Hope in the Shadows

by Umut Ersezer

  Hope In The Shadows

  Umut Ersezer

  Copyright

  © 2019 Umut Ersezer

  Acknowledgments

  To Anna, my wife, for always believing in me.

  To my parents, Erhan and Nursen, for their infinite patience.

  To my sister, Pinar, for having my back from the very beginning.

  Thank you to Brinelle Hateley for her amazing cover and map art.

  To the reader,

  I am forever grateful to you for choosing my book to read. I truly hope you enjoy the epic adventure that is about to unfold within the following pages.

  ** Chapter 1 **

  Vicus

  Volare Fortem opened his eyes to be welcomed by the sting of sunshine cascading through a square opening in the timber and mud wall.

  He rolled away in his straw bed, desiring more precious minutes of sleep. A commodity that seemed increasingly rare these recent weeks. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt restless all the time. He longed to calm his mind but didn’t know how. As if on cue, his stomach gave a deep grumble, urging him to get up and eat something.

  “Volare! Volare!” called his father, Calidum, who was in his late thirties. Everyone called him Cal.

  The gods conspire against me, Volare thought.

  With more effort than should have been needed, he pushed aside his covers and dropped his feet to the cool timber floor.

  Cal threw the door open peering in to find his son sitting on his bed bathed in warming sunlight. His strong, broad shoulders filled the doorway. Years of tending to the farm and village had built him up.

  He was a stocky man with tan coloured skin and deep black hair. His eyes were darker still but twinkled like that of the night sky. Many considered him to have a handsome appearance, a face that seemed to embody strength. The village needed that strength of late.

  “Time to rise Volare, there is fish to catch and veamber to harvest,” Cal said in an attempt to make it sound pleasing.

  At sixteen years old, Volare was already tired of his chores. He used to look forward to going out in the rowboat with his father to fish and tending the fields with his younger brother of ten years Amet.

  It used to be fun, Volare thought while visibly sighing. However, recently, the king’s demands for resources to sustain his growing armies had increased, straining the village to a breaking point.

  Volare had heard some of the adults sharing rumours and whispers in hushed tones about stories of war in distant lands.

  “Can we play soompa today, father?” Volare pleaded.

  “You know we can’t, we must meet the quota,” Cal responded with a look of concern and a deep furrow forming in his brow.

  Cal knew he was pushing his boys harder than he should. But he didn’t have a choice; he knew of the consequences if the quota for each month was not met. At first, it was achievable, and Cal could still balance the life of his family between work and play. But demands increased relentlessly and so did expectations of his boys.

  They worked all day and well into the night consistently now. It weighed heavily on him, the conflicting feelings of guilt for pushing his family so hard while knowing this was the only way for them to remain safe. His relationship with his wife Fidum also suffered. The strain was visible on everybody in the village. But they persevered, as always, they had no choice.

  Volare put on his simple grey cotton tunic, slipped into his brown leather working shoes and made his way for the door. His tunic felt looser than they used to. Volare had always been skinny, but the lack of food to go around was taking a toll. Cal placed his hands on Volare’s shoulders looking down upon him. Volare looked up to meet his father’s gaze, the tiredness apparent in their eyes.

  It was a moment of connection that both of them had missed for a long time. Volare missing his father’s strong but affirming presence, and Cal missing the cheeky smile that used to stretch across his son’s face. How long would these conditions continue? Cal thought.

  “I promise things will get better son.”

  “When?” Volare replied

  “I’m not sure, but I know it will. I don’t know when, but until it does, we must remain strong.” Cal said and gripping his son’s shoulders more tightly.

  “You’re growing so fast, and I’m so proud of you with the way you look after your brother and mother.”

  Cal embraced his son in a bear hug, one which Volare was deeply grateful for. He found comfort and rest in his father’s embrace but knew it would be short-lived.

  Why couldn’t he be strong like this father? Volare thought.

  Cal and Volare both stepped out of the hut to find Vicus in a frenzied commotion of activity. Citizens were hauling timber, stones, food and water all to be taken away by the soldiers. Vicus was a simple and peaceful village to the north of Dritura, or at least it used to be.

  It rested alongside beautiful white sandy beaches and blue waters. It was always productive serving the kingdom and its people with fine goods and food. King Hastam rarely intervened in the affairs of the village for not wanting to upset the delicate balance of freedom and rule. Until the past few months, that is.

  Will they leave anything for us? Volare thought.

  As if the kingdom wasn’t enough, the sun too pushed down upon him. Even in the mornings, the summer sun was bearing down onto his smooth tan skin, his black hair with sun stained blonde streaks flowed in the breeze. His eyes refracted a deep navy that shimmered like the ocean under the moons glow. Even in his youth, Volare commanded the handsome looks of his father, while maintaining some of the softer, more delicate features given to him by his mother.

  “I need to head to the port to organise the cargo shipments son. Your mother and Amet need your help in the fields,” Cal said.

  “Can’t I come with you?”

  “Sorry son, not this time.”

