All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without express written permission from the author, except where permitted by law. For information or to obtain permission, contact Jeffrey Getzin, Boonton, New Jersey.
The characters, locations, and events depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintended.
Copyright © 2012 by Jeffrey Getzin (www.JeffreyGetzin.com)
Cover design and artwork by Carol Phillips © (www.CarolPhillipsArt.com)
Author photo by Wai Ng Photography © (www.WeddingFlair.com)
Foreword (Jeffrey Getzin)
Foreword (Carol Phillips)
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Foreword (By Jeffrey Getzin)
I've never met Carol Phillips. I don't even think I've spoken to her on the phone.
We've been working together for over five years—ever since Prince of Bryanae in 2010—and our only contact has been through emails and folders shared on cloud drives. It's a 21st century way of doing business.
Contrary to the popular adage, you absolutely can judge a book by its cover. A good cover means you've spent a lot of time and money on an illustration that brings the essence of your story to life. They are the “hooks” that first catch the reader's eye (now there is a metaphor I shouldn't have mixed!) and says, “Hey, you! Here's a book you should investigate.” And while the book ultimately must stand on its own merits, without that excellent cover, nobody's going to read the first paragraph.
And that's where Carol comes in. I searched the web for weeks to find the best fantasy artists. I scoured sites like DeviantArt and Pinterest, looking for images that caught my eye. From that search came a very short list of artists: maybe three or four names. These were the ones whose work was consistently excellent.
But mere technical excellence wasn't enough. I needed someone who could share my vision for the characters and the scenes, someone who just “got it”.
And that was Carol.
Carol gets it. She has a knack for finding the souls of the characters and bringing them to vivid life. She understands their emotions and how they'd position themselves in relation to each other. Just look at Shara on the cover of this book. She's obviously scared, but if you look closer, you see a depth of bravery and resolve in those eyes, in the way she holds herself. She's traveling alone with two men, one of whom is mountainous and the other who might not entirely be sane, yet she stands with dignity, holding her own against these two larger-than-life individuals.
And you want to talk about detail! Take a close look at any of the Bryanae covers. You will find an astonishing amount of detail, from the fine silver filigree on D'Arbignal's jacket on this book's cover to the individual fence posts in the background of the cover for Prince of Bryanae. Every time I look at one of her covers, I find some new detail I hadn't seen before.
So, when Carol floated the idea of an illustrated edition of my most popular book, I knew immediately that we had to do it.
Carol is a dream to work with. Each of her illustrations is an extended conversation: I tell her what I want, she sketches a few possibilities, and we go back-and-forth refining what the image should be until I simply can't find a thing wrong with it. Then we'd move on to the next illustration.
The book you are reading is the result of over a year of that back-and-forth. We could have done it quicker, but at the cost of quality. I'm glad we took our time to get just the right illustrations. I'm proud of what we've put together and I think you'll really enjoy seeing these scenes brought so vividly to life!
—Jeffrey Getzin
Foreword (By Carol Phillips)
I am not a writer. I am an artist. I express myself best through visual media. Nevertheless, I wanted to speak a bit about my work on Shara and the Haunted Village and the wonderful relationship I have developed with Jeff Getzin.
I had just begun my foray into the illustration world when author Jeff Getzin hired me to work on his novel Prince of Bryanae. It was only a couple of years prior that I had started creating cover illustrations for folks and decided that was what I wanted to do with my art. Jeff was a wonderful early client. He was so supportive and enthusiastic about my work. Since then, I have illustrated many fantasy and sci-fi novels: quite a few for Jeff, and so our author/illustrator relationship continues.
The world of Bryanae is well thought out and believable. It is a beautiful and imaginative world of swords and sorcery, filled with all sorts of adventures. As a reader, I want to explore it and find out more! Jeff's stories always remind me of old fables: fairy- and folk-tales. His stories often have depth to them: a thoughtful message, or moral if you will, underlying each. It’s obvious that Jeff puts a lot of thought into what he writes but delivers it with such subtly that these lessons are not smack in your face.
As I have illustrated scenes from Bryanae, I feel I have really gotten to know the characters. Jeff has a knack for writing vivid characters that are lovable, fun and real. They have hopes, fears, and ambitions just as we all do. The characters complement each other splendidly.
The reality of Jeff's characters and the predicaments they find themselves in makes Jeff’s writings a treat to illustrate. So, When Jeff asked me if I wanted to do an illustrated version of Shara and the Haunted Village, I jumped at the opportunity. I honestly cannot tell you how much I enjoy this book!
While all of Jeff's books are in my opinion great, Shara and the Haunted Village is a personal favorite. I just fell in love with Shara. She is one of my favorite characters in Jeff's books! I think it is because I can personally relate to her. She is very real to me and this made my job as illustrator easier. I feel genuine emotions when I read the book, and these emotions manifest in my art. When I read the story, I can feel what she is feeling, and I think you will, too!
