The Judges Chronicles: Days of the Tigers (Book 3)

By Terdell Lee Johnson

An invading force from the land of Tajir-- a distant land of tigers-- captures Shavron. Four hundred harsh years pass with no hope of freedom from the tyranny of their captors. One day, a young tiger cub has a dream that is taken as a vision to seek an ancient treasure that holds hope from the past and blessings for the future. But will the Shavronites be able to claim the treasure for their freedom? Or will the gem be their demise at the hands of the tigers of Tajir?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terdell Lee Johnson
• Release date: Sep 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463739709

Terdell Lee Johnson

Terdell Lee Johnson uses his noodle (brain) to create colorful characters and worlds. He's a military veteran, was a part-time Sunday school teacher for twelve years, and loves a good story with good values. In 2019 he won honorable mention for his short story “The Rich Beggar” in the Writer’s Digest Competition. Aside from novels, he writes short fiction. Although writing is his primary focus, he spends time improving his skills as an author. If he’s not writing, he's reading, or drawing. The Judges Chronicles: The Hapless Hero is the first in the series.

Book preview

1

Chapter 1

I have seen what the Shavronites have done in the night in the shadows of the Cinnamount Woods. When they make fire, I hear the voice of the young crying out to Me. My heart is heavy as my chosen nation sacrifices to the dragon, Ivronel, in order to receive a blessing. They have forgotten Me; they have turned away from My guiding hand to serve the dragon. I will send a nation whose hearts are vicious and whose eyes will show no pity. They will lay waste to Shavron for its wickedness, and it will be a horrid day to witness. And yet, if Shavron would turn back to Me and dispel the burning in the night, I will protect them. But the Shavronites hearts are cold as ice and hard as stone. Their judgment is imminent. The tigers are coming. said the Holy One.

These words rested heavily on the spirit of Tip, the son of Barrachus. The young coyote, who was kidnapped to the land of Niftha to be burnt alive, was an adult and even more — a prophet of the Holy One.

Tip dropped to his knees as the green gem that once hung on Deborah’s neck now belonged to him. It was a responsibility that he did not expect; and in some small way, wished that someone else carried this burden, but his father wore the blue gem until his dying day. How could he not relish the privilege of honoring the Lord? The prophecy just spoken from the mouth of the Holy One made him shake. It was a shameful thought to see Shavron laid waste, but there was hope, but that hope depended on Shavron’s response.

Holy One, will you show me these tigers that are drawing near? said Tip.

I will. said the Holy One, You will see their numbers from a distance and then you will return to bring my word to the Shavronites.

In the blink of an eye, Tip was no longer kneeling in his home. He was outside on a high hill overlooking a vast desert. The orange sand glistened as the sun beamed its choice rays over it. Tip’s ear caught the sound of something moving… something was appearing in the distance. He waited nervously as the blurry horizon revealed a most foreboding sight.

* * *

Keep marching! We are only two days away from the gates of Shavron. You’ll turn those stern grimaces into smiles once you plunder the place!

The general’s order to his troops pressed them forward. Weapons of warfare and destruction traveled in each soldier’s hand. They dragged catapults and ballistas along the sandy prairie, leaving deep trails as if a massive serpent was slithering to its burrow. It was a massive army of striped felines. Tigers! Yes, tigers—the tigers from the land of Tajir. The strong and proud beast, marinated in their wicked ways of superstition, had now ventured from their homeland of safety for new treasures and possible new slaves to call their own. Oblivious to their own understanding was the Holy One; leading their pursuit; orchestrating the judgment to come.

Eyes forward and heads up! shouted the general again, A hundred pounds of gold and a slave for all of you. Let that thought be your refuge in this cursed desert!

Ranks over ranks of tigers marching in their respective flights moved steadily with one goal in mind: the destruction of Shavron. Why?

Why does the rain fall?

Why does the sun give its heat?

Because it can.

As the rain falls without counsel and as the sun brings its heat forward without restraint, so the tigers wanted slaves and the resources that Shavron possessed.

