Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1)

by Patrick Johns

  Jahrys wanted to bring up what happened with Pastor Allen the other day, but he was having a hard time figuring out how to word it without freaking out his mother and father. He decided to go for it. “I was walking past the church the other day and Pastor Allen said—”

  “Oh, now you listen close, boy,” his father interrupted, pointing his fork at Jahrys. “That man has screws in his head. Don’t listen to anything he says, you hear?”

  “But—”

  “Well,” his mother cut him off as she joined them at the table, “what your father is trying to say is, don’t listen to anything he has to say outside of the church, honey. Pastor Allen has been having a hard time ever since his daughter passed away from The Sickness.”

  “He’s a loon,” his father said, throwing his hands into the air. “I don’t know why we go listen to him every week and hear him talk about some Western God. He needs—”

  “Be quiet, Alv,” Jahrys’s mother interrupted.

  “I’m just say—”

  “We go because that’s what families are supposed to do. Now eat your damn breakfast!” His mother snapped and shook her head. “Zalus forgive us.”

  With that, Jahrys did not bring it up again.

  After a long silence of chewing sausages, Jahrys’s father said, “We’re going to need at least a hundred cases from the cellar out back for this afternoon. After the wedding is done, people are going to want to celebrate and get really, really—”

  “Alv! Don’t talk like that in front of Jahrys,” his mother shouted, jabbing a fork at his father.

  “Come on, Eve. I had my first drink with my pop when I was thirteen years old. The boy is almost a man grown now.” He turned to Jahrys, lowering his voice so his mother couldn’t hear. “Uh, how old are you now son?”

  Jahrys rolled his eyes. “Fifteen.”

  His father shot up and placed a hand in front of Jahrys as if he was a showcase. “You see! Almost a man grown.”

  “Yea…Almost.” His mother stressed. “But until then, no talking like that in front of our son.”

  “As you say, my lady,” his father said, waving his hand like a servent.

  Jahrys rolled a piece of sausage around his plate, waiting for the next awkward topic of their morning conversation.

  His father turned to him, pointing his fork. “Later today I will show you how to make a perfect chair, O’Jahrys. That will be our back up if we run out of cases of wine tonight. You can never have too much wood. Isn’t that right, honey?” He asked, winking at his wife.

  His mother’s fork fell to her plate and her face shot up at his father, giving him a devilish stare, but she was blushing.

  “Uh…right…” his father looked away from her, “never mind.” He paused, and then announced, “Well…this will be our chance to make a fair amount of pooles. We mustn’t mess up this opportunity.”

  Jahrys stared at his plate uncomfortably. He felt Miller pecking at a few crumbs by his feet.

  “I promised Kevrin I would go…” Jahrys stopped himself before he gave his full plan away. “I promised I would go fishing with him down at Zalus’s Tears before we open shop,” Jahrys told his father, as his mother gave him a suspicious look.

  “As long as you’re back in time to help me, O’Jahrys, I don’t care what you do,” his father replied.

  “As long as you aren’t playing with those sticks,” his mother added.

  “I promise, we are going fishing,” Jahrys lied.

  “How’s Kevrin doing by the way?” his mother asked. “We haven’t seen him since our trip to the Sandy Shore.”

  “He’s been busy helping out his grandmother. I don’t think she’s doing well.”

  “That’s a shame. And to think, The Sickness is just beginning to die down. She must have caught the tail end of it. We should go over there and help out. That’s a lot of responsibility for a fifteen-year-old boy to do without any support. Don’t you think we should do that, Alv?” his mother turned to Jahrys’s father.

  “Huh?” his father’s eyes were back in the living room, on the chair he had been examining earlier.

  “About Kevrin’s grandmother,” his mother repeated, getting irritated.

  “Oh, the woman we still have yet to meet?”

  “Kevrin said she’s too old to leave the house. And now that she’s sick…it’s impossible. He has been helping Willem around The Arcalane for a few extra pooles to provide for her.” Jahrys was getting annoyed at the subject. Truth be told, Jahrys had never met Kevrin’s grandmother either. Kevrin always acted strange when Jahrys would bring her up.

