Possessing the Grimstone

by John Grover

  “For the moment.”

  “For the moment?” The voice was in front of him now. “What makes you think the dead will let you leave?”

  “I think they will be more than happy to let me leave.” Pim reached not for his sword, but for the contents of his pack.

  He pulled the Grimstone from its hiding place, and clasped it in both hands. Green light illuminated the inner sanctum of the Church. Three dozen or more undead stood around him, hollow eyes and gaunt faces leering at him. He hadn’t realized, in the dark, how many were actually there, and so close to him, too.

  He swallowed once and lifted the stone with both hands. He whispered, “Ascension for all.”

  Red light enveloped all of the dead, and their bodies dissolved. Balls of light, spirits now freed, rose through the roof, and were gone.

  The Lich Lord wailed in rage. He formed in the shadows, and rushed Pim, looming over him at nearly ten feet tall. Glowing embers for eyes flared, tattered robes now lined with skulls and spines flapped in a haunting wind.

  It dove down on Pim with all of its rage, and Pim closed his eyes. An energy shield encased the Wivering and repelled the Lich.

  “You will pay for this, Wivering!” The Lich screamed. “You will suffer the darkness! It will find you no matter where you go. Hear me… this deed will not be forgotten!”

  Pim turned and bolted from the Church as fast as his fleet would carry him. All around the forest swamp, balls of light lifted gently into the skies and floated to their salvation. A moment later, a ghastly shriek echoed through the entire forest.

  ###

  He headed in the opposite direction of the forest, and made his way to the lush lands of the North. He raced past the remains of Bhrungach, and headed deeper and deeper still, until he could see his breath in the air, and the white of snow as far as the eye could see.

  His teeth chattered as he carefully moved across a frozen lake. He knelt and dug a hole through the icy shell with his sword.

  The Grimstone sat in his hand. He stared at it. The energy hummed, rippling over the edge of the stone. The three pieces joined as one left a crack where the First People had divided it. He ran his fingers over the scars. The power tickled them. He felt his eyes tingle.

  Pim’s heart was heavy. He was relunctant to complete his task. So many people needed help; so many places needed to be rebuilt. So much of the world was in ruin, from the Lake Lands, to Cardoon, to Gonnish. The forests, the fields, the farms were all ravaged.

  “Time will heal. Do not break your promise.” He looked at it one last time, studied it, and dropped it into the frigid water.

  His entire body shivered from the cold; his teeth chattered louder. He was not dressed for the climate. Pim looked around at the snowdrifts, the white mountains, and the falling snowflakes, and figured that this was the most uninhabitable place in all of Athora.

  Satisfied, Pim got left the cold as quickly as he could, rushing back to the warmer lands as his breathing began to get harder, and his body was becoming wracked with fatigue. The Grimstone had indeed made him wondrous.

  ###

  Tolan swung the mallet, pouding the nail into frame. Pim worked along side him, holding the wooden beam. The ceremonial temple for the Order of Thet was coming along nicely.

  “A fine day for working outside,” Tolan said.

  “Aye, it is. I am glad the hot weather held off,” Pim said. He watched his brother Tal scamper by. Further down the road, his parents were finishing the roof of their house.

  Crops were planted again, children laughed, dogs barked, and Pim smelled food cooking on the wind. All made his heart swell.

  “Thank you, Tolan, for all of your help. We could not have done it without you and the help of the other citizens of Cardoon.”

  “It is the least we could do, my friend. Without your help, the Neshing would have destroyed us all. I do not know how they got through the mist of the Fifling Sea, but at least they’re gone, now.”

  “Yes, thank Thet for that.”

  “It had to have been Thet. I never thought I would live to see the day that the North and the South would work together for anything.”

  “These days have been filled with wonders,” Pim said. “Many of them.”

  Tolan laughed. “You are a peculiar one, Pim.” He tussled the young Wivering’s hair.

