Use the contact form to send LJ Litton a message and she will respond to you as soon as she can.
Sign up to my newsletter to be notified when The Arcanum is available for pre-order and receive other behind-the-scenes goodies!
Times were hard. Science and godliness were at their schism. Man struggled to discern real from miraculous. When on a cool autumn night Veldor emerged from the fog on the bogs of a dark moor with no witness to question whence he came or to where he was bound. Anyone present would have been relieved to see Veldor on his way–grateful they were passed unnoticed.
Lord Veldor Gordon stood six feet five inches with Scottish cheekbones and broad brow set off by blond hair and steel blue eyes. He had an air of strength and command that his height only enriched. His face framed by a tightly groomed beard that fit well with his chain mail and leather.
He walked rapidly with a long stride and familiarity with this place and its peril. His sword hung close to a sapphire adorned sheathed dagger, his crossbow slung over his left shoulder. A man came running up behind him. Smaller in stature, with the same Gordon Clan facial features, and clad like Veldor but armed with only a sword. Veldor’s youngest brother, Andrew, did not fear approaching but dreaded the encounter.
Veldor sensed a presence before he heard footsteps, and turned to confront his intruder, relieved it was only Andrew, irritated to have this encounter now.
“Veldor, don’t take the side of an outsider! Robert would never do that to you. Please . . . please, reconsider.”
“I’m sworn to this duty! You should be helping me. Robert must turn Tristen over to the Venere′ to undergo The Kupellation. We both know he’ll fail the test and will be returned to his parents. Only then, can we put this nasty business aside, and get Robert back in the good graces of our fellowship.”
Andrew retaliated, “You’re brothers, you’ve fought together in battle, protected each other. Protect him now as he protected you! You ignore the reasons that should sway you from your course. This task is based in folly; to continue is to put the Gordon Dynasty at risk.”
Veldor stared down at his younger brother. Andrew, taking his silence for consideration, persisted, “Robert has a duty to protect his only son. What would you do if he were yours?”
He grabbed Veldor’s arm, forcing eye contact. “Let the child be. If all is as you say, time will reveal the falsity of these accusations. If you bring Tristen in like a suspected Arcanum, he may not live to manhood. Think about what you’re doing.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Our heritage means more than the machinations of a few pawns. The Venere′s’ responsibilities are much greater than yours, Robert’s or mine,” spat Veldor, pushing Andrew aside as he continued on his way, not bothering to look back, Andrew knowing well enough not to follow.
Within minutes Veldor arrived at a lone rowboat beached on the shore. He swiftly boarded and started rowing across the calm narrow river tributary. The surface of the water, a large unbound mirror, reflected the pale yellow full moon filling the western horizon of the night sky. He was lost in thought, blinded to the beauty of his surroundings as he neared the Gordon Castle lands.
“I pray I’m not too late,” he muttered to himself, pulling heavily at the oars. I must be more successful with Michele than I’ve been with Robert. After all, she is the mother to the only male Gordon heir in our bloodline. The idea that Tristen could be an Arcanum, a reputed great mystery of nature, much less the True Knowing One, a unique Arcanum possessing abilities beyond all others, is absurd. Veldor was well aware that recorded history showed only one True Knowing One existing at any given time and that but once a millennium. Hence his name, The Millenarian, who could bring forth the hoped-for period of uninterrupted peace and tranquility, where all could enjoy prosperity and justice with his great powers . . . but only if he so chooses. With this uncertainty comes fear.
The official written chronicles document the potential for pain, suffering, world dominance and destruction should the Millenarian pursue power over benevolence. It’s for this reason the Venere′ came into being: to locate and to shepherd the Millenarian towards the pursuit of man’s enlightenment and enrichment, and to steer him away from gaining a lust for power over all else. There exists much concern amongst the ranks because this millennium is closing and he has not yet been found, causing some to doubt his coming.
Veldor dug the oars into the silt bottom to get the boat as close to dry land as possible. If the Millenarian is to bring forth such a wondrous state, why should anyone fear the unlikely chance Tristen is found to be him? Something is amiss here. I will press the issue with the Venere′ at our next encounter.
Tristin’s fate is certain if the Venere′ consider him dangerous, or unwilling to protect the secrets they hold so dear.
