Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1)

by Patrick Johns

  Jahrys grabbed the necklace that was lying on the stone floor next to where he was sleeping. He must have fallen asleep, and it fell from his hands. Jahrys traced the smooth edges of the gem. It was almost as blue as the light in his dream.

  He didn’t know how long he had been in the cell for. All he knew was that Sir Piller had abandoned him. He did not keep his word that he would return; if he had, he would have come already. They must suspect him of being the murderer and that his story was false. His life was over—they were going to kill him.

  The only person that came to visit him was an old lady. She would enter with her hunched back, carrying a hot bowl of soup. There would be a few pieces of chicken, but other than that, it was mostly broth. Jahrys was always too hungry to care, though.

  Countless times Jahrys would try to communicate with the old lady, asking where Piller was and if Alana was safe. But the old lady would never speak, nor would she even look at him.

  She reminded Jahrys of the old lady from The Arcalane. The old lady who had given Jahrys the job. The old lady who had lied to him. But that night had been a blur to Jahrys, and he couldn’t remember her features. Jahrys had tried to confront her about it, but she simply ignored him.

  Jahrys wished he could erase it all. That he could be back in The Arcalane with Kevrin, Elyara, Willem, Miller, Gabe, Kat, and Tarl. He even wished Rallick, Stade, and Tayger were there. But better yet, he wished he could go back to before the Hoarding, when all he and Kevrin would talk about was becoming Knights of the Poolesguard. Back when he believed knights were fearless and wise. Now he didn’t know what to think. Sir Piller just seemed like a normal man: confused and scared.

  Jahrys hung his head and thought about his parents. He missed his father talking about Grent Wine and Woodwork. He missed his mother giving him kisses on the forehead. He missed their bickering across the kitchen table. He missed Miller scurrying by his feet, pecking at him. He missed all the times they had shared in Palor, by the Sandy Shore, and together as a family. He couldn’t ask for better, stronger parents.

  Jahrys hung his head even lower. His father had never gotten a chance to live out his dream of being a sailor. He would never build his boat and sail across the Farrest Sea to distant lands, searching for adventure. ‘Keep dreaming.’ His father’s words rang through his head. ‘The world needs people like you now more than ever. People who believe in themselves. Because when the world goes dark, the dreamers will be the ones who find the light.’

  But what do I believe in? thought Jahrys.

  The cell door began to rattle across the room; someone was coming. Jahrys quickly slid the necklace into the pocket of his pants. The door flew open and there was the old lady, holding another bowl of steaming soup. But Jahrys didn’t care about the food.

  “I must speak with Alana.” Jahrys pleaded as the old lady shuffled across the stone floor. The muscles in his throat clenched from hunger and pain. “Please!”

  The old lady still didn’t answer. She twirled the spoon in the soup, trying to cool it off. She slid the bowl towards him.

  “Are you the one from The Arcalane? Are you the one who assigned me that job? Why did you lie to me?” Jahrys tried to make eye contact with her. But the old lady stood up, not even glancing at him.

  “The king’s dead because of you!” he yelled.

  The old lady turned and walked towards the cell door.

  “Please! I need answers! Where is Sir Piller Lorne?” Jahrys tried to rise to his feet, to run after the old lady, to shake the answers out of her. But when he tried to move, his legs were frozen. He could barely move. He must have been sleeping on them for too long. He could only watch as the old lady disappeared out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Jahrys stumbled forward, his hands landing in the bowl of soup as it toppled over, spilling onto the stone floor. Steam rose into the air. Jahrys cursed. His stomach was rumbling as he sipped the remaining broth and ate the pieces of chicken off the floor. He let out a cough as the heat stung his dried throat.

  Jahrys sat back, gripping the necklace, and continued with his thoughts about his dream in the darkness.

  Drip, Drip, Drip.

  The water continued to drip.

  The door remained shut for the rest of the day. Jahrys’s stomach felt like it was constricted in a tight knot; he was so hungry. His lips were dry and cracking and his throat was raw.

  After Jahrys woke from another long sleep, the door opened again. Jahrys shot up, looking forward to the warm soup.

