The Reaper's Seed: The Sword and the Promise (Book 1)

by Jaffrey Clark

  THE REAPER’S SEED

  THE SWORD AND THE PROMISE

  by Jaffrey Clark

  Text Copyright © 2014 Jaffrey Clark

  Cover Art copyright © 2014 by Philip Gemmell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, whatsoever without written permission of the publisher.

  To the ones who hope for redemption.

  Table of Contents

  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

  What Did You Think?

  The story has just begun.

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  Chapter 1

  “Hurry! We can’t be late.”

  Sometime after the sun had set, the voice of a boy no more than twelve years of age, urged the progress of one still younger. As two dark figures, they made their way on foot along a winding trail. The forest floor was already coated with the first leaves of fall, filling the moist air with their earthy scent. Though the trail was well worn and easily followed, underbrush from both sides threatened to grow it over.

  With a waning moon and only a few bright stars shining through the dark forest, each step needed careful placement. A steady breeze blew through the trees from the north, causing shadows to cross the path with the sway of the branches above.

  As was common with these two, and quite natural among siblings, the older and taller led the way. Their thin hooded coats and tightly woven slacks afforded as much camouflage as a deer or rabbit would need to avoid unwanted attention. With similar awareness as such creatures the two boys watched the way closely, peering into the dark to detect any movement. At a point where the trail passed between two monstrous oaks and into a clearing, the older of the two broke into a trot. His right hand never left the hilt of a short sword he kept tucked in his belt. His younger brother, who had no such defense, kept close at his heels.

  Each had their own way of moving through the forest. A fallen tree provided the first with an obstacle to climb over while the second slipped under with remarkable agility. A large stone in the path was both for jumping over and jumping off. Before long the woods grew thin, allowing a little more light through the thick canopy above. The underbrush gave way to the long grass that filled the fields ahead of them but the trail continued, only now against a softer terrain.

  Breaking from the edge of the trees, the boys entered a vast field with a lone hill at its center. Leaving the shadows of the forest behind, they cast shadows of their own as they followed the trail toward the hill before them. On the crest of this hill a fire flickered in the night like a beacon, quietly calling for an audience.

  Upon seeing it, the older of the two pointed with great anticipation. “There it is! They are beginning!” he cried under his breath.

  With a laugh they both took off running, racing each other to the top. Their hoods swung behind them, wrapping over one shoulder, then the other. The older had the clear advantage in length of stride and pulled away, though not by much, for his little brother was determined not only to keep up, but keep from being left behind. As they neared the top, the silhouettes of people sitting around the fire could be seen, with several more still arriving.

  “We haven’t missed a thing,” the older brother exclaimed through labored breath.

  “We made it,” the younger sighed, wiping his forehead with his arm.

  The boys slowed their pace as they arrived at the small gathering, catching their breath as they began to observe all who were present. The group consisted of a range of ages. Though it was mostly men, the women and children there were given the seats closest to the fire. Quietly the boys made their way around to a long, flat rock set at the base of a tree where an old man sat at the head of the group. There beside him, they took their place on a log at either side.

  In a soft voice he welcomed them. “I am pleased to see you both here. I trust your uncle’s directions served you well. Did you have any trouble finding your way through the woods?”

  “No, sir,” the older of the two responded quickly. “We did quite well along the path. It wasn’t hard at all.” He beamed at the chance to give a good report of himself.

  His younger brother made sure to join in the response, though it was an echo of what had already been said. “No, sir, we had no trouble at all.” He was still out of breath as he pulled his hood up over his head tightly and shifted in his seat. In the light of the fire, an unsightly scar on his neck became visible. Having worn it since birth, he had made a habit of wrapping his hood a little tighter than was necessary to hide it from view.

  “Bravery begins in the small things,” the old man said. “Not many boys your age come to these meetings.” His long gray hair swayed in the breeze, which was stronger up on the hill, and his beard moved in rhythm with his words. “Very well. I am proud of you both.”

  “Thank you, grandfather,” the older of the two replied. “We just can’t wait to hear you tell the Story. We have never heard it told at Hill Top before.”

  “Well, Corred, tonight you will. The Story makes us who we are and gives us direction for the future.” Turning to his other grandson, he placed his large, calloused hand on his head. “Androcles, it is also time you learned what all men must know.”

  Androcles smiled widely, content just to stare up into his grandfathers eyes for as long as he could.

  Waiting for the group to continue gathering, the old man sat with his arms resting on his knees, patiently warming his hands by the fire. His broad shoulders hung low in such a position but it was clear by their width that he was not lacking in physical strength. The cloak he wore was one of distinction, set apart from his ordinary dress, for he was a wise man, once a warrior. Less remarkable were his shoes, made of animal skins and wearing thin near the toes. A long sword lay at his feet. Its leather and metal scabbard was adorned with various carvings, and the butt and hilt were bright silver. The handle was fashioned from a type of dark, grainless wood that appeared timeless, not at all worn by use.

