Shoeneke

By Robert Bartoo

Shoeneke Bergmann lived a happy life with her distracted father until the day everything changed. Keen to avoid bowing down to the power of others in her community, Shoeneke is a strong, independent woman who knows her own mind. However, her sense of self is shaken when her beloved father disappears in mysterious circumstances. And when murder and underhanded tricks rear their ugly heads, escape seems like the only viable option.

But will fleeing bring Shoeneke the answers she needs to solve her problems or will she simply end up in the hands of another monster?

With a feisty heroine who defies convention, this fast-paced fantasy novel blends romance, mystery and adventure in an easy-to-read page-turner. In a world where everything is certainly not as it seems, will Shoeneke ultimately find the help she is looking for in the place where she least expects to find it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Bartoo
• Release date: Feb 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781912680795

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Candlelight flickered on the sticks in the corners of the room, they fluttered and threatened to flee along with the trio as they burst into the room. The tallest of the three slammed the heavy wooden door behind them with a thud that resounded in the little boy’s ears. The tall, regal figure shoved the crossbar into place then turned to his wife and son, the candlelight illuminated a face full of concern, steeled by the discipline of doing something he knew had to be done. In a deep, low voice, the urgency of his words was apparent, Amos is with them, but he doesn’t know about this one. Hurry and get it open so we can close it behind him and stack some of the boxes up. There was only a moment’s pause before he looked down at his son and lifted a hand to run through the boy’s hair, Marcus. I’m sorry. But you must go now. Mother and I will find a way to catch up with you, but if they find you, they are going to hurt you very badly, or worse.

Marcus struggled to understand, but he knew by now that when Father was upset, it was better to save his questions until everyone relaxed. Asking before usually got a very cross answer, and Marcus did not like seeing his father angry at him. Mother was already moving a few storage boxes, her gown already smudged and torn in a few places from their hurried flight after the mob was sighted inside the gates. With Father’s help, they were able to move the stack aside, and pushing hard on the corner of one specific brick in the wall allowed a section to depress inward, just to give away that it would, indeed move when pushed on. Marcus knew many of the secret passages in the castle, but this was a new one.

Father shouldered the stone panel open far enough for Marcus to fit and reached out to pull his son in for a hug, Remember, stay in the walls, and we’ll come get you once this has calmed down. People are just afraid and when they are afraid, they don’t listen very well. Tomorrow morning, they will be ashamed they acted this way. Mother gave Marcus’ cheek a kiss and told him he was her good little Prince, before they both hurried him inside, then pulled the door closed and flush with the wall again. Inside the wall, there was just enough space for an adult to stand up and walk through single file, which meant for a little boy, he had plenty of room. Strategic parts of the wall had not been completely masonried-in, allowing light to filter into the passageway and allow someone to see what was going on in the room the door connected to. Father said he would come and get Marcus when this was over. That meant he could wait right here and watch.

Father took a moment to kiss Mother and words were exchanged between them that Marcus could not quite make out, but whatever he said brought tears to Mother’s eyes. She looked like she might have said more, but a furious pounding erupted from the barred door. A male voice Marcus didn’t recognize, screamed for Father, and was followed with more pounding. Father finally removed the bar and threw it aside, allowing the door to fly open. It revealed a group of several men on the other side, some holding torches, others with weapons drawn.

The men were angry at Father, and while Marcus couldn’t make out everything that was being said, it didn’t take long for him to realize the men were looking for HIM. Calling him a ‘cursed little freak’ and a ‘monster’. Marcus was pretty sure they meant to use those weapons on him if they had caught up with him. Father kept his calm, while Mother began to plead with tears in her eyes, and all the while, the men became more and more agitated. Yelling at Father and Mother, then the man who was apparently leading the group grabbed Father by the hair and began dragging him out of the room, while two others grabbed Mother and brought her along. Marcus could only stare in horror, beating his fists against the stone, tears already running down his cheeks, but the passageway door wasn’t reopening for him. He could hear the mob’s booted feet echoing down the hall out of sight, until finally, Marcus collapsed on his knees and sobbed, burying his face in his bruised hands.

