Beast of War

By Christine Gardner

An ancient prophecy foretells the coming of a beast that will destroy the island of Breeland unless three young people, one from each tribe, journey to the beast's lair and destroy it. Although they appear to have little in common they must learn to put aside their differences and work together for the sake of their homeland. The Brinnies are small but strong and intelligent farmers; the Coasties are a beach dwelling race who spend most of their time relaxing, while the Brooges are cave dwellers and hunters. 

Red streaks dancing in still water 
Follow on to pain and slaughter. 
Daughter earth and son of fire 
Travel through the sea of mire. 
Son of air must follow too, 
Green must join with white and blue.
Find the way to mountain lair, 
Free the river flowing there. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Gardner
• Release date: Aug 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386365198

Christine Gardner

Christine has had a fascination for history most of her life. When the youngest of her five sons started school Christine went back to school as well. After several years at TAFE, studying both visual arts and writing, she went to university and eventually graduated with a BA in History/Philosophy of Religion, with Honours. She's written all kinds of books since then, most with at least some history included.

Book preview

Other Books by the author:

For Young Adults and Children

Sanctuary

Last Chance

No-one’s Good at Everything

Chilli—The Great Hunter

Non-fiction

Not Guilty

What Did You Say?

Demented Mothers

Fiction

Stony Creek (Book 1, Red Dust Series)

The Road to Karinya (Book 2, Red Dust Series)

Red Wine and Summer Storms (Book 3, Red Dust Series)

Connections

Inheritance

Dark Innocence

Her Flesh and Blood

The Letter

CHAPTER 1 - Brooges

CHAPTER 2 – Brinnies

CHAPTER 3 – Coasties

CHAPTER 4 – Red teels

CHAPTER 5 – Warning the Coasties

CHAPTER 6 – Terrus’ song

CHAPTER 7 – Rings!

CHAPTER 8 – A little knowledge

CHAPTER 9 – Red streaks

CHAPTER 10 – The elders

CHAPTER 11 – Green and white

CHAPTER 12 – And blue

CHAPTER 13 – Mankin swamp

CHAPTER 14 – Baree desert

CHAPTER 15 – Oasis

CHAPTER 16 – Wutcheon forest

CHAPTER 17 – Earth

CHAPTER 18 – Air

CHAPTER 19 – The lair

CHAPTER 20 – The beast

CHAPTER 21 – The beast is dead; long live the beast

CHAPTER 22 – Last chance

CHAPTER 1 – Brooges

CENER WAS HUNTING A mature siver, a brute of an animal, with massive curly horns and chunky back legs. They would be nice roasted, he thought, but this animal was for winter and would be salted and stored in the back of the cave where the tribe slept in the cold season. Provided I can kill the thing of course, he said aloud. The siver ran on its overdeveloped back legs, its yellow fur glistening in the sun. It sensed the danger, and sniffed occasionally in Cener's direction, its bulbous nose running in fear. 

Cener, like all Brooges, was strong and heavily built, with a thick layer of fat under his blue skin to protect him from the coming cold season.  He was tall for his age and his white hair was clipped close to his head, in the manner of all adult male Brooges.

Hunting would be harder in winter, with many animals hibernating in the distant mountains, and others with very little meat on their own bones and not worth eating. There were always plenty of toracks around but they were very tough and not to many people's taste. Of course if they were desperate, they could catch a few young ones and boil them up for a day or so. With the addition of plenty of herbs they were palatable enough to prevent any danger of the tribe starving.

Cener threw his spear at last, and hit the siver in its narrow chest, the most vulnerable part of the animal. He jumped out of the bushes and ran towards the carcass, his knife already in his hand. The heart of the siver had to be removed from its body within two minutes of its death, or a deadly poison was pumped throughout its entire body. Because of this, only the very best hunters were permitted to kill sivers, and it was a great honour for a young man of only sixteen winters. Slashing quickly through the tender orange skin, Cener grabbed the still-beating heart and threw it as far as he could. It was said that if the heart was still close by, it could leap back into the animal to do its poison work. Cener didn't believe it, of course, it was just a silly superstition, but it didn't hurt to make sure.

