Junkland (The Hoarding Book 1)

by Patrick Johns

  She then walked over to Jahrys, who had been resting against one of the cell walls. His suit was off. His clothing stuck to his skin, hinting at the strength of his muscles when he was stronger, not malnourished. She sat down next to him. “How’s your leg?”

  “It’s okay. Gala did the best she could with what she had. But I’ll live,” he assured her, turning his leg to show her the bandage.

  Alana traced her fingers over it. Her touch seemed to heal him instantly.

  “We need to stop these Hoarders before they hurt more innocent people,” Jahrys said. “We need to stop Nadia.”

  “Together?” Alana stared at him with serious eyes.

  “Together,” he said, and wrapped his arm around her body, closing the distance between their faces.

  “Jahrys.” Piller was standing in the cell door, looking down at them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to be moving.”

  “Of course,” Jahrys said, disappointed.

  Alana stood up first and offered her hands down to Jahrys. He took them with a smile as she helped him up.

  Jahrys and Alana walked over to the knights who were all huddled together.

  “Are you sure you are okay to fight, Martellus?” Jahrys asked, concern on his face.

  “I wouldn’t miss a chance to get back at Nadia even if it killed me,” Martellus stood up, proud. “What about you? How’s your leg?”

  “It will hurt, but I’ll be able to fight,” Jahrys assured him.

  “Join us Jahrys…Alana,” Piller motioned a hand towards them, bringing them into their group. “We have formed a plan”—he pointed a finger at the two of them—“and you two have an important part to play.”

  Chapter 39

  Jahrys

  THE PLAN WAS a simple one. Alana and Krist would take a quarter of the army through the passageways. She and her men would surround the Hoarders from the other side of the Village by the Village Gate, while Jahrys, Martellus, and the remaining prisoners attacked the Hoarders out in the courtyard. They would then regroup in the center of the Village—hopefully.

  This plan would not be enough to completely stop the Hoarders, however. They were outnumbered and needed more people.

  There had been fighting outside of the Castle Keep and Piller had told Jahrys his plan of getting those people to help: the King’s Horn. It was located on top of the King’s Gate and if blown three times, it would summon a warning throughout the city that the Castle Keep was under attack. Jahrys only prayed that the people of Astenpoole would come to their aid.

  But this plan was useless unless Piller, Devan, and Benjamin were able to open the two gates of the Castle Keep that Nadia had shut after the riots.

  Jahrys stood frozen at the door that opened into the Village, staring at it as if he had never seen a door in his entire life. This is it, he thought. He turned around to look at the men and women who were waiting nervously behind him. Their swords, bows, and axes were shaking in the air and their armor clattered with nervousness.

  All eyes were on him, including Martellus’s, who stood next to him. They were all waiting for him to say something. But what could he say? He thought of his mother and his father, how they sacrificed their lives to protect him. He thought about The Arcalane and all of his friends who had died to protect his home. He thought about Kevrin. How his former best friend had protected him from Nadia for so long. Until he had betrayed Jahrys. He thought about Alana, how she had saved him, more than once. It was his turn to make his mark. It was his turn to make a difference. It was his turn to save the people he loved.

  But he knew nothing of battle or of leading an army. How could he be responsible for all of these lives? Jahrys thought back to all of the stories he had read when he was younger, about Galagar Poole, Palor A’kal, and Letholdus Quinn. What would they do? What would they say? But better yet, what would he do?

  His father’s words rang in his head. ‘Heroes don’t have to always wear armor and carry swords, O’Jahrys. Heroes can be anyone who simply makes a king’s day by a taste of his wine.’ Jahrys clenched his jaw and raised his Captor proudly over his head so the men could see.

  “I always believed there were such things as true knights and fearless heroes,” he began. “But I finally realized that no such thing exists in this world. No. True knights and heroes only exist in fairy tales.”

  The army stared at him as if he had given up all hope.

