Haven elixir of life, p.1
Haven: Elixir of Life, page 1
part #3 of Haven Series Series
Haven: Elixir of Life
Published by Ebook Assets
Copyright © 2019 by D.C. Akers
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Other Books by D.C. Akers
Chapter 1
War, because we must. Not because we hate the enemy, but because we love the land we swore to defend.
Bellisoria stared at the engraved declaration immortalized on the floating memorial in the Great Hall. They were the last words Rylan Dalcome ever spoke, the last words his wife ever heard him say, and the last words said before the greatest battle ever fought.
But those words no longer symbolized unity between the races. Alliances had been forged from honor, courage, and commitment, but those days had long passed. The way had become clouded. The Realms had fallen victim to the greed and corruption that now flourished in the dark recesses of their world. It was unfortunate that the Majesty would end this way.
Bellisoria stood watching as the names of the fallen soldiers appeared and disappeared from the marble—countless warriors who gave their lives defending the Majesty. Some she knew personally, others barely at all, but all of them had been courageous soldiers.
She fondled the diamond and amethyst pendent that hung from her neck on a silver chain. Playing with it was a nervous habit, one that she hated, but the pendant put her at ease. She looked down at the sparkling jewels that were handcrafted into the all-seeing eye of her coven. Be strong Bella, she told herself. Be strong.
She tucked the pendant beneath her robes and pulled her cloak around her. There was a chill in the room, and the eerie silence didn't help matters. The Great Hall felt lifeless; even the stone statues of wild horses and ancient weapons looked out of place in the quiet serenity. A low flame crackled within the handsome fireplace near the back of the room. The ornate bronze table where the Majesty had last convened was empty, and only a few perimeter torches were still lit, casting a blue-gray glow across the chamber floor.
Bellisoria sighed. The room was at peace, but it was a peace that would not last. A storm was on the horizon, and soon the citizens of Haven would be fighting for their lives as they had back in the Great War. But this time they would be fighting each other. And over what, she grimaced. For the keys to a portal and an illusion of grandeur.
She knew the evil that lay waiting beyond the portals into the Air and Fire worlds. She had made that trip before and barely escaped with her life. Which is why she had destroyed them.
Bellisoria raised her hand, and the white marble memorial began to descend. She closed her eyes and gently placed her hand on the cold stone as it approached. When she opened her eyes again, only one name remained—Rylan Dalcome.
She traced the elegant scroll of his name. Her hand began to quiver as she leaned into the wall and bowed her head. To see such a powerful Keeper reduced to mere words was almost unbearable.
“I’m sorry, Rylan,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I failed you. I thought I was protecting her. I thought Earth would bring Alisa and the children peace.” Her quivering hand turned into a fist. “But I was wrong, so very wrong. Please, please forgive me.”
It was then that Bellisoria heard footsteps approach just beyond the entrance of the Great Hall. She pulled back her fist and quickly regained her composure, stepping away as Rylan’s name slowly faded from view and the memorial ascended into the air.
“Excuse me, High Priestess, they are ready for you,” she heard a centurion say.
Bellisoria turned and stared for a brief moment, reluctant to move.
The stage had been set; war was upon them, and soon Bellisoria would give the order to engage the enemy. It was an order she did not want to give, but it could save Rylan Dalcome’s son.
“High Priestess, is everything all right?” She could not see the centurion clearly through the winged helmet that covered most of his face, but she could hear the concern in his voice.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, walking past him into the corridor. The centurion followed her, and together they entered the airlift at the end of the hall.
They rode the lift in silence and when the doors finally opened the centurion stepped aside and stood at attention. Bellisoria walked out into the narrow, underground hallway. Thin strips of emerald ran the length of the black corridor, ending at an iron door. Two centurions stood in front of it, their crossed staffs blocking the entrance.
Bellisoria moved quickly down the hallway, her long robes trailing behind her. The centurions raised their staffs as she passed and stood at attention. Bellisoria withdrew her wand, and, with an upward slash, the door vanished. Tiny wisps of black smoke swirled in its place as Bellisoria moved through the threshold and into the War Room.
The iron door reappeared behind her, and a hush fell over the bustling room as all eyes fixed on the High Priestess. The room was a large, two-story, circular bunker, fitted with thin green Kamber stones that lined the perimeter of the structure. The walls of the stronghold were covered in floor-to-ceiling monitors, displaying surveillance footage of the Blackfoot Mountains. A large three-dimensional map hovered over a circular monitor in the center of the room. Several Witches surrounded the monitor, all dressed in black and silver robes. Their stoic expressions gave no measure of fondness that Bellisoria had arrived.
“Bellisoria, good, you’re here,” Atamar von Bogdan said, trying to sound somewhat pleased at her arrival. He moved around the table, giving a knowing glance to several of his constituents. His smirk was almost overshadowed by his hooked nose.
