The EverGreen Episode 3: Order of the Rooster A NEW Short Story Series | Free PDF Episode 4 EARLY RELEASE For paid Subscribers
Within the confines of a lawless land, a newcomer traverses ancient territory. Where one must fight to survive...
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LAST TIME ON….
THE EVERGREEN
Marcy, an outcast, traversed the engulfing wilds of the Evergreen Forest. Bore witness to a band of rogues falling victim to a force of armed boys. Disappearing among the green, she took refuge in the shade of a tree, where the echo of far-off chanting drew her to a darkened wood. There she was seized by a passing troop of armed boys who took her captive.
Awakening within the confines of a cabin, she was met by the blind master Rutger, who presented her with assassin’s blades found within the green. With the stain of blood upon her past, she turned away from them, fleeing unspoken deeds. Welcoming her among his flock, Master Rutger introduced those same boys who had apprehended her—the Roosters, an army of orphan boys who bring order to a lawless land.
With a gentle smile, Cole reached toward her. She felt his beckoning and her callused hands moved toward the warmth of his palm.
“No, the bowl!” He chuckled, forcing an innocent laugh from Marcy.
Looking toward the bed, she marched over and handed him the half-empty bowl.
“Thank you.” He turned, then halted. “Are you going to join us for second dinner?” Another chuckle escaped her at his earnest question.
With a crooked smile breaking across her face, she said, “I think I might.”
EPISODE: 2 Stranger in a Green Land Part 2
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EPISODE 3: ORDER OF THE ROOSTER
The smell of cooked pork sizzled over the rising campfire where a pig turned on a spit, tended by two boys who nodded their heads to the sound of congas ringing over the large encampment. Marcy felt the warmth of flame upon her face as she rested on a hardened stump softened by a hand-woven feathered quilt, littered with leafs that turned white along with the forest as evening broke. Her eyes trailed across the clearing surrounding the cabin, a large fire pit rested sunken into the ground. Around the fire sat boys of all ages, each adorned with simple leather tops or fabric tunics. Some of the older boys wore chainmail over their dirty clothes, each carrying either a smile or a strange gloom upon their faces, each assumed to be an orphan of the EverGreen.
A tug on her cloak made Marcy turn. The young orphan, Cole gazed up at her through tired brown eyes.
“May I sit beside you?” He squeaked.
With a forced smile, she nodded. “Why do you want to sit beside me?”
He shrugged his shoulders in response.
The snap of wood within the fire drew her gaze to an older boy with short brown hair, built of lean muscle.
“He likes you,” the boy said. “We don’t get many visitors.”
“Is it true?” A child’s voice echoed behind her.
She tilted her head to face three boys, each a stunning mirror of each other, one taller than the next.
“Are you here to train with us?” the youngest said.
“Or teach us,” the second tallest added.
“Tom, all of you...not now.” Rutger’s voice spoke over them as he approached with a stack of wooden carved plates.
“Teach them?” she asked as he sat beside her.
“I was not going to ask you, nor did I consult the boys.” Rutger handed her a plate. “We don’t get many trained warriors through here, and I suppose rumor spread quite rapidly.”
“I am no teacher.” She said.
“Nor was I. Eat, don’t worry your mind.” He held his plate out as the short-haired boy approached with a pot of torn pork. Hefty meat fell upon the plate, hot juices drenching over the rim.
The grand smell enticed Marcy and Cole to lift their plates. The short-haired boy served them with a smile. “There ya go.” His eyes lingered on her longer than a casual glance required.
Looking toward a puddle by her feet, she saw her mirrored visage, the strange diseased markings crowning her face. She gripped that awkward vulnerability and thrust it down into her heart where the beast of guilt feasted upon it. A strange groan escaped the surrounding white-hued forest, signaling evening’s arrival. As if acknowledging her stare, soft accents of voices humming escaped the white. The sound of the congas grew louder in response.
“It can feel your fear, our elder green, or white in this case,” Rutger said. “Without the forces of nature to remind the inhabitable of dusks arrival, we would be lost people.”
“Is it alive?” Marcy asked.
“Of course. Everything is alive. The forest is neither good nor evil, though it can be influenced.” He explained. “It is the way of nature, so many fail to listen...Yet here, it is master.”
