An exiled man wonders if he should forsake his new life and risk returning to his homeland. A troubled girl seeks redemption for a terrible crime she has committed. A solitary tracker breaks an oath in order to communicate with an infamous, supernatural criminal. A vagabond thief chances leaving behind the world he knew for an unknown destiny. An unlikely cast of characters, they are thrown together by chance, or perhaps by fate, willingly embarking upon an eccentric wizard's mission to recover a magical stone: Raven's Heart. A piece of the "Stone of Undoing", Raven's Heart is deadly. Though the stone has the ability to unravel the very essence of magic, it brings Arcturus, Kariayla, Hawkwing, and Jinx together in a mission beyond individual ambition that could determine the fate of the world in which they live.

RAVEN'S HEART

A Tale from the World of SecramoreBy Matthew Verish Stefanie Verish

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Matthew & Stefanie Verish
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-1998-7

Chapter One

The vanquishing of the Dark One in the brief time known as the Cataclysm initiated a new era in Secramorian history. Those races which had helped defeat a common enemy aspired to create unity amongst all dwelling within the continents. Transcribed into an account known as The Forging, Trinnad Markanturos carefully recorded all that had transpired in the epic battle. Included in the text, Markanturos outlined a system of laws to further promote equality amongst the Secramorian populace. A League of Races convened to establish a new government, but after only three sessions, the League was dissolved. Secramore was not ready for racial harmony....

"'Not ready for racial harmony,'" Arcturus mused, then smirked. He read the paragraph again before closing the heavy book. His eyes were tired from reading the fine print and from reading the same information in every source he selected. His head bent forward, he stared absently at the tabletop.

Why do I go through such lengths in my research? Arcturus wondered. To what purpose? I cannot return to my home ... He sighed. And I cannot stay here. His thick hands pushed the book away and halfheartedly pulled another book from the stack. The Cataclysm and Its Heroes, the title read. Gleaning the contents, a particular chapter appealed to him. His eyes devoured the text in hope of finding new information.

There were seven races responsible for the imprisonment of the Dark One: Amirah Motega of the Falquirians, Rishanna Naxom of the Humans, Malkri-Shinoss of the Jornoans, Donerys Akarthra of the Nemeloreans, the Ilangien Chierond of Celaedrion, the Durgoth Burlahn, and Trinnad Markanturos of the New Race. By the hand of Markanturos were written the details of the Cataclysm. Titled The Forging, each of the seven witnesses gave an account of the Dark One's defeat.

He stopped reading. What was missing? This book had no mention of any "League of Races." In fact, of all the literature over which he had pored, only two acknowledged any such attempt at racial unity. Were the laws created by the League too idealistic and impractical to be utilized? He doubted this conclusion, for seven brilliant minds working together could not fail so completely. A thought returned from what he had read: "Secramore was not ready for racial harmony."

Of all that he had learned in his research, this statement bothered him the most. Racial harmony was a belief close to his heart and at the top of his aspirations. Long ago, he had promoted such an ideal, but his own people had not been ready. They had not been willing to see beyond themselves and take a glimpse at life as a whole in Secramore. Because he had been young and ambitious and mistakenly thought his people were prepared, he had been exiled. Of course, the details of his banishment were much more complicated.

Or were they? He thought back to his origin in Markanturos-the territory named for its founder more than two thousand years ago. Trinnad had failed in his grand plan of racial unity then, but he managed many other successful achievements-achievements of which his people still preached and venerated to this day. He remembered his schooling from less than three hundred years ago. He knew the accomplishments of his city's founder, but he had never been enlightened to the initial laws of the League of Races. Why?

Then an answer came to him: fear. It was unwarranted fear, and he did not completely understand it. What was to be feared from racial unity? He could only theorize: a loss of cultural identity, rulers being forced to share their power ... If he had become Sovereign, he could have shown them that they need not be afraid of such notions.

He shook his head sadly. That opportunity ended with his exile. He was an outsider now, a stranger to Markanturos and its people. He was....

Abruptly, Arcturus glanced up. He was in a library-not any library, but the great library of the Human kingdom of Belorn. Shelves of books covered the vaulting walls and formed a labyrinth within the spacious chamber. Handwritten texts were there alongside ancient scrolls and printed books. A wealth of firsthand accounts and both fiction and nonfiction literature surrounded him. Was this not the reason he came to Belorn in the first place?

Arcturus hungered for knowledge. He hungered for a reason to believe that he still had purpose-still had credence in what he believed all those years ago before his exile. And here he was, searching for an answer, for a glimmer of hope, for a reason.

"To return," he murmured. Ignoring the logic that told him returning to Markanturos was impossible, he stood, suddenly inspired. He turned to a dimly lit and secluded section of the library, attracted by its isolation. There he might be able to find the mysterious answer he was seeking.

* * *

"Excuse me, milord." A young page with an upturned nose approached the master librarian.

