Knight of Light

by Deirdra Eden

  What people are saying about The Watchers by Deirdra Eden

  “This story will fire young readers’ imaginations and

  keep them turning every page to the thrilling end.”

  ~ Joyce DiPastena, RWA Heart of the West winning

  author of Loyalty’s Web and Illuminations of the Heart

  “Deirdra is a passionate and insightful storyteller.”

  ~ Stephanie Abney, Deseret News Book Reviewer

  “Deirdra Eden writes with passion and purpose . . .

  Knight of Light is destined to become a fan favorite!”

  ~ Michele Ashman Bell, Meridian Magazine and

  author of the Butterfly Box Series

  “This is one of the greatest fairy tales ever told. Knight of Light

  is more than just a book, it is a epic allegory comparable

  to the works of C.S. Lewis and other great Christian writers.”

  ~ Penny A. Reay, Talent Managemet President of HKT Productions

  Knight of Light By Deirdra Eden

  Book 1 of The Watchers Series

  This book is also available in print.

  Copyright © 1997-2013 Deirdra Eden

  Published by Deirdra Eden in association with Eden Literary, LLC

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Cover Design by Eden Literary, LLC

  Book Layout by Laura Watkins

  Special graphics AKaiser/Shutterstock.com

  Image copyright tanatat/Shutterstock.com and Vangelis76/Shutterstock.com

  Re-design and layout by Laura Watkins/EdenLiterary.com

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations as credited to the author.

  Knight of Light / Deirdra Eden

  1st Edition, September 2014

  Text type was set in Garamond

  Knight of Light

  Hidden Fire

  Flood and Fire

  To Capture the Wind

  White Dragons

  The Silver Phoenix

  Night of Light

  Dedicated To:

  The Master Storyteller

  The one who shapes all our stories into a work of art.

  Acknowledgements

  I started writing this book when I was fifteen, but didn’t get it published until in my thirties. It’s been a long epic journey that has built my character as I have built the characters. Many of the people and events in The Watchers Series are based on real people and events that have come into my life. I’ve obviously changed the names to protect identities and used many symbolisms so you don’t feel as if you are reading a fifteen year-old’s journal.

  During the last decade, there have been many good people who have encouraged and inspired me. My dad has been awesome through this whole process and has read every messed up manuscript I pushed toward him. Thanks, Dad!

  There have been at least 70-100 authors in ANWA and other writers’ groups that have read the manuscript, torn it apart, and made me put it back together. I refined my skills, characters, and flushed out things that weren’t really important.

  On my computer, I have over a hundred different versions of the manuscript that I worked on as my own personal life has been torn apart and put back together. This was part of my personal story. I edited out things that weren’t really important, faced demons, found epic friends, and learned what God’s title of “Author and Finisher” really means.

  It would be impossible for me to acknowledge everyone who has helped me over the last decade, I’d be sure to forget someone. There have been many great authors and editors who have read it. Know that I am thanking you now. Thank you for pointing me in the right direction and cheering me on when I needed it most. Thank you also to my team of editors, promotion specialists and friends who helped me make it through this last long haul to finally see this book in print.

  England - 1270 A.D.

  Flames spewed in waves of red heat from the windows. Hot ash floated into the sky like smoldering snow. Screams from the children inside the burning cottage pierced the darkness.

  “We’ve got to help them!” I shouted and covered my ears to muffle the agonizing pleas of the trapped children. Surfacing memories haunted me of the fire that killed my parents three years earlier.

  “Let the men handle this, Auriella. Death isn’t something a young lass should see.” The village elder leaned heavily against his walking stick. His statement was false comfort. I had already seen death and never wanted to again.

  The fire ravaged the straw rooftop. Able-bodied adults raced to and from the brook with buckets of water.

  The elder shook his head in frustration. “If it weren’t for me bad leg I’d be able to help.”

  I had two perfectly good legs. I was only thirteen, but I was fast and could easily carry a bucket of water from the brook. I started forward, but the elder held me back again.

  “These fires aren’t normal. They start too fast,” the elder grumbled. “If you ask me, with how frequent and spread out these attacks have been, it’s got to be many arsonists working together.”

  Staring at the bright flames, the illusion of security I had created for myself evaporated. A horrifying thought suddenly struck me.

  “What if it’s the Shadow Legion causing these fires?” I asked.

