New Worlds: Book One

By Mark Derbyshire

Now available in E-book format from Amazon and others.

The Portalworld is a vast place, unpredictable and wild. Follow the adventures of an unsuspecting hero as he begins his journey in the jungle zone.
Torys is beset by the nagging feeling that his life needs something more. As a hunter in the remote village of Erylos, he has been rendered nearly obsolete and now feels he is stuck in a rut, trying to convince himself that things are okay. When he rescues a beautiful girl from a dark feline adversary, he joins the said girl (Calay) in her role of explorer to discover a world of portals and experiences that he never knew existed. Torys himself holds special powers, inherited from his parents, but who were they and why did they abandon him? What of Calays missing father and the man named Harn Vore who usurps his position? The two friends travel to spectacular places to find out more, from the capital city Janthere to the city of the Lost people. On the journey, Torys unlocks powers to help him create portals, uncovers a plot by evil powers, and helps fight in an epic war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491897461

Mark Derbyshire

Mark Derbyshire has studied a three-year course in drama, preceded by two years of chemical engineering, which he found rather boring. His reading career began at a young age and was ignited by the discovery of Pratchett’s Discworld series at the tender age of seven. He still rereads some of he books and picks up a lot more subtleties than his younger self did. Although having grown up in South Africa, where he had lots of fun meeting the local wildlife, he now resides in a small town in England, at least for a short while. He hopes to act in the movies of his books, and has cheated the system by writing himself into them (wink wink, nudge nudge).

Book preview

That’s How it is

T orys looked up at the sky and sighed. It had been a long day. As a hunter of his village, he was expected to work hard, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. He hoisted his hunting pack over his shoulder, the lean, well-defined muscles of his body rippling as he did so. From a tender age, Torys had trained with his grandfather, trained until every one of his skills were just as sharp as the old man’s. He’d spent countless days tracking animals in the forest, hunting just about every creature the area had to offer, and his years of tenacious work had certainly paid off.

He had an athletic build, the muscles on his nearly six foot frame well toned, but not overlarge, and he’d become one of the best hunters his village had to offer, certainly no mean feat. For the village of Erylos—his childhood home—was situated deep within the southern outskirts of the Jungle zone, apparently forgotten by the bigger cities near the zone’s centre. This produced a need for independence, and its people were good at what they did.

Torys looked back down and gazed steadily in the direction of his home, his emerald green eyes perfectly matching the colour of the forest around him—although, when he looked up and scanned the sky, his eyes glowed as blue sapphires. With another heartfelt sigh, he got up from his makeshift camp and picked up his spear. It was a long walk home, and he didn’t want to be late. Torys lived with his grandmother, and she was widely acclaimed as being the best cook in the village. Torys smiled, the thought of his grandmother’s succulent dishes now filling his mind. He’d never quite found out where she had acquired her recipes . . .

The sounds of the forest filtered softly through the trees as he picked his way home, and occasional branches snatched at his long, curly, brown hair. The excited squeaks of a Milew burst out on his left, and he was sorely tempted to track it down. The small catlike creatures, no larger than your forearm, had brilliantly iridescent coats, the vibrant array of colours on them shifting and dancing as they moved. He had, however, already caught one today, deftly taking it down with the bow now stored in his pack, and there was no room for more. It had been expertly skinned and the meat preserved and wrapped up for the village. Everyone wanted a Milew coat, but their meat didn’t taste too bad either.

His only other kills today had been two rotund Kaylons, the slow, fat, ground-dwelling fowls each easily taken out with a swift blow from his spear. Their dull, gray heads were swinging along at his side, giving his hunting pack the strange appearance of a sleeping, two-headed beast. His grandmother would be pleased when he presented them to her.

She was a quiet, old lady, and the death of his grandfather a year ago hadn’t been easy for her to accept. Since then, she had withdrawn somewhat from the community and, if anything, was even quieter than before. These days he was always glad to see her smile and this was what now occupied his mind as he wearily, and warily, trudged home.

Some of the meat from his hunt would be traded to the foragers for the fruits of their labours, of course. Meat was all very well, but you couldn’t live off of it forever, and just maybe a trader had passed by with the herbs and spices needed for his grandmothers mouth-watering sauce, and were lying in the village stores just waiting to be traded. Torys’ stomach grumbled loudly, and he realized just how hungry he really was.

