The Falling: Book Two - Captivity and Death - A North Wales Fantasy

By S.D. Gripton and Sally Dillon-Snape

Tieran has befriended Keelaa and Gloria and the three work as one as they wander the land until captured by the human wolves of Buovo, King of the Barbarians, who imprisons them and demands they fight in his arena. They remain in captivity for almost one old-world year before negotiating their release, leaving behind Jannene and her children. They step out into the deep snow to continue with their trek to bring down Queen Xaffia, the evil queen of the land. Along the way, they right wrongs until the final encounter with the Queen which ends in death. The second book of the Fantasy Adventure

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.D. Gripton
• Release date: Mar 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215732731

S.D. Gripton

S.D. Gripton novels and real crime books are written by Dennis Snape, who is married to Sally who originate from North Wales and Manchester respectively and who met 18 years ago. I work very hard to make a reading experience a good one, with good plots and earthy language. I enjoy writing and hope readers enjoy what I have written. I thank everyone who has ever looked at at one of my books.

Book preview

The Falling

Book Two

Captivity And Death

A North Wales Fantasy

By

S.D. Gripton & Sally Dillon-Snape

© Sally Dillon-Snape & Dennis Snape (2024)

The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with The Copyright Act 1988

All characters and events in this publication other than those of fact and historical significance available in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living and dead is purely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher

Cover is by Snape

***

Part One

Chapter One

The Massacre at Clyw

The girls had been gone four days.

Tieran the Witch; the strange girl Keelaa who was once a machine; and the daughter with the new name, Gloria; had all walked out of the village four days ago, following the horse, Garag. They were gone to continue their trek to wherever the horse was taking them.

Until their arrival in the village, it had been quite a terrible place to live, or to stumble upon, as Jananne and her children had done.

It was dominated by cruel males including Artur, the bullying husband of Jananne, who she thought had been left far behind days earlier. The women and the girls of the village were routinely assaulted and abused by the males who spent their days sniffing the burning smoke from the narcotic plants found growing all around the village, and drinking the cheap wine the women were forced to brew.

The males were useless and violent, but they were in charge, and they had recruited two giants to ensure that the women were kept under control whilst they were out of their minds on narcotics.

Jananne was even threatened with execution by her own husband after she arrived in the village, until the three marvellous girls arrived and killed him with arrows and killed the giants, too, who were threatening to execute her children, Copul, Frankel and Devie.

Tieran, Keelaa and Gloria had then waged war not only on the exiled men of the village, and other wandering miscreants who sympathised with them, but they also defeated the Pale Citizens who lived in caves and tunnels beyond the village and who had no hearts; they were the risen living dead.

By standing together, shoulder to shoulder, back-to-back and with fearsome resolve, Tieran, Keelaa and Gloria had defeated all. Following the victory, Tieran showed the villagers how to construct pyres, how to burn bodies, and the females of the village did that until all the males killed in the battle were cleared from the square and burned to ash. The square was washed of blood and lime was poured on the remains of the Pale Citizens and they burned away to nothingness. And, after all that, the village was truly at peace.

The girls stayed for some days following the battles, they slept and laughed, relaxed and had fun, bathing in the large bath, walking the area, exploring, but soon enough it was time for them to continue with their quest. Before they departed though, a meeting of the females of the village was held and Jananne was voted Head Woman and she cried and her children laughed and jumped around her, much to the amusement of the other village children. Jananne’s first duty was to bid farewell to the girls, being so proud of Gloria, her oldest daughter, for being part of a triumvirate that could change the world.

Tieran was said to be the most powerful Witch the world of Gzasdlis had ever known but at only fifteen-summers old who could say? Jananne and her other children and the females of the village waved the girls off until they disappeared from view, and at that precise time Jananne was introduced into her new Leadership role.

She set the females to work immediately destroying the narcotic bushes that surrounded the village and the few men who were allowed to remain in the village were given the task of building a gate at the entrance of the arch that once allowed visitors in, but which now had become a trap with a large net within it to capture whomsoever stepped or rode through.

