When I was 13 years old I wrote the first draft of the book of Eliesmore.
800 pages. Written by hand.
The book was a monster divided into three parts.
I can’t remember how long it took me to finish the book, likely the better part of a year.
What I do remember is how fun it was to write the book.
Now, 15 years later, I experienced that same nostalgia as I typed out the digital version of Eliesmore and The Green Stone.
While the story is vibrant, full of rich characters and lush scenery, I wanted to keep the book cover focused on one key element. The Green Stone.
About the Book
Run, run as fast as you can. Never stop…
Changers have arisen, wreaking havoc as they harvest the world, searching for the Green Stone. The South World sinks in despair, holding its breath, waiting for the One.
Eliesmore is a Blended One, growing up on the edge of the forest of the creatures of the wood. Young, headstrong, and inspired by magical rituals, he spends his time between his overprotective mother and sneaking out to dance with the wild things.
His courage is tested when Eliesmore discovers that he is the One who is meant to save the Four Worlds from the Changers. Unwilling to accept his fate, he turns his back on the prophecy and the futile quest to dissolve the Green Stone.
But Eliesmore will soon learn he cannot escape his destiny. Beset by creatures of the deep and hunted by servants of the Changers, Eliesmore finds his task will test the loyalty of his companions and help him answer the ultimate question:
Can he trust the immortals – or are they the reason the Changers have come to power?
Here’s a sneak peek of Chapter One.
SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t read the end of The Five Warriors the first chapter is a HUGE plot reveal so…do what you need to do, go finish The Five Warriors (and leave a review here).
I’ll be sitting around waiting…just kidding…I’ll be writing.
Year 762. Castle Range.
He lay in the grass, listening to the crashing waves of Oceantic. They roared about him, a sound he was weary of hearing. He should have been grateful he had finally washed up on dry land, but dread sat heavy on his heart. There was a reason he had run through the portals all those years ago, and now he was right back where he had started with nothing to show for hundreds of years of work. His body repaired itself as he lay, feeling the skin cover his shadow, hiding his true form. Straight black hair fell to his shoulders, and his eye color changed from red to black. He was beautiful, and already he imagined the stars gathering to worship him once again. He kept his eyes closed, folding his hands across his naked chest as he waited.
A cold shadow fell over his body, blocking out the warm rays from the sun. “So.” A voice laughed bitterly. “You have returned.”
He opened his eyes. They stood over him. His brother and sister. He was too weak to challenge them, his body too broken to flee through the portals again, if they were still open. He much doubted it. He had tried to close them after he went through, leaving only remnants.
“Can you speak?” his sister asked, prodding him with her specter.
He groaned in response as anxiety built inside. He opened his mouth. No words came out, it would take time for his body to heal, and in time his brother and sister would rip him apart.
“I see,” she went on, her tone settling into a deadly calm. “You need time to heal. Time you will have. It is my turn to speak now, to make you aware of what you have done. You are selfish. You only think of yourself and your wishes. Don’t you realize we are in this together? You have shown the mortals our hand, you have displayed our weaknesses to them. What did you think you could do in the Western World? Think of the nothingness you accomplished. Because of you the mortals know our shadows. It is your fault they know our powers. You have ruined us. It will take twice as long to deceive them into giving the world to us. A world you will have no place in. You have disgraced yourself. It is my command now. No more poison. No more portals. No more transformed creatures. You are our prisoner. You are our slave. You will only do what we command for eternity. Understand?”
Words did not come out. He saw his brother lift the black pitchfork. The same kind of pitchfork he’d designed for his Gims. The razor edges glinted in the sunlight. Birds sang in the breeze. Waves lapped on the shores. It seemed too calm, too peaceful. The sharp edges sliced through his healing body and, unable to scream, he tumbled into darkness.