  “Oh, that poor boy. Bless his soul,” his mother said, placing a hand over her heart. “After the celebrations settle down, we’ll go over there and help.”

  “I don’t think he wants us to get involved—” Jahrys started.

  “Nonsense. I’m sure Kevrin would appreciate the help. Don’t you think so, Alv?”

  “Huh?” his father was preoccupied with his meal.

  “Oh, never mind,” his mother said, giving up on repeating herself.

  When Jahrys had finished everything on his plate, he turned to his mother and asked, “Can I go meet up with Kevrin now by…the lake?”

  “Yes, just make sure you’re back in time to help your father,” his mother said, leaning over and kissing Jahrys on the forehead.

  “We need to make sure everything’s ready in time for the celebrations, O’Jahrys,” his father said.

  Jahrys cringed at his full name.

  “Don’t forget,” his father continued. “Everyone will be celebrating. King Leoné and his new wife, Nadia. I bet she is a poole and a—”

  “Alvys!” his mother interrupted.

  “What?” his father gave her an innocent look.

  His mother rolled her eyes, ignoring him. “I still can’t believe it has been four years since Queen Asha’s death. Such a shame. Her daughter must be so devastated. I hope Nadia brings both her and her father happiness,” his mother said.

  “Aye and maybe Princess Alana will marry O’Jahrys, and we will become part of the royal family with King Leoné, ha!” his father gave a big chuckle and nudged Jahrys with his elbow. “That would solve all our money problems. No pressure, son.”

  Out of all the things he chooses to listen to, thought Jahrys.

  “Just because the boy isn’t courting yet, doesn’t mean you have to tease him, Alv,” his mother scolded.

  On that note, Jahrys quietly slid out the back door of the kitchen, with Miller following.

  Jahrys grabbed his bag and wooden sword that had been leaning against his house. He stayed clear of the vineyard and crossed the yard to the back gate. He opened it and curved around to Zalus Road, Miller crisscrossing between his legs as he walked.

  He walked up the road, towards the castle. The streets were filled with people, wagons, tents, and animals. Jahrys avoided the crowd building in front of Pastor Allen’s church and headed right, down a back alleyway. He weaved through a maze of buildings until he reached the bridge that crossed over Seaport River into Kaluk.

  At the first sight of the forest, Miller took off and began circling the trees. Jahrys laughed as he watched the chicken play as he walked.

  When they arrived at the meeting spot, Jahrys sat down on his log. He dropped his gear onto the ground, causing a bunch of leaves to crinkle.

  Miller ran off to a nearby tree and began to peck at it.

  I wonder what goes through that chicken’s head, thought Jahrys, as he began to put on his training armor.

  The forest came alive around Jahrys as the animals got used to his presence. A collection of sounds bounced off the trees: insects humming, birds chirping, squirrels and chipmunks scurrying through the fallen leaves.

  Miller became bored with the tree and began chasing a mouse around Jahrys’s log.

  Where is Kevrin? He should have been here a while ago. Jahrys was beginning to worry.

  After another ten minutes of waiting, Jahrys heard
the stomping of leaves coming from the bridge up ahead. It sounded like someone was running.

  “You best be running!” Jahrys shouted through the trees as he stood up from his log. “Do you know how long I’ve been wait—”

  Kevrin came sprinting towards him. Jahrys could see his bloodshot eyes from where he was standing. Kevrin’s hair was a sweaty mess, his skin was whiter than the clouds, and his body was shaking.

  “Jahrys…Jahrys! I have to tell—” Kevrin tripped over a branch, falling face first to the ground.

  “Kevrin?” Jahrys yelled. He ran over to his friend, rolling him over. “Kevrin…are you all right?”

  Kevrin’s eyes had rolled back, only the whites were showing. He was shaking uncontrollably, and foaming at the mouth as he kept repeating, “Tell…tell…tell.”

  “Kevrin?” Jahrys yelled. He didn’t know what to do.

