Prophecy Of The Guardian (Guardian Series Book 1)

by J. W. Baccaro

  “I spent half of the night with her. I think I know her well.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “What are you saying, Mirabel?” His tone darkened greatly.

  “The Dark appears in many forms.”

  “How dare you speak of her as an enemy!”

  “I have done no such thing. I am simply saying that you should be cautious with whom you speak. You are the Guardian, and until that understanding truly sinks into your mind, you will be more prone to seduction than others, spiritually or physically.”

  “I did not ask for such a role. I still have trouble accepting it.”

  “My son, you mustn’t deny your calling. The writings are upon the wall. Look within your heart; you know I speak the truth.”

  “I want to have my own life! I desire not the responsibility of this world. Neither do I care for you speaking to me as a child.”

  “What I see is my child falling away from his responsibility.”

  “Well, I’m not your son. And you, Mirabel, are not my father!” Darshun put his back to him and walked off toward the mountain, never looking back.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NAYLAND’S SECRET

  Darshun ventured to the spot where Aurora and he spent the eve, at the top of the mountain beside the oak, and remained there all night. He tried to calm himself by meditation—but meditation was no friend and his anger would not leave him. Sleep didn’t help much neither. Horrible dreams came which seemed prophetic—Loreladia burned as the Dark triumphed, dancing around the city, cheering and praising Abaddon.

  Aurora, Mirabel, Seth, along with many Loreladians were strung onto trees and brutally tortured. Then his dream jumped into another and he stood upon flatland that stretched on for miles, with oceans of green grass. The sun shined gloriously and birds flew over, singing their beautiful melodies. Suddenly, a black shadow seemed to fall from the sky, absorbing all light. Everything became dark and the woodlands went up in flames, great winds raged while the majestic mountains alongside the Eastern Bay collapsed.

  Next, turbulent waters flooded the countryside. Souls cried out in horror, calling upon his name for help, “Darshun—our Guardian, help us. Please—help us!” Then inexplicably, he saw himself turn his back on them. The most terrible of all came next, when in the dark canopy of the sky appeared a hideous face of pure evil, looking down at the earth with a grin. With a violent sound an explosion came—louder than anything Darshun ever heard. The aftermath being three elements: flame, death, and utter darkness. He awoke in a cold sweat. “A dream,” he gasped out while wiping his brow. “It was just a dream—wait, what is…?” Along the pasture beside him, he noticed a golden beam.

  In a flash, he stood up, and gazed to the sky. The sun was rising, but the golden beam hitting the ground wasn’t coming from the sky, instead, when he gazed down, he found it coming from his necklace—piercing through his tunic. Darshun grabbed hold of it, and pulled the necklace from under his shirt.

  The silver star was indeed omitting a ray of golden light from its center, but it faded. “Why was it glowing?” He recalled the visions he’d witnessed when looking into the Golden Crystal not many mornings ago, and how vivid they felt—just like the dream—or nightmare he just awakened from. Was the crystal invading his mind once again? “Why can’t I just be rid of this darn thing!” he shouted, stomping his foot on the grass.

  He felt burdened, though at the same time, guilty for his incompetence. He sighed. “I should have attended the council. I’m such a fool. Father was counting on me.” Driven by rage, he drew his sword and struck the poor lonesome oak tree, over and over again, slicing off pieces of bark. Then, if things couldn’t have gotten worse, he sensed a disturbance of energy behind him. He swiftly turned around, swinging his sword. It clashed against a battle-axe and Darshun was surprised to see who it was. “Nayland!” He lowered his weapon. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come for you,” he said, his dark, almond-shaped eyes casting an eerie glare.

  “My father sent you?”

  He grinned. “No. Your father is another matter. Another time. I’ve come to repay the Nasharin for what he did to my people.”

  “Your people? What are you talking about?”

  “Death.” Nayland swung the axe at him.

  Darshun instantly ricocheted it with his sword and stepped back. “Why are you doing this? I know nothing of your people! Or perhaps this is just another one of your irritable moods.”

  Nayland remained silent.

