Tarmachan

By G. Wakeling

Things are not always what they seem...sometimes, a palace is nothing more than a gilded cage, and a chance at freedom is no more than another trap.

Now fifteen, Lyllia realises that her life of royalty and privilege is actually one of oppressive restriction behind castle walls. The Crossover Festival draws near, and she hopes that with it, comes freedom. But her debut takes a dark twist when her confident disappears, leaving Lyllia to struggle through the festival’s ceremony alone.

Reunited with her friend, yet kidnapped from her home, Lyllia must fight to escape the clutches of her captors. But, out in the Northern Wilds, she discovers her daydreams have been childish musings compared to the real terrors lurking shadows. Here, trolls, death lights and shadow stalkers lay.

As her new world unveils itself, Lyllia learns there’s a fine line between right and wrong. It seems that the life of a princess is rife with twisted lies and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Wakeling
• Release date: May 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370740116

G. Wakeling

Geoff Wakeling lives in London and escapes the smog of the city through his writing. Having released his debut novel, Inside Evil, on the tales of a mysterious world shadowing our own, Wakeling is now working on a science fiction saga in addition to possible follow-ups to his debut book. With a degree in Zoology, Wakeling is animal mad and has three cats, fish and five chickens in his London home. He is a keen gardener and conservationist.

Book preview

Tarmachan

Book One of the Gathin Chronicles

By

G. Wakeling

Copyright © 2017 by G. Wakeling

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews and critiques.

Tables of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Author Notes

Chapter One

Lyllia shrank into the shadow of the vast castle wall as voices echoed around the corner. The bricks were cool to the touch, moist even, and she looked up towards the heavens to see that moss and ferns clung to the massive structure as nature gradually took back what it was owed. Sky shone far above the wall, glinting against the sliver of dew remaining in the uppermost stones.

Embedded with alleys, buildings, and hidden chutes and tunnels, the great ramparts wrapped their way around the central buildings of the castle to create a giant bubble. This part of the wall, where Lyllia attempted to camouflage her dirt-covered clothes against the stone, had been rebuilt several centuries before. She could clearly see the join between old and new. Whereas the mortar on the ancient walls had all but vanished due to age and erosion, the pale cream striations across the stones beneath her hand gave clear indication of its recent repair.

New age, Lyllia thought. Two centuries old was far from ‘new’ for a fifteen year old. Lyllia could barely remember her infancy, let alone fathom just how long 200 years really was.

The voices grew louder and a group of men stumbled around the corner, laughter in their mouths, great flagons of ale in their fat hands. It was unusually warm in Hilltree. The cool bite to the air was gone, and heat pervaded every nook, every snaking alley, every shaded stream. The pumping warmth from bakeries, heaving sex and drug houses, and the coal-fuelled warming station hidden below the central castle was exacerbated, whilst the stench from the stables—a smell Lyllia normally found pleasant—wafted through the streets with nose-wrinkling ferocity.

Sweat ran down the men’s faces, the drops collecting in the wiry hair of their beards and dripping onto the jewels at their throats, giving the gold, bronze and silver beads, and plethora of gems, an extra sheen. She wondered where their path led. Into the arms of coin-seeking lovers? Or perhaps towards a tavern, where the next ale would be cooler.

She allowed herself a moment to imagine their stories but each ended the same way—they were all fat, rich men with too much ale in their bellies and lust in their groins. Before the day was over, each would find solace with a man or a woman and only then return to their families. She hated the thought, but even in her youth she had already realised the currency on which this city thrived.

However, their preoccupations benefitted Lyllia: it was obvious she need not have worried about being spotted, for they paid no attention to the dirty waif far below their eye line and strode right by without the slightest glance.

You can come out now, she said after the sound of their voices became faint.

Lion stepped out from behind a tower of flagstones and wooden storage bins. He was a slim, shaggy wolf whose silver coat made no attempt to hide his ancient age. Once, men said, his great mane had been flecked with bronze, and he’d been graced with a name befitting one of the great fabled beasts living across the seas in the Silver Sands. But any youthful colour to his fur was long since gone. Lyllia couldn’t remember a time when he had not looked this way, and she had seen no other. He was the last wolf of Gathin. How long do wolves live, she wondered? He was far older than she.

