Storm Front Over Atlantis: Olympic Legacy Book One Read online

  Contents

  DEDICATION

  COPYRIGHT

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dedication

  To my wife, whose support and patients made this book possible.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Thank you in advance for reading this book. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

  Please leave a review wherever you bought this book, and tell a friend.

  You can follow me

  Twiter @EWRwriter

  Facebook page

  E.W. Roberts

  You can also visit, EWRoberts.com

  There you can email me or leave me a message.

  PROLOGUE

  Far in the future, on the first day of the Atlantean civil war, the first battle that will decide the fate of the empire. Two armies converge at the border of Lapillus and the heart of the empire.

  The hand of the storm crept across the land. The tips of its fingers stretched closer and closer to the heart of the empire, pushing back against the advancing army that was encroaching into Lapillus, the land of the Gem cities. The walled cities lay spread out like rocks on a beach across the land covered with thick, high grass. Mountains and forests towered to the east, their rocky tips reaching high into the skyline. Beyond them, stretching from the east to the west, was the Great Wall, dividing the land of Lapillus from the other lands, the other realms of Atlantis. The Great Wall, eighty feet tall at its highest point, made of polished white stone, keeping in the great beasts. The Chimeas, Baslisks, Shadow hounds, and Targgals and many other creatures and things that lived in the grasslands and protecting the core of the island of Atlantis.

  The old man walked in, unwelcome and uninvited. Victorious' feelings for him ranged from love to hate. Today, Victorious experienced the latter; she despised him. Just seeing him made her insides feel like they were on fire, but she also had zero control over him. He was a necessary evil; that was the worst part. They said nothing to each other. The old man walked to the corner of her tent and stood quietly. His solid white staff, tapping the floor as he walked, like an ever-present pendulum counting down the time till the beginning of the war. His dark gray robes hung loosely on him. His solid blue eyes gazed at her, giving away nothing of his thoughts. She sat in a faded and well-worn wooden chair.

  Thunder rolled outside the tent. It was low and had been building over the last few hours.

  “Is this what you want?” Victorious asked through gritted teeth. “All of this, and you still hide the ending.”

  The thunder outside rolled deep and long. The sides of the tent rippled.

  Victorious extended her right hand. Dozens of silver flakes flowed from it. They swirled in the air and grew as they moved, coalescing, melting and taking the shape of a sword. It gleamed pure and bright silver in her hand. Victorious looked at her reflection in the blade. Underneath her armored wrist were the scars of her childhood, where the perverted shadow hound had bitten her and infected her for its vile master. They had healed over, but she still felt them in her heart.

  She held up the sword in front of the old man. She knew who and what he was, and this was nothing more than an idle threat; they both knew it.

  “I want answers. Are we going to win? Is this war even worth it?” Victorious asked. She took a step back, adding in a soft voice, just above a whisper, “How many of my people will die for your war?”

  “All is as it is,” the old man said. “We must endure the pain so others may live a little longer. I know this more deeply than you ever will. I have seen my children die, and their children. This is how it must be.” His low voice was filled with sorrow and pain. “Everyone dies in the end.”

  “I hate you.” Victorious turned away from him and walked out of the tent. She knew from experience it was all he would tell her. She also knew he was always right, and she hated him even more for that.

  The cold wind gripped her as she walked out, its icy fingers digging deep into her skin and down to her bones. She had borne witness to death many times; she’d held friends and loved ones as they died in her arms. She could sense death’s impartial, bony hand on the wind, ready to strangle the futures of those who followed her. The old man was right about one thing: To have freedom one must fight for it.

  “M’lady,” Elon greeted her. He was a warrior, born and true. His stride was long and precise as he walked to her. His right hand rested on the hilt of his short sword as he walked, his dark eyes darting from side to side. They lingered briefly on the old man as he walked out behind her. The rest of her commanders were behind him: Das, the noble, and Tern, the planner.

  The tent sat on top of the great west wall, its sides rippling in the wind of the coming storm. Victorious wanted to be able to see the enemy approach. On one side of the wall, she saw dust trails rise in the distance.

  They were coming.

  On the other side of the wall, her people stood looking up at her.

  They were not warriors or fighters, despite her planning. She had done her best to prepare them. The people below were simple farmers, tillers of the soil, servants and children.

  “They believe in you, as we all do,” Das said. He expressed confidence she didn’t feel and spoke with a deep aristocratic accent despite his common upbringing. “You will lead us through this.”

  In the distance, she could see the first line of the invading army—the Red Guard. They plowed through armies like a hot knife through butter, and she had put farmers in their path. A lump formed in her throat.

