The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Read online

  The Age of Darkness

  Wrak Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book One

  Leigh Roberts

  Dragon Wings Press

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Please Read

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2021 Leigh Roberts Author

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Copyright owner.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, creatures, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, creatures, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

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  Editing by Joy Sephton http://www.justemagine.biz

  Cover design by Cherie Fox http://www.cheriefox.com

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  Sexual activities or events in this book are intended for adults.

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  ISBN: 978-1-951528-20-1 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-951528-22-5 (paperback)

  Dedication

  To those of you who have joined the journey anew, and for those continuing on the journey with me from Series One, to answering the question—

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  What If…

  Chapter 1

  The sunset bathed the rolling verdant countryside around Kthama with a warm golden light. Moc’Tor breathed in the humid air that drifted up from the Great River below. His heavy full-body silver-white coat was tinged a pale orange by the setting rays, and he stood at nearly fourteen feet tall, with broad shoulders atop a thick muscular core. There was little that could stand in his way.

  Moc’Tor gazed out across the rocky mountains and rolling hillsides from his favorite look-out place that was perched high at the peak of one of the paths leading to the entrance of their cavern home. Warmer days were coming, and with the Mothoc’s heavy fur coats, the hot weather would be a burden to them all.

  The Mothoc who counted Kthama their home considered themselves deeply blessed by the Great Spirit to live in such an expansive underground cave system situated amid a land overflowing with riches. Moc’Tor’s community had lived at Kthama forever. The story handed down was that many ages ago, the Mothoc had been formed whole by the hand of the Great Spirit from the dust of their world, Etera, to serve as the protectors of all creation.

  As leader at Kthama, Moc’Tor’s responsibilities were great. Added to that was his role as Etera’s Guardian, and at times the mantle he wore weighed on him heavily. He had been Leader for some time now. The role was passed early to him by his father, Sorak’Tor, who was still alive. Sorak’Tor had seen great things in Moc’Tor and wanted him to have, for as long as possible, the additional benefit of a seasoned Leader’s guidance.

  It was years, though, since Sorak’Tor had been healthy. The Mothoc lived long lives, but they did not live forever. Moc’Tor watched his father’s slow decline with great sadness. All would feel the loss of Sorak’Tor deeply. Moc’Tor put the thoughts of his father’s deterioration out of his mind as he heard footsteps behind him. He turned from the view to see his First Choice, E’ranale, approaching.

  “It is time,” she said.

  Moc’Tor sighed. “There are difficult times ahead; I can feel it. The Order of Functions is requiring more of my strength than ever before. Pray that I have the wisdom to guide our people successfully through the storm that is coming.”

  E’ranale regarded her mate. She could only imagine the pressure he felt as the Leader and Guardian. As with all the Mothoc, the flow of the Aezaitera also coursed through her veins. The Aezaitera was the very creative life force of the Great Spirit—the breath of life that continuously entered and exited Etera’s realm.

  But E’ranale was not a Guardian. Her physical body was not a vehicle called to bear the burden of supporting the Order of Functions, the creative blueprint of the Great Mind, which was constantly adjusting and reordering to maintain the perfect orchestration of life in their realm.

  She placed her hand on Moc’Tor’s shoulder. “I can see that something has been taking its toll on you. Come. Let us get this over with. We can rest together at the end of the day, and I will minister to you.”

  Moc’Tor and E’ranale made their way through the Great Entrance, passing the ever-present drips of moisture from the stalactites above, and headed for the Great Chamber.

  Equally as vast as the Great Entrance, today the Great Chamber of Kthama was filled to capacity. Moc’Tor started to push a way through to the front to address his people, and a path opened as they realized it was their Leader. As he stood at the front, hundreds of pairs of deep-set eyes stared back at him, waiting for him to speak. The huge room was a sea of dark-haired bodies, crushed together shoulder-to-shoulder. He could barely tell where one began and the next ended. When one moved, the others pressed against them had to move in unison. Ordinarily, it would not have been this crowded, but both the males and the females had been assembled together for this announcement.

  With the thick bark-covered Leader’s Staff grasped firmly, Moc’Tor stepped up onto the raised platform he always used when addressing the crowd. “I am not sure everyone is here, but no matter. If anyone is absent, you can tell them later about today’s announcement. If you look around, you will see that our community has grown considerably since my father handed the rule over to me. Unfortunately, it will not be long before we reach Kthama’s limits. It is time we face the fact that we must look for another home. Scouts are out now as I speak. My hope is that they will find a place not too far from here where we can all share Kthama’s bounty. Our food stores are full, but we have a long winter ahead, and we are in a race against time to expand our living space.”

