The Tainian Odyssey: Book One Clan of the Warriors

By Elle Elle Larsen

Nora and Clarke are magically transported to the land of Tain where they encounter a world of extraordinary beings and deadly dangers. They meet Princess Lucy and Prince Eustace who plead with them to join in a war against the wicked Queen of the Bitterlands who wants to destroy Tain. Nora and Clarke are helped in their quest to save Tain by Keeneyes, a giant eagle who becomes their protector, shielding them from Lord Moribund, ruler of the underworld. Nora and Clarke learn to fight with the help of the Clan of the Warriors, a group of animals dedicated to the defense of Tain. Death and despair stalk them as they battle ogres, giants, and the evil undead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Elle Larsen
• Release date: Nov 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005961800

Elle Elle Larsen

Elle Elle Larsen, new author who lives in the northern hemisphere on the third planet from the sun takes young adult readers on a fantastic journey to an exciting fantasy world. Elle has recently published The Tainian Odyssey: Clan of the Warriors, book one in the thrilling three book Tainian Odyssey trilogy.

Book preview

Prologue

Dear Reader,

While in Ireland, I purchased several diaries from the proprietress of an antique shop. The diaries display evidence of arduous travel and some of the writing is indecipherable.

The diarist, a young woman known as Nora, never reveals her full identity. Her fate and the fate of her companion remain unknown to this day. Her last entry is undated.

Author’s Note:

To protect Nora’s privacy, certain entries the author deemed too personal have been omitted. The author was also obliged to supply interpretations to those entries that were obscured by water damage. Despite these alterations, the author assures the reader that this book represents an accurate rendering of Nora’s experiences in the land of Tain.

Chapter 1 A Girl of Spirit

Nora stood in front of the head mistress of the Westingburg School for Girls. She wore the Westingburg school uniform, pleated grey skirt, white blouse and a V-neck dark blue sweater bearing the Westingburg crest. Miss Gertrude DeGroot sat erect behind a large mahogany desk aglow with the golden light cast by a lamp fashioned in the shape of a Grecian urn. The lamp was topped with a glass shade depicting dragonflies in flight. Nora fidgeted and wondered why the head mistress had summoned her. She sighed.

Miss DeGroot, hands folded on top of her desk, conveyed an image of patient authority. It was a pose she had perfected over the years. Her entire life was dedicated to her students, reading classic literature, and to the piano. During her brief summer holidays, she traveled alone to exotic locales. Miss DeGroot preferred her career to matrimony.

When the position of head mistress at Westingburg School for Girls was offered to her, she knew she had found her life’s work and accepted it without hesitation. Descended from one of the oldest families in Europe, one that possessed a title, a coat of arms and little else, she was the first female of her lineage to be employed and she loved her job.

The intelligent and lovely girl standing in front of her was one of her favorite students. Nora would never know how much the head mistress admired her and her defiant attitude towards authority. Miss DeGroot felt a fondness for the rebellious girl and hoped that Nora’s strong spirit would help her to bear the terrible news of her father’s sudden death.

At Westingburg School students were forbidden to speak unless invited to do so. Nora waited with growing impatience for Miss DeGroot to address her. Through an open window came the sounds of a soccer game and Nora longed to be outdoors. She sighed again to convey her growing impatience with the prolonged silence.

Nora, began Miss DeGroot as she increased pressure on her folded hands, turning her knuckles white. I am so very sorry to inform you of the tragic death of your father. Seconds ticked by on a clock located somewhere in the gloomy room. Nora no longer heard her classmates playing on the field. A pink mist flooded her vision and the head mistress seemed to be floating away from her, growing smaller and smaller.

What…did you say? Nora whispered.

Miss DeGroot stood and walked towards Nora, her long arms extended. My dear child, I am sorry to tell you that your father has died in an airplane crash. Your mother has been notified and she has left her home to collect you. She will arrive at the school shortly.

Nora swayed and almost collapsed but Miss DeGroot enveloped her in a tight embrace. Nora wailed and struggled to free herself. When she stopped struggling, she slumped in Miss DeGroot’s arms and sobbed tears that can only come from a heart forever broken.

Miss DeGroot whispered soothing sounds and kissed Nora’s forehead. She guided Nora to a sofa, moistened a silk handkerchief in a hand basin, and wiped Nora’s face. I know how devastating it is to lose someone you love but you’ll recover for you are a girl of spirit.

