Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1)

by Patrick Johns

  Jahrys continued walking as he admired the scenery around him.

  “Sir, sir? A gem for your dearly beloved?” asked a rather large man off to Jahrys’s right. He shoved a green gem into Jahrys’s face.

  Jahrys shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  The man continued to walk with Jahrys. He put away the gem and quickly took out a necklace. “A necklace for her then? No? Earrings? What woman doesn’t love earrings?”

  Jahrys just shook his head again and kept walking. It took the man three blocks to finally leave him alone.

  “A delicious pie for your mother, sir?” asked another man with a funny looking mustache.

  “A pig to bring home to your family?” asked a fat lady.

  “A love potion for your secret love?” asked a tall, bald man.

  Jahrys shook his head for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  “No? Is it a secret manly love you seek? We sell those, too,” he said with a wink.

  Jahrys was bombarded with people from all directions. Even though he shook his head no to everything, he enjoyed the attention. The only excitement Jahrys had since the Hoarding were the crazy nights in The Arcalane with Kevrin, Elyara, and the rest of his friends. But he had no time to stop and enjoy the excitement. He had a mission: to confront King Leoné and save the kingdom.

  He walked past a stage where a band was playing. People were gathering around to watch as they started their next song.

  “I want to see everyone singing and dancing to this next song,” the singer shouted out to the crowd.

  It reminded him of Felix’s band at The Arcalane.

  There was a mixed arrangement of horns—Jahrys had never seen some of them before. There was a guitarist, bassist, drummer, and a bunch of singers.

  They began to play.

  A little feast to win your fair,

  Or something nice for her to wear.

  There are pearly whites and diamonds, too,

  When you roam the streets of Astenpoole.

  A crazy celebration to last the day,

  And a place for you to get away.

  Come see a circus bear or dancing fool,

  When you roam the streets of Astenpoole.

  People danced and sang along. The crowd was growing larger and larger, girls were twirled into the air. People lined up and synchronized their dancing. It seemed as if this was a daily routine. The song continued.

  A crusted pie or homemade cake,

  A million things were freshly baked,

  To cast a scent that will make you drool,

  When you roam the streets of Astenpoole.

  A woman approached Jahrys. She couldn’t have been more than ten years older than him, but she was at least three times his size. She smiled at him and grabbed his hand. He tried to resist and pull away, but it was no use—her grip was much too strong.

  She pulled Jahrys into her and squeezed him tight against her large bosom. The woman laughed hysterically, almost insanely, as she twirled Jahrys round and round. He felt like he was going to be sick. He felt more hands grab him as he was flung high up into the air. He felt his stomach drop as he fell. I’m going to die. But the hands caught him. They flung him up again. What is happening?

  The music kept playing.

  If you’re new, no need to fear,

  Everyone is willing to help you here.

  Take their hand, don’t be a fool,

  When you roam the streets of Astenpoole.

  When you roam the streets of Astenpoole,

  When you roam the streets of ASTENPOOOOOOLE.

  The singer held the last note for what seemed like a minute. The audience around Jahrys had grown tremendously. After he was done holding the note, Jahrys thought the band was finished. But they only grew louder. The instruments carried the song on while the singer danced around the stage. He picked people out from the crowd, brought them on stage, and twirled them in circles.

  Jahrys finally escaped his dancing partner, but he still had trouble escaping the crowd. Everyone was pushing towards the stage, dancing and twirling. It was chaotic. It was an endless progression of music and dancing.

  He found an opening. He dove for it. He was almost through the crowd until he saw the woman at the end.

  Oh no, he thought.

  She smiled when she saw him. Jahrys had no choice but to go back the other way. He pushed and shoved until he finally found his way out.

  He ran over to a large trough and knelt beside it. He dunked his head into the warm water. As he was sipping the water, a horse’s head plopped down next to him. The horse started slurping.

  “Boy, what’re you doing?” A man with a funny hat was looking down at him from his horse.

  Jahrys put two-and-two together.

  “Just thirsty, sir. Lots of dancing.” He wiped the slimy water from his mouth.

