Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel Read online

  Book Two

  Seeker of the Four Winds

  A Galatia Novel

  Seeker of the Four Winds

  A Galatia Novel

  ~Book Two~

  Copyright 2014 by C. D. Verhoff

  This is a work of fiction. Name, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by C. D. Verhoff. Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved. Seeker of the Four Winds, a Galatia Novel, and the Galatia Series are trademarks of the author. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission.

  For additional information about this book or the author:

  Website and Blog:

  http://cdverhoff.blogspot.com/p/books.html

  Facebook Page:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/C-D-Verhoff-Author/106424996172224

  1. The main category of the book — Fantasy. 2. Another subject category — Epic Fantasy 3. More categories — Paranormal, Dystopian, Science Fiction, Adventure, Religion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books By the Author

  Glossary: Characters, Places, Things

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  (Michael Penn)

  A bell tolled in the distance as the last ember winked out in the small hearth. I prayed for a miracle, but the upcoming battle seemed inevitable. The stone walls of my holding cell sucked up every bit of warmth, leaving behind a damp chill. As I sat at an unvarnished table fresh from the workshop, I lowered my BIC pen to a spiral notebook, and wrote: Is this the end of the human race—again? My rheumatic right hand screamed for aspirin, but none was to be found in this miserable place.

  I went over to the window, pressed my face against the frost-covered bars, hoping to see what was happening down below. Buildings with stone foundations and wooden walls at various stages of construction lined the cobblestone street. Their beams looked like skeletal limbs reaching from the grave toward the silvery light of the waxing moon. Primitive street lamps stood like an honor guard in symmetrical formation along the sidewalk. Our engineers were still working on a way to power them. So the city of Galatia remained dark, but hopeful.

  I flinched as hundreds of voices rose in a shouting match. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see a damn thing, but it sounded like an entire stadium of spectators was about to riot. The language was English, so I knew that tension between the citizens of Galatia had finally built to a head—and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. My mother, the beloved matriarch of Galatia, was on her deathbed. The armies of the Western Alliance were camped on the borders of our capital. If we failed to prove our right to settle this land by sunup tomorrow, they would march into Galatia with swords, spears, bows and war hammers to tear her down.

  I began to pace in front of the window. How did I—a former altar boy from Ohio, with a penchant for puppies, Pokémon cards, and cheeseburgers—land in the middle of a war against our humanoid descendants?

  “Lord,” I looked past the wooden beams in the ceiling, “hasn’t the human race paid for its crimes in full? Why do you continue to play with us like a cat torturing little blind mice? If you are truly a merciful God, save us or end us, once and or all.”

  The shouting outside was getting closer. I tried to catch a glimpse at what was happening below—couldn’t see a thing, though my ears told me that disorder was erupting a few blocks to the north. Knowing that two of my brothers were at the center of the conflict, opposed to one another in their political ideologies, I worried about their safety.

  “Is anybody out there?” I called through the window, my voice echoing down the row of newly constructed shops.

  I yanked on the bars. Designed to withstand the strength of Gargoes, my efforts were useless. This wasn’t an official jail cell—just a holding room for interviewing witnesses or possible suspects. The furnishings were meager—a cot, a blue blanket with a white IPFW University logo, a stadium chair, a wood-burning stove, my notebook, and a box of tissues.

  Was it my imagination or did the cold wind bite harder here on future Earth than it had back when I was a boy living in the modern age? The nights were definitely a deeper dark and the brilliant stars contrasted against the black more intensely. Change no longer surprised me; over the course of fifty-plus years, I had learned that nothing in this life was permanent, not even the mountains themselves.

  However, there was one torch amid the gloom, and that was my charismatic vision of the missing Josie Albright and Lars Steelsun. As long as they were alive, I had hope that our beloved Galatia might survive events of the morrow, but doubt gnawed on my innards. How could two ordinary kids from our sheltered underground bunker accomplish what kings, queens, scholars, and magicians had failed to do? All a man in my position could do was pray and wait.

  Chapter Two

  Nine Months Earlier

  (Larsen Drey Steelsun)

  The members of the Red Squad guided their horses along a wide hollow of rippled earth. Lars surmised the formation was a result of a volcanic eruption that had occurred sometime between the destruction of Galatians Bunker and the present, during that hundred fifty thousand year time span his people had leapt over quite by accident. To his right, a waterfall of black rock rose up forty or fifty feet. Ivy studded with beautiful white blooms garlanded its length. Prince Loyl warned Lars and the handful of riders in his company not to get too close. The ivy was a carnivorous clonal life form that hunted by entangling its victims and digesting them over the course of several months .

