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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

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The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Chapter 7 - The medic

I had to find the medic. I scanned the open field before me, realizing that I forgot to ask where to go. I had three options:

A. Simplifying my life by jumping over my shadow and asking someone where he is.

B. Pretend that I’m fine and just go to my tent.

C. Wander around in search of him, evading every kind of interaction with other persons until I find the medic.

“Of course we’re going with option C.” I said to the mutt in my hands, who just looked up with no understanding.

He had to be strategically placed, so he shouldn't be that hard to find. It would make no sense for him to be on the outskirts. The best place for him would be somewhere close to the general’s tent.

I moved to the ones practicing with their swords and kept my distance from the trainees and Kaith. The medic wasn’t among them, so I turned away.

A voice called out to me. “It’s nice to see you got healed.”

From behind the general’s tepee, the blue-skinned officer emerged, a wide smile plastered on his face. Like the last time, he squinted his eyes.

He came closer. “Oh, what a nice dog.”

He reached out to pet him, but the mutt growled at him.

I stroked through the fur, speaking to the animal. “It’s okay.”

But he didn’t listen, barking at the officer, who took a step back.

“What did the general say to you?” the man asked.

“He took away my salary. But he gave me the option to join the army.”

The man tilted his head. “I’ve never heard that this is offered to someone after so little time. The army always needs good men, as you probably are, but it’s still strange.”

“I don’t know why he would anyway.”

I didn’t plan to talk to anyone, but the man’s smile calmed me. The dog in my arm didn’t feel the same, she thrashed and barked, threatening the man.

I held him back. “I’m sorry for her. We should go to the medic.”

The officer squinted even harder, until he focussed on the wound on my arm. “Of course,” he said. “He should be somewhere by the carriages.”

“Thanks.”

I walked over to the wagons, Bron still sat upon one of them. I veered clear of him, but he jumped off and walked over. The growls of the stray in my hands didn’t deter him. Instead, the massive man bent down and reached out to stroke him behind the ears. The animal seized his threatening sounds and leaned in further to the massive hand that petted him.

“Good boy,” the lieutenant said in his deep voice. “Where did you find him?”

"Her," I corrected.

"Oh, then she's a good girl."

He kept stroking the grey fur of the animal, now with both hands. The lieutenant had a smile on his face that may have been cute if he wasn’t twice my height with a battle scar on his face.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the fun you’re having,” I said. “We still need to get to the medic.”

The berserker raised to his full height and turned to the right. “Brother Christopher!”

A few seconds later the monk came into view at the corner of the carriage. “You called me, what's the matter?”

He scoffed when he saw me. “And I thought it would take some time until I see you again.”

My mouth twitched upward. While he seemed like an army drone with the general around, now he sounded way more easy-going. I followed him as he went back around the corner of the wagon. On its side, several wooden chests stood open with bandages and patches of different sizes in them. More than twenty different types of dried herbs hung in bundles from the carriage. Brother Christopher gestured to the wooden bench under them. I sighed as I sat down. The medic moved closer, but retreated again when the dog growled at him.

I stroked her behind the ears. “It’s okay, he’s here to help you.”

That seemed to pacify the mutt a bit. I put him and my rucksack down beside me. “Can you take a look at her too?”

The medic looked at the dog who still gave a low growl. “I will later, but my first obligation is with you.”

He took my hand with the bite mark then he reached for a small brown bottle. “This will now hurt.”

He poured the brown liquid over my wound. Burning pain flared up, curling my toes and fingers.

I pressed my eyes together. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes, to kill off any infectious spirit. Bites are generally very prone to infections that can be deadly.” He took out a bandage and wrapped it around the wound. “Keep that bandage on and avoid any dirt getting in.”

The cloth wrung tightly around my arm. “Sure thing.”

He turned to the dog. “Where did she come from?”

“She’s a stray.”

A frown appeared on the medic’s face. “I would love to help her, but strays are riddled with malicious spirits that I don’t want them going around.”

“I can let her bathe in the river if that helps.”

“It would be better than nothing. And wash yourself too a little bit. I’ll be here till sundown.”

I grabbed my rucksack and picked the mutt back up.

Bron stopped me when I passed the corner of the carriage. “Where are you going?”

“To the river. I need to wash the dog. Medic’s orders.”

He gazed to the sky for a moment. “I bet you will just try to run away; I am coming with you.”

I threw him a smile. “Wow, you're really bad at hiding your urge to see me naked.”

Bron rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

The river was two metres broad and meandered through the hills. The brook passing through my village probably flowed into it. An uneasy feeling welled up in my stomach when I looked in the murky water that didn’t show any bottom.

I found a place where it was safe; on the inside of the river curve sand had sedimented, creating an underwater beach that slowly sunk deeper. I put down the dog on the ground. She looked at me with big eyes.

“Come on, go in.”

The mutt stumbled forward and slowly eased himself into the water. She swam around, but got back out rather quickly.

“It can’t be that cold.”

I stripped away my smelly shirt, my trousers and my underpants. The sun was warm on my body, fighting against the cold radiating from the river and the subtle breezes of wind. I sat down by the river and put my feet in the water.

"Fuck," I exclaimed.

The cold water stung like a thousand needles and took away all feelings in my feet. I took them out again. I didn’t want to be in this water for longer than I must. To postpone the inevitable, I washed my three pieces of cloth first. A loud splash sounded to my left. Bron had stripped down to his undergarments and slipped into the water. He had chosen one of the deepest positions, but the water still only reached around his waist. Then he just stood for a moment. He had just used me as an excuse to bathe for himself.

The berserker's muscular torso was dotted with old scars. Intricate tattoos showed on both of his shoulders, almost going up to his broad neck. The light blue ink contrasted greatly to the man's tanned skin. I diverted my attention back to my clothes. As I pushed them underwater, the cold water stung at my hands like a thousand splinters. The dog overcame the cold again and jumped into the river.

Another splash behind me. Bron had completely submerged himself. I waited for him to resurface. And waited… After moments, he broke the water’s surface again. He had been in there for about ten seconds.

“Whuu!” he exclaimed as he wiped off water from his now reddened skin.

It was impressive that he could hold out this far, but neither impossible nor surprising. Berserkers came from the cold north after all.

He said, “Most of you southerners do it wrong.”

I just wrung my shirt. “Huh?”

“You all just try to get in and out as fast as possible. When you have to stay in to adjust.”

I pushed air from my nostrils. “Thanks for your advice to have sex, I really appreciate it.”

“I mean what to do in cold water, you idiot.”

Now his face was getting red from the anger, but then he sighed when the dog swam by him. I hung my clothes in a shrub that grew a few metres away and took a deep breath to prepare me for my bath. I put my feet back into the freezing water. I tried to take the berserker’s advice and took my time.

"Shit," I exclaimed again.

Every part of my skin exposed to the water burned. I went deeper into the water. My feet grew numb. I went even deeper. My knees were now under water. Goosebumps rippled all over my skin. I stopped and splashed the cold water on my skin, washing away a winter’s worth of dirt, trying to keep the bandage around my arm dry.

A deep laugh carried over and I turned to the berserker and the stray. The massive man washed the animal, which in turn licked the lieutenant’s face.

“At least they enjoy the water,” I said to myself with clattering teeth.

I stumbled out of the river, trying my best to wipe the wetness from my skin. My fingers hurt like they were squeezed between a door and its frame while I fumbled to put on my spare clothes.

When I was finished, I sat myself down on the river bank and tried to get warm again. An easy wind entered my clothes, bringing in cold. I looked up at the sky in the direction the wind came from. Dark clouds loomed, waiting for the turn to unleash rain upon our heads.

Before long, the lieutenant had left the water himself and dried himself off with a towel. The mutt stumbled out of the water, still not putting weight on her front paw.

“I used to have a dog like that,” Bron said. “Very loyal friends, they would give their life for you.”

“Yeah,” I stroked through his still damp, grey fur. “But she’s not my dog. She’s a stray, I’m letting her go before the day is up.”

A small scoff was his answer.

Silence settled between us for a moment, so that the tiny rustle of the river came through.

“I’ve seen you talk to Vito.”

“Is that blue guy that always squints?”

“Yes, his eyes aren’t too good. Have you seen the ring on his belt? It's actually a device that helps him see better, but he almost never uses it.”

I raised my brow. “Interesting.”

"So what did you tell him?"

I hesitated for a moment. It felt like I was dragged into a marital dispute, and I don't know who to support yet.

"I told him nothing."

Bron stroked his groomed beard. “Good.”

“Why would it matter? Isn’t he an officer? So shouldn’t he be on your side?”

“Be vary. He might seem nice, but it’s all a ploy. He’s a direct employ of the king, sent in very recently. I wouldn’t trust this gargoyle further than I can throw him.”

“Oh, so the general still needs a babysitter?”

His lips pursed, “Of course not. The reasons for him being here would go well above your head.”

“Really? Does it have anything to do with that ‘important role’ I still have to play as the general said?”

“How much did General Trak tell you?”

I smacked my lips. “Oh, he told me everything.”

“No, he didn’t.” He looked away, and I knew I had lost my best chance to figure out more. “Let’s head back to camp.”

I took the still damp clothes from the scrub and put them in my rucksack.

I went to pick up the dog, but Bron already held him in his hands. The small dog stood in stark contrast to the massive tanned man. We walked back to the camp and only at its outskirts did Bron give the mutt back.

The medic was already waiting for me. The dog still gave a small growl when she saw the bald man, but he let him come closer.

As Brother Christopher examined the paw, he asked, “What was the name of the priest that healed you?”

“It was a young priestess in training,” I said absentmindedly, trying to remember the name.

His eyebrow shot up. “A priestess in training? Why did they not assign a routined priest for your severe injury?”

“They didn’t have another one. There were eight other patients.”

“Are the ceremonies in the west always that full?” he asked me.

I threw up my hands. “How would I know?”

“You’re only two days’ trip away from this monastery. Have you never even once gone there to sacrifice some of your crops for blessings for a good harvest or health?”

I said, “No, never really needed it.”

“Huh, well, I just have to ask another recruit.”

“Why don’t you just go up there yourself?”

He said, “I need to stay here. And that monastery is not even from the same branch of the church.”

I held up my finger. “One thing at a time. Why do you need to stay here all the time? I’m sure that no one besides me gets hurt this often. And we’re not even anywhere close to the war yet.”

He let out a short laugh. “You’d be surprised how many injuries I have to tend to. When the soldiers are bored, they challenge each other to duels.”

“Can you tell me more?” I asked.

I had no intention of taking part, but I likely wouldn't have a choice in the matter.

He sighed. “They do duels everywhere we go. The two combatants can choose any kind of weapon they want. It goes until one of them admits defeat or drops on their knees. They often fight for some money.”

“And the army allows those duels?”

He nodded. “Oh yes, they even support them.”

“Why?”

He scratched the back of his bald head. “I don’t know the exact reason. To find the best fighters, perhaps.”

“When are they normally duelling each other?”

“Almost every day. When we are in a larger town there are not that many duels. They’d rather hit the taverns with the money they’ve won.”

I nodded. “You also said that this monastery isn’t from the same branch of the church. Where do you come from?”

He pointed in the direction of my village. “I’m from the east. It is very similar to here. A few more mountains. The monastery where I was trained is part of the Ortha order. The one up the hill is of the Catha order. There are a few differences, like for example how the high prophet Samoht is depicted. In the Ortha order, he is shown as…”

I cut him off, “I’m going to save you time. I don’t really care.”

Silence settled in between us two.

He started again, “You’ve never really answered my question.”

“What?”

“What is the name of the priestess that healed you?”

I looked up like the answer was in the skies. “I don’t remember exactly. Something like Lady Hez… Hezva…”

“Lady Hezkova?” he offered.

I snapped my fingers. “Yes, that was it. Why did you want to know? I thought this was a different branch.”

He nodded. “You’re right, but there are not that many zivot family trees.”

“I’ve never heard of any zivots that are not priests or priestesses.”

“There are, but as I said, not many.”

I scratched at the bandage around my arm. “Then why are there still so many of them? This monastery here is not very special and even here there are ten zivots. And none of them is ever going to have children.”

Except the young priestess when she escapes.

He sighed. “Zivots are very religious, but they are also very fertile. There are eight big family trees. Hezko is one of those and coincidentally they are the most known ones where I come from. A family usually has around fifteen children. Most of them are sent off to monasteries when they are of age. The small rest gets married to their cousins to keep the family tree clean.”

“So, either no sex or incest. Not an easy choice.”

The medic stared at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just being honest.” Before he could question it any further, I continued, “What is your opinion on having priests and priestesses locked up in monasteries?”

