A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  “Evening,” greeted Harris as he quickly walked

  towards the palace gates. He asked with a rumbling

  tone, “shouldn’t you be resting?”

  Librye looked towards him, tears filled her eyes

  and ran down her cheek. “I don’t want rest.”

  A shock of sadness hit Harris as he saw her tears,

  he knelt in front of her, the gravel in his knees made

  him wince as he did. “What is it?” he softly asked. He

  reached out and dried her tears with his gloves.

  Librye held her head down, she turned back to the

  gate. “I just want to be like that,” she sorrowfully said,

  “all that I know, I wish I didn’t, I can bear not

  knowing my family, my past, but what am I, Harris,

  what kind of creature am I?” She was filled with a

  longing to know, she did not care for the graphic state

  of how her family were destroyed, she did not care for

  the history of Farhope where she was found, she

  simply wanted to know, what she was to call herself.

  Harris took a deep sigh, he remained on his knees

  as she turned back to face him.

  “Librye,” he sighed, “so many times, each day, I

  have to remind myself you’re only a child,” he softly

  said as he looked into her eyes filled with sadness, “I’ll

  tell you what you are, Librye. You are not a creature,

  never call yourself that.” Harris stood; he was firm

  with her. He placed his hand on Librye’s shoulder and

  turned her towards the gate. “You are this, Librye,” he

  softly said to her as she looked to the children playing.

  “You are just as extraordinary as all of those children,

  no one is better than anyone, no one is greater than

  anyone, they are just as beautiful, just as brave, just as

  intelligent,” he said with a low tone, “they are just like

  you, the only difference is, you are, Librye, but that

  makes them different too.” He crouched by her side.

  “You see, Librye, what you are, it doesn’t matter, you

  could be fey, torb, Atlanti, feyman, pooka, it doesn’t

  matter, what matters, is the choices you make, that is

  what makes us.” Harris looked to the children in the

  grounds, playing, he could not help but think, he really

  should listen to his own advice.

  Harris had spent a few days out in the city with

  Librye, helping her feel less secluded, whereas it

  actually made her feel a lot more different to the other

  children, regardless of what Harris, Mord and Brenin

  told her, she was different, and she still did not like it.

  A pattering rain had kept Harris awake most of the

  night. The morning chorus remained silent in the

  woods. A lingering air outside was thick with the smell

  of leafy decay. Staring at the ceiling, Harris did not

  want to get out of bed, sank into his pillow he

  remained plain faced. The thought of what Harelda

  was telling Branwen had plagued him. Although he

  had almost ended the war, he had made the move to

  contact his mother, his life had changed beyond

  compare, from dark and dusty ale-soaked taverns, to a

  lavish and comfortable palace, things just did not seem

  to be going right for Harris.

  Wandering from his room, Harris stepped directly

  into his chambers, still with no boots on, he sat by his

  desk and began to pluck through the letters which had

  been left by the early morning carriers. He reached

  over towards one which had caught his attention, a

  green wax seal with the emblem of an eagle.

  “Horace!” he excitedly said to himself as he

  grabbed the letter. He shot from his desk and

  pounded down the stairs. Running to Brenin’s

  chambers he burst in. Flailing the letter in the air, he

  wore a wide smile. “We have it!” he exclaimed, “Roe

  is officially ours.” He slammed the letter onto Brenin’s

  desk.

  Brenin’s wide smile grew as he looked towards

  Harris. “I must say, Harris, you never fail to please

  me,” his voice broke with excitement as he looked

  towards him. “I can’t wait to tell Branwen, she’s

  mentioned it a few times.” His high voice seemed to

  fill Harris more. “She returns today.”

  Harris dropped his excitement slightly, he swayed

  by the desk, unable to settle. “Well, anyway,” he

  wobbled his head, “the war is over, now we await the

  official letter of surrender.”

  Brenin’s eyes seemed to twist. “Let’s just hope they

  send it,” he said with hope.

  Harris could not hold his excitement as he made

  his way from the office and towards the kitchens,

  taking the letter with him. It had been a while since he

  had visited, but he could not wait to break the news.

  “The war is over!” he called as he made his way

  through the hall. “Roe is ours!” he shouted as the

  council left their rooms towards the council hall. They

  glared towards him, whispers and talk of the victory

  began to fill the hall, hope was mixed with talk of

  concern.

  The kitchens were as lively as ever, Harris stepped

  in with his arms out to his side. “I did it, Roe is

  officially ours,” he looked to Gethen, stood at his

  bench, chopping carrots.

  “Did they send a surrender?” he asked as he

  turned to see Harris, “where are your shoes?” he was

  shocked to see Harris had not even put boots on.