  “Everyone is afraid of something. Everyone feels fear.” Jahrys made eye contact with everyone in the front row before continuing his speech. “I know all of you are probably scared right now. I know I am. I’ve never felt this scared in my life—and I watched my parents die before my eyes in the Hoarding, I felt the girl of my dreams slip through my fingers, I’ve been betrayed by a friend I thought I could trust, and I’ve lost all my friends during the attack at the inn. I’ve watched my childhood dreams of becoming a knight disappear. No. There are no such things as true knights. But do you know what’s real? Do you know what’s true?”

  The men murmured and shook their heads.

  “Us. Everyone here!” Jahrys waved a hand over the crowd. “We are the ones who believe. We are the ones who hope. We are the ones who love. We are the ones that stand up and make a difference. And we are the ones who dream! And we need to keep dreaming. The world needs people like us now more than ever. People who believe in themselves.” He pointed his finger out towards the crowd. “Because when the world goes dark, the dreamers will be the ones who find the light!”

  Murmuring bounced off the walls. Everyone nodded their heads in belief of his words.

  Jahrys continued. “We are all Retrievers and it’s time to retrieve our home back from these Hoarders, back from Nadia, and back from her false king!” Jahrys yelled at the top of his lungs.

  The stairwell echoed with yells from his army—the yells from his Retrievers.

  “FOR ASTENPOOLE!” Jahrys yelled.

  “FOR ASTENPOOLE!” the crowd repeated.

  “FOR THE FOUR CITIES!” Jahrys yelled again.

  “FOR THE FOUR CITIES!” the crowd repeated.

  Jahrys tapped his helmet and turned to throw open the door. A dim light stung his eyes. It felt like weeks had gone by since he had last seen any kind of light. There was a foul stench in the air that reminded Jahrys of being back in the Junkland. When his eyes adjusted, Jahrys stepped out onto the road. The men followed, pouring out of the dungeon.

  “That was an inspiring speech for someone so young,” Martellus said, as they walked through the Village. “I was about your age when I joined the Poolesguard…I am honored to fight by your side.”

  “And I’m honored to fight next to a Knight of the Poolesguard,” Jahrys admitted.

  They walked down the road of the Village, towards the courtyard; junk blocks were scattered everywhere. Houses and shops lined the road, but there was no sign of life inside them. In the distance, behind the Fountain of Zalus, there was a long, yellow line. The Hoarders extended from end to end of the courtyard, blocking their way to the Village Gate.

  Jahrys continued to speak to those behind him. “Do not be afraid! Remember my words. Use trees, bushes, and the fountain for cover. Those in the back without swords and axes, follow those in front and pick up as many Captors and weapons as you can from the fallen. Remember that Captors will not work as well in short range. Archers, give us cover! We will push forward to the Village Gate to meet with Alana. We need to fight long enough to give our knights enough time to open those gates!”

  His army yelled in agreement.

  Let’s just hope Piller and his men can get those gates open, or we’ll be stuck like a mouse in a trap, thought Jahrys.

  Jahrys and his army marched up the road towards the open courtyard where the army of Hoarders waited. The streets were quiet as they passed all the empty houses and shops.

  Jahrys’s heart was pounding when they entered the courtyard. Not even the beautiful scenery of benches, trees, bushes, gardens, and path
s could relax him.

  A Hoarder in the center walked out in front of his men. He stepped up onto the base of the fountain. The Hoarder had black stripes running down his helmet.

  It’s him, thought Jahrys, his fist tightening.

  “Stop where you are and drop your weapons with your hands in the air!” The Hoarder pointed his Captor towards Jahrys and his army. “This does not need to end in bloodshed. Put down your weapons. This is your only warning.”

  Jahrys couldn’t lie to himself. He was scared. Scared like everyone else—but he couldn’t let it show. He needed to be brave. He needed to be the Retriever he was meant to be. He turned to look back at his men. He raised his Captor high into the air.

  “FOR ASTENPOOLE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. His heart was beating in his chest, but he didn’t know if it was from fear, excitement, revenge, hatred, or a mix of all those emotions. All he knew was he was ready. He took a step towards the Hoarders and then another and another until he was running.