Chapter 2 An Announcement Is Made

Clarke looked out of the windows of his classroom. Streaks of dust bore evidence of the rain that had pelted the windows. He turned away from the windows and washed the blackboards, a chore he had volunteered to do in order to delay his exit from school.

Good job, Clarke, announced Mrs. Miller, breezing into the classroom with an armload of books. I’ll miss you next year.

Mrs. Miller was Clarke’s favorite teacher and he felt sad when he thought about not being in her class anymore. Mrs. Miller lifted his chin and looked Clarke in the eye.

You’ll be fine next year and if you have any problems, come talk to me, okay?

Clarke nodded in agreement as Mrs. Miller patted his shoulder. Hurry home now. It’s the last day of school and you have the whole summer in front of you.

Arriving home, Clarke hugged his mom. Her face was flushed and he could tell that she had been crying again. His dog, Byron, yelped in glee and ran in circles until he was picked up and given a hug. Clarke’s happiness at seeing his mom and dog fled as he noticed the empty bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. Clarke became anxious when his mother drank, fearing the changes to her personality. Sometimes, she became cross.

Your soup’s cold, I’ll reheat it for you, said his mother with a pasted-on smile. She placed an egg salad sandwich in front of him. I have a wonderful surprise for you.

Clarke studied his mother’s face for a clue. Her arms were folded across her chest and her head was tilted to the right. He knew that pose well. She was going to make an announcement. It also meant she had made up her mind.

I’ve been corresponding with your Aunt Susan and she’s invited you to spend the summer at her home in Ireland. Isn’t that exciting?

Is Ireland far, mom?

It’s very far away. It’s across an ocean. You can find it on the globe in your room.

He dared to ask, What does dad think about my going to Ireland?

Well, your father thinks that you should spend the summer with him and his new wife.

Clarke gave a piece of his sandwich to Byron. He felt breathless and excited but did not know how to react. The idea of crossing an ocean was too big for him to grasp. He planned on spending the summer with his friends, fishing for catfish and catching frogs.

His mother looked at him expectantly, a sure sign that his response was important to her. Clarke struggled to understand why she wanted him to go away for the summer. A sense of loss swept over him. The half-empty bowl of soup, the kitchen table, even his little dog Bryon, suddenly seemed to be a sad and slow-moving dream.

Your Aunt Susan would love to meet you and she is getting on in years. Oh, and here’s the best part. You’ll get to spend the summer with your cousin, Nora. She hasn’t been the same since her father’s death. She’s fourteen, only two years older than you.

Clarke sighed, mom, she’s a girl and she won’t want to do the stuff that I like. It’ll be the worst summer. I don’t want to go. Why can’t I spend the summer with dad or you? The divorce had shattered his world. It took away his father and embittered his mother.

Do you really want me to go away, mom?

No, honey, I want you to stay with me but it’s going to be a difficult time. I must find a job or we’ll have to sell our house. The divorce is final and your father is busy with his new family. Please try to understand that I’m doing the best I can.

Clarke looked at his mother’s face. She looked older, weary and thinner. He wondered if he had been to blame for the divorce. He remembered one argument when his father had shouted, You’re spoiling the boy, riding lessons aren’t for people like us.

Clarke grabbed Byron’s leash and left the house. He walked along the Fox River lost in thought. He felt Byron pull on the leash. What’s the matter, boy? Byron was looking at a tree next to the river. Clarke tugged on the leash but Byron wouldn’t budge. Byron’s little body was rigid, his sight focused on the tree. Clarke saw an eagle perched on a high branch. Transfixed, he watched as the eagle flew down and soared above him. The bird screeched and circled before flying away. Somehow the eagle left Clarke feeling a sense of hope.

Chapter 3 Unwanted Voyage

High above the North Atlantic the evening sky was fading to a cobalt hue sprinkled with early stars. Clarke gazed out of the airplane’s oval window as the setting sun transformed the ocean’s waves into undulating rows of golden dunes. Instead of being happy about his journey, Clarke worried about his mother and his dog Byron.

His father had asked Clarke to spend the summer with him but he knew that his father’s new wife did not want him around. Sometimes she smiled at him but only with her lips.

Clarke was met at the airport by a tall, silver-haired man wearing a gray striped suit. The man introduced himself to the stewardess before speaking to Clarke.

How do you do, madam? he said with an accent. I’m Mr. Conway and I’m here to collect an American boy, Clarke Allen by name.

The stewardess smiled and checked her clipboard. Clarke, Mr. Conway is here to take you to your aunt’s house. She tousled his hair, waved goodbye, and walked up the plane’s ramp.