Brother Christopher straightened and scratched the back of his bald head. “That’s a difficult topic. On the one hand, there's a need for it. Every year people are dying of seasonal disease outbreaks, and who knows what happens when such a malicious spirit gets to the already weak patients. Most zivots choose to stay inside the walls of their own volition. They see it as their duty. And most zivot males can’t stand direct sunlight.

“On the other hand, yes, I can imagine it’s hard on the mind. I too hated the time spent in solitary in the monastery, that’s why I took that position as a medic. It’s a little bit easier on the zivots within the Ortha order, where they go on occasional processions. Why do you ask?”

“Just out of interest, I guess.” I scratched at the bandage on my arm again.

“Don’t scratch it,” he said

“But it itches like hell.”

“Then try to ignore it. It only gets worse when you scratch it.”

“How long do I have to keep that on anyways?”

“Till it’s closed up enough. A few days.”

“Stupid piece of crap.”

The medic looked at me with disapproval. “Do you have to swear so brashly? Everybody will start to get out of your way."

"Good. Less people that bother me."

"You almost got kicked to death on your first day because of your insults."

I shrugged. “Meh, it’s all in the past.”

“Less than a day ago.”

“Like I said. All in the past.”

He shook his head. "I don't understand you. You don't even try to see the error in your ways. It's like you're trying to be an outcast."

My face twitched, but I didn't say anything. For a moment, we both were silent, while he was continuing to work on the dog's paw.

Then he ordered me to help him. I held the dog back as the medic fixed a stick to her leg. The dog winced as he fastened a bandage around her wound.

Then the medic scratched the dog behind her ears. “All done. You were brave.”

I too petted the dog, “Yes, a very good girl.”

“What’s her name?”

A frown appeared on my face. “I need to let her go, I don't want to get attached." I picked up my rucksack and the dog. “Well then, good night.”

“Good night.” He waved me goodbye.

The area in front of the tepee stood desolated but for the guards. I scanned it again. I had forgotten where the general said my tent was. I didn’t know where to go.

Déjà vu.

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

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Sixth chapter

Hello people. This is the start of a fantasy novel that I will publish here chapter by chapter. The content on this blog will be exclusively about this story, if you are interested, just follow.

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Blurb:

Under the rule of the new allmage, the eight noble races and humans live in peace in the great kingdom. An orcish horde threatens the peace, marching towards the gates of the capital. Every able man is drafted to repel them.

And so a simple farmer finds himself in the employ of the royal army, much to his dismay. He only has one goal: to get back to his farm and his parents alive, a task it's unsure he will manage.

Naturally, he finds himself at the bottom of the pecking order of the company, but for some reason the general has taken some interest in him. Does it have to do with the curse that haunts the farmer?

‘The cursed recruit’ is supposed to be the first instalment in the ‘Allmage’ saga and establishes a new mediaeval fantasy world, with eight different races which each have a unique magic. The focus lies on the struggles of a powerless farmer in such a world, that tries to cope with the unfairness with humour and cunning. This work can also be seen as a prologue to the saga, kicking off a well thought out story with world threatening happenings.

CW: Swearing, violence, drug use

When the time is dire, when the world is split in two,

The last allmage will attack the Scourge of the east.

The lightning Tyrant will be struck down by a weapon,

Born from lightning, fire, ice and earth,

Nurtured by life, water, time and light.

The last of the old rulers will usher in a new era,

An era of change and wonders.

Verse 1, Grand prophecy of Samoht

#novel #book #story #writer #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #bookblr #fantasy novel

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

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The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Chapter 6 - The stray

Brother Benjamin led me to the exit of the monastery, out on the open street.

“Where should I go?” I asked.

“Someone should be here to guide you to your camp.” He closed the gate shut before I could say anything more.

I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone waiting for me. The monastery crowned a small hill. The town around was bigger than I remembered. The road down the south side of the hill buzzed with activity, a stark contrast to Hazelbrook. The presence of the monastery was likely to blame for this.

The clocktower stood tall beside the gate. A memory of a crowd collecting at the foot attacked my mind. I looked to the ground, and I could see blood seeping out between the pavement stones. The surface level of the red liquid rose with unnatural speed until it reached my boots. I turned away, trying to get away.

At that moment, the blood disappeared, it had never been.

I swallowed hard, then made my way down the main road with a sick feeling in my stomach.

Not far from the monastery, two taverns had some tables outside; the one on the left almost filled up with guests. Further down, the clanks of metal on metal sounded. Sellers of different merchandise were left and right down the narrow road.

“You damn beast,” Kaith’s voice sounded from the left tavern, followed by the wince of a dog.

A small mutt, his grey fur stained by mud, stumbled down the stairs, avoiding to put any weight on its left front paw.

I got down on my knees, beckoning the dog close. “Oh, you poor thing.”

The dog stopped in front of me, looking at me with shock.

I inched closer, slowly reaching out to pet the dog. A quick look between it's leg showed me that I was wrong. It was female.

The animal stood stiff, untrusting. Some blood darkened his injured leg, which he held in the air.

“I know someone that can help with your paw.” I hoped that the medic could do that.

“Get away from that lice infested creature, peasant.” Kaith had gone down the stairs, his too thick cloak hanging from his frame.

The dog growled at the officer.

“Did you do that?” I snapped at him.

“That dirty stray stole food from my table. He deserved it.”

I stroked the dog further, but it did little to silence its growling. “Good girl.”

“Let the dog go, and then follow me,” Kaith ordered, the smell of beer raising other memories.

The dog barked at the officer.

I swallowed my own rage. “She’s injured.”

Kaith scoffed. “Whatever, it’s its own fault. It would die anyway of some disease soon.”

The mutt lunged at the young man. I jumped in front of her. The teeth of the dog dug into my right forearm and I cried out in pain. The dog eased up when she saw she got the wrong person. I would have loved to see Kaith bitten, but it was better this way. I shuddered at what Kaith would have done if the dog had bitten him.

“See, that creature deserved what I did to it,” Kaith said.

The dog wanted to lunge at him again, but I held her back as I bit through the pain. “No, she’s just playing.”

A slight breeze washed through the street. Kaith closed his cloak around him. “Whatever, let’s just go. And you have to start to address me properly.”

I worked myself up from the floor, while still holding the dog in my left arm. He snuggled up against my healed side and distracted me from the throbbing in the bite mark. We trotted down the street and I got a better feeling how big the town was. My tavern count was up to six when we reached the coast of a river. Then we turned right. Similar as the day before, the camp was erected on a field. The outskirts were dotted with double tents, getting closer to the general’s tent, it grew more and more dense.

Or should I say, more and more tents?

I suppressed a snicker at my own pun.

This time they managed to create a large open space in front of the big tepee. The coachman taught several fighting techniques to a group of more than twenty people. Bron was sitting on the carriage and eating from a wooden bowl. His look followed me. The general’s son acknowledged nothing of this and just went on to the teepee with efficient strides. The guards parted the cloth and we walked through.

The dog squirmed in my hands when we entered the hot interior. Kaith immediately sat himself close to the fire in the middle. The general sat on the table, over a pile of parchments.

In one movement, he looked up and at the mutt in my hands. “Why do you have a dog?”

“She’s injured.” I nodded to Kaith. “He kicked her.”

The general’s head snapped to his son. “You kicked a dog?”

Kaith didn’t even move and kept looking at the flames. “That stray took my food.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Kaith sighed and turned around.

“You’re an officer now, that means you should behave in public. And not hit a dog. That’s not how I raised you. Get out and help with the training.”

“But father,...”

“Don’t come to me like that. You're an adult now, so act like it. Now get out. Come back in the evening with Tim and Bron, I have tasks for you.”

The young man stood up. A smile spread on my face as I watched him leave, which he replied with a look of hate.

When he had left, I said, “Don’t be too hard on him, what else would you expect from someone called ‘Kaith’?”

The general looked at me now, his eyes flashing up in an orange light. Silence settled in the tent that I heard the fire cracking. Not even the dog in my arm dared to make a noise.

“I seldom had a recruit with so little respect to his uppers,” he said.

“And what do you do with such recruits?”

“One of them is now an officer.”

I shrugged. “That won’t work with me, but you could send me home instead.”

"No," he said. "You may still have an important role to play."

"Can't you give one straight answer? What role?"

My loud voice agitated the dog in my hands, who started to bark. I calmed her with strokes on her head.

The general ignored me and the dog. "What are your thoughts about the war?"

"I don't give a chicken shit about it."

"That is a rare opinion. Many from your standing fear the horde and would die for the allmage king."

"Then they are stupid. We're all farmers. Regardless of who wins, they'll still need people like me to feed your greedy mouths. Nothing's ever gonna change."

"Hmm," the souvra moussed. "And what if you had an opportunity to really change something, would you take it?"

"I don't even have to think about this. I just said, I'm a farmer, I can't change anything."

"I beg to differ."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he took a deep breath. "Now for something that might get you chipped: it cost a lot to let you get healed on such short notice. If it were just about me, I'd say it won't matter, but that opens me up to a jugful of criticism for not looking at the budget."

"Get to the point already."

"Until the price of the healing is paid off, you will not get any salary."

"What?" The dog in my hands growled as well. "It's bad enough that I have to be in this company to begin with, and now I'm not even getting paid? What should I eat?"

"You can still visit the common servings. As for not getting any salary: If you enlist or do some extra tasks for me, I'd be willing to…"

"Fuck off. I'll not do anything for you other than the bare minimum."

"A shame."

"If that's all, then I'll go." I turned around to head out.

"Wait," he said. "I noticed a wound on your arm."

I petted the dog in my arms. "She bit me, nothing too bad."

"You need to head to the medic right after this. It might not be much now, but it could cost you your life."

I scoffed. "The curse."

"No.” His voice made me freeze. “There is no curse and you know it. You're just using it as an excuse to not let anyone get close to you. Why you're doing that, I don't know."

I pursed my lips. "Is that all?"

"You now have a tent partner. It should be built somewhere on the outskirts."

After his words, I left.

#high fantasy #novel #book #bookblr #fantasy #story #writeblr #writer #fantasy novel

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

Fifth chapter

Hello people. This is the start of a fantasy novel that I will publish here chapter by chapter. The content on this blog will be exclusively about this story, if you are interested, just follow.

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Blurb:

And so a simple farmer finds himself in the employ of the royal army, much to his dismay. He only has one goal: to get back to his farm and his parents alive, a task it's unsure he will manage.

CW: Swearing, violence, drug use

When the time is dire, when the world is split in two,

The last allmage will attack the Scourge of the east.

The lightning Tyrant will be struck down by a weapon,

Born from lightning, fire, ice and earth,

Nurtured by life, water, time and light.

The last of the old rulers will usher in a new era,

An era of change and wonders.

Verse 1, Grand prophecy of Samoht

#novel #book #story #writer #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #bookblr #fantasy novel

15 notes · View notes

the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

The cursed recruit (AO3)

By Symon Pude

Chapter 5 - The young priestess

I awoke in the room I was in before the ceremony. When I took a deep breath, it felt like someone pinched me where my wound had been, but it was just an annoyance. I put my right hand on the bruise and massaged it. The memory of the tingly feeling was still there. It had felt divine, like being granted from a higher power as they claimed.

But with my mind clearer now, I looked at it from a more logical perspective. The priestess, who didn’t seem to have much physical power, healed me and then she collapsed. A good explanation was that she had overexerted herself to heal me. That sounded way more plausible than a god showing mercy on me that they never did before.

But it felt so real.

My stomach grumbled, so I stood up and fetched myself some of my provisions from my rucksack and returned to the comfortable bed.

A knock on the door broke my peace. The monk that carried me off the carriage entered.

“Your general has requested you to be released early. So, pack your belongings.” A tiny pitch in his voice told me he was happy to get rid of me. “Would you like to see Lady Hezkova, the priestess who healed you before you leave?”

I took a bite from my bread. “Why?”

“It is common for healed patients to say their thanks to their healer. It puts a great strain on them to channel the Maker’s power.”

I scoffed as I stood up from the bed.

"Trying to drain me for money I don't have, huh?" I said so silent that he didn't hear.

I dressed again and turned to the monk.

“Alright then. Where is she?”

“I’ll lead you to her.”

I pushed the last remains of my provisions back into the rucksack and put it on my back. I followed him through a labyrinth of hallways, until finally we came to a door. He knocked.

“Who’s there?” Her voice was sweet and innocent.

“Brother Benjamin with the patient you healed today.”

“Come in.”

Brother Benjamin opened the door. A room not unlike the one I stayed in laid on the other side. A bed stood in the corner between a wardrobe and a table with parchment on it. Sunlight fell in through a small window. The young priestess sat in the middle of the room, still wearing the same pure white robe with the red finish. The monk bowed to her, then gestured me to sit on the chair opposite of her, which I did.

“I will take my leave now,” the monk said.