Lion walked stiffly towards her, his tired eyes fixed on where she stood. He never left her side when she explored. It was irritating. She longed to be free of the shadow, to clamber up to the ramparts, to slither down narrow passageways and adventure into the bowels of the castle. But he always howled, and that attracted attention. And attention was not what she, or the last wolf, required. He was her guard, her friend, but she often looked upon him as a grandfather unable to remove her safety reins.

Lyllia drew away from the wall, aware that the damp stone had begun to wet her clothes. She looked up into Lion’s eyes as he joined her; he might be small compared to his forebears, but his jaw still easily rested atop her head.

You could just stay inside, she said.

He looked at her, unblinking, with his pale brown eyes.

She reached up and ruffled the rough silver-tipped fur between his ears.

I guess that would be too much to ask.

 She sighed. Today would not be one of clambering the walls or slithering through minuscule chutes. Today, like every day of her life so far, would be castle confinement, for fear that, if she ventured too far afield, her devoted companion might be spotted, or, worse, howl so loud that she was discovered.

The pair slid along the wall, enjoying the cooler shadows. The sun was high in the sky and the three towers of the castle would soon obscure it from view. The heat wouldn’t dissipate, however; Lyllia knew that only too well thanks to the months beforehand. There were more voices ahead and they froze once again.

What is everyone doing out? she moaned, frustrated that her decision to set out at midday was being thwarted. It was normally quiet at this time.

Gods, this heat. What have we done to deserve this? I’d prefer the wretched cold of the North Realm any day.

 The woman’s voice floated through the air, and, though still unseen, Lyllia could already tell she was neither servant nor working girl.

It won’t last, another voice said. It is but a drug to dull our senses, fatten our men and make us weak before the snow returns. She laughed. It can be hoped the snow returns so swiftly it takes those men so by surprise they freeze in their beds and let us alone.

There was prolonged giggling, and as Lion snuck deeper into the shadows and camouflaged himself into the wall, Lyllia strained to see around the jumble of buildings that lined the walls.

The women were still not visible, but their voices were closer. Lyllia was relieved. She wouldn’t have to chase after the group and could, instead, enjoy eavesdropping from her place in the shadows.

Of course, if the winter takes its time, there are other ways to take charge, a third woman added. The Crossover Festival is almost upon us. It does not take much sheer fabric, perfumes and jewels, and a fleeting, flirting glimpse to quicken a man’s heart and send so much blood to his head he’s incapacitated to his bed.

As long as that’s where the blood goes. This heat is not the time to enthuse lust amongst the masses.

Unless he’s strong and lean and ready for ensnaring.

The women burst into laughter again, and Lyllia understood their meaning. She was young, but not so naive she didn’t know how feminine charms could be used to work the most resistant man’s heart.

Finally, she saw three women wander into view. They were beautiful. All had long hair, two with soft curls twisted into straw-coloured strands. The petite middle woman had hair the colour of a bright new horse-chestnut burst from its shell. Silvery strands of ribbon glittered within the hair of all three, and bands of the same colour, thicker and more rigid, wound around the top of their heads. As their conversation alluded, too, their outfits were sheer; thin blouses overlapped loose fitting trousers that had large splits in the sides, and bangles, fastened around the ankles, kept the fabric in place. Beneath, only the smallest of undergarments were worn to protect their modesty, though the same couldn’t be said of their blouses. They were only a few years older than Lyllia, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, yet she saw easily, even from her position, they all had ample, rounded breasts. The garments stuck to their glistening skin and left little to the imagination.

Lyllia was transfixed until one woman noticed her gaze.

Our talk of men has attracted young ears, she said, before smiling. Her soft brown eyes were the same colour as her skin. Her companions quickly looked in the direction of the wall as Lyllia cheeks burned. She could not retreat, nor could she find any words, so she stood, stiff and awkward, as the women swept by.

You will grow, one called back, putting her hands to her breasts and pushing them together. And soon you will see the ease in which we rule the kingdom.

