Journey to Nivaka
A Nivaka Chronicles Short Story
Leslie E. Heath
Leslie E Heath, Creations, LLC
Elizabeth City, NC
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Editor: Amanda Breeden
Copyright © 2018 Leslie E Heath
All rights reserved.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Journey to Nivaka
Preview
The Last Mayor's Son, Chapter 1
About the Author
Acknowledgements
I have to give huge thanks to my editors, Elizabeth Prybylski and Rory Cole. You both helped make this book so much better. I couldn’t have finished it without your help. I’m also eternaly indebted to my daughter, Amanda, for giving me an uninhibited opinion on what needed fixed and what worked. Finally, thank you to my best friend, Kristy, for all the times you’ve listened to me ramble on about plotlines and how to work this prequel into the rest of the series, even when you must have been bored stiff. And finally, I have to acknowledge my dog, Bear, who wiggled himself between me and the computer any time I got frustrated, upset, or into the suspenseful scenes. Thank you for keeping me safe from all the digital threats.
Journey to Nivaka
Serik paused on the trail, glancing back at the only home he’d ever known. He’d lived in the tiny mountain village for his entire life, but things had changed. It was time for him to move on. He’d stayed as long as he could, if he went another year without a change in his appearance, people would start to notice.
A firm hand grasped his shoulder and Serik turned to face his travel companion, Warder.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Serik gulped and nodded. “I have to.”
Warder gave an encouraging smile. “I understand. It’s strange to leave the mountain behind, but who knows what fun we’ll find on the way to Kainga!”
Forcing a smile, Serik stepped onto the trail and headed down the mountain.
His mother had explained his differences at an early age. He’d grown up at the same rate as the other village children, had turned gray and stooped before his twenty-fifth year, and hadn’t changed at all since then. He didn’t know for certain if he ever would.
So, here he was. He carried his meager possessions in a small, handmade knapsack. He’d kissed his mother a final farewell, knowing he couldn’t ever return to his cherished mountain home. And now the world waited.
He spun, walking backward down the path so he could face his childhood friend. “Remember, I’m not stopping with you in Kainga. I’m going on to the forest on the other side of the river.”
Warder laughed. “I know, but at least you’ll be close enough to visit from time to time.”
When Warder caught up, Serik spun and faced down the mountain. His mood grew serious once more.
“You know you don’t have to leave,” Serik reminded his friend. “You can get past this without leaving the mountain.”
“No, I can’t,” Warder whispered. “I can’t stand to see her with him every day. How could she wait until the day before the wedding to tell me she wanted him instead?”
Tears welled in Warder’s eyes, and Serik regretted broaching the subject.
“I wish I knew,” Serik said.
Desperate to change the subject, Serik turned his mind back to the journey ahead of them. “Who are you planning to stay with in Kainga, again? Your aunt?”
“No, my cousins. They work on the ferry and have said they’ll get me a job working with them.”
“That’s right, you told me that once before.”
The conversation withered away as the travelers strolled down the path toward the town nestled in the valley.
Somewhere nearby, soft footsteps trailed along beside him, though he couldn’t see their pursuer through the heavy underbrush.
“I can hear you,” Serik said into the shadows. He kept his voice even.
Without a word, a young woman stepped out of the leaves and onto the trail beside him. Warder dropped back, giving Serik some privacy to speak to his sister.
“You know you can’t go with me, Luna.”
She turned her head, but not before he saw the tears streaking her face. A pang of regret ran through him.
“I swear I won’t get in the way. You’re the only brother I’ve ever had. I don’t want to stay behind while you have all the adventures!” Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it.
Serik cocked his head and shoved his emotions down. “You need to stay and take care of Mother. How will she manage if we’re both gone?”
Luna sighed – a long, painful sound. “You’re right,” she finally said. “I’ll go back. She’s already crushed that you’re leaving.”
She grabbed him in a strong embrace, squeezing with more force than he would have believed possible from her small frame.
“Take care of yourself and find a way to let us know you’re all right,” she whispered.
Before he could respond, she spun and dashed away into the trees.
Chest tight with emotion, Serik picked up his pace, oblivious to his companion struggling to keep pace behind him. He strode through the mountainside, aware of every squirrel, every tree, every insect on each leaf he passed. His unusual birth was his curse, and he would bear it until his eventual death. His mother had fallen in love with a wood sprite, an immortal creature who played amongst the branches. He had loved her back, as much as such an odd being could love anyone, or so Serik’s mother had told him. They had spent a summer together, but when he’d left for wherever the sprites went in the winter, he’d made it clear he wouldn’t return. Serik had been born the next summer, though his mother had been wise enough to marry during the winter to hide her romance.