  “I never would have guessed,” Josie replied, visibly shuddering. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Besides Prince Loyl, Lars a
nd Josie, the group also included Lindsey Burning, a beautiful red-head and talented sharp shooter; Rolf Marshall, the expert outdoorsman and equestrian with the shaggy blond hair; and Dante Armstrong, a muscular fighter of African descent who also happened to be Josie’s brother-in-law. Taking the rear position was a Bulwark warrior, Hogard: Basher of a Hundred Skulls. Hogard had reddish fur, a stocky build, with arms as thick as tree trunks and two horns like a Brahma bull’s. His skills as a tracker and fighter made him a valued member of the group.

  Lars guided his horse away from the dangerous vines and stopped at Prince Loyl’s command. The Regalan’s cat-like eyes scanned the horizon with a look of deep concern. Following his gaze up the trail ahead, Lars only saw lemony sunlight spilling over bushy hilltops textured like gigantic mounds of green popcorn. Behind the squad, thick green stalks topped by purple and pink foliage as big as basketballs swayed in a gentle breeze. The scenery was breath-taking, that couldn’t be denied, but his appreciation of the natural world was tempered by the loss of modern conveniences. The food and shelter that had come so easily in the posh underground city where he had grown up was a real bitch to find up here on the surface. And of course, up here the risk of death was a constant.

  A dozen shadowy figures on horseback emerged on the crest of the next hill. Now what? Lars thought, hand going to the hilt of his sword as a wave of greed, lust and violence burned through him. It wasn’t his own emotions that he was feeling, but those his charismatic ability had picked up coming from the shadowy figures. Lars mystically rode the most violent current of emotion to its owner—a Commoner in a duster who was running his fingers along the edge of a short sword. The man was literally thirsting to take a life. Was this what people meant by blood lust? Lars didn’t know, but he found it disturbing to know a man could feel such things. Touching such a person’s psyche was like diving into a cesspool of sludge, leaving the taste of shit and vinegar in his mouth. If sin had substance, odor, and weight—Lars felt like he was rolling around it like a dog.

  “You disgust me,” Lars muttered under his breath, which made the Commoner’s hands fly to his ears. Did he just hear that? Lars marveled. The Commoner crouched in the saddle as if the hand of God was coming to slap him off the face of the Earth. Eager to cut his connection to the revolting man, Lars let his consciousness snap back into his own body.

  Prince Loyl of the House of the White Rose put a finger to his thin lips for silence, swiveling his pointed ears to catch noises far fainter than humans could hear. Dante held up his hand to halt the other Galatians as more men appeared at the top of the hill behind the original group.

  “These guys are bad news,” Lars found himself saying. “They’re going to attack us.”

  “Lars is right,” Loyl said. “I can hear them talking; they plan to rob us, have their way with the women, and then kill us.”

  Dante cursed under his breath, reaching over his shoulder to unsheathe the long sword on his back. The bandits moved a little closer and the leader emerged ahead of the pack with two of his bandits flanking him.

  “Give us your horses, and your women if you know what’s good for you,” the leader yelled down the hillside.

  Loyl asked calmly, “And why would we want to that?”

  “Because you have five men—women don’t count—and we have twenty. You’re outnumbered three to one.”

  “Uh, boss, that’s four to one,” another bandit corrected.

  “Shut the fuck up, Redding,” the boss snapped. “So, hairball, you can make this hard, or you can make this easy. What’s it gonna be?”

  Loyl spoke to the squad, barely moving his lips. “We’re outnumbered, but they are out-skilled, I’m sure of it. Josie and Lars—you both need to make your first kill, and this is as good a time as any.”

  Lars’s heart quickened. His voice came out a hoarse squeak, “You want me and Josie to take on all of them alone?”

  “Greenhorns,” Hogard said from the back, brandishing his horns in annoyance.

  “Of course not,” Loyl replied. “We’ll thin them out for you.”

  “I can’t do this,” Josie said, her eyes huge and frightened, her skin washed out like bleached white bread. “I just can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?” Loyl said, narrowing his slanted eyes. “This mission was your doing, so you’d better.”

  The bandits started down the crest of the hill.

  Loyl waited until they were thirty feet away before nocking four arrows, fanning them out between his fingers. Each arrow hit a different bandit—including Redding and the boss. Lindsey’s gun was out of its holster. She took down four in a row like wooden ducks at a shooting gallery. The bullets sounded like musical notes as they twanged over the hill. The bandits hesitated.

