The Seeds

By Jeff Davis

This is not your grandmother's fairy tale.

A fantasy novel that turns the genre on its head, "The Seeds" follows Trooper Angus Mayweather as he is thrust into the conflict faced by twin sisters Dartura & Varia, Generals of the Tarol Nation.
Most Tarols believe that the Seeds provide the life force to all life on Etai, but this isn't entirely true.
When Dartura has physical contact with them, the balance of life becomes corrupted, with disastrous consequences for her, her sister and the life of the people she is sworn to protect.
As the sisters uncover a new threat from an old enemy,and the shadowy puppet master behind him, Angus must do what he can to help as the Tarol Nation faces all-out war.
Unique in its depiction of strong female lead characters, The Seeds portrays young women beyond the traditional "damsel-in-distress" and "superhero-with-a-heart" roles, providing glimpses into the dynamics of family, sibling rivalry, duty and honor.
Half as high as a gladiola stalk, Tarols live, love, fight and die in a realm that could take place in your own back yard.
And the bats.
The bats don't like them much.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Davis
• Release date: May 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476331409

Jeff Davis

Jeff Davis has worked with some of the finest high technology teams in the business, and has delivered to some of the world's most recognizable companies the high quality graphics, multimedia and print materials they demand, all over the world. IBM, Cable & Wireless, Target, Carrier and many more companies have experienced the benefits of Jeff's artistic vision and solid work ethic.He majored in art and design throughout his education years, and continues to regard himself as a student of the history and reinvention of popular culture.As an author, Jeff hopes to bring his unique ideas to life in this medium.A visitor to his studio office will be treated to the sounds of Led Zeppelin, Sheryl Crow, Kate Bush and traditional Celtic music. Jeff resides an hour north of Manhattan, N.Y. with his wife and two children.

Book preview

The Seeds

By Jeff Davis

Copyright Jeff Davis 2012

Smashwords edition

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For my Angel, who has never stopped believing in magic

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

About the Author

Connect with the Author

1

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The devastation on both sides of the stream was complete. Not a blade of grass was left. Closer to the trees on the North side, the ground was untouched. Farther along on the South side of the stream, the fields of wildflowers were also spared from the onslaught.

The streambeds were little more than churned earth. Shards of the shattered watcher’s hut and its bell lay half sunk into the mud. Trooper Angus Mayweather, day shift watch commander of the Queen’s battalion at the Far Reaches, lay dazed and battered beneath the fallen bell.

Angus opened his eyes to darkness. Panic rose in him as bits of what had happened crept over his senses. He swung his head wildly from side to side. An almond-shaped sliver of light caught his eye behind him and to his left.

He flipped over, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Pain seared through him as he realized that one of his wings was pinned to the ground.

His thoughts clearing, he realized where he was. It was the guard hut bell that lay on top of him, and the sliver of light was the outside world peeking in. After a bit of wriggling, not without a bit of pain, he managed to free his wing tip from beneath the hard metal that had been forced into the muck by the bell’s weight.

Flicking his wings rapidly to toss off splotches of mud, Angus pushed against the walls of his prison. The bell rocked in the mud, but its edges were too deep to come free. Wriggling his fingers into the space where the light was showing, he tried lifting it. His feet sank deeper than he could move the heavy metal dome. After a few tries, accompanied by more than a few curses as his feet sank deeper into the mud, Angus realized with a sigh that he would have to dig.

The thought of lying down in the mud didn’t thrill him. Running his hands over his uniform in the dark, he was sure that he was quite disheveled enough. He knew that he would catch a load of grief over his appearance when he returned to the barracks. The battalion commander was a stickler for neatness and proper military code. Angus found it hard to escape his notice on a good day. It would be impossible in his present condition.

Trying to force his way under the bell’s edge was sure to cover him in grime from head to toe, and that would get him yet another reprimand at least, if not a more disgusting detail later on.

