Moss After the Last Battle

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-5439-3899-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 306 Seiten

An assassination broke the peace, causing Heaven and Hell to enter another war, but this one was different; Heaven lost this war. With the angels nearly extinct, the demonic forces of Hell are free to occupy the three realms: Heaven, Hell, and Earth. However, the one reason for the assassination, which led to a war that left the world scarred, just might be the thing that gives Earth a second chance.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Moss, Matthew

Leseproben

Chapter 1

As she walked through the woods a few hundred yards behind her home, Athaliah heard the soft and repetitive: Twang. Thud. Twang. Thud. She moved around the final tree—a large oak with roughly textured bark—and caught sight of the young man in the clearing. He was in his early twenties, with broad shoulders and strong arms. In his left hand he was holding a bow. Slung over his back was a deerskin quiver that held six or seven arrows. About twenty-five yards from where the man was standing were the rest of his arrows, buried deep in a tree that had died in last winter’s storms.

Athaliah stood there watching the man and thinking back several years. She had been thirty-four years old when she and her husband had found the young child lying a few feet off the side of the road on which they were traveling. Astounded that the baby had been left abandoned, the couple took the boy in, named him, and raised him as their own. That was back when life was relatively peaceful and normal; everything changed when the devastations of war struck Earth. A war between the armies of Heaven and the hordes of Hell.

“How long do you plan to stand there watching me?” said the young man as he fired his last arrow then turned to face his mother.

The woman smiled, stirred from her thoughts by her son’s pleasant voice. For a moment she wondered how he knew she had been watching him. Looking at her son, Athaliah noted how his light green irises almost seemed to shine in the dimming woods. His eyes were surrounded by a well-nourished, unlined face that carried with it the look of ambition. His hair was varying shades of dark brown, like the bark of an aged oak tree, and fell to his mid-forehead, covering the top half of his ears. Had it been any longer she would have called it shaggy. A lean nose sat above a pair of thin lips that naturally parted into a smile when he spoke.

“You’ve always been quite observant, haven’t you, Telarious?” she asked.

The man smiled as he went to collect his arrows from their tight, four-inch grouping. The arrows were each about thirty-two inches long. They had one black feather and two white feathers on the tail end, to act as fletching that stabilized the arrows during flight. The shaft of the arrows were lead-gray in color. The arrowhead was steel, secured to the shaft by a light brown cord that wrapped tightly back and forth, from the arrowhead to the shaft and then back again.

Telarious gently pulled the arrows from the dead tree and placed them into his sturdy quiver. The quiver had a single leather strap that ran diagonally across his chest, from the right shoulder to the left hip. Once he had retrieved all his arrows the adept archer untucked the soft leather flap that could be used to cover the top of the quiver, protecting the two dozen arrows.

“Dinner is ready,” said Athaliah. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Telarious replied. He jogged over to help his aging mother walk back to the house, guiding her through the dimming woods.

As mother and son approached their house Telarious scanned the faded wood of the story-and-a-half home. Telarious’s father, Jabir, was a carpenter and had built the now weathered house shortly after they had found Telarious. The house was a simple one with wood siding, four single-paned windows, and a small lean-to that stored the wood the family used to heat their small home. Although the house was a small, humble home it was just as sturdy as any other house in the village.

“I’ll cut some more wood tomorrow morning before breakfast,” Telarious said.

Athaliah smiled in reply as the two walked through the back door and came into the house, where they were greeted by Jabir. Telarious’s father was a tall and muscular man with noticeably large hands that were well suited for his profession. He provided for the family by trading carpentry services for food and other supplies.

In the midst of walking up the stairs, Telarious turned back to his parents. “Let me put my bow and arrows up,” he said, “and I’ll be right back down.”

“Okay,” Jabir replied. “Just don’t take too long. Despite your mother’s brilliant cooking, it’s still better when it’s warm.”

Athaliah looked at Jabir with questioning eyes, wondering if there had been a hint of sarcasm in her husband’s words.

