“I kept my promise.”
“Thank Alden you are alive, Cristoff.” Rosana could not wipe her tears of joy, but he did it for her.
“Are you well, my queen?” Cristoff kissed her cheek.
“I am my lord.” Rosana pulled the white blanket back, revealing a beautiful boy with a full head of dark wet curls. His eyes were squinted nearly shut, but he calmed as Cristoff touched his forehead with his finger. The smallest smile curled on his lips, as newborn children often knew and felt things that adults could not.
“May I…may I …hold him..our…your…” Cristoff stumbled over his words.
“Of course, my love, show our son his new home.” Rosana carefully lifted her baby up to Cristoff.
He wept, like a man reborn, like he was a father anew. Cristoff Bradswellen the Third raised the baby high to the sky above Mooncrest. Cheers from thousands honored him and the child, and people flooded toward the former queen of Harlaheim.
“I give to you, Savanno Bradswellen the First, firstborn child of Mooncrest!” Cristoff held the baby close now, and stood next to Rosana in the wagon as thousands lined up to catch a glimpse of the baby, and the two brave nobles they had followed, all the way across the continent.
Tannek Anduvann cheered with his brother Drodunn, and Dalliunn licked Cristoff’s face. Angeline sat with the minstrels, telling them of how Tubrey saved the day and helped bring Gwenneth back to life. Garret walked the temples of the Caricians, smiling as if a new world had been discovered. The people walked with Cristoff and Rosana, lined up to bow to the elves and dwarves, and dared to dream of a new home here, in such a fabled place.
The former marshall walked toward Azenairk Thalanaxe, pushing through the crowds. He took a breath, took a knee, and looked up to the five brave heroes. He smiled to Shinayne T’Sarrin and her beloved Lavress that she would not let go, to Saberrak Agrannar the gray, to Gwenneth Lazlette, and to Sir James Andellis. His face went serious as he looked to his king in the golden armor and crown. He tried his best to hold it.
“No one has ever fought for somethin’ more than you have Azenairk. I tell ye’ now, on Vundren’s blessed certainty, that me and mine would fight for ye’ and die for ye’ and yer friends against any army, anywhere ye’ say. Ye’ be blessed, King Thalanaxe o’ Kakisteele, and I will cross axes with anyone who dares speak otherwise.” Tannek stood, pounded his axe to his shield, and roared through his read braided beard over the masses.
“Hail Sir James of Chazzrynn and Lady Gwenneth!”
Hail!
“Hail Saberrak Agrannar and Queen Shinayne of Tintasarn!”
Hail!
“Hail to the fallen soldiers, brave men and women that done fought and died for a new kingdom!”
Hail!
“And Hail to me king, the Holy Hammer o’ Vundren himself, King Azenairk Thalanaxe o’ Kakisteele!” Tannek raised his axe as thousands chanted their hails and honors toward them.
Hail, Hail, Hail!
Gwenneth bowed with grace, James saluted the thousands, Saberrak lowered his horns, and Shinayne bowed hand in hand with Lavress. They gazed across all their friends gathered here, for them. All but Zen. The dwarven priest, now the king of a place that he was told did not exist, looked to the doors to the mines. He waved his hand up slowly, toward the peaks, right above the golden doors. There, waving back to him from a white passing cloud, was his Thalanaxe family. His father, his brothers, him mum, and his papi all waved. No one else saw it, but Zen did. The cloud was a mountain to him, and he whispered up to those he loved and missed.
“We did it father, we did, and fought like hell we did.”
I know son, I told ye’ that ye’ was the best o’ me. I wish I could be there with ye’, to see what ye’ make of it. But, Vundren willing, I will watch over ye’ from time to time.
“Aye, I would like that then. Give me love to Tad and Gead, and mum and papi for me.”
Aye, I will, they see ye’ and hear ye’ too.
“Tell Vundren that Mudren Sheldathain fought hard, gave his life for us and all.” Zen kept waving, staring at the fading clouds above the Kaki Mountains.
He knows son, and he said to tell ye’ he is very proud o’ ye, told me himself he did. Good bye, son, me little agrvund…
“Good bye father.”