  Moc’Tor stepped closer to the crowd but remained on the raised platform. “Does anyone have any questions?”

  Toniss spoke up from the front row, “Are we leaving Kthama, Adik’Tar?”

  “I doubt we will find another place that is big enough for us to leave Kthama together. We are hoping to find another dwelling nearby so that we can keep our community together even though some of us will relocate.”

  “How will it be decided who leaves here?” continued Toniss. “We have relationships, family.”

  “I do not yet know. But I will do my best to be fair.”

  The gathered Mothoc exchanged glances. Above their dark eyes, Moc’Tor could see furrowed brows.

  “But we have always lived here; this is our home, Guardian,” Toniss said.

  “I know it is not easy to accept,” Moc’Tor addressed the young female. “It will be hard for those who must leave. But we will still be one people.”

  Dochrohan, First Guard, approached to stand with Moc’Tor. His heavy dark hair covering
contrasted sharply with Moc’Tor’s silver-white Guardian’s coat.

  “Our stories tell us that we have always lived here,” Moc’Tor went on. “But we can no longer hold onto what was. We do know this area is rich with unexplored hillsides. We have never needed to look for another cave system, but I am confident we will find something suitable for expansion.

  “I will not order you to stop mating, but until we find more space, I am hard-put to justify the wisdom in continuing to reproduce. We do not know how long it will take to find another livable space. When we do, it will no doubt have to be modified. In the meantime, every offling decreases the living space for us all. I will let you know as soon as I have something to report.”

  Moc’Tor finished his speech with a few words of encouragement and stepped down. The crowd parted just enough for him to pass through. Even as one of the tallest of the Mothoc, Moc’Tor felt smothered as he pressed his way through all the bodies.

  After much discussion, the crowd dispersed, glad to be freed from the cramped assembly.

  E’ranale, First Guard Dochrohan, and Oragur, the Healer, weaved through the crowd, following the Leader outside, where they stood to speak.

  “Quite a bit of talk afterward,” Moc’Tor said. “It is obvious no one wants to leave Kthama. Who can blame them? We are blessed with our extensive tunnel system, the Mother Stream that sweeps through our lower level bringing fresh water and air, the large number of smaller caves for separate living spaces.”

  “This is their home,” E’ranale said. “This is all they have known. As far back as memory goes, their parents and their parents’ parents walked and lived within these same walls.”

  Moc’Tor paused, lost in thought, before continuing. “When did the last scouts go out?”

  It was Dochrohan who spoke. “Two days ago. It is a long process. But I am confident we will find something. Like Kthama, any other entrances might be covered over and difficult to find.”

  “That is a good point, Dochrohan,” said Moc’Tor. “But I doubt there will be another location with as rich a vortex as that beneath us here. Now, I have decided to visit the other colonies up the Mother Stream to see if they are also nearing capacity. I should be leaving in a few days.”

  “The crowd has probably dispersed; do you want to go back inside?” he asked E’ranale as Dochrohan and Oragur left.

  “Not yet. I prefer it out here; the fresh air is a gift.” She paused. “Toniss is seeded again.”

  Moc’Tor sighed. “I cannot bring myself to order them not to mate.”

  “It would be a hard adjustment. The males have always mated whenever they want to. I am not sure what the females would say, but many of them are tired of being constantly seeded, I can tell you that much.” E’ranale took a deep breath. “My mate, there is no good time to tell you this, but I am also seeded.”

  Moc’Tor knew he should be happy, but this was not good news. Especially after telling his people they were near capacity and that more offling only added to the problem. But he did not want to hurt his mate’s feelings.

  He forced a smile.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  “It is not your fault, E’ranale. Only the Great Spirit decides when the male’s seed will take root and produce an offling. And if anyone is at fault, it is me for not being able to stay off you,” he said.

  E’ranale was his First Choice. His two other mates lived with her in the smaller cave system next to Kthama. Only during assemblies like today’s did the males and females mix freely. At least, now that E’ranale was seeded, he could mate with her at will. Later on, when the time came that E’ranale was too uncomfortable, he could pick one of his other females to mate if need be. But I need to abstain from the others, considering our problem. Moc’Tor knew it would not be difficult for him; it was only E’ranale whom he truly desired.