He took out his calling-horn then, an ornate creation made on winter nights by the fire of his father's camp, in anticipation of this season's hunt. He took great pride now in putting it to his lips and blowing the kill signal to the camps. Each camp had their own signal, but usually everyone would come to see what had been killed and help carry it if the lucky camp couldn't manage on their own. Of course they would expect to be rewarded for their help in meat, so most camps did the work alone, even if it took several trips. 

Fruble was the first to arrive, in time to brag to the next arrivals of his son's prowess at hunting. This was an ideal opportunity to show all the camps what a strong young man he had raised. During the cold season, matings would begin, and Fruble had big ambitions for Cener. He had seen the boy eyeing Leare, the youngest daughter of Scuttare, chief of the biggest and wealthiest camp of all. The Brooges didn't really have a leader; each camp had a chief, and all the chiefs met to discuss anything that would affect the whole people. In theory each chief had an equal say, but in practice most deferred to Scuttare.

Scuttare had no sons, a fact which no one held against him, as he had four beautiful daughters, three of whom were already mated. If Leare accepted Cener and he proved to be a better hunter than the other daughters' men, then it was quite likely Cener could one day take Scuttare's place. He would then never want for anything, with so many people to provide for him. His family too would be looked after; Fruble knew his son well.

‘See my son. Is he not the world's greatest hunter? Only sixteen winters and look at the beast he has brought down!’ In a much quieter voice he said to Cener, ‘Did you get the heart out in time, son?’

‘Of course, Father, I remember well what you taught me.’

‘See that you remember all I taught you of women too, boy, here comes Leare to admire your kill. Offer her the head and if she accepts it, you know what that means!’

Although slightly irritated by his father's prodding, as Cener had already planned to do just that, he was an easy-going young man and kept his thoughts to himself.

Leare, surrounded by a group of friends giggling behind their hands, was among the first to arrive. She stood out from any crowd with her snow-white hair swinging around her hips, and her glossy blue skin. The Brooges were all born pale blue, but their colouring changed with exposure to the sun, and the oldest people in camp were a deep maroon. The women rubbed animal fat mixed with flower petals into their skin to make it shiny and soft. In spite of the flower petals they all had a strong odour of animal fat, but as they were all used to this from their own mothers it didn't offend anyone.

‘A fine beast, Cener,’ Leare said. ‘You are a brave hunter.’

Cener blushed, his face taking on a purple hue. He then lifted his axe high above his head, and swung it down on the carcass, severing the head and splashing orange blood over the onlookers. The girls shrieked, while the boys protested ‘Cener!’ and then laughed.

Picking up the bloody head, Cener held it out to Leare. ‘Will you accept this gift, Leare?’

She took it with no hesitation at all, and everyone cheered. They were well-liked young people and this was a good match for both of them. With Leare's acceptance of the head of the beast, they were now officially courting and would very probably be betrothed in another year or two. There was no commitment yet, but the Brooges took courtship very seriously and no other man would approach Leare with an offer now that the couple had made a pact. If they eventually decided they were not suited to one another, by mutual agreement, they could again become available to others.

CHAPTER 2 – Brinnies

‘JUST LOOK AT THOSE creatures will you! I think they'd kill anything that moved.’

‘You won't have to worry then Terrus – I haven't seen you move for hours.’

‘Ha! You can talk. What have you done today? I've at least cooked some lunch. You're getting more like your Coastie mates every day!’

Barite laughed. ‘Yeah, those Coasties know how to live all right. You have to admire their love of life.’

‘I don't admire idleness. The only time they do anything is when they're hungry. Then they kill some poor fish. They don't even bother to cook them – no better than animals.’

‘Yes, but at least they don't kill for pleasure like our friendly neighbours the Brooges. They hunt every day, and half the time they leave bits of dead animals lying around for the vultures.’

Terrus sighed, and stretched her delicate-looking limbs. Like all the Brinnie women, she was very small, with green eyes, black hair and pointed ears. Her skin was pure white, except for several spots of red, green and black on her arms and legs. There was little variation in the colouring and size of the Brinnies, apart from these spots, which were different on each of them. The number of spots increased with each birthday and their appearance also altered with illness or mood swings. They were the only indication of just how old a Brinnie was, as their appearance otherwise changed very little once adulthood was reached. 

The colour of the spots determined a Brinnie’s place in society and no one knew, until the day of each birth celebration, just what that position would be. A general farmhand, determined at sixteen by a green spot, might be changed radically by