QUEEN OF THE MOON TRIAD EXCERPT: A Dark Fantasy Novel by Asher Sharol
THE DYING CHILD
Deep in the night of the gray moon following the encounter with the Phoe the night before, Cruger found himself within a familiar nightmare. He was transported back almost eighteen years— before Belphore the King of Viridian had banished him to Amaryllis. Cruger was with his family in the living room of a great castle. An Equiid maid entered with a silver platter of victuals fit for royalty. His wife, Amarta nodded as the maid lowered the platter onto the dining table. Cruger ignored her. He disliked Equiids. The woman’s graceless demeanor and dirty brown hair repulsed him. Despite this, Cruger would have been happy if that was all he had to worry about. Sighing, he walked over to Amarta, who gave her attention to a small child swathed in a thick blanket huddled against her chest. If he was distraught, Cruger couldn’t imagine what his wife was going through. The child’s chest heaved in a sick, rattling cough. Amarta glanced at him with teary eyes before reaching for a cloth nestled somewhere in the blanket. She used it to wipe the infant’s mouth, but instead of snot and phlegm, the cloth smeared with blood. The maid re-entered with water, which she laid onto the table.
“Do you desire anything else, master Cruger?” she asked earnestly.
“No,” he said a little too haughtily. “Just ensure Ivor’s room is cleaned.”
“Yes, master Cruger.” The maid bowed and left.
Ivor was Cruger’s sick son. He looked at the child in Amarta’s arms coughing up gobs of blood even now. Fluorish medics had described Ivor’s condition with phrases such as “hopelessly irreversible” and “mildly contagious”. And ever since the dark prognosis of Fluorish Cruger’s first child had spread like wildfire across the length and breadth of Viridian, the majority of the Fluorishes refused to associate with any member of the household, including the Equiid maid, Aurelia, in fear they would contract the illness. Cruger found this understandable, of course. However, he was livid that Belphore, the King of Viridian, hadn’t once visited him even if to pretend that one of his most valuable henchmen mattered. Cruger had worked with Belphore for almost thirty years as a White Collector, overseeing the Moongrease trade from Equiid to Fluorish. Even more hurtful was the fact that Belphore had been in a similar predicament when his wife, Raviola was sick. Cruger had made himself available as a friend, doing Belphore the risky favor of weaving a sophisticated form of health magic called ‘Salubria’ by his wife’s bedside to ease her pain. Sadly, Raviola died in her sleep one night after a horrid bout of fever that had lasted days.
Cruger watched as his child suffered a similar fate. Ivor heaved and shivered in Amarta’s hand. Cruger knew it was only a matter of days (if not less) before the unthinkable happened. He wiped tears from Amarta’s cheeks, preventing them from falling on young Ivor’s face. He had been cultivating Salubria from his own life force for hours, bleeding it into his aura to ease his son’s pain. If he had some help with the exhaustive task of cultivating the magical painkiller, he could at least rest assured his son felt little to no pain.
Cruger thrashed in his bed in Amaryllis as his dream switched to another scene. He was scurrying into the dark woods and away from the Castles. He’d chosen this time specifically in order to lessen the chance of meeting someone on the trail. It was the second day of the black moon when Fluorishes tended to keep indoors. While the path he was traversing into the forest wasn’t forbidden, it would arouse suspicion if he was caught, and he would have some explaining to do. But Cruger was here out of desperation. His son was getting worse, and he had realized from Ivor’s grunts and groans that his Salubria had gotten weak and ineffectual. That wasn’t all—Amarta was so depressed that she neither ate, spoke, nor slept, and it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think she could follow their son to the grave. He reached the spot he sought under a twisting Yew, feeling the heartrending effect of the locale’s Melancholia. He never figured out why Belphore chose to infect the space with enchanted despair.
