Synopsis: The Lightstone of Perlan is a fantasy about Idenia, a young prophetess who must recover a sacred stone before an evil lord uses it to conquer her people.
Idenia finds the ancient Lightstone, and on her way to the temple of the Most High God of Light, she battles and becomes captured by the evil Lord Moltanon. After a subsequent escape, Idenia faces a spiritual reawakening, leaving her determined to recapture the Lightstone. To do so, she must battle the evil lord and his demonic creatures once again. Through the assistance of the Most High God of Light, evil is overcome and the ancient Lightstone is returned to its place of honor in the temple of the Most High.
The Lightstone of Perlan is inspired by Old Testament stories of the Ark of the Covenant and the prophets and prophetesses who were used by God to help protect the Israelites from the wicked nations surrounding them.
Excerpt:
(Revised Oct. 10, 2008)
Chapter 1
Moltanon pounded the arm of the throne, his fist clenched in frustration. His sworn informants had failed again. Dark hideous creatures watched the ruler impassively from the open rafters above, the rich gilding and intricate designs on the beams a direct contrast to the grotesque beasts. Black as coal, their leathery wings folded back over rough skin, ready to be unfurled at a moment’s notice. Two immense bodyguards stood by the door and watched the creatures uneasily.
Moltanon, however, paid them no mind. Instead, he seethed silently, Where is the seeker of the Lightstone? I must have that stone!
The self-proclaimed king of Besmontolai resisted the urge to pace. He stilled himself and closed his eyes. The ruler focused his mind on the powers of evil that awaited his command. Their familiar presence brought a perverse sense of comfort to his mind.
Moltanon breathed deeply then opened his eyes as the broad door at the opposite end of the throne room opened. Another bodyguard strode into the room, bowed deeply and announced, “My Lord, Commander Erlendur is here to see you.”
No sooner had he spoken, Moltanon’s right-hand man strode into the room, dark red cape flowing behind him. His handsome young face held no expression, yet Moltanon smirked. He knew Erlendur’s weakness. Moltanon had seen this lust for power in other men, men he eventually had to eliminate before they became a threat. One day Erlendur might gather enough power and support to grasp the throne, but only if Moltanon let him get that far.
Two men followed Erlendur reluctantly, dust from their journey still clinging to their clothing. Once summoned, both men had ridden hard to reach the city of Tandar as quickly as possible.
“My liege,” Erlendur bowed his head and tapped his closed right fist to his chest. “I present your chief informants, Zaccur and Mishma.”
Zaccur and Mishma trembled and bowed low, eyes averted toward the floor as Moltanon glared at them.
“So you are the ones sent to find the seeker,” he stated simply, neither manner nor tone betraying his restrained anger.
“Yes, my lord,” the men intoned in unison, both intent on studying the floor before them.
“Well…” Moltanon continued. “Where is he?” Hearing no response, the ruler continued. “Did you find him?”
“No, my lord.”
Moltanon demanded more loudly, “Did you find any trace of him?”
When the men remained silent, Moltanon’s steel grey eyes flashed. He gripped the arms of the throne, leaned forward and raised his voice again. “Did you at least hear any rumors?”
Desperately, one man pleaded, “No, my lord, but…”
“Silence!” roared Moltanon. “I sent you to find one person! I know the seeker is out there somewhere—I can feel it. And all you bring me are excuses.” The ruler paused, lip curled in disgust. The demon birds craned their necks forward, black eyes intently focused on the scene below.
“Take them away,” he instructed his bodyguards. “No, wait. Leave them for the Hrafn.”
The men raised their eyes in horror. “My lord, please. Another chance, we beg you.”
The men shrank back from the guards reaching for them, but then the guards jumped back and cringed as two of the Hrafn sailed down to the floor. As the bodyguards hurried to open the doors, the beasts clutched the doomed men in their talons and with a flap of their wings, drug their victims from the room.
“No! Please! My lord, mercy, please!” The men’s cries faded away as the guards quickly pulled the doors shut behind them.
But Moltanon was deaf to their pleas. He turned to Erlendur, eyes still fierce with anger. The young commander stood firm under the intensity of his lord’s gaze and waited until Moltanon broke the silence.
“Those two were the best informants in the kingdom?” Moltanon inquired skeptically.
Erlendur nodded his head and replied, “They were in charge of the network.”
“Then the network needs a new leader,” Moltanon said dryly, “a task that now falls to you.” After a pause, the ruler continued. “We must find the seeker. We will never find the Lightstone without him and without the Lightstone’s power…” Moltanon’s voice trailed off, then continued more strongly. “I want him here in Tandar. Now!”
“I understand,” said Erlendur. “I will bring him to you, whether he be willing or not.”
