“But where is he now?”
“Beyond the Western Mountains, watching over us, my princess.”
“Well if he is watching over us, then why did he let The Sickness take my mother?” she felt her voice rising. She felt nauseated. Alana placed a hand on her stomach.
The handsome knight was caught off guard by her sudden change in tone. He stopped and faced her. “Is my princess okay?”
“Yes…I’m fine,” she took her hand away from her stomach and looked at Benjamin.
“You see, Alana, some things in life are beyond the control of people, and even beyond the control of Zalus. I’m sure if Zalus could’ve saved your mother, he would. But I assure you, your mother is at peace now, and watching over you beyond the Western Mountains. Zalus is taking good care of her, I promise. And one day, you two will meet again.” He held up his palm. “I swear by my honor as a Knight of the Poolesguard. Believing is what gets me up in the morning. It gives me a purpose.”
But what do I believe in? Alana wondered.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Benjamin turned to the sound of the bells. “Let’s keep moving. Your father is going to have my head at our lateness.”
They walked underneath the Village Gate and followed the road to the Great Hall. Alana and her knight took one step at a time as they climbed the steep, grand steps that brought them up to the giant oak doors.
The two brothers, Sir Krist Perriwill and Sir Martellus Perriwill, were there to greet them at the doors.
Benjamin gave them both a slight nod, “Krist, Martellus, I have brought the princess.”
“What took you so long?” Krist asked, frustration in his voice. “The king is furious! He won’t start the wedding without her. Let’s get you inside, Alana.” Krist motioned to his brother. “Are you going to just stand there like a fool, or open the door for Princess Alana?”
“I thought that was your job,” Martellus said sarcastically. He turned to Alana, ignoring his brother. “May I say you look stunning today, my fair lady.” Martellus said, giving a little bow.
Benjamin huffed. “Do I have to do everything myself?” He walked to the doors and flung them open. “After you, my lady.” He waved his hands urging her towards the doors.
Alana gave Krist and Martellus a sweet smile and said, “Thank you Sir Krist, Sir Martellus,” and walked through the double doors.
Before the doors closed behind her, she heard Krist slap Martellus on top of the head and say, “You are the dumbest knight in all of Astenpoole! I don’t know why Piller pairs us together for every single task. I’m going to have a…”
The doors closed behind them. They were now in the entranceway of the Hall of Heroes. Past kings of Astenpoole and knights stared at her in their portraits on the walls. There was the first King of Astenpoole, Alas Danor the Voyager, also known as the Destroyer, followed by Galagar Poole the Uniter, Gabriel Poole the Divider, Caverin Poole the Simple, Aygor Poole the Strong, and dozens more. And in the center of the room was her father, Leoné Poole. Alana had heard rumors that people had begun to call him Leoné Poole the Abandoner, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Where have you been?” it was her father approaching them.
“I…uh…you know Father…lady things.” She used that excuse for everything. Her father struggled to relate to his only daughter. He only had an older brother growing up, but Timmon Poole was an uncle Alana had never met.
Her father put a hand up to stop her. “Say no more. I don’t want to hear about it.” He walked over to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her. He gave her a kiss on her forehead. “I know this must be hard for you, Alana. But I’m so proud of you. I hope you know that.”
Alana tried to smile. She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t happy for him about this wedding.
Feeling the tension, her father turned to Benjamin. “Thank you, Sir Benjamin, for escorting my daughter here. Now, let’s go start this wedding.”
Together, they walked down the long hallway in the Hall of Heroes and entered the throne room. A wave of sound hit Alana. Hundreds of people filled the pews that lined either side of the room, a red carpet dividing them. People were hanging over the balcony that wrapped around the perimeter of the throne room, trying to get a better look. The carpet extended across the room, and ended at the steps to the altar. Usually the steps led up to the High Seat, or the Wave, as some nicknamed it, since the throne was in the shape of a giant wave, but an altar had taken its place for today.
There were freshly shined pillars supporting the balcony. Archways covered the first floor beneath the pillars. Carvings of stories were designed into the white marble of both the pillars and the archways. On the high ceiling, there was a painting of Zalus on his knees before the Western Mountains. His palms were raised to the sky and a baby laid upon them.
