Home Road

By Allyson Horner

Kyndle Redwood has known nothing but life as an exile, so when an opportunity arises for something different, she less than willingly takes it. She could never have imagined just what that choice would mean. Follow her adventures in this exciting novel about struggle, faith, and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646702862

Book preview

Part 1

Chapter One

Redwood!

The members of our family briskly worked our way to the front of the crowd.

Adar!

Father stepped up, red beard ablaze in the newly risen sun.

Calinda!

My mum stepped up beside her husband, and I imagined her a queen at the side of her warrior-king husband, standing proudly together before the crowd of loyal subjects.

Flint!

My brother jostled my arm as he stepped forward. It startled me out of my reverie, back to a place where kings, queens, and peaceful kingdoms couldn’t be further from the truth.

Imagination often lives far from reality, as far as one can run from it.

Kyndle!

As I filled the space by my brother, I met eyes with the representative. His shone emotionless, reflecting the endless blue of snow and ice while mine held the brown sparks of a people long subdued within the reality I so often strove to flee from in my mind—that of a warrior nation growing bitter and hardened after two centuries of exile beneath the Snow Realm’s iron thumb.

He looked down, I looked away, and our silent spar came to an end.

Ruby!

My sister stepped in place beside me, head hung low. Heavy eyelashes hid the dark eyes I knew were bent toward the cobblestone. She remained that way while the representative consulted his list.

Draithen!

As our family melted back into the crowd, the Draithens gathered to confirm their presence. It had been many years since any name had been missed at roll call, but that made no difference. Still they were held every ten days or whenever the representative might randomly call one.

I squeezed my sister’s slender shoulder. Born early, she had spent her formative years struggling to survive. Left fragile by an infant fever, she now ran from any situation that made anyone look at her; constantly she fought to blend in, stay unnoticed, be unseen—an impossible fight when it came to roll call.

You did better, I whispered into her red ear. Next time, keep your face up.

Her head moved in a slight nod that warned me not to continue and it remained lowered until roll call was over. The representative stepped off the wooden stage which in days’ past was a scaffold.

I rubbed at my wrist, the band of leather that encircled it. We all wore them. It was a sign of our exile. The representative is to look for them at every roll call. We hate them with a dark heavy hate but removing them brings a punishment.

Ruby watched the representative as he strode from sight.

I’m scared of him, she whispered.

I gave her shoulder a second squeeze as the assembly became a churn, separating the adults from the children, the girls from the boys—and as I watched her go, a worry that was all too familiar welled up in my throat. There was always the chance that her frame would give way and never be the same.

I felt a light nudge on my shoulder blade and turned to face a pair of concerned green-brown eyes, those of my best friend.

You okay? she asked.

Just worried about her as usual.

Auburn and I stood quietly, watching, as a rowdy group of boys jostled one another into some semblance of a line. Among all the tall redheads I saw my brother and his best friend, Tinder, who spotted me at the same moment. Cheery waves were exchanged.

Those two are always smiling, Auburn noted.

Because they’re always up to something, I returned with a laugh. In my mind’s eye, I could see them again as boys having too many arms and legs and too little sense to keep themselves out of the pranking which so frequently got them in trouble. Even now, at nineteen, one could always find a bit of mischief hovering just behind the freckles on their faces, just waiting for the right moment to jump out and scare you.

Again I shook from my thoughts, and it was at this moment I realized, our line was the only one left in the town square. The faces of the girls around me mirrored the same realization. As one, we looked to our dorm leader.

Why aren’t we leaving? someone asked.

We’re to wait for a special announcement from Master Stave, came Maroon’s deep scratchy voice. Until then, we wait.

And so, in the cool morning air, we waited.

As we did, most of the girls settled down upon the cobblestone to talk among themselves. Auburn remained on her feet, at the edge of the group, near the head of the market street.

They would stop talking if I sat down with them, she told me with a forced laugh that couldn’t hide the pain in her eyes.

So I stood with her and we spectated the going-ons of bartering in the street before us. The village—while screaming to our northern captors that unlike them, we appreciate differences among people—were blatant in their dislike toward Auburn. I found this strange.

True, she was the only brownhead in the entire village and the only one to harbor a green to her dark eyes. But how did that affect her character?