Zen let his arm rest back down, the cloud passed by and the white light faded to the east, beyond the mountains. He saw his friends waving too, but they waved to the people. He felt Shinayne’s hand, then Gwenneth’s, then James and Saberrak leaned on his shoulders. He smiled, knowing they had not seen what he had, yet he embraced his new family as the unrivaled cheers continued in their honor. He wanted this closeness to never end, right here and now, as they were at this moment.
Zen whispered and prayed. “Long live Mooncrest, long live Tintasarn, and long live Kakisteele.Thank ye’ Vundren, for me friends, and all ye’ have given me.” A deep dwarven voice answered him, not his father, nor his brothers, nor Mudren Sheldathain. It was someone else.
You are most welcome, King Azenairk Thalanaxe, My certainty on that…
About the author
Jason R Jones was born September 1975 and grew up in Monroe, Wisconsin. He is an honorable veteran of the United States Marine Corps, a saber fencing enthusiast, and a loving father to his sons, Alexander and Adonis. His love, Blanca, tries to keep him to task when he is not escaping to write. Jason’s flare for short stories, poetry, drama, and fantasy has existed since he can remember. He is the oldest of four siblings followed by Jeremy, Anya, and Cody, and has resided in Southwest Florida since the year 2000. Interests in fine dining, music, meditation, ancient history, film, world religion, and mythology keep him very busy and inspired. He plans to bring out many tales of his own life hidden deep within his epic series. The novel, “of moons and myth”, is the fourth installment of eighteen in The Exodus Sagas Octavodeciad and the finale to the Heroes of Mooncrest quartet, followed soon by book five, “from tower to temple”.
Graphic Design by Robert Martinez
Illustrations by Jenna T. Lefevre
Visit The-Exodus-Sagas.com & JasonRJones.com
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Find on Facebook facebook.com/#!/jasonjones02
Special Thanks To:
First and foremost, my loving companion in life, Blanca. Should she not tolerate all the hours I spend writing, away from her, we would have no tales to share. She gets my heart, and solemn love eternal. To my sons, Alexander and Adonis, blessings and thanks for being the best boys in the world. My family, who is always supportive and there for me, you have my undying gratitude. For my fans, you are the best a writer could hope for, and I shall continue amazing you with my sagas. Especially, Will, the master of technology and laughter. Also a special thanks to Jason Alan, whom I met by divine fortune indeed.
I began writing these tales, long overdue, and I now have but fourteen left to scribe. I hope Saberrak Agrannar’s strength is with you, Shinayne T’Sarrin’s love inspires you, and the honor of James Andellis guides you every day. I can only wish that your loyalty to family and deed match that of Azenairk Thalanaxe, and your days are marvelous like the magicks of Gwenneth Lazlette. We have crossed Chazzrynn and the Western Wastes, battled in Vallakazz and Valhirst, then sailed the seas to Harlaheim. Through treachery and noble blood we fought on, and met many a deadly dragon and honorable knight. In dangerous Devonmir we left our mark, then through the Misathi and Marlennak we trudged the summer heat. Giants and cannibals sought to thwart us, yet we prevailed. Shanador and Evermont heard our calling, and into the lands of fable and legend we passed darkly. We emerged, against all odds, and we stand together now in a new kingdom. Many died for this victory, and I can only hope you are inspired to read further, as the tale continues…with Gwenneth…
…Whatever obstacles stop you, huff and leap over them, never surrender. Where you have love, seek and follow it, to whatever end. When you feel to go, take a spiritual journey. O
n your travels, embrace it all with every moment, all the way. And if ever you falter, remember that you are never alone, not even close. Then, oneday, perhaps you will find your Mooncrest.
---Jason R Jones, August 14 2012
Epilogue
Gillian, Shanador
A tear fell from my eye, then another, and then I wiped my sleeve across my face. It was hard to tell this story, even to my son, for in my life, victory and honor had been unfamiliar dreams.
“So did the Armondeen people leave them alone, dada?” Alessandeir yawned from his bed. His blue eyes were puffy, from tears of joy, sadness, and weariness.