“Good,” Moltanon replied. “Do not return without him.”
Moltanon dismissed his commander with a flick of his hand. Erlendur bowed his head, turned on his heel and strode from the room, cape swirling behind him.
Moltanon leaned on his elbow, forehead creased in frustration. He had hoped the seeker would have been found by now. One thing was for certain. Moltanon’s divinations had determined the time of the prophecy was here. Wherever the seeker was, the Lightstone would be found nearby.
On the rafters above, the remaining Hrafn watched silently. As Moltanon rose to leave, all but one of the creatures unfolded their wings. Like ghosts, they passed through the walls and flew off into the black night. The remaining beast glided down silently to rest on the ruler’s shoulder. His claws seemed to grasp the man more tightly than comfort should allow, yet Moltanon remained buried deep in thought, considering the few resources left at his disposal that would help him maintain his clutch on Besmotolai.
Chapter 2
The skirts of Idenia’s elegant dress ruffled the leaves on the ground as she hurried up the path leading to the house she shared with her grandfather, Tasmon. Autumn leaves fluttered down from the tall oak trees, their brilliant yellows, reds and oranges mingling with the brown leaves on the ground. A chilly breeze teased the leaves on the ground, scattering and swirling them in little eddies before they settled to the ground once again. The rich fall colors accentuated Idenia’s dark brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes.
The simple cottage was surrounded by a well-kept, small garden overflowing with flowers and herbs, as befitting a village prophet. But today, Idenia did not notice the bright flowers. As she hurried up the path, she smiled in anticipation of the festivities that would follow the holy Ceremony of Thanksgiving.
Idenia pushed the wooden door open and found Tasmon perched on the edge of his chair, a twinkle in his eye. “Ah! My dear, I was wondering if I would have to find another escort.”
“Sorry, Grandfather. I had to deliver a poultice to Goodwife Miriam. We can go now.”
Tasmon clung to his granddaughter’s arm as they walked the short distance from the cottage to the center of the little village. Gelm’s townspeople gathered on the village green parted to allow the two to reach a small circular shrine that stood in the center, a visible symbol of the community’s deep faith in the all-powerful Most High God of Light.
Every year it is harder for him, Idenia thought grimly. It is hard to imagine, but soon I will be the village prophetess and it will be my turn to climb these steps—alone.
The venerable old man eventually reached the top step and turned toward the people. A hush fell on the small crowd as they looked up, waiting for the prayer of consecration. Tasmon lifted his face to the sky, closed his eyes and raised his hands. As he stood before his God, the old man lost his stoop as the Spirit of the Most High descended upon him. Now imbued with the Spirit, Tasmon’s voice resounded across the gathering:
To the Most High in heaven above,
We ascribe all praise to your holy name.
Your greatness is immense,
Your justice fair and
Your provision bountiful.
We, your frail creations, cannot stand before you,
Our wickedness betrays us into your hand.
O Most High, we know you are just,
Yet we beg forgiveness for our sins.
We humbly ask for your pardon.
Most Holy Lord,
Sinful as we are.
Blot out our transgressions
That we might stand
Blameless before you,
To bring glory to your name
Though we have failed you,
You have provided bountifully.
We come now to give back to you
A portion of what you have given us.
Please accept our humble offerings.
Your ways are right.
Your ways are just.
O Most High, hear our prayer.
With one voice, the villagers responded, “O Most High, hear our prayer.” The people’s response reverberated in the air and a wind swept across the gathering. Tasmon’s eyes flew open. He turned to look at Idenia as if for the first time. After a few moments, the prophet placed both hands on the startled young woman’s head and proclaimed, “The Spirit has chosen you, child, to present yourself at the temple that you might serve as his emissary.”
Chills raced down Idenia’s spine. Tasmon looked deep into Idenia’s eyes, now open wide. “You, Idenia, are the fulfillment of a promise. As servant of the Most High, you must present yourself at the Holy Temple. The path ahead of you will not be easy and many days of trouble and hardship await you, but if you prevail, many shall be saved from the evil that seeks to destroy.” Tasmon took a deep breath, closed his eyes and murmured, “The Most High has spoken. His word does not change.”
As quickly as it had descended, the Spirit of the Most High melted away and the elderly prophet sagged back into his granddaughter’s arms. For a moment, the entire gathering stood in shocked silence. Every eye was fixed on the old prophet while Idenia struggled to keep the old man from crumpling to the ground. Then, with gnarled fingers tightly grasping Idenia’s arm, he turned back toward the villagers and murmured, “Bring your offerings to the Most High. May his blessing be upon you.”
One by one, the villagers stirred to life. The solemn group filed by, each person laying their annual offering before the shrine. Some brought fruits and vegetables. Those who could afford it dropped coins into a large chest that lay open for that purpose.
