Serenity Valley
Authors: Rocky Bills
Tags: #historical fiction, #horse, #medieval adventure, #literature and fiction, #historical adventure series, #medieval love story, #teen and young adult action and adventure, #teen and ya romance, #teen adventure young adult series
Gallery
Book One
Serenity Valley
By Rocky Bills
The Rogue Gallery
Book One
Serenity Valley
Copyright
© 2014 Rocky Bills
First Published
2014
Email:
[email protected]
URL:
http://www.theroguegallery.com
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into
a database and retrieved system or transmitted in any form or any
means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner
of copyright and the above publishers.
Original Cover Art by
Roxanne Bills
Editor Melissa
Gray
Serenity Valley
Smashwords
Version
Bills, Rocky
To my family who have served gallantly as
readers for my story. Without your encouragement I would never have
published this project. A special thanks to Penny who helped
assemble all the pieces.
Table of
Contents
It is the year of Our Lord 1105, and a
vicious, treacherous struggle for riches and holdings is upon the
land. As kings topple and neighbor schemes against neighbor, the
pope is, at the same time, demanding continued crusades to the Holy
Land for the purpose of holding Jerusalem. Wave after wave of
warriors are conscripted to private armies to fight in the Holy
Land and for noblemen’s greed. The land remains in a constant state
of turmoil as armies raid, plunder, and murder their way across the
mainland.
In the midst of this turmoil is a hold
like no other, De Ferrier, on England’s main island. Surrounded by
mountains and rivers, De Ferrier Hold lies within the tranquil
Serenity Valley. Since the time of the ancients, De Ferrier Hold
has been known for breeding and training an elite bloodline of the
much-prized heavy chargers. Near and far, a De Ferrier charger is
considered more deadly and coveted than the fiercest of
warriors.
The legend begins in mid-spring, as
the hold’s prized mare is tended in the birthing stable.
And God took a handful of
southerly wind, blew his breath upon it, and created the horse. ~
Bedouin Legend
The huge birthing stable stands on the
highest point of the rolling, grassy hillside. A steady drizzle of
rain pelts the slate roof for the second hour, and it is well past
3:00 AM. The interior of the stable is lit by the yellow flicker of
over 100 glass-encased oil lamps. The lamps are placed high on the
wooden support columns to prevent the horses from tampering with
them. A mild breeze through the center aisleway carries the scent
of rain and pine pitch. These scents are mingled with the stable
odors, giving it a unique and unmistakable aroma. A full day and
night I have spent in the birthing stall. I smell of horse manure
and soiled straw and must look as bad as the foul odor that
emanates from every part of my body. I dipped the rag back into the
bucket of cool water and began swabbing down Siren’s dapple gray
neck once more. I believe she actually understood that I was trying
to comfort her, as she allowed me to attend her.
Normally as foul-mannered with her
handlers as a mountain bear, many of the stable workers bore scars
that would attest to her true and vicious nature. I held no malice
toward her, as her very disposition was the product of over 100
years of selective breeding for aggression as well as conformation.
She holds the best of traits needed for the makings of a fine
warhorse. She is considered the top broodmare in the area, possibly
the entire island. Her prized offspring have proven their worth
well in numerous campaigns, on a number of continents.
Entering into the second day of labor
was reason enough for alarm, but Siren, now well past twenty years
old, probably should have been retired instead of bred as an
experiment to the most notorious stud in the land. The sire, Hades,
is a famed, battle-hardened warhorse credited with killing seven
knights in battle and an unknown number of opposing chargers. Hades
(aka Black Savage) is over 18 hands. With Siren near the same
height, they were bred to achieve the size and graceful lines both
horses possess, without concern for temperament or disposition. I
prayed that God might intercede with this mingling, that such
offspring from these two would not produce an insane outlaw. As no
one else in the stable wanted to tend the big mare, I accepted the
task, as always. I had always felt she was slighted for reasons
beyond her control.
