Word Count: 1,640
The Secret Peoples 2
: The Novel in the Making
The resonance of the thunder matched in harmony with the hooves beating against the muddy, rocky road, that splattered in every direction as the horse plowed through the pouring rain. The rider wiped his face of the rain, he could not stop for anything; he had to spread the message. The oppressive Arelon nation had fallen, and opportunity had risen. The rider was a part of a secret organization known as the Lombards.
The rider was dressed in a long black cloak that was soaked to the core. The hood was so soaked, that he pulled it down which revealed his face. It would have normally been pulled up to conceal his identity from the enemy, it was a vary ominous sight that would make any man sick with fear. He had long, curly black hair, which was matted to his head from the rain. His face was unshaven, but clean. (And not because of the rain) Along with the glittering, wet whiskers on his face, was a tense and focused look oblivious to all outside distractions.
The horse struggled to stay on the narrow path that led through a dense forest. Finally, the path opened up, and a rush of heat came over him. A crowed of people gathered, for not many men arrive in such a manor or time as he had.
In a well-practiced maneuver, he flung himself off his saddle and raised his hands to silence the crowd.
“I bring news that the Arelon nation, that drove us west of our original homes and thrust us into the murderous arms of our supposed overlords, has fallen,” he shouted.
The deathly silence that had loomed over the people suddenly collapsed into a roar of cheer and celebration.
He made an attempt to speak over the merriment, “I need to speak to Frederick,”
“Here son, I am here,” said Frederick suddenly appearing from the horde of merry men and women.
“There are terms of which must be spoken in private,” the cloaked figure stated.
“Very well, come with me,” said Frederick.
The black rider swung a quiver of arrows and a bow over his shoulder. He was an archer, and not only an archer but also a skillful one at that. He had gained much respect from his fellow men.
He took a look around the familiar area; it was a small camp of about 90 people, 26 of them soldiers, of the unofficial war. There were tents and cabins spread all around the encampment. Surrounding the camp was a large thicket; it was so thick that little to no light ever reached the camp through the trees. In the center was a large fire that distributed heat to almost every corner of the camp. Behind the fire was a large tent with four openings. Frederick led the drenched archer into the tent and offered him a drink, which he refused.
“So, what are these terms of which you speak?” Frederick asked.
“Well, the Arelon nation was brought down by a rebel force that started from within. We can ask them for assistance to help bring down our overlords,” he stated. He liked to refer to their oppressors as their overlords, always with an emphasis on overlords.
“Samuel, what makes you think that these peoples may come to our aid?” he challenged.
Samuel saw what Frederick was doing; he was testing his ability to show reason. He had always trusted Frederick’s judgment, but he did have a hard hand. One time Samuel watched him give an inspection of a commander of only a few men. After he had seen their weapons (which were in vary poor condition) he asked for an excuse. The captain simply stated that the weather was bad on the march to the camp, which ruined them. Frederick grabbed his weapons and threw them to the ground. “Pick them up!” he shouted. When he bent over to pick them up, Frederick took an ax and spit his head open. “So you have treated my weapons, so I treat you,” he said and that was that.
Samuel then spoke out, “In fact, when they defeated the Arelon, they gave the land back to the people whom originally lived there. We get half of our country back, now we must act and retrieve the rest.”
“What are the names of these peoples?” he asked, voice filled with interest; Samuel had done his job.
“The Aron”
Bernard stopped there, looking out on the jungle scene that lay before him, taking in the beauty of the landscape. There was a thick collection of exotic trees, vines, and bushes that reach unimaginable sizes. Splitting this tropical wonder was a wide river. Then next to the river was a large hut in which Bernard sat sprawled out in front of his typewriter. He then closed his eyes and allowed inspiration to over take him. He was writing his soon to be second novel, a sequel to his first (The Secret Peoples); he now is working on his new follow up epic, The Secret Peoples 2. Bernard continued typing.
(One month later)
“Thud-Thud, Thud-Thud.” Sounded the hooves of horses as they passed a party of about 40 Archers marching in formation. They were all headed for the same direction, a large camp that would hold the army for the decisive battle that would be held the next day. This is the moment that the Lombard peoples have been waiting for, for over 25 years! Victory was prayed for; the Aron would accompany them.
The bright morning sun shined in Derrick’s eyes, as they approached that exceptionally large camp that was set on a large open plain. They entered the camp and from there they set up their tents and parked themselves to work their bows. Derrick had his tent up in little time, and he cleaned his bow.
Derrick looked too young to be fighting in this battle. He was only thirteen years old, but he would be fourteen next month. He had short blonde hair, and wore a long black cloak. He had pulled his hood down to set up his tent, and now he sat on the ground polishing his bow.
All of a sudden, a man walked up to him and said, “Hello I am Castelo, and may I ask of yours?”
The man looked fairly young, maybe 26 but his face had a few cuts that were now left as faint scars. He looked very friendly though.
“Derrick, an archer as you can see,” he said.
Castelo smiled, “May I see your bow, I shall inspect it myself.”
Derrick handed the stranger the bow, deciding that he looked like he could be trusted. Castelo looked the bow up and down and pulled the string to test its tension.
“This is a good bow, well kept; Maple?” he said.
“Yes sir,” Derrick said politely.
Castelo handed the bow back to him, “I was a good shot when I was young, but I have always preferred the sword, but the bow is an excellent weapon no doubt. My wife was also a good shot, when we were young she would challenge me to see who was better,” Castelo smiled, reminiscing his past times.
“Where is your wife?” Derrick asked.
“Lilia, she could be anywhere- no wait no, there she is. Lilia come hither!” He shouted out to her.
“What!” she spat jokingly.
Lilia was very beautiful, he thought. She had long brown hair and her face was in a smile that said, “love life.”
Castelo too was a handsome man, he seemed to have the same personality as Lilia, but Castelo had the look of a wise, skillful man. They seemed as though fate had made them inseparable. He had no idea.
“Derrick this is my wife Lilia, and Lilia this is Derrick,” Castelo announced with almost royal formality.
“Very nice to meet thee,” Said Lilia.
“Pleasure.” Derrick said and shook her hand.
“Well be ready for tomorrow, It is a very big day,” Said Lilia
“It sure is, it will be my first battle,” stated Derrick, but he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or not.
“Oh, it is your first battle that will be stuck in your memory forever, our first battle led to an interesting outcome,” Castelo said and exchanged a look with Lilia that meant “You had to be there,” Derrick could tell he is good at reading faces.
“Well we have to go now, but I hope we see you again, - Oh, so we can find you again, what is your father’s name?” Lilia asked.
“Oh, I don’t have a father, he died last week of sickness,” said Derrick.
“I am sorry, I did not mean…”
“It is fine, you did not know, but I may see you again so-“ He cut off, “Good bye for now.”
“Good bye and best of luck,” they said and then walked away.
Derrick had no clue the importance of what had just taken place. He has never heard the amazing stories of Castelo and Lilia. All that they have gone through, their story is extraordinary. He does not know that he had just met King Castelo and Queen Lilia.
Bernard stopped again; his watch said he had been writing for five hours straight. He stretched his legs, piled up his paper, picked up his typewriter and headed back towards the boat that he took to get to the hut. He would return tomorrow. Once out on the river, he began to think of the story more. What more would he do with Castelo and Lilia and even Derrick? He even pondered what he would do with Frederick and Samuel. He breathed a heavy sigh, “Only for another day,” he said and focused on rowing the boat. [/pre]
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