Warrior's Heart

Warrior’s Heart

By Melissa Barker-Simpson

Copyright © 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/Viergacht

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

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Preface

2021

Tamaya – (Aged 9)

Safe Haven

As sunlight drifted across the tarmac, highlighting the young mother with the squirming bundle in her arms, Tamaya watched. Perched high atop White Manor, a small shadow within the eaves of the towering building, she ached for the feel of her mother’s arms instead of the memories that came in the form of dreams, haunting her as she slept. She hadn’t smelled her mother’s scent in two years, hadn’t heard the soft music of her voice, but she felt her power. It burned inside her, a comforting weight, though it did not compare to being wrapped in her mother’s embrace.

Instead, she felt the weight of responsibility pressing around her. Being a third-generation witch could take its toll on a girl. But then, trying to live up to the power of her ancestors only fuelled her desire to be the best. So, maybe she was her own worst enemy.

As light hit metal, twinkling against a bracelet - perhaps a charm - on the woman’s slender wrist, Tamaya thought of her grandmother’s cuffs. Thick bands of metal that held the Soltaire family crest. Her grandmother never removed them, perhaps because they were a reminder of her roots, the only link she had to home.

Tamaya wondered how her grandmother had felt, leaving the wonder of Nearyon to settle in the mortal realm. Had she been scared? Did she feel the weight of responsibility bearing down on her, as Tamaya now did? Or had she been swept away by the adventure? Tamaya thought often of her grandparents’ love story. Isabella Soltaire had found a new home the instant she’d met Christopher White. She had given up her royal title, her wealth, and a considerable amount of power to make her life with him. In turn, Tamaya’s grandfather dedicated his life to making Isabella happy. Together they had formed a coven that served as part of the realm defence network.

She blinked back tears, so that the mother and child wavered like a faulty film reel before settling once more. Tamaya watched as their energies danced and swayed. They were bright, colourful – happy. She wondered what the swirling mass of combined energy inside her looked like. Chaotic, no doubt. Still, it eased her to think of the threads of yellow and gold that symbolised her mother’s strength. Growing up, she had watched her mother and father for hours, fascinated by the play of their auras. The way they weaved together, formed a kaleidoscope of colour. It held a special kind of magic. Perhaps not as romantic as that of her grandparents, but her mother and father had loved fiercely.

Tamaya had been raised to understand the responsibility that came with her power, and the dangers of an undisciplined mind. She had learned that the hard way when her parents were killed. In the moment of her mother’s death, her power had transferred to Tamaya. It had snapped into place and overwhelmed her body and mind. She was much too young, and not yet skilled enough to contain it.

If not for her grandmother’s mastery, Tamaya would have followed her parents into the afterlife. Instead, the main source of her magic had been bound within her fragile frame until she could be taught to control it.

The ritual had weakened her, left her bedbound for almost a month, but when she recovered, she no longer felt the excruciating pain of containing her mother’s power. The only thing left was the agony of loss, and the marks on her skin following the ceremony.

She fingered those marks now, though her eyes never strayed from the young mother and her babe. The symbols etched into her skin covered her body in a series of lines that began at the top of her head, travelled down her spine, and bisected both arms and legs.

Tamaya loved and hated them in equal measure. When she touched one of the marks, as she was doing now, her thumb caressing her wrist, she felt her mother’s spirit. But she also felt the energy snaking through her blood like a serpent just waiting to strike.

I thought I’d find you here.

Her grandfather’s voice held a note of amusement that transitioned into a soft groan as he took a seat beside her. Couldn’t you find a better hiding place, short-stuff?

Best view in the house. Her lips curved because she’d said it often, and it was the truth. White Manor was a tall, imposing building, and from her perch she could see for miles. Not that her gaze strayed very far.

Your grandmother sent you a gift. He nudged her with his shoulder, so she was forced to look up into his deep brown gaze. A lock of his hair, an unruly strand, fell across his forehead. She had inherited his curls, though her hair was several shades lighter. It wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited from him. According to her mother, they both shared the same stubborn will, the same light of defiance in their eyes. Tamaya could see it, though her own were green.

She’s worried about you, he said, studying her expression.

But not you. It was a statement, not a question. She saw the energy swirling around him; his love and pride in her.

You’re a White. Solid as a rock. His golden eyes shimmered. Just like my Moira.

At the mention of her mother, Tamaya’s chest tightened. It was like being trapped in a vice when she saw the sorrow that lived in her grandfather’s eyes at the loss of his daughter. He was always truthful with her. He hid nothing of his own pain.

To give herself a moment she looked down, and noticed her gift for the first time. A weapon with so much history, her grandmother kept it locked in a mystical safe. She was being granted permission to handle the sacred blade known as Delphor. It was an automatic response to reach down and caress the smooth handle below her grandfather’s fingers.