The large, overweight fellow peered down at the boy with narrowed, beady eyes. He straightened his glasses as if to assure himself that this insignificant servant was truly standing before him, daring to address him. "What is it you want, boy?" he asked with a sneer.

"I wanted to tell you that the foreigner you told me to watch is heading for the reserved section, milord."

"The Blood Mage?" the master librarian asked with sudden interest.

"Yes, milord." The lad grinned, hoping that he would bear witness to some sort of upcoming conflict.

"This was inevitable. Mark me well, boy: you cannot trust foreigners-especially their sort. A haughty race, those Blood Mages." He studied the page for a moment. "Fetch the girl. We will allow her to have a hand in this."

The boy's grin broadened as he bowed his head and quickly strode away. He did not much care for the girl, and he knew that the master librarian was not fond of her either. He had gotten her in trouble several times before, and he always relished seeing the look of terror in her eyes, the way she trembled as she received rebuke.

He found her carrying a stack of books nearly equal to her petite height toward the back of the shelves of historical documents. She had not noticed him, too engrossed in trying not to lose her balance. Without a sound, he crept up behind her.

"The master librarian demands you at his side!"

Taken completely by surprise, the weighty stack in her arms was offset. Within two seconds, every book was sent tumbling to the floor. Several patrons turned in their direction with irritated expressions.

Though dark-complexioned, the girl's face flushed scarlet as she turned to face the page.

"He wants to see you immediately," the boy said. "Best clean up that mess before he sees it." Without another word, he stalked off, satisfied in knowing he had thoroughly intimidated her.

As quickly as she could, the girl restacked the books into a neat pile upon the floor, intending to come back for them later. She clenched her hands, wondering just what it was her employer would criticize this time. She was always doing something wrong, and he always made certain to tell her just what that something was-in painfully condescending detail.

As she approached him, she summoned the courage to lift her eyes and meet his gaze-if only for a moment.

"You are fortunate, girl, that I am of a lenient nature. To keep one's employer waiting is poor work ethic. But no matter. I have a job for you." He stared at her with scrutinizing eyes, waiting for her to meet his gaze again. Finally, when silence prevailed, she did look up at him.

"Do you see that man over there?"

The girl turned toward where the master librarian had pointed. Immediately, her eyes grew wide. "B-but milord, that is the reserved section for-"

"Yes, I know what it is," he interrupted, irritated by the timidity in her voice. "I asked you if you saw the figure over there."

She glanced toward the dim corner again. "Y-yes, milord."

"He is a foreigner-a Blood Mage. Do you remember what I told you about that section of the library?"

"Milord said it's not to be touched by anyone lacking a written permit." The girl's expression grew perplexed. "But milord ... how is it that you're certain he lacks this permission? Might he not-"

"Do you question me?" The beady eyes narrowed at her. "Do not forget your place. You are a slave girl who knows nothing of this kingdom. That man cannot have a permit, for he is not a lord of high standing, and most importantly, he is not Human!" The master librarian had grown red in the face, and the sharpness of his tone made the girl wince. "Now," he took a moment to calm himself, "since you presume to be an expert in such areas, we shall see how well you handle this situation."

"Me, milord?" she asked in disbelief and horror.

"Yes, you."

The slave girl's eyes immediately fell upon the boy's hiding place behind one of the shelves. He had been watching and listening the entire time, and she would have gladly pointed her finger at the insolent eavesdropper. But to do so would surely land her into trouble-more trouble than she was in already.

"I want you to approach him, ask him his business, and direct him away from there. Do you understand?" He waited for her to meet his gaze before giving her a shove. "Be quick about it," he hissed as she started forth.

She tried to erase the frown from her face, forcing a more pleasant and unassuming expression. Just tell him the truth. He'll understand. The fact that he is even in this library shows he is a gentleman. What cause would he have to grow angry? He'll understand ... I hope he'll understand ... She joined her hands tightly behind her back. As she neared the stranger, she was taken aback by his appearance. She had never seen a Blood Mage before; she knew nothing of his race.

He was slightly above average height, though from her eyes, he might well have been quite tall. Almost everyone towered over her, and this particular patron was roughly a foot above her. His figure was thick and bulky, covered by several layers of clothes that neither boasted of wealth nor of peasantry. She could not imagine anyone donning such warm clothing at the end of summer and figured he must be dressed more for formality than practicality. He had not turned to face her yet, but she knew he was different. Long, straight, white hair extended slightly beyond his shoulders and concealed his neck, but she had glimpsed the color of his hands.

Red: a deep, wine hue. Even with the shadows of the dim corner, there was no mistaking the color. A Blood Mage. Then he turned around.

This was the cause of her surprise, forcing her to take a step back. She guessed he was about sixty years old, judging by the lines on his face and his receding hairline. Aside from the stark contrast between his complexion and his hair, her focus was instantly drawn to his eyes. The moment they met hers, she felt needles of ice prick her neck and arms. Where one's eyes were normally white, his were black, and this abysmal darkness was penetrated by the pinpoints of white that were his pupils.

