The essence wars an envi.., p.1
The Essence Wars--An Envious God, page 1
The Essence Wars
An Envious God
P.S. Davis
Copyright
The Essence Wars: An Envious God
Book One
Copyright © 2025 by P.S. Davis
All rights reserved.
No part of this book 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 author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Self-Published Edition, 2025
First Edition
For inquiries, visit:
www.psdavisbooks.com
ISBN: 978-91-531-4174-7
Paperback: Printed on Demand
Email: p.s.davis@psdavisbooks.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Aurenvia Tollitch and the West
The Eastern Union
CHAPTER 1 – The Hunt for the Telisian Elk
CHAPTER 2 – Whispers in the Forest
CHAPTER 3 – The Chancellor’s Visit
CHAPTER 4 – The Recall to Haithe
CHAPTER 5 – The March
CHAPTER 6 – The Meeting of Old Friends
CHAPTER 7 – Slip’s Outpost
CHAPTER 8 – The Call of Haithe
CHAPTER 9 – The Fleet of Haithe
CHAPTER 10 – The Waters of Thewthyri
CHAPTER 11 – The Rising Tide
CHAPTER 12 – The Protector
CHAPTER 13 – The Fire Tide
CHAPTER 14 – The Silence After
CHAPTER 15 – The Gathering of Shadows
CHAPTER 16 – The Angel of the Night
CHAPTER 17 – The Fields of Fire
CHAPTER 18 – The March of Ashes
CHAPTER 19 – The Fire Unseen
CHAPTER 20 – The Hollow Fort
CHAPTER 21 – The Silent Camp
CHAPTER 22 – The Returned
CHAPTER 23 – The Watcher
CHAPTER 24 – The Silence of the Forge
CHAPTER 25 – The Hunt of Shadows
CHAPTER 26 – The Weight of the Dead
CHAPTER 27 – The Edicts of War
CHAPTER 28 – The Vanishing Trail
CHAPTER 29 – Tide and Stone
CHAPTER 30 – The Blade in the Smoke
CHAPTER 31 – Velvet and Claw
CHAPTER 32 – The Seeds of Gor
CHAPTER 33 – The Queen of the Southern Sea
CHAPTER 34 – The Veil of Essidel
CHAPTER 35 – The Outpost at Essidelven
CHAPTER 36 – The Doctrine of Thrirlessia
CHAPTER 37 – The Walls of Gor
CHAPTER 38 – The Burning Sea
CHAPTER 39 – The Courthouse Steps
CHAPTER 40 – What We Carry
The Journey
About the author
Dedication
To my wonderful son, Kirill. While you may not yet love my fantasy worlds, you still listen with curiosity when I talk about creating characters and dreaming up impossible things. That means more than you know.
To my amazing daughter, Paige, who still likes my social media posts, simply because she “likes” them. She doesn’t have to, but I am glad she does (it can get quite lonely out there).
Thank you both for your patience, your humor, and your quiet belief in me. You remind me why stories matter.
Aurenvia Tollitch and the West
The Eastern Union
“The Essence does not merely exist; it calls. It chooses its vessels as surely as the stars find their place in the heavens. But we, who bear its weight, must decide what we become.”
— Anselis Yesdel, Writings on the Divine
Six years have passed since Marcius Saylong, Lord Paramount of Haithe, united the West beneath his rule.
CHAPTER 1 – The Hunt for the Telisian Elk
The mid-morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the forest floor beneath the towering imanca trees that stretched west of Kard’s River. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in scattered patches, casting bright fingers of light that reached the ground, illuminating some parts while leaving others cloaked in shadow. The speed at which Maerwyn Sawngfli moved, followed closely by her massive golden-brown hound, Braegor, defied both logic and imagination. She darted through the underbrush, nimbly leaping over fallen logs and weaving through branches that intertwined in her path, her movements impossibly swift and precise. Braegor, powerful and determined, raced after her, struggling to match her relentless pace. Maerwyn stopped suddenly, her body tensed. Braegor skidded to a halt beside her, his massive paws crunching the forest floor as he lifted his head and sniffed the velvet scents in the air.
A massive animal, Braegor exuded strength and vigilance. His muscular frame was coated in thick, golden-brown fur that caught the dappled sunlight, shimmering like amber against the muted greens of the forest. Lighter streaks of cream marked his chest and tail, adding an almost regal touch to his imposing presence. His amber eyes, sharp and piercing, held a glimmer of intelligence that seemed almost human, glowing with a warmth that belied his fearsome power.
His large, pointed ears swiveled attentively, constantly scanning the forest for unseen dangers. Every inch of his powerful, wolfhound-like build spoke to his dual role as protector and hunter. The intricate leather straps and sturdy collar encircling his neck hinted at his connection to Maerwyn, marking him as more than a companion. He was her partner, her equal in every sense.
Though Braegor’s size and bearing could intimidate, Maerwyn knew the gentleness beneath the surface. In battle, his ferocity was unmatched; in moments like this, his calm, grounding presence was a reminder of the trust and loyalty they shared.