  He ran his hand over the back of his head and smoothed the top of his hair, a habit he had picked up from his father. There was no mistaking Moc’Tor, with his silver coloring. His special status made him particularly attractive to the females, who frequently offered themselves to him. However, for some time now, Moc’Tor had limited his mating to three. E’ranale was his First Choice, and as time passed, he had stopped mating with his Second and Third Choice unless they presented themselves to him. He was content with E’ranale, and they shared far more than a relationship of physical release. She was more than his mate; she was his friend, his confidant, and in many ways, his chief counsel. He would choose his successor from her offling, although, in the lifespan of a Guardian, Moc’Tor was still very young.

  While they were still talking, Drit came out to set the wood for the evening fire. The Mothoc did not allow fire within the cave system of Kthama. Smoke accumulated at the top of the caves was difficult to clear since there was little circulation other than whatever breeze came up from the Mother Stream. But one of Moc’Tor’s favorite ways to relax was sitting around a fire at night, enjoying the canopy of stars that blanketed the dark sky, even in warmer weather. It was perfectly safe, for the Mothoc had few natural predators, and hardly any had ever known fear.

  Before long, Drit had a roaring fire going, sparked to life using his flint and striking stones. He always carried them in a pouch slung over his shoulder. Drit was the Fixer, the chief toolmaker, and brother to Oragur the Healer.

  The last star to appear found them and a few others still sitting around the fire talking. “What if we cannot find another dwelling, Moc’Tor?” asked Oragur.

  “If we cannot, then we will have to limit mating. It will be an unpopular directive and one I am not sure they will follow. The males are used to mating whenever they wish. Perhaps by the time I get back from visiting the other communities, our scouts will have returned with good news. Even if we split the community into different living areas, we still need to address the uncontrolled seeding of the females, or in a few generations from now, we will be right back where we are.”

  “If they report they have found a place before you return, what is your wish?”

  “Move forward. Take a party and examine the place more closely. See what modifications would have to be made and report to me when I return. There is no use wasting time while I am away,” replied Moc’Tor.

  E’ranale rose to leave. “I am returning to my quarters.”

  “Stay with me tonight,” said Moc’Tor. “There is now no harm in doing so.”

  E’ranale nodded. “As you wish. Wake me when you come in; I am going to rest.”

  “Why do you not mate with Ushca or Ny’on?” asked Oragur once E’ranale had left.

  “This is the problem, Oragur. If I turn to Ushca and Ny’on, they will get seeded again. We are in this situation because we have no mastery over our desires. Our females are constantly having offling. Perhaps after I return from the other communities, I will have some new ideas about how to deal with it. At least some of them must be facing the same challenge.”

  The Mothoc stayed within their own communities for the most part. There was no conflict between them as the land was rich with resources and no need for competition. As a race, they were peaceful. Though the Mothoc were bound to protect and care for their neighbors, the Others, the two groups had virtually no contact. The Mothoc’s seldom let themselves be known to the Others, and they shared no common language. The Others knew nothing of the extent to which the Mothoc watched over them, on both natural and spiritual levels.

  A visit to the other Mothoc communities, especially by the Guardian, would stir much talk and concern. As a result, Moc’Tor rarely undertook it.

  He tossed some acorns into the flames, watching the embers scatter as they landed. “I will see you at daybreak, then,” he said to Oragur. He rose and retired to his quarters where E’ranale was already sleeping.

  She woke when he slipped in next to her on the thick mass of grass and leaves.

  “Do you wish to mate, Moc’Tor?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and rolling over toward him.


  “No, not tonight. I want to talk to you. Get your ideas as the speaker for the females.”

  E’ranale propped herself up on one elbow.

  “There are too many of us. And I do not know how to stop it,” Moc’Tor said. “There is no guarantee we will find another cave system to meet our needs. At the rate we are going, we will be impossibly overcrowded in one more generation. Is there any talk among the females about this?”

  “The females know it is getting crowded. They worry, too, about what will happen. But the males do not let up on them. The moment one of them becomes seeded, they mate with another. It feels like all we do is produce offling, one after the other.”

  “I am open to ideas,” he answered, pulling her in close to him.

  “I am afraid the males will not support any change. But I believe the females would.”

  “What if, for the time being, a male can only ever mate with one specific female?”

  E’ranale remained silent, considering the thought. “That would certainly cut down on the seedings.”

  “Yes, although it would not be a very popular decision. But if it were only for a short time until we find another living space—”

  “You know the males better than I do, but I think it will take a compelling argument or a strong hand to convince some of them. The females will support it, but it seems we have no say.”