Fated blight, p.1
Fated Blight, page 1
part #1 of The Sum of Ages Series
FATED BLIGHT
THE SUM OF AGES, BOOK 1
By Benjamin Schwarting
© 2020 Williams & Rose Publishing LLC.
www.williamsandrose.com
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes.
ISBN-13: 9781952853005
Cover design by: Vivid Covers
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
BOOKS BY BENJAMIN SCHWARTING
THE SUM OF AGES
Fated Blight
Tainted Vessels
Harrowing Echoes
Waning Haven (coming soon)
DAUGHTERS OF THE STORM
Kindred Straits
Razed Harbor (coming soon)
VOWS OF THE VOID
The Gutter Prince (coming soon)
For free early access to upcoming releases, sign up to join the official Williams & Rose Publishing ARC review team.
To my brilliant, talented, longsuffering wife. You slogged through endless, terrible drafts, you encouraged me when I was ready to quit, and, most importantly, you taught me empathy. Thank you, Kalee.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Books by Benjamin Schwarting
Dedication
PROLOGUE: AN INCLEMENT FORECAST
PART ONE: THAT WHICH WAS LOST
CHAPTER 1: AN ISLAND WITH NO NAME
CHAPTER 2: MORNING MISCHIEF
CHAPTER 3: DEEP WATER
CHAPTER 4: SHINY NONSENSE
CHAPTER 5: A KAIZO CONTRACT
CHAPTER 6: BACK-ALLEY BALANCING ACTS
CHAPTER 7: A POISON IN YOUR BLOOD
CHAPTER 8: CAPTAIN BRILLO
CHAPTER 9: AFOUL OF THE ROCKS
CHAPTER 10: JUST LIKE ME
CHAPTER 11: BLOOD ON THE WAVES
PART TWO: THE LIGHT FROM THE DARKNESS
CHAPTER 12: WALLS
CHAPTER 13: THE BEAST
CHAPTER 14: TAKEN
CHAPTER 15: A BRUSH WITH THE ETERNAL
CHAPTER 16: HE WHO REMEMBERS
CHAPTER 17: THE MURAL
PART THREE: PRECIOUS IN THY SIGHT
CHAPTER 18: SOMETHING MUCH BIGGER
CHAPTER 19: THE MARK OF HEAVEN
CHAPTER 20: THE SAMAY LAWAS
CHAPTER 21: DANCING WITH SHARKS
CHAPTER 22: ONE LAST JOB
CHAPTER 23: PRIDE, PLANS, AND PLALOMAS
PART FOUR: INSTRUMENTS OF CRUELTY
CHAPTER 24: TRAITORS
CHAPTER 25: FRIENDS ON THE INSIDE
CHAPTER 26: THE HEARING
CHAPTER 27: SUPERSTITIOUS MADNESS
PART FIVE: WHEN HER WAVES DO ROAR
CHAPTER 28: SEA OF SICKNESS
CHAPTER 29: THE BLACK POD
CHAPTER 30: THE PLIGHT OF KA JIYA
CHAPTER 31: IRON SIDES
CHAPTER 32: HOPE OF THE CAPTIVES
CHAPTER 33: STRENGTH TO ACT
CHAPTER 34: FIRE ON THE WATER
EPILOGUE: BEAUTIFUL BOY
The story continues...
The Aetorium Anthology
Kindred Straits
About the Author
To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one’s family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one’s own mind. If a man can control his mind he can find the way to Enlightenment, and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him.
Just as treasures are uncovered from the earth, so virtue appears from good deeds, and wisdom appears from a pure and peaceful mind. To walk safely through the maze of human life, one needs the light of wisdom and the guidance of virtue.
Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai–The Teachings of Buddha
PROLOGUE: AN INCLEMENT FORECAST
TAKODA COULDN’T LOSE this harvest. The hay was all he had. So, with the whip of fear at his back, he moved too quickly through dawn’s meager glow. He didn’t bother to pace himself against his thumpy, bumpy heart, he didn’t stop to wipe the grit and sweat out of his eyes…
…and he didn’t notice the dark things creeping through the shadows beyond his field.
Takoda had lost a harvest once before to marauders, but that was way, way back. Back when his clubbed tail had barely finished blooming to spikes. He had been a younger, stronger man back then, with them quick little fingers and a real slippery tongue. He could probably find a way to get by if things came to that this season, but he was so close to market, you know? Thunder and hail, he was so close… Having to go back to picking pockets and smooth-talking wallies after a harvest this fine?
Well, that would be a real ugly thing indeed.
Dawn of the first harvest was always a bad morning, but today was downright urgent. It was them nasty weather predictions. He’d been talking with some of the other farmers, and they were all just as skiddy, diddy scared as him, you know? From what the outlanders could tell, the storm’s front looked bad. Real bad. Like a bad batch of potatoes bad. The day before had been sweaty, and the evening that followed had been calm as a cold knife. That meant the chilly morning breeze against Takoda’s itchy neck was just going to keep getting worse and worse. Black gales, thrashing sands, and a shredded, scattered, useless harvest.
