The Noble of Normatan

By W. T. Svedin

Haan put his seventeen year old daughter, Kishi, on the back of his trusted horse and sent her away to escape the invasion of the barbarians from Luerodan. Leaving her parents was the most difficult thing she had ever done. Without looking back, she rode all the way to the high plateau overlooking the valley of Normatan. Under the enchantment of the high mountain valley she is spared the horrors and cruelty gripping her world.
Flynn Stalwarth was an ordinary boy; at least by all appearances. Destiny and magic combine to snatch him out of his world and land him in Kishi’s. Desperately, he searches for a way back home and in the process he and Kishi develop a relationship that spans their worlds. Together they discover that he is the one foretold that will restore peace. He is torn between his own world and the love he has found in hers. He must choose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Feb 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483423876

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THE NOBLE

of NORMATAN

W. T. SVEDIN

Copyright © 2014 Wilson Svedin.

Edited by Michela Schulthies

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2388-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2387-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922572

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 3/19/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter 1    The Door

Chapter 2    The Esteemed Council

Chapter 3    The Markers

Chapter 4    The Council

Chapter 5    A Place To Stay

Chapter 6    Dusty

Chapter 7    The Game

Chapter 8    Bairt’s Place

Chapter 9    The Expedition

Chapter 10    The Window

Chapter 11    The Grand Council Reconvenes

Chapter 12    A New Champion

Chapter 13    Tarlane

Chapter 14    The Quest

Chapter 15    Guarded Things

Chapter 16    The Rod

Chapter 17    The Stones & Other Things

Chapter 18    Home Again

Chapter 19    The Magenta

Chapter 20    Ed And Meryl

Chapter 21    Remembering

Chapter 22    Trusting

Chapter 23    Awakening

Chapter 24    The Council In The Guarded Hall

Chapter 25    Grom

Chapter 26    Revelations In The Guarded Hall

Chapter 27    The Noble Of Normatan

Tamismap1.jpg

Map by Tami Barben

LOOSE PANES QUIVERED IN THE windows and dishes chattered uneasily as the earth rumbled under the hooves of a hundred horses thundering toward Hauvendal. Haan rushed to the door. The Luerods were entering the city. Sanctuarr and Harborann had already fallen to the barbaric horde and Haan feared for his wife Karish, but he feared even more for his daughter Kishi. The savages from Luerodan, entirely void conscience, did unspeakable things to the women, but more especially to the young girls. Horror went ahead of the beasts like a silent plague gripping the entire kingdom and now the dread was at their doorstep. Dust from the horses’ hooves was the very breath of hell mocking the light and choking out all hope.

Haan had known the Luerods would be coming, but didn’t think they would be there so soon. He took Kishi into his arms and, with tears in his eyes, he held her tight.

There is no time—you must go. You will be safe in Normatan.

Karish added her arms and tears to what seemed to be a final embrace. She kissed Kishi and held her face tightly in her hands. Be safe my precious child and do not fear for us. I promise you, we will see you again.

Haan whisked Kishi out the back door and helped her onto his horse. Luminous, my trusted friend, he said to the horse, Take Kishi to Normatan and take care of her for us. The horse nodded and stomped his right hoof determinedly. Haan wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and looked tenderly on his daughter’s fear etched face. You are the future; we will be waiting for you.

Tears streamed down Kishi’s face and for all the sobs the only thing she could say was a pitiful, Oh, Father. He slapped the great white charger on the rump and she was carried into the shelter and safety of the shadows of the bordering woods. She stopped to look back at her home. How could a heart pierced as hers, go on beating?

Kishi had never known such fear; until that day, she had not actually seen a Luerod or witnessed their cruelty. She waited in the dark cloak of the forest and watched as the invading nightmare went from house to house viciously evicting men, women, and children. Agonizing screams for mercy were answered with horrific brutality. She desperately wanted to help, but what could she do? Panic struck like a knife in her chest and made her stomach turn when she saw three of the ugly creatures enter her house. A gasp of horror made it hard for her to breathe. She put her hands over her mouth to hold the screams inside when she saw her father tumbling out the door. One of the brutes followed, kicking him viciously in the stomach and then the head. Blood splattered across her father’s face.

