The Spark Read online

  The Spark

  A Phantasy Novel

  Taylor Gibson

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640

  © 2016 Taylor Gibson. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 09/01/2016

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-2808-6 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-2807-9 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016914688

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

  and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  Acknowledgment

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  I

  dedicate this book to my friends, family, and everyone who enjoys a good story. Enjoy.

  Acknowledgment

  I would like to thank my family for believing in and supporting me all the way.

  I would like to thank Jessica for all the hard work you put into this book.

  I would also like to thank Paul and Gage for all your advice and support.

  Thanks to Gary, Ian, Mollay, Meghan, Mandy, and all my other friends for believing in me.

  Prologue

  The origin of life remains a mystery to all of us. Even the most advanced of civilizations ponder over who the first being was and who created the multiverse. There is no scientific evidence to prove the existence of any god or celestial being creating the universe, and the big bang theory even has its loose ends. We may never know who or what came first, but what we do know is that life can be created through the power of thought alone. Every time you have a thought, a dream, or even a wish, that fantasy becomes reality in another universe.

  The universe and everything inside of it is automatically conceived by a special place in every sentient beings brain known as the Phantasy Core. It is a small nerve in the very center of the cerebellum, completely invisible to the naked eye. It is so small; in fact, even a microscope cannot pick it up. You would need an electron microscope in order to vaguely make out its spherical form. But how exactly do we know this? Life has to come from somewhere. All life stems from other life. How the mind of a single individual can create an entire universe is beyond explanation. Like the mystery of the first being, we will never know how the Phantasy Core works, but we have come to refer to the multiverse by a single name: The Fancore (short for Phantasy Core).

  The Phantasy Core is the collection of all life created in a net of endless, conscious minds. For every fantasy that is had, a reality identical to that fantasy comes into existence and flourishes or diminishes on its own from thereon out. At the moment we only know our planet Earth as a place with life. But think of all the countless worlds that might be out there in our galaxy that may have life as complex as us. Now consider that beyond our Milky Way there is life in other galaxies such as LMC, Andromeda, NGC 1300, and Hoag’s Object. Beyond that, there are universes and universes splitting from each other, dividing into countless realities that started out as mere thoughts and images in the minds of different peoples. Earth humans are not the only race to inhabit the Phantasy Core. Think of all the fiction we have written and the stories we have been able to come up with using only the power of our imagination. Imagination is the key to life’s endless flow from universe to universe.

  How do we know this? There was a tattered journal found in a ruined house in a small town on Earth. Written inside were the recorded events of what eventually led to the near-destruction of all life in the Fancore. We cannot give out personal information about the location where the journal was discovered, but we can finally unveil to you the contents of this journal. A woman by the name of Sui Ozborn, who was an interdimensional traveler from another universe far out in the Fancore, passed the journal down to one person on Earth so that they may share its contents with the world. It is one of many journals, written by multiple people, in the aftermath of the Great War that shook our planet and nearly destroyed it from the inside out. This Great War was a war fought throughout the entire Fancore. We needn’t say too much more, as it will all be explained in the four chapters of the journal. Each chapter is named for a stage in the lifecycle of fire. This chapter is known as “The Spark,” because for every flame, there must be a beginning. This is the story of the rising flame.

  This is where it all began.

  Chapter 1

  Love may come in the strangest of ways.

  ~Sui Bane Ozborn

  I am Sui. I had an annoying little sister named Molli Su, two loving parents— both with rough pasts— and an immortal man who shared his blood with us. Yes, a forefather of mine was still alive and doing well without a limit on his age. He was a wizard trained by a great master long before my grandparent’s grandparents were even born. He was a bloody good sorcerer too. I had a few good friends who grew up with me; ones who supported me and all my dreams.

  Together we lived in a rural village community among the steep grassy hills of Rïdeneer, Rïdoranna. In this land, there was hardly ever a thing to worry about under the rich, blue skies of the south. In the day and in the night, the neighboring planet known as Imga II was always visible above and beyond the clouds. I always wondered what it would be like to go there and discover a whole new world: uncovering treasures, discovering new places, and meeting new people. What was it like on other planets? Was there life; was something waiting for me up there, or was I but a dreamer? Imga II and the stars beyond the night sky were a sight to be reckoned with.

  Our story begins on my birthday, November twenty-fourth, and everyone I knew in Rïdeneer was celebrating the day I turned eighteen. My forefather had always been so good about throwing parties when it was a special occasion, and everybody in the village knew it. I had been an adult for three years at this point; and still, nothing had changed in my provincial day-to-day life as a farm hand. The party was held outdoors in the chill of the November afternoon. The sky was blandly white and fog formed from our breaths. I was dancing, feasting, opening gifts, and celebrating with friends and family. A band from Shi Shii was hired to play several of my favorite songs in every style of Shimbian music I enjoyed. The festivities were full of love, life, and laughter and everyone who attended appeared to be as happy as could be— except for one.

