Warriors of the Garden: Wards of The Planting Tree, #2

By Brad Millay

In the mythical kingdom of Gardenia, eleven-year-old Aden sets out to honor his fallen parents by following in their footsteps to become the strongest warrior in the land. After a humiliating defeat at the hands of a mysterious warrior, he must start over—by becoming a gardener. But fate deals Aden a path far darker and more important than he ever imagined. 

He learns he is one of five Wards charged with protecting The Planting Tree, the one tree that feeds and nurtures all life in the realm. But a disgraced Ward, calling himself the Crowmaster, has hatched a diabolical plan to steal Aden's magic, and that of his fellow Wards, so that he alone can control The Planting Tree and bend all life to his will.  

But Aden has discovered he has the power to inspire those around him to dance to his tune through his one-of-a-kind, red maple fiddle, and he has the help of two unlikely companions—his best friend, Mara, and a broken down warrior with a mysterious past. Will they be enough to overcome the powerful Crowmaster?

With its blend of humor, heroism, and heart, "Warriors of the Garden" will appeal to fans of "Artemis Fowl," "How to Train Your Dragon" or "The Unicorn Rescue Society" series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bradford Millay
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735858302

Book preview

1

A Shadow Falls on a Happy Birthday

Find the boy, echoes like a dark refrain in the crow's mind.

The black-winged bird knows where it is going, and it is up to no good.

Not driven by hunger or any baser instinct, it flies under the iron-bound command of its master.

While the lands of The Three Kingdoms are vast, the bird’s sole concern is one kingdom in particular. As the clouds part for its sleek feathered body, the outline of the kingdom of Gardenia takes shape below. It is a hardscrabble place, unlike its fair-weathered rivals, the kingdoms of Prudencia and Autenia.

The sky is a dome of cobalt grey overhead. The winds scream down from the high-peaked mountains with unforgiving force, scouring the landscape of all but the most tenacious forms of life. Small villages dot the dry, rocky plains, connected by a single road that winds through the kingdom like a snake, bent back on itself one too many times.

The crow persists in its downward flight, drawn by the glimmer of a distant light. Down, down, it glides, and there appears the small village of Hut, its ramshackle thatched-roof huts huddled against the darkness. A light is on in one of the windows and it guides the crow down, down, until it settles on one of its window ledges with a flap of its wings and peers inside.

It’s a bright, candle-lit scene. There is plentiful food, half-eaten, on a small wooden table. Streamers of colorful twine criss-cross the ceiling, and a painted banner that reads Happy 10th Birthday, Aden hangs from the stone hearth.

A boy crouches by the fireplace, polishing a round, wooden shield. He has deep olive-skin, curly chestnut hair that sprouts like a bird’s nest from his head and bright brown eyes. There are lines of worry creeping onto his young face.

The shield he is polishing is unusual too. Made of stout, grey ironwood, it has banding around its edge and the image of a charging bull in its center, each worked in a copper-colored metal that gleams in the firelight.

The crow watches the boy with interest. It can sense a power within him, buried like dormant seeds. If it were allowed to sprout and take hold, the boy would be formidable, but he has not been made aware of his gift.

A woman comes to stand next to the boy, resting a hand on his shoulder. Dressed in chain armor, she looks like a chiseled block of granite with her sandstone skin and close-cropped hair. As the woman starts speaking to the young boy, the crow, certain it has found its target, presses its dark body closer to the glass to overhear their conversation.

Aden, I always love celebrating your birthday because it means spring has come. Your birth was the most wondrous night of my life, Aden’s mother smiles, looking at her son. The world outside was cold, still and covered in snow. Then you came, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees outside, the snows began to melt and a robin came to sit outside our window and sing to us all night.

Mmm hm, Aden pretends to concentrate on some part of the shield he missed.

Ahem . . . remember what I’ve told you about the symbols on my shield? Aden’s mother steps into her son’s view, pointing to the faint markings etched into the shield, beneath the image of the charging bull.

Aden lifts his head with a sigh. Please Mother, not this speech again.

Valis, Ex, Amn, she straightens her head, leveling her gaze. It means ‘I carry this burden, so others do not.’ You’ve heard me speak it before, but do you understand its meaning?

Aden just shrugs his shoulders, adopting the vacant stare that works so well when he’s called on in class.

By the Sweet Glories, bestow just an ounce of understanding into my son’s thick skull, his mother drops to her knees, clasping her hands and beseeching the patron saints of The Three Kingdoms to her aid. After a moment of silence, her prayer unanswered, the woman gets back to her feet with a half-smile as she looks down on him. Doesn’t your school teach you anything about thinking for yourself?

Aden spares an annoyed look for his famous mother, Oriza the Bull, but he returns to polishing the shield, his shoulders a little tighter.

Your father and I became warriors because it was the path we chose to walk, Aden’s mother adopts a softer tone. I know you are upset that we are being called away by our king at such an . . . inconvenient time. Your father and I need you to be understanding.