At the end of the second day those tasks were completed and in the evening of that day there was great celebrations in the large square of the village on which so many bodies had only recently lain, almost all men and Pale Citizens, almost all of them killed by Tieran, Keelaa and Jananne’s daughter, Gloria, and by large wolves that Jananne thought Tieran had called to her aid.

It took the females days and days to burn all the bodies, during which time the three brave girls went down into caves where the Pale citizens lived and destroyed them too, ridding the world of hundreds of them, if not thousands.

And Jananne and her children and the villagers and their children thought the village was set for years and years of healthiness and happiness, maybe not riches, but lives that would be joyful and meaningful. The females even gave the village a name; Clyw; and wished only to live in peace.

But that was not to be.

On the twelfth morning after the girls had departed, as Jananne, Copul, Frankel and little Devie tended to the animals in the barn, cleaned out and scrubbed the stables and others went about their business around the village, guided by Dylli, a lieutenant to Jananne among the villagers, a hundred of the Queen’s Troopers burst through the gate that had been built to halt any entrance through the arch.

They were searching for a Witch who was said to be roaming the lands, and not only did the net fall and trap horses and Troopers beneath it, but the whole arch fell, collapsing upon the leading group of riders. Five horses, a Captain, a military Lieutenant and ten soldiers were killed instantly and the remaining ninety or fewer, once they had recovered, suspected a trap had been laid, and charged into the village like vengeful Devils with swords drawn.

They began to kill indiscriminately.

Jananne, following one quick glance out of the barn door after hearing the great crash of the arch, gathered up her children and they ran out of the rear door of the barn and raced away into the wild landscape beyond the building as quickly and as quietly as they could. Behind them they left only loud screams and destruction, and tears flowed freely from Jananne’s eyes even as she raced away.

They swiftly came across an entrance to the caves in which the Pale Citizens had once resided and, trusting Tieran when she said that all had been destroyed, she and her children slid down the smoothed rock and crashed into the caves below.

In the darkness in which they found themselves, they linked hands and, with Jananne leading, they felt their way along long dark tunnels with only occasional daylight filtering down from other exits and entrances. When they thought they were far enough away from the village they huddled together and cried as a group, all of them together, young and old, children and mother.

They were still huddled in the dark when they heard voices echoing from far away within those same tunnels. The soldiers had discovered them and were hunting for any survivors from the village. Lights flickered distantly and Jananne and her little group silently slid along the walls, away from the light, away from the Troopers. They did not fall down hidden chasms, though they discovered many caves large and small, off the tunnels. Jananne felt they should not stop, she felt they would be safer if they kept going. They did keep going, feeling their way along, lights and sounds slowly fading behind them, the soldiers finding no one and nothing, not even the tomb in which the King of the Pale Citizens lay buried beneath a pile of large rocks, in his un-dead way, waiting patiently for the lid to be lifted again so that he could, again, begin to put the bite on any individual who opened it and again put a pale stain upon the world.

For the Troopers it was very providential that Tieran had buried him, for they would have been the first to be corrupted, the first to be turned pale, the first to die and live that death over and over, forever in the dark, eternally searching for the blood of humans and animals. Forever damned.

Jananne and her children continued along the dark hell, each sound other than the ones they made, making them jump and squeal and huddle together. So, they walked; sometimes the taller ones, Jananne and Copul, banging their heads on low roofs of the tunnels, sometimes all of them crawling on all fours, occasionally hearing running water and careful of underground lakes, hoping that they were fleeing far enough away from the Troopers, hoping that when they surfaced, they would be far enough from the village to be safe.

And as that hope grew in their hearts, light appeared ahead of them, strong light, bright light and they made their way cautiously towards it. They discovered a wide, shallow exit from the caves. After shushing her children into silence, Jananne scurried alone to the surface. She crawled out and lay upon the ground, lifting her head to look around, eventually kneeling to see further, finally standing.