The zivot girl took a moment to answer. “Yes.”

The door closed behind me and the priestess turned to me with tired eyes. “How do you feel?”

“It’s ok.”

She suppressed a yawn. “Great.”

“Thank you for healing me."

She didn’t seem to hear me as she placed her red gloved hands on her chest. “Let’s thank the Maker for the blessing you received today. Lord in Heavens. Thy name is praised above all others…”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop.”

The zivot girl stopped for a second, then continued, “...You lead us to the promised…”

“Really, stop,” I said. “You’re obviously still weak from healing me, so rest.”

“But I need to…”

“Did they say you need to get the pious patients to give even more to your monastery? I don’t believe in half the shit you preach and I wouldn’t even have money.”

Her hand dropped from her chest back to her lap and she sunk deeper into the chair. With her gaze to the floor, she looked like she could fall asleep any second.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” I said.

She gave a small nod and pushed herself up, before stumbling to the bed and collapsing onto it. I thought she had fallen asleep completely, but her eyes remained open.

Silence settled in the room. I used the time to take a look at the parchment on the table, but I couldn’t make complete sense of them.

“Can I ask you a favour?” Lady Hezkova asked. “Can you describe the scenery outside the monastery?”

I looked through the small window, but it only showed a courtyard. “It’s not very special, there are rolling hills with brownish fields and woods with some leafless trees here and there.”

“What about flowers? Are there flowers?”

I scoffed. “Not now, it’s still soon after the winter. Only a few snowdrops and wood anemones.”

“Can you describe them?”

My brows furrowed. How could she not know about this? “Both white, one looks a little bit like a bell and the other has six pedals.”

“I wish I could see them with my own eyes.”

I turned to her. “Can you not?”

“No.” The zivot girl paused. “I was chosen from a very young age to become a priestess in the service of the Maker. My days were filled with praying and learning all the skills I needed, never leaving the estate of my family. At least there was a garden. Now, all I see from the outside is through this window.”

I turned to her, sympathy welling in my chest. “That’s awful. Why don’t they let you go outside?”

“Priestesses need to stay pure to invite in the Maker’s blessing. For that I have to stay within the holy walls. No contact with the sinful populace.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Lady Hezkova gasped and placed a hand on her chest.

“What? It is.” I said. “Have you ever tried to run away?”

The priestess looked at her bedsheets. “I think about it. Sometimes even breaking my personal prayer to fantasise about getting out. It is easy to get out of the monastery, but there’s nowhere I could go where they won’t find me.” Her eyes widened. “I heard you’re a soldier in the army. Can I come with you? They probably need a healer. You may be able to convince the general to shelter me from the church’s eyes in exchange for my abilities.”

“That is one of the worst ideas I've ever heard."

"Why?"

"You want a few reasons? You barely can heal one person before you collapse, and being alone with a lot of blue-balled men won’t turn out well for you. Even if the general does things that don’t seem to make any sense, he wouldn’t go so blatantly against the church.”

“There must be some way." She almost shouted, still weak. "I saved you, so do something to help me.”

I remained silent.

The young priestess’ lips pursed, and she closed her eyes. Tears fell down on her pillow and got soaked up by the linens. I looked at her for a few seconds; feelings of guilt welled even further up my chest. I couldn’t help her, unless…

I put my palm on my face. “I’m so gonna regret this.”

Stepping to the table, I grabbed an empty piece of yellowish parchment. I dipped the quill into the inkwell. The lines of the drawn roads were squiggly as I struggled to draw a map of Hazelbrooks without my fingers smearing my work.

Lady Hezkova pushed herself up a little, wiping the tears from her eyes. “What are you doing?”

I finished the crude map and blew on it to dry. “There is somewhere where you can go. If you go east, you’ll come to a small village with a chapel in about a day. North of it there is a small farm, where my parents live. If you tell them that I sent you and you need a place to hide from the church, they’ll take you in.”

I held the map out to her.

She shook her head. “I can’t accept this. I want to leave, yes, but if they catch me there, your family and you will be hanged. I couldn’t live with that.”

“So you just have to hide very well. With a lot of grime on your face to hide the translucency, and your hair shaved off and replaced with some plastered-on brown one, you might even pass as a young lad that got sent away to become a farmhand.”

She reached up to her curls. “I need to shave … my hair?”

“Well, yes. This dark red colour is a dead giveaway. Any problem with that?”

“It shows how long it has been since my first healing. It would be disrespectful for a priestess to get rid of it after receiving this power from the Maker.”

“If you take that map, you won’t be a priestess anymore.”

She looked at the piece of parchment. “Are you sure you want to endanger your family just to help a complete stranger like me?”

I made a dismissive hand gesture with my free hand. “They need someone to help them on the fields anyway.”

The young priestess pursed her lips again. Then she slowly reached out and took the map with her hand. “Thank you.”

I followed her thin, red cotton gloves as she put the map under her pillow, when an idea came to mind. “Give me your gloves.”

“Huh?”

“Your gloves. If you manage to escape, they will look everywhere for you. And when they find those west from here, who would think to look where you actually went?”

After a short pause, she nodded and removed the clothings. Her rosy-translucent skin on the back of her hand reminded me of that godly feeling they had roused the last time. I felt a twinge and I looked away, only glancing back shortly to take the gloves. They were soft to the touch, the seams not even noticeable.

I put them in my trouser pocket when a knock on the door made me jump.

“One other thing,” I said, “Can you also take away the health of people?”

She leaned back, bringing distance between us. “Why?”

“Yes or no?”

She retreated even further “I don't know. Never tried it. But why?”

“If my father starts drinking again, you could at least try to do that. Mess him up real good.”

Another knock at the door. The voice of Brother Benjamin came from outside. “Is everything okay, Lady Hezkova? You’ve been speaking with your patient for quite some time now.”

“Yes, everything is okay. We just finished. You can come in,” Lady Hezkova said.

The door opened and the monk appeared in the frame.

“Again, I thank the Maker for his blessing. And I hope you get better soon,” I faked.

“It is okay that you were not able to show your gratitude in a material way. Your thanks are highly enough.”

I took my rucksack and went to the door. The monk bowed. I turned around and did the same. When I straightened again, she smiled at me, with real joy in her eyes.

She mouthed a “Thank you.” Her pointy canines were easy to see. Even my lips twitched upwards a little.

I hope she succeeds.

#high fantasy #novel #book #bookblr #fantasy #story #writeblr #writer #fantasy novel #new story

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

Fourth chapter

Hello people. This is the start of a fantasy novel that I will publish here chapter by chapter. The content on this blog will be exclusively about this story, if you are interested, just follow.

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Blurb:

And so a simple farmer finds himself in the employ of the royal army, much to his dismay. He only has one goal: to get back to his farm and his parents alive, a task it's unsure he will manage.

CW: Swearing, violence, drug use

When the time is dire, when the world is split in two,

The last allmage will attack the Scourge of the east.

The lightning Tyrant will be struck down by a weapon,

Born from lightning, fire, ice and earth,

Nurtured by life, water, time and light.

The last of the old rulers will usher in a new era,

An era of change and wonders.

Verse 1, Grand prophecy of Samoht

#novel #book #story #writer #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #bookblr #fantasy novel

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

The cursed recruit (AO3)

By Symon Pude

Chapter 4 - The Ceremony

I opened my eyes to the early signs of dawn, my eyelids still too heavy to keep open. I tried to take a deep breath, but only a small wheeze came through. My chest rattled with every forced breath. I put my numb hand on my mouth when a cough came and even though I couldn’t see anything, the stickiness could only mean one thing. Just like the medic said; I was going to suffocate on my own blood. Panic built up in my chest. I tried to calm myself, thinking what the medic advised.

I shifted to my back. I had taken the monk’s advice and my torso was on my rucksack. I put my hands down beside me. Slightly more air came through my throat.

“Help!” The sound out of my voice was not louder than a whisper, although I cried out with the whole power I had left. That did more harm than good. A thick fog of exhaustion lay on my mind, begging me to drag me back to sleep. I didn’t give in. I had to survive till dawn. Wind blew through the holes in the tent’s fabric.

At least I get enough air, I thought.

It took forever before the staccato fanfare from some instrument with metallic sound broke the silence. I started to hear more and more rustling. People grunting as they took their morning piss.

“Help!” I cried.

No answer came. Another few minutes went by like hours. Every small breath needed all my concentration to work. My head pounded in a fast rhythm.

Bron's words bellowed over the camp. “Is the new one still not up?"

Negating grumbles followed. The heavy, big footsteps of the berserker approached; the damaged cloth of my tent was pushed aside and Bron’s head peeked in. His eyes opened wide as he saw me.

Some comment about coming to the bed of another man swirled in my head, but all I could grunt was, "Help!"

"We need a medic!" he shouted in the direction of camp.

A series of voices shouted "Medic!"

I was alone again in my tent. My short ragged breaths drowned out the sounds from outside. Every second trickled by as slowly as a snail. The cloth at the entrance parted and the monk came into view.

He sat down next to me. "Relax. Just breathe."

I tried to laugh, but only coughs came out.

He turned to Bron. "He really needs to take part in a ceremony. We should have gotten to him sooner."

"I will ask General Trak what we should do." He hurdled away.

The medic took my hands, his touch feeling numb. “Your fingertips are a little cold.”

Then he leaned to my face. “Take a deep breath.”

I sucked in, but like before, my body refused to take in air.

He shifted, putting his ear on my chest. “Again, take a deep breath.”

The man frowned. "I am afraid there's nothing I can do for you for now."

He turned to the spectators. "Bring a stretcher!"

Two of the useless ones scrambled away. The monk stayed with me, as I fell into a fast breathing rhythm.

In out in out in out...

It felt like an entire day until the sound of hooffalls carried over, growing louder and louder.

“Get out of the way!” Bron bellowed at the spectators.

His massive body closed the opening of my tent, then he made way for two soldiers who came in with the stretcher. It was a simple wooden frame with cloth stretched in between.

“Put it alongside his body,” the monk said to them. “You two tilt him a little to the other side and put the stretcher under his body.”

As the two soldiers tilted my body, my breath was gone. I knew that they would stop soon enough, so I tried not to panic. I felt the wooden framework on my back. The soldiers let me down. I slipped onto the stretcher, but my supporting rucksack didn’t. I fought to get a breath in, to no avail. The monk got behind my head and pushed my torso high. I sucked in air.

The monk turned to the soldiers. “A little slower the next time. Put his backpack under him.”

They did as they were told. The monk let me sink down on it.

Bron ordered, “The carriage is in front of the tent. Put him on it.”

The two did a quick salute.

“At three,” the one behind my head mumbled. “One, two, three.”

They heaved the stretcher in the air, but they hadn’t considered how low the tent was. Both, and me, hit the ceiling. The holes in the tents were weak spots, and cloth ripped with a gruesome sound.

"Damnit," I pushed out. Those soldiers were not the smartest ones. It was almost a wonder they could count to three.

They ducked again and carried me out. Every movement put a stop to my breathing. Fortunately, the carriage stood directly beside my tent. The carriage was rather big, with a round tent larger than the two men tents mounted on it. Cloth hung over the opening in the back. The two soldiers put the foot end of the stretcher on the carriage and one climbed onto the wooden support. They huffed me the last few metres into the carriage, where warmth engulfed me.

I widened my eyes. I knew what that meant.

The man saluted to a person in the carriage and then quickly scrambled outside. His face was full of embarrassment to have disturbed the occupant of the carriage.

We stood still for a moment until the front of the cloth parted and a quill and a piece of parchment were handed in. With one snappy movement, the items were taken by the occupant of the carriage. Stocks of provisions, weapons and clothes obstructed my direct line of sight to the person, but I knew who it was.

The two horses won against inertia. This first push left me breathless. The first metres were torture. Every hole on the uneven field shook the cart. Then the front wheels got on the road with a rumble that went through the whole carriage. It cut down the breath I tried to get in. The back wheels weren't much better. Finally, on the road. Which was also plastered with holes. My weak mind drifted off. What does the baron do with all the tax he collects if he can't even keep the roads in order?

Concentrating on my breathing, I looked around in the carriage. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling. Its frequent burning over the years had coated the glass with a slight brown tint. It illuminated the interior of the carriage in a dim, orange light. Its heat drew drops of sweat from my skin. Souvras really liked heat

As I listened, the scraping of a feather on parchment was heard beside the hooffalls, the creaking of the lamp overhead and the rattling of the wheels. I craned my neck to see the general holding a wooden board in one hand and a quill in the other hand. Occasionally, he dipped his quill into the inkwell. The movement made it impossible for him to write anything.

"You should not cut the finger that is mending your cracks, or you might shatter," he said without moving at all. A saying that I didn't know. I think it meant that he noticed that I shook his hand with puke on mine.