  He didn’t look back to see if his people were following. He wouldn’t blame them if they all turned and ran. He did hear the stomping of feet as the ground shook around him and that was what kept him moving forward. It was as if his legs were moving on their own accord.

  Arrows zipped past his head, breaking the line of Hoarders.

  The Hoarders took aim. “Fire! Do not let them pass! Fire!” the black-striped Hoarder yelled. The blasts from the Captors flew past Jahrys’s head with lightning speed, missing him, but hitting several others. There were screams. He heard men and women falling, their bodies hitting the hard ground. But he continued forward, one foot after another. Martellus was right by his side, firing his own Captor.

  Jahrys ran and fired, ran and fired. When they were closing in on the Hoarders, Jahrys clipped his Captor to his hip and took out his sword.

  The two armies collided with a mix of metal: Captors and swords, suits and armor.

  Jahrys dodged a blast and swung his sword around, aiming for any yellow he could find. There was a mist of red as blood constantly sprayed into the air. He had to keep wiping his helmet in order to see.

  The Captors didn’t work as well in short range. This was an advantage for the Retrievers. The Hoarders soon realized this as well, and they picked up swords from the ground and began to attack the Retrievers.

  “Pick up the swords of the fallen! Grab a Captor! Get your hands on anything!” Jahrys yelled, reassuring his army that he was still there with them, fighting to the death. He blocked a blow from a sword. He swung his sword around and took off the Hoarder’s arm. One less Captor to be shot.

  The courtyard became a pit of chaotic noise. There were blasts from the Captors, the clanging of swords and axes, and yells and screams from the dying as the two armies fought on.

  Jahrys began to push his way to the fountain. His sword was heavy, and he was starting to feel fatigued. The air was also starting to smell worse—those who had fallen were releasing noxious smells. There was also pain in his calf, but he continued to run, locking eyes with the black-striped Hoarder. He knew he could not stop, no matter how tired he was.

  He is mine, Jahrys thought, as he kept fighting his way to the fountain.

  Chapter 40

  Piller

  PILLER WAS CLIMBING the tower steps of the dungeon with Devan and Benjamin close behind him. They carried swords and shields and wore the armor they had found from the armory. It wasn’t the shiny armor they wore in the Poolesguard, but it would suffice.

  The door to the outer wall was heavy. When Piller opened it, he had to shield his eyes from the haze as he walked out. The two knights followed out behind him.

  The air was thick and heavy, and it smelled foul. The sound of blasts, metal, screams, and explosions stung their ears.

  The three knights looked over the wall at the battle below; it was chaos. Jahrys’s blue suit was barely visible in the mix of the yellow Hoarders, and the brown, black, and gray of the prisoners. Arrows zipped through the air like a flock of birds; yellow light from the Captor blasts was flying in all directions; swords were gray blurs swinging heavy in the air. Trees, bushes, and buildings caught on fire, along with one unfortunate soul who got too close to a collapsing tree.

  “By Zalus,” said Devan, his mouth gaping as he looked down at the battle. “In all my years as a knight, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “It’s a slaughter down there,” yelled Benjamin over the chaotic noise.

  “Yes. We need to keep moving or else they’ll all be slaughtered like pigs.” Piller motioned them to gather around him.

  “How’re we splitting up, Cap’?” asked Devan, turning his gaze from the battle and walking over to Piller.

  Piller pointed to Benjamin. “Benjamin, you need to open the King’s Gate as quickly as possible and blow the King’s Horn three times. No more, no less,” commanded Piller, looking at his knight. “There are more people out there that can help us fight. They will come.” By Zalus, I hope they come.

  “Aye, Captain,” Benjamin nodded. “And what about you and Devan?”

  “There will be Hoarders guarding the gatehouse and I’ll need Devan’s help to kill them so we can open the Village Gate,” Piller said, glancing at Devan. “This will allow Jahrys and Alana an escape route if they need it. And if more people do come to our aid, they’ll be able to join the battle. Benjamin, you command the army when they gather at the King’s Gate. Devan and I will return to the battle below.”