  “I never get to come with you! I’m sick of the fields, I’m sick collecting the veamber, I’m sick of this village and its stink, I hate it here!” said Volare angrily.

  He didn’t know where his outburst had come from; he had never spoken to his father that way. He had been feeling angry for a while but found himself pushing his emotions deep into the recesses of his mind. He felt there was a lot more to say to his father. He missed him with the kind of passion only a son could; his father was never around anymore.

  Cal stared at Volare with a look of surprise.

  “You will do as I ask Volare,” Cal responded in a tone that reminded Volare that this was his father he was speaking to.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you can go back home and do nothing,” Cal retorted with some venom in his voice.

  Volare briefly considered this option but quickly realised he would be just as frustrated doing nothing as he was toiling in the fields.

  What’s wrong with me? Volare pondered.

  He looked at his father, his face wearing an expression of sternness. He seemed short of temper and lacking his usual patience as well.

  “Volare, I understand you want things to go back to the way they were. I want that too, but the truth is I don’t know what the future holds. I think you’re old enough now to know this truth. The world outside our village is changing, in a manner that I don’t pretend to understand. We are caught in this change and must do what we can to survive.”

  Volare felt embarrassed at his outburst. His father always knew how to calm the storm within him. It grew ever more tumultuous as he became older. It stemmed from deep within him, a place in which seemed to be his very core.

  “I will see you tonight for dinner. I have been saving some streaky keef meat for a special occasion,” Cal said with a growing smile across his face.

  Volare love
d keef meat; it was sweet and juicy when cooked over a campfire. He missed those nights where he and his family gathered around a fire to share a meal. It had been too long since the last one.

  Volare, let a small smile appear in the corner of his mouth. Cal caught sight of it and placed his hand on his shoulder once more. With a nod, Cal headed off to the port.

  Volare sighed and accepted the duties he had to attend. He wheeled around, taking in the sights and smells of the bustling village as he walked down its busy streets. Ahead of him lay the small market square where all manner of merchants and stalls offered goods and services for the village and tourists.

  Volare enjoyed making trips to the market where he could see all the latest toys, tools and contraptions that had been built by the wood and metalworkers.

  The fishmonger was there, his voice in full force trying to sell his catches of the early morning, but his offerings and customers seemed to be dwindling by the day. He hung garlic around his stall to not only sell but ward off the birds from stealing his livelihood. There were usually tens of them circling above waiting for their chance to swoop in for an easy catch, but not even they were bothering anymore. The strong smell of seafood combined with garlic, always put him off too.

  The merchants calling out for customers, the smells of the oils, timber and food all coalesced with one another. In such a small space, it could be overwhelming during the height of activity, but these days the energy of the market was dampened.

  One merchant who had seen his business grow was the local blacksmith Faber. A dwarf who had been shunned by his people to the west of Kragea in the land of Nni. Volare was fond of Faber; he was a well-built dwarf, as wide as he was tall. His fiery red hair and beard covered most of his face where you could only see the tip of his nose and dark brown eyes.

  He had never told anyone why he was shunned by his people, to be sent away to live elsewhere, but no one here seemed to care. Or if they did, they kept their concerns to themselves. The quality of life in the village had improved significantly since the arrival of the master smith.

  “Ho Volare!” Faber called out. “Come’ere boy, I wanna show’u somethin!”

  Volare’s eyes lit up as he dashed over to the smith’s shop. He loved the sights and sounds of the smithy. It was a dark shop with most materials being black or grey, but Volare found the red glow of the forge and melting of iron alluring. He loved watching Faber shape blocks of metal into works of art. He wondered if he could become a master smith himself, but that dream had been dashed with recent events. Faber always loved building unusual contraptions alongside the paid mundane jobs of building tools and weapons.

  On the walls hung all kinds of tools, from scythes, hammers, fence struts and the always in demand horseshoes. He also had a wall filled with weapons of war, huge halberds and swords sharpened to a razor’s edge.

  They were foreboding objects, and the armies’ resource collectors that now frequented Faber’s smithy loved looking through his new wares.

  Weapons were his best sellers now, to fuel a war in which he knew nothing about. Faber never felt comfortable with this; how could he? Knowing it was his weapons that were bringing death and destruction to people he had no qualms with, but he could hardly refuse the demands of the king and his armies. He didn’t mind the gold received either.

  He wanted to show Volare his latest contraption.

  “Faber, what have you got this time!?”

  “I call this one, the gun,” Faber said as he handed the metalwork contraption to Volare. It was small enough to fit inside the palm of his hand. It had a barrel protruding from its body with a small hammer to the rear. Underneath was a handle to hold onto.

  “What does it do?”

  “Watch.”

  Faber took the gun and pushed what seemed like a small metal sphere down the barrel. He pointed the gun at Volare, pulled the hammer back and pushed the button to release the spring mechanism. The hammer smashed into the metal sphere and shot it straight out of the barrel at an alarming speed. It hit Volare square in the chest.

  “That hurt!” Volare cried out, rubbing his chest.

  “Ha!” Faber exclaimed with pride. “Imagine the tricks you can play on Amet with this thing boy,” Faber said with a massive grin on his face.

