Folding the loose sheet back to its original form, I study the page it marked. At the top it reads, Season of Solitude. As best I can, I interpret one of the passages.
I once lived in a world with unrestricted knowledge for all to consume, expand, and exploit. Appealing? All men sought after the stars—if his passions allowed it. But then, how does one control passion if their boundaries of knowledge are infinite? Our self-indulging nature doesn’t allow it. That is how we became who we are. The blood of Azure.
I, Susy, came at a time when our world was in decay. Not the temporary decay of the autumn fall as nature prepares for the winter slumber, but a time when all the land was out of balance and losing its fertility. A time of absolute tragedy. A time beyond recovery. A time we have come to know as the Season of Solitude, when all was lost and we were all alone.
Not alone was my burden, however. The balance of Azure, of all life, requires more than one. I, Susy, were but one of four—a sage of balance to bind them all. In my company, I kept a sage to guard life in all its forms; I kept a sage to lift the faith and hope, and I kept a sage to harness the destruction.
Growth was only a thing of history during this solitude, and no longer could we continue our perseverance. It was not isolated to our species, but, rather, all of Azure. It was a world decaying before our eyes. We witnessed death beyond measure, but that did not dissuade our hearts or our courage. No. We forged on…
May the spring rains nourish your frame, the summer sun enliven your mind, the autumn foliage serenade your heart, and the winter frost attune your soul.
58 Jaymes
A sudden jolt sparks from within. A surge of energy without pain—physical pain, anyhow. I open my eyes to a world unknown. It’s familiar in a sense, but I cannot depict why. There are great oaks all around, full of leaves and wildlife. There is a fresh scent in the air, not a particular scent, just fresh, clean air. I stand alone in a forest, dazed and perplexed. As I look upon my whereabouts, I come to realize this is not just any forest, but the forest in which I was born and raised—the Great Oak Forest. I’m home.
I see it now. The familiarity of it. Off in the distance is a tree swing my brother and I entertained ourselves with for hours at a time. The large tree it hangs from has its own share of memories, some happy and some painful. Further off in the distance is my home. An ancient great oak manipulated into a grand mansion. One of a kind through all the ages. There is no mistaking it. A gentle grin slinks across my face. Part of me desires to see my mother, father, and brother spring forth from the front door and come running to grasp me in their arms and tell me everything is safe and well. But I know that is false hope. But…maybe Stone, at least.
Then, a little boy appears on the swing as if he were enjoying its pleasures all this time. He’s young. Younger than me. Seasoned maybe eleven or twelve with disheveled, sandy-blond hair, a bit of mud dabbled on his face—likely unknown to himself based on his overall appearance—and some threadbare garments. Even from this distance, I recognize him right away. It’s Elder!
Unexpected dark emotions flash through me. I always had an odd feeling about the boy but never anything malicious or angry. He’s eccentric in many ways and exceedingly curious, but never dark. I pass it off as envy. Every time Elder would visit our home, I was no longer Stone’s playmate, or Elder’s. It was no longer me and Stone spending hours on that swing. Instead, I sat inside at the window, staring out at the two of them having their own fun together, neglecting me. Stone didn’t allow me to tag along much, if at all, when Elder was around. Our parents occasionally forced my presence on Stone, telling him one day he’ll regret not having spent more time with me. And…well…now that day is here.
“Elder!” I shout, engrossed in the disbelief of seeing him.
Without cause or explanation, the oak Elder swings from sets ablaze. Though, not in the familiar way a wildfire would light up a dehydrated oak. This tree smolders from the inside out. It burns the way molten lava burns, hot and steady with the occasional spark meandering into the air. But it leaves no charred remains. The entire tree disintegrates in a blazing fashion. Elder stays put on the swing, unknowing.
“Elder!” I shout again, this time with fear and panic in my voice rather than excitement. “Elder!” But it’s as if he cannot hear me. He continues swinging. The tree smolders rapidly, and I’m too far away to save him before he combusts along with it. I sprint toward him, hoping he’ll notice me and flee the tree.
He should feel the heat by now. What’s happening?
Elder sees me and waves with a devious grin. One of his odd smiles that professes he’s up to no good. Then, he’s gone. Vanished. The wooden swing he was sitting on along with him. In his place, two bodies remain hanging from the same ropes that held the swing.
I want to upheave the contents of my stomach. My parents hang motionless by their necks, adding another painful memory to this tree. I’m suddenly grateful it burns. The fire is upon them, closing in on the branch they’re so desolately draped from. The smoldering hot blaze works its way down each rope that tethers the bodies, disintegrating the material as it burns. Yet, the bodies remain hanging even without a branch for the ropes to be tied to. Gravity doesn’t pull them to the ground as it should.
I watch in disbelief as my parents, Arden and Shae McLarin, slowly dissipate along with the rest of the tree. Their bodies, from head to toe, slowly dematerialize in the heat. And just like that, they’re gone. And I’m alone again.
