The Cursed Ground 1: The Child-Stealers

By A. Roy King

In "The Child-Stealers," a young man named Boon undertakes a desperate search for his kidnapped sister, aided by a small force of loyal companions. Traveling from the peaceful agricultural community called the Till, Boon and his friends must learn how to face conflict and must unravel the mystery of the fierce raiders who are carrying off children into the wilderness.

“The Child-Stealers” is the first book of "The Cursed Ground" historical-adventure series. Set in a long-gone era when humans lived for hundreds of years and all spoke the same language, "The Cursed Ground" saga tells the story of a group of defenders who struggle to protect their communities from the growing violence in the world around them. Meanwhile, a small brotherhood is charged with carrying an unpopular message to humankind: The Creator has declared that this violent world will come to an end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. Roy King
• Release date: Jan 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9780986276408

A. Roy King

A. Roy King is an author living in Raleigh, North Carolina, U.S.A. He is writing an historical fiction series called "Edhai," set in ancient times and based on Biblical settings. The first novel in the series is called "The Cursed Ground."

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The Cursed Ground 1:

The Child-Stealers

By A. Roy King

Copyright 2015 A. Roy King

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt

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By A. Roy King

Edhai

Historical series

Book One: The Cursed Ground

Martyroi

Historical series under development

For updates on these series

and other writings by A. Roy King:

+ Please visit http://www.aroyking.com

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CONTENTS

Map for The Cursed Ground

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About A. Roy King

Connect With A. Roy King

Map for The Cursed Ground

The Cursed Ground 1

By A. Roy King

Part I: The Child-Stealers

Year of Mankind 1576

Chapter 1

Someone else was in the forest. Boon knew it by early afternoon. In one place he found trampled leaves and undergrowth, and in another someone had picked all the edible mushrooms and stripped a berry patch.

He pointed it out to his father, Troth, and older brother, Ward. Most likely a group from the Wanderers, said Troth, seeking wild foods as we are. No need to be alarmed.

Jewel, Boon’s young sister, said, wide-eyed, Oh, Father! Do you think we might meet some Wanderers? You've seen them before, haven’t you, Father? She glanced around, her eyes alight. That would be so exciting! Will they dance and play music?

Boon leaned on his heavy ash walking stick and looked uneasily up and down the trail that cut through the cool, shady forest. To the east, the trail led back to the Till and home. In the other direction, it headed from these food-gathering grounds into the lesser-known territory frequented by Wanderer clans, and perhaps the occasional band of exiles. And farther out to the west, beyond this great forest, lived other peoples––supposedly.

Boon turned slowly in a full circle, listening and watching for any movement in the forest. The insects emitted a constant high whirring sound, small reptiles and rodents scurried through the thick underbrush, and birds flitted from branch to branch in the canopy. All normal.

He placed his hand on his sister’s auburn hair. Better to leave Wanderers alone, Jewel, if we meet them at all.

Ward tsked with impatience at his younger sister, the corners of his mouth pulled down in disapproval. This isn’t playtime, Jewel. You spend too much time romping around these woods like a little chipmunk. We have work to do. Let’s get to it, so we can get back home before dark.

Boon rolled his eyes. Go easy on her. You’ve done little enough today yourself. He pointed at the gathering basket hanging lightly over Ward’s shoulder. Your basket is barely a third full.

Ward took a breath and was about to mouth a retort, when their father interrupted. My sons, the sun will set on us with nothing to take back to your dear mother if you don’t stop bickering. He pointed off the trail uphill to the north. Ward, I happen to know that just up there, you will find a clearing that has good edible greens this time of year. Kindly take your basket up there and find something nutritious for your mother’s stew pot.

Boon and Ward looked coldly into each other’s eyes for a moment, then Ward turned and strode off up the hill, planting his staff angrily at each step, basket bumping against his hip.

* * * *

Troth and Boon filled their baskets and rucksacks with mushrooms, berries, wild herbs, tubers, gourds, and edible flowers, but by late afternoon, Ward had not yet returned from the clearing up on the hill.