  “Nonsense!” the village elder almost shouted. “The Shadow Legion only kills important people like kings and nobles. They’d never come to our tiny village when London is less than a league away. It’s definitely arson. The men at the tavern say several peasant homes with young girls have been targeted.” He looked down at me with wary eyes. “Girls with flaming red hair like yours.” He swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. I swallowed too and looked back to the fire.

  The elder cleared his throat. “No, it has to be arsonist. The Dark Legion is not that selective. Besides, if we are ever invaded by the Shadow Legion, the Lady of Neviah and the Immortal Watchers will save us.”

  I could not argue. All the stories I had heard coincided with what he was saying. No one knew where the Shadow Legion came from, but they were unrelenting lords of chaos. The inhuman legionnaires were unstoppable ravagers of death. Their nightmarish ranks consisted of ghostly wraiths whose whispers could poison the minds of even the purest of men.

  No mortal stood against the Shadow Legion and lived. That was why the Lady of Neviah and the immortal protectors, the Watchers, were sent to live among us.

  The children coughed and screamed for help from inside the cottage. I wrung my apron in my hands. It was happening just like last time—flames, smoke, terror … the agonized screams. It would end in death just as before.

  A toddler’s silhouette flashed across the window. A few villagers still frantically threw buckets of water onto the house. Nearly the entire village stood before it, mouths agape, eyes wide in hopeless terror.

  The Lady of Neviah wasn’t coming tonight and someone had to save those children. Before my mind knew what my body was doing, I jumped forward into the burning cottage and bounded over the scorching rubble into the inferno.

  I had just thrown myself into my nightmares. I was frightened, but it was too late to change my mind now. The wave of heat hit me like a wall of boiling water. I braced myself and stepped over a smoldering support beam. My skirt brushed against it and burst into a sheet of flames. I spun the cloth in my fists and quickly smothered the fire.

  Three children huddled together in the corner.

  I grabbed the toddler and shouted above the roaring flames and snapping wood, “Hurry, stay close behind me!"

&nbs
p; Small hands gripped what was left of my skirt. My bare feet sunk into the hot ash. The smoldering cinders felt no warmer than golden sand on a sunny beach as I held the children close and navigated through the collapsing cottage.

  A blazing heap of rubble stood between us and the door.

  “We can’t get over!” the eldest child shouted and pointed to the debris blocking our way out.

  Stones from the chimney crumbled to the floor. The roof bowed, threatening to give way on us.

  I boosted the children, one at a time, over the burning debris and out the door. I clenched my teeth and put my hand against the scorching beam to support myself. My fingers tingled against the wood that pulsed with hot embers. I could taste the ash as I inhaled it. My lungs felt dryer with each breath I took.

  Before I could leap to safety, the last support beam snapped. Rubble collapsed on me like raining brimstone and slammed me to the ground. My hand sank into the embers as I struggled to push myself up from the red-hot inferno. Sweltering shards of wood rolled down my hair and into my face.

  Squinting against the hail of sparks, I shimmied between two fiery beams and onto the wet grass outside the cottage.

  I lay on my back and took in a breath of fresh, cool night air. Blue and white stars sparkled overhead, contrasting the orange glow and heat of the cottage. I did it. The children were safe.

  “Is she alive?” someone asked.

  I took several more breaths, just to make sure I truly was alive before I whispered, “Yes, I’m alive.” My mind raced over what had just happened. I imagined the burns which surely riddled my body. Oddly, I couldn’t remember ever getting burned before, not from the boiling hot cauldrons I’d labored over and stirred to earn my keep, nor even from the fire that had taken my parents. I’d heard that being burned alive was one of the most painful ways to die. Knowing that my parents had died that way added to the agony I felt after I was orphaned.

  I rolled onto my side. Nothing hurt yet, so I pushed myself up.

  The three young girls were with their parents, who kissed their ash-covered faces and blonde heads.

  I looked at my ravaged clothes and suppressed a groan. The tie of my apron hung against the shreds of my charred skirt. The fire had consumed one full sleeve of my blouse, but my skin still glowed like pure ivory. It would take weeks to earn enough to replace my clothes.

  “Thank you,” the children’s mother said, squeezing me to her chest as she cried.

  “You shouldn’t be thanking her,” a man’s cold voice called from the crowd.

  The bystanders parted a path and bowed to the nobleman as he advanced toward me. The lord’s dark cloak and polished black boots contrasted with the silver sword glinting at his side. His features were sharp and pointed, his eyes narrowed with distaste. I flinched as he pinched one of my red locks between his fingers and let it fall back over my shoulder.

  He turned to the gathering crowd. “Not even a hair on her head was singed. Tell me, how does a girl manage such a feat?”

  No one answered. A few people shifted their weight and wrung their hands together. The children’s clothes, like mine, were in tatters, but angry burns covered their exposed skin and feet like cankers.

  The nobleman leaned so close I could smell his sulfuric breath. His pupils narrowed to a slit as he focused on me. “I know who you are,” he hissed, sounding more serpentine than human.

  Who did he think I was? I stumbled away from him, walking backward until my back pressed against a nearby cart. The corner of his lips turned up in a dark smile, and his snake-like eyes went wild with hunger.

  He turned to the crowd. “I tell you, she’s a witch.”

  “No!” I shouted. “I’m not a witch.”

  “A witch!” someone called out.

  Another bellowed, “That explains why she was the only survivor when her parents died.”

  “She has to be some kind of demon,” a woman added. “Look at her skin. It’s not even flushed.”

  The nobleman lunged at me, seizing my wrists before I could move.

  “I’m not a witch.” I defended and tried to pull away.

  “You have condemned yourself by speaking. All witches say those exact words.” The nobleman squeezed my wrists tighter until I writhed in pain under the crushing pressure.

  “Are you sure she’s a witch?” someone asked. “She just saved three children.”

  “I’ll prove it.” The nobleman dragged me back to the smoldering cottage.

  I fought uselessly to pry his fingers from my arms.

  “Let go of me,” I demanded. “I’m human.”

  The nobleman leaned forward and whispered just loud enough for me to hear, “You’re no more human than I am, but you’re not a witch either. You, my lady, are something much more powerful.”

  He lifted my hands to his face and inhaled the scent of my wrists. His eyes glazed over, and he shivered sinisterly.

  I struggled frantically, unable to break away from his grasp. “You! You’re a Shadow Lord!” I tried to scream, but it came out as a quiet gasp.

  The creature pushed me closer to the fire and tried to force my hand onto a hot metal nail. “Go ahead, say it louder. No one is going to believe a young orphan girl. You are worthless to them. They will execute you as a witch and your blood will be mine.”

  Fear surged through my body and the instinct for survival took over. I kicked up the burning rubble at my feet and showered him with hot embers. He released his grip just long enough for me to twist free. I raced toward the edge of the village, sprinting over sharp rocks and twigs, ignoring the pain on my bare feet.

  Heavy footfalls pounded behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. A group of men from the village chased after me, including the abomination who had disguised himself as a nobleman.

  I turned toward the haunting Forbidden Forest. Images of every forest monster and demon from the villagers’ stories flashed through my mind. I clenched my fists and forced myself to see past the hot, blinding tears brimming my eyes. I had no choice but to hide in the woods. They wouldn’t follow me there … at least, the humans wouldn’t. I prayed I would find a place to hide from the Shadow Lord as well.

  Like a stag fleeing a predator, I raced into the forest and darted between trees and rocks. The wiry forest clawed at my skin and ragged clothes, forcing me to slow as I snapped the branches to free myself. I held out my arms to navigate the dark unfamiliar woods. Not even the light of the moon shone through the thick canopy of darkness.

  I stopped and listened. The wind howled through the treetops like a starving wolf, but there was no sound from my pursuers. I slowed my pace and wandered deeper into the Forbidden Forest.

  People thought the Shadow Legion lived in these dark woods. I wrapped my arms around my waist and shivered. I trudged forward into the darkness. I had no doubt the nobleman was actually part of the Shadow Legion. I would never forget the foul stench of his breath, his snake-like eyes, and menacing voice.

  I walked until morning light filtered through the leafy canopy in bright patches and tingled my skin with a mixture of sun and shade. Exhausted, I leaned against a mossy oak and let my fingers sink into the tender moist bark. I knew I could never go back to my village.

  I clenched the edge of my fire-ravaged dress. No one would employ me in this condition. Work for an orphan like me was hard to come by, and looking like a desperate vagabond would make it infinitely worse.

  After my parents’ death, I traveled from home to home, cleaning and cooking, where I could. In return, I was paid meagerly.

  My village took pity on me because my parents had lived there and had been respectable, although poor. Any other place I went would not be so welcoming. Some places ran beggars out of town or even stoned them, fearing them as thieves.

  The wind danced through my hair, tossing my locks like scarlet streamers in a windstorm. A bird chirped a cheery melody, breaking the sound of silence. I paused from my thoughts and focused on the sounds of the forest. The trickling soun
d of water running over stones came from a clearing.