“I’m breaking a lot of taboos to get you healed. I hope you learn to appreciate it,” he continued.

In my clouded mind I had only one question.

I whispered, “Why?”

“You might not realise it yet, but you could prove very important.”

"How?"

He didn't say anything else. I got back to my breathing, and he to his writing. Even through the cloth, the light of the morning sun now trumped the light of the oil lamp. It was going to be a sunny, warm day. The general still didn't remove the cloth on any side. The radiation from the sun made it even hotter in the carriage. After a time of complete, sweet silence in the comfortable warmth, the carriage went uphill and then stopped.

“What is your business here?” cried a voice from the outside.

“We are from the army. We have a heavily injured soldier that needs healing.” That person had to be the coachman.

“Do you have any official request for healing this person?” the man said.

“Yes, hold on a minute.”

The cloth in the front parted. General Trak had heard the conversation and handed the paper he had been writing on to the short man riding the carriage. His rugged full beard stood in perverse contrast to the armour of the army.

The coachman vanished from sight again. “There we go.”

The other person took a while to read the paper.

He stuttered, “Okay, well, the…, then go on, please.”

Shortly after, the carriage moved again, but stopped to a halt in the monastery walls soon. The general exited the carriage in the front.

“Greetings in the name of the healing god, Lord Trak.” The greeting came from an unknown, glorifying voice. Like the voice of the ceremon in the town, but even more spiritual.

“I greet thee, bishop,” the general said.

“What brings you hither?” the bishop asked.

“A patient to be healed today.”

“It’s customary to have two weeks of penance before receiving the blessing.”

“By the trust the king has given the generals, I overrule this custom.”

A short pause followed. “So be it.”

The cloth at the end of the carriage parted. I craned my neck but couldn’t make out the people behind my head. Somebody entered the carriage and entered my field of vision. It was a monk, a little bit taller and older than the medic, dressed in a brown robe. On his chest was the same picture of the griffin in red with the octagonal crest of the church in the middle.

He knelt beside me. “Are you okay?”

I just blinked at him.

He took a look at my fingers. “My name is Brother Benjamin. We’re going to get you healed up real quick.”

He went to my feet and took the handles of the stretcher. He nodded at someone behind me and I was lifted off the ground. They got me out of the carriage and carried me to the building.

I spotted a tall bell tower, and I recognised it. I quickly averted my eyes. When we passed the general, I saw the bishop. Four monks were carrying a glamourous roof of cloth around that spent shadow to the religious leader.

He looked as old as Joseph; but he wasn’t human. He was a zivot. The face of the zivot was not very different from that of a human, if a little thin. His skin was translutient, with a slight rosy tint. A fine mesh of pulsating, shining blood with a colour range from blue to red shone through his cheeks. Under the skin of his bald head, only a few blood vessels could be made out. His bony jaws led to a pointed chin. Streaks of vibrant green streaked through his amber eyes.

The monks carried me past the bishop, who brought a sleeve of his pure white robe to his nose. “He smells. Where did he come from?” When he spoke, his upper canines peeked out of his mouth like fangs.

“He is a human farmer,” the general replied.

The bishop turned to the general. “This is very uncommon for us to bestow the Maker’s gift of healing to an unwashed peasant.”

The general just stared at him.

The bishop sighed. “We will make an exception for you, Lord Trak.”

The monks carried me inside. The walls were made of big chunks of granite. In the hallway there were four doors on either side. We went through the second one on the left. It was a simple room with one bed. It was the most comfortable I had ever lain on. The monks got to work opening my surcoat and getting me out of my shirt. Then they cleaned my torso with a sponge and pleasantly warm water. The red spots from yesterday had turned into brown bruises, and the monks took special interest in the big one on my side. Through all of it, I struggled to keep my eyelids open. Finally, they covered me up with a blanket.

“This day’s ceremony starts in a little more than one hour,” a monk that had carried me explained. His voice distorted and got clear again, like looking at something too closely. “We will consult the treatment and get back to you. In the meantime, confess all your sins and regrets to me. The holy ceremony is only for people with a clean soul.”

The other people left and the monk -what was his name again?- got a chair and sat down beside me.

“You don't have to worry. Nobody except me, you and the Maker are going to hear your confession.”

I stared at the ceiling, my eyes unable to focus on one point.

“So, when was your last confession?” the bald man asked.

“Never,” I whispered.

His eyebrows shot up. “And you never had the urge to cleanse your mind and turn back to god?”

“No.”

“Do you have anything to confess now?”

In my mind's eye, I saw the crowd around a body that fell to her death.

"No," I said.

“I know it’s hard to open up. But it’s a good feeling to have it off your chest.”

I spat the collected saliva on the ground. It left the taste of blood in my mouth.

The monk jumped back, barely missed by the projectile. “May the all-powerful forgive all your sins, spoken and unspoken ones.” He left my bed and went to watch in the corner. My vision was too blurry to see, but I assumed his face was a glare.

I didn't know how much time had passed before the other monk came in. He went to my bed and sat down beside me. He spoke in a distorted voice. “You have liquid in your lungs. This is called an oedema. Oedemas are difficult to treat. Our healers can easily heal the injury that caused the blood leak in your lungs, but it would still take much time for your body to get rid of the liquid.”

My lips curled upwards. There was a chance I could miss out on the army.

The monk continued, “We decided that we first need to get rid of all the blood. So, we’re going to stab your chest with a metal lance and then suck out the whole liquid. When the priestess heals you, the additional injury is also healed up. We have to tell you that this treatment is going to hurt.”

I nodded, a frown appearing on my face.

“Because you came in on this short notice, your healing will be performed by a priestess in training. The ceremony will initiate soon.”

My visitors left the room, and silence settled down, only broken by the rushing of blood in my ears. I took a deep breath; it was as hard as trying to squeeze out the last bit of whey from fresh cheese. A gurgle growled in my chest and when I released the air, it came out as a wheeze. My unfocused eyes passed around the empty room.

After a few minutes, small handbells clanked in a slow metronome, echoing in my addled mind. As the sound grew louder, low, praising, chants in an unknown language joined in. Two figures in brown monk robes entered my room. The crest on their chests was now nothing more than a red blur. One swooshed behind my head and suddenly the whole bed moved. They pushed me out into the hallway, the grey walls passing by me in a blur. My head fell to the other side and found a bed similar to mine with a patient with bluish skin on it. The blue man had joined the prayers of the monks. The words reverberated around me, accentuated by metallic clanks, pushing away everything else from my mind. A warm feeling of belonging spread in my body, and I caught myself speaking the words I didn’t know.

We reached two massive, golden doors with the church’s hand engraved into them. They pushed open, flooding light into the dark hallway. I instinctively closed my eyes. When I opened them back again, I found myself in a grandiose hall, not unlike the inside of the chapel at home, but scaled up to impossible size. A chorus of voices filled the room with a sanctifying hymn. Although the words were lost to me, the combined force of the people touched me deeply.

We had entered at the long side of a rectangular floor. On our right, there were rows after rows of singing visitors. On our left side, there was a free, square area, and beyond it stood ten zivots. The bishop stood in the middle, atop of a stair, wearing a gradious, pure white robe. The other zivots stood shoulder on shoulder in a line, their robes similarly white, except the red crest on their chests and the deep red sleeves. On the bishop’s left side stood four bald males, and on the other side five females with dark red, curly hair of different length. The one that broke the symmetry was the young zivot girl farthest to the right, which hair only reached just under her ears. While all the other priests and priestesses had their heads held high, she looked down.

The song stopped, the last note echoing through the hall.

“Let the ceremony begin,” the bishop said from an altar, his voice carrying back to the last corner.

They started with the most common prayer, and I rolled my eyes like always. But now, it reverberated through the whole hall and into my addled mind.

“Lord in Heavens. Your name is praised above all others. You lead us to the promised land. Everybody who follows your way will find your mind with you. Oh, almight Maker…”

My head fell back on the pillow and the voices distorted despite my best efforts to concentrate. I tried to blink away my unfocussed vision, but my eyes refused to open again. In the darkness, my mind threatened to slip away. I clung to every sensation; The soft linens on my skin and the voice of the bishop, now speaking in an unknown tongue.

I didn’t know how much time had passed until a gloved hand touched my forearm. I opened my eyes to see the young priestess standing by the side of my bed. I looked into the young woman’s amber eyes, but she averted her gaze sideways and immediately said a silent prayer. That did little to slow the blood pulsating in the veins under the translucent skin on her cheeks.

"Blood hen," I muttered.

The priestess didn't react. Her face boasted the same features as the bishop’s, if a little softer and more agreeable. The tips of her dark red hair barely curled under her ears.

A song started playing in the background. Three monks also joined me at the bed. “We’re sorry, but it's better if your extremities are out of the way.”

They took my hands and bound them with leather straps to each side on top of the bed. My legs were also fixed; I wouldn’t have had the strength to stop them if I had wanted to.

“This will now hurt. Here, bite on this.” A monk handed me a piece of wood, which I took in my mouth.

One of the monks took out the lance and targeted it on my side. My breathing got quicker as the reality of the situation sunk in.

They were going to push that fucking thing into my chest!

The lance penetrated my right side. My teeth burrowed into the wood. Pain in the jaw added to my agony. With eyes pressed together, I could only feel the thin rod probed into my new wound. Then the sucking started. That made it even worse.

I spit out the wood and yelled with all the power I had. “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!”

The young priestess jumped back and placed her red glove before her mouth, before a monk stopped her from retreating further. The monk sucking on the glass pipette stuck in my side stopped. I breathed in, and more air came down, but it hurt like a thousand needles on my right side. The young priestess stepped closer, her tiny lips a line, the blood pumping in her cheeks. She ungloved her hands and placed them on my injuries. A pleasant tingling flowed out of them.

The power of the Maker, I thought.

My fingers curled in the sheets at the heavenly feeling. It was hard to believe. The pain subsided, and I hoped with all my heart it wouldn't stop. After a few moments, the tingling feeling lessened.

"No!"

The hands slipped from my chest. I opened my eyes to see the priestess fall to the floor, unconscious. The monks forgot about me and tended to her. My side still felt weird, but my exhaustion was stronger.

“Thank the Maker,” I managed to mumble before I closed my eyes again.

#high fantasy #novel #book #bookblr #fantasy #story #writeblr #writer #fantasy novel

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Link

The first three chapters are already on AO3

#novel #fantasy novel #ao3 #original work #high fantasy #elves #dwarves #unique magical races

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

Third chapter

The work is now also on AO3!

Hello people. This is the start of a fantasy novel that I will publish here chapter by chapter. The content on this blog will be exclusively about this story, if you are interested, just follow.

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Blurb:

And so a simple farmer finds himself in the employ of the royal army, much to his dismay. He only has one goal: to get back to his farm and his parents alive, a task it's unsure he will manage.

CW: Swearing, violence, drug use

When the time is dire, when the world is split in two,

The last allmage will attack the Scourge of the east.

The lightning Tyrant will be struck down by a weapon,

Born from lightning, fire, ice and earth,

Nurtured by life, water, time and light.

The last of the old rulers will usher in a new era,

An era of change and wonders.

Verse 1, Grand prophecy of Samoht

#novel #book #story #writer #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #bookblr #fantasy novel

15 notes · View notes

the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Chapter 3 - The general

A deep voice riffled through the air. “Get away from him!”

The kicking stopped. I turned to my side. Through my dull vision, I saw the berserker run towards my tormentors.

My first attacker exclaimed, “He attacked me!”

“And five enlisted cannot deal with one man without killing him?” the massive man asked.

The man staggered for a reply. The berserker stepped closer to the man, who was taking a step back from the towering officer.

The berserker said with a deadly calm, “This will still have consequences. Now scram!”

Without a word, the five disappeared. The shadow of a relieved smile ran over my face.

He crouched down beside me. “Can you stand?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist saving my ass.”

He blew air out of the hole at the side of his lips. I rose up to my hands and knees. Even that took way more effort than it should have. My right hand felt warm. Wet puke hung on my fingers in strings. A deep breath sent a jolt of pain at my left side. I winced, and my arms buckled a bit, letting me feel several bruises forming on them. I pushed against them and my knees took over my weight, pressing the stones below into my skin. The officer extended a hand. I took it with my left, and he pulled me up. My legs held.

He said, “The general wants to see you in his tent. Then we have someone take a look at you.”

“My rucksack, please.” I pointed at the bag on the floor. He carried it for me.

We staggered forward through the field. The army wasn’t just a big, compressed obstacle anymore. Several people were erecting two-man tents. In the centre there was a bigger, round tepee. A big crest of the army was embroidered on its side. The lifesize picture of a sword cut straight down a blue coloured octagon. On each side of the blade, four white dots were arranged in a diamond shape, but a bigger white dot was at the middle of the guard of the weapon. I focused on the crest, which I had never seen in such detail. I almost missed the looks of pity that were thrown at me from every side.

