chroniclesofagartha

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Beauty & The Beast, Revised (winner of the Halloween Competition)

What they say is false. I have two sisters, but I was eldest. Yes, my mother died when I was small, sixteen winters gone. And yes, I am Beauty – so Father called me. He was a merchant, rough and shrewd, wise at barter, and providing for our needs and some of our modest wants. On the eve of his latest journey he asked each of us what we wished most for gifts. The youngest asked for play-jewelry, quartz and colored glass from the village for her dress-up games. The next, for a pony. And I … I desired but a rose, a living rose to root and tend and grow it in our garden, so the butterflies and bluebirds could gather to it, to gladden our eyes as its perfume would delight the nose. He looked at me strangely. Briefly I felt a chill, for all the summer sun. But he nodded, and said yes, perhaps, perhaps he would, and I dismissed the odd feeling. Morrow dawned as it ever does, and he left us busy with our chores. We next saw him a week later, leading a speckled brown pony on a halter behind his cart, and a satchel on the seat beside him. We greeted him with joy, more joy for his safe return than for the gifts, though my middle sister took the pony most happily. She led it to the stable, made it comfortable, and busied herself with grooming. Father took my younger sister aside. He dipped his hand into the satchel and like a magician pulled forth a leather bag. From it tumbled jewelry of all sorts, earrings, necklaces, rings, circlets, and I know not what all, all flashing burnished metal and gems sparkling like a waterfall of rainbows. She cried in delight. Her hands flew out to catch the falling pretties, and Father laughed to see her. He gave her the bag and left her sitting contentedly there on the doorstep, sorting the beautiful tangle, arranging and rearranging each item, arraying herself as a queen. Then he took my hand. Father took my hand and smiled, his hand slipping into the satchel once more. “Come, Beauty, let us go within, for the rose I have for you is not yet rooted, and it cannot yet well endure the sun.” I went in with him gladly, wondering at what marvelous rose he would show me. He led me upstairs to my loft, and sat on my bed, his hand searching carefully in his satchel. I sat beside him, watching, waiting, still wondering. The chill returned. Father withdrew his hand. It was empty. Suddenly I was on the bed beneath him, my skirts up about my face, and what he was did below … I could not see, I do not yet know, but a sharp fire stabbed between my thighs, and I cried out, and I wept in pain. Still he held me close, his weight pinning me, his sour breath loud in my ears as I struggled, trying to free myself. “Good,” he said, “Good, my Beauty, very good, you are indeed a flower ready to be plucked.” Confused, in a haze of pain, I fell silent. Time slowed as if under water. Finally Father’s breathing eased. He raised me up and showed me, the blood on the linen, my maidenhood, my rose. I stared. “How then shall I root it?” I heard myself ask. “I’ve rooted it for you,” he said with a little laugh, “and I shall root it again and again till it blooms for us. You will see.” It seemed the night had fallen early, or perhaps the darkness that clouded my sight was a storm blown in from nowhere, though my sisters have said the day remained bright and clear. A red mist tinged the darkness, flowing in from the edges. I saw myself rise, and wash. “You will be hungry, father,” my voice said, almost dreamlike. “Let me prepare you dinner, while you rest.” Down I went to the kitchen while Father stretched at ease on the stained bed. I gather vegetables and herbs, cutting them up with the large knife. I dumped them into a pot. I half-filled the pot with water. I set it on the stove to bring to a boil. Then upstairs I went again, bringing a glass of cold cider to ease Father’s thirst. He slept, and I saw the weariness of travel fading from his countenance. I set the glass down and took up the knife once more. Once across his throat, pressing hard, like the goat I once helped ready for winter’s freezing. His eyes flew open at the first touch, yet he spoke no word, his wind pipe severed, voice gone, drowning. He did gurgle. I remember the gurgling. I remember the blood, spraying and pulsing and spilling like wine on the linens, obscuring my rose, my own beautiful, red rose. I wept, though my hands were steady, and my voice, I am told, remained calm. Then I gutted him. “I valued that rose above all,” I said as my sisters came in the room, then ran screaming out. I removed his heart when he was properly dead, as I wish he’d had the kindness to do for me. I sliced it up, along with some of the other meat that was unlikely to keep, and added it to the soup now starting to simmer. “I told you, father, that I would make you dinner,” I reminded his memory. “You taught me not to lie, to ever to keep my word.” Now you sit in judgement as I stand here; perhaps my tale has shocked you, or perhaps you are only sickened. But you are as you are. I am as I am. Nothing will change this. For I am indeed Beauty. And I, Beauty, am also the Beast. Congratulations to the author Cailin Mistwalker on winning the contest. Be sure to check our latest Giveaway here: A new Giveaway as well, you might be the winner! Read the full article

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A new Giveaway

Since we are celebrating Isaac Michaan's birthday, we decided to make a very special giveaway. This prize of this giveaway could be worth $1000 (One Thousand Dollars) and it is: All of our books in Hardback form (with new covers, soon to be available for mass sale) and a one of a kind item, Ethan Verdum (The Green Boy), Action figure. What do you need to do then? Simple, just click through the sweepwidget form below, the more tasks you finish, the higher your chance of winning. Who can enter? Anybody above 18 years. Read the full article

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Broken Fighter, 5, Goddess

For a thousand years, Gerr had been a goddess, or was it a day? Time acted like a deranged snake in the gods' plane, it twisted and looped and generally felt nonexistent. Gerra was the goddess of last chance, she always has been. People worshipped her for millennia, and yet only a day ago she was a mortal. She had a baby boy, who was a young man, and an old toothless one at the same time. She saw every moment of his life, of all his possible lives. Sometimes her son died two days after she became a goddess, others, he reached maturity before falling to the cold touch of death. She had to perform miracles every second, yet she was stingy in granting her favors. Only one in a million could bask in the goddess' light. Not her son though, she never failed to correct his life's path. She couldn't interfere with his choices, even a goddess had her limitations. Still, she could affect external forces that would have led his life to be shorter or would have led him to a sad lonely existence. A second ago, she called on a kind neighbor to take care of him, then she went back and called on the orphanage of the king. When the kind neighbor took him in, he died at the tender age of nine, he was too sheltered. She told a man in his dreams to go steal her son's coin purse. If he kept the coin, he would have been killed in a road ambush as he traveled between cities. Better, without the coin, he had to find a job in the king's stables. Tending horses taught him patience and compassion, but not too much. She whispered to a docile mare, and it kicked him in the chest. Gerra visited him for the first tie then, remade his ribs and strengthened his bones and tendons. He had to leave the stable, the horses shied from him almost on sight. He was touched by a goddess, and this made him more than a mortal. She made him lose his job at the knowledge academy the next second. He might learn a lot by watching the scholars, but he would die as he watched a botched experiment. Out of coin and job, he joined the king's army. This was more like it. She blew at a fold of land and it changed to rock under his feet. He slipped and impaled himself on his own sword. They released him from the army. She visited him again, this time making his bones as strong as a rock, and enriched his heart and mind with dreams of valor. He resented having a goddess for a mother, but it doesn't matter. He joined an adventurer's band. They opted for being robbers. She arranged a freak accident where all of the band tripped over the edge of a ravine. He wondered how they couldn't see it in time. He joined another band. This one seemed right. He would remain with them for five years. She killed a dragon who almost swallowed him. She evaporated a lesser animal god and absorbed her essence. She smote a whole family of cyclops. He stood defeated, broken, yet he was alive and this was what mattered. He looked at her with bitterness filling his eyes. "Hello, mother." If you like this story, check the other parts as well: Broken Fighter, part 1, Broken fighter, part two, Gerra, Broken Fighter, part 3, Kortasakh, and Broken Fighter, 4, Neverending To support our blog, allowing us to keep it alive, and allowing us to bring you more stories, consider buying one of our published books: The Green Boy, Red’s Soul, Through The Storm, On The Path of War, The Eternal Agarthans, and The Trinity’s Dream. Read the full article

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Broken Fighter, 4, Neverending