Alana and her father walked up the red carpet followed by Sir Benjamin. Her father took his spot at the altar as Benjamin guided Alana to the right front pew, following in behind her. She slid in next to Sir Devan Lark. Sir Arnold Beck and Sir Hollow Tryant were to the right of Sir Devan. They were all brothers of the Poolesguard. The Captain of the Poolesguard, Sir Piller Lorne, stood guard at the bottom of the steps, his long sword in hand.
“Princess.” Devan gave a slight nod as he greeted her.
The two younger knights on the other side of Devan waved.
She gave both of them a small wave back.
Suddenly, the sound of an organ began to echo throughout the hall. All eyes turned to the back of the room.
There she was—Nadia, the future queen. She was standing at the entrance. She was wearing a beautiful white wedding gown, but it did nothing to accentuate her features. The white clashed with her pale skin and her cropped black hair. Her eyes even seemed to glow a faint yellow. Alana always thought she looked like a man with her short hair and the prominent bones in her face. Nadia definitely didn’t have the beauty that her mother had. She didn’t know what her father saw in her. But she kept her mouth shut. She just assumed that all the women across the Farrest Sea looked like that.
Nadia began the long, slow walk to the altar as the organ played the classic wedding song. Nadia’s heels echoed throughout the throne room as she ascended the steps to the altar. Her own knights parted to the side and waited below the steps.
The music stopped.
Alana’s father smiled at his soon to be wife, but she only gave him half a smile back. Neither of their smiles reached their eyes.
The priest began the long ceremony.
The minutes felt like hours to Alana, but eventually the priest finally said the words she was dreading. “Do you, Leoné Poole, King of Astenpoole, take the hand of this lovely lady to be your lawfully wedded wife and queen?”
“I do,” her father said. His voice echoed loudly throughout the hall.
Alana’s chest tightened. She suddenly felt short of breath. She began to sweat.
The priest turned to Nadia. “And do you, Nadia of Farrest, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband and king, and to carry out all the duties that are required from the Queen of Astenpoole?”
“I do.” Nadia smiled with her perfect white teeth.
Alana felt her chest tighten even more as if it was coiling into a tiny ball.
“By the power vested in me and through the life that flows through the palms of Zalus, I now pronounce you husband and wife, king and queen of Astenpoole. May you grow old and one day find peace together beyond the Western Mountains.” The priest clapped his hands together as if to pray and gave a bow towards the altar and the newly wedded couple.
Her father and Nadia kissed in front of hundreds of eyes. The hall erupted in polite applause—except Alana.
She wanted to run, to get out of there, to never look at her father again. She wanted to escape the walls that constricted her, to escape the castle.
Alana tried to push past Benjamin, but her l
egs gave out before she could go one step as she collapsed to the floor.
The back of her head slammed down hard on the wood of the pew. She found herself lying on her back looking up at an open window, high above the balcony—freedom! But it was so far away.
Alana’s vision was slowly fading, but she saw something black sitting on the window’s edge looking down at her. It looked like a crow—but suddenly her world blurred as it spun around her, gradually growing black and silent.
Chapter 5
Jahrys
JAHRYS’S FATHER HAD been furious when he showed up late. His father had to carry all the wine cases from the house to the shop by himself. And, as soon as he got there, he was met by a huge rush of people who wanted to complete their purchases before the festivities began.
Jahrys tried to explain to his father what had happened to Kevrin, but his father only told him he was selfish and irresponsible.
For his punishment, Jahrys had to clean all the windows in the shop—and there were too many to count! He had to climb on top of a high ladder to reach the top ones. It seemed each time he climbed up, the store bell would ring, and he would have to climb all the way back down to help a customer. Jahrys cringed every time that bell rang above the door, it seemed to be neverending. All he wanted to do was finish so he could get out and enjoy the festivities…if his father would even let him leave.