I tripped, my hands too slow to break my fall, but the berserker caught me with one hand.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as we went further to the tepee.

The berserker pushed the curtains to the tent aside. Hot, smoky air washed against my face, and I blinked to adjust. When I opened my eyes again, I froze.

On a seat beyond the bonfire sat the slender souvra that refused to step away from my carriage yesterday. He wore a blue, long sleeved gambeson with plates of armour similar to the berserker’s, though his were trimmed with shiny metal. From first glance it was obvious; he was the general. And I had disrespected him.

My shock turned to anger in an instant. He ordered his lieutenant to go after me, just because I had insulted his ego. Pain flared up at the right side of my chest, and I winced against my will. A gesture that might have been mistaken for a bow. I straightened against the pain, meeting the souvra with an angry glare.

To the army man's left side, there was a boy at the transition to a man. His thin facial points seemed like an exact copy of the general’s. He also had the same red skin on the collar of his officer’s gambeson and unnatural orange eyes. The younger version of the general looked at me with an unmoving stare, like a lizard caught in the open. That would explain the need for the blasting heat in the tent.

The berserker pulled a bench from the side and lowered me down to sit. My legs thanked him.

"I'm going to get the medic," the lieutenant said.

"Yes, please do that, Bron," the general said. All the while, he did not move a muscle.

The large man left, leaving me with the two souvras.

"Who did this to you?" the general asked.

"Can't remember their names," I said. "Wouldn't it have been funny if I had died after you went to the effort of ripping me from my home?"

I grunted and held my side. When I spoke, it felt like a stab from a dull knife.

“No, it wouldn’t have been,” the general said.

“What did you want with me?” I said in pain. “You didn’t call me here to pretend to care about me.”

“Hey,” the younger souvra shouted. “My father is asking the questions.”

“It’s fine, Kaith,” the general said.

I let out a coughy laugh.

The young man snapped his head to me. “What’s so funny?”

“Your name sounds like my old dog puking.”

The young man jumped up, ready to hurt me even more. That was the first big movement I’ve seen him do.

“Kaith,” the general said in a cutting voice. “Go and look if you can help Vito prepare the training ground.”

The young souvra looked at his father, before saying, “Yes, father.”

He put on a thick coat and headed out, throwing a last stare at me.

“Charming boy,” I said when he was gone.

The general pulled out his porcelain pipe, stuffed in tabak and put it in his mouth, all in one snappy movement. “You cut our last conversation short, and there is something that wasn’t solved yet. What is your mother’s race?”

I bared my teeth. “She’s human, not a drop of magical blood. Same as my father and my grandparents. My line is dirt. Is that what you wanted to know?”

The general sucked on his pipe and smoke spilled out when he talked again. “Don’t sell yourself as a cheap plate. Being only of human descent is quite rare nowadays.”

I had not seen how he had lit his pipe. I couldn’t ponder on it, as the curtains of the entry pushed aside and Bron came back with a man in tow. He was quite a bit shorter than me, but his broader shoulders made up for it. I scoffed when I saw the bald head that marked him as a monk. He made a small bow towards the general.

“You can examine the patient here,” the leader said.

“Yes, sir.”

The short medic turned to me, and a small frown appeared on his face.

He came closer. “Take off your surcoat and shirt.”

I smiled sarcastically. “Did Bron ask you to order me to strip?”

The monk’s face contorted in confusion. He turned to the berserker.

“Just ignore him and continue,” Bron growled.

The medic crouched down before me, and reached out.

“I can do that myself.” I said, starting to unbutton my surcoat, every movement shooting out pain. I put my surcoat beside me and tried to push my sweaty shirt over my head. A sting in my left chest caused me to grunt and press my eyes together. When I opened them again, the medic was even closer with a look that I didn’t expect from a member of the church; a look of genuine sympathy. Without words, he moved my hands upwards and helped me out of my shirt. The warmth from the fire lay on my bare skin. Several red spots dotted my whole upper body. The biggest one sat on the right side of my chest.

The medic explained. “I’m going to press on certain parts of your body. Tell me when it hurts.”

I pressed my teeth together. “It hurts now.”

“I didn’t even start.”

He started to feel up my legs, which were mostly unhurt, I only whinced once when he pressed on my left thigh. He moved on to my torso, where I winced every time he touched one of the red spots. The monk had a concentrated expression as he searched over my skin. While he worked, I got a good look at the picture embroidered in red on the chest of his brown tunic; an eagle spread his wings, reaching to both his armpits. In the centre of his body was another octagon, with a red hand in its middle, the crest of the church. I yelped out in pain when the medic pressed on the big wound on my side. He didn’t move on, but probed around even more, his brows furrowed.

Suddenly, his hands started shaking. I winced in pain, but he didn't stop. In the corner of my eye I also saw Bron clattering, like he was holding up something heavy.

“What?” I looked around, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The air in the tent seemed hotter than before, but I could have be mistaken. The general had his hand on the sword beside him. In its hilt, there was a crystal that shone in a faint orange light. When I looked closer, it had grown dim. Was it a trick of the light again?

The medic stopped shaking, but seemed just as confused as I was.

“You can continue,” the general said, with a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” the monk said and pressed around the edges of the big wound.

Then he scratched the back of his bald head. “I think some ribs could have cracks. This could become worse if it remains untreated. He needs to take part in a ceremony as soon as possible. There’s a monastery in the next town.”

"Bron, could you prepare a carriage for our patient?" The general said without moving.

"I don't want to go there," I said before the berserker could react. "Just let me go and rest up at home. I can't be of much use to the army right now."

The general waited for a moment before asking the short monk, “What can happen if he doesn't get healed?”

The medic helped me slip back into my shirt. "Blood could get into his lungs, and he could suffocate."

I swallowed hard.

"How likely is that?" the general asked.

“Only time will tell for sure.”

The general sucked on his pipe. "Now that you know what could happen, do you still not want to go there?"

Before I could answer, the curtains at the entry parted again, and two officers stepped in. One was the general’s son, Kaith, but I diverted my attention to the second man. I had thought the new ceremon in Hazelbrook was a pure blooded gargoyle, but it was obvious that the new officer was the real deal. His skin had a deep aquamarine colour that almost blended with his gambeson’s. Three feathers protruded just above his ears on either side, not just down feathers, but long and brilliant blue. On the man's belt hung something that almost looked like a crown made from iron.

The blue man smiled at me with squinted eyes. “Oh no, what happened to you?”

Bron answered, “It was a small squabble between recruits, the responsible persons will be punished accordingly. The general has resolved the matter, Officer Aquarus.”

The blue man’s smile wavered a bit. “One might wonder whether this unnecessary pain could have been avoided, Lieutenant Frostbreaker,” said the blue-skinned officer.

Bron growled.

The new officer turned to the general. “Was it really worth sending your Lieutenant back to fetch a deserter?”

A puff of his pipe was the general’s answer.

“But I digress. I didn’t want to interrupt.” The officer stepped to the edge of the tent, still in my viewpoint.

“We will wait,” the general finally said, directed at the monk by my side. “If his condition gets worse, we will make the decision tomorrow.”

I looked at the slim man. Before, he'd ask for my input, but now, he just decided for me.

“Yes, sir,” the medic said beside me, but I had my eyes fixed on the general.

The monk spoke to me, “The only thing I can do now is urge you to rest as much as possible and not put any further pressure on the injuries.”

I nodded absentmindedly.

The monk wiped sweat from his bald head. “And try to keep your torso high when you’re sleeping. And when you struggle to breathe, put your hands down beside you.”

I nodded again.

The general said, “Kaith, could you escort the recruit and get him a tent.”

After a moment, the young man answered, “Yes, father.”

I pushed myself to my feet. My body complained, but I pushed through. Bron made a move to help me stand, but I gestured that I was fine.

"Wait a second," I said

I made my way over to the general’s seat and offered my right hand. “Thank you for saving me from those thugs.”

With one movement, he locked eyes with me, his strange orange irises filled with doubt.

“Very well.” He took my hand and applied good pressure. “Don’t assume I am going to save you every time.”

He let go.

“Thank you again,” I said, a smile appearing on my lips. “And I will try to stay out of trouble.”

"Please do, you're valuable."

“Let’s get it over with,” the general’s son cut off everything else.

“I need my rucksack,” I said while stumbling to the entrance.

The blue-skinned officer moved to the bag and picked it up with one fluid motion. He held it out to Kaith while squinting and giving me a smile. The young man took my things and slung it over his shoulder with little consideration, before leading me out of the tent.

We stopped at the carriage beside the tepee, where the young souvra climbed on and took out a package like the one I had carried for the man who almost kicked me to death. He pushed it in my hands, pain flaring up in my chest.

I struggled to hold the old tent. “It’s ripped,” I said, looking over it.

He walked on, moving with precision, not a single unnecessary movement. “I’m not going to climb up there again and get you a new one.”

I stumbled after the officer as he led me to the edge of the camp. At first his strides were too fast to follow, but they seemed to be getting slower. On a free space of grass, he dropped my rucksack, and I let my new tent fall beside it. I sat down beside it, causing a cough from my throat. The deep breath afterwards caught a rattle in my chest. My legs felt like after a week of hard labour on the fields.

“No time to sit around, you need to build up your tent, so I can finally go back to the fire.”

“Fuck you, Kaith.”

“It’s ‘sir’ to you.”

“Fuck you, ‘sir’.” The sarcasm dripped from the last word.

He raised his hand for a slap, but reconsidered.

“You there!” he called to the soldiers closest to me. “Put up this tent.”

They saluted and got to work erecting my tent, with no enthusiasm.

“Be ready to go tomorrow at dawn,” Kaith ordered me, before he went off directly to the general’s tent. His movements were now significantly slower than before.

I sat myself to the ground and took a deep breath that caused a rattle in my chest. I observed the other soldiers slowly getting into their own tents in groups of two. I brought my right hand up to my face and the smell of puke filled my nose. I chuckled, but it turned into a coughing fit. When I removed the hand from my mouth, my sleeve was tinged with a red colour.

"That can't be good."

#book #bookblr #fantasy #high fantasy #novel #story #writeblr #writer #fantasy novel #the cursed recruit

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

Second chapter

Hello people. This is the start of a fantasy novel that I will publish here chapter by chapter. The content on this blog will be exclusively about this story, if you are interested, just follow.

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Blurb:

And so a simple farmer finds himself in the employ of the royal army, much to his dismay. He only has one goal: to get back to his farm and his parents alive, a task it's unsure he will manage.

CW: Swearing, violence, drug use

When the time is dire, when the world is split in two,

The last allmage will attack the Scourge of the east.

The lightning Tyrant will be struck down by a weapon,

Born from lightning, fire, ice and earth,

Nurtured by life, water, time and light.

The last of the old rulers will usher in a new era,

An era of change and wonders.

Verse 1, Grand prophecy of Samoht

#novel #book #story #writer #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #bookblr #fantasy novel #I will try to stick to Thursday uploads

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Chapter 2 – The Departure

“Wake up.” My mother's voice ripped me from my sleep as she shook my shoulder.

I yawned and turned to the other side.

“The sun is up.”

That made me jerk up. “Shit.”

I pushed the blanket away, yesterday’s clothes wrapped damp around me with sweat. I started into the other room, looking for food.

I settled for the end of yesterday’s bread and took a bite. “A wholesome breakfast.”

While I was wolfing down the rest, my view fell on the opened book on the table. I didn't have any time to find out more about souvras.

My mother suppressed a sneeze.

I froze and turned to her. “Are you getting sick?”

She made a dismissive gesture. “I’ll be fine. Do you have everything?”

“There’s something I still need to do.”

I went to my mother and hugged her. Tears rushed to my eyes.

I spoke into her ear. “I will come back.”

“I will wait. You be good.”

“Probably not,” I said before I squeezed her harder.

She gave me a playful slap on the back of my head before she deepened the hug as well. I didn’t want the warm hug to end. My mother shuddered in my arms. I felt safe. I could hear her every breath, feel her heart beating faster than usual. When I broke the hug and opened my eyes, tears rolled down my mother’s face. Using all my willpower, I turned away and slung the rucksack on my back. “Goodbye, Mama.”

“Take care.”

I walked out the door. The sun hit me like the day before, although the air didn’t seem as clear. Fog would obscure the landscape soon enough. I moved over to the eight sticks on the side of the path, the snowdrop still lying there.

“Goodbye, grandmother, sister and stillborn siblings,” I said, but did not move. There was no strength in my feet that could carry me away.

As I stared at the sticks, angry that I’d forgotten to renew them yesterday, I did not notice the big frame that jogged up our path.