  Jahrys struggled to pick Kevrin up, but he got him over his shoulder. “Come on, Mill. I have to take Kevrin to Willem. He’ll know what to do.” He ran as fast as he could back towards the Seaport River, over the bridge, and back to Zalus Road. Miller followed closely behind, occasionally flying to catch up.

  Jahrys sprinted all the way up the road towards The Arcalane. His shoulders and back were aching, but he didn’t slow down. He ran, weaving in and out of the crowd of people.

  When he arrived at The Arcalane, Jahrys kicked open the door. He ran straight to the bar where Innkeeper Willem was standing.

  “My boy! How are—” His words were cut short when he saw the look on Jahrys’s face. “What’s going on here?”

  “It’s Kevrin! I don’t know what happened. He just…collapsed.” Jahrys didn’t know what else to say.

  Willem turned to a thin man with a crooked nose next to him behind the bar. “Havrick, you’re in command.”

  “I’m on it, boss,” said the bartender with the crooked nose.

  Willem turned back to Jahrys. “Bring him to the back. Quickly now!”

  Jahrys rounded the corner and brought Kevrin to the back room, laying him down on a table in the center. Miller scurried under the table.

  Willem barged in, carrying a bucket of water and a wet cloth.

  “Move aside,” he ordered. He placed the wet cloth on top of Kevrin’s sweaty head. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was waiting for Kevrin in Kaluk. He showed up, sprinting towards me, and yelling he had to tell me something…but then he collapsed.”

  “Tell you something?” Willem repeated as he patted Kevrin’s head with the damp cloth. “Well…what did he tell you?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t get a chance to tell me.”

  “Ah. Well, we’ll have him up and running in no time, don’t worry my boy. It looks like he had a slight seizure.”

  “BUCUUUUUUCK!” Miller yelled, from below the table.

  Jahrys turned to the chicken, realizing he was going to be late helping his father. He turned back to Willem. “Willem, what time is it?”

  “It’s close to midafternoon now,” Willem answered.

  “By Zalus! Will you look over Kevrin for me? If I don’t open up my father’s shop…he’ll kill me!” Jahrys exaggerated.

  “I’ve never heard of good old Alvys killing anyone,” Willem teased. “Get going, my boy. Kevrin will be safe with me.”

  “Thanks, Willem.” Jahrys shouted as he ran out the door, Miller following. They ran out of The Arcalane and sprinted back down the road, towards the Western Mountains that rose high up in the sky, past the clouds.

  Chapter 4

  Alana

  IT HAD BEEN four years since her mother’s death, but the pain was as real as if it had happened yesterday. Alana remembered her perfectly, as if she was still standing right in front of her. Her mother had been so beautiful. She had had long curly blonde hair, eyes as blue as the Farrest Sea, brighter than the sky, and soft pink skin. She also had been loving and caring in every way imaginable.

  Alana could see her mother’s features in herself as she looked in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She didn’t have the blonde hair, nor the rosy pink skin as her mother, but she had her blue eyes and the shapes of their faces were the same. Every time she looked in a mirror, it felt like her mother was a part of her.

  She had been ten at the time, young and confused as to what was happening to her mother. A day never went by when Alana didn’t think of her.

  She missed when her mother used to take her to the shops in Western Village, when her mother used to tell her old fairy tales of princesses and princes by the Seaport River, when her mother would always stick up for her when she wanted to do something adventurous. Her mother always wanted to do something thrilling, unlike her father. Her mother was so brave.

  Now, without her mother, she was trapped. Everyone held an expectation over her head, and Alana didn’t have her mother to defend her. Everyone expected Alana to be as perfect as Simona Poole, Lydia Poole, Valerina Poole, Ivah Poole, Isabella Danor, Melaine Danor—all the princesses and ladies that had graced the castle before her.

  Mother Claraine told her the stories about how beautiful, smart, and well-mannered they had been. They would never have disobeyed their fathers—running away to play with swords! Oh please! They were beautiful and kind, but stationary. No one ever talked about how those women were defenseless against outlaws who had come from the Farrest Sea to take them away; or when a treacherous king would beat them without regret. No one talked about that. All Mother Claraine would talk about was how they grew up to become beautiful queens, just like Alana would one day.