The older boys’ began a chant, joining the congas, Rutger released joyful laughter, beckoning Cole to join them. The boy kicked his feet together, biting into his food.
A guitar’s strumming weaved into the chorus of boys in a rhythm that many joined, bobbing their heads, tapping the tables and stools they rested upon, humming along. The elder boys danced back and forth with hands in the air, cheer and joy erupting across the campfire as food was served. Wind picked up from afar, shifting leaves swayed to the retorting beat. The short-haired boy placed his serving cauldron down and, struck with joy, hopped upon one of the many tables surrounding the fire.
His brothers removed their bowls and plates without prompting, laughter abounding as he danced upon the top of their table.
With a voice of angelic authority, he released a tune about the camp: “Beneath the ash of fallen skies—”
The boys at his table raised their voices together in great chant: “We rise, we rise, where shadow lies!”
Atop another table, an elder brother carried the song: “Our crow ascends, a piercing call—”
His table chanted in response: “No chain to bind, we stand tall!”
Clapping hands accompanied the singing and celebratory dance throughout the camp as an outbreak of joy assaulted the dark. She felt the shift, his words sinking within her. That pulsating aura struck her like a mighty wave, leaving treasure upon the beaches of her heart and forcing an undeniably true smile upon Marcy.
Then the short-haired boy yelled as the congas came to a swift stop: “SHAL’ASH ZOR’KHAL, TAH’REM VOR’NA!” Words unfamiliar, a broken, unheard language. The camp joined in response, this ancient unknown speech weaving through the air. That palpable aura of celebration took form, the fire growing and shrinking to the sway of their voices. Looking down, she saw young Cole muttering along with them, ominous yet commanding words that brought forth life, a sensation of hope flooding over fear.
A chuckle escaped Marcy as the living aura found her. A Strange sensation of goosebumps crawled across her skin, coaxing another, louder laugh that escaped without control. Biting into her food, juice from the cooked pork ran down her face as that smile refused to flee. She swayed back and forth, tapping her foot to the beat and joining the ceremony.
Deep within her inner forest of darkness, the beast roared in fearful mystery—a sound drowned by the banging congas and strumming guitar. Their celebration roaring throughout the late evening.
The soft buzz of cicadas brought forth the next day. Marcy found the shimmer of light assaulting her pupils, coaxing her awake. She arose under wool from a skinned deer laid atop her. Bowls from their feast scattered about the floor while children pattered about, cleaning the evening’s celebration. She lifted herself up, a groggy yet accomplished feeling greeting her. Marcy’s parched throat led her to the shared well some feet from the crackling fire’s remains.
From afar, echoes of a ram’s horn forced the heads of many resting boys to raise.
“What’s that?” she asked.
She tilted her head down to meet the warm embrace of his childish palm resting within hers, meeting the eyes of Cole.
“Someone’s been attacked,” Cole’s soft voice chirped. “They must see the smoke somewhere.”
The beast of guilt snarled within her as the welcomings of an unknown danger struck against the inhabitants of the forest. Behind her, hefty steps of horses trotted past the makeshift road lacing their encampment.
“They’re going to meet the enemy, if any still remain,” Rutger said, exiting the cabin. The short-haired boy rushed past her toward far-off stables.
“Ride with them,” Rutger suggested. “See what it’s like.”
She looked down the path the short-haired boy had taken and followed. Young Cole waved goodbye as she carried herself to the stables. “I’ll see you at the village!” He called.
“Come to join us?” the short-haired boy said. “Name’s Fernando.” Exiting the stables, he carried a second set of reins. “Follow me. It’s never too far...”
Taking the leash of a white horse’s reins, the creature released a loud neigh. She placed her hand upon its coarse hair, and it lowered it’s head to her touch. Feeling it’s welcome, she mounted the steed and followed Fernando down the winding path. The surrounding green reached toward their flesh as they followed the trail of kicked up dirt. Crackling fire burned beyond the bend, its darkened embers irritating them with the charred scent of torched homes.
Trotting before a large ridge, thickening brush gave way to a wide expanse revealing the terrible visage of burning remains. Cries of women and children drowned beneath the battle of farm workers and bandits.