Don’t look, whispered Luminous.

Kishi’s vision blurred with tears and muffled sobs escaped from behind her hands.

We have no children! she heard her father cry desperately.

The other two Luerods carried her mother outside. Karish struggled pathetically and cried out when she saw her husband, bloody and writhing on the ground. Please, leave us alone. she begged.

One of the brutes wrenched her arm savagely behind her back and Karish fell to her knees in pain. Then, in a cowardly move, it kicked her viciously from behind, sending her sprawling on top of her husband. The bestial creatures laughed as they walked away. It was a hideous and haunting sound.

Barely able to see through the tears that still flowed freely, Kishi leaned forward and put her arms around the stallion’s neck. Let’s go, she sobbed.

Leaving her parents was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but at least she knew they were alive. Without looking back, she rode all the way to the high plateau overlooking the valley of Normatan, trying not to think of the crumbled remains of the happy life she was leaving behind.

Kishi was seventeen when she went into exile. Before the Luerods, her world had been one of happiness—innocent and untouched. What she could never have imagined as she rode away from everything familiar to her was that, in time, two worlds would collide, and her fate would be linked with that of another, a baby in the Outer World named Flynn Stalwarth. Though he was barely learning to crawl, Flynn’s destiny was already taking shape in Normatan.

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CHAPTER 1

The Door

NO ONE KNOWS, AT LEAST not entirely, the direction his life is going to take, and I’m thinking that’s a good thing. A certain amount of surprise in our lives helps us to actually live. From one moment to the next, life is a surprise and, whether we like it or not, we are on a collision course with our own futures. How many people would willingly choose their life path, if they were somehow able to see their future? Even lives filled with great accomplishments might very well be altered if those accomplishments were made visible prematurely. Life can be a veritable hell when expectations are forced upon us. There are few who freely choose what others expect or demand of them. We achieve the best in ourselves and, are the happiest doing it, when we shoot for a dream and then do the best we can with all the other stuff that comes along.

Flynn Stalwarth was as normal as any other boy: oblivious to his future and perfectly content in that obliviousness. He wasn’t much to look at; picking him out of a crowd would have been like trying to single out a particular cantaloupe at a fruit stand. But Flynn was no cantaloupe.

At a very early age, Flynn began to feel that there was something buried deep inside of him, like he was more than he appeared to be—certainly more than the little notice he was given might have indicated.

There are those who are so caught up in their own impressions of themselves they can’t see beyond their own nose. Their heads full of air and in their shortsightedness, they think themselves quite remarkable. Not so in Flynn’s case. While a bigger-than-life feeling often made his heart and mind race, it was all well hidden behind a quiet and shy façade. It was only when he was alone that the inner Flynn immerged. Marvels and conquests like the world has never known played out on the haystack behind the barn on the little farm where he grew up. He hadn’t become some kind of goody-goody, but he wasn’t a bratty twerp either. That feeling, bottled and growing inside of him, occasionally made him braver and dumber than he really was. There were times when he did things that were just plain stupid and even he sometimes wondered what he was thinking.

Flynn grew up with an older brother and sister, Josh and Kristen and two younger brothers, Ben and Taylor, affording him the advantages and disadvantages of sibling rivalry. His dad was a mailman full time and a part time farmer-rancher. Flynn was expected to do his share of the chores on the farm and that kept him busy, but not so busy that he didn’t have time to do the things that boys like to do. He was just starting the third grade when the family moved into their new house on their little farm.

In those early years Flynn was self-conscious of the fact that he had started school a year behind the other kids. He always wondered what they were thinking. Fourth and fifth grades were especially difficult years for him. Being the new kid, he thought he needed to be tough to fit in. It wasn’t easy for him to do that while continuing to be the innocent little boy his mother thought he was when he was at home. He kidded himself that tough was cool, but never was really good at it.