The bow crunched into the broken shells and pebbles on the small beach leading up to the peak on which sat the magnificent Gordon castle as Veldor set aside these troublesome thoughts, confident that his Godson would work well with the Venere′– this is why he could betray the trust of his own brother. To think otherwise would prevent him carrying out his duty as leader of the Gordon Chivalran, one of the elite Chivalran regiments located strategically throughout the globe, charged with the responsibility of finding and dealing with the reprobate Arcanums at the behest of the Venere′. He wasn’t going to be the first to fail.
His own father ended the life of their local vicar’s son who’d been found to possess material manipulation abilities, late in life, age twelve and whom the Venere′ had deemed a threat. He hunted him down and slew the boy, a dagger to the heart, leaving the child lifeless upon his father’s church steps.
Veldor laid the oars down and looked up at the castle atop the steep cliff overlooking the bay rising to a height of over one thousand feet above sea level. He lived there his entire life yet still he marveled at the fortress that made castles of lore and legend appear lesser by comparison.
He disembarked, and started the mile long trek up the precipitous hill-side to the castle, grabbing onto rocks to pull him up and over sections where the vertical climb was too great. At the top, he planned to enter the fortification by way of a perilous cliff-side hidden entrance.
Upon arrival, he glanced at the waves violently crashing against the rocks two-hundred feet below, realizing he had never attempted this feat carrying weaponry. He knew his next maneuver would be challenging. He carefully felt along the backside of the L-shaped stone wall until he found the rusty steel rung that tore at his bare hands as he swung himself around the corner, landing on a stone ledge where he reached up and tightly grabbed the next rung, and climbed to the concealed entrance. His fingers and palms bled in a few spots where rusty edges had ripped into them, but he was safe.
He reflected for a moment, stirred by the salty air and cool breeze, happy to be alive. He thought back to when he had discovered this entrance as a boy while playing with Robert and Andrew, only they knew of this entrance, a tightly held family secret as he hoped to keep this messy affair.
Veldor exhaled and tucked in his stomach as he squeezed into the narrow passage. In no time at all, he came upon the backside of the heavy tapestry concealing the clandestine entryway. With some effort, he carefully pushed the weighty tapestry out far enough to look both ways down the dimly lit stone corridor void of any other décor. Seeing and hearing no one, he strode forth heading towards the light of what he knew to be multiple oil lamps illuminating the servants’ main space, the hub that allowed the domestics to move unnoticed about the castle while performing their chores.
This hub was a twenty by thirty foot oval shaped gray stone walled room with a twelve foot high polished stone overhead. The walls were made visible by slender glass chimney adorned oil lamps sitting atop two foot wide stone shelves. The shelves were ever so slightly recessed into the walls, and were located every three feet of the total circumference of the room, interrupted by the seven passageways entering the space.
As Veldor stepped into the hub, Robert and Michele emerged from the far right corridor, “Where would you be going with little Tristen in your arms, burdened with bags and cloaked for travel?” scoffed Veldor as he slowly walked towards the fugitives.
At the sight of Veldor, Robert, feeling the threat of his brother’s advance, quickly positioned himself in front of his family, while Michele crouched low behind her husband as she slowly retreated back into the passageway.
“I was hoping to convince Michele to comply with the wishes of the Venere′ this night, and then I wouldn’t need to discuss the issue with you again. After all, how could a mere toddler be dangerous? Neither of us possesses any of these special gifts the Venere′ speak of, but we’ve definitely witnessed them on several occasions in their Counsel Chambers. We both know the Venere′s’ concerns about Tristen are merit based, but I never observed him doing anything remotely like I witnessed their special abilities cadre perform. They’re able to make people pass out with their minds the only weapon deployed . . . definitely cause for concern. I’ve not seen Tristen express such abilities, have you?”
When Veldor received only a blank stare, he continued, “You were heading straight to the underground marina stairwell,” as he turned and pointed to the opposing passageway. “The sea is your chosen path to freedom? You know we would come after you.”
“I’d hoped to be gone by now, and my son’s whereabouts would no longer be yours or anyone else’s concern,” retorted Robert.