Admitting to himself that there was no other way, he resigned himself to digging. Fingers scrabbling, he pulled handful after handful of mud away from the bell’s edge.

He was soon free, gasping from the effort as he lay in the mud, looking up into the bright blue of the sky.

After a few moments, he rose, and wiped his hands against his trousers as best he could. He spun to look at the Syrion Stone, the marker that stood at the very edge of the Tarol lands. He spun again to face west, toward the garrison barracks. Everything in between was gone. The grass, the flowers, everything was stripped clean.

His head swam, and he fell onto his backside. The mud received him with a moist plop.

What had happened here?

He leapt into the air, ignoring the pain in his wing, and flew instinctively toward the barracks. Grief washed over him. The garrison was gone. There was nothing left. The barracks itself, the parade ground, the officer’s quarters… everything was gone. Not simply destroyed, but gone. Down to the ground. Here again, not a blade of grass had survived.

Tears were streaming from his eyes as he thought of his friends, his comrades, the men and women he had served with since his being stationed here. Where were they? Even the emergency shelter was gone. They would have never retreated, he thought. What the blazes had happened?

A flash of light reached his eye and he dropped to the ground.

His fingers reached into the mud, encircling a bit of metal. It popped free with a small sucking sound. He stared at it, realizing that it was a medal. A Medal of Valor. The same medal that his battalion commander had worn, given to him by the Queen herself. Angus looked around now, and saw other flashes and shimmers of reflected light. A broken sword hilt. A shield. Another, and another. He began to realize that whatever had happened had only consumed the organics of the place. Like the bell that had saved him, everything metal had survived the attack.

The buildings, the stables, produced and coaxed from the earth itself were all part of the living land. Except for a few pipes, wires and copper fittings they were all completely, utterly gone.

Angus Mayweather sat down one more time in the mud, and put his head in his hands. He stopped trying to remember, and just let the events unfold in his mind’s eye.

He had arrived for his shift in the guard hut at the usual time, just after muster, that morning. He had flown in through the bottom hatch, snagging his wing on the rough spot of the opening, just as he had done most mornings. Cursing his own forgetfulness, he spun a one hundred eighty degree turn as he lifted himself through the doorway.

Trooper Silena Dahlia was already there, seated behind the small desk. That’s no way to start your day, she remarked with a smile. Abashed, Angus grunted, Mornin’, and turned to gaze out of the window that faced the eastern border.

The Syrion Stone stood in the center of the stream, just as it always had. Blue sky and white clouds framed the rock, with light reflecting off of its flat, angled top.

Angus had often mused that a giant sword had sliced the pinnacle of the stone clean off. Its top was angled perfectly in line with a left-handed swordsman’s downward sweep.

You’re here early.

Today was Trooper Dahlia’s first day back after her extended leave. She had given birth to her third offspring four moons ago. How’s our little Rose? he asked, softening.

Beautiful, came the reply. She has my eyes, for sure, but Malcolm’s ears, the stubby little things.

Malcolm was Silena’s husband. He and Angus weren’t exactly friends, but a familiar acquaintanceship had grown between them over time.

When her wings come in, they’ll be graceful and sharp, like her mama’s.

Angus had often remarked on how perfect Silena’s wings were. Long and sleek, like a dragonfly’s wings, shot through with a golden hue that caught the light wonderfully when she flew.

My sister is staying with us, looking after the family. Silena said, her lashes fluttering rapidly. You know, she began. Angus sighed and turned back to the window. If you came by once in a while, you might find that she would welcome a bit of company.

She’s a fine woman, Silena, he said. She’ll make someone a wonderful wife, one day.

Silena rose and crossed the width of the hut in a wing-fluttering step. She likes you, Angus, she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. You could do far worse.

I have done far worse, he said with a grin.

She pushed him softly. Oh, Angus, she breathed, mimicking a younger girl, You’re so strong and brave! Well, I am that, This was said without a hint of irony. Silena threw up her hands in resignation, and returned to the desk.