He sniffed the air once more, his broad chest rising as he caught the faint traces of a scent. A low, rumbling growl escaped his throat, and in the next instant, the hunt was back on. Braegor sprang forward, tearing through the forest undergrowth with incredible speed and purpose.
Maerwyn followed close behind, letting him take the lead this time. His keen nose would guide them better than her eyes ever could. At a full sprint, Braegor moved like a shadow, his powerful frame weaving almost silently through the forest, every step precise, every motion calculated. Even at this pace, he could sift through the myriad scents of the forest, separating predator from prey with uncanny precision.
Today, though, only one scent mattered. Only one trail would carry them forward, and it was this scent they would pursue to its end. Once again, the pair came to a halt.
Maerwyn’s hair, tied loosely back for the hunt, escaped in soft strands that fluttered behind her as she ran, the earthy tones catching the light. Her face, framed by these wayward locks, was sharp and focused, her expression a perfect mirror of the forest, calm and beautiful, but alive with a hidden intensity.
Moving with practiced precision, her lean, athletic frame made every step intentional and silent, her presence blending into the wild like a shadow cast by the towering imanca trees. Her leather armor, scarred but well-maintained, bore intricate patterns that reflected her people’s connection to the forest, a harmony of utility and artistry. Across her back, a quiver of finely crafted metallic arrows shifted with her movements, while her hand rested lightly on the Thunderbow, the curve of its Grwentree wood a constant companion.
Her dark eyes swept the underbrush, sharp with a hunter’s instinct. Every sound, every movement, was cataloged and weighed with uncanny speed. There was power in her stride, and there was also restraint, the steady control of one who understood the balance between the hunt and the forest.
The pair had been tracking a Telisian Elk, a creature renowned for its elusiveness. These majestic animals were native to these woods, their silver-tipped fur blending seamlessly with the dappled light and shadow. Hunting one was no simple task. With an unusually keen nose, they could detect predators from vast distances, disappearing into the undergrowth with effortless grace. It was said that only the most skilled hunters dared to pursue them, and even fewer succeeded.
Their pelts, rare and highly prized, were worth a small fortune not only within the Eastern Union but also among traders from distant lands. The demand for Telisian fur, soft as velvet and glinting like starlight, made it one of the most coveted trade goods in the known world. For Maerwyn, however, the hunt was never about the wealth it could bring. To her, it was a test of skill, a delicate dance of instinct and precision, requiring everything from both her and Braegor.
Still, the coin she would earn when selling the pelts to Western traders was hard to ignore. Along the shores of the Melivelisha Plains, under the cover of night, these trades took place in whispers and shadows. Selling anything to Western traders had been forbidden since the Herastium Conflict over seventy years ago, when tensions erupted into war. Yet Maerwyn didn’t bother herself with politics. She cared little for treaties or the bitter grudges of nations divided by oceans, rivers, and mountains.
For her, this was not treason; rather, it was necessity. The people north of the Madita River in the Westlands, where winters cut to th
The coin she earned further justified the risk. It wasn’t simply for her; she used it to build homes in the villages of Verdathisa, where the population had surged unexpectedly. The needs of her people outweighed the distant threat of punishment, and with reconnaissance in the Melivelisha Plains and bays nearly nonexistent, she knew the risk of being caught was slim. For Maerwyn, this was not rebellion. It was survival, for those who depended on her.
Braegor picked up the scent again, though his body language shifted, tense and uncertain. There were more scents now, mingling in the air, and his low growl hinted at something beyond the Telisian Elk. While the elk’s scent was still strong, another, fainter trail lingered slightly upwind of them, one that had been shadowing their path for several minutes. It unsettled him.
Still, Braegor knew his duty. To please Maerwyn, he would first lead her to the elk. He shifted focus, his growl fading as he honed in on the familiar scent, guiding them toward the animal’s location. It was close, perhaps a few hundred yards ahead, motionless beneath the canopy of speckled gold. All that remained now was the delicate approach. They would need to move silently and carefully, positioning themselves downwind to mask their presence.
Braegor paced slowly toward the elk, his massive paws gliding over the forest floor with methodical care. He stepped over logs and fallen branches without a sound, his bulk moving with a grace that seemed impossible for his size. Not even his fur brushed against the branches as he maneuvered through the undergrowth.
Maerwyn followed close behind, her steps as silent as his. Her hand reached for her quiver, drawing one of the Soulpiercers, a sleek, finely crafted arrow that shimmered faintly in the shifting light. Maerwyn wasn’t just gifted, and neither was Braegor alone. Even the weapons she carried bore the touch of Tripolism.
Her bow, the Thunderbow, was no ordinary weapon. Forged from the sacred Grwentree, it carried an Essence that made its wood both springier and stronger than any natural material. While its Tripolistic fibers softened the initial crack of the bowstring, the weapon still released a deep, resonant pulse, a sound that didn’t just echo but seemed to fold in on itself. In her hands, it became an extension of her own abilities, a perfect tool for the hunt.