  The man turned his horse away from the water, shaking his head. “Kids these days,” he mumbled as he left.

  Jahrys wiped his mouth again. He took out the map and examined it. The house looked like it was two streets up and two streets to the right. He hurried towards his destination. Excitement flowed through him as he was getting closer to the king—closer to Alana.

  He arrived at the house. It was a small, two story shack, which was snuggled between two taller houses. It looked like it was about to fall apart. The windows were shattered, and the paint on the house was chipping away.

  Jahrys looked back down at his map. The notes pointed to the dinky house. Well, I guess this is it, he thought, as he walked inside.

  The door creaked open. The place was filled with dust. The furniture in the house was toppled over, ripped, and falling apart. A leg from the couch was missing. The glass table in front of it was shattered. I wonder what happened here.

  There was a large painting hanging on the wall across the room. Jahrys examined it. It was a beautiful painting of the sun setting behind the Western Mountains. Jahrys teared up a little. It reminded him of home before the Hoarding.

  Jahrys looked down at the map. The notes pointed to the painting hanging on the wall in front of him. Jahrys noticed that there was no dust covering the frame on the left side. It seems someone has moved it recently. The entryway must be behind that painting!

  Jahrys walked over to the painting. He tried to pull it off. It didn’t budge. He looked back down at the map. He saw a note that mentioned a switch. He ran his fingers along the edge of the painting. As his fingers moved towards the bottom-left corner, he came across a switch. He flicked it.

  Click.

  The painting swung away from the wall, revealing a tiny door behind it. Jahrys turned the handle and opened it, revealing a ladder.

  He gazed at the second map that would lead him to the king’s chambers. He wanted to memorize as much as possible just in case there wasn’t any light where he was going. He traced his finger along the path. Okay, no big deal. Just go down the ladder and then take the tunnel as it rises towards the Castle Keep. Then I need to go right, another right, a left, a straight away, two more lefts, and I should finally be there. He looked at the ladder before him. Well, here goes nothing.

  He climbed down—He was ready.

  Chapter 26

  Jahrys

  THE AIR WAS filled with dust and dirt. Jahrys had to stop numerous times to cough. He hoped no one would hear him through the walls. A couple of times he felt vibrations from footsteps stomping above his head, encompassing him in a cloud of dust and dirt. Mice skittered past his hands and legs. He was down on his hands and knees for what felt like hours. The tunnels were more cramped in certain areas to the point that he had to squeeze through. Sometimes he considered turning back, he hated cramped spaces.

  He was trying to remember the steps he had to take when the tunnel branched off into multiple directions. Was it two lefts and then a right or two rights and then a left? Jahrys was having a hard time remembering. His eyes failed to adjust to the darkness so Jahrys had to stick one hand out in fro
nt of him to feel where the turns were.

  After two hours of crawling, Jahrys heard a voice. He put his ear up against the cold wall, listening closely.

  “…yes, Piller, I know they finally have a secure hold by the castle wall. I’m aware of the deaths of all those Retrievers. Tell Krist and Martellus to keep people away from the Retrieval Stations and away from that wall. Things have not changed. We must keep the gates shut.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I will give the order out right away.”

  Jahrys heard footsteps fading away. A door opened and closed shut.

  “What has this kingdom become?” he heard a man say through the wall, letting out a long sigh.

  This is my chance, thought Jahrys, as he searched the wall for a switch. He found the switch on the side of the door. He flicked it down. There was a click and a pop.

  “What? Who’s there?” the man demanded.

  Jahrys cleared his throat. “Don’t be alarmed. I am a Retriever who was left outside of the wall during the Hoarding.”

  “Well, then why are you in my wall talking to me? You’re making me think I’m going crazy. Show yourself, Retriever. Let me have a look at you,” he commanded.

  Jahrys pushed on the handle of the door as he crawled through and stepped down. He was standing in a large chamber with a giant desk in the center. Paintings of Galagar Poole and other past kings hung on the walls. When Jahrys closed the secret passageway door, he noticed the other wall had a painting of King Leoné, Queen Asha, and Princess Alana. Jahrys’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Alana in the painting.

