The Shattered Moon (A Divine Legacy Book 1)

by Alexander J Wilkinson

  A Divine Legacy

  THE SHATTERED MOON

  Alexander J Wilkinson

  A Divine Legacy. The Shattered Moon Copyright © 2019 by Alexander J Wilkinson. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Paul Wilkinson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  THE SHATTERED MOON

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  About the Author

  For my mother who I miss.

  For my father who I love.

  For my brother who I need.

  For my wife who I can’t live without.

  Prologue

  Cast out. Shrouded in shadow.

  The nameless monster was banished.

  The Fallen One became a frightful whisper on the wind.

  The fear in the hearts of all who hear it.

  A sound like thunder ripped through the night sky. From the grey clouds above came an eruption of flame. The people of Minerva rushed to their windows, peering up into the darkness of night, and the red glow that fast approached. Minerva, the largest city in the kingdom of Arrolyn, sat on the western seafront. The myriad of yellow glows from the hundreds of windows reflected in the calm ocean waves. In the dead of night, the water was inky black, the lights were like fireflies dancing atop the surf.

  With an all mighty roar, the clouds ripped open, revealing the star-filled sky above and the blazing calamity that fell from the heavens. A meteor the size of a small mountain hurtled downwards, red and yellow flames covered the blackening rock. Minerva suddenly burst into a frantic panic. The citizens began to scream and run for their lives. Grabbing their loved ones and what little they could, they tried to make their escape. Some of them perhaps knew the truth, as they ran from their homes clutching their favourite photographs or family heirlooms, maybe they could tell, there was no escape.

  The dreaded inferno grew closer. Some of the Minerva residents watched it careening towards the ocean just offshore, giving them hope, false hope. The meteor crashed into the sea with a deafening boom, sending water, flames and rock flying high up into the air. The blast radius was devastating. The shoreline crumbled away like wet sand in a barrage of fire.

  Minerva’s towering spires were ripped to shreds. The turrets were blasted into pieces, toppling over into the streets below in a shower of stone and steel. Devastation ripped through the city on a scale never imagined. The shockwave cracked the ground on which the great metropolis stood, tore trees from their roots and blasted the buildings to rubble. Within moments, Minerva was a ruin, a savaged wasteland of destruction and death. A city of nearly two hundred thousand laughing and cheerful voices suddenly fell silent as the thick vale of dust blanketed the once beautiful place.

  Offshore lay the meteor, slowly sinking into the now boiling, bubbling ocean water. Flames still licked atop the grey and black mass, jagged spiked rocks covered it. Steam rose from every inch of the humungous hissing comet. The whole thing shook as a low rumble rang out. Some of the spikes cracked and crumbled. The ground split open. Chunks of black rock burst up into the air. The noise grew louder, and as the ground burst apart, the rumble became a roar, a rasping scream of agony.

  A massive hand reached out from the crater, followed by a second, and a hulking figure pulled itself out of the hole. The figure’s skin was as grey as slate, its arms bulged with muscles the size of boulders. It was a man, but a man larger than any other in Arrolyn. His long black hair, matted and stuck to his face. He brushed it aside with a mighty hand to reveal a scarred, bloodied visage and dark hollow eyes. He looked around, all he could see was stone, fire and smoke. He clutched his barrel-like chest and managed to pull himself to his feet.

  “Where are you?” he muttered in a deep, gravelly voice “Show yourself,” he roared.

  There was no answer, just the quiet tapping and gentle hissing of water droplets hitting the still scorching stone as it began to rain. The grey-skinned man looked at his trembling hands.

  “What have you done to me?” He shouted to the heavens above. “Answer me,” he collapsed to the solid stone floor and punched the ground as hard as he could. The rock cracked and split. With a monstrous expression on his face, he roared furiously up at the sky. With a grunt of pain, he looked down at his fist. His knuckles bled, dark crimson flowed from the deep cuts. His breathing grew faster as he flexed his injured hand, watching the dark liquid trickle down his wrist.

  “No,” he whispered “No. No. No” He smashed his raging fists into the rock, again and again, sending bloody chunks of black debris scattering across the ground.

  Long and loud he bellowed, his eyes growing even darker and a black shapelessness formed around him. Smoke like blackness snaked across his massive frame, enveloping him. His roar was drowned out by the distant rumble of thunder as the rain began to pour down and the wind began to howl.

  The devastation of Minerva would go down in legend as a tragic mystery. A terrible accident brought on by an unforeseeable freak event. The meteor would go on to be donned an island, one which no man or woman would dare step foot. Terrible storms erupted in the region. People came to fear Minerva’s carcass and the mysterious island. They would call it the cursed land, but they didn’t know the truth.

  The story of the Goddess and her three children was a myth as old as time itself. A dedicated religion to some going back thousands of years. To others, it was nothing more than old tales. As time went on new stories were added to the legend. Across the entire world of Celease word spread of The Banished One, a creature cast out of the heavens by The Goddess herself.

