The Defender of Rebel Falls: A Medieval Science Fiction Adventure (The William Whitehall Adventures Book 1)

by Christensen, Erik

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  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

  © 2017 Erik Christensen

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by copyright law. For permissions contact:

  erik@WilliamWhitehallAdventures.com

  Cover by Tatiana Vila.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my late friend, Eric Ouellette. You were the first to tell me with sincerity that I had it in me to write one, and you were the first to read it when it was done. I am ever grateful you were in my life. This is for you, buddy.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  This book is neither pure science fiction, nor unadulterated fantasy.

  Genre matters a lot in publishing. All book stores, whether they be on-line or brick and mortar, insist on assigning one to every book they sell, because that’s how they market them.

  But more important to me is readers’ expectations. If you buy a book with a dragon on the cover, you may be disappointed to find there’s no magic, wizards, elves, dwarves, or anything else a typical fantasy story contains.

  Then again, you might select a book from the science fiction category, only to find the author wrote nothing about spaceships, robots, or major advances in technology.

  This book is primarily an adventure story, inspired by fantasy and other medieval styles, but applied in a science-y manner (I stop short of calling it scientific, as some of the science is imagined). In other words, I asked myself, “what if dragons were real, and distant planets could be populated from Earth? How could we explain that?” The Defender of Rebel Falls is the result of this process.

  Regardless of what you, the reader, were expecting, I hope you enjoy the results. It was sure fun to write.

  Erik Christensen

  The history of Selection Day goes back 250 years, with some historians suggesting it began in larger cities more than a hundred years earlier. In late autumn, boys of seventeen, having no land to inherit or master to apprentice them, sign contracts of employment with the Earl of their township. Although they may state their preferred posting, they are legally bound to work for whichever administrator selects them. Stories of wide-eyed young men seeking glory only to be chosen for some menial task are so common as to have become cliché.

  Planet of Hope: A History of Esperanza

  William Whitehall sat alone on a bench behind the crowd and waited for the announcement that would change his life. The old meeting hall was silent except for the occasional scrape of a chair or rustle of papers. He stared at the solemn dignitaries seated at the table upon the dais, grim-faced officers who decided lesser people’s fates. One of them called a name—he didn’t notice whose it was—and the hall echoed with footsteps as the chosen man walked up and accepted his billet. Another name, more footsteps. Sweat dripped from William’s newly-trimmed hair and landed unnoticed on the dusty floor.

  “Excuse me.”

  William jumped; a man pointed to the seat beside him. “Sorry I startled you, lad. Mind if I sit here?” William shook his head and shuffled over. The man plopped down with a thump and offered his grimy hand. “Eloy Haggard.”

  He shook Haggard’s hand. “William Whitehall.”

  Haggard’s eyebrows rose. “Orrin’s boy?” he asked.

  William nodded and turned his gaze back to the proceedings.

  A clerk handed a stack of papers to one of the dignitaries. “Your Lordship, that concludes the temporary positions.”

  Haggard grunted. “Good. I’m on time.” He pulled an apple from his dirty coat and took a noisy bite. Juice dribbled into his sparse beard as he rested his mud-caked boots on the bench in front of them. “Are you in the Draft?” he asked through a mouthful.

  William nodded.

  “What job?” asked Haggard.

  William hesitated. “Guard.”

  Haggard eyed him up and down. “Really? That’s mighty brave, a lad your size. My boy put in for Guard as well. Worth his weight in iron, my boy is, but he’d rather sit with his friends instead of me. Say…why aren’t you up front with them?”

  William followed Haggard’s gaze; he knew those boys too well. “They aren’t my friends,” he said.

  Haggard gave him a funny look, and began to speak, but a loud voice from the front interrupted him. “Are we ready for the permanent selections?” Bradford Masterman, Earl of Marshland Crossing, filled the large high-backed seat at the center of the table. His thick silver chain of office rattled as he glanced at the men on either side of him. When they nodded their assent, he waved at the old man furthest to his left. “Go ahead, Cairns.”

  William groaned.

  Haggard chuckled. “They always do the boring ones first.”

  “I know,” said William.

  “It’s so the boys who don’t get chosen for the good jobs won’t run away.”

  He glared at Haggard. “I know why they do it. And I wouldn’t run away.”

  “Well, I didn’t say you would, lad. No need to get snarly.”

  William shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just nervous. I’ve…worked hard for this.”

  Haggard dropped his apple core on the floor. “Old man Cairns sure is taking his time. Do any of the Draftees even know their letters?”

  “Just me,” said William. “None of the others were in my classes.” Haggard’s jaw dropped; William raised an eyebrow in response. “What? Wait, never mind…he’s about to make his selection.”

