Shadow of Hope

Shadow of Hope

By

Elizabeth Rose

&

Tina Pollick

©2013 by
Elizabeth Rose and Tina Pollick. All rights reserved

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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 events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Cover artist:
Tina Pollick

Dedication
:

From Elizabeth Rose and Tina Pollick
: Thank you readers. We know you have a lot of choices when it comes to reading a book, so we’d like to say thanks for choosing our novella. Thanks to Phyllis for sharing the picture that inspired the story
.


Elizabeth Rose:
A special thanks to Tina Pollick for introducing me to the world of writing and making this dream come true. It’s been an adventure girl! ;)

Above all, I would like to thank my family. You guys are all I have, my strength and support. You believed in me when no one else would and I love you all more than you will ever know. :3

Tina Pollick:
Thanks Elizabeth for agreeing to join me on this crazy adventure. I’ve loved working with you and I hope we do it again
.


To my nursing
co-workers and nursing sisters… you know who you are… thanks for being so supportive and excited about this book, it means more to be then you guys will ever know.

To my Facebook and Twitter friends—thank you! You guys have no idea how much it means to me to see you sharing, liking, and retweeting my stuff. Chocolate for everyone
!


And last, but most definitely not least my family. If people only knew how much you guys sacrifice so that I can write. I appreciate your love and support and that is what drives me to keep writing. My husband, you mean the world to me and without you, this means nothing to me. To our kids, I’m honored that I was chosen to be your mom. You guys are the best. I love you!

Shadow of Hope

Prologue:

   
Milky soft moonlight washed over the glade in streams of luminous vibrancy, bathing the lush landscape with radiant hues of pale light. A form emerged from a small, crystal clear brook. The moonlight seemed to appear in steamers of pure white luminance. She bore a stocky frame, well proportioned, and exuded a beauty far surpassing her physical features. Her dark hair swept behind her on currents of soft moving wisps of cool night air.

     Naked, she strode a
path lined with ranks of figures adorned all in black, their features hidden by cloak and cowl. Her name…Gaia. It pleased her to no small effect as she viewed them standing at attention, still as statues, one with their Mother, the Earth.

     The path sloped downwards at a gentle angle, and she entered a clearing shadowed by Ash, Oak, Birch, Holly Elder and other trees handpicked by Gaia herself. In the center of the clearing stood the largest and most sacred of them all…the World Tree.

     The dark trunk spiraled from the ground up, as though wrapping itself away from the blight of external influences. Its domed canopy rose higher than all the other trees around it, supported by a vast network of spindly branches reaching toward the heavens, as though yearning for a home beyond the tainted Realm in which it currently found itself rooted.

     Near the World Tree came the stark popping hisses of incandescent orange from a ceremonial fire pit. As she approached the World Tree, the black robed figures that lined the
path fell into step behind her, forming a circle, sixteen in all.

     Gaia swept her arms to encompass the camp around her. “My beautiful children. The gods have given you many gifts to savor in this world.”

     She pointed to the blazing pyre, and fought to repress the sudden anger rising within her breast. “My grandson paid a very dear price to present this most precious of Gifts to you.”

     Her lips trembled, her eyes moistened, and her heart grew dark with hateful thoughts of the abuse of a tyrannical god with a misplaced edification complex. She took a deep breath and cleared those thoughts away, cleansing her mind like new fallen snow. “He also brought you h
umans another gift, one given in ignorance.”

     She waved her hand next to her, and the cool night air shimmered, rippling with soft resonances; strings of an ornate violin under the hand of the most adept of maestros. Before the sixteen faceless, nameless individuals appeared a bowl shaped urn.
Not faceless. Not nameless. I know each and every one of them better than my own children.

     T
he urn had a wide opening tapering down to a narrow base: its composition casted of a metal unfamiliar to mankind, adamantine.  It was lacquered white, bearing images of men fighting, animals savaging carcasses, people dying of sickness. “This is Pandora’s folly. A gift given to my grandson Prometheus to present to the humans, he assumed Zeus was allowing him the chance to redeem himself for stealing fire from the gods. He was wrong. Zeus punished both Prometheus and humanity with this ‘gift’.”

     Her eyes darkened once again. “Now my grandson is tied to that wretched rock in Olympus’ outer realms, suffering every day, as humanity suffers for all the dark things that escaped their prison here.”