There were no buildings of any kind that she could see, there were no mounted Troopers either. She had no idea where she was in relation to where the village stood, or where it was, but in the far distance smoke rose into the sky and Jananne feared for all her ladies and their offspring, and the village in which she had believed would give her and the children some peace for years. She walked a little distance around the exit from the caves and discovered the area was mostly scrub with no sign of citizens or villages, just smoke rising in the far distance.

Jananne returned to the exit and called for her children to climb out; Frankel climbed out first and aided little Devie out with Copul helping from below before he, too, climbed out. Standing in a group they looked around, and just as Jananne saw nothing, they saw nothing, too.

‘We will find somewhere to lie for tonight, we will feed on berries and roots. When themorrow rises, we will creep back towards the village and see what damage has been done,’ Jananne whispered as if eavesdroppers were hiding behind every bush

The scared children did not argue with her; there was no one who could argue with her.

They collected berries and scooped up roots with their bare hands and collected them together and ate and used the liquid from the berries as water to slake their thirst after the dryness of the caves. When they were ready; as the sun began to set and darkness settled; they huddled again as a group and slept uneasily upon open ground, the noises of night-roaming animals keeping them in and out of sleep all the night long.

As morning lit the day, they crawled away from each other and stretched and relieved themselves in the undergrowth and, without eating or washing, they set out for their village. It was quite a long walk and they approached it cautiously under Jananne’s instruction but, as it turned out, cautious was the last thing they needed to be.

The Troopers were gone, the arch collapsed, army horses and dead soldiers had been disposed of, somewhere, somehow. But the true gut-wrenching horror of what had happened in the village was displayed for all to see. Bodies littered the fine square, almost all females and children, Jananne’s friends among them; Dilli; her lieutenant, being one of many.

Jananne could not stop her children from seeing the true horror of the bodies, the mind-bending cruelty of each death, the unbelievable revulsion of them. Little Devie screamed, Frankel sobbed, Copul stood in stunned horror. It was not a sight to be seen by children. Jananne knew this even as she stood straightly erect, dry-eyed, a determined look on her face, her chin set, her lips barely a line across her face, her eyes raging. There were no deceased males, they had been rounded up and led away, Jananne believed, for slavery or for the armies or maybe just for torture and fun. All the wooden properties had been torched, every building burned down, even the barn, the animals slaughtered, nothing of Clyw left alive except the four of them, no buildings left standing, no others alive, no survivors. It was by far the most horrendous sight Jananne had ever seen and she made vain attempts to shield the eyes of her children but Copul stood tall and proud.

‘I shall have vengeance for this despicable act,’ he whispered.

‘You are too young to be saying such a thing, Copul,’ Jananne said.

‘I will keep this attack in my heart forever,’ Copul said, turning his dark eyes onto his mother. ‘It will live in my soul until my dying day. This is the murder of innocents, this is the killing of the defenceless, this is the massacre of the mothers and their children?’

Jananne turned and looked around again.

There was nobody left alive in the village.

This sight would live with her forever, too, just as the hopelessness she felt in her heart would, for she could do nothing about the bodies, she had neither the strength nor the means to bury them, nor the will to build pyres, as the village had done for the evil men the girls had killed in battle. That sense of hopelessness would live with her son, too, and any vengeance he achieved would be most deserved. If Jananne ever met Tieran the Witch again, she would ask her to aid in the boy’s act of vengeance.

‘We cannot remain here,’ Jananne said, eventually, as she hugged her children to her and did her best to comfort them, to ease the horror from their eyes. They picked berries and roots from around the village and stored them in bags they toted and made ready to leave their happy home. On the way out, past the collapsed arch, carved on a still-standing post were the words; Sergeant Kysten did this – he is the Scourge of the Plains.

Jananne allowed the words to burn into her memory so that when she next encountered Tieran, she could relate the words and hope that Kysten and his men would, one day, be punished.

‘We shall make attempts to find Tieran,’ Jananne said, when their bags were full and she was back amongst her children. ‘She will help us to seek vengeance for the terrible events that have been carried out here today. We shall try to find Keelaa and your older sister, Gloria, too. If we set off for the mountains, we may find them. Shall we go?’

