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  Emerald: Good and Evil

  The Stones of Power Book Five

  By M.D. Grimm

  Emerald: Good and Evil

  The Stones of Power Book Five

  By M.D. Grimm

  Edited by Deelylah Mullin

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  Published with permission

  Copyright 2017 M.D. Grimm

  Smashwords Second Edition

  This ebook is licensed fory our personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  About M.D. Grimm

  Other Titles by M.D. Grimm

  Connect with M.D. Grimm

  Prologue

  I curled up tighter on my filthy bed in the cramped room underneath the house, listening to movement above me. My father laughed. My brothers laughed. I smelled the food my mother cooked. My stomach growled like a trulbar and spasmed with the need for food, but I wouldn’t get any. I’d been bad today. I was always bad. He told me I was always bad, and that was why he punished me. My skin stretched tightly over my ribs, and I poked at them. I couldn’t see my brothers’ ribs, or my mom’s. My father was big, a giant who shook me roughly whenever he wanted to. My eyes were accustomed to the dark, and I glanced at my right arm where fresh bruises showed.

  I shivered, the cold rippling into my skin. I never could find any comfort; it was either too hot or too cold. But I liked it better in the summer—then it didn’t matter if my clothes were rags. With every breath my back throbbed, reminding me of the whipping that day. As if I could forget. My mother bandaged me up under my father’s instructions. Can’t have him bleeding to death, he’d said. He’s no use to me dead.

  My mouth pulled into a snarl. I wouldn’t be his tool any longer. I wouldn’t be his weapon. I’d be my own weapon. I’d grow so big, become so powerful, he would be scared of me. I would stomp on him, whip him, dunk his head in the icy water bucket. He wouldn’t be master for long. I wouldn’t cower before him anymore. Come dawn, I would be free.

  I shivered again, my fingers and toes so numb I could barely move them. I tried to wrap the blanket around myself but it was soiled and smelly. Mom rarely washed it. I was rarely washed except for the occasional freezing bath that left my lips oddly blue. I pressed tighter against the wall on the corner of the sagging bed. I wrapped my weak arms around my equally thin legs. At least my face was partially warm, since I pressed it against my legs, hidden under my arms.

  My father laughed again. My jaw clenched—hatred a fire in my blood. I knew what hatred was, I knew what rage was. Oh yes, I did. It was all I felt, all I wanted to feel. It was the only thing that dimmed the pain, that pushed past the humiliation. He thought he could train me and dominate me. He thought he could break me. He wouldn’t. Never. Never. He told me why he did what he did. He told me about my destiny, about his destiny. He told me I would help him conquer the world. He explained it all as he dunked my head in icy water. I could barely hear him over my coughing; my lungs and face burned. He told me my purpose in life. He told me why I was alive. He told me why he’d let me be born.

  I lifted my face slightly as the door to my cell opened. I looked out through my lank hair at the small room, hearing the footsteps of the visitor descending. My bed sat against the steep set of stairs that led down into the room. The door latched from the outside, built into the floor above me. I smelled her before she fully entered the room. My mouth curled in disgust.

  “Lazur?” My mother’s voice quavered. Her footsteps were timid, spineless, just like the rest of her. I hated her as well. She did nothing but look away. Looked away from all he did to me. Looked away and mended the clothes, cooked the food, corralled my brothers. She was the perfect mate to such a horrid monster. She knew what he did was bad. She wouldn’t look away if it were good.

  “Lazur, please come out of the corner. I need to see your back.”

  I debated for half a second before crawling out into the opening, gritting my teeth against any sound of pain. I kept my face lowered and said nothing. I moved over to the middle of the bed, causing it to sink lower, and presented my back to her. She proceeded to clean and re-bandage my wounds. I gripped the blanket, my fingers clenching the ragged material. The pain rolled, wave after wave, through me. My stomach churned and if I’d had anything in it, I would have vomited. Sweat slid down my face and it became hard to breathe. But I never made a sound. He’d hurt me worse if he heard me cry in pain.

  I needed to stay strong. I needed to stay untied. I would escape tonight. I would escape when they were all asleep.

  She walked to the stairs after finishing with me. But then she stopped, turned back slightly. “He does this for all of us.”

  I swallowed the scream I wanted to hurl at her. I glared fiercely at the wall as she walked up the stairs and shut the door. I bared my teeth and let out a snarl I once heard a wild wolf make. I wanted to rip them all to pieces. I wanted to bathe in their blood. I wanted them to suffer, to feel pain and horrible agony. But I would have to grow stronger. Stronger than any of them. Stronger than him.

  I needed my magick.

  I felt night fall. I smelled it in the air. Now was my chance. I’d thought of escape before this night, but my father told me about the beasts in the forests. He told me about the dark, the things that would watch me; the things that would creep out and tear me to pieces, burrow into my flesh. I used to wonder if dying wasn’t a better fate than becoming my father’s weapon. But fear kept me here, on this horrid little farm.

