by A. J. Bell
The Everlands Chronicles-The Truth
A.J. Bell
dewyMoss LLP
Indianapolis
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 A. J. Bell
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014933774
ISBN (eBook): 978-0-9895647-6-2
ISBN (Print): 978-0-9895647-5-5
Cover art: Adam Pippin
Dedication
To my friends and family that encouraged me to write,
to my children whose laughter and love inspires me every day,
to my Heavenly Father for giving me a gift I consider worth sharing,
to my literature teachers in Mexico and
my Poetess friend Claudia Luna
who have no clue of the fire their words lit within me.
to life itself for leading me to become who I am meant to be.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Many thanks be given to my wonderful alpha readers Linda Vogel, Penny Elwood and Leslie Grady and their encouraging words. To my Goodreads Beta Readers, Heather and Athena, I am grateful, too. Thank you for your help. An even more special thanks to Marilyn Bodily whose patience to proofread my endless first drafts “who knows how many times” proved endless. Thank you, Marilyn! A very special thanks also for my friend Adam Pippin for getting the cover of this book to look exactly how it was meant to be. Thank you Jenn Rosenberg for helping me polish this book for submission, and thank you Michele and Danette from DewyMoss, LLP for the chance to make my dreams into a reality.
Chapter 1
I paced the floors quietly for hours, waiting for my parents to find their way into a deep sleeping spell. I stared out the window every few minutes and gazed at the silver moon until I was certain that it was safe for me to go unseen. Then, in utmost silence, I walked out the door and ran into the woods. I craved the freedom the darkness offered me and the peace that solitude brought me, which was far greater than the fear I felt of being alone in the Haunted Forest.
“Stop singing, Elle! Someone could hear you!” I kept telling myself as I forged deeper into the woods, but against all reason, I did not stop singing. I was too happy to be going swimming. I was also happy that I had left John behind. It had been a while since I had done that.
“Calm down, Elle. There is nobody near these woods to hear you; everybody else is scared of the ghosts that haunt this forest. That’s the reason I visit this place.” Stubbornly, I justified my actions to myself.
Mother would not be happy if she found out that I was out again. She had warned me what could happen if anybody knew of my existence – my life would be in danger. What Mother didn’t know was that, more often than I would like to admit, I would go out in the wee hours of the morning when all light was still hiding from view and everyone else was sleeping.
I loved to swim in the Loveless River because it was only a few miles east from our home, and I could make it there and back home in almost no time, so nobody would notice my absence. This night, as usual, Mother and Father were sleeping at home, unaware of my latest escapade.
The place we called home was near the edge of the Everlands. We lived in the house of Sir Richard Arden of Stoneburg. He was one of two nephews of King Tobias of Lovan, rightful ruler of the Everlands.
My father, Robert Giles, was known as the greatest blacksmith there had ever been in the Everlands; therefore, many noble men desired my father’s work and traveled to Stoneburg from faraway places to get a piece of his craftsmanship.
Many peasants have worked the bellows and the hammer to be as great as him. But only his offspring have had the privilege to learn from his wisdom. My father had found a way to fuse various metals and turn them into what he called Clouds because of the way they looked when they were fusing. Over time, he’s used Clouds to make swords, armor, and many other things he could create in his blacksmith shop. Because of Father’s skills, Sir Richard made us part of his household.
My father was a great man, capable of much love and devotion to his family. Thinking of him as I waded into the river, singing, I felt guilty for being out of the house again while he slept in peace at home. As much as I enjoyed being in the river, part of me could not completely relax; not only would my father be disappointed to know I had disobeyed him again, but I was by myself in a place known to be haunted. Yet, the night was dark and quiet except for the soft streaming of my voice and the fiddling of the crickets. Quiet, at least, until a sudden noise startled me, perhaps because my anxiety of getting caught was reaching its peak. I thought I saw movement among the shadows as I stared into the bushes where the sound came from.
“I should get out of here,” I said, loud enough only for my ears to hear. I was a little worried, but then I shook my head, realizing what had gone through my mind was impossible. “Relax, Elle,” I chuckled nervously. “Ghosts do not exist!” I reassured myself, but I stopped singing and began to crawl out of the water.
As I did, the noise returned, growing louder. My blood chilled as the noise turned into voices carried on the wind. Men’s voices. As they got closer, I was certain these men whose voices I heard were Gypsies.
There was no time for me to get dressed! I was only wearing John’s shirt while swimming, and once out of the water, it stuck to my wet body like a second skin. Nothing good could come out of it if I was caught by vicious Gypsies.
It was time to run. Even though I hated the idea of anybody thinking of me as a coward, in this instance, running seemed like the best choice.