  Cairns, the old Librarian, stood and smoothed his charcoal gray robe and cleared his throat. “The Library selects William Whitehall for permanent employment.”

  William stared, his face frozen as his mind reeled in denial. His hands shook as he reached for the seat in front of him. He glanced around the hall for any hint that it was just a mistake, or that someone was playing a nasty joke on him. The faces peering back gave him no comfort; most were grinning openly at him. When his gaze returned to the Librarian he knew for certain that his destiny had been stolen.

  “You stupid old man,” he said under his breath. He slumped into his seat and hung his head as he tried to forget years of sword fighting lessons and countless hours of practice, all made pointless as a paper blade.

  Haggard shook his head. “That’s tough luck, lad. But maybe—”

  The Earl glanced at the uniformed man to his right. “Any objections, Captain?”

  William gasped and looked at Haggard. “You’re right! Sir Hendrick can appeal. I know he will. He has to!�
�� William’s knuckles turned white as he clung to the bench in front of him and held his breath.

  Sir Hendrick Mattice barely turned from his papers as he shook his head.

  The Earl scribbled a note and spoke loudly without looking up. “Very well. William Whitehall, you are ordered to report to Lester Cairns, Administrator of the Library, the morning after tomorrow.” William leapt to his feet, the bench behind him rattling as it recoiled. The Earl peered across the hall at William with a puzzled look, as though he hadn’t even noticed him before. “Unless you have something to say about it?” he asked.

  William froze. The Earl’s decision would be final. If he didn’t speak now he would be trapped forever in a job he hadn’t asked for, forever barred from joining his father’s order. He groped for the words that would convey how wrong—how unjust—this selection was. But what could he say without offending the officers before him? The floorboards creaked as he shifted from foot to foot. Every pair of eyes in the hall watched him, every ear listened for his feeble protest. He resisted the urge to run, but could not force the words past his constricted throat. His vision blurred, and he became dizzy; he reached for something to hold on to, and dropped to his seat when his hands found nothing.

  “Well, you’re certainly quiet enough to work in the Library,” said the Earl. William’s face burned as laughter erupted around him. On the dais, only Lester Cairns remained silent.

  Even Haggard sported a gap-toothed grin. “No one believes his heart will be broken on Selection Day, do they? But somehow it always happens. Don’t worry, lad…you can always run away to the Port and try your luck with the boats. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must go see my boy. It looks like there’s a spot on the Guard for him after all.” He cackled as he kicked his apple core into the aisle and sauntered away.

  William slouched deep into the bench, trying to avoid notice while the other seventeen-year-olds were selected for jobs according to their skills, or lack of them. He heard names called again, followed by their designations: laborers, pages, servants. He glared with jealousy at those whom Sir Hendrick named to the Guard, and seethed when the lucky ones—Haggard’s son included—aimed their gleeful smirks his way.

  “Pick up your apple, boy.”

  William jumped. A gray-haired official glared at him from the aisle. “That’s not mine,” said William with a gulp.

  “Do I look stupid to you? You’re the only one on this bench, aren’t you? King’s boots, the lack of respect among young folk today—it’s a disgrace.”

  “Sorry.” William’s ears turned red as he picked up the core.

  The clerk crossed his arms. “Have you been selected yet?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The clerk pointed to the door. “Then you need not be here any longer.”

  William held the spit-covered apple by the stem and slunk into the early evening drizzle. If there was any relief in leaving the Meeting Hall, it was short-lived. Before him stood the massive Library, the only stone building on Administration Hill, its walls rising far above his head. It mocked him, its pure white stone a reminder of the symbol he would never rightfully wear.

  In a surge of anger his arm shot forward and hurled the apple against the edifice with a satisfying splat. What remained of the core fell to the ground, and a thin trail of green juice trickled down the wall to join it. The stain pleased him; it was a mark of defiance, his rebellion against the Librarian’s injustice. A gust of rain washed it clean, removing any trace of his action. He turned away in disgust.

  He kicked at the gravel as he strolled past the other buildings. A startled cat hissed and scurried behind the Earl’s office in search of more secluded hunting grounds. William envied the cat’s clear purpose, its simple answer to a calling it had known from birth. He himself had no place to go, and nothing to do.

  Drizzle gave way to downpour, and a stiff wind penetrated his ragged coat. He was close enough to home that he could stay dry if he hurried. He shook his head. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He could go to Jack’s house—no, that wasn’t an option either. Two places in town where he was welcome, and he wanted neither of them. There wasn’t a person alive whose company he wanted right now.

  By long habit, his feet turned onto a side path about halfway down the hill. The cemetery was isolated and peaceful, away from buildings and prying eyes. He spotted it easily: the headstone emblazoned with the white fist, standing in its place of honor beneath a giant willow tree. William sat on the cold, hard ground and stared at the fist. That emblem should have adorned his own shield after today. He picked at the moss-covered grave marker and read the words as he revealed them: “Lt. Orrin Whitehall. 499 - 535. Slain while defending the innocent.” Grief washed over him as it hadn’t in ages. Nine years had not filled the hole left by his father’s death, but until now one truth had always comforted him: that one day he would take up his father’s sword, and his place in the Guard. A voice inside him asked, “What now?”

  William heard footsteps in the gravel behind him and felt his stomach tighten. He cringed in memory of countless beatings, closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable nickname.

  “Hey, Whitehands! I heard you’re gonna be a bookworm!”

  William pushed himself from the ground and faced his challengers. He glared at the largest and addressed him in measured tones. “A Librarian, Oz. Not a bookworm.”

  “Same difference,” said the second boy, who glanced up at Oz like a dog begging for a treat.

  William snorted. “That doesn’t even make sense, Brady. It’s either the same, or different. It can’t be both.”

  Oz strode forward and shoved William in the chest. “Teaching us to talk right already, Willie? What do you think, Kirby? Does he sound like a bookworm to you?”

  The skinniest bully circled behind William. “Librarian. Bookworm. Who cares? With pretty white hands like his, it’s not like he’s gonna be someone important…like a Guard.” Oz and Brady laughed while Kirby sneered, his black eyes fixed on William. Kirby’s greasy hair brushed against William’s cheek as he leaned in from behind. “Look at the bookworm shiver. Are you scared Willie? You should be.”

  “I’m just cold!” William gritted his teeth and spun toward Kirby. His back was exposed to the others now, but he knew who the greatest threat was.

  “He’s scared. I can tell,” said Brady.

  Kirby snickered. “You see? Even Brady knows you’re scared. Your little white hands are all bunched up, just like your Daddy’s white fist there. But you won’t do anything; you never do. In fact, I don’t even think you’ll try to stop this.” Kirby stared at William as he backed up to Orrin Whitehall’s grave.

  William heard the urine splatter, even smelled the stench, before he could believe what he saw. His voice shook with rage. “King’s teeth, Kirby…do you have even the slightest idea—”

  Kirby’s eyes sparkled. “Oh yes. The look on your face tells me everything I need to know.”

  Oz’s belly shook as he howled in laughter. “Who on Esper thinks someone like you could be a Guard, Willie Whitehands? Not even Sir Kevin, I bet. Where is your precious body guard anyway?”

  William whirled around. “I’ve told you before, Oz, he’s not my bodyguard. He was my father’s Captain.”

  Kirby spat on the headstone. “His Captain didn’t do him much good, did he? So now he’s your bodyguard.”

  “No…he retired, and then he taught me sword fighting.”

  “He was fired, you mean,” said Oz.

  “That’s a lie,” said a voice from within the willow. All four boys jumped in surprise and stared up at the tree.

  William peered through the branches as the other boys backed away. “Sir Kevin?” he asked.

  “You three! Leave this place immediately or we will open fire,” said the voice in the tree.

  Oz frowned. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

  “Ready, boys?” asked Sir Kevin.

  “Ready,” responded several other voices.

&
nbsp; Oz and his gang retreated further, but not enough to satisfy the commanding voice. “Fire!” William heard several rocks rain down as the bullies turned and crashed through the brush to escape. He grinned when one of them yelped in pain—Brady, it sounded like. He could still hear them fleeing when a thump at the base of the tree caught his attention. A dark figure picked himself off the ground and grinned at him.

  William scratched his head. “Jack? What are you doing here? And where’s Sir Kevin?”

  Jack’s walnut-brown eyes twinkled. “How should I know? I’ve been in this tree for hours.”

  “Then who was up there with you?”

  “No one,” said Jack.

  “What about the voices, the rocks…”

  “Will, you’re as gullible as they are. Which was useful, since it convinced them there were Guards in the tree following a retired Captain who was ready to attack them with rocks. Since when do Guards hang out in trees and attack people with rocks?”

  William laughed, embarrassed he had believed it. “How did you manage it?”

  Jack started down the trail to town. “Ancient Gypsy secret.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me. How long were you up there, though?”

  Jack hesitated. “Since the draft started.”

  William jumped in front of Jack to stop him. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Jack stepped around William.

  William grabbed Jack’s arm. “Jack! Why did you spend all day in this tree?”

  “It’s nicer than all the other trees in town.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Jack looked skyward and exhaled slowly. “Because you’re predictable, Will.”

  “What—”

  “You are so predictable! Why do you think those idiots found you right here, right now? If they could figure it out, then I could for sure. The real question is why can’t you?”

  “What in the King’s name are you talking about, Jack?”

  Jack buried his face in his hands. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”