Miller had been watching him, but he eventually became bored and scurried off to watch his father handle the cases of wine and woodwork.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Jahrys groaned at the sound of the bell ringing again. He was only through half of the windows. He threw his rag into the bucket of water, splashing water onto his face. He groaned and wiped it off with the back of his hand before climbing down with the bucket swinging in his hand.
A rather large, pale man was standing at the counter—Frayel.
“O’Jahrys! How’re you doing?” Frayel asked, giving Jahrys a hard pat on the back as Jahrys walked past him to get behind the counter. “I came by for my order.”
Jahrys tried to keep a smile as he put down the bucket, splashing himself yet again with the dirty water. He wiped his hands over his already damp clothes. “Hello, Frayel. I’ve just been helping Father around the shop. What was your order again?” Jahrys asked, fiddling through the list of orders.
Frayel placed a note on the counter. “I got it right here. Two bottles of Grent White and a birdie house for my lovely Astonia. My Astonia does love her birdies back home on our farm—that she does.”
Jahrys picked up the note and read it over. He went to the back to find Frayel’s order.
“You Palorians sure know how to throw festivities,” Frayel continued to talk, his voice booming all the way to the back of the shop. “We Danorian can’t keep up with ya’ll. I tell ya, after these festivities, Astonia and I are going straight back to our farm. The city life is no life for me—no it ain’t. What about you O’Jahrys? Are ya not celebrating tonight?” asked Frayel in his thick Danorian accent.
“I have to help my father close the shop tonight,” Jahrys said, disappointed. He was still searching the shelves for Frayel’s name.
“Is that so? Where’s your father? I wouldn’t mind having a word with Alvys. A young boy like you should be out celebrating. I’m sure there will be plenty of fine ladies. You don’t want to be missing that, now do ya?” Frayel let out a chuckle. “You got a lady, O’Jahrys?”
Jahrys sighed as he lifted a box filled with Frayel’s order from a top shelf and carried it back to the front. “I already told you, Frayel. I do not.”
“Ah, well you’re too young to be tied down anyways. How old are ya again, O’Jahrys?”
“Fifteen,” Jahrys answered, as he placed Frayel’s order on the counter.
“By Zalus! Fifteen? I’m getting old,” Frayel slapped his head playfully.
“Two bottles of Grent White and a birdhouse for your wife. Is that all?” Jahrys was getting impatient.
“Hmm, I’ve always wanted to try a bottle of Grent Red; I’ve heard good things. Might as well give me one of them, too. I’m sure the missus will love that,” Frayel chuckled.
Jahrys went back to grab a third bottle and added it to the order when he returned. “Okay, Frayel. Two bottles of Grent White, a bottle of red, and a birdhouse. Is this all?”
“Hmm.”
By Zalus. Jahrys tried to hold in a groan.
“Yep. That’s all. Don’t want to be giving my loving Astonia a heart attack with all these gifts. I’m going to be one lucky guy tonight, O’Jahrys. Remember, the ladies love gifts.”
“Ladies love gifts,” Jahrys repeated to please Frayel. “Thank you for the advice.” Jahrys made sure the bottles of wine and the birdhouse were secure in their traveling box. “It’s fifteen pooles each for the two whites, twenty pooles for the red, and fifty pooles for the birdhouse.”
“By Zalus! Good thing business has been good the past few days,” Frayel chuckled to himself as he fumbled through a small pouch of coins. “Here ya go,” he handed the coins to Jahrys.
“Thank you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Palor.”
“Thank you, O’Jahrys. I hope your father comes to his senses. Goodbye, my boy.” Frayel left the shop, carrying his box.
Jahrys let out a long sigh. He picked up his bucket and climbed the ladder to finish his punishment.
He watched everyone running past the shop through the windows. They were either heading up the road to The Arcalane or to a festival along Zalus Road to celebrate the wedding. Jahrys quickened his pace, hoping to get done in time to join his friends.
Jahrys’s forearms were throbbing after he finished the last window. He threw the rag into the bucket and more water splattered onto his face. He wiped it with the back of his hand and climbed down the ladder. He placed the bucket down and walked behind the counter. He plopped down on a hard wooden chair, letting out a long, deep sigh as he let his body sink into the chair.
