Advent of the Roar (The Land Old, Untouched Book 1)

by Benjamin M. Piety

  After majors pass, she finds herself ascending a small hill where the blades around her shorten and she’s able to witness the first glimpse of war. Across the grasslands of Carvinga, in every direction, stands destruction. Smoke and fire rise from oversized settlements. Buildings are blown in half. There is a smattering of large throne-shaped stonetins, one close and others farther, much farther, in the distance. Her eyes catch eight barwolves rolling through the grasses like giant caustic boulders plowing over everything in front of them. A group of twofooters hangs from a couple of ingreves, shooting arrows and rifles at the incoming barwolves with no success. Sanet scans around and, to her surprise, hears the voice of Bernard. She turns and sees him waving his arms at her. Relieved, she waves back and hurries down toward him back into the tall grasses. “Bernard!” she screams aloud in response and hears the muffled sound of her curam. She continues in the same direction until, finally, he grabs her by the shoulders.

  “Approsh Lincoln, I thought I lost you.”

  They hug and squeeze with abandon.

  Bernard asks, “Ethan?”

  “I haven’t seen him. He was behind you, but in front of me.”

  “We’ll find him. We need to get out of this fight. There’re outright sendlefts around here. No wonder friends hate war.”

  Sanet nods and takes Bernard by the mitt as they start to move again through the thick grass. As they do, they pass a gang of tenfooters, who upon seeing them lunge and scream. Their massive hairy bodies are horrifying to glimpse and cause them both to jump backward into the fray. As they run from the tenfooters, they bump into an ingreve mounted by twofooters, who point and yell at them but are immediately attacked by the chasing tenfooters. At this, Bernard and Sanet disappear into the grass. They continue to run until they arrive in a tenfooter settlement.

  The buildings, once haynests to the tenfooters, are constructed twice the size of what Sanet has grown to know. They have doors twelve feet high and upper floors starting twice her own height. This settlement, which contains more than three dozen buildings, sits razed and burning. Moans and screams and blood litter the streets. Decomps raid the recently sent. Twofooters and tenfooters alike crawl against the sides of buildings, clinging to comrades, crying and shouting into the air for help or cursing the other side. One twofooter repeatedly stabs a tenfooter long since sent left. Ahead, a floor collapses as twofooters gather around it, pulling a rope and revealing a family of hiding tenfooters whose arms are around their younger children, already taller and more intimidating than the attacking twofooters. When they’re exposed, they scream in retreat and surrender but instead are met with guns and bolts, sent left within minors.

  “Lincoln,” Bernard whispers.

  They continue to dodge and weave through the buildings, hopping corpses of both states and doing everything they can to remain invisible to the pandemonium.

  Reaching the other side of the settlement, they charge into the grasslands once more, unsure of where they’re going, but hoping at some point they’ll leave the battlements. They continue along for another hour before the sounds of battle, the screams, the horror, the gunfire, start to fade. Their pace lightens and eventually they feel safe walking, pushing the blades aside with careful gentle motions.

  “We have to leave this state,” Bernard declares.

  Eventually, they come to another small settlement, this one destroyed but already abandoned. The smell of rotting corpses and the fog of dust and collapsed buildings carry through the air.

  “Let’s find a place here to hole up. Catch our breath before we decide what to do,” Sanet suggests.

  They wander the devastated town until they find a building that is mostly intact, where others have massive missing walls or crumpled ceilings. They push through the front door, which is already cracked open. Inside, they find the oversized furnishings of a tenfooter family. A pile of clean picked bones sits neatly in a corner. A rotting unknown smell hangs in the air. Sanet collapses onto one of the tough, hard couches. She closes her eyes. At once, the silence feels odd and invasive. For the morn, she has been bombarded with a cacophony of horror. Flashes of terrified faces cross her mind. The conflict of ire and wrath. The tenfooter who slaughtered twofooters. The twofooters showing no compassion to the bystander family.

  Bernard searches the house for dangers, and when he returns, he sits next to Sanet. “I hope Ethan is safe. Wish we didn’t get separated.”

