Journey to Brighthaven

By Suzanne D Burns

Brighthaven Chronicles

Welcome to Brighthaven. A haven kingdom in the center of the country of Elandria. Here, lush landscapes, green fields, and breathtaking waterfalls are the backdrop for a kingdom steeped in peace...

...Unlike its seven neighboring kingdoms that surround Brighthaven.

Through

• Language: English
• Publisher: BeCharityWise
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985208849

Book preview

Journey to Brighthaven

Brighthaven Chronicles Book 1

Suzanne Burns

Copyright © 2021 by Suzanne D Burns

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2021

Second Printing, 2023

ISBN 979-8-9852088-0-1

Visit BrighthavenChronicles.com

Cover design and illustration by Keith Lowe

Contents

1. A Disappointing Day

2. Hidden Defender

3. Solemn and Snuffles

4. Unexpected Guest

5. Market Day Mishaps

6. Not So Empty

7. Odd Opportunities

8. Secrets and Silence

9. Soldiers on Patrol

10. Delicious Excitement

11. Fire!

12. Flight to Freedom

13. Home!

14. Rest Requred

15. More Surprises

16. Explanations Are In Order

17. Traveling Companions Become Friends

18. Preparations

19. Back in Hiding

20. Hidden Secrets

21. Aria Insists

22. Answers Bring More Questions

23. Marta’s Story

24. Endless Travel

25. Precious Cargo

26. Attack!

27. Unexpected Allies

28. Trapped!

29. Solutions

30. A Useful Skill

31. Victory and Opportunity

32. A Long Walk Home

33. The Shining City on a Hill

34. The Mouth of the Lion

35. Big Difference

36. Happy Faces

37. A Quick Tour

38. The Keeper’s Welcome

39. First Impressions

40. To The Library

41. A Disappointing Greeting

42. The Wardrobe

43. More Questions

44. An Uncertain Welcome

45. Entering the Throne Room

46. The King’s Presence

47. Celebrating New Citizens

48. Silent Submission

49. Off to New Bedrooms

50. Perfect Home

51. New Beginnings

About The Author

About the Artist

Chapter one

A Disappointing Day

Michael

MICHAEL WALKED ALONG the wooden sidewalk slowly. Thick, dark mud surrounded the wooden path and he reminded himself he should be grateful for the walkway’s presence. Rainy season in this part of Elandria often meant endless days of torrential downpours, where very little of use could be accomplished. This wooden construct at least allowed him to be out today, rather than be forced to wait for the mud to dry, sufficiently, so he and the others could walk safely.

One nail protruded slightly higher than the boards it was intended to hold. He shifted his stride slightly, intending to step on its head. He craved the momentary satisfaction of at least something obeying his will during this trip. Nothing had gone according to plan and Michael liked plans. He liked neat, orderly, manageable plans. For some frustrating reason, nothing on this trip had yet gone according to his plans.

And they were good plans, too, he thought. Michael’s plans were always well thought out. Well, usually, at least… Usually, his plans were well thought out, he silently corrected himself.

Unfortunately, rather than pressing the nail back into the board, the rebellious little nailhead poked up through the sole of his thick leather boot, instead. He jerked his foot back from the sharp pressure, throwing himself off balance in the process. His companions looked askance in his direction, no doubt wondering if he had already been drinking this early in the morning.

Another disappointment, he sighed heavily.

Thick, dark, soupy mud covered everything beyond the wooden construct. It looked ankle-deep and disgusting. It smelled like the old newspapers he used as fertilizer for his gardens at home, wet, rotting, and rancid. He briefly wondered who had first conceived the boardwalk idea, grateful for their ingenuity. The broad pathway was nearly clear of mud and refuse, unlike the wide, swampy areas on either side. Michael hoped he would not need to replace his expensive boots and breeches this day. Again.

Each step, his boots rang out a sharp, staccato rhythm on the damp wooden slabs, reinforcing his frustration and disappointment with every step. He was running out of time, and he knew it.

Following days of rain, Michael feared he would be unable to search here before he must leave town. He had already visited every other broker in this little no-name shantytown, here on the border of the Lawless Zone. Time was growing short. This morning, when he awoke to sunny skies, he knew this would be his only opportunity to view the fresh stock before his travel coach left.

And yet, now, as he walked the narrow boardwalk, reviewing the most recent shipment of new stock, he saw nothing of interest. Thus far, the long drive out of town, to this set of dilapidated buildings, on the far outskirts of decent society, had not borne fruit.

Two men walked alongside him on the boardwalk. One was a buyer like himself, tall and lanky, reserved. His dark complexion suggested he was from the desert region. Michael wondered if he looked as arrogant, bored, and standoff-ish as this man did. His lips curved upward in a cynical smile at the thought. If so, at least he was perfecting this character.