I didn’t see it while watching them burn—and justifiably so—but the fire isn’t isolated to the one tree. The entire forest has burned up. Not a single tree remains standing. Nor my home. There is a burning twinkle in the air from the last embers that would be a beautiful sight in vastly different circumstances. Other than the few lingering sparks, there is no evidence a forest ever existed.
Now, I remain standing in a grassy field. Dead grass, but thankfully not smoldering like the trees I just witnessed. Thick clouds materialize above. Dark. A vast world of…nothing. Emptiness. There is nothing around me except a dark, cloudy sky. The lifeless field expands in all directions as far as I can see. Dead brown grass and dark-grey clouds. Colorless. Hopeless.
Is this…the afterlife? It couldn’t be. This is so droll and…
Suddenly, the clouds start dissipating, revealing a yellow sun and a blue sky. The clouds evaporate in moments, leaving the midday sun shining down bright and hot, but not for long. The sun speeds across the sky, faster than it should. Too fast. It gains velocity until it sets over the horizon. And I’m back to a still, dead, flat grassy field.
The dark sky is now consumed by so many stars I can see blades of grass in the field I stand in. And a silhouette of another boy lurks in the distance.
Not seeing any other alternatives, I warily head in his direction.
The boy…it’s my brother Stone, staring at me with concern and dread. Does he mourn my death? I drop my wariness and replace it with haste. As I get closer, I see I’m mistaken. It’s not Stone at all. In fact, he’s the complete opposite. Uncertain of how I made such an unacceptable misjudgment, I continue walking toward him anyway. Harris Martelli stands fifty paces away.
I stop before him, keeping a safe distance of about five paces. I’m already dead, right? Fear shouldn’t still be a factor. It’s the essence of who this man is, and his presence demands it even in the afterlife.
“Hello, Jaymes. It is both pleasant and disheartening to see you tonight.” His voice resonates in a low pitch, but sharp with proper enunciation.
I am back in my home now, standing in the grand foyer. My mother and father are bound and gagged behind him. There are several men standing at ease, creating a perimeter around the entire room except the stairway immediately at my heels. All the men are adorned in pale-grey, hooded warrior’s tunics and greaves. All with the exception of the two men who restrain my parents. They look familiar. Not their generic features so much—both are tall with green eyes, one with short, b
rown hair and the other shoulder-length, blond hair. It is their hands that are unforgettable. The fingers of these men aren’t fingers at all, but rather vines extending out from their knuckles. And those vines are what bind my parents, restricting their movements to mere wobbles easily controlled by the two large men. I stand surprisingly calm before the tall, dark man and his gang of miscreants. It’s a familiar scene. A memory hidden deep within me.
“I suppose I should have the decency of giving you an explanation before stripping you of your parents and your life. However, decorum and proper etiquette is for your almighty Taoiseach, Harris Martelli. Not me.”
As he finishes his unnerving comment, his face morphs right before my eyes. The midnight-black features of Harris Martelli wash clean as if he wiped his face with a wet cloth. But there is no cloth, and his hands don’t touch his face. He uses his talents in a way I hadn’t realized was possible. The face underneath is one I didn’t recognize at the time. But now… Now I know who this morbid man is. His ashy skin is scarred with crimson tattoos. His eyes are nearly pure white except for a thin silver crown. And the smile on his face looks murderous. As quick as this ungodly face appears, Harris Martelli’s resurrects itself. And in less than a click it morphs into yet another face.
My brother Stone now stands before me. All the men, my parents, and even the room itself vanish. I’m back on the open plain of dead grass and starry sky as far as the eye can see. Right back to the moment when I first saw Stone standing in the field with dread and concern reeking out of him.
The stars noticeably move in the sky. It’s random at first, but then it’s clear they pull toward a central location like an event horizon sucking in all matter around it. The stars culminate behind him, creating one large bright light, transforming the boy…no, the man…into a silhouette. Then I realize I’m mistaken once again. What I thought was concern, dread, or something of the like, isn’t that at all. The only emotion radiating from him and pulling me closer is…love.
A bright white ethereal radiance overtakes the blackness that is Stone, and another exhilarating force surges throughout me. This time it doesn’t forget to share the pain expected with shock. My entire body, from the tips of my nicely polished toenails to the roots of my short, lilac-scented, brown hair, animates with energy. A single breath fills my lungs, and I inhale all that I can.
I stir with life.
I have no recollection of where I am or why my entire body pulsates with pain. Pain. The pain is…well, painful, and real. I accept it. Feel it. Rejoice in it. I am…alive.
I open my eyes to see my whereabouts, but there is nothing to see. A slight moment of panic rushes through me until I remember my teachings. Ellia layered me with strengths and the knowledge to handle this. The shadows are my allies. The light, my ambition.
Panic swiftly transforms into caution and I, lying still to avoid traps or alarms, slowly press outward and hit a solid surface. I recoil with the abrupt stoppage, not expecting such close proximity. My elbows jerk outward and smash into a wall on either side of me. Absolute darkness without a trace of light. I’m in a box. A coffin, perhaps? Buried?
I don’t fret. Rather, a small grin smears across my face as I whisper in the solitude. “A darker shadow offers a more ambitious light.”