  More than five centuries passed since the destruction of Minerva. Now, the once great city was left as nothing more than a ruin, overgrown by nature. The island lay untouched. The surrounding region had now been covered in treacherous swamplands as far as the eye could see.

  The Banished One became a nightmare, a horror story to frighten children and a warning to those who attended prayer. Little did anyone know, that the nameless shadow they all feared was closer than they thought. The dreaded monster sat upon his island, biding his time, growing in strength and malice. There he waited. Soon the time would come for him to reveal himself. Soon he would bring ruin to the kingdom, and the true nightmare would begin.

  Chapter One

  Nestled in the Evergreen

  The setting sun filled the glade with a golden hue bringing the late summers day to a close. With its end, came a cool breeze and darkening clouds. The farm was only small, hidden in the clearing of Evergreen Meadow.
The animals were tucked away in the dark green barn, getting ready to have a long night’s sleep. The light from the cabin windows was warm and inviting, yet the residents remained outside, stood in the sheep pen, circling each other.

  Shaya ran at her uncle and swiped the wooden sword forward. Her Uncle Benjin deflected it with an impressed grunt. Shaya laughed and lunged again with a gleeful grin. Benjin repelled once again and spun, sending Shaya stumbling passed him.

  “Not so fast,” Benjin warned.

  “Scared?” smiled Shaya as she struck again, Benjin jumped.

  “Smug, are we?”

  “Nineteen hits to seventeen, I’m winning.”

  “It’s not over yet Shaya.”

  “First to twenty, I’ve already won.”

  “You’re good kido,” Benjin lunged, knocked her wooden sword away and thrust his own down stopping an inch from her nose “But not that good.”

  “Nineteen to eighteen,” she muttered bitterly.

  Benjin laughed as he scratched his dark brown moustache. He wore a grey top with the sleeves rolled up, oak coloured pants and an old pair of black boots that needed a good scrub.

  Shaya twirled her sword around and began circling her uncle again. This was her favourite pass time. She enjoyed working on the farm, feeding the animals and growing vegetables but this was what she loved. Uncle Benjin had been training her since before she could remember. As a member of the king’s Royal Guard, he was an excellent swordsman.

  Benjin swung for her head, Shaya saw it coming a mile away and ducked down low, the wooden blade just grazing her bright blonde ponytail. In one smooth action, Shaya ducked turned and swung her sword at Benjin’s legs. Benjin bounded over her attack, and Shaya quickly jumped to her feet. They exchanged a fast flurry of blows before Benjin was able to knock Shaya’s sword down and land a hard whack on her forearm.

  “Nineteen to Nineteen,” grinned Benjin.

  “Now who’s smug?” Shaya rubbed her forearm, the swords were only wood, made from the trees of the meadow, but they still hurt.

  “Come on kido,” Benjin bent slightly, his left foot a step behind his right, his sword raised in front of him, an attacking stance. Shaya twirled her sword as she examined his posture, he’ll push off with his left foot and come at me quickly, no doubt swiping from his right, leaving his left side exposed and at speed, he’ll be easy to trip.

  “Gotcha,” she muttered with a smirk.

  As predicted, Benjin launched himself forward. As he drew closer, he brought his sword back to his right side. Shaya didn’t move a muscle until he was only a few feet away. She suddenly threw up her sword with her right hand and caught it in her left. She saw a glimpse of surprise on Benjin’s face before she ducked down and turned on the spot at the same time extending her right leg and swiping with her left arm. The wooden blade hit Benjin in the side and her foot connected hard with his ankle. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, his sword flying off in front of him.

  He looked up quickly to see his niece standing over him, sword inches from his head.

  “Do you yield?” a self-righteous grin spread across her face.

  “Beaten by a thirteen-year-old, perhaps it’s time to retire,” panted Benjin.

  “This isn’t the first time either.”

  “Then maybe I should have retired a while ago.”

  “Don’t be silly, Uncle,” Shaya slipped the sword into her brown belt and held out her hand “You’re best Royal Guard the king has.”

  She pulled hard and helped Benjin to his feet, he dusted himself off and laughed.

  “Maybe that was true twenty years ago, but I’m an old man now,” he rubbed his side “You need to go easy on me.”

  “Never,” Giggled Shaya.

  Benjin smiled as he picked up his sword “I think I’m a better teacher than I ever was at being a Royal Guard. You’re getting better than I could have imagined.”

  He put his arm around her. Shaya only reached his shoulder, Benjin was a hulk of a man compared to her, and at the young age of thirteen, she was slim and petite, or tiny as Benjin would call her, even if she told him not to. Her bright blonde hair was tied back and braided into a long ponytail. Yellow wisps hung down, tickling her cheeks and framing her face. She wore a hooded short sleeved jacket the colour of grass that only reached her stomach, over a dull cream vest with a yellow pattern around the V-neck collar. Her dark brown shorts showed off her knees, but her high brown boots covered her feet and calves.