“We wait here!” Fernando steadied his horse near the ridge. “The boys know what to do.”
Rushing hooves behind them kicked up dirt as boys on horseback paced toward the base of the hill. They lined up against one another, wooden shields strapped to one hand, long javelins in the other. Half their force dismounted and rushed toward the surrounding brush where village met wilderness.
“Clever tactics,” she observed their cunning ploy.
The horsemen charged, releasing that awkward crow of a rooster as they thundered forward. The sound stole the attention of weary bandits busy slaying farmers. Their rogue forces scattered like disturbed ants across a canvas of green. White steeds rushed with javelins held high. From surrounding brush came the disturbance boys rushing forward with swords in hand and wrist-strapped slingshots throttling walls of pebbles and stone. Trails of fire now ran red with the vengeful spilling of outlaw blood.
“No battle should last longer than a couple minutes,” Fernando said, head held proud at the outcome. “Flash combat equates to quick victory.” Looking over her shoulder, younger boys on mules rushed past, bearing water, food, and rudimentary medical items that clanged about. “I can take you back to camp. The Roosters can handle it from here.”
“I want to see the damage. I want to see what you defend against.” Marcy said.
“Very well. I assume you must be used to the spilling of blood?” Fernando asked.
“Yes, unfortunately so.” She said.
Cries of innocents permeated the air, punctuated by the scent of torn and burnt flesh mixed with the bold odor of sizzling brush. Peering down from her trotting horse, she witnessed a poor girl hovering over bodies of fallen boys.
“What happens to the girls?” She asked.
“We have a place for them, secure and far away with widowed mothers and fathers. It’s one of our best-kept secrets, far from the rogues.” Fernando replied.
Their horses continued forth, examining bodies, the many children left beside loved ones.
“How common is this?” Marcy asked.
“Too common. The origin of many Roosters is but an echo of these atrocities.” Fernando said.
The trotting of distant horses turned their heads. At the village’s far end, a contingent of pristine knights traversed the scene under the unfurled banner of the Doternite Empire.
“Bird lovers,” Fernando muttered as they approached, witnessing young boys giving medical aid to crying orphans. “This is a rare sight.”
“Hail.” A visored face scraped words from under an adorned helmet of white, fashioned with engravings of roses and thorns. His eyes remained veiled.
“Hail,” Fernando replied. Looking to his side, he noticed their guest, Marcy dismounting her horse and turning away from them toward the young Cole, who tended to the wounds of a brunette child in despair.
“Are you okay?” She knelt beside Cole, who glared at her with surprised eyes.
“We are fine.” His high-pitched tone carried confidence.
“I’m hurt.” A muddied girl added, holding forth her bleeding arm where bits of wood protruded through, reddened flesh.
“Do you know how to tend to these wounds?” she asked Cole.
With unblinking eyes, he nodded and turned to the suffering girl, who grunted at his light touches.
She looked over her shoulder toward Fernando on his white steed, the knights trailing down the path from which they’d come.
“What was that?” Fernando asked.
“Nothing.” She marched toward her horse.
“Did not appear to be nothing. Are you in trouble with the law?” He asked. “They have little true authority here.”
She mounted her horse in silence, pulling the reins and coaxing a neigh as it turned.
Fernando wore a gaze of confusion as Marcy paced through the village, returning to the safety of their encampment.
“Ferny!” A voice caught his attention, he laid eyes upon his fellow Rooster.
“Anders, don’t call me Ferny.” Fernando replied with a tone of frustration.
“Worry not,” Anders replied, “the battle was swift, I see you were babysitting.”
“And she hurried away.” Fernando replied, “I am not sure of this one.”
“The Masters will see to her,” Anders said with a shrug, “they always do...Now come on, we got some rogues to hunt!”
“Afraid not, I must see to her.” Fernando replied, “happy hunting.”
The boy’s shared a smile as Anders paced away from the village, joining a band of their brethren gathered to slay the remaining rogues. Fernando looked over his shoulder, gazing at the far off women as a cautious feeling engrafted him.
To Be Continued Next Week…
EPISODE 4: THE DARK
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