But this is my birthday! Aden stands and pushes his mother’s shield into her stout arms. You taught me well how to take care of myself when you’re away. The bargain we struck was that you and Father would never miss my birthday. I guess you are powerless when King Oblivious wants to take you away so he can play at war. Will he order you to pull his carriage around like last time, or . . . smash some helmets against your head for his entertainment? I do as my sovereign commands because it is my duty,

Aden’s mother clutches her grey ironwood shield so that it creaks against her chest. Avoiding his mother’s eyes, Aden passes a look to a young girl, standing in the opposite corner of the room from him. It’s a girl he has been exchanging little smiles and eyerolls with all evening. Mara may be younger than Aden by a few months, but she stands taller than him by a good two inches. She has long red hair, sun-kissed brown skin and emerald green eyes that catch every detail, even in the glow of the firelight.

Mara is being entertained by a tall, angular man who has Aden’s same deep olive complexion, but his eyes are hawk like. Despite wearing chain armor, he juggles three bronze daggers without breaking a sweat.

Don’t be so hard on your mother, my boy, Aden’s father, Neville the Crane, admonishes in a gentle tone without faltering his grasp on the bladed weapons. I promise, we will find a way to help our kingdom and convince Oblivious that it was his idea all along. Oh, I know. How about if we ask Oblivious to name you our new Sergeant?

Not fair! Mara, my parents are ganging up on me. Aden grins as he extends a mock pleading hand to his best friend. Please help.

Poor Aden, you always turn yourself into a giant target. It’s the same at school, Mara teases, but she stands by him.

Putting aside the daggers, Neville moves in front of Aden and Mara so he can look them in the eyes. His expression turns somber, revealing a glint of the inner steel that hides behind his easy manner. My sword has the same marking as your mother’s shield. Then, in a motion almost almost too fast to follow, Aden’s father draws his sword, causing the blade to sing as it leaves his sheath. The blade is thin but forged with the same gleaming metal that adorns the shield Aden was polishing, its hilt and cross guard in the shape of a crane. Aden’s father holds out the blade to show his son its markings.

Do you know why your mother and I have never been defeated in battle?

Aden shakes his head no, but he can feel a lump of pride, mixed with sorrow, growing in his throat as he looks at his father.

It is because your mother and I always fight together, as a unit. I’m sure you and Mara are destined for great deeds, but remember you’re only as strong as the people who are willing to defend your back. Especially when everything is upside down as it seems right now.

Aden swipes his eyes and looks away, so Mara edges even closer to him.

We will, she puts her hand in her friend’s and squeezes . . . a gesture the crow notes with interest. Learn who his allies are . . . find their weaknesses.

Good, replies Aden’s father, sheathing his sword with a flourish.

My dearest, Neville, it is time for us to go, Aden’s mother holds a level tone, but there are tears in her eyes.

Very well, my darling, Oriza, Aden’s father turns to Aden and Mara a final time. Just remember, whatever our lord Oblivious the Nearsighted the Twentieth has gotten us into this time, it’s nothing that The Bull and The Crane can’t handle. And he hugs them both.

That’s right, dears, Aden’s mother agrees, we’ll be back before you know it. And she pulls everyone into a crushing bear hug.

Thank you, my darling, Aden’s father wheezes, but I will need my spine for this mission.

Oh, sorry, Aden’s mother releases her hold before anyone passes out. Then she turns to Mara. Thank you for coming to Aden’s birthday party, and for being such a great friend. Please also thank your mother and father for looking after Aden while we’re away. We’ll have them over for a thank you dinner when we return.

It’ll be whatever they dig out of the case at the butcher’s shop, like tonight, Aden makes a smirking face. I hope your parents don’t mind heavily salted meat products.

Don’t be a brat, Aden, we love Shanks ’N Snouts, Mara gives Aden a light punch in the arm. I had three bacon-wrapped cheese curds tonight.

They all share a small laugh together, and then an uncomfortable silence falls over the group as they stare at each other for a long moment.

Well, stay out of trouble, you two, Aden’s mother manages between sniffs, before clasping Neville’s hand and turning to go. Aden’s parents walk out the front door together, clutching each other for support. They pause at the gate to wave, just silhouettes, and then they walk into the darkness.

The crow takes flight, eager to report to its master that it has found the right boy.

As the days turn into weeks, Aden remains confident of his parents’ return. The sting of loneliness is lessened by Mara and her family, who live next door, and invite Aden over for dinner every day.

When the weeks slip away into months, a fear begins to grow in the pit of Aden’s belly and he ends his nightly vigil of standing by the front window, waiting for his parents. He can’t concentrate in school. Food tastes like chalk. He doesn’t want to be around any of his friends, except Mara. His warm optimism gives way to cold, immovable acceptance as most of a year drags by and there is no sign of Oriza the Bull or Neville the Crane.

It is not until the day before his eleventh birthday that something arrives on Aden’s doorstep that gives him a clue as to his parents’ fate. It is a white silk bag that barely conceals its bulky contents. Aden watches from his front window as a royal messenger steps through the front gate, deposits the bag and then retreats without so much as a courtesy knock. Aden backs away from the window, not wanting to go near the bag.

