As the Earthen Stag Walks
Book I of the Simulacrum
David Chesney
Copyright © 2017 by David Chesney
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
1
Intense heat blasted Seelios’s face as he approached the fire of the open furnace. He swept sweaty blond hair out of his eyes and grabbed a shovel. He jabbed it into a pile of shimmering red rocks and leaned into it with all his weight, barely piercing the heap. Rocking back, he hoisted the small load and shoved it into the furnace flames with the grace of a toddler with a broomstick. The sudden flare of the fire made Seelios jump and some of the rocks tumbled out onto the stone floor, scattering dusty red debris that glittered in the light. Already exhausted, Seelios’s quivering arms let the shovel drop with a metallic ring.
“It’s not enough. The flames need to be stronger,” his father said in between swings of his hammer. He was a stocky man with short brown hair and chiseled facial features, tough inside and out. It wasn’t easy being the son of the most respected blacksmith in the land, especially when that son seemed to be the apple that fell so far from the tree.
“This metal is unlike anything we’ve forged. Go fetch someone to help you feed the fire faster,” the blacksmith said and continued to ring the anvil with heavy strokes of precision.
Seelios felt a pang of shame. He’d been helping his father for the better half of the day yet, despite his best efforts, couldn’t keep up the required pace.
It didn’t help that Seelios inherited none of his father’s strength. Villagers questioned their blood relationship, relenting only after looking into their eyes. Seelios and his father shared the same striking, silver eyes that glimmered in the sunlight, a feature that no one else in Fembleton had ever seen. That, however, was where the similarities ended. Seelios had thick blond hair and limbs as thin as a child’s, despite him being a young man late into his teenage years. He was of little use as a smith’s apprentice, barely able to lift even the lightest of tools.
When Seelios was younger, he was given the choice of working on one of the village farms or helping in the forge. Wanting to be able to spend time with his father, the latter was his obvious choice. He often questioned whether his father felt the same.
Seelios took off his apron and set it on the work table before rushing to the door. He stopped when he heard the hammering go quiet. He turned and saw his father hold up a long, thin band of metal for inspection. It glowed with a fading red hue from the heat of the furnace and resonated with an unseen force. It quickly cooled, and the surface changed to a brilliant rippling bronze and gold.
His father caught him staring and smiled. “Orichalcum, the metal of the gods.” He held it out, gripped with a long pair of tongs. “The most useful metal known. Stronger than tempered steel, it can hold an edge forever if made into a blade. One day, when you’re ready, I’ll show you how to forge it.”
The shining metal’s pattern was mesmerizing, but it wasn’t the first time Seelios had seen it.
While his father was away, Seelios and his friend, Garrick, found a secret cache in the wall of the forge years before. Carefully hidden behind a heavy shelf, it was a space just big enough for a small weapons rack that held fine crafted swords, daggers, and other dangerous looking weapons that Seelios didn’t recognize; however, none of the weapons compared to the beauty of the spear that lay in the center. The shaft seemed to be made of a silver so brilliant it looked like a star shining in the middle of the night. The bladed tip gleamed like fire, its metal surface swirling with unique patterns of gold and bronze. If Seelios’s father knew that he even looked in that cache he surely would’ve been punished, so he kept his mouth shut.
His father thrust the orichalcum into a water basin and it hissed, releasing a cloud of steam. He turned to Seelios with a serious face. “A metal of this caliber requires a precise process, one that requires a constant feed of fire rock to keep the flames hot.” He frowned at the heap of shiny red rocks against the far stone wall. It was much less than half of what they started the day with.
“Go now, quickly. With all the work we have left, we don’t have much more to spare. This must be finished well before I leave for Gorynn Monastery.” his father said.
Seelios nodded. “Yes, Father.” He wiped the collection of soot and sweat from his forehead as he pulled open the door to reveal the sunlit landscape of their small lakeside village. His skin cooled to the touch of the fresh air.
Their forge was surrounded by blighted farmland filled with stalks of shriveled vegetation, swaying in a breeze the rolled off the distant Southern Mountains. It had been a few weeks since the mysterious decay, but Seelios still wasn’t used to the sight of the unhealthy crops. There was concern among the villagers, but no one knew what to do.
When he stepped out and closed the door behind him, Seelios could hear the bustle of Fembleton’s market. The noise came from beyond the strip of shriveled crops that separated the forge from a gathering of stone and timber shops that made up the heart of town. Their pointed roofs fit in with the surrounding pine trees and mountain peaks in the background. He turned and looked across the river, behind the forge, to the farmland estates where Garrick lived. Seelios and Garrick had been friends for a long time and if there was anyone he could count on to help him with the furnace, it was him.
A man well into adulthood, Garrick had a troubled mind and a difficult past. He’s had no family since he was a child and struggled in everyday relationships with people, yet found friendship in Seelios. Having a distant father and a non-existent mother, Seelios found common ground with Garrick.
