Heart of Tunise: The Heart of the Citadel, #6

By Susan Faw

 A gritty rebel with dangerous ties. A secretive mine that buries the truth. A handful of ancient bones with dark origins.
Shikoba, feisty daughter of the tribal queen Aisha, has been trained since birth to defend her people.

On the cusp of her final trials, she is swept away by a dragon and a Djinn shapeshifter. Bearer of a crystal heart, Shikoba has been marked to free her people from the tyranny of Emperor Madrid.

Shikoba is tasked with the destruction of the barrier that isolates her people from the other provinces, but an ancient evil stands between her and their freedom. Existing only in legend, the Naga is a fierce creature of magic and myth with a secret of its own to protect.

Can one young woman gather the courage to protect all that she loves? The cost will be bitter – her death in the sacred salt mines of Shadra.

Only the spirits of the ancestors can say for sure, who will prevail.

 

* 2018 OZMA First In Category winner, Chanticleer Book Reviews & Media, for outstanding fantasy! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Faw
• Release date: Feb 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989022276

Susan Faw

Susan’s love of stories began before she could read or write. Her earliest childhood memories are of a make believe game she played with her sister, creating and telling an epic story inspired by a picture chosen at random from a National Geographic magazine. Susan spent her summers reading and writing sometimes serious, sometimes humorous works of fiction, imagining the worlds beyond her bedroom walls. Susan is an avid reader of literature, especially science fiction and fantasy. She loves to bring new worlds and fantasy adventures to young adults and inspire them to join her on her make believe journeys.  You can find Susan at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw.

Book preview

Heart of Tunise

Heart Of The Citadel Book Six

Susan Faw

Copyright © 2021 by Susan Faw

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1.Prologue

1. The Sixth Day: Tunise

2.Hellhound

3.A Daring Rescue

4.History Lesson

5.The Tinker

6.A Dragon's Sorrow

7.The Children of Oakwood Forest

8.Sky High Plans

9.Mizra's Summons

10.Breakfast With Words

11.Breaking Curfew

12.Time To Fly

13.On The Rooftop

14.Shades Of The Future

15.An Unexpected Gift

16.Missed Appointment

17.Cayos Unleashed

18.Tesha's Revenge

19.A Wizard's Armour

20.The Family Farm

21.Child's Play

22.On The Move

23.The Perilous Sea

24.Dark Places

25.Delivering Aid

26.Parisa's Plan

27.Smoke In The Woods

28.The Triad Bond

29.The Die Is Cast

30.Swatting A Fly

31.The Third Slice

32.A Change In Masters

33.Of Blood And Ashes

34.Dreams

35.Sneak Peek: Heart Of Peca

Chapter one

Prologue

The Sixth Day: Tunise

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Mizra, first son of Tunise, strode alongside his father, inspecting the orchards. His father insisted that he tour the plantation at his side once a week, in what he called ‘a surprise inspection’. The location changed every week to keep the workers on their toes, never knowing when their section would be next. His father called it ‘reviewing the troops’, as though the farm was a military installation. This week it was the cherry orchards. The air was heavy with the heady scent of the nectar flowing through the trees and into the blossoms, attracting bees of various sizes to taste the offering. Bee keepers had set up portable hives between the straight rows, encouraging the bees to convert the sweet prize into honey.

To Mizra, the tours were the height of boring. He peered up at his father’s stern countenance out of the corner of his eye. Why doesn’t Parisa have to go out on the inspections?

His father frowned down at him but did not slow his stride. The path from the barns to the fields was pitted with puddles from a recent thunderstorm. Mizra jumped over one in his path, barely clearing its width. His heel sank into the soft soil. He nearly lost his footing as he went forward but his boot did not. Mizra’s arms wind-milled as he fought to recover his balance. His father caught him just before he pitched forward onto his face, the intricately tooled boot left behind, quivering in the mud.

She is a girl that is why. She is not meant to rule. Women are designed to tend the hearth, not the field. They are to care for the house and children and for us, the men of the household. That would be us. He plucked the boot out of the mud and placed it on firm ground in front of Mizra. Mizra hopped over to it and slid his foot inside. A cord of fine braided linen swung out from around his neck as he bent to shove his foot inside. On the cord dangled a crystal heart.

When he straightened, his father was already several paces ahead. Mizra ran to catch up then settled in beside him once again.

The tree planted alongside the offending puddle, quivered.

Then it quivered again.

Parisa hung upside down from a branch, swinging back and forth with her legs wrapped around the thick limb, watching her father and brother walking away. Once they vanished from view, she grabbed the branch and pulled herself upright.

