Avondale

by Toby Neighbors

  Now she was in the darkness again, thankful that no one could see the tears as they ran down her face. She knew she was getting closer to the animals by the smell. The musky scent of manure and sweat mingled together with the odor of animal bodies. Then she could hear them, munching on the moss, grunting and sometimes pawing the ground in search of more food. She slipped in among them and found Shadow. The Hoskali hadn’t harmed the horse; she was grateful for that. Shadow, along with the other three horses, were still bridled. She led Shadow and Star away from the others. She would have to ride through the night to get away from the tribe, even though she had no idea which way to go. She guessed that she would try to make her way back to Avondale. Perhaps she could scale the wall at night and sneak back into the city.

  She left the horses a short way from the camp and went back. She needed food, weapons, and something to keep her warm. The bolt of lighting striking the far side of the camp scared her, but most of the women and children started toward the ring of light where the Tuscogee was taking place, allowing Lexi to find a tow sack and fill it with food. She found a water skin too, and after a little more searching a knife. She decided she had enough.

  By the time she finished stealing supplies, the sounds of celebration were loud, and Lexi guessed that meant the worst. She doubted the tribe would celebrate if Rafe had won the duel. She struggled for the next two hours with the horses’ saddles. She had to carry them one at a time back to the horses, then stand on one just to be able to reach high enough with the heavy tack to get it into place. With the horses finally saddled and her supplies acquired, she started to leave, but then her curiosity got the best of her. She simply had to know what had happened.

  She left the horses in the darkness and snuck back into the camp. She saw women hurrying into a big shelter, they were laughing and talking about the new chief. At first Lexi’s heart jumped. She couldn’t believe that Tiberius and Rafe had actually won. It was against her nature to simply come out and ask what was happening, and when the tribespeople spoke quickly with their thick accent, it was difficult to understand. She couldn’t be sure that Rafe and Tiberius had won the Tuscogee. She was slinking her way toward the celebration when she saw the mob carrying Tiberius on the blanket.

  She was so surprised and relieved, that she sat down and cried. Once she got ahold of herself she got up to go to Tiberius, but to her surprise he went into the same shelter she’d seen the group of women go into. A cold dagger seemed to stab her heart. Her Tiberius, the one person she’d trusted not to leave her or mistreat her, was going in with those other women. She tried to tell herself that he didn’t know they were there and that he would come looking for her at any moment. She moved into the shadows of another, much smaller shelter, watching the entrance to the chief’s domicile, anxiously waiting for something to happen, for Tiberius to appear, but he didn’t. She watched for an hour, then another hour, all the while hiding in the shadows. She was forced to move, but the tribespeople never saw her. She was as silent as a ghost, hiding and watching, hoping that Tiberius wouldn’t let her down.

  Finally, her heart shattered; she melted back into the darkness, back were she felt the safest. Alone and unnoticed, she left the camp.

  * * *

  Tiberius

  When he woke up, his head was fuzzy. It took several moments for him to remember what had happened the night before and where he was. It all felt like a dream, but he was ensconced in a warm bed of pillows and there were people all around him. His eyes adjusted to the dim light of the shelter. Sunlight made the leather cover of the shelter glow with a reddish color. He sat up and looked around. The shelter was full of young women, some barely old enough to be called adults. They lay almost on top of one another, and then Tiberius realized that his shirt and boots were missing.

  All he could think about was Lexi. Where was she? He had sent her away to find safety in case the worst happened, but it hadn’t. Rafe had won the Toscogee and Tiberius had healed his friend’s hand. How long had that taken, he wondered. It was so hard to remember anything. He shook his head and climbed out of the shelter, doing his best not to wake the harem of women all around him.

  In the full light of day, the camp looked almost deserted. Only a few people moved in the early morning light. Tiberius was tired, but he rubbed his eyes and cast around for his clothes. They were nowhere to be found, so he set out, bare-chested and barefoot to search for Lexi. She wasn’t in the camp. At first Tiberius feared that one of the tribesmen had taken her by force to his own shelter and abused her, but eventually he began to fear that she had left the camp.

  He found Rafe sleeping alone, Olyva nearby, her face turned up toward the amber colored sky, her arms held out.

  “Have you seen Lexi?” he asked her.

  She seemed startled.

  “What? No,” she said. “I haven’t seen her.”

  The girl’s absolute lack of caring made Tiberius furious. He stomped over to Rafe and woke his friend.

  “Where’s Lexi?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rafe said. “I’m pretty tired. I guess she’s around here somewhere.”

  “No, I sent her away last night, before the Tuscogee.”

  “Why on earth did you do that?” Rafe said.

  “Why do you think? We could have been killed.”

  “Did she leave the camp?”

  “I don’t know,” Tiberius said. He was frantic.

  “Did you check on the horses?”

  “No,” Tiberius said excitedly.

  He didn’t wait for Rafe to get up, but hurried away toward the area where the animals were kept.