I’m Clarke, was the only thing he could think to say to the man.

Right, you are there, lad, replied Mr. Conway. Come along now, you must be very tired. Clarke rubbed his eyes as he followed Mr. Conway to a baggage rack and identified his suitcase.

They walked out of the airport to an old black car. Mr. Conway placed Clarke’s suitcase in the trunk then held the rear door open for him. The last thing Clarke remembered before falling asleep was the odor of leather and the smell of perfume.

Clarke was awakened by cool air rushing into the car and the sound of a woman’s voice. Have mercy on us all, look at the poor thing! Mr. Conway, shame on you for not covering the boy with a blanket. Take him to his room at once.

Now, Mrs. Conway, don’t fret. He’ll be right as rain after a good night’s sleep.

Ignoring her husband, Mrs. Conway continued to chide, enough talk! Upstairs with the boy this minute and place him in the green bedroom. Look at how thin the child’s legs are.

Chapter 4 Warm Breakfast, Cold Cousin

Clarke awoke slowly, unsure of his whereabouts. When he remembered that he was in his Aunt Susan’s house in Ireland, the veils of sleep gave way to homesickness. He looked around the room and understood why it was called the green bedroom, the walls were painted the color of spring leaves. On the wall opposite his bed an ornate gilded frame held the portraits of a dappled mare and a gray wolfhound. It seemed to Clarke the animals were observing him. Their faces radiated a warm curiosity that buoyed his spirits and eased his homesickness.

A warm breeze slipped through the bedroom windows and danced with the lace curtains. Swooning in the arms of the breeze, the curtains splashed sunlight about the bedroom. Laden with the smell of spring grass and breakfast, the breeze caressed Clarke’s face.

Dressing quickly, Clarke found a white tiled bathroom that adjoined the bedroom and washed as boys often do, lots of water and sputtering and not nearly enough soap for a proper job. He was eager to hunt for the source of the breakfast aromas.

Clarke stepped into a long hallway covered with a crimson carpet. To his right, a row of wooden doors with brass doorknobs stood stiffly at attention, to his left, the smell of breakfast beckoned. Following his nose, he arrived at a winding staircase and stared at the longest handrail he’d ever seen. He decided not to slide down the curving handrail. Instead, he walked down the stairs and into a foyer guarded by a suit of armor and a tawny marble lion. Black and white floor tiles reminded him of a checkerboard.

In the center of the foyer, an intricately woven carpet caught his eye. The carpet portrayed a beautiful woman embracing two children. As Clarke admired the fabulous carpet, he was suddenly seized by a desire to reach out and touch the image of the woman.

Mrs. Conway’s voice banished the spell cast by the carpet. Ah, there you are, lad, and good morning to you. Charmed by that pretty carpet, I see. If you’re ready to have a proper breakfast, come to the table while the food is hot.

Mrs. Conway was a pleasant round woman with a rose complexion and hazel eyes. Her brunette hair, streaked with gray, was gathered up in a loose bun held by a lace ribbon. She wore a yellow dress and a starched white apron decorated with small pink flowers and stood on sturdy black shoes with thick heels.

The dining room featured a long mahogany table with ornately carved legs and was surrounded by twelve high-backed wooden chairs with red velvet seats. Overhead, a crystal chandelier reflected sunlight filtered through a stained-glass window depicting grapevines and doves with gold ribbons in their beaks. Intimidated by the size and formality of the dining room, Clarke hesitated to enter the room.

I hope you had a restful sleep, said Mrs. Conway.

Yes, Ma’am.

Now, where can your willful cousin be? Come, you need not wait for Nora.

Clarke sat on one of the high-backed chairs for he was as hungry as Mrs. Conway believed him to be.

Chatting away, Mrs. Conway carried steaming platters of food to the table. She was one of those good people who can converse without needing a response from those around her. She delivered mounds of scrambled eggs, strawberries in china bowls, steaming muffins nestled in a cloth-lined wire basket, and a tray of hot sausages. Clarke sighed and gazed at a jar of honey. He gathered his selections onto a warmed plate and ate contentedly.

Eating a muffin dripping with butter and honey, Clarke noticed the most beautiful girl he had ever seen standing in the doorway of the dining room. She had radiant brown skin and raven hair. He wondered how long she had been standing in the doorway.

Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, Clarke stood and introduced himself. How do you do? I’m Clarke and I’m here to spend the summer with my aunt and cousin.

Scowling, the lovely girl folded her arms in front of her chest and said nothing.