  “I'll have you know, if you wish to fight me, you will not win. I’m a Nasharin warrior.” In hopes to talk sense into him Darshun transformed, his flames burning high, the energy pushing Nayland back. “Do you see how pointless this is? Please stop. Though my feelings for you are bitter, I do not want to kill you.”

  “You’re no warrior. Only a fool.”

  Darshun instantly felt an uncommon massive surge of energy within Nayland. The ground trembled, followed by an explosion with blacken flames shooting high. He struggled to remain on his feet as if he were trying to balance within the heart of a hurricane.

  When the smoke cleared from where Nayland stood, Darshun couldn’t believe his eyes. An aura of dark flames surrounded Nayland’s body, elevating beyond Darshun’s, and the steel of his axe burned with black fire. Though his hair remained the same, his eyes became like gray storm clouds, chaotic and terrible. His skin shone like onyx with bands of white, omitting no scent. Could this be an element Mirabel once told him about, the element of Shadow Fire? If so, that meant only one thing—Nayland was Nasharin. “Nayland!” Darshun exclaimed.

  Nayland gripped his axe and attacked.

  They fought like ancient adversaries destined to do battle, and the sounds of the clashing steel echoed down the mountain. Sparks flew, flames of red and black scattered, but Nayland’s blows were harder and fiercer.

  While the battle raged on, Darshun started to feel weary.

  Nayland swung high, going for his opponent’s head.

  Darshun stooped, dodged and lunged forward with his sword.

  Nayland sidestepped, then swung in a long arch, bombarding Darshun’s blade against his chest.

  The power from it knocked him back, the sting in his arms unbearable. Desperate for a break, Darshun leapt away, hoping Nayland wouldn’t pursue. “Please stop this madness.” He gasped for air. “I am not your enemy.”

  Nayland summoned up another surge of energy and his power became even stronger. He charged Darshun, hurling his axe.

  Darshun held up his sword to block.

  The weapons clashed, unleashing a great explosion as red and black fires sprayed violently.

  When the smoke cleared, Darshun stood still, like a statue, unable to move, paralyzed by pain. The torturous sting traveled throughout his entire body, beginning at his hands. The force of Nayland’s blow was incredible. He’d never felt such a sting from clashing weapons, not even against Mirabel. He fell to his knees.

  In an instant, Nayland stretched forth his hand, while a sudden force of wind blew Darshun off his feet, knocking the breath out of him and he tumbled down the hillside. Nayland followed after and struck him again with the same attack, uprooting some of the trees in the near-by distance, breaking them to splinters. It seemed as if he wielded the power to turn a hurricane on and off at the moment of his choosing.

  Darshun crashed through the brush where the forest began and lay flat on his face.

  Nayland came to his side, staring down at his thrashed body. He placed a foot under Darshun's side and rolled him onto his back. “You’re a disgrace for a Nasharin,” he sneered.

  Darshun lifted his head, bruised and bleeding. “Why—why are you doing this?”

  “That secret I will tell to your father, before I kill him.”

  Mirabel! A sudden burst of anger like a red rage shot through Darshun’s heart at these words. He didn’t care to know the why of Nayland’s crimes anymore. His desire was to save his father’
s life, aside from his own, from this unwelcome stranger who finally showed his true intentions. “I cannot let that happen.” Darshun clenched both fists. Ignoring the pain dominating his body, he cried out in rage and jumped to his feet.

  Nayland recoiled with utter surprise, witnessing an inferno of red flames elevate Darshun’s presence.

  His eyes burned red, his hair shined brighter, and streaks of flames scattered in different directions, as if the fire itself responded to his uncontrollable rage. With every passing moment, Darshun’s power magnified. He stretched forth his arms, the palms shining wild, and out shot two thick streams of flames.

  By a mere second, did Nayland side step them, moving like the wind, and the fires pursued up and beyond the hillside, disappearing in the morning mist.

  Out of energy, and heartbroken, Darshun sank to his knees.