Gerra took a deep breath, but it felt neverending. She was breathing in for an eternity. There was no way to stop her intake of air. She whimpered, and as the breath intake started, it stopped. Something warm touched Gerra's shoulder. She was afraid to turn, lest it becomes a neverending turn as her inhalation was. "I know what you are thinking." A warm voice licking soft ringing wind chimes sounded to Gerra's left. "But for us, and you as well, everything is eternal, neverending." Gerra whimpered, afraid to utter a single word. "Relax, young one." The voice said and it felt like sunshine on a rainy day. "It is about intention and will." Gerra stopped whimpering. "I think ..." The thought became words, and the words moved through her mouth as waves of molten lava. "I think ... I understand." "Interesting." The voice sounded full of thorns and pits, like a bramble of poison ivy strangling a tree deep in the forest. Gerra turned. "I understand now why Kortasakh wanted to die, his mind didn't have the focus." Standing in front of Gerra was a woman of undeterminable age. She wore flowing robes in shades of brown, orange, green, and yellow. "Targanishka, pleased to meet you, young one." The woman bent her head slightly. "Welcome to Godhood." "The goddess of nature and the wilds," Gerra said in an awed voice. "You are a lot more beautiful than they depict you." Gerra stared into the goddess' eyes and felt startled when she realized that her irises were a neverending whirlpool of green and brown, swirling and rumbling to unknown depths. "Oh, yes, the eyes." Targanishka laughed, it sounded like water splashing in a shallow lake. "We all have them, and yet, humans always fail to picture them either in paintings or sculpture." "You keep saying, we and us as if I am a Goddess like you." Gerra narrowed her eyes, she felt powerful, so powerful, yet something was missing, something was not right. "You are, as much as I can be." Targanshika nodded with a soft smile, still, that wrong thing was still there, scratching away at the periphery of Gerra's awareness. "Yet, I don't feel like a goddess." Gerra finally voiced her annoying thoughts. "Yes, it is only natural that you feel lacking." Targanishka patted Gerra's shoulder softly. "You don't have worshipers yet. You need worshipers to be complete, and without them, your existence would turn into neverending suffering." "But why I became a goddess, and why I need worshipers?" Gerra tried not to stare into the other goddess' neverending whirlpool eyes. "The ancient accords state that if you kill a God, you gain neverending present and life of responsibility," Targanshika said in a firm voice. "As for the worshipers, they are the ones who gave the gods their powers, some of the older gods refuse to accept this, but we, the younger gods, know that worshipers created the gods in the first place." "How is that possible?" Gerra felt eternity hanging over her shoulders with each passing moment, how could normal flawed and weak mortals create such powerful entities as the gods? "It seems unlogical and even ludicrous, but this is real. Gods without worshipers fold upon themselves and cease to exist as soon as they realize their reality." Targanshika sighed. "I have seen it happen more than once." "But can't I turn back to being mortal?" Gerra licked her lips, how could anyone bear with such an existence? To be a neverending force, yet mere mortals control your fate, was not what she thought godhood was. "I never saw anyone succeed in turning back the given gift of godhood." Targanshika waved her hand and the land appeared in front of them. The kid who was Kortasakh, laying in a pool of black ichor, started to disintegrate in front of their eyes. "He tried for millennia, and all he managed to do, was turn into a kid, a kid with godly powers." Gerra watched the corpse disappear within seconds. She knew that she still had her boy back home, she needed to survive for him, and if she needed worshipers to do this, then she would gain as many worshipers as the oldest of gods. "How do I gain worshipers?" "You choose a new name, a godly one." Targanshika took a deep breath. "You find an area of human interest or fear that none of the rest of us hold sway over, and you start doing miracles." "Miracles?" Gerra looked stunned. "Yes, tons of miracles to establish a new religion, maybe even a savior or a prophet when your name is known enough." If you like this story, check the other parts as well: Broken Fighter, part 1, Broken fighter, part two, Gerra, Broken Fighter, part 3, Kortasakh. To support our blog, allowing us to keep it alive, and allowing us to bring you more stories, consider buying one of our published books: The Green Boy, Red’s Soul, Through The Storm, On The Path of War, The Eternal Agarthans, and The Trinity’s Dream. Read the full article

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On The Path of War

We would like to announce our newest book, On The Path of War. If you read Red's Soul, you have met a new antagonist, Little Brother. But as we showed you in Through The Storm, nothing can be taken at face value, especially with people. On The Path of War is an origin story, and in more ways than one, it is a direct continuation of Through The Storm. To know Little Brother is to know suffering. As a child, he had a brief moment of kindness, but it was stolen from him before he could even fathom his reality. He then has to accept living under Rowida's shadow, to be Little Brother. Living in a war camp has vivid effects on his personality, some favorable, and some ... Little Brother is thrown in the cauldron of battle since he turned only twelve. By the time he reached fourteen, he became a general. This is a life that was forced to take the path of war. But even someone devoid of human compassion to maintain a living can fall in love. And this alters Little Brother's story. The story continues even after the ending of Red's Soul, and well into book 3 and even book 4. Little Brother becomes the Lord Dragon. A warlord as ruthless and vicious as Rowida in her heyday. On The Path of War is a story about succumbing to your tormentors, and joining them. It is the epitome of how twisted is the saying. "If you can't fight them, join them." We will release the book on Halloween, and soon it will be available for preorder. Be sure to check other books in this series, Agarthan Origins: Through The Storm. And Of course, check the book that presented Little brother to you, Red's Soul. Read the full article

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Broken Fighter, part 3, Kortasakh

Kortasakh growled savagely. He turned in a semicircle shooting lightning haphazardly. "He is blind," Zartakh screamed over the thunder rattling the earth around him. "We have to hide." "No time." Harshana rushed from his side to the towering giant. Right by Kortasakh, she hit the earth with her swords, and the earth exploded propelling her twenty feet in the air. She plunged both swords into the Kortasakh's thigh, barely puncturing the skin. "What is she trying to do?" Gerra shouted to Zartakh. "A god can only be injured around the halo." He pointed to the cloud formation circling Kortasakh's neck. "This is the only spot that he is vulnerable." "I can help." Gerra tapped Zartakh's shoulder to pull him out of his terrified look to his mate. Then she pulled her sleeve to show him her arm. "I am not just a healer." Zartakh stared at her bare arm, where a vein throbbed in the middle of her arm, with each throb, for only a moment, he could see a scythe. His eyes widened in shock. "You are touched!" "Not just touched." Gerra bared the other sleeve. "I am the chosen of Ghanghansheer, the god of Death." "Ironic." Zartakh laughed. "Harshana is the chosen of Firghanata, the goddess of Life and rebirth." Gerra smiled grimly. "Can you help me reach her?" He looked down at Tarkan. "I can borrow some of his life force to augment my magic. Maybe then I can call on the earth to raise you to meet her." Both looked up, Harshana was just past Kortasakh's waist. "Would it killed him?" Gerra pointed to Tarkan. "I doubt it." Zartakh shook his head. "Killing the god though, I don't know what it will do to him now that he was touched." "Alright, do it then." Gerra clenched her fists and gnashed her death. Zartakh nodded and brought a small rock from his satchel, he whispered at it for a few seconds, then touched it to Tarkan's forehead. The rock glowed, and Zartakh pulled it away from Tarkan, dragging with it a thin line of light. He kissed the rock, and its glow increased ten folds. He kneeled and planted the rock in the earth. The ground rumbled and groaned, then a mound of earth started to erupt and climb fast. "Jump on it," Zartakh shouted to Gerra. Gerra jumped and almost lost her footing. The mound climbed fast, extremely fast. Gerra had to lay face down on the mound not to fall from it. Within seconds, Gerra passed by Harshana in her climb. "Quick, jump." Harashana didn't hesitate, she joined Gerra on the mound. "What do you think you are doing here, healer?" Harshana shouted over the growls of Kortasakh, who apparently started to see again, and he directed his anger at Zartakh. "I am the chosen of Death," Gerra shouted back. "Ironic." Harshana scoffed. "This is what your mate said as well." Gerra smiled. "Do you need me to augment your strike, or should I deal a direct one myself?" "Here." Harshana gave Gerra one of her swords. "I will go west, you go east. Better chances at a fatal cut." Gerra's face paled suddenly. "Aren't you afraid of killing Kortasakh? I mean you know what they say about the ones who landed the fatal strike on the old gods, right?" "Eternal damnation, and a life without end in agony?" Harshana laughed. "Who would refuse eternal life?" "But..." Before Gerra could finish her words, Kortasakh swatted at the mound of earth which crumpled under her and Harshana. Both jumped from the mound to Kortasakh's shoulder and started to climb fast using Kortasakh's chest hair. Kortasakh growled and beat at his chest, but the two women were already on his shoulder. He tried to swat them off, but Harshana plunged her sword in his neck. Kortasakh screamed, and the sky rumbled to his scream. He plucked Harshana and threw her in the air. Gerra watched Harshana disappear over the far hills. She stared down and saw Zartakh, he was buried under the mound of earth he called. His eyes were open and lifeless. "Who would refuse eternal life? I wouldn't." Gerra bared her arms, passed the sword on the throbbing veins which opened and a blue-black ichor dripped from them, covering the sword. She raised the sword high and plunged it into Kortasakh's neck with all her might right at the level of the clouds circling just above her head. Kortasakh gazed down at Gerra and smiled. "Thank you." He whispered softly. Gerra felt that she was falling. No, not falling, she clung with all her might to the sword. Kortasakh was shrinking. In ten seconds Gerra was at the ground level, with her sword plunged in the neck of a kid, no older than sixteen. He had a peaceful smile on his face. Gerra felt miserable. She cried out. The sky split to show a ray of pure light. The ray touched Gerra's head, and she heard a whisper in her head. "We are very sorry, young one. You are one of us now, a goddess." If you liked this story, please check the other parts: Broken Fighter, part 1, and Broken fighter, part two, Gerra. To support our blog, allowing us to keep it alive, and allowing us to bring you more stories, consider buying one of our published books: The Green Boy, Red's Soul, Through The Storm, The Eternal Agarthans, and The Trinity's Dream. Read the full article