  Jahrys turned and saw the largest man he had ever seen standing before him. Jahrys’s father had been right: King Leoné was a giant. His beard was bushy and thick, but his hair was graying. He was wearing a golden crown on his head and wore a dark-green tunic. The sigil of Astenpoole was pinned above his heart. And he had a sword that was pointed directly at Jahrys’s throat.

  “How did you find out about this entrance, Retriever? I didn’t even know it existed.” The tip of the sword was piercing Jahrys’s skin.

  “I—” Jahrys stuttered, afraid to clear his throat. He had to be confident. He had to be a knight. “Your daughter helped me, Your Grace.”

  “My daughter? What are you talking about?” the king asked, frustrated.

  Jahrys slowly reached around his back for his bag, being cautious as the sword followed him. King Leoné kept his eyes glued to Jahrys’s hand.

  Jahrys reached into his bag and brought out the diary. He handed it to the king.

  Leoné examined it with his free hand, still pointing the sword at Jahrys as he read.

  “By Zalus…Alana wrote this?” the king asked. “She drew these maps?”

  “She did, Your Grace.”

  “How did you come across this diary?” Leoné sheathed his sword and began to flip through the legible pages.

  Jahrys told Leoné the entire story. How he had met Alana three years ago before the Hoarding. How he had saved her from a man who was accusing her of stealing. How they had become close and were planning to meet again. That she must have dropped the diary during the Hoarding. Jahrys explained how his team of Retrievers had recovered it.

  “By Zalus. I never even knew…” Leoné said more to himself, shaking his head in shame. Leoné looked at Jahrys. “Why have you come to me?”

  “I have come to bring you the wine you’ve requested, Your Grace.” Jahrys puffed out his chest. This was his moment to save his people, to make the king listen to him. “I have come to fulfill my job as a Retriever and as payment, demand you open the castle gates and save the people you abandoned outside those walls.” Jahrys pointed to the window behind the king’s desk. He was sweating after he had said it. He hoped Leoné didn’t notice. He tried to stay strong and confident, but his finger was shaking.

  Leoné eyed him up and down suspiciously. He put the diary down on the table. “Job you say? What job?” He ignored everything else Jahrys had said.

  Jahrys quickly went into his bag and pulled out the wine bottle. “This job, Your Grace.”

  Leoné’s hazel eyes grew wide at the sight of the bottle. “Is that Grent Wine?” He walked over and snatched it from Jahrys’s hand.

  “Uh—yes, it is, Your Grace,” answered Jahrys, suddenly confused at Leoné’s reaction. “My father made it in his garden.”

  “You’re telling me that your father is Alvys Grent?” Leoné sounded astonished.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Jahrys was still confused.

  “By Zalus,” Leoné reached for Jahrys’s hand and shook it. “I met your father years ago. How is he?”

  “My father is dead.”

  “Oh,” Leoné’s eyes softened. He let go of Jahrys’s hand. “I’m sorry to hear that, son. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Jahrys, Your Grace. I have come to d—”

  “Well…Jahrys. Let us toast to your father with his own wine. He was a great man.” Leoné walked behind his desk and fumbled through the drawers while he talked. “I haven’t had Grent Wine in years. There has been a shortage ever since the Hoarding.”

  “Your Grace, I—”

  “Ah! Here it is.” Leoné pulled out a wine opener. He popped the cork and grabbed two wine glasses from a cabinet behind his desk. He placed them on the desk and poured them both glasses.

  “Please, Your Grace—” Jahrys couldn’t get a word out.

  Leoné shoved the glass into Jahrys’s hands. Jahrys accepted it begrudgingly.

  Leoné twirled the wine inside the glass and bent down to smell it. “Ah! That’s the best damn thing I’ve smelled in a long time.” Leoné held his glass out in front of him.

  Jahrys did the same.

  “To your father, Alvys Grent, may he find peace beyond the Western Mountains.” Leoné clinked his glass against Jahrys’s and took a hefty swig of his wine.