The berserker slowed down and stopped beside me.

After a moment, he began to speak in his low voice. “That's a large number of graves for such a small family."

"The curse of death."

"Yes, I heard that rumour." He took a step closer. "Maybe you should take this journey as an opportunity for a new start. To build friendships with people who don't know what is said about you."

"I don't need friends."

"I don't believe that."

"How could I enjoy this journey if my parents could starve or work themselves to their bones in my absence?" I spat at the Berserker. "If you are really sorry and trying to help, you'd let me stay here."

"That is not within my power."

"You also let my father stay, why not me as well?"

"The general wants you in his employ."

"Why would he care about a simple farmer like me? I can't fight, I don't have any magic; all I'm going to do is clog up your war budget."

"He hasn't even told me that yet." The burly man turned away and gestured for me to follow. "We need to go if we want any chance of catching up to them."

He began to jog, and I had no other choice than to try and keep up with him. My shoes started to hurt immediately, not being made for running and my rucksack bounced up and down.

"Stupid oaf," I said between heavy breaths.

We ran towards Hazelbrook. Each one of the berserker's strides meant two for me, and so I struggled to keep up, even though it was only a light jog for him.

We hadn't even reached the village when I stumbled and fell. Tiny stones dug into my hands, and I tasted the wet dirt.

"Stop," I called, out of breath.

The tall army man did, then he turned around, grabbed my rucksack and lifted me back on my feet. My hands fell on my knees.

"I need a moment," I panted.

He looked down at me. "That wasn't even that far yet."

"What do you want?" I said. "It's right after being holed up for the entire winter."

He waited only a few moments, before walking behind me.

“You first. Pick a tempo you can sustain."

I straightened. “I bet you just want to look at my ass.”

"A bit of friendly advice…"

The berserker stepped closer. Within a heartbeat, I froze. He was now close enough to twist my neck, if he so chose.

"... keep your insults to yourself or you'll eventually cross the wrong person. Now, run!"

My feet started to move on their own, strengthened by fear. I needed to get away from the man before he broke one of my bones. Though, no matter how fast I was, he was right on my heel, his breathing calm with no exhaustion.

My legs burned as well as my lungs. My racing heartbeat raised to my ears, bringing heat to my face. My body begged me to stop, but I knew I would die. Despite my best efforts, I slowed down, and I already waited for massive hands to wrap around my throat.

Nothing happened. The berserker remained behind me, matching my new speed. Still, his breath in my neck told me that I should not get any slower.

We reached Hazelbrook. The few people that were out early in the morning consisted of women, children and old men, a sombre silence laying over them. The ceremon stood in front of the chapel. When we passed, he called, “May the Maker protect you on your journey.”

I bit my teeth and increased my speed again.

The road to Sunhill was littered with holes from the winter. I hoped that meant that the army hadn’t made much progress yet. The fog grew denser, swallowing everything. The outline of leafless trees formed on the side of the road and dissolved again in the mist. My heart strangled against the confines of my chest, and I longed to know how far the army was ahead. I took a deep breath and pushed forward.

At first, it was just a dark spot on the road, but soon, the figures of the other conscripts formed from the fog, just a hundred metres away.

“Thank fuck.” I said.

The rear men of the army stopped in their tracks. I picked up speed as I raced towards the two enlisted wearing blue gambesons. One of them had a lanky stature while the other was about my height, but wider. The former had a darker shade of skin than any Hazelbrooker, while the latter had a blue hue that almost seemed grey. I stopped after I passed them, putting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. A strong headache assaulted me, making me wince.

The two men made a short snort, then straightened and saluted when they noticed the uniform of the berserker behind me.

“Make sure he doesn’t run away,” the burly man said to the conscripts.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” they answered in chorus.

I raised my eyebrow.

A lieutenant?

That made the berserker the right hand man of the general. Why would someone of such high standing be tasked with getting stragglers?

The lieutenant turned to me and said, “Remember my advice, not everyone is as forgiving as me.” His voice didn’t betray that he had been running for more than half an hour on end.

Panting, I tried to straighten. “How the hell are you not panting, you ox?”

He heaved a sigh. “At least try not to be too annoying.”

The berserker walked towards the bulk of the men of the army, his towering outline was visible through the crowd until the fog engulfed him.

As soon as he was out of sight, the two conscripts relaxed.

“Hehehe,” the one with the bluish skin started laughing. “A deserter. How convenient.”

The wide man took off the package that was slung over his shoulder. He pushed it against my chest so I had no other option that to take it. Through the cloth, I could feel wooden pikes.

“Carry this,” he ordered me.

I met his stare. “I’m not your donkey.”

“Heh,” he laughed again. “We’re in charge of you. You are our donkey.”

"No, your only job is to make sure I don’t run away. That doesn’t give you the right to order me around."

He stepped closer and tapped on the octagonal crest on the shoulder of his blue gambeson. "You know what that means? It means that I'm enlisted, and being a soldier is my job. I'm higher in the hierarchy than some stinking conscript like you.” He cracked his knuckles. “And if you disagree, we have methods to change your mind."

I swallowed my reply and put the strap of the package around my shoulder.

The bluish man smiled. “Wasn’t that hard now, was it? I’m Virgil. Right there is Situs.”

The lanky man gave a nod, which I only saw in my periphery as I kept my stare at the army that slowly vanished in the fog. “I’m not going to even try to remember this.”

"Hey," Situs said. "You're going to give us the respect we deserve."

So… none? Is what I wanted to say, but I remembered the berserker's advice.

I put on a smile. "I'm sorry, okay, sirs."

My two watchers scoffed and started walking to catch up to the other soldiers. I followed them. The army paced slowly so that everybody could follow. Through the conversations of recruited farmers, the beat of a drum sounded through the chatter. Virgil and What-was-his-fucking-name-again talked to three other people. None of them made any attempt to talk to mep

To pass the time, I started a little children’s game.

“I spy with my little eye, something that is brown,” I muttered.

No one heard me, so I answered myself, “It’s the road.”

Still no reaction from anybody. I sighed.

These are going to be long days.

The army stopped much sooner than I’d expected. There was still an hour left before the sun set down. I grunted in relief. My calves hurt and my soles were burning like hell. Sadly, there wasn't really a place in the field to sit down without getting wet.

My first watcher -How was he called? Vi…? Ah fuck this- ordered me, “Give our tent back.”

“What?”

He stepped closer, and then I realised that he meant the package he gave me. I took it off and handed it to him so he didn't come closer.

"Was that so hard?" he said, heading back to the lanky man.

"Wait," I said. "Where do I get a tent?"

"Not our problem," the bluish man laughed, and the other joined in as they walked away.

"Stupid gargoyle mutt," I mumbled under my breath.

The lanky man turned around. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

I put on an innocent smile. He couldn't have heard what I said.

"You called Virgil a stupid gargoyle mutt."

"What?" The wide man shouted. "You peasant blood called me a gargoyle?"

He stepped closer and raised his hand for a back handed slap. When his hand came down, I blocked it, and, out of reflex, punched the man in his chest.

"You damn peasant," he spat.

I jumped out of his range before he could catch me, my arms ready for another attack. Too late did I spot the dark skinned man in the corner of my eyes, and the last thing I saw was his fist.

A groan escaped my lips. The stones on the dirt road pressed hard against my cheek. I opened my eyes. My vision shifted before revealing the picture before me. Three pairs of legs stood close to me. One of them came closer fast.

“No,” I brought out before a leather boot kicked into my stomach. Puke rushed upwards my throat and onto the ground. It contained pieces of bread and hare meat. Some of the sauerkraut from yesterday hung like threads out of my mouth. Another kick connected with my back. I tried to push myself off the ground, but a foot to the side of my ribs pushed me back down. Laughter sounded. One of the five around me was the guy that tripped me earlier. Another kick to my side. My stomach dry-heaved as volleys of kicks slammed into my ribs, searing pain rippling along them. I forced every single breath down my burning throat. My vision swam in and out of focus. My body beckoned me to let go of my consciousness, knowing that it will never get back.

The curse finally caught up with me.

#book #bookblr #fantasy #high fantasy #new story #novel #story #writeblr #writer #fantasy novel #cw: violence #cw: swearing

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the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

First chapter

Hello people. This is the start of a fantasy novel that I will publish here chapter by chapter. The content on this blog will be exclusively about this story, if you are interested, just follow.

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Blurb:

And so a simple farmer finds himself in the employ of the royal army, much to his dismay. He only has one goal: to get back to his farm and his parents alive, a task it's unsure he will manage.

CW: Swearing, violence, drug use

When the time is dire, when the world is split in two,

The last allmage will attack the Scourge of the east.

The lightning Tyrant will be struck down by a weapon,

Born from lightning, fire, ice and earth,

Nurtured by life, water, time and light.

The last of the old rulers will usher in a new era,

An era of change and wonders.

Verse 1, Grand prophecy of Samoht

#novel #book #story #writer #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #bookblr #new story #fantasy novel

15 notes · View notes

the-cursed-recruit-story · 2 years ago

Text

The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Chapter 1 - The last day

The door creaked open, morning rays invading our main room. Before my mother and I could shield our eyes, the silhouette of a man blocked the sun from the door. Cold air pushed inside, fighting the stuffy warmth from the rekindled hearth.

“Close the door,” I said. “You’re letting out the heat.”

The stranger squeezed himself through the entrance, rising to his full height, but the ceiling prevented it. He spread his broad shoulders, rounded by muscles that could crush bones. Few other villagers were taller than me, but this man still dwarfed them all.

I swallowed hard. “Berserker.”

As frightening as his physique were his clothes that slowly revealed themselves as he walked out of line of the light behind him. His long-sleeved gambeson was deep blue, with dark brown plates inset into his chest, shoulders and underarms. The octagonal crest sewn on his chest left no doubt. It was the uniform of a high ranking member of the royal army.

I jumped up, grabbed the broom leaning on the wall and put myself between him and Mother. There were few reasons for a man of his rank to get into our house and none of them were good.

The officer looked down at me with his turquoise eyes. A freshly groomed ash-blond beard and hair of the same colour adorned his head, complementing his tanned skin. An old wound on the left side opened up his tightened lips, revealing white teeth.

"Lay down the broom." His deep voice sounded like the lowing of a stubborn cow. "It won't do you any good in a fight."

The makeshift weapon trembled in my hands. He was right. The only thing I could hope for was that I was able to stall him, hoping that Mother could get far away in the meantime.

The berserker spoke again. "I'm not here to harm you or your family in any way, if you think that for any reason."

"Then why are you here?" I spat. "We're not due any tax."

"A horde of orcs is en route to Forlam. Every able man has to join the army."

I gripped the handle harder. "Not interested. Go away."

"It's the order of the king."

"I don't care, go away."

The man took a step closer, and before I could react, he grabbed the handle of the broom and ripped it out of my hand. I got pulled forward, but the berserker pushed me back against the edge of the table. My fingers traced over the wood, searching for anything that could defend me.

I reached the wooden spoon from breakfast and brought it forward. The berserker looked at the cutlery and grunted. Then he looked up into my face, and his expression changed to one of surprise.

A thin hand laid down on my shoulder.

"Stop," Mother said, then turned to the berserker. "He will join, please forgive his brashness."

"He'd be better off if he keeps it in check." The army official threw away the broom that he still held. "Is there any other man in this household?"

"My father, but his leg is stiff, he can't even walk properly."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Did he get hurt in the Broken War sixteen years ago?"

"Yes. Like most our problems, that was your fault too."

His eyebrows shot up. “Other siblings?”

"None alive."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't need your false sympathy," I said. "I need you to get out."

The intruder sighed. "Tomorrow at dawn, in front of the chapel.”

He pushed his shoulders through the entry. His massive outline slowly moved out of view through the open. A small cut of wind carried in the cold air from outside.

I shivered. “I said close the door, are you stupid or something?”

“Sh, he might still hear you,” Mother shushed me. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? You know it doesn’t end well when you shout at the back of a blue gambeson.”

I sat back down on the bench, which gave a sound like it wanted to break. "Then what else should I do?” I leaned my head back against the wood of the wall. "I can’t go, you need me here. Spring is just around the corner, and somebody has to tend the fields. Father can’t help much."

My mother grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Her skin was as callous as mine, made even rougher by a long winter. "It’ll be fine. I've run this farm alone once before; I can do it again. Plus, I had to take care of two little children then."

I placed my other hand atop of hers. "But you’re older now, and back then, grandmother was alive. "

She let go of my hand and rubbed away the lonely tear, past the quite new scar by her left eye. “At least there’ll be no one to mourn over this time.”

“But no one to help you either.”

“It's no use."

She grabbed both wooden bowls before us, carrying them away.