The arrow she nocked was no less remarkable. Crafted by Verdathisan blacksmith Stormer Theers, the Soulpiercers were made of a rare alloy called Syllanian. The material’s porous, feather-light structure allowed them to withstand the immense forces of supersonic flight, their hardened steel tips ensuring that nothing could stand in their path. With their fletching shaped from the same material, each arrow was as much a work of art as a weapon of precision.
In this moment, Maerwyn felt the balance of power in her hands, the culmination of nature, craftsmanship, and her own skill. Yet even with such tools, the hunt demanded focus. The elk was close now, and any misstep could cost them their prize.
Several steps later, the forest opened into a small clearing, revealing a sight that made Maerwyn pause—a massive Telisian Elk, perhaps the largest she had ever seen. Its antlers stretched high, catching the filtered sunlight like polished silver, and its sheer size made it a prize beyond measure.
But there was a problem. To make the kill swift and painless, she needed a clean shot to the heart. The elk, however, was positioned behind a tree, its vital organ obscured by the thick trunk. Maerwyn couldn’t bear the thought of causing unnecessary suffering. The only way to get a clear angle was to move, either left or right. Both paths would take her into the open, exposing her to the elk’s sharp senses.
Braegor, crouched low in the undergrowth, stayed utterly still. His body was a coiled spring, his amber eyes locked on the target. For him, there was no question of pain or anguish, only the certainty of the hunt. He waited, his breathing steady, for the familiar thwack of the bowstring and the faint whizz of the arrow. But it didn’t come.
Maerwyn remained frozen, her fingers tightening on the Thunderbow’s string. The forest seemed to hold its breath with her.
Despite the difficulties of the shot, Maerwyn examined the elk, searching for any signs of Tripolism. For her people, it was a sacred law: no harm could come to any being touched by the Essence. Those with Tripolism, regardless of their type, were revered and honored, their existence considered a direct link to the divine.
The challenge, as always, lay in identifying such creatures. Countless disputes had arisen over this, fueled by overly pious leaders who followed the letter of the law without compromise. The punishment for harming a Tripolistic being was severe, with years of imprisonment or, in extreme cases, execution. Even those with Tripolism were not exempt from the law, though ironically, they could not be executed themselves because of their sacred nature.
This was why farming had flourished in the Eastern Union, where crops and livestock could be scrutinized for signs of Tripolism before harvest. Plants with Tripolism were easier to spot, often exhibiting strange colors, distinct scents, or unnatural florets. Trees like the Grwentree, whose fallen wood had been used to craft the Thunderbow, glowed faintly with an orange hue, unmistakable in their nature.
But animals were far more difficult to discern. An elk with Tripolism might look no different from any other, its gift revealed only in moments of instinct or danger. Even Braegor, her loyal companion, bore no outward sign of his gift until the Essence coursed through him in the heat of the hunt. This was why hunting was a perilous art, undertaken only by the most experienced, and even they sometimes faltered.
The elk began to move. Its head lifted sharply, ears twitching as if it had caught something unexpected, perhaps a sound or a scent. Had it sensed them? Maerwyn held her breath, her dark eyes fixed on the creature as it sniffed the air. But the elk didn’t bolt. Its powerful legs remained steady, its body poised but still.
Silently, Maerwyn drew the Thunderbow’s string further, the motion smooth and practiced. The bow made no sound, not even a creak from the glowing orange wood. It responded to her touch as if it were alive, as if it understood her intent.
Her gift defied comparison, a power seemingly designed for moments like this. Maerwyn could read muscle movements before they began, sensing the faintest stirrings of intent in her prey. It wasn’t just instinct. It was as if she could see the impulses sparking in the creature’s brain, a subtle whisper in the air that told her exactly what it would do next. This ability gave her an unparalleled edge, allowing her to anticipate every movement long before it occurred.
Her heightened senses extended to herself, her own muscles firing faster than those of any woman or man. She was faster, more agile, a hunter who moved like the wind and struck with precision that seemed impossible. These gifts had earned her the title of God of Speed, a name she neither sought nor desired but could not deny.
Now, every fiber of her being was attuned to the elk. Its body language was a map of possibilities, and she read it effortlessly: the angle of its head, the slight tension in its flank. Yet, the creature remained rooted, its focus on the crimson huberries scattered at its hooves.
Maerwyn steadied her breath, her fingers tightening on the bowstring. She was ready. All she needed was the elk’s next move.
But the elk’s next move was taking agonizingly long. Maerwyn’s arms ached slightly from holding the Thunderbow at full draw, her focus so tightly wound that even the faintest sound felt like thunder.
Braegor’s ears twitched. Then his nose twitched. His head tilted slightly to the left, toward the dense underbrush beyond Maerwyn. He couldn’t see anything—there was nothing there to see—but something was there.
Then his head snapped sharply to the right. A fresh scent had entered the air, stronger this time, familiar in a way that made his muscles tense. It smelled like one of his own kind, or something eerily close, as though a distant cousin had stepped into the forest. The scent was wrong, though. It had been masked, deliberately kept faint, moving just beyond detection like a shadow in the wind. Whoever—or whatever—it was, they knew exactly where Braegor and Maerwyn were going and had stayed downwind to avoid detection.
