red wild flower blossom. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to capture the full bouquet of the flower’s sweet aroma. She tucked the flower behind her ear and pulled her plain brown knit shawl tighter around her shoulders as she resumed her walk. Warmth was winning the battle, but it had not yet vanquished the crispness of winter’s last gasp.
The green of emerging leaves peppered harsh bareness of branches awakening from their seasonal slumber. It was a rebirth, akin to the rebirth of magic almost within her grasp. She lightly danced down the path as she soaked in the wonders of the forest, far removed from the tumult of civilization. For more than 200 years she labored in isolation to bring the gift of magic back to the world. Yes, she had suffered countless failures. Yes, she had suffered discouragement, but now she was so close. She would show those who had scoffed at her efforts. Those who had known the sweet touch of magic. Her former colleagues, Touchstone, Araphel, Calvor, and Jamis, who all foolishly abandoned magic and embraced science. Science was a meager substitute for the glory of magic and she alone understood bringing it back to life was of utmost importance. She was on the precipice of ushering forth a new age of magic. She could taste it.
Zarlyn walked into a shaded area beneath a sturdy maple tree and closed her eyes. Massaging her temples, she cleared her mind of everything except fire and earth. Though faint, she could feel the mystical energies seep into her, become one with her. She stood on her toes and twirled like a little girl at a recital, giggling as the energies of earth and fire coursed through her.
Just two days ago this euphoric rush of mystical energy filled her for the first time in two centuries. The energies were not as plentiful as they once were, but they still existed and she finally discovered how to adapt her mind and body to embrace them again. Tapping into the mystical energies was different than before. It would take continued practice, patience, and resolve to create magic of true significance, but she had achieved modest success with the modification of an old spell to create light. A light that actually produced a glimmer. A glimmer! It was truly magnificent!
Reluctantly, she released the mystical energies and felt the familiar emptiness of all the long years, but her patience had paid dividends. Soon she would return to the civilized world and show them how wrong they were for embracing the sorry substitute of science and turning away from nature and magic.
Refreshed, she was anxious to return to her work, but the day was so perfect. Smelling the air and brushing her fingers across the buds of dogwood she hesitated then turned away from her cabin. Assuming a leisurely pace, she followed a game trail to a nearby stream, stopping along the way to watch a pair of blue birds flit playfully amid the bushes.
Reaching the stream, she spied the ancient oak tree she often used as a makeshift back rest to relax and soak in the simple wonders of the natural world. She removed the shawl from her shoulders, folded it and placed it on the slightly damp ground at her favorite spot along the base of the huge oak. She settled herself and gazed into the bubbling waters of the swiftly running stream. The pair of blue birds returned and chased each either other across the stream and into the trees along the far bank. Zarlyn folded her arms and smiled as she stared at the bubbling flow of water.
Zarlyn awoke with a start. The sun was setting and only a few remaining rays filtered through the trees. She shivered slightly and rubbed her arms. Despite the changing of the season, the evening air still had a bite to it. She stood and blanketed the ground moistened shawl around her shoulders. She started to walk, noticed the red wild flower lying on the ground and stooped to gathered it.
As she walked toward her cabin shivers ran down her spine. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, but her chill was from the inside rather than the environment. She detected movement in her periphery, but when she turned she could see nothing in the waning sunlight. Zarlyn quickened her pace.
She was not afraid of the dark. She was not afraid of the woods. This had been her home for 200 years. She was intimately familiar with the area around her cabin. She had traveled the route to and from the stream countless times. She turned her head to both sides, squinting as she searched for movement or the hint of something out of place. She saw nothing and again stepped up her pace.
As Zarlyn approached her cabin, the final rays of daylight faded, leaving her home enshrouded in darkness. The snap of a twig sounded to her right. She jumped and stared in that direction, but the cloak of evening prevented her from seeing more than a few feet in the distance. She edged forward then halted as a louder crack echoed behind her.
She took a deep breath and forced herself into meditative relaxation. She reached her mind out, searching for the mystical en
ergies. Another snap, louder to her left. She ignored it and focused on fire and earth. It was more difficult than in the afternoon, but she finally felt a tingle. Reluctantly, the mystical energies trickled into her. She struggled to secure the proper quantities of fire and earth and began to combine them. She transferred the wild flower to her left hand and held out her right. Despite the coolness of the evening beads of sweat materialized on her forehead. Slowly, a small ball shaped glimmer appeared in her outstretched hand. She breathed a sigh of relief and moved toward her cabin. Snaps and cracks resounded in all directions.