He released it when she began to stroke the cool metal, and this time he didn’t hide the amusement. His rich chuckle drifted around her, wrapping her in its comforting weight. I remember the first time you figured out how to get your hands on Delphor. I’ve never seen your grandmother move so fast. Two years old and you were waving it above your head like a valiant warrior of old.

Tamaya smiled at the memory. She had held the axe often since then, and every time, she felt the reassurance of its muted power. Now, everything inside her stilled - including the writhing serpent.

She had always been drawn to the weapon, even before she learned of its beginnings and the significance it held for her grandparents. Delphor had once belonged to a mighty dwarf and was gifted to Tamaya’s grandmother upon his death. It was her duty to protect the axe, until it claimed a new owner. Isabella had fled to the mortal realm to evade those of her kind who wished to harness its power because, owned or not, the axe was still dangerous in the wrong hands.

If you ask me, it’s made a claim on you, her grandfather said, as though reading her thoughts.

She is not yet ready for such a claiming. Tamaya bit her lip to hide the smile as her grandmother settled on her opposite side, gazing at her husband. Though, sometimes I wonder at its restraint. The damn thing was glowing so hard it bordered on a command for freedom.

Then it’s time to begin her training. We’ve waited long enough. Her grandfather put his arm around them both, squeezing gently. She’s ready.

Tamaya held her breath, not sure what response she wanted from the strong, powerful woman at her side. Her anchor in a sea of uncertainty, as her grandfather was the rock that kept them all safe.

Of course she’s ready. She is a White, after all.

Tamaya grinned, unsurprised her grandmother had been listening in. In truth, neither left her alone with her thoughts for long. Not because they feared where they would take her, but because they wanted to steady her on the journey. The weapon beneath her touch wasn’t her only safe haven.

***

2028

Tamaya – (Aged 16)

Sterner Stuff

Tamaya fought against invisible bonds. The nightmare was familiar, a landscape she had visited for over a week. It was always the same. She was trapped in a darkened room with bare walls and scarred floors. Her arms were secured above her head, her feet manacled in a way she could not touch the ground. Her arms bore her weight, her joints pulled painfully tight. Every part of her hurt.

She tensed when the scene changed. Usually, she was alone. This time there was another in the room with her, and she felt the menace before she saw the sharp evidence of it in the swirling energy around him.

It was near impossible to still her fear, to try to interpret what was happening. Why the dream continued to haunt her, for the torture felt as real as a memory in her waking hours.

Something else was different, too. It took a second to process it. The man now approaching her had to tip his head to meet her gaze. Even suspended as she was, her bare feet a few inches from the ground, he should have towered above her. Tamaya barely topped 5 feet.

Before she could figure it out, her attention caught on the object in his hand. It glowed with evil intent. She felt the heat from the branding iron before he touched it to her flesh and her mind fought the inevitability of it.

Pain speared through her chest, a white-hot spike she felt, heard, and smelled as the skin began to sizzle.

A scream tore from her throat, self-preservation kicking in as she forced herself from the nightmare.

It wasn’t a surprise to realise her body was covered in sweat. What did come as one hell of a shock was the angry red mark she discovered glowing on her chest. It was branded into her skin, the heat of it as real as it had been in the dream.

What the hell?

Tamaya rolled out of bed in a fluid movement, despite her still aching joints. She had grown accustomed to the aftermath of the nightmare, the residue of pain that made her stiff and weak. She usually only felt this way after a sparring session with her cousin when they had both pushed themselves in training and welcomed the consequences.

Turning to the clock, she saw it was a little after 3am. Too early to wake her grandmother, and too late to hope to find company elsewhere. She thought of Delphor, or Del as she affectionately called the weapon, but decided against taking the easy way out. What she needed was to purge the tightly coiled energy within her, so she headed to the training centre. A good workout would also ease her muscles and help quiet her chaotic mind. In the seven days she’d been dreaming of captivity, hoping to learn why it felt so important, she’d discovered nothing. Even now, with the real manifestation of the dream branded into her skin, she had no idea what to make of it.

Grabbing a pair of loose cotton pants, she pulled them on, leaving them low on her hips to protect the tender skin of her stomach. She decided against a t-shirt, but pulled out a bra and clean bandanna from a drawer. She had long since given up trying to tame her wild mane, so her collection of bandannas was a necessary part of her wardrobe. That done, she left her room and the dark energy that seemed to have followed her from sleep.

When she got to the gym, she took her frustration out on the fancy equipment before moving to a more satisfying workout. Tamaya pummelled the smooth, warn leather until her arms were the equivalent of noodles and the fiery red bandanna pulled low on her forehead was drenched. It didn’t help her mood. She still wanted to unleash her magic and ride the wave of her anger. An anger that wasn’t entirely her own. But hitting her grandfather’s punching bag was better than putting a fist through the wall. Not literally. She could hold her own in battle, but her bones were fragile. No, the type of punch she held back was a fist of powerful energy, strong enough to puncture brick and stone.

