Twist of the Heart

by James Val'Rose



  James Val’Rose

  Twist of the Heart

  The Theurgy

  Revolution

  Copyright © James Val’Rose

  The right of James Val’Rose to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  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, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Note from the Author

  Welcome to the first Valentine Special. Thank you so very much for downloading this. Your support means the world to me.

  There are just a couple of things I’d like to say. While this novelette is an extension of the novel Path of the Gods, it can be read before or after without any worry of spoilers. If you’ve already read Path of the Gods, this should serve to provide a few added hints and details. If you’re approaching this without any knowledge of the original book, hopefully it will serve as a good premise for the beginning of the Theurgy Revolution.

  I have attached the opening sections and first chapter of Path of the Gods, which you’ll find at the end of Twist of the Heart.

  You can stay updated on other free specials by checking in on the Facebook page here:

  www.facebook.com/pathofthegodsbook

  Enjoy, and Happy Valentine’s Day!

  Contents

  Twist of the Heart

  A Library of Three Books

  A Door That’s Not a Door

  Tension

  Path of the Gods

  The War of Unity

  Part I – The Calling

  Chapter I – The Desire

  A Library of Three Books

  There was tension in the air. It was thick, even in this thin and icy atmosphere.

  The area around me was empty, desolate, aside from a single bare and intrinsically lifeless tree, save for the last leaf, which was feathered away with the next gust of frozen wind.

  The tree, with its gnarled and mangy branches, stood steadfast to the wind.

  Meanwhile I, with my paltry clothing and hood, stood braced.

  The wind howled as the currents whipped my face, clutching the tears from my watering eyes and almost freezing them. Then, its voice lowered, its power settled and I sank myself back onto my heels.

  An overcast and despondent sky lurked above me, any patches of blue quickly masked by a malevolent grey cloud.

  The place I found myself appeared to mark the southerly edge of a ploughed and fallow field, left as bare as the tree by which I stood.

  I looked from whence I had come to the murky distance and saw, billowing from the treetops of a distant woodland, a plume of smoke that was bullied and beaten by the howling wind.

  On any given day, you would find me a scout, and the reason you would find me marching the wilds of Aramyth was for exactly that – to scout someone. My guild had been tasked to track and follow the whereabouts of one nameless individual, and the task, like all tasks, had been handed down, put through administration and delegated, to me of all people.

  Of course, while it was easy to complain about the weather, it was hard to complain about the job. I enjoyed the mystery and the science of tracking, hunting, scouting, learning, exploring, visiting places only few had been and maybe even treading on previously untrodden ground.

  Yes, I enjoyed my job, but it was still a job and I remembered my mission:

  “Shadan-Ivy,” my overseer had said to me, though I had long since dropped the ‘Ivy’ because, despite being a woman, it didn’t fit my line of work; but my overseer was a man of staunch formality and never deigned himself to use diminutives. “It falls to you,” he had continued, “to trace, seek and kill one individual…”

  I went over the description given, every pertaining detail they had supplied. I was happy to be on this next mission, because the last one had weighed heavily on me and I needed this one to take my mind off it.

  The distant woodland, though I said ‘distant’, was not so far, and its aforementioned distance was but a product of the starkness. The field was hard beneath my feet as I trudged over the tilled surface, but there were still nubbins of uneven soil that crunched flat under my weight.

  I looked up to see the nearing tree line and didn’t dally in the frosty atmosphere; I pushed on and quite rapidly a mist began coiling into existence. At least, it was a mist when I first noticed it, but the more I walked on, the thicker it became, until it was a fog. Of course, I hadn’t equated my progress to its development. Indeed, who would?

  Nonetheless, I crept further to the tree line and, even though I was practically on top of it, it was completely obscured by the fog, which had recently been but a few translucent veins of mist.

  Maybe I should have stopped, but I felt as though heading back was a bad idea so I continued, further and further until it was as good as darkness and my eyes were useless in the pitch.

  I kept my eyes open because I was still seeing quick jolts of something – maybe something – yet I was blithely unaware that the wind seemed to have dropped and it wasn’t at all cold anymore.

  In the blackness, I continued; yet it wasn’t much longer before, quite suddenly, the fog was gone and not even a trace of mist remained, not even wisps of translucence.

  It was remarkably strange, though, that it wasn’t a forest or woody area where I found myself, but a courtyard, with a full moon and night sky above, as twinkly and beauteous as those of a fairy tale.

  My first instinct was to look from where I had come, so I turned, sharply.

  But all that lurked behind me was just the rest of the courtyard, solemn and desolate; complete, yet somewhat unfinished.

  I couldn’t quite understand the wrongness of it, but it was as though the buildings that surrounded me in this large square courtyard weren’t real; real but not real, as though they were just paintings of real buildings. Push me for an answer and I’d say you’d just have to see it for yourself.