Zarlyn concentrated on sustaining her dim light and scrambled the remaining few yards to her cabin. She pulled open the door, pressing the wild flower against the handle. A few red petals dropped to the ground as she slid inside and slammed the door behind her.
Breathing heavily, she slumped against the door. Remarkably, her faint magical light held steady. She carefully stepped away from the door and leaned forward trying to illuminate the shapes across the room. Something seemed out of place. She shrieked as a searing, intense pain shot up her left arm. She staggered and gasped for breath. Her globe of light began to sputter and fade. In the final twinkle she looked down and was confused to see the red wild flower lying on the floor, firmly held within the grasp of her hand.
Pain pulsated in her left arm. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She held up her left arm and probed it with her right hand. Seeping wet stickiness where her hand should have been. Her head spun and her knees buckled. As she slumped to the ground, strong, rough hands harshly grabbed her arms and yanked her upright. Her head slumped and her eyes closed. Black and white spots fluttered across her eyelids.
“Welcome home, dear Zarlyn,” a mocking voice echoed in the darkness.
Zarlyn jolted at the sound. Her eyes snapped open and she struggled to focus. Her left arm burned. She felt hot liquid running down her leg. The acrid taste of bile filled her mouth. She spat in a futile effort to rid herself of the vileness. Her stomach churned and her knees gave out, but the rough hands maintained their firm grip on her, pinning her arms to her sides and preventing her from sinking to the floor. She grunted and pushed her arms against her captor’s hands, but the hands held steady.
A candle suddenly flickered to life on the table across from her. She blinked at the sudden flash of brightness. A gasp escaped her as her vision cleared and focused on the pale countenance grinning at her from within the illumination of the candlelight.
The pale figure motioned to the candle. “You see, dear Zarlyn, this is the only real light in your world. Your pathetic little glow is nothing and never will be.”
“You...it cannot be!” she cried.
“Oh, but it is,” the pale man answered as he nodded toward Zarlyn’s captor.
She felt hot breath on the nape of her neck. A fresh jolt of pain surged through her body. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the dirty, rage-filled face of the man holding her. He sloppily chewed on a bloody chunk of sinewy flesh. Zarlyn lurched forward and spewed out the contents of her stomach. She coughed and felt thick liquid trickle down the sides of her mouth. She stared at the ground, mesmerized by the oddly artistic mosaic of vomit, blood, flesh and flora.
The pale man’s dark cloak rippled in the flickering candlelight as he walked toward her, carefully sidestepping the soiled floor. Zarlyn's vision blurred. Her head listed to the side. Blood flowed down her neck and created a crimson stream between her breasts. The pale man flashed an insidious smile, his scarlet hued eyes playful, as he tossed aside her shawl and ripped open the front of her blouse.
“Ahh, you were always my favorite among our little group. You were such a force of nature back in the day. Remember the time we spent together?” he asked as he bent to lick the blood on her chest, delicately tracing the curvature of her breast with his tongue. Laughing, he straightened and grabbed her hair, violently jerking her head to the side.
“You were so beautiful back then, my dear,” he whispered in her ear, seductively licking it as he spoke. “Now you are old and shriveled. You taste of death and you waste your time with foolish endeavors. There is no magic of any significance left to rediscover. How many years have you spent futilely working with nothing more to show for it than a worthless spark of light?”
Zarlyn opened her mouth to speak but words would not form.
The pale man pierced her with his eyes and tightened his grip on her hair. “You should have joined in with the science movement.” He shook his head. “Oh well, I suppose the end result would have been the same either way, but at least your life would not have been a complete waste.”
The pale man leaned again to the side of her face. Zarlyn struggled to keep her eyes open. A sudden burning sensation in her ear roused her. Still grasping her hair, the pale man straightened and stood in front of her. The playfulness in his eyes was replaced by smoldering flames. A wicked smile stretched across his unnaturally crimson lips. He proudly displayed a jagged earlobe in the clench of his pristine white teeth.