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Broken fighter, part two, Gerra

Gerra was not always a goddess just as she was not always the mother of a man taller than she was by at least a head. Gerra used to be a healer, and she was pretty happy with her life. She was one of many serving in the king's army, nothing special about that. She remembered her days in the army and smiled. This is where she met her husband Fou'ad. He was not the strongest nor the most handsome, but he had something magical about his smile. Chris inherited that smile, if only he used it more often, the world would be a better place for it. She recalled the day she gave birth to Chris. It was the best and worst day of her life as a human. It was the day she had her son and lost her husband. Before her son was born, her life was simple. She only had to do her job and keep an eye on her adventurous husband. But then, he went after the rogue god, Kortasakh, and got himself killed. For the first year of her son's life, she managed to care for the child as well as make ends meet. But then, the king decided that some people were not a necessity for his army. All part-time workers were let go, including her. Gerra had to do something to ensure that her son could survive, and she only knew how to heal wounds brought about by fighting, so she joined a band of adventurers. It was ironic, she always berated her late husband for his line of work, then she just did the same. Little Chris was left into the care of a neighbor who declared that if Gerra didn't come within the week, she will sell the boy. But Gerra had to go with the adventurer band, they were her only hope to secure a living, so she agreed to the terms of her neighbor. After a week, her son would be sold to the slavers. Gerra clicked her fingers and the past came alive in front of her eyes. "We have been walking for two days." Gerra from the past complained. "And it would take us the same to go back. I can't go on for another day." "Healer, we will not turn back empty-handed." The leader of the band was a gloomy redhead, a barbarian fighter from the lands in the north, and she wanted to make a name for herself something that past Gerra cared little for. "But I might lose my son." Gerra dragged her feet forward after the redhead. "Then you shouldn't have joined." The mage of the group brushed her as he moved in circles around the group. According to him, he needed to place protections all the time on the group, as there was nothing like mobile protection. "Don't worry Gerra." A young jovial lad patted her on the back. "I can almost taste the treasure." "Tarkan, you have said this for the last day." The redhead grumbled. "I wish it was true, my sword arm is restless." "By my glorious ancestors, it is true." Tarkan beat on his chest. "I am the best Sniffer in the land, and you will get to know that soon." Gerra the goddess laughed as she watched the past unfold in front of her eyes. Poor Tarkan, he was indeed the best Sniffer in the land, just not for gold. "For your sake Sniffer, I wish that was true." The mage went again on another circle around the advancing group. "I am too tired to keep this going for long." "Zartakh, surely you can sense the gold by now." Tarkan jumped before the mage stepped on his foot. "I sense nothing." Zartakh panted. "I am too exhausted to cast anything. I can barely keep the protections alive." "Harshana." Gerra ran after the redhead. "Release me from my bond to the band. Let me go back to my son." "And face whatever monster comes our way without a healer." Harshana snorted. "I think I will have to deny your request. The bond remains over all of us until we hit gold." Gerra the goddess sighed. The bond still holds sway even after all those years, even after they all died. What a foolish thing to do, accept an everlasting bond. Even as a goddess, she can't absolve it. "But Harsha..." Before Gerra could plead another time to Harshana, the sky turned black, and small rocks and pebbles started to float in the air around the adventurers. "Zartakh, what in the seven hells is that?" Harshana pulled her sword and braced her leather shield. "Too much power." Zartakh strained. "I... I... Can't keep the protection." Zartakh panted. "Sniffer, where in the hell did you lead us to?" Harshana cried against the rising wind, a soft moan carried by the wind made hearing the others' words near impossible. Droplets of water swam lazily around the adventurers, seemingly appearing from nowhere. "I can taste it." Tarkan's eyes went wild. "And it is overpowering. Too much gold." "Tarkan you fool." Zartakh fell to his knees. "There is no gold, look around you." "But I can feel it all over my body." Tarkan swooned. "It is here." Gerra knew what was here. She heard the stories from a hundred disabled soldiers. The moaning wind, the floating rocks and water droplets, and the darkened sky, all meant that her husband's killer was here. The rogue god Kortasakh was about to kill them all. "It's." Gerra swallowed the growing lump of terror in her throat. "It's Kortasakh." Just as she finished her words the darkened sky parted, and on a beam of light, descended a giant, fifty feet tall at least, with legs made of oak trees, arms of burning steel, and a head the size of a house. "WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME?" The giant bellowed. "IF DEATH IS WHAT YOU WISH, THEN YOUR WISH WILL BE FULFILLED SOON." Gerra was no fighter, she stood by the backlines of the army. Yet, she had her own way of fending for herself. She just doubted that she can help the band she was bound to in any possible way. Tarkan screamed and started to claw at his eyes, falling to the ground under the god's feet. Zartakh pulled something from the satchel he carried around his waist and threw at the giant. "Run." He cried to the others. "It will blind him only for a few seconds." Harshana kissed her sword, and hit it to her chest, it caught fire. "I will not leave my mate behind." She pointed to Gerra. "Grab the Sniffer and run." Gerra knew that running will not serve her or the Sniffer. You can't run from a god. "I will stay and I doubt the Sniffer can be moved." She pointed to Tarkan who lay prostrated at the feet of the giant, foaming at the mouth. "He has been touched." Wait for part three, next week, till then check part 1: Broken Fighter, part 1 or check this story instead: All That Water, part 1, or this one: Merlin, The Eternal Wizard. You can support this page by buying our books: Read the full article

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Celebrating two years since the conception of The Chronicles of Agartha

As the title said, today marks two years since Sherif Guirguis and Isaac Michaan met online and started to deliberate the idea of a book series. Both come from completely different backgrounds, and both loved fantasy. Both had a passion for books, and for writing, and both were total strangers. If you didn't know yet, the authors of the Chronicles of Agartha never met in real life. You have to wonder at how our world became that much smaller because of the internet. Sherif is Egyptian, and he is 47, and he was originally a medical doctor before falling to the lure of writing. Isaac is Brazilian, and he is 25, and he was originally a programmer before pursuing a writing career. These two men managed to bridge the gap of distance, and years and wrote a book. It all started with an idea Isaac had about a world in the myth of Hollow Earth. From there, The Chronicles of Agartha was born. And since this is a celebration of The Chronicles of Agartha, we have a special event planned for the occasion. We decided to offer something back to our fans, but since we have thousands of them, we couldn't wrap gifts and send them to each one. Wrapping gifts is hard work as you all know. Besides, what gift can symbolize the spirit of The Chronicles of Agartha? So, we decided to do the next best thing, offer them what they like, books. This way we will be certain that anyone who checks this post, or our newsletter, would get something for staying with us for the last year and a half. We needed to know which books to offer in this event, and after a lot of messaging back and forth, we decided to offer all of our books either free or at $0.99, which is almost free. "we decided to offer all of our books either free or at $0.99" So every book of The Chronicles of Agartha series has been subjected to the price knife, and now you can have them all for less than $3. The Green Boy is free on August 16th and 17th, you can find it HERE, The Trinity's Dream is free from August 17th to 21st, you can find it HERE. Red's Soul is discounted to $0.99, and you can find it HERE, Through The Storm is discounted to $0.99, and you can find it HERE, and The Eternal Agarthans is also discounted to $0.99, and you can find it HERE, all from August 16th to 19th. But the event doesn't end here, be sure to check our latest newsletter issue to find out all the other things that are on offer for this event. "Be sure to check our latest newsletter to find out all the other things that are on offer for this event" The event will stay for the next five days, this way everybody will get a chance to get a gift. Note: Reviews are essential for indie authors, as it helps them to know what people think of their books, and it helps new readers to find their books. If you wish to leave a review on any of the books offered, you can check Sherif Guirguis Amazon Author page HERE, his Goodreads page HERE, and his Bookbub page HERE, to find the books and leave a review. If you would like to read more about the story of the books, check this post: Story of A Book If you wanted an intimate view of one of the main characters, check this post: Mara’s Interview Be sure to check the latest issue of the newsletter HERE. Read the full article