  “Good morning Swanee,” said a tribesman who was busy seeing to the animals.

  “I’m not… my name is Tiberius. You can call me Ti.”

  “Ah, Tiswanee, you like animals, huh?”

  “No,” Tiberius said. “Our horses, the ones that were taken when you raided our camp. Are they here?”

  “They would be, yes, Tiswanee. This is where all the animals are kept,” the man said.

  Tiberius hurried forward. He found Mars, and the horse that was Olyva’s, but Star and Shadow were gone. The realization of his loss hit Tiberius so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe. He fell down into the muck at the feet of the horses.

  “Tiswanee!” the tribesman called. “Are you okay? Tiswanee?”

  “Where is he?” came Rafe’s voice.

  The young warrior and the tribesman came hurrying over.

  “Tiberius,” Rafe said when he saw his friend. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “She’s gone,” Tiberius said.

  And with those two words, his whole world seemed to collapse around him. The fact that he and Rafe were safe, or that he was now the chief of a nomadic tribe in the blighted lands, or even that he’d performed powerful magic that only a true wizard could have done, meant nothing to him. All that he cared about was that Lexi was gone and until he found her, nothing would ever be okay again.

  Thank you for reading Avondale by Toby Neighbors

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  www.tobyneighbors.com

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  Prologue

  “I sense a blossom opening,” said the Wizard.

  He wasn't talking about a flower.

  “We have felt it,” said another Wizard. This man was younger, although still well along in years.

  “The power is rare,” declared the first Wizard, whose face was hidden beneath the dark hood of his robe.

  “Yes, much like your own.”

  “We must begin our search,” said the first Wizard, who was obviously the master.

  “The child was probably only just born,” said the younger Wizard.

  “Yes, but it would be best to find this child before he discovers his power. We need to train him in his early years to ensure he will never betray us.”

  “It could be a girl,” said the second Wizar
d.

  “Yes, and if so we must destroy her.”

  The second Wizard bowed his head. Wars had been fought over women, kingdoms brought to utter ruin. A woman with power could destroy the Torr, and so if this new sense of magic was found in a girl, she would be killed.

  The first Wizard noticed his companion's hesitation and said, “Do not forget your own loyalty, Branock. The Torr must not be divided over senseless moral concerns.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “In time we will rule the Five Kingdoms of Emporia and our power will be unstoppable.”

  “You are right, of course,” said Branock.

  “Now, begin your search. This new one must be found and dealt with or we may have to wait another lifetime to secure our hold on Emporia.”

  The Wizard Branock bowed and left the room. The first Wizard moved to the window and looked out over the city far below. He could see the King’s palace and the garrison which represented the kingdom’s power. Osla was the largest and most influential of the Five Kingdoms. The Wizard looking down from the Torr stronghold could have reached out and destroyed the garrison. He controlled such power and could have caused the roof to cave in or the walls to topple, but such a feat would turn the populace against him. He had spent years convincing the people that the Wizards of the Torr served to protect the Five Kingdoms. In reality, he had merely consolidated his power and destroyed any Wizard who would oppose him. And he knew that the people scurrying about their lives like ants in the dust below needed their illusions of power, so if he destroyed their army they would have no security and the other kingdoms would turn against him. He could defeat them, he was confident of that. His power, along with the power of the other three Wizards of the Torr, could destroy the combined might of the Five Kingdoms, but he had no wish to rule over a land of anarchy. When he took his place as High King of Emporia, he wanted peace and stability. And now, when they were so close, the only thing that stood on the horizon between him and his destiny was the strange bloom of power.

  Wizards could sense the magic in other people. If the person was close enough, they could isolate that power, feel it approach or move away. When the members of the Torr were together their power overlapped and allowed them to sense magic at great distances. This new spark of magic was rare in its brightness. The Wizards couldn’t locate the bloom of power, but they could feel it, as if the clouds had parted, and although they couldn't see the sun, the light would shine through. At first that warmth and brightness was pleasant, even exciting, but the Master Wizard knew that before long, just like the sunlight, that feeling would turn to discomfort and eventually to pain. The Master knew that if this powerful person, whoever it was, continued to grow in strength, he or she could eventually challenge the power of the Torr. He would not let that happen. On the other hand, if this new bloom of magic, this flower in a field of grass, could be added to the Torr, then the Master would have his executioner, a Wizard loyal only to him with the power to keep the other Wizards in line and perhaps even allow the Torr to extend their power.

  The Master Wizard turned from the window and sat down at the desk which occupied the center of the room. The walls were lined with thick books on everything from anatomy to astronomy. There were treasures from each of the Five Kingdoms and from across the oceans. Some of the books were so old that only the Master’s magic held them together. They represented his power which was vast, and as he looked at them, he saw his dream, his destiny, to line up the people of the Five Kingdoms around him like the books, all in their proper place, all serving him, the Master of the Torr.