Zarlyn uttered a hoarse scream.
The pale man laughed and spit the earlobe in her face. “Really, old woman, is that the best you can do? I used to make you scream much louder than that.” He raised a stiletto nailed index finger and slowly drew it across her neck.
“Vladrik's back, bitch!” he exclaimed and drank deeply from Zarlyn's throat.
CHAPTER 2
Whitestorm secured the three white mottled deer in the cart bed while Onartok harnessed their horses. She stepped back and shook strands of white-blonde hair out of her eyes.
“Well, I guess that does it,” she said wistfully. “We’re ready to head back to the village.”
“Everything’s together,” Onartok agreed, “but I wouldn’t say I was ready to go back. I could stay here in the forest alone with you forever, my love. One night was not enough.”
Whitestorm stepped close to him, running her fingers through his shoulder length dark brown hair. She kissed him lightly on the lips.
“We could stay another night or two. There’s no reason we have to go back today. Let’s stay,” she urged.
“I…,” he hesitated. “My mother’s expecting us. You know her, she’d worry herself to death. And these fine deer you caught will spoil if we don’t get them to the abattoir.”
“I didn’t catch them all on my own,” she said, playfully shoving him.
“I suppose you did chase one toward me so I could put an arrow through him, but you’re so damn fast you caught the other two before they reached the ambush point,” he chuckled.
Blessed with superhuman speed and quickness, Whitestorm could deftly counter the elusiveness of virtually any beast and subdue it in a flurry of breathtaking motion. A storm of white, a fellow ranger once said in awe of her swiftness and flowing mane of white-blonde hair. The symbolic name stuck and soon she was known as Whitestorm. Only Onartok ever called her by her given name, Suka, and that was reserved for when he was upset with her.
Whitestorm sighed and scanned the evergreens and lighter shades of emergent spring that surrounded them within the northern edge of the Auldhurst Forest. “Promise me after we’re married we’ll come back to this very spot and stay as long as we want.”
“I promise,” he said fixing upon her hazel eyes with his own of dark umber. “I promise,” he repeated and gently kissed her before climbing atop his white stallion.
Whitestorm looked longingly at the woods then gracefully leapt upon her dun-colored mount and they set off upon the trail out of the forest and into the Northern Territory. The wheels of the cart creaked as it bumped along the uneven path, interrupting their own silence as they rode next to each other at a moderate pace.
“You’re beautiful, even when you’re sad,” Onartok finally spoke.
“You’re sweet,” she replied with a weak smile. “I’m a little sad about not being able to stay, but I’m also not looking forward to the tribal council’s decision tonight about merging with the Malina
tribe.”
“So you think they will vote to allow them to join us?” he asked.
“I’m certain of it,” she answered, absently entwining her fingers in her horse’s mane.
“Is that really such a bad thing?” He peeked over his shoulder to check the cart after striking a deep rut in the path. “After all, if the council had not allowed my tribe to join last autumn, we never would have met.”
She could not refute that. The relationship she shared with Onartok was priceless. Most men respected her skills and abilities, but many were intimidated and some even resentful. The few who expressed interest rarely had noble intentions. Onartok was different. He was respectful and genuine. They shared a connection upon first meeting, but she ignored it until his persistence finally won her over.
“I’m not opposed to joining with other tribes, but there needs to be limits,” she explained. “Our tribe is already large and our village is becoming a permanent settlement. It’s been almost two years since we moved. Staying sedentary goes against our very nature as rangers. We were born to follow the wind, go wherever it takes us.”
“True,” he agreed, “but every year it seems the wind carries more of our youth to the southern kingdoms once they reach adulthood.”
She scowled at him. “So you would have us wear trousers, waistcoats, and bustle skirts?”
“I’ve seen what’s under your leather jerkin,” he smiled. “Do you deny you wear keratium undergarments?”
“That’s different,” she protested. “We face danger from manticores and the saumen kar snow beasts. Shouldn’t we use everything available to protect us?”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” he said holding up a palm toward her. “The protective qualities of keratium fabric are incredible. Of course we should use it, just as the southerners should make use of the furs and leather we provide. My point is the south is becoming more a part of us, just as we are becoming more a part of it.”