Her antics caused an explosion of laughter, and soon the women had gone and she heard only their fading voices.

Lyllia’s face remained on fire. Rule the kingdom. The words cut into her. She knew such womanly charms held little weight on the stage of kings and conquerors.

I’m such an idiot, she muttered, thinking of the things she could have said, the way she should have conducted herself. Instead, they had seen a mute, dirty servant girl wishing for a life she would never enjoy.

The brief encounter played foul with her mood, and as the sun continued to move across the afternoon sky, her usual bounce departed. It suited Lion, who plodded solemnly beside her as she trudged around the well-trodden routes of the castle’s inner circle. Their game of hide and seek was abandoned, the pretence her wolf-shaped shadow was a fearsome beast forgotten. His presence caused a few raised eyebrows, and a gasp from one courier obviously not familiar with the city. Those within the Central Circle were accustomed to Lion in ways those farther out in the city would not well handle. And so, for the most part, they were ignored. But being ignored and being camouflaged were two different things, and Lyllia noticed there were sudden gaps in conversation whenever she drew near.

That’s why I keep to the shadows, she thought as she kicked a stone. Creeping through the maze of alleys created by the buildings as they jostled for space gave far more interest. Now, wandering along, slouched and in plain sight, even whispers were abandoned as she approached.

"Damn them. Damn them all."

 What did they think would happen if she overheard a gossiped word or twisted new rumour? They couldn’t expect her to act openly on anything she discovered. How could she?

But yet, normally, Lyllia soaked up their words like a sponge. She hid behind crates and crawled under hay bales. She clung to the sides of buildings or flattened herself against alley walls as a way to live vicariously through the cast members in her elaborate play.

Lyllia knew, for example, that the bakery boy stole two scones per week from his delivery round and that, unbeknownst to him, his petty crime had not gone unnoticed. She’d feared the coming retribution at first, and had spent several days pressed against the hot tin roof of the flour store trying to discover his employer’s intended punishment. But then she saw him lure a chicken with the crumbs of his steals and torture the beast towards a bloody end, and she no longer felt the need to offer a warning.

She knew that Mrs Draper cried every night in the back of the library over the three babes she’d lost, and that there was a red-faced man called Brex who used fishbones to pick the grime from his thick moustache. Lyllia had eyes and ears for everything, and she retained information as well as if she’d written upon her skin with a metal-tipped quill. Should she ever need coin for her knowledge, she’d not want for anything, at least in the short term. But she cared not for money or wealth. She saw her tiny world of the Central Circle as a great mechanism of cogs and wheels, each component’s daily struggles creating the rich tapestry around her.

But now she heard no secrets and was privy to no rumours, for she and Lion walked in plain sight.

She stopped momentarily by a small catering stall and took a thick wedge of bread, knowing she needn’t pay. The vendor peered at her momentarily and then offered her a spoon of honey.

Good day, lassee, he called as she walked away with honey dripping down her chin. Her spirits rose a little; the honey was sweet and tasted of the heathers that created great purple mountains across the undulating lands around Hilltree. She gave the last piece of thick crust to Lion, who took it with a look of disdain. She got the distinct impression he only gnawed the hard crust to please her, rather than to fulfil any desire of hunger. He didn’t eat much these days.

Is that why he looks so old?

The high sun gave a false impression of the time, and it was only when she rounded the corner to see the great towering fir trees that Lyllia realised afternoon had already arrived. Shining light caught atop the majestic living spires, illuminating them like bright needles. Farther down, the sun cast no glare, and she followed the shadows to the street and then into the chasm below.

Once, there had only been a single great tower in Hilltree’s Central Circle. At the climax to the Ammokra War, the great landmark had been sucked into the ground as the very fabric between Gathin, the Gods’ Realm, and the Devil’s World had been ripped apart. It had been sheer luck that the tower’s destruction had plugged the tear between realms and restored order. The final Ammokra had died that night, the curse’s last sentience finally vanquished. All those years ago had been an era of magic. The teachings were vague to Lyllia; so much time had passed that most of the account was now a fable: a long-gone period of myths. There could be no denying that the tower had once stood, and that the reflection of