They had never taken the time to even talk with her about any of their concerns. They would find that she wasn’t so unusual after all.

I was not one to accept differences. I was not one to readily give trust or even friendship. I’d gotten one too many scars from it. One too many times, I had hoped for many different things and been disappointed. So I had learned to sit back and watch, to let others do the talking; to do only what was needed to get by, to truly love only those I knew would love me in return.

However, the exception to my generally apathetic way of life had been Auburn. Many years back, I had decided not to be deterred by her differences. In her eyes, I seemed to find some sort of camaraderie, a sort of unexplained dissatisfaction, and it had sparked my curiosity.

I had found the risk to be worth it.

Differences aside, she was the best friend I had ever had.

Once as a little girl, during the lunch hour, I had confided to Mum that I wished to look like Auburn. Mum had pushed a strand of hair from my plump ruddy face and shaken her head.

You don’t want to be different, she said.

Why, Mum?

Because then you would stand out from your playmates.

I’m certain that my pudgy forehead wrinkled. Is that bad?

It isn’t proper.

Why? With the persistence of a child.

Because then, you wouldn’t be a true Fireling. One with true Fireling blood running through their veins have dark-gray eyes and red hair, both of which the heavens have blessed you with. Then she had taken me into her lap which smelled of lavender—a result of being a village gardener. Looking and acting different isn’t looked well upon, she continued. It makes for a difficult life. Always remember this, Kyndle.

Okay, Mum, I’d said as she stood up.

And I always had.

But that didn’t keep me from being friends with a nonconformist, did it?

After Mum had walked off, I had found Auburn leaning against a wall, crying. I had run as fast as I could to put my arms around her and put my forehead to hers in some sort of formal promise.

I’ll always be your friend, I had told her.

She had looked at me like she wasn’t sure whether she could believe me. And right then and there, as a ruddy-faced six-year-old, I had made it my mission to make sure she did.

Thus today, I stood alone with her while the rest sat and talked.

Something brushed against my arm, jerking me from my thoughts for the second time that day; and in surprise, I watched Auburn dart into the market crowd. Out of habit, I followed her and, through the bustle, found her kneeling beside an older woman whose foot had evidently caught a wobbly cobblestone. An herb basket lay on the street beside her, and by it, I recognized her as a fellow gardener of Mum. Remembering my place as Calinda’s daughter, I quickly snatched the basket out of the reach of any dangerous feet.

Are you hurt? Auburn was asking the woman.

Noooo, the woman said, shaking her head from side to side, eyeing Auburn warily like everyone did. But as she pushed a graying strand of hair away from her eyes, we both saw the bruise already surfacing under the thin skin at her temple.

Auburn helped her to her feet then gestured toward the load. Where are you taking this?

Brawn Street, the woman said, bending for her load.

I’ll take it, Auburn said, jumping to pull the woven basket over her own shoulder.

I found my voice. But the meeting—

It’s just a few lanes up, Auburn called over her shoulder as she and the old woman set off. I’ll be back soon.

I couldn’t help noticing the strange looks she received as she pushed through the crowd.

Hurrying back to the group, I avoided the glances of the other girls and hoped against hope that Auburn would return before Master Stave arrived. No sooner had the wish crossed my mind than the instructor strode up to our group.

He was tall, several inches over six feet, with a distinguished scar on his left cheek and a voice gritty as a gravel road.

Maroon, he said. A word with you.

They stepped aside from listening ears and I breathed a sigh of relief. I glanced over my shoulder again, but there was still no sign of Auburn. My subtle movements didn’t go unnoticed.

What, did she forget to use the privy this morning? teased a girl to my left.

Hush, Ashbel, I urged.

Good morning, Mss. Firelings. Master Stave’s voice grabbed our attention and we turned to find him smiling. I’m pleased to pass on the message that your group has been granted time off, he said, in light of your average class grade in recent weeks.

How much time? asked an eager girl in the front.

The remainder of the day, Ms. Fratch.

I shifted excitedly in spite of myself. Something brushed at my wrist, and, turning, I found Auburn. She was a bit out of breath and a strand of hair had fallen over her eyes, but her face wore the contended smile of a job well done. We both turned to Master Stave—and found him looking directly at us.

As his eyes found Auburn’s face, his darkened a shade.