It was the next morning, dirty and starving, that he found his way through the passage to a trap door in the kitchen. Gorging himself on a breakfast of pastry and bitter tasting ale, Marcus felt a little dizzy afterwards, but was determined to go exploring and see where the mob had taken Mother and Father. Mostly deserted now, the castle looked ransacked – the pretty, embroidered drapes Mother had chastised him not to touch so many times in the past were gone, along with the ceremonial staff and crown out of the audience chamber. More than once, he had to duck behind a table or chest to avoid the footsteps of another person making off with something valuable they had found. The only home he had ever known, and it was being picked clean like a carcass left for the vultures. What had happened to Mother and Father?

The answer came when he crept into the throne room. There were two townsfolk still here, rummaging through the clothes that still enshrouded the bodies, hoping for some hidden trinket. Marcus wasn’t entirely certain, he was too busy staring.

The mob had apparently dragged both of his parents here after he lost sight of them the night before. They had tied them both to their thrones, using rough twine that had bit and cut into the skin of their wrists and ankles and foreheads. On the floor in front of them, in their own blood, was crudely written WE GAVE BIRTH TO A MONSTER.

A look of agony was frozen on Father’s lifeless face, and Mother’s cheeks were stained with discolored streaks where her tears had dried, mirrored by the rivulets of blood that ran down the front of her beautiful dress. They both had their necks exposed and savagely slashed open. From the way the blood had splattered and dried on the throne behind their shoulders, the killing blows had been neither fast nor merciful.

Marcus just stared in wide-eyed, horrified silence.

Father, who had been firm, but patient. The man who made him see that one should always have respect for others, whether they were your friend, your subject, or even your enemy. The man who had patiently endured Marcus’ wildly uncoordinated practice sword swings, and repeatedly showed him the proper form to use for a fighting blade. Dead. Tied to his throne with his throat slashed open and a look upon his face that showed unmistakably that his final moments were in agony.

Marcus stared, his fists clenched. One of the two looters turned and saw the young man, and pointed, looking delighted to see him. He said something to his friend about some reward that was offered. Marcus wasn’t listening – he was staring at his mother.

Despite carrying the responsibilities of the crown that was currently missing from her brow, Mother had been there all the time for Marcus. Laughing at his stories, encouraging him when he was frustrated, giving him a kiss on the cheek at night before she retired. The woman who reminded him constantly that he was loved, even when he got into trouble.

The other looter had now noticed Marcus, and the two yelled at the boy and started running towards him, as if they expected him to flee. They didn’t hear him growling or see how his fists had been clenched so tightly that the fingernails cut into his palms and began making them bleed, as they sharpened into dark, deadly claws for the first time. He could feel muscles growing and hear his bones shifting and growing, and while the transformation should have horrified the young man, none of that registered, just revenge for the murder of his parents.

The agonized screams of terror were talked about in town for many years, as the legend of the Beast was born.

1

THIS SMALL NOT-SO-PROVINCIAL TOWN

The crossbow bolt hit home with a solid ‘thunk’, the animal barely had time to release a pained grunt before it hit the ground in a lump. The bolt’s owner approached a few seconds later, running over to check the kill, placing a booted foot on the deer’s neck, then pulling hard to yank the bolt free. Green eyes inspected the shaft and tip with a critical gaze, which was then followed by an exasperated sigh, when a crack that ran the length of the shaft was found, Damnit! Twisting the tip off, the shaft was tossed into one of the saddlebags, still attached to the chestnut stallion that held the rest of Shoeneke’s gear, and the length of rope was pulled out of it.

It was a very near thing, the deer was in the middle of its autumn feeding, putting on fat for the winter, and that made the beast heavier than Shoeneke counted on. While no one in town would ever accuse her 5’10" frame of being weak, the carcass made her stagger a few steps sideways when she hauled it up to her shoulder to carry to the horse. Phillippe whickered at her lightly and only flinched once when the carcass landed on his back, just behind the saddle, and made a couple of impatient hoof stomps as the deer was tied in place.

