Gold Rush

By Steven Lake

Winter has come, and the race that once haunted Simon's team is now but a shadow and a fading memory. But as Simon and his team winter over in the Kestrel Weyr, resting from their travels, and sheltered by the dragons who have sworn to protect them from all harm and danger, greater events are unfolding behind them; consequences of their desperate struggle to survive the prior year that will in turn bring about the greatest gold rush of men and women the distant planet of Offworld has ever seen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Lake
• Release date: Jul 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463970102

Steven Lake

Steven Lake is a prolific author of many, many books, stories, articles, and other literature spanning a period of over twenty years. He began his long writing career in 1992 while serving in the US Army and has worked continuously to improve his craft to the great art it is today.

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The Offworld Chronicles

Book 3 – Gold Rush

By Steven Lake

Copyright 2019 by Steven Lake

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

Year: 403AFR (after first racer)

Time: 10:43am

Location: The Village of Sandler, East of Donville

Two men stood in front of the village's only church, a quaint little whitewashed, western style, school house building, and anxiously watched the road into the tiny little hamlet. Being so small, the church didn't have its own pastor as the members couldn't afford his salary. So, it wasn't unusual for circuit riders, pastors with no church of their own, who rode from place to place, performing any number of liturgical duties, to wander into town from time to time. But when one of them wasn't available, all of the duties of the church were handled by the elders. This Sunday, just like many before it, they were expecting a circuit rider to show up. However, this one was to be different than the others. The famous Reverend Kinson had sent letters ahead of himself announcing his soon arrival to their humble little church. Because of this, nearly the entire town had turned out and filled the little chapel to overflowing. None of them wanted to miss the opportunity to see the esteemed preacher, even if there was a chance he might not show up, as he'd unfortunately done several times in the past. Regardless, they hoped dearly that he'd show up this time. Nevertheless, no one was more thrilled at the idea of his coming than the two most senior elders in the congregation. In fact, they were so excited about the idea, that they stood by the front door of the chapel nervously fidgeting like two little school boys.

Do you think he'll make it this time? asked one of the men.

The second grunted nervously.

I hope so. If he fails to show up again, the congregation will think we're lying to them; a fate I would greatly desire not to experience, he replied.

As would I. It's so frustrating to get all excited for something we've desired to see for so long, only to, once again, be put off until another day, said the first.

The second man gave a frustrated growl.

As much as we want this, we can only wait upon the Lord and His timing in this. If it be His will that we're blessed with the presence of the reverend, then praise the Lord. And if not, then so be it, no matter what.

The first man shook his head and sighed.

I pray that it is, indeed, the Lord's will that he be here. I don't wish to endure another delay.

Nor do I.

The two men then continued to study the road leading into the village for signs of Reverend Kinson's soon arrival. But still there was none. However, as they did this, a man in a black leather trench coat, a large Stetson hat and brown carriage gloves appeared out of a side street and rolled to a stop in front of the church as he tipped his hat kindly to the two men.

Am I late? he asked.

The two elders looked at him curiously as he sat proudly, yet humbly, in an old, rugged, well-worn, wooden wagon that was led by two equally well seasoned horses.

No, sir, said the first man. Services don't start until eleven sharp. However, short of a miracle from God, it appears as though we will not have the pleasure of hearing the esteemed Reverend Kinson today as we have not seen sign nor tell of him anywhere.

The man in the black trench coat gave the two men a wide, knowing grin.

I don't believe you need worry yourself any further about the arrival of your guest, for I am he who was promised to you.

The two elders looked at him in confusion. The man in the trench coat set the brake on the wagon, climbed down and then removed his hat before holding out a hand to the two men.

Greetings, gentlemen. I am the Reverend Kinson that you seek, and it is an honor to preach at your little church, he said.

The two elders looked at him in disbelief.

How can this be? We've heard no word from anyone that you were here, said one of them.

That is intentional, good sir. Too often, people make such an unnecessary fuss over my arrival. Thus, I prefer to enter quietly and only be made known at the time in which it is most appropriate; for it is God who should receive all of the glory, and not I!

The two elders nodded.

We agree as well, good sir. However, it is only good courtesy to warn a fellow when one arrives in town. It is not desirable for the constitution if one's guest is unduly late, or perhaps does not arrive at all. Now, if you would please, good sir, the service is about to start; and we are eager to hear what God has sent you to share with us.

Kinson waved dismissively.

"You need not hold a full service, for God has sent me, merely, to deliver a prophecy, rather than a sermon. Hence, I will not be staying long. However, you will have the esteemed honor of being the first of many to hear it declared, as I was told to deliver it to you before anyone else."