  I noticed a man I had never seen before, sitting on a wooden bench, wearing outlandish garbs. He sat there under a gray, hooded jacket. He was about my age as far as his figure could indicate. Sitting there alone, he let his head hang to his chest and his arms droop beside him like a marionette. I greeted him, but he didn’t acknowledge me; he didn’t even budge when I waved my hand under his face, which stared down into the grass. Like a corpse, he just sat there motionless and insensitive to my presence. I tapped his slouched shoulder, hoping that he would at least look
up.

  “Excuse me,” I said firmly, “what’s your name? Why are you sitting here all by yourself?”

  He didn’t respond to me, and I continued trying to catch his eye. He coughed and scratched his neck, below the hood of his jacket, with sharp nails that seemed to have not been groomed in months. He was obviously not here for my party, judging by his refusal to speak. I grew curious as to his reason for showing up uninvited.

  “What brings you to my party, stranger?”

  It took him a moment to answer, but then he rolled his eyes and gave in with a sigh.

  “My name is George Goodwill. I’m on the run. I’m trying to escape from the mercenaries and bounty hunters hired by spiteful aristocrats from Shimbia and D’Guños. I’m a freak to them, a danger to everyone, including myself. I’m in hiding here until my pursuers have given up their hunt for me. I’m a monster and a crook. I would not waste another moment of your time, especially on your birthday. If I took this hood off, you would panic and create a scene to humiliate me like all the other girls I’ve spoken to before coming here. You’d leave me to be shamed by everyone else in the village. I don’t wish to die, but I think it best if I did, for the sake of everyone else’s well-being.”

  He shook his head and continued,

  “But there are places I need to go; things I want to see before I give it all away. Don’t ask why I remain a mystery. Just ask yourself why you spoke to a complete stranger randomly arriving at your gathering.”

  I was sympathetic about his tragedy, but amused by the overdramatic words he uttered. He was being far too closed-minded; obviously ignorant of Rïdeneer’s indivisible acceptance to nonhuman races, even to criminals seeking salvation from their sins. Yes, it was a fact that the places he came from were home to puritans and xenophobes of the lowest grade, but he would not find such cruelty and oppression here. Despite what he did before, we were forgiving in this community, but only if he ceased whatever his past transgressions may have been. I saw the depression hanging over his shoulders to be unnecessary. He was lucky to have chosen the free lands of Rïdeneer to take sanctuary.

  When he turned his head to look at me, I saw his face beneath the light hood and began to realize why people were hated and persecuted him. It wasn’t that he was nonhuman, you see. He had the appearance of a demon crossed with a neko. He was sickly pallid and his bright-red eyes had yellow corneas which were darkened by broad black rings. His cat-like ears erected in surprise below the hood when I deeply studied his slit-shaped pupils.

  Whiskers poked out of either side of his squared nose. He nervously opened his mouth to reveal sharp teeth like those of a cat. He was not entirely human, yet not entirely neko. I wasn’t frightened, but rather intrigued to behold his unique qualities.

  I could only say one thing to him; something that ran through my lips as smooth as a stream, yet as deep as an ocean; something that sent wild emotions down our spines simultaneously. It wasn’t something I thought to say. It just came out, “Come, heed my words and follow me. Let me be your preservation from whatever malevolence threatens you, my new, humble, red-eyed comrade.”

  I grinned, hoping to bring him enough affability and comfort to consider letting go of the discord of his past. On this day, I was not focused on myself as I laid out my hand to make an embrace with his. After I gave him a moment to feel comfortable in the party atmosphere, he accepted my request.

  After the party, I showed him where I lived. My home was not too far from the celebrations, so we didn’t have far to walk. He was covered in filth from the wilderness which he had been fleeing. I showed him to the bathroom, where he took a nice, long bath and changed into some of my father’s fresh clothes.

  My house was a decades-old, wooden home like the others, except this one had a symmetrical design painted in raspberry red, a front porch, a brick chimney, and a bed of flowers on the corners. It was a sight to behold in the sunset, as it sat atop one of one of the tallest hills in Rïdeneer.

  I showed him every little thing I could do with magick and how to cast it. I knew very few magick spells, and they were merely toys compared to what my wizardly forefather could do. I didn’t know why I had a fondness for this strange, outlandish man, but the mysterious aura that surrounded him seemed to be capturing my heart and opening it, not just with sympathy, but with compassion as well. After celebrating my birthday, my mother and father agreed to allow him to reside in our house until things cleared up for him in Shimbia and D’Guños.

