Witan Jewell Read online

  Russ L. Howard Library for House of Howard Publishing

  The King of Three Bloods:

  Book One: The Sire Sheaf

  Book Two: The Frightful Dance

  Book Three: Witan Jewell

  Book Four: The Isle of Ilkchild

  Book Five: The Bok of Syr Folk

  Book Six: The King-Queen

  Book Seven: The Scynscatha

  Book Eight: Brekka

  Book Nine: El Yid

  Book Ten: The Evil Ennead

  Book Eleven: Rebirth of the Elven-Gods

  GET YOUR FREE BOOK: THE WOSE: AGONY OF A TORTURED SOUL

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  Copyright © 2018 by Russ L. Howard

  Cover Art: Deranged Doctor Design

  Formatting: Deranged Doctor Design

  Publishing: House of Howard Publishing

  ISBN: 978-1-945130-07-6

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

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  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 : Wagons Ho for Witan Jewell

  Chapter 2 : Witan Jewell

  Chapter 3 : The Moot Fire of Shepherd Hall

  Chapter 4 : The Sojourn in Witan Jewell

  Chapter 5 : Mahallah’s House

  Chapter 6 : Home Coming

  Chapter 7 : Oracular Divinations

  Chapter 8 : Training at Sea

  Chapter 9 : The Amerikans

  Chapter 10 : Flies in the Ointment

  Chapter 11 : The Skipping Moonth

  Chapter 12 : Prying Eyes

  Chapter 13 : The Rite of Yays and Nays

  Chapter 14 : Ur Ford by the Sea

  Chapter 15 : Mendaho Meets Her Match

  Chapter 16 : The Veil in the Secret Place

  Chapter 17 : A Witch Hunt

  Chapter 18 : The Coastal Trek to Urford

  Chapter 19 : Troublesome Night Visions

  Chapter 20 : The Maiden Voyage

  Chapter 21 : The Battle of Raw Top

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Glossary

  Author Biography

  Acknowledgments

  I extend my gratitude to Paula Riggs whose tireless editing spanned seven years, much of which required her to endure my corny jokes, and to her husband Carl who had to endure the many blood drenched battle scenes in the book. Much appreciated help came from Jeff Day in preserving my sanity through dealing with my hated computer and for computer and technical assistance above and beyond waking hours. Particular thanks to Susie Stokes for her exquisite artistic talents and formatting despite her own busy schedule, and she, too, gave endless hours of technical direction. I give praise to my beloved wife whose constant feed-back and aide has always inspired me, and to my son, Adam, who gave continuous encouragement and deeply thought out opinions when asked. I thank my many children and my devoted friends who repeatedly asked, “Is it done yet?” Unto them I say, “Here it is.”

  Chapter 1 : Wagons Ho for Witan Jewell

  The three tribes had successfully passed down out of the Mountains of Di-Ahman into the safety afforded by the Umpqua Valley. Mighty Herewardi strongholds and the Herewardi fyrds guarded them from attack. Sur Sceaf had safely led them through the long exodus from their own lands. Now the tribes needed to sojourn in Witan Jewell before making their way to Ur Ford on the coasts in spring in the hopes of building a fortress and a city-state to protect them from the encroaching Hryre Seath and his oppressive Pitter Empire.

  The clouds lifted and a bright clear sky vaulted the heavens as far as Gold Top in the west over which a bank of clouds waited in ambush.Though it was sunny on this side of Gold Top, the night before flurry of flakes had powdered the ground, a stark warning that the mountain passes were now closed to all but the most serious of travelers and mountain men. No Pitters would make it through until spring. It was the ides of the Dark Moonth, two weeks since the last confrontation with Fromer, the puritanical Quailor dycon who unceasingly berated the joining of the three tribes.

  Sur Sceaf met with Habraham, Elijah, and Mendaka in his tent to reassess the status of Fromer. Each conceded that it appeared Fromer had given up his contentious ways for the most part and now that it was time to enter Witan Jewell, they needed to decide whether Fromer would go in with them or not. Sur Sceaf feared banishing him. The fool knew too much to comfortably be allowed access to the outside world where he would reveal under torture all the nakedness of the three tribes. Sur Sceaf hoped it would never come to that and he was counting on the High Priest Elijah to do his mercy dance, in hopes of always keeping Fromer under his thumb.

  Most reports were that Fromer was deporting himself with more respect, less contention, and had ceased with his usual socially inappropriate comments aimed at the Pagan beliefs of the other tribes.

  Habraham bit his lip before saying, “I don’t think Brother Fromer is any more repentant than before. He always acteth contrite when you back him against a wall, but as soon as he is set free to work his own devices, he’s right back at his old contentious ways, stirring up trouble and going contrary to the spirit of our Quailor people by muckraking and back biting. If you ask me, he and his wife should live in Glide Garth forever and I would suffer no regrets for it.”

  Sur Sceaf agreed in his heart with what Habraham said, but knew Quailor Law almost always left the offender a way out under their mercy clauses. “Perhaps, Brother Habraham, you have seen something that would substantiate a reason for leaving Brother Fromer here. If so, would you please share it?”

