Legend's Awakening Read online

  Legend’s

  Awakening

  Legend's Rise Book One

  Jensine Odom

  Copyright © 2019 Jensine Odom

  All rights reserved

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Setup

  In the Beginning

  Year of the Dragon

  Better Hide, Better Run

  Welcome to the Family

  In the Dark of the Night

  A New Day Dawns

  Gone Scavenging

  The Little Things

  Before We Go Down

  The Journey Begins

  Go Higher

  Making Camp

  The Descent

  The Turn

  Fallout

  Begin Again

  The Journey Continues

  Wide Open Spaces

  The Cost of Our Actions

  Enter the Mountains

  Into the Night

  Over the River, Through the Woods

  Change of Plans

  Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

  The Nothing

  Learn to Fly

  Homecoming

  Story Time

  The Point of No Return

  The Beginning of the End

  Surprise!

  That’s the Finale Kid

  But Wait, There’s More

  In The End

  Dear Reader,

  To those who don’t believe in themselves; I believe in you, and you’re doing great!

  The Setup

  THESE fools think they have captured me. With any one thought, I could easily be free once more, but they do not know of this ability. If they did, I would be dead, executed like my poor Meirana.

  She did not even possess this dreaded ability but was simply mistaken for one who did. The suspicion alone was her death sentence. That is why I have allowed Sylaena to capture me. I was not going to leave Meirana to die alone.

  There is a hole in my heart where she had been; an emptiness where our souls knew each other. I do not know if it will ever heal, or if it ever can. She was the unexpected joy I had found here; an ally I had not anticipated.

  Because of her, everything changed. She gave me the strength to stand up to Sylaena, to break away from her and begin this uprising.

  The one solace I have is the Dragon’s Bane Meirana managed to confiscate. This weapon will be Sylaena’s undoing. She simply does not know it yet.

  Sylaena is doing exactly what I wanted. With her precious Vanguard destroyed, she has no choice. So, for now, I am playing along with this charade, allowing her self-righteous Knights to escort me to the Gathering.

  This dark one beside me, Sylaena's son, would be particularly easy to enthrall. His mind is unguarded, distracted with thoughts of his soulbound; the last time they were together before he was sent to retrieve me. She is the one who framed Meirana.

  Just a little deeper and he could be mine, then I could have her through their soulbond. How easy my revenge could be. But no. I must wait. He will be mine soon enough. They all will be.

  The blazing blue lanterns burn my eyes as I am forced into the clearing, put on display for all to see. A few of those that have aided me are here as well. My Acolytes, as Sylaena calls them.

  Durant, the incompetent man who could not produce me a Royal, watches with hateful eyes. Sylaena leads a fair young woman into the clearing, leaving the small thing at the back of the crowd to take her place as the High Royal.

  The young woman looks longingly at the dark man to my right, then her light eyes, nearly as white as the rest of her, meet mine. My lips curl of their own accord as my mind reaches for hers. She is so slight, it would not be hard to Obliterate her.

  “We can no longer live in peace with the mortals,” Durant cries, his hatred burning at the back of my neck as he points to me. “She has seen to that. It is time for us to retreat, to sleep the slumber of ages, until such a day comes where we can live in peace once more.”

  “I fear Durant is correct,” Sylaena agrees. “We can no longer trust the humans. They have grown excessively blood thirsty.”

  “Fools! You are all as weak as the supposed Gods these mortals worship,” I yell, my anger getting the best of me. “We should have been their Gods! Had you listened to me, none of this would have come to pass! You forced my hand!”

  Sylaena’s son takes offense at my disrespect, taking a threatening step towards me. If he raises that sword of his against me, I will crush his mind, regardless if all will see.

  He is a dutiful son, though, and looks to his mother for confirmation. She waves him off, but he is unhappy with her decision. His want to kill me sits at the forefront of his mind. He believes so fervently in what is supposedly right and wrong.

  “No, Drustana, you have forced mine,” Sylaena says regretfully, as if this pains her. “You have been deemed Honorless.” The title nettles my skin, and a snarl finds my lips. “I banish you and your Acolytes. You will no longer belong to this or any clan. Should you return, you will face death.” She gives a grim nod to the Knights that surround me.

  “This is not over, Sylaena.” It is not a threat, but a promise.

  ✽✽✽

  “She has done what?!” I begin to pace my tent, my anger barely contained.

  “She has disappeared with your Dragon’s Bane, Mother,” Kalos reports once more, still kneeling on the red rug before my throne.

  “How has she disappeared?!”

  “We are uncertain. Not even Baldure and Alivia can track her. She’s just… gone.” Kalos flinches as I turn on him, hand raised to strike.

  Calder was to make him a warrior. I was assured of it, yet here Kalos is, flinching like a child still. Useless. It makes me miss Meirana all the more.

  I think better of my actions, however, and sit once more as a new plan enters my mind; one that should further my plans. “This may have aided us. We will find Amarya, eventually. As for now, I will go to the Kings of the land. They will be told where the Royals are hidden, but only if they agree to never seek out the rest of us. The mortals will do my work for me, one last time. When we awaken once more, it will be easy to convince the others the mortals must pay for their supposed crimes.”

