Silverstone

by C E Johnson

  The Ammolite Adventures Silverstone

  Copyright © 2019 C.E. Johnson

  All rights reserved

  Published by Clan Press 2019

  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

  Good Timber

  Chapter 1 Maaca

  Chapter 2 Emily

  Chapter 3 Shades

  Chapter 4 Austin

  Chapter 5 Iscar

  Chapter 6 Aftermath

  Chapter 7 Malachi

  Chapter 8 Inferno

  Chapter 9 England

  Chapter 10 The Second Wave

  Chapter 11 Ice Age

  Chapter 12 Swamps

  Chapter 13 The Elves

  Chapter 14 Milo

  Chapter 15 Drogor

  Chapter 16 Dr. D

  Chapter 17 Queen

  Chapter 18 New Orleans

  Epilogue

  The Dragon Prophecy

  Glossary of Auras

  Glossary of Half-deads

  Glossary of Characters

  Glossary of Magic

  Glossary of Time

  Glossary of Locations

  Glossary of Possessions

  Acknowledgements

  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

  CHAPTER 1

  Maaca

  It was nighttime when Maaca arose from the depths of Earth feeling as if she were emerging from a grave in the lowest hollowed chasm of Ater. She was in a metal transport cage that clattered and shook like a beast alive as it traveled upward through the profound pitch. Having left her metal armor on Acacia, she was clothed in black linen underclothes, woolen stockings, a cloak, and a surcoat with Samil’s black dragon emblazoned on the chest. Her hair of glistening silver hung thickly on her shoulders in waves and her piercing eyes, more stunning than blue magestones, studied her surroundings intently. Edvard and Graciela were with her, and she thanked the dragons for that bit of luck.

  “What a revolting planet.” Edvard’s mouth was twisted as he spoke, and he appeared ill while studying his new environment. “I feel as if I’m drowning.”

  Maaca understood exactly what he meant. Everything on Earth was dulled and blunted like a good sword gone bad. Only now did she fully realize what she had lost—the clarity she felt on Acacia not only in her mind but also in her body. Although it was deathly dark, it was more than that. She could deal with the gloom, but there was a different texture to the murk around her. This planet was shrouded in more than simply drab darks. Shadowy coils of smoky obscurity were infiltrating into her, depositing a film over her soul. Her perceptions were muted grays and her movements felt sluggish.

  “I’m shattered inside,” Graciela sighed miserably. Her words were faint and instantly swallowed up by the dank shades of obsidian around her. “Every fiber in my body is sore and throbbing.” Graciela appeared anxious. Her hands flitted to her long blonde hair, which was in a French braid, bound with strips of leather.

  “I had hoped it would change during our ascent.” Maaca’s voice, muffled even to her own ears, was low. Locked into herself, she felt stifled by a layer of cloying insulation. Her mind felt numb; her skin cold as ice.

  “It’s not going to change, is it?” Edvard asked. Usually he was a rock Maaca could lean on, but even he sounded unsure of himself. Rubbing his smooth square jaw, he studied Maaca with his dark eyes filled with uncertainty.

  “I don’t think so,” Maaca answered him slowly. She knew this course of action was fully her responsibility. They were here because of her. Her breath caught in her chest. She was certain that this was their new reality. Their metal enclosure was crawling its way upward from thousands of feet below the surface through a long transport shaft. Watching and waiting, she fell silent. Although she had saved all of their lives, her head ached with guilt.

  “This world is grotesque,” Graciela whispered miserably. She reached her hand out and passed it through the air slowly, hesitantly, as if through a liquid. “Even the breeze feels wrong. It’s too thick. I feel like I’m underwater.” She blinked hard. “Can you see it? The black of night is a different shade.”

  There was such a sadness in Graciela’s hushed tone that Maaca felt as if her heart would break. Maaca gave Graciela a small nod to let her know she understood what she was experiencing.

  Glancing at Maaca and Edvard with a small frown, Graciela continued, “Even though you’re both next to me, there’s an isolation within me that began when I stepped through the portal. My senses are locked in.” She massaged her temples. “My mind feels sick, and my body weary.” Wrinkling her nose, the frown on Graciela’s brow deepened.

  Maaca gazed at Graciela’s confused face through the black. Thankfully, vampires could see in this pure inky-dark. At least that blessing wasn’t different on Earth. Maaca went to Graciela and kissed her lightly on her cheek. “There was no other choice for us, Graciela.” Maaca sighed. “I had to take the only option available to us.”

  As Maaca took a step back, a light appeared in Graciela’s eyes and she spoke in a hopeful tone, “Maaca, you gave me a kiss.” Graciela brushed back wisps of her golden hair which had escaped her braid. The loose strands were unruly as wheat in a windstorm. “You’ve changed since the battle with the elves.” Graciela squeezed Maaca’s hand hopefully. “Perhaps we’re evolving?”