The other man, a local salesman, excitedly touted the relative merits of each successive grouping of stock. Michael fought his revulsion at the man’s enthusiastic descriptions. Probably most of what he said were nothing more than lies and half-truths, designed to artificially increase the value of the stock they sold.

Stock, he huffed indignantly at the term as it passed through his thoughts. Perhaps the High King was right. He needed a long rest. These trips were important, but he couldn’t risk being here, in this part of Elandria, so long that he actually began to think in the same terms as his companions. Maybe, once this trip was completed, he would take his King up on the offer of a long vacation.

He forced himself to slow his pace and observe, truly see, the humanity which filled each pen. On either side of the wooden platform on which Michael and the two other men strode, were rows of wooden enclosures. Three sided, with a roof and open to the front. In each one, a variety of people could be observed – some sitting, others standing, in small groups or singly.

Slaves to be sold to the highest bidder. Most, especially the men, looked anywhere but at the trio as they walked past, probably accustomed to the shame and indignity of their situation. Michael fought to keep the grief and revulsion from his features. Each pen held a dozen or so men, women, and older youth.

Michael slowed his pace, scanning each holding pen carefully, searching. For what, he wasn’t certain. But he would know when he found it.

The salesman, noting his slowed stride, became even more animated in his descriptions of the individuals who filled the pen in front of them.

This whole lot, they’ve just arrived from the far north. A little fishing village on the easternmost edge of the Bay of Destall. The man began listing their relative values, usefulness, strengths. Michael ignored his incessant sales pitch and stared deep into the dark interior of the covered pen.

Men and women shuffled around. Some stood. Others crouched on the muddy floor, leaning against rough-hewn wooden walls separating each pen.

Michael wondered if it was as muddy in there as it looked from out here. Each of the people, he noted, were dirty and disheveled. None would meet his gaze, he noticed disappointedly.

Except…

His gaze scanned the interior of the holding pen, discounting all who refused to look at him. Suddenly, someone shifted, and a pair of bright, green eyes looked boldly back at him.

That one, he said promptly, interrupting the incessant yammering of the arrogant salesman.

The broad grease stain on the smaller man’s expensive shirt was sufficient evidence for Michael to know the caliber of man which stood before him.

If his arrogant words and loud, boastful voice hadn’t confirmed it, this large stain proved him a fool. A slovenly, boisterous, dangerously talkative fool.

Well, now, I believe I’ll take the whole lot, said the third man slowly, speaking for the first time.

Michael suffered him barely a glance. You can have them all except that one.

He glanced back at the younger girl to confirm his selection. Just then, she pulled another toward her. The thin, young boy stood holding her hand. He looked to be barely 10, the minimum age for these pens.

Children were usually kept in different pens. For different types of buyers. Michael shuddered at the horror of that passing thought.

And her brother, he continued, barely missing a beat. He spoke firmly, interrupting the thin man’s negotiations.

You can have the lot. Those two belong to me. As he spoke, he directed a flinty, hardened stare at the man, daring him to disagree. Michael held the man’s gaze until the younger man capitulated, nodding his acquiescence.

The other two men began negotiating for the lot.

Michael strode on. He had no desire to listen to their dreadful conversation. He sought to think on other, more pleasant things, eager to reach the end of the walkway, the end of the slave pens. Michael was eager to be away from this smelly, oppressive, disappointing task.

He sighed. Only two today, he thought. Worst trip I’ve had in a long while. He shook his head, disappointed.

These people in the pens lining either side of the muddy boardwalk would be shipped to the mines by the end of the week, if they weren’t purchased today.

A disappointing day, indeed.

Chapter two

Hidden Defender

Aria

ARIA PEEKED OUT from her hiding spot, behind a large pile of boxes and trash. She looked first one way and then the other, searching beyond the alleyway to see if any others were nearby. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the strong stench, annoyed but also grateful that it served as an even better protection against discovery.

Slowly, she edged out of her hidden position behind the junk, anxious to get back to her home, her safety.

Look, there she is, someone shouted behind her.

Aria ducked her head, cursing under her breath. She certainly couldn’t return to her safe haven now. She’d lead them straight there if she wasn’t careful. Immediately, she began to run in the opposite direction from the voice.

Those older boys chased her every chance they got. Aria usually tried to stay near one of her friends, for safety, but today they had caught her alone.

If only she had stayed in her little hidden spot just a bit longer, she thought disgustedly.

Aria ran as fast as she could. She was thankful that her long, dark, auburn hair was mostly tied up and out of her way. Her thick curls regularly slid free of her many attempts to contain them. Aria scanned the area as she ran, her dark brown eyes searching for any more boys who might be chasing her, any other direction from which an attack might come. Her petite, athletic build made it easier for her to run powerfully away, and her small stature made it easier for her to hide, which she definitely preferred over running.