You, he said, directing a thick finger at her. Madam Hybrid. You’re late to the meeting.

Her jaw slackened and she pushed the hair from her eyes.

I’m sorry, sir, she said honestly but didn’t drop her head.

Out and about doing other things more important, are we? he asked in a sarcastic voice.

I raised a hand. If I may—

You may not, Maroon interrupted.

I shut my mouth.

Master Stave’s face took on a baleful look. As you don’t see fit to be present at our special announcements, he said to Auburn, I don’t see fit to include you in them. Maroon, turning to her, "give the chore list to our young mav’rick so she can learn obedience."

I’ll do that, Master Stave, Maroon answered, directing an angry stare in Auburn’s direction. Behind the anger, I saw her embarrassment.

I didn’t turn, but I knew Auburn’s face was red.

Are we clear? Stave patronized.

Yes, sir, came Auburn’s voice after a moment. I felt the strain in it.

Good, Stave said. He held her gaze a moment longer then turned to the rest of us.

Have a good day off! he said, pleasant once more.

I darted my eyes half-heartedly at Auburn, then filed off with the rest, immediately launching into mental reassurance.

This is nothing new. She’s always been the scapegoat. She’s used to it and so is everyone else. Nothing you can do about it.

But now, I wasn’t so sure. Though I had long thought it unfair for her to be treated so, something else shifted in me today. I alone had witnessed her heroism yet stood by as she had been punished for it. I, her only friend, am too much a coward to even stand up for her.

What a rat she must think I am!

Once out of the square, we scattered in different directions—each girl having something specific they wanted to do for the day. My steps led me toward my dormitory.

Along the way, I passed the dwelling homes of many married couples, and open shutters awarded me a glimpse into the domestic scene—mother preparing food for the lunch hour, father fixing the table, children playing on the floor.

Children remain at home until the dawn of their sixth year when they join classmates in dormitories appropriate to their age. Then every day, for the remainder of our childhood, except family days on Saturdays, we are trained in the ways of our people—systematically formed into the Fire Sprites that our leaders expect us to be. Automatically I ran through the checklist in my mind.

We are to be strong and healthy. We are to know our history well and be proud of the ancestors whose bravery had secured them a place in the annals of time. We should strive in every way to be like them.

But most importantly—and most secretly—we are to be ready for war when it comes. And it will come soon, we are told. Someday very soon.

Actual weapon training is only done secretly; the few freedoms we had would go up in a blaze if the Snow Sprites knew we were training to rebel against their rule. We have secret caches of weapons, though only a select few know where those are. Many of the young men hold meetings in the cellars of their dorms, after the lights in the village have all gone out. The girls’ opportunities to train with weapons are much fewer, but we take every chance we get.

The Snow Realm doesn’t know it, but underneath the normal bustling everyday life of our villages, we are preparing for the day when we will rise up above this exile and reclaim our place among the realms.

I passed by Vendor Street where retired citizens can set up booths to display their various—and sometimes curious—wares.

Hoy there, Kyndle!

A salesman hailed me as I passed his stand of fish.

What sprung you out of class?

Master Stave gave us a day free of training, I told him.

Good old Stave! he bellowed toothily. A fine deal! It makes one see how precious free time is around here. Makes me proud that Stave’s my cousin. Eh… he paused to scratch at the back of his gray head, "I’m proud now, y’see. When I was young, I weren’t so proud. He grinned as though some memory was running through his head. Why, there was the time when Stave accidentally tripped a council member. Pah! Why, his face turned whiter’n that goat kid yonder. No doubt, he wished the South Sea would come up out of nowhere and swallow him whole."

I smiled. It did sound like a funny scene.

You know, he talked on in his typical rambling way, if there was anything my mother wanted me to be diligent at, it was being able to find something good in everything. I gotta say, he scratched his head again, that the good in living here in the south has been that beautiful sea. He glanced around as if to be sure that no one had overheard his comment which verged on unpatriotic. His hand went to his pocket. Don’t get me wrong, he said, turning back to me, I would give it all up in a minute to be able to go back to where we all came from.

So would I, I said, nodding at him.

Glancing left and right, he pulled his balled hand from his pocket and casually put it toward me. Responding instantly, I put my hand out and he transferred something into it. Quick as a wink, I had thrust it back into my pocket.