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Fatima of Agartha

Fatima panted and heaved as she kneeled on the ground. If anybody told her that passing through the portal out of Nafoura would this to her, she would have chosen to walk the long distance to Eldorado. It took her five more minutes of pure misery to take control of herself. She stood and looked around. The forest was as lush as the one in Beimini, the sounds of wildlife came as a wild symphony just as it did at Beimini, and even the occasional pixie darted fast out fast exactly as they did back in Beimini. So why did she feel exposed? She shook her head; she knew she was stronger than this. She was the first of her class, the first in every class, and she would not succumb to silly feelings of yearning for her past life. Although that past life ended only five minutes ago, and she already missed her friends. She took a deep breath, brought out her magical compass and followed its signaling arm. She walked with sure steps, resolute steps, and she intended to make her new life as good as her past. I only she could make new friends, everything would be easier then. Fatima walked fast, chasing after the compass, avoiding the occasional ditch, fallen branch, hissing venomous snake. That was a snake, wasn’t it? Fatima paused. They didn’t have any dangerous animals in Nafoura, child safety and all. This angry snake fascinated her beyond belief. She took a timid step towards it, trying to see it closer, inspect it and its beautifully patterned skin. The snake charged, and it bit Fatima in the foot. “Ouch, that hurt. I only wanted to study you!” Fatima shouted in pain. “This could be dangerous.” She talked to herself as she rummaged through her packs. She remembered that the teachers in Nafoura gave her some herbs. “A purple starter kit.” This is what they called it. She found the herbs and took them out. Now what? The teachers didn’t exactly tell her how to use them. Should she apply all of them to the bite? No, that would inefficient, and possibly dangerous. Some herbs sped up the heart rate. And if the snake’s bite was poisonous, it would kill her. She studied a lot of herbs back in Nafoura, but she studied none that can be used directly on a snake’s bite. She rubbed some herb bags in her hand as she thought about her conundrum, and a purple glow engulfed all of them. Then the glow withdrew from all the herbs bags and settled only on three of them. Magic, she had magic. How exciting! She took the herbs out, mixed them together, and applied them to the bite. A minute later, she walked through the forest with a wide smile; she was a witch! “Welcome to Eldorado.” The guard at the gate said in a monotone. “Please step on the raised platform to find out your aura.” He pointed to the circular platform to his left. “If you are indeed a purple, you will be escorted to the newcomers’ school. Thank you.” Fatima stared at his bored face for a moment, shook her head, and stepped on the platform. The platform cycled through all the colors and settled on purple. “Welcome to your home, fellow purple.” The guard intoned. “Please step through this side gate.” He pointed to his right. “And find the man or woman with the feather on their hat. Thank you.” Fatima was about to shout at him, scream at the top of her lungs. This was not a welcome, this was inventory. But she decided it was not worth it, and she just went through the gate. The moment she entered the city, she stopped and stared with wide open mouth. The city spread in front of her eyes in all its gold splendor. Although gold was worthless, still, the golden streets, minarets and spires, were just magnificent to look at. She stood at the threshold of a vast plaza. At one was the gate she entered from, at another was a market, then another gate, and finally, streets going in different directions. People in dressed in every fabric, from shimmering magical silk to drab brown linen milled about the plaza. Fatima couldn’t even see where the person with the feather in their hat was. There were so many people here, ten times, no a hundred times more than the number in Beimini. Tall towers, majestic and intimidating in their height, surrounded the plaza. The people who milled about either entered or exited them, forever in a cycle of disappearing within their depth, and reappearing as if reborn from their magic. Fatima studied every face that went by, every man, woman. And was that a minotaur? Wasn’t a known fact that minotaurs loath to mingle with humans? As Fatima stared wide eyed and breathless at the minotaur, someone tapped her shoulder. “You must be the newcomer.” An annoyed voice accompanied the tap. “I have been standing by the corner of the market waving at you for the last ten minutes.” Fatima turned to see a girl not a lot older than she was, eighteen at most. “Anyway, please come with me to start your training.” The girl moved without a warning. “My name is Erica, and we will be roommates.” “Yes Fatima.” The tutor smiled gently. “You are right.” She took a deep breath. “However, this is not a test of your knowledge of herbs and potion, it was a test of your abilities, and you seem to lack the confidence or will to tap into your Vrill.” “But mistress.” Fatima licked her lips. “I need to understand first what I am doing.” “I already told you countless times.” The tutor sighed. “For a purple, understanding comes through practice, not just through reading and observation.” “What if what I practice is limited? Should my knowledge be limited to it as well?” Fatima clenched her fist under her desk. “You only need to practice what you know and know what you practice.” The tutor said in a lenient tone. “This is how things are, how they were for centuries and how they will always be.” “This is just another way of telling me to stop learning outside your scope.” Fatima steeled herself. She wasn’t used to challenging authority, Nafoura taught never to try such a stunt. “But what if I become a council member one day, how can I deal with cases I know nothing about? How can I face what I don’t know?” “First, you can’t be a council member as long as you repress your Vrill that hard.” The tutor’s gentle smile turned to a grimace. “Second, if you manage, by some miracle, to actually join the council of mages, I suppose they will teach you what you need to know.” “So, there are others more knowledgeable than you out there.” Fatima swallowed. “If you lack the knowledge, how can you be our teacher and not someone better suited?” The tutor’s mouth hanged open for a few seconds, staring hard at Fatima. “Fatima, go out.” The tutor said in a firm tone. “I will not have my classroom disrupted with unnecessary debates. Go to the head tutor, and tell that I forced you out of my class, now.” Fatima checked twice to ensure that her hearing didn’t just shut down. The tutor kicked her out of class, even though she was the best student. She rushed out of the class, then started to cry immediately once the door closed behind her. Without an education, a purple is good only for a guard’s life, and Fatima was too skinny for the arduous life of a guard. Plus, she couldn’t imagine herself as an intimidating character that would force the criminal type to tremble in fear upon seeing her. She would be the joke of all the criminals. They will make it their job to make her life even more miserable. She wailed her misfortune to be with such a horrible tutor, woe was her, the fates condemned her. These were the least of the thoughts that ran in Fatima’s mind until she felt too much pain in her jaw from all her crying and sobbing and she had to stop. After sniffing and sobbing for around five minutes, she headed to the head tutor’s office. Fatima entered the office and stood silently. “Yes? What do you want, student?” The man sitting behind the massive mahogany desk looked to Fatima in annoyance. Fatima spilled the entire incident in a torrent of tears, sobs, and one very loud sniffle. “I see.” The head tutor nodded. “Mistress Amara had the right to kick you out.” “Yes, head tutor.” Fatima said miserably. “But, it doesn’t mean that you will not finish your education, far from it.” The head teacher gave her a wide smile. “Wait for me in the hall of air. Go. Hurry.” Fatima stood for an entire minute in shock. She can be something better after all. “Fatima, meet councilman Annias.” The head tutor nodded in Annias’s direction. “He is part of our exceptional purple nurturing program.” “Pleased to meet you, councilman.” Fatima curtsied. “Annias. My name is Annias, my job is councilman.” Annias pursed his lips. “I heard you are quite the rebellious type Fatima.” “No, counc…” Fatima swallowed the rest of the word as she saw the deep frown on Annias’s face. “No master Annias, it is just a misunderstanding.” “I see.” Annias nodded. “Fatima is a nine on the Farouk’s scale.” The head tutor said with a wide smile. “The first one in eight years. Of course, you know who was the last one with the same Vrill power.” The head tutor turned to Fatima. “It was Annias.” He winked. Annias’s right eyebrow rose to his hairline. “Impressive.” He stared at Fatima from head to toe. “But why didn’t you send her directly to the council initiation program?” “I am blocked.” Fatima blurted. “I can’t call on my Vrill without strain.” “Interesting.” Annias looked at Fatima with narrowed eyes. “She is the perfect candidate, Cornelius. You chose well.” “I knew it the moment she came to my office this morning.” Cornelius chuckled. “It was as if the fates had heard our discussion last night.” “It would seem so.” Annias signaled for Fatima to go ahead. “Wait outside, child, I have to talk to master Cornelius for some moments.” Child? Who was he calling a child? This story is from the book, Fatima of Agartha, free for all our newsletter subscribers. You can subscribe and receive the book HERE Check other stories from the world of Agartha here: Rowida, in the land of the dead, A Teaser story from The Chronicles of Agartha, Book 2, and Last Days of Zarzura. You might want to check our books here: The Green Boy, Red's Soul, Through The Storm, The Eternal Agathans, and The Trinity's Dream. Read the full article