"Off to a battle, huh?" I said almost to myself. "Maybe the curse will finally catch up with me."

The bowls slipped from Mama's hands and onto the counter. "Don't say that."

I looked down. That had been out of tone.

The typical grunt of my father standing up sounded from the adjacent bedroom. Mother took that as a sign and started sawing some bread. I couldn’t take the scraping sound, taunting me that we couldn’t use the rest of our broadcorn stock, which would be better for baking.

“Have you seen the size of that guy?” I said to cover the noise. “He looks like a boulder that grew legs.”

A raspy voice called from the bedroom, “He's normal height for a berserker.”

Father stumbled into view in the doorframe. His felted, brown hair mirrored mine, except for its extensive gray strains. His angled nose and pointed chin, his unblinking, brown eyes made him look like a hawk. His expression had a seriousness about them, a feeling that he would reach anything he would set his mind to. My face twitched upwards; it was the same look of determination I thought I remembered before he went to military service. A look he had lost for years to bottles of alcohol.

He made his way over to the table, dragging behind his right leg.

With a deep sigh, he sat down on his designated chair, clutching his stiff leg. “You were lucky that he isn't of noble blood. You wouldn’t have survived talking like this to a mage.”

“How would you know all that about that guy?” I asked. “You haven’t even seen him.”

He averted his gaze, changing the subject. “You might have to pick up the spirit cleansed seeds today.”

“It’s rather soon for that, the equal day hasn’t even passed,” my mother said, putting the slices of bread in front of my father.

"He’s right,” I said. “Or would you want to take the trip on your own?”

“No.” Mother admitted.

“I will go in the afternoon." I stood up. Until then, I’m in the backfield, ploughing.”

My father spoke with his mouth full of dry bread. “I’ll join you when I’m finished.”

My mom said, “Just wear something warm, I don’t want you freezing your ass off.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I walked to the door, the freeze from outside pouring in. I reached out for the thick wool tunic, which reached to about the centre of my thighs, but changed my mind and grabbed my surcoat instead. The expertly sewn cow hide protected from wind, rain and snow. After years of use, the hairs were already peeled off in most places, revealing a lighter colour. With leather pants, tunic and surcoat, one could even go out for hours in the winter. As the only layer above the shirt, the coat might just be right for today. I secured the coat with a belt and fixed a waterskin and a belt pouch to it.

The door creaked again as I closed it behind me. I turned my head upwards and closed my eyes. The rays of the sun tingled on my face; the slight breeze was barely noticeable. Still, the chill of the morning seeped through my clothes.

I sighed and made my way towards the stable, stopping at the overflowing rain barrel to fill up the water skin. I took a swig of the water, but broke the contact immediately. The freeze hammered into my forehead, making me squeal in pain. I gripped the side of the barrel, my knuckles white. When the feeling wore off, I took another gulp. The second time, the feeling was manageable.

Heaving a sigh, I walked to our pasture. The cows, sheeps, blood hens, the rooster and the old donkey Ratter all lifted their heads when they saw me. One animal was missing. I found the almost black hen back in its usual place behind the stable door. She trembled a little when I picked her up. The veins under the translucent skin on her face showed a panicked pulse. I threw her to the other animals . The red hens charged her and the bird scuttered away back to the stable door. I sighed again and whistled for Ratter. The old donkey perked up and hoofed over without any hurry. I stroked him between his eyes, as his warm breath blew from his mouth.

"Now, Ratter. Do you wanna get ploughing?"

A bobbing of his head and a positive Eee-Ah might seem like he was happy to, but he acted the same to everything else.

"At least one of us."

I led him into the stable and hitched the old, trustworthy plough behind him. The field I thought of working on today was not big, but at an uncomfortable incline that had flipped the plough more than once.

I stopped Ratter as we ploughed closest to the border of a forest of conifers and deciduous trees.

A patch of snowdrop flowers broke the monotone ground. I picked one of the flowers and put it in my pocket.

When I turned around, I stopped for a minute. From here one had a great view of rolling hills patched with fields, meadows and forests. The plants still wore their drab, brownish winter colours. In the shadow of some trees, old snow remained. A gust of wind shot into my clothes and made me shiver.

“I should’ve listened to my mother.”

I looked further. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the few lonely farmers’ houses that were Hazelbrook. The white walls of the chapel stuck out like a weed on a freshly ploughed field. Ratter puffed, sending his warm, moist breath on my skin. I rubbed him between the eyes.

“I’m leaving, you know?”

The old donkey just puffed again.

A frown appeared on my face. “I don’t know if you’ll still be around when I come back.”

"Eee-ah."

"Me too, buddy, me too."

My father stumbled out, and I stood back up to continue ploughing before he could join me.

The next time I looked up to the sky, the sun had passed noon. I nodded to my father and led Ratter back to the stable. A few minutes later, the donkey pulled our one-axled cart. I sat down on it beside a shovel, and Ratter hoofed forward slowly. We stopped at the house, where I switched my surcoat for the tunic. I went back out, past the cart, to the eight poles driven into the earth beside the path. A year of weather had done a number on them, and I added it to my list to replace them; they won't be forgotten. I fished out the snowdrop, only two pedals on, and placed it next to the fourth pole. “Sorry, it looks a little tattered.”

Hannah loved flowers. It has been sixteen years since her death, almost twice as long as she had lived. Still, the memory of her face stayed in my mind, hopefully forever.

I finally turned away and jumped back onto the cart. Ratter continued on the old path, past the overgrown remains of a small house and towards Hazelbrook. Though the old donkey's steps were slow, the cart jumped up and down, threatening to break at any moment. I had to hold the shovel beside me, so it wouldn't jump all over the place.

A sudden jolt threw me against the railing, hitting the wood with my elbow. I let out a short cry of pain. The right side of the cart had sacked down, and although Ratter tried to continue, the cart wouldn't move.

I ignored the pain and jumped off to look at the issue. The right wheel got stuck in a muddy hole between two stones.

“For fuck’s sake.” I kicked the cart. “Stupid wheel.”

The same thing every year after winter; the path had never survived the snow. I looked out further. This time it was especially bad, with more holes than path. I had been tempted to just let it grow over and have the tax collectors deal with it, but we needed the path more often than them.

"Stupid tax collectors," I said, then grabbed the spokes of the wheel and pulled upwards. The muscles in my arms groaned as the wheel lifted out of the hole. My fingers slipped; the wheel fell back down. Without the weight, I lost my balance, and I fell back on the wet grass beside the path.

“Stupid cart.”

I worked myself to my feet, brushing off the plant bits from my behind.

A triumphant horn echoed through the early spring landscape. I turned to the sound. The army had arrived in Hazelbrook.

"Mighty soon here, aren't they?"

I leaned against the stuck cart and watched the procession coming from the east. The lead were horse riders in royal army blue, followed by a number of carriages in a single file line. Then came foot soldiers clad in blue; enlisted, men who spend a year or more in the employ of the army.

"Idiots," I said and helped myself to a handful of nuts from my belt pouch.

As the army went along, fewer people wore a coloured uniform, instead opting for utilitaristic brown clothes. These recruits made up the bulk of the procession. Recruits taken from their home. From tomorrow, I'd be one of them. A few people carried their belongings on the back, some rolled a barrel in front of them, and again others brought a mule or a donkey.

I looked at Ratter. Our old donkey wouldn't survive such a long journey, so I would be carrying my stuff on my own.

While the army continued on their way, I focused on getting the cart out of the mud again. I fetched the shovel from the cart. Using it as a lever, I freed the wagon from the hole, which I filled with a stones by the side of the path. I had to stop a few times for repairs on the path so we wouldn't get stuck again on the last stretch to Hazelbrook. As the path got better - a road now - and I passed by the first houses, the chatter got louder. The villagers had come out of their houses to greet the new arrivals. I sighed; the worst time to come here. And I had to travel on the main road to the seed stock as well.

The familiar faces of the locals seemed more bony than when I last saw them. Beside the villagers, small pockets of unknown men milled around, having stopped before reaching the camp at the other side of town. Some wore the army's uniform, most others tunics and leather pants just like mine. I scoffed. Not exactly like mine. Mine was covered with careful stitches that showed their age.

Like many Hazelbrookers, most of the men had either a darker complexion or a greyish tint to them. With one notable exception; A strange, pale man leaned against the side of the only tavern in our village. His pristine, leather cloak was too thick for the temperature and he seemed as still as a statue, not a muscle moving in his body. He stared at me, and I stared back.

A jolt went through the cart, breaking our eye contact. Ratter had stopped before hitting a tiny girl who had wandered onto the street. I jumped off the carriage and faced her. She looked up at me with unblinking eyes. She was the daughter of a farmer, the father only a year older than me, and now she was already five winters old. For a second, both of us were still.

I stretched out my tongue and crossed my eyes for a silly face. The small girl let out a refreshing laugh. I smiled, but as soon as I uncrossed my eyes, my cheeks fell down again.

The girl's mother dragged her off the dirt street, throwing me a disapproving look. I evaded her stare, choosing to focus on the road instead. A barrel of a recruit had broken into pieces a bit further along, and a group of men scrambled to pick up all belongings.

"Stupid soldiers," I swore under my breath. For now, I'd be stuck here.

In an instant, disapproving looks from the locals focussed on me. I The mother of the girl in the street knelt down and berated her. "I don't want you to talk to that person."

"But why?"

"You would die," the mother said.

The little girl started crying and hugged her mother, who carried her away. They disappeared in the crowd, and the other villagers stepped forward to protect as if I would come at the little girl with a knife.

I climbed back onto the cart, trying to ignore the looks. A few recruits had noticed the commotion, and I didn't know how they would act.

"Greet the Maker," a voice started with the formal greeting. "I believe we have not yet met."

I turned to see a young man standing by my cart. His bluish skin and the blue down feathers above his ears showed him to be of gargoyle blood. He wore a black robe with the crest of the church sown in at the centre of his chest; a red octagon around a red hand on a white background. He put a hand on the crest, which revealed a belly under his robe.

"I am the new ceremon in Hazelbrook," he said. "And you are?"

I took another handful of nuts from my pouch and started eating, one by one. All the while, I did not look once at the man of religion.

"We will celebrate a small ceremony in the evening to ask for the maker's protection for the recruits," the ceremon continued. "I know your family has not heeded the weekly call, but it would be great if I saw you there."

"Ceremon Altone, nobody of us wants him anywhere near the chapel," a woman's voice said.

The ceremon turned to the grey-haired woman, the waitress of the tavern.

"Now now, Silvia," he said. "Samoht taught us that nobody is too wayward to get back on the right path."

"He's got the curse of death upon his head. Don't get too close or you'll be caught in it."

"A curse?" The ceremon walked away from my cart. "Preposterous, there is no such…"

"It's true," an old woman at a table said. "Every last one around them dies before their time. Seven children they had, five dead in birth, one has not seen ten winters, he's left. Their neighbour burned alive,..."

"And even their dog doesn't bark anymore," her husband added, mulling over his ale. "I tell you, they were all sacrifices for the grey demons to let their crops grow tall."

My hand formed into a fist. I had to put Bello out of his misery last fall after a wild animal attack. His whine still rang in my mind from time to time. And they say I wanted to do this?

"If what you are saying is true," the ceremon said with doubt in his voice. "Then why is he still alive?"

"He should have died a few years ago," the waitress said. "Hanged for the murder of Britta, the eldest daughter of the Hahn family. He pushed her off that tower to her death. It doesn't matter what the army inspector said, we all know it was him."

I pursed my lips and checked the street. Finally, they have cleared the path, and I tapped Ratter's behind to get us away.

As the cart got moving, they still discussed further. "I still suspect that the farm hand they had was actually that priestess-rapist from Sunhill."

I scoffed. That one was the only one that had a bit of merit. Yrgal was not a rapist, though. If a priestess and a monk were caught together in bed, they would both be punished, except one takes all the blame on him. His love repaid him by slipping him a key to escape. And it wasn't a priestess, it was a priest.

I still vividly remembered how we plastered hair on Yrgal’s bald head to trick those that searched for him. In return for our help, he taught me things that no other farmer knew.

As I pondered in the memory of my friend and teacher, Ratter pulled me past all other bystanders to a wooden hut not far from the soldiers' camp, where some soldiers were building up their two-men tents.

The old donkey stopped right before the seed stock. I jumped off, turned the animal with the cart around and walked to the hut. An ancient man slept on the ground, wrapped in blankets. Joseph had already been old when I had been just a young boy. Although senile, he oversaw giving away the seeds. He was the only one in the village who could - officially - read highfont, save for maybe the new ceremon.

"Wake up, Sepp!" I called to the old man.

No reaction. He lay there, not moving at all, making me think he finally kicked the bucket. But, as I came closer, his chest was still heaving up and down.