  But it wasn’t the old lady that came.

  Three men marched across the stone floor over to Jahrys. The yellow glow of their suits reflected in the puddles of his cell. They were holding Captors that were attached by a tube to their Captor Packs.

  Hoarders.

  Chapter 33

  Jahrys

  BROKEN. WHAT WAS it like to be broken? To have a rope tied tightly around his neck? The rough edges biting deep into his skin? Was it the death of all his friends and family? Kevrin, Elyara, his mother and father. Was it the thought that he would never see Alana again? The fact that he had been so close to finally being with her. Yet, he felt further away from her than ever. Was it the fact that he had failed to save the kingdom? Or the thought of being betrayed and accused of something he did not do? Was that what it felt like to be broken?

  Jahrys Grent contemplated this while he stood barefoot on the stage. The wood pressed hard against the balls of his feet. The rope around his neck pulled tightly against his Adam’s apple. The Hoarder behind him held the end of the rope as if he was an animal. His clothes were glued to his body from the sweat. His hands were tied together in front of him.

  The world felt like a daze around him, almost unreal and dreamlike. Maybe he was still dreaming, and he would wake up back in his cell. Or maybe he would wake up in his bed in Palor, covered in a puddle of sweat from another bad dream.

  Every muscle ached in his body. His back screamed with pain. His legs wobbled beneath him. But he fought it all as he attempted to stand straight and be strong.

  The crowd was growing in front of him. Jahrys couldn’t tell what the people were thinking from their expressionless faces as they stared up at him, whispering to their neighbor and pointing at him.

  Jahrys felt a raindrop hit his right cheek. He looked up. The sky was gray and growing darker. The rain felt nice against his dehydrated skin.

  He had been able to catch one of the signs on the road as they dragged him here with the rope tied around his neck. He was in a courtyard in Western Village. There were shops lining the perimeter. They were empty, however. Inside the courtyard, there were fountains, benches, other stages for theater acts, bushes, trees, and flowers.

  An eerie silence hung over the crowd as the bells faintly rang from the Castle Keep.

  Ding, Ding, Ding.

  Jahrys felt the weight of the necklace inside his pant’s pocket. He was lucky the Hoarders didn’t bother to check his pockets for anything. He needed to give it back to Alana, but he didn’t know if Alana was even out there. Was she watching him standing broken on the stage? Would she see him die? Would she even recognize him?

  Jahrys was scared as the bells continued to ring. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do with him. He assumed the gallows.

  Ding, Ding, Ding.

  Where was Sir Piller Lorne? He had promised he would return. But Jahrys didn’t even see him in the crowd. Had the Hoarders captured him, too? Was he now rotting in a cell? If so, Jahrys saw no hope for himself. No one would know the truth. No one would believe him.

  Jahrys recalled Willem’s words. ‘Because when the darkness rises, my friends, the ones who matter will be there next to you in the end.’ But the end was here, and there was no one next to Jahrys, only the Hoarder behind him, and the speechless crowd in front of him.

  The rain began to fall harder onto Jahrys’s face. He heard the pitter-patter of rain drops hitting the wooden stage by his feet.

  P
it, Pat, Pit, Pat.

  The dry dirt in the courtyard was slowly turning into muddy puddles. The bells continued to toll in the background, counting down the seconds to his death.

  Ding, Ding, Ding.

  Pit, Pat, Pit, Pat.

  The bells suddenly stopped. Anxious murmuring began to spread throughout the crowd.

  Nadia appeared across the courtyard, walking purposely across the open path towards the stage. Three Hoarders marched directly behind her. A crow sat on top of her left shoulder, and she carried her staff in her right hand. There was a glass sphere at the top, glowing a bright yellow.

  It’s just like the one from my dream, thought Jahrys, as Nadia ascended the steps of the stage. His eyes were glued on the swirling yellow of the sphere. What is that?

  The three Hoarders marched behind Jahrys and stood next to the Hoarder who held his rope. They were armed with Captors and wore their Captor Packs.

  Jahrys didn’t see any place they could hang a rope for his death. He grew anxious at this—will I die by the Captors?