You best be careful, Trooper, she said, the beating of her wings settling her gently into the chair. You may end up all alone one day.

Silena put her hands to mouth, wishing that she hadn’t said such a thing.

Well, I am that, he said again. Silena was about to continue, to apologize, but thought better of it.

Angus stared out the window. Silena’s sister is cute, he thought to himself. A vision of himself, married, with little ones running around his feet made him smile. The idea that it would be unfair to expect a family to endure the life of a soldier passed over the vision like a shadow.

He thought of his father.

Angus was fifteen winters old when his father died. That was just three winters past now, but sometimes he still felt as if he could walk through the front door of his parents’ house and see his father sitting there, pipe clenched in his teeth, the familiar rasp of the whetstone gliding along his sword’s edge under his practiced hand. Angus’s mother had passed when he was three from the Virus, but the pain he felt about that had been tamped down long ago. His father’s passing was still fresh, like an open wound that had just begun to scar over.

Angus’s father had been a decorated Trooper in the Queen’s forces, too. Rauf Mayweather had been killed in the Nightshade campaign, storming the Haven of the Bats. It was a bloody battle that had seen heavy losses on both sides.

Angus didn’t cry when his father’s commanding officer had shown up on his doorstep, bearing medals and personal effects. He didn’t cry during the memorial service either, despite the tears that flowed freely from the other families of the dead. He stood at the graveside, frozen to the bone, feeling hollow and empty in the cold winter sun. He had cried some afterward, but not much. He decided that his father would want him to be brave. So, on his sixteenth birthday, when boys his age were showing off their wings and doing crazy flying stunts to impress girls, Angus had enlisted in the Queen’s forces.

He trained hard, and served well. He was promoted often, and turned down a few promotions as well. He could have been sitting at a desk by now, commanding a battalion somewhere in a more populated area. The Palace, even. Anywhere but out here in the Far Reaches, the eastern edge of the Tarol territories.

Angus liked it out here. He had grown up in this valley, and it was here that he felt he belonged.

Solitude wasn’t pleasant, but it fit him like an old, comfortable coat. It was something that he was simply not ready to shrug off.

So, even now, among friends like Silena and the rest of his trooper buddies, Angus felt alone. Whatever he was waiting for just hadn’t found him yet.

What is that noise? Silena said from behind him, breaking through his rush of memories.

His eyes focused on the Syrion Stone again. A cloud, dark and roiling, was rising behind it. It was moving fast and low, engulfing the stone, parting and reforming around it. Angus could hear it now, too. A droning sound.

Angus realized that it wasn’t a cloud at all.

It was a swarm.

Silena was next to him at the window now, watching the dark mass move toward them. With a gasp, she turned, and sparked upwards through the hole in the hut’s roof. She grabbed the mallet and began wailing on the bell that hung from a natural wooden arch above them.

Angus was riveted, watching the black mass as it approached. He could vaguely hear the peel of the bell as Silena hammered away.

As it drew closer, Angus could see what kind of creatures made up the swarm. They were moths. Moths bigger than any he had ever seen. Much bigger. They were flying in formation.

Angus knew that moths were almost mindless, and did not bond with others, much less fly in battle lines. Something was driving them, controlling them.

There were a few trees close to the stream, with branches overhanging the water, much like the one the guard hut swung from. They were being consumed as the swarm passed them. The swarm would not part around the hut like they had when passing the stone.

He turned and leapt up through the opening, grabbing Silena around the waist. She was still banging on the bell, but the sound was lost in the deafening whine of the moths’ wings. Angus planted his feet on the hut’s roof and bent his knees, preparing to launch into the air, when the swarm overtook them. Silena was ripped from his grasp, screaming as she was buffeted by the bodies in flight. The savagery of the moths was relentless, as they tore her apart in mid-flight, consuming every last shred of her. Her medals bounced and twirled their way to the ground.

