Rise of a Black Flame
by
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"I told you once before. None of his line survives.” John countered. "All except for one, in which case the mirror must have reached him. One that must have been on Earth, or Lord Jason would not have gone to the trouble of bringing someone from Earth to Death.” Rache said, thinking through every word. "Perhaps another that escaped before me.” John excused. "Or your daughter's child.” Rache let the blow fall. Both John and Mahalaleel jumped. “My daughter has nothing to do with him.” John defended. “She is already dead. I told you this once before.” "Dead on a stormy night. Why else would you kill Lord Jason if he had not interfered somehow with your life, sentenced your daughter to Death, or something?” Rache concluded. Oddly enough, John smiled. “Or something.” "Then you came here, the furthest place Lord Jason or anyone seeking revenge could find you or your daughter's child. You have been protecting the closest heir ever since then, haven't you?” Rache concluded. "Who would I be protecting? Only Mahalaleel lives with me.” John refuted. "Someone who you can see every day and watch over. Someone who you wonder why you're protecting. Someone who Mahalaleel would rather have dead than teach the Sightroth too. And why? Because it is the fighting style of the gifted.” Rache finished grandly. “The son your daughter named Rache, meaning `heir' in the Argot.” Mahalaleel grew pale, and John became speechless. Junsei stared at him unbelievingly, as if he had just told her he was actually born a frog. Rache could understand another meaning for Mahalaleel's calling him a monster. He was half born a tyrant. John swallowed and smiled. "You can't be sure of that. You would have died if you touched the black mirror.” John reasoned. "You should have told me I had a grandfather sooner.” Rache said coldly. He hadn't meant his voice to become cold, but as he spoke he was slowly realizing the truth as well. "Listen to me boy! You would have died if you touched it. He can't have come back!” John shouted. Rache smiled as his eyes began to water. John rose up angrily and took the collar of Rache's shirt and hauled him up the wall. He shouted the same words over, but Rache barely heard them. His hand glided to his pants pocket and reached inside. Slowly he raised the black mirror to John's sight. John dropped him and stepped back quickly as the others spied around him and saw the object in his hand. "He is back. I know it for a fact.” Rache said powerfully.
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About the Book
A Considerate Warning
Sometimes we are moved to break laws even though doing so might cost us our lives. This book before you is the evidence of what I hope to have done in defying this world and unjust rule. If you read it or keep it, you take part in what I have done and are responsible with my hopes and aspirations. Weather it is accomplished or not does not matter. You are guilty.
My name is Maggie, and I have written the record of things that might have been, may be happening, might have passed, or may never be. The world I live in is not yours, yet I know your world. It may so be that even this story reaches Earth as nothing more than a fantasy. Until then it resides in a similar world called Kush-Rangla, connected to your own through Death. All that I say may be true and may be false, for I cannot be sure that it will be, or that is has been as the case may be.
Of this portion, I cannot write all that I have seen or heard. This was not the beginning of my world, nor its end. It was not its middle either. I write of one man of legend. I write of Kush-Rangla and a time in its history where everything was undone. Time was taken back, as it were, but it was not.
I am your narrator.
About the Author
S. S. Baker, also known as Stephanie Baker, has lived in Idaho her whole life. Stephanie is now 21, married, and finishing a Bachelor's degree in historical studies. She mentioned that “no matter the story told, where or when, people were people” and thus history was best. She has told me that her book was "not her own" that she "did not write it intentionally". The credit goes to two individuals found in the writing itself who visited her throughout dreams and daydreams "instructing" her to write the words and describe the images they showed. It may sound crazy, but somewhere out there, if nothing else, a voice in her head, wanted these words written.