Determined to keep her composure, she avoided his gaze, averting her eyes to the bookshelves before him. Before she could utter a sound, he voiced himself first. She was surprised yet again by the gentleness in his deep tone.

"May I help you, my dear?"

Her thoughts momentarily scattered, she sought to gather them again-along with her nerves. "I-I'm sorry, sir ... My superior wished for me to inform you that this particular section of the library is reserved for Belorn's nobility alone." She allowed her eyes to read his expression, which was one of great thought. Fearing he would protest in a logic against which she could not defend, she tried to make amends. "Perhaps I could show you to a section more likely to have what you seek."

"Ah, my dear, that is the complexity of my situation. I am not entirely certain what knowledge it is that I am seeking. I was hoping I might browse until a particular piece of literature struck me. I see, though, that foreigners have somewhat limited access. I meant no transgression, but there is one question I have that you might be able to entertain."

The kindness had never left his tone, and she could tell that he was highly educated. At the mention of a question, her eyes lit, and she lifted her head.

"There is a certain period in Secramorian history that has captured my curiosity. So grand a facility as this, surely there must be some specific literature pertaining to the Cataclysm. I searched amongst the historical accounts, but I found nothing."

Her timidity forgotten in her eagerness to share what she knew, the girl glanced to where he had been pointing. "Oh ... I know why you met without success, sir. The master librarian has filed the Cataclysm under theology. I can show you where it is." Actually, she knew that some of the information he desired was where she had stated aloud; she also knew that the forbidden section held this knowledge as well. This, however, she did not disclose.

"Dear me." He seemed taken aback. "Theology? Might I ask why one would place that event with religion?"

The girl smiled slightly. "The master librarian once told me that the Cataclysm is an event of speculation."

Even more astounded, the foreigner shook his head. "Can it be that so important a conflict has been forgotten? To think that the very occurrence of this struggle is doubted."

He turned to her. "May I ask you a personal question, my dear?" When she nodded, he continued. "Do you believe in the Cataclysm?"

"I cannot doubt it, sir. So much has shaped our world because of it." Suddenly, she felt as though she had said too much. Was this stranger testing her? She found that he was smiling mysteriously. Then she felt another presence: eyes burning into her back. From the corner of her eye, she could see the master librarian tapping his foot. "Er, sir, did you want me to show you the other section?"

"Oh-yes, of course, my dear. I would appreciate your assistance." His smile was warmer now.

But before she could take two steps, her employer had lost his patience. He waddled up to them with as long of strides as he could take, a look of displeasure upon his face. The girl frowned and looked at the floor.

"May I help you, sir?" the master librarian asked.

"No, thank you. This young lady has kindly offered to assist me," the foreigner stated formally.

"I am her superior, sir, and if there is anything I could find for you-"

"No. Thank you."

The master librarian was not one to be brushed aside so easily. "I must also inform you, sir, that the section you were in-"

"Is restricted," the red-skinned man finished for him. "The young lady had informed me of this as well." He saw that she was nervously twisting her foot along the tiles of the floor. "Might I ask how one becomes a privileged patron to access such literature?"

"Only Belorn nobility has use of it," came the snippy remark.

"I see. Humans, then, and not Markanturians such as myself." The foreigner spoke frankly what the other implied.

"Belorn nobility," the master librarian repeated.

"Indeed." The Markanturian's tone was flat, unconvinced. "If you will excuse me, I am rather short on time." He addressed the girl. "Please, continue, my dear."

Hesitantly, she started forward, but the master librarian grabbed her arm, his chunky fingers clamped tightly. He whispered in a low tone into her ear, "Once you've accommodated him, you are relieved to your quarters for the remainder of the day. You will face consequences tomorrow."

Her head hanging, she nodded slightly before heading off again. She was not aware of the frown upon the patron's face or the satisfied smirk upon the visage of her superior. It would seem she had gotten herself into trouble once again, as she had predicted.

Chapter Two

Eribeth tipped the jug toward her cup, careful not to spill a drop. The wine would stain her only tablecloth, and she was not about to let that happen. Arcturus would be home soon, and she wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for him when he walked through the door. At least, as perfect as her hands would allow.

Setting down the earthenware vessel, Eribeth noticed that her hands had left an imprint where dust had collected from many years of storage. Reaching for a clean rag from her apron, she wiped away the evidence time had left upon the jug. Arcturus, she realized, would likely notice that she had substituted one of his prized wines for the usual diluted beverage he normally drank for dinner. This was to be a special occasion, and she expected he would understand. Arcturus always did.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from RAVEN'S HEARTby Matthew Verish Stefanie Verish Copyright © 2010 by Matthew & Stefanie Verish. Excerpted by permission.
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