"Wake up!" I nudged him with my boot.

He jerked awake. "What? Who?"

"I'd like to take my share of seeds."

"Isn't it a little too early?"

"It's afternoon," I extended my hand, so he could stand up.

He sighed in exhaustion, pushed his blankets off and heaved himself on his feet. He stood wary, threatening to fall over any second. "No, I mean early in the year."

"I know. But I have to join the army tomorrow."

"The army is already here?"

"They just arrived and were not silent in doing so. How did you miss this?"

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the tents. "Aha, what do you know? So, what are you doing here?"

"Getting my share of seeds."

"Isn't it a little early for that?"

"Yes." I gave a smile.

He staggered for a moment before he continued. "Okay, then let's take a look at the list."

I picked up the big, leather-bound book he had used as a pillow, before the old man even tried to.

He took it from my hand. "Thank you."

He set the book to the small table that stood by the stock. He opened the index and turned filled page by page until he got to a page which was almost empty. I skimmed through the column of the table and found the symbol for my name within a few seconds. Joseph took longer; almost pressing his eyes to the page, he searched for the information. I took the time to look around in the stock for the things I could take with me.

Joseph tapped on the paper. "Ah, there we go. So, you can take...two bags of longseeds."

I checked the list again. "That's a three."

"Where's a tree?"

"No, I mean the number is a three."

He squinted at the writing. "Oh, right, my mistake. Thanks for pointing it out. You should be standing here, not me."

I took a look around. Luckily nobody was in earshot. If anyone found out I could read, they might find out about Yrgal, and punish the people who harboured the apostate monk.

The old man didn’t seem to care, or he had forgotten already. He went into the low room and pointed at three yute sacks with the church's crest printed on. “Take these."

I bent my knees and wrapped each arm around the bags. Taking in a short breath, I heaved them on my shoulders.

I carried them out of the stock house, while Joseph babbled on, “I heard that it’s a horde of orcs again that we’re fighting. Can you imagine they’re so stupid as to attack the capital?”

I grunted as I put the sacks on my cart. “No, I can’t.”

The old man’s rambling followed me a second time to the storage room. “Stupid green beasts. Do they really think they have a chance after we defeated them only a few years back?”

My reply was another gasp as I yanked a sack of longcorn and one of broadcorn on my shoulders. With the direct comparison, it was clear that the latter was lighter.

Joseph stopped me. "Hey, that's not longcorn, put it back."

"But I know that I definitely also get a bag of broadcorn. This makes it faster."

"Put it back!"

I sighed and did as he said.

After I loaded the third bag of longcorn on the carriage, Joseph read the next column. "Broadcorn, two bags."

I stared at him for a moment, before I made a heavy sigh and loaded two bags onto the carriage.

Josef continued reading. "And one bag of peas."

"Only one? In the last few years, we always got two in the beginning."

"Are you questioning the decision of the church?"

Yes.

I smacked my lips. "No."

Silently, I took the designated bag. On my last trip into the stock house, I could take smaller amounts of other seeds. With them in one hand, I said, "Bye, Joseph."

"What?"

I just waved him goodbye. He did the same and lay down on the floor again.

As I turned to the cart, the pale man from before now leaned against the wheel of the cart, eerily still. Even as I closed in, he didn’t show any intentions of moving. I examined the man further.

His thick leather cloak hid his body form, though the slight bulge around his waist hinted at a sword. A deep blue gambeson and wool lining peeked out at his sleeve. His hair was black, with only a few signs of grey in it, his slender face clean shaven. Slight wrinkles gave him a look of experience, while still retaining some youthfulness. I guessed he was around his late forties though it was hard to tell. His orange eyes seemed to glow on their own. I made a second take. The shine might have been a trick of the light, but what was even more strange were his vertically slit pupils. Now that I looked for it, I found other abnormalities. At his collar and at his wrists, his skin turned reddish. He had to be a member of a magical race, one that I had forgotten the name of.

“Can you move?” I said while putting the last seeds on the cart. “That’s my wagon you’re leaning on.”

The man unfroze, reaching into the pocket of his coat. With one quick movement, he produced a decimetre long, thin, porcelain tube with a small circular compartment at the end. The strange pipe had a gleaming white coating, with a sky-blue floral pattern. With his right hand, he took out a small pouch, and filled some dried leaves into the compartment. He pushed them down with the index finger of his left hand and put the pipe in his mouth.

I pointed in the direction of the army camp. “You could easily struggle to light the tabak just a few metres that way and not bother me.”

As soon as I said it, thin smoke streamed out from the pipe, while his finger was still in. His eyebrow went up just a little bit.

I narrowed my eyes at the smoke. “How…”

“Apple?” The man mumbled with the pipe still on his lips. His raspy voice had an authoritative undertone.

My head fell down and I noticed that he now held out a yellow apple with his right hand. I struggled for words at the sudden offer, and my stomach growled due to the lack of lunch.

“No,” I said finally. “My mother told me to not take food from strangers.”

“Good point.” With one quick motion he pocketed the fruit.

“What do you want?”

The man breathed away a stream of smoke. "The other villagers say you're cursed because your family members died."

Hate welled up in my chest. "Why would you care?”

He took another whiff from his pipe. "I wonder if they are right."

"Maybe they are,” I said. “So you better get away from me before you die as well.”

He ignored me. "It's most likely 'hogwash', as a farmer like you would call it. It's not too uncommon that a woman struggles to birth alive children, especially if that woman does not have a drop of magical blood. Is your mother human, through and through?"

"Is your mother a donkey considering how stubborn you are? Fuck off already."

"Hmm," He blew smoke over, and did not move an inch. "Do you have any special talents? Strength, good eyesight, a talent for swimming?"

“I was never in water deep enough.”

The hint of a smile appeared on the strange man's face. "Good."

“I’m getting tired of this.” I turned away and started walking homeward.

"What about your cart?"

I whistled, and Ratter started walking.

The man lost his balance from the sudden movement of his support. His pipe fell from his lips and raced to the ground. He jumped forward, catching the object, but hit the street hard.

"You damn..." he swore.

I skipped further, Ratter barely catching up to me. I let out a small laugh, which caused many of the bystanders to look at me in fearful concern.

When I was back on the path home, I stopped Ratter. It was a little early to plant seeds, and Mother and Father would profit more from a well maintained path. I took the shovel and got to work.

When I was back at home, the sun was close to the horizon. Back at Hazelbrook, the army men were in their camp, while the locals grouped up to go into the chapel.

I stored away the seeds in our storage. Despite what the church wanted, we won't use their blessed seeds for our field; seeds from last year's harvest sprouted more plentifully in our soil.

Then I tended to the animals in the last light and said my goodbyes. Some of them would die before I’d come back in one- or two-years’ time.

When I went back inside, a savory smell hit my nostrils, coming from the cast iron pot in the middle of the table. Father sat by the table, with short hair and close to no beard now. Mother stood beside one of the chairs, with shears in her hand.

“Smells good like always" I said.

“Rabbit stew, a hare went into the trap,” Mother said, pushing me down on a chair close to the entrance. “But first we need to take care of your unruly mane.”

“For what reason? Nobody cares how I look. Not even me.”

Mother ignored me, and started to cut along my scalp. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find a nice girl to bring home on your journey.”

“I already found a nice girl years ago.”

My mother didn’t comment. She continued cutting my hair and then moved on to my beard.

When she finished, she took a step back and looked at me. "See, if you're groomed properly, you are quite a handsome young man."

I scoffed. There were many things that one could use to describe me; handsome was not one of them. With the same pointy chin and hawk-like nose, I looked like a copy of my father, save his wrinkles and warts that undoubtedly would come with time.

"Thanks, mum."

I stood up and joined my father at the table. Mother scooped some of the steaming stew into my bowl.

I took a spoonful and moaned at the taste. It could have used more salt, but that’s a luxury we didn’t have. I finished my first bowl with a side of the hard bread and took seconds, the pot still not empty.

“This could’ve fed us for days,” I said while putting another spoonful in my mouth.

“Yes, but I just…” my mother’s voice broke as she struggled for words. “I thought you’d like it as a last meal at home.”

I looked into her brown eyes. “I guess it’s only a little battle on the other side of the map. I should be back within a year.”

The sombre silence settled between us again.

After the meal, my mother went to sleep, and I washed the pot and the bowls with the rainwater outside. When I went back in, my father still sat at the table.

“Sit down, son.”

“I still need to pack my stuff.”

"I already prepared that for you."

He pointed at the corner, where clothes, provisions and other things I might need on the journey lay beside the rucksack we normally use to carry tools.

“Please, sit down.”

I sighed and slid back on the bench.

He started, "The battlefield is a place you will wish you’d never come to."

My hand formed into a fist. I knew this spiel. "Are you drunk again? Are you also going to claim again that you punted the allmage?"

A line formed between his brows and his jaw clenched. "No." He stared deep into my eyes. "I know I normally only talked about the war when I've had a few, but now, I'm sober and you need to listen to me so you're aware what will come for you. The battle is chaos, pain, and loss. I've seen some of my bravest friends freeze at the sheer sight of it. And that cost them their lives."

He reached for my hand. "You will have to make difficult decisions within a heartbeat. Spare a man, and he will drag you to the floor. Kill him, and you'd live your whole life with the tears of his family. Give your life for the lives of others,..." He sighed. "Maker knows that I and my company didn't always choose right."

His eyes reflected the horrors he had seen. "In the end, you can only come home and hope everything will be alright."

I remained silent. He didn't even get this luxury.

He reached under the table and took out a bottle of schnapps and put it on the table between us. I stared at him, anger welling up inside me.

"Don't worry," he said. "This is my promise to you. It doesn't matter how hard it's going to get; this bottle will stay closed. And when you come back, we can decide what to do with it."

I looked in his eyes and gave him a small nod.

My old man pushed himself up, grunting when putting weight on his hurt leg. "Don't be too long. You have long days ahead of you."

With these words he stumbled to the sleeping room, leaving me alone at the table.

Before long, I stood up, took the candle holder and made my way over to the things my father had prepared for me:

My spare clothes, a water skin, provisions like bread, sausage, eggs and carrots for a few days, patches and threads and a needle for repairs, shears to cut my beard,...

The only things missing were my knife, and the tunic that I still wore. I put all of them into the rucksack, then tested its weight. Manageable.

My eyes fell on the patch in the pattern of a flower on the rucksack. I traced my fingers around it. The leather of the patch was a bit softer, I hoped it and the seam would survive the journey. I breathed out of my nose and took my hand off again.

It was time to go to sleep. The tall candle had shrunk significantly, only a few minutes of dim light left. Just enough time to check something.

Instead of going to rest, I fetched a chair to reach the books stored away on the top of the cupboard. ‘Books’ was a generous term; they were collections of self-made parchment pages bound in shoddy leather. I took the one on the very bottom of the stack and carried it over to the table. Carefully, I opened the cover. The first page stuck to it, and when I freed it, the edge of the brittle parchment broke off.

In the candlelight, a rudimentary map of the kingdom appeared, as well as Yrgal could draw it from memory on the uneven parchment. Hazelbrook lay far to the east, Sunhill just a bit further west. That was the farthest I’d been in my life. I traced my fingers further along the indicated street. Not far after, there was a city called ‘Arkyras’, the seat of our baron. Then, the path continued along the coast of the Granaq river, which turned southward as if to escape the massive forest that made up the centre of the map. Eventually, the Granaq reached the city of Torza, where it turned westward again, past the city of Eugenia, to Westpass. From there, the road turned north, along another river to Forlam, the capital of the Kingdom. Simply going there would take months, and going back would take just as long.

I sighed and flipped to the next page. With effort, I deciphered the heading in the highfont symbol.

Naiad

Thankfully, the more common name of the race was written beside it in simple script.

Gargoyle

I turned the page. I knew enough of the blue skinned people with down feathers above their ears.

I turned the next few pages as well. Zivot, dwarf, berserker, elf, orc,... I knew the strange man I’d met today was none of those.

The next page spoke about ‘Albos’.

‘White hair, red eyes,...”

As soon as I started to read the first line, I knew that was not it either.

That left the last page. The highfont on this page was even less readable. I remembered, this was around the time when Yrgal taught me to write.

Squinting as hard as I could at the page in the low light, I deciphered the symbol on top.

“Souvra,” I said.

At that moment, the candle finally died down, leaving me in the dark.

“Damn it.”

If there was still time tomorrow, I’d need to read further in the morning. I yawned at the unusual time. I placed myself on the coarse straw and pulled the wool blanket over me.

#chapter #story #new story #novel #writing community #writer #book #bookblr #writeblr #fantasy #high fantasy #tw swearing #copying it here got rid off all italics #I hope I redid them all #fantasy novel

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