“Jahrys—” Kevrin tried to stop him.
But Jahrys charged forward, closing the distance between him and his enemy in a few short strides. Everything around Jahrys seemed to fade away, including the leaves that rustled up around his legs as he ran. His mind was focused on Rallick…and that awful smile.
He raised his sword high above his head and swung it down, and—
“Jahrys…Jahrys? Are you okay?”
Jahrys tried to open his eyes, but his left eye was throbbing. A hand shot up to feel it—his eye was as big as an apple.
There were two Kevrins leaning over him. “Jahrys?”
Jahrys groaned as he attempted to lift his body. His head fell back and he clutched his swollen eye. “What happened?”
“Rallick landed a nasty punch to your eye,” Kevrin said, biting back an ‘I told you so’.
“Better luck next time, Jahrhead.” Rallick and his cronies laughed, walking away. “I’ll be back for my pooles.” Their sniggering echoed through the forest as they faded away into the trees.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Kevrin said. He held out a hand.
Jahrys took it.
“Let’s get you to The Arcalane. Willem will have some ice you can throw on your eye.” Kevrin helped Jahrys to his feet.
“I’m fine.” Jahrys wasn’t in the mood to see Innkeeper Willem.
“It’s going to swell.”
“I don’t care.”
“Are you okay?”
“How am I ever going to be a Knight of the Poolesguard if I can’t even win a fight against Rallick? He didn’t even have a weapon in his hand!” Jahrys threw his hands in the air in disgust. “Every knight who ever existed would be ashamed of me.”
“I’m not ashamed of you. I’m proud!”
Jahrys ran a hand through his tangled hair, too ashamed to respond.
Kevrin continued, “You always talk about wanting to be a knight. Well, you stuck up for me, Jahrys! And I think that’s what being a knight is all about, being there for others who are in need. When Isabella Danor was in need, her knight Galagar Poole was there for her. When Melaine Danor was in need, her knight, Palor A’kal, was there to protect her. When that little girl was surrounded by those three dangerous men, Sir Piller was there to save her!”
“So you’re the princess in this scenario?”
“You know what I mean,” Kevrin scoffed.
Jahrys chuckled. “Thanks.” He patted his friend on the back. “When I get older, I’ll be just like Sir Piller Lorne: fearless, strong, and wise. He wouldn’t be afraid of Rallick and his dumb friends. He isn’t afraid of anything!”
“Everyone must be afraid of something,” Kevrin argued.
“Not him. One day I’ll be a Knight of the Poolesguard, saving princesses and those in need from people like Rallick!” Jahrys was sure of it. “I will be fearless and strong and wise.”
Kevrin gave up arguing. “I think that punch has gone to your head. Let’s get you back before you start telling me you’re going to give up chasing girls.”
Jahrys glared at him.
Jahrys and Kevrin stuffed their pads into their bags and grabbed their wooden swords. They followed a dirt road that took them to the edge of Kaluk. The trees of the forest hung over their heads, a leafy arch, blocking the sunlight from the clear, blue sky. A breeze lightly swayed the branches, making a soft scratching sound.
Jahrys took it in, it was all so beautiful.
It was finally the end of the stormy season and the beginning of the long summer. It had been too long: the winds howled throughout the kingdom, making it difficult and dangerous to walk outside; the waves of the Farrest Sea were too rough to sail; the clouds lingered creating a never-ending gray sky. It had been too long. Too long of daydreaming of being a knight and not being able to train. The only thing Jahrys could do in those long, drastic years was work in his father’s shop, wasting the days away.
A stone bridge appeared from behind a line of trees, arching over the Seaport River. Jahrys and Kevrin walked over it, nodding to a couple riding a cart pulled by two horses. The wheels clicked and clacked over the stone.
There was a sign that stood on top of a long wooden pole in the center of the bridge that showed Palor to the west, Danor to the north, Astenpoole to the northeast, Sible to the east, and Kaluk to the south. Jahrys and Kevrin headed west, toward Palor.