The two elders perked up in interest.

A prophecy, sir? I did not know that Baptists believed in modern prophecy, said one of them.

Kinson snorted with indignation.

Dear sir, I am neither Baptist nor Presbyterian; nor am I anything else with a man made title! I am a Christian; a follower of Jesus Christ, first, above all things! Therefore, I do not cling to a label made by men to divide the body! he protested.

The two men were stunned.

Please, please, good sir. No insult was intended. We just…well…

They studied Kinson for several moments before deciding that it would be fruitless to continue down this path in their conversation. So they quickly changed the subject.

Um, please forgive us, sir, but it's almost service time. If you will kindly take the pulpit, we would be most honored, said one of them.

Indeed, I shall, said Kinson boldly.

He then strolled into the little church and up to the modest wooden pulpit at the front. As he did, every pair of eyes in the overly packed building followed him as he walked. They'd all heard the conversation outside and were curious as to what to expect from this fiery preacher. Even though he hadn't preached anything yet, everyone knew they were in for quite a morning. However, what happened next still surprised them all. Rather than taking his hat and coat off, as was typical of a guest preacher to do, he approached the pulpit and began to speak. Clearly, whatever he planned to do, he didn't intend to stay very long, just as he'd stated earlier.

Ladies and gentlemen of this esteemed congregation. The Lord God has chosen you to be the first of many to receive this special revelation from Him about events that will transpire in the future; events that will signal the end of this wretched race, and the return of all who are eligible, to the world that we so dearly love. Namely, Earth, he began.

This immediately got the attention of everyone in the little chapel. Nearly every single one of them, especially those who were of the first generation, had given up any hope of ever returning to Earth, or seeing an end to the race. However, while this revelation had indeed generated great excitement among its hearers, it had also given birth to many mixed feelings. For some there was a feeling of elation believing that they might soon go home. But for others, it left a bitter taste in their mouths. Either because they couldn't go home to Earth, or should they go, they would have to leave behind their children, many of their family members, and all that they owned. This in turn generated considerable animosity among many towards Kinson and his message. But, despite this, he didn't waver from his mission, nor his message. Kinson stared at the congregation with both disappointment and righteous anger.

I sense fear in you; great fear! But it is an unrighteous fear! God has not sent this message to set your hearts to trembling; but rather to bring you joy, and that most abundantly! The day in which He brings this dark and infernal race to its end will be a most wondrous day!

This again drew a mixture of reactions from the congregation; some of continued indignation, some of disappointment and some of relief mixed with joy and elation.

Has God given you a sign of when this will be? asked one of the men.

Kinson smiled.

The Lord has indeed given me such a sign. In the day in which the long desired end of this bitter and loathsome race draws nigh upon the threshold, it shall be preceded by a winter like no other. However, it will not be the snow and the cold of that year that will be out of place. Instead, it will be the lack of death that will mark the final days of this race; and our soon rescue from this world. For in that year, no plant, nor tree, nor green thing that grows up from the ground, or sheds its leaves and dies upon the coming of winter, shall see death until that season has come and gone; and summer has, again, seen its full course. Every tree will remain green, every flower will bloom and every blade of grass will flourish, even in the deepest and bitterest of snows. In that same day, you will hear word from across the great waters that those whom block your path and barricade the way, have been removed. At that same time, all who seek to go west shall be drawn; and all who are able and willing shall go. For in that day, a new hope shall arise; and the end of the race will draw near, even nigh unto the gate. This is the word of the Lord.

The congregation looked at him in awestruck wonder, and many were uncertain what to think of this strange, new prophecy they'd just been given. However, what surprised them even more was when Kinson stepped down from the pulpit, strolled down the aisle and out the door, saying nothing else as he left. The congregation looked at each other in equal levels of amazement and confusion. They soon leapt up to pursue after him and rushed out of the chapel into the street. However, when they stepped outside, they found no sign of either him, nor his carriage anywhere. He'd completely vanished without at trace. They looked diligently all throughout the town and the nearby countryside for nearly an hour; and yet, found no sign of him. Shortly after, they regathered in the church to discuss what they'd seen and what it all meant. Eventually, they dispersed to their homes where many of them packed their bags and began scattering to the four winds to share all of the good news that they'd just heard with everyone they met, from one end of the race to the other. But, as they did, Sheobaal sat in a nearby tree, invisible to all those around him, and glared at them with disdain.

