The Stones of Hygeia

  Tempest Chronicles - Book 4

  Jeremy Fabiano

  Edited by

  Kelly Hartigan

  The Stones of Hygeia

  Tempest Chronicles - Book 4

  JEREMY FABIANO

  * * *

  Copyright © 2022, by Jeremy Fabiano

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to reality is coincidental.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  www.jeremyfabianoauthor.com

  * * *

  Cover and map design by http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  Editing by Kelly Hartigan http://editing.xterraweb.com/

  Also by Jeremy Fabiano

  The Tempest Chronicles

  A Fable of Magic - FREE Prequel Novella

  Legend of the Sword Bearer

  A Fable of Flame

  Legend of the Dwarven King

  The Stones of Hygeia (This Book)

  Trials of the Firstborn - Coming Soon!

  Precipice To War

  Bishop’s Gambit Omnibus (Precipice Book 1) - (Omnibus / box set Edition of The Bishop Archives)

  Mystery At Kaldarii (Precipice Book 2) - Coming Soon

  The Tempest Chronicles Omnibus 1 (Books 1-3)

  For my amazing son.

  When you are old enough to understand what legacy truly means, you’ll look back on this and understand so much more about why I worked so hard. Until then, I’ll continue to write and when the day comes, it’ll all become clear.

  * * *

  It is my hope that these words, excavated from the depths of my imagination, written upon these pages and ink, pixels and electrons, outlast my mortal body and are remembered for all time.

  What is reality but what we make of it?

  Even these stories are real, from a certain point of view…

  Jeremy Fabiano & Obi-Wan Kenobi

  Contents

  B4 Chapters

  1. Cristof

  2. Ulrich

  3. Ulrich

  4. Cristof

  5. Ulrich

  6. Ulrich

  7. Cristof

  8. Ulrich

  9. Cristof

  10. Ulrich

  11. Cristof

  12. ALDUS

  13. Cristof

  14. Cristof

  15. Cristof

  16. Cristof

  17. Aldus

  18. Phillip

  19. Cristof

  20. Jack Bell

  21. Ulrich

  22. Cristof

  23. Jack

  24. Taenaran

  25. Ulrich

  26. Cristof

  27. Jack

  28. Taenaran

  29. Ulrich

  30. Taenaran

  31. Cristof

  32. Taenaran

  33. Ulrich

  34. Cristof

  35. Ulrich

  36. Aldus

  37. Taenaran

  38. Jack

  39. Aldus

  40. Aldus

  41. Jack

  42. Jack

  43. Taenaran

  44. Jack

  45. Taenaran

  A note from the author…

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  B4 Chapters

  1

  Cristof

  Haran Desert, Glenarm

  During Legend of the Sword Bearer

  * * *

  “Oswald, did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Hear what?” asked my best friend, sounding confused. “The only thing out here is us and the sand.”

  The air shimmered in front of us, just barely perceptible. I put my arm out in front of Oswald and stopped. I raised my other arm, palm toward the disturbance, and called out to it with my willpower. Life energy. Something was definitely there, holding perfectly still.

  “Strider,” I whispered. “Right in front of us.”

  “Only one? Remember, they travel in packs of three,” he hissed.

  “They’re probably surrounding us. Waiting for us to drop our guard.” Oswald, careful not to make sudden movements, pulled out his dagger and cut a bead on his own arm. Fresh blood oozed to the surface, running down his arm and pooling into his palm. “I’m ready.”

  Unlike Oswald, I didn’t need to blood-let. Years ago, I’d learned to harness my own life energy without leaving nasty scars all over my body. I focused my willpower, and a red mist rose from my outstretched palms. The mist beaded into droplets that hung lazily in the air, undulating with power. “Ready.”

  Oswald flung blood in a wide arc. The blood spray ignited, detonating the area nearby. A shrill shriek echoed throughout the landscape as a cloaked strider was completely engulfed in flames.

  Igneus, I projected into the blood before me. The droplets streaked forward like miniature comets. I took the second beast in the chest. Two gaping cauterized holes twitched visibly in the air; the cloaked body crumpled to the sand.

  “Where’s the third?” asked Oswald, turning and panting.

  “Look for the footprints!” I shouted as I turned. A sting of heat cut across my cheek. “Ack!”

  Oswald dove forward and swung his bloody hand through the air. It hit something with a wet smack. A bloody handprint floated midair. The strider hit him in his central mass, sending him flying into me. We both went down, tumbling in the sand. Footprints, left by an invisible foe, quickly closed on us.

  “Not today,” grunted Oswald. He snapped his fingers, and the strider exploded. Clumps of bloody meat rained down all around us. We climbed to our feet, breathing heavily.

  “Nice,” I said. “If you hadn’t marked it, that could have gone badly.”