  “The red head is witch!” one of them cried out. “She kills with boom!”

  The surviving bandits turned to flee as Hogard charged, snorting like the wild bull he resembled; he seemed to be having a jolly good time swinging his spiked ball. He bashed in the head of the first man, and then the second. It was the first time Lars had ever seen him smile.

  “Don’t let them get away!” Loyl ordered the squad. “If they have a hideout somewhere, they’ll alert the rest of their gang to our presence. And we don’t want that!”

  Rolf stayed in his saddle chase down a mounted bandit. He chopped off the rider’s head with one full swing of his sword. The violence of the act shocked Lars and he froze.

  “Snap out of it, kid,” Dante said. “And I’ll bring you home with a story to make your father proud... Hey, you guys, save some for me!” Dante swiped off the arm of a big Commoner with a potbelly. Then he finished him off with a jab deep into the heart.

  Lars’s heart thumped in his throat. This was the day he had been waiting for his whole life—the opportunity to prove that he deserved to be treated like any other man, not marginalized because of his defective shoulder. It was time to prove that his detractors had been wrong about him all of these years. Charging into battle with a rebel yell, he went after the three remaining bandits.

  Lindsey reached for another clip for her pistol, but Loyl clamped a hand over her hand, shaking his head.

  “Let the young man wet his sword.”

  She reluctantly lowered her weapon, but kept her hand on the trigger as if she expected Lars to falter.

  Dante, Hogard and Rolf backed away, leaving Lars flanked by the last two bandits. The bandits circled Lars while nervously glancing at his companions.

  “Josie,” Loyl said encouragingly, “Get in there.”

  She vigorously shook her head and squealed like a frightened child.

  “Don’t be afraid, little cow,” Hogard joined in. “You got moves, you got speed, but do you got courage?”

  Refusing to look at either of them, she remained frozen in the saddle.

  Lars held his sword in his left arm—his good arm. Calling upon the charisma for increased strength was tempting, but no, he wanted to do this the old-fashioned way, with flesh and bone alone—how else would he know his worth? The first bandit looked to be about twenty-five and the second one was probably fifty or so.

  “Your job is to eliminate the threat,” Dante said, like a coach giving him a pep talk. “Don’t think of anything beyond that.”

  The youngest bandit stepped toward Lars, swiping his blade in two swift downward thrusts, forming a V. When his sword was down to the bottom of the V, Lars swung horizontally at the bandit’s neck. The blade went through flesh like a knife through hamburger. His opponent’s blood sprayed across Lars’s chest. The vibration of metal striking bone traveled through the blade and into his hand.

  Although Lars had lopped through his vertebrae, the bandit’s head didn’t fall off, but hung by strings of muscle and sinew. His eyes blinked once and then remained open, shocked, as if he couldn’t believe his bad luck.

  “Behind you, greenhorn!” he heard Hogard yell.

  Lars spun to see a sword above his head about to cleav
e him in two.

  Without a moment’s thought, Lars ran his sword straight into the man’s belly. The bandit collapsed into Lars. When Lars caught him, and peered over his victim’s shoulder, he could see twelve inches of blade coming out of the man’s back.

  With a yelp, he shoved the body away. It slid off of his sword, leaving a reddish-black coating of jelly on his sword.

  Acrid bile rose up in Lars’ throat. He had dreamed of this moment since the first time he held a sword, but shouldn’t taking a life require more than ten seconds? Pissed at the senselessness of it all, he heaved his sword as hard as he could, not caring when it disappeared in the tall grass.

  “Whaddaya doing, ya idjut?” Hogard shouted. “That’s a good way to lose a sword, stupid calf!”

  Prince Loyl sent Hogard a scornful frown, while Dante wrapped an arm around Lars’s shoulder.

  Oh, great, Lars thought. My eyes are watering. They’ll think I’m a wimp that can’t suck up the pain.

  “I remember my first kill,” Dante said, giving him a reassuring pat. “It was shortly after we arrived in the future—the day King Doyl forced us out of our first settlement.” Dante glanced over at the prince, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I sliced a Regalan soldier right through the eye. I threw up in Jo’s lap.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “I thought the Regalans were our friends?”

  “It’s complicated,” Dante whispered, “Individually, I adore the Regalans. As a kingdom—not so much.”

  “Complicated indeed,” Loyl said wryly.

  “Josie,” Lindsey asked loudly, almost gleefully, “why didn’t you fight when there was a buffet of humanoids to choose from?”

  “With Annie Oakley here to shoot helpless fish in a barrel, I figured my services weren’t needed.”