Advent of the Roar (The Land Old, Untouched Book 1)

by Benjamin M. Piety

  The man doesn’t answer and instead closes his eyes as Sanet squeezes his wound. Maybe not that hard, Sanet. With little else to say, Ethan joins Bernard, who’s gathering the luggage and piling it all together. He then pulls cans of food from a bag and transfers them into his own rucksack. “We’ll need to sort through what we can carry. We should continue traveling tonight and then find shelter in the morn. That summer sun won’t be kind in these sands.”

  “Agreed,” Ethan says, dropping a particularly heavy case onto the larger pile. “I should also give my approsh for pulling me to cover.”

  Bernard shrugs. “Anytime, friend.”

  “You’ve got some pull.” Ethan nods to Bernard’s mitts.

  “Oh well, another long story,” he says, flexing his fingers.

  ❖❖❖

  With their bags organized and the man bandaged, they position him against the horsal. “I think it’s time we get to know each other,” Ethan starts.

  “Suck my cog’s cock.” His face is set in defiance.

  Sanet pushes in. “Why are you here? Who told you about us? About the brass?”

  The man hesitates for a minor before she kicks him in his bandage. He hunches over and screams, “What the shnite, woman?”

  “Who told you we had brass?” Ethan doubles.

  Bernard stands back smoking green, with Brute on his shoulder.

  The man snarls before answering. “We received an urgent tap you were leaving Salsman.”

  “From who?”

  “They don’t tell us who. It’s only a tap.”

  “Where’s the tap?”

  The man doesn’t answer. Sanet begins to riffle through his clothes.

  “Careful woman, you might turn me up.” He smirks.

  Sanet, currently digging through his pants pocket, grabs ahold of something and pulls, causing him to clench his teeth and groan.

  Ethan continues, “Come on, you can’t be that dull.”

  Sanet lets go and searches him further before pulling a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. She reads it and after a minor looks up. “It’s from Wellion.”

  She hands it to Ethan, who reads it aloud:

  Peter,

  Sanet is leaving tonight escorted by my acolyte and her accomplice, a man who goes by the curam Stone Fingers—the same man who sent Franz left. She will have two pieces of brass that I wish for you to recover and return to me. It is imperative that you do not harm her. She is of great importance to me, and if she were to meet an uncertain time, I will skin you before your wife and children.

  Do not disappoint.

  Ranpart Cadwellion

  Sanet steps backward. “How . . . why?” she stammers.

  Ethan folds the letter and places it in his pocket.

  Bernard tosses the cig away. “What do we do now?”

  “Is there really a piece of brass in Trimod?” Ethan turns to the man they now know is Peter.

  “Not for long.” Peter smiles.

  “He can’t do much without the pieces we have,” Bernard says. “Why don’t we just leave the state with them? Go into hiding?”

  Sanet acts as if dazed. “How does he know everything? He’s not even here.”

  Ethan is eager to step in. “He doesn’t know everything. What does he know? You have a son . . . but you don’t? That your curam is Sanet? He’s been controlling your mind for seven years.”

  “I’m not sure this is something we need to figure out now,” Bernard interrupts. “The question is what we’re going to do. We’re in the middle of the sands here, and when that sun comes up, it won’t be pleasant.”

  Ethan looks around. “I’d say we’re equidistant from Salsman and Porsans. If you still think sailing to Trimod is the right decision?” he questions.

  “How does he know everything?” Sanet asks again.

  “He may not. That weonslow could have easily drafted a tap after our visit. Just adding Cadwellion’s curam.”

  “You sure it’s not just you?” Bernard accuses Ethan.

  “Me?” Ethan looks offended. “I didn’t even want to go. I don’t trust that body. Everything about him reeks of betrayal.”

  “Well, this friend of yours seems more and more delightful.” Bernard swirls his hand in the air, then lights another cig.

  Sanet looks still lost in her thoughts as if working out the facts she’s facing. “He’s always told me that there are things that must take place to save the Land. That there is order. That he was not always right. He told me about Logan. This brass has to be important…” she continues to puzzle out the facts before them.