Garrick was likely working in his fields across the river while the sun was still high.
Seelios ran toward the stone bridge that crossed over the Brascella River that flowed out of the sparkling waters of Fembleton’s lake. The dark green shades of the forest accentuating the distant shore were dwarfed by a backdrop of the snow-capped Southern Mountains that reflected majestically on the lake’s surface.
Seelios rounded one of the stone pylons that framed both sides of the bridge. The rushing current of the river could be heard underfoot as it ran in between the rusty metal bars of the lake gate that kept boats, and sometimes people, from getting swept down river. Refreshing mist sprayed over his face, a welcome sensation after a day laboring in front of a furnace.
Despite Fembleton’s small size, it saw many visitors not only because of its lake, but also for its location on one the most highly used routes on the continent: the Trade Road.
Seelios crossed over the bridge and into the farmlands that served as Fembleton’s primary food source, a good portion of which was owned by Garrick. The fields stretched for at least half a mile before it ran into the surrounding forest. As Seelios moved along the dirt road he noticed the state of the cro
ps only seemed to worsen the further he got from the river. His lungs choked on the strong odor as he took deep breaths during his run. It was a time of peril for the villagers of Fembleton, and some folks had even considered leaving in search of more fertile grounds. Word from passing travelers seemed to suggest that this town was the only place that suffered from the blight.
The fields were mostly empty, to Seelios’s surprise. Farmers were usually found milling about with horses or cattle, tending to the land. Perhaps they gave up on the crops, deeming it a lost cause. Seelios called out Garrick’s name, but there was no response.
Garrick’s house stood in the middle of his farmland estate, between his large stables and towering stone granaries. The house itself was large by Fembleton’s standards, having multiple levels with ample living space and several bedrooms. Its first floor was composed of stone that served a solid foundation for the timber frame that stretched up to white-washed walls and wood roofs that arched over windows. While Garrick was modest, it was clear that he inherited a wealth far greater than what anyone else had in Fembleton.
Seelios pounded on the iron banded wooden door. Because of the manor’s size, a soft knock couldn’t be heard if Garrick was in his study or bedroom. Seelios pulled his arm back for another attempt when he heard footsteps echoing down the stone hallway. The door opened and the manor’s caretaker appeared.
“Ah, Master Strongheart. A pleasure to see you,” the caretaker said with a smile. He grimaced and waved a hand in front of his nose. “Gods be good, it seems to only be getting worse.”
Seelios turned and frowned at the rotting crops behind him, nodding in agreement. “Father says its unlike anything he’s ever seen here before.”
“Indeed. I do hope it passes soon.” The caretaker’s face turned to a gentle smile as he looked back down at Seelios. “How can I help you?” He was an elderly man with a wrinkled face that had lines of laughter. Those lines were signs of a past self that had become replaced with solemn expression. The Sandwin household has experienced little joy since Garrick’s parents were killed.
“I was hoping to find Garrick. I’m in need of his help.”
The caretaker frowned. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him all day. Not in the fields?”
Seelios shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll try the library.”
“Please, go right ahead. With how often you use it it’s practically yours.”
Seelios thanked the caretaker. The Sandwin Library was a curiosity to the villagers when first built. Its stone walls and cathedral architecture led everyone to believe it housed treasure, but were disappointed to learn that it had nothing but bindings of paper with ink scribbled over them. Seelios, however, knew there was something truly remarkable in that library. He knew the true value of books and would spend every waking moment browsing the Sandwin shelves if he could.
There was an entrance from inside the manor, but Seelios didn’t want to dirty the caretaker’s cleaning with soot and filth from the forge. When Seelios arrived at the library’s smaller, but still ornate wooden door, he gave another knock. No answer came from inside, so he creaked the door open and revealed a room of near total darkness. Streams of light from towering windows pierced through the shadows, brightening specks of dust that danced through the air.
“Garrick? Are you in here?” Seelios called out. His voice echoed off stacks of books on shelves that stretched to the ceiling. He sighed, resigning himself to the realization that he’d have to look in the one place he hoped not to find Garrick: the tavern.
2
Fembleton’s tavern and inn was located in the outskirts of the market square, one of the first buildings seen when travelers took the path into town from the Trade Road. Seelios ran back through the Sandwin farmlands toward the bridge. With so much time already exhausted he hoped the search would end soon. His father would be expecting him back at any moment.
Seelios almost slipped on the wet planks with his reckless pace as he crossed the bridge. Packed dirt underfoot turned to cobbled stone as he entered Fembleton’s square. The crowd was thinner than usual, gathered around the few carts and wagons that had set up their wares on display. Merchants were selling fruits, dried meats, leather goods, and there was the occasional trinket dealer hoping to lure a superstitious traveler into a sale. Fembleton’s farmers normally occupied many of the stalls, selling crops and farm goods by the arm-load, but those shelves and tables sat deserted. No traveler would buy wheat or corn that smelled of festering swamp water.
