by Jack Whitney
Contents
Untitled Document
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Blank Page
PROLOGUE: History of Haerland
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Appendix Aydra Ravenspeak's Mark
Mark of the Venari King
Noctuans
Pronunciations
Acknowledgements
Dead Moons Rising
First in The Honest Scrolls series
Jack Whitney
Copyright © 2021 Jack Whitney
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798588531726
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are the product and depiction of the author's wild imagination, and are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is purely coincidental.
For my sister.
For supporting and encouraging me always.
And for giving me the courage to burn the kingdom myself.
Thank you for the torch.
PROLOGUE: HISTORY OF HAERLAND
THE CHRONICLES SAY there was once a time, so very long ago, when the creatures of Haerland, both big and small, could roam free about the undisturbed and timeless lands without fear or restraint. A time when the curses of the current Age did not exist. A time when the term 'war' had no meaning. This was the First Age.
It was during this age that the earthen mother herself, for which the land had been named, lived in complete harmony with her creatures. After centuries of solitude, however, Haerland found herself growing lonely. She turned to the Architects of the sky and earth in the hopes they would answer with a solution.
Three Architects answered her call. The first was the Ghost of the Sea.
"In the southern waters," said the Sea, "you will find my gift. Take caution, dear Haerland. Treat this gift as you do your creatures. Only then will it serve you with respect and not disdain."
For a fortnight, Haerland searched up and down the southwestern coast. On the fifteenth sunrise, the Sea's gift showed itself.
A man was washed up on the beach, sand covering his olive skin. Haerland approached him and pulled him off the beach and out of the way of the crashing surf.
He coughed the seawater from his lungs and looked up at her. "Haerland?" he asked.
She nodded. "I am."
Once on his feet, he crossed his right arm over his chest and let his fist to rest on his breast. "I am Lovi Piathos. The Sea sends me," he said. "This reef behind me is my home. If you will have me, it would be my honor to serve out my days here in your beautiful land."
Haerland reached out and placed her hand over his exposed breast, and replied, "Welcome home, Lovi Piathos." When she removed her hand, she revealed a symbol engraved into his chest; five close-knit lines, the second and fourth longer than the others. It is the same symbol Lovi's children bear today.
The second Architect to answer her call appeared to her weeks later, eager to give Haerland his gift. This Architect was the Ghost of Fire.
"Haerland," he addressed her, "Tonight, I will awaken this mountain. You will know him as Mons Magnus. Treat him with respect, for he is a loyal being and has a hard-working and pleasing spirit. He is my favorite of the range, and now I give him to you."
The ground shook beneath her that night from dusk until dawn. With the rising of the sun, Haerland awoke from her slumber and strode to the foothill where the Ghost of Fire had come to her. There, she found a crack cut into the mountain that had not been there before. Inside this cave, she found a man.
The tall, bared man rose from his place on the ground and stepped directly in front of her. His body was streaked with soot and ash; his chest plagued with red burns.
"Haerland?" he asked.
"Yes?"
He took her hands in his and knelt down before her. "My name Mons Magnus," said the ashen faced and darkly bearded man, "and I am yours, my dear Haerland."
She smiled as he kissed the backs of her hands, and then said, "Rise, Mons Magnus. And welcome to my home."
The last Architect to find her was the Ghost of the Sun. She found Haerland on the first sunset of the new year at the highest cliff on the western coast.
"My dear Haerland," began the Sun, "I apologize for the time it has taken me to bring my gifts. Your patience is the greatest of your traits. As your reward, I come to you bearing not one, but three gifts. Three seeds. It is my hope they will find their home in your land and upon their maturing, I am sure you will never feel loneliness again.
"The first is a creation of mine and mine alone. Plant it here, on this hill, so that I may look over its growth directly." The Sun placed a small cloth in Haerland's hands. Within it lay a single small seed, pearly-white in color.
"My last gift is one whose creation required the deepest and most delicate care. During its inception, I enlisted both the help of the dead moons and the wind. This is an exceedingly special seed, Haerland. I cannot stress the amount of care and passion it will require in order to reach its full potential and growth. Nurture this seed with as much adulation as you give your own creatures. Plant it in the southern depths of the Forest of Darkness. The rich soil will give it the strength it needs." The Sun laid the last small cloth in Haerland's hands. This one was much different from the other two. It was black in color, lines of white scarring the hull.