The castle of Astenpoole was seated high on top of a hill in the distance. The white stone glistened in the sunlight. It looked beautiful against the light blue background of the sky. The towers of the Castle Keep shot straight up, even higher than the castle walls.
Jahrys had never been inside the castle before, but every day he dreamed of what it would be like. He could only imagine how many knights were behind those walls, and he fantasized about the beautiful Princess Alana. Jahrys didn’t actually know if she was beautiful or not—he had never seen her. He only heard the stories about her beauty from the people in Palor.
The streets of Palor were filled with people arriving from different parts of the Four Cities. Everyone was busy setting up for the royal wedding that was to take place seven days from now. Tents were flying up, stages were being built, and the inns were bustling with visitors.
Jahrys had never seen Palor this crowded before. It wasn’t even this crowded for celebrations during the Coming of Zalus; the most sacred day of the year. It was once a year when the full moon rised high in the sky, and the Four Cities gathered in Palor to worship and celebrate Zalus and the day he came down from the Western Mountains.
Apparently, the roads weren’t even this crowded when King Leoné had married Asha almost fourteen years ago. Jahrys had heard stories from people who visited his father’s shop telling him how crowded it was then, and it didn’t compare to this.
Jahrys and Kevrin finally got to Zalus Road, the main road of Palor.
“I’m going to stop by The Arcalane to talk to Willem about a few things we need to do before the wedding. You sure you don’t want to come in and ice that eye?” Kevrin asked, giving him a worried look.
Jahrys could only imagine how many drunk people were at the inn. “The last thing I want to do is be surrounded by drunken fools. I’m going home.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow for some more training then?”
“As soon as my father let’s me off at the shop.”
Kevrin nodded and set off towards The Arcalane, up by the castle gate.
Jahrys continued in the other direction on Zalus Road, towards the mountains; his home was all the way at the end of the road, but the view made up for the trip. The Western Mountains loomed in the sky. The sun was beginning to set behind their tall peaks. There was nothing in all of Astenpoole that compared to the sight of the Western Mountains. Not the endless blue of the Farrest Sea, nor the rainbows that formed under Zalus’s Tears, not even the great walls and towers of the castle. Jahrys’s breath was always taken away when he looked at the peaks fading into the clouds.
No one had ever been over those mountains and returned to tell the tale. Trekking the mountains was usually used as punishment; like when Palor A’kal was banished, King Alas sent him over the Western Mountains, never to return. And as the stories said, he never did return.
“O’Jahrys!”
Jahrys cringed at his full name. He turned his head and saw a large Danorian man waving to him from across the road. Jahrys crossed, dodging the busy traffic composed of carts, horses, visitors, workers, and drunken fools.
“Come here, my boy!” the Danorian man took his hands from the cart he was pulling and wrapped his large arms around Jahrys, squeezing him into his round belly.
“Nice to see you too, Frayel,” Jahrys said, struggling to breathe.
“It’s been too long,” Frayel let go of Jahrys and smiled, showing his crooked teeth.
Jahrys let out a gasp of air.
“Let me have a look at ya,” Frayel said in his thick Danorian accent. He scanned Jahrys up and down. “By Z
alus, you have grown. The ladies must be all over ya! You got a lady, O’Jahrys?”
Jahrys shook his head.
“Well, keep your eyes open. They’ll be sprouting all over ya soon enough,” Frayel chuckled. “This weather is something, ain’t it? I bet you were a little boy last time there was a long summer.”
“I was. My parents already took Kevrin and me to the Sandy Shore a month ago, as soon as the storms began to die down. It was my first time feeling the sand in nearly nine years. My parents used to take me every year when I was little. We used to watch the ships coming in and out of Seaport.”
“How are the folks doing?” Frayel asked.
“Father still drives Mother crazy. Nothing new.”
“Your father always knows how to get your mother going.” Frayel laughed. “His Grent Wine has been the talk of the Four Cities this past year. Now that the stormy season is over, I’m sure business has been good for your father down at Grent Wine and Woodwork?”
“It sure has. That’s all my father has been doing lately. He even had to cut back a few orders of his woodwork for customers in order to spend more time making wine.”