Read it, pass it on if you can, he said softly, smiling as if to make it look like he was talking about something different, but don’t do it if it’s risky. Many others are spreading it as we speak.

I nodded my understanding.

Suddenly he let out a laugh, flapping at me with his hand. Carry on then. Y’don’t need to waste time listening to my blabber!

I grinned and hurried from the bustle of the market, knowing not to pull out my hand with people around. I passed the mess hall, the tannery, and the dorm for unmarried women. Our women are not permitted to be unmarried past the age of twenty-five. If needed, the council will pair her with a husband. As I walked down the street, I could hear my instructor’s voice ringing in my head. "This is necessary to increase our population. Our casualties at the Battle of Enthon were such that we’ve yet to recover. But we will," he reminded us. Like he always did. Like everyone always did.

Turning on a deserted street, I pulled the wrinkled scrap of paper out of my pocket and hurriedly scanned the contents.

Cardinal missing. Should you come into contact with any information concerning his whereabouts, deliver it immediately to the five councilmen.

I blinked. Then I blinked again. The cardinal—missing? My mind swirled with the shock of this new information, and it was a few moments before I realized that I was walking again.

The cardinal, our leader, in many ways the very heartbeat of the village—missing!

His name is Aidan which is pretty much everything most of us know about him. My father was one of five councilmen who formed a support group for the cardinal, and he wasn’t allowed to tell us anything he may have learned during his time around the cardinal. I didn’t doubt that even he knew very little.

The cardinals are purposefully kept shrouded in mystery. It causes all the villagers to hold him in a certain kind of respect.

Where could he be? I wondered. Did he leave on his own or against his will? I found it difficult to imagine anyone overpowering a Fire Sprite cardinal; but with a group of strong men, I knew it could be done.

But why? Ours was a peaceful age—as peaceful as exile could permit. True, we hate our Snowling overlords with Fireling passion; but as yet, we have no real plan to fight back.

So why would the cardinal go missing?

Were the cardinals of the other three townships missing as well?

Another troubling thought hit me. Did the representative know that the cardinal was missing?

The representative. Pah. I kicked a loose rock, just because.

Again I could see his eyes—those blocks of ice, proud and unmoving, set like diamonds in his pale face, framed by white curls cropped a couple inches from his head.

The goal of the Snowling representative is to personally ensure that a township acts within perfect conformity to the rules. This one had been sent here as a boy to be a personal aide to the last representative, though I had rarely ever seen him all these years. After the old representative had died a year or so ago, a fill-in representative came down during the week or so it took for the boy-now-man to officially take on the title. The fill-in, a female, had, afterward, gone to live in the eastern Nature Realm.

The new representative had kept to himself, hiding out in his mansion a few miles out, not coming to town, except to call roll, always kept safe behind his entourage of soldiers with their shiny new rifles and golden-button jackets.

What Flint would give to rip one of those shiny things off and throw it into the dirt!

Our town, Frieman, was one of the four remaining towns left after the war, which tore the western realm apart, two hundred years back. When it was over, the north reigned supreme and the warrior tribe was displaced to a southern dwelling to be forever watched and suppressed.

There were no walled borders here in the south; the Snow Sprites had enforced a much tighter way of keeping us in line. Every ten days, the representative calls out the names of every villager; and if one is missing, his family suffers for it. Horses are forbidden and the townships spaced just far enough apart that one cannot reach them on foot in less than six days, thus not having enough time to be back before the roll call. None have ever tried to visit another town or run away from Frieman.

Thus in turn, no town had ever conspired with another to overthrow the Snow Sprite soldiers watching over them. There just wasn’t time for a message to be sent.

Any instance of major nonconformity in one of the other three towns had resulted in the quick and mysterious disappearance of the offender. In one instance, an entire town had tried but failed to rebel; the end result had been a demonstration in which over thirty Fireling women had been executed and deposited into an unmarked grave. This was how Snowlings best subdued the most manly of men—if they acted out, their women paid for it. Not only did it wrench out the heart of our men, less women meant a stunted growth in population.

After this gruesome event, six brokenhearted—and evidently broken brained—revolutionaries tried to steal the women’s bodies to give them a proper burial. Instead they earned a place beside them.

Such was the reality of the life we had been forced to live.