Cruger cast his eyes up between the gnarly branches of the Yew and was frightened by the black moon. Its blackness seemed active…like a quality onto itself, projecting onto Indigo like a black light from the torch of some forgotten god. He descended into the earth, his heart quickening. Cruger immediately flared his aura, aware he was no match for the two Phoes he would soon face, especially now that it was the black moon. They were almost godlike in the practice of PhoeCraft, a type of blood magic specific to Phoes. But Cruger only sensed one aura, not two. Its owner moved from the shadows presently. He was a wild-looking man with black skin and a puffy black beard. His yellow teeth were now bared as he regarded Cruger.
Cruger raised his hands over his head. “Shaden. I come in peace. Where is Tyman?” he asked, glancing around.
“Not here,” the man hissed.
Cruger was confused. As far as he knew, the Phoes shouldn’t …couldn’t leave this space as it was heavily protected by Fluorish magic.
“Belphore took him to mold some Moongrease deep in the woods. They should be back any second now.”
Cruger’s heart fell. “What?”
Shaden bared his teeth again. “Yesss. And you shouldn’t be here. If he catches—”
“Shaden,” Cruger interjected. “I have a huge favor to ask of you. If you grant it, I will forever be in your debt.”
Shaden laughed. “And do you think me so mad as to trust a Fluorish?”
Cruger sighed, his heartbeat reverberating through his body. But he had prepared for this. Cruger reached into his robes and withdrew a short blade before slicing his palm with it. Shaden’s expression fell as Cruger’s blood dripped on the sodden earth.
“Take my blood as my bond and my covenant.” Cruger stretched his arm toward the savage.
Shaden growled, his eyes switching from black to devilish red. He hesitated before approaching, grabbing Cruger’s hand and bringing it to his lips. As the Phoe drank his blood, Cruger felt his vital energy slipping away. It was as though his life were wrapped with a bloody ribbon and it was being unreeled into the maw of an abyssal beast. When Shaden was done, Cruger was so weak he could hardly stand. The Phoe glanced at him with his crimson eyes, blood running down his lips and beard. In contrast to his ever-weakening body, the Phoe’s aura was blooming like the gothic flowers of a Belladonna.
“And for what do you grant this portion of your spirit?” he asked. His voice was so guttural that it vibrated against Cruger’s bones, syncing with his heartbeat.
He spoke quickly. “I need you to mold some Moongrease at once, just a little. My son is dying. I need to do something. I just can’t manage…”
Shaden laughed, his eyes flickering evilly. Cruger took a deep breath to keep his mind sane. His brain was running amok with thoughts of treachery and death.
“What an interesting night,” Shaden whispered. “But you’re in luck. Bless this night of the black moon. I can mold some Moongrease into Apotheum to fashion a salve for your son.” With that, he went over to the bags of Moongrease and lifted one of the round clay chunks from it. Without warning, Shaden bit into it.
Cruger sprang backward despite his weakness. He hadn’t actually seen a Phoe mold Moongrease before. But he didn’t think it was done by consuming it. Moongrease was highly poisonous to Fluorishes; he’d assumed the same was true for Phoes.
“You have no clue about molding Moongrease, do you?” Shaden inquired. “I’m surprised Belphore didn’t reveal this to you.”
Cruger guessed the Moongrease affected Phoes differently—perhaps it was responsible for all the Phoes’ slow descent into madness. Suddenly, Shaden shook, his head and torso jerking. Cruger with his waning consciousness couldn’t react much. The dark pocket they occupied was beginning to spin like a gig. He supposed Shaden’s shaking was part of the molding process. When the seizures stopped, a wraith-like substance lifted from the Phoe’s mouth. Just then, there was activity above them. Belphore was coming back! Cruger panicked, rising from the floor.
“Take it and go! Hurry!” Shaden spat. “Get your son to swallow it.”
Cruger watched the wraith crystallize into a floating glass ball the size of a pea. He darted forward and grabbed it before starting to rise back up. And while he rose through the blackness, he realized Shaden hadn’t told him what he wanted as a repayment for his favor. Before he could say another word, he was thrown into the forest.
“Cruger?”
He froze. It was the voice of damnation. He pocketed the Apotheum before turning to see Belphore and Tyman approaching him.