  But I wasn’t afraid now. Not a bit. The Mother had visited me. She’d touched me, talked to me. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. She said she would bless my escape tonight, and I believed her. I would escape. I would be free. I remembered her strange warmth as it blanketed me. I remembered looking into her amazing, sunshine eyes. It was only at that moment when I realized what I felt for my family was pure hatred. It was the opposite of her pure, light warmth. The burning in my blood, the throbbing in my heart: it was hate.

  With the Mother on my side, I couldn’t lose.

  I waited until I felt the house settle. Everyone retired to their bedrooms. I waited a little longer despite my jumpiness, my yearning to be gone. When I couldn’t wait any more, I stood gingerly. I knelt with a wince and lifted my bed slightly to grab the knife I’d managed to steal. It was a real trick to steal anything, as my father never took his eyes off me. Taking a deep breat
h, I hardened my determination. I would escape. Freedom would be mine. No more pain, no more fear. No more hate. This time I would win.

  I crawled to the stairs and climbed them as quietly as I could. Once I reached the top, I listened again for any noise. Nothing. I sat on the top step and stuck the knife between the separation of the floorboards and the door. I slowly slid the knife over to the latch and wiggled it, trying to push the latch up. I was lucky he hadn’t tied me up in my bed. There were some days when I was “good” that I got away with having freedom of movement at night. But the days I rebelled I paid throughout the entire night, bound and gagged like a vicious animal. Well, I would soon show him how vicious I could be.

  The latch popped open, and I sucked in a breath as my heart lurched to my throat. By the Mother, I might escape! This could be the night. Feeling weak but never stopping, I pushed and wiggled, using my body to life the heavy door. I slithered out onto the floor, trying to be as quiet as I could. The sounds of my parents having sex came through their bedroom door. I grimaced and tried to ignore my mother’s sound of strange pain—or was it pleasure?—and my father’s grunts. At least they were occupied. I grabbed the door when only my foot lay between me and freedom. Removing it, I slowly, carefully, lowered the door and flipped the latch back. My heart raced, and my breath came short as I saw the front door and realized I was inches from being free. From being away from the monster.

  But then silence came from my parents’ bedroom. I looked at their door. The grip on my knife tightened. He would be sleepy after sex. I could...by the Mother, I could kill him. Staring at the door through dark hair, I licked my dry lips, swallowed despite a dry throat. I could already feel his sticky blood on my hands, could see it coat my knife. I could defeat him permanently. Standing slowly, I took a silent step away from my exit to freedom. Then another. Then another. I raised the knife, already feeling it puncture his flesh—

  A floorboard creaked behind me. I froze. It wasn’t my parents, but my brothers were just as bad. I turned my head slowly, looking over my shoulder. Olyvre stared back at me. He was only a year older than me. His eyes were wide, scared. I was caught. I was dead. My back began to ache in anticipation of the whip. Olyvre would see the intention in my face, the raised knife in my hand. He would scream, my father would see me, and... I didn’t know what he’d do. Phantom pain rippled through me again.

  But then Olyvre suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the front door. I stumbled as he tugged but kept a firm hold on the knife. I couldn’t believe it. Was this actually happening? Was it a trap?

  “Escape,” he said, his voice shaky and high-pitched. “Escape while you can and don’t come back.”

  He opened the front door and shoved me outside, and I ran despite the trembling in my legs. I gripped the knife in my hand as I ran toward the forest behind our house. I ran into it and continued to run even when my breath came short, my legs shook, and I thought I would collapse. I kept running even when my clothes stuck to my skin, and my wounds began to throb. Then I simply fell to the muddy ground and sobbed with joy, with fear, with the knowledge I was free and scared about what I should do. He would come after me. I had to keep moving. Maybe he was after me even now? What if this had all been a trick, one meant to cause me more punishment?

  But I couldn’t move, not yet. My breaths were ragged, daggers scraping my throat. What was I going to do? What if he found me?

  My eyes popped open. Magick. I needed my magick. My father told me it would manifest at puberty but I couldn’t wait that long. I needed it now. Rising to my knees, I looked around for shelter, my face wet with tears and sweat, my clothes caked with mud. I noticed a cave and crawled over to it, shivering. I entered the gaping black hole and curled up against the wall, right next to the entrance. I dared not go any farther inside, afraid of what could be lurking in there; the creepy things that could burrow into my skin. I continued to shiver and thought if I died, it wouldn’t be so bad. The Mother would guide me to the afterlife, and I would be separated for a very long time from my family. Thoughts of the Mother calmed me. She had stroked my hair just the night before, her large eyes staring at me with warmth, her lips full and soft. Her beauty made me feel safe.

  I shivered harder and put the Mother from my mind. I didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not so soon. My family had to be punished first. I had to kill my father first. They called it vengeance, and I thirsted for it. I would tear them apart. I would be the creepy, monstrous beast in the dark that watched and waited, that ripped and tore. Smiling at the image, I curled more into myself and closed my eyes, eventually falling into a light sleep. Day came too soon and again I feared my father would find me or Olyvre would tell on me. But when midday came and no one found me I realized I might really, truly be free of them. It was exhilarating, but it wasn’t enough! I wanted them to hurt.