The slight creak of the door alerted her to company. She didn’t need to turn to know it was her grandmother, but before she did, Tamaya reached out with her senses.

It was an automatic response, a defence against the news that would one day rock her foundations. Her grandfather was dying. He had fought his last battle with cancer, and no amount of magical intervention could heal him now. His mortal soul wouldn’t take additional treatment. Not when his body had been fighting on and off since his teens.

Tamaya hadn’t learned until recently the true extent of his childhood illness. Christopher White had spent much of his adolescence confined to a bed. If not for his formidable spirit, he would never have made it into manhood. It was during his second period of remission, in his early thirties that he met Isabella Soltaire. The cancer came back two years later. It was only the love they shared, coupled with the power she possessed, that had given him the additional forty years. Tamaya knew he would continue fighting until his last breath for the chance to have one more day with his family.

It was bad tonight, her grandmother said, taking a seat on the step leading down to the training area.

Yes. The dream still lingered. The smell of sweat, blood and fear, still coating her throat so the words came out hoarse. She moved forward to stretch out on the floor, and removed the bandanna before she laid her head in her grandmother’s lap. A deep sense of peace drifted in. It was comfort she sought, an acceptance she always found under the loving stroke of her grandmother’s fingers.

Her eyes drifted closed, releasing the tears she had refused to shed until it was safe.

They didn’t speak, for this was a ritual they both took solace in. The White women were strong, and they persevered no matter the obstacle. But there were times they needed the strength of each other, and her grandmother had been soothing Tamaya’s hurts since she was a young girl with unruly curls. Those curls were still a handful, yet she liked to think of them as an external symbol of her inner rebel. Even her stubborn locks smoothed out under her grandmother’s tender care.

The dream went further tonight, she admitted. But if there is a purpose to the nightmares, I have yet to find it.

Our enemies have tried many inventive ways to weaken our foundations. Perhaps it is time to sever the connection it has on your mind.

Tamaya sighed, wishing she could push back reality a little while longer. I welcome your guidance. She didn’t mention the physical manifestation that had followed her out of the dream, though she couldn’t explain why she held her silence.

Then, let it be done. This time, as Tamaya felt the pull of her grandmother’s fingers through her hair, she felt the surge of power vibrating against the strands.

Let us speak of simpler things, her grandmother said, even as she worked to dispel the nightmare. Kobi told us you finally agreed to go out with your young suitor.

Her cousin had a big mouth. Yes, he wore me down in the end. Tamaya smiled as her grandmother’s fingers stilled. He was the perfect gentleman.

That earned her an unladylike snort from the matriarch of their family. Why do you make that sound like an insult?

Not at all. David is harmless, he simply doesn’t have the disposition to accept who and what I am.

Her grandmother gave an abrupt laugh, a sound Tamaya hadn’t heard in so long it felt like a gift. And that’s not an insult?

I didn’t intend it to be. It’s more about how little I fit in outside these walls. David wasn’t repelled by the stories that were told about her family, as most were, but he considered her fragile, and he had reacted with barely concealed horror at her blunt nature up close. She didn’t want to think about how quickly, if politely, he had ended their date. In truth, Tamaya had little in common with her peers. She had trained for years to prepare for her role within the coven. Her fierce spirit was often misinterpreted or overlooked.

I cannot say I’m happy about that, for you deserve to experience life to its fullest. We are more than warriors, sweet mayflower, but you are young yet. There is time to discover the wonders of the world.

I’ve experienced many wonders through your eyes, grandmother. She sighed, wanting to hear more of those stories. Tell me again about how you met grandfather.

There was a moment of silence, and Tamaya wished she could recall the words. Her grandmother’s pain was heavy in the air. It was a wonder she had left her husband’s side.

She was about to take back the request, when her grandmother spoke.

You were not the first young rebel in the family, and you won’t be the last, she began, as she always did. I drove my parents to distraction, always sneaking into the mortal realm because it seemed so much brighter than my own.

It relieved Tamaya to hear the affection in her voice. Perhaps the tale would ease them both. She knew her grandmother missed her homeland, it was evident in the way she described Nearyon. Isabella White came from a long line of powerful sorcerers, and had been born in a land rich with colour and life. Tamaya’s favourite tales, besides the magic and adventure of her grandmother’s youth, involved a region known as Ionitha. A place where the only limits to a person’s power was their imagination. But right now, she wasn’t thinking of the scenes she could conjure in Ionitha, or the dreams she could bring to life, she was thinking about a human boy named Christopher. Her grandfather.

I used to hide here, whenever my responsibilities became too much. When I was old enough, I was expected to serve my uncle. His kingdom was vast, and his enemies always one step closer to claiming his throne.

The sound of her grandmother’s voice did its job. It soothed her, pulled her into the story. That was what it felt like, a story. It was hard to associate her grandmother’s previous life with the woman she now knew. Perhaps it was because she fought so hard to shelter her children from it.

"The day I met your grandfather, I was sent on a mission by my uncle.