“No, I am afraid not, son. But that story is for another time. It is late, the moons are high in the sky, and little boys should be asleep by now.” I smiled to him as I pointed out his window.
“But what happened to Johnas and the spiders and the wolves and the dragons and all them?”
“Agara was a dark place then, son. Harlaheim, Willborne, and Chazzrynn were held by King Johnas Valhera. King Phillip, King Valistor, and Queen Katrina had all made an alliance under him, and his webs grew even more. He set his eyes on Caberra and Kivanis, obsessed with ruling the continent. Shanador had protected the realms so long that they were stretched thin, and Altestan knew it as well. Dark times son, for everyone.” I recalled it all, as if it had happened yesterday.
“Not everyone, cuz they won and freed Mooncrest, right?”
“Very true, very true.”
“And they had hope, right?”
“Yes indeed. Hope came with the Red Wolves and Kalzarius in Harlaheim, as the forces of Johnas now had an enemy in the dark streets and cities at night. Hope also came from Vallakazz and Southwind Keep, as Alexei T’Vellon and Aelaine Lazlette had survived.”
“And the prince, Bryant, he survived too.”
“Yes. The greatest hope though, was that of Mooncrest. Word spread fast, across the kingdoms, then the whole continent, then the known world within a year. The mythical city of temples, the mines of legend, and the fabled elven kingdom all had been the things of history and dreams. Yet now, thousands of people from all over the world, noble and common alike, traveled to see the wondrous lands that had been reopened and freed, by but a few. The five companions became legendary, the city grew and flourished, and it was full of love and hope under the moons.” I began to drift, thinking of all I knew of Mooncrest, now, and back when it had been destroyed two thousand years ago or more.
“Did you meet them, the heroes of Mooncrest?” His blue eyes widened, fighting the sleep as questions rose in his curious mind.
“I did.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you help them win, were you there for the battle dada?” Alessandeir sat up in his bed now.
“No, that took place five or more years before you were born. Nearly a decade ago now.”
“What’s a decade?” Curly blonde hair all a mess, his eyes barely blinked, and he was deep in thought.
“Ten years, son.” I hugged Alessandeir, intent on him going to sleep, and I pulled his blankets up to his chin. “A decade is ten years.”
“So are you friends with Queen Shinayne?” My four year old boy, I had kept him so isolated here, the word friends seemed an odd word to come from his lips.
“Sort of, perhaps. We have met and we know of each other.” I smiled, recalling my first meeting with the beautiful elves of Tintasarn.
“So can I learn to fight like her, with all those swords and so fast like that? And like Lavress and Kendari?” My son smiled a bright grin as his dimples shown.
“I am not that fast, but I can teach you the sword. Sticks first, steel when you are older, son.” I flicked his nose with my finger and he giggled.
“Will I be strong and big like Saberrak Agrannar when I am all growed up and up?”
“I hope so son, not quite that big, but you will be strong and devoted to honesty and courage, I have no doubt.” My mind began to wander, knowing in my youth I was not devoted to anything but power.
“Can I grow horns and get tattooes of them under my----“
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Awwww. Can I have a glowing blue hand like Sir James and throw lightning like Gwenne?” Alessandeir made a pouty face, a face that made me smile.
“I can teach you those things, some of them anyway, when you are older.” I thought of my wine cellar, the passage through it, and all that I had in secret, from thousands of years ago. “It is time to sleep son, under the blankets now.”
“Can I learn magic, like you and Gwenneth Lazlette do, dada?” Alessandeir grunted and sighed as he began to fall asleep.
“Yes son, in time. I will teac---.” I closed my eyes and prayed that he would not make my mistakes.
“No, I want to learn from Gwenneth, can I dada?” He rubbed his eyes and looked to mine.
“We shall see, son. Perhaps.”
“Dada, I think I want to be like Zen the most.” He yawned again.
“Why?” My eyebrows raised, curious as to his young rationale.
“He is the king, his God is always with him, and he does not kiss girls like James does. If I can’t have horns, I want a beard then, like king Zen.” He rubbed his chin, raised it up, and crossed his arms. “King Alessandeir Azarris, son of Sodom.”