  “As you say, Mother.” Kalos stands and bows, scuttling quickly out of my tent, revealing for an instant the force I have amassed.

  A smile curves my lips. The Honorless are mine. When we reawaken, I will be High Royal, and dragonkind will be mine. From there, it will be an easy thing to enslave the mortals. This world will be mine.

  In the Beginning

  THE cart full of groceries stops abruptly against the bumper of our blue Astro, a few of the precariously stacked bags crinkling as they spill their contents.

  “Pop the hatch,” I call to Mom, growling as I stuff the errant groceries back into their respectful places, and wait for her to finish fumbling with the rigged door.

  Finally, the latch in the back clicks. I just hope the hydraulics work today; I still have a bump from the last time. Even though it’s the middle of winter, it has been a warm day, so fingers crossed.

  After a little moaning and groaning, and more than a few warm up pumps, they hold. I glare, eyes narrowed at the door for a moment, making sure it won’t surprise me after I have my hands full of groceries. Nothing happens, and I turn for the packed basket to begin unloading it.

  Just as I tuck the last bag into the van, the rest of my family finally comes out of the store; Zebulon and Tristin looking like twins with their matching Vikings hairstyle and bushy beards, and Mary, with her arm tucked into Zebulon’s. Tristin says something just out of my earshot, probably some joke about me being fat, and the boys laugh, gett
ing a glare from Mary.

  “Thanks for all the help,” I quip with fake cheer as they get near, shutting the doors and shoving the empty cart at Tristin. “Congratulations! You get to put the cart in the return.”

  “Hey,” Tristin cries indignantly as the cart collides with his thick leg, the wheel scuffing his new tan boot. “Why do I have to do it?! You do it, Zebulon!” He turns the cart and pushes it at his older brother, who’s busy eating a doughnut.

  Zebulon stuffs the rest of the small, chocolate covered dessert in his mouth and catches the cart before it hits him, then turns with the momentum, angling it for the stall, closing one eye as if aiming a rifle.

  “Don’t you do it,” I warn, too far away to actually stop him, and my look of promised death does nothing to deter him, either.

  Flashing a chocolatey smile, Zebulon pushes the cart as hard as he can, leaving me to only hope it doesn’t crash into any of the parked cars around the return, especially the shiny new Mustang right next to it.

  Hands on my hips, I glare at my younger brother. Mary hits his arm as he giggles, pieces of doughnut flying out of his mouth and landing in his beard. Helpless to do anything else, we watch the cart careen across the parking lot, surprisingly staying true to its destination. Zebulon’s just lucky I picked one of the newer carts.

  The metal basket crashes into the railing of the return, ringing out across the parking lot, and the cart bounces into the stall.

  “Bank shot!” Zebulon throws his arms up in victory.

  A low rumbling starts deep in the Earth beneath our feet, ending my brother’s celebration.

  “What’s that sound is?” Tristin asks like a toddler, looking down at the ground.

  “You done it now, Zebulon,” I tease. “You broke the Earth!”

  “I did no such thing! If anyone broke the Earth, it’s your fat ass!”

  Mom laughs at our ridiculousness. “It’s probably just a tremor.”

  Rocks begin to skitter across the asphalt and loose carts careen around the parking lot. With an ear-splitting screech, the earth cracks open, swallowing the Mustang I was so worried about.

  “Okay, maybe it’s a small earthquake,” I comment, the ground continuing to tremble underfoot.

  As if my words were a challenge, the quake grows stronger. Alarms start to go off as more vehicles fall into sinkholes, and the building beside us groans under the steadily increasing pressure, cracking as people flee. The shaking abruptly stops, and everyone stands around, confused.

  “Well, that was interesting.” I shrug and walk for some of the carts now blocking our exit. “Come on, let’s get these moved so we can leave.”

  “Interesting?!” Tristin exclaims as he grabs a few of the carts as well. “We just had the first earthquake known to the East Mountains ever, and all you can say is that was interesting?!”

  “I was kind of hoping it would be more eventful.” I smile devilishly at Tristin’s shock.

  “I’m with Xerxia on this,” Mary adds, joining us with her two carts in tow. “It could have at least knocked down a building or two.”

  “The Earth ate a car!” Tristin motions to the ass end of the Mustang barely peeking out of the ground.

  “Yeah, that was a good start.” I lift a dismissive shoulder.

  “An A for effort,” Mary adds.

  “You both are crazy,” Zebulon says, hauling away the last of the carts that were blocking our van.

  The Earth rumbles again, sending people into a panicked frenzy once more. Everyone runs for their vehicles in a haphazard manner, several finding they’ll need another mode of transportation.

  The rumbling grows deeper, then goes quiet. Not the good quiet, either. This is the stall before the drop.

  “We need to go,” I command, and start for our van.

  Just as we reach the sliding side door and fling it open, the top of Thunder Mountain blows off, sending chunks of earth everywhere. One fairly huge clump of dirt resembling a spiked medieval mortar crashes into the field behind Walmart, just missing the store by a several yards.

  The whole world stands utterly still for a solid minute, disbelief freezing everyone in place, including me as I watch with awe as a second explosion sounds off, sending ash and lava high into the air.