  Alana spat on that thought.

  She didn’t want to become Queen of Astenpoole; that was the last thing in the world she wanted. She would rather be a normal girl, where no one recognized her. She wouldn’t even mind running away. The thought had crossed her mind numerous times.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Alana? We’re going to be late. Are you ready yet?” it was a man’s voice.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Almost!” she said, as she was brought out of her thoughts.

  “Hold still,” snapped Mother Claraine as she continued to pin her dress. “I need to fix this before you leave.”

  Alana tried to stay still. She looked into the mirror again.

  She was wearing a beautiful light pink gown with a floral design on the corset, and smooth silk everywhere else. While it was sewn specifically for her size, the dress had torn when it had been pulled over her chest.

  Mother Claraine let out an impatient groan. “By the palms of Zalus, Alana! Did your bust double in size over night?”

  “I…I don’t think so,” Alana said awkwardly. She had been feeling uncomfortable with this fitting, and now, even more so.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Alana! If you don’t come out right now, I will be forced to—”

  “WILL YOU SHUT YOUR PIPE!” Mother Claraine screamed through the closed door.

  There was absolute silence as Mother Claraine took one last shot at pinning her dress. “By Zalus, I got it! Take a look.”

  Alana did a tiny spin while she looked at the mirror. “It’s wonderful! Thank you, Mother Claraine.”

  “Just keep those breasts of yours in check until this wedding is over.”

  Alana gave her an awkward smile as she walked over to her bedroom door and opened it.

  “Well now, don’t you look like a beautiful young lady,” said the knight standing before her.

  “You look very handsome yourself today, Sir Benjamin.” Alana gave him a little curtsy.

  “My princess is too kind. I look this way every day.” The handsome knight gave a little chuckle. “Shall we be off before your father kills me for how late we are?” he asked, offering his arm to her. She smiled and took it.

  Benjamin always knew how to cheer her up. He had been her personal guard for almost four years now. After her mother’s death, her father had assigned Benjamin to watch over her. As much as she protested this, sh
e had grown to enjoy his company. Especially on a day like today when she felt more alone than ever missing her mother. Her knight had become a close confidant and companion, almost like a brother.

  Benjamin escorted her out of her tower and into the Village. They took the path towards the courtyard in the distance, one of her favorite places in the Castle Keep. Houses and shops lined both sides of them.

  The path opened up to the courtyard where trees and beautiful gardens lined the roads throughout the great, green yards. People would gather here to relax, pray, and now that the long summer was here, escape the Astenpoole heat. The courtyard was completely deserted today, however. Everyone was either at the wedding or setting up for the celebrations that would occur later that night.

  Giant tents had been set up in the middle of the courtyard. The majority of the tents contained tables, chairs, and bars. A large stage was set up near the fountain.

  The fountain sat in the center of the courtyard. To say it was a large fountain would be an understatement. This fountain could be mistaken for a pond; it was huge! A marble statue of Zalus stood on a platform in the center of the water. He was raising his palms to the sky as water sprayed out of them like a waterfall. Galagar Poole built it nearly three hundred years ago, when he returned the worship of Zalus to Astenpoole after King Alas Danor banished it years before.

  “May I ask you something, Sir Benjamin?” Alana asked as they walked past the statue.

  “My princess may ask me whatever she likes.” He did a little bow and waved with his hand to urge her to continue.

  “Do you believe?”

  “Do I believe in what, my princess?” He wasn’t following.

  “Do you believe in Zalus? The Western God?”

  “Well of course I believe. He’s why we’re here now, walking to your father’s wedding. He’s the reason why we’re talking to each other right now, and the reason why we’re practicing sword fighting. Without him, I wouldn’t be a Knight of the Poolesguard. He came down from the Western Mountains, raised his palms high toward the sky, and life poured out of them. Zalus is the creator of this world. His blood is our blood.” He sounded very confident.