By the time those two years ended, he had discovered that it is best to simply be yourself. He had concluded that when you try to be someone you’re not, just for the sake of being a part of a crowd, you are under the constant obligation to prove something. You have to do and say things that are not you, one way or another, it will get you into trouble. Like the time he dumped red ants down Tom Mecham’s shirt for no real reason at all, or the times when pure smut spewed from his mouth. He always hated the sound of it, but it was expected.

By sixth grade, Flynn had come to grips with the reality that he was not a tough guy. The realization that he didn’t have to be was a great relief. It was around then that he made another very helpful and enlightened discovery: ordinary and average have their advantages—no one expects you to prove how average you are. His newfound wisdom served him well as he coasted through junior high school in the comfort of mediocrity.

However, like everyone else, Flynn was on a collision course with his own future. He was about to find out that life doesn’t let you get away with coasting for very long. Sooner or later, it hits you right in the face, and when it does, you either choose to live it or you pay a hefty price trying to avoid it.

Like any other normal kid in the ninth grade, Flynn alternately loved school and hated it. He was as anxious as the next guy for summer break to come, maybe even a little more. His last year of junior high seemed to take forever, cruelly mocking him with its endlessness, like invisible bars that would never release him. The last week was especially torturous, and he was positive that that was its only purpose. Everyone, including Flynn, endured it by talking about what they were going to do for the summer. He and his friend Mitch had made such big plans for their emancipation.

At last the final Friday arrived. It was entirely void of purpose, but just knowing it was the last day, and a short day, made it bearable. Flynn didn’t wait for the bus. It was faster to run along the canal and cut through the fields. He ran for home without a single stop. The anticipation of the summer opening ceremonies put a spring in his stride that had not been there all year. The ceremony consisted of a ritualistic haircut. This was not just any routine haircut, it was the summer buzz!

He rushed through the back door and was welcomed by the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. He grabbed the doorframe with his left hand and used it as a gravitational assist to slingshot himself into the kitchen. The rolls were right there, still hot on top of the stove. Like aromatic magnets, they drew him close. Succulent caramelized raisins protruded through a glistening vanilla glaze. Instinct readied his finger to dive into the sweetness, but was there time? He saw the chair already positioned in front of the sink; he knew his mother would be coming.

Just as his finger was about to make the savory plunge, his mother, Annette, came into the room. No snitching, she said with a gesture for him to sit in the chair. She had her home barber kit in one hand and the remnant of an old sheet tucked under her arm. Flynn eyed the warm icing that had formed puddles of temptation all along the edges of the pan just begging to be sampled. It was painful, but he resisted, and took his seat.

Mrs. Stalwarth unfurled the tattered sheet and snapped it forward. It drifted downward shrouding Flynn’s legs. She pulled the two corners she was holding up over his shoulders and pinned the sheet at the back of his neck. He looked like he had just poked his head through the top of a pup tent. His mother rummaged through the barber kit for a few seconds, then with an Aha! retrieved the buzz attachment and snapped it to the electric clippers. The attachment held the cutting edge about 3/16 of an inch from the scalp. Flynn’s shoulders relaxed as he closed his eyes. He heard the initial click of the power switch followed by a steady HMMMM. The tiny mower was cold to the touch, and the cool vibration sent a soothing chill down the back of his neck. The first pass started in the middle of his forehead and went straight up over the top of his head and down to his neck. Cool air tickled the near naked scalp exposed by the swath. With each pass of the mini mower, great dusty brown gobs tumbled down the tent into heaps under Flynn’s nose while others drifted silently to the floor. In less than 53 seconds, Flynn looked like Mr. Clean with 5 o’clock shadow. With his head now bare, the air was a symbolic kiss of freedom. It would be a good two months before he would have to comb his hair, and probably three months before another cut would be necessary. It was official: summer break had begun.