"Remember, Haerland: use these gifts with caution. Treat them not as your equals, but as lesser ones. This is your only warning."
Haerland took the seeds and did exactly as the Sun had instructed her.
The pearly white seed was the first of the Sun's three to grow into its pole maturity. Haerland discovered it on a long summer evening. The adolescent tree's pearly bark was notched in various places, the perfectly crooked limbs reaching high towards the clouds. However, the tree was not the only thing Haerland found that evening.
There was a small girl sitting on the edge of the cliff, her feet dangling over the side. The billowing tendrils of the adolescent girl's white hair in the wind matched that of the tree's bark.
"Hello?" Haerland called out.
The young girl stood and faced her. "You are Haerland?" she asked.
The stark cerulean of the girl's eyes against her nearly translucent skin startled Haerland.
"I am," Haerland answered.
"She tells me my name is Arbina," the girl said. "Arbina Promregis Amaris. I believe you asked for me."
Years later, the Sun's second gift, the mossy green seed, also reached the dawn of its adolescence.
Haerland discovered its growth on the dawn of an early spring morning. Just as the child 'Arbina' had accompanied the tree atop the hill, this tree was also accompanied by a young child.
The adolescent girl was sitting at the base of the tree, between the uplifted roots with her knees pulled up to her chest. A pair of scared and severe white-blue eyes met Haerland in a stare beneath the girl's strangled tendrils of mousy brown hair. This child introduced herself as Somniarb Crelib.
Both Arbina and Somniarb, as well as their trees, had matured into full adulthood by the time the Sun's third grew into its own.
It was towards the end of the First Age that he was found. On the fourteenth night of the last dead moons cycle, Haerland found herself trapped in the middle of the Forest of Darkness during one of the worst thunderstorms she had ever seen. She took shelter beneath the engrossed canopy of trees to wait out the storm. Just as she began to nod off, the figure of a fully grown man appeared in a flash of lightning directly before her.
She backed herself closer to the trunk of the tree, but the man continued to approach her.
"Haerland?" he called out into the darkness.
"Yes?"
The man came forward and proceeded to kneel down in front of her. "The Noctuans tell me you are the one to which I owe my life."
"Who are you?"
In the cracks of lightning, she was able to put together his appearance. His buff and vigorous body was scarred to the point of mutilation; however, his once handsome and strong face was not lost beneath the red scars.
"They tell me my name is Duarb," he answered. "And I want to thank you, Haerland."
She suddenly felt remorse for this man and knew he was of the Sun's third gift, the black seed. She gave him the smallest of smiles and said, "You are welcome, Duarb."
With the maturing of the Sun's three, Haerland knew the First Age was drawing to a close. She decided upon giving the Architect's five a collective name. Only one name fit them, and it was the way in which the Sun had told her to treat these gifts. Haerland would call them, the Lesser Ones.
As the Second Age dawned, the Sun's three, along with Lovi Piathos and Mons Magnus, all aided Haerland in making her lands better than before. But with five strong voices came quarrel and division, something Haerland was not accustomed to.
She made a proposition to the Lesser Ones. She asked each one to give a child, a child possessing any and every quality they thought most important to the survival of a living race.
Seven children, each with distinguishing characteristics and abilities, came from this proposal.
Duarb's 'Venari' child, or 'Hunter,' was the first born. The child was created in the very bowels of the earth beneath Duarb's roots. Pulling his powers from not only the sun, but also from the wind and the moons, Duarb created a child worthy of living in the Forest of Darkness. The child's most distinguishing ability, and most vital to his survival, was that he could hear sounds carrying on the winds.
The 'Dreamer' child was the second. With its pointed ears and flawless appearance, Somniarb Crelib's child reflected the free spirit she thought necessary for life.
Not to be outdone by the Sun's second and third, Arbina Promregis Amaris was quick to present Haerland with not only one, but two children. She gave twins, a brother and a sister.