Dawdling as usual, Boon thought.

Jewel ran off, following a little stream that crossed the walking trail. Boon and Troth could hear her wading in the water and laughing, probably chasing some little fish or frog.

Troth smiled. My little daughter is a gift from the Becomer. So alive, so thrilled with life. Troth glanced at his son. I already knew your mother at that age, twelve years. They even have the same coloring. Hair the color of the setting sun. Troth’s voice grew dreamy.

That light coloring sets her apart, said Boon. And it goes along with a light spirit. Boon looked at his father. Ward scolds her too much. She’s done her share of the work today, but she has fun at it. I think he can’t stand to hear her laugh.

Your brother has a serious view of life and feels obliged to help you younger ones––

Jewel screamed, out of sight down through the trees. Troth gasped.

Jewel! Boon yelled. He dropped his basket and launched himself toward her voice. A moment later, Troth too started running.

They thrashed through bushes, dodging trees and splashing through the stream where necessary to get to Jewel as quickly as they could. They came upon her a minute later, staring down into the underbrush by the side of the stream, her face twisted in a grimace.

Boon, relieved that his sister seemed all right, put his arm around her shoulders. What’s the matter, little one?

Troth came up behind.

She pointed into the underbrush at a still, brown figure. At first I thought it was alive, but it’s . . . Tears streaked her pale face.

Boon stepped forward and bent down. Flies buzzed around a dead raccoon. Boon sniffed, but it didn’t smell of rot.

Troth hugged his daughter. It’s all right, little one. Happens every day.

I know, she said. I just wanted to talk to it and see if it would let me touch it.

Troth laughed. You’re always ready for something new, aren’t you?

I like animals.

It’s not long dead. Boon pulled the animal out of the undergrowth to get a better look. We can take its skin. He pulled his bone knife from the sheath at his belt.

Let’s go back to the trail, Troth said to his daughter. You don’t have to watch.

Jewel shrugged off her father’s arm and squatted down by Boon. No, I’m fine now. I’m sorry it’s dead, but I want to see how this is done. Her father and brother exchanged a glance, and both laughed.

A short while later, the three followed the stream up toward the trail, ready to go find Ward and head home before dark. The raccoon skin hung from Boon’s hand, and they chatted as they walked.

A figure suddenly appeared from behind a large tree and stepped in front of them. Jewel cried out, and they halted, startled.

A man stood blocking their path, clothed in a leather shirt and trousers and a woven straw hat. His mouth drew back in a lopsided smile on a light-skinned, bearded face. An unusual red spot marred the left side of the man's neck, below and behind his ear, a mark like a kind of drawing, with four points in the shape of a star. A tattoo.

Well, isn’t this lovely, the man said in a low voice, looking from Boon to Troth, then Jewel, where his eyes lingered. His smile spread.

The intruder held a stick by his side, a branch that tapered from a polished handle to a heavy, knotted tip. A weapon. This was no Wanderer. Boon’s jaw tightened.

The stranger peered at Jewel. What do you have in your rucksack, pretty thing? he asked.

Gourds. Berries. Some herbs, Jewel piped out, strong and direct.

Well, you’ve had a good day in the forest, then, haven’t you, little rabbit?

Troth spoke softly now, a quaver in his voice. Are you hungry, neighbor? Up at the trail, we left our baskets and more rucksacks. We’re happy to share.

Oh, thank you for offering to share, Put, but we’ve already found your gatherings. Now three more men stepped out from a stand of bushes nearby. All of similar appearance—ruddy, dark haired, heavily bearded, two dressed in leather, one in rough woven plant fiber. All armed with clubs.

Boon’s stomach tightened. These men did not intend peace. They stepped closer. Uphill toward the trail, Boon caught a momentary flash of color and a movement. Was that Ward coming through the woods?

I must ask you both to drop your staffs. The leader gestured with his club at the walking sticks Troth and Boon carried.

You will not . . . Boon started to blurt out, his face growing hot.

Troth placed a hand on Boon’s shoulder. "That’s all right, son. Just let