The Legend of Swineheart: Swineheart, #1

By Rich Cole

The town of Maraila is a small place, bland and boring, just like so many other small towns in the middle of nowhere. A baby boy was born here, and his family looked forward to raising him. That was, until the entire town was burned down, and everyone died, except for the little boy. He was found by a pig, and taken in as her own son. So, he grew up with the pigs, called them his family, and lived in the forest as a wild man. Until, one day, a pair of hunters found him, naked and grunting, and wondered how they could make money from him. It was here, in these humble surroundings, that the legend of Swineheart began. Will he find out why his village was burned? Will he be strong enough to take his revenge? Will he be able to pick out a suitable outfit for a human? These are the questions that will be answered in this tale, the first of many.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223510062

Book preview

Prologue

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The story of the great Swineheart starts like many others, with a small boy in a small village. The people of Maraila lived a simple life and wanted for very little; the river flowing by their village provided water and fish, the forest provided timber for fires and homes and there was of course the animals that roamed the woods for food and clothing.

Maraila was small and underdeveloped. They had no domesticated animals; no cows for milk, no sheep for wool. They drank only the water of the river, and wore only the skins of the animals they feasted on.

When the cold and rainy seasons came the people huddled in shelters made of skins and sticks, kept warm by each other and by fire. These shelters were only marginally better than the caves they once resided in. In the warm season many slept outdoors under the stars. Life was peaceful.

One day a messenger rode into Maraila on a horse; this sight fascinated the people, none of them had seen a steed broken of its will to roam and be free. The messenger approached the tribal elder.

I come bearing a message for the one in charge, the messenger said.

The people all looked at each other with mystified expressions.

Forgive us, the elder began, but your words, the one in charge, they have no meaning for us. We do not understand who you seek.

The messenger came down from his horse. He drew a shiny stick from a long leather pouch on his waist. He held the tip of the stick at the elder’s throat. The one in charge is he who rules this village. Who makes your laws? Who passes judgement?

The elder stepped back from the end of the messenger’s stick and answered, We do not have such a person in this village. We live in harmony with one another and with the land. No one person has any such position.

The messenger’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the elder. Who speaks for this village when a messenger arrives? Who receives guests from other villages on your behalf? Who would you consider your village’s representative capable of speaking for the village as a whole?

The villagers looked at one another again, this time more puzzled than the last. Many villagers began to huddle together, whispering. No answer came.

I expect an answer, the messenger demanded. My lord will be here shortly, with whom will he speak?

The villagers came together in a huddle. The elder stepped forward. I am considered wisest among the elders of the village. We would request you meet with all the elders, but if only one voice may be heard we have decided that it shall be mine.

The messenger nodded. He put the shiny stick back in its leather pouch, climbed into the seat that was strapped to his horse, and rode away. The villagers returned to their daily life. They fished extra for that evening in expectation of guests. The women prepared floral arrangements to be worn around the guests’ necks as a token of friendship.

That evening, the fish was cooked, berries were picked, and a feast was prepared in anticipation of new friends. The messenger returned with almost as many men as the village held. Some rode horses, but most walked. A man with a hard shining cover on his head, some sort of polished stone, came down from his horse and removed the head covering.

My name is Raz, he said. I have come for the riches hidden beneath this village. You will surrender them to me, or you will die.

The elder stepped forward. Greetings, Raz and all our other new friends. We have the riches that the sea and forest have provided. A feast is prepared. Come, dine with us. You are most welcome, and nobody needs to die.

We do not seek your food, Raz snapped. We seek the riches of the earth. We seek ores for steel, we seek gold and jewels; we seek that which you have hidden away.

We have no metal, no jewels, the elder replied. We adorn ourselves with skins. We make tools of bone and stone. We know not of the materials you ask. You asked for our riches, and we have presented them. We have a bountiful forest and a plentiful river.

Raz pulled a shiny metal stick from the leather pouch on his belt. All his men did the same. I’ll give you one last chance, old man. Give us the riches we seek, or I’ll cut you down and we’ll take everything by force.

I do not know what you seek, the elder said.

Those were his final words. Raz swung the large stick, its edge sailed through the air, removing the elder’s head from his shoulders.

Now, can anyone tell me where to find what I seek?

You seek stones, one of the men said.

Yes, shiny stones, Raz answered. Where might I find such things?

The caves, outside the village, the man replied. I ventured deep into the darkness once. I found this. The man presented a shining emerald.

Raz snatched it from his hand. You will find more of these, and bring them out of the cave. I will return in three days. I expect many more like this. Do not disappoint me, or you will face the same end as your elder did.

Raz jumped back on his horse and led his men away. The shocked village gathered around the body and head of their beloved elder. They dedicated their feast not to new friends, but to the life and memory of their dearly departed.

