New Shores
Eden Chronicles – Book Three
S.M. Anderson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2020 by S.M Anderson
An MCE Press book
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Cover Art by Mihai Costas
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
Other Books by S.M Anderson - and reading order:
All titles are available on Amazon and Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited. Audio versions for both series are in the works and will be released by Podium Audio.
The Eden Chronicles:
Book One “A Bright Shore”
Book Two “Come and Take It”
Book Three “New Shores”
Book Four - forthcoming
The Seasons of Man:
Book One “End of Summer”
Book Two - forthcoming (summer 2020)
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 1
Strema capital, Land of Two Rivers, Chandra
Kaerin capital, City of Kaerus, Chandra
Marso’ Telsok had been prelate of the Strema since the day Bres’Auch Tun had stepped down from the post. His predecessor had been called by the Kaerin to lead a Strema war host to invade a neighboring world. The very idea of another world seemed insane to him on a personal level, but he’d sat on the Strema Council for ten years and been involved enough with the Kaerin to know it did not pay to hold personal opinions on anything. Weighed against the will of the Kaerin, nothing mattered. That the High Bloods had the power to travel between unseen worlds was just one more example of why they ruled Chandra.
His Strema ancestors had accepted Kaerin rule so long ago that the event had been forgotten. It had over the centuries gone from being something that had occurred, to something that was. Through that submission, that had been given without a fight, the Strema enjoyed far more power and status than they had before the Kaerin had arrived. Their lands had always been victim to successive rounds of invasion from the east and north. They’d been weak, with no natural barriers to stay invaders in the ancient times. The “first among equals” opportunity the Kaerin had presented his ancestors had been too good to pass up. He could not find it within himself to judge his ancestors harshly; the Strema were now feared by all but the Kaerin themselves.
Marso had more than enough understanding of the Kaerin to feel dread settle in the pit of his stomach as he watched the wide double wings of the Kaerin airboat circle the Strema capital city of Two Rivers. He trepidation only grew as he watched the miraculous machine glide to a landing on the marshaling field amid the sputtering rumble of its four engines.
Twenty minutes later, listening to the official summons delivered by a High Blood Kaerin warrior, and flanked by another, he knew his life was firmly in the hands of others. A summons to the Kaerin capital of Kaerus, for any reason, carried great risk. How many of his predecessors or peers had failed to return from the annual gathering of clan prelates? And those meetings had dealt with discussions centered on labor quotas, mustering levels, and plans for the next year’s military campaigns. The next such gathering was not for another two months, and it would have been his first.
There could be no denial that this was something else. There could only be acceptance in the face of a Kaerin order. It would be one thing in the end. The fact that the Kaerin had sent an honor guard to escort him by airboat was a testament that this summons carried more risk than usual.
At the forefront of his thoughts was the unknown disposition of the Strema war host, led by his predecessor, Bres’Auch Tun, and that of his youngest sister’s husband, Bres’Auch’s second in command Bsrat’Auld. It was far past time that the war host should have returned. That was either the best of news, in that they had been successful and now controlled the Shareki world they had invaded—or the worst; they had failed, and he was about to pay the price.
He wanted to believe the Strema war host remained there, to prepare the way for the Kaerin. This would have explained their ongoing absence. More than enough time had passed without word of success that he privately worried. Prior to his departure, Bres’Auch Tun had been honest with him in sharing his greatest fear; that the Kaerin’s world gate would fail, and send them to some cold, empty space or drop them in the Shareki world’s ocean.
That potential outcome was meaningless. The Kaerin did not fail, and they did not make mistakes. If such an event occurred, the result would be no different than the Strema failing themselves, “for that is how it would be recorded,” Bres’ had said. The Strema would have failed to carry out the Kaerin’s writ, and the consequences would fall on those Strema who remained behind, including himself.
This summons to Kaerus could be explained by either outcome; success or failure. Marso boarded the Kaerin airboat flanked by the two High Blood warriors, as silent as they were impressive. The warriors did not give a hint to his fate, nor were they required to speak to him. The fact he led one of the largest, and without doubt the most powerful subject clans on Chandra weighed not at all. He was not Kaerin. Like all subjects on Chandra, he lived at the mercy of the lowliest Kaerin.
His escorts were polite, but still silent as they indicated he should sit. He watched them buckle a belt across their waists, and he followed suit from across the middle aisle. They all sat with their backs against the thin metal of the airboat’s interior. The airboat had four large, polished wood propellers, each with its own engine, and two large wings to either side stacked on top of each other, the height of a man between them. He’d seen these same airboats drop bombs during battle, and heard his predecessor’s story of having once flown in one. As the engines sputtered and then roared back to life, he could only feel a chill down his spine. Man was not meant to fly like a bird.