They came out of the bushes, at least a dozen of them, chasing after me. Because it was part of the Everlands, land that was forbidden to them, Gypsies usually never came to the Loveless River, but these men were daring enough to defy the law. For a Gypsy to be caught anywhere in King Tobias’s kingdom, the punishment was death.
Without giving it any more thought, I ran. The Haunted Forest was very familiar to me. I roamed it quite often, since deep within its woods was the only place where I had ever been free – where I had been able to swim, sing, and run.
This time, I was running for my life.
As seconds of running turned into minutes, more and more Gypsies came out of hiding. This is unreal! They must be feeling very confident, chasing a half-naked, soaking wet, unarmed girl, I thought. I wished I had a sword to demonstrate what I could have done to each of them in return for making me run like a mad woman. I could
take them down with John’s sword, but I left it at the house, I thought, annoyed with myself as I continued to hasten.
I was fast approaching a clearing used as a road to connect Stoneburg with the rest of the Everlands. Once I reached that place, there wouldn’t be anywhere for me to hide, but I was hoping to see someone by the road who could help me.
The men’s voices were getting closer and closer, but I did not dare to look back more than a few times.
The Everlands were widely known for their sporadic showers all year round, so the grounds of the Haunted Forest was unceasingly wet and slick, with heaps of mud everywhere due to the on-and-off rain.
Since the muddy ground made running a challenge, I could not run as fast as I had anticipated. I was grateful, though, that it had also slowed down the Gypsies – more than it had me. Their boots stuck in the mud, coming off their feet during the chase. Having bare feet gave me the advantage I needed.
Running through the darkened emerald woods and going downhill to reach the clearing, I missed a step on a slippery slope and began rolling in the mud until I stopped at the bottom of the hill. Unable to stand up quickly, I was almost run over by a horse and its rider. The rider snapped the horse’s reins when he realized the mud mound ahead of him – meaning me – was alive.
I scrambled to my feet as the Gypsies sprang from the woods towards the road. Their alarming cries scared the passing horse. Unexpectedly, the frightened animal reared up, sending its startled rider to the ground. I caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he fell.
“Sir Richard!” I called out to him, but he did not respond. In the darkness, I could see the remaining moonlight shining on the blood streaming from his head. While he lay motionless on the ground, I barely had time to react.
I took the sword from Sir Richard’s saddle and charged at the nearest Gypsy. He appeared to be around sixty-years-of-age, but he still fiercely deflected my every blow.
Instead of attacking, the other Gypsies stopped to watch. When I saw them standing still, I knew there were too many of them to win the battle. But I had also heard many stories about women kidnapped by Gypsies and the horrible way their lives ended. I was not going to give them the pleasure of giving in without a fight.
After a few clashes of our swords, and with a rage building up in me, I managed to disarm him. Upon doing so, the other Gypsies came to the aid of the old one, whose sword now lay on the ground near Sir Richard, who was gaining consciousness and making an effort to get back on his feet.
“What’s your name, My Lady?” the old Gypsy asked. “I think we’ve met before.”
“Leave her alone!” said Sir Richard. He managed to keep his balance, but still looked a little disoriented. “Fight me!”
All the other Gypsies burst out laughing. It was obvious Sir Richard was wounded and barely able to support the weight of his own body; yet, he still wanted to defend me.
The old Gypsy raised his right arm, and everyone fell silent.
“Pull back. Let them take the horse.” His eyes were fixated on me as he gave his instructions.
“Why are you letting us go?” Sir Richard asked. “Fight me like a man, you coward!” he taunted.
The Gypsy did not seem bothered by Sir Richard’s words. “Count yourself lucky, Everlander. This maiden’s face, hidden below layers of mud, reminded me of someone very dear to me, and in honor of her memory, I am kindly letting you go.”
“I never heard of merciful Gypsies,” I said.
“That is because there’s no such thing,” spat Sir Richard. “Why else would they have been chasing a harmless maiden?”
He was right.
“Perhaps you have not met many Gypsies, My Lady,” said the old man to me. “We were hunting–”
“Poaching,” corrected Sir Richard. “These woods belong to the King of the Everlands, and you and your kin are not welcome in them.”
The old man ignored Sir Richard again. “Like I said, My Lady, we were hunting when we heard a Gypsy song being sung, a song I have not heard for a long time, but you got scared and ran before I could ask where you learned it. That song means a lot to us Gypsies.” He waited, but I gave no answer. The old man bowed his head and kissed my muddy hand gently. “We shall meet again, My Lady,” he said, and then he departed with all his companions in tow. Sir Richard and I stood still and watched them go.
The Gypsy ordeal was over, but a new problem arose. Since I was alone, Sir Richard decided to keep me safe by becoming my escort. He planned to take me to his home to have one of his servants find me some decent clothes and help me clean up. I tried to convince him that such a thing was not necessary, but I ate my words when I tried to step away and fell to the ground in pain from a twisted ankle I had incurred during the chase. In the rush of the moment, I had not felt a thing, but now that the Gypsy threat was gone, the pain that engulfed my foot was as sharp as the blade of a newly honed steel knife.