“Robert, you’ve always been unwilling to bow to authority, the reason you were denied your birthright to be a commanding officer of the Gordon Chivalran. You’re fortunate to have been allowed in the regiment at all. You never stop questioning the logic of the traditions that make us who we are. Your constant attack on century old Venere′ practices has done nothing to better your standing. The world’s continued existence without a full-scale global war is proof that the Venere′s’ ways and means are sound, and yours are not. Yet, once again you mean to defy them. You have to know that if you flee, Rosen wins. The Venere′ will side with their leader over you,” concluded Veldor. He paused and drew himself up giving Robert the chance for one last rebuttal.
Robert, aware of the courtesy being extended chose his words carefully, “How can you consider turning Tristen over to the Venere′ after what we’ve seen happens to the young boys found to possess abilities? They either become one of the Venere′s’ special abilities cadre or disappear. Few live beyond adolescence. He’ll be lost to us forever! It’s ludicrous to think that a Chivalran’s off-spring could be an Arcanum. It is contrary to our written history. Have you never questioned the motives behind what’s being asked of us? None of this makes any sense.”
Veldor countered, “It’s my fortune to have fathered two daughters so I don’t have to worry about either of them being The Arcanum. They’re not single male heirs of parents with only one child, such is Tristen. I agree with one thing you’ve said brother, you’re attempt to flee makes no sense.”
“Are you willing to pay the price of losing our dynasty to one of our Gordon surnamed cousins with the required male lineage if Tristen is lost to the Venere′? You’re gambling that one of us gives birth to another male heir. When did you become so reckless?” rebuked Robert.
Seeing the contemptuous look upon Veldor’s face and realizing nothing spoken had made a difference, Robert issued an ultimatum, “You are either with me, or against me–Step aside.”
Veldor slowly shook his head to the left and right and back again, causing Robert to hurl aside everything he was carrying. “You’re a lemming who cares nothing for his family!”
Both men took a step back, slowly drawing their swords, not taking their eyes off the other. Robert looking crazed and Veldor outraged, as they leapt forward, and the sword fight began. Robert moved slowly in a one-hundred and eighty degree arc, shifting the fight away from his wife and child. The extreme violent blows of swords clashing reverberated off the walls. The deafening sound of metal slamming against metal echoed throughout the underground stone passageways, intensifying with each blow–their just causes fueling them equally.
Veldor’s superior swordsmanship came to dominate as the men tired from the onslaught. He gained the offensive, sweat pouring from their brows, his younger brother forced to slowly retreat to the far side of the chamber.
Michele looked on in horror and disbelief, unable to speak, unable to move as she witnessed Robert falling against the wall. He was barely able to stay up on one knee resulting from a deep slice to his unshielded right calf–a look of anguish etched across his face.
“Had enough?” demanded Veldor as he briefly stepped back awaiting Robert’s response.
“Can we leave?” gasped Robert.
“No.”
Robert forced himself up from his knee to stand one legged–the wall his crutch, his watery eyes barely able to focus from the searing pain of his wound. Convinced Veldor’s misplaced sense of duty wouldn’t waiver, he lifted his sword, and Veldor sprang towards him as the swordfight ensued.
“Veldor, Stop! Don’t murder your own flesh and blood,” pleaded Michele.
Robert’s situation worsening with each blow, sword still in hand, still determined to protect his loved ones, but with little hope he could overcome his older brother. The loss of blood sapped his strength as Veldor pressed his advantage–his victory imminent.
Unbeknownst to Robert, Veldor didn’t want to kill him. He only wanted to incapacitate him so he could take the child to the Venere′ to undergo the Kupellation. He believed that given time, Robert would understand and everything would be as it had been between them once it all played out.
Veldor moved in for the final onslaught, “Our family legacy is what makes us who we are. I will see to it that Rosen and the others treat Tristen honorably.”
Veldor felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He had only a moment of astonishment before his eyes went blurry and he felt himself falling, unable to move a muscle, as if in a dream. As he fell, his sword went awry striking Robert’s midsection, slicing through his abdomen and spilling out his entrails. Veldor fell atop his brother’s ravaged bloody body as the two of them hit the stone floor with a thud.
“Robert!” screamed Michele running over to where the two men fell, frantically laying her blanketed son down on the cold stone floor. She grabbed and slapped Robert’s face, “Robert, look at me!”
His bright steel blue eyes opened momentarily. He smiled lovingly at her while simultaneously his lungs expelled their last breath.
