Birth of a Hero Read online

  Birth of a Hero

  Book 1

  Justin Cartwright

  For the children and adults who love stories

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1: The Town of Ganwin

  Chapter 2: Sarah

  Chapter 3: Death in the Night

  Chapter 4: The Crowning Ceremony

  Chapter 5: The Wandering Man

  Chapter 6: Horwin, the Blacksmith

  Chapter 7: The Lord and Lady of Shamsake

  Chapter 8: Captive

  Chapter 9: The Forgotten One

  Chapter 10: The Forest Mother

  Chapter 11: Dharma

  Chapter 12: The King on the Other Side

  Chapter 13: Betrayal

  Chapter 14: The Return of Hector LaBelle

  Chapter 15: The Lake of Promises

  Chapter 16: The Lady of the Lake

  Chapter 17: The Shadow of War

  Chapter 18: In the Walls of the Town in the South

  Chapter 19: Return Home

  Chapter 20: The Fight for Liberation

  Birth of a Hero

  Book 1

  By Justin Cartwright

  Copyright © 2016 by Justin Cartwright

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Alex Villarreal

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without expressed written permission from the author; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1: The Town of Ganwin

  Lying in the south of the land of Eclestia was the peaceful town of Ganwin. Its walls, made of tall brick, roughly eight feet high, housed hundreds of inhabitants. There were four gates on the wall, one on the north, east, west, and south ends. The people lived an isolated life. They were not in much contact with the rest of their land. Things might have been different in days of old, but the town as it was, was one of care for only what happened in it. Little was known of the outlying areas, although to some those matters were thought important.

  Ganwin lied near a stream, its waters flowing gently through the grassy plains, greener than any eyes ever did see; the leaves were lush and full and exuded the splendor of life.

  Stretching outward from the center of the town loomed a massive castle. Sitting on the throne was the dignified King Galfer, son to King Garwen, son to King Gallen, and so forth, in a line of kings that had long ruled over Ganwin. For seven years, Galfer had ruled, following his father’s passing in old age.

  King Galfer was a light-haired man with thoughtful eyes, kindness seen in them by his people. Benevolence, wisdom and consideration were carried upon his fair voice. Physically, he stood at the throne, but he did not try to place himself above all others. He believed that he must put himself in the place of the people and exact his power as best he could. Peace, justice and honor were at the top of his concerns.

  At the king’s side was the royal priest, Salkar Stadeus. The priest was a man worn with the years that had come down upon him. For as long as the townsfolk could remember, Salkar was there, by Galfer’s side, and his father before him. He was seen as a very wise man, fit to serve by the king. Something as of late, though, had been troubling the people of Ganwin. A shadow seemed to be growing under his heavy brow. Perhaps, they thought, it was just what came with the years of responsibility laid upon an elderly priest. They sought not to trouble themselves about it without need.

  Eclestia was but one land on the earth. Lying to its north was a land unknown to the people in Ganwin. Far across the ocean, to the west, lied what was known to some as the Dark Realm, a place people seldom spoke about. Darkness was said to cover every stretch of the land, the Sun never showing its rays. Long ago people inhabited the Dark Realm, but it had become barren of life, or so it was told. No one would dare journey there, and they had no need.

  ***

  The morning light started to spill through the window in Ing Roan's bedroom, as his eyes slowly opened. He got out of his bed and got dressed for the day ahead. After he said farewell to his mother, he headed out to meet his friend, Shamil Tabberly at the pond nearby, where they liked to fish oftentimes.

  “What took you so long?” demanded Shamil once Ing arrived.

  “I guess I overslept,” said Ing, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. The sound of the rushing water made him feel even drowsier.

  Shamil already had his rod in the water and had just got hold of a fish, from the look of the tension on the string. He was an excellent fisher, the talent coming to him naturally. “I got it,” he said excitedly, pulling the fish from where it dangled helplessly on the hook. It was of a dazzling rainbow color—a variety rarely seen—the bright scales sparkling in the morning Sun. The sight captured the eyes of the two friends, its beauty unparalleled by the other fish. Afterwards, Shamil tossed it back into the water where it would once again swim free. He never liked to keep his prey; as Ing knew well, it was his belief that all life should be treated as well as any man.

  Ing prepared his rod and cast it into the pond, but he was not as lucky as his friend. Every time he felt tension on the string he would try to reel in the fish, but it would somehow escape him without fail. Each subsequent time he would tell himself that that was the time he would finally get it, and he believed it was true, but to no avail. It went on like that for several hours, leaving him feeling undeniably annoyed. He scowled at the reflection of himself in frustration, and placed his rod on the ground, sitting himself in the soft soil. “How is it that you have caught more than a dozen fish, and I haven’t caught a single one?”

  “You’ll get it someday, my friend,” said Shamil, looking amused at Ing’s annoyance. He was older than Ing and he never tired of beating him at something. It was a sort of sport to him. “Come on. Let’s go. I don’t want to beat you too bad.”

  “You already have,” groaned Ing.