  “It’s my latest invention, but I don’t see another use for it beyond annoying some people around you.” It certainly didn’t have the power of a crossbow.

  Volare took the gun back and loaded it with a metal sphere, this time pointing it at the smith. Faber held his arms to his hips and puffed out his chest ready.

  “Release!” Volare shouted.

  The metal sphere shot out to bounce harmlessly off the smith’s colossal chest. It gave Volare satisfying feedback and a slight recoil to shoot it.

  “Ha! It is no match for I,” Faber cheered.

  “I love it!” Volare, looking down at the gun in his hands.

  “You can keep it, boy.”

  “What? Are you sure? It’s your only one?”

  “I can build anotha, and it’s my gift t’you. Let it serve you well on your adventures of annoyin Amet and your father.”

  They both cheekily grinned at each other, thinking about the kind of mischief Volare could get up to. No one knew a contraption like this existed. It was their little secret.

  “Just don’t go shootin your mother hey Volare,” Faber said with a big red bushy eyebrow raised. “She’ll hav me hide for sure, a fiery woman that one!”

  Volare nodded in agreement, pocketing the gun.

  “Oh!” Volare exclaimed. “I have to get to the fields.”

  He had forgotten he was due to be helping his mother and brother.

  “Off with you then, boy!”

  Volare set off for the fields.

  ** Chapter 2 **

  The Arrival

  Volare continued walking through the small streets of Vicus, between the huts and merchant stalls. The fields were on the outer edges of Vicus spreading into the lands around it. These crops of veamber and strapecot were unique to only a few of the villages in the country of Dritura. The salty soil composition and seaside location of Vicus made it ideal for growing the vegetables.

  They also grew the more widely available fruits and vegetables further inland such as asparagus, beetroot, broccoli and tomatoes. But it was veamber and strapecot that were the most lucrative; Volare’s family-owned two land portions for each vegetable. Veamber was a nutritious whitish hard vegetable with red pockets of sugar nestled into its flesh. It gave a satisfying crunch when bit into with a small burst of sweetness if you found a red pocket of sugary nectar. Volare had it for breakfast nearly every morning while he harvested.

  Strapecot was a tall green stringy plant that could be peeled and separated into smaller slithers. What made strapecot unique was its antiseptic properties. It had been long known that its sap would stave off infection better than anything else known. But harvesting the juices from its thin, stringy flesh was labour intensive.

  Volare approached the outer edges of Vicus and crossed the crest of the hill to see his mother and brother working in the distance. The land here was divided into equal portions of square and rectangular plots, weaving their way deeper into the neighbouring forest. Vicus and its lumberjacks had also seen a boost in their business as more land and lumber was required to develop farms to source the army.

  These portions took on an appearance of their own depending on what was grown. Large swaths of the land were awash with the colours of fruits and vegetables. The area had changed so much since Volare was much younger. He was shocked by it all whenever he found himself reflecting just how different things were now.

  His mother Fidum spotted him, waving him to come over with a beautiful smile across her face. Even working in the fields under the heat, Fidum held herself with poise and elegance.

  She was as tall as Cal with lighter brown hair. Her eyes were piercingly blue, like the clear sky. They would stand out from a distance
taking on a lustre unmatched by any other. She, like Volare’s father, was muscled from the day to day duties. The daily work gave her the strength and fitness of youth.

  Amet wearing a large circular hat far too big for his head also spotted him. He gave Volare a big grin. He was always smiling. Why? Volare wondered how? No matter the circumstances Amet always had a smile across his face, enjoying even the most mundane of activities and jobs. Did I used to be like that? Volare wondered.

  He jogged over to his family and embraced his mother and brother.

  “Glad you could make it, I was wondering if your father was going to be able to get you out of bed,” Fidum said teasingly while giving Volare a poke to the shoulder and some veamber to eat.

  Volare gave a slight blush; he was embarrassed by his earlier outburst. He would make it up to his father later, maybe even let him have a turn with his new toy gun.

  “Sorry, mum, I’m here now, what can I do?”

  “You can start by pulling up these strapecots. These here are ready to be harvested,” Fidum said while pointing to a patch of deep green strapecot.

  Fidum always portrayed a sense of warmth towards her boys. She loved them dearly as any mother would, but she was also feeling the guilt Cal was carrying. How could she be gentle with the needs of her rambunctious boys but still make sure they hit their quota. It was becoming harder and harder.

  Nonetheless, Fidum always tried to wear a smile for the boys to try and reassure them everything will be okay. But she wasn’t so sure anymore. The rumours she had been hearing from visitors to the village were growing profoundly concerning. Some reports were outright unbelievable.

  In the distance on the main road through the forest came a deep rumbling noise. A slow approaching noise that Volare hadn’t heard before. As it grew closer, he could make out individual hoof steps on the ground, sending vibrations through his toes. The horsemen rounded the corner, as Fidum grabbed Volare’s and Amet’s arm, holding the boys behind her. What’s happening? Volare thought. He had never seen his mother do this.