Flynn’s plan was to spend the first Monday of the summer at the river bottom with Mitch—the entire day. For nine months, Mondays had been the first day of another week of school. It was only appropriate that the summer be initiated by devoting the first Monday to sweet abandonment: no books, no rules, and no limitations. You might have thought Flynn would want to sleep in the first chance he got, but much of the pleasure in that is lost when there’s no real reason why you shouldn’t sleep in and no one downstairs is yelling for you get up and hurry up. And how could he possibly just lay in bed with adventure practically screaming his name? There wasn’t a mattress in the world that could have held him down that morning.

Flynn was up and dressed before the sun was making shadows and long before his brothers and sister normally began to stir. He looked out the window for a check of the weather—not a cloud in sight and not even enough breeze to rustle the leaves. He knew the ponds would be glassy smooth, perfect for spotting fish. He tried to be quiet so as to not disturb the rest of the family. Actually, it was his mom he was thinking about. His dad had already left for work and Ben and Taylor slept so soundly that there was no risk there. If Kristen woke up, she would simply open her book and start reading where she left off the night before. He wasn’t worried about Josh since his room was in the basement and he wasn’t due back from college for a couple more days. As he tiptoed into the hall the smell of bacon and the sound of a busy kitchen told him his mother was already awake. Every day during school, Flynn would wake to find his mother already up and fixing breakfast, whistling as if she enjoyed it, and here she was again—earlier than usual, but doing her mom thing. "I’ll bet she’s already packed me a lunch," thought Flynn as he walked down the stairs. Bacon had never smelled so good, but his brain was already on its way and breakfast was almost a nuisance.

The same kind of scene was playing out at Mitch’s house. This kind of enthusiasm and dedication during school would have had a positive impact on final grades. But, in all fairness, there’s really no comparing school to a blissful day at the river. I mean really—Mr. Gore’s math class compared to hiking, fishing, or hunting? No contest. The very nature of his class and its regimen was an affront to any normal, free-thinking boy. And talk of applying one’s self was simply unrealistic when it came to the subject of math. A day at the river was another matter entirely. The thought of it evoked a kind of inspired devotion.

Mitch met Flynn at his house and, with the first rays of the sun on their backs they answered the call of the river. Neither had made his bed that morning and pajamas were left in heaps on the floor. On that day, they got away with it, even garnered a smile from their moms, but it would be a different story any other day.

Across the tracks and down the hill about a mile the river runs through the bottomland. It would have been a fascinating place for any boy, but for Flynn it had always been a world of endless adventure. The boys figured they knew every inch and there was no other place more compelling. However, this year there was something different. For one thing, Flynn no longer felt like he had to kill every living creature that crossed his path. Chasing snakes, frogs, and lizards didn’t seem to hold the appeal that it once had. After all, he and Mitch would be starting high school in the fall, but still, the allure of past adventure could not be resisted.

Flynn smiled to himself when they arrived at the swamp. He remembered how the mud had sucked his boots right off his feet the first time he’d tried to walk through it, and how he once thought the quicksand out in The Forbidden was the gate to Hell. Now the idea nearly made him laugh, but he still thought it was better to take the long way around.

The day was glorious, just as perfect as they had imagined. The late spring sun was warm on their backs, sent a light mist off the dew-moistened ground, and soon took the chill out of the morning air. The grass bowed heavy and silver with dew so that each step left a gray-green footprint. By the time they reached the river, their shoes were as wet as if they had been wading.

Time flew by in fast-forward. Snakes were coming out to warm themselves in the sun; they caught and examined several of them. Two nervous voles gave them a good chase, but their extensive subways in the grass made them elusive and visible only as a gray blur where there were breaches in their tunnels. Flynn came close to catching one several times, but the frantic creatures escaped underground in the end. A red fox stopped just long enough to look at them before disappearing into the brush. Two liberated minks from a nearby ranch, one black as midnight and the other pure white, played in a streambed and couldn’t have been less interested in Mitch and Flynn.

Well past their usual lunchtime, the boys finally stopped to eat. The shade of an ancient cottonwood by the horseshoe pond was perfect. They sat with their backs against the trunk between them. Two ducks paddled leisurely across the pond. The V-shaped ripples behind them mirrored the formation of Canadian geese above. The boys told each other how good it was to be out of school. They remembered good times and dreamed of the past and future.