But Idenia’s mind was no longer on the ceremony or the people’s gifts. Tasmon’s prophecy troubled her deeply. The priests not accept an unbidden envoy. Then, if I am turned away in disgrace, I can never become the village prophetess. Idenia felt a tug on her arm and, with a start, she remembered her grandfather. The exhausted old man sank onto a stone bench just inside the shrine and closed his eyes.
“Grandfather?” she asked.
“I must rest,” Tasmon groaned.
“Come, I’ll take you home.” Idenia took Tasmon’s arm, helped him down the steps. On the way back to the cottage, the magistrate’s wife scurried up to them.
“Here now, Idenia, I’ll take Tasmon,” Kadmielle said. “Go find your friends. They’ll be lookin’ for you.” And the kindly woman shooed Idenia back down the path toward the green. Idenia murmured her thanks and turned back, her forehead creased in thought.
Perhaps Grandfather is not thinking clearly tonight. Surely the Most High would not expect me to make a fool of myself! My place is here in Gelm. I must be here to care for Grandfather and take care of the village.
On the far side of the green, several pits had been dug for roasting pigs and chickens. The succulent smells filled the air as the villagers began the celebration. Idenia barely noticed the tables laden with pots of hearty vegetable stew, loaves of dark barley bread, or the kegs of ale and mead completing the feast.
“Idenia!” Hali seemed to appear magically. Her brightly colored clothing always matched her cheerful personality. Today her ruffled red skirt was paired with a loose-fitting yellow blouse and a long string of painted beads hung around her neck. But today, Idenia’s closest friend frowned.
“What vexes you? You should be rejoicing, but here you are, walking like a mourner.”
Idenia roused herself and glanced at her friend. “What blessings have I to celebrate? This day has brought only confusion and uncertainty!”
Hali rolled her eyes, grabbed Idenia by the elbow and steered her toward an open spot near the edge of the green. Hali sat her friend on a nearby bench and then took a seat next to her.
“It seems to me the Spirit has honored you! What can be better than that?” Hali’s eyes sparkled in excitement.
Idenia scowled. “He also said that ‘much hardship’ awaits me! That does not sound pleasurable!”
“You always tell me there’s more to life than pleasure,” Hali exclaimed, then took a deep breath. “You, of all people, should be the one looking beyond yourself and your own happiness.”
Idenia looked down at her hands and took a deep sigh of her own. “I’m sorry, Hali. You’re right. But I don’t understand how I can go to the temple when my place is here. Grandfather needs me! And what if they don’t accept me?” she asked. “If I go, things will never be the same. I will never be of use to anyone. If I am disgraced,” she added quietly, “I will never be the village prophetess.”
“You, my friend, will always be useful, whether a prophetess or…,” Hali paused, “or just a friend. You must allow the Most High to light your path and then follow wherever it leads.”
The girls sat in silence for a few moments, then Hali flashed a big smile, jumped to her feet and pulled her friend by the arm. “But for now, it’s time to celebrate. I’m hungry!”
With a grudging smile, Idenia tagged along behind Hali. Her friend did, indeed, always look for a party.
As they neared the tables, the delectable smells of roasting meat drew the girls onward. They found plates and filled them with hearty portions of meat and bread and then each ladled out a bowl of stew. After one taste, Idenia found her appetite and quickly took another bite.
As they ate, someone brought out a mandolin, a flute and a fiddle. Before long, a rollicking jig began. Idenia forgot her worries as she was caught up in the festivities. The two young women found their other friends and danced the night away.
All too soon, the party began to fade as those who lived in the village headed home. Those who had come in from outlying areas stayed with friends or rented lodging at the inn. Idenia and Hali were among the last to leave.
Finding herself alone once again, the prophecy resurfaced in Idenia’s mind and she began to fret. Idenia pursed her lips together in a thin line of resolve and headed for home. Whatever happens, I must obey Grandfather and follow the path laid out for me. After all, maybe he’s right.
Idenia walked up the path leading to the cottage, her feet swishing through the dry leaves. When Idenia heard a rustle behind her, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. Though nothing appeared out of the ordinary and there was no one in sight, Idenia felt restless and a sliver of fear pricked her. Idenia turned her feet back up the path and with a nervous glance over her shoulder she quickened her steps, suddenly anxious to be home.
Overheard, a large black creature resembling a huge vulture perched in a tall tree that overshadowed the path. The evil creature turned its head to one side, fixed one of its terrible yellow eyes on the girl’s back and silently watched her hurry home. Once she was out of sight, the creature flapped its wings. Without a noise, the beast skimmed just above the treetops and headed away from the little village.