As they bumped across the marshaling field and left the ground, he was certain for a moment that his stomach had remained behind. He glanced at the two Kaerin escorts and noted their shared look of amusement at his discomfort. He immediately felt shame and checked himself. It was unbecoming on his part to show fear. He was the Strema prelate; he should act the part. He forced his white-knuckle grip on the bench seat to relax, and squared his shoulders, doing his best to ignore the sudden change in pitch of the engines that caused him to flinch.
They had flown on for forty minutes when one of the Kaerin warriors unbuckled and walked forward towards the nose of the craft where the two pilots sat. The warrior stopped at a small window that Marso had not noticed before. The square glass was curved to match the slope of the hull and sat at knee height, and provided a view of the ground far below. How far below? he wondered. What would the world look like from the heights reserved for clouds?
“Strema,” the guard kneeling at the window called to him and waved hi
m forward. He unbuckled, anxious to have a look for himself, surprised that the Kaerin had even thought of him. His pleasure quickly turned to confusion as the second Kaerin stood with him and followed him forward.
“Kneel and observe.” The kneeling Kaerin pointed out the window. “The Dimista Fort.”
He did as he was bid, confused as to why the Kaerin stronghold for the region was of interest. It sat upriver from the Strema capital, in a location that controlled the whole region. Dimista was a large fort, surrounded by fields worked by Strema labor. The fortification squatted solidly between the two great rivers, and straddled the canal that connected them. The Kaerin fortress lay a full day’s ride on horseback from the Strema’s primary city of Two Rivers. He wanted to ask if they were going to land there, but resisted the impulse to speak unbidden.
The warrior pointed out the window. “There is something you were intended to see before we reach Kaerus. Observe, Strema.”
The perspective of height was not one he was used to, but it took only a moment for him to recognize what he was meant to see. Far less time to understand its importance. Encamped outside the massive walled city were two, if not three clans’ worth of warriors. He recognized the banners of the Darni immediately; the other flags were obscured by the dust thrown up from tens of thousands of horse-mounted warriors exercising outside the walls.
“The Yugarna, Hothi, and Darni clans have been gathered.” The High Blood warrior delivered the threat calmly. “With our own High Blood forces, they are prepared to descend on your people. We were instructed that you observe these preparations. You have seen it.”
He was speechless, even knowing what he was expected to say. So Bres’Auch Tun had failed. He knew the truth of it without asking. The Strema had been trusted far beyond the other clans. They had proven their worth to the Kaerin countless times against those same clans arrayed against them below. The past meant nothing in the face of failure. For the briefest of moments, he raged at the injustice of it.
The feeling disappeared the moment the guard behind him nudged him in the back of the shoulder.
“I have seen it,” he acknowledged.
“The Kaerin need you to understand the weight of the discussions you will have in Kaerus. Nothing of what you have seen here will pass your lips, ever, even to us.”
“I understand.” He tried to swallow with a mouth gone dry. He understood the horde of warriors below would be unleashed against the Strema should he somehow fail to please the Kaerin. He could not imagine what it was he could do. The Kaerin had but to ask, and their will would be carried out.
“Return to your seat, Strema. It is nearly two days flying to Kaerus. We will land to fuel and switch pilots several times. You have the freedom to move around and observe the expanse of our domains while in the air. But you will remain on the airboat, except when under escort when we land. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” he answered, suddenly aware of the powerful, multi-shot revolvers hanging off the belts of the warriors, of the hand-and-a-half-long swords scabbarded between their shoulders. Blades three times as long as the bouma his people were allowed to carry. These weren’t escorts; they were guards. Leader of his people, he was in thrall to the lowliest of the Kaerin.
They flew for five hours before setting down at a small fort where the dry desert hills met the blue of the middle sea at its eastern edge. He was fed and watered under escort. The demeanor of his guards towards him while in the presence of the fort’s small Kaerin contingent and more numerous local Jesi clansmen was far more respectful than it was when he was alone with them on the plane. In the presence of others, his guards even referred to him by his title, Strema Prelate.
The behavior of his guards continued, when he awoke the next morning on the southern tip of the Attenine peninsula. He recognized the area immediately, as the Strema had campaigned here in his youth. During a meal, taken quickly at a table set up by the fort’s contingent, a Kaerin officer had asked one of his guards, within his hearing, where they were taking the Strema prelate.
“Consultations in Kaerus.” The answer had come quickly, and to him, who knew there was far more to his summons, the response had sounded rehearsed. Whatever was being held over his people’s head, he realized then, it was not common knowledge among the Kaerin. Perhaps all was not lost.
