Sujad Cariotis has stolen the refashioned Obsidian Orb and made himself Lord of Obsidian--a very powerful enemy who is yet only a servant to the real Enemy. But, unknown to Sujad, Peter has made an unusual secret friend to help the Earthlight in its continuing fight against the evil that threatens to swamp the planet.
A Hard Shell Word Factory Release
Laraine's web site can be found at http://lbarker.orcon.net.nz.
"Lord of Obsidian is the second book of the Quest for Earthlight Trilogy. Though I have not read the first book in this series, I felt that the flashbacks and conversations between the various characters gave me a good working knowledge of what had occurred in the first book. Nonetheless, reading this book made me want to read the first book to get a bit more insight into the past interactions between these characters."Tami Brady -- TCM Reviews
A Second Renewal
"NOT THAT way, Aunt Angela! Not that way! The cavern's flooded. You'll be trapped."
Peter's aunt took no notice. Dodging among the broken stone coffins that had once held the bodies of the Reborn, and scrambling over fallen debris, she made her way across the floor of the upper chamber in what had been the City of the Reborn.
"We must get to the statue—she'll drown!"
"It's only a statue!"
Peter stopped short as the full force of his words hit him. There was a time when he would never have described it as "only" a statue. Why did he no longer care what happened to the statue? Then he realised the reason: Sujad Cariotis, self-styled Lord of Obsidian, had already destroyed it. Besides, the safety of his headstrong aunt was his only concern at the moment.
"Come back, Aunt Angela! The statue's not there any more!"
Aunt Angela made no reply. Peter heard her slipping and sliding in the mud and water that had gathered in puddles everywhere. Clattering sounds followed, telling him she was descending the stairs carved into the stone. The footsteps paused.
"The staircase is intact."
"But the statue's not there any more!"
The only reply Peter received was the continuing sound of descending footsteps.
Stifling a dry sob, he made his own way towards the steps. His progress was not as unhindered as his aunt's: bits of the roof fell around him. He began to feel more angry with her than frightened for her safety. What on earth did she think she was doing? She knew the statue had been blasted to pieces by the Enemy. What was the point risking her life in this silly fashion?
He reached the stairs—only to find the water halfway up them. In the dim light of his torch broken pieces of vegetation from the destroyed grotto littered the dark and oily-looking surface.
Carefully he descended the steps not covered by water.
"Aunt Angela! Are you still there?"
His voice echoed in the underground space.
"That's funny," he muttered. "I would've expected the roof to have fallen in." He flashed the torch around, listening intently; but he heard nothing. He touched the water with his foot, surprised to find himself in such a place without shoes. It was icy cold. "Aunt Angela!"
Again he received only the echoes of his own voice in reply.
He flashed the torch around again—and the beam fell on something pale in the water just out of reach. It was a face. Long fair hair floated around it. His heart jumped into his throat before sinking to the pit of his stomach.
Moving carefully, he felt for the first submerged step, then the next and the next. Finally the water reached his waist. He gasped with the chill of it. But the face was within his grasp.