Andalon Legacy Read online

  T. B. Phillips

  Andalon Legacy

  Children of Andalon, Book One

  Published by Andalon Press

  Copyright © 2022 by T.B. Phillips

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design, images ©

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  Book interior design by Stewart Design, https://StewartDesign.studio

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN 978-1-7331805-6-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Part I

  Seventeenth Summer

  Chapter One

  Robert sprawled on soft grass, bathing in warm sun and watching lumbering clouds pass slowly overhead. He listened as summer wind whistled through high branches, rattling pines as a reminder of its strength. The creaking in their sway informed the wind of their resolve, intent on bending as much as possible before eventually succumbing. High atop one, broad wings unfolded and slowly gathered that summer wind while carrying a solitary eagle upward. The boy marveled at the gracefulness with which it flew, yearning to join the voyage and leave the valley and the mountains behind.

  He ignored the splashing of water and joyful shouts of teens playing in the river not far from his meadow. They were happy sounds, but Robert felt almost to have outgrown them, thinking again of the eagle and how it too ignored the goings-on of those cursed to walk the ground. That was his fate, tied to the dirt of the world and doomed to live forever upon its back. If only the boy could soar like a bird.

  Though his heart craved journey, he would never leave his mother’s home until ready to make one for himself. That was the reason for the worry and why he clung to boyhood on this day, his heart brimmed with wanderlust but his mind overflowed with logic. This was his seventeenth summer, the marker of adulthood and harbinger of freedom to blaze new paths. His logical side won the brief battle over the boy within, and he thought again how leaving would affect his mother.

  Eusari wasn’t truly his mother, but that fact never mattered to the boy. Robert loved her dearly and bore her name of Thorinson. Shortly after his own parents met death during the Brother’s War, she claimed Robert as her own. She loved him and nurtured him, even after bearing two children of her own a half year later. Those twins splashing in the river were his younger brothers, born too late in the season to claim this summer as their seventeenth, but were almost men of their own by size if not maturity. Their merriment worked to lure him into momentary boyhood, drawing him to frolic and play in the water.

  Strangers found the twins nearly impossible to tell apart, tall and broad of shoulders, well-muscled for their age, with strong chins and flowing yellow hair. Their eyes shone from beaming faces like sapphires burning with internal light. They, unlike Robert who preferred to remain clean shaven, wore patchy facial hair with pride, each hell-bent on growing a full beard before the other.

  “Come on!” Franque called. “Quit dreaming about Tara and give me a challenge. I’ve already tossed Krist so many times, I’m afraid he’ll drown if he goes under one more!”

  Robert smiled as the older twin’s words incensed the younger and rolled over to watch them wrestle.

  Though born only a few minutes apart and equal in every other way, there was no mistaking Franque’s superior confidence over Krist’s. The twins stood a full head taller than Robert and seemed to have room to grow more as summer wore on. The broadness of their shoulders had always been noticeable but last spring had witnessed a thickening of each. Soon these boys would be mountains of men in both stature and purpose. He doubted either would remain to tend the farm, choosing instead a life of soldiering or maybe even as constables.

  Krist lunged at Franque and was easily pushed away, forgetting as always to set his feet properly. This infuriated the boy, who sputtered and spit water while righting himself to try again.

  “Were you really dreaming of me?” a soft voice asked from behind.

  Robert turned to see a Pescari girl standing a few feet away, her moccasins having muffled any sound of approach. He smiled up at her, a beautiful sight in the traditional buckskins worn by her people. The fringes and tassels swayed in the breeze, and her hair seemed to tease him as it fluttered about.

  “Or were you staring at Felicima,” she asked dryly, indicating the sun high above, “letting her burn madness into your mind and choosing instead to bond with that eagle and fly away to the city?” She added while kneeling beside him, “I think you want to run away and join the Dreamers.”

  “I would never leave any of you,” he admitted. “Mother needs help with the farm and I promised to give her one more summer before I venture off. I don’t want her to have to hire hands until after Franque and Krist make their own choices. Besides, you know how she feels about the Dreamers. She doesn’t want any of us to go near them whenever they’re around.”

  “Don’t wait for your brothers,” the girl protested, wiping raven locks from her face and revealing worried eyes and a furrowed forehead. Something bothered her deeply. “They’re spoiled selfish brats most of the time, not at all like you. As for the Dreamers, it’s your life to live now as a man, not Eusari’s to rule over.”

  Only then did Robert notice the redness around the girl’s eyes, no doubt raw from tears. “What wrong?” he asked. “Did you and Flaya fight again?”

  She nodded. Lately it seemed the girl and her own mother had been at odds over everything, their raised voices sometimes carrying on the night winds and through his window.

  “She threatened to take me away for my seventeenth year,” Tara admitted, “so that I may have my ritual among our own people.”