  At my feet was layered a combination of sand and soil, amidst a collection of shale and pebbles. Up close it looked and felt real enough, but like the courtyard, the farther I peered, the less real and the more textureless it became.

  It was around now that I overcame the initial surprise and turned my focus to what, if any, mystery lurked here. After all, even despite my own convictions and principles that founded my belief in the normal and the natural, I couldn’t refute that Aramyth had its fair share of wonders that glistened, but also lurked…

  I warned myself: Tread carefully, Shadan.

  And tread carefully I did, stepping upon the crusty earth towards an entrance I sighted in one of the walls of the unreal courtyard.

  Yet, the nearer I approached the more real the surfaces became, and by the time I was within touching distance of the wall, it looked as real as anything I had ever seen before. Of course, I had to touch it to confirm its validity, and it felt just as real as I would have expected.

  I pressed on, unwilling to waver any longer; I simply accepted that from afar things looked imaginary.

  The entrance took me down several steps – I didn’t count – until I found myself in a corridor. To my left and right were stone walls, indistinguishable walls, the like of which I had seen many times before.

  I followed along the only way I could until I met the end of this small tunnel a mere twenty or so feet from the base of the steps.

  I turned right and stepped out into what I envisioned to be t
he main network of corridors, for to my left and right and ahead were three passages. Being who I am, I chose the centre passage. I’m not sure when I decided such things, and until now it had never seemed pertinent, but I made a conscious decision that if ever presented with three options, I’d always choose the middle.

  I had to stop briefly, though, because as I looked both left and right, that strange painted and somewhat flat unrealism took an even more uncomforting form. The distant torches on the wall were but a depiction of flame, not moving or flickering, yet still giving off light; whilst the nearer ones, especially the ones right next to me, were very much torch-like in every way. It was like the ‘distance’ simply didn’t exist, and was rendered to reality upon my ‘closeness’.

  Shaking my head as though refuting it as a dream, I continued.

  I coursed down the path I had chosen, until I was encompassed by darkness, and in the darkness I pushed on, my footsteps being the only sense of how far I had travelled.

  Soon, although I couldn’t say how soon, I saw light ahead of me. It was a pleasant sight to behold, having felt so dampened by the pitch. And what I saw simply as ‘light’ to begin with, I eventually discerned as another set of stairs leading up, although I couldn’t see where.

  Pressing on, I placed my foot onto the first step of around ten, lifting myself up to see something more than just a corridor; a room.

  At first glance, I would have said it was a library but, like the rest of this place, there was an ethereal feel; there was more mystery to uncover, to behold. While I couldn’t deny its library-like quality, ostensibly it was just a very big room with a dozen or so bookshelves, at no more than shoulder height.

  At my feet was a crimson red – I’m inclined to say blood red – carpet with a gilded hem. It felt soft upon my feet and then I realised, unlike before, this room felt a lot more ‘complete’ and the distance didn’t seem painted or flat, but real and palpable. I could even see stars and mountains out of the windows that graced the gods, although I accepted the ease of making mountains and stars look real.

  I crept forward, sensing myself not to be alone and I ran my finger along the spines of the tucked away books. Here, I discovered more mystery. The books, though real and hard to the touch, were but fake appearances of books and tomes.

  They were also joined together, and though their appearance was quite evidently created to copy that of a book, I recognised not a single word on the spines. I would have considered that they were written in a language I was unfamiliar with, but I worked upon a different principle: it was all jargon.

  A noise captured my attention, turning me hastily to a corner. I saw, over the string of bookshelves, a mist floating above a table with quill and ink and candle. The mist danced upon the table, for what purpose I could not discern, so I ignored it and left its mystery just the way I found it: unknown.

  Leaving this row of bookshelves behind, I headed to what I thought was the centre of this library. Why the centre, I wondered. I suppose it just seemed the logical thing to do, because at the heart of a room was surely where you’d find its true purpose. I was more than happy to be wrong, but I had to do something.

  I found myself walking down an aisle, a central stem, from which branched many rows of bookshelves until, for the first time here, I found that I was not alone.

  Looking up from the table at which he was sat, he said, “Shadan,” as though he knew me, had known me, for a lot longer than a mere second…

  ***

  “Shadan-Ivy,” I said to her.

  Although I pronounced it wrong and she said, “It’s SHAY-dun, not Shad-dan. Just Shadan. I don’t use the ‘Ivy’.”

  “Then forgive me,” I replied, looking at her face, which was tucked into a dark hood.

  She had a plain face, well, plain so far as beauty went, light skin, blue eyes, an average if not slender nose but I couldn’t help but feel a smack of danger from looking at her. Plain though I instantly categorised her, she most definitely had a dimension beyond that.

  “Fine,” she said simply. “So…?”

  Her questioning inflection raised a single eyebrow of mine and I looked at her, curious.