Clarke flushed. He began to imagine all sorts of reasons for her lack of response. Perhaps I have a milk mustache or my hair is sticking up or maybe she doesn’t like boys. Increasingly self-conscious in the presence of the silent girl, he blurted, Do you know my Aunt Susan?

Yes, silly boy, of course I know her, she’s my aunt as well. She won’t be down to breakfast. The stairs are too difficult for her to manage. Mrs. Conway will take you to see her later in the day.

Clarke asked, are you Nora?

With a look of disdain that ruined the symmetry of her face, the girl stepped up to him and with a dramatic sweep of her arm extended her hand. I’m Nora, she announced.

Clarke stared at the hand floating in front of his face. He had no idea what she expected him to do. Just when Clarke thought he’d die of embarrassment, he remembered a movie he’d seen. The movie featured swashbuckling swordsmen who fought for the love and honor of beautiful ladies. Whenever a gallant greeted a lady, he kissed her extended hand. Clarke decided that perhaps Nora expected him to greet her in a similar fashion. Eager to please, he grasped Nora’s hand and raised it to his lips. Before he could kiss her hand, she laughed and jerked it away.

Why, you’re the most ridiculous boy I’ve ever met. A handshake would have sufficed. Smirking, Nora sat down to eat her breakfast.

Good morning, Nora, said Mrs. Conway as she bustled into the dining room with more steaming plates. Getting along with your American cousin, are you? she queried with an arched eyebrow. Do be kind to him as this is his first time away from home and he’s sure to feel a bit awkward. By the way children, I have instructed Mr. Conway to saddle up the mares for a ride around the estate after breakfast. Won’t that be great fun? Taking in Nora’s scowl, Mrs. Conway added, during your ride, young lady, you will take Clarke on a tour of the grounds to acquaint him with the lay of the place.

For Clarke, the bloom was off the breakfast feast. He felt uncomfortable eating in the presence of a girl especially a beautiful one who didn’t seem to like him. Watching Clarke’s every move, Nora ate with little regard for her manners. She chewed with her mouth open and used her sleeve for a napkin. Her curt responses to his attempts at conversation caused Clarke to finish eating in unhappy silence.

Chapter 5 Matters of the Heart

On the way to the stables, Clarke attempted to converse with his sullen cousin. Can you tell me about that carpet in the foyer? It’s beautiful.

Certainly, replied Nora, in a tone that implied she knew just about everything and a whole lot more than Clarke would ever know. Aunt Susan paid dearly to have that carpet woven by a mysterious shaman during one of her academic expeditions to India. The image on that carpet is similar to a recurring dream that Aunt Susan experienced while she lived in India. A shaman told her that the woman she dreamed of was a goddess who ruled another world. He told her that one day she would travel to that world and come face to face with the goddess in her dreams.

What’s a shaman?

Didn’t they teach you a thing in America? A shaman is a witch doctor, someone who heals people with chants, dancing, and magical potions. Shamans have visions of the past and the future. They communicate with the dead in the spirit world. You mustn’t go near that old carpet. Aunt Susan has forbidden anyone to touch it, even Mrs. Conway.

How does the carpet get cleaned?

Nora furrowed her brow, strangely, it never seems to need cleaning.

Hello there, children, greeted Mr. Conway as he led two horses from the stable. Tis a grand day for a ride and the mares are eager to stretch their legs. Nora, you’re up on Ginger. Clarke, I’ve saddled Georgia for you. She’s a gentle old girl.

It’s a nice day thought Clarke as he looked at the horses. The pampered mares swished their tails to shoo the flies buzzing around them and eyed Clarke.

Clarke was beginning to have misgivings about the horses. Up close, they were bigger than he imagined. Georgia seemed enormous. Clarke decided to pretend that he was an experienced rider in order to impress his cousin. After all, he reasoned, I’ve had a few lessons and I rode a pony at my grandparent’s farm.

When Mr. Conway offered to give Clarke a boost onto the saddle, Clarke said, thank you but I really don’t need help.

Not bothering to conceal a smirk, Nora mounted Ginger with an assist from Mr. Conway.

Concerned, Mr. Conway watched Clarke approach Georgia. By sheer luck, Clarke managed to place his left foot into a stirrup and grasp the saddle horn but try as he might he could not gain the saddle. Sensing his inexperience, the mare rolled her eyes and shifted her weight each time Clarke tried to swing his leg over the saddle. Amused by his bravado, Nora laughed at his efforts. Clarke was spared further humiliation when Mr. Conway lifted him onto the saddle. Handing the reins to Clarke, he whispered, do try to be careful, lad. Follow your cousin’s lead and you’ll be fine.