My mind spun amid these heavy thoughts but somehow found their way back to the original question. Was the representative informed of the cardinal’s disappearance?

Or was he the cause of it?

I tried not to think of the implications.

Chapter Two

I passed the infirmary, a small building barely used as small illnesses are taken care of at home. The only ones who go to the infirmary go in the cases of something major like death or birth.

Exceptions were situations like those of my sister, Ruby. Even though she pulled through it, the fever left her permanently delicate. It had been nearly seven years since Mum had given birth to me, and though the risk hadn’t been unstated, we all considered Ruby worth it.

I hurried past, leaving behind the anxious memories.

Two empty houses stood by the infirmary, ready for special use should a patient require a longer amount of care.

Finally I made it to the dormitory. I opened the door quietly, not sure who would be inside; but to my delight—the house was empty. Evidently all the other girls preferred to be outside.

Scrambling up the stairs, I tossed my jacket onto my bed and sat down at the window desk. From the lowest drawer, I drew the aged leather journal that hid away my aspirations, troubles, random facts and anything else on my mind. A quill from the middle drawer acted as the messenger between my thoughts and the page.

But just as I settled down to write, angry voices coming from outside met my ear. Moving to the window, I peered down into the street. A pair of old men stood arguing below. Tumbling back down the stairs, I opened the front door. They both turned when I approached.

He stole my hen! one said for my benefit, hooking a scarred thumb at the other.

Liar, the other returned, crossing his arms.

I offered no reply, knowing it would only anger one or both of them further. This wasn’t the first time that I had seen these two arguing, and the last thing that I wanted was to have one of them angry at me.

As they went on arguing, a light step sounded behind me. I turned.

It was the Snow Sprite representative. Three steps behind him were a few of his trusty soldiers who glowered at me.

I broke into a cold sweat, remembering the paper in my pocket, but I almost instantly forgot it as I met eyes with the representative who I had never seen this close before. He was much different than I had expected. I couldn’t fancy him being more than twenty years old—just a few years older than me, hardly a man at all.

Is there a problem? he asked, his voice calm yet firm.

At the sound of his northern accent, I felt my hackles rise and all my prejudice return. The two men stopped their arguing. I stepped back and looked away. It wasn’t my fight and I certainly wouldn’t involve myself—which might mean speaking with this hoity-toity Snowling in his tall boots and fancy garb.

He stole my chicken, said one of the men from behind me.

Did not, the other snapped back angrily.

I chanced a glance at the representative’s face, unable to help myself.

His eyes flickered with intelligence yet a veil of annoyance had come over them. Perhaps a week in the same cell will mend your differences? he asked in that same quiet and perfectly calm voice.

The men glared at each other.

He’s a roguish lout, muttered one. No jail time with him’ll fix that.

Ah, returned the Snowling, his voice infuriatingly cool, but I think it best. He looked into both of their faces, daring them to protest. When neither did, he flicked his fingers and his soldiers stepped forward. As the two were marched in the direction of the prison, the representative turned to me.

Why are you here?

My knees suddenly felt weak—this was the one who could kill with a simple word.

Coward, my mind mocked. I mustered my self-confidence.

I heard them from inside.

Why aren’t you in your class?

I was given the day off.

By whom?

The council.

For what reason?

His questions galled me. Good grades.

Just you?

No. My entire group is off today. Well, almost.

And where are they?

I shrugged. We all have different places we spend our free time.

And you? Rather than nosy, he actually looked curious.

I journal, I said simply. What I didn’t say was, About how much I dislike you Snowlings…and your golden buttons…and your tall boots…and your clinking stirrups…and everything you stand for.

I’ll let you get back to it. The representative turned to go, but then he turned back. Your name. Kyndle, isn’t it?

Yes, I answered slowly, surprised that he remembered mine among all the rest.

Why was he talking civilly to a Fire Sprite?

Amidst the swirl of confusion, I felt my curiosity become visible.

The muscles in his face eased, and for one moment, I wondered if he would actually smile. I’m Hail Frost, he said, bringing his fancy boots together with a clink and offering me a subtle bow.