  The two friends started heading back towards their town of Ganwin. When they got inside the gates, Shamil spoke up. “Oh, I just remembered. Did I tell you about Arlene’s new pony?”

  “Arlene has a pony?” asked Ing. “Where did she get it from?”

  “She found it outside the walls of town nearby. Apparently it was lost.”

  “What was the pony doing just wandering around out there?” Ing questioned with a confused look on his face.

  “I’m not sure,” said Shamil.

  Ing and Shamil crossed through the dirt streets of the town and soon ended up at the ranch which was home to their good friend, Arlene Gondweth. The three of them had been best friends ever since they could remember. Arlene lived on a ranch with a stable, which the pony was being kept inside.

  “Hey, Arlene,” said Ing once they arrived.

  His friend was standing in the stable where the pony was being kept. She had a look of expectancy on her face. “I see you told Ing about our new friend,” Arlene said, directing the question to Shamil. The girl was young and pretty, with a face like her mother's, and light skin similar to Ing and Shamil. Her blonde hair flailed in the wind and blew at her white silk dress and her eyes were the blue of the ocean that brought calm upon Ing when he looked into them. He could also see her father in her as well.

  “Show him the pony, Miss Gondweth” said Shamil eagerly. Ing could tell he could not contain his excitement. Shamil seemed to have an interesting affection for animals; in a way it seemed he cared for them more than people. It was as if he saw a certain beauty within them—a certain simplicity.

  “She’s right over here. I haven’t figured out a name for her yet.” Arlene led them over to the corner of
the barn where the pony lay. The animal was a delicate-looking being with thick brown hide mixed with white that covered her legs and face. Dark eyes were set behind her long nose.

  “Isn’t she adorable?” said Shamil.

  “She is,” agreed Ing as he reached out to pet the animal on the head.

  “You can feed her if you want,” said Arlene, handing a bag of food to Ing. He delivered it straight into the pony’s mouth as it let out an anxious whinny.

  “I just remembered I have to get going,” Shamil said suddenly.

  Arlene looked upset. “But you just got here.”

  Ing turned towards Shamil. “Arlene’s right, Shamil. How could you want to leave so soon?”

  “I know. But I have to help my father out. He wants me to learn the tricks of the trade. You’ll understand one day, Ing.” Ing detected a hint of sarcasm in the way Shamil said, ‘You’ll understand one day.’

  He never can give me a break can he, were Ing’s thoughts. I’ll show him.

  “And what if I come along with you? Your father isn’t going to teach you arcane secrets that are for your eyes only, is he?”

  A smile appeared across Shamil’s face.

  So he wanted me to come with him, Ing thought. “You know you only had to ask.”

  “Oh, but would you have really come if I told you to?”

  Ing didn’t really feel like coming—Shamil’s father was a blacksmith and it had never sounded like fun work to him—but he decided he would do it for his friend’s sake.

  So the two friends headed over to his house where they were greeted by his father, Borad. His appearance could hardly be more unlike his son’s. He was a bear of a man with bushy eyebrows that sat atop two eyes that were rather like charcoal in a fire. A bulky nose protruded down into his lip region. The ears on either side of his face were quite large as well. In odd contrast to his size were his relatively small hands that he used to forge the peoples' bronze and iron.

  “How have you been, Ing?” the man asked. “I was expecting just Shamil to come home, but you can help if you want.”

  “I’ve been good.”

  Borad eyed the two boys for a moment and then looked down at his dirty hands. The two of them were still standing outside the front door to the house which Ing thought was somewhat odd—it seemed that Borad should have welcomed them in.

  Perhaps Borad does not wish for me to be here? thought Ing to himself.

  Ing felt uncomfortable and he could sense Shamil’s awkwardness as well.

  “Aren’t you going to let us in, father?”

  “Sure, sure, come in, come in. I must apologize for being so dirty, but such are the woes of a blacksmith. I’ve got a thing or two to teach you about hard work,” he said to his son. “But your friend can join. Only if he wants to though. I know how you like to drag him along when he’d rather have time to himself doing something else.”

  “Well, you know Shamil. He was eager for me to come along.” Ing smiled at his friend, but the feeling of awkwardness pervaded. He didn’t want to tell Shamil’s father that he would rather be doing just about anything else than doing blacksmith's work.

  “That’s fine,” Borad replied. “Come inside. I'll show you the forge, although as I recall, I think you've seen it before, Ing. I know Selenia has.”

  As they walked into the house, Ing whispered into Shamil’s ear, “I thought we were going to be standing outside your house until the Sun started setting.”

  Shamil didn’t respond, but judging by his expression the feeling was mutual.

  Borad led his son and Ing through the home and to the area where he did his forging. Shamil’s mother Scarlet was probably somewhere else like in the kitchen preparing food. The forging area was a relatively small room, with not much space to move about. A stifling sensation overcame Ing, causing a certain strain to his breathing.

  I wonder if it’s because of the dust that’s in the room, thought Ing. Or if it has something to do with the process of so many things being forged. Either way it doesn’t really matter. I could ask, but I don’t want to sound silly.