I wanted to scream, but managed to hold back the cry and keep silent. It was obvious I would not be able to walk back home. Clouded with the pain, I did not see another choice but to let him take me home.
While riding with him, I was able to ease a little of my own concerns for his well-being. Only the unstoppable bleeding from his head had me worried. Using the blade of his sword, I tore a strip of fabric from the hem of John’s shirt and wrapped it carefully around his head to prevent the blood from continuing to flow into his eyes.
My twisted ankle and the wound on Sir Richard’s head were the least of my worries. He had no idea who I was, because he was not supposed to know; just as my parents had no idea I was not asleep in my bed like I was supposed to be. Upon our arrival at Arden Manor, he would surely call out for my mother to help. There would be no end to her sermon about being caught and the punishment I would receive once she discovered me will also be never ending.
On the pleasant end of things, I was riding on the same horse as Sir Richard and had my arms wrapped around his strong waist, which I enjoyed a little too much. I had always found him charming, much to my mother’s dismay.
Sir Richard, like many unattached knights of the realm, was very popular among the maidens. He had different girls visiting his chambers from time to time, always willing to be loved but never to love back. I had sworn that it would never be me, and yet here I was, enjoying the slow ride on his horse, holding onto him. Being this close to a man was a new experience for me, like sailing in uncharted waters.
By the time we reached Stoneburg, the first rays of dawn were starting to appear, illuminating the streets of our beloved city. The shops and houses near the town square were gaining more life by the minute.
The smell of freshly baked bread filled the senses. The beautiful songs of the birds announced the morning, but it did not do much to relieve my anxiety. Those who were awake on the streets were either staring at Sir Richard’s head with the bleeding bandages or at my bare legs sticking out of John’s shirt and out of Sir Richard’s hooded cloak which he had insisted for me to wear, but neither of these were long enough to cover my naked skin. At least my face was kept hidden, so no one knew who the legs belonged to, allowing me to avoid being scorned by my lack of decency.
Once we were in the stables of Arden Manor, Sir Richard helped me down from the horse, not letting go of me for an instant; yet, not for one moment was his behavior inappropriate – perhaps he didn’t find me as attractive as I found him. Maybe he’d like me more if I wasn’t covered in mud.
Sir Richard called for John, who normally cared for Rogue, the horse Sir Richard rode – a white beauty from head to hooves. Although Rogue was hard to keep clean, John always took pride in making Sir Richard’s steed shine every time he returned from a trip. However, this time, John did not come out to welcome his master.
Sir Richard was still holding me in his arms when he took me inside his house. At this point, I thought that I would rather face the Gypsies again than face my mother’s wrath.
Sir Richard put me down in a chai
r by the fireplace in the common room. Since I was a muddy mess, I feared staining the chairs my mother struggled to keep clean.
He sat down in front of me, rubbing his temples with the tip of his fingers.
“Greta!” he called. I closed my eyes tightly at the sound of my mother’s name and held my breath as the door opened, and my mother appeared. She ignored my presence, just as she had learned to ignore the other maidens who hovered around Sir Richard night and day. She left the room as soon as she saw the wound on his head, and came back a few minutes later with bandages, a clean jar of water, and some sort of herbal paste to clean and dress his injury. I watched him wince and complain as she washed his wound. He sounded like a little boy – a very handsome, crying little boy, who I would have taken in my arms again, had I not been so worried that I was about to get caught. In between his wincing and complaining, he indicated to my mother to care for my ankle. She nodded but did not remove her glance from him.
I had only one more chance to get away, but as I tried getting up and scurrying in the opposite direction from where my mother stood, I hurt my ankle again. In the process of running away, I stumbled over a table with a treasured Abilene glass vase on it. The vessel went straight to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. Yet, it was not the broken vase that made my mother gasp – but seeing my face.
She stared at me in disbelief, then back at Sir Richard, as if wondering what had happened between us. I shook my head desperately as ideas filled her mind, but the fact that I was only wearing a shirt under Sir Richard’s cloak gave much room to her imagination. Sir Richard was unaware of Mother’s reaction, so he decided to carry on a conversation.
“What is a lady doing in the forest in the wee hours of the morning?” he asked.
My mother’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she said. “I bet this is an interesting story.” She knelt down, took my foot from the ground into her hands, and squeezed it hard to assess the damage. The pain was so excruciating, I wanted to faint. I did not think she needed to squeeze so hard, but I kept quiet. “It’s not broken, yet!” she said with a hint of warning. “That is good news. I will wrap the ankle, and she’ll be good as new in no time.”
