Dawn of the Water Witch (eBook)

Harold Lee Adams (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
480 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-9320-2 (ISBN)

Infos

Enter a world divided, where elemental magic fuels both battles and alliances. Forces of Air, Earth, Fire, and Water shape the tides of destiny, as dark magic and demons threaten to seize control. Only a united front of magic users and ordinary humans stands between survival and destruction. At the heart of this chaos stands Saffra, a girl with a rare gift-command over Water itself. A girl stolen from innocence and forged into a weapon. Raised by the ruthless Guild Masters, she was trained through torment to wield her power, teaching her to hate, kill, and obey. But when her magic surged beyond their control, the Guild sentenced her to death. From across the sea, Enoch, the World Master and living embodiment of magic, saw in Saffra the spark of prophecy-foretold by the First Tree to become the greatest sorceress the world would ever know. He saved her from death, claimed her as his apprentice, and in that moment, rewrote the fate of their world.

H. L. ADAMS, the author of The Chamberlain's Journals, Dawn of the Water Witch, brings readers the first volume in a captivating fantasy series designed to intrigue the mind and awaken the senses. A true renaissance man, H. L. Adams-known fondly as Billy-was a gifted carpenter, welder, engineer, musician and artist, with a creative imagination that gave life to richly layered worlds, complex characters, and unforgettable adventures. This novel, his first, has been published posthumously. Billy passed away in 2023, but his passion and creative brilliance live on in the pages of this book and its companion series. Published with great love and care by his wife, partner, and soulmate, Maryann Frisbee Adams, Dawn of the Water Witch is a tribute to Billy's boundless spirit and is lovingly dedicated to his sons, Shawn, Jesse, and Donald Adams.

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On the far eastern edge of the vast expanse known as the Singing Desert, in the foothills of the Westerly Mountains, the magnificent structure known as the Temple of Joy could be found. Its three-hundred-foot walls were intricately carved by an extinct race of blue-skinned people known only as the Builders. Four distinct and separate scenarios were depicted on the side walls, each linked to a specific time. These were not just the depictions of past events, these were carved into the stone many, many years before the events themselves took place. They were the result of predictions made by a man known only as the Seer and each had proven to be unnaturally accurate. The prophetic carvings and the Mother's Well were not the only gifts to be left behind by the Builders. Four massive chambers had been discovered, hidden from any who did not possess the key, each a representation of one of the four elemental Gods. Voorta, God of Fire, Seffla, God of Water, Hissta, God of Air and Rooka, God of Earth all had chambers that reflected their sovereign power, and they contained technologies as mysterious as the Builders themselves. The Builders had been hunted to extinction by the slave traders of the island nation of Bethsheeda but they had left behind a series of clues that led to the rediscovery of the Temple. They had abandoned their beloved home to lure the corrupt and vile Bethsheedans away and in this they were successful, but the cost had been terrible to bear, the extinction of an entire race. The Temple had lain empty and deserted for a millennium, slowly filling with the desert sands until the coming of Lord Caalan of Marasaan. His arrival had signaled the rebirth of the Temple and it had never stood empty again. At this moment an elderly man, his body bent with the weight of years, sat on the stone lip of the central fountain. When he came to sit by the fountain, he found himself surrounded by children. The parents of the children would smile widely at the old man knowing that their children would be as thoroughly entertained by his stories as they themselves were when they were children. The continual cries of "e;Read us a story Curator!"e; echoed around the fountain until at last, with a wide grin, the old man pulled a thick tome from his robes and placed it gently on his lap. Silence instantly descended as the children all dropped to the ground around him. With wide eyes full of youth and wonder they waited with gleeful expectation. "e;This,"e; he said in a measured and soft voice as he patted the tome, "e;is a story from before the time of the civilized Realms, before sanity and clarity of mind came to the forefront. It was here that the seeds were planted that led to the End Time and magic's demise. The original was kept in the White Tower of Marasaan for untold years until the current Chamberlain rediscovered it and sent it to us for study and translation. To say that the story it holds is remarkable is an understatement of mythic proportions. We still have no idea who the author was. Not once did he, or she, refer to themselves within its pages, almost as if it was their fondest wish to be forgotten, lost forever in the fog that is history. These pages chronicle one unique woman's early journeys in a world filled with madness and magic, treachery and lies, and the ever-present specter of death. It is the story of how she took a heart hardened into stone and made it beat once again. Of how she filled that heart with joy and the love of life and by so doing changed the history of the world."e; "e;This, my young friends,"e; he continued as he opened the book to its first page, "e;is the long-lost story of Saffra, the blue-skinned and golden-eyed Water Witch of the River Sirsun."e;

