Sons of Djinbar: Tales of the Long Road

By C. A. Perez

Game of Thrones meets Alone as these characters are plunged into a dangerous time that rivals the Dark Ages. In a more turbulent age of Oedon's history, the world is perched on the precipice of a disastrous cataclysm.

 

Jerrod is a young salt farmer trapped in a dead-end village.  As the years pass by, he finds himself drifting through the motions, dreaming of a world beyond his own.

After plunging into the sea at a young age, Vhorgun found himself entranced by the sight of a massive whale.  Ever since, he has been on the hunt for the next big prize, and his appetite has quickly passed beyond the borders of his home.

Borys has an eye for the finer side of craftsmanship, despite his family's longstanding tradition of producing miners and masons.  For years, he has endured insults, waiting for the day to prove his worth to his clan.

Despite living there for two years, no one knows where Shale came from or why he arrived at the village.  Many are afraid to ask for fear that he would take his healing skills elsewhere.

These four live in Djinbar, a village removed from the rest of the world.  Without a doubt, it is one of the most peaceful places on earth.  That is, until an emissary from a nearby nation arrives, foretelling the doom that evil lords are bringing to their doorstep.

The four and the other Djinbari answer the call to war, yet little do they realize how dangerous and vast the outside world is.

The road before them is full of peril and their destinies are uncertain. Without relying on each other, they cannot hope to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. A. Perez
• Release date: Apr 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798368304144

Book preview

Chapter One

Early Summer, 27th of Embernin, 751 YG

Aday’s work had left his skin warm and slick.  Pushing back the wide brim of his straw hat and slowly looking up to the sky—for the hundredth time that day—he noted that the sun was even closer to the horizon. 

Jerrod worked his rake, pulling forth many of the precious crystals that appeared in the stagnant saltwater block.  As the hours passed, the water disappeared, leaving plenty of minerals behind.  Off to the left, his wet pile sat almost knee high: more than enough for the day.  With a quick look around to be sure no one was scrutinizing him, Jerrod brushed off the specks that had accumulated on his burnished copper skin, sending them into the pile. 

Do not listen to the superstitious, he thought.  Salt prevents pestilence from setting in on meat and hides, and it slows other foods’ rot.  Besides, the rich lords will not be able to taste Jerrod’s sweat.

Looking out towards the great inlet, Ambergris Bay, he watched the other farmers as they worked their lots.  One veteran had covered his wet pile before starting to collect dry salt in his wicker baskets.  Jerrod shrugged and followed suit, eventually bringing two baskets—linked by a sturdy wooden pole—to the dry pile.

Jerrod licked his parched lips.  I need a barrel of water.  And after that, a barrel of grog.

Holding out hope, he imagined a bonfire in the center of the village, where everyone could gather.  It had been quite some time since their last gathering; the village had not held one this summer.

He could see it now: the tanners would return from working the hides, eager to see how much salt they could acquire from the day’s harvest.  Glass workers would show off the small pieces they had crafted on the side and admire the work of their companions.  Whalers would march into the village, boisterous, drunk, and stinking of butchered prizes...or perhaps they would return later, boasting of the sea monsters they had lost to the selfish sea god?

If the gods blessed everyone today, then that would certainly be a cause for celebration.  With the whole of Djinbar in the village center, Jerrod might even be able to find the most elusive creature he had ever hunted: a woman.

At seventeen, it was past time that he married someone, even if he never saw the fairer sex.  Since he worked the blocks and processed the product in the salt house, he rarely had even an hour to himself.  That fact never stopped his father’s grumbling about his need to find a wife though.

With no prospects in mind, Jerrod had collected a fair amount of copper in hopeful preparation, occasionally exchanging it for silver.  He had a while yet before his stashed silver could be exchanged for gold, but once it was, he could buy something wonderful for his future wife.  Nothing less than gold would suffice.  It would take a good part of the summer, gods willing; with any luck, he would be entranced by some beauty and be married that autumn. 

He recalled his grandmother’s adage: All things are possible with time.

Jerrod bent at the knees, pushed the pole over his head, and rested it on his shoulders.  Looking left and right to assess his haul, he smiled in satisfaction.  There would be enough for the lord’s share and the trading that was expected.  Habib—the overseer—would likely let him take home a share as well, considering how fortunate they were today.