  Nadia crossed the stage to Jahrys. She studied him. As she passed, she rubbed the top of his head as if he were a child. The crow cawed and flapped its wings on her shoulder. Jahrys kept his eyes on the glowing yellow sphere.

  Nadia turned to the anxious crowd. “People of Astenpoole! This is the start of a new beginning.” Her head turned as she looked over every breathless face.

  “You are all about to witness something marvelous, something grand, something that will change Astenpoole forever.”

  The murmuring grew louder, more restless.

  “I know many of you are frightened by our new knights in yellow. I ask you not to be alarmed. They’re here to protect us from what is to come. Dark times are coming over those mountains, and we need to be prepared.”

  “If they’re here to protect us, why are they taking our things?” a woman yelled out from the crowd. “They’re destroying our homes. They’re turnin’ Astenpoole into—into—the Junkland!”

  Murmuring spread throughout the crowd in agreement with the woman.

  “She’s right,” another man joined her. “There are junk walls already starting to form in the city. How does this help us? These yellow men are taking our belongings! They’re ruining our land!”

  “You’ll all be repaid for your losses. I promise you!” Nadia said, patiently. “I also promise that it will all stop today, right now. After I bring forth our new king.”

  More murmuring spread throughout the courtyard, the people were even more confused now than before.

  “New king? What new king?” a man spat. “King Leoné was murdered.”

  “That he was,” Nadia admitted. “But a new king is about to rise. A king that will not be afraid to open the gates and fight when the darkness comes over those mountains.”

  Another man stepped forward and said, “Aye, and what’s comin’ over those mountains we should be fearful of? We should close the gates again. Nothin’ will get us in here.”

  The crowd cried out in agreement.

  “The Red Sorceress is coming with her army. She will—”

  “Ha! A sorceress? Are you mad?” It was the same man who had just spoken. “You’re the one we should be ‘fraid of. You’re the one we need to fight. You’re a murderer! We know you killed the king! Release this poor boy, and give us back our Princess Alana, the true Queen of Astenpoole. Face your crimes! Admit you murdered the king, and send your yellow men away. It’s those weapons that’re magic! You’re the sorceress!”

  “Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!” The crowd yelled together, throwing their fists into the air.

  Nadia gave a light nod to the three Hoarders standing behind her. The Hoarders descended the steps, pushing and shoving people out of the way. The crowd parted to reveal the man who was yelling at her.

  “She’s the witch we should be ‘fraid of!” he was waving his arms. “Do not listen to her. She has murdered our king and is brainwashin’ all of you. What has happened to the Knights of the Poolesguard? What has happened to Queen Alana? Where are all the people who were left outside those walls? What’ll happen to—”

  Thump.

  The back of one of the Hoarder’s Captors hit the man across the jaw. Bloody teeth went flying from his mouth. His head twisted awkwardly and he fell face first into the muddy grass. Blood spilled from his mouth.

  “The Knights of the Poolesguard were traitors. As are you. A traitor to your new king—but I am generous.” Nadia’s voice echoed across the yard. “Kneel before me and accept your new king and me as your queen. Accept the new king who will lead us into battle when the Red Sorceress comes to claim this castle, for our new king will save this kingdom.” She turned to the man. “Kneel now, so all can see your obedience.” Her eyes were dark as she glared down at him. “And I will spare your life.”

  The man crawled around in the mud to face her. He spat out blood and another broken tooth. He stared deep into Nadia’s eyes. “King Leoné was the true king, and his daughter Alana is now the queen! I shall never serve a false one.”

  Nadia gave another nod. The second Hoarder pulled out a knife and slid it across the man’s throat. The man fell, making a gurgling sound as he clutched at his throat. Blood spilled out over his hands and through the cracks between his fingers. The heavy rain washed the blood into the muddy ground. The man twisted and squirmed as he died. After a minute of struggling, the man was motionless in the mud.

  There was utter silence in the courtyard.

  Pit, Pat, Pit, Pat.

  The first Hoarder pointed his Captor at the dead man. He pressed down on the bottom trigger on the handle. There was a deep, low hum that shook the courtyard.

  VHRUUUUMMMM.