Bellisoria did not falter in her tolerant expression. She had no interest in playing this game of political kindness. She had been forced to do that with the Realm of the Estates, and she did not plan on doing so with her own people. Besides, there was no time for political kindness; there was only time for action.
“Do we have an update?” she asked curtly.
“Yes, well, it is as we expected. The Vampires have sent a strike team. A two-man team, but they are not alone.” Atamar’s smirk faded. “The Orcs are there as well.”
Bellisoria’s lips pursed. “Animals,” she said. “They couldn’t wait to get their hands on the portal.”
Atamar nodded. “I’m sure their scouts were sent out immediately, once they had confirmation of the existing portal and its general location. Now they will be looking for the secret entrance.”
Bellisoria peered up at the monitors. “Which is precisely why they must be eliminated,” she said.
“Agreed,” Atamar replied. “We have a strike team of our own waiting at the base of the mountain—five Keepers and a healer.”
“What of the asset?” Bellisoria asked.
Atamar looked back at her, his gaze narrowed. “Bellisoria, this is not a good idea.” His voice fell to a hushed whisper. “I implore you, let my team handle this.”
“No! I will not have the Majesty draw first blood.” Bellisoria looked to Atamar as her honey-colored eyes narrowed in agitation.
“But—”
“No, Atamar!” she said. “Ruger goes in, and he goes in alone. This remains a covert operation. The Majesty will not be the one to start the next Great War.”
Frustration spread across Atamar’s face. His gaze cut to the Witches, who continued to blatantly watch the argument before them.
“Very well,” he conceded, his voice dripping with resentment. “Cayenne, update the High Priestess.”
A young Witch with blonde hair and thick-framed glasses abruptly turned from her workstation on the upper level.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice clear and precise. “At 0700 hours a cloaked Tagar 770 gunship line dropped the asset into the Blackfoot Mountains. At that time, communication went dark. Aerial scans from patrolling drones indicate two cold insurgents and at least four Orcs in the vicinity of the asset. The gunship was then ordered back to base, and the Keeper Strike Team was told to stand down and await further instructions.”
Bellisoria nodded, and Cayenne resumed
“So, it’s true, you are sending in the former Paladin?” Braya, The High Priestess of the Eastern Coven, asked. She walked slowly towards Bellisoria with her arms folded and hands tucked in the sleeves of her black robes. Her declining years were etched in the thin lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Assassin,” Atamar corrected.
Braya stared back at Atamar. “Yes, well …” She turned to Bellisoria and lowered her voice. “Are you sure, Bellisoria?”
Bellisoria’s hardened expression faded as the elder Witch moved alongside her. Her eyes met Braya’s, and a calmness passed over her.
“Am I sure that I want Sam Dalcome and the others to make it to safety? Yes. Am I sure I do not want the Majesty to be blamed for provoking a war? Yes.”
Atamar glanced back and forth between the two Witches as they stared into each other’s eyes. It was as if they were talking, but no words were coming out anymore.
“Have you all gone mad?” he asked through gritted teeth. “The Paladin program was discontinued for a reason.”
And just like that, the connection was severed. Bellisoria’s calm expression quickly eroded, and she was back on defense.
“The Paladin division,” she spat back, “was originally formed to conduct clandestine missions behind enemy lines, and that is what Ruger will be doing. Their job was to capture enemy targets and intelligence against impossible odds. Nothing has changed, Atamar.”
“Yes, but those men were highly trained killers. This is a delicate situation—perhaps diplomacy is the best approach. Send the Keepers in. Let me capture the insurgents and—”
“And what?” Bellisoria asked. “What happens if we fail to capture them in time? What happens then, Atamar? What happens if another Dalcome dies because we chose the path of least resistance?”
Bellisoria turned and paced the bunker as all eyes followed her.
“We should have never hidden the Dalcomes off-world,” she said. “We should have hunted down each and every insurgent that was a threat and eliminated them. But instead, bureaucracy took over, and treaties were signed. Our hands were tied in red tape, and our people paid the price with their lives!”
Bellisoria returned to where Atamar and Braya stood, her gaze fixed on the Minister.
“You listen to me, and listen well,” she said. “Send in Ruger. Eliminate the threat, or I will find someone else who will. Do I make myself clear?” Her eyes had turned a radiant blue, betraying her emotions even more than her tone already had.
Atamar’s face grew scarlet as Bellisoria took a step closer. “Are we clear, Minister?” she asked.
There was a moment when no one said a word, until finally, Atamar spoke.
“Yes, High Priestess.”
Bellisoria gave the smallest of smiles.
“Sir,” Cayenne called out. “We have the asset.”
“Put him on the com,” Atamar said, still staring at Bellisoria.