  Nayland charged forward, wailing him in the stomach with his fist. “Interesting,” Nayland watched the blood spill from Darshun’s mouth as he helplessly draped over his arm. “But to no avail.” He clobbered Darshun across the face with another punch, sending him to the ground permanently, for his fiery aura vanished—his form again normal. “You had potential, Darshun, but through your folly you’ve cast it aside. It is unfortunate you had to fall into Mirabel’s hands. But that’s what fate chose, and now, I am the finishing piece.” Nayland raised his axe for the final blow, but a bolt of lightning struck his chest and he took a great fall.

  Darshun looked aside as the thunder still roared all around and witnessed Mirabel, transformed, glowing in his yellow aura. “Father!” he shouted.

  Nayland lie face down in a thorn bush, blood trickling down his cheeks. He then stood up laughing. “How perfect! Two in one day. This must be a gift from the gods.”

  “Enough of this,” Mirabel ordered. “I demand you tell me who you are!”

  “My secrets will not come easy.” Nayland stalked toward him and his energy still seemed to grow, shaking the very ground.

  “So, you’re a Nasharin of Air Magic and your element is Shadow Fire,” Mirabel observed. “That explains why I could never sense your energy. The essence of shadow concealed it.”

  Nayland grinned.

  “Father, he’s powerful. You will need my help.” Darshun tried to get up but his body kept failing.

  “No. Rest, my son. I’ll handle this.”

  “There’s nothing you can do, Mirabel. I know your energy level and while it is higher than your son’s. It’s still is not enough to match mine.”

  “As a Nasharin you should know not to underestimate your opponent. No matter how small or weak they may 'appear.' ”

  A great flash of white lit the surrounding area, blinding both Nayland and Darshun. The surge of energy became so dramatic, so intense that it put fear into Darshun’s heart like never before. What could it be, an ally to Nayland? Another enemy of the Dark? No, this didn't feel evil, but neither did it feel ‘good.’ It was too difficult to grasp the feeling; it felt—unnatural. Then Darshun thought to witness an angelic being, a holy being of white light. But the longer he stared, the sooner he realized it wasn’t an Angel at all, rather—his father Mirabel.

  Unlike his former state, his hair and eyes fiercely shone a burning white, along with the aura. White lightning flashed around him and his skin shone like a pearl, magnificent at every inch, flawless at every curve. In a way, he almost looked feminine.

  One thing seemed certain—Nayland sensed a threat. “Ascension,” Nayland growled. “No matter, you’re still going to die!” He viscously attacked with his axe, suspending it to and fro.

  Mirabel dodged with ease, swiftly moving out of the way, sidestepping and ducking nearly a hundred blows.

  Frustrated, Nayland put away his weapon and heaving forward both arms, he cast a force of wind, stronger and faster than he’d cast at Darshun.

  However, as the wind struck, only Mirabel’s long white hair shifted, flinging up for a second, then back down, settling back into place. The attack seemed to have no effect and he remained still, calm.

  “You will not make a fool of me!” Nayland shouted. He took off his cloak, casting it to the ground, and around his waist he wore a leather belt, having six metal stars attached to it in little sheathes. He took the silvery stars out, holding three in each hand and converted his own energy into them. They blackened with Shadow Fire. “I challenge you to dodge my Death Stars,” he warned, almost triumphantly.

  These ‘Death Stars’ had to be created from Milandrith Metal and forging that kind of metal to so small an object, would cause it to absorb his own Nasharin energy. It surely meant death for anyone they struck.

  One-by-one he threw them, his speed incredible. Even so, it didn’t matter. Mirabel's senses were keenly focused on each star, their energy and movements. Easily, he sidestepped them all. They struck the evergreens behind him, blowing the poor things to pieces.

  “Enough defense!” Nayland roared, taking up the axe once again. “Attack me already!”

  “Very well,” Mirabel replied. He drew his sword, the blade glowing with white light, then charged Nayland and clashed no more than three times.

  Dreadful pain must have shot through Nayland’s hands as he dropped his axe, the sting seeming to be intolerable.

  “I do not wish to fight you,” Mirabel stated quietly. “Withdraw from this.”

  Nayland shook his hands, trying to ignore the pain, then retrieved his weapon and laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He then—vanished into thin air.