She knew from experience how painful it would be if she were caught by one of the boys. One time, they had caught her by her hair as she ran, yanking her back harshly, before beating her face and body until someone else had come along and run them off.

She did not want a repeat of that! These boys loved to terrorize other street children every chance they got. Of course, today she probably deserved whatever torment the bigger boys had planned for her.

Yeah, she thought with a satisfied smile as she ran, I definitely deserve the beating today. Not even a bit sorry, either.

Earlier, she’d been contentedly perched up in one of the trees, surrounding the outskirts of the city gardens, quietly watching a couple of squirrels chasing each other up one tree and down another, when she had suddenly heard the unmistakable snickering of several of the street boys, drawing near. They walked in a cluster toward her tree, the two boys in the lead seemed to have something they were protecting, between them. She tucked her feet up underneath her on the branch, trusting the foliage to disguise her presence. She slowed her breathing and waited to see what mischief they were up to.

Once they arrived at the base of her favorite tree, she studied the tops of their heads, waiting for them to reveal their likely ill-gotten prize. While she waited, she studied the foursome. These boys were troublemakers, proud of their reputations for violence and trickery. Three dark heads and one red, like hers, only more orange rather than her deep auburn, hunkered down together, so tightly that Aria could barely see what they had in their midst. Regardless, she knew they must be up to no good. These street boys preferred to take out their anger, their aggression, on anyone they deemed weaker than themselves. And, as often as possible, they preferred to operate as a gang, taking advantage of their combined strength and brutality. Aria prepared to sit in the tree for a very long time. She had no desire to do anything but hide from these particular boys.

Suddenly, there was a loud squeal and one of the boys reared back in surprise. In the midst of these young thugs, they had two cats pinned down. One boy was twisting their tails together, trying to knot them.

Aria realized what they were up to, and instantly anger, compassion and revulsion rose up inside of her. She surprised herself when she launched down from the tree, landing on two of the boys, fighting against her natural desire to remain hidden and safe. Startled, the other two boys stood frozen for a long moment, their thick minds working overtime to process what was happening. Without warning, shouts of shock and anger surrounded her and the two still standing lunged in her direction. The two cats, suddenly freed, darted off in opposite directions.

Aria leapt up before the boys could react and began to run as well. She raced across dusty streets, in and around other people, horses and carriages, unconcerned by the angry shouts from the carriage drivers. Desperate to escape, all of Aria’s attention was focused on those behind her rather than those in front of her.

Oof! Unaware of her surroundings, Aria ran head-first into a smartly dressed older gentleman.

Oh, sir, panted Aria. I am so sorry. Please forgive my intrusion. My mistake. She wormed her way around him as she spoke, almost free once more. She could see the boys had stopped, watching her talk with the man. They would not dare attack her in the middle of the street, where there were not only witnesses but wealthy ones.

Whoa there, missy, the man grabbed her arm gruffly.

I believe you owe me more than an apology. See here. He tightened his grip as she struggled, pulling her tightly against himself.

No need to make a scene, he spoke menacingly into her ear, too low for anyone else to hear. She noted the walking cane in his other hand. He gripped its mid-section, as if prepared to strike her, if necessary.

What are you doing with that young girl? another voice spoke sharply, startling the man who held her captive.

Aria wasted no time, attempting freedom once more, this time successfully. She wrenched her arm away from the man’s grasp and ran hard and fast. Behind her, she could hear the two men arguing. She bolted, darting down alleyways and side streets, until she was back in her own safe, little lair, far away from the hustle and commotion of the busy city streets.

Away from predators in all shapes and sizes, she thought with loathing. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as she gazed around the cramped little alcove.

Some thoughtful soul had built this little shed in a shaded, narrow corner of an alley, and then apparently forgot it existed. Away from the streets, barely visible, it blended in so well that Aria herself had walked past it on numerous occasions when she had first set up camp in this part of town.

A thin crack signaled the door’s location. Aria pressed lightly in a specific spot to cause the thin wooden door to slide open just enough for her to squeeze through.

She gazed around the dark, quiet room. Big enough for a narrow sleeping pallet and the small, wooden crate she used as a table, Aria breathed in calmly for the first time since she had left her home that morning.

Everything she possessed she had scavenged from the rubbish bins. It never ceased to amaze her what others deemed useless and readily threw away. She gazed at her small collection of trinkets organized untidily atop the wooden crate. Glass figurines, a couple of books with brightly colored covers and several missing pages, and a stuffed dog which reminded her of happy children, playing with their parents in a park.

Aria pulled out her most recent treasure from the ragged oilskin bag she carried slung over one shoulder. She pulled out a slim, slightly warped piece of wood, about three handspans long.

Long and slender, this would be the perfect display shelf for her collection. Aria smiled to herself as she affixed the slender piece of dark wood