Ellida

A wizardess and a werewolf...

An ancient alliance...

An epic battle...

An immortal love...

The daughter of a wizardess and a werewolf, Astrid
Mohegan is destined to become an Ellida, a powerful force of good
and the most treasured member of her clan.

Jack Canagan is focused on two things: keeping Astrid
out of her dangerous and delusional stepfather’s reach and
preparing for the battle to bring him down.

Astrid and Jack must draw their strength from the
bond they share. But with the dark power rising, will their love,
wisdom and courage be enough to defeat the enemy and protect their
people?

ELLIDA

THE LANGAER CHRONICLES

Book Two

J. F. Kaufmann

Ellida is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2015 J. F. Kaufmann

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—by electronic, mechanical
photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior written
permission.

Cover page design Laura Stobbe

Formatting by
Anessa Books

Copyright © 2015 J. F. Kaufmann. All rights
reserved.

All trademarks and brands mentioned in this
book belong

to their respective owners.

This e-book is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to where you
purchased it and buy your own copy. Thank you for respecting the
hard work of this author.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in
Publication

Kaufmann, J. F.,

Ellida / J. F. Kaufmann.

Jacket design: Laura Stobbe

ISBN 987-0-9937825-4-1 (ebook)

I.Title.

www.jfkaufmann.com

To the blood of my blood: my sons Max and
Costa

Like its predecessor,
Asanni, Ellida
wouldn’t have been published without the generous help, talents and
time of many of my friends. They read it, providing me with
valuable feedback; they edited it, proofread it, designed the
cover… and they believed in me and supported me all along this
wonderful adventure.

My most sincere gratitude goes to the two
strongest supporting pillars of this project: to Sonya
Guha-Thakurta, whose friendship, skills and encouragement mean much
more to me than I can put into words; and to Laura Stobbe, the
designer of
Ellida’s
striking cover.

My thanks are also due to Pat Lancaster,
Carol Fletcher and Sarah Meilleur for their valuable feedback; to
my friend of almost thirty years, Mirko Mlakar, for his assistance
with a few Italian phrases in
Ellida
; and to my dear friend
Ada, who loves and feels my books the same way I love and feel
them.

And of course, thank you with a capital T to
my sons, Maximilian and Constantine. They had patience and
consideration for my passion far beyond their age. Mama loves you
insanely, guys!

J. F. Kaufmann

I hope that the world of
Langaer
that
I had introduced to you in
Asanni
has become your world as
well, and that you find its inhabitants easily imaginable.

Our consciousness and sub-consciousness both
play roles in every creative process. All the supernatural elements
aside—
Asanni
and
Ellida
are only allegories,
representations of this world under the guise of another—my stories
are also my intimate confessions. They dig deep into my own life,
exploring and exposing some of my own painful experiences I hadn’t
known how to deal with until I wrote these books.

Bringing out my own pains, doubts, losses,
joys and victories through my characters, I believe I’ve touched on
some common issues as well: parent-child relationships, the
significance of family and friends, the need to have our own little
sanctuaries; forgiveness, open-mindedness, the importance of
accepting ourselves for who we are and, above all, the power of
unconditional love. In my books I call it a ‘bond”, but it goes by
many different names: soul-mates, two halves of a whole, special
connection, and it happens not only between lovers, but also among
friends and relatives, and sometimes even complete strangers.

Being at the same time personal as well as
universal and, I do hope with all my heart, entertaining and
enjoyable, I’m convinced that my stories will resonate with
you.

Thank you sincerely for reading my books.

J.F. Kaufmann

ASTRID SUDDENLY emerged on the other side of
the small town square, flanked between Seth’s guards. Seth was one
step behind her, face twisted with madness.

She was almost within my reach, yet
light-years away from me.

I saw Seth pull a knife and press it between
Astrid’s breasts.

“LOOK WHO’S WITH ME HERE, JACK CANAGAN!!!”
Seth yelled in a high-pitched voice.

Paper-white, her green eyes wide open in
dread, Astrid stood frozen.

“RELEASE HER, SETH, AND YOU’RE FREE TO GO!!!
YOUR GUARDS, TOO!!!” I yelled back and started slowly walking
toward him, in a desperate attempt to avert his attention from
Astrid, if only for a moment.

“TOO LATE, JACK!!!”

As if in slow motion, yet with crystal
clarity, I saw Astrid’s sharp intake of breath and a jerky movement
of Seth’s head. And then, a flicker of a smile, or relief, broke on
Astrid’s pale face, as the knife started traveling from her breasts
to her throat.

I sensed the sudden shift of power and I felt
the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

Astrid was ready for action.

“TOO LATE, JACK!!!” Seth screeched,
increasing the pressure of the knife between my breasts.

I held my breath. Yet, the only sensation on
my oversensitive skin was the warm touch of the metal of my
necklace. Then I heard a quiet snap.

The tip of the knife had gotten caught
between the teeth of the silver wolf-head pendant and broken
off.

Seth must have realized what had happened
because he pulled the knife up until the blade stopped at my
throat.