Textauszug

Chapter 11

Imperial never left his master’s side. He had finally accepted Saffra but kept a wary eye on her. For her part, from time to time, Saffra walked next to him, never touching him or showing a familiarity that Imperial had not granted her. She spoke to him as if he were simply another traveler. One of his ears would rotate toward her whenever she talked, which said he was, at the very least, listening. Around mid-morning, Imperial pulled up short and snorted once, both ears pointing firmly ahead toward a large grove in the distance. Enoch stood next to Imperial and stared into the grove as well.

He patted his horse on the neck. “Hmm. I thought we got rid of all of them.”

“All of who?” Saffra looked but saw nothing.

“Bandits,” he said. “Nasty ones, too.” He then turned and looked hard at her. “Why didn’t you know they were there?” he asked sternly.

“What?” Saffra exclaimed. “How?”

Enoch rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head as he removed the camp supplies from Imperial’s back. “I made sure you spent just about all day yesterday in liquid form, and you didn’t hear it talking to you?” he said with an exasperated voice. “Is your power that weak?”

“I heard it,” she retorted, putting her hands on her hips and adding, “I think.”

“Water,” he said at last, “never forgets anything it ever touches. From cloud to rain, stream to river, to the sea, and back to cloud, it whispers of its journey and everything it comes in contact with. Clean out your ears, witch, and live up to your potential!” With this, he jumped effortlessly onto Imperial’s back.

“Let me handle this,” she said, still stinging from his words.

“Not this time,” he said sternly. “These are more than simple bandits. They are prison escapees who were all sentenced to death for their crimes. They have killed many unwary travelers in this region for no particular reason other than pure pleasure. Their leaders are Users, strong ones. The bandits executed the guards I had placed over them until the town council could carry out their sentencing. They have been rampaging throughout the area for months now.”

With a frustrated growl, he continued. “Instead of dealing with them, as I should have, I allowed the towns and cities where the bandits committed the crimes to administer their form of justice. I knew better. The only thing magic fears is a more powerful magic. I allowed this to happen, and I will correct it.”

“Stay where you are,” he said as he and Imperial moved forward, “and stay out of it! If you’re lucky, you just might learn something.”

A queasy feeling came to Saffra’s stomach as she watched Enoch and Imperial ride across the grasslands toward the small forest. Her gut tightened even more as she observed a group of nearly thirty burst out of the tree line and make for the lone rider. She did her best to calm her mind and let her senses flow.

Saffra was quick to pick up two distinct magical signatures. Why didn’t I feel them before? she wondered. She did not recognize either of them, so she knew they were not from Bethsheeda. Another signature came into being, and she nearly screamed out loud. She wrestled with her sudden onslaught of panic as the sky above grew dark, with thick clouds forming and obscuring the sun. Even the light of day doesn’t want to see what’s about to happen.

She watched in stunned disbelief as the bandits encircled their prey and prepared to strike. Two stood out as their power grew—a fire User and an air User. They combined their gifts to form a blazing tornado that stretched up to the thickening clouds. What happened next caught Saffra off guard. A sphere of raw power encircled Enoch and Imperial as Enoch reached over his shoulder and loosed the blade he kept strapped to his back. In the blink of an eye, a vision from the bottomless pits of the underworld replaced both horse and rider.

They had grown twice in size, and an ebony armor covered them, reflecting all around the horse and rider as if an eternal flame was consuming them. Imperial’s eyes blazed red from underneath his armor as billowing jets of steam erupted from his nostrils. Steel-shod feet stomped on the ground, sending showers of sparks into the thickening gloom. Enoch held his blade above his head, and it glowed brightly with blue-white light as lightning erupted and tore into the surrounding ground. Beneath his visor, twin pools of blue fire froze any who saw them to the ground in absolute, abject terror.