  Chapter 1

  Zollin sat on the post that was to be the corner support for the new Inn that was being built in Tranaugh Shire. He wasn’t very good at carpentry and being so high up in the air made him dizzy. The Inn was to be a two-story building, one of the biggest in town. Quinn, Zollin’s father, rarely asked Zollin for help, but a two-story building needed multiple hands, and so Zollin sat atop the post, waiting for his father’s apprentice, Mansel, to hand up the connecting beam.

  “Here you go,” said Mansel as he hefted a stout oak log that had been cut and shaped into a square beam.

  “I just hold it?” Zollin asked.

  “That’s right, son,” came his father’s gruff voice, and Zollin thought he detected a note of frustration in it. Zollin had been his father’s apprentice for five years, but he just wasn’t skilled with his hands. Nor was he strong enough to lift the heavy beams, which would have made the job pass more quickly. Instead, he would hold the beam while Mansel lifted and raised the far end up to his father.

  “It’s going to be heavy, but whatever you do, don’t drop it,” his father instructed. “If it splits, it’ll have to be milled again and we can’t afford to waste good timber.”

  Zollin nodded. He hated the pressure of being put in such a position. He had stopped wondering why he had to work with his father. Every man in the village had to earn a living. Most sons learned their father’s trade, and at 16 years old Zollin should have been able to work on his own, but as hard as he tried, Zollin just wasn’t a good carpenter. Mansel was two years older than Zollin, and he had been Quinn’s apprentice for three years. He was the youngest of a large family and although his father was a master tanner, Mansel’s four older brothers were already working in the tannery and so his father had found another profession for him.

  “I’ve got it,” Zollin said as he gripped the rough timber beam.

  “Brace yourself,” his father said.

  Zollin wrapped his legs around the post he was sitting on and strained to hold the beam as Mansel lifted it.

  “Uuhhhggg,” Zollin grunted, straining to hold the unruly beam.

  “Steady, Zollin!” his father barked.

  Zollin felt a stab of resentment but ignored it. He was determined not to drop the beam.

  Mansel was helping to hold the beam steady and Quinn, with a rope around the beam, was pulling it up. Once the beam was high enough, Quinn stepped on a long iron spike he had hammered into the post he was sitting on opposite Zollin. He set the beam on the post and looked at his son.

  This was the moment Zollin had been dreading. He would have to stand on his own spike and place his end of the beam on the post. Then, once the log was in place, he would need to swing around and sit on the beam so that he could secure it by nailing it to the post with two of the long iron spikes. It was a difficult maneuver for Zollin, who preferred to keep both feet on the ground. But the beam’s weight helped to steady him and he managed to set the big oak timber on the post without much fuss. He then sat on the beam and threw his leg over, turning as he did so that he faced away from his father, who was already hammering at his own spike with steady blows that vibrated through the beam and up Zollin’s rigid spine.

  Now that he was in place, all he needed to do was to nail in the spikes. He looked for his hammer and nail bag. It was hanging from the spike by his foot. He should have retrieved it before situating himself on the beam but it was too late now. As he leaned down for it he could see Mansel smiling up at him, smirking actually. And after a joint-stretching second he knew why – the bag was too low to pull off the spike. He would have to turn back around and get on the spike again to get it. He was so angry he wanted to scream. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t any good at carpentry. He assumed he was more like his mother than his father, although he had never known her. She had died while giving birth and Zollin didn’t even know what she looked like.

  He reached one more time, straining with all his might. The strap was so close, but he couldn’t get his finger under it. In his mind he could see his finger wiggling beneath the strap but the bag was too heavy and only tore at his fingernail. Come on, he thought to himself as he willed the bag to move. And suddenly it did.

  The strap lifted about a finger’s breadth off the spike. For an instant Zollin didn’t move. He just sat there staring at the nail bag. Then, something heavy was pulling at his mind and the strap started to q
uiver. The movement propelled Zollin into action and he slipped his fingers under the strap as the bag’s weight pulled his arm. And then, with a gentle sway he felt himself starting to fall. His heart leapt in his chest as his left arm wrapped around the roughly hewn beam to steady himself. He lifted the bag and waited a moment to let his heart settle back into a normal rhythm. He still hadn’t moved when his father shouted at him.

  “Zollin, get those spikes nailed down, we haven’t got all day.”

  “Yes sir!” Zollin called back over his shoulder. He was glad that his father couldn’t see his face and he deliberately avoided looking at Mansel. He wiped the sweat that had suddenly sprung out on his forehead and began nailing the spike through the wood. Yet even as his arm and shoulder moved, even as he felt the wood shake as if in pain from the spike smashing through its flesh, all he could think about was how he had moved the nail bag. It was magic, there was no doubt, and in that moment something connected within him, something strong that was at the core of his being, as if it had always been there and now suddenly it had come into alignment. And the magic began to flow out.