  “Forging a weapon is a rather delicate process,” the blacksmith said. “It requires work, time, and dedication. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t learn tricks to make it easier. Just watch me closely and follow my lead.”

  “Will do,” said Shamil.

  “Let’s get to work. Your mother will have dinner ready for us by the time we’re done.”

  The two boys worked laboriously as the Sun started to set in the sky above. Shamil was successful at the craft for Borad had taught him in the ways before, but Ing didn’t get the hang of it until the end. He ended up making a small metal cup which he kept as a gift for his hard work.

  “How do you do this so well?” asked Ing.

  “It’s easy,” responded Shamil, which frustrated Ing. He says that about everything. He looked at the metal cup and started feeling like all the work he had done wasn’t worth the result. Regardless, it was kind of rewarding to have something that he built himself.

  When the work in the forge was done, Ing set the metal cup aside and joined Shamil in the kitchen where Scarlet Tabberly had just finished making dinner for the two of them. She wasn't as slender as Selenia, but she wasn't as big as her husband either; Ing knew from pictures and what Shamil had told him that his mother used to be smaller in her day.

  Scarlet had bright red, curly hair and freckles to match that covered most of her body. She was a comely woman in her own way, although Ing wouldn't quite think of her as such since she was over twice the boy's age. The thing Ing had always found amusing about the relationship between her and her son was that he almost felt like they were more like brother and sister than mother and son. There was a certain way that he would joke around with his mother and pull tricks on her when she was none the wiser.

  “I hope you're hungry, Ing,” Scarlet said to him with a smile as they sat down at the table and she prepared to deal out the food to the two boys. “I know your mother says you eat like a bird.”

  Why do they always say that of me? I eat plenty. Just because I'm a little smaller than Shamil doesn't mean anything, we weigh similarly enough. It's not my fault I'm skinnier than most boys of my age. Or maybe most boys, period. Shamil has always been the stronger one of the two of us, but that doesn't mean anything. Maybe I have more wits about me?

  Ing laughed. “No, don't worry, I'm plenty hungry. I will gladly eat what you have to serve. But I'm not sure about tiny over here,” he said jokingly, patting his friend on the back.

  The next day, Ing and Shamil visited Arlene’s pony again.

  “She looks thirsty,” Ing observed.

  “We should get some milk for her at Helga’s shop,” said Shamil.

  “And what would we pay her with?” asked Ing.

  “We’ll figure out when we get there.”

  “If you say so…”

  Helga Grint was a cheery old woman who owned a little shop in one of the corners of Ganwin. She sold various wares there, from milk, to fishing rods, to bows and arrows. She was always happy to see Ing and his friends stop by. The woman was a portly lady with a plump belly and hair that was beginning to show white where once it was blonde. Helga had a kind smile that Ing liked and dark grey eyes sat beneath her brow. Her skin was light, but darker than the milk she supplied in her shop, to be sure.

  “Hello boys,” she said with a smile on her face. “What brings you here today?”

  “We’ve come to buy some milk,” Shamil reported.

  “I’ll tell you what. You bring me some honey, and I’ll gladly give you some milk. How does that sound?”

  “Alright, Helga we’ll be back.”

  “Let’s look around town for a beehive,” said Shamil.

  “I think I saw one the other day over by the fountain.”

  They traversed the streets with determination as they made their way towards the fountain and sure enough the beehive was there. There was but one problem.
>
  “How are we going to get it out?” asked Ing.

  “You’ll have to reach in there and get it.”

  Against his better judgment, Ing reached inside and scooped some honey into a jar. Luckily for him, there was only one bee inside. It left him with a nasty sting though.

  Back at the shop, Helga said, “So I see you’ve brought me the honey. That’s great. Here’s the milk that I promised you.”

  They thanked her and headed back to see the pony.

  “I still can’t think of a name for her,” said Arlene upon their arrival.

  “It will come to you eventually,” said Ing, as he gave the little animal some milk to drink.

  Chapter 2: Sarah

  Several days later, Ing was awoken in the night by the sound of voices coming from outside his bedroom. He slowly willed himself to get out of bed, although he was tired, and crept to the door. His feet moved slowly as he was not trying to make much noise.

  One of the voices he could distinguish as his mother’s, the other sounding like it came from an elderly man. The conversation went on for a little while.

  He could only make out a few scattered words here and there, but it sounded that it was a message of danger to come: something about having to leave Ganwin. His mother said that she could not do so, though. When the voices ceased he got back into his bed. In the morning, he would ask his mother of what had occurred. If only I had woken up sooner, then I might have heard all there was to hear. If only I had heard the full conversation, I wouldn't have to lay here wondering what was said. I should ask my mother. No, on second thought, it should wait until the morning, when the darkness doesn't pull so close. It's probably nothing to worry about. What danger could ever befall Ganwin? We are safe here and the man who says we are not is a fool. I will try to think no more of this tonight. It was hard for him to rest as he anxiously wondered who the man could have been. Ing tossed and turned until sleep finally overtook him.