Static echoed around the room as all eyes looked to the monitors. The dark landscape of the Blackfoot Mountains, rugged rock faces, shallow streams, and worn pathways, was shown on every screen.
“Ruger, this is Sparrow. Say again,” Cayenne said into her headset.
There was more static until a deep, rugged, synthesized voice broke the silence.
“Confirmed, Sparrow. This is Ruger. Go.”
Cayenne adjusted her microphone and quickly looked up at Bellisoria, her eyes bright with excitement.
“It’s a hot spot down there. You have two cold ones and at least four Orcs.”
There was a moment of silence.
“I have thermal on the Orcs. Send me the coordinates on the cold ones.”
“Confirmed. Sending now.”
No one moved as Cayenne furiously typed away. She entered the final coordinate, spun quickly in her chair, and waited.
“Coordinates received.”
Cayenne looked over to Bellisoria. All eyes now turned to the High Priestess.
Bellisoria stared back. Was this the beginning of the end? Was she making the right decision, or was Atamar right? Was there a more diplomatic way to handle this? She didn’t know, but she did know Sam Dalcome would be descending that mountain at any moment, and his life would be in grave danger with the insurgents out there. That was a risk she was no longer prepared to take. She looked up at Cayenne and gave a curt nod. Cayenne reciprocated and turned back to her monitor.
“Ruger, you are clear to engage. Repeat. You are clear to engage.”
Chapter 2
Sam squinted into the blinding white light as the cavern landscape slowly faded away behind him. The inside of the portal was warm, yet sterile. There were no colors, no shadows, no anything, other than the unnatural white light.
I’m freaking dead, Sam thought. This must be the light everyone talks about, the light you see when your soul leaves your body. Was that it? Had something gone wrong within the portal? Was he already dead?
Sam heard nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He took in long, measured breaths. He was calm. Well, at least he wanted to be calm. He looked down at himself and saw the vague outline of his body. He made a fist but could not feel his hand. He was about to reach for his face when he smelled the slightest scent of … salt?
Then Sam felt a rush of air and the spray of water on his face. He licked his lips and tasted the salt there. The sound of running water surrounded him, and the smell of wet rocks and damp earth filled his nostrils as the white light slowly began to ebb away.
He was standing on a large stone platform in the center of another gigantic cavern. Magnificent twin waterfalls fell like frosty white curtains, spewing water down into a sea of roaring white mist. Behind him was a silver archway built in the same teardrop design as the mirror back home. Sapphires and intricate floral patterns entwined the ornate framework of the arch.
Sam stood mesmerized as the cool mist showered his face, leaving a tranquil feeling that enveloped his body. The cavern walls were smooth and infused with sparkling layers of tan, brown, and pink quartz that circled above him. Lush purple and green ivy seeped from large fractures in the stone and cascaded down into a natural breezeway. Bright moonlight spilled into a circular opening in the cave, casting colorful prismatic patches in the mist, like parts of a rainbow that had been left behind.
“Haven,” Sam gasped.
He looked over to see Travis and Demetrius several feet away. They stood farther down the path between two immense stone statues. The statues looked as if they were soldiers frozen in time, heavily armored holding large two-handed swords. They were both damp with moisture and partly covered in green algae, like they had stood there forever.
“Sam, watch your step. It’s slippery,” Travis said, pointing at the steep decline between the two of them as Sam approached.
A long, stone pathway curved from right to left along a ledge, descending down into a vast sea of white mist. Sam cautiously inched his way down. There were no rails or barriers to keep him from falling over the edge. One slip and his journey to Haven would be over.
“Dude, can you believe this place? Travis said as Sam finally reached the bottom. “It’s awesome!”
Travis was hunched down due to his overly stuffed backpack, and his face was shiny from the spray of the waterfalls. His gray Star Wars shirt—Sith Happens—was stuck to his body, almost completely soaked through. But his eyes were bright with amazement.
Sam pulled the straps on his much smaller backpack tight as he observed the statues next to him.
“Demetrius, who are these guys?” he asked.
“These are the twin brothers, Ogman and Tagman, ancient Port Keepers and guardians of travel,” Demetrius said, wiping his face with a small, brown cloth that he pulled from his cloak. They have been here for hundreds of years, ever since the discovery of Haven.” He ran his hand along a deep crack in Tagman’s foot. “Come now, this way before we are completely drenched. Watch your step, and stay close. The falls become more treacherous the farther we descend.”
The waterfalls crashed loudly around the stone path. Slippery patches of moist algae were becoming more prevalent and slowed Sam’s and Travis’s descent. But it was the deteriorating visibility that unnerved Sam the most. He was no longer holding onto his backpack straps. His hands were out to his sides, ready to brace himself should he fall. He could tell that Travis was doing the same thing behind him. Every few feet Travis lost his footing and almost fell. When he did this, he grabbed Sam’s backpack to keep his balance.