Shara goes on quite an adventure, and of course meets some great companions along the way. For instance, in contrast to Shara's character there is D'Arbignal. D'Arbignal is truly lovable and is, of course, everyone's favorite swordsman. I had a great deal of fun illustrating him and really felt I got to explore his character even more through this work. I always get a big grin on my face when I am creating a D'Arbignal picture. With Jeff's witty writing how can you not?
Illustrating Shara and her adventure was quite a dream for me. The only regret I have is that we couldn't release this book with color illustrations! Who knows? There is alwa
ys Next Time!
Thank you, Jeff, for giving a humble artist an earnest start and for allowing me to grow along with your stories. Thank you, also to you readers out there for making this book possible. Creatives cannot create without an audience to enjoy their work.
—Carol Phillips
Dedication
Still for my mother
Chapter 1
Neither of Cerendahl's two inns had any work for Shara this week; the depth of her hunger was becoming increasingly worrisome. Most days, she sat outside the smith's forge and hugged her knees to her chest. Carts and pedestrians passed to and fro, but none paid any attention to her. The ache in her stomach gnawed at her from within. Shara believed she could waste away and die here, and it might be hours—if not days—before anybody thought to check to see if she were still alive.
Of course, she could sell her sewing kit. That would fetch her a tidy sum, and she could enjoy a few lavish meals from that. But then what? How would she earn her living with no way to sew? What else could she sell: her body? Surely, times were not so bad as that. At least not yet.
But what, then? She had no jewelry, no furniture. Hell, as of today, she no longer even had a place to live.
When it got dark, she swallowed what was left of her pride and trudged wearily to Gil's tavern. She still owed him for dinner last week, but she felt she could talk Gil into extending her additional credit even though she hated to do so. Deep down, she wondered whether she'd ever be able to pay for her meals again.
Right now, she didn't have much in the way of alternatives. She either put something into her belly soon or she wouldn't be able to work at all. Then it would just be matter of time until she starved to death.
There was a fair bit of clatter coming from the Pumping Lemma. The cheery light from the windows illuminated the dirt road outside as well as the stables across. The wheedling sounds of some piper escaped to the otherwise quiet street but it brought her no pleasure. It was funny how the loss of but a single of life's necessities could rob the joy from all of life's luxuries.
She gripped the door handle and was alarmed at how her arm shook. Such a simple task lay ahead of her: she'd ask her friend for some food, he'd say yes, and she'd live happily ever after. He almost certainly would say yes, too… but if he didn't, she was in big trouble. She knew she was at a crossroads, and one path led to death.
She put her weary body to work pulling open the door, and she slunk in. The din of music and raucous conversation washed over her. The air was thick with smoke from the tavern's twin fireplaces, and with pipe smoke, too. She smelled the aroma of meat cooking over an open fire, and her stomach growled in protest. She clutched her hand to her belly.
The tavern was filled with the usual mixture of folk: mostly regulars, but some traveling merchants as well. Cerendahl was a few days' north of Venucha and a week or so south of Kyrn, and as such, it picked up a fair number of visitors stopping along on their journey to and from better places than this.
At the table closest to where she stood, a pair of heavily bearded merchants played some game involving dice. Cast off to the side and forgotten were two plates nearly brimming with food, along with a barely-nibbled loaf of bread. Shara could not wrest her eyes from the food; a parade of schemes and scenarios played through her head by which she could obtain her prize. For instance, she could pretend to stumble, fall against their table and then to the floor, knocking a plate down with her. Then she could quickly tear off a piece of whatever meat it was and stuff it into her mouth. Or perhaps she could flirt with them, and they'd invite her to dine with them in order to lure her to bed. Or maybe, she could—
“Hello, Shara,” said one of the barmaids as she passed. “Looking for Gil? He just went down for wine. Be back in a few.”
“That's all right,” Shara began. “I was just—”
But the maid had already moved on and was taking orders at one of her tables. Shara felt a twinge of guilt that the maid had known her name but Shara had forgotten hers.
She realized that she couldn't just stand here in the middle of the room. For one, she looked foolish. For another, if she didn't sit down soon, she'd probably faint.
It was almost as if the barmaid had read her mind. On her way back from her tables, she said, “There's an empty booth over there by the fire. Why don't you go sit down? I'll send Gil over when he comes up.”
“No, that's all—” But again the maid had already moved on.
Oh, why not?
Shara shuffled along the floor, weaving unsteadily between the tables, until she reached the booth. As she slid in, her eyes fixed upon a leftover plate with a small end of bread. She glanced around, saw nobody noting her, and seized the bread and consumed it within seconds. By all the gods, was there ever such a glorious feeling as putting food into an empty belly?