[chroniclesofagartha]

Rowida, in the land of the dead

“Who are you?” A snake made up of smoke slithered in the air. “I am…” Rowida wondered if the snake wanted her name or something else. “I am Rowida.” “Who are you?” The snake lashed at Rowida, stinging her left arm with immense pain, then curled around itself and raised its head to stare at Rowida with empty eye sockets. Rowida winced at the sudden pain. Then she realized she was wrong to assume the snake wanted something as mundane as her name. Her name was not what defined her. “I am a leader of men, a conqueror, a woman. I am the most powerful single person in Agartha.” The snake rocked from side to side, and it bared its fangs. “Who are you?” Rowida sensed that if the snake should bite her again, she would die, never even be given a chance at rebirth. She hesitated for a long moment, and the snake hissed loudly as it prepared to lunge at her. “I am a murderer, friend betrayer, child kidnapper, destroyer of Agartha, I am the most miserable person in Agartha, and I welcome death in place of the agony I feel every day for my sins and guilt.” She pulled open her shirt. “Come on, finish me.” She waited for the fangs to plunge into her skin, ending her miserable existence once and for all, but nothing happened. “You may enter.” The snake dissolved into mist, and in its place, a muddy road lay ahead. Rowida stepped on the road’s beginning. It felt solid and real. Rowida marched ahead, seeking to find where the road led. All around her, the world formed as if solidifying from the smoke into existence by her mere presence. Rowida felt that the terrain was familiar, yet she failed to identify it as any she passed through. The sky and land looked exactly as they were on the other side of the portal, except that now and then, a feature of the terrain would melt into something else. A tree melted into a clearing, then into a bush. The sides of the road changed from brush to grassland and then back. There was an element of change, the unexpected yet familiar, in every inch of the road. The road finished into a void. Rowida stopped and looked around her. Until the end of the path, the terrain remained as it was, Agartha-like, but past the road, there was nothing, not even the smoke present at the portal entrance. “Gertrude?” Rowida called at the void. “Gertrude, are you here?” Rowida took a deep breath and stepped off the road. She felt like she was falling. A year passed, falling from the tip of the road. A year of nothingness crashed beyond Rowida as she forever fell. Then she found herself in front of an all-familiar city, Zarzura, the white city in all its glory. Rowida shivered. She didn’t want to be there. In her mind, she could hear the judgment that would strip her out for her soul. In her mind she could hear the screams of the thousands of residents as she and the grand wizard unleashed their doomsday Arcanos on the place, and in her mind, she could see the wall of green fire coming to consume everything while she pushed her only friend and confidante, Gertrude to be instantly consumed in a flash of the magical fire. Rowida tried to turn, but she couldn’t. Something compelled her to go forward. She passed through the long road to the gates, then through the gates. She passed the main square and the commercial district beyond. She walked to the ruling halls and stood in front Zarzura’s rulers, ready to pass judgment on her. They were going to strip her of her soul again. She screamed at the top of her lungs, but all that came out was just a soft whimper. She was helpless, passing the stages of stripping her soul, then the long journey to Beimini, then the horrible experience with the boy she took from there to the surface world, then her extremely difficult return and isolation from all people for decades until Gertrude came into her life. Gertrude, sweet and faithful Gertrude, the only person who stood by her and urged her forward to fulfill her plans of exacting her vengeance on the greens, the one who stood by her as she burned down their city and lost her chance to get a soul. Gertrude, whom she betrayed and killed while enraged at the man she thought she loved. Then she experienced the moment she lost her dragon soulmate with all wrenching clarity, the search for the green boy, and finally stealing his soul and having to feel all the guilt of the hundred years that came before. Then Rowida was back again in front of Zarzura, about to repeat those decades of soul-wrenching agony. “I deserve it. I deserve it all.” Tears flowed down Rowida’s cheeks as she stood stunned in front of the gates of Zarzura. “Sorry, I am so sorry for all that I have done.” She fell on her knees and pulled the mud from the ground, and poured it on her head. “I am sorry, my beloved Gertrude. You were the best thing in my long, miserable life. I am so, so sorry.” She kept putting the mud over her head for what seemed to be an entire year until her body was three feet deep in the mound of soil, and her tears never stopped flowing the whole time. “I don’t deserve salvation. I don’t deserve a chance of happiness or a moment of rest.” Those were the words she repeated for the past month. Rowida decided to bury herself and finally get her deserved punishment. Death in the place where death was all there was. She picked a large rock and bashed it against her head, but all she got was a bruise and a headache. She was still alive. She pulled her hand away and bashed her head again, then again, and again. Then something pulled back at her hand, and she couldn’t bring the rock to connect to her blood-soaked head. She turned with blurry eyes to see who dared deny her deserved punishment, to see that it was a familiar face. “Gertrude?” Rowida dropped the rock. “Is it really you?” “Yes, my old friend and bitter enemy.” Gertrude released her hand. “It is I.” “I am so sorry for what I did to you.” Rowida wailed as she inched to touch her old friend, but her fingers connected to nothing. “I know you finally have a soul, and you are feeling the guilt for the first time in decades.” Gertrude talked coldly and distantly. “For so many years, I felt the hatred and anger, all-consuming, keeping me trapped in this burning city, never able to move forward, never able to forgive you.” Gertrude reached and pulled Rowida out of the middle of the mud mound and out. “When I first sensed you in this place, I wanted you to suffer, to feel the hatred I felt for you.” She led Rowida to an enormous boulder at the tip of the road and sat her down. “But as you lived your entire life in front of my eyes, I found excuses for what you did, reasons for redemption, and I felt less hatred and less anger as I watched your suffering after Zarzura fell after you killed me.” Gertrude held Rowida’s hands in hers. “And finally, when I saw your regret, your shame, and guilt, I found out that I was never mad at you. I forgave you the moment you pushed me to my death.” Gertrude smiled. “I was mad at myself. I blamed myself for not seeing ahead, for not warning you about the warpath you took, about the grand wizard, and I couldn’t forgive myself.” Gertrude sat beside Rowida. “Now, I finally did, I was only human, just as you were, and we commit sins because they are our way to pass through our suffering, guilt results from our judgment of those sins, and forgiveness, especially forgiveness for ourselves, is the only thing that takes us above our humanity and raises us to the ethereal and eternal.” “So, you forgive me?” Rowida smiled through her tears. “I do.” Gertrude hugged her. “Also, I agree to be your spirit guide to whatever you need to go forward with your life.” “I don’t need that anymore, I am just happy to remain here beside you, my friend, my solace, my daughter, for I realized after I threw you into the flames that I did it to the only person close enough to be called kin, the person I saw as my daughter.” Rowida touched Gertrude, and she kissed her hands. “Mother, indeed, I was in some way your daughter, and perhaps this was the best thing I had in life.” Gertrude kissed Rowida’s hands. “You will soon forget the experiences you had in here. All you might carry with you would be the sense of being forgiven and the knowledge I will impart on you.” Gertrude laughed a pure, gentle laugh. “You will not believe the number of people who pass this place in their dreams and then forget all about it and go on with their lives.” “But I can’t forget you. I need you beside me, like the old times.” Rowida hugged Gertrude fiercely. “You can’t. I am moving on.” Gertrude patted her hands. “Once you leave, I will go on to the next stage. Maybe I will be reborn, and we will meet again.” She smiled. “But…” Rowida tried to refuse, but she knew Gertrude spoke the truth. She will move on. She had nothing left to bind her to this place. Tears pearled again in Rowida’s eyes. “Can you search for me if you were born as an Agarthan?” “I will.” Gertrude patted her hands again. “Now, to find the blues and yellows, you need the Arcanos of Memphis, also known as the Arcanos of the second chance.” She wiped away Rowida’s tears from her cheeks. “It is in the Chronicler’s lair, and it has to be given, not taken.” “But the chronicler knows of me, and they will never allow me to set foot on their island.” Rowida searched Gertrude’s now serene eyes and felt some peace just by looking at them. “Find a way.” Gertrude faded away. “You need to take the Arcanos and touch it to the sky, meeting the water and call on its power to give you a chance to reach the blues and yellow.” Gertrude was almost transparent by then. “Just beware, the energy toll to bring the two nations back could be more than all the energy that sustains the existence of the world. Only one of the chosen ones can pull them back, drawing on the energy vibrating within the threads of fate.” Gertrude disappeared completely. And all that was left was a gentle smell of Arabic jasmine, the same perfume she used to wear when she was alive. Rowida stood, looked in the distance. The white city disappeared, and all she could see was the mouth of the portal back to the living world. She sighed and stepped through. If you liked this story, check others about Rowida: Rowida, a girl who would change the world. Why Rowida? Rowida And now you can read her full story in these published books: Through The Storm, The Green Boy, The Eternal Agarthans, and Red's Soul. Read the full article