  Sanet sits up. “I wish I knew where in Carvinga we are. Don’t know if we’re closer south near Radiba or up north near Yikshir.” The house remains silent and still as movement arises outside. They stand and walk over to the window, catching a tenfooter walking the streets, holding a giant spear. It looks toward them as they duck out of the way. “Did he see us?”

  “Don’t think so,” Bernard says.

  She peeks, and the tenfooter is gone. “We should leave.”

  Bernard agrees, and they make their way toward the back of the giant house, where an older tenfooter enters, carrying a smaller child. Sanet and Bernard turn to run as the tenfooter cries out to them.

  “What’s you doing in my house?”

  They stop, raising hands on head. “Apory. We mean no harm. We’re trying to stay out of the fight.” Sanet pleads, fearful of being so close to the towering tenfooter.

  “Are yous with the caped denizens?” the tenfooter asks, setting his child down. The young one immediately starts walking toward them.

  Sanet shakes her hand. “We are not. We’ll leave in peace.”

  “Now, now, yous don’t need to. It’s dangerous outs there. My brethren are ons a rampage. If you’re seen by them . . .” The tenfooter’s speech trails off as he heads toward his kitchen. The child stares inquisitively at Sanet and Bernard, chewing on its finger a minor before spinning and following its father into the kitchen. The two exchange a look before stepping forward. “Can we offer yous something to drink?” the tenfooter calls out.

  Taken aback, but grateful, Bernard answers, “That would be much approshed.” They wait as the tenfooter returns with large mugs of red coffee.

  “Please, haves a seat.” The tenfooter motions toward the couch as he sets down the mugs. He then moves toward the window and pulls its curtain closed and flips on a lamp. The small tenfooter child starts upstairs, remarking that he wants to play with his toys. Alone in the room save for Sanet and Bernard, the tenfooter takes the mug and drinks before speaking. “What side are yous fighting for?”

  “In truth, we were taken as prisoners and came off a kleep when the Carvingians attacked our captors.”

  “The twofooters were your captors?”

  “The crimson men. And the ranpart.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s what you call that midfrek,” the tenfooter says with a pinge of disdain in his voice. “Why did they capture you, fighting for us were you?”

  “We were in possession of items they sought.”

  “I see. Does this have to do with the ardroke that midfrek is attempting to resurrect?”

  “Ardroke?” Bernard asks.

  “The ardrokes who roamed the Land long before us. Theys were our rulers. Yous call us tenfooters because we have spent generations attempting to extend ourselves in respect and worship of them. You think you insult us with the term, but it is a badge of honor. We will be ready when they return.”

  “So, you want them to return?”

  “Their return would mean the end of things. But, nones the less, we must be ready. Wees closed our borders to protect his grave, but the twofooters who’ve destroyed our state seems to be looking for this ardroke Carvin.” Sanet and Bernard shake their head at the curam. “The first ardroke and the bell toll of the Zantiphy. When our ancestors subdued him, they buried him beneath Carvinga and built other stonetins around the state as temples of worship, but Carvin lies in only one of them. Most Carvingians don’t know it’s only the one. Only him.”

  Sanet sits forward. “Buried where? And if he is something to be subdued, s
omething to be feared, why do you worship him?”

  “He’s a symbol of power. Of might. But in truth, it was nots our decision. The other states united under the fight against the ardrokes. Carvin was taken down here in our state. Leaving us as these twofooters have, in disarrays and in indescribable destruction. They left us with nothings but the ardroke’s corpse. The disrespect other denizens have for us and theirs judgment against our regard for the ardroke made us close the borders to yous. We no longer want anything to do with the likes of yous.” He says this with a snivel, drool dripping from his mouth. “We worship the ardroke as the truths, and in doing so have beguns our march toward becoming like him. Like Carvin. We, like the ardrokes before us, must protect the Land.”

  “Perhaps that’s why the Misipiants want him back,” Bernard surmises.

  “They believe the ardroke would help destroy us. That the ardroke would be jealous of our size and fight for the twofooters instead, but thats is perfect flambanes. The ardroke would destroy everything.”