Flynn pulled a sandwich from his pack. It was peanut butter oozing with homemade raspberry jam, just like the ones he had eaten almost every day at school. Someone else might have grown tired of them, but he never would. His mother knew just how to make them. They were always thick with chunky peanut butter and the jam was his mother’s signature Raspberry-Peach. After quickly comparing sandwiches, Flynn savored his peanut butter and jam while Mitch merely ate his bologna. Flynn rested his head against the tree and asked nostalgically, You know the spring up there, at the base of the hill?

You mean the one that empties into the pond? said Mitch.

With a distant smile on his face, Flynn continued, The first time I saw it, I thought I was looking through a window. I used to love to watch the bubbles suddenly appear and race to the surface. I told myself that they were message capsules from another world. There were even times when I thought the bubbles were saying something when they popped.

They’re just gas from something old and rotten, said Mitch dismissively.

I know, said Flynn, But I was just a kid and I thought it was magic. I watched the shiners darting and flashing in the sun and told myself they were the royal guard from some fantastical place. When I looked into the water—

Flynn stopped mid-sentence, staring, but not looking at anything. He was reliving something, the way people do when a good memory suddenly pops into their mind. Mitch waited, but Flynn remained silent. It’s funny how quiet it can get when all the sounds you expect to hear are missing. As you focus on what you can’t hear, everything else is momentarily muted. After a few seconds, the silence was broken by the sucking sounds of carp extracting mosquito larva from the moss. Mitch leaned over to one side and looked around the tree.

Mitch to Flynn, come in Flynn. Flynn just smiled. Okay, you looked into the water, and …

Never mind, he said, still smiling, but that only added suspense to curiosity.

Come on, what did you see?

Well, I had forgotten all about it until just now—there was this one time, about three years ago I think. I was alone at the spring, watching the shiners, and suddenly they just disappeared. A gust of wind blew across the water, hard enough that it almost knocked me over. I watched my reflection wiggle back and forth in the ripples, but when the water was calm it wasn’t me in the water; I saw a girl’s face. I looked behind me, but there was no one there. When I looked back again, it was my own reflection in the water.

Mitch gave an acknowledging grunt, and then, trying to sound as mature as he could, he said, Your imagination has made you see a lot things; you’ve almost made me see them a couple times. Was she cute?

Flynn was still staring. "I wouldn’t say cute. She was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen."

Mitch started crunching on corn chips and pulled a banana from his pack. Flynn’s apple made a crispy snap in his mouth and juice dripped from his chin. They reminisced some more and after a candy bar they were ready to leave their shady retreat and resume what they had been doing all morning.

The carp that had been lazily dining on mosquitoes and anything else they could find were now thrashing in the shallows in a spawning frenzy.

We should have brought our bows and arrows, lamented Flynn.

They stood and watched the scaly mayhem, half tempted to jump in after the big fish. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d done that.

Soon they were lost again in their adventure. I could say they lost track of time, but the truth is that they weren’t keeping track of it in the first place. Even so, they eventually realized that it was getting late. Their stomachs had been telling them that for some time, and the sun was about to disappear behind the mountain. They knew they would have to hurry to make it home before dark.

The best and safest way back was around the swamp. This meant they would have to cross three fences. There was nothing particularly unique about these fences. They stood there like any other, doing what a fence is meant to do. I mention them only because Flynn’s story begins at one of them.

They made it over the first fence as unremarkably as you might expect and approached the second—the one with a hole in it. The hole was quite large, which somewhat defeated the purpose of the fence, but it made crawling through much easier and faster than climbing over. Flynn got there first, about twenty feet ahead of Mitch. He was about to crawl through when he remembered the spring; it was only twenty or thirty yards to the left. He wanted to go see it. He felt like he wasn’t just going home, but more like he was saying goodbye to part of his life. He wanted another look into the pool, for old times’ sake.