  Habraham looked puzzled. “You see, Sur Sceaf, that’s chust my point. He putteth on a show, but I know that a leopard cannot change its spots and a rattle snake will bite if you let it in your camp. He will always take us right up to the edge of our tolerance and then back stroke with our mercy clauses.”

  Elijah said, “This is a slippery slope, my friends, Quailor Law doth say we are to bear with transgressors if they ask for forgiveness seven times before we remove them from our society.”

  Sur Sceaf inquired, “Have you been keeping count? It seems to me, there have been at least seven offenses on this trek alone.”

  “That is the problem, Lord Sur Sceaf, Quailor Law doth only count after a warning hath been issued. And I now count only two offenses. And Fromer even went by thy tent to apologize for his harsh judgments of the survivors. It behooveth me to grant him grace until he hath reached the required seven offenses.”

  Sur Sceaf warned, “Brother Elijah, the Laws of Herewardom do not impart that much leniency and once we are in Witan Jewell, Fromer had better act with civility to all or, or---I cannot say what I’m thinking. Just let it be known, I’ve assessed Fromer and there’s only two places he’ll ever be.”

  “Where? My lord?” Elijah wanted to know.

  “At your throat or under your foot. I for one know where I’ll keep him.

  * * *

  It was late morning, an oddly dry day for the Dark Moonth when Sur Sceaf gave the order to begin their march to Witan Jewell after their long sojourn at Glide Garth. He had finally deci
ded how to deal with Fromer and was convinced his antics would continue, but it was better to just always keep him in check and slowly erode away at his power base until his voice was neutralized in the community.

  Sur Sceaf led out with his replacement mount, Rekindler, get of White Fire. His usual companions Pyrsyrus, Mendaka, and Ilkchild rode with him. Dr. Shanks had released all the survivors with a clean bill of health to their families who were so eager to receive them. Eva was emaciated, but under her mother’s care she had greatly improved.

  Ten days had passed since Sur Sceaf’s birthday which he was unable to celebrate, having been engaged in the Battle of Woon Stone. Upon returning to camp, Lana presented him with an overflowing gift basket from his bride-covey which a silver harrier was personally charged with delivering. Redith had said he was born in dazzling darkness, a sign that he was to overcome the Ardelves and their sinister magics. He was never fully sure what she meant by that statement, but thought it had to do with the belief he came from the Dark Sun, the door way of the gods.

  The snow flurries two nights before had put his mind in the space of Yule celebrations. He thought on how this would normally be the time in which he and his boys would drag in the Yule Log and celebrate the rebirth of the Divine King. The girls would be busy making marzipan and decorating with holly and ivy. It was a delight to think that he would be home in time to help the children decorate the yew tree with garlands, ivy and ornaments of faeries and elves. Smaller children decorated cookies which they hung on the tree to feed Father Woon with who on this holy night would be visiting the sleeping children and blessing them in their sleep while leaving special gifts beneath the decorated branches of a yew.

  Normally, he and his two elder sons had the chore of procuring the yew log on the Ides of the Dark Moonth and preparing for the firing that would bring the sun back to the heights of the sky on the twenty-fifth day. This honor would befall his son Arundel this year and such assignments prepared him for future kingly duties. Ary was the most gifted strategist and fighter in the tournaments Sur Sceaf had ever seen. He would be very disappointed to not have participated in the engagement the young blood fyrd had at Woon Stone, but his domestic duties superseded his use as a fyrd warrior this time. All was part of the grooming process for a potential king.

  By tomorrow, the gods willing, the train would make it to the outskirts of Witan Jewell, near Hrusburg. A harrier was dispatched to announce their likely arrival in a day, a night, and a day. There would be a Herewardi Moot Fire held within a few hours after they arrived to bring everyone up to speed and to celebrate their safe return. He suspected Lord Sur Spear and the Elder Moot had made all necessary preparations for this. It would be the first official joining of all three tribes. Many friends and family members would be there to greet their loved ones.

  His heartbeat quickened in anticipation of meeting his wives and children again, wrestling with his old friend, Elf Beard, and eating all his favorite meals prepared by his army of nigh-mothers. He imagined what his two recently delivered babies would look like and could not keep the smile from creeping across his face.

  Pyr noticed his smile, “You’re either day dreaming about eating food or embracing your wives. It’s written all over your face.”

  “I admit that is true, but in point of fact, I was thinking about the little boy and girl I will be meeting for the first time since I left.”

  Pyr asked, “Have you selected a name for the children yet?”

  “Not yet. I won’t know until Shining Moon and Faechild tell me what I’m going to name them.”

  On the last day the sun broke through the fog like a glorious omen of good times to come. Spirits were high all along the train. Lana was so excited that she sat outside the tent singing songs late into the night because she could not sleep. King Pyrsyrus was as eager to meet three of his wives who had not accompanied him on the trek due to their suckling babies.

  It was close to noon when they mounted the last obstacle. The oxen strained against their yokes going up over Gold Top, their horned heads rocking in a rhythm to their steady gate. As they now made their descent toward Hrusburg, the wagoners were forced to use their brakes and the yokes rode up to the horns of the oxen. Shortly after they reached the first level stretch of the road, a Sharaka rider rode up to report to Mendaka that the extra soldiers he placed to their rear for surety were being called in.