Lovi Piathos called his child 'a child of the Honest.' Along with the gift of eternal life, Lovi's child was born with slits on each side of his neck. They were gills, given so that he would be able to breathe upon his birth in the deepest parts of the reef in the southern sea.
In the mountains, Mons Magnus presented Haerland with a child known as the 'Blackhand.' This child was gifted in that he could tell how far away or how close his enemies were by the vibrations deep within the dirt beneath his feet.
Haerland also produced a child. Born deep within the northern realm caves of the Forest of Darkness, Haerland gave her daughter's race the name of 'Martyr,' for they were the only ones she knew could save her if needed.
Towards the end of the Second Age, the Lesser Ones existed alongside their children. Tensions rose between the Sun's three. Haerland grew furious with Duarb's immature ways. She cursed he and the Noctuan creatures. A new race rose from Duarb's roots. A cursed and unwanted race. The race of the Infi.
The Third Age began when the Lesser Ones took a step back and let their children take over. Over time, the races quarreled over the land, became allies, betrayed one another, and sometimes existed in complete harmony. By the end of that age, Arbina's son and daughter were no longer simply beings of Haerland. They had become a king and queen. The Dreamers called them the beings of Promise, praising them for their compassion and loyalty where the other races fell short.
In the caves beneath the rocky cliffs of the Dysis Highlands came a new race: 'the Belwark.' Haerland gifted this new race to Arbina specifically to protect the new King and Queen. The Belwarks, from that day on, guarded the walls of Magnice and became the throne's closest ally.
But the Chronicles are not always truth.
So we turn to the Honest Scrolls to find our answers.
It is here that we begin our journey.
CHAPTER ONE
THE THIEF’S HEAD rolled off its body and into the crowd.
Shrieks of unexpected people in the square sounded in the air as they jumped back. Blood spewed onto the wood at Aydra’s booted feet. She handed the bloodied axe she’d just used to behead the Infi creature back to the armored Belwark guard behind her. Her long ginger curls were broken free as she pulled the executioner hood off her head and tossed it on the ground.
Her brother, King Rhaifian Sunfire, stood from his throne chair and addressed the crowd.
“Good people,” he began. “Fear not. These creatures of weakness will not roam our town again. Please return to your normal lives. Your safety is the first priority of the crown. Allow us
to take care of you.”
He gave one more wave and then turned on his heel, his purple cloak billowing behind him as he exited into the darkened hallway towards the bridge to the castle again. His guard of Belwark men trailed behind them, the crash of their armor filling the stale air.
Aydra pulled the blood stained gloves off her fingers one by one and glared at his retreating figure.
Coward, the raven said to her as it landed on the bloodied stockade.
Calm, raven, Aydra replied in the murmur of an incomprehensible voice. We will have our day.
“My Queen,” said the Belwark behind her. Aydra turned to find her brother’s personal captain standing, Bard, behind her. “Your brother requests you join him for meeting before the Council’s arrival tonight.”
“You may tell my brother I will see him when I have returned,” Aydra replied, throwing the gloves at his face. “The people have just watched a creature we thought to be banished from this world be beheaded twice in a month. I’ll be tending to the ones he hurt this afternoon. And after that, perhaps a dip in the ocean might quell my thirst.” She unclasped the royal black cloak on her shoulders and threw it too at his head.
Bard’s jaw tightened, but he gave her a nod nonetheless. “Your Majesty,” he addressed her with a bow.
“Lady Ravenspeak!”
The call of her lady-in-waiting made her eyes narrow behind her. “Yes, Willow?” she asked the pointy-eared brunette Dreamer woman stepping towards her.
Willow pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it over her nose as she approached the stage, furrowing in disgust at the smell of the dead man’s body. “Disgusting,” she muttered quietly before turning her attention up to Aydra. “My Lady, your day crown—” she managed as she pulled the small dark champagne limbed crown from her side “you should wear it if you will be mingling with the people today.”
Aydra’s lips pursed, but she took it from her nonetheless. “Have my dress ready for my return before the Nobles arrive, please. And Willow—” Aydra stopped her before she could leave “—make it a dark one. I’ve just beheaded a man. Showing up in some brightly bejeweled sundress might give the wrong impression.”