Epilogue
H e can see the heat radiating off the dunes in the distance, distorting the horizon. The sun, directly overhead, scorches the terrain. Wiry bushes are placed here and there across the dunes, but aside from that, vegetation is nonexistent. The land is barren and dry. Life should not exist this far south, but that thought only brings a smile to Carib’s face. He defies what should and should not be.
Carib stands atop a small dune overlooking his company. Most hide their distorted appearances under iron. Though, with the scarcity of resources for such a material, they’re limited to one or two adornments. Some wear an iron face in the form of a king’s jester and some in the form of demons or wild animals, and some wear iron-plated armor. The heat has no effect on them. It’s as if they were created for this land. And the iron conceals their reality more than it protects them. Carib understands their humility. He was the same once.
Others in the company aren’t as disfigured. While maintaining camp, they don’t feel the need to don the armor as the others do. They take to the freedom, adorning themselves with only ragged loin cloths. And others still, those who have completely grasped the freedom, wear nothing at all.
Altogether, they are a group that appears to belong beneath the surface of Azure, but they are not dead. Not completely. Although blood no longer runs through their veins, they are more alive than any man in the northern realm of Vedora. Down in the Blood Plains is where true freedom is expressed.
The men are tending to the daily necessities of the camp, which has grown large enough—fifteen thousand strong—to encompass the one small red lake Carib has discovered this far south. Although he feels as if he’s defying nature by living in this arid land, he knows they would not survive without that lake. He has tested the fate of a few unlucky men and concluded even this group of sour individuals requires the red waters of Azure to remain walking.
Carib wears his iron-plated mail atop a pale tunic, similar to what his company adorns themselves with. He decides the formalities of relating to and intimidating his company are not necessary at the moment, so he strips the armor and tunic to enjoy some of that freedom. For that is why he is out here in the first place, to be free from the rule in the northern realm. He drops his armor to the ground and stretches his muscles. The skin on his chest lacks any pigment just like the rest of his company. Even in the burning heat, his flesh remains the color of chalk. His skin doesn’t burn, nor can he feel the heat of the day. He is immune to that sense, which he believes has risen himself and his men above the rest.
A great gust of wind pulsates from behind, distracting him from admiring his accomplishments. Sand and dust whirl past him, followed by a gentle growl and a snort. Carib, arrogant and confident, refuses to turn and welcome the beast. He knows.
A few moments pass before an apprehensive voice asks, “Pardon me, King Reign?”
“What news do you bring me, Master Sephyre? You’ve been north for some time now, so I trust you have information of value.” Carib turns to face his trusted emissary.
“Of course, King Reign. The Taoiseach is dead. There is much to tell you…”
We Are the Blood of Azure
Races & Hierarchy of Azure
Races:
Lahyf (Healer): Spring birth, a.k.a. the season of life; talents include regeneration (healing)
Sprhowt (Greenthumb): Summer birth, a.k.a. the season of growth; talents include accretion (growth)
Dihkai (Gloomer): Autumn birth, a.k.a. the season of decay; talents include degeneration (rot, decay)
Hiberneyt (Sleeper): Winter birth, a.k.a. the season of hibernation; talents include dormancy (suppression, paralysis, petrification)
Graft Races:
Shaman: Lahyf-Sprhowt
Imp: Sprhowt-Dihkai
Grim: Dihkai-Hiberneyt
Immortal: Hiberneyt-Lahyf
Parliament Hierarchy:
Taoiseach: Harris Martelli: Has overall authority over the realm. Parliament acts as his council.
Chancellor: Kell Cromarte: Next in command to the Taoiseach.
Magistrate: Nigel Whitewater: Chief of public relations both domestic and foreign.
Shogun: Shambrock: Chief of Vedora’s defenses. The Crimson Guard, Nox Elite, Solstice Elite, and all other branches of Vedora’s military are under his leadership.
Architect: Leonard Lumen: Chief of domestic commerce, overseeing all trading, land acquisitions, major building projects, and research involving growth of the economy.
Shadow: Ellia Rosewood: Secret title Harris appoints to the person of his liking. This position is hidden from all others and acts as his right hand.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wife and childr
en who endure the bulk of my sacrifices as I partake in this writing journey. You are exceptionally understanding while I “work.” Thank you.
And to the world’s okayest brother for providing me motivation when I needed it most. You are the reason this story came to fruition. Thank you.
And to help me carry this novel across the finish line, thank you to my editor, Mary DeSantis (https://www.kitnkabookle.com) for fixing my commas and much, much more. You’ve taken a crude manuscript and polished it into an epic fantasy. Thank you.
About the Author
Jonathan J Michael was born and raised in the greater Seattle area in the scenic state of Washington. Jonathan is an advocate of science, nature, and exploration, which has a heavy influence in his debut novel, Season of Sacrifice. He maintains a balanced life of family, health, and the great outdoors when he’s not busy exploring a world of wonder and possibilities in his writing.
For more information about Jonathan J Michael visit his website at:
http://jonathanjmichael.com
Follow Jonathan on Instagram @jonathan_j_michael or on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/jonathan.j.michael.author
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