  Pim laughed back and went for a drink from the well. He looked off to the horizon, and saw the peaks of the M’Illium Fells. Shannara came to his mind. He was sure that what he’d done at Mort A’ghas had let her ascend, as well. He knew she and her husbands would have been happy to be together in ascension.

  He drifted just a bit more, and thought of the Grimstone in its frozen grave. It would be hard being the only one alive to know where it was, but it was his burden to carry. Excitement and adventure had a price, and this, he finally understood well.

  “Pim!” Tolan called. “Hurry back! This temple will not rise itself!”

  Pim waved and headed back to his friends and family, and to the life he’d thought he didn’t want. Now he wanted it more than he ever had.

  Glossary of Terms and Pronounciations

  Athora – The world.

  The Red Coast – To the East, where the sun rises, and the beaches are of red stone and rusty sand. The mist hangs like a wall across the Fifling(Fife-Ling) Sea.

  Silver Coast – To the West; gray and blue, creating a silver look, with reflective leaves and trees with silver bark. Here is the Baltha(Ball-tha) Sea. Across the sea is the land of Norrow. Tribal people live there, and trade with the coastal towns and the largest port city of Fionngall.

  Gonnish (Go-nish) – The Wivering homeland.

  Gwythroth (gwith-roth) – The homeland of the Gwythroth ministers.

  Mort A'ghas(Mort-a-gass) – The Undead Monastery/Church of the Dead in the middle of the swamplands, where dead go to worship.

  Bhrungach(Brune-gash) – A city that lies to the North.

  Glenghora(Glen-gora) – A city that lies in the South.

  Fionngall(Fin-gall) – Largest port city in the West, near the Baltha Sea.

  M’Illium Fells – Mountain range Northwest of Gonnish; home to the D’Elkyrie.

  Cardoon – Largest city in the world of Athora.

  Salt Lands – Area between the Red Coast and Gravik’s Spade

  Lake Lands – Lands of the North: Triton, Helfex, Daustra. Borders Bhrungach.

  Llewallen Forest (Lew-all-in) – First green area from the Red Coast before reaching the Lake Lands.

  Gravik’s Spade (Grav-ick) – The region of great chasms and cliffs; Gravik is the farmers of Cardoon’s God.

  Yagire Hills(Ya-gire) – The biggest point in the hill lands and marshes, home to Wood Sprites and Gnomes; lies between Gonnish and the Fells.

  Wizened Forest – A creepy forest; short cut between the North and Cardoon.

  Graywing Mountains – Rumored to be the place where the First People lived. There are many caves throughout with runes and symbols, tunnels, balconies, and tombs. On the other side of the mountains are the swamplands.

  Swamplands – The location of Mort A’ghas.

  Order of Thet – The religious group of the Wivering; journeymen who live peaceful lives and bless the crops.

  The Warrior Sect – The Wivering’s small group of protectors; very weak, but have fleet of foot.

  The Circle Guard – A group of knights of Cardoon who rotate a checkpoint between their city, the Red Coast, and the lands to the North. They travel this route in a circle and report back to Cardoon.

  Bonus Material

  An Excerpt from The Scepter of Namiss

  Story 1 of the Books of Braenyn

  Braenyn the elf stood in the inner sanctum of the crypt. Shafts of pale milk-white moonlight shimmered through grated windows in the corners of the musty room but it was not enough to illuminate the entire place. The dust of ages lying thick on the floor was undisturbed, even though the rotting wooden doors he passed through
looked as if someone had tried to break their way out of here.

  He surveyed the area with sword in hand, his grandfather’s sword, handed down to him through the generations, its hilt ornate with carvings of great serpents and runes of the Elven Gods. Sconces that lined the decayed walls remained unlit for centuries. Braenyn waved his hand, his eyes glowing white and, with the power that coursed through his blood, ignited them. The flames brought much needed light to the dank crypt.

  Before him he noticed a couple of tombs. Encrusted in cobwebs and dust, their foundations were cracked with decay and moisture. There were carvings and inscriptions on them that he couldn’t decipher. He walked over and pulled one of the torches from the sconces, spider webs entangled it like tentacles and stretched across the room as Braenyn moved.