Fembleton’s ornery baker stepped out of his shop and yelled at Seelios to slow down. Seelios gave a smile and waved as he rounded the corner of the bakery and sprinted through the crowd. Villagers stepped out of the way and threw annoyed looks. He slowed to a walk as he reached the edge of the square, cobbled stone turning back to dirt road. The two-storied Withertree Tavern and Inn stood beside him, there to welcome weary travelers who couldn’t make it another step. Lanterns hung around the oak door and a swinging wood painted sign jutted out from one of the beams.
Seelios bent over while taking deep breaths, his lungs burning from the short run. It was early in his life when he realized he was different than most. A village as small as Fembleton provided him little opportunity to interact with children of his age, but folks were quick to let him know that he wasn’t growing as a boy should be. He was tall enough, but weak. He struggled to lift and push most things that came easy to others. His father assured him there was no reason to be ashamed, but Seelios felt otherwise. There was a difference between being different and not belonging. Garrick was one of the few people in town who treated him like a normal person.
Seelios lifted his head and adjusted the tunic that hung loosely on his frame. The dirt path stretched out before him, running along the river to merge with the Trade Road. If he kept going he’d eventually be led to Paloise, the City of Light, a fortified capital where the God of Light supposedly dwelled. All lands within Paloise’s kingdom were under the God of Light’s protection, which included Fembleton. There’d never been any need for a deity’s intervention in Fembleton, but it still made villagers uneasy that the God of Light hadn’t been seen in years, decades even. In his stead he empowered a handful of people with divine strength, but they were never seen far from the Paloise walls. Villagers dreaded the day that they get attacked by anything more threatening than a pack of hungry wolves.
Seelios dusted off his pants and tunic as best he could before entering the tavern. He took a deep breath in preparation, already hearing the muffled commotion of a lively crowd through the windows and walls. He pulled open the front door, revealing a loud scene of drunken debauchery that near overwhelmed his senses.
The tavern was a simple room with several circular wooden tables and a wide bar in the back. The walls were mounted the heads of various hunted animals. Behind the bar were two crisscrossing long swords, most likely forged by Seelios’s father.
It was surprisingly busy for the middle of the day. The patrons inside seemed to be noisy and alive, but the sense of merriment was lost on them. The crowd at the bar seemed agitated. Garrick was sitting alone on a stool and had a bit of a sway to his posture. He was a brawny man with a handsome face, often drawing the attention of the village maidens. His tunic and pants were smudged with dirt, likely from farm work earlier in the day. It was a bit uncharacteristic of him to be seen in town in such a disorderly and unkempt state.
Glad to avoid the riled drunks of the town, Seelios made his way over to his solitary friend. He had only taken few steps when someone at a nearby table waved a full mug of ale dangerously close to Seelios’s face, cascading some of the brew onto the floor. He flinched and took a step back. The local butcher pulled the mug back and turned his head, eyes glazed and struggling to stay open.
“Aye, sorry about that lad,” the butcher said with a jolly face. He shifted his heavy figure and the back of his chair creaked against his drunken lean. “Was just telling my friends here a bit of a tale a
nd got too excited.”
Seelios nodded and gave a shy smile before continuing through the maze of tables filled with travelers and locals.
“No children in the— Oh, come on in, Seelios,” Emeline, the bar keep, said over the clamor of patrons. She was easily one of the prettiest women in the village with vibrant red hair that tumbled down over her emerald green dress and eyes as blue as a crisp clear day.
Seelios gave her a wave and approached the bar. He noticed a figure he didn’t recognize, sitting in the shadow of a corner close to Garrick. It looked like a man, but part of his face was concealed by the hood of his dark-brown cloak. He sat at his table, no food nor drink, surveying the scene with a single expressionless eye that peered out from between the folds of fabric.
Seelios eyed the cloaked man with a wary look as he eased into the stool next to Garrick.
“Thought I’d find you here. Who’s he?” Seelios said in a hushed whisper. “Leaves me a little unsettled.”
Garrick shrugged and said, “Ask him yourself,” as he continued to stare straight ahead.
“Be with you boys in just a moment,” Emeline hollered from the other side of the bar. She flashed a smile that could warm the hearts of even the weariest of souls. Several patrons drew annoyed looks at her as they waved their empty mugs impatiently.
Garrick brightened with a smile at Emeline, but returned to his sour face when she turned away. He strummed his fingers beside his half-finished ale. Seelios arched an eyebrow at his friend. He was a solemn fellow, but he usually showed at least a tiny bit of enthusiasm when they greeted each other.
As the Earthen Stag Walks (The Simulacrum Book 1) Page 1