The familiar smell of wood smoke entered his nostrils as he rounded the well-trodden path to his home, and Torys breathed the comforting smell deep into his lungs. He didn’t see many people, but he hadn’t really expected to. The sun had already fallen low in the sky—the fading sunset a disappearing legacy of its fiery light—and the jungle could get cold at night’s approach. The height of the sun, coupled with the tall trees surrounding the village, was already casting the area into darkness, making it difficult to see. Sounds of laughter and happiness greeted him as he walked by some of the village houses, giving him a warm glow that brought a small grin to his face.

His grandmother’s house was situated at the very edge of Erylos, even a little way past the true outskirts, in fact. For as long as he could remember, his family had been rather removed from the rest of the village.

Oh, the people were nice enough, but they always treated him and his family quite differently from the way they treated each other. It wasn’t that they were unfriendly, merely… seemingly uncomfortable around him, like they never truly knew what to say to him. It had never bothered him until Granddad Yeros had passed away . . .

Torys paused a moment in the darkening evening, fighting the tears attempting to course their way down his cheeks. He shook his head, feeling silly. He severely missed the old man, who’d been a rather jovial character, always able to cheer him up when he wasn’t feeling his best. Yeros and his wife, Tirya, had come to replace his true parents, and he’d been with them since he was four years old. The kind-hearted old souls, his father’s parents, had welcomed him open heartedly into what was then their new home, and in the passing of years he’d come to love them both with all of his own heart.

He continued walking, at a slower pace now, his mind deep in thought. He’d never really known his parents. At most, he could recall vague and confusing memories of them, always surrounded by blurry, unrecognizable environments. Often, he wondered what it would have been like if they’d come back for him . . .

He shook his head. It was best not to think about such things. Life was good right now, and dwelling on the past had never helped anyone anyway. He looked up and smiled once again. His eyes softened as he saw the pleasant, low ceilinged cottage he called home waiting in front of him.

He bounded up the stairs with a gleeful shout and swung open the door.

‘Rya, I’m home!’ he shouted, using the pet name he’d always called his grandmother. The small cottage was split into four square rooms, and generally had a very cosy feel about it. Each room was decorated in the same manner, with various skins hanging from the walls and lining the floor. The main room he’d just entered had a small stove at one end, which was good for the cold nights, and had seen much use during the recent, now passing winter. A homely wooden table sat in the middle of the room, atop a huge Verrasal skin that both he and his grandfather had hunted down. He’d always remember that hunt.

It had been a few years back. The huge creature, a misshapen mass of spikes and claws, had seemingly appeared from nowhere. It had stood taller than two full-grown men, and was at least one and a half times as thick as a man too. With jet-black fur and the almost mystic ability to move as silently as the wind itself, the massive animal had terrorized the village for three days before they caught it.

It had started with a missing Jeernai, the passive cattle that the people of Erylos used as a domestic meat source and for nourishing milk. The rather hefty animals also shed their light-coloured, shaggy coats every mid-spring, and their fur was used for various items of clothing. Although fully three metres from their tufted heads right down to their curly tails, the animals were largely defensive in nature and had also become passive, semi-domesticated herd animals. This made them easy targets for the ferocious Verrasal.

The area around the village was fairly safe, and the Jeernai herds were always left out for the night, their heavy breathing filling the night air around the village as they slept. The carnivore had been smart though, snatching a young calf separated from the herd and slitting its throat before it could make a sound. The disappearance was noticed the very next day, and Yeros had begun tracking the beast within an hour of day-break.

Three days later, he’d come home and told Torys about the location of the animal’s lair, just a few kilometres south of the village. Torys had jumped at the opportunity to join his grandfather in the extermination of the Verrasal, and they’d set off post haste, stopping only to stock up on weapons: a crossbow (Yeros’ most prized possession) as well as a couple of sturdy spears that had stood them both in good stead.

They travelled a day and a half to find the beast’s lair. With the thrill of the hunt rising within his body, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Torys had hardly felt the journey there. He’d been carefully preparing himself, straining to remember his teacher’s wise words.