“Ahh! Belphore, there you are. I’ve been searching for you. Is that—” he began, pointing at Tyman.
“Yes. Tyman here was helping me with a personal matter at the edge of the river. You said you were searching for me? Did something happen back at the Castle?”
Cruger was too weak to properly loathe Belphore’s deception. Clearly, the “personal matter” the Fluorish King referenced was Tyman fashioning Apotheum for him, something even Shaden admitted he was surprised Belphore had kept from him.
“No, not at all. Everything is fine at the Castle. I was just wondering if I could borrow one of your men to pitch some Salubria upon Amarta and my boy. I’m exhausted.”
Belphore glanced down at Cruger’s robes as if he knew he hid the Apotheum inside them. “And you chose to seek me here?”
Again, Cruger was surprised at the man’s lack of empathy. He had just told him about his wife and child’s suffering only for it to be completely ignored.
“I looked everywhere. Here was the last place I decided to check.”
Belphore looked at him for a long time before offering a stiff nod. “Very well. I’ll send some of my men to your aid. Just allow me to finish up my business with Tyman.”
Cruger nodded and began plodding back up the incline to the Castle. The gash on his palm stung and bled a little. It occurred to him that Belphore had possibly seen his bleeding hand. However, he didn’t panic since it should not arouse suspicion by itself. The molded Apotheum felt hot on his thigh as he went, his consciousness waning. Somehow, he didn’t feel as triumphant as he ought to feel given that he now possessed a possible cure to Ivor’s ailment. Maybe he’d known deep down something was wrong, or it was simply because he was compromised in some karmic way since he’d forged a deal with someone as steeped in demonic PhoeCraft as Shaden.
Cruger continued to shake in his bed as the final chapter unfolded.
He entered his Castle (which was two Castles removed from the King’s Castle). Aurelia bowed to him and asked him something he neither heard nor responded to. He staggered to the bedroom to find Amarta nursing a heaving Ivor. His face was as red as beetroot, and he now coughed up thick gobs of blood which Amarta hastily cleaned with a towel already soaked in red.
“He’s dying,” Amarta moaned.
Cruger stopped in his tracks. Amarta hadn’t said anything to him in days, so he was shocked and saddened those were the first words she uttered to him. It was a soulless, almost defeated proclamation that moved him to the core…and to tears. His wife was a broken woman. He took the Apotheum from his pocket, the gyrating kaleidoscopic hues from it attracting Amarta’s attention.
“What’s that?”
“The cure,” Cruger said, forcing himself to believe it. He lowered the orb to Ivor’s lips, but before he could make contact, Amarta placed a hand on his. She looked into his eyes.
“Are you sure?”
Cruger sighed. “No, but what else?”
Amarta seemed unconvinced, but she released his hand. The second the Apotheum slopped into the child’s mouth, there was bedlam. The Castle shook as someone broke down the front door. A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the abode, then a violent slam. Next, Cruger heard frenzied footsteps coming up the steps toward them.
“What’s going on?” Amarta yelled, rising with the child.
She was answered by a powerful bang that sent the door cartwheeling across the room. Luckily, neither of them was in its trajectory. The wave of force that accompanied the blast almost knocked them over. To Cruger’s amazement, it was Belphore and three of his men, and by the looks of it, they hadn’t come to pitch Salubria.
“What’s the meaning of this!?” Cruger blared.
Belphore’s jaw twitched. “You dare steal my Moongrease? What a stupid move. And you didn’t stop there did you? You commanded Shaden to mold it into Apotheum for your personal use knowing full well that such a command is given by me and me alone.”
Cruger panicked. “I-I- my child…I had to—”
Belphore raised his hand sharply, a gesture which locked Cruger’s hands and feet together as if they were bound with ropes. His lips were also sealed as he fell face-first upon the carpet. Amarta pleaded, but she suffered the same fate. She fell beside him, the child spilling from the bloody blanket. Ivor rolled until he came to a halt between himself and Belphore’s men. The child writhed, finally twisting his face toward him. Cruger stared into his son’s eyes, losing himself for a moment in the aquamarine blue. The last thing he saw before Belphore’s men dragged him out was Ivor’s jaw fattening as his face curled into his first smile.