“Robert . . . no, no, this can’t be happening. Please say something, anything.” When out of the corner of her eye she spied Andrew standing there holding a cudgel in his right hand and looking utterly dismayed. “What did you do?” she sobbed.
“I only wanted to knock him out to give Robert the time he needed to get the two of you to safety–Not this!”
Michele pleaded, “Robert, please don’t leave me.” But he just laid there, his face ashen, his body already starting to lose its warmth. She wept as her body convulsed.
“Look at what you’ve done! You caused Veldor to disembowel him!” screamed Michele.
“I didn’t mean to,” exclaimed Andrew as he began walking in random elliptical patterns around the border of the enclosure, ranting and raving. “This is not what I set out to do. I’ve only made things worse for everyone! They’re dead, and you and the child are in serious trouble.”
Andrew stopped pacing to look at Michele. “I don’t know what to do, and the only two people in the world that I would seek wise counsel from lay silent before me,” as he pointed at his brothers’ limp bodies.
“I must take Robert’s place and accompany you. I have to save Tristen to honor my brother’s wishes. His son must live to become the hereditary ruler of the Gordon Dynasty. I’m the only one who can make sure this happens.”
He walked over and gently pulled the weeping Michele from Robert’s lifeless body. He helped her gather up her son and their few personal belongings. He led them out of the chamber through the opposing passageway where they found the spiral stone stairwell leading to the marina that they quickly descended.
Halfway down the steps, Michele attempted to pull herself away from Andrew to return to Robert, “I can’t leave him.”
Andrew reached up and grabbed her hand, pulling it firmly against his chest to get her attention, “We have to get out of here. No one knows you three were leaving. The plan was that they’d find out in the morning you had gone. Dawn’s light will shine within the hour. The domestics will rise to start their chores, and it will become known you are not in your beds. Stop resisting the inevitable. Come with me. I cannot protect you from the Chivalran and the Venere′. Once the bodies are found, they will turn the country-side inside and out hunting down their assailants. We must be long gone before then. What is done is done. Tristen’s fate is all that matters now. I will care for you and him in Robert’s stead to atone for my misdeed. I will bring Tristen back to rule the Gordon Dynasty when the time is right, but now we must flee.”
Michele reluctantly followed Andrew in a state of disbelief, knowing when to move by the tug of her hand in his. “I have my son, but at what cost?”
The fugitives arrived at the mooring place of their skiff to freedom within minutes. Michele was awestruck by the sparkling quartz overhead that rose to a height of one hundred feet, accompanied by a glistening stone horseshoe-shaped walkway surrounding all three sides overlooking the brightly lit marina that was illuminated with too many oil lamps to count.
She continued to move forward resulting from a tug of Andrews’ hand, “I didn’t know this place was down here. What else has been kept from me? There’s so much I don’t know . . . don’t understand.”
During their careful forty-two stone steps descent down to the wooden docks, Andrew explained, “The Gordon Chivalran built this boat launch centuries ago for their exclusive usage. It has never been used by the Gordon household so there hasn’t been a need for you to know it existed. The Chivalran have a special cadre of servants who ensure the lamps are illuminated, and tend to the boats and the marina.”
She turned and looked into Andrew’s distraught face, “Tristin is all I have left. Will you be able to place his needs over yours? I must know your answer before I leave this place with you.”
“My nephew’s survival and wellbeing is now my life’s only pursuit. I’m sworn to right the wrong I’ve caused you this night.”
Michele acquiesced as she responded with a slight nod of her head and looked down at her sleeping son. Miraculously, Tristen never made a sound throughout all that had occurred, and for this Michele was grateful. If he’d been openly traumatized, she would have lost it during a time when she could ill afford to let her sorrow consume her.
They walked down to the uncomfortably quiet dock area absent of any human presence due to the hour; the silence intermittently interrupted by the soft splash of an errant wave tunneling into the enclosure.
They soon arrived at the larger of several row boats moored nearest to the sea egress. Once onboard, they quickly shoved their belongings below the back seat. Michele sat down, while Andrew freed the mooring lines and with one strong shove, pushed the boat away from its berthing as he took a seat.
One long hard stroke on the oars, followed by another, advanced the boat out into the bay. They would be meeting up with a schooner scheduled to take them to a safe haven, a mysterious destination located somewhere in the Americas–the loss of the familiar, the fear of the unknown, and the sorrow of the refugees palpable.