  Harris walked towards him; the flagstone floor was

  cold but comfortable. “I don’t care,” he laughed, “they

  haven’t sent it yet, but now it’s a matter of days.”

  “So, you’ve proven your worth,” said Becky,

  walking past with a basket of mushrooms. “What now

  for The Commander?” she asked, “are you still

  needed here?”

  “I’m always needed,” laughed Harris, his laughter

  soon turned to a strange realisation, “many people

  need me, but usually not the right ones.”

  “Well, may I be one of the first to congratulate you

  on your victory, Commander,” said Gethen, his smile

  widened as he came towards Harris.

  “I didn’t win it, it isn’t my victory, I simply tried, it

  was the victory of Commander Horace, and his army,

  not me,” he insisted. Gethen saw the humble look

  Harris held.

  Making his way from the kitchen, Harris seemed

  to bounce as he stepped through the hall, the fountain

  seemed more welcoming that day, the hall seemed

  brighter, the world seemed kinder. Walking through

  the palace hall, Branwen had returned from Sonnin,

  Harris forgot himself as he quickly walked towards

  her, but she thundered towards him, her face was a

  picture of fury.

  “How could you?” she screamed, she gave a harsh

  slap around his face, forcing an audible, ‘Ooh!’ from

  several of the guards. “My mother, Harris!” she

  screamed.

  “You’re causing a scene,” Harris quietly said,

  “whilst I know you’re angry, I deserve everything you
/>
  need to throw at me, here is not the place.” He

  widened his deep green eyes, her face melted, her eyes

  glared around the room, a few of the councillors froze

  at the door, having seen the harsh slap to his face. “My

  tower,” he quietly said as she calmed.

  He led the way through the east corridor, the

  silence between them seemed to leave an ice-cold trail

  as she followed him into his chambers. Harris turned

  in his chambers to face her. He gave a look of sadness.

  “Apologies,” he softly said.

  “That is all you have to say?” she asked, unable to

  catch her breath through anger.

  “It’s all I can say,” he softly replied, “she came into

  my room, while I slept, and I’m weak,” he shrugged

  his shoulders and tried to defend himself.

  Her mouth curled down, and eyes widened. Her

  voice was deep and low as she replied, “A weak man

  would’ve said no, even to a queen.”

  “I am weaker than weak then!” he flailed his arm

  up and turned to his desk. “On the bright side, Roe is

  ours again,” he mentioned, his humour was lost on

  her.

  “I couldn’t give a shit, Harris, she is my mother!”

  she shouted at him, her eyes seemed to widen more as

  she followed him towards the desk. “You asked me

  once, if I love Brenin,” she came closer to him, Harris

  turned, he placed his hands on the desk at the back of

  him. “I’ll ask you the same, do you love her?”

  “Of course not!” blasted Harris as he turned his

  head away.

  She drew closer, her body pressed against his, her

  eyes softened as she looked to him, filled with hate

  and rage. “I loved you once, Harris,” she whispered,

  “I gave myself to the man I love, but he is dead to me

  now.”

  His role was fulfilled, but his life was broken, he

  awaited the letter of surrender, which never arrived.

  The tower was slowly turning to a place of cold

  reminders, it had been less than a year since he had

  arrived in Cronnin, and in less than a year, he had

  ended all battles across Cammbour, but his pride was

  in tatters, all rumours began to die within the palace,

  all talk of Harris and Harelda lasted less than a turn,

  but to Branwen, their relations had ruined her.

  With the palace settled, Branwen and Harris

  remained apart. Brenin had not noticed the downfall

  of his friends as he remained at his desk, searching

  through papers.

  A scream woke the rest of the early morning

  palace. Brenin shot from his desk, Harris pounded

  down the stairs, Branwen shot from her room, Mord

  and Maple pelted from the kitchens. Librye continued

  screaming, Harris was the first to get there as he burst

  into the room, two guards were stood by Librye’s bed,

  keeping her as calm as possible. Harris ran to the bed,

  she clung to his arm. Panicked, he glared towards

  Brenin and Branwen as they thundered through the

  door.

  “What happened?” asked Harris as he held Librye

  back.

  Librye was still shaking, terrified of the secret she

  had been told. Her eyes poured with tears. Brenin and

  Branwen stood by the foot of the bed. Slowly, Librye

  looked up to Harris, clinging to his arm, she glared

  forward. “They took them all,” she whispered.

  A dark night had settled over the sleepy temple

  town of Ossenlaw, the land was sacred, dedicated to

  serving the gods, the sharmas and priests, alchemist

  and druids continued their night of serving. A mist

  began to drift towards them from the south, the sound

  of heavy rumbling followed. The black dragons of old,

  followed the Atlanti in their fury, Gaius had gathered

  them all, for their battle with the gods, if they had

  favoured Harris Bearwood, he would declare war on

  the gods.