[chroniclesofagartha]

What Came Before in Agartha

I have lived for a thousand years, and I have the knowledge of a hundred times that, I have been called All-Powerful, All-Knowing, and even sometimes, I was called Mythical, yet, for the few who have met me, I know that I am none of these things, I simply am, The Chronicler of Agartha. As such, my sole duty is to document all the events that affect Agartha, whether these events happen directly on our fair land, or if they happened on the surface World. I took to the job of documenting a very special period of time, a time when a prophecy as old as Agartha itself took place, and the book you are reading now, is but a glimpse of this very special period. During the third age of Agartha, a great war devastated the land, one that turned the Agarthans against each other, split the continent in two, caused three of the land’s nation to cease to exist, and they called it the War of Colors. Agarthans don’t identify themselves by color of skin, religion, or even ethnicity, yet they identify to the colors of their auras. Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, Orange and Purple were the colors involved in that world splitting war. Each with their own gifts granted by the aura, each completely different from the others, yet all originated from the same tribe one hundred thousand years before. Some other people called this war, the second war of Vrill, which is the name the Agarthans give to their aura granted powers, but the name never stuck as the actual war of Vrill which happened more than a thousand years earlier was not between the colors, but rather between individual overpowered Agarthans. May be one day I will decide to write another book about that period, another fascinating era that deserves to be told in song and book, just as our story is. In the war of colors, a woman known to some as the green lady, and to others as the dragon lady whom I knew simply as Rowida, led an army of beasts and mythical creatures to destroy the city of Zarzura. Yet the city persevered and withstood the onslaught, until a man by the moniker, The Grand Wizard, managed to unite the nations of the blue, red, and yellow auras against the other races, calling them “Impure colors,” or mixed colors, and this man was the one who eventually started the actual war of the colors, and helped the dragon lady to destroy the city of the green aura nation, Zarzura. That single devastating event turned the tide, and because of it, the war eventually came to an end, albeit at a great price, the blue and yellow aura nations were banished from Agartha, some say that they were banished from the whole world, sent to the eternal abyss, where the mythical creatures go to die. Thus, the red aura nation had to seek a cease-fire. They realized that they couldn’t fight against the joined fronts of the purples and the oranges, for even though the reds possessed immense strength, and through their Vrill they could draw on the power of any other creature, the oranges could communicate and order nature itself, while the purples were what most people call, wizards and mages. After these events passed, as all events eventually do, our story began. It was twenty years after the war ended, and a boy by the name of Ethan, who attended the prestigious school of Nafoura, found out that his aura, is green. Against all the odds of such a boy existing, he was the key to fulfill the ancient prophecy I mentioned earlier in this missive, which mandated that all the colors should be united to decide the fate of Agartha, and the surface world. Faced by his exotic and believed to have been gone from this world aura, Ethan decided to leave the school and go to search for the greens because if there is a single green child, there ought to be at least a mother and a father for said child. Ethan also hoped that by finding the greens, he would find a family and a home to call his own. As there was a prophecy behind Ethan’s tale, the fates nudged him this way or the next, to reach their predestined paths. On his journey, he got to know and love Mara, a girl who mysteriously managed to cross  through the highly protected portals from the surface world to Agartha, and even if this was a feat to recon, she did it without alerting the purple guard of the portals, another feat worth of a legend. And then he met Darren, a boy with a red aura who was an outcast for being a shapeshifter, the lowest caste among the red aura nation. Each of these three was special, fate chosen in some way or another. Ethan was the last of the greens, s boy needed to fulfill a prophecy, Mara was a girl whose very presence was considered an abrasion or a miracle, and Darren, was a red who wanted to change his aura to orange, and to achieve that, had a nefarious Deal with one of the mystical spirits called The Others. They decided that the best route to take was the one that led them to me, the chronicler. Yet the journey was not an easy one. From slaying a wyvern, to aiding the people of Mountain’s Child, a village of mixed aura colors, to evading the attempts of the dragon lady of capturing them, the journey was more than eventful. They even crossed paths with an agent of the fates themselves, a man who goes by the name of Vlad, a traveling merchant who manages to end up in almost every story about this period that I documented. They eventually fall in the trap of the dragon lady, escape the city of the purple aura nation, meet a helpful purple wizard who was called, Annias. Annias then helps them to escape the El Dorado, the city of the purples because he knew that the dragon lady had spies in the city, and the last of the greens, Ethan was in danger. Alas, the escape was not successful, outside the borders of El Dorado, the dragon lady caught on to them, stripped Ethan of his soul, and left the rest of the group for dead. Yet, they managed to survive, and upon finding what happened to Ethan, Annias decided to accompany him to the surface world, to the one man who might be able to help him regain his soul, the Eternal Wizard, Merlin. Mara feared that her very presence was what caused Ethan to suffer this loss, and because of that, she decided to remain in Agartha, joining Darren in a renewed quest to reach me. But that was what came before, now, the story continues. This is a simple recap of the story before The Chronicles of Agartha Book 2 - Red's Soul, Available soon If you want to check other tales from Agartha, check these: Merlin, The Eternal Wizard, Archery with Miss Julia, and Last Days of Zarzura. Or you could check our books, with a lot more stories from the world of Agartha: The Green Boy, Through The Strom, The Eternal Agarthans, and The Trinity's Dream. Read the full article

[chroniclesofagartha]

A Teaser story from The Chronicles of Agartha, Book 2

Mara sighed; sometimes it is almost impossible to understand men, and the closer she gets to them the harder it gets to understand them. She stood and headed to the fireplace they built earlier and lighted the gathered wood, night was encroaching and she hated to have to face another wild animal searching for easy prey. Since she came to Agartha, every living thing in this place assumed humans to be at the bottom of the food chain. Things wanted to hunt them, eat them, and Darren even told her about some insects that would lay their eggs in the ears of people and the hatchlings would eat their way out through the eyes. She shivered as remembered how he described the passage of the growing larvae. She didn’t mind the constant danger surrounding her, she knew that she could handle the usual predator and even the occasional mythical creature, but she was feeling enraged that Darren just left her and went into the darkening night. She pulled one of the small cauldrons, filled it with water from the stream, and placed it on the fire. She took the leaves of the plant Darren gave her for her bellyache and placed them into the small cauldron, a huge headache was brewing in her head and she definitely didn’t want to have for a companion the entire night. She stirred the leaves in the heating water and looked where Darren ran to, where was he? *** Darren ran as fast as he could, and when he couldn’t force himself anymore, he shifted to wolf form, howled at the night, and bounded even faster as far as he could get. Mara dug deep into his heart, plunging a hot searing knife when she talked to him earlier. She might have not even meant it or even felt the need to apologize for what she said, but the fact remained that it hurt Darren. How could she think that he would put anything or any person before her? How could she assume that he kept Richard despite her objections to the guy? He might have considered the trade of auras with Richard, but the price was too high, and he knew that such a price would completely alienate Mara away from him. The main reason Richard was still with them, was that he felt the guy knew something, something crucial to what was happening between the oranges and the purples. Darren felt that he almost could put his finger on what Richard hid from them, yet he couldn’t reach it. The cold air of the night pushed against his face and head, drying his sweat as fast as he perspired, cooling him and calming his fried nerves. He eventually stopped around a mile away from the camp and sat by a huge black tree. As he panted and groaned after the effort he made, he started to think about what possessed him to run the way he did. He left Mara alone, and they still had the purples, the minotaur, and who knows what hunting for their blood. He gnashed his teeth and cursed his stupidity, she could be in danger. He stood and started to run back to the camp, and all that was on his mind was that he could lose her, she could be dead by the time he arrived at the camp. “What in the seven hells are you doing?” Black suddenly appeared by his right side as he raced through the forest. Darren knew that if he talked, he would lose breath and he might not arrive as fast as he needed to, so he ignored Black altogether. “That boy Richard is your salvation, you have to make friends with him and get closer under his skin.” Black hovered a few inches above the ground as he flew beside Darren. “Yet, it seems as if you are trying to push him away, you and that stupid surface worlder. May the fates decide her death sooner than later.” Darren gnashed on his teeth and clenched his fists, yet he didn’t respond and just kept running. He knew that Black aimed to grate his nerves, he knew that the foul spirit was enraged that he kept Mara aware of everything that transpired between him and Black, and he also knew that Black wanted the deal to be fulfilled, even more than Darren did. As he raced, he ignored Black’s prattle and took it as just background noise to the dark forest, just as the owls hooting and the mice squeaking away. Then he started to think on a different subject, why was Black so desperate to fulfill the deal? Why was he in such a hurry? Did it have anything to do with the prophecy Annias told them about? But that prophecy concerned Ethan, not him, or could it be that Black who claimed to be eternal knew more about that subject than he ever told him? He saw the light of fire from afar, but this was not their fire, it was far bigger and stronger, besides it was erected to the west of their camp. Darren worried that this could be the camp of the purples, and this meant that the danger to Mara’s life suddenly grew by ten folds. He shifted and put all of his energy, every last bit of it into his pumping leg muscles, he had to reach Mara, he had to be there, time was running against him. All he had was the run, so he did it with all of his existence, speed was all that mattered. If you liked this story, check these as well: The Black Rose, Part one, The Black Rose, Part Two, The Sacred Scent, and The Black Rose, Part Three, The Masters. Please support our efforts to bring you these stories by buying one of our published books: Read the full article