The hut itself, having been coaxed to form out of the branch that supported it, was destroyed in a crash that would have otherwise been heard all the way to the barracks, but for the hollow droning of millions of wings.

Angus bounced from wings and furry bodies, spinning wildly out of control. His eyes focused on the face of one moth, its giant mouth full of pointed teeth. Teeth! He was upside down and backwards, and knew that there was no way he could stop his trajectory, or the beast’s flight path. He was sure that this would be his last sight.

Darkness enveloped him, something tremendously heavy struck his head, and he fell, muted thump, thump, thumps accompanying him to oblivion.

The memory faded as Angus lifted his head. The swarm was gone. They had taken everything. And yet, as he looked around, he saw that it was only the garrison, the watchers’ hut and the soldiers that were destroyed. Nothing on the perimeter was touched.

This was no random aberration. This was a directed attack on the Queen’s forces. But who could control millions of moths? How could they have grown to such a size? What enemy could direct such an attack? The questions swirled in his head. No answers followed.

Angus Mayweather was a Trooper in the Queen’s Forces. His duty was clear. He had to get to the Palace. He had to alert them to the fact that thirty-six troopers, many of them battle tested and not a coward among them, had been utterly decimated by this new, unbelievable power.

Angus stood, forcing himself to his full height. He snapped open his wings, pain searing through his shoulders as he did so, and leapt into the air. He headed west, into the midday sun, colors bending and refracting through his tears.

2

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Two points of light sparkled through the trees, moving fast. One had a hint of blue, the other more violet, both careening and twisting around branches as they made their way quickly through the forest.

Most Tarols give off light when they fly. The phosphorescence in their wings becomes agitated as the wings move rapidly. Consequently, the faster the wings beat, the brighter the light becomes. As an evolutionary trait it had served them well, allowing the creatures of the forest a heads-up to avoid eating one of the fast moving faeries. While one never could tell what a sleepy owl or a cantankerous fox might do, it was common knowledge that the Queen would be very perturbed by the indignity of one of her subjects being mistaken for food.

The only creatures unswayed by the Queen’s moods were the bats. But, since they flew at night, and Tarols were truly children of the sun, the chances were slim that a diplomatic faux pas would develop.

Still, it paid to be careful, a fact that Dartura almost always ignored. Her twin sister, Varia, had to abandon some of her usual caution in order to keep up with her more reckless sibling.

Varia turned her head to look at her sister. Dartura dodged a branch, sending an unsuspecting squirrel into a panic, without breaking eye contact. She smirked, and sped onward.

A report had come in that one of the Queen’s troopers had been spotted, flying hard overnight, heading for the Palace. While night flying wasn’t unheard of, it did seem strange that a lone trooper would undertake such a journey without orders from command.

Given his flight path, it was assumed that this trooper was from the Far Reaches, and no directives had been issued for such a mission. In fact, no reply had come from the garrison outpost there when contact was attempted.

Out of an abundance of caution, the High Marshall ighHighHhad thought it best to intercept this trooper, and ascertain his motives.

Varia saw the uneasy look in her commanding officer’s eyes when he told them about the report. She had immediately volunteered. He had objected, of course, stating that a recon unit should be sent, as opposed to sending the Queen’s generals. But, she could also see the relief in his gaze when she stepped up. Something wasn’t right here, and he was confident that the intel he would receive from his sisters could be trusted completely.

Well, he could trust Varia to do what was necessary. He could trust Dartura to do whatever she damn well pleased.

The trees were beginning to thin a bit, now. They would soon be out of the forest proper, and cover would be harder to come by. As fast and brave as the sisters were, flying across open prairie was foolish. One never knew if a hawk from a distant kingdom or even a gull from the sea realms would wander across their airspace. Even though Dartura had once taken a hawk down as it tried to spirit her away, today was not the day to tempt fate. They had a job to do, and Michael, stoic and proper in his role as High Marshall, was counting on them.