  In her memory, she was a little girl again. Theron stood holding his blade loosely in his dark calloused hands, preparing to attack. Sunlight gleamed across his blade. There was no expression on his face. In a blur of movement, the two clashed—sword against sword—in what seemed like madness. The blades rang against each other in a furious assault. The small, almost frail girl lost her footing on the loose grass, falling to the ground. Theron stood over her, before she could recover. He stabbed her in the shoulder, piercing all the way through and pinning her to the ground. The girl screamed in pain, as tears ran down her cheeks.

  “I saw the fear in your eyes. Don’t ever show it, even if you feel like it is about to burst in your chest. Your enemies will use it against you. Once you show weakness, the day is over, and victory will not be yours. That is how you lose a battle before you ever draw your sword,” Theron yelled at her. “NO WEAKNESS. If you are weak, then you are prey,” he said, twisting the blade in her shoulder. She screamed again.

  Victorious called forth the power within her. It filled her chest with warmth, pushing out the cold. She raised her sword into the air. The crowd was hushed.

  “You know my story. I was not born here, but my heart belongs here. I came here, an
d I found a home. You took me in and gave me your blessings. I have done my best to repay the love you have given me. I have fought for you, I have shed my blood for you, and I will continue to fight for you till my dying breath. My blood runs in this land, as does yours. This land is ours by birthright and by law. They have come to take it from us, to change our very way of life. They want our lands for themselves. They want you to be their slaves,” Victorious said, pointing to the trail of dust created by the oncoming soldiers. Victorious looked to her commanders—Elon the warrior; Das the noble, Tern the planner. “These men believe in you. As do I. They believe you are entitled to the same rights as the nobles—that you should keep what is yours, and not have your liberties taken away. These men are of noble blood. They stand here with you because they want to. That in and of itself is a death sentence for them….. and yet they will swing swords alongside you…..and they stand with me... with you. For you are the future we fight for.”

  “We are with you!” a man in golden armor screamed from the crowd, while men patted him on the back.

  “We are few, but our hearts are strong and filled with the courage of our ancestors. We fight not for ourselves, but for those who cannot fight. We fight for those we love. We fight for our families.”

  “Queen Victorious!” a man began chanting as he held a sword by a gauntleted fist, stabbing at the air.

  “Victorious! Victorious!” The chant travelled through the crowd, spreading through her people and building pressure like a coming storm front, until they all held their swords up.

  On the other side of the wall, two men broke away from the approaching army and rode on horseback up to the giant gated wall. Victorious recognized them. Her hand tightened on her sword.

  Miele, the leader of the Red Guard, was dressed in the traditional red armor; his helmet was off. Joss, the general of the army, wore silver armor and held a rolled yellow paper in his left hand. The rest of the army stopped. Some were mounted on steeds, while most were on foot. Another testament to how backward the whole society is, Victorious thought.

  “Victorious, I have a warrant for your arrest, signed by the High King. Surrender now, and we will leave your people alone,” Joss said as he waved the paper in the air.

  “You come here with worthless lies!” Victorious said. “We do not accept. Leave our land, or it will be on your head.” Victorious held her sword toward them.

  “Enough of this,” Miele said, leveling his lance toward Victorious. A column of molten yellow poured out from the end. Its destructive force was designed to render a man to dust. Victorious casually held up her left hand. A clear round shield sprang into existence. Dark red glyphs burned at the edges of it. The energy blast struck. Victorious angled her shield so most of the explosion bounced away.

  Her commanders jumped behind Tern, as he too was a Shield-bearer of the highest order. Tern held up his shield to protect them. His turned red, as he screamed against the blast.

  The stone wall beneath her feet started to melt away. Thunder rolled overhead. It drowned out everything as the sound washed over them, causing their bones to vibrate.

  “Impressive,” Miele said, laughing. “But I have seen better Shield-bearers.”

  “Not like this, Miele,” Joss said as he pulled back on his reins.

  “She wants a battle. Then I’ll give her one,” Miele said, grinning.

  “You really want this? Then I’ll give you something to think about in the last minutes of your life,” Victorious said, holding her sword toward the sky. Thunder boomed again as lightning filled the sky, traveling from cloud to cloud. The roar became deafening. Many people below cupped their ears. The two leaders’ faces went blank. They had heard the stories, but they never dreamed they could be real. No one had held such power in living memory.

  Victorious screamed as the sky opened up and lightning poured from the heavens down on a string of pure blue and white power, striking the tip of her sword. It glowed white-hot as the electricity coursed through it, and into Victorious. As quickly as it came down, it was gone, leaving an absence of sound.

  “You say I want war. No! I want peace, but I will bring a war to get that peace,” Victorious said, her voice booming like thunder. She leapt into the air and fell seventy feet toward the two men. They brought into existence their own shields. Victorious hit them both, knocking them off their horses like dominos, and all three scrambled to their feet.

  Miele was the first on his feet. Victorious saw fear in his eyes.