They approached the outskirts of Kaerus by late afternoon. The sun was sitting behind the massive snowcapped mountains that ringed the broad plain holding the city to the north and west. The mighty river Mersa flowed through the middle of the city on its way south. He’d never had the honor of visiting the Kaerin capital before, but had heard many stories of its wonders. Even in the overcast sky, the airboat flying just beneath the clouds, the expanse of the grand roads lit by gaslight, and row upon row of large buildings and private estate houses seemed out of place with the rest of Chandra. The Kaerin were not only a race apart, they were a race above. One only had to look upon the seat of their power to recognize that fact.
They landed at a field well outside the city. His guards stood the moment the airboat stopped moving and smoothed out the wrinkles in their black tunics and straightened their gun belts. He could only assume he was about to meet a Kaerin of true power.
He was disappointed when all that awaited him outside on the ground was another set of guards flanking a Kaerin-powered wagon. These he had ridden in many times. But his previous experience had been in the boxy transports during war. This was a polished, sleek vehicle, with four wheels in the back and two in front. Its engine was running with a quiet purr of unseen power at odds with the sputtering, noisome engines that had brought his airboat here.
One of the new warriors opened the back door of the vehicle for him and indicated he should enter. The soft velvet seats felt to him like heaven after the unforgiving wood bench of the airboat. He had seated himself within before he realized there was another occupant against the opposite door.
“Marso’ Telsok, prelate of the Strema clan,” a voice said softly. “I welcome you to Kaerus.”
His door was slammed shut by one of the guards, there was just enough light to see his fellow passenger. He knew at a glance he did not know this Kaerin. When the vehicle began moving with a smoothness that belied explanation, he recognized the medallion hanging on a silver chain about the man’s neck.
“Honored Kaerin Council Member.” It was difficult to bow when seated, but he tried. “I am honored.”
“I’m sure you are,” the man said after a moment. “I’m also certain that you are very curious as to why you are here?”
“I was summoned, Lord.”
“Yes, you were. Do you not have questions as to why?”
He must have been silent for too long, as he saw a look of annoyance flash on the man’s face.
“You were shown what fate awaits your clan. Are you not curious what has brought us to this point in time? I assure you, when I ask a question, I expect an answer and the truth.”
“I am, Lord, curious and fearful for my people. The Strema are nothing but loyal to the Kaerin.”
The Kaerin lord had glanced out the window as he spoke, as if his words were wind. But he turned back to him with a hint of a smile.
“Your clan’s loyalty has never been in doubt, not by me, nor by most other Kaerin Council members. However, the value of the Strema . . . that has of late come into question.”
It was his worst fear. Bres’Auch Tun must have failed. “I fear you have news of our war host.”
The Kaerin ignored his implied question and just stared at him for a moment with the coldest eyes he had ever seen.
“How many warriors could the Strema put in the field right now? Excepting those under your predecessor’s banner who are still under writ to us on the Shareki world.”
It took him a moment to mentally switch horses. “If we muster our entire clan, we’ve always maintained four war hosts, my Lord, as has been the Kaerin’s writ. No more, no less. With Bres’Auch Tun’s host
otherwise occupied, we have three available to serve the Kaerin.”
“Slightly less than four hundred thousand warriors?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“That is a powerful, loyal, and experienced tool. One that I would not wish to dispense with, though I’m prepared to make that sacrifice. Many of my colleagues are demanding such a price for your predecessor’s failure.”
His world was shattered in an instant. The Kaerin did not accept failure. He had nothing to lose in asking.
“My Lord, what news of Bres’Auch Tun’s host?”
“They failed. That is all you need to concern yourself with.” The Kaerin lord frowned. “All that remains is what’s to be done with the rest of the Strema. That is why you have been summoned.”
“My Lord, if my punishment would assuage any who think the Strema disloyal, I offer my life.”
The Kaerin lord turned to face him again and nodded in what might have been agreement. “As a leader, you believe that sacrifice for your people is often necessary?”
“I do, my Lord.”
“It is a belief I share as well.”
There were no more questions from the Kaerin lord, and he rode in what was for him an uncomfortable silence for nearly an hour. It was not his place to proffer a question or to speak unless bid to do so. The vehicle, instead of entering the city, had been moving farther out into heavily forested areas on a narrow, paved road. He began to notice banners announcing the approach of the Strema marshaling camp. This was where Bres’Auch Tun’s war host would have camped during the preparation for their trip through the Kaerin’s gate. Their families were still here. His youngest sister, her three children among them.
As the vehicle coasted to a stop outside the heavy wire fence, the smell of rot and decay from beyond hit him like a physical wall. The Kaerin lord, if he noticed the stench, did not show it and did not hesitate in opening his own door and stepping out of the vehicle.
New Shores: The Eden Chronicles - Book Three Page 1