  “Just blind luck,” he said. “Shame we don’t have any skills to see invisible monsters.”

  I laughed. “Not yet at least.”

  Oswald nodded. “Fair point.”

  “Come on,” I said. “I want to get as far as we can before we have to make camp.”

  “Why the hurry?” he asked. “We should make it back in two days’ time at our current pace.”

  “I’d just rather get back sooner than later.”

  We pushed on. The hot desert air stung my eyes as I tried to block away the beating sun. Somewhere else in the world, it might have been fall. Here, in the Astren Desert, however, there were no seasons. It was scorching hot every day. Freezing cold every night. Occasionally, a rainstorm would be strewn somewhere in between, which provided life for many of the plants and creatures that inhabited the desert. In the end, though, if the weather didn’t kill you, the desert striders or the bandits would.

  “Man, where did you go?” asked Oswald.

  “Huh?” I said, snapping out of my thoughts.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Dazed and disoriented from the heat, I looked over at him. “Oh, nothing much. I just want to be home in my bed. What about you?”

  “I’m just happy our pilgrimage is almost over. Aren’t you the least bit excited about that?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose…” I couldn’t see his face under his scarf, but I could tell he was frowning.

  “You know, it’s not every day you turn sixteen, Cristof. Or level five for that matter. The pilgrimage is a big deal. We return home as men.”

  “It’s not that. I just don’t know what we will do next, you know?”

  “Whatever happened to your dreams of being a necromage?

  “It’s not like you can just go to Laencaster and attend a necromancer academy.” I sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do yet. Maybe I’ll take an apprenticeship or something.”

  “Sounds practical. Not at all like you,” he said with a chuckle.

  I snickered. “What about you? Any big plans?”

  Oswald shrugged. “I dunno. I always wanted to visit Bridgeport. I hear it’s nice up that way.”

  “Isn’t that the city with all the roads going to it? The one right on the coast far to the north?”

  “Yup. It’s like a giant oasis but with people. And fish. All the fish you could ever eat.”

  My stomach growled. “I haven’t had fish since we were twelve. At that celebration, remember?”

  Oswald smacked his lips beneath his scarf. “Yeah, that was amazing…”

  “Why don’t we go?” I asked.

  “To Bridgeport?” Oswald broke out into a fit of laughter that echoed across the sands as we descended the side of a dune. “We both know that your mom would kill me. Then bring me back to life to kill me again. There’s no way in hell that I’d come out of that in one piece.”

  “Oswald, we’re men now, remember?” We both looked at each other then broke out in more laughter.

  He nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” We were silent for a few minutes, just the sound of our shoes crunching on the sand breaking the silence. “So… You serious? You really want to go?”

  “Why not?” I asked. “A bit of travel might be what we need to figure out what we want to do.”

  “Yeah…” Oswald’s steps faltered, and he slowed. “I don’t want to end up like everyone else back home.” He stopped
.

  I turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  “Stagnant. Complacent. They just sit around the tavern after work. Talking about the past and drinking.”

  “Good point,” I said, nodding. “There’s gotta be more to life than just work and getting drunk.”

  “Exactly.” He stared off into the distance. “I want to explore the world. See what’s out there. Beyond the sands, you know?”

  “Yeah. Complacency and stagnation seem like a curse worse than death…”

  As we passed through the city gates, cheering townsfolk lined the sides of the road and tossed flowers at us. Kids ran to and fro giggling. We split up and made our way to our homes. Dedrick and Linet charged me as I opened the door.

  “Oof!” I exclaimed. “Micah! Help me!”

  My little brother laughed. “No way, Cristof. You deserve this. I’ve had to keep them out of trouble for the last six months while you played in the desert.”

  “Played?” I asked, shocked. “That was hard work.”

  “Uh-huh,” he teased.

  I walked into the house, a kid on each leg. “Did you learn any new spells?”

  “Yup,” he said proudly. “Do you wanna see?”

  “Sure,” I said. I sat at the table, children still attached to me like leeches.

  “Watch this,” he said. A grin stretched from ear to ear as an army of ants marched across the table.

  “Ew! Ants!” screeched Linet. She waved a hand across the table, and the ants exploded with little pops.

  “Hey!” growled Micah. “That’s not fair.”

  “I don’t like ants.” Linet stuck her bottom lip out. “Stop using nasty ants and spiders. They’re gross.”

  “Cristof?” called Dedrick.

  “What’s up?” I asked

  “Did you know it’s my birthday next month?”

  “Oh, really?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “How old are you going to be?”

  “I’ll be five!” He giggled. “And so is Linet.” He pointed at his twin sister.

  “What do you want for your birthdays?” I asked.

  “Spiders,” said Micah.

