Streaks of Purple Saga Volume One by Heather Ray (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📕

Zordon had seen the woman’s face fall, and felt a pang at her distress. “She led the attack, but she stayed her hand. Had Umbriel attacked directly, there wouldn’t be an Eltar anymore!”

Zordon’s faith that there was truth in the Queen’s words was the only thing that stopped his fiercer allies from killing her immediately, or at least sentencing her for her crimes. His wise, convincing arguments stayed the hand of justice.

“Justice is dear to me...you all know that! But survival is even more so! If she can help us defeat Umbriel, and liberate the galaxy, then we must see to her wounds, and postpone her trial. We must use everything

at our disposal to find a way to confront his magic!”

That day, centuries ago, he earned the trust of the deposed Queen. Over time, he earned her friendship. So when the day of her decision finally came, he was the one she sought.

“Zordon, I can’t lead the fight against Umbriel. I don’t have the strength…the powers I have mastered have been corrupted by the darkness in my soul. If I use the shard as I am now, I will fall to Umbriel, and nothing will be accomplished. Someone pure, someone good must lead the charge. You must find a way to purify the shard. Change it, Zordon…cleanse the power, focus it, and create a force empowered against Umbriel, and all evil in the galaxy.”

And with that, the fair Queen was gone. Never again did she communicate with him. No word was ever given in her behalf. Yet, on the other hand, Umbriel didn’t boast her capture. It was as if she had fallen out of the universe.

But her words were never forgotten, and that day began the centuries of effort to take that Crystal shard and transform it into a force for good. With time, he accomplished that feat. He forged the Morphin’ Grid, channeling the power of the shard into a form that was uncorrupt. Pure. Safe.

His efforts were blessed by whatever forces governed the universe, for after centuries of war on Earth he managed to lead his team of Power Rangers into the inner sanctum of the High Lord. The battle was bloody and treacherous, spindles of energy floating like thread throughout the chamber. He remembered so clearly that final confrontation…Umbriel’s empty eyes mocking him and his children, openly inviting them all into oblivion.

That was his last memory. The rest was obscured with the cobwebs of confusion.

And so he continued to drift, hopelessly lost in an infinite, swirling void.

“Aye yi yi! I’m picking up something!”

The cry roused an elderly man deep within the barracks of the Command Center. He rose from the flimsy mattress with the tenderness of age, and grasped his mangled walking staff with withered fingers. He slowly moved from the room into the darkened hallway, his brilliant blue eyes narrowing to bring the world into focus. After a long journey, he reached the large command chamber, which had served the many teams of Power Rangers over the past millennium in their efforts to defeat the evil Empire.

“Is it Zordon?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” the robot answered, pointing to a large sphere seated atop a column. “There’s a strange energy signature coming from space!”

The man frowned deeply, moving closer to the Viewing Globe to see for himself. His eyes widened when he realized there was a projectile slicing through the void, leaving an energy trail similar to a comet.

However, it was clearly not a comet, or any other natural object. It was a castle, with large spires piercing the heavens with disdain.

“Are they Imperials?” he asked cautiously. “Perhaps Filiel has decided to reclaim Earth?”

“No…the energy signature is very different. But I don’t recognize it.”

The man tapped his staff to the ground rhythmically. “We cannot take any chances. I shall not allow another iron grasp to squeeze my planet into submission.”

The robot looked at the aged man, clearly astounded by his passion. “What do we do?”

He hobbled back towards his room, determination lighting his eyes with fire.

Each step was more difficult to take than the previous. Still, despite the pain that burned in his atrophied limbs, he traversed the hills at his own pace.

The moment his eyes fell upon a small stone house, lined with rich purple blossoms that reached to the heavens, and banking a small pond covered with white petals that coasted through the spring air, years melted from his face.

Fond memories flooded his consciousness. Of playing near the small pond as a child, tossing his little sister Jen’ha into the still waters. Of reading from the leather bound grimoire he’d unearthed near the High Lord’s palace once, after returning home from the rock quarry where he served at a tender age.

That was where he sat some eighty years ago – on a large flat slab of rock beside the pond, reading his treasured book – when he was Called. At fourteen years of age, he encountered a kindly, pale-faced man searching for a worthy replacement for a treasured warrior who had fallen.