Cruger woke with a start sweating from head to foot, his heart racing. He’d been having the same dream every other gray moon since the incident happened. Try as he might, Cruger never got used to the feeling the dream brought. It always interfered with his sanity, eroding it more and more each time. Who knew when he would one day break, losing himself to madness completely? He got out of bed, eager to put his mind out of its misery. He had developed a routine to do just that, sharpened to precision over the years. However, even that was disrupted recently: a Phoe killed four of his most valuable men the night before, so he would have to do without their part in preparing him to forget his troubles. He already sent a message to Viridian requesting a swift replacement for the men. It seemed the Phoes were becoming stronger; if one Phoe could kill four of his men (on a gray moon when his powers weren’t strongest), then what could happen if a handful of them attacked their cabin on the black moon? The attack would be devastating as there were only three (including him) Fluorishes left to defend the cabin. Cruger pushed the thought from his mind. One task at a time, he thought. Now, he had to get on with the process of supervising the Neutera as they dug for Moongrease.
Cruger went outside and washed his face by the well, nodding to his two remaining men. The dream continued inside his mind as a vague but irrepressible memory. Belphore and his men had spared his life, banishing him to Amaryllis to “recover” the Apotheum he’d commanded Shaden to mold at his behest. Cruger was given the added responsibility of killing at least fifty Phoes before he was eligible to return to Viridian to his family. But he didn’t even know if there was a family to go back to, though the small hope that they had survived that ill-fated night was what kept him going all these years. All the inquiries he made about his family’s well-being to the Fluorishes who came to Amaryllis periodically to check on the Black Collectors’ operations were answered with tight lips and cold stares. He did discover that the Phoe, Shaden was executed for his part in molding the Moongrease he gave to Cruger. He surmised that Amarta would have been punished in some way because of his actions. Most heartbreaking to him, however, was that he never knew the fate of his son, Ivor. Was he dead? Was he alive? How did the Apotheum affect him? Sighing, Cruger grabbed his Obsidian staff and mounted his pale horse, dying to appease his troubled mind with blood.
Related posts
QUEEN OF THE MOON TRIAD EXCERPT: A Dark Fantasy Novel by Asher Sharol
THE DYING CHILD
Deep in the night of the gray moon following the encounter with the Phoe the night before, Cruger found himself within a familiar nightmare. He was transported back almost eighteen years— before Belphore the King of Viridian had banished him to Amaryllis. Cruger was with his family in the living room of a great castle. An Equiid maid entered with a silver platter of victuals fit for royalty. His wife, Amarta nodded as the maid lowered the platter onto the dining table. Cruger ignored her. He disliked Equiids. The woman’s graceless demeanor and dirty brown hair repulsed him. Despite this, Cruger would have been happy if that was all he had to worry about. Sighing, he walked over to Amarta, who gave her attention to a small child swathed in a thick blanket huddled against her chest. If he was distraught, Cruger couldn’t imagine what his wife was going through. The child’s chest heaved in a sick, rattling cough. Amarta glanced at him with teary eyes before reaching for a cloth nestled somewhere in the blanket. She used it to wipe the infant’s mouth, but instead of snot and phlegm, the cloth smeared with blood. The maid re-entered with water, which she laid onto the table.
“Do you desire anything else, master Cruger?” she asked earnestly.
“No,” he said a little too haughtily. “Just ensure Ivor’s room is cleaned.”
“Yes, master Cruger.” The maid bowed and left.