[chroniclesofagartha]

The Black Rose, Part Three, The Masters

The master temple had a mystic air permeating its ancient walls, the smell of incense wafted through the air, the harmonious sounds of hymens reverberated over the walls of the massive inner chamber. A man in long flowing dark crimson robes walked deliberately deeper into the immense chamber, hands clasped and hidden in the folds of his robe as if he hid within the most precious of secrets. He glided over the red and black granite floor that reflected the light of thousands of candles placed on the walls, all the exits of the chamber which counted to nine, and hanged from intricate chandeliers from the ceiling. For an onlooker, the man seemed to belong in this place, he folded the space around his robes and made it his own in more ways than one. Yet, something was odd about him, and only on further scrutiny would the onlooker realize that despite of the powerful light shed by the thousands of candles and their reflection, the man had no shadow, none whatsoever. The shadowless man continued his walk to the very end of the chamber, where a man sized statue of a snake wrapped around a tall pole that carried what looked like a solar system with twelve planets. The mysterious man's hand snaked out and touched with lightening speed spots on the body of the snake, and walked back three steps. The sound of stone grating on stone flowed with the melodious hymns lending them an eerie quality, then a hole opened in the floor in front of the shadowless man and within was a set of stairs. He descended the stairs fast as the stone floor closed above him, sealing him from the temple above. He walked through a long corridor lighted by living orbs of light, dancing and floating around him as he walked, and still he had no shadow under the powerful magical light. At the end of the corridor, stood a massive mosaic of a black rose, the one the masters of the temple called Donum Tenebris, which meant the dark gift, he kissed the upper petal of the rose and the door turned to smoke that dissipated in front of him. "You have come." A woman sat in the corner of the hexagonal room that stood behind the smoke curtain. "Yes." The man delved inside and sat on the opposite corner to the woman. "How are faring, mistress of time?" "As one might expect, master of dimensions." The mistress of time had a mask covering her entire face, and the mask was the depiction of a multicolored whirlpool. "Did you know of the girl?" "One of my eyes saw her as she touched the black rose." The master of dimensions flicked his hand and an orb of light formed in the middle of the room. In the orb, both could see Emily as she touched the black rose, and then as the stranger pushed her to inhale its scent. "Who is that?" The mistress of time stared intently at the man in the image orb. "I thought he was one of yours," the master of dimensions said in a mocking voice. "We both know that you wanted to bring her in eons ago." "She might be important for the way, but she is not crucial." The mistress looked away from the orb. "He is not one of mine." She paused for a few seconds. "Did you check with the others?" "All the other masters are trying to feed the void with broken dreams." The master of dimensions sighed. "I guess this is what you get when you vote the master of shadows as this eon's master." "She was the only one who stepped forward for the position." The mistress waved her hand in dismissal. "We all bulked at being the possible master of the last eon." "True." The master nodded. "Still, to jump at her whims, is a bit too much." "Agreed." The mistress leaned forward in her seat. "Since we don't know whose agent was that, what do you think should be the least obtrusive move?" "She has already been inducted to the way." The master held one hand in the other. "We can only assume that she will seek us soon." "But what if that agent takes her to them?" The mistress said in a firm and warning tone. "This could be as was foretold." "The end of times?" The master scoffed. "I don't think it will visit us any time soon, the barrier between dimensions has never been as solid as it is." "So as the barrier between the times." The mistress clenched her fists as she talked. "Still, we don't know what will change the carnal nature of the void, it could be her." "Emily?" The master laughed. "She is just a infant." "She is human, and you know that they grow and learn very fast." The mistress shook her head slowly. "You were once human, were you not?" "I was, but that was fifty eons ago." The master objected. "Still, could it be that she has the spark?" The mistress dropped her hands in her lap and gazed back at the orb hanging in the air. "If she is." The master gazed in turn to the orb with Emily's picture frozen in time. "Then one or more of has to die." If you liked this story, please check the first two episodes: The Black Rose, Part one, and The Black Rose, Part Two, The Sacred Scent. You can also check these stories as well: Small Monster, and From Hell, Jack The Ripper. If you appreciate the work we do here, and would like to support our efforts, please consider buying one of our published books: Read the full article

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The Black Rose, Part Two, The Sacred Scent

Nivah walked through the sacred orchard in solemn silence, gazing as walked at the perquisite black of the sacred rose. She avoided walking too close to the fragrant rose though as the scent was known to cause loss of consciousness and only the order of the Scared Way were allowed to inhale its scent. Row upon row of the black rose bushes covered the center of the orchard, while on the sides all colors of roses grew in contrast to the stark black roses Nivah knew that this was not just a design created for pleasing the eyes, it was essential to contain the growth and scent of the sacred rose, and as far as she knew it worked. Nivah reached the door of the outer sanctum, pushed it as slowly as she could and delved inside. She knew that door if pushed harder was known to cause a huge gush of wind, something to do with its magical essence, and this could blow off the prayer candles at the end of the huge chamber, this in turn would ensure that her mentor, Galina, to blow a few choice words in her face. Galina was the apprentices master for the order, an honor so highly regarded among all novices and apprentices, and even the junior priests and priestesses differed to Galina. Nivah assumed that the main reason for this deference was the fact that all of them went through their apprenticeship under the silver haired woman. Nivah walked on light feet to the outer alter, the one that was joined to the inner sanctum's alter through the middle fire conduit, gave a fast prayer to the reigning masters, then quickly went into the apprentices room. Inside, Galina stood in front of six novices with fire raging behind her green eyes. "Who gave you permission to approach the sacred rose bushes?" Galina said in a tight restrained voice. "Do you think that you are above the order? Do you think that you have been touched by the sacred masters? Do you even fathom the degree of damage you did to the sacred rose bush by touching it?" "Mistress Galina." The oldest novice, a girl called Stefania, stood firmly against the onslaught of Galina. "It called us." "What?" Galina jumped a step forward to Stefania. "It called us." Stefania stared stolidly at Galina. "Nobody should deny the call of the sacred rose, right?" Galina turned suddenly and stared at Nivah. "What are you doing here?" "The master of rituals sent for me." Nivah swallowed hard. "I came to tell you that I can't perform my duties as a novice today because of that." Galina stared at Nivah for a solid minute. "He must have called you for the initiation ritual training." She looked back at the three novices. "Take them with you to him, and tell him that they were called." Nivah bowed and looked at Stefania and company, then turned and left the chamber. Midway towards the annex of rituals she turned to the three novices. "What was it like?" "Other worldly." A tall brown skinned boy that Nivah knew as Faroan, smiled wide. "We literally saw another world." "There was a girl." The youngest of novices, Myraah, a girl of around thirteen years of age, younger than Nivah by three years jumped in front of Faroan. "She was dressed in strange clothes and had some strange device over her head." "And we know her name." Stefania gave Nivah a smug look. "She must have a seed of a master for her to be shown to us." "The sacred rose never makes a mistake." Nivah said in reverent tones. "I think the master of rituals would be very interested in meeting her." "He must, she is important." Faroan kept his radiant smile. "She had a black radiance exuding from her the entire time." Nivah gasped. "A natural born master? Could it be?" "I think it could." Stefania nodded. "And her name was very exotic as well." She raised her head and looked at the sunless sky above their heads. "Emily, they called her in the vision Emily." Nivah looked up at the sky with Stefania, may be this Emily would lead the sacred order to restore the sun, then hope could be restored to the land. "We really need the sun back." Nivah whispered as they neared the gates of the annex. If you liked this story, please check the first part here: The Black Rose, Part one. You can also check some of our other stories, here: The old Road, part 1, and here All That Water, part 1. If you wish to support this blog, and help us continue to bring you these stories, please consider buying one of our already published books below. Read the full article