He yelled so loud that my eardrums cracked.
“I would’ve enjoyed killing you much more, Jack Canagan, as much as
I enjoyed killing your father, but you’re out of my reach, and
she’s here! I’m going down, but she’s going with me!”

“GO TO HELL, SETH WITHALI!!!”

My voice roared as my left arm snapped at
Seth’s forearm, knocking it off of my throat. The moment the
contact between my skin and the knife was broken, I felt the energy
shield surround me: almost simultaneously, my mother, Ella,
Morgaine and Peyton raised invisible armor over me.

My right hand stretched out. As if attracted
by a strong magnet, Seth’s sword pulled itself from its sheath and
flew to my palm. Without a second thought, I slew the vampire
standing next to me, and turned to the rest of Seth’s men, cutting
my way through them. Ahmed and Darius were fighting their way
through the confused guards. Protected by the powerful wizard
shield, I was able to fight, staying out of the harm’s reach.

Jack and James reached us first, finishing
off the last few men.

When it looked like it was almost over, the
shield around me suddenly collapsed.

Seth’s knife found my throat again.

ASTRID HAD the first glimpse of her
birthplace, a bird’s eye view, through the tiny oval window of a
five-seat, blue and white Baron 55 aircraft.

Taking turns, James, Betty and Jack gave
Astrid a summary of Red Cliffs’ history, geography and contemporary
life.

NAMED AFTER a dramatic mass of reddish rocks
guarding its north side, Red Cliffs nestled in a big, wide U-shaped
glacial valley that gradually opened toward the south and east
sides in gentle slopes. The Great Orme, a hill much older than the
alpine mountains that surrounded the valley from the north, framed
the west side of the valley.

A narrow depression between the two lowest
hilltops formed a natural passage, connecting the land of Red
Cliffs with Copper Ridge on the opposite side of the Great Orme.
Most of Red Cliffs’ farms and ranches, with the sweetest grasses
and the best cattle stock in this part of the world, were settled
southeast of the town.

“Remember when I told you about Gelltydd
Coch?” Jack said and slid his arm behind the small of Astrid’s
back.

“I remember, of course,” she said, leaning
her head on Jack’s shoulder. “That’s the name of the place in
Northern Wales from where our first settlers immigrated to America.
Gelltydd Coch is our transatlantic main branch, sort of. In Welsh,
it means ‘red cliffs’. The Great Orme was named after the hill near
Gelltydd Coch. Incidentally, both hills have rich seams of copper
ore.”

Jack kissed her temple. “Well done, Miss
Spock. Across in Copper Ridge, the Great Orme is called Halti,
after a hill in Finland, from where their first settlers came. Now,
I don’t think anyone purposely looked for red rocks and copper-rich
hills to make their new home. Leland Brandon, Mark and Sid’s
father, always says this place reminded them of the old country so
they decided to stay here and build a town.”

“Red Cliffs is different from any other
Western Mountain towns I’ve ever seen,” Astrid said, bending closer
to the oval window. She took in a small central town square
sporting a tiny city hall, a church with a pointy tower and
sharp-angled roof, and several official buildings of mixed
architectural provenances. “It looks like a little town in
Scandinavia surrounded by an Austrian Alpine village.
Charming.”

“You’re more right than you know, Astrid,”
Betty said from her seat across from Astrid. “The majority of Red
Cliffers came from Central and Northern Europe, shortly after those
first immigrants from Wales. Red Cliffs might look like a mismatch
of different styles and epochs, but it’s an accurate reflection of
our mixed heritage.” She waved in the general direction of the town
below. “A few of the first buildings are still around, like the
Church and the courthouse. Goblin’s Hollow, our local drinking
hole, still has the original walls. The rest was built as the town
grew.”

The residential part occupied the east side
of town, spreading out toward the valley. Most of the houses were
timber framed, steeply pitched and shingle-roofed. They varied in
size and details, but they definitely took rustic chic to a higher
level. They were painted in deep yellow, terracotta, olive-green,
and dark orange to balance out the dark roofs, heavy window frames
and decorative beams. The homes seemed in harmony with their
ambivalent surrounding: the wild mountains to the north and the
gentle valley to the south.

Other houses were brick, with roofs covered
with frost-resistant, low water-absorption dark slate, suitable for
this climate. They were also of different sizes: some had an
impressive square footage, while others were quite modest. In spite
of their different appearance, the red brick houses didn’t stand
out but rather complimented their timber counterparts.

The town was established in the early
eighteenth century, Astrid learned, when the first group of
settlers had arrived, but the recent dwellings, both timber and
brick houses, were relatively new, comfortable and modern.

“Those redbrick houses on your left are among
the oldest family buildings,” Betty continued, “but they are
constantly being upgraded to the most current standards of living.
They were built during the Roaring Twenties and in the early ’30s.
The Great Depression didn’t affect this particular corner of the
world.”

She pointed to a three-storey rectangular
house with a narrow front and long sides, a sharp roof that would
allow the heavy snow loads to slide off, big windows and a
white-painted porch. “That’s your house, Astrid. You probably don’t
remember it, you were a baby when you left it. It belonged to your
parents.” Betty reached out and gently squeezed Astrid’s hand. “We
can go there whenever you’re ready. Now, that big one beside
it—”