I stared at him, having the wild idea of returning the formality with a wild bumbling salute and bellowing, Hail, Hail! Frost meant that he was somehow related to the royal Frost family. But more honestly, I was surprised to see a semblance of courtesy underneath the Snow Sprite garb. I hadn’t known it possible for a Snowling to be anything but cruel, overbearing, superior, and proud of it. So…

Hail, I repeated with a nod just as subtle.

A shadow passed across his face. With another slight bow, he turned to go; but a few steps away, he turned to me again. And where before there had been an authoritative Snowling representative, I now looked full into the face of a homesick boy. He said nothing but just stood there.

Is there anything else? I asked, more curtly than I meant.

No, he answered hesitantly, his face a war between composure and whatever he was feeling. I just—

Master representative!

He whirled to face the soldier running down the street.

Yes? he demanded, all the bristle returning to his voice.

A letter just arrived from Galaheed.

Hail stepped forward and the soldier noticed me. His lower lip curled into a sneer.

A letter? Hail repeated sharply.

The soldier snapped his eyes back to his master’s face. Yes, count. It seems to be urgent.

Turning to me, Hail bowed less subtly. I wish you a good day.

Stiffened by the presence of the soldier’s sneer, I only nodded coldly.

He turned and strode away, his boots clinking on the cobblestone. The soldier threw another disdainful look over his shoulder, then he hurried to follow.

I watched after them until they disappeared from view.

When I had seated myself at my desk once more, I picked up the pen. But upon trying to pick up where I had started, I found myself at a loss for words. I normally spewed out angry ones, but the surprise of meeting the representative was still on me.

He wasn’t the representative of my childhood—the barking, evil-faced, heartless, cruel order-maker who cared nothing about what anyone meant to anybody.

This representative had remembered my name.

That was dangerous.

Journal under my arm, I tumbled downstairs and dropped onto a chair before the fire. The first paper to be eaten by the flame was the one the vendor had given me, followed by the ones that I began to rip out of my journal. I paused to read the last one. Only several weeks old, it had been written when my anger waxed hot. I read it slowly, trying to re-engage my hate and my anger as a Fire Sprite should.

Bigots. Frauds. Their pride will be their undoing.

They exile us behind these invisible walls, making themselves believe that they will contain us. They imagine that our defeat at Enthon means that we are defeated forever.

But they’re wrong. We will show them this.

They will soon learn that the Fire Sprites are a people to be reckoned with, and they’ll never forget it as long as they live.

Which may not be long.

But try as I might, all I could see was the face of a lonely boy, hidden in a gold-buttoned jacket.

I tossed the paper into the flames and watched it burn.

I’m sorry about yesterday, I told Auburn as we ate our breakfast.

It wasn’t your fault, she said, shrugging.

I still hate that it happened.

I know. She glanced down. I don’t know what I did wrong, but when I finished, he made me do everything all over again.

My brow furrowed. He what?

Kyndle, don’t. She read my tone as easily as one read a book. Let’s just not talk about it anymore.

In the following silence, I remembered.

Auburn— I instinctively dropped my voice to a whisper. I met the representative.

She looked up in surprise. "What do you mean met him?"

There was an argument outside the dorm, and I was there. He arrived with his soldiers and sent the two men to jail. Then he started to ask me questions.

What’s he like? she asked curiously.

My prejudice suddenly returned. He’s a Snow Sprite.

He’s more than that.

Glancing to make sure no one had heard her seditious comment, I stopped her. "I know what you’re going to say. Put yourself in his place. But what’s the point in that? It’s not like it’s going to change anything."

She paused. "It may change you."

I looked away, not wanting to tell her about the sympathy I had already started to feel toward him. Then just as fast, I began to prepare myself for the empathetic speech which was probably coming next.

Imagine being torn from your people. Right on cue. And sent to a place where you know everyone will hate you. She sighed. It would be a hard life.

Sure, I said, turning back to her. But if anyone has had a hard life, Auburn, it’s you. Except for me, you would be alone. Even as I said it, I prepared myself for her rebuttal.

She shook her head. I’m not alone. Christ is with me.

She always had the same answer. She was so predictable, so gullible!

I rubbed my nose, trying to cover a smile.

She saw it.

You don’t believe me—do you? Though over the years, Auburn had grown better at hiding it, I could find the hurt in her voice.

"It’s not that, I said, my mind groping. It’s just…"

You don’t believe me, she