The Half-Hearts Chronicles Read online

  The

  Half-Hearts

  Chronicles

  By

  KEALOHILANI

  Artwork by Steven Squire and Kealohilani

  Markados Whovern Adventures

  An Imprint of Keep It 100 Books

  Text copyright © by Kealohilani

  Illustrations copyright © by Kealohilani

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Markados Whovern Adventures

  An Imprint of Keep It 100 Books

  Henderson, Nevada

  Visit The Half-Hearts Chronicles Website at www.HalfHearts.com

  First Paperback Edition: July 3, 2019

  First Kindle Edition: July 3, 2019

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Summary: When twenty-one-year-old college senior, Lani Thomas, is yanked out of her modern world and its relative safety, she finds herself inexplicably behind enemy lines in Alamea, swept into the middle of Vranah’s brutal final war for that planet— a war which will conquer both Alamea and Earth— with no idea if she can ever return home to California, or if home will even exist if Vranah wins.

  (Paperback) Library of Congress Control Number: 2019906635

  (Paperback) ISBN-13: 978-0-9909770-6-3

  Full-Color Map at www.HalfHearts.com

  Pronunciation Key and Guide in the back of the book (Right before “About The Authoress”)

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Jared Kealoha Ulapatasi Manase Fotu, the first real-life Half-Heart to inspire this series as well as the character of Jharate— and the first man ever to tell me that my work should be published.

  What People Are Saying About Half-Hearts

  …a wondrous world of magic and imagination. Half-Hearts is right up there with The Hobbit, Chronicles of Narnia, Wizard of Oz, and Harry Potter! ~ Lisa Linsky, voting member of the Grammys

  The female Tolkien. ~ Mark Kubr, stunt man and actor from the Iron Man movies, about the authoress, Kealohilani

  For those of us who grew up with Harry Potter, our next adventure awaits! ~ Shaun Laqeretabua, composer

  Too many movies nowadays try to show the ugly and the dirty “reality” of our world and our daily lives. What I love about Half-Hearts is that it inspires you to dream again. ~ Khotan, actor and international soap star sensation

  In this literary masterpiece of… [Heaven] only knows how many words - four of them jumped out at me: “magically prepared” & “gastronomic nirvana.” These two pairs sum up the whole succinctly. I literally was transported to another world [and] I am now having severe Alamea withdrawals. Never in my life have I eagerly anticipated Books two and three of any series which such ferocity. ~ Veronica Grey, popular TV guest and critically acclaimed author.

  I could not put it down. As I read it, it took me on an adventure… I went through a broad range of emotions; exhilaration, anxiety, grief (I wept), anger, fear, the whole gamut and even felt/experienced the joy & serenity of true love and its confusions and mysteries when challenged! ~ Sakura Thompson Williams, Film Development Consultant

  It certainly is a magical world that could have the success of Harry Potter or Twilight… I knew that it would be good but I didn't know that it would be THIS good. The characters are fantastic! ~ Tiffany Hofstetter, actress

  Book One of the Half Hearts [Chronicles] is an epic tale of love and loss, good and evil, and the fight for justice, woven together beautifully by Kealohilani… Half-Hearts will leave you touched, tearful, hopeful, and shocked, making you desperately wish the next novel was in your hands so you could find out what happens next to the characters you have become so involved with throughout book one.~ Amanda Meredith, author and blogger

  So awesome! I loved every bit of it. I felt all the emotions… It was written so well. And [the] vision and imagination is incredible! I believe this book will help so many [people because] it’s very inspiring! ~ Jay Mataele, professional dancer

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  What People Are Saying About Half-Hearts

  Prelude to an Onslaught

  Two Down

  Arch-Nemesis

  Loose Ends

  Reality Check

  Through a Glass, Darkly

  The Three Musketeers

  And a Little Bit of Pixie Dust…

  Permanent Residents?

  Aloha Means… What?

  Terrible Reception

  A Dash of Stockholm Syndrome

  Tactical Error

  Excellent Form— But How's Your Footwork?

  Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire— Out of the Fire into the…

  Rats on a Sinking Ship

  Drastic Times Call For…

  First Kill

  Aftermath

  False Sense of Security

  Legacy

  Vulnerable

  The Pure of Heart

  Undetected

  A Good Way to Get Killed

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgements

  Pronunciation Guide

  About the Authoress

  Prelude to an Onslaught

  Prologue

  The entire world is crashing down around the human race— and yet no one is aware of it.

  Although, perhaps it would be more correct to say that no one on Earth is aware.

  Even now, as you read these pages, there are things happening around you that you accept as normal, as a sign of the times, or simply as the reality of the world in which we now live.

  You, like everyone else on Earth, have no idea that you have lost every ounce of control.