Like so many outlander farmers, Takoda had poured the entirety of his savings into this year’s crop. So, with that fear still cracking at his back, Takoda did what his mama always told him to do when life got bleak.
He sang.
“The sun was playing with her hair, when that wallie Vallin made me swear
“That I would always love her till I died.”
“He said son the world’s right bitter cold, and when you both are getting old,
“Just keep love’s sunshine singing on inside.”
“But storms they came with hail and snow. I cried to him where we gon’ go?
“So Vallin built that wall for us to hide behind,
“Yeah, Vallin built a wallie place to hide.”
Takoda smiled at the sad, lazy tune. It was a wallie song, for sure, but it was still a goodie, you know? Especially after he’d gone and spruced it up a bit. There was just something special about that silly, wallie legend. It made his insides get all soft and fluttery. And you didn’t even need a drum or nothing to sing the song! But singing songs without drums?
Or dancing?
Or roaring fires?
Takoda shivered at the thought.
What would his poor mama think? It was another one of them bad, Centile habits he’d picked up after he’d left his village. Maybe that was why his luck had been so rotten lately…
Maybe he was starting to turn wallie on the inside too…
He glanced up at the pearly, peeking gleam coming through the eastern mountains as he scooped another great armful of hay into his wooden cart. Were those clouds getting faster, or was he getting slower? He had been up most of the night already. Just watching, cutting, packing, waiting, stressing, and yet there was still so much to do, you know?
Mi cola, there was still so much to do…
So, Takoda kept on singing.
“And when my love was sick abed, I called for Vallin and he done said:
“He’d find a way to cure her of her ill.”
“He ran the whole world round, and then, he went and ran it all again,
“And like the wind his feet went blurry, whirly shrill.”
“With thunder, yeah, his voice was filled, and from his fingers lightning spilled,
“But in the end, he healed her with his will,
“Yeah, that wallie healed my true love with his will.”
Takoda snorted. “Feet like the wind, yeah?” he muttered. “Wouldn’t that be something…” He couldn’t help the icky, sticky bitter feelings bubbling up in his empty stomach as he thought about it. The plains of Centile were not a forgiving place to farm. Water was scarce, the heat was intense, and the winds could wipe out a year’s worth of labor in a matter of hours. Sometimes minutes.
Poof. Nothing left. Just a sad farmer.
Each season was a gamble. Some outlander farmers would be rich as inner-district wallies one year and then down-in-the-ditch-destitute the next. So much depended on luck, weather, and the will of the wallies that year.
Takoda didn’t take no chances on trendy crops or fancy fields. He was perfectly fine sticking to hay: simple, stable, sellable hay. And he always cultivated it on his bitsy two-acre field. No money wasted on hired hands. No seasonal help. Just enough space to feed himself and reap a profit. And, with no family to support, Takoda was truly free to fend for himself. Free as the wind, you know? Yes sir, free as the plains! It was how a telak was supposed to live!
But all that sparkly freedom sort of lost its appeal on mornings like this…
So, with nothing else to fill the lonely, Takoda’s smoky voice rattled out the third verse.
“Them years went by and I had no bread, and Vallin came to my tent and said,
“Take th is seed and toss it on the plains.”
“So, I took it from his shiny hand and in an instant, poof! All the land
“Was filled with fruit and golden corn and grain.”
“And from that rocky, grouchy soil, without no plow or sweat or toil,
“He harvested the fields without the sun or rain,
“Yeah, he harvested them fields without no rains.”
And as if on cue, a little spritzy, speckling of rain dotted his dusty cheeks.
Takoda plopped his load into the cart and gave the sky the grumpiest look he had. He picked a couple of straws out of the buttons of his worn, cloth shirt and bent down again, compressing all four knees of his two double-buckling legs to take the strain off his crackly back.
He had time. Rain or no rain, he had time.
If he kept this pace he would be on the road before midday. Maybe even at the southern gate. He just had to keep pushing, you know? Keep distracting himself from the storm and the fear and the achy, shaky feeling in his bones.
So, he kept on singing… Kept on distracting himself…
“And when that dark stuff gathered in, and all that’s good was lost to sin,
“Dear Vallin… Vallin… something, something… dire?”
“Bah!” Takoda swore and spat. Thunder and hail, he could never remember that last verse. It was a weird one anyway, and he didn’t have no time for wallie nonsense right now. He wiped his brow, grabbed another armful, and stuffed it into the cart.
* * *
The sun was up now, and the plains stretched out like a sleepy cyove to meet it. More importantly, Takoda’s cart was finally loaded. He yanked against the last end of twine and cinched it down as hard as he could around a bent nail in the wooden side. He was tired, filthy, itchy, sweaty, and more than a wee bit stinky, but at least he wasn’t too cold no more. That was something, right?
Got to look on them bright sides every once in a while.
The chill of early morning work was the hardest part of farming. Takoda was quite certain. Telaks needed sun, you know? He stepped back from his cart and let the morning’s first rays flutter over his wrinkled, leathery face. The dawn hadn’t burnt off the clouds, though, and his grumbly, mumbly gut knew they would keep on building in the distance…
No time to rest yet.
