Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  “This is where I must leave you,” Rona said with a bow. “I’m bound to serve the rowans.”

  “And your service is honorable, my dear friend.” Ivri returned her gesture.

  From where he sat, Folt bent at the waist and lowered his head. “We’re indebted to you for your help.”

  “We sure are. Now you stay safe, Rona.” Raylene scooped the tiny keeper into a hug that lifted her off her feet. “A big thank you for teaching me that awesome code language.”

  “Thank you again, Rona. May I help you back to the tunnel?” Lyra asked.

  Rona shook her head and grinned ear to ear. In an instant, she began a deft climb straight up the sheer wall of the ravine.

  While they watched, Lyra pulled the Staurolite from her jeans pocket. “This should change somehow to indicate the presence of the Emtori Ruby. The Malificates in Terza paired the two gems. This one controls the other.” The translucent cross-shaped crystals remained fixed in reddish sedimentary rock. She tilted her head to one side. “They look the same in both color and shape to me. I’ll check it as we travel.”

  “Did you learn anything from your studies of Elisabeth’s book about how to find the ruby?” Cullen asked.

  “A little. Elisabeth and Garrett entered Cerid’s Crux through tunnels that connected to the Dark Realm’s lair.” Lyra dug in her pocket and pulled out a folded note. “She was pregnant. She struggled to travel with the combined problems of her health, the intense desert heat, and the weight of the power of the Emtori Ruby, which she carried. I doubt they went far, although Garrett did take them off a main path to find a good hiding place for the ruby. About the spell around the keystone…” She read aloud:

  ”Stay back. We’ve broken the surface, and I should now be able to finish more easily.” Garrett held his palm steady above the depression and recited an incantation. Straight down, our indent transformed into a tunnel more than an arm’s length in depth.

  Making haste, I held the ruby above the opening. I gritted my teeth to pry my fingers off its facets. It clung to my palm. I poured my aura into my arm, shaking my shoulder with all the force I could muster.

  The gem gave way and dropped, meeting the bottom of the hole with a tremendous thud. The noise reverberated along the walls of the cavernous fissure.

  “I’ll enchant the encasement, so anyone lacking power that matches this keystone won’t be able to penetrate.” He waved his hand again and the hole filled with an amalgam of dry earth and his silvery aura.

  “Garrett’s enchantment should help block the Qumeli.” Cullen extended his hand. “May I reread those lines?”

  “I know those tunnels but haven’t traveled them myself.” Folt pointed upstream. “That way is north toward the Dark Realm. “That means Elisabeth and Garrett traveled in the northeast quadrant of Cerid’s Crux.” He pivoted at his waist and waved along the far side of the ravine. “We need to cross the River Sedes.” With Raylene and Ivri supporting him, he stood and tested his leg. “It’s stiff, but I can manage. Lyra, will you please transport us across?”

  She opened her arms wide and motioned for them to gather close. Within a few minutes, they stood on the opposite ledge.

  Draora floated to join them, her nose held high, sniffing.

  “Do you smell something amiss?” Cullen asked.

  “That rust odor smells worse on this side,” she replied. “Strange. I left those coins on the other bank. Should we keep them with us?”

  Cullen shook his head. “They could be charmed to trace their location.”

  “Let’s head out.” Folt took a couple stiff-legged steps. “We’ll take the first fork to the right, into the interior a ways and see what comes.”

  Raylene stayed close beside him, her hand under his armpit to take weight off of his healing leg.

  About ten minutes later, a side path opened—a dry ravine of sorts or more like a wide crack that formed from constant baking heat sucking moisture from the ground. Away from the river, the desiccated air attacked Lyra’s mouth and eyes, making their membranes pasty and tight. She rechecked the Staurolite and frowned. It remained unchanged.

  Folt passed water gourds around. “Take care to keep your mouth from drying out too much. That’s when delirium from the curse of Cerid starts.”

  “What is that like?” Vickie asked.

  “When I was young, a group of us tried to prove ourselves and traveled here.” Folt shook his head and readjusted his cap so the brim shielded his eyes.