  That at any second, your very life could be prematurely ended by an unseen force and that your death would raise no more suspicion than any other death on Earth ever does.

  It would merely appear to be the way that life is— the way this world is.

  Inexplicable deaths will continue to haunt Earth every single second of every single day— with the inhabitants living on in complete ignorance of the true cause.

  Rapidly increasing numbers of good people on Earth are being sent to their graves long before their time.

  Deadly heat waves, massive hurricanes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, gigantic floods, devastating fires, typhoons— wars, terrorism, disease, murder, car wrecks, death by “natural causes,” accidents— and almost innumerable similar events are no coincidence.

  And it is only going to accelerate.

  The moment the Evil One completes his conquest of Earth’s sister planet, Alamea— Earth’s destiny will no longer be its own.

  Destavnia is the last kingdom of Alamea he needs to conquer in order to secure his conquest of both worlds.

  But there is a ray of hope.

  One of the primal legends of Alamea promises that “If two of the Half-Hearts are completed, The Great Evil may be defeated forever.”

  Although love is already the strongest force in the universe, a Half-Heart completion creates a bond that is unalterably sealed and inexplicably powerful.

  Many on Alamea now feel that the rescue promised by the legend was never true— or they have forgotten it altogether.

  Earth knows nothing of it at all.

  Despite the daring, the defiant, and the desperate efforts of millions of Alameans, the fate of
billions and billions of people in both worlds now rests in the hands of the twenty-four Half-Hearts.

  And not even the Half-Hearts themselves know who they are.

  Two Down

  Chapter One

  Aman and a woman run through the dense and darkening forest, dodging branches and leaping over rocks and roots as they race for safety— intermittently changing course to avoid tripping over the numerous dead bodies in their path.

  The cold wind whips at their faces, stinging their eyes as they continue to barrel forward, struggling to stay together. A stifled cry behind the man stops him dead in his tracks. He whirls to see the woman as she falls to her knees a few yards behind him. Rushing to her side, he catches her before her face can hit the ground.

  “Sarana!”

  “I will survive this but you must act quickly, Keanu!”

  Keanu now sees the deadly arrow buried deep in her right shoulder and cringes at the thought of what he must do. He gently lays her on her left side and instantly grasps the shaft of the arrow.

  “Brace yourself, my love.”

  Sarana takes a deep breath and waits. She flinches at the excruciating vibration as she hears him break the fletching off the arrow, and closes her eyes. She grimaces as Keanu prepares to shove the shaft through the back of her right shoulder and out the other side.

  Birds flee from the tops of the dark trees like a fluttering black explosion as Sarana’s tortured scream echoes through the shadowy woods. Keanu pulls the rest of the arrow through and tosses it into the forest. He quickly tears the long white sleeves off of his shirt and bandages her shoulder tightly.

  “I will carry you.”

  “I can run beside you.”

  “You are injured!”

  “There is no time, my angel.”

  Keanu sighs, carefully helps her up, and they return to their frenzied dash. They cross a small bridge over a bubbling stream and sprint deeper into the woods. Sarana blanches and falters in her steps.

  “Keanu…”

  “Sarana!”

  Sarana collapses and Keanu struggles to slow her descent to the forest floor as he drops to his knees and pulls her into his muscular arms.

  “Save yourself… My fate is sealed…”

  “I will not leave you!”

  “You must!”

  “No! We live or die together!”

  Keanu picks up Sarana to run with her in his arms. He scans the deep forest purposefully— knowing that they are mere seconds from the underground hideaway, where they will be safe for the night.

  But before he can take even one step forward, the two of them are surrounded by twenty soldiers— clad in shiny armor that reflects the remnants of the setting sun through the thick black trees— weapons drawn and holding ready.

  The Captain of the Guard steps forward until his face is nearly touching Keanu. He meets Keanu’s seething glare with a cold determined stare.

  “Turn around and take her back to the castle.”

  Keanu stays where he is with his jaw clenched and his eyes locked on the captain’s soulless orbs.

  “Move now, or you both die here!”

  The Captain of the Guard takes a step back and folds his arms. Keanu’s eyes move back to Sarana’s. He sighs heavily as he slowly turns around. Walking back, in the direction from which he had just been running, he keeps his head held high and his eyes fixed on some far-off point in the distance— holding Sarana close to his heart.

  “Faster!” the Captain of the Guard demands, shoving Keanu so roughly that he nearly falls forward onto the body of one of his fallen friends.

  Keanu regains his balance and takes a deep breath as his muscles tense and his eyes close for a split second. He straightens back up and marches forward faster, at the speed demanded of him, remaining silent even as the soldiers take turns pushing him to make him keep pace.

  As Keanu sees the castle appear from behind the thick trees, he shudders. He can barely recognize his childhood home. For centuries this very castle stood as a symbol of freedom, justice, and peace… Now the sparkling white stone walls have turned grey and ashen as if covered in soot.