  “That’s because you’re a great teacher.”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps it has something to do with your natural talent, you take to this like a fish to water.”

  “Thanks, Uncle.”

  “Don’t thank me, just apply that natural talent of yours to some supper eh? I’m going to make sure everything’s locked up.”

  “Alright. Salted pork stew?”

  “I swear I’d starve without you kido,” Benjin embraced her tightly and kissed her head. Shaya ran to the door and looked back at her Uncle Benjin locking the small gate to the sheep pen and wandering over to the barn. The farm was only a modest size. There was the cabin where they lived, the green barn for the sheep and cows and a pen for each of them. Around the back of the cabin was where they grew the vegetables, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes and cabbage. There were two small sheds both ready to burst with farming equipment, most of which they never used, just things that her uncle had collected over the years. Apparently, he had been farming since he was her age. He’d started just helping with chores around the farm like feeding the animals and watering the crops. As the years went on, he got more and more involved. He told her that he’d returned to the farm once his parents passed away, working on it between his duties as a Royal Guardsman for the king, an honour that had always made his parents very proud.

  As he had gotten older, he was spending more time on the farm than he was at the castle, something Shaya appreciated. Now he was only called upon for celebrations, Royal family transports and in rare cases, attacks on Castle Arrolyn. There hadn’t been an attack in nearly five years. Shaya barely remembered it, but Benjin did. He’d often tell her the tale of Brogal, the self-proclaimed Goblin King. The goblin was just trying to see how far he could push the boundaries of his little dominion. He found out quickly that the Royal Guards push back, hard. Brogal was small time, Benjin would say, always had been, but just because he was a little dumb, it didn’t stop him from being dangerous. The truce was solid, Brogal and his goblins lived in the caves to the south-west and hadn’t been heard from in quite some time. Old war stories seemed to pop up in conversations almost constantly. The memories of a life worth living Benjin would call them. Shaya loved hearing about all the battles her uncle had been a part of over the years. That’s why she had demanded that he teach her the ways of the sword all those years ago. She watched her uncle disappear into the barn, and with him went her spot of daydreaming. She quickly turned and dashed into the kitchen to start on supper.

  From the kitchen window, she saw Benjin re-emerge from the old barn not long after as she had peeled and chopped the carrots for the stew. She could tell he was deep in thought, no doubt thinking about the good old days as he called them. He rubbed his back with a huff that made his moustache flutter like a crazed butterfly. He was right; he was getting old, she could see it in his eyes, the fire was dwindling. When she was younger, she remembered him being as fast and as agile as a cat. Now, he was still more skilled at swordplay than most, but he tired quickly, and he wasn’t as spry. She worried about him. He’d always called himself Uncle Benjin and the name stuck, but she saw him as a father, nothing less.

  She dropped the carrots into the now steaming pan on the hearth and stirred it with a wooden spoon. The kitchen was all timber rafters and stone floors. Wooden tables, chairs and shelves, most of which Uncle Benjin and his parents before him had made from scratch. The whole cabin was old, probably in need of repair in some places, it was small and stuffy in the summer, but it
was home, Shaya loved it.

  Suddenly she heard fast pounding feet running up behind her. Wooden spoon still in hand, she spun around to see the creature bounding towards her. Bluey-grey fur, four legs, yellow and black eyes, it was the size of a hound. The moshling came to an abrupt halt and reared back on its hind legs and screeched.

  “Back monster,” yelled Shaya brandishing her wooden spoon.

  The moshing dived at her, she dropped the spoon and caught the cat-like creature in her arms. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, the moshling still in her grasp.

  “I give up, I give up,” shouted Shaya with a grin on her face.

  The moshling clambered off her; its pink tongue sticking out of its mouth as it panted. It looked like an oversized fluffy cat, but with long floppy ears.

  “You’re getting heavy Kupi.”

  “It’s mostly fluff,” said a young girls voice.

  The blue-grey fur on the back of the moshlings head was pushed out of the way to reveal a sprite dressed in gold with shimmering golden wings and long auburn hair. She was beautiful.

  “I preferred it when he was tiny, these days I hold on for dear life with a face full of fur,” said Jinx.

  “You can fly” Shaya stroked Kupi’s chin as he purred.

  Jinx’s wings fluttered so fast they became a golden blur as she rose up into the air “Yeah but riding that crazy animal is fun.”

  Kupi titled his head with a surprised whine.

  Jinx flew around Shaya teasingly then stopped in front of her face.

  “How was practice?” she asked and flew off again.

  “It was good thanks, I won.”

  “What’s that now five, six times?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight? You’re getting better. We’ll make a Royal soldier out of you yet.”