  After eighteen days, he was comfortable enough to be completely open with us about his criminal past and gave me a list of his darkest secrets. No detail seemed to be left out from his stories as he was a natural storyteller. He confirmed that he was a being called a neko. He even had a hairy tail, which he had been hiding in his trousers until he trusted my family and the rest of the people of Rïdeneer. There were plenty of other nonhuman and semi-human races that lived in the village, such as the hokori, heavrays, dugos, spriggans, fauns, and many different variations of elves.

  He claimed to have been recently swept up into multiple frenzies with the people of Shi Shii, Shimbia. The people of Shi Shii, the most prominent city, were highly religious and jumped to the conclusion that he was a demon of sorts, sent to devour the world. They intended on ending his life through public execution. They were one of the groups from which he had been fleeing. I swore I would do anything to help him, even if it meant for us to leave my home of Rïdeneer for a while.

  On the twentieth day of his stay, mysterious hooded figures began knocking on all the doors, asking everyone if they saw a new face in the village. Loyally, and without fear of the hard-headed Shimbian, secret-police— or whoever they were— everyone defended George and left his whereabouts unknown.

  My heart grew closer to this man over time. Every day he would go by the general store to fetch me a fresh rose, which added up to a full bouquet at the end of every week. He would try to spend so much time with me, repaying my kindness with his own. With such persistence, I was unable to refuse him. After those wonderful days of bonding, courting, and living with George, I knew that we were truly in love. We had only recently met, but I felt as though I had known him all my life. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was genuine, beautiful, unmistakable love. Neither of us told each other about our feelings because we were too afraid; too shy as it had been so brief a time. It was a shame that this poor soul was so misunderstood. A person as pleasant as George Goodwill deserved all the friends in the world.

  As the twentieth day soon fell into the darkness of night, I retired to my bedroom for a goodnight’s sleep. Since we had come to know each other so well, I allowed him to sleep in my bed with me. We did not make love, however. We merely lay beside each other to keep warm in the harsh, near-winter climate. We never kept a hearth in the fireplace when everyone was sleeping since the house nearly burned down when I was about sixteen. Thankfully, my forefather was there to put it out with aquatic magick. If it wasn’t for that fire, however, George and I wouldn’t be sharing the same bed. The evening was almost perfect. That was until around midnight, when something horrific transpired in Rïdeneer.

  It all started when we went to bed. We fell asleep around eleven o’ clock. An hour later, we were awakened by screams, and the bedroom door crashing to the ground. In the dark of the night, George and I were dragged out of bed by multiple, little men and dragged away. We could hear cracking voices yelling at each other; screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs. Furniture was being thrown around the house and a fire could be heard roaring outside. The intense heat poured down my skin, through the shattered windows. The scent of smoke filled my nostrils and the bloodcurdling screams of many innocent villagers echoed around the hills, barely penetrating the volume of the maniacal laughter that came from the little men causing all of these atrocities. With all the cries and pleas for help around the village, and no sight of my family in the ransac
ked house, I assumed that my parents, my sister— I thought they were dead.

  George was the only one by my side when we were dragged through the house. We were stunned and confused; internally ripped apart with dread! These murderers kidnapped us and stuffed us in large sacks when we reached the porch. Once outside, we were thrown on a wagon like freshly poached wild game. I could hear the horse’s snorting and the driver’s clinking reins on its teeth. Somebody with a dark voice spoke out to the driver of the wagon. His tone was cold and sinister like a demon from the depths of hell.

  “My master wants them unharmed, and you had best not allow them to escape! Because if you do-”

  After the demonic voice spoke, a loud, bone-crunching noise could be heard. A small, decapitated head fell on top of the sack I was in; warm blood seeped through the material and trailed down my back, at a snail’s pace. Bile made its way to my mouth, upon realizing someone had been killed. Within the malodorous sack, aboard a chariot to an unknown destination, I could barely shift my body to achieve any level of comfort. Any positive emotions that were within me had been vanquished. Without a care for my own survival, I prepared to let whatever was about to happen be carried out. If only I was strong enough to break through and escape from that filthy bag and fight off the invaders, all of the trouble ahead could have been avoided.

  About three hours after we were kidnapped, the wagon stopped. The horse whinnied furiously. I was wide awake the whole ride, terrified of what would happen next. I heard many sickening voices around me. One of them was talking specifically about George. After listening to them, I concluded that they sounded like goblins. No other race in the world had a voice that was as cracked and annoying with a shrill scratch at the end of every sentence. The driver was approached by a goblin who had already been at the stop. Judging by the authority in his tone, this goblin was seen as a leader to the others.