     Her hand caressed the lid of the urn. A strange fate that so much sorrow and fear should have been wrought from so small a container. She reflected on the very nature of that housing, an urn, as the pinnacle of Zeus’ cruel humor. She looked at her sixteen chosen warriors. Her children. Her gift to this world.

     “But I foresaw Zeus’ treachery, and as a result, enclosed a beacon of light within so foul a device. Through one woman all the miseries of this world came to pass. It is my hope that th
rough yet another woman redemption shall prevail.

     I placed within this vessel the very essence of all that is good within this world. The only product of this malicious work which did not escape its confines. Within this blighted vase rests the hope of humanity.”

     She nodded to the circle of silhouettes around the fire. “Remove your hoods now, all of you.”

     The shrouded individuals did as Gaia bid them. She looked around her at all sixteen faces. Eight men, eight women, and all known to her as intimately as her own soul. Their features were strong, with ever the subtlest hint of grace smoothing them out. These were people of the Earth.
Her
people. With dark eyes and hair, full rounded jaw line and broad noses. Eyes looking expectantly at the Mother…at
her
.

     Her breast swelled with pride as she looked on them. Convinced she had the highest representation humanity had to offer embodied fully within these sixteen men and women. “You are my chosen children. Handpicked from all the tribes and warriors of this age. My
Elite.
It is for no small reason that I chose you either.”

     She waved at the urn. “This vessel contains humanity’s last hope. There shall come a time at which man’s hour is darker than any he has witnessed within the span of his years in this Realm. Or than he shall ever witness in the coming millennia
…a time when man will fight not only for his last breath, but for the very core of his soul as well.”

     A deep sigh escaped her plump lips. “But such a time is not yet
upon us. However, to be remiss in preparations for such an event is no more than a fool’s folly; pretending at being wise, he shows nothing more than his ignorance for the entire world to see.

     And so it is that I would prepare you for those times. That the innocent shall not find themselves beset by the devices of the wicked. You have been chosen for a purpose far greater than either your collective sum
or your own unique, individual Gifts. You have been chosen to be my Guardians against the darkness. The champions who shall carry my banner to the defense of your fellow man. You must be resolute in your duty, guarded in your hearts, keen of understanding and wise beyond your years.

     My hope lies within you, but the Hope contained within this vessel lies within your hands. Guard it, and your hearts well, my beloved children.”

     The last thing she witnessed as she faded into the nether realms was her sixteen warriors bending to one knee and proclaiming her mercy and wisdom.

    
Gods be right my children. For I fear a time comes when mercy and wisdom shall not be enough to overcome the darkness eclipsing the horizon even now.

****

     Lucian sat cross-
legged beneath an enormous Hazel tree, meditating. His black cloak stirred lightly in the easy moonlit breeze. A nearby stream babbled soft murmurs of lyrical rhythm. In time to the sound came a fresh chorus of cicada song, carrying over the glade with its shrill cadence.

     Lucian’s dark brown hair cascaded down past his shoulders, tugged at playfully by the wisps of Mother’s kiss, as the Druids called the gentle breeze.
Mother.

     Though his thoughts should be focused on her in loving devotion, his mind fell prey to the wonders all about him. The sharp, musty earth scent flooded his nostrils, complimenting the smooth damp scent of the nearby stream, and topped off with the crisp, fresh scents of the sky.

     Worse yet, he could not bring his heart to feel for her as his brothers and sisters seemed to so easily accomplish. When he thought of Mother, he was neither joyful, nor sad. He felt…
nothing.
And though this lack of feeling, of attachment, should have aided his meditations and the cleansing of his mind, it only troubled his thoughts all the more.

     “A man’s mind is meant to be free; neither indebted to gods nor to other men.” The voice was unfamiliar to him, deep and smoky. He knew the voices of each and every one of his brothers, and this belonged to not one of them.

     The man was tall, wore a similar cloak and garment as Lucian, but his face was lean and hard and strands of jet black hair strayed into the man’s fierce dark eyes. “Who are you? You are not one of the original sixteen, nor have we added to our ranks as of late. Yet you wear our cloak and cape. What is your name, stranger?”

     The man
laughed his voice and features both devoid of humor. “If I tell you that, friend, shall you like me all the more?”

     Lucian sighed. “I am not endeared to euphemistic expressions as ‘friend’ from the likes of vagabonds such as yourself.”