The children nodded mutely and away they walked, away from the village of the dead, away from the remembered friends, away from the pain and the suffering, away from death, away from Sergeant Kysten, a man never to be forgotten or forgiven.

They stepped forward with confidence.

Though they knew not into what they were stepping.

***

Sergeant Kysten

Sergeant Kysten of the Queen’s Troop thought of himself as a legendary hero of the Plains, much as the legends of yestertimes, who were said to have roamed Gzasdlis during its early years. In his own head he thought he was that type of hero.

In reality, he was a nondescript middle-ranking, bullying, wide and bullnecked man, who was only promoted to the position of Sergeant because he killed the only other, and better, candidate citizen for the job by the name of Symonz. Kysten ran him down as he rode his horse at full gallop and claimed in his defence that it was an accident, Kysten having lost control of his temperamental mount. He walked away from any charges not only as a Sergeant but with a sneaky, knowing smile upon his face. Killing meant nothing to Kysten. Others citizens lives meant even less.

When he entered another village as part of a hundred-man hunting party; hunting for a new Witch who was rumoured to be at loose in the land, with orders to capture her either dead or alive on behalf of the Queen, Sergeant Kysten was riding in the very last line of soldiers because of his total lack of standing within the force. Holding the rear-position along with four others, whose reputations were somewhat less than upstanding, hating being known as, and referred to, as The Arsemen by all the others of the hundred, who called them by that name both behind their backs and to their face, leaving Kysten extremely unhappy and angry. But as the Leaders at the front of the hundred entered the village through a large heavy, well-constructed arch, an amazing event happened that changed Kysten’s life forever.

As the leaders forced open a poorly constructed gate and moved forward, a huge net fell from beneath the arch followed by the whole structure falling, crushing and killing the upright Captain, sitting regally upon his white horse, his snotty-mannered Lieutenant, two more senior Sergeants and a number of soldiers. All were killed, those surviving swinging their horses round and beginning to ride away from the village.

That was when Sergeant Kysten changed his future.

He pushed his horse forward, screaming at the soldiers around him, finding himself, suddenly, in the most senior position of the hundred, turning those who were fleeing with threats, his swinging sword, pushing his horse over the bodies and mounts of the dead and charging into the village, followed by the recovering soldiers of his Troop. They no longer searched for the Witch who may or not be a reality, they were just focused on revenge for their dead. They soon discovered that there were few men in the village, that it was populated almost exclusively by females, but in Sergeant Kysten’s mind they could kill just as coldly as the male of the species and he set about killing them.

All of them.

Every single resident of the village.

His fellow soldiers followed his example as the remains of the hundred rushed across a large square central to the village. Women were screaming and fleeing in all directions and Sergeant Kysten and his army enjoyed chasing them as they fled. Those that stood and watched were equally killed until none survived in the village. He ordered his men to clear the horses and men from the collapsed arch and they were dragged into the buildings. He then ordered fires to set as a warning to all the villages of the area.

And he did this because he wanted no survivors; he wanted nobody living who could say that upon this day Sergeant Kysten, in charge of almost a hundred soldiers, ordered the massacre of innocents, of unarmed women. He even had his Troop search some tunnels and caves discovered near to the village, in which they found nobody and nothing; there had been no sign of anybody ever living down there. The actions carried out by him and his men would never be spoken of again. Sergeant Kysten demanded it of his Troop and enforced it by killing two dissenters.

The Troop agreed.

The massacre would never be spoken of again.

Once agreed the Troop formed up again and continued their search for the new Witch; Sergeant Kysten riding at the head of Troop now, no longer the Arseman; now the Leader, now more than a simple bully, now a bully with enormous power. He reflected upon his brilliance of leaving no survivors. He never wanted to be brought to justice for what he knew was heinous, criminal activity, the massacre of a whole village of innocents.

He wanted nobody alive to be able to speak against him.

That’s all he ever wanted.

But he was rarely a lucky man and never twice.

Especially as an underling carved, without Kysten’s knowledge or permission, Kysten’s name on a post thereby apportioning blame to any who discovered the village.