  “You worried your mothers terribly.” Ivri shook her head and replaced two gourds into her backpack. “I was new as head keeper, then only of the middle lands, and they begged me to send trackers after you.”

  “The three of us who survived are now trackers.”

  “My best,” Ivri added.

  “What happened to the others?” Raylene asked, eyes wide.

  “Two of my mates got separated from the rest of us. We found them a day later sitting in the baking sun, talking nonsense.” Folt looked away from her and focused on something in the distance and his voice broke. “We couldn’t get them to leave.”

  As their guide slowed, Lyra took the opportunity to examine the Staurolite again. “Look!” She extended her palm with the stone. The two once-crossed crystals now formed a sharp point. “Do you think this is an arrow pointing toward the ruby?” Her hand shook so much, she braced it with her other.

  “Try facing another direction,” Vickie suggested.

  Lyra turned ninety degrees, and the others gathered around her. Over the course of the next minute, they stood speechless watching the crystals rotate until the point matched its previous direction.

  “It’s leading us like a compass.” Lyra stepped from the group and continued along the narrow gorge. “We need to turn left.” Around a bend, she led them into a new crevice.

  “Lyra!” a girl’s voice yelled from above at the edge of the ridge. Kessa’s leg braces formed an unmistakable outline against the blinding sun.

  Two men grabbed her away from the edge, and the skirted shapes of two women engulfed her.

  Chapter Nineteen: The Emtori Ruby

  Lyra lunged into a run, following Kessa’s muffled screams. Alerted by scuffling noises on the ridge above, she halted directly below where the Qumeli tribespeople held the young seer. She fueled her staff completely, then read faces of those in her group to determine which would join her.

  Cullen grabbed her staff arm and silently mouthed, “Wait.” He pointed to her jeans pocket.

  Lyra understood and pulled out the Staurolite. Her friends gathered around as the gem’s two long crystal arms spun like a pinwheel. The group stood on the spot—the place the first Scribe had hidden the Emtori Ruby eight hundred years ago. The decision Lyra faced made her heart thud against her ribs—free Kessa or secure the ruby.

  Sweat seeped into Lyra’s eyes as she looked from friend to friend. Hoping to learn more from the quintessence of the Staurolite, she closed her fingers around it but felt nothing.

  Ivri placed a hand over top of Lyra’s, followed by Folt, and one by one, the others joined.

  Their bond of friendship told Lyra what she needed to do first. She looked up at the edge of the escarpment. After a twirl of her staff, puffs of golden vapor billowed at their feet.

  Cullen’s staff sparked with blue energy.

  Red light prickled across Lyra’s skin, and she looked over her shoulder at the source in the wall behind them—the Emtori Ruby was awake. Its intense pull clouded her mind. At once, she related to what the first Scribe, Elisabeth, had described in her book. To fight from being overwhelmed, she clasped the Staurolite and focused on Kessa being harmed by the Qumeli.

  Another twist of her staff engulfed the group in aura, and she lifted them to the top of the ridge. Cautious to drop the transport shield, Lyra peered through the translucent film.

  In a tight knot, the Qumeli hurried farther along the elevation. The taller of the two men carried Kessa slung over his shoulder.
/>   Lyra pointed the sapphire of her staff at them and gripped Cullen’s arm.

  He displaced the tip of her staff toward the sky. “My aim isn’t that good. We’re too far, and they’re keeping close for good reason.”

  Lyra thrust herself into a run after the Qumeli. She forced aside uncertainties about how to fight their black magic and relied on instincts.

  No matter how much she accelerated, Draora flew in the lead with Kenzo at the boot heels of the ghost-witch.

  Minutes later, they narrowed the distance and forced the Qumeli near the end of the ridge with no easy way down the sharp cliff face.

  Lyra adjusted the grip of her damp palm on her staff. Her pulse reverberated in her ears.

  In position to share auras, Cullen’s left hand sweated through the shirt covering her upper arm.