The young riders cantered through pastures verdant from spring rain. Guiding her mare off the cinder path, Nora led her cousin through a fragrant apple orchard. Though the beauty of the day lifted Clarke’s spirits, he bounced like a sack of potatoes on the back of his unhappy mare. Frustrated and uncomfortable, he watched Nora ride Ginger and discovered that by imitating her, Georgia’s gait became smoother.

Nora led Clarke into a copse of old willows clustered along the bank of a sparkling stream. In the cool shade under the trees, she stopped to let the horses drink. She chatted about her Aunt Susan’s estate, describing the fields and orchards that decorated the surrounding hills. Clarke was impressed with her knowledge. She explained the planting and harvesting of crops and her fondness for newborn animals. Listening to Nora, Clarke experienced a moment of confusion; his cousin seemed to have changed into a different person. Not only was she speaking politely to him but she treated her horse gently. Watching her pat Ginger’s neck, he wondered how she could possibly be the same girl who delighted in making him feel so unwelcome at breakfast.

Sunlight reflecting from the rippled surface of the stream painted zebra stripes on the bellies of the mares. Only the gurgling water, the breeze passing through the trees, and the hum of bees intruded upon the silence. When Nora decided that the mares had enough water she clucked to Ginger and guided her back onto the cinder path. Clarke, at last in rhythm with his horse, felt a surge of confidence as he hurried to catch up to his cousin. Ancient elm trees formed a green, lacy canopy that arched high above the path providing shade from the sun. As they rode side by side, Clarke’s curiosity about Nora grew despite his reluctance to break the silence. Nora, he ventured, you know a lot about your aunt’s estate.

Nora shrugged her shoulders but did not reply.

Do you live here with Aunt Susan?

You’re inclined to pry, aren’t you? I know a lot about my Aunt Susan’s estate because I stay here whenever I’m on holiday. Nora’s face flushed, well, what else do you want to know about me?

Clarke sought refuge in silence but the momentum of Nora’s anger carried her forward.

"I attend an exclusive boarding school that I detest but will one day grant me access to the right social strata. At least, mon cher, that’s what my mother tells me. My mother and stepfather are too busy with their social affairs in London to spend any time with me. I live with Aunt Susan when I’m not in school because my parents don’t want me spoiling their lifestyle."

Taken aback by Nora’s bitterness, Clarke led his horse away from her. Although he wondered what the words ‘mon cher’ meant, he had no intention of asking.

In a calmer voice, Nora said, I suppose you’d like to know everything about our Aunt Susan too, wouldn’t you? Not waiting for a response, she continued, She’s a gracious, generous, intelligent woman and I love her more than my mother.

Nora’s voice softened as she talked about Aunt Susan’s life. She’s traveled all over the world and she’s even been granted the title of Dame by the Queen of England for her distinguished career as a professor of anthropology. You don’t know what anthropology means, do you? Hmm… of course you don’t.

Miffed by Nora’s arrogance and flustered because he really didn’t know what anthropology meant, Clarke stared at the back of Georgia’s twitching ears.

Anthropology is the study of how human beings live. Now you know what the word means. Aunt Susan retired to this estate with her beloved husband and has remained here ever since. It was the saddest day of her life when my uncle died. She never traveled again.

They rode side by side without conversing. Soothed by the sound of the mare’s hoof beats, Clarke’s mood lifted. Nora’s voice startled him when she spoke again. Aunt Susan is the only person in the world I trust. She loves me dearly and I am devoted to her. In time, you will learn to love her too.

What about your dad, Nora?

My father died a year ago and his death broke my heart forever.

Unhappy about the conversation, Clarke asked, don’t you get lonesome being here?

Tears shimmered in Nora’s eyes. That’s a very personal question. Sometimes, I get lonely but I… Nora breathed deeply, then sighed. Look, Clarke, haven’t you figured out why you’ve been sent here? You’re here because of me, poor, wretched, unwanted Nora. Aunt Susan felt pity for me, that’s why you were taken away from your cozy American home. She begged your mother to send you here and paid for all your expenses. She thought you would make a good companion for her sad withdrawn niece. But she was wrong, your company irks me.

The dense shade created by the ancient elms that lined the cinder path was randomly pierced by shafts of sunlight that flashed brilliantly whenever the riders rode through them. Clarke