  Jahrys studied his glass. The wine only brought back memories of his father and of Kevrin.

  King Leoné wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, drink up, Jahrys. It’s not every day that you get to share wine with the King of—”

  King Leoné let out a cough. He placed a hand to his mouth. “My apologies. I must have—”

  The wine glass fell from his hands. A red stain spread slowly on the white carpet as Leoné gagged. His hands shot up to his throat, clutching it. His face turned as red as the wine. Thick-blue veins protruded from his neck.

  He tumbled to the floor. The king’s crown rolled under the desk. He was clawing at the skin of his throat. He raised one trembling hand up at Jahrys, begging for help.

  Jahrys dropped to his knees beside him. What was he to do? All he could think of was yell, “Breathe, Your Grace! Just breathe! It will be okay!” But Jahrys felt like an idiot for how useless he was. He watched Leoné struggle. His legs twisted and turned in odd angles.

  The king managed to get a few words out, “Pro—tect—Alana…” After he spoke these words, King Leoné laid motionless on the carpet of his own chamber.

  What just happened? Jahrys stared at the wine bottle sitting innocently on the table.

  Jahrys didn’t have much time to think. The door slammed open behind him. Two Knights of the Poolesguard marched in. Their eyes instantly went to the dead king lying on the floor, surrounded in red wine. The taller one, with a scar across his face, unsheathed his sword.

  “Don’t move!” the knight yelled.

  Jahrys didn’t resist. He didn’t know what to do. He let the knights take him. Jahrys just stared at the king’s body as the two knights dragged him out of the room.

  But before he was taken out the door, something caught his eye in the window above King Leoné’s desk. Hovering in the window was a crow, and it was watching Jahrys being dragged away.

  Part Three

  The Fight

  Chapter 27

  Nadia

  THE GREAT HALL sat in the southwest corner of the Castle Keep. It had a unique architecture compared to the other buildin
gs in Astenpoole. The roof towered high into the sky, the size of it extraordinary. Painted glass windows covered the perimeter of the first floor and balcony. The sun stained the flooring with the colors from the windows. There were doors that led out to many courtyards and gardens that surrounded the hall on the outside.

  At the entrance by King’s Way, there was a massive marble staircase, which led up to a beautiful courtyard with giant white pillars that populated the perimeter of the building. In the center of the courtyard, towards the entrance door, was a fountain—not as large as the Fountain of Zalus, but still large. It had a statue in the center of it. It was a memorial for King Galagar Poole, who had reshaped the kingdom after King Alas Danor had destroyed it. The entrance to the Great Hall was a pair of large red oak doors, which stood high and proud at the end of the courtyard.

  The first room inside was the Hall of Heroes. Paintings of each king and famous knight of Astenpoole hung in this room. King Leoné Poole hung on a marble showcase in the center, as he was the current king—but soon to be deceased.

  Nadia sat inside the throne room, high upon the Wave. The large marble chair was shaped to its name. A giant wave formed the backrest that flowed upwards towards the ceiling and arched over Nadia’s head, as if it would suddenly all come crashing down upon her. The armrests were both carved into smaller waves that flowed outwards.

  She waited anxiously, her fingers massaging the sphere on top of her staff. Her chin rested in her left palm as she leaned her elbow on the armrest. She felt lonely in the large open room, it was so massive. Pillars lined the sides of the throne room, holding up a balcony that wrapped around the room. There was a spiral staircase to either side of her that led up to the next floor. But there was no one occupying it at the moment. She was alone—waiting.

  Her eyes studied the engravings on all the pillars. They were covered in artwork from the years of the first king, when the throne room was first built. Each one told a different story. There was the story of King Alas Danor’s voyage over the Farrest Sea, when he first set foot in Astenpoole, at the time known only as Kaluk. Everything had been covered in forest from the north to the south all those years ago. There was the story of his conquering the land during the War of Two Worlds, when the Kalukians rose against him. There was the story of his banishment of the worship of Zalus—the Western God.