Ivor was Cruger’s sick son. He looked at the child in Amarta’s arms coughing up gobs of blood even now. Fluorish medics had described Ivor’s condition with phrases such as “hopelessly irreversible” and “mildly contagious”. And ever since the dark prognosis of Fluorish Cruger’s first child had spread like wildfire across the length and breadth of Viridian, the majority of the Fluorishes refused to associate with any member of the household, including the Equiid maid, Aurelia, in fear they would contract the illness. Cruger found this understandable, of course. However, he was livid that Belphore, the King of Viridian, hadn’t once visited him even if to pretend that one of his most valuable henchmen mattered. Cruger had worked with Belphore for almost thirty years as a White Collector, overseeing the Moongrease trade from Equiid to Fluorish. Even more hurtful was the fact that Belphore had been in a similar predicament when his wife, Raviola was sick. Cruger had made himself available as a friend, doing Belphore the risky favor of weaving a sophisticated form of health magic called ‘Salubria’ by his wife’s bedside to ease her pain. Sadly, Raviola died in her sleep one night after a horrid bout of fever that had lasted days.
Cruger watched as his child suffered a similar fate. Ivor heaved and shivered in Amarta’s hand. Cruger knew it was only a matter of days (if not less) before the unthinkable happened. He wiped tears from Amarta’s cheeks, preventing them from falling on young Ivor’s face. He had been cultivating Salubria from his own life force for hours, bleeding it into his aura to ease his son’s pain. If he had some help with the exhaustive task of cultivating the magical painkiller, he could at least rest assured his son felt little to no pain.
Cruger thrashed in his bed in Amaryllis as his dream switched to another scene. He was scurrying into the dark woods and away from the Castles. He’d chosen this time specifically in order to lessen the chance of meeting someone on the trail. It was the second day of the black moon when Fluorishes tended to keep indoors. While the path he was traversing into the forest wasn’t forbidden, it would arouse suspicion if he was caught, and he would have some explaining to do. But Cruger was here out of desperation. His son was getting worse, and he had realized from Ivor’s grunts and groans that his Salubria had gotten weak and ineffectual. That wasn’t all—Amarta was so depressed that she neither ate, spoke, nor slept, and it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think she could follow their son to the grave. He reached the spot he sought under a twisting Yew, feeling the heartrending effect of the locale’s Melancholia. He never figured out why Belphore chose to infect the space with enchanted despair.
Cruger cast his eyes up between the gnarly branches of the Yew and was frightened by the black moon. Its blackness seemed active…like a quality onto itself, projecting onto Indigo like a black light from the torch of some forgotten god. He descended into the earth, his heart quickening. Cruger immediately flared his aura, aware he was no match for the two Phoes he would soon face, especially now that it was the black moon. They were almost godlike in the practice of PhoeCraft, a type of blood magic specific to Phoes. But Cruger only sensed one aura, not two. Its owner moved from the shadows presently. He was a wild-looking man with black skin and a puffy black beard. His yellow teeth were now bared as he regarded Cruger.
Cruger raised his hands over his head. “Shaden. I come in peace. Where is Tyman?” he asked, glancing around.
“Not here,” the man hissed.
Cruger was confused. As far as he knew, the Phoes shouldn’t …couldn’t leave this space as it was heavily protected by Fluorish magic.
“Belphore took him to mold some Moongrease deep in the woods. They should be back any second now.”
Cruger’s heart fell. “What?”
Shaden bared his teeth again. “Yesss. And you shouldn’t be here. If he catches—”
“Shaden,” Cruger interjected. “I have a huge favor to ask of you. If you grant it, I will forever be in your debt.”
Shaden laughed. “And do you think me so mad as to trust a Fluorish?”
Cruger sighed, his heartbeat reverberating through his body. But he had prepared for this. Cruger reached into his robes and withdrew a short blade before slicing his palm with it. Shaden’s expression fell as Cruger’s blood dripped on the sodden earth.
“Take my blood as my bond and my covenant.” Cruger stretched his arm toward the savage.