  A yellow beam shot out, blinding the crowd and Jahrys as it encompassed the dead body. When the light cleared, only a bloody puddle of mud remained.

  “And now you have seen how generous I can be. I gave him a chance and he refused. This is what will happen to traitors,” Nadia explained. Jahrys noticed that the sphere on her staff glowed a deeper yellow. She turned to it and smiled. She brought her gaze back to the crowd. “So I ask all of you now, are you a traitor or will you join me to save Astenpoole and welcome our new king?”

  No one spoke.

  She finally turned to Jahrys. Her eyes were yellow. She smiled at him. It was a dark smile, calculating. She walked over and stroked his wet hair, her smile spreading.

  “Astenpoole!” she yelled out to the crowd again. “Here is my gift to you. I give you the boy who will bring back the lost king.”

  She pulled Jahrys’s head back and whispered to him. “So long I have waited for this moment. It’s you I need to bring back Carthel. And now I have you. I finally have you. It’s time to show the world your power—a power unlike any other Asten.”

  Jahrys had no clue what she was talking about. Asten? What’s an Asten? And who’s Carthel? How can I bring him back? And back from where!

  Nadia took out a knife.

  Jahrys’s heart dropped as Nadia held the sharp blade in front of his face. The knife inched closer, but away from his throat. Instead, she sliced the bonds that tied his hands.

  Jahrys rubbed the soreness from his wrists.

  Nadia then lowered her staff, placing the sphere directly in front of Jahrys. The rain was rolling down the glass, dripping off the bottom.

  Jahrys looked at her, confused. What does she want me to do?

  The crow flapped down from her shoulder, landing on the stage beneath the sphere.

  “Grab the sphere. Hold it. Feel the energy within,” Nadia guided him. “This is what you were born to do. Bring him back.”

  Jahrys eyed the sphere. There was a yellow cloud swirling inside of the sphere. Jahrys had to squint his eyes. What was going to happen if he placed his palms on that glass? Jahrys recalled the explosion he had seen in his dream.

  He slowly reached his hands out.

  Nadia was growing impatient. “Grab it!” she yell
ed.

  Jahrys was inches away from it. He could feel the warm heat building in his palms; it felt as if there was water flowing into his skin.

  “My queen, look out!” One of the Hoarders jumped in front of Nadia. An arrow pierced the Hoarder through the neck, just above the line of his suit, and he fell off the stage to the muddy ground below.

  Nadia pulled her staff away and looked past the stage. The crowd was rioting. The Hoarders surrounding the courtyard had turned away from the stage, firing their Captors. People ran at the Hoarders with knives, rocks, sticks, and bare hands. People had appeared with swords and bow and arrows outside the courtyard, surprising the Hoarders.

  Jahrys couldn’t believe it. Astenpoole was fighting back!

  “Get him out of here,” Nadia yelled to the Hoarders behind Jahrys.

  Jahrys felt a hard tug on his neck as the Hoarder holding the rope dragged him towards the steps. Jahrys tried to struggle with the rope with his free hands, but it was no use. They dragged him through the chaos of yells and screams. Captor fire and arrows flew over Jahrys’s head. The clashing of swords against suits and flesh rang through the courtyard.

  The Hoarders tried to push through to exit the courtyard. Nadia was protecting Jahrys with her staff from anyone who tried to touch him. She butted them away or sent a yellow blast flying. But there were too many for her and her Hoarders.

  They were almost out of the courtyard when Jahrys felt the tension of the rope disappear. Someone had sliced it.

  Suddenly a small hand grabbed his. The touch felt familiar.

  There was a voice in his ear. “Trust me,” the voice ordered; it was music to his ears.

  Alana.

  Jahrys felt a pull. He held on to her hand as they sprinted out of the courtyard together.

  Nadia screamed. “After him! Don’t let him escape!”

  Jahrys never looked back. He just kept running and running and running.

  Chapter 34

  Jahrys

  COME ON! THEY’RE right behind us!” Alana yelled out. Her voice sounded distant, but Jahrys kept pushing towards it. She was wearing a dark cloak and a hood that covered her face, but he would bet his life it was her.