As he walked with his hard leather sandals sinking slightly in the sand, he considered how much had changed here since he was a child.  Djinbar now traded tons of bay salt, enough for Jerrod to believe their little village had the best in the world.  The Djinbari also lived on a prime whaling location, and with that came plenty of ambergris washing ashore.  With these exports, many here had acquired a sizable amount of coin, and it often trickled down to the workers.

Lately, Jerrod had seen coins from at least a hundred different kingdoms, sultanates, and fiefs.  Rumor had it that Great Tal Nazaph of the Doshyn-Murayni Empire was interested in their wares, and if the near godlike ruler had his eyes on them, things would change.

Jerrod smiled at the thought.  Generation after generation, the Salt family toiled among the evaporation pools without ever becoming rich.  Recently, Habib had told him—in confidence—that he was earning far more than he needed, and Habib was not a scoundrel to withhold due increase in payment.

I will talk to the elders, I swear it, the Murayni man had said.

Such generosity hurt enterprise, but it also fostered trust and peace.  The Djinbari, whether man, orc, or hobgoblin, were not greedy folk.  Their loyalty to each other kept Djinbar small but united. 

Surprisingly, Jerrod found himself at the end of the pool, staring at the salt pile while lost in his daydreaming.  The young man’s shoulders had begun to ache, so he began walking towards the salt house.  Habib intercepted him, approaching with a satisfied smile.  Jerrod had not seen his white izaar whirling in the breeze, which usually gave him away at a distance.

Jerrod Salt, may the sun wash over you! he exclaimed, extending his arms for an embrace.  Jerrod matched his wild-haired employer’s hug, clapping the merchant on the back heartily.  Look at you, the former said as they parted.  That patchy thing you call a beard is starting to wire up!  It seems the sun is even teasing out blond hair.  You almost look like an Adlan!

Jerrod had never seen an Adlan, but he had heard of the fair-haired folk.  Though his hair was tied into a small knot under his hat, the sun had coaxed these rare streaks of blonde and red into his mahogany brown locks.  Jerrod had lost the dark hair of his Doshayni ancestors this summer.  His near-black eyes now had the faintest glimpse of chestnut in them.  Jerrod looked to his arms again, noting the copper tone instead of his usual olive color.

The sun would do you some good, Habib, the young man responded. 

Ah, but then I would look like dry leather, like your grandfather and father!

Ignoring the jest, Jerrod looked back to the blocks.  He could not see his father and two younger brothers in the long train of salt farmers.  The young man shifted nervously in the silence that followed.  For the most part, his father, Alcander, was the one who indulged the Murayni businessman. 

I am a man now and cannot hide behind my father.  I have known Habib for years, and I should act like it.

Jerrod looked back at the overseer.  Where have you been?  I have not seen you walking around.

I must confess, dear boy, that I traveled to Hawkroads with the caravan recently and tried to sell some salt, but then I became caught up with some of the rumors there.  I stayed an additional day to learn more and hear the latest tales.  By chance, I gained a traveling companion who was making his way west.  He arrived with me this morning.  Hopefully, we can show him some Djinbari hospitality.  We do not get too many visitors.

Jerrod felt his heart thrum in excitement.  An outsider was here with rumors of the realms?  He could not think of anything more interesting than learning about the amazing quests, battles, and shifts of power that were happening throughout the world.

Where is he from? the inquisitive young man asked.  Oh, I have so many questions!

Emane, actually, answered Habib with a smile.  All the way from Emane.

I have heard of it, though I know nothing of the people there.  I wonder, what news from Emane? pressed Jerrod, unable to contain his excitement.

Now that you will...have to ask him, responded Habib hesitantly, lightly patting the young man’s shoulder.  Tonight...I have brought goods to town so that we may have a celebration for the good of Djinbar.

You have?! Jerrod exclaimed, bouncing on his heels slightly.

Habib gasped.  Wait wait wait wait wait!  Do not spill the salt!  But, yes, yes!  You should clean up and be ready for tonight!  It will be an enjoyable time!