  He bent to a tomb and saw lettering on the side, some of it faded over the years. It looked to be a hybrid of ancient human, Elven and Netherling language but he couldn’t quite read it.

  A chill slithered up his spine and he shivered, even his studded leather armor was not enough to stifle the cold of this place. The smell of rot hung heavy in his nostrils. He walked around the perimeter of the tomb, examining every crevice well aware that traps might wait to spring upon an inexperienced rogue or thief. Braenyn was neither.

  Satisfied, he placed his torch down and sheathed his sword. With both hands he pushed the tomb’s lid and attempted to open it but it would not budge. It felt as if it weighed a thousand tons. It would not open and he was much too weak to make the outcome any different. He thought about using magic but his people viewed it as a vile desecration to use magic on the dead or their places of rest, a curse upon those who did. Besides, he didn’t know any spells that would open tombs.

  He eyed the second tomb…identical to the first and approached it to try his luck there. No. It too guarded its secrets well. Well, he thought, if the Scepter of Namiss was in one of those tombs he would have to find another way to get to it.

  It was still a little soon however and he wasn’t even deep beneath the ground yet. It would hardly seem likely that the scepter would be this close to the outside world. These tombs were probably just guardians to the lower levels, used to ward off spirits and the living.

  No…foolish tales for the children. He didn’t believe in such things. Dead guardians protecting crypts? Absurd. Now Black Hearts, Netherlings, Ogres, Coil worms, Shadow spiders-those were real things…real threats.

  But he didn’t think he’d run into any here. Maybe a Netherling, but the crypt seemed to be deserted for a very long time. He was sure he was alone.

  He picked up his torch and walked about the room, a set of stone steps waited at the back of it, he would have missed it if not for the torchlight he provided himself with. The light danced about the walls, casting shadows that moved and played tricks with his mind. He swore a shadow moved as if alive, whisking down the steps like a child at play. He shook the feeling off. He would not be spooked, nor frightened away from untold wealth and glory. The scepter waited.

  He started down the stairs, dust ruffled in his wake while cobwebs clung to his face. His torchlight revealed fungus and mold growing like rashes all over the stone walls. Some fungus was known to have healing properties, but not this. Only glowing fungus had the power to heal.

  The steps curled and twisted into the darkness…the pitch-black…the unknown. He stopped dead in his tracks as a sound caught his slender, pointed ears, a keen sense of hearing in all of his people. It came from behind him.

  Footsteps behind…slow, dragging, shuffling. Something was on the steps. He looked back, and saw a form round the corner, chain armor jingled as steel scraped against stone.

  He was no longer alone. Guardians? Rubbish…the dead could not harm him. Yet the only things back that way were the tombs.

  The form grew closer. Braenyn drew his sword.

  Six months earlier

  He woke in the arms of his lover, Tarrow, the shape shifter from the hillside. It had been weeks since they were able to spend time together, Tarrow’s nomadic people having moved again.

  Braenyn gave Tarrow one last kiss before rising from the animal skins and pine branches. He took a drink of water from the bowl in the corner of the tent and began dressing.

  “You’re up early,” Tarrow whispered, lifting himself onto his elbows. “The light hasn’t even breached the mountains yet.”

  Braenyn looked up, noticing the disappointment in Tarrow’s eyes. “I need to train if I’m going to start my quest when the moon grows full. That’s in just a few days. You can come watch me if you want.”

  “Swordplay and magic don’t really thrill me. I like a more hands-on activity.”

  “Oh, I know,” Braenyn said with a sly smile.

  “Tell me again about this scepter.”

  Braenyn sat on the drum he and Tarrow used many times to sing songs about their relationship, about their lives, and about their Gods, as different as those Gods were, and began his tale again. He knew how much Tarrow loved hearing him tell his stories.