  “Are you going to tell me how you knew my name?”

  “Well I didn’t, did I? I got it wrong.”

  “You know what I mean; don’t evade the question.”

  So I pushed this big, green, heavy tome that was on the table in front of me her way. It slid all the way across and she looked at it and then, yes, I saw her recognise what was written on the cover – her name.

  She opened it, brashly, as though the book had offended her. I knew how she felt though, because she was not the only one to have a book with her name on it.

  “I know,” I said, wanting to re-engage with her.

  In surprise, she looked up at me and said, “How did you know it was me? Do you have one of these?”

  I spun the book with my name on it towards her, which she quickly scanned and read, “Vison,” and also, somewhat annoyingly, said correctly, with a long ‘I’ like ‘eye’ as well as a ‘Z’ sound in the middle not an ‘S’ like so many people often do. It was annoying because I had got hers wrong. “Have you found any more of these?” she continued.

  “I did find one other.”

  “So how did you know my name was Shadan?”

  “Because I didn’t take you for a ‘Slayne’.”

  “Slayne? That’s the name of the other person?”

  “I can only assume, what with there being a book matching your name and a book matching mine. After all, there are no other kinds of books here.”

  “You’ve been here for some time then.”

  “Long enough to go through every spine.”

  She took a moment to consider, until saying, “I take it you haven’t encountered this Slayne individual.”

  “No, although I assume he’s been here for longer than us, as there’s much more written down in his tome.”

  “You say that like you’ve had a good look…”

  My eyebrows furrowed, of course I’d had a look.

  “Have you looked at mine?” she asked.

  “I flicked it open, but there wasn’t anything in it.”

  “Oh?” she voiced, and then opened her book – the book about which she was the subject – I saw the same look on her face that I had felt on mine when words began writing themselves.

  Shutting it closed, just as I had done, she solicited no advice from me, and instead asked, “So what does his – Slayne’s – book say?”

  “A variety of things,” I said, opening it and paraphrasing, “He’s the last of his kind, or so it says. Was the only survivor of a mass ambush of … dark ones.”

  “Dark ones?” she repeated, voicing the question I had already posed myself before reading it aloud.

  “So it says. It’s sketchy at best, but he seems to be one of the magi. A Blade Magi apparently, whatever that is. He’s looking for a place to retire himself.”

  She was about to speak, but I quickly said, “Don’t ask; I don’t know. That’s all it says.”

  “Retire himself, though…? So, are we to take it he’s fairly old then?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, but I can’t imagine what else it might mean, but then I can’t explain much else here. Speaking of which, do you have any idea where ‘here’ is?”

  “None, I couldn’t even tell you how I got here, because it was so foggy.”

  What she says rings a memory for me and I say, “ Yes, I remember that too, like a thick smoke and then…” I thought about it some more. “Then I was in a—”

  “A courtyard?” she said, finishing my sentence off.

  “Yes, and nothing seems real.”

  “Yes.”

  We fell into a very real silence, in a very unreal place.

  The weird and unexplained fog still hung over the table in the corner and the whole place left me feeling haunted. I found the company of Shadan welcoming, because I did not k
now how long I’d been here. But it mattered not. All that did matter was getting out.

  Deciding that two heads were better than one, we agreed that three heads were better than two, and so our next step was locating Slayne.

  ***

  I knew almost instantly that Vison was the man I had been tasked with finding, mainly because of the description I had been given, that of a man with dark, thick, long hair, a height similar to mine and grey eyes. And, also, these wilder parts of Aramyth were not so often trodden and so, to find a man here matching that description only confirmed my suspicion.

  But I chose not to act upon my suspicions, because whatever this place was it warranted my full and undivided attention. That, and it was also mentioned that the man I sought was fairly erudite, which also gave me pause, because his intelligence might help get us out of here.

  There was tension in the air, though. It shuffled between him and me like a disease.

  “Did it say anything in Slayne’s book that might help us find him?” I asked, breaking the silent tension.

  For a split second after I spoke, he still seemed affected, mesmerised by the invisible strangeness sitting in the air. “Nothing,” he finally said, snapping free.

  “So, do you have any idea how we might find him?”

  “Unless you have a better idea, I’d say trial and error.”

  “Trial and error. Good. Shall we split up?”

  “No,” Vison rapidly said, rousing my suspicions.

  “It would be quicker,” I reasoned.

  He paused for a second and the tension felt thicker than it had been, but he finally said, “It may be quicker, but speed is not necessarily effective. We need to be methodical. This is a strange place and the last thing we need to do is to lose each other.”

  What he said made sense and I adhered to his words. “Very well,” I said. “Lead on.”

  ***

  I couldn’t be sure about Shadan. On the outside she seemed normal enough, but what I couldn’t quite understand was something else – sadness, maybe? I thought – that she kept secret under the veil of her skin.