He hissed angrily, and said quietly to himself, This is not good. The master must know of this, for we must do all we can to prevent that day, lest our efforts here be brought to nothing.

And with that, he vanished in a flash of fire, and was gone.

Chapter 1

Year: 503AFR (present day)

Time: 11:23am

Location: The Village of Donville

Arthur Holland, a master woodcrafter by trade, sat at his workbench in his wood shop on Tendor street in the city of Donville and studied the exceptionally intricate piece of Mahoy wood that lay in front of him. It was part of a consignment he'd been given by a wealthy client, namely the mayor of the city, that was to be displayed on the very top of the banister of their new bed. Mahoy wood was a favorite among the well to do as it was both extremely beautiful, as well as notoriously difficult to carve due to its incredibly dense and fragile nature. Thus an intricately and ornately carved piece of Mahoy commanded a hefty price. There was also the fact that carving the beautiful pieces of smoky red wood was more a science than an art as one wrong move and the entire piece could shatter like glass. That was why this particular piece he was working on was merely to be used as an accent piece and not a part of the main structure. As it stood now, so long as he made no mistakes with this particular piece, the potential payday for this one tiny project was easily five times what he normally made for the entire week. But that's what woodcrafters did. They weren't just simple carpenters.

They were artisans with exceptional skill that could do the impossible with whatever kind of wood they were given. But carving Mahoy wood was not all they did. Sometimes they would be called upon to build ships, houses, wagons, barns, furniture or a wide variety of other things. Some even did the most menial of work, such as creating wooden handles for tools, or fence posts and even simple wooden doors. But regardless of what kind of project it was, if it was made of wood, or contained it, then it was almost guaranteed that they could built it, or were at least a part of the project. But among all of the woodcrafter shops in the city, Arthur's was unique and extremely special. His crafters were so incredibly skilled in their trade that it was not uncommon for other shops across the city to call upon them when they needed help. Sometimes they'd even refer business to him if a particular project they were working on became too difficult for them to handle. Even the shipwrights, who were a very highly skilled group in their own right, would sometimes call upon him when repairs or work they were doing went beyond even their already generous skills.

As he sat at his bench, meticulously studying the very delicate Mahoy carving in his hand, Arthur's mind carefully picked over the entire piece, inch by inch, looking for any crack, weakness or flaw in the material that might jeopardize it's integrity, while at the same time planning and strategizing how to make the last few cuts without destroying the many hours of work he'd already put into the piece. As he did this his business partner, Dexter Dramond, a man nearly equal in skill to himself, walked up to him. Seeing the look of concentration on Arthur's face, he knew it wasn't wise to interrupt him or break his concentration for fear that he might make a mistake and ruin the very delicate carving. He watched as Arthur continued to study the piece, completely oblivious to the world around him.

Eventually Arthur picked up a small block of sanding stone and, with careful, delicate strokes, made several final adjustments to the piece. Satisfied with his work, he walked over to a bath of staining oil and submerged the piece in it, taking great care to do it ever so gently. He did this in preference to painting on the stain, as Mahoy wood was infamous for rejecting every kind of stain available, save one, and only because it was soaked in the solution for three long days. Once the piece was safely in the bath of stain, he sat down on a chair next to his bench and began to wipe his hands with a shop rag as he studied the workshop around him in search of another project. But as he did he soon spotted Dexter standing nearby and smiled.

Ah, Dex, it's good to see you, he said.

Howdy, Art. How goes the project? asked Dexter.

As well as it can go, given the materials I have to work with. I should be thankful I don't have to build an entire banister out of that wretched stuff. As beautiful as it is, were I to have my way, I would never touch another piece of it the rest of my life.

Dexter laughed.

I agree. It's a gorgeous wood, but it's also more trouble than it's worth. Of course, if the payday on one of those projects wasn't so good, I don't think either of us would ever take another one of them again for the rest of our lives.

Agreed.

So, how many pieces did it take before you got this one?

Arthur furrowed his brow.

Surprisingly, only three this time.

Just three? Wow, that's impressive. Usually it's about nine.

Arthur nodded.

At least, if not more. However, it would've only been one this time, maybe two, had the first two pieces not shattered before I could do much with them.

Dexter grunted.

Yeah, that's the problem with that wood. It's too fragile. So I guess that's why there's Mahoy shards all over the floor at your feet.

Arthur pursed his lips slightly.

I was intending to sweep them up, but chose instead to leave them there out of spite.

Dexter laughed.

Punishment by humiliation, eh? he chided.

An eye for an eye, Arthur chided in return.

Dexter grunted.