Somewhere in the woods beside him, a twig snapped, and Serik froze. Warder stepped up beside him, staring in the same direction as Serik. They were too far from the village for another friendly farewell. Serik listened with every pore on his body, sniffing for foreign scents on the wind and looking for any leaf out of place. The hairs on his arms stood on end, ruffling in the gentle breeze. Footfalls surrounded him, and Serik peered into the underbrush beside the trail. He leapt into the closest tree branch just as someone lunged at him from behind. Pulling himself up, he spun to see who had attacked and whether Warder had escaped. He had. From his vantage point, Serik could see his docile friend scrambling up a tree several paces off the trail.
Below the tree where Serik crouched, seven men from the southern mountain tribe circled, their spears pointed up at his position. Unseasonal fur cloaks covered their faces, but tangled beards that fell to their waists betrayed their identities.
Crouching on the sturdy branch, Serik drank deeply from his waterskin before drawing his belt knives. Without a sound, he dropped to the ground behind the tallest of the men, prompting a cry of outrage as the warriors spun to face him.
“What you doing on our side of the mountain, Highlander?” The tall man sneered. “You know better than to hunt on our lands.”
“I’m not hunting.” Serik forced the tension from his shoulders. “I’m leaving. We don’t have to fight.”
The tall man laughed. “You think I’d believe you’d ever leave the mountain? I k
now better than that.”
Serik glanced over to where Warder hid among the tree branches. He’d never trained to fight as Serik had.
Taking a defensive posture, Serik stared down the clansmen on the trail. He’d trained with the best fighters the forest could produce and faced these warriors without the slightest doubt in his abilities. Still, that didn’t mean they needed to fight.
The tall warrior at the front of the group launched himself forward, and Serik spun to avoid the tip of his spear.
Another assault followed on the heels of the first, and Serik dodged left, then right, and left again as all the warriors took their turn in lunging at him. By the time the last man made his attempt, the first had turned to try again. Serik jumped over the shorter man, leaving the two mountain fighters to ram their spears into each other. Their grunts echoed against the lush mountainside and both men collapsed, bleeding.
Serik turned his attention to the five men still standing. “We don’t have to do this,” he shouted.
No one answered.
Three warriors closed in on him from each exposed side, but Serik grabbed a branch above his head and kicked at the man behind him. The warrior tumbled into his two comrades, and the group fell in a heap of thorns and blades beside the trail.
Without pausing, Serik swung himself up onto the branch he’d used an instant before. He crouched there, watching to see if any of the fallen men were about to attack him from behind. None had regained their feet.
The two men still standing threw their hands up.
“We give,” one man said. “Just let us get help for the others. We won’t bug you no more.”
Serik nodded but didn’t move from his position above the path. “Take them home and tell the others: anyone who bothers my kin will face much worse.”
The two standing tribesmen nodded, and Serik turned and continued down the path, knowing Warder would drop from the branches overhead when he thought it was safe.
Before he’d taken three steps, Serik spun and grabbed the warriors’ spears, flinging the men into thick tree trunks with a sickening thud.
“Really,” Serik said, exasperated. “Did you honestly think that would work?”
One man groaned, but the other didn’t move. Serik ground his heel into the soft dirt as he turned back to the southern trail.
Serik kept his eyes and ears attuned to the forest as he made his way toward the valley and the town nestled there. Anger flared in his stomach.
I shouldn’t have to leave, he thought, kicking a rock down the trail. I should be able to spend my life at the peak of Wrahm Mountain with my friends and family.
His mind lingered there, on the faces of his loved ones. He made up futures for each of them, hoping they’d each find happiness and live long and fruitful lives. Soft sounds echoed through the forest behind him, and his blood went cold. What would the tribesmen do when he left the mountain for good?
“Please, Zirvesi, keep my family safe,” Serik murmured into the trees. “I’ve served you well for all my life, and so have they.”
“So shall it be.”
The wind carried the words, and Serik felt his god turn away from him, a sensation he had experienced only once before, when he had rebelled against the god’s directives. He’d been a small child then, and the empty feeling had been enough to teach him his lesson.
Before the loneliness could choke him, Warder landed beside him.
“You know they’re following, right?”
Serik sighed. “I know. I’m guessing they want to see me leave the mountain, then they’ll go home.”
A mile or so of dense forest separated them from the clearing at the bottom of the mountain when Serik’s skin prickled. Soft footsteps sounded behind and beside him, and he braced himself for another attack.
Nothing happened.
An odd sense of disappointment settled over Serik as he and Warder strolled down the dusty streets toward the far end of town. Heaving a sigh, he settled down for the night on the outskirts of the vagrant encampment beyond the town’s border. He nibbled at his jerky, but the grief of leaving home and the anxious feeling of being followed robbed him of his appetite and turned the spicy meat to sand in his mouth.
