Aegis Rising

AEGIS RISING 
An Aegis League Novel

S.S.Segran

Praise for Aegis Rising

"
RECOMMENDED!
A title like this is screaming for adaptation as a successful film..." 

~The US Review of Books~

"
THRILLING!
... grips onto the reader and never lets go!" 

~Feathered Quill Book Reviews~

"
A MASTERPIECE!
 Hunger Games meets The Eye of God with a dash of Percy Jackson." 

~The Star~

"
FIVE STARS!
 Unique and compelling. Delivers on every level.” 

~Readers' Favorite Reviews~

*****************

“In her impressive debut novel, S.S. Segran wields a skilful pen that transcends her youth by crafting haunting prose, vivid imagery, and a well thought out plot to cast herself into a mix of young authors to watch.”

~ Christopher Gill~

"Hold on to your seat and get ready for the ride of your life. The action scenes are incredible and epic, something I can definitely see on the big screen."

~Amazon Reader~

"This is an exceptional book that will easily fall within the same realm as other mega successful stories of teenage adventure. Would not be surprised to see this adapted into a blockbuster movie."

~WL Johnson~

“As a fantasy fiction writer I have to admit that I am a harsher critic when it comes to novels in this genre. Books in this class I feel should be able to captivate the imagination and place you in a different realm. AEGIS RISING accomplishes that and a whole lot more. It is truly a classic in the making!”

~ Michael Beas - Bestselling
Author of 'Strump' ~

Publication Information

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and places portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

AEGIS RISING

by

S.S.Segran

Copyright©2013, S. S. Segran. All rights reserved.

First Published by: INKmagination

www.inkmaginationbooks.com

November 2013

Printed in the Unites States of America

Cover Design and Illustrations © 2013 by S.K.S. 

Cerraco ‘The Phoenix’ designed by Eric Newport.

Video Teaser and Trailer by: INKmagination.

S.S.Segran asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this book.

eISBN: 978-0-9910813-2-5

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 or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

~
To my Mom and Dad.
For your love and guidance.

Acknowledgements

Aegis Rising
went from being a simple manuscript to an intricate novel in the span of four years. I must say, writing this book has been quite an adventure in itself. The unforgettable field trips, excursions and countless hours of exploring the landscape of the internet in researching this novel have enriched my experience as a writer.

This book would not have seen the light of day if not for the incredible support and encouragement that I received throughout this journey. There are several wonderful people whom I would like to take this time to express my gratitude to. First and foremost my amazing parents: My mother for her patience, her love, and her edifying counsel; my father for his countless hours of reviewing the manuscript, designing the cover and illustrations and being a great sounding board for my ideas, as well as persevering through my sometimes willful ways; my editor Gordon Williams for his expert advice, thoughtful methods and being a great coach; my grandparents for their amazing and infectious enthusiasm; Jennifer and Dan for being there from the beginning and for their enduring support; my family for their love and zeal; my advance readers for their helpful feedback and to my teachers for their encouragement. Finally a special thank you, to you the reader, for picking up this novel—I look forward to continuing this exciting journey with you.

It really has been an experience that I am not bound to forget anytime soon, and the great thing is, we are just getting started!

S.S.Segran,

October 2013

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”

~Plato 428-348 B.C.~

“The battle between the bearers of light and the forces of darkness is intensifying, and your role will always be to raise the torch and diffuse this light
 . . . 
and remember, it is essential that you always,
always
do the right thing as prompted by your spirit—though doing the right thing may not always be the easiest.”

~Elder Nageau~

PROLOGUE

Somewhere off the coast of the Pacific Northwest,
circa 500 B.C.

T
he sleek, imposing vessel traversed the night, making hardly a sound as it sliced through the dark waters. The smooth, curved lines of its magnificent hull attested to the legendary workmanship of its builders. Its elongated prow, shaped like the talon of an eagle, reached ahead in the chilly air as if warding off shadows of misfortune. A soft glow spilled into the night from the living quarters above deck and rolled over the weathered railings, illuminating the ship with a ghostly sheen.

The exhausted commander on board the ancient vessel slouched against a mast, taking a sip of his elýrnì, a fermented beverage known only to his people. Grimly, he reflected that he would have to help his companions at the oars again in a little while.

He glanced up at the sky, noting the faint light the moon cast on the deck as it darted between large, shapeless clouds. The journey had been long, very long. Never again would the skipper want to go through that. They’d endured four moon cycles through rough seas and vicious storms. He shook his head and took another swig from his mug.
At least it will be coming to an end soon
, the captain thought in relief.
We will find tranquility and start anew in this vast land—that much I know.

High up on the ship’s mast, a man appearing to be in his late thirties scratched his shortly-trimmed beard and rested his elbows against the railing. A cousin of the captain, he wore a long black coat with a golden hood which he pulled up, throwing his face into the shadows. The captain had come up earlier, offering him a drink. He’d politely declined and sunk into his own world. The horrific images came back to haunt him, as they had so many times throughout this voyage. He remembered everything as though the horrors from four months back happened just yesterday.

It had been a very calm, bright day with azure skies. The sun was warm on the islanders’ skin. Children were playing on beaches that hugged the island’s coast while parents sat down nearby or drowsed. In an older part of the city, women were browsing the marketplace that was speckled with a myriad of colorful and aromatic stores. Located at the foot of a volcano in the middle of the island, the city boasted over fifteen thousand residents. It seemed like a perfect day.

Without warning, the ground started to rumble and shake violently. Jets of steam shot out from random spots around the city. The women in the marketplace screamed, dropped their purchases, and scattered. Moments into the earthquake, the long-dormant volcano erupted ferociously, lava flowing down its steep slopes and gathering momentum as it slid toward the city like a giant serpent.

“Mokun!” someone cried, and the lookout had spun around from where he stood gaping at the volcano. An older man with graying hair and a flowing white beard was limping toward him. “Mokun, help me retrieve the crystals from the temple!”

Mokun balked. “We cannot, Pèrzun! The temple is too close to the volcano!” He turned away and began to rush toward his home. “I have to get to my family!”

“The crystals, Mokun!” Pèrzun’s tone rang with authority. “We need them, and you know I cannot get to the temple as quickly as you.”

Mokun halted and shut his eyes, fighting with himself, then reluctantly gave in and both men hurried toward the grand temple. Mokun felt the heat from the steam around him, and cursed when he nearly slipped into a sinkhole. Beside him, the custodian of the temple was wide-eyed. He muttered to himself for a time and then, lifting his eyes to the sky with reverence, he murmured, “I will not let you down.”

As the two rounded the city gates, they spotted the dome of the treasured sanctuary. The gigantic crown of the five-sided temple loomed, casting its shadow upon them. Columns carved with extreme dexterity and inlaid with gemstones spiraled toward elegant marble statues of slender human figures that held up the dome.

Mokun hastened into the temple with Pèrzun following as fast as his lame leg would allow him to. Inside, grand carvings of celestial constellations and beautiful paintings of the night sky decorated both sides of the massive entranceway. Around the two men though, the temple was already crumbling from the force of the earthquake and the rumbling of the volcano. The polished stone floor that ran the entire length of the hall still shone in places where the dust had not yet settled. At the far end of the temple hall, a shiny black goblet sat on an intricately carved marble post that was about four feet high; this goblet contained the crystals.

The tremors worsened and the whole temple shook more violently. The goblet teetered precariously on its stand. Rushing forward, Mokun grabbed the goblet just before it toppled to the ground. With the crystals safely in his hands, he urgently shoved the older man back toward the entrance. Outside, they saw the lava rolling down the volcano’s slopes, frighteningly quick.

“You must find the Elders,” Pèrzun ordered. “If at least three survive, then our culture may yet live on.”

Mokun paused and stared at Pèrzun, then his eyes drifted past the older man. A woman and her daughter were rushing away from a house engulfed in flames. He shook his head and thrust the container to Pèrzun without replying and ran toward his home, feeling guilty for choosing to seek his family above the safety of the Elders.

Sprinting like a madman, he soon reached his house. Smoke and flames shot out from the roof as he barged through the main door. Fumes and ashes began to choke his lungs. He coughed as he called out to his family.

No answer.

Terrified, Mokun tore through his abode. His eyes teared up so terribly from the smoke that he could hardly see where he was going as the unbearable heat weighed down on him. His heart pounded as he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t find his family anywhere. Then a thought struck him:
the cellar!
They may have panicked and sought safety below ground.

He ripped off the hem of his tunic and tied it around his nose and mouth. The smoke was so thick he was forced to feel rather than see his way to the cellar. He found the door to the cellar opened and tripped over the steps in his haste, falling to the ground. He pulled himself up and called out again to his loved ones. He got no response and stepped forward. His foot bumped against something and he jumped back. With growing dread, he knelt down in the darkness, squinting to make out three huddled shapes. He froze in horror, oblivious to the danger around him. His five-year-old daughters were huddled against their mother, and his wife had her arms wrapped around the twins. They didn’t move.

Mokun snarled, rejecting the thought that his family was gone. He lifted his wife and balanced her over his shoulders, then hoisted his two daughters into his arms with inhuman strength and trudged out of the cellar. He laid their motionless bodies on the grass in the courtyard amidst the ash from the volcano and tried frantically to revive them. After a few minutes that seemed like a lifetime, he sat back and wept as the realization that he had lost them pierced into him like a knife through the heart.

Tears streamed down his dirt-stained face. He wrapped his arms around their cold bodies, cuddling them like a child as he sobbed for his dead family.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped. Twisting his head and looking up, he saw his youngest sister. She was small but feisty and looked squarely into his tear-filled eyes. Embedding in him the will to survive, she reached out and helped him up. In what felt like a gripping nightmare, Mokun looked back at his loved ones, and letting out a pained moan, allowed her to lead him away.

The volcano erupted again, this time with a force so tremendous that it threw the two of them onto the ground. A fissure appeared, splitting the earth and separating them. Mokun’s sister pulled herself up and leapt over the growing rift toward her brother. She missed the ledge and nearly plummeted. Mokun let out a cry and threw himself towards the fissure. He managed to grab her hand just in time. Huffing in effort, he pulled her up beside him. Once they’d caught their breaths, she tugged at his arm and guided him with hurried steps toward the docks on the island’s western shore where a boat was waiting. It had been all set to leave the island the very next day for trading, and had been stocked with crates of food and casks of fresh water, along with goods produced by the islanders.