“Ha!” I laughed until my eyes watered, thinking of my boy with a full beard. “But you are not a dwarf.”
“So? His God lets him see his dead family, so then I can see mom, right?” His eyes bore holes through me, a serious question that I was not ready for.
I paused, I had no response, my eyes watered a bit. “Son, she is up there, just look to the sky, and close your eyes.”
“I know dada.”
“Allright then, it is time---“
“Dada?”
“Yes, son.” I sighed, even I was tiring now.
“If you were not at the battle, how did you see all these things and know these stories?” He cuddled into his blankets, half his head covered as he lay on his side, head on the pillow. His right eye looked at me, while the other was hidden with wool.
Another question I was not ready for, this one I could not answer honestly, either. My son was four, too young to hear of the things that were now flashing in my mind. Two millennia of damnation and servitude had left many a scar, some on my flesh, and some much deeper. I saw his eye drift shut, then mine followed as I sat next to his bed, and the world faded away…
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The flames were black and red as far as my eyes could see, the smoke that rose was death incarnate, and the black pits in the crimson stone swirled with screams from souls that endured torment like no other could imagine. It was Infiernum, the lowest pit of Hell, and in the valley of the throne of the fistborn son, Shukuru roared with a might that shook all the six Hells above his seat of power.
His throne, it was made of blackened feathers, golden skulls, and rising high into the black sky with inverted mountains. The mountains dripped blood like rain, for tens of thousands hung in eternal damnation, from chains of green steel that burned them constantly in the horrid afterlife. Shukuru spread his bat like wings from his towering twenty feet in height, and at his whim, souls perished to nothingness.
I remember when it happened. Not the day or the year, for those things did not exist there. But, I recall that moment, and I will as long as I live. I was hiding, like so many others, as the Lord of Hell was never pleasant when angry. Yet, in my cavern in the mountains, I had learned to use my infernal magicks to a degree. My blood had dripped into a small fissure, from wounds of self inflicted nature, and I could see in the reflection of my crimson stain until it dried. I had been watching the world, from afar, hoping one day to see it again in the flesh. I was careful, only being caught and flogged on a few occasions, yet I had seen Agara once more, and it was worth the pain. Demons flew past by the thousands, still I stared into the view of the mortal world.
&nbs
p; How many centuries I had been here, I did not know. I was cursed, damned to service. I had run messages, traveled the infernal realms on foot, an errand boy for two thousand years as decreed by God, Yjaros, for my transgressions. Ten centuries in Mictalan, the dead lands, in service to Mowg for my forbidden love of someone that was no more and for hiding her away from Him. Ten centuries more they had also told me, for my assault on holy servants of God, for destroying his temple, and for using arcane powers to defy Gimmorain judgement.
I remember how insanely I laughed, how I had ripped black lightning strikes through Arabashiel and two of her Gimmorian brothers, and how they had feared me. God had not shared my humor, and turned me over to the Nochtilians after my judgement was final. That was long ago, when Sodom of the Ember Tower, Sodom the Archmage of Kivanis, and Sodom the Warlock of Night, were all titles and names that mortals feared, and even many immortals. Now, I was nothing, gone from the world, a world that had forgotten me and my age.
“Sodom!” Shukuru roared from his flames on the throne, something had happened, many passing demons whispered and kept their distance up in the chasms of the mountains of the damned.
In a flash of black smoke, I was before him, and I knelt. I had to, the ten trident brands burned on my forearm, forcing me down in pain. One brand for each century of service to Shukuru, the ten skulls on my other arm were for Mowg in the deadlands, centuries I had already fulfilled.
“Hail, firstborn son of God, mighty Shukuru, ruler of---“
“Silence!” His voice was so strong when he yelled that some of my flesh ripped from by bones and blew away into the netherworld. It regrew, slowly, painfully, but the pain was agonizing beyond words. His dark marbled flesh and piercing eyes looked past me, his chiseled face grimaced, and his trident slammed to the ground as chunks of rock fell from the air.
“Rise, brother, and tell me what has caused this.” Shukuru pointed past me, behind me, so I turned my head to look.
The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth Page 60