THE WATCHTOWER AT THE shore of Djinbar had spotted a pod of whales, the first in a long time, for the magnificent beasts typically retreated to colder waters this time of year.  Unfortunately, none of the whales had come close enough to be wounded by anyone in the tower.

Thus, the whalers embarked on their three fastest boats out of Ambergris Bay in pursuit.  Vhorgun had his suspicions about which whales they were chasing, due to the season and their distance from the tower.  The only possibility this summer would be what the orcs called yol’tûth or big tooth, but he knew it as the hudtnath or boulderhead whale.  Humans had their silly name for this deep-diving creature as well, though the word escaped him.

Rhythmically leaning with the pitches of the wooden vessel, Vhorgun gripped his harpoon tighter in anticipation.  As the boat crested another wave, the salt spray of the sea caressed his green skin in a cool shower.  Ahead, he saw the gray heads of their quarry as they breached and the wide, forward spray from their blowholes.  Vhorgun hoped that he would not see one fluke before they came close, for that meant these whales would dive, and who knew when the boulderheads would decide to rise from the depths?  The Djinbari could not wait for another pod to drift into the bay.

But that was not why he was on edge: he had been called off the oars and handed a harpoon before they cast off.  Vhorgun had practiced his throw for months, though engaging a whale had always been a veteran’s job.  Was he ready?

One near the back!  One of the slower ones! the head whaler shouted.

Rocking back and forth with the waves made it hard to focus.  Examining one of the large cows with his orange eyes, the youth tried and failed to estimate her size. 

That one on the left! Vhorgun declared, turning around so that others could hear.

No! his companion on the right shouted, startling him.  Her calf!

Make for the calf on the left! the captain clarified.

Shooting a confused look at his similarly green cousin, Gurult, he elicited the response, The mother can breed this season!  That calf will not survive without her!  If you kill her, you kill two!  You know this!

Finally realizing his error, the green whaler recalled the lesson he had learned long ago.  Their boats could not carry a cow’s meat, blubber, whalebone, and any other part they harvested without wasting a good portion of the kill.  Between the three, weathered vessels that Djinbar used for this profession, a smaller choice would be better.  His spirit sank briefly; already he had made one mistake.  How many more today?

Let it go, he told himself.  One day, you will have your own ship, and you will haul in a bull.

Checking behind him, Vhorgun saw the wooden slabs that were tied to his and his cousin’s harpoons.  The large drogues were right behind him.  Forgetting something important could mean failure today.

Soon, the three boats neared the whales, but Vhorgun had trouble focusing on anything except his pounding heartbeat.  Salty spray from the whales and the waves now drenched him, causing his tangled brown hair to stick to his neck like a thick mat of seaweed.  A shiver racked him, despite the growing heat of the day.

Ha!  We beat the others here! the captain shouted from the rear.  Gurult, Vhorgun, you have first throw!  Make it quick, and make your ancestors proud!

Your throw, cousin! Gurult encouraged, slapping him on the back.

Vhorgun brought his harpoon up, reflexively holding his left hand out for balance.  The calf bobbed under the waves, a much smaller target than its large mother.  The hobgoblin sucked in his breath, hoping it would slow the shaking of his arm.  When the boat crested a wave and began to drop, there was one second of calm.  He let out his breath slightly, realizing that this was the fabled moment all hunters experienced just before the kill.

As the harpoon left his hand, the calf came up for air, catching the point in its back.  Vhorgun began to pump his fist in victory—for the throw landed just as he envisioned—until he saw the winding rope snap taut.  With a mumbled curse, the whaler moved to the side as the wide, wooden block shot past and splashed into the water.  The drogue noticeably slowed the calf and the waves took on a red tinge.

Excellent shot, Vhorgun! his cousin declared with a satisfied laugh.

Gurult’s harpoon soon followed, equally as precise.  As the other two boats neared, the calf’s tail flicked above the water, betraying the fear of the animal.  The young whalers on the other boats threw their harpoons, aiming for the now descending calf.

Surprisingly, the mother boulderhead whale’s fluke appeared and descended to the depths.  Some of the whalers in their craft peered into the deep water, following her path.  The last thing anyone needed was a surprise from below as a vengeful mother surfaced.

A lengthy