  The two chiefs shoved Kessa to the women behind them and faced her. Standing square, feet planted wide, and chests lifted, their massive forms rose two or more heads taller than Cullen’s. The piercing glares of their black eyes bored into Lyra. Their horns circled twice around their ears, the length a sign of wisdom, power, and experience. They likely knew their craft well. Nomads, they dressed for travel over this rough terrain. Knee-high laced leather boots and dense canvas pants protected their legs. Over tunics of the same drab green or tan canvas, they wore hand-woven blankets draped diagonally from one shoulder across their chests, held in place by ornate belts.

  The chief with gray peppering the temples of his shoulder length black hair wore a vivid red striped blanket. Numerous strings of fiery gems spiraled the curves of his horns. Necklaces of the same beads decorated his chest.

  His partner, perhaps a lesser chieftain, dressed more simply. His tall mohawk hairstyle which ended in a ponytail remained untouched by gray. He wore a plain black blanket, and a single strand of black beads wrapped each horn.

  Wondering whether to make the first move, Lyra swallowed hard and waited.

  Behind the men, glimpses of Kessa’s braced legs showed from folds of the women’s full skirts. Ends of the girl’s dark blond hair hung below an orange kerchief which matched the style favored by her captors. Only one earlobe peeked from the scarf. Cranewort’s message had been correct. Torturers had cut off Kessa’s ear.

  Lyra bit her lip imagining the pain the girl had endured.

  Kessa squirmed and flung her arms free whenever opportunity arose.

  A sinuous grin curled one corner of Mohawk’s mouth, giving him a wicked, crazed appearance. The elder’s face looked calmer, more reserved, despite his penchant for brighter colors…or perhaps just more stoic and calculated. Lyra couldn’t decide if she read either man correctly.

  Sweat formed a rivulet down her spine.

  Kessa’s agitation grew, and the women forced her to the ground. Still, she squirmed and protested, but the hefty women easily contained her slight form.

  With Kessa safely lower than the chiefs, Lyra blasted the first shot high at the chest of Mohawk, then swept her laser across the other for good measure.

  Strangely, their blankets seemed to absorb energy of her powerball, a technique new to Lyra. The men seemed unaffected. She wondered what happened to her aura, whether the fabric neutralized it, or worse, if the men became stronger after absorbing it.

  The black pupils of Mohawk widened and glinted with silver streaks.

  She had to assume the worst. They’re strengthened by my power. How do I fight them? she asked Cullen silently.

  Defensively. Watch for their strikes and deflect whatever comes at us.

  Mohawk bent his knees into a slight crouch and thrust a fist in Lyra’s direction. His fingers unfurled and emitted a black cloud aimed at her.

  Fingers dug into her biceps, Cullen fired and yelled, “Coerceo!” A thin film of his blue aura encased the dark mass. Encapsulated, it undulated wildly in a fight to escape.

  Lyra immediately covered it with a supportive golden layer, and the large ball fell to the ground. Oscillating, it rolled awkwardly toward her group, chasing one then another member in a drunken attempt to do Mohawk’s bidding.

  While chaos ensued, the other chieftain fired a crimson powerball covered by dozens of trailing orange flames.

  From the corner of her eye, Lyra noticed the attack and spun around to fire. Her shot met the elder’s only a couple feet from her chest.

  The chief’s lips fleered back, baring a row of sparse, craggy teeth. He sent a volley, a powerball off each finger.

  Draora captured two of his shots in her trailing skirt hems while also attempting unsuccessfully to corral Mohawk’s wandering sphere.

  Lyra and Cullen took turns firing from her aura and surrounded another two flaming balls. The remaining one zipped past Raylene and set her cardigan on fire.

  She screamed, wormed out of the garment, and flung it to the ground.

  Ivri and Folt trampled the flames out, while Raylene clutched her blistered arm.

  “Vickie, Raylene, come here and form the circle! Draora, add your magic to mine.” Lyra shouted. They sped into position, and she raised a cloud of aura around her group.

  Draora wove her magic into Lyra’s.

  Vickie grabbed Noba by his arm down with them, but Kenzo flew too high and became separated from them by the shield.