  Bernard stands up, turning to Sanet. “What is Cadwellion’s plan here? To bring back some massive frek and destroy the states?”

  Sanet thinks a major. “If he was studying the royal family, perhaps he wants to unite the states again. If he creates a disaster, a war, he’s forcing the states to merge. Which is what the crimson men want.”

  “To unite behind the Roar,” Bernard says with annoyance.

  “A new royal family,” Sanet states.

  “Why would he wants to destroy the Land, only to brings it together?” the tenfooter asks.

  “That is the question. I know there are people who believe in a united states. That too many are pricing its people, sending the lower classes left; but it’s rather extreme to start a war to free a bunch of bodies,” Sanet works out.

  “If anythings, why starts the war here? Why put our denizens in danger? Wees have lived in peace for alls time. The Laws keeps us in peace.”

  “Radiba, too, has been in peace. Seems presumptuous to think that we all want to be under the banner of one rule,” Bernard doubles.

  Sanet becomes heated. “Because you and you are safe? Happy? What about those who are not? What about Logan? What about the bodies of Balton, who were cleansed for no reason other than to keep the Law of Population?”

  “No one has to stay in those states with such statutes and practices. They can leave,” the tenfooter says plainly.

  “Those are their haynests. And Logan isn’t from Organsia. He’s from Radiba. And the Carvinga have been sending its own bodies left. We saw them being thrown into the pits, to drown or be eaten by krakes. Why? Because they weren’t big enough? What about what you did to the Misipiants,” Sanet states.

  The tenfooter retorts. Standing and pacing about, raising the tension of the room. “Then yous agree with this war? Yous agree with these spineless twofooters marching into our state and setting it on fire?”

  “That’s not the answer, of course not. Nor is bringing back some colossal weapon, but we should do something to stop these atrocities, shouldn’t we?”

  “Yous idealism smothers reality, girl. The ancestors knews better than us. They knews that denizens need their freedom from others’ morals. They knews we needed space to practice and freedom to roam. These were the tenets of the Land. Any deviation from these are paths to our undoing.” The tenfooter takes a final sip before refilling. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to get mees Fran to sleep. You are welcome to stay.” With that, the tenfooter bows and retires upstairs.

  After he leaves, Bernard turns to Sanet. “Regardless of who is right, what are we going to do about it?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t know because I’m not even sure why I’m here. My entire life so far has been in training for this. The whole of these past seven years has been to help Wellion reunite this brass.”

  “You can’t believe that.”

  “In some ways. I feel as trapped as Logan did. I don’t want to do what Wellion wants because he found me. I don’t owe him my life. He helped me, but I’m not going to be some servant for the rest of my life.”

  “You don’t need to be his servant. Leave. Let’s go back to Radiba.”

  “But what if these protnuks are right? What if what Wellion wants is right, but he’s doing it wrong? Ethan said that the protnuk told him, ‘Reunite the brass and fulfill the exarmadasis.’ But I don’t think Wellion is the one who’s supposed to reunite the brass. I believe you are,” Sanet says, staring at Bernard.

  “Me? I’m just a gardener. I’m a man who chased a neox and lost a partner.”

  “And I’ve been controlled, pushed and told and trained and given instruction. I’ve had my life taken from me. I don’t think it was violet that did it. I don’t even have a taste for it. I think Wellion did something to me. He’s been forcing this on me. And I believe that you weren’t in this plan of his. That man who was giving him all these answers—you weren’t part of that. I feel that’s what makes you the Dark Valor. The one he couldn’t see. The man in the shadow.”

  “It’s flam. And even if I were, what am I going to do? Walk up to Wellion and demand he give me the brass?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t. I only know that I can’t let some ranpart control me anymore.”

  “He doesn’t. You can leave now. We can travel south and let this whole battle play itself out.”

  “And if that brass does bring back some giant monster, some great destruction . . . then it was me who sent all these bodies left. I recovered that brass.” You weren’t supposed to, Sanet.