  “Perhaps we are,” Maaca answered tenderly while running the back of her hand along Graciela’s cheek where she had kissed her. With skin as smooth and unblemished as porcelain, Graciela was stun
ning. Rounded cheekbones and full rosebud lips only accentuated her good looks.

  “We don’t need to dwell on what we’re becoming right now,” Edvard said with resolution forming in his words. “There’s much to do.”

  Maaca looked upward. Was the dark fading? Her heart began to race. I must be strong. I must give them hope. I brought them here. “Although we walk in the shadow of death, we will move out of the dark and into the light,” she promised them both, speaking words from ancient vampire codes.

  Edvard and Graciela nodded as one. Together they recited the proper response in a faint chant, “We are the chosen race.” They inclined their heads to Maaca in an expression of deferential honor. There were age-old principles vampires lived by, knowledge only half-deads could fully comprehend.

  “We will adapt,” Maaca assured them in as strong a tone as she could muster. There were new elements of color coming into play around her as they continued to ascend and Maaca’s heart began to lift. They were exiting the churning dark of the deepest mine in England, one that extended far beneath the North Sea, the Boulby Mine.

  “This new challenge will not overcome us,” Edvard promised. Straightening his posture, he stood tall, appearing handsome with his long and lean wiry frame and close-cropped military-style black hair. “We are children of the night and we will not fear.”

  Graciela visibly brightened at Edvard’s words. She spoke with new confidence, “We will walk in the darkness and it will purify us.” Releasing the rest of her hair from its braid, she let it fall to her shoulders.

  Maaca sucked in an excited breath at their building resolve. She gestured to Edvard and he came to her call. She hugged her two Black-blade vampires, kissing each of them on their forehead. Graciela is right. I am evolving, she thought to herself. I never used to be so physical.

  “Are we lost?” Graciela asked as she pulled back gently. There was no longer fear in her voice, only curiosity. “Or do you know where we are?”

  “Whoever follows my lead will never be lost,” Maaca retorted with a forced smile that felt imperfect even as she formed it. “We must find a magician on Earth … someone who can contact Iscar through a dream-link.” She was already beginning to make plans. Then I will discover my way.

  “I’ll find a place for us to rest,” Edvard assured both of them while squaring his broad shoulders. Even though he spoke with determined strength, Maaca could tell he was filled with his own inner doubts. His mouth was still hard and tight. “It’s too bad we had to kill our silver magician,” he muttered.

  Will I even be able to find another magician on this planet? Maaca asked herself. Will I be able to locate Iscar? She leaned back against the cage wall. The cable pulling her up from the deepest measure groaned and wailed in a plaintive manner. She stared into the nothingness before placing her head in her hands. How did this happen? “All of my plans went awry,” she murmured quietly.

  “Our invasion of Shadoe’s realm started off so well,” Edvard said in a hushed voice that was unusually soft for him. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes as he continued, “We should have won.” His eyes slid away from her and he appeared to be looking for answers in the shadows. His hands suddenly balled into fists. “The way we fought the elves in that battle was a textbook example of a military strategy performed to pure perfection.”

  “At least we now know half-deads can crush the elves,” Graciela added quietly. Her full pouting lips turned up for a moment rewarding Maaca with a hint of a smile.

  “It all changed just after I overwhelmed Shadoe in our sword-fight,” Maaca whispered. Staring into the dark, she remembered how Shadoe looked. She remembered everything. The battle should have been finished. Emily Dalton was even within her grasp, the girl who had murdered Samil—the girl who had taken away her maker. However, ever so abruptly her victory had turned to defeat. I should have killed Shadoe when I had the chance. Guilt racked her mind. She closed her eyes, lost in thought as she recalled the events of the past day, the events that had brought her here. Her mind was suddenly transported back, and she relived the ordeal one more time.

  * * *

  Shadoe’s green eyes appeared haunted, his lips were pursed in a bleak line. Blood poured like crimson springs from a multitude of wounds seeping out of his cracked forest-colored plate mail. His breath was visibly broken and ragged. He no longer had the strength to even lift his sword to fight her. Watching in shock, Maaca’s half-deads were silent. She could tell they were just coming to grips with the reality that even the legendary elves could be defeated. Shadoe dropped his steel to the stone beneath his feet, and the noise reverberated harshly over the field. Barely standing, he began staggering and swaying. He was like a great tree in the midst of a hurricane, close to falling. Maaca was now certain of the outcome—he was about to go down. Leaning on her swords, Doom and Death, she took a step back and paused to savor the moment. Victory is mine.

  Shadoe bowed his head and whispered, “It is finished.” The clasps of pure silver on his mail that had sparkled during the battle now appeared dulled and gray.