But the worst was still to come. It started as a high-pitched whine in Saffra’s inner ear and grew until she had no choice but to cover her ears and drop to her knees. But still it didn’t stop, an eerie wail that grew in strength and power until the very air vibrated with its unholy cry. She closed her eyes and screamed. And then it was replaced by a silence that was even more disturbing in some ways. Saffra rubbed her eyes and looked over the scene before her.

The bandits were gone, replaced by multiple scorch marks and a few brush fires where they had once stood. Enoch and Imperial had returned to normal and approached as the dark and lowering sky cleared. Enoch looked weary as he slid off Imperial’s back. “Put those out if you don’t mind,” he said as he hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the small brush fires.

Without a word, Saffra walked toward the scene. She found several small pools of water nearby and, using her gift to form tentacles, doused one fire after another. As she worked, she looked closely at what remained within the destruction. The bandits were not entirely gone as she had thought but were reduced to bone and blackened ash. They were remarkably similar in that each jaw was frozen open in a last cry of unbelievable agony. These men did not die instantly. They had enough time to comprehend what was about to happen to them.

Most disturbing was when she found the remains of the two Users. Both skeletons were still upright, on their knees, hands locked in front of them. They were begging for their lives, for mercy. Did they deserve this? To die like this? Her answer came when she noticed the charred remains of what may have once been a necklace belonging to one of the Users made up of tiny finger bones—the bones of very young children.

The golden fire of her eyes flared brightly as the bile rose into her throat. Her skin turned a clammy cold as she fought for control. Raising her arms high, she screamed her outrage into the sky. Instantly, a nearby stream answered as the water left its banks, arched high into the sky, and delivered a deluge to the entire area, effectively washing away any trace of what had happened here.

After a few minutes, she turned violently away and began to walk stiff-legged back the way she had come. Even though it was only midafternoon, Enoch had set up camp for the night. As she approached the fire, she looked at him with hardened eyes.

“I don’t think I would have been so merciful,” she said in an unusually harsh tone.

Enoch nodded his understanding. “If you never believe another thing I say,” he said in an uncharacteristically somber and gentle voice, “believe this. I wasn’t.”

Saffra was noticeably quiet for most of the evening. Now and then, Enoch would catch her looking at the shaft of his blade protruding above his shoulder. Finally, with a deep sigh, he undid the harness that held the blade in place and lay it on his lap. Saffra couldn’t take her eyes off it. A sheath made of thick cloth or leather hide contained the blade, but it was like nothing she had ever seen. It was iridescent in the light of the fire, almost hypnotic as every color she had ever seen rippled across the surface. It reminded her of dragonfly wings.

“This,” he began as he touched the sheath, “is made from the hide of the last dragon. It is the only thing that can contain the blade’s power.”

Saffra watched spellbound as he removed the protective cover, exposing the raw steel blade. It was not elegant in its design, looking more like an elongated meat cleaver than a sword. Its thick blade was attached to an equally thick hilt with holes bored through it to accommodate his fingers. The blade and hilt were nearly four feet long, shorter than a spear but longer than a sword. When the blade cleared the sheath, a thin line of blue-white fire appeared on its sharpened edge. Except for the very edge, the blade was black with runes etched into its surface. They were unfamiliar to Saffra as she studied them in the fire’s light. She then focused her attention on the hilt and was somewhat surprised to see that the wood glowed and the grain seemed to be moving.

“This,” Enoch said at last, “is Soulsinger.”

Saffra’s head snapped up at this. “The Hell Blade of Antiquity?” she gasped.

“So you’ve heard of it?” he said.

“I thought it was a myth,” she answered with her mouth agape. “A story told to frighten children and weaken the resolve of any who stood against it.”

“What is it that you heard?” Enoch asked.

Her eyes never left the blade. “During the Great Beginning, the gods...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 15.9.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-9320-2 / 9798350993202