We should be thankful that there weren't any eyes involved. Losing one of those in this business means unemployment, he muttered.

That it does.

So what's next on our to do list now that you're done with that?

With as much as we'll be making from this piece, I was hoping to put some more time into our new apprentices. Speaking of which, how are they doing? asked Arthur.

Dexter snorted.

As good as you can expect from an apprentice. They're showing promise, but their skills are as rough as a muddy road.

Arthur shook his head.

As to be expected. Either way, keep them to their tasks and in time they will improve. After all, we did.

Dexter furrowed his brow incredulously.

I think you give these kids too much credit. We at least had natural talent and skill when we first started. But these little ankle biters? Eh, I'm not so sure about that.

Arthur laughed, patted his friend on the shoulder, and smiled.

Always the eternal pessimist, aren't we?

Dexter shrugged.

Hey, it's kept me out of trouble so far, hasn't it?

Arthur laughed again and then slipped on his coat and hat.

Where are you going? asked Dexter.

To the docks. I wish to determine why we have not received any work from them of late. I have hungry men and their families to feed. Thus I must ensure that we have ample work for them to do lest any should come to poverty from lack of sufficient employ.

Best of luck to you.

Arthur gave a cockeyed smile.

With God, there is no such thing as luck.

Dexter shook his head.

And you call me a pessimist.

Arthur tipped his hat to his friend with a grin and then stepped out the door. As he did he felt the cool air nip at his face as his breath belched forth from his lips in great billowing fountains of steam. He then looked up at the sky and the thick, billowing roils of clouds overhead. Given how overcast it had become, he was surprised that it hadn't started snowing yet. At the same time he was thankful it hadn't. As he walked towards the docks in search of answers, he noticed that the trees around him, as well as the grass and every kind of plant, was still green, and in some cases even flowering, despite the obvious immanency of winter. He also noticed something else that intrigued him. A fresh group of racers had entered the town seeking a place to shelter and winter over. However, it wasn't their arrival that interested him the most, so much as the fact that they'd been a rare sight over the past several years. Because of Orbus and his bandits blocking the way in the first hextant, few if any racers had made it through the first hextant to even begin their experiences in the second and third. In fact, this was only the second team of racers he'd seen enter the village in the last several years. The prior one had been the team Alex Baker had been escorting. As he thought about this, he quietly wondered what'd happened to them and where they were now.

Especially given what awaited them on the other side of The Reaping Sea. He hoped they were still alive, as it was the terror of the Four Kingdoms that'd kept him and so many others like himself penned up in Donville, the Keep of Woes, and many other towns, villages and regions on the eastern side of The Reaping Sea. When he'd entered the town nearly twenty three years earlier, he'd stopped there merely to winter over, planning in the spring to resume his journey again and cross over to the other side to continue the remainder of his journey with his team. But it'd been a strong warning from God, along with that of many others in the village, including a number of fellow racers who themselves had faced the Four Kingdoms and nearly died because of it, that'd convinced him to stay behind. Thus, when spring came and the rest of his team set out on the course again, he'd instead remained in the village. However, in order to survive in Donville, he'd attached himself to a local woodcrafter and became his apprentice, quickly increasing in skill until he eventually achieved the status of master woodcrafter. And as the years dragged on, and he patiently waited for the way west to open up again, he got married, started a family, opened a lucrative woodcrafting business of his own, and became one of the greatest woodcrafters in all of Offworld.

Yet, the desire to some day return to the race, and perhaps even win it, still burned in his heart. And, despite knowing that completing the race would force him to give up everything he had, including his family, whom he dearly loved, he still felt drawn to the west. But even this was not without significant internal conflict as a small, inner voice warned him that, were he to go west, the losses he would suffer in doing so would be far too great. Yet on the other hand, he knew that were he not to, he would be partially to blame for the continued suffering and enslavement of both those who would some day come to this world, as well as those who were already here. He also knew that, even if he were to give up his family in favor of the race, his loss would only be for a time, as he'd see them again some day in Heaven. This helped him temper the pain he knew would come were he to choose to go. Even so, to him, the pain would be only a minor thing compared to that which he would save others from experiencing. He'd spoken often of this to his wife and children, and he knew that they were fully behind him in his desire to go west. So, should that day ever come, they would be ready to send him away with not only tears and sorrow, but joy as well. As he continued walking towards the docks, he noticed a familiar face approaching him on the street.

Ahoy, matey! came a jubilant, classic, pirate like voice.