Jananne found it. The village had been, temporarily, her home and she had been very happy there.

She would never forget Kysten’s name.

***

Tieran

Tieran, Keelaa and Gloria were into their fourteenth day on the road. Unlike the Queen’s Troopers, who appeared to be travelling routes made accessible only by the majik of the Queen; Tieran, Keelaa and Gloria, on their trek with Garag, had to cross rough terrain and move into high mountains upon which snow lay and looked to be of considerable depth. Tieran, herself, was not bothered by the prospect of snow, she had a majikally produced inner warmth that kept her insulated against any coolness or chill or even, she suspected, deep snow, though she did worry that she would not possess enough Witches’ power to shield the other two; enough power to protect Keelaa and Gloria. She dismissed thoughts of protecting Garag, a horse of supposed majik, who was cursed with leading Tieran back to The Scientist, who aided the Queen in the casting of curses. Garag was supposed to be majik but Tieran was yet to see any sight or sign of it; except for the one moment when she set fire to himself and survived the killing of thousands of snakes. To her he was just a great lumbering overweight bay horse, good for riding and not much else, though she was yet to ride him.

For fourteen days the girls had followed his extensive rump as he plodded ever upwards on his route, Tieran centre with a sword at her waist, Keelaa to her left and Gloria to her right, both of them with bows and quivers of arrows over their shoulders and swords at their waists, both of them warriors; Keelaa being sixteen; Gloria being fourteen; Tieran fifteen; amazing warriors every one, expert with bows and swords, brave and unyielding in the face danger, as they had proved in the village they had only recently departed. They were all dressed identically in short leather skirts and leather tops with sturdy belts and strapped-sandal footwear though, except for twined leaves, they lacked formal underwear.

The first of the fourteen days had been easy for walking, the route the horse had chosen being mainly flat and clear of forest, and the loyal wolves, Ysett and Byst, ranged ahead to fend off or warn of any dangers. At the end of the first day the girls rested and ate game caught by Gloria and Keelaa and berries picked by Tieran and water from a cool clear stream that ran straight down from the mountains above. The girls talked and laughed and messed about all day long, happy in each other’s company, more than happy, bonded, more like an expanded single person than three separate individuals. In only a very short time, Gloria; the youngest of them at only fourteen summers; Tieran being fifteen summers; was someone who had grown substantially since their first meeting, her shoulders and arms had developed significantly, her legs and thighs were more muscled and her confidence had soared. She felt as if she were an important part of the trio, a solid side for the other two to lean on; and Keelaa, who was the third side of the triangle, who was a majikally cursed Crying Mechanical for many years, but after Tieran had lifted the Queen’s curse Keelaa had been returned to only sixteen summers old. She had grown more than any of them; anybody seeing her would never guess she was only sixteen summers old; Gloria, too, had grown and no longer looked like the timid youngster she once was. Tieran felt responsible for the other girls, who were beginning to look and behave like one person; she had bonded them all together several times and with each bonding they seemed to grow more into each other. Keelaa was the oldest and the most developed and each of the other two seemed to be growing to her womanly level; Keelaa was also excellent with bow and arrow and Gloria had picked that skill from her in a flash; Gloria, herself, was excellent with a sword and the other two had learned from her without a single lesson; Gloria and Keelaa were speaking more like Tieran every day, but Tieran was a middle-class girl from another world and had the accent to go with it. Each day that past, especially after they bonded, they grew more like each other, and each knew and welcomed it. Who knew how much like each other they would eventually become?

When they woke on their tenth or eleventh morning, they were slightly losing their grip on time, tangled together as they always were during sleep. After splashing their bodies in the stream and eating some berries, they set off again. As they walked, the climbing became harder as the route began to ascend into the high mountains ahead of them but they plodded on all day long until night began to fall. The next day was worse, the climb harder and during the day they heard a strange thunderous sound that they could not identify, even as Tieran searched with her majikal innersight eyes to identify it. The source of the sound remained unknown to them though, in fact, it was the hundred horsemen of the Queen’s Troop pounding its way to Clyw and the massacre of the villagers, moving along hidden majikal roads. The thunder lasted for some considerable moments before fading away.