She cleaned the plate of all crumbs, then widened her search to the rest of the table, where she discovered the three pieces of copper that the previous diner had left as a tip. Involuntarily, she thought about what she could buy for that; not a lot, true, but if she stretched it, she could probably get three small meals out of it. But no, that money was the sweat of someone's brow. Shara supposed she'd be willing to steal to live at some point, but not now and not from someone who worked as hard for so little as a barmaid did. Shara would rather sell her sewing kit long before it ever came to that.
Shara removed the kit from its velvet bag, and placed it upon the table. It was her most prized possession. Actually, aside from the clothes she wore, it was her only possession.
The box was about as long as her forearm, as tall as her fist, and about as wide as her hand with her fingers spread wide. It was made of made of some foreign dark wood that she had been told had originated from the forests near Panineth, and was smooth as satin to the touch. It had two latches, fastened by polished tapered pieces of bone. Inside the box were all her precious needles: each designed for special fabrics or purposes, and each potentially valuable to the right buyer. And then there were all the threads of varying strength, color, and textures. Shara noted with despair that she was running low on many of these; how would she be able to sew once her supply of threads had been depleted?
She lay her head down onto her cradling arms and waited, listening to the ebb and flow of the tavern noises. Her eyelids were heavy, so she indulged herself by closing them for a moment. Or just a few moments, she amended. Surely, no harm could come from that.
“Shara, luv, how you doing?”
Gil's voice snapped her awake. She sat bolt upright with a gasp.
“Oh,” she said. “I'm sorry, Gil. Must've nodded off. Been a busy day.”
Gil was about the same age as she, which was to say a little over twenty, though he looked older than that. He had one of those round, bearded, genial faces that never seem to frown. The kind of face you could trust.
“I can imagine,” he said, grinning. “Working your fingers to the bone, I'll bet. Adding a bit of shine and polish to some rich lady's dress and gettin' little in the way of thanks for your trouble.”
“Something like that,” she said, trying to keep the fatigue from her voice.
“Seems to be our lot in life, don't it? Always scrambling to get ahead, hard to do more than just tread water.” He liked to use his hands when he talked. When they were growing up, she used to tease him for that, saying that he was practicing to be a wizard.
Shara shrugged, trying to work up the nerve to ask for credit, trying to think of how to go about doing so. Meanwhile, Gil went on about the trials of the common man. He loved a good political argument.
After a while, he cut himself off and took a closer look at her face.
“Here,” he said, “you all right? You're looking a little under the weather, dear.”
She smiled wanly. “I'm just getting over a sniffle. I'm fine.”
“You've been working too hard. I keep telling you that you gotta take it easy, especially in your line of work. You'll use up your ey
es and then where will you be?”
Gil glanced around until he caught the attention of one of his maids. She nodded and began making her way over.
“You want anything, Shara?” he asked her.
Her stomach was aching so much it was hard to concentrate, but her nerve failed her and she shook her head. “No, thank you. I've put on a few pounds. I need to cut down.”
The maid arrived—a different one from the one who had greeted Shara earlier—and Gil beckoned her closer. They exchanged a brief conversation, and the maid glanced at Shara and then departed.
Gil turned his attention back to Shara. He spread his arms expansively.
“So, you've spurned the fine fare of me tavern. What can I do for you then, or is this a social visit?”
“A little of both,”she said, trying to appear cheerful. “I've been checking the local businesses to see if they needed any sewing work, and I saved the best for last.” She punched his arm in a manner she hoped would seem playful. “So how about it, Gil? Any of your customers or maids need sewing?”
“No, luv,” he said laughing. “The less my gals wear, the better for business is what I always say. If anything, I oughta take a knife to …” His voice trailed off, and his smile trailed off with it. He glanced at her bony hand, and then looked back at her face. She saw the understanding reach his eyes and was ashamed.
Gil plucked at the shirt he was wearing, checking the fabric and the seams. “You know, I've been meaning to have someone look at me shirt, but I've been too busy.” The shirt looked almost new and was in excellent condition. Gil's search for a flaw was proving futile.
She placed her hand on his, ending the charade.
“It's all right,” she said.
His smile had vanished. “Thing's going that rough, are they?”
She shrugged, hoping to look nonchalant. “Business has been a bit slow,” she said, “but I've weathered worse.”
It was agonizing having Gil see her like this. They'd grown up together, and he'd always seen her as indomitable and proud. Shara of the wild red hair and the fiery wit. He had proposed to her twice, once even meaning it, but she had turned him down both times. Now he was married, with two young sons and here she was: orphaned, single, childless.
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