  “There’s nothing we can do, though.”

  “Yes. You. You are the Dark Valor. We can make a choice to change the foretale. You said you wanted to let your soul have its way. That you’ve let the careful warnings of your parents and your partner hold you back. Perhaps now is the time to make a choice as well. You’ve gone this far . . .” Sanet sits closer, taking Bernard by the hand. “It’s time we take our own paths.”

  “You’re sounding like a little Roar yourself.”

  “In truth, it’s what feels right. Doesn’t it?”

  There’s a minor when Bernard doesn’t answer. His mind seems to reflect on their past few months together. I’m sure Jame is weighing in on his decision. “Wisnok. How shall we upset your friend Cadwellion?” Bernard asks.

  Sanet answers plainly, “We find Carvin’s Grave . . . and we take back our brass. Somehow.”

  ❖❖❖

  Sanet and Bernard set out onto the street, careful to avoid the eyes of others. Bernard notes the unusualness of kind tenfooters, to which Sanet replies, “The Land is full of surprises.”

  The new plan is to track the destruction. To follow the march of Wellion and, hopefully, find some means to steal back some of the brass. The idea feels absurd, but for some reason, Sanet feels it is right. Bernard is unispar, different from the rest. In some ways, she had thrust him into this role, forced him to believe in the hymn of a hungry frek. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Bernard is clearly capable. The smith’s mitts have given him confidence and abilities she couldn’t imagine. She is also afraid of Bernard. He has a growing rage inside him, one that lacks compassion for the crimson men. One she thinks she should rein in. Jame isn’t here to give him counsel. He can’t see that Paulo is kind, driven by coin over fanaticism. There were nights in the cell when Bernard seemed eager and ready to send the entire crew left.

  Convincing Bernard also feels selfish. In some way, she is rebelling against Wellion because that’s all she knows. He had taken her, she was sure of it, from her haynest. From wherever she came from. From her mother and father. From her life. And then he’d convinced her that she had no past. There is a fury inside her for what Wellion did to her, for so boldly lying to her.

  They continue through the settlement before heading back into the tall grasses, walking along through the blades for a few hours before coming to a clearing. It contains another small settlement with no more than six b
uildings, one of which has been recently set afire. Abandoned. As they walk along, they catch a glimpse of some wandering getwishes.

  Bernard turns to Sanet. “We should use those as mounts through the grass.”

  Sanet agrees. They hurry toward the getwishes and then flank them, Sanet going west and Bernard east. Bernard walks up to one, holding out his hand with a bit of granola. “There, there.” The getwish, with its odd elongated head and long knobby knees, steps backward. “There, there, little frek,” Bernard states.

  He stops in place, and the getwish steps forward, dipping its head and taking a small bite from his hand. He waves to Sanet, who walks out from the side of a building. The getwish perks its head up at seeing her but then returns to nibbling the granola. Sanet pulls from her pouch a bit of granola as well, holding her hand out toward the other getwish. It legs over to her and begins to munch, its wet beak and soft pinches tickling her palm. She pets the abnormal frek as she sees Bernard grab the neck of the one he’s lured and hops on.

  “Mount it, they’re used to it.”

  Sanet turns back, grabbing the getwish’s neck and lifting herself on. It bows a bit under her weight but quickly recovers, lifting her upward. The sensation of its round and wide back spreading her legs apart is odd. Intuiting the frek has already had some experience with being reined, she takes ahold and leads the getwish behind Bernard. They set off.

  Heading through the grass now gives them much more to see. The Land is vast and open. Pockets of smoke surround them from various battles taking place in areas miles away. And then to their northwest, they see a great stonetin, the largest Sanet has ever seen, which holds quite the commotion around it.

  Bernard turns back to her. “Think that’s the place?”

  “When I was on that hill, there were dozens that I could see. But this one does seem the largest of them,” she says, looking back at it.

  Bernard nods and turns back, flicking the reins on the getwish to pick up pace. Sanet follows suit, and soon they’re galloping through the grasses toward the monolithic throne-shaped stonetin.