For days, and weeks, Raz returned. Each time he brought with him bags to be filled with the shiny stones. If the bags were not full enough he would either kill one of the men, or steal a woman or a child.

Some of the parents grew to fear for their children’s safety. When Raz was seen, or his horses were heard, many of the children were hidden in huts or encouraged to run into the forest.

One day, Raz rode into the village. The bag for him was only half full. He demanded a child to be taken as a slave. No children were in the village to be seen. Furious Raz ordered his men to slaughter everyone.

Some of the men took up their hunting spears and fought back, but sharpened sticks were no match for the shiny sticks Raz’s men carried. With the men dead the women were rounded up, bound with rope, and led away from Maraila.

Raz ordered his men to search the trees. They rushed into the bushes, snatching up children who hid behind trees or under bushes. Kicking and screaming the children were carried to be bound with the women. Raz orders the village burned. Torches were put to the huts, setting them ablaze. Raz led his men away from Maraila that day believeing they left no one alive in the village.

Chapter 1

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Nestled in a basket woven of tender reeds he wakes and cries; a man child of the village that lies in ruin. He was found by the most unlikely of forest creature, a pig. The pig chewed through the basket to find the baby wrapped in sheep’s wool mixed with deer hide. The pig took the bundle in his tusks and walked the baby back to its den.

Inside the den, the sow was nursing her newborn litter. The man child cried out. The father pig brought the child to the sow; the man child squirmed and wriggled its way to the sow’s teat and began to feed. The man child cried for a moment, but then settled.

The father pig nudged the reeds and wrapping toward the sow, intending to return the man child once it fed. Pushing the basket along a glowing green stone rolled out. The pig pushed it back in with his snout.

The man child could not move like the piglets. He was still unable to crawl. The sow and father pig exchanged glances and grunts. The piglets squeaked with glee. The man child nestled into the sow’s belly and slept.

For many moons the man child lived among the pigs. He learned to move through the den on four legs, and then on two like the men who were seen in the forest. He grew taller, and the skin and wool from his basket no longer covered his body.

The green stone became a fascination for the young boy. Often he would hold it in his hands and stroke it. Other times he would tuck it in the wool and hide wrap which he wore around his middle. He walked through the forest, collecting berries and leaves for the other pigs to eat.

He came to have another fascination, with sticks, sharpening them on the rocks and jabbing at fish in the river. He would stand for hours in the water, trying to stick the fish which swam by; seldom did he succeed. When he did lift the fish from the water he smiled and cheered triumphantly, but this was all he knew. Whatever his contest was he had won, but there were no spoils from victory, for the pigs had no means to cook the fish.

Seven times the rainy season had come and passed. The man child was taller than the pigs. He ran faster than they did, he could climb the trees and shake down the fruits. He seemed at peace with his world, until one day his world changed again.

Chapter 2

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The day the man child’s life changed again was the day he was found by two men, hunters, exploring the woods. They saw a boy, almost naked, running through the trees with a sharpened stick.

You there, one of the hunters called. Boy, you there.

The man child saw them; he became scared and ran away. The hunters followed. He led them away from the den, away from the safety of his family, but also away so they could not harm his brethren. Dashing through the trees he hopped over exposed roots and ducked under low branches. The hunters in hot pursuit, they called for him to stop. He kept running.

Bursting from the trees the man child saw the river. The rainy season has passed. The water was high and ran quickly; the strong water was too difficult to swim in. He backed away from the water’s edge. The hunters reached him; they slowed as they approached.

We’re not trying to hurt you, lad, one of the hunters said. We’re just surprised to see a boy out this far. Do you need any help?

Their words are not understood. The man child snorted and gestured with his head. The hunters looked puzzled.

Son, the second hunter said, Are you alright?

The man child looked at the hunters blankly. He snorted and grunted again. He twitched his head and shoulders.

Are you alright? the hunter repeated. Should we try to take him to a healer? he asked turning his head to look at his partner.

The first hunter stroked his chin, eyeing the boy up and down. He’s wearing a loincloth that wasn’t made to be a loincloth; it’s hide mixed with wool. It almost looks like something a tribal village might wrap a baby in.

That’s it! the second hunter exclaimed. He must be from the village of Maraila; the village the warlord Raz razed to the ground almost eight years ago.

How could a child survive eight years in the forest?

He must have been raised by animals, the second hunter suggested. Look at him. He snorts, he grunts, he gestures with his shoulders. He behaves like, like a pig. I bet he was adopted and raised by pigs.

How old could he have been when the village was destroyed? the first hunter asks.

Not very old, the second replies. "He doesn’t seem to understand a word we’re saying. I’d guess he was only a few months old and he was hidden in the trees somewhere. You know Raz, if he doesn’t get his tribute