  Robert sat abruptly, his pulse racing at the thought of his best friend leaving, even for a year. The possibility brought pangs of loss as if she’d already gone. “But you don’t want to?” Robert asked.

  “No. I am not like my people, and I’m not like her. I may be Pescari, but only because of blood.” She pulled uncomfortably at the buckskins. “These, especially, have grown unbearable. They serve no purpose except to draw unwanted attention in town.”

  “But your father was shappan. Don’t you want to honor him?” Her father had also died in the Brother’s War. Robert envied the details she knew of him, the chieftain of his Pescari clan.

  “I do not believe in the ways of my father, for they are not mine. I’ve never even met another except those who bring news to mother. I cannot honor his memory.”

  These words shocked Robert. Spoken during daylight, they amounted to blasphemy. He pointed to the sun and said, “You say these things under the eye of Felicima. Do you reject her as well?”

  Tara tugged once more at her buckskins. “I don’t believe Felicima is anything but a bal
l of fire like the headmaster said.”

  Robert fell silent. Only a few days before, their teacher had ranted against her people’s beliefs, using Tara as an example of the need for science over religion. He had wondered why she remained silent instead of defending her culture and finally understood. She leaned toward agreement. Quietly he said, “Don’t listen to that man. He’s a jerk, and so is most of the class.”

  “Especially that new girl from Fjorik,” Tara agreed.

  “Greta?”

  “Yes, her. She’s turned many of the girls away from me, even those I thought were friends.”

  “Well, she’s a jerk, too. Maybe we should tell Franque and Krist and let them thump a few heads to leave a message.”

  “No!” Tara replied sharply. “No violence. I’m angry with them, but not angry enough to involve the twins.”

  Another splash in the water caused them both to turn. This time, Krist had figured out a way to toss his brother and Franque floundered on his back. The younger of the two flexed triumphantly until a leg caught his own and toppled him also into the river. The resulting flurry of punches informed Robert that playtime was over. They’d both have black eyes if he didn’t intervene.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, scrambling down to pull off whichever had the advantage before one of them drowned. By the time he’d dragged Franque off their brother, Tara had left the meadow as silently as she’d arrived. Robert scanned the tree line for a last glimpse but found none. “Come on,” he said to the shirtless twins, “let’s get back to the farm. We’ve got school tomorrow.”

  “You’ve got school,” Krist sneered. “You’re the only one who likes it.”

  “I do like school,” Robert agreed. “It’s my ticket to something better in life.”

  “I don’t need school to better myself,” Franque said, gingerly touching a split lip. “I’m gonna sail away from here someday. I don’t need math or science to work on boats.”

  “Actually you do,” Robert explained. “Every sailor knows the stars and the best can sail by them. They can estimate elevation and range too, and you’ll need math for that.”

  “Yeah, dummy,” Krist said to his twin as he pulled on his shirt. “You’re too stupid to be a sailor, so you’d better learn to plow a straighter line.”

  Franque waited till the shirt covered his brother’s eyes then popped him one in the mouth, marking their lips to match. With a grunt and a growl the younger twin tossed the garment aside, eyes burning with fury. Franque laughed and took off running full speed toward the farm with an angry Krist hot on his heels.

  Robert shook his head, watching them go. He glanced once more toward the meadow, wishing to spend a few moments longer with Tara. After a deep sigh, he walked slowly after his brothers. Somewhere, high overhead, an eagle screeched triumphantly as it spied prey upon the ground, but the young man never looked up. He knew better than to wish to soar on the winds. If he truly was becoming a man, he had to put aside boyish fancies.

  Chapter Two

  Robert Thorinson scratched chalk against slate, scribbling his answer then eagerly holding it up. The headmaster looked up from the fire warming his pot of tea and gave an approving nod before returning to his stoking. Pleased with the speed of his own wit, the boy beamed with pride. The problem had been a difficult one, forcing several calculations before arriving at an accurate conclusion. Groans from the other children let him know not everyone enjoyed his victory, but he ignored their protests. He was nearly always the first student to finish assignments.

  A pair of felt erasers collided with the back of his head and he spun in his seat, scanning the room and meeting the frowning faces of his twin brothers. Both shook their blonde heads, irritated at being beaten, especially on a day when the winner of the contest would receive an afternoon without chores. As he turned around a piece of chalk struck his ear. Whirling he locked eyes with Krist who mouthed a threat. Beside him, Franque silently pounded a fist into his palm as if letting Robert know what trouble he’d face when they returned home to the farm.

  Robert ignored their taunts. He knew they were only teasing, for that was their way. He watched the pair slip from their chairs, taking advantage of the headmaster looking away to reach below the desk for a textbook. Robert mouthed for them to sit down, but they only smiled back and waved their goodbyes before sneaking out the door. No doubt they were headed to the river for an afternoon of fun.

  Tara leaned close to his ear. “We should go with them,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stay.”