  Peter speaks up. “Shnite your ranpart’s order. The Roar is what saves the Land. That’s what Franz wanted. And it’s why Ranpart Cadwellion believes. He’s just afraid of you . . .” Peter points to Bernard.

  “Me? Because I killed one of his men?”

  “Everyone knows you’re a Dark Valor. That you’re upsetting what’s been foretold.”

  At this, Bernard rolls his eyes, taking a deep drag of his cig. “I have ill news, friend—nothing is foretold. If Franz and his friends hadn’t burned my haynest down, hadn’t sent Jame, we wouldn’t be bargaining right here in the middle of a proshing desert. No. It wasn’t foretales. It was those fires they lit. It was their actions. Their choices.” As Bernard speaks, his voice grows gruff from holding back conflicting feelings of fury and sadness.

  “Everyone, let’s . . . calm down. Bernard is right. We do have to decide what to do. We could die out here in that sunlight.”

  Bernard lets the air sit in silence a minor before speaking again. “I say we get this last piece of brass and we don’t return. We continue sailing across the Merurro. Away from Merigen altogether.”

  “I can’t leave my son. We’ll have to come back,” Ethan asserts.

  “And what about Logan? If Wellion wanted him in Yikshir, what’s to say he won’t find him west?” Sanet says.

  “Logan made his decision; he chose to be on his own. If that’s not what Wellion wanted, then I think that’s the best thing for now,” Bernard states.

  While they continue to debate, Peter lunges at Bernard, attempting to knock him to the ground, his face contorted in pure hatred.

  “You betrayed Franz. You betrayed the Roar!”

  From below, Bernard grabs Peter by the neck and tosses him to the side like a twig, crushing his neck as he does. Peter lands motionless and sent left. “Why did you do that.” Bernard screams at Peter’s sent body. He falls to his knees are cries, mumbling to himself.

  “I know you’re not one for the plan, but having more of this brass in our possession is our only option. We can’t trust anyone else with it.” Sanet says to Ethan as she kneels next to Bernard. “Are you wisnok?” Bernard doesn’t answer.

  Ethan, resigned and staring at the brave bodies before him, stands up straight. “Then let’s untell a ranpart’s ridiculous foretales, shall we?” Sanet looks up and nods in approval.

  Lincoln help us.

  Chapter 26

  JOHAN'S BLONDE SEA HORSAL

  Bernard, burying his emotions, attempts to keep the group moving throughout the night but Ethan and Sanet lag behind. He reminds them on a constant loop that he recently turned fifty and there is no excuse for being tired.

  “Eighteen hours I hunted that neox,” he calls back to them as they shuffle their feet in the sand. “And you chased that frek for months!” Looking directly at Sanet, who waves him off, shuffling through the sand. But as the sky shifts from dark, speckled night to a cog-fur pink, their pace quickens with the threat of heat outweighing their exhaustion.

  “Is this what it’s like to trek with the two of you?” Ethan shouts between deep breaths. “Because I’ve already been nearly sent left and we haven’t even left the sands. The sea is where I’m supposed to be the most afraid.”

  Bernard’s hand, mimicking Sanet’s, waves out in the air with a huff and dismissal.

  They continue to trudge through the sands as dirt grinds on their
ankles and their muscles cramp from hours upon hours spent on the unstable, uneven land beneath them. The sun, rising ahead and to the east, continues to threaten a long day ahead. Soon Bernard removes his leather jacket and wraps it around his waist. Brute has hidden himself within Bernard’s rucksack since the previous night. Shortly after Bernard, Sanet follows suit and removes her green hood.

  As the morn sun leaves crest, the day’s heat intensifies, and Bernard loses his shirt altogether. Sanet strips to her unders. Ethan hesitates for a major but loses the battle of shame over sweat. Besides Undess, not many people have seen Ethan without his shirt. Bernard’s muscular frame and tan skin radiate a controlled masculinity, while Sanet’s athletic build stands with confidence and beauty. In comparison, Ethan’s soft and pudgy pale skin seem to almost weigh him down. It is not just his weight that causes his reluctance to strip in front of others but a large pasemark that slashes across his back and stomach. The orange mark, with no distinctive shape, nothing exotic to note other than highlighting his abnormality, marks him with a badge of humiliation. Taking off his shirt, Ethan steps back to keep Bernard and Sanet in front of him. He holds the shirt in his hand, ready to slip it back on as soon as Porsans comes to view.