‘Could it have been horses?’ Tieran asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Keelaa replied, ‘to make that kind of noise there would have to be a hundred of them at the very least and we could not have missed seeing them.’

And the thunder was swiftly thrust to the back of the trio’s minds as unexplained.

They continued climbing towards the snow.

On the fourteenth morning when they awoke the wolves Byst and Ysett were sitting next to them, the first time they had visited since they had departed the village.

‘Is there a problem? Tieran asked before she had even relieved herself in the undergrowth or washed her face or body or rubbed a mint leave on her gums to refresh her mouth.

Not a problem - but we have discovered that ahead of us there are many mountain wolves

Thank you for the warning – are they dangerous – these mountain wolves?

We have never mixed freely with them – we are forest wolves and rarely climb as high as we have done – we will attempt to communicate with them and ensure safe passage for us all – fear not

I have no fear Ysett

The wolves believed her; in their opinion she was the most fearless person in the land.

And are there many mountain wolves? Keelaa asked.

Many by their overwhelming smell

We will begin our day and we shall walk and see what events overtake us - all will be well

The wolves remained silent because they were not convinced that all would be well.

***

Part 2

Chapter Two

Mountain Wolves

Ysett and Byst remained with Tieran and her group for some time instead of ranging ahead during the fourteenth day, for both wolves were nervous about the Mountain Wolves. They had never met any before, they didn’t know if they would be friendly or unfriendly, they knew nothing about them and they failed to communicate with them though they tried, but knew they were still some distance away, higher up in the mountains. They certainly did not believe the Witch when she said that all would be well. The horse, Garag, was unbothered, he just continued to amble along as if he had not a care in the world which he probably hadn’t. He never showed any clear indication that he was worthy of any type of independent thought. He walked, he ate, he drank, he shat and peed, farted and slept. That just about personified Garag, the only thing interesting about him being the spell that had been cast on him and the belief he held that he could not be killed, even though, without Tieran’s help, he would have already died at least two times, possibly three.

They continued walking and climbing and talking, sometimes Tieran talking with the wolves and a horse that was becoming particularly grumpy because of the long mountainous climb he was having to do.

Fear not, Garag - soon we will be waist deep in snow - besides, it is your route we are following

The girls laughed, the horse farted, the girls leapt out of the way of the stink of it and continued laughing loudly, even the wolves laughed.

They laughed until they stopped suddenly, not only ceasing laughing but stopping in their tracks, the horse stopping, too.

What ails you, Ysett, Byst? - what do you sense?

Ahead is a long narrow rock gully, high-sided, we shall have to proceed in single file - me at the front - Byst in the rear to keep all safe – but we detect many Mountain wolves though they appear to be gathered on the higher points of the cliffs and pose no immediate danger to us

Thank you, Ysett, faithful wolf - we shall proceed with caution and we will have arrows nooked and I shall have my sword drawn from its scabbard - we shall be ready

Byst loped to the back of the group, Ysett to the front, followed by Garag with Keelaa directly behind his rump, the gods bless her; Gloria centre of the girls because she was the youngest, Tieran behind her and Byst behind her. They had not yet arrived at the gully and it took some time of walking to discover it, coming to it with suddenness, a long narrow dark alley with high granite sides. They stopped for a moment and stared at it, no far end in sight, the whole being dark, half-hidden from the light. Tieran drew her sword from its scabbard, Keelaa and Gloria slipped bows from their shoulders and nooked arrows into their strings.

Proceed Ysett

Tieran whispered the instruction and the dark wolf began to lope forward cautiously, slowly, at a pace Garag could match, the girls walking easily, as did Byst at the rear. Not knowing how long the gully was they had no idea how far they had walked into it but a warning came from Ysett.

Mountain wolves peer down at us

The girls immediately stopped and stared up to the top of the high cliffs, having to put their heads far back, and all along them grey Mountain wolves were peering down at the little group as it made its way