“Your father always does too much for himself. I hope he’s not working you too hard, O’Jahrys.”
“Too much is an understatement!”
“Well, business should be good for y’all this week. It’s only a week away from the wedding, and the streets are already filled with people from all parts of the Four Cities. I brought some of my own stuff from my farm in Danor to sell.” Frayel pointed his thumb over his shoulder, towards his cart. It was filled with a cage of chickens, fresh fruits, and vegetables. “I’m hoping to make a good amount of pooles to spend on my loving Astonia,” Frayel smiled at the sound of his wife’s name.
“I’m sure you can buy her something nice here. Palor has a lot of nice markets.”
“I’ll be keeping my eye out then,” Frayel chuckled. He glanced at the fading light from the sun; the last bit of sunlight was beginning to disappear behind the mountains. “Well, I best be heading off now. My Astonia is waiting for me back at our tent. I shall be stopping by your shop to grab me some of that Grent Wine! Tell your father for me, will ya?”
“I will. It was nice seeing you.”
“So long, O’Jahrys!” Frayel waved goodbye. He tugged his cart up the road.
Jahrys cringed again at the sound of his full name, but waved goodbye. He continued his journey home. The crowd began to diminish the farther he walked away from the castle.
Up ahead, the golden palms of Zalus were glistening from the last bit of sunlight on top of the large church. The church was decorated and cleaned up nicely for the festivities; it had a reputation to live up to, because Palor was the holiest place in all of the kingdom. At the end of Zalus Road was where Zalus came down from the Western Mountains, 913 years ago, and raised his palms high into the sky, creating life. During every Coming of Zalus, everyone would travel to Palor to celebrate and attend Pastor Allen’s ceremony.
Pastor Allen was a kind man, but ever since his daughter had died from The Sickness, he had been slightly off.
The pastor was known for his preachings after hours on the steps of his church. Jahrys was approaching the grand steps now. He tried to keep his head down, not wanting to draw attention to himself if Pastor Allen was out that evening preaching from the steps. He just wanted to get home.
His luck had failed him. Pastor Allen was out.
Jahrys dropped his head lower and looked away. By the palms of Zalus, don’t let him see me. But something made Jahrys raise his head in curiousity.
Pastor Allen’s voice was filled with fear. He was yelling out to the road, but there was no one there except for Jahrys. The pastor’s eyes were deep, black pits. He was flailing his arms around like a tree during the stormy season, and his face was whiter than the clouds.
It was the words that scared Jahrys the most.
“With dusk comes the dreadful night, when giant walls block out the light. Yellow rain will fall. A storm of eternity! Taking it all as the innocents lose energy. Oh Zalus! Come down from the Western Mountains with your palms of light. And save us from the darkness that will bring us all an endless night.”
Jahrys was frozen; he didn’t know what to do, he was shocked at Pastor Allen’s dark words.
“You there!” Pastor Allen pointed a trembling finger towards Jahrys.
“Pastor Allen?” Jahrys called out. “Pastor Allen, are you—”
“A darkness is rising and will come over these mountains. The blue from the Farrest Sea and skies that surround us, the red from the fire and energy that keeps us warm, and the yellow from the sun above our heads and soil beneath our feet, will all be sucked into darkness. Pray for Zalus’s return, for he is the one who can save us!”
With the last word, Pastor Allen collapsed. He toppled down the grand steps, and landed hard onto the cobblestone road.
“Pastor Allen!” Jahrys yelled, dropping his bag and sword, running over to the pastor. He bent down and scooped the pastor’s head up with his arm. “Pastor Allen?”
Pastor Allen’s eyes shot open. “Zalus?” he whispered. “Zalus…have you come?”
“Pastor Allen, it’s me…Jahrys.”
The pastor’s hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of Jahrys’s shirt. He yanked him down, hard. Jahrys could hear how fast the pastor was breathing.
“Have you prayed, O’Jahrys? Have you prayed for Zalus’s coming?” Pastor Allen’s fist was shaking as he gripped Jahrys’s shirt into a knot.
“I—” Jahrys didn’t even have time to cringe at his name.