‘Stay calm Tory,’ his grandfather’s voice had played through his mind, using his pet name, as always, ‘that’s the only way you’ll be able to handle things to the best of your ability. Remember to get your spear’s handle jammed in the earth and your weight behind it. That way, you’ve got the world right behind you, Tory. Throwing it is just stupid, because you can always miss and then you’ll be a sitting duck, without what could have been your best close range weapon. It’s the bows that are for distance sonny, always remember that!’

The two stealthily arrived at a deserted clearing, which had a foul stench of rotten meat permeating the air about it, as well as an eye watering, pungent, animal odour. A large cave was directly opposite them, a dark tunnel disappearing deep into a small hillock. The only animals in the area, apart from the disgusting creature lying in wait, were those that could easily escape the Verrasal’s vicious claws, and this narrowed the wildlife down to only the occasional bird that stared, beady eyed, at Torys and his grandfather.

They slowly moved into the clearing, cautiously leaving the protective cover that the bushes provided. Torys knew how this situation would play out. The big figure of his grandfather, who was comfortably over Torys’ six feet tall and was built like an oak tree, would move ahead and take up a position next to the cave, where he would lie in wait. Torys would then stand a fair distance beyond the cave entrance, luring out the monstrous animal that waited within. As it rushed out of the cave, his grandfather would hamstring it as quick as a flash, cutting through the vital muscles and tendons needed for walking and running. After that, things would be easy. At least, that had been the plan . . .

Yeros had moved forward quickly, the cave entrance within his sights, and had been halfway across the clearing when a deep roar had torn through the jungle, and the massive Verrasal had slammed into his grandfather, bursting out from the surrounding forest, staggering the old man and sending him crashing to the ground. The animal had then drawn itself up to its fullest, most terrifying height. At that moment the young Torys had acted, even before he realized it. His hands had whipped around to the crossbow he’d been holding and in a mere fraction of a second he’d aimed and fired a razor tipped bolt straight for the creature’s heart. With a sickening, crunching sound and a spurt of blood, the bolt had buried itself deep into the Verrasal’s chest. To his horror, the monster had still gone straight for the old man, who was lying winded by the impact and struggling for breath on the ground, his spear knocked out of his reach. Torys had watched with growing panic as the creature descended on his grandfather’s body.

‘Granddad! Granddad!’ he’d screamed, rushing to the old man’s side, straight towards the crazed Verrasal, which was shrieking its head off, the most terrible noise Torys had ever heard bellowing forth from its gaping maw.

Torys tripped and went down, scrambling to his feet just in time to see the lifeless body of their antagonist roll off to one side, and the triumphant grin of Yeros, whose spearhead was buried deep within in the creatures chest, no doubt nestling beside the crossbow bolt in the animals heart. ‘What did I tell you my boy, spear in the earth and you’ve got the world on your side’, he’d said with a brave, but mildly strained laugh.

Halfway through getting up, Torys’ arms had wrapped around the old man in a tight embrace, ‘I was so scared Granddad, I didn’t know what had happened, your spear looked so far away…’ he’d mumbled.

‘That’s all right sonny, after all, you saved my life! That was a brilliant shot with my crossbow Tory!’ Yeros had exclaimed. ‘The creature was already dying when it reached me.’

‘I’m just glad you’re ok Granddad’, Torys had replied with a smile, pleased by the compliment he had earned.

His grandfather grinned in response. ‘I’ve always loved your smile Tory, don’t ever let it leave you… Now what say we go back and celebrate!’

Reality snapped back as Torys saw his grandmother entering from the back room. ‘Rya!’ he exclaimed warmly.

‘Tory!’ she replied gleefully, using the shared nickname that she and her husband had always called Torys. ‘I’m so glad to see you home. I was getting worried, you know…’ a note of weariness had entered the old woman’s voice, her glee short-lived. As Torys looked down at his withered grandmother, with her wispy, pure white hair and small, world-weary frame, a tangle of emotions poured into his heart. Love, sadness, happiness, pity, vast clouds of feelings that he’d never been able to fully identify. The conflicting emotions gripped his lungs in a tight clutch he’d never quite managed to dispel. He pulled his grandmother into a firm hug.