  But first, I was hungry. It took me most of the day, but I finally managed to find a squirrel and killed it with my knife. I built a fire and cooked it and—yuck—it tasted disgusting. But I knew I needed strength to survive. My belly full and my goal set, I sat in the cave and closed my eyes, sitting like I’d seen another mage do years ago when my entire family had visited the capital city, Illum. He’d been old and wise looking, and he’d noticed me, staring at me with bright blue eyes. But my father had taken my hand and yanked me away before I could approach the mage. He’d never let me talk to anyone.

  I shoved aside those memories and focused, searched. I didn’t really know what I was doing but the magick was inside me, right? I just had to find it. I knew I’d know it when I felt it. This was my only chance to survive on my own, to get revenge. If my father was right, I would become great and powerful and no one would ever hurt me again. Hardening my determination, I searched. For a long while nothing happened, I just sat there and could feel everything around me, the wind and the rock I sat upon. I could smell the forest and animals, but soon I began to deepen my focus. My consciousness began to sink. I actually felt it shifting, and everything outside my body began to fade as I descended into myself. I was scared, but I didn’t want to stop. I had come too far. Fear would never stop me again. I would be the one to make others afraid.

  I couldn’t see anything around me, and yet I saw every miserable thing done to me. All the pain from my father’s hand, my brothers’, it came rushing up and phantom sensations made me ache. I couldn’t feel the cold wind or the damp rock anymore. I felt warmth on all sides of me, something I’d never felt before. I felt the same as when the Mother visited me. I couldn’t describe it, it was just...safe. That word was foreign. But it seemed to fit.

  I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  I continued to dig deeper and my hunger, my pain, every discomfort, and even my memories faded. I could only hear the beating of my heart like a war drum echoing inside me. And now I couldn’t feel anything. I was weightless and I liked the feeling. I continued down and suddenly felt something just out of my reach. Something warm and vibrating. It brushed against me, gentle and loving, a caress that made the war drum echo louder and quicker. It spoke of safety and revenge. I followed the warmth, and it was as if a brilliant light—a hot and powerful light that seared me even as it beckoned me closer—suddenly blinded me. It wanted me to follow, it wanted me to come and get it.

  I followed and touched it, gripping hard and yanking. It was like a bubble bursting, or maybe a door blowing open. A powerful charge struck me, flung me upward, like a wave flings a small boat into the air. I surged up, riding on the maelstrom of magick I found. My eyes popped open, and I screamed as my entire body convulsed. A brilliant light flooded the cave and the forest, causing the trees and animals to bend away, to protect themselves from the heat and light. I felt like a log in a fire, burned to ash. I frantically looked at my arms, my clothes, and didn’t see smoke. The light vanished, and I collapsed onto the ground, shivering and all the aches came back to the forefront. I felt ill. I needed to pee badly, and my stomach was one large cramp.

  Ho
w much time had passed?

  My magick wrapped around me like a cloak and eased my aches, warming me. This was safe. I knew it was. Was it love? I was almost certain it was since it was so similar to what I felt with the Mother. What other name could describe such a beautiful feeling? It was like the Mother’s beauty had been made into a sensation and put inside me. My magick loved me, and I didn’t feel so cold, so alone. I didn’t feel helpless or vulnerable. I felt strong and happy. Happy... Is this what it felt like?

  And now I had the power to take revenge on those who had harmed me. I grinned wide. After I relieved myself and caught another squirrel, I walked back home, feeling the magick race through my veins and tingle in my fingertips. I would make them pay. I would make them pay for everything. I trusted the magick like I trusted no other, would never trust another. The magick was mine. It only answered to me.

  It would just be my magick and I for the rest of my life. I didn’t need anyone else.

  Chapter One

  Present time

  Aishe

  Something was bothering Morgorth. He’d seemed distracted for the past week. I struggled to let him brood and decide to talk to me voluntarily, but I feared I couldn’t keep silent much longer. He was fidgety and would disappear for long periods of time in the vastness of his castle home, Geheimnis, or into the dark realms of his forest, Vorgoroth. He made excuses, tried to wear a mask of contentment, but I knew him too well to be fooled. And it hurt a little that he would try to keep something from me. Hadn’t I proven time and time again he could trust me absolutely? But sometimes that was simply how he was—he had to mull something over before speaking of it. I still resented it.

  A small fireball shot past my right arm and brought me abruptly back to the present. The heat seared my tunic sleeve. I ducked and rolled before crouching behind a tree. I pressed my back against the trunk before nocking an arrow. I took a deep, calming breath. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, I jumped to my feet and swung around the tree, aimed, and shot. I expected Morgorth to dodge or to form a shield. He didn’t. The arrow punctured his bicep, jerking his body back, causing him to fall to his knees. He cried out with what I suspected to be more shock than pain. At least at first, then he started cursing in several different languages.