Michael’s a prig, Dartura’s voice said in her head. Varia smiled. Dartura could be a handful, especially when it came to their brother. She had always been able to exasperate him, leaving Varia in the role of peacemaker, or referee.

Varia sighed. Do your job, Trooper, she said, jokingly.

Always.

A sound, among the many sounds of the forest, reached them both. Without a word, Dartura banked to the right and down, as Varia continued on toward the sound’s source.

Trooper Angus Mayweather sat on a low branch of a poplar, resting his wings. The flight from the Far Reaches was a long one, and he hadn’t rested more than once or twice all night, much less had anything to eat. He knew, however, that the Palace wasn’t far. He could feel it. The pulse of the life force was so strong here, he felt he could follow it blindfolded. Still, he had expected it to be stronger.

Angus replayed his report in his mind again, as he had many times while he flew. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get court-marshalled.

They would never believe him.

He would certainly be held until his story could be confirmed. I could do with a good sleep, he thought. Even if it is in a cell.

Angus took a deep breath, snapped his wings out and flexed his knees, preparing for the last leg of his journey, when two hands grabbed his shoulder armor from above and yanked him off the branch.

He was slammed into the trunk of the tree, his head bouncing twice from the force. When his vision cleared, he found himself looking into a pair of brilliant violet eyes. No words came as those eyes peered into his. When his wits returned, he noticed that she was a Tarol, like him. From her armor he gathered that she was a soldier, too. The he noticed the rank insignia on her left breast plate. Realization slammed into him as jarringly as being bounced into the tree. He was facing General Dartura.

He tried to snap out a salute, but he really didn’t have room. Her face was a hand’s width from his, her violet eyes searching his as if he were a specimen in a laboratory. If he had saluted in the customary Tarol fashion, he would have brushed against her breasts. Angus didn’t think that would be the best choice for him at this moment.

Look alive, Trooper!

The voice came from his right, and it took a moment for him to realize that there was another Tarol hovering nearby. She wore the same armor, and carried the same insignia. Trooper Angus Mayweather was actually being confronted by the Queen’s Generals, her daughters Varia and Dartura. He didn’t know whether to be impressed, or terrified.

Report! Varia barked.

After a few moments of heavy breathing and organizing his thoughts, Angus dove into his tale. When he came to the part about the size of the moths, he noticed something pass between the two warriors. General Dartura had not moved, her face still uncomfortably close to his.

When his story touched on the fact that the moths flew in formation, General Varia’s eyebrows shot up. When he mentioned the bell, Varia lifted her hand. You’ll be coming with us, she snapped.

Without another word, she sped off toward the Palace. Dartura remained where she was, and Angus had to slide sideways in order to leap into the air. When he looked back, Dartura was close behind.

When the trio crossed the first hedgerow of the Palace grounds, Angus was struck by the scope of the place. It was enormous, but seemed to blend perfectly into its environment. This was typical of Tarol structures, most having been coaxed to grow from existing plants through a mixture of science and magic. The Palace itself stood at least seven stories tall. Angus had heard that there were at least three underground levels as well.

The Palace was first and foremost a sanctuary, designed to be defended if necessary. Under a siege, it could sustain itself indefinitely, with room for most of the Tarol Nation's inhabitants within its walls. At least those within a day's flight from anywhere within the realm.

Beyond the hedgerow was an expansive formal garden, divided in a way that would seem almost haphazard to a casual observer. The sections were laid out so as to provide a clear line of site from any of the many battlements on the first two tiers of the front walls. Curved garden walls, made of living evergreen, gave the front grounds an almost swirling appearance, as if they were in constant motion. Fountains and statuary were placed to add an asymmetrical balance.