He fusses with his chores until he can bear it no longer. Exhaling a quick breath, he steps outside, snatches the bag and its clacking contents from the front stoop, and deposits it on the dining table.

As he pulls the drawstring and the cloth bag loosens, its contents spill onto the table, in unceremonious fashion. Aden’s worst fears are confirmed.

It is his father’s sword and his mother’s shield.

As he flings the empty bag aside, a piece of paper slips out and flutters to the floor. Aden bends to retrieve it and when he straightens, he unfolds it. It is a hastily-written note on the official letterhead of his king and sovereign, Oblivious the Nearsighted the Twentieth. The note has just two words, scratched in childish, blocky letters, and one of them is misspelled. It says Sry, Oblivious.

Throwing aside the note, Aden stands by the table, well into the night, as he stares at his parents’ weapons. Tears cascade down his cheeks and his nose runs. His eyes seem to swim until they focus on the three symbols carved into the face of his mother’s grey ironwood shield. Then, he nods to himself, as if settling some internal debate. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and takes up his parents’ weapons. Mother, Father, I don’t know what has befallen you, he calls to the darkened room. But I promise I’ll make you proud. I swear on your sword and shield.

When he puts down his parent’s weapons, exhaustion takes him and he readies for bed. Tomorrow is his eleventh birthday, and he knows for certain what he will do.

2

Bribery by Cheese Curd

As dawn breaks the next morning, Aden is awake, pacing about his home with a sweat-soaked night shirt and a panicked look on his face. The brilliant plan he came up with last night is dissolving with the morning light.

He was going to march over to the Warrior’s Guild and join, just like his parents did when they were his age. As he tries to force some breakfast into himself, he’s having second thoughts. The guild will take anybody as young as ten years old, but what if they don't want him? What if they let him join but he chickens out on the first day? What will Mara, his school-mates, and the rest of the village think if the son of Oriza the Bull and Neville the Crane finds out he is a coward?

His body starts to shake as he thinks about writing his name in the old ledger the guild keeps that every warrior must sign to join. He knows once you do, they have you for life. To make matters worse, he has until sundown to decide if he wants to join, or he won’t have another shot at entering the guild for many months. Aden knows there are only two times a year when the guild opens its gates to new recruits. Once for a few weeks in the fall, and once for a few weeks in the spring. The very last day for new recruits to join this spring is today, on his birthday. Of course, he shakes his head.    

After another hour of restless pacing, Aden’s frown fades as a plan forms in his mind. He throws on a tunic, a pair of breeches, and stomps his feet into some well-worn leather boots. Then he buckles his father’s sword to his hip and his mother’s shield to his back. He takes a moment to adjust the weight of the weapons, then steps out the front door, breathing a sharp lungful of morning air.

Slipping out his front gate and hanging a right, Aden heads for Hut’s town center. He follows the one weaving muddy track that serves as a road, but walks to the side of it so his boots aren’t sucked off into its mucky depths. The homes he passes are all boxy, single-level wood dwellings that are distinguishable by their various states of repair and despair. It’s a clear spring day, but the wind is slicing cold. Aden crosses his arms and picks up his pace, too caught up in his task to go back for warmer clothing.

When he reaches the town square, which is just a big, muddy circle, Aden steps into a wooden shop with a dilapidated sign over its door that reads Shanks ’N Snouts. Scraping his boots in the entryway, the first thing that hits Aden is the overpowering tang of salt and butchered meat. A man in a blood-stained apron is stuffing pungent cuts of meat into a small display case. He sees Aden and smiles in recognition, wiping his hands off on his apron.

Aden, welcome back. How did you like those pickled pigs’ feet I gave you last week?

Uh, they were delicious, thanks, Wimbly, Aden lies. Er . . . it’s my birthday today. I’m eleven.

By the Sweet Glories, looks like you’ve come dressed for battle, Wimbly gestures to the sword at Aden’s hip and the shield on his back. What are you planning to do . . . join the Warrior’s Guild and go to war against Prudencia and Autenia? He laughs as if it’s the best joke he’s told in a while.

Sort of, Aden manages to reply, furrowing his eyebrows a little and looking at the butcher until his laughter stops. What are you looking for today, son? The butcher takes a neural tone.

Do you have any bacon-wrapped cheese curds? Aden mentally crosses his fingers behind his back.

I don’t. Wimbly sweeps his hand to show that his display case is curd-free.

Oh no! Aden groans, feeling a headache coming on.

Are some curds that important to you? the butcher asks in a sympathetic voice.

Aden leans on the display case with pleading brown eyes. Very. "

Well, let me go check my private stores, and see if I have one. Wimbly grins, disappearing into a curtained-off room behind his display case. Hope blooms in Aden as he hears the butcher rustling around for a moment and then the crisp sound of waxed paper being wrapped and folded with care. The butcher returns a second later with a waxed-paper package in his hands which he hands off to Aden with a small flourish. Here you go."

Thank you, Aden feels exuberant again.

He departs Shanks ’N Snouts lighter a few coins but also lighter of spirit. Back outside, Aden retraces his steps towards home in rapid order, not minding the heavy mud collecting on his boots again. But he stops his march one house before his own home, turns, and steps