Shaden growled, his eyes switching from black to devilish red. He hesitated before approaching, grabbing Cruger’s hand and bringing it to his lips. As the Phoe drank his blood, Cruger felt his vital energy slipping away. It was as though his life were wrapped with a bloody ribbon and it was being unreeled into the maw of an abyssal beast. When Shaden was done, Cruger was so weak he could hardly stand. The Phoe glanced at him with his crimson eyes, blood running down his lips and beard. In contrast to his ever-weakening body, the Phoe’s aura was blooming like the gothic flowers of a Belladonna.
“And for what do you grant this portion of your spirit?” he asked. His voice was so guttural that it vibrated against Cruger’s bones, syncing with his heartbeat.
He spoke quickly. “I need you to mold some Moongrease at once, just a little. My son is dying. I need to do something. I just can’t manage…”
Shaden laughed, his eyes flickering evilly. Cruger took a deep breath to keep his mind sane. His brain was running amok with thoughts of treachery and death.
“What an interesting night,” Shaden whispered. “But you’re in luck. Bless this night of the black moon. I can mold some Moongrease into Apotheum to fashion a salve for your son.” With that, he went over to the bags of Moongrease and lifted one of the round clay chunks from it. Without warning, Shaden bit into it.
Cruger sprang backward despite his weakness. He hadn’t actually seen a Phoe mold Moongrease before. But he didn’t think it was done by consuming it. Moongrease was highly poisonous to Fluorishes; he’d assumed the same was true for Phoes.
“You have no clue about molding Moongrease, do you?” Shaden inquired. “I’m surprised Belphore didn’t reveal this to you.”
Cruger guessed the Moongrease affected Phoes differently—perhaps it was responsible for all the Phoes’ slow descent into madness. Suddenly, Shaden shook, his head and torso jerking. Cruger with his waning consciousness couldn’t react much. The dark pocket they occupied was beginning to spin like a gig. He supposed Shaden’s shaking was part of the molding process. When the seizures stopped, a wraith-like substance lifted from the Phoe’s mouth. Just then, there was activity above them. Belphore was coming back! Cruger panicked, rising from the floor.
“Take it and go! Hurry!” Shaden spat. “Get your son to swallow it.”
Cruger watched the wraith crystallize into a floating glass ball the size of a pea. He darted forward and grabbed it before starting to rise back up. And while he rose through the blackness, he realized Shaden hadn’t told him what he wanted as a repayment for his favor. Before he could say another word, he was thrown into the forest.
“Cruger?”
He froze. It was the voice of damnation. He pocketed the Apotheum before turning to see Belphore and Tyman approaching him.
“Ahh! Belphore, there you are. I’ve been searching for you. Is that—” he began, pointing at Tyman.
“Yes. Tyman here was helping me with a personal matter at the edge of the river. You said you were searching for me? Did something happen back at the Castle?”
Cruger was too weak to properly loathe Belphore’s deception. Clearly, the “personal matter” the Fluorish King referenced was Tyman fashioning Apotheum for him, something even Shaden admitted he was surprised Belphore had kept from him.
“No, not at all. Everything is fine at the Castle. I was just wondering if I could borrow one of your men to pitch some Salubria upon Amarta and my boy. I’m exhausted.”
Belphore glanced down at Cruger’s robes as if he knew he hid the Apotheum inside them. “And you chose to seek me here?”
Again, Cruger was surprised at the man’s lack of empathy. He had just told him about his wife and child’s suffering only for it to be completely ignored.
“I looked everywhere. Here was the last place I decided to check.”
Belphore looked at him for a long time before offering a stiff nod. “Very well. I’ll send some of my men to your aid. Just allow me to finish up my business with Tyman.”
Cruger nodded and began plodding back up the incline to the Castle. The gash on his palm stung and bled a little. It occurred to him that Belphore had possibly seen his bleeding hand. However, he didn’t panic since it should not arouse suspicion by itself. The molded Apotheum felt hot on his thigh as he went, his consciousness waning. Somehow, he didn’t feel as triumphant as he ought to feel given that he now possessed a possible cure to Ivor’s ailment. Maybe he’d known deep down something was wrong, or it was simply because he was compromised in some karmic way since he’d forged a deal with someone as steeped in demonic PhoeCraft as Shaden.