It was Ebenezer, the captain that'd given Simon and his team passage across The Reaping Sea, and had lost his ship when the controllers had attacked it using The Reaping Sea as their weapon. But despite this horrible experience, he looked none the worse for wear.

Hello, Captain, how are you? asked Arthur with a smile.

Arr, I be good. And ye? replied Ebenezer.

Business and life are good. However, I am surprised to see you here. Rumors were circling that you had been killed by The Reaping Sea.

Ebenezer waved dismissively.

Nay, lad. The rumors of me death are greatly exaggerated. It will take much more than a simple sea to kill me, no matter how cruel it might be, he replied.

Indeed. So where have you been all this time?

I and me first mate spent many a day on the sea before we were rescued. Once we came to land we again spent many a more searching for a way home. Had one of me ships not come into port, I may have been scuttled ashore for many a more.

Indeed. So what will you do for a ship now that your other one lies at the bottom of the sea?

Ebenezer laughed.

Arr, laddy, I have many more where that one came from, he said with a toothy grin. Setting sail again with a new ship will be mighty easy.

Arthur nodded.

Ah, that's good to hear.

Aye, indeed it be. So where be ye off to?

Checking with the shipwrights. We have not had many requests from them of late, so I seek to tell if it is merely due to a lack of work, or if another shop has edged in on our territory.

Aye, I understand, lad. Then do not let me keep ye, as there is much work that I be needin' to do meself as well. Good day to ye, said Ebenezer

And the same to you, Captain.

Ebenezer tipped his ragged, tricorn hat to Arthur, and then made his way down the street with his first mate not far behind.

The Captain is durable, if nothing else, he thought whimsically.

Arthur knew him to be an indomitable man. But the dangers and travails that the Captain survived on a regular basis impressed even him. By rights, the old salt should've died years ago, and yet he still somehow persevered, despite the hardships. Eventually Arthur reached the docks and soon located the dock master as he was updating one of the dockside bulletin boards.

Greetings, old friend! shouted Arthur to the dock master.

The older man turned towards him and then smiled.

Ah, good afternoon, Arthur! To what do I owe the pleasure? he said cheerfully.

I'm merely here to investigate the reasons for why I'm not receiving sufficient work from the shipwrights within your port, replied Arthur.

The dock master's expression of joy faded away.

Alas, it is for the same reasons that my shipwrights struggle to find work as well. There has been little for them to do of late as the sea has not been as restless as it usually is, and thus ships do not suffer as much harm as in days past. Therefore, they are less often in need of repair as they once were. In fact, work has become so scarce that an entire gang of my men have gone abroad in search of work in order to provide for their families. As such, I have not had any work to send you, he said.

And what of the other shops in the village? Have they found any work among your docks?

The dock master shook his head.

I'm afraid not, as there has been none to give them. Besides, I would not even consider calling upon them until I had spoken with you first. Your work is far superior to theirs, and thus greatly preferred above all others.

Arthur gave a perturbed, frustrated sigh.

I understand. It is unfortunate that more work cannot be had. But if it does not exist, then it cannot be given out.

Agreed. But, should more work come up that requires your careful skills, I will gladly send it your way.

Arthur nodded.

Thank you. It is greatly appreciated.

The dock master bowed slightly.

It is my pleasure.

Adam stood in front of one of the vast fields of grain that filled the northern side of their prairie farm and looked out across it with curiosity. He then picked one of the clearly full and plump, yet still green and unripe, ears of grain and then tilted his hat back slightly as he scratched his head in concern and confusion.

What da ya make of it, Martha? he asked.

His wife, who was standing next to him, took the ear of grain out of his hand, popped it into her mouth, chewed on it briefly and then spit it out.

It tastes like a summer grain, as though it's but a few weeks from turnin', yet it should've turned already a month ago as its as cold as an icy heart out here. I can't explain it, but I don't think it's gonna turn in time, she replied.

Adam pursed his lips slightly.

I don't think it's gonna turn at all, replied Adam.

Martha looked at him curiously.

What makes ya say that? she asked.

Because ain't nothin' else turned. Not the trees, not the garden, not nothin'.

Why da ya think that is?

Adam frowned slightly as he slowly shook his head.

I don't know. Only God does.

As the two of them stood near the edge of their field trying to determine what they would do about their crops, a man in a brown suit, light brown vest, black tie with a diamond shaped tie clasp and a derby like hat came riding up to them on a patchwork colored horse and stopped next to them. He tipped his hat slightly as Adam and Martha looked at him curiously.

"Afternoon, folks. I'm Chester Westman of the Great Westman railroad company. I was wonderin' if y'all had a moment to speak