Annoyance flickered across her freckled nose, and her blue eyes tightened in anger. She launched herself out of the tree, landing easily on her feet, and then took off at a run in the opposite direction from her father and brother. She knew the orchards like the back of her hand and could run like the wind. Her dress flapped around her knees as she hiked up her skirts for more speed. She leapt the puddles easily, her momentum carrying her far past the sticky zone. Her red hair streamed behind her.

Her destination was the storage barn at the far end of the field. No one ever went there until harvest time. It was a place where she could hide from her mother and grandmother and the inevitable chores they would pile on her. She hauled open the heavy door with a squeal of rusting hinges and let it slam behind her. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior as she paused to catch her breath. Once she could see where she was going, Parisa pushed open the shutters of a window to let in some light.

A rope hung from a thick beam overhead. With a dexterity her father would have said was better served mending, she grabbed the rope and shimmied up its length. Once she was even with the loft, she pumped her body to get the rope in motion, swinging it ever closer to the lip of the loft. On the sixth swing, she made a grab for the rough boards, launching herself through the air.

Grasping the edge, she clung for a moment, feet scrabbling, and then pulled herself onto the platform. A necklace on a delicate chain swung out from around her neck. A small crystal heart dangled from it. She shoved it back inside her blouse and stood up. Straw covered the floor, the remnants of the past winter scattered over the darkened wood surface.

This was her favourite place. At the far end of the loft was a set of doors that opened out to the fields. During harvest, the doors would be slid wide open and an elevator powered by donkeys rolled up to the opening. The elevator would convey bundled straw and hay up into the loft to be stored for the barn animals for winter. She grabbed the handle and rolled a heavy door sideways. A fresh breeze swept the loft, stirring up dust.

Parisa sank onto her knees at the opening, fingering a new tear in her skirt.

I hate cooking and cleaning. I will die if I have to do that for the rest of my life. They can’t make me. I will run away first! I will go to Shadra…yes! I will sneak across the border and become one of the warrior maidens. They have grand adventures! Her gaze drifted to the pinned leaflet that decorated the wall to the left of the opening. She’d found it while in town, tumbling down the boardwalk. It was a travelling troupe advertisement for a play they were about to perform called The Shamans of Shadra. A drawing of a woman with wild hair, dressed in animal skins and a necklace of bones, graced the cover, and a large bonfire burned in the background of the image. It all looked terribly exciting and nothing like the dull life that awaited Parisa.

She got up and went to the corner of the loft to her secret stash. A loose board in the wall made a perfect hiding spot, and she pried it open and pulled out her brown drawstring satchel. Parisa upended it on the floor of the loft, spilling its contents, and then took stock. Her kit so far included a packet of needles and thread, a package of matches in a waterproof container, a hair comb, and her lucky rabbit foot. It wasn’t much to be escaping with. She scooped everything up and stuffed it back into the bag, pulling the drawstring tight. I will have to mend my clothes or alter them when I leave, so I will need all of these things!

Suddenly, she heard a flap of wings, as though a flock of birds had landed on the roof of the barn, all at the same time. The scratching noise shifted and the doorway darkened as the largest bird she had ever seen landed on the decking. Only it wasn’t a bird. It had four legs and smoke rings curled from its snout. It squeezed into the opening, eyes glowing as they settled on Parisa.

Birds don’t have snouts, and they don’t have four legs. Parisa’s mouth dropped open, and then she grinned. A real live adventure! Her heart thudded in her chest.

Woah there, where did you come from? She raised her hands and made a shushing sound. The dragon’s coppery nose sniffed the air and it blinked at her, before turning back toward the opening, tail dragging through the straw and leaving a snaking trail through the dust.

On its back sat a boy dark haired and short. He was shorter than her brother, who was two years younger than her fourteen years. He grinned at her and held out his hand. You seek adventure. It is yours for the taking. Come with me. It is your destiny, you know.

A grin split her face. I know it is! She pulled out her necklace and kissed it before dropping it back inside her shirt. I was promised adventure! I am ready. I have always been ready, and she grasped his hand. The boy tugged hard and Parisa scrambled up onto the back of the dragon behind him. Hang on tight! With a lurch, the dragon launched itself into the azure sky, winging its way towards the sea.

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Chapter two

Hellhound

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The plumes of dust from the lone rider were visible long before the horse cleared the horizon. Back lit by the golden glow of the setting sun, the silhouette burst into view, galloping with a wild abandon. The rider bent low over his horse’s neck, urging the beast to greater speeds. The cloud kicked up by the furious pounding of its hooves floated away on the still evening air. Dressed in a dark shirt and nondescript pants, and boots of a similar shade of dyed leather, the rider was indistinguishable from the horses’ coat of deepest midnight. The ribbon of roadway along which the rider raced ran as straight as a gambler’s luck, twisting this way and that with no apparent design.