The tigers ventured far through the heat, rain, and chilling nights. The vast desert that separated Shavron from the invading army provided the buffer needed for peace between the two nations, but little by little the army cut away at the distance. None of the troops dared to speak against their king, who pushed them across the desolate landscape with the promise of wealth and, above all, slaves. The monarch sat silently in his covered litter, musing over the riches and souls that he would soon call his own. One of his own soothsayers told him that the gods of Tajir would make his victory sure against Shavron. Suddenly, the litter dipped. The king’s thoughts trailed off to the offense. He wanted to scold the underlings who were carrying him, but the swaying movements of his carriage soon returned, and so did his thoughts of conquest:

How would he attack the main country gates?

How many slaves would he take?

How many would he kill?

How much would he take as plunder?

Each question the king asked himself was easy to answer. With a satisfied smile, the king reclined on his covered stretcher until it unexpectedly dipped again. Pulling back the drape, the king ordered a death threat to the unlucky soul who had failed to keep the carriage’s balance.

If the litter dips like that again, I’ll remove your head!

Yes, my king. said the troop, trembling.

Blowing his disdain through his nostrils, the king ordered his litter to be placed down. At that moment, the army behind him stopped as the sun, with lacked just as much mercy as the king, blazed its heat over them. Coming from his shaded shelter, the king looked at the armed servants before him. A prideful grin grew over his face, and taking the fresh air into his lungs, he called for his general officer.

What are your plans to attack the country? said the king to his general.

We will arrive at the gates of Shavron tomorrow. The archers will be at the southern gate, your infantry will be at the northern and western gates, and the diggers at the eastern gate. The catapults and ballistas will be at the rear, covering down. But my majesty, I have one concern.

The king waited. What viable concern could there be?

Should we be concerned about the judges—the judges of Shavron, said the general carefully as not to offend his king, They say the Holy One—

The Holy One? the kings said, scoffing at the very name. The only gods that the Shavronites will know from now will be Tajirian gods. Besides, the judges are mere figure heads now; they have no power. There is nothing to fear; there is only bounty to seize and others to enslave.

How are we to round up the Shavronites? asked the general. How many should we take captive?

Take as many as you can and kill as many as you can. said the king. Humor me.

2

Chapter 2

Will you not spare Shavron? asked Tip, gazing at the grand army. Will you totally wipe us from the face of this world?

Instantly, Tip was back in his home. The scorching sun, the army, and the desert were gone. The looming threat, however, was still present. Trembling, he waited for the Holy One to speak.

Did I not say that if Shavron turns from their wicked ways that I would turn the judgment back? The hearts of the Shavronites are cold as ice and hard as stone. I am grieved. The blood of the young soaks the ground in the Cinnamount Woods cries out to Me, said the Holy One. I’ve turned my eyes away from blessing and have reached for My sword to slay the land.

Tip considered if it would be wise to speak again. He knew that the Holy One was rich in mercy, but would He be now since judgment loomed over Shavron like a storm cloud?

If there are a hundred in the land that will listen, will you turn the army back?

There was a moment of silence.

For one hundred I will. said the Holy One.

What of fifty? said Tip respectfully, What is a mere fifty?

For fifty, I will turn the army of tigers back.

Even a few repentant hearts are like fine music to You. said Tip. "If there are twenty in Shavron that will listen and turn from this bloodshed, will you turn the tigers back from ransacking the land?

I will. said the Holy One.

Tip took a deep swallow and addressed the Holy One again.

I will speak this final time. What of ten?

If ten Shavronites will listen and rally to you to stop the killing in the Cinnamount Woods, I will not bring this judgment. Take my message to the towns and then the despot in the capital city. Do not fear their threats, for I am with you. You will see what they do when you tell them everything I have said.

Tip made haste out of his front door. With a walking stick by his side and the green gem hanging from his neck. His mission was clear: turn the hearts of the Shavronites back to the Holy One. Tip moved from town to town with the message.

Ignored.

Scorned.

Spat at.

Spat on.

Laughed to shame.

These were the reactions of the Shavronites to him. Finally, after many weary days of travel, Tip limped quietly down the paved road to his final destination. Using the staff to help him walk, he moved with the speed of a snail. With frazzled and uncouth fur, Tip needed a bath. His feet were so sore that he felt another step would draw blood. Tip’s hooded cloak shifted perfectly with his sluggish advancement. However, Tip knew that time was short. The incessant words of the Holy One continued to buzz through his mind like flies over ointment: The tigers were coming.

