Elemental Dragons, once allied, are clashing and ruthlessly destroying everything, one sanctuary at a time. And rumors begin to spread that the Black Elf has returned and is raising a new army that could well mean another War of Anarchy. The only way to stop the chaos is for Zakaisia, a white tiger Vorshen, to return the eyes of the most potent Goddess to the Realm of Ice, her birthplace. Forced to ally with malicious women of dark races and traitorous intentions, Zakaisia clings to her family as she struggles not to relive her past; the murders; the blood; and her former allegiance to the evil and formidable Black Elf.
Zakaisia must fulfill the prophecy to restore the Elements to their place in the great pentacle. She leaves the sanctity of her city to cross many hostile Realms before reaching the Realm of Ice. Along with her niece and a small group; they attempt to return what was never theirs to the Ice Goddess. As long as no Elementals, including her Goddess, discover what they have concealed in a sealed chest, peace can once again reign over the worlds. But for each Realm they cross, and every Element they defend themselves against, Zakaisia’s burden becomes greater and more perilous then even she had feared.
Ashley Odle, an award winning young writer, was only in middle school when she started developing the characters and plot for Prophecy’s Rage. Her abiding love of fantasy and magic quickly compelled her to continue working on her novel all through high school. Now eighteen years old, Ashley has completed her first book, and already has plans for the next sequel in the series. Ashley currently lives with her family in Indiana, where she continues to write, and plans to continue in college. She enjoys big game hunting, camping, and jeeping, reading fantasy books and mangas, drawing anthro art, and being with friends.
Ashley’s wildlife experiences are published in hunting magazines such as B.C. Hunter and Mountain Hunter. At thirteen, Ashley described her experiences in her first big game hunt, bear hunting, in an article entitled ”Can you say Huntress?” published in B.C. Hunter. Her next article “Return to the Wild” was published in Mountain Hunter. In it she describes her narrow escape while hunting for mountain goats in some rather inhospitable terrain and under rough weather conditions in British Columbia.
In 2004, Columbia College (Chicago) awarded Ashley the Honorary Mention Award in the Fiction Category of a national competition for Young Writers. In the same year she won the NaNoWriMo competition, a contest where writers from all over the world compete feverishly to write a 50,000 word novel within the space of only one month.
A white tiger Ice Vorshen shifted her weight impatiently; puffing her cheeks and blowing cold steam into the humid air surrounding her and her dwindled comrades. She watched her long whiskers fan out as the air twirled lazily into a hollow. The curls of mist peeled away into the darkened atmosphere before dissipating a hand’s length in front of her. A man sitting atop a gold-encrusted throne slouched silently, brushing back his heavy brown mane with a clawed hand as he listened to a leopard brandishing a cane and yelling himself hoarse.
“…No one in the city would allow these monstrosities refuge here after the endless deaths they have caused. The numbers rise with each quarter moon, and it is certain that many bodies have still not been accounted for, having been consumed by these things.” Murmurs from other Vorshen down a long stone table indicated that they shared the same sentiments. The white Vorshen stopped blowing air as she felt the fur on her forehead tighten together. Did these creatures believe that her army consumed their victims? How unholy to think, that they, the original Army of the Black Elf, would be so treacherous as to consume the heretics who refused to bow before them. She lowered her gaze from the lion slumped on his podium, to the carving of a snake chiseled into the cuffs of the emerald green shackles latched tightly around her wrists. She wondering what flavor the unfaithful would have had.
“Great sorrow grips nearly every Realm as what few survivors remain in the Realms of Water, Air, Wood and even Darkness to bury their dead. Some say there might not even be enough ground in which to scatter their bones.” A bone, yes, that would be sufficient to break the lock upon these shackles, thought the Vorshen, her long fangs biting into the inside of her mouth as she pulled at the chains. She focused her aura into a single spiral that wrapped around her arms, slithering across her fur and through the finger pointed at the lock where the eye of the snake should have been. Instantly a hot pain lashed at her aura, coiling back up her arm and through her body, coursing fire in her blood. The fire scuttled up her spine and wrapped around her mind, gnashing at the insides of her skull. She let out a gasping scream and clutched her head. Her heavy silver claws gripped her ears ready to rip them off. Boiling heat flooded her body as she fell to her knees.
Something hot wrapped around her left arm, siphoning her energy from that of the shackles. Dimly, she felt the thing grip tighter, pinching off her aura. Her eyes watered with pain as she pushed her aura harder. She had to break the shackles. She had to be free again. Free the Army, Zia. She heard the voices from her battalion chanting as one. The curdling poison in her head broke into thousands of buzzing insects that swarmed through her body, speckling the base of her elbow where the powerful grip of heat squeezed harder. Free the Army, Zia.
She forced her aura to become stronger, draining what little she could see into a dull blur. Something else gripped her right arm with the same deadly force as the other and pulled her claws from her head. As she felt her aura falter, the deafening swarm chewing at her from inside ceased immediately. The steady chant of Free the Army dissipated into a dull murmur. Zia blinked a heavy stream of water from her clouded eyes. A thick rug scratched against her knees as she was lifted by her arms into a standing position by a creature she had only ever seen when she had fought in the battle in Thay’Rugadin before the Master had vanished.
He was at least three heads taller than she was, excluding his ears, which were as long as his hands that gripped her from wrist to forearm. His muzzle was longer, like a dog’s, and his golden eyes were squinted. His chest was very wide, though not wide enough to hide two very long dragon-scaled wings tucked closely against his back. His black uniform seemed to absorb the candlelight as he set her down reprovingly. However, his sleeveless shirt could hide neither the glistening white fur that covered his whole body, nor the thick scars she had inflicted on him when they had fought in Thay’Rugadin. She stared intently at the rippled pink lines scattered across his exposed chest, neck, and arms. They were neither like the few he had given her, which were now receding into thin lines, nor like those she had stamped on the jaguar Vorshen several paces to her right. Seated next to several other soldiers dressed in the same fashion, the jaguar Vorshen was heavily bandaged in one leg that was still dripping dark blue blood.