  He shook his head. He never cut class or shared in his brothers’ trouble; it wasn’t his way. Even talking during class was something he refused to do.

  “Come on,” she urged, a long lock of dark hair falling across her face and making her somehow prettier than she already was.

  He hated that he found her so attractive. She was, after all, like a sister to him and the twins. Besides, she may be leaving soon.

  “I can’t,” he finally said. “I have to meet with Mr. Yurik later and help with his new project. He’s close to another breakthrough.”

  “Master Thorinson! You and Miss Tara may cease your chatter at any time,” the headmaster commanded. Looking around and noticing Franque and Krist’s absence, he asked accusingly, “Where are your brothers?”

  “I don’t know,” Robert replied, “they were just here.”

  “They said they were going to paint graffiti on your barn,” Tara lied, “and leave a bucket of flaming crap on your doorstep. If you hurry you could catch them.”

  “Of course you would know, your kind are usually the source of such mischief.” The man became a flurry of dark robes as he darted to the door, turning only to remind the class they had chores—all except Robert who had won the contest. “And you can haul the trash, Miss Tara, since a little dirt won’t hurt your filthy buckskins.” Then he darted the opposite way the boys had gone, racing toward his homestead.

  “There’s your answer,” Tara said with sudden anger, grabbing Robert’s hand and dragging him toward the door. “I want to go now.”

  A girl’s voice froze the pair before they even stepped outside. “Mr. Genius may not have chores to do, but you do, Pescari. Go haul the trash, Tara, and toss in your smelly buckskins while you’re at it.”

  The other children laughed, especially Sam Rawlins, the butcher’s son, and Peta Grenwich whose father was the blacksmith.

  Robert felt the angry way Tara’s hand squeezed his tighter. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Ignore her.”

  “I can’t ignore her,” she whispered. “I’ve been listening to her prattle on for weeks. The headmaster lets her do it and I’m sick of them both!” She whirled around to face Greta Greenbriar, whose family had recently moved upriver from Fjorik via Logan City. “You have a problem with my heritage?” she demanded.

  “I don’t have a problem with your heritage,” Greta said, rising from her chair. She stood several heads taller and was set heavier than Tara, the sign of her northern blood. “I have a problem with your filthy presence in our school and our town.”

  “Your town?” Tara balked. “I’ve lived here my entire life and I don’t remember inviting you to live in it!”

  As Greta stepped forward, Robert urged his friend to back down. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. “It won’t end well for you. You know how Flaya gets, especially regarding violence.”

  “I don’t care what my mother thinks,” she said, “and forget what I said about it yesterday. I’ve been listening to this one talk behind my back ever since she got here, and I’ve had enough.”

  “That’s right. I do.” Greta said with a smirk, “I’m always complaining about the stench of your buckskins and greasy Pescari hair.”

  Tara stood taller, straightening the garb of her people. “The only stench here,” she replied, slowly tying back her hair with a string of Pescari beads, “carr
ies along the wind as it passes between your legs.”

  Greta charged in anger and Robert moved to step between the girls. Strong hands grabbed him as two boys intervened. Sam and Peta stood on each side, both holding an arm and laughing as the larger girl tackled Tara to the ground. The resulting flurry of hair-pulling and fingernail-scratching erupted with screaming, and Robert struggled to get free to pull them apart.

  “Let ‘em fight, genius boy,” Peta growled. “Every Pescari deserves a beating at least once in their lives.”

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed with a devilish smile, “Even the girls.”

  Robert boiled inside, burning with anger at the treatment of his friend. Then he remembered the words of old Cedric when teaching the boys self-defense. Fight dirty and take out the big one first, he had said. Robert clenched his jaw and brought his foot up high into the air, stomping hard against the outside of Peta’s knee. It snapped awkwardly and the boy crumpled, crying out in agony. Now, with his right arm free, Robert smashed a fist upward into Sam’s nose, breaking it cleanly as blood poured down the boy’s chin.

  By now Tara had the upper hand, her own face bloodied but determined as she pounded the girl cowering beneath her.

  “Call me filthy again!” she demanded, but Greta only sobbed.

  Robert shivered against the sudden cold in the room. He grabbed her waist and heaved upward, dragging his friend toward the door while the other children stared, dumbfounded by the sudden ferocity with which each had fought. As they turned, they met the headmaster’s wide-eyed stare from the doorway.

  “You’re both expelled,” he said matter-of-factly. “And tell your no-good brothers they’re not welcome back, either! I will be reporting this to the constable!” The man turned his attention to the warming stove. “Sam, re-light that fire while I attend to Peta.”

  Tara pushed past the headmaster, pausing only briefly to kick him in the knee. “Report that!” she snarled, then dragged Robert at a full run down the road toward the river. They never stopped until reaching its banks. There, they collapsed panting and laughing into a heap on the grass.