  I’m snapped suddenly back to reality and chaos erupts as surely as the mountain now turned volcano. People you wouldn’t think to be the killing kind become murderers in the blink of an eye as they run others over in their mindless hysteria.

  “Someone call 911,” A woman cries beside the body of her husband.

  “Cells service is down,” another man yells in horror, looking at his phone.

  “Mom, get the van running. Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in. Run them over if they try,” I order, slamming the door shut, the locks clicking an instant later. “Everyone else, back inside. We need to grab supplies.”

  “You think this is going to get worse?” Mary asks as I lead us around the looters busying themselves with stealing electronics.

  “Yes,” I reply. I’m not sure how, but I know this is going to get a whole lot worse.

  We turn the last corner to the hunting and camping section. There’s a group of people standing around the gun cases already, yelling at the poor guy fumbling with the keys to unlock them. Almost as one, they turn and look at us as we skid to a stop. Surprisingly, they’re not hostile.

  The young man pops open the cases and runs off. An older man, gray hair poking out of a Navy Veteran baseball cap, walks around the counter.

  “Line up! Get a gun and ammo,” he barks, and the people listen, falling single file. “You guys, too.” He nods to us, his blue eyes meeting mine.

  “Go.” I pat my brothers on the shoulders. “We’ll get the other supplies.”

  Zebulon and Tristin get in the gun line while Mary and I begin to fill hiking backpacks, divvying out the supplies between the ten or so of us back here. Not all the people taking a gun take a backpack, and by the time they’re all cleared out we have seven bags left.

  I take another backpack meant to carry a water bladder and fill it with as many carbon fiber arrows as I can, then grab all the tips I can find.

  The earth shakes again, the ground heaving, and the building begins to disintegrate around us, the tinkling of the shattering glass skylights a sharp contrast to the heavy clamor of the roof caving in.

  “Time to go!” I grab my makeshift quiver and two bags.

  A large chunk of drywall crashes to the floor over the electronics, crushing the greedy looters. Lights flicker and shelving falls like giant dominoes, scattering various items everywhere as we run for the exit, managing to make it out fairly unscathed.

  The van rumbles on the sidewalk just outside the cracked doors, a few of its windows busted out. Mom scans all the escaping people for us, worry creasing her brow. The older man that handed out the guns is standing beside the van, his own gun at the ready, and we approach cautiously.

  “Any other survivors?” he asks me, gesturing towards the store with his chin.

  “No. We’re the last.”

  He nods. “Godspeed, kids,” he says, and walks away, heading for his truck, one of the last in the parking lot.

  “Wait,” I call after him, and he stops. “What’s your name?”

  “Steve,” he replies with a courteous nod.

  “Xerxia,” I offer my name in return. It only seems fair.

  “Xerxia, huh?” Steve sounds curious.

  “Yeah. That’s what happens when your dad, just sure the baby’s a boy, is deadest on naming him Xerxes. Then I was born. Mom met Dad in the middle.” I shrug. Steve chuckles. The volcano blows more chunks. “Thanks, Steve, and good luck.” I give him a quick salute and join my family in the van.

  We watch as Steve trots over to his gold Dodge Ram and starts it up, black smoke rolling out the tailpipe of the old diesel as he floors it, jumping curbs and driving off across the field towards the erupting volcano. I buckle myself in and Mom throw
s the Astro into drive.

  The mess that had started in the parking lot has moved to the streets, with the smaller cars getting the shit-end of the stick as the larger trucks run them over, leaving the crumpled or smoldering remains behind in their panic. The people dumb enough to leave their cars are run over. Bodies and blood litter the road leading out.

  The interstate bridge a mile down the road collapses in another one of the violent aftershocks, smashing any vehicles beneath it and creating more chaos as cars and trucks turn to go in the opposite direction, filling the air with the sound of screeching tires and crunching metal.

  “Backroads, go,” I yell to Mom.

  With surprising grit, she stomps on the gas, hopping the short curb just as the parking lot caves in behind us. Flying as fast as Mom dares down the washboard dirt roads, we watch the valley around us fall into chaos and ruin; huge rents in the earth that swallow whole fields and fires sparked by raining magma that race across the dry grasses.

  Our neighborhood’s like a ghost town. Where the kids would all be out playing in the street, there’s no one at all. The only evidence to their existence is the toys and bicycles abandoned in the road; obstacles we have to dodge as we make our way home.

  As we unload the van our dogs bark frantically to be let inside, but other than that there are no sounds. The ceiling fans are still and there isn’t the familiar hum of electricity in the walls. Zebulon lifts the handle of the faucet to check for water, sending the cool liquid streaming out.

  “Good. Let’s fill as many jugs as we can find,” I tell everyone, and we scatter, grabbing anything that can hold water.

  Within moments we have at least twenty gallons scattered across the floors in various jugs and containers used for camping.

  “Do we have gas?” Mom asks, nodding towards the stove.

  I grab a lighter and turn the knob, waiting for a few seconds, but nothing happens; no acrid stench of natural gas fills the air. “That’s a negative. At least we have our camping stoves.”