With the kill secured, Shoeneke hoisted herself back up into the saddle and tucked the crossbow in across her back. The reins were lightly slapped against Phillippe’s neck, along with a nudge to his sides to get him moving, weaving through the trees and underbrush to head back towards town. A chill clung to the air, but it could not quite be called ‘cold’ yet, and leaves had just begun to show the colors of the seasons. In a couple of months, snow would replace most of the green, and many of the creatures that roamed these trees would either be sleeping for the winter or have moved south for better eating and hunting. It had already occurred to Shoeneke that, if things got much worse around here, moving south might be good for her and Papa.

As if Papa would ever leave! A respected Professor at the County University, he was far too invested in his work to suddenly pick up and abandon everything. Shoeneke was certain Papa assumed Damon would give up on his advances and find an ‘easier target’, but Shoeneke had seen that intent look in Damon’s eyes – sooner or later, he was going to try something, and then she was going to get herself into a lot of trouble after she kicked his ass for trying it. Damon thought himself far too rich and powerful to be ever told ‘no’ on anything he wanted.

The forest began to thin as she reached the road and followed it in the direction of town. Scattered signs of civilization began to appear. A carriage man’s lantern pole, where lamps were hung for the overnight stages to find their way, stood on watch at the turn in the road, silently burning away. The twilight would bring the town’s lamplighters out to check on and refresh the lamps, ensuring they stayed lit throughout the night. The ritual was often used to keep time by the town’s children. All good boys and girls were expected to be home before the lamplighters could find them.

Parson Evans was out in front of his tiny church, sweeping leaves into bushels to bind up for kindling for the winter. The older man never smiled any more, not since his wife passed on a few winters ago, but he did stop and lift his hand to greet Shoeneke as she passed by on the road, and for him, that was about as warm and friendly as he ever got. She waved back at the man and kept on towards town, letting Phillippe keep up a leisurely trot.

Once past the church, the town began, informally making a line where farming ended, and businesses started popping up. The stables of the town were on the outskirts, where the owners had a little more room for horses and other beasts of burden and the vehicles they often pulled, while their mechanical counterparts tended to be closer to the town’s center, steam and mechanical power were still new enough to Cordova County that most citizens still found it fascinating and didn’t mind it being front and center in the town’s center market. Most recently, a horseless carriage service had started between here and the county seat, Dortmir, and the more well-to-do of Krant could not stop talking about how this meant they were ‘on the map’ now, as if the town had simply escaped notice when you had to use horses to get there.

Shoeneke’s opinion of the average Krant citizen wasn’t very high, especially considering their mayor and his insufferable son, but she tried to think about THEM as little as possible. The irritation that subject brought up was enough of a distraction that she almost rode right past the blacksmith, mentally chiding herself as she pulled up and dismounted, stopping to tie Phillippe to a hitching post so he didn’t wander down the street to those enticing hay bales.

Roger was hammering away at a piece of glowing hot metal, his back to the front of the shop. Shoeneke knew better than to startle a smith with red hot metal in his hand, so she took a lean against the wall by the front doorway and waited. Roger’s smithy tended to be a dark, open space – soot tended to eventually coat everything in here, even the people, to the point that, especially on bright days, one would need to give their eyes a few moments to adjust when stepping in from outdoors.

The bellows and fire pit dominated the back of the room, with a pair of anvils and workbenches flanking it on either side. Currently the workspace to the left sat idle, with Roger and his son on the right – the little one learning how to hold the metal respectfully while Roger slowly beat it into the shape he wished. It took a few more minutes before her presence nudged at the back of Roger’s awareness, and he looked up and grinned, Shoeneke! You haven’t been standing there for too long, I hope? He placed a huge hand on his son’s head and murmured to him. The boy trotted over to shove the metal back into the fire pit, then took off upstairs at a dead run.

She watched the boy run off before straightening up and approaching Roger’s worktable, Only a moment. Was watching you teach the little one. He’s catching on fast!

Too fast for his mother’s tastes, but he does me proud. You’ll see one day!

Shoeneke laid down the splintered bolt from the last kill, and two more similarly