Chutzpa stared down the length of the seeing tubes, silently urging the horse to carry its rider swiftly to where he sat, perched in the stout limb of an oak tree. The curves of the roadway allowed few clear lines of sight of the oncoming rider, but this did not deter him from his preparations. In his left hand rested his short crossbow, notched with an arrow dipped in poison. The rider moved with the fluid grace of one born in the saddle. He put the glasses away and raised the crossbow, aiming for the rider’s chest.

Hard on the heels of the rider came a half dozen Citadel guards, their golden tunics blazing in the intense beam of light from the setting sun. Matching capes snapping in the stream of wind created by their labouring horses, they rode with grim determination, whipping their horses furiously in an attempt to catch the lone rider.

The sun slipped below the horizon.

The rider had crossed half the distance from the horizon to the edge of the woods and his pursuers a third, when the first howls rent the air. Appearing with the regularity of clockwork, the hellhound burst over the horizon, running with inhuman speed. The beast was massive. Shining black fur slicked the muscular shoulders and back of the beast, running down its legs to end just short of its razer tipped black claws. The massive head was square in shape, with a flat nose and wide eyes that shone golden in the dim light. Wickedly sharp teeth dripping with saliva curved down from its upper jaw, eager to rend flesh. The shivering cry caused a citadel guard to falter. He looked back, fear plain in his weathered face. The momentary slowing, the fraction of a second that it took for him to glance over his shoulder, was the fraction of time needed by the hellhound to catch him.

The beast lunged, howling a triumphant cry of victory as it leapt onto the back of the burly Citadel guard. He screamed as the claws ripped him in two. His torso tumbled from the back of the horse to land with a thud. His panicked horse stumbled under the weight of the hellhound, who matched it pound for pound. The horse stumbled, as the hellhound’s jaw fastened on its neck. The horses’ high-pitched squeal of agony abruptly ceased. The hellhound rolled with the collapsing horse then leapt to its feet to chase down the next rider in line.

One long leap of the hellhound covered three times the distance of the average horse gait, a fact that dawned in the face of the guard on the slowest animal. Before he had time to fully comprehend the danger he was in, the hound was on him. Horse and rider collapsed in a flash of drooling jaws and razor-sharp claws. Moments later the creature was on the run again.

The four remaining guards split up, two peeling off to either side, and two riding straight ahead, side by side. The hellhound had a view only for those directly in his path. With a snarl it pounced on the horse and rider on the right. Its claws sank into the rear flank, and with a violent jerk, swung the horse around as though it was a yo-yo on a string. With a grunt the guard, anticipating the attack, kicked his boots free of his stirrups and flung himself to the right off of the horse. Unfortunately for him, the jerk of the horse flung him straight into the slathering maw and with a sharp snap, his head bounded away into the bush. The hellhound’s claws sliced open the belly of the horse as it bounded past, eviscerating the bawling beast.

The enemy’s ranks had been cut in half, in less time than it took to scream a warning, had he wished to give one. Chutzpa watched as the lone rider gained the relative safety of the ancient forest, riding at break neck speed to where he sat perched in the trees. As the rider passed below, Chutzpa whistled and the rider dropped their reins and stood up on its saddle, jumping for a limb overhead. Dangling from their fingers for a moment, the rider rocked back and forth to gain momentum, then swung a leg over the stout branch, before working their way further up the tree. They made swift work of the scaling of the tree and finally came to a stop on a level parallel with Chutzpa.

You called that pretty close.

Nah, I had to make sure they would chase me, right? The rider lowered its hood, to reveal a young lad of about a dozen years, grinning with enthusiasm. He hitched his leg around the trunk of the tree and then pulled a leather sack from inside his coat and dangled it in front of him, for Chutzpa to see.

Next time don’t cut it so close, Zeal. Chutzpa leaned over, snatched the bag from his hand, then shoved it into his pocket. You should have returned when I told you to. Now I have to deal with that slobbering mess, he said as he jerked his head in the direction of the vibrating underbrush, which was smoking slightly as the hellhound moved through it in search of the final two guards. A long, drawn out scream rent the air, drawing their eyes in that direction, and then ceased as though a door had closed on a noisy pub.

Five down, one to go. The sudden silence descended like a shroud as they held their breaths, anxious to know that the last soldier was dead and at the same time dreading the eventual sound as hunter and prey, collided. A final scream, at a distance. Now the hound would be coming for them. Chutzpa’s grip tightened on his bow, his fingers instinctively checking the seat of the notch on the resin string of the crossbow while his eyes searched the darkness for signs of the beast. Over his shoulder a full moon rose, bathing the woods in an eerie light. A soft breeze rustled leaves and swayed limbs causing shadows to dance across the forest floor. He glanced over at Zeal and placed one finger against his lips, urging silence. The boy nodded his head once in acknowledgment.