Cruger continued to shake in his bed as the final chapter unfolded.
He entered his Castle (which was two Castles removed from the King’s Castle). Aurelia bowed to him and asked him something he neither heard nor responded to. He staggered to the bedroom to find Amarta nursing a heaving Ivor. His face was as red as beetroot, and he now coughed up thick gobs of blood which Amarta hastily cleaned with a towel already soaked in red.
“He’s dying,” Amarta moaned.
Cruger stopped in his tracks. Amarta hadn’t said anything to him in days, so he was shocked and saddened those were the first words she uttered to him. It was a soulless, almost defeated proclamation that moved him to the core…and to tears. His wife was a broken woman. He took the Apotheum from his pocket, the gyrating kaleidoscopic hues from it attracting Amarta’s attention.
“What’s that?”
“The cure,” Cruger said, forcing himself to believe it. He lowered the orb to Ivor’s lips, but before he could make contact, Amarta placed a hand on his. She looked into his eyes.
“Are you sure?”
Cruger sighed. “No, but what else?”
Amarta seemed unconvinced, but she released his hand. The second the Apotheum slopped into the child’s mouth, there was bedlam. The Castle shook as someone broke down the front door. A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the abode, then a violent slam. Next, Cruger heard frenzied footsteps coming up the steps toward them.
“What’s going on?” Amarta yelled, rising with the child.
She was answered by a powerful bang that sent the door cartwheeling across the room. Luckily, neither of them was in its trajectory. The wave of force that accompanied the blast almost knocked them over. To Cruger’s amazement, it was Belphore and three of his men, and by the looks of it, they hadn’t come to pitch Salubria.
“What’s the meaning of this!?” Cruger blared.
Belphore’s jaw twitched. “You dare steal my Moongrease? What a stupid move. And you didn’t stop there did you? You commanded Shaden to mold it into Apotheum for your personal use knowing full well that such a command is given by me and me alone.”
Cruger panicked. “I-I- my child…I had to—”
Belphore raised his hand sharply, a gesture which locked Cruger’s hands and feet together as if they were bound with ropes. His lips were also sealed as he fell face-first upon the carpet. Amarta pleaded, but she suffered the same fate. She fell beside him, the child spilling from the bloody blanket. Ivor rolled until he came to a halt between himself and Belphore’s men. The child writhed, finally twisting his face toward him. Cruger stared into his son’s eyes, losing himself for a moment in the aquamarine blue. The last thing he saw before Belphore’s men dragged him out was Ivor’s jaw fattening as his face curled into his first smile.
Cruger woke with a start sweating from head to foot, his heart racing. He’d been having the same dream every other gray moon since the incident happened. Try as he might, Cruger never got used to the feeling the dream brought. It always interfered with his sanity, eroding it more and more each time. Who knew when he would one day break, losing himself to madness completely? He got out of bed, eager to put his mind out of its misery. He had developed a routine to do just that, sharpened to precision over the years. However, even that was disrupted recently: a Phoe killed four of his most valuable men the night before, so he would have to do without their part in preparing him to forget his troubles. He already sent a message to Viridian requesting a swift replacement for the men. It seemed the Phoes were becoming stronger; if one Phoe could kill four of his men (on a gray moon when his powers weren’t strongest), then what could happen if a handful of them attacked their cabin on the black moon? The attack would be devastating as there were only three (including him) Fluorishes left to defend the cabin. Cruger pushed the thought from his mind. One task at a time, he thought. Now, he had to get on with the process of supervising the Neutera as they dug for Moongrease.