  The elder nodded to Mohawk and the pair fired more shots than she could count.

  “Kenzo, go high!” Cullen cried. The owl lifted into a sharp ascent a second just before the Qumeli’s powerballs pitted the surface. The shield held; none penetrated.

  “We’re safe,” Vickie breathed.

  “For now,” Cullen replied.

  “What’s that chief doing?” Draora asked from her position beneath the shield’s ceiling.

  The elder opened his palm and blew across it, but nothing happened.

  “I can’t see clearly through our shield. Can you?” Lyra asked Cullen.

  Before he could answer, a network of cracks riddled the dry ground under their feet. A wind rose and whipped red dust from those fissures, creating a whirlwind inside their protection.

  Lyra’s eyes and nose burned. “Cover your faces with the scarves like before!”

  The red dust dissolved their shield.

  Blinking back moisture from her eyes, Lyra noticed a violet-blue transport cloud form to the left with Kenzo circling overhead. Seconds later, the shape of Tarom materialized, a powerball spilling energy from between his fingers, arm cocked to throw. He looked back and forth between the opposing sides as if deciding which side to support.

  Cullen readjusted his grip on Lyra’s bicep and aimed his staff at the dark alchemist.

  The elder chief barked a directive at the two women.

  They jerked Kessa to her feet and dragged her a step closer to the edge of the ridge.

  Kenzo and Noba sped to the women and battled them, talons and claws yanking their waist-length hair.

  One pushed the child and laughed while watching her trip and fall inches from the precipice.

  Lyra gasped and bolted from the shredded shield, straight for Kessa. Her action set off an onslaught of shots—red, black, violet, and blue. When she crossed the middle ground between opposing forces, Tarom’s violet lasers zinged in both directions above her head. She wondered who he fought against.

  A Qumeli red bolt grazed her backside.

  Lyra twisted and found the violin safe. But her jacket’s elastic hem melted where she’d tied it at her waist. She fixed her gaze on the woman closer to Kessa.

  The woman crouched near the girl, hands on Kessa’s shoulder and hip, arms flexed as though ready to push the girl over at any moment.

  As the other woman groaned and lowered her heavier frame, Lyra noticed a white sliver of a crescent moon in the sky beyond.

  She pulled the violin from its bag, lifted it to her shoulder, and touched the bow to the strings.

  Cullen moaned, and she spun to face him. He clutched his shoulder where his tunic hung in shreds.

  Her bow slipped
a few inches and a single, clear note sounded. Daggers of ice from the moon pelted the Qumeli.

  “Lyra, you must not carry the ruby,” Kessa shouted, her eyes huge.

  “Shut your mouth, girl,” the obese woman snarled at her.

  In synchronous motions, the obese women shoved Kessa over the end of the ridge. The Mohawk chieftain showered Lyra’s face with black dust and plowed her body into the ravine.

  Wind rushed at her back.

  Kessa’s screams echoed along the cliff walls.

  Lyra jerked toward Kessa’s voice, but blurred vision from the dust prevented her from seeing far enough. Air rushed past her. Her mind raced, wanting to do everything but limited without a free hand. She struggled to pass the violin and bow into one hand. With the other finally free, she channeled a large mass of aura into her palm. Heart pounding in her throat, she needed to hear Kessa again. Without any idea how soon to expect impact, she positioned a portion of the energy below her while still listening.

  Air moved slower past Lyra, and Kessa screamed from farther down.

  Unable to concentrate on two masses of power while in free fall, Lyra released what slowed her descent. She hurled aura below where Kessa’s voice originated, hoping she guessed correctly. Wind rushed past Lyra more quickly.

  Kessa’s screams stopped. Either Lyra saved her from impact…or she’d fired too late.

  She positioned aura beneath her only a moment before her back struck a hard surface. Excruciating pain shot in waves along her spine and legs. Her thoughts clouded. She needed to apply self-healing immediately. Sharp pain blocked her efforts. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to focus. She released the violin and bow locked in her fingers and inched her hand onto her chest. She laid her palm over one lung and tried to detect internal function. She couldn’t access her aura.