  The grand spires, which once caught the glory of the sun and gleamed under the light of the moon, look like evil creatures conspiring beneath the artificially-darkened sky. Keanu glares at the vast magically-summoned clouds as they encircle the two topmost turrets of his home, striking the ground constantly with hundreds of lightning bolts.

  He feels his stomach turn over as he thinks of the increased power that this access to energy will give to any dark spell Vranah may use. He lowers his head and fixes his eyes on the ground in front of him. It was better that my home should have been destroyed!

  Vranah’s fleshless, boneless, fingers are clenched into tight fists as he storms about on the empress green marble floor of the large rectangular throne room, beneath a cathedral ceiling more than fifty feet above. The shape Vranah has chosen to take on now is his most common form.

  He appears to be a man in his mid-forties— a tall menacing figure with sharp features and rugged good looks. His eyes are cold and dark like deep empty wells.

  His short sable-colored hair is greying ever so slightly at the temples, as are his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His slightly-tan pseudo-skin is so convincing that no one looking at him would ever know that he is only a spirit.

  He walks tall as he glides forcefully about the room, with his simulated clothes flawlessly mimicking the rippling motion of tangible fabric as he moves. His shirt looks as if it is made of shimmering grey silk, embroidered with silver thread. It has no buttons and the embellished neckline opens in a vertical silver slit to the center of his sternum. The long, wide sleeves fall to his wrists. Black pants disappear into black leather boots.

  A sleeveless tunic-style black satin robe rests on his shoulders and flows nearly to the floor in the front, trailing two feet behind him in the back. Intertwining serpents, which line the outer edges of the robe in emerald embroidery, appear to glint whenever light “touches” them. A silver serpent ring with blood red eyes adorns his right index finger.

  Vranah crosses over to a wide, hundred-foot-long deep-plush royal purple carpet that leads from the large bronze double doors to five short stairs going up to a raised platform, bearing two golden thrones upholstered in Tyrian purple damask. Long matching velvet curtains hang behind the two thrones.

  The lighting is dim— coming only from the torches, which are spaced at even intervals on the walls from the front of the room all the way to the back. The once brilliantly-illuminated giant chandeliers are left dark, hanging above like giant spiders.

  Once ascended to the platform, Vranah paces back and forth in front of the thrones, glaring at everything his eyes fall upon. His servants shrink back from before him and scamper like frightened mice into the shadows, in order to escape his notice, whenever they are caught in his gaze. All except one.

  A solitary servant stands in the center of the great throne room on the long carpet with his shoulders back, eyes forward, feet spread a military-distance apart, his hands clasped together behind his back. He is a tall, thin, muscular man in his early thirties with ivory skin. Unnaturally-black, smooth, straight hair falls to his waist.

  His intense brown eyes are so dark that they often seem entirely black. His nose is straight— his lips are full. He is clean-shaven and remarkably attractive— but, like his master, the handsome physical features cannot hide what lies within.

  He is dressed head to toe in black. A black cape. Black leather gloves. Tall black leather boots. Only his face is uncovered— but even his eyes are completely rimmed in black.

  Vranah suddenly spins around, fury in his eyes, and walks down the steps directly toward the man on the long carpet. His sonorous voice is controlled. His tone unmistakably menacing.

  “You have failed me for the last time, Drakne.”

  Drakne does not answer. He remains still— staring forward as if Vranah is not there, even as Vranah
comes face to face with him. Without taking his eyes off of Drakne, Vranah hisses forth words as though exhaling fire.

  “LEAVE US!”

  Silently relieved to be excused from their master’s presence, the other servants scurry out into the darkness. Vranah intensifies the murderous glare in his dark eyes.

  Drakne ceases his emotionless stare and lowers his gaze and his head slightly. His lip twitches with annoyance as he bows apologetically to his master. With his head still bowed he proceeds to speak in the perfect pretense of outward deference and humility. Even his strong deep voice sounds convincingly subservient.

  “My lord, we have captured them. They are now yours to deal with as you see fit. No damage or loss has been sustained by Your Excellency— nor will there ever be under my command.”

  “They almost succeeded! Luck is not the same as skill! Bring the prisoners before me and do not fail me again! Your powers may be second only to mine, but remember, they are still second to mine. I do not have to suffer your inadequacy. Or have you forgotten what happened to my last apprentice?”

  “Your Grace is surely generous, my lord,” Drakne says, gritting his teeth.

  “Dismissed.”

  “As you command.”

  Drakne pivots purposefully with his black cape billowing behind him as he strides down the purple carpet. He snaps his fingers and the two great doors of the throne room throw themselves open for him to walk through, abruptly shutting once he has crossed the threshold. He passes several soldiers who are guarding the entrance.