Beyond the gardens, the main gate was constructed of solid white marble, reinforced with a fine latticework of vines that grew over, through and within the stone itself. Rooted and ever-growing, the main gate circled the entire inner-Palace grounds as if unseen hands had pushed it up from the earth. Its height was just slightly less than the first wall of the building inside.

The structure behind the wall of the main gate appeared to be one huge spiral, gently curving upwards upon itself to form an upside down funnel shape, rising first to the right and then gently curving left as it reached its peak. Through a truly ingenious blend of living vegetation, marble and glass, the structure appeared to have no break in its surface. Once inside, however, virtually every surface allowed light to pass through. This also provided defenders an expansive view of the grounds.

The technology that allowed light in also served to collect and store the sun's energy, providing solar power to all of the Palace's systems.

The overall effect was at once startling, and subdued. Flowers bloomed everywhere; in controlled gardens and wild along the perimeters. The reflection from the morning sun was dazzling, yet the Palace seemed to be a living part of the surrounding landscape.

The trees, a mixture of poplar and ash saplings sprinkled across the manicured lawns, seemed random. Angus, looking at their placement with a soldier's eye, could see that these only accentuated the defensibility of the expanse. Each was strategically placed to provide references of distance and size, as well as hindrance for siege engines and moving ground forces.

When the three reached the main gate, it slid open from both sides at just the right moment, allowing them passage without checking their flight speed. Obviously, Angus thought, their approach had been monitored. The massive gates slid closed behind them with a hiss.

3

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Tell me again how you got under the bell. The interrogator leaned across the table, hunching his shoulders conspiratorially. It was a good choice, I think. Certainly safer.

Angus was growing agitated. He had told this story three times now; from the beginning, starting in the middle, and then reflecting on each significant development. It was clear that the officer in charge of his debriefing didn’t believe him.

The two of them sat in a small room, two levels below ground. There were mirrored surfaces on each of the four walls. Angus had the feeling that he was joining the interrogating officer in staring at himself with disbelief.

Guessing how long it had been since he had been brought in, Angus assumed the sun was high now. Probably heading toward the west. Watching himself, along with the sound of his own voice, was beginning to wear him down.

Look, sir, Angus said, running a hand across his forehead. I have told you, to the best of my recollection, what happened. Angus tried to check his rising temper, to some effect.

The interrogating officer leaned back in his chair. You will tell me again, Trooper, if I say so. A hundred times more, if I say so.

He blew out a breath. Mayweather, he intoned, changing to good cop mode. What are you telling me, here? Giant moths attacked your garrison and you were the only survivor, because of a freak occurrence? Can you honestly expect me to believe that bell fell on you by chance?

The interrogating officer stood and paced toward the back of the small room. He turned abruptly, raising a finger in the air. How about this, he said, gazing past Angus toward the mirrored surface behind the exhausted soldier. When the attack was imminent, you saw a way to save yourself. The bell was already on the ground and you slipped under it. Totally understandable.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the lack of food. Maybe it was the trauma he had witnessed. Whatever the reason, when he heard the officer’s tone, Angus snapped.

Thirty-six troopers, SIR! he barked. Thirty-six troopers, my friends, my brothers, gone! You can toss me in the stockade if you like. Bust me down or drum me out, but don’t call me a coward!

The steam left him as quickly as it had risen, and Angus’ shoulders slumped forward. I tried to save her.

The conversation continued. Michael sat in a simple chair, leaning back as he watched the exchange through one of the mirrored walls. Varia sat next to him watching intently. Dartura sat with her feet up, ankles crossed and heels against the wall, inspecting the fingernails on her right hand.

He’s telling the truth, she said into Varia’s mind.

Varia tapped three times on the window. Michael bolted silently upright, shocked. The interrogator showed no indication that he had heard the sound, but he knew his cue. He stood, and paced to the far end of the room.

Alright, Trooper, the interrogator said to Angus. We’ll resume this later. The guards will conduct you to quarters.

He waited. After a moment, Angus fought through his fatigue, and stood.

"Aye,