Boys his age constantly ran past the shop, laughing as they ran up the road. Annoyed, Jahrys started to hum to block out the noise, but it was as if the laughter was competing with Jahrys; no matter how loud he hummed, the laughter was always louder. I am going to be the only one missing out on all the festivities tonight, thought Jahrys, as he gave up on his humming.
When there seemed to be no more customers, Jahrys opened up a drawer and pulled out The Knightly Tales of Astenpoole. He had read it nearly a hundred times, but the stories never got old.
He re-read the famous story of Palor A’kal. He almost had it memorized at this point.
The story started many years ago, when Astenpoole and the Four Cities didn’t even exist, and the land was covered in thick forests from the north to the south. Back then, the land between the mountains and the sea was known only as Kaluk.
Alas Danor and his new bride, Lady Kathrin, had sailed from across the Farrest Sea, landing on the forest-infested shores. He had proclaimed himself king of this new land and chopped down trees and mined the large stones near the mountains to begin building his new home—a castle—for him and Kathrin. Queen Kathrin soon became pregnant, but died during childbirth. Thankfully, their baby, a beautiful girl named Melaine, survived.
The Kalukians had been outraged at this intruder. They had lived in the forest of Kaluk since the dawn of time—before years were even recorded. They were there to see Zalus come down from the Western Mountains with his palms of light, worshiping him and using his name as a title for their leaders. And now they were being pushed out of their homes as the trees disappeared.
Paluk A’kal, the Zal of the Kalukians, had revolted against Alas Danor and his army. The Kalukians would no longer accept the foreign king and his child.
The War of Two Worlds had begun. Many died fighting the strenuous two year war.
In the end, Alas Danor had won, slaying Zal Paluk A’kal. Alas had taken Paluk’s pregnant wife, Zala, to be his new queen in order to maintain peace among
the Kalukians. He had fostered Paluk’s son, Sible, and allowed Zala to nurse her newborn son, Palor. His own daughter, Melaine, close in age to baby Palor, was treated kindly by Queen Zala.
King Alas Danor ruled the land of Kaluk. He banished the worship of Zalus and slaughtered anyone who spoke freely of the Western God. He had continued to deforest the land, and his castle continued to grow in size. Many Kalukians disappeared, traveling farther south of Kaluk to live in the remaining forest.
King Alas and Queen Zala had a child of their own, the beautiful Princess Isabella Danor. The two princesses viewed each other as sisters, and all the children were raised as siblings. It was said that Melaine and Palor had a special bond, being the closest in age.
Years later, when they were almost grown, Palor walked in on King Alas beating his own daughter, the Princess Melaine. Filled with rage and love for his stepsister, Palor had attacked the king, stabbing him numerous times. But to Palor’s ill luck, the king had been saved and healed of his wounds.
Palor was thrown into the dungeon while he waited for his death sentence. King Alas Danor knew he couldn’t kill Palor, however. That would only cause another war with the Kalukians. So he decided to banish Palor over the Western Mountains.
To this day, no one knows what happened to Palor—if he ever made it over the mountains, or if he died trying. Though no one ever forgot his love and sacrifice for his stepsister.
Tragically, that same year, Princess Melaine died from a head injury when she fell down the stairs. Rumor spread that the king had pushed her down the steps.
Sible, enraged by this rumor and by the banishment of his brother, stabbed King Alas to death. Sible suffered knife wounds from the king’s guards, and died as well.
Such a tragedy, thought Jahrys, as he finished the story. They were all so brave. Jahrys took a second to reflect before moving onto the next story—another one of his favorites, this one about Galagar Poole.
Galagar Poole was a poor boy who lived in the streets of Kaluk during the reign of King Alas Danor. His parents, both Kalukian, died when he was young. The only thing Galagar had owned were the clothes on his back and a lute that once belonged to his father. He would practice the lute day and night, listening to songs he had heard on the street and trying his best to mimic them. Once he was good enough, he began to perform in public, making a few pooles here and there, just enough to live off.
Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1) Page 5