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Afterword
Thank you for taking the time to read Destiny’s Gem. If you enjoyed this book, the saga of Sevra and the gem continues in The Witch’s Catalyst. The Risen Lands series truly begins there!
Want to connect? Find me on Twitter at: @jcainmckrell
Visit the website at www.RisenLands.com for all information on books and progress.
Thanks for reading! Please enjoy the following excerpt from the next installment in the Risen Lands Series, The Witch’s Catalyst.
Prologue
His mind slowly awakened, confused and disoriented. Only a few moments ago he was some place else, though where he could not recall. It certainly wasn’t here. He found himself in a chamber unlike any he had ever set foot in before. A sense of alarm ran through him, evoking a feeling that something was terribly out of place, but unable to discern what it was.
Gaining nothing from lingering about, he felt a need to move, even though he was unsure of where to go. There wasn’t anything here, only an ever-present crimson hue permeating his surroundings that bathed the area in an unnatural light. Overcoming his hesitation, he chose a direction and set off.
He froze immediately, discovering the cause of his unease. Several moments of shock passed as he moved with mere thought, his body nowhere to be found. The incorporeal state drove him to the verge of panic, a feeling most unfamiliar to him. He was always in control, he was… Who was he? Again he felt confusion, unable to remember anything before waking only moments ago. Forcing himself to calm, he continued onward, seeking answers.
After a time, hours or days he could not be sure, frustration grew in him as he realized there was nothing, only the emptiness and pervasive red glow. Ahead the air seemed to become clearer, sparking in him a glimmer of hope. As he hurried forward he was abruptly stopped, running into a nearly clear barrier. Roaring in denial he instinctually threw himself at the wall with all the power of his thought, testing its give.
It did not yield in the slightest.
He sooner could have moved a mountain with his bare hands, had he still had hands. Vaguely he saw white points in the distance, beyond the barrier. They teased the edges of his memory, evoking an intense hatred, yet their nature remained elusive. They were important; he should know well what they were but couldn’t remember.
Many days, perhaps weeks or years elapsed - he could not tell. The passage of time did not seem relevant here. He spent the endless days travelling along the perimeter of his peculiar cage, trying to piece together who he was and where he might be. Direction was difficult to determine, as he could float freely within his confines. It took a great deal of effort, but as time was no issue he carefully measured his movements. Eventually he was able to determine he was in a slightly elongated, hexagonal-like structure.
He often pondered the white points in the distance. They only existed towards one end, running along each side in a symmetrical arc towards each other. The points shimmered each time he pushed against the barrier, seeming to provide it strength in reaction to him. At times he seemed close to remembering what he once was, but the infernal lights in the distance would flash and he would forget once again. The only logical conclusion he could reach after what seemed an eternity was that he was a prisoner, and the white points beyond his reach were his jailers. They were the enemy.
More time elapsed. He tried without success to will himself out of existence more times than he could remember, putting an end to this eternal monotony. He couldn’t starve or dehydrate himself as he didn’t have these needs. Could he ever die, or was he doomed to an endless, mundane existence? On many occasions he raged against the barriers containing him, but it was always futile. The points of light would increase in brightness to match his intensity, lending their strength to the invisible wall. He would then launch attacks at the lights themselves, trying to crush them with his willpower. These would end in the same way, with the combined power of the enigmatic orbs rebuffing him.
One day something changed. A point of light inexplicably drifted away until it disappeared. Curious for the first time in ages he rushed towards the barrier; it no longer felt as solid as it once had. He immediately redoubled his efforts attacking the orbs, again he did not win but his loss was only by a narrow margin. They were now only eleven, not as strong as when they were twelve. His hope renewed, he rested for a bit. He could break them down eventually. After all, he had an eternity to work at it.
Years and centuries passed in much the same manner. Each moment was a struggle between him and the eleven orbs. Though he was continually defeated, he did not become discouraged. Eventually he would win out. They had to be successful each and every of their thousands of battles, while he only needed to see victory once. He had learned a few things in the time he spent here. For some reason they could not destroy him, and he could feel their fear of him growing. It fed him, giving him renewed vitality. With each assault victory grew closer.
His strength grew along with their fear, until one day it finally happened. At long last! Like too much pressure being applied to a stone, he suddenly crushed one of the orbs that had contributed to his imprisonment, causing it to explode into a million points of light and dissipate to nothingness. Panic and disbelief rushed through those remaining, and he reveled in it. The balance of power had tipped in his favor. The ten remaining were no match for him. Methodically, he began working to eliminate them.
Each one became easier to destroy than the previous. He basked in their imminent demise, and moreso in their awareness of their impending fate. How delicious it felt to obliterate them, tasting their fear as he grew in power. When only three remained, his memories, long blocked by the orbs, came flooding back to him in a torrent. He remembered, he remembered all of it. The knowledge of who he was in every minute detail rushed over him as if he were doused in cold water. Armies trembled at mere whisperings of his name, kings and queens cowered before him in fear. He was Kubathu, God-Emperor of the Vermillion Sands, Breaker of Souls.
He remembered…legions he ruled. Minds he dominated.
He remembered…betrayed by those he trusted. His soul torn from his body and trapped here.
He remembered…everything… the traitorous dogs!
He had always been quick-tempered and prone to fits of rage, but none compared to this. With a primal scream the three orbs, his watchers who had willingly placed themselves inside to guard over him, were decimated in a rush of energy. His prison reverberated for several long moments from the impact. It enraged him what those so-called magicians thought they could do to him and get away with it, locking him away like a criminal. They had deemed him too dangerous to continue his reign. Too dangerous? Perhaps, but only to those who plotted against him. He would show them just how dangerous he was.
With his captors eliminated it was time to reclaim his kingdoms, but the barrier still held, refusing to break. It shouldn’t be possible… unless – the one orb that had vanished, somehow it must be maintaining the shield. His frustration renewed, he slammed against the shield several more times with all his might. It was a futile effort. His fury subsiding, he took a few moments to regain his composure. No matter, he thought. He could now sense what was happening outside of his encasement. His influence would again be felt in the land.