‘It’s alright Gran, I’m home now, and just look what I’ve brought you!’ he said, enthusiastically pulling off his hunting pack and spreading its contents across the table. The old woman smiled at the sight of her grandson’s catch. ‘That’s nice Tory, but I’ve already received a parcel from the Joryns today, you know, the family who live down in the village. They gave us some lovely Jeernai meat that their son has prepared very well. Although tonight we may as well have some Kaylon stew,’ she said with a smile. ‘That’s my Tory, you always bring home something special for your grandmother.’

‘Well, I did learn from the best you know’, he said with yet another of his all too familiar smiles.

‘Yes’, she said, the light in her eyes slowly fading, along with her smile, ‘the best.’

The conversation ground to a halt. Torys had come to accept Yeros’ death, although it had been a long, hard year for him now. The fact that it had happened the month before his birthday hadn’t helped things either. His grandmother still hadn’t gotten over it, and he was beginning to wonder if his beloved old grandmother would ever be able to move on. One year was certainly not long enough… A wedding of forty-seven years was quite an achievement, and at seventy one years of age, her memories were not easy for her to leave behind.

Tirya sighed and picked up the two Kaylons, both of which she would carefully pluck, one of them to be cooked and the other preserved with a device that Torys had never truly understood.

It was an interesting and mysterious thing that looked exactly like a stone box, half a metre across from corner to corner and carved with beautiful symbols. On the lid were two rows of four stone blocks, each engraved with some sort of symbol. The lid opened fully to reveal the inside of the container. However, when something was placed inside, when the lid was closed and a button depressed, the item would have disappeared when the box was again opened. By closing the lid and pressing the same button, the item was returned upon opening again. The real surprise was that the item always returned frozen solid… It was a total mystery to Torys, and his grandfather had always told him that it was a device his true parents had found on their travels to distant lands.

Torys walked back outside to collect some wood from the cabin beside the house. After all, the Kaylon wouldn’t cook itself, and Torys always had an active interest in his food. As he walked around the house, the sounds of various night animals sifted through the trees. The edges of his mouth raised in smile as he remembered the game he and Yeros had always played. They’d sit for hours after dark, guessing at the animal that made each sound they heard. Over the years, Torys had come to know all the local animals for miles around, and could even vaguely tell their ages and size by now, through small signs in their calls.

He could hear a distant mewling call that was certainly a Po’tik, a voracious predator that hunted in packs of three or four. They were the size of ordinary house cats, each one’s sleek body patterned for camouflage, their dark green coats shifting confusingly in the light. They were close relatives of the rainbow hued Milews Torys had hunted earlier that day. Po’tiks were vicious predators and, as a pack, they often took on animals four or five times their size.

Nearby, the mournful, nearly continuous and slightly haunting lows of a Renia herd floated to Torys’ ears. Renia were the dog sized cattle that inhabited the area in vast numbers. Twittering night birds sang away, most notably a Songlark flock. Their melodious chorus always helped him to fall asleep, a habit he’d shared with his grandfather. Insects skittered around, adding their own unique sounds to the chorus, along with the low croaks of frogs and reptiles, as well as the louder, higher pitched calls of various primates that lived in the area.

These night sounds were comforting to Torys, and he was quite relaxed when he re-entered the house with the logs needed to start the fire. Tirya had already swiftly plucked and gutted one of the Kaylons, putting its soft underlay of feathers aside to be used later in either a mattress or a pillow. The unused parts of the animal had gone straight into a bin that would later be sent to Larnt’s place, where the contents would most probably be turned into animal fodder or bone meal.

Torys thought about his day as he moved to the stove and began lighting the fire. He had enjoyed his hunt, and had a good catch to show for it. Although, on that matter, the household larder was never empty, especially with the freezing device that they had. His mind was turning over the day’s events when his grandmother began cooking the Kaylon. She complimented him on the excellent fire he’d started, but Torys hardly heard her, still mulling over the day’s events and wondering why he felt that something was missing.

It was only as he began to eat that he gave up on his thoughts and turned his attention to the excellent food his grandmother had prepared, but the insistent thoughts soon returned. More and more often, the feeling of something missing in his life had plagued his heart lately, and he’d come to realize that it wasn’t the loss of his grandfather that was causing it