  “I like the plan already. Let’s not be wasting time!” Devan slammed his fist against his shield sending out a loud bang.

  “I’ll have the King’s Gate open in no time.” Benjamin yelled, as he turned to start running along the wall, towards the gate.

  “Ben.”

  Benjamin turned back to face his captain.

  “If you fail…this could be the end for Astenpoole. We need all the help we can get from outside. We need that gate open.”

  “I won’t let you down.” Benjamin nodded. Then he turned and was off down the wall.

  Chapter 41

  Alana

  THE PITTER-PATTER of hands and knees crawling on the cold, wet, stone echoed behind Alana. Her sword was heavy at her hip. She was leading her army through the hidden tunnel beneath the courtyard. Krist was right behind her. They were crawling as fast as they could in order to get to the other side of the battle. If they didn’t get there in time—I don’t want to think about what would happen. Jahrys is counting on me. I won’t lose him again! She trekked forward even faster, her hands and knees cut and bruised from the impact with the stone.

  The air in the narrow passageway was foul. Alana had to cringe her nose and hold her breath to avoid passing out from the smell. The noise from the battle could be heard above their heads. Clouds of dust engulfed them every time someone stepped down hard on the ground above. It sounded like thunder clapping. They were trapped inside a dark, raging storm. But Alana continued and so did her army.

  When they finally came to a dead end, Alana placed her hands on the wall in front of her. She was searching for the switch in the darkness. When she felt the smooth, cold handle, she pulled it down and a small door swung open in front of her. The light blinded her eyes.

  There were startled voices in the light. “Behind! They’re coming from—”

  Alana dove hard onto the floor inside the room, remembering everything she had learned from her training. She grabbed her sword from her scabbard. Her eyes regained focus in the bright light. She saw a yellow glow and slashed out towards it, making contact with a Hoarder.

  She felt something hard hit her back, and she went flying to the floor. She turned to find a second Hoarder pointing his Captor at her head. She raised her sword, ready to swing up—

  Suddenly, blood splattered her face. Alana saw the Hoarder’s head falling to the floor. The body collapsed and Krist stood standing in front of her with a bloody sword.

  Krist extended his hand to her.


  “Thank you,” Alana said.

  “I knew my lady was sneaking away to practice sword fighting, but I didn’t know you were this good,” Krist said, as he helped her to her feet.

  “I know it’s not going to be that easy out on the field. We need to be ready,” Alana said, as she helped her army out of the tunnel. They had finally reached the bottom floor of the gatehouse next to the Village Gate.

  After they grouped together, Alana looked into the eyes of her small army and locked eyes with Krist. “Are you ready?”

  The fighting rang through the windows from the courtyard outside.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Krist said.

  “For Astenpoole!” Alana yelled at the top of her lungs.

  “For Astenpoole!” her army replied behind her.

  Her heart was beating heavy in her chest. Alana put her hand on the door handle, spun it, and ran out into the courtyard.

  Chaos hit immediately. She ducked from a swinging sword, not knowing if it was from friend or foe. She tried to focus in on the yellow. She raised her sword and went to work, turning yellow to red. Captor blasts and the sound of steel rang in her ears. Screams of the dying surrounded her.

  Their army was still too small. The gate behind them was still closed, but she caught sight of Piller and Devan out of the corner of her eye, running on top of the wall towards the Village Gate. They must get it open…we need help!

  She saw a Hoarder aiming up at the two knights a few yards away. Alana dove for a Captor lying on the ground, the ripped tube dangling. She brushed it aside, taking aim.

  She took a deep breath and fired.

  She hit the Hoarder, who went soaring through the air, but it was not in time to stop him from firing his own Captor. She looked up at the castle wall and saw only one knight now, instead of two. No. I was too—

  A sharp pain blinded Alana’s vision as something smashed against the back of her head. She went crashing into the ground. Hands grabbed her around her chest, lifting her into the air. She was dazed. She tried to kick and free her arms, but it was no use. The person that grabbed her was significantly stronger than her; he was dragging her away.