Up in his room, Telarious hung his quiver over the post of his bed and then unstrung his bow. While walking to the corner of his small room he couldn’t help but admire the handmade bow. It had been carved from a large branch of a white oak tree. The center of the bow, near the grip and the arrow shelf, was textured to look like the bark of the tree branch. Telarious believed the texture improved his grip, and thus improved his control of the bow. The texture of the bark thinned out as the wood curved away from the arrow shelf, forming the limbs of the bow, until the texture completely disappeared and the bow became perfectly smooth right before the bow’s secondary curves. Telarious thought the lack of texturing near the ends of the bow gave it a crude yet elegant appearance.

After setting his bow carefully on a shelf and hanging the string on a hook on the wall, Telarious made his way down to the dinner table. He arrived just in time, as his parents seemed to have impatient looks on their faces. The three family members sat around the sturdy, maple table. Jabir sat at one end, and Telarious sat at the opposite end, while Athaliah sat in the middle. A cast iron pot with steam rolling from it sat in the middle of the table. Athaliah leaned forward and began ladling out servings of venison and potato stew. The family ate and talked about their day, as they did each evening.

“I would like to be excused,” the well-mannered Telarious said after another few minutes, “I have to get up early and split wood for breakfast.”

“Of course,” Jabir and Athaliah replied simultaneously.

Telarious stood from the table and made his way to his room. His father had originally built the upper half story of the house as an attic for storage, but then had gladly turned it into a bedroom when Telarious became old enough to need his own room. Despite its size, Telarious never felt it was too small.

Telarious tossed and turned most of the night, dreaming that the village he lived in was razed during a raid by demonic soldiers. In his dream, the most notable demon was a tall soldier dressed in full plate armor. He seemed to be dragging some of the villagers away, but Telarious couldn’t see where the demon was taking the villagers. Telarious was spared from the horrifying images of his nightmare by the early morning’s rising sun.

Despite having gotten little sleep overnight, the weary twenty-two-year-old pulled himself out of bed. He walked across the creaky but sturdy floor and over to the window. Staring out of the thin, glass panes, he started thinking about the odd dream. Telarious rarely dreamt, but when he did, it was usually of mundane, day-to-day tasks. However, this dream had been different; it didn’t feel like merely a dream….

Not wanting to waste any more time on the subject, Telarious expelled the thoughts from his mind. He got dressed and made his way downstairs, where his parents were still sleeping in their bedroom. The front door squeaked as he opened it with great care, hoping to not wake them. I really need to oil these hinges, he thought to himself then smiled, knowing he had thought that almost every time he opened the door, yet he still hadn’t oiled the hinges.

Telarious continued over to a pile of unsplit logs that stood a few yards from the house. He retrieved the axe that lay on the ground and began the process of splitting the wood into smaller, more manageable pieces. The task of chopping wood had quickly become tedious for Telarious; as a result, he often let his mind wander as he continued with the chore. Usually, his thoughts focused on his form handling the axe: raising the axe up above—but not behind—his head, then letting it fall to the wood, allowing the weight of the axe head to do the splitting to conserve his energy. However, today he could not keep his thoughts from returning to last night’s dream. The screaming of a young girl… the tall demon dragging people away… the popping and crackling of the burning house singeing the hair on his neck… It had all sounded and felt so real!

Telarious was not frightened by the dream; rather, the opposite. Though he had never told anyone, a large part of him desired a conflict. For he wanted a chance to prove himself, to see what he would do when put to the test. So far, despite the circumstances of the world, he had lived almost his entire life in peace. Demons had never attacked his village, and the last time raiders assaulted it was over a year ago, when he had been out hunting, unaware the raid had even taken place until after it was over. The desire for conflict made Telarious unsure. He knew conflict was something to be avoided…so why did he lust for it? Why did he want to fight, and maybe even kill? He wanted to feel disgusted by these internal desires, but he could not make himself do so. So, he convinced himself it was not a desire for death that drove his lust for conflict, but rather, his selfless wish to help everyone he could. The young archer wanted people...