  The temples of Ossenlaw were stricken with blood

  drenched fury. Some of the women were taken to the

  island of Crede, off the northern coast, men were

  butchered where they stood, hands, arms, legs, and

  heads quivered on the ground as the gobgee raged by,

  feasting on the fresh, dead flesh. The war was far from

  over, it had only just begun. Sirrona, Olwen, Sulis and

  Brighid, the four temple daughters of Harelda

  Duirwud were caught in the Atlanti fury.

  Librye had seen it all, she had felt it all, she could

  still smell the raging fires, the thick blood. Ossenlaw

  was taken, the war was not over, Harris had begun a

  fury the likes the world had never seen.

  The End

  Book Two Into the Shadows

  Acknowledgements

  A great lady once said, ‘Don’t hold that one

  back, she’ll be a writer one day.’ Those

  words were directed towards a six-year-old,

  words of wisdom indeed.

  In a world surrounded by such support how

  could I ever feel alone, my deepest gratitude

  to Malcolm Burton and Kath Barber who,

  despite having all the reasons to, never gave

  up on me, and pushed me to my very limit

  while allowing me to become the wild child

  many know me as today.

  My dedicated husband, to whom I owe

  everything, thanking you would seem like a

  drop in the ocean for the years of support

  you have shown me.

  My ever-growing community of supporters,

  as well as the customers who I have come to

  call friends, thank you for your

  encouragement and support.

  Maxim La Lau, an audio artist who placed a

  heartbeat into each written word, thank you.

  Jo Blackey, whose endless talent has kept the

  pages flowing, thank you.

  Books by this author

  Cammbour World of War Into

  The Shadows

  https://www.amazon.com/Cammbour-

  World-War-Shadows-Beginning-

  ebook/dp/B08KP8JWKD

  Cronnin struggles to bring an end to the on-going

  war. Harris Bearwood's failure must be rectified.

  The kingdoms must unite, to bring the world

  together.

  Time is no longer on their side. An heir is needed,

  but an heir is not always wanted. True colours

  show from those who would see the atlanti in

  control of Cammbour.

  The fey are failing, but a new king is needed,

  Harris's priorities change, time is a healer of

  nothing.

  A throne without a king is just a seat.

  Cammbour World of War The

  Brotherhood

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08L2

  2TQ8W

  Broken and alone, Librye must now make her own

  way.

  The fractured remains of Cammbour speak to her,

  she is a lonely creature, a frightening myth, and just

  as broken as the world around her.

  The Brotherhood awakens, protecting the land

  from the invading forces, even creatures they were

  once against, become their allies in their gripping

  quest for peace.

  T
he dragons will fly, when the king is found.

  Cammbour World of War The

  Promised King

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08N

  HH7NB6

  As the world stirs, the dragons of old awaken.

  The Promised King must be returned to Cronnin,

  to take his rightful place beside the throne of King

  Brenin Oakwood.

  Harris Bearwood must now step into his former

  self, while remaining in the shadow of Regan

  Oakwood.

  Around every corner, they must learn what is

  lurking.

  The war has worsened, their struggle goes on, it is

  now left with their Promised King to guide them.

  Dorcha Mae Apha has risen, with a legitimate claim

  to the Kingdom of Arktos, death follows in her

  wake.

  Some will fall, but others will rise.

  Cammbour World of War

  Annihilation

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08NJ

  VBLMP

  Rage and fury fuel him now, as Regan journeys to

  Evenmouth to end the battle once and for all.

  The Brotherhood must find the heir to the throne

  of Arktos before the death of the queen, else

  Dorcha Mae Apha will take her seat upon the

  frozen throne.

  He is not the same, raised by the commander, the

  shadow, he is ready to take on the world, and he is

  ready to end the battle, only then can the war

  begin.

  He knows his enemy well.

  The beauty in the world he sees is failing, death

  must be chased from the lands, Regan will become

  everything the world needs him to be.

  The Hangman’s Turn

  https://www.amazon.com/Hangmans-Turn-

  truth-hangman-Nottingham-

  ebook/dp/B08W8GGSCP

  In the Town of Nottingham, 1810, a new

  opportunity presents itself to the higher classes;

  industry begins filling the town of Nottingham.

  The aristocracy rules the weak and vulnerable, all

  from the comfort of the Lion's Chambers

  Gentleman's Club.

  Town executioner, George Smith, has seen some

  of the worst villains within the walls of

  Nottingham Gaol, robbers, thieves, highwaymen,

  rapists, and murderers. At the end of George's rope,

  they all meet their fate. With the town changing,