  Linet glared at her older brother. “If you get me spiders, I’ll squish them and sneak them into your food.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Micah.

  “Uh-huh,” said Linet. “And you won’t know it.”

  “Yuck,” I said. “What about new leather pouches?”

  “Yes!” shouted Linet.

  Dedrick grinned. “I’d like that.”

  A knock at the door caught my attention. Oswald opened the door. “You ready?”

  “Uncle Oswald!” yelled three kids. Dedrick let go of my leg and slammed into Oswald, taking him down to the floor. He laughed the whole way.

  “I’ll go get changed,” I said.

  I opened the door to the tavern, and a roar of greeting met our ears. The smell of grilled meats wafted out, and my mouth watered.

  “Wow,” said Oswald. “Do you smell that?”

  “You bet.” We stepped into the tavern and were guided to a table with two plates already prepared. Steak and potatoes and fried cactus were heaped on each plate, and there was a mug of berry juice.

  “Eat up, boys!” Mother yelled over the din of the tavern.

  “They’re men now!” exclaimed Patches.

  The tavern cheered. Many patrons clapped us on the back, and we dug in. The food tasted amazing, but it didn’t last very long. We were famished for a good meal.

  The door slammed open. The noise of the tavern died off instantly. Several patrons gasped. I looked over to see an imposing figure holding a staff standing in the doorway, the sun to his back. He stepped into the tavern followed by a dark-skinned man. He grinned like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Patches looked at the men and frowned. “Damon Tod. What do you want?”

  “I’ve come for the artifact, old man.” He looked around the room. “Give it to me.”

  “Go fuck yourself.” Patches glared daggers at the man. “You aren’t welcome here. And neither are your lackeys.” He drew a quick bead of blood across the palm of his hand and focused the blood into a powerful spell. Power crackled in waves off of him, pushing several chairs away from where he stood.

  Damon Tod smiled and raised his staff. Patches’ eyes went wide with shock and recognition. A quick blast of energy from the staff slammed Patches into the bar. He slumped to the ground with a groan, his power dissipating.

  Mother frowned. “Damon Tod. You were outcast from Haran. Why are you darkening our door with your twisted presence?”

  “One of you has what I want. I can feel it in the air.” He turned to the dark-skinned man next to him. “Flint, find the artifact, if you please.”

  Flint rolled his eyes, but he proceeded into the tavern anyhow. “All right, who’s got the shiny necklace?” Flint moved around the room. People flinched away from him as he pulled their shirts open. When he got to Mother, he grinned. “Found it.” He took a step away from her.

  “It would figure that you had it…” Damon Tod glared at her. “Give me the necklace, Ysabel.” He grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed.

  Mother winced but held her ground.

  “I’ve grown significantly more powerful than the last time you saw me. I have no issue slaughtering everyone here to get what I want.”

  “If you want it so bad, why not just take it?” she asked innocently.

  Damon Tod belly laughed. “You think me a fool?” He grinned menacingly at her. “I am well aware that if you do not give me the artifact willingly that its power will turn on me.” His grin stretched even more. “No...you will give me the artifact. Otherwise, the killing starts now.” He looked around the room. “How about we start with the newly returned young men here?”

  Mother gasped. “They are just children. You wouldn’t dare.”

  Damon Tod lifted the staff toward Oswald and me.

  I lifted my hand toward Damon Tod and froze. The tingle of the paralysis spell had settled over my entire body. Other than my eyes, I couldn’t move. Nearby, Patches clutched his hand, blood dripping from his palm. Why? He met my eyes and slowly shook his head.

  “Stop!” yelled Mother. “Fine. I’ll give you the necklace.” She pulled it over her head. I felt a burst of power from her as it cleared her hair. “Take it.”

  Damon Tod laughed as he took it. “Fool.” The staff vanished, replaced by a wicked curved dagger. He slashed at her arm, drawing a spray of blood. He harnessed her blood and used his necromantic magic to crush her heart. She screamed. When her screams stopped, he released her wrist. She dropped to the ground.

  Noooo! I screamed in my own head. I was powerless to do anything to help her or hurt him. Damn you, Patches. Why? Why won’t you help her? I couldn’t even scream. Or cry. Mother…

  Damon Tod laughed as he walked out of the tavern. “Let’s go. These people aren’t worth our time.”

  Flint shrugged. “Later, y’all.” He waved cheerfully as he followed Damon Tod out of the tavern.

  The spell holding me abruptly vanished. With nothing to hold me up, I collapsed to the ground. “Mother!” I crawled over to her and turned her onto her back. Her face was pale, her lips blue. Looking at her this close, I could tell it wasn’t her heart being crushed as I’d thought I’d seen. No, it was much worse. The life had been ripped from her body.