     “Bold tongue, friend, and here I thought Gaia’s children all well mannered and benevolent.”

     Lucian patted the plain dagger strapped to
his vest. The blade measured six inches, forged from pure silver. A light script etched into the blade its only concession to ornamentation. The hilt and butt streamlined and crafted from bronze. Its Oakwood handle coated in a lacquer composed of beeswax. “We are less than ‘benevolent’ when the need and hour so arise.”

     The man cocked his head, his dark eyes boring
through Lucian with their penetrating gaze. “You have no friends to speak of then? No one who calls you ‘fellow’ or greets you cheerily by name on the banks?”

     “My brethren and sisters are my friends. Outside of them I say to you truthfully, I have no need of another’s company.” Lucian’s hackles rose, and there was more heat than intended in his reply. He
found it odd; he should have cared not one way or the other in the matter.

     The man’s face was masked in thoughtfulness. “Is that so, now? One should wonder. Yet not more than a crow’s passing ago you lamented how you were not like them.”

     Lucian started. “This is the second time you’ve alluded to knowing my thoughts. What form of sorcerer are you?”

     The man threw back his head and laughed his mirthless laugh. “Sorcerer? No. Tricks and trumps are not my trade, nor is sleight-of-hand. The power I possess is more than mere illusory pretensions. Yet you marvel so at this power, as a little child who first discovers fire. Why? Has not your mother Gaia given you such powers to behold as well? Are the defenders of Gaia without magic or miracle themselves?”

     Lucian found himself snorting. “Our powers are ‘gifted’ only to heal and restore. We are not warriors in the magical arts. For that we have these,” he said, once again patting his dagger. Somehow its weight now felt more tiresome, and less reassuring.

     The man knelt by Lucian and gripped his sho
ulder, leaning in close to Lucian. His breath stank of ash and fire. And yet there was something quite appealing about the scent, something Lucian couldn’t peg. “No, my friend. She doesn’t
trust you with more power.
And why should she? Humans have long been a threat to the gods of old. Why should she invest such a great wealth of power in so equally great a potential threat?”

     The words stung
Lucian to the core. His thoughts troubled that he should feel nothing for Gaia, yet be so roused by the implication he had not her trust. He sprang to his feet. “Mother loves us all! And she gives us
only
those gifts which are right and beneficial to mankind and ourselves!”

     “And isn’t that the kicker, my son? Mankind first, and you yourselves the last of her bosom’s embrace. Will you content yourself knowing that you should be firstborn heirs, where all you are
is last place millet, fit for little more than consumption by the dredges you seek so valiantly to protect?”

     “
You lie
,” Lucian screamed his eyes stinging with warm moisture. Unbidden, his hand now held his dagger and he lunged at the other man with sure and decisive strokes. Deftly the man sidestepped every single skillful slash and thrust. Rage flooded Lucian’s thoughts. A blinding red haze obscuring his vision. Frustrated he threw the knife with dexterous motion, a projectile sure to hit its intended target. The man’s heart, his very lifeblood.

     As Lucian’s weapon
hit the man, his clothing and skin shimmered in the targeted area, the blade passing through him, sticking a tree three yards behind the stranger, embedded almost to the very hilt itself. Lucian fell to his knees, sobbing in anguish.

    
“W-what are you?” His voice came raw, and ragged with emotion.

     The stranger removed the knife from the tree with little more effort than a newborn babe pulling its thumb from out of its mouth. He strode with brisk movement to where Lucian knelt.

     The man spoke, his voice dark and ominous. “I am Aries. The God of War. And your ‘mother’ has pissed me off.”

****

     Daeron looked over at Aidan. Aidan returned his glance, eyes narrowed.

     “What?” Daeron asked suspiciously.

     “You’re looking at me. I don’t trust you when you look at me during Watch.” His voice was sober, belying no trace of levity or jest.

     Daeron sighed. “Look, it’s Watch. What else am I supposed to look at? Bears shitting in the woods? Larks mating in the trees? Suggest something for me so I at least don’t have to stare at
your
ugly mug all day.”

     Daeron didn’t like this. Not one bit at all. Countless Watches with Aidan made his brother suspicious of him. That would not do. Not one bit in the slightest. It was time to change things up a little. He straightened his composure, looki
ng past Aidan, who eyed him with suspicion. “Mother! We have served well, the urn remains untouched.”