Chutzpa had one chance to kill the hellhound. Only a direct shot straight into an eye socket, would kill the beast. He would only get one shot, for if he missed, the creature would be on him before he could launch another bolt. A snuffling sound came from his right. He peered intently at the area, eyes straining to pick out the shining black coat in the midst of all the gloom. The odour of sulphur wafted through the air, combined with the earthy smells of an open grave. Death stalked the night, with bright teeth and beady red eyes staring straight into his own. With a jerk, he realized it was right in front of him and fired. Before it even left the string, he was reaching for another, cursing. He knew that he had missed.

The bolt plunged into the shoulder of the slick fur. Enraged, the hellhound launched itself at the pair hiding in the trees, leaping onto limbs and falling back as they snapped under its weight. The limbs caught fire in the grip of its paws, tumbling to the forest floor where the dried under brush ignited. Snarling, slathering with fury and its lust to kill the hellhound lunged again, claws scoring the mighty oak. The tree shook, creaking as it resisted the rage of the beast. Chutzpa furiously worked at notching his second bolt, struggling to get it seated properly as the tree swayed.

A shadow crossed in front of the moon. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see the wing of some flying creature temporarily silhouetted against the milky disk. He dismissed it from his mind, focusing on the hellhound who had managed to pull himself half way up the trunk of the denuded tree before its weight and the shredding of its claws had caused it to tumble back to the ground. It rolled back onto its feet, circling the tree, taking bites out of the trunk much like a lumberjack might do to fell a tree. It swayed ominously, the weight of the upper canopy where they had sheltered now becoming a liability as the weight strained against the weakening trunk. The tree jerked, this time nearly dislodging Chutzpa as he brought the crossbow around, readying it to shoot. The hellhound was behind them, circling the tree, systematically weakening it.

Zeal, I want you to move out onto that limb and jump into the next tree. Hurry, he begged as the tree swayed ominously. Zeal released his death grip on the bark and unwrapped his legs from around the trunk, then scooted out onto the thinning limb, which sagged under his weight. His eyes scanned the ground below, searching for the hound they both knew could move with the speed of lightning. He shot a look back at Chutzpa then took a deep breath and launched himself into the air, lunging for the large limb hanging slightly above him.

With a roar, the hellhound exploded out of the darkness, soaring into the air with claw extended and mouth gaping, acidic drool hissing on contact as it splattered the leaves on the surrounding branches. Zeal swore loudly, as he grabbed the stout branch and hauled himself up onto the limb and scooted out of reach of the slashing claws. They caught on his recently vacated perch and held. Slowly the head of the hound rose above the edge of the branch, red eyes glowing with hatred as they fixed on Chutzpa.

The thousand stone weight of the hellhound was too much for the tree. With an ear-splitting crack, the trunk of the tree splintered and fell. Chutzpa swore just as loudly, scrambling to free himself from the tumbling tree and the furious demon waiting for his fall. Chutzpa grabbed for a branch going by but it whipped past so quickly that the blow numbed his hand. Crossbow and arrows spun to earth as the falling oak caught in the branches of its neighbour. The hellhound leapt onto the leaning trunk and clawed his way up toward Chutzpa, promising death.

Jump, Chut! screamed Zeal, from the safety of his tree.

The hellhound chuckled, the sound a deep throated rasping of air through burnt vocal cords. Chutzpa twisted around, and crawled as swiftly as he could through the tangle of branches toward the tree in who’s arms the fallen oak trembled, seeking sanctuary.

But it wasn’t to be. Overcome by the weight of the mighty tree, the branches shuddered then released their fragile hold. The hellhound fell and so did Chutzpa, straight into its waiting jaws. His head bounced off a limb on the way down, knocking him out before death could take him

Chapter three

A Daring Rescue

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There, do you see it? It moves through that burning patch on the forest floor! Parisa clung to her dragon’s back, hanging over the side of his burnished scales to peer at the flickering light. What is that animal?

That is no animal, at least not one born of this world. That is an underworld demon, Cordy croaked. Bonded to Parisa by the magic of the triad, the shapeshifting djinn had chosen to take the shape of a tree frog. He sat on Iolite’s head, clinging to her bony plate with sticky sucker-like appendages. Every once in a while, Cordy would call out instructions to the dragon, who would become annoyed and attempt to shake him loose with a toss of her head. "Watch what you