Cruger went outside and washed his face by the well, nodding to his two remaining men. The dream continued inside his mind as a vague but irrepressible memory. Belphore and his men had spared his life, banishing him to Amaryllis to “recover” the Apotheum he’d commanded Shaden to mold at his behest. Cruger was given the added responsibility of killing at least fifty Phoes before he was eligible to return to Viridian to his family. But he didn’t even know if there was a family to go back to, though the small hope that they had survived that ill-fated night was what kept him going all these years. All the inquiries he made about his family’s well-being to the Fluorishes who came to Amaryllis periodically to check on the Black Collectors’ operations were answered with tight lips and cold stares. He did discover that the Phoe, Shaden was executed for his part in molding the Moongrease he gave to Cruger. He surmised that Amarta would have been punished in some way because of his actions. Most heartbreaking to him, however, was that he never knew the fate of his son, Ivor. Was he dead? Was he alive? How did the Apotheum affect him? Sighing, Cruger grabbed his Obsidian staff and mounted his pale horse, dying to appease his troubled mind with blood.
PILGRIMAGE ON THE PATH OF LOVE
PILGRIMAGE ON THE PATH OF LOVE
Pilgrimage on the Path of Love unraveled in the jungles of the Himalayas in Manali. I used to come to sit beneath the towering deodar trees in the early morning when the sun poured its liquid radiance through the leafy bowers. The jungle in its cool still verdant beauty invited introspection, and my fingers raced over the blank paper in an effort to keep up with the rapid tempo of thoughts and feelings flitting like fireflies through my mind. During my travels in the mountains of Manali and Ladakh, each person I met shared a fragment of their life with me and the multi-colored fragments, like beads on a thread, wove the necklace I carried with me, as an inner adornment, a cherished memory of a country to which I felt I belonged. The sunrise painting the cliffs of the Himalayas at dawn, the prayerful rituals on the banks of the Ganges, solitary treks to the sacred temples in the mountains. These images became an indelible part of my inner life. If I had to choose a country to which my inner being is most resonant, I would unhesitatingly choose India.
In Pilgrimage on the Path of Love, we enter the interior world of a woman on the spiritual path and we see how the spiritual dimension of life in India fosters in her a deeper understanding of the ultimate quest of human life which is enlightenment.
Establishing the Foundations of a Relationship: A New Guide by Oscar J. Starr III
Establishing the Foundations of a Relationship: A New Guide by Oscar J. Starr III
Houston, TX – Renowned author and relationship expert, Oscar J. Starr III, has released his latest book, Establishing the Foundations of a Relationship. This insightful guide, co-authored with Jarae Starr, delves into the essential elements that form the bedrock of any successful relationship.
Building Trust and Finding Common Ground
At the heart of Establishing the Foundations of a Relationship is the emphasis on building trust and finding commonality. Starr explores practical strategies for couples to connect on a deeper level, fostering a sense of mutual understanding and respect. The book provides actionable advice on how to navigate the complexities of trust-building, ensuring that both partners feel secure and valued.
The Importance of Date Nights
One of the standout features of this book is its focus on the significance of date nights. Starr argues that regular, intentional time spent together is crucial for maintaining a healthy relationship. He offers creative ideas for date nights that can help couples reconnect and keep the spark alive, regardless of how long they have been together.
Addressing Emotional Neglect
Emotional neglect can be a silent killer in relationships, and Starr does not shy away from addressing this critical issue. The book provides readers with tools to recognize and address emotional neglect, fostering open communication and emotional intimacy. By tackling this often-overlooked aspect of relationships, Starr empowers couples to build a more resilient and loving partnership.
A Comprehensive Guide for All Relationships
Whether you are looking to strengthen a long-term relationship, build a new friendship, or simply gain valuable insights into human connections, Establishing the Foundations of a Relationship offers something for everyone. The book is designed to be a helpful tool, providing readers with the knowledge and skills needed to cultivate meaningful and lasting relationships.
About the Author
Oscar J. Starr III is a celebrated author and relationship coach based in Houston, TX. Alongside his wife, Jarae Starr, he operates Express Direct Professional Services. The couple enjoys spending quality time with family and friends and has collaborated on various projects, including this latest book. Starr is also the host of The GameChanger Perspective Podcast, available on multiple platforms.
Establishing the Foundations of a Relationship is available now in both Kindle and paperback editions. For more information, visit your favorite online bookstore.