  As he sat observing the crowd fondly, his heavy brow shaded his eyes, which were only revealed by the flicker of the flames before him. His whole appearance spoke of old age, except his eyes. Though the face surrounding them was weathered, wrinkled and scarred, his eyes were young and bright, as if the years he’d lived had only deepened their color.

  The light of the fire danced also among the branches of the tree that hung over the group. Its twisted form marked the landscape, standing alone, scarred by lightning, abandoned to the sun. Apart from the vines that climbed the base of its trunk, it had not a single leaf to rustle in the wind, but its roots were as firm as rock, part of the hill it stood upon.

  The old man called the group to attention. “Thank you all for coming,” he said with a nod. Trying to make eye contact with as many as possible, he greeted them, some by name, but all with, “Peace, be with you.”

  He was greeted in turn. “Peace, be with you, Creedus Corred.”

  Corred took it all in, crossing his arms over his knees. Pulling his hood up onto his head where it hung loosely, the light of the fire revealed the whole of his face. He not only shared his grandfather’s name, but his features, and most of all, his deep blue eyes.


  Looking around at the group and then back at his grandfather, his mouth half open, Androcles, on the other hand, looked very little like his grandfather. With green eyes and curly blonde locks, he was short, even for his age. Brushing some hair from his eyes he leaned forward to get a better look at his grandfather’s face.

  When the group had fallen silent again, and all eyes were on Creedus, he began . . . . .

  “The City of Amilum stands abreast the highest mountain in the West.” Pointing there with the full length of his arm, he looked into the distance, fixed on the far horizon.

  “It is a beautiful city, unlike any other, a city of life and love, with light like the sun and perfect peace. There is no pain and no death in the City of Amilum. Plants do not die or wither. Weeds are not to be found. And eagles, the most beautiful creatures, grace the skies with their flight. Every citizen of Amilum has one as a companion and the first eagle, Nestor, dwells in the highest tower as the companion, of the King of Amilum.” Having set the stage, Creedus paused a moment before continuing, as if to leave time for everyone to see the great city in their minds’ eye.

  “In the courts of the King there once dwelt two servants: Fidus and Philus. They served the King with their lives, and in this devoted service they found their meaning and joy. It was a high place of honor that they held, where they communed with the King daily, receiving his favor and care. The King loved his servants dearly.

  Fidus was trustworthy with his work and faithful to finish what he started. His attention to detail was unrivaled. Philus on the other hand, was not always as careful and seldom as productive, though he worked just as hard. He did everything with an evident love for the King and the desire to make him great. They both had different talents that served the King well.

  Also in the courts with Fidus and Philus lived a young woman named Elene. She was the fairest maiden in the city. Though Fidus desired her affections and he was worthy of her, she gave her heart to Philus. They fell in love, never to be separated, a bond stronger than any other between servants. The three of them remained friends and prospered in the courts of the King.

  But, as time passed, something took hold of Fidus’ heart and mind that began to lead him astray: he thought more highly of himself than of those around him. This single prideful thought, a seed of evil, took root in his heart and began to grow. His eagle knew it and ceased frequenting Fidus’ quarters, or following him from the skies when he walked the city. Only the King took notice right away that his servant was changing, and so he watched silently to see what would come of it.

  Undiscerning of the change that was taking place in his friend, Philus continued in his tasks with joy, confiding in Fidus as he always had. As the seed of evil grew in Fidus’ heart, and he became increasingly proud, Philus was influenced by his friend’s words and actions. Fidus’ influence took root in Philus’ own heart and he began to think more about himself than about the King. A discord was felt and Philus’ eagle as well frequented less, disturbed by what it sensed was the presence of something other than love.

  The King saw what was taking place and his concern grew. Expressing this to the other servants within his palace courts, he set a watch on Fidus, but determined to believe that his servant was true.

  One evening after his tasks were finished, Fidus approached Elene in the palace garden. There the pride in Fidus’ heart reaped a harvest. He laid before Elene a plan to overthrow the King and become ruler of Amilum himself. Fidus assured her that if she would leave Philus and love him, he would give her everything she had ever desired. Elene was frightened and pained to hear him speak of such things and she fled to find Philus. Hearing the report of Fidus’ treasonous plans, Philus feared for his own life and remained silent, agreeing with Elene not to speak of it. Though refusing to join the rebellion, Philus and Elene became traitors through their silence. Their own fellowship became fragile and shaken. Not only that, but like Fidus, they became the first citizens of Amilum to lose the friendship of the eagles.

  For the first time, servants of the King served themselves. It was the first time that love had not governed the actions of his servants, and the King knew of it. His spirit was disturbed and his anger warmed towards Fidus. He again told the other servants of his palace courts to be on guard.