  Strangely, Maaca didn’t feel any pleasure. Something was missing from her usual battle equilibrium and she felt distracted. As she rubbed the ache from her muscles and tried to slow her racing heart, she pondered on her inner agitation. All at once, she sensed something through her toes. Deep beneath the soil there was electricity in the ground—something of immense power. Ullr and Wuldur had told her the rumors of a portal deep below Shadoe’s realm, and she was certain they were correct.

  “May we look at him, my Queen?” a particularly large ogre bellowed out his question, interrupting her evaluation of the power deep in the ground.

  “No!” Maaca roared as annoyance formed in her mind. She studied the expressions on the faces of the half-deads around her and Maaca felt sickened by their blatant disrespect for Shadoe. This elf was a true warrior. Her troops shouldn’t be acting this way. Maaca raised her hand to stop them from edging any closer. “He’s mine!” she bellowed. Soon she would explore all the tunnels beneath Shadoe’s city, but that quest she would save for another day. Today she would finish off Shadoe and then she would seek out Emily Dalton, the one who had killed her creator.

  “As you wish,” the ogre said with a deep bow to show his respect for Maaca. More and more of her creatures surged into the area to watch the demise of the great elf. They were teasing him and calling him names, deriding him. Shadoe was the lodestone on the battlefield. He was drawing all of her people to himself. As she stepped toward Shadoe to take his life and end this spectacle, the current beneath her feet gave out a greater surge, and she again became preoccupied by the intensity of the magical force. A cluster of trolls had edged cautiously closer to Shadoe, taunting him while glancing at her warily. Maaca shrugged in the trolls direction while evaluating the magic below her.

  “Thank you, vampire Maaca,” the squad leader of a large group of goblins roared above the growing cacophony. “You’ve given us hope,” he gushed in a harsh, bestial voice. His warriors went to one knee before her. He continued, “I never would have believed that half-deads could defeat the elves.”

  Maaca nodded to her subjects. I won’t deny them some small triumphant celebration, she thought reluctantly as she focused more intently on the whiff of ancient magic bubbling up from the soil around her like heady spice. Rain-heavy clouds were billowing in from nowhere and a darkness was forming. The evening sky reddened, and the thickening clouds hung low overhead. Death-smoke swirled in the evening breeze. Maaca felt a shiver run down her spine as she tried to assess what was far below her.

  “Death to Shadoe!” One of the goblins in the crowd chortled loud enough to rouse Maaca from her appraisal. While sporting a terrible smile, the creature dashed in and dug a fist into Shadoe’s leg. The great elf mage groaned and bowed his head further, but he didn’t otherwise retaliate against her warrior.

  Regret began to gnaw at Maaca’s mind as she studied the twisted glee of her troops. Time t
o stop this misbehavior once and for all, Maaca thought. As she firmed her grip on her swords, she cast off her concerns with the magic and she started forward to end Shadoe’s life.

  Before she took two steps, a low murmur arose from behind Maaca. Flee, a voice seemed to say. Although the command was faint, there was such authority in the words that Maaca whirled to determine who was talking to her in such a manner. No one was there. A new magical tremor passed up from her toes to her heart. Maaca scoffed at her imagination thinking, Only a ghost whispering secrets from the grave. Before she could advance, though, without a doubt she heard the word again, Flee. It came in a whisper, but it was strong and smooth as oiled steel. Instead of continuing her advance toward her victim, she now took several steps away from Shadoe, straining to hear the faint voice again while the spice of magic lingered in the air. The voice and the magic were somehow intertwined.

  “Thank you for our victory, glorious queen,” the leader of a pack of were-wolves growled happily while moving past Maaca to stare hungrily at Shadoe. Maaca’s backpedaling was incorrectly interpreted by her troops as allowing further support for their actions. They appeared to feel she was leaving Shadoe to their own form of justice. Another goblin, his face black with anger, appeared to feel particularly emboldened. Darting in, he slammed Shadoe on his chest with a flying kick. Moving even closer to the elf, gnashing their teeth and cackling with the ascending violence, her half-deads cackled with glee. More and more half-deads scampered forward to demonstrate just how brave they were. The were-wolf that had just passed her slashed wickedly at Shadoe with nails sharp as steel before running away. After a time, Shadoe fell to his knees next to his sword, a bloody wreck, and her half-deads erupted in pleasure.

  Maaca ignored their actions as she cocked her head to the side, listening for the faint voice which she realized only she could hear. All at once, she could finally pick out several new words dancing in the air, His eyes are on the eternal. The words made no sense to Maaca. She glanced at Shadoe and saw his bowed head, enduring all he was given without complaint. In all of his agony, he doesn’t appear truly defeated, she thought with astonishment. An urgency began to beat in her chest as a growing realization began to form in her heart.