He had no way of knowing that his life was hanging on those brief seconds. As he turned, a firefly buzzed his head. That surprised the heck out of him. Flynn had seen fireflies once, but that was back east, by the Mississippi River; he didn’t know there were any in this part of the country. He took a few quick swipes to catch it but only got air. It began to blink red, then blue, hovering just close enough to tease. The firefly lured Flynn back near the hole and flew close to the ground. Flynn bent down, still grabbing wildly at it. Just as his knees hit the ground, a light flashed around the hole in the fence. The firefly darted through it, and a tiny girl materialized right under Flynn’s nose, making him forget all about the firefly.

The girl was only a couple of inches tall. At first, Flynn thought she was a mouse. Then, almost in the same instant, the light flashed again and a second small creature, about twice the size of the girl, appeared. The sight of Flynn froze them both in their tracks, then they turned and scurried like chipmunks right back the way they had come. All this happened in about the same amount of time as it takes to blink twice—hardly enough time for Flynn to think. He didn’t even know what they were, and they were about to get away!

Instinct and reflexes took over. He dove for them right through the hole and landed flat on his stomach. He hit so hard it knocked the wind out of him, and everything went gray and fuzzy. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe and to make his head stop buzzing. He rolled over, drawing his knees up close to his chest and holding his stomach. When he opened his eyes, he saw the firefly again, hovering about six inches in front of his face. Then there was a dozen more, flashing their light like a multi-colored neon sign.

Flynn forced himself to his knees and then panic propelled him to his feet. He turned his head frantically in every direction. Something was terribly wrong. Instead of the short wiry salt grass and sage brush he had been walking through, now the grass was lush and knee high, and there were huge trees all around. He looked for Mitch, but couldn’t see him anywhere. Most surprisingly, that little girl was now just as tall as he was. He could feel his heart throbbing, and it felt like it might explode when he saw the other creature, now a huge feral thing, coming straight at him. It had massive arms, straggly hair and blazing eyes. Flynn tried to run but it was too late. He felt the brute’s claw-like fingers wrap all the way around his waist. He fought and struggled, but it was no use; it was just too big and strong.

You might as well settle down, Gigan; you’re not going anywhere, the creature barked.

Flynn was surprised to hear it speak. That and the bib overalls it—he?—wore were the only things remotely human about him. He had no neck and his orange eyes were the only facial features that could be seen for all the hair. Flynn was terrified, but in a vague way, as if he was dreaming. "Ji-gann? What the heck’s a Ji-gann?" he thought.

There you are, the creature growled as he snatched up the girl. He pulled her up to where his face should have been and belched, My job is to keep the Normats in. Look what you’ve brought back with you. He pulled Flynn up by the girl. From there, Flynn could see a mouth moving under all that hair and feel his breath on his face, which smelled like something very dead. Now I have to deal with a Gigan, he said, continuing to growl and moan.

Flynn was scared, but not so scared that he couldn’t think. Now he was confused too. "Ji-gann—Normat, not real," he thought. It can’t be—where’s Mitch? He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to turn it all into a bad dream. Sometimes he was able to reason his way out of those and wake himself up. He forced a smile and said to himself, "I hit my head! I’m lying on the ground and Mitch is shaking me! I’ll be waking up any minute." He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, but when his eyes opened he was still inside the nightmare. He was still caught in the creature’s grip, and its putrid breath still befouled the air.

Despite the creature’s hideous appearance and the fact that he had to weigh at least 350 pounds, Flynn was able to muster some courage. In the most commanding voice he could find, he said, Put me down! I need to go.

Ah, it speaks, jeered the giant, gripping a little tighter. And just where would you go?

Home! Flynn declared.

There is no going back! roared the monster. I’m Gungadoor, champion of the door. No one may pass.

Flynn’s fear and disbelief jumped a notch as he desperately squirmed and pushed. Let me go! he said again.

Go, sneered Gungadoor, My bet is that you don’t even know where you are.

What difference does that make? shouted Flynn.

Well, my wriggly fellow, if you don’t know where you are, how can you be sure of where you’re going?

I may not know where I am, but I sure as heck know how I got here! Flynn retorted, though