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Practice for Past Life Therapy
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Booklocker
ISBN-10: 1647184916
Type: Fiction
Pages: 438
Copyright: June 25, 2020
ISBN-13: 9781647184919
Price: $24.95 (eBook)
The Search for Tzanáta is the sequel to the award-winning spiritual adventure, Curse of the Tahiéra.
The Search for Tzanáta is the sequel to the award-winning spiritual adventure, Curse of the Tahiéra.
Seven years after his sudden disappearance, Yldich has a disturbing dream that brings him back to the House of the Deer. Slender ships are appearing at the coast and they seem eerily familiar.
Meanwhile, Rom leads a tranquil existence among the Einache of the high North. But, all is not what it seems. While he still struggles with his Tzanatzi magic, disturbing tidings come from the South.
The last Tzanatzi are disappearing and nothing remains except their bones…
Excerpt
Rom took a few steps down the hill, out of sight of the others, where a big olive tree had sprouted between the weathered stones. Its gnarly bark had split in places, its roots were thick and curved in weird shapes reminding Rom of dragons, and trolls, and beings he could not put a name to. The walk calmed his nerves and the mellow morning sun on his face was soothing.
He released a slow breath, closing his eyes, and leaned back against the stem of the ancient tree. His fingers found a twig and he toyed with it absently, his gaze on the Citadel and the sea in the distance.
‘Well. Have you finally arrived?’ A big, mellow voice boomed through his head, but it did not come from outside.
Rom jumped as if he had sat down on an anthill. He looked around wildly. ‘What—who are you?’
A low chuckle murmured through his head. ‘Good question. I seem to have forgotten my name, although it was very important to me when I was still a man, five hundred years ago. I was one of the five famous mages of Tzanáta. Well, not counting the Keeper of Storms, that is. By which I mean you.’ Rom gasped and turned around slowly as a wayward branch pushed in his back like a prickly finger. There was nobody there, only the big, wizened olive tree. He stared at it in amazement. It was the only living creature near. The only thing that could have spoken.
‘These rocks and stones you see lying about here, they are what’s left of the priests that waylaid the Keeper of Storms on his flight from Tzanáta. The other Mages he turned into gulls. Me,’ the tree creaked a little as it inclined its crown, ‘he saw fit to turn into an olive tree. I guess I was lucky.’
Rom stared at the tree with some trepidation. Though it was rooted to the ground, it was much bigger and sturdier than he was. He was reminded of his encounter with the elven oak that nearly suffocated him and shuddered. He would never underestimate a tree again. ‘You don’t, uh, sound as if you suffered too much....’ he said carefully.
‘Well, at first I raged against my cage of bark, and cursed the Mage with every curse I could think of. For the first hundred years I raged. And then, I think I went a little mad. Amazing what that does for your perspective. I only seem to have calmed down the last hundred years or so.’
Rom stared at the tree. ‘You—you said you were one of the Mages that waylaid the Keeper of Storms?’
The tree rustled its leaves pensively. ‘Hmm, yes... that was in my wild days, when I was still young and ambitious….’ He chuckled. Rom had never heard a tree chuckle before. ‘Ambition,’ the tree said in a pensive tone. ‘It is a strange thing. Birds don’t suffer from it. Beasts don’t try and outdo each other. Trees don’t choke each other in search of the light. Except,’ he added, ‘those pesky vines. But enough of those....’
Rom stood listening in amazement. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m talking about humans,’ the tree said. ‘Mages, like I was. Choking the light out of each other like vines, and for what….’ He shook his branches, his leaves rustling. ‘For the best place at the table. The highest pinnacle of the Castle. The power to tell others what to do.’ Even though the tree did not have eyes as such, Rom shuddered as he felt its attention focused on him. ‘They saw you soar like a shooting star, and they didn’t like it one bit. So they began plotting your downfall.’
Rom swallowed. ‘A shooting star.…’ It contrasted sharply with the dark image of the Unnamed One that had imprinted itself on is mind.
The tree rustled. It almost sounded like laughter. ‘There is beauty in power. There was beauty in your rise. But they did not know the true source of your power. They only saw its glittering train of star dust. The fame. The notoriety. They followed in your wake and decided to quench your flame. Because they believed there was not enough power for all. And they wanted it for themselves.’
Rom stared up at the tree, shaking his head in dizziness. ‘So… what is the true source of power?’
The tree shook its branches in laughter. ‘Haven’t you figured that one out yet?’ Rom blinked and slowly shook his head, forgetting for a moment the tree probably could not see him in the usual sense. ‘Then it’s high time you did,’ the tree said, his low, mellow voice sobering. ‘Before it’s too late and history repeats itself.’
Rom felt a coldness creep across his skin, as if a cloud momentarily passed before the sun. ‘What—what are you talking about?’
‘Rom! Rom, where are you? We’re leaving.’ Eldairc’s husky voice carried through the air. Rom shook his head and blinked his eyes. He stared up at the tree. It was silent, immovable as a rock, patiently overseeing the passing of the ages.
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