  At nearly full sun, the three have begun to cover themselves in a white oilment, Bernard helping Sanet and Sanet helping him in return. Ethan continues to hold back and rubs his own arms and chest. Bernard turns to him, causing Ethan to suck in his stomach. Bernard grins as he rubs a bit of oilment on his own hands.

  “Let me get your back, friend.”

  Ethan remains quiet as Bernard steps behind him, rubbing his back. Bernard’s touch is firm and coarse, his stone fingers felt through the thin brown leather mitts.

  “Let me know if I’m too rough,” Bernard says as he continues to slather Ethan’s back.

  “I guess I understand the curam Stone Fingers,” Ethan jests, attempting to hide the red blush and humiliation as Bernard’s hard touch bores into him.

  Bernard finishes up and grabs one of the rucksacks. “Still not used to it, but they’re becoming a part of me, I guess.” He flexes his fingers and continues forth.

  Sanet grabs her own bag and they continue. The day passes, and eventually, there in the distance lies Porsans. The three of them dress again, to Ethan’s relief. Clothes are the skins of whom we wish we were.

  Unlike many of the other cities in Yikshir Sands, Porsans acts as a sizable port city, a trading community for some of the far north states and across the sea. Though redrocks grow around Porsans, the city itself is built on the coast. As they trek closer, more and more bodies come into view. Some leave the city, while others enter through tall white-and-red-stained gate walls. Like Salsman, the city is surrounded by a single rock wall, guarded and watched.

  A drum of horsals passes them as they cross into the open gates. Several guards walk the perimeter.

  “Does Porsans have its own ranpart?” Bernard asks.

  “I think there’s a council here. The bigger cities usually have elected officials,” Ethan answers. “The docks are over there. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find someone willing to sail to Trimod.”

  Porsans may be at sea level, but it does not lack for high views. Many of the buildings stand stories high. Apartments reach several hundred measures upward, some more dilapidated than others. The sea breeze flows around them while tumbling trash, and wild cogs roam in the hustle and commotion of the streets. The city bustles with life: vendors, shoppers, passersby; bits of yelling; arguments; soft conversations and laughter.

  Kleeps of all sizes are tied at the docks. Sailors and captains hike up and down ramps, loading and unloading. Ethan guides them along as they begin to ask around if anyone might be interested in sailing east, but the day nearly ends without an offer to take them, as most scoff at the destination. No one goes to Trimod.

  Over duskmeal, as the mood remains soured, a handsome body walks over to them. Tall, blond, and with a roguish smile, the man speaks directly to Sanet. “I hear you’re headed to Trimod?”

  “We are.” Sanet smiles back.

  “I can get you there. For a price, of course.” The man smirks.

  “We offer five hundred up front with five hundred on the return,” Ethan states.

  The man sits down at the table. “Quite the price. Which begs me to ask what’s so special about an abandoned state?”

  “Not answering that is part of the price, I’m afraid.” Sanet smiles again, placing her hand on the man’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb softly near his neck.

  He smirks again and leans back, putting his hands on the back of his head. “Bargain, then. When are we leaving?”

  “When are you ready?” Ethan sits up, surprised by the man’s brazenness. Or perhaps it’s a lack of poise with Sanet.

  “On the morrow. I need to settle a few things.” He reaches out his hand to Sanet. “Johan’s my curam.”

  Sanet clasps his hand to shake, but he pulls her in to kiss the back of her hand, then stands and nods to the others, tipping an invisible cap. “Good eve.” He leaves.

  “Well, I guess we could have had an actual decomp for captain,” Bernard comments in shade.

  Sanet laughs. “Oh, he’ll be a good little cog. It wasn’t like we were in store for a hero of the Land.”

  Ethan is unimpressed. “Truth told, I don’t care who takes us. My only hope is calm seas.”

  ❖❖❖

  Ethan and Sanet vomit off the side of the small kleep, christened the Blonde Sea Horsal, which bobs up and down and up and down against the choppy sea.

  Ethan holds on to the edge, white knuckled as he upchucks for the fifth time. “Lincoln, what have I done?”

  Sanet turns to him, patting him on his back. She attempts to say something but retches herself. They both stumble backward and look toward Johan, who’s currently at the wheel, steering through the small but buoyant waves. “Those are your biggest smiles yet,” he yells across the deck, the odious phrase he’s adopted for their sickness.

  Ethan waves him off as they enter the main cabin. Bernard and Brute are relaxed on a couch, Brute lying on Bernard’s chest as he reads a novit.

  Bernard sits up. “Friends, have a bit of green. Relax.” Another wave hits against the kleep, and they’re tossed across the room. Bernard catches Ethan. “Careful, friend.”

  “Approsh, Bernard. How are you not—” Ethan’s barely able to speak.

  “Guess, I have a better constitution. You both should be fine after a few days.” The kleep continues to rock up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

  Up.

  And down.

  Days pass before Sanet can keep down food and her color returns to normal. Ethan, on the other hand, can’t seem to swallow without it coming back up. “Lincoln, I hate the sea.” He spends most of the days on the floor of the cabin, sharing hand-holding with Sanet and Bernard. Brute at times attempts to sleep next to Ethan, but the effort ends after Ethan hurls all over the mortified frek.

  The seas calm after a week of sailing, and the kleep subsides to a soft rocking. Ethan finds that he can breathe to the motion of the sea. Deep breath in and up, deep breath out and down. The rhythm works, and eventually the whole Land stops spinning.

  “I think I’m nearing wisnok,” Ethan states over duskmeal, but the brief look at food causes his stomach to tumble.

  Appealing to Ethan’s essential needs, Bernard pushes over a mug. “At least drink some water, Ethan.”

  “Approsh.”

  On the deck, the sea and sky are clear across the crest. No Land or frek in sight. “Still on course?” Sanet asks, walking up to Johan.

  He nods. Ethan watches as Sanet laughs and giggles with him, and after he grins wider than any man should, Ethan thinks ill of his intents. That man is as fake as a ranpart’s tricks.

  Over the next few days, Ethan’s stomach returns. And for the first time, he can look out and admire the might and beauty of the sea. In every direction, an endless view of white-
capped waters. Johan, manning the small kleep himself, tells them that, now that everyone can enjoy it, he’s making them his famous hash duskmeal.

  Throughout the day, he passes around some home-brewed sea ale. “It makes the hash taste better,” he says with every given shot.

  Sitting on the deck, lying in the sun, the breeze floating through the air, Ethan is peaceful. I wish Mercet could have come. He would have loved this. On the bow of the kleep, Bernard looks out to sea, something of a morn ritual for him. Ethan walks over.

  Standing next to him and resting his elbows, Ethan watches off the crest. To the east, the sun has fully risen. Above, a doubled sail flaps in the wind. In the waters below swim a school of laughing earniks, friendly and colorful freks who some believe come from the souls of the drowned. They’re mainly distinguished, however, by the noises they make, which sound a bit like gurgled laughter.

  “How long have they been leading the kleep?”

  “Seems like a few days. Unless these are a different school than the first ones I saw,” Bernard answers, pulling out another green cig.

  “You sure smoke a lot.”

  “It calms me.”

  “You’ve said.” Ethan turns around, looking across the main deck. Johan at the wheel, drinking morn coffee. “You know, now that we’re away from the threat of the crimson and before we reach whatever’s out there,” he points into the distance, “this is paradimo. If Mercet were here, it would be perfect.”

  “I feel the same about Jame,” Bernard says with a whisper and more to the sea than to Ethan.

  To that, Ethan has little to say. He still has Mercet to go home to. And even though things aren’t the best between them, at least he has a chance to fix it. Without knowing much about Bernard or his past, he does feel a deep sympathy for him. They stand quietly for the rest of the morn with the rhythmic splash and swim of the laughing earniks echoing below them.