  “The fabled scepter is no fable, my love. It is made of pure gold and encrusted with priceless gemstones. It is more valuable then any treasure this side of the Coral mountains. With its value you could buy a kingdom. And legend tells that it grants wishes…whether it is true or not remains to be seen as no one has ever been able to liberate it. Forget the other quests I have braved. Emerald and sapphire baubles, rings of power, gauntlets of platinum, ruby crowns, gold nuggets, silver ore…they mean noting compared to the scepter. No adventurer has even come close to obtaining it.

  “And how did you learn of its existence?”

  “It was a night of chance and luck.” Braenyn lifted his right arm in grand gesture, reveling in his tales, captivating the admiration of Tarrow from the very beginning, having met him after his very first quest. “I was at a tavern in the human town of Dar. Ironically a bard was singing a boon I had never heard before—all about a fabled scepter. A drunk in the corner mumbled that he knew it existed, that his map told the way. He was ignored by everyone…except me.”

  “As he stumbled out that night, I followed him, blending into the shadows and using my stealth skills to find his sleeping quarters in a hollowed out tree and there, relieved him of his possessions. In a smelly, filth-ridden sack I found it—the map to the scepter, a description in some sort of mixture human and Elven writing, a warning and spell. It clearly showed the way, a perilous way indeed but where there’s a will…

  Tarrow rose to his feet, covering his nakedness from the cold and walked to his lover. Their lips met. Tarrow sighed. “Perhaps too perilous?”

  “Nonsense.”

  “This is not just any quest Braenyn. The scepter rests among the dead. That is not to be taken lightly.”

  “And what harm can the dead do to me?”

  “My naïve love. You wouldn’t say that if you had done battle with a Wraith Lord as I had. I nearly escaped with my life.”

  “I fear nothing dead…what is alive is what we must fear. Think of it, Tarrow. All of our dreams, anything we want. No longer living like paupers. No longer moving every time your people are attacked or persecuted as monsters. We can have a kingdom of our own. With an army and servants. Think of it.”

  Tarrow paused a long moment, his gaze searching the tent, and then tracing every line in his elf’s adorable face. “Well then let me go with you. I can help keep you safe. My strength in battle is invaluable. As when I took the form of a Golem to chase off the brigands who jumped us last month.”

  “No I must do this alone. It is a question of honor. Besides, I need someone to watch over our possessions and keep the home fires burning. I always look forward to returning to you when my quests are done. You are more rewarding then any gold or jewel I have won.”

  They embraced.

  “Now I’m off to train.” Braenyn took up his sword and left the tent.

  Enjoy the sample? Purchase the Scepter of Namiss.

  Auth
or Bio

  John Grover is a fiction author residing in Massachusetts. He completed a creative writing course at Boston’s Fisher College and is a member of the New England Horror Writers Association. Some of his more recent credits include stories in The Silver Blade, Aurora Wolf, The Willows, Rouge Worlds, Alternate Realities and more.

  He is the author the new fantasy series Song of the Ancestors, Web of the Spider Queen and The Human Condition are out now. This is a novella series planned to have 4 volumes in all—a kindle exclusive. His next fantasy series the Books of Braenyn has now gone live as well featuring the adventures of a rogue elf thief and his shape-shifting lover. Join the adventures with the first two stories available for Kindle and Nook.

  John also writes in the horror and sci-fi genres. All of his currents works can be found on his website. Please visit his site www.shadowtales.com or his facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/johngroverdarkfictionauthor) for more information.

  Bibliography

  Song of the Ancestors Series

  Web of the Spider Queen

  The Human Condition

  Ballad of the Fallen-Coming Soon

  The Ashes of Orum-Coming Soon

  The Books of Braenyn

  The Scepter of Namiss

  The Fallen Church of Ashburn

  Family Bonds-Coming Soon

  Tarrow’s Tale-Coming Soon

  Duel on Mt Vapor-Coming Soon

  Friend or Foe in a Broken Land-Coming Soon

  The Urn of Orgo-Coming Soon

  A Dish Served Cold –Coming Soon

  Table of Contents

  Other Fantasy Titles by John Grover

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve