The Rites of Iron: Book One of The Trials of Gnash

By J. M. Williger

The Rushali Desert is many things--a swirling tempest of red sand, an arid landscape scoured by incredible heat, and a breeding ground for dangerous beasts. But for Gnash, a young warrior raised in a tribe of wandering nomads, the desert is simply home.

Through the Rites of Iron, a coming-of-age ceremony for young warriors in his tribe, Gnash discovers what it means to be truly strong as he fights through the perils of his desolate homeland.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887634401

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

cover.jpg

The Rites of Iron

Book One of The Trials of Gnash

J. M. Williger

Copyright © 2024 J. M. Williger

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2024

Cover illustration by Braeden Raymer

ISBN 979-8-88763-439-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88763-440-1 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To my parents

For being the constants I need no matter how the seasons change;

To David Williger

For showing me that a life filled with music is one well lived;

And to Yvette Williger

For teaching me that the things you love are always worth fighting for.

Letter to the Reader

To those who find themselves alone on their journey, this story is for you. I write this book in the hopes that no matter what desert you find yourself in, you can take solace in that you now have an ally in Gnash Ben'Rushalya.

I hope that you, like Gnash, can find your aish—something that gives you strength and keeps you connected to that which matters most to you. No matter what perils you face in your journey and no matter how dark the road becomes, as long as the aish burns bright within you, know that you will eventually find your path.

Chapter 1

At first glance, the Rushali Desert would seem a harsh, desolate place—a vast sea of shifting red sand stretching into the horizon, interspersed by stark mountain ranges that twist and stretch into the sky like the jaws of a long-fallen predator. To the uninitiated, such a place would seem daunting and unlivable, but to those privy to the wisdom of the sands, the desert can be a generous patron.

Nestled within the mountains were small oases—modest havens that provided water and greenery to the various creatures that relied on them as well as the tribe of nomads who called the desert home.

On a sunny day in the dry season, one of these nomads sat, crouched, on a stony bank, filling a large wooden barrel with water. Ordinarily, the boy would simply lower the barrel into the spring by way of the rope handles on either side, but since the desert had been without rain for several weeks, the water was too shallow. The young man instead set to the task of filling a waterskin and carefully transferring its contents to the barrel.

The young man did this for a long time and was so absorbed in his task that he hardly noticed the large creature that had entered the oasis behind him. With a loud snort, the beast signaled its presence, and the young man turned with a start. The creature possessed a muscular frame and four stout legs that ended in cloven hooves. Its face was long and caprine, and its head was adorned with two curved ebony horns that stretched up and back like crescent moons.

The two rivals faced each other, neither making a move. Then, after a long pause, the beast lowered its head menacingly and snorted again, providing a second and final warning. But despite the creature's posturing, the boy stood firm; and when it became clear that this unwanted visitor wasn't going to leave, the beast charged forward, scattering stones in its wake.

The young man, unprepared for the attack, took the full force of the strike to his chest, which sent him careening back into the spring with a loud splash. He scrambled to his feet just in time to see the beast rounding back and charging for a second blow. The nomad stooped down and braced himself, waiting patiently for an opening; and right before the moment of impact, he shot up with a surge of explosive power, grabbed the beast's horns, and stopped it in its tracks.

Surprised by the resistance, the beast began to struggle, thrashing and writhing against the tribesman's grip. The young man grunted from the effort but held fast to his adversary. After experiencing the brunt of a full-force attack, he was in no hurry to take another.

Though the beast could no longer charge, the tribesman knew he would be in trouble if he had to hold out much longer. His arms were starting to tire from the effort, and his mind raced, trying to think of what his next move should be. His eyes darted wildly, searching desperately for escape routes, possible weapons, or anything that could be of use but found nothing.

The helplessness gave way to anger, and the young man felt a flush of heat as his rage built and the fatigue burned away. With a surge of newfound strength, he shot his arms up, lifting the beast's head in the air, leaving its legs to dangle uselessly in front of it. As he hoisted his foe, blood rushed loudly in his ears, drowning out everything around him with the cacophony of a waterfall. An angry roar left his lips as he drove the beast back out of the water with all his strength, refusing to relinquish his grip. The beast let out a deep, bleating cry as its rear hooves scrabbled against the stone, desperately trying to maintain its balance.

Suddenly the tribesman felt a jolt in his arms, and the beast twitched as though it had been struck from the side. Two more jolts swiftly followed the first, and the creature went limp, falling from the young man's grip and crashing heavily to the ground. A once-over of the beast revealed three arrow shafts penetrating the wooly hide, with blood pooling around the fresh wounds. Confused, the tribesman squinted in the direction that the arrows had come from and was greeted by a tall woman sliding down the mountainside, a longbow in hand and a quiver slung over her muscular shoulders. As the woman came close enough to be seen clearly, the young man groaned inwardly, silently wishing that he had been saved by anyone but Shana.

Having fun at the springs, Gnash? she teased, landing gracefully. Good thing I came along when I did. The village would be pretty put out without their water.

I had it handled, Gnash grumbled, returning to the bank. His skirmish with the beast had overturned his barrel, setting his work back to the beginning. He bent down and righted the barrel, ignoring the gloating stare burning into his back.

"I was out hunting and happened to see a grazer, Shana continued with a smirk. The fact that I saved your skin along with it is just a bonus, I suppose."

Gnash refused to take the bait. She already had the satisfaction of saving him. He wasn't about to give her another victory by making him angry too. Instead, he grumbled what might have passed for thanks and got back to work, refilling the barrel. Shana squatted next to him and firmly put her hand on his shoulder.

Gnash, she said with the chiding tone of a disappointed parent, I know that you're not a kid anymore, but you need to be careful when you leave the village. You won't always have me to protect you.

Gnash ignored her and continued his work. Shana stepped in front of him, ankle-deep in the water, and forced his chin up with her hand so that they were looking eye to eye. Like most of the people in their tribe, Shana's eyes were a piercing gold color that shone in stark contrast to the long dark curls that framed her face. Her expression, while still holding the ghost of a smirk, had taken a more serious tone.

Look, I know you're strong—her voice softened—and with time, who knows? You might become the strongest warrior Rushalya has ever seen. But you can't do that if you're dead. Just be careful, okay? She waited for a response, but when she received none, she shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the grazer. She dragged it further from the pool and began the process of removing the meat, pelt, and horns. Once satisfied, she tied up her spoils and returned to the village without another word.

Gnash continued his task in silence, occasionally wiping away the blood that had begun to trickle from his nose. Once Shana was gone, a feeling of guilt settled in the pit of Gnash's stomach. Truly, he was grateful that she had come along when she did, and he knew that her teasing was never meant to be malicious. He just found himself getting so angry lately, and he couldn't place exactly why. He thought about the feeling he'd experienced as he fought the grazer—the burning in his muscles and the roaring sound of blood in his ears. Though initially unpleasant, there was a sense of familiarity, as though he had awakened something deep within himself but couldn't determine what that something was. He decided it would be best not to dwell