“You know,” Warder said, spreading his blanket out on the hard-packed dirt. “We should probably keep out of sight of the other folks on the road, at least until we make sure no one’s following us.”
“Good idea.” Serik smoothed his blankets and settled in for the night.
The friends stayed close together, keeping away from the fire, and the night passed uneventfully. The next morning, they rose and left the camp before the others stirred.
Careful not to leave any tracks, they picked their way up and back down the neighboring mountain and found the North Road a little after the sun peaked in the sky. They ducked into the brush beside the trail whenever other travelers approached but made good time on their journey south.
When they stopped the second night, they hadn’t seen a traveler or a caravan in several hours, and agreed a fire was worth the risk. They snared a rabbit and settled in to wait while the meat cooked.
“Is it just me,” Serik asked, “or does this land feel…” His voice trailed off as he searched for the word.
“Dead, lifeless?” Warder offered.
“Yeah. Like there’s something missing here.”
“Yeah. I noticed it, too,” Warder said. “I thought I was just being silly, missing the mountain already.”
“You can go back, you know.”
Warder poked at the fire with a long stick. “No, I can’t. I can’t stand the thought of watching her build a life and family with someone else. She should have been mine.”
Serik nodded but said nothing. Warder had family waiting to welcome him in Kainga, but Serik had no idea what sort of life lay ahead of him.
He’d heard of a forest that housed the mountain god’s sister and sought to make his home there.
Halfway through the fifth day of travel, they came upon a dense bog. The ground squelched beneath Serik’s boots but supported his weight. A familiar feeling carried on the breeze, and Serik breathed deeply. Yes, something powerful lived in this bog.
Warder smiled and waved a hand out before himself. “Now, this… This feels more like home.”
Curious, Serik followed the source of the power and turned off the main road toward the swamp’s center. Warder followed close behind. They had only gone ten paces or so when something within the bog shifted. The hairs on Serik’s arms and neck stood on end and he fought the urge to flee.
“I think we should go back,” Warder whispered, his eyes wide in the dim light of the swamp.
“I think you’re right,” Serik said, his voice just a hair louder than Warder’s. “Whatever power rules this bog doesn’t want us here.”
He took a breath, and before he could exhale, something large breached the water beside the path.
Warder drew his sword, but Serik held him back with an outstretched arm. A large, reptilian eye regarded the two friends and a forked tongue darted out of the water beneath the creature’s nose.
“We mean you no harm,” Serik shouted at the creature. “We’re only passing through.”
Warder shoved Serik aside, brandishing his sword at the animal. It responded by displaying sharp fangs as long as a man’s arm.
The serpent reared back as if to strike, and desperate to distract the creature, Serik leapt onto its back, holding on for his life as the animal bucked and dove deep into the murky water. He knew he had to keep the snake from attacking his gentle, heartbroken friend.
He had grabbed the creature just behind its head and wrapped both arms around its neck.
Holding on with all his might, he rode the creature for what felt like an eternity. It dove so deep that the light from above vanished, leaving them suspended in a sea of blackness. His lungs burned, but his mind stayed sharp. He just had to hold on until the animal needed a breath, but if its girth was a
ny indication, that could be a while. He worked to slow his heartbeat, and with it, his oxygen consumption.
Time slowed, and Serik waited. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, the only sound under the vast black water. His head spun, but still, he held on.
Finally, the creature moved. Mud churned around them as the animal swam toward the surface. It breached, and Serik filled his lungs with the sweet fresh air. After a moment his vision cleared, and he focused on the animal in his arms. A massive serpent’s head lay beneath his cheek, and he tightened his grip, frantically searching his mind for a way out of this predicament.
The serpent stayed still for a long while, and Serik raised his head.
“It seems we’ve reached an impasse,” Serik whispered. “I mean you no harm. Let me off by the trail and I’ll be on my way. I won’t say a word to anyone about your existence, and neither will my friend.”
The animal didn’t respond but took off at a breakneck pace toward the center of the swamp.
The wind buffeted Serik’s wet face, chilling him to the bone even in the muggy autumn air. His breath caught, and he had the sensation of drowning all over again. Trees and animals rushed past, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the rough scales beneath his palms and cheek.
Without warning, the serpent stopped in the middle of a small clearing, in front of an ancient willow tree.
It regarded him with a weathered face, its mouth downturned in a disapproving frown.
“You must be the Saethem,” Serik rasped. His voice had abandoned him at some point during the serpent ride.
“Thank you, Nulsha,” the tree said to the serpent. “I’ll take care of him from here.” A long, woody tendril wrapped around Serik’s waist, lifting him off the serpent and dangling him before the ancient, weathered face. “How do you know who I am?”
“My friends and I have grown up under your brother’s watchful gaze. You look too much alike to be mistaken.” Serik worked to make his voice sound strong, though terror reigned in his gut.
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