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    Light of Lights
    Light of Lights
    Light of Lights
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    Light of Lights

    By Giacomo Giammatteo

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    About this ebook

    The seven worlds of Nelstar are in turmoil. War has devastated the largest cities, and the most powerful of the demigods are locked in a fierce battle. As casualties mount, Antar, the strongest of the Lights, makes a decision to use weapons that have been banned for millennia. The results are devastating.

    See what happens when the Light of Lights breaks all the rules.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGiacomo Giammatteo
    Release dateMar 13, 2018
    ISBN9781940313597
    Light of Lights
    Author

    Giacomo Giammatteo

    Giacomo Giammatteo lives in Texas, where he and his wife run an animal sanctuary and take care of 41 loving rescues. By day, he works as a headhunter in the medical device industry, and at night, he writes.

    Read more from Giacomo Giammatteo

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      Book preview

      Light of Lights - Giacomo Giammatteo

      Introduction

      This is the beginning of the Rules of Vengeance. It provides some backstory on what happened prior to everyone being exiled. The story takes place in another part of the universe where some people have special abilities (genetically inherited), and there are other weapons that can be used for warfare.

      In this section of the universe, there are seven worlds that are inhabited by races of people who have lived there for thousands of years. Now, the worlds are at war.

      With that said, welcome to the seven worlds of Nelstar.

      Chapter One

      Storms of War

      Savar, Fourth World in the Nelstar System

      739 AD (After Darkness)

      Second Cycle of the Third Moon

      Second Calendar of Light

      Where are they? They should have returned by now. Antar’s racing heart constricted. What images will they bring? What horrors?

      Stepping from shadows to the glare of morning sun, Antar’s long strides carried him past marble columns as wide as a man is tall and mahogany shelves crowded with ancient leather-bound tomes. When he turned, his black cape swirled, flinging motes of dust into a chaotic dance.

      Where are they?

      He plucked a book from the shelf, and for the third time, forced himself to sit. A frown appeared while browsing through a treatise on double envelopment, a military tactic he had used during the Wars of Darkness. It had been a long time since they had fought wars where that tactic meant much. Now, men died in droves and few, if any, carried swords. The only steel weapons were tainted with poison and hidden in assassins’ cloaks.

      Antar focused on the soothing shores of Lake Mago, then the springs near the Endoran coast, though nothing kept his mind from racing, from wondering what images the Slicers would bring. He should have done this long ago. It had been too long since he had dared to look. Since―

      He straightened, unfolded his hands, and shut the book with a clap. The first Slicer flew over the Sorrelan Sea, racing toward the mainland. Within a few heartbeats, he sensed the others. Of all the Blood, only he could sense a Slicer. He placed the book on the table and stood to receive the news. The Slicers—slivers of crystal as thin as a hair—slid into the room as if the walls weren’t there, ushered in by streaks of sunlight.

      Lenorda

      With the first image, Antar’s heart sank. Lenorda, the third world, lay in ruins: buildings crumbled, ships aflame in the harbors, and bodies sprawled along streets and walks. He shook his head as reports arrived from other worlds. How many must die?

      A tear escaped the corner of his eye, then a lump of pity choked his throat when an image of his long-dead son flashed before him.

      I should never have used the Sacred Book.

      He turned to see Molina entering the room with khaffe. She knew what he needed, and when. The strong aroma calmed him, made him reach for the mug. He would need this and many more cups before the day was done. You should see . . . No, you shouldn’t. No one should. But I must do something.

      I won’t shut my eyes to this. You’ll show me tonight, but for now, relax. Molina shared the khaffe with him, then she reached for his hand. Come, dear, let’s walk. You could use the distraction and, besides, the children are playing. We could both use a smile.

      I should stay.

      And do what? There is nothing more you can do.

      Antar pounded the table with his fist. I can’t relax with all of this going on.

      Molina stared, her hand still extended.

      A long pause preceded a reluctant nod. Forgive me, dear, you’re right. I could use the smile.

      Antar and Molina strolled hand-in-hand through the gardens of Manor du Savarra, their love still as strong as his grip, even after so many centuries. Fifty hectares of land surrounded the mansion, one of many in this part of the city. The manor served as a veritable paradise for the orphans Antar and Molina sheltered, most of them victims of the war.

      Antar’s manor

      Small children frolicked and hid behind manicured hedges, chasing each other like wolf cubs through red-tipped ligustrum and crape myrtles. The older children played among the old oaks that guarded the gates and shaded the walks, their huge branches serving as stages for re-enactments of legendary sword fights.

      Antar watched them play, remembering a time when his children spent their days there. The memories carried warmth to his heart, replaced the sorrow with love.

      He knelt next to a flowering dogwood that was balanced on a spindly leg and called to one of the little orphan boys. White blossoms shined next to Antar’s black hair and olive skin. Torne, come here.

      Torne raced to him, smile turning to laughter even before he reached Antar. What do you have? he asked, hand outstretched.

      Nothing . . . unless I can coax a hug from you.

      Torne wrapped his arms around Antar’s neck and squeezed, then stood back, his brown eyes searching for the prize.

      From behind his back, Antar produced several cormas, hard candies made with a blend of peppermint.

      Torne snatched them from Antar’s hand with a laugh, then turned to run, a gleam still in his eyes.

      Remember to share those with your friends, Antar said as Torne darted away.

      Antar glanced back at Molina, his hand reaching for hers. He reminds me so much of our son, though it’s difficult to remember when he was that young. A gentle caress accompanied his smile, just his thumb touching the back of her hand.

      I remember when he was that wild, Molina said. She sighed as she leaned against Antar’s shoulder, long tresses of dark hair cushioning her head. If only they could stay this innocent.

      Antar buried his face in her locks, nudged

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