  “Deep Voice reports he is pulling his scouts out of the mountains now because the passes are thoroughly frozen shut for the winter.”

  Sur Sceaf thought, How like Mendaka to never let our tail get exposed. Far too many commanders have relaxed their guard when they were at a trail’s end and that’s when terrible things can often happen. After all, this precaution is what saved us in the Battle of Frink Glen.

  When they reached the Plains of Dixon below Gold Top, Sur Sceaf called halt for the afternoon break, so that all could rest, refresh themselves and their animals, and secure their gear for the last few miles before Hrusburg. As he was passing along the lines he came upon Ahy resting in the shade of an oak with Going Snake and Mendaho who were playing a game of ‘Rocks, Blades, and Hides.’ She looked up and smiled. Though it was foggy on this side of Gold Top, his whole heart filled with the sunlight her face radiated. According to what Lana had told him, he was to take any smile as an omen of interest.

  “No, you don’t,” Going Snake exclaimed, “I had my hand out for hides and yours was a rock, Meny. You changed it when you saw I had hides.”

  Mendaho protested, “I did not, you lying little skunk, I ought to spank your ass.”

  “This sounds very serious,” Sur Sceaf said laughing.

  Ahy asked, “Would you like to play?”

  “I’ve got to finish my final inspection. Would you care to ride with me?”

  “Sure she would,” Mendaho said, nudging Ahy with an elbow that sent her rocking to one side.

  “Yes, I would like to ride with you.” Taneshewa said. Then stepping into the stirrup, she grabbed Sur Sceaf’s arm, allowing him to effortlessly pull her up behind himself.

  The warmth of her pressing closely against him was accentuated by her arms weaving around his trunk. As they passed through the groups of Sharaka trekkers, many of whom were preparing bread sticks, there were greeting smiles and waves.

  Ahy said, “My people are excited and eager to see their new homes, chase the game, and fish the streams.”

  “The land is bountiful. I hope I made it clear to them that it won’t be til spring that Rabbi Amschel will be ready for the settlers and have their allotments all laid out.”

  Ahy nudged in tighter, “They are well aware of it. And besides, Mendaka has filled their campfires with stories of hunts together with you in this valley.”

  As they passed the Quailor wagons where stew pots were heating up, the sweet odors of potatoes and carrots drifted on the breeze. Unlike the open Sharaka, they met with far less enthusiasm and saw numerous women whispering as they rode past as if it were wrong for him to cavort with another woman.

  “What do you think they whisper?” Ahy asked him.

  Sur Sceaf chuckled. “Put your ear to my mouth.” He turned his head and she placed her ear to his mouth, as he whispered, “Ssp, ssp, ssp.”

  Taneshewa slapped him on the back, “You are hopeless!” She squeezed him tightly.

  They came upon Hartmut, Zrael, Elijah, Rip, and Margot who had taken occasion to meet with one another where their wagon segments met. They hailed them at the end of the line with the sheep, cattle, and the Hickoryan drovers all mixed together while taking their repast.

  He brought Rekindler to a halt. “How goes the goats and sheep, Zrael? What’s the count? How many losses to coyotes?”

  “They go well, my lord. The count last night was three thousand two hundred and twelve. We lost three lambs to cougars, one old ewe to coyotes, and a ram to sheer stupidity.”

  Ahy said, “What does it mean, he died of stupidity?”

  “Well
, he was sniffing at a ewe and stepped right off a cliff. As you can see, the sheep are leaner than when we started, but these late grasses, the acorn mast, and the sunny days we had will put some flesh on them soon enough.”

  Ahy squirmed at Surrey’s back, leaned past him, and said, “Hartmut, Mendaho sends you her dearest regards.”

  Hartmut blushed. “Thou art sure that’s what she said?”

  Ahy laughed, “Close enough.”

  Margot clucked her tongue and smiled. “So that’s why you’ve been smiling so much lately, Hargemut. Sounds like we need to have a bundling or somethin’ for you two. You could even use that birthing wagon once big ol’ Herman’s done fixin its wheel.”

  Hartmut turned as bright red as the longjohns he usually donned for underwear.

  Sur Sceaf rendered Hartmut pity and relief by changing the subject. “Elijah, how many babies have been born on the trek?”

  “Last I counted it was forty-seven since Salem. All mothers and babes hail and hearty.”

  Taneshewa said, “Well, I think I’ve helped Sagwi with at least that many in the Sharaka camp alone.” Ahy added. “Must have been the effects of the eclipse.”

  Margot looked shocked. “We don’t got anywhere near them numbers, but the five births we had went off just fine. Madge Thompson swears she’s holding out to birth her youngun in Witan Jewell. So yous better get us there soon because she looks like she’s going to be popping any moment now.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed, “Don’t worry, we’ll spend the night on the outskirts of Hrusburg and then on the morrow we’ll slide into Witan Jewell like a swallow to its nest. Tell Madge to hang on one more day for me.”

  Ahy declared, “I’ll send Madge some cohosh to delay delivery until we reach Witan Jewell.”