He checked the bridles on his two lahartos one last time. He bundled up his cloth tarp and stakes on the seat of his cart, just in case. Then he checked the bridles on his lahartos one last, last time. The burly lizards stood cold and still on their pillar-like legs. They were grumpy and lumpy and rumbly about the drizzly rain, but they were good boys. Their faces were wide-mouthed and round, with blunt teeth, blunter snouts, dull yellow eyes, and stubby tails. Takoda patted one of the brutes and pulled his jacket over his tan, hay-scratched arms. The cold-blooded lahartos looked downright miserable about life, but Takoda had no sympathy for their whimpers. They’d warm up before long.
He gripped the back of his cart and hoisted himself up onto the seat, carefully swiveling his tail around to his thigh. He picked out a stray piece of hay caught between the four load-bearing toes of his left foot using the toes of his right, then he flicked it away with a grouch and a snort. He flipped up his hood, guiding his long, pointed ears through their slits in the cloth, and pulled the reins up to his lap with a practiced snap.
The grimy, grumbly red beasts snorted their guttural protests, but they obeyed. The cart jerked forward and pulled away from Takoda’s homestead. He winced at the blinding glare of the rising sun and glanced back at his cabin. It wasn’t much: porous stones, weathered beams, and cracked clay, but it was all he needed, you know? It took him too long to learn that.
All them wasted years trying to live in the city…
But that was in the past. He’d finally come to his senses and went crawling back home to Mama Mountains and Papa Plains. He couldn’t stomach all the wallie politics in Centile, you know? His name alone made most of them stuck-up Centileans clutch their purses and glance around for the nearest guard. And, they usually did it before he’d even picked any pockets! The nerve. Far better to trust the land than them brillo bigots under the shield.
Takoda’s cart pulled up over the hill at the edge of his field. The rising sun was so bright he could barely see the dirt path in front of him. It made the world look dark and colorless, like it wasn’t quite real. He pulled down on the brow of his hood, squinted through the glare, and felt his icky gut finally start to settle. There were figures moving just over the next ridge. That had to be the caravan gathering on the main road. He’d actually made it!
Takoda’s heart let out a big old sigh, relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with the gates all by himself. A single farmer could count on getting stopped by the city guard, but it was hard to bully two hundred outlanders rushing the sentries at once, you know?
The smell alone was usually enough to make them brillos back off a pace or two.
Takoda chuckled at the thought. Served them over-stuffed wallies right. It wasn’t like the farmers were going to do nothing once they got inside. They never stayed more than a night, just long enough to keep their wares safe under that sparkly shield of theirs. They’d sleep in the streets until the storm passed, trying their best to keep to themselves. After that, it would be off to the markets outside the city center, or to go restock the silos along the outer wall, or maybe to–
Something shot across Takoda’s path, making him jump right out of his toes and tail.
He straightened his back and swiveled his ears forward. The sun’s light had been too bright to see it clearly, and it had moved just under the glare cast off the ridge ahead. He wiped his eyes and brow. Maybe it was just some sweat blurring his vision. Maybe he was just seeing stuff. He had been up for a real long time, you know?
Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy… he scolded himself. Maybe his tired eyes needed–
It moved again, much quicker this time.
Takoda yelped. It couldn’t have been a blur. Not twice in the same place. He strained his eyes, but it was gone now, whatever it was… Poof. Just a squeaky quick flash against the shadows. Takoda closed his mouth to keep his teeth from getting all chittery. He was used to seeing small, burrowing things hopping and scurrying across the plains, but that one had been so big…
A cyove perhaps?
No. He cast the thought aside. It had been roughly their size, and on all fours too, but it had been thinner than the big canines. And hairless. Its slender arms and round head had looked almost like a telak’s…
Memories of marauders smacked him like a club-tailed toddler with a stick. Could there really be a raiding party out here? This was too close to the Centile for a pandilla, wasn’t it? Even the nastiest, gutsiest bandits wouldn’t strike along the city’s main patrol routes, would they? He snapped his reins three quick times, trying to rush the lahartos up over the ridge. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to meet it out of line of sight of the caravan.
Just as it began to pick up speed, Takoda’s cart jerked to a complete stop.
He felt the wood lurch beneath him as something real heavy pressed against the back of the cart, pulling hard on his lahartos, and harder on his buzzing heartstrings. The lizards grunted but settled quickly, too cold to protest with any passion.
Takoda raised himself up on his palms, craning his neck to see over the mound of hay behind him. The spiked tip of his tail twitched like a pine in the wind. The bandits would probably let him go if he surrendered the cart without a fight. He could even run ahead to the caravan and warn the others. They might be so thankful they’d give him some money to cover the loss. It was worth a shot, you know?
But only if he could avoid a slit throat…
Wood creaked and popped as a tremendous load hefted itself onto the bed of his cart. Takoda was too trippy, dippy scared to be confused or curious. He stood quietly, his long toes curled around the front of the cart like a bird gripping a branch, ready to spring off into a sprint at any instant. He didn’t think he’d be able to get one of the lahartos free in time, but if he ran now he could probably avoid a fight…