“Pray my boy. Pray for Zalus. He is the one…the only one who can save us.” Pastor Allen began to cough.
“It starts with…” Pastor Allen’s eyes began to roll behind his head.
“It starts with what Pastor Allen? It starts with what?”
“It starts with…” Pastor Allen’s head toppled over into Jahrys’s arm as he lost consciousness.
Chapter 2
Alana
IT WAS THE end of the stormy season and the beginning of the long summer; the air felt crisp and clear, the birds were singing sweet melodies, and the city of Astenpoole was alive.
Alana Poole breathed in the Astenpoole air for what seemed the first time in her life. She had forgotten how good it felt. She had been cooped up inside her bedchamber within the Castle Keep for far too long.
The streets of Astenpoole were busy with people setting up for the wedding festivities. She saw a group of men hammering wood and stakes as they built a stage. Another group of people were helping to lift a tent from the ground. A man was herding sheep and goats up Pooles Road. Women laughed and children ran around in circles, chasing dogs and cats.
Alana took a turn onto a side road, heading towards the small town of Riverside.
She was dreading the wedding. She didn’t want to deal with any more of Mother Claraine’s nagging about dresses she must try on or her handmaids examining and judging her body. But most importantly, she didn’t want her father to marry Nadia. He was marrying her for all the wrong reasons—it was more for politics than true love.
The end of the stormy season brought calm seas, opening communication again between Farrest and Astenpoole. Her father wanted to strengthen the ties between the two kingdoms, and the best way to do it was with a marriage. Her father had agreed to marry a widowed lady, Nadia, from Farrest.
Everything about Nadia made Alana gag, even her name. Nadia would never replace her real mother. Alana would make certain that never happened.
Alana walked over the stone bridge that brought her into Riverside; it was her favorite part of Astenpoole. Western Village was too busy. Northside was filled with strange folk. And Eastern Village was too quiet and deserted. Ever since her mother died from The Sickness, her father had ordered the Eastern Gate to be permanently closed. Her father didn’t want Carriers coming inside the castle. The Western Gate remained open, but it was heavily gu
arded; it took numerous security checks to enter and leave.
Alana found a pleasant place by Seaport River. It was quiet, the shade blocked the hot sun, and she was alone. She folded her skirts as she sat down on the hard ground. The gentle lapping of the river put her in a soothing trance. Birds chirped a song over her head, bees buzzed in harmony from flower to flower, and squirrels and chipmunks skittered from one tree to the next. Her eyes glided over a long stick a few feet in front of her. It reminded her of a sword. Alana stood and walked over to it, picking it up. She began to swing it around, trying to recall her lessons from Sir Mazo Dapher.
“Breathe. Swing. Don’t miss,” Alana recited.
Sir Mazo had been a knight in her father’s Poolesguard. Alana had loved her lessons with him; he was filled with knowledge and experience. But after her mother had died, her father had put an end to her lessons with the knight and forbade Alana to leave the Castle Keep. Alana had hoped her father would break out of this cautious phase and she would be able to start her lessons back up with Sir Mazo. But all hope of training again slipped away after Sir Mazo was taken by The Sickness.
“Breathe. Swing. Don’t miss.” Alana repeated his words again and again as she continued to breathe and swing.
With the birds singing, the river humming, and the insects buzzing, she found a rhythm. She took a step and swung her sword. She felt free.
“Step, step, swing. Step, step, thrust.” Alana repeated outloud as she moved around the riverbank. Her feet twirled and spun beneath her just like a dancer. “Step, step, turn, and swing.”
“I’m impressed,” a man said behind her.
Alana lost her balance mid-step and tumbled forward. She let out a groan as she flipped her hair back away from her eyes to see who had distracted her. Her stomach dropped.
“Sir Benjamin, I—how did you find me?” she jumped nervously to her feet, fixing her skirts. Sir Benjamin Burrow was one of the seven current Knights of the Poolesguard. He was tall, a man of twenty-eight, and muscular. His blond hair fell perfectly around his face. He was a man that always held the attention of the young ladies. They would always blush and giggle as he passed them on the streets.
Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1) Page 2