When he entered the capital city, no one noticed him at first. For this, Tip was glad. But gradually, wandering eyes noted him. Mothers pulled their children closer as if he had a gross malady. Fathers stood taller as a warning for him not to draw near. He was like a plague which caused death, but he was there to bring life—could they not understand? The demise of Shavron was closer still. Tip quickened his pace as best he could. More Shavronites fled from his presence. It was indeed the hand of the Holy One protecting him; if it was any other time, the Shavronites would have hanged him long ago.

Filthy overgrown rat! cried out one bystander viciously. Want an early grave?

Come to tell us more fairy tales of God’s judgment against us? said another bold Shavronite, Go preach that nonsense to the grass and trees!

Tip did not allow the open disrespect or threats to sway him: he had a message for the ruler of Shavron, an urgent one that tittered between life or death. Tip knew the Holy One was ready to show mercy if they would listen and turn from their wicked ways. However, Tip knew that the ears of the Shavronites were no longer interested in what the Holy One had to say.

But he had to try.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned his head toward a rotunda. It was there he was to give his message for the last time. As Tip approached the staircase, he felt like he was walking up to be put to death by an executioner. Once inside the building, he spotted one of the royal guards. Approaching carefully under the glaring eye of the soldier, Tip spoke.

I have a message from the Holy One that is urgent. I must speak with the Despot.

The guard looked at him with disdain.

When you groom yourself and take a bath, you can return until then—

The word of the Holy One cannot wait. The lives in this land are in danger! I will see the Despot!

Instantly, the guard grabbed Tip by the scruff of his neck. The guard forcibly pulled him from the front door.

Filthy mongrel! growled the guard. Who are you to give commands? Take the Holy One’s word and tell it to the trees!

STOP! cried a voice from deeper within the rotunda.

It was the Despot. He was a skunk named Silk that was elected by the Shavronites years before to rule over them. The skunk wore the blue and orange gems around his neck that once were ordained for the judges to wear. With a glimmer in his eye, the despot caught sight of the green gem around Tip’s neck.

Release the prophet, said Silk kindly, I’ve heard much about him and wanted very much to meet him. Come, prophet, and follow me.

Silk casually waved Tip over to him. Tip followed Silk into the main chamber of the rotunda. Silk causally walked up to a padded throne and took his seat. Beside the skunk were his wife and son. The chamber had other Shavronite officials standing in the chamber. Tip made the mistake of looking at their faces. He had seen it all before: the hatred, the doubt, the apathy. With a trembling hand, Tip tightened his grip on his staff. He kept his eyes on the only creature that mattered: Silk the Despot.

Daddy, look, it’s the stupid coyote. said the despot’s son. His stories scare me.

Don’t worry son, the old overgrown rat—uh — prophet can’t hurt you. In fact, go up and say hello to him.

The young skunk walked up to Tip; and with a smarmy smirk on his face, kicked him in the leg. Tip jerked back taking hold of his shin. Running back, the young skunk received a congratulatory laugh from the crowd and a tender kiss from his mother.

I would say we are delighted at your presence, replied the despot with a sigh, But to be frank, the air from the Cinnamount Woods has grown stagnant since your arrival. You’ve been causing a lot of trouble among the Shavronites. You have troubled Shavron with your lies. My son is having trouble sleeping because of you. I am not amused.

The land is troubled by the sins that the Shavronites have committed under your leadership, Tip said sternly. The Holy One has seen the living sacrifices, and He hates it.

Ugh—this nonsense again! Silk said, rolling his eyes. For the past three months you’ve traveled over this land spouting your lies about death and destruction to Shavron. Nothing has happened and I’ve been receiving letters marking you as a traitor. Hearing the voice of the Holy One, what rubbish! Your filth has spread like gangrene. I would have had you assassinated weeks ago, but at the advice of my wife, it was in my heart to give you the opportunity to clear your name.

Silk waved his hand, and a servant brought a scroll to him.

I discovered your father was once a judge who wore the blue gem. Barrachus was his name, was it not? said Silk opening the scroll. He tried to interfere with the nightly offerings to Ivronel in the Cinnamount Woods. Seems that the Shavronites didn’t take kindly to it. An early grave was his fate.

Tip winced from the account of his father’s death.

"It still hurts, doesn’t it? Don’t follow in your father’s footsteps. No one cares about this silly fantasy of death and destruction. But I offer you this pardon for your offense on this account: give me