  “Run, little man. Run to your army and your would-be King, and tell them I am coming for them.” Miele’s hands shook as he tried to pull his sword from its scabbard.

  Victorious turned to Joss. There was fear in his eyes too, but not like in Miele’s. Joss knew his fate; it was sealed and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  “No…” Joss said in a small voice as Victorious brought up her sword. Joss held his shield in front of him, and the glyphs at the edges burned as he poured all the power he had into his shield. It would do little against her.

  Victorious leapt into the air, swinging her sword with all her might. Her sword burned bright as it arched toward him. It glowed with an intensity few had ever seen. It cut through his shield, through his armor, and through him. The cut started at his left shoulder and went in a downward arc, coming out just above his right hip. The heat of the sword burned the flesh as it passed through him, cauterizing the wound. His body slowly split and fell apart. What little blood there was sprayed back at her, covering her face and chest.

  “This is your chance. Run now and take your army,” Victorious said. She held out her sword toward Miele, while bits of Joss sizzled on her blade.

  Miele leapt onto his horse and rode away at an angle, cutting to the right. Despite his fear, he still thought like a fighter. A few soldiers who weren’t struck with fear fired their lances at her. Victorious called forth her shield, but she didn’t need to, as their fire was so far away and their hands shook so much that nothing came close to her. Squatting to the ground, she jumped into the air seventy feet back to the top of the wall. She thought of Theron again, and the fear she saw in Miele’s eyes as he rode away. Joss’s blood dripped from her face, hot and sticky. She grinned at her commanders. “The day will be ours. Let the war begin.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Great Oak comes from but one small seed that spreads out into the world.

  The Great Oak was timeless. For countless years, its roots sank deep into the earth and spider-webbed out beneath its own shadow. Down they grew, pulling up the nourishment. It was home to countless small creatures. Squirrels frolicked around its trunk, and birds sang and made their nests in the safety of its high branches. It had a life of its own and was never seen by white men. Then the railroad came. The Great Atlantic Railroad made its plans to connect the coastal city of Jacksonville with the capital of the state, Tallahassee. Plans were drawn, and deals were made. They began their project with great haste. It was their job to make money, giving no thought to what lay in their path. They plowed over trees and pushed their way through forests of oak, many of which were grand, but when the workers made it to the Great Oak, they stopped.

  At the midpoint of the two planned stations, twenty yards off the path, they found the father of all trees. It towered into the sky like no other. Its massive moss-covered limbs swayed under the blue sky. The workers gathered around it and marveled at the sheer size of its trunk; three men held hands and failed to wrap their arms halfway around it. The first limb was nine feet from the ground. Standing underneath it, one could almost forget the sky existed, as it blotted out everything.

  It wasn’t long before the foreman remembered himself and cracked the proverbial whip at his crew. However, once the day's work was over, the crew and foreman found themselves drawn back to the Great Oak. Its limbs provided shade, and the ground under it was bare, for nothing could grow in the darkness it created. So it became a regular hangout for the workers. The railroad took an i
nterest and put in a station. After all, it was the halfway point between the two places. People came in droves. The would-be settlers’ carts and wagons were packed so high they tempted the fates of toppling over. Soon thereafter, a town was born, then a city, and then a county was established—all because of the Great Oak. The city and county flourished for many years, until the darkness came from a flash of bright light.

  On a dark and stormy night, the Great Oak was struck with a brilliant flash of lightning, and it burned its way into the trunk. It scorched and burned into the heart of the Great Oak. The town's elders and leaders gathered and whispered under the tree in hushed voices. They speculated it was dead, and they were right. The leaves began to fall off, followed by the limbs. The Great Oak that had been old even when Christopher Columbus sailed across the unknown and found a land he wasn’t looking for was dead. The town mourned.

  One year later, the Great Depression swept across America. The town that had been filled with hopes and dreams died. Like its namesake, Great Oak’s limbs fell away, along with the dreams of the men who built the station surrounding it. One by one, the store owners of Great Oak closed their doors. They were the descendants of the founders, the heart of the city. Yet they could not breathe life back into the dying town, just as they could not bring back the dead Great Oak.

  The town was a shell of its former self, an empty husk filled with the tiniest bit of hope, just like Pandora’s Box. Hope existed, but it was small and needed to be handled with care. After years of care, that hope paid off with new lifeblood, an interstate. As with the railroad before it, people traveled through the town slowly at first. There wasn’t a Great Oak to grab the imaginations of the passersby, just a sleepy small town filled with hope deep in the hearts of its people.

  But then everything changed, as it does; a new tree took root in the dark earth. It happened the same year she was born. She would bring a newness to the world, a reawakening, one that would cross over into the world that was hidden—the world of the gods of old. She would be a new golden light to an old age, and destruction would flow in her path like a storm’s passing.