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The Black Rose, Part Two, The Sacred Scent

Nivah walked through the sacred orchard in solemn silence, gazing as walked at the perquisite black of the sacred rose. She avoided walking too close to the fragrant rose though as the scent was known to cause loss of consciousness and only the order of the Scared Way were allowed to inhale its scent. Row upon row of the black rose bushes covered the center of the orchard, while on the sides all colors of roses grew in contrast to the stark black roses Nivah knew that this was not just a design created for pleasing the eyes, it was essential to contain the growth and scent of the sacred rose, and as far as she knew it worked. Nivah reached the door of the outer sanctum, pushed it as slowly as she could and delved inside. She knew that door if pushed harder was known to cause a huge gush of wind, something to do with its magical essence, and this could blow off the prayer candles at the end of the huge chamber, this in turn would ensure that her mentor, Galina, to blow a few choice words in her face. Galina was the apprentices master for the order, an honor so highly regarded among all novices and apprentices, and even the junior priests and priestesses differed to Galina. Nivah assumed that the main reason for this deference was the fact that all of them went through their apprenticeship under the silver haired woman. Nivah walked on light feet to the outer alter, the one that was joined to the inner sanctum's alter through the middle fire conduit, gave a fast prayer to the reigning masters, then quickly went into the apprentices room. Inside, Galina stood in front of six novices with fire raging behind her green eyes. "Who gave you permission to approach the sacred rose bushes?" Galina said in a tight restrained voice. "Do you think that you are above the order? Do you think that you have been touched by the sacred masters? Do you even fathom the degree of damage you did to the sacred rose bush by touching it?" "Mistress Galina." The oldest novice, a girl called Stefania, stood firmly against the onslaught of Galina. "It called us." "What?" Galina jumped a step forward to Stefania. "It called us." Stefania stared stolidly at Galina. "Nobody should deny the call of the sacred rose, right?" Galina turned suddenly and stared at Nivah. "What are you doing here?" "The master of rituals sent for me." Nivah swallowed hard. "I came to tell you that I can't perform my duties as a novice today because of that." Galina stared at Nivah for a solid minute. "He must have called you for the initiation ritual training." She looked back at the three novices. "Take them with you to him, and tell him that they were called." Nivah bowed and looked at Stefania and company, then turned and left the chamber. Midway towards the annex of rituals she turned to the three novices. "What was it like?" "Other worldly." A tall brown skinned boy that Nivah knew as Faroan, smiled wide. "We literally saw another world." "There was a girl." The youngest of novices, Myraah, a girl of around thirteen years of age, younger than Nivah by three years jumped in front of Faroan. "She was dressed in strange clothes and had some strange device over her head." "And we know her name." Stefania gave Nivah a smug look. "She must have a seed of a master for her to be shown to us." "The sacred rose never makes a mistake." Nivah said in reverent tones. "I think the master of rituals would be very interested in meeting her." "He must, she is important." Faroan kept his radiant smile. "She had a black radiance exuding from her the entire time." Nivah gasped. "A natural born master? Could it be?" "I think it could." Stefania nodded. "And her name was very exotic as well." She raised her head and looked at the sunless sky above their heads. "Emily, they called her in the vision Emily." Nivah looked up at the sky with Stefania, may be this Emily would lead the sacred order to restore the sun, then hope could be restored to the land. "We really need the sun back." Nivah whispered as they neared the gates of the annex. If you liked this story, please check the first part here: The Black Rose, Part one. You can also check some of our other stories, here: The old Road, part 1, and here All That Water, part 1. If you wish to support this blog, and help us continue to bring you these stories, please consider buying one of our already published books below. Read the full article

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The Black Rose, Part one

Emily walked gingerly around the flower garden of her aunt Philippa, trying to brush against any of the rose bushes not to get tangled in their thorns, but as she passed through most of the garden she noticed something strange, a black rose bloomed at the exact middle of the neatly arranged graden. She paused to inspect the rose for some moments, touched its velvety petals and knelt to smell it. She jumped back with a start, the smell was strange, intoxicating and made her a bit dizzy. She stood rocking on the balls of her feet for some moments, trying to find her equilibrium. Finally, she took a deep breath and started to head to the house's ornate French doors, her aunt must know more about the strange black rose, and she would explain to her how such an odd thing existed. As she reached the threshold, a dark shadow passed over the entire garden and the house. Emily looked up to see if there was a plane or a dark cloud behind the shadow, but nothing was there. She shrugged and decided that the sun must have hit her eyes at a weird angle and this is what caused the strange shadow. Emily knocked on the door and waited, her aunt should be on the phone at this time of the day, as she always was, planning some events with her friends from around the neighborhood. On January she had a charity event to gather money for the homeless, she brought a semi-known singer and had dish party at her backyard. If her garden was impressive, then her backyard was ten times more so, as it was huge and neatly arranged with tock formations and water ponds. Then there was a meeting to welcome the new neighbors, another to celebrate the retirement of the usual mail man, and yet another because one her friends married for the seventh time. Emily didn't mind the activity, it eased her sensation of loneliness, and made the memories of her parents far easier to push down. It has been three years since they left this world, but she still felt the pain wrenching her heart whenever their names came in a conversation. Philippa opened the door while she had the phone at her ear, chatting away in her usual jovial tones. Emily passed beside her and went directly to the kitchen, this was where her aunt's base of operations and war room was. Philippa finished the call and entered the kitchen. "So, how was school?" "The usual." Emily sat at a high bar stool and started to swing her legs. "By the way, what's the story behind the black rose in the garden?" "What black rose?" Philippa scrunched her face. "There is no such thing, not in my garden anyway." "Then how come I just touched, smelled, and almost picked the black rose?" Emily gave her aunt her usual face of disbelief, the one her aunt called the weasel's pout. "Emily, I know as a teenager I should warn you about some things." Philippa leaned and held Emily's shoulders. "But I assumed that you were wise enough not to have to tell you the obvious." She took a deep breath. "Emily, are you on drugs honey?" "What?!" Emily jumped off the stool, shaking her aunt's hands from her shoulders. "You know I would never touch the stuff, not after what happened to my parents." "I know that you know how dangerous it could be." Philippa sighed. "Still, I have to know if somebody slipped you anything or something like that." "You are infuriating." Emily stormed out of the kitchen, to the living room, then through the door to the garden. She decided that if her aunt wanted to push this silly play on her, then she should just pluck the hideous rose and bring it back as proof. She rushed through the garden and spotted the black rose and reached to pull it off its stem. As she touched the stem a hand appeared from nowhere and grabbed hers. Emily tried to pull back, but the grip was too strong for her to escape. She looked up the length of the hand over the arm to a man of around his early twenties. "Who the hell are you?" Emily squirmed to release her hand. "What the hell are you doing here in my aunt's garden?" She grabbed his hand with her free hand and tried to pry off his fingers but it was like trying to peel layers of steel from each other. "Let go of my arm." "I am afraid I can't do that." The man reached with his other hand and grabbed Emily's head pulling it down towards the black rose. "You are the witness, and you have to serve your function for the fates to unfold the oldest tale." "What?" Emily fought the man as hard as she could, but she couldn't even help herself as she descended to the rose. As she struggled, she started to breathe deep the scent of the black rose, and as she did, her inhbitions and struggle started to wane, and eventully she just dropped her arm and let the man push her head deeper at the rose. "Inhale the sacred scent." The man whispered. "Take it all in and live through the darkest era of life, drink it and cherish it Emily, it would be your only solace on the days to come." If you liked this story, then check these other stories as well: All That Water, part 1, All That Water, Part 2, A company of two, The old Road, part 1, and Small Monster If you wish to support our website and help us to keep it running to bring you new stories, please consider buying one of our books below: Read the full article

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The old Road, Part 2

The old Road, Part 2

The old road stretched promising to Carmen’s flattering heart, a quick run was all it took for her to get out of this place and from the clutches of whoever was calling to her. Yet, even though the old road promised an escape, her vicious curiosity demanded to know a bit more before she let her legs do the thinking. “Why are you inside this place?” Carmen looked doubtfully at the fence of the…