  The following day, with the pride in his heart now on his tongue, Fidus beguiled five other servants to join with him in his plot. The seed of pride in his heart had begun to bloom. Like poison, his evil intentions influenced these five servants, bending their minds and darkening their hearts; they became his servants instead of the King’s.

  That evening, too fearful to sleep, Philus and Elene watched in horror from their window at the result of their silence.

  Fidus and his five servants climbed the highest tower of the palace to where the King was resting. Reaching the window of the King, Fidus raised his hand to strike down the ruler of Amilum. But, evil could not live in Amilum, and Fidus was seized and bound before he could carry out his treachery. When Fidus’ five servants tried to flee, they were surrounded by Nestor and their own eagles and captured.

  When the morning came the King brought his prisoners to the Center Square of Amilum in the presence of all its citizens. Because of Fidus’ treason the King took from him his name and gave him a new one. From that day forward he became known as Mornoc, for his rebellion had brought darkness to Amilum and death to himself. The King also took from the other five servants their names, but he did not give them new ones. Instead he called them the Children of Death, and they became faceless and disgraced. He condemned Mornoc and his servants for their crimes and foretold a day when he would send a final punishment upon them. Under the weight of this curse, they fled Amilum and wondered into the wilderness below.

  Philus and Elene were present to witness the fate of their former friend. And when the King saw Philus, he wept, for he knew of his beloved servant’s treasonous silence. Because the King was just, he set to punish Philus for his disobedience, escorting him to the city limits. The King took from Philus his name and gave him another, calling him Homsoloc, for he would be a man in a lonely place. The King then declared a sentence of exile. But Homsoloc was not left without hope. There, at the city gate as they stood alone, the King gave him two gifts. The first was the Sword, fashioned by the best metal worker in Amilum, with the city’s name engraved on the base of the blade. Imperishable, it had an edge that would never grow dull, could never be damaged, and would remain loyal to him. The King charged Homsoloc to hold to it tightly, warning him of the enmity that would arise with his former friend. The King knew that Mornoc would not rest until Homsoloc also became his servant, as was the fruit of his pride.

  The second and greater gift was the Promise, that one day the King would redeem Homsoloc, and provide a way of return from exile. He spoke of one that would come from the City of Amilum to lead Homsoloc to final victory over his enemy, Mornoc, and end the exile, making a way back to Amilum and the courts of the King.

  Before the King left Homsoloc’s side, Elene ran to him, unable to hide, for her heart belonged to him and she shared his shame. Seeing this, the King wept all the more, for he knew that their hearts were one and that together they had dishonored him. Their beautiful love, once treasured in his courts, was now weakened by their pride and fear. The King turned his back on them and they were shut out from the city. Together, Homsoloc and Elene descended the mountain into the Lowlands, which stretched into the East as far as the eye could see. They would no longer enjoy the provision of the city or the friendship of the eagles. They were forced to find shelter and a way of life apart from the King’s favor.

  Meanwhile, Mornoc and his servants hid themselves from the light of Amilum because of the severity of their shame. Still lamenting their disgrace, they wanted only to return to the city and rule it themselves; they became embittered, hating the King and all that he loved. From their haunts Mornoc and his servants saw Homsoloc and Elene descend from the mountain, and t
ogether they planned to make them both slaves. They were no longer in the presence of the King and could do as they saw fit.

  Surprising Homsoloc and Elene, Mornoc and his servants surrounded them. When one of the servants took hold of Elene, Homsoloc raised his sword and slew him in jealous rage, spilling his blood on the ground. The place became known as Mortfen, for it was the first murder and the beginning of war between Homsoloc and Mornoc. Homsoloc drove Mornoc and his remaining four servants before him, leading Elene into the East, far from the City of Amilum. And no matter where they went, always blocking the way behind them, driving them on was a phantom beast, more terrible even than Mornoc. Like a matchless predator, it hunted them, for though Mornoc and his servants were cursed to await a final judgment, Homsoloc and Elene had become mortals.

  Through pain and toil, Homsoloc and Elene raised up offspring, who, like their father, were easily led astray. There was a weakness in their hearts toward selfish pride, a soft soil for the working of evil. Mornoc knew this, and though he could not enslave Homsoloc and rule over him as long as he wielded the Sword from Amilum, he devised ways to beguile his sons, the pride of Elene. He was able to lead some of them astray as he had the five servants of the King, by appealing to their pride. These sons of Homsoloc became traitors, serving Mornoc, who never relinquished his desire for the throne of Amilum. Most of Homsoloc’s sons resisted Mornoc, some to the point of death rather than forsaking the Promise of the King.

  In this way the Lowlands were inhabited. Homsoloc and Elene became fruitful through hard work and pain, and Mornoc undermined them, building his own kingdom, an army of traitors. And so the Lowlands became a world of division. One side held fast to the Sword and the Promise and the other raged against all that the King loved.”