That very day, he surrendered his simple but peaceful life as a slave and aspiring scholar. After all, what the stranger offered him was too much to turn down. Freedom from the slave pits. The power to make a difference, in his life and the lives of his loved ones. The resources necessary to learn magic, beyond the few small spells in the leather volume he owned.

“Erol! If you don’t stop splashing me, I’ll turn you into a toad!”

“Not likely, Kreia! You don’t have that kind of magic!”

The old man’s smiled stretched at the sounds of jubilant laughter that could only mean youth. He slowly rounded the house, coming into fuller view of the pond. There, he saw a young girl, clearly no more than fifteen or so, with flowing ashen blonde hair moistened with water. She was giggling hysterically, her fair skin flushing as she rolled off the flat boulder she was seated upon, desperately gripping an ancient book to her chest. She cradled the book as if it were an infant, taking cover behind the boulder and peeking out from the side with midnight eyes.

Her tormentor was a boy, with a short crop of soaked ebony hair. He waded in the pond, green leaves from the tree falling upon his head as he continued throwing his arms into the waters, forcing waves of water to crash into his playmate.

The boy then stopped his game, creeping lower into the water until he was shoulder-deep in the pool. His eyebrow arched predatorily as he waited for his victim.

“Erol?” she called, slowly stretching her neck to view the water. She gasped in shock as a particularly large spray of water hit her directly in the face, throwing her back in surprise and forcing her to sputter out the liquid she swallowed.

“HA!” he mocked, falling back into the pool and surrendering to his gleeful victory. Kreia growled fiercely, roughly pushing her matted waves out of her eyes.

“I warned you!” she shouted, lifting her fingers. She began slowly bending her slender fingers in an intricate dance, weaving invisible magical strands between them.

Suddenly, the still water leapt to life, tossing the helpless boy out of the pool to crash clumsily onto the grassy shore.

Erol coughed, spitting up a mouthful of water and slicking his hair from his soft green eyes. He shook his head in a desperate attempt to orient himself.

Kreia smiled with devilish delight, kneeling on the grass in front of her friend.

“I warned you,” she leered.

He smirked. “Well, I was right,” he maintained. “You can’t turn me into a toad.”

She responded with a mock cackle, throwing back her golden mane with a toss of her head.

“Not yet.”

She helped him to his feet, and carefully brushed away the droplets of water that splashed her ancient book. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As the youths turned toward the modest cabin, the girl’s head cocked to the side, a flash of movement catching her eye.

“What’s wrong?” Erol asked, following her gaze.

“I…I thought I saw something,” she whispered, turning her full body toward him. “By the cabin.”

“You can see me,” a disembodied voice noted, a hint of surprise in his tone. “I am impressed.”

The girl’s raven eyes turned toward the sound, and stared at the faint ripple of purple energy that slowly approached. In panic, she stepped back behind the young man, whose genial face folded into a threatening frown. He pushed Kreia further behind him, and grabbed a fallen tree branch from the grass beneath him.

“Where is it?” he asked her, his hard jade stare boring into the empty space that captured his friend’s attention.

Before she could respond, the faint purple ripple grew stronger, entering the visible spectrum and startling both youths with its luster. The boy’s grip on his makeshift weapon tightened, despite the feeble appearance of the intruder.

The aged man smiled gently at both youths, yet his attention was clearly focused upon Kreia. Considering no human had formal magical training beside himself, her perception was phenomenal.

“You need not fear me,” he assured them, raising his hands to demonstrate his peaceful intentions, “I only intended to return home, and when I saw you both, I was curious.”

“Return home?” she repeated, her brow furrowing. “But…my family has lived on this land for generations!”

“Who are you?” Erol demanded.

The man kept his gaze on the girl, who still trembled slightly in fear of this entire situation. His warm eyes fell from her overwhelmed gaze to the ancient book she clung to.
“I used to sit by this very pond, reading that grimoire with the avid curiosity of a natural student,” he revealed. “My name is Regita of the Uru-Nenyin household.”

Kreia gasped. “Th…that’s impossible! Regita disappeared long before my mother was