  “…where did he go?” Darshun asked.

  “Invisibility,” Mirabel whispered. “Darshun, do not make a sound.” Mirabel closed his eyes and began to meditate upon his surroundings.

  There seemed to be no sign of Nayland anywhere and there wasn’t any sound of him stepping across the ground. He remained though, that was for certain. But where? Darshun didn’t like it. He feared for his father and even for himself. There could be no way of telling where Nayland could be, no doubt quietly lurking around waiting for the right moment to strike. With this ability, he could easily take out both Mirabel and Darshun. It didn’t seem fair.

  Mirabel remained still, meditating, minding his surroundings. All grew quiet except for the wind whistling through, a strange wind with an abrupt scattered breeze, as if disturbed by an object, molding the shape of a man. Then swift as lightning, he threw back his elbow hard and struck a piece of invisible matter behind him.

  A moaning of pain echoed out and Nayland reappeared, crouching down from the blow to his stomach. He dropped his axe, fell onto his back and his aura vanished.

  Mirabel turned around and pointed the tip of his sword a hair away from the Shadow Warrior's throat.

  “I have Shadow Fire,” Nayland croaked out, “How did you sense where I was?”

  “It’s all in the wind. Now, I do not wish to kill you but I will not hesitate. Tell me who you are.”

  “You wish to know who I am? Do you also wish to know just how much suffering you’ve really caused, Mirabel the ‘Great?’ ”

  “Go on.”

  “Indeed I am a Nasharin, just like my father. My full name is Nayland Winveil, son of Magnus Winveil.”

  “Magnus.” Mirabel took away his sword.

  “Yes, your old companion. Before your departure from him, my mother was with child. I was that child.”

  Mirabel thought back, remembering the words of Magnus’ wife Sorrel:

  “While I’m not happy with my husband’s decision, I must follow him. He is my husband. Besides, I am with child, I can sense it.”

  “I remember,” Mirabel replied his voice sounding flat.

  “My father told me about the Loreladian-Barbarian war and how his sister Viliah, your wife, was killed because of your ignorance—your arrogance. But that’s not what drove my anger against you, not to such heights. You see, after you and my father separated, the Cullach never ceased searching for the child you stole from them, Darshun. They used all sources of the Dar
k, searching to take back what they believed to be theirs: Sorcerers, Dark Elves, Lycans, Draconians and even others—disgusting creatures unworthy of walking this earth. Well, when I was twelve years old they found us and invaded our home. My father was cutting every heathen he faced to pieces, so the Dark’s mightiest warriors attacked him together. He hadn’t a chance. My mother was first used for 'play,' then she was beaten, and finally killed. My brother Kaylis was captured for enslavement and the rest of the Loreladians died in the battle…” Nayland’s eyes blazed with hatred as he paused.

  Darshun felt his chest constrict with the cruelty of this horrid tale.

  “I alone escaped and hid amongst the trees. I hung around hoping there’d be a chance when I could rescue my brother. It never came.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his skin, blood seeping through grappled fingers. “But nothing added to the horror that took place next. I listened to the conversations of the Cullach and discovered why they’d attacked us. They mistook us for you and were searching for Darshun who would’ve been twelve at the time. Though they weren’t positive he was among the children, they decided to kill them all anyway—male and female, some of them my closest companions. They bound their hands and feet, lined them up and slaughtered them like animals!”

  Mirabel dropped his sword with a gasp and fell to his knees.

  “My soul filled with rage and vengeance. Vengeance not only against the Dark, but also against the ones responsible for this massacre—Mirabel Luthais and his adopted son, Darshun. I vowed to find—kill both of you but the pain of my tragedy was too hard to bear, so I buried the memories deep within my mind and forgot about them. The only thing my mind allowed me to remember was a shadowy dream of a family long ago, but in time that faded as well. Forgotten and alone, knowing not my past or even my Nasharin nature, I wandered the wilderness for years. Sometimes, I’d awaken unsure of my destination, or what I’d done the night before.”

  Mirabel looked as if he’d turned to stone as the quiet grew around them.