My concern for the mare
increased when she went into distress, with rapid breathing and
uncontrolled sweats. I listened to the big gray mare’s chest and
could hear the awful sound of congestion in her lungs. I felt her
heartbeat, which was rapid and unpredictable, indicating her
massive heart was failing and allowing her lungs to fill with
water. I looked into her majestic blue-black eyes and could see the
milky film start to creep in around the edges. My heart suddenly
felt heavy, as if an anvil had been placed on my chest. Thoughts
raced through my mind.
What could I do?
What could possibly be done?
Siren raised
her head so that her eye was level with my own. She softly nuzzled
my shoulder with her mouth as if she was trying to comfort me. I
knew she could smell and sense my feelings of great despair. My
body felt hot all over, and I could feel my eyes starting to fill
with water. “It’s all right, grand lady; I will do everything that
I can to help you.” Siren gently rested her enormous head against
my torso, her ears at shoulder height, the tip of her nose near to
knee level. “I must leave you for a few moments, my lady, to get
more help. Do not worry; I will be right back.” Siren let out a
soft, weak whinny. I quickly turned and left the stall.
I ran down the center walkway of the
stable toward the grooms' quarters. The noise of rapid footsteps
received notice from the alert horses. Inquisitive heads began
poking over stall doors. The snorts and bellowing of various horses
mixed with the thud of my heavy boots on the stone floor. I reached
the door for the sleeping quarters and snatched it open, smashing
it against the wall. I grabbed the first person I came to, but soon
regretted it. I barked, “Wake up, Fulk. I need help!”
With a groggy slur, Fulk mumbled,
“Leave me be, I’m sleeeeeeping.”
“It's important, Fulk! GET
UP!”
Fulk grumbled, “Who is it? Is that
you, Gamel? Go screw yourself in the arse.”
“Fulk, I don't have time for your
shit!” I yelled.
Filled with rage and urgency, I
grabbed the side of the bed and flipped it upside down, then picked
it up and threw it outside into the stable. I reached down, grabbed
Fulk’s foot, and dragged the struggling charge outside. Face up,
with his back to the ground, Fulk looked up at me with eyes the
size of plates, but he found no more smart words in his current
state of shock and fear. Normally the bully in the stables, this
must have been too much to comprehend. I demanded, “Go fetch the
stable marshal, and tell him it’s an emergency!”
Fulk just lay there on the ground,
staring at me with his mouth wide open. “Now, you jiggy bastard!
RUN, DAMN IT!”
Fulk jumped to his feet. In his haste,
he turned and ran over the remains of his bed, falling face-first
to the ground. He struggled to right himself and began running
again, only looking back once to see if I was in
pursuit.
With that task finished, I ran to the
supply room and picked up the marshal’s medical box, a couple of
clean blankets, and the birthing ropes. By now, the horses were
awake, and heads protruded from every occupied stall. The entire
stable would be awake soon from the chorus of loud bellows,
whinnies, and snorts from the horses trying to find out what was
going on. With my load of equipment, I ran back to the birthing
stall. Upon reaching Siren, seeing her condition made me feel as if
a knife had stabbed my racing heart. There, on the fresh straw, she
lay on her belly. Her legs were under her, with her nose touching
the ground. She wheezed as she struggled with every breath, her
nostrils dilated wide as a winded horse's would be after running a
great distance. Her life blood flowed from her birth canal, forming
a hot, crimson pool under her hindquarters. Her life was being
robbed from her with each beat of her heart.
I put the medical equipment and
supplies down and walked to her. She forcibly raised her head and
gave a soft whinny in recognition. Water freely ran from my eyes
and over my cheeks, dropping where it may. I felt a great numbness,
and the sense of loss overwhelmed me. I suddenly remembered that I
needed to breathe and took in a huge, gasping breath. I could feel
great pressure behind my eyes as my shattered heart pounded. If I
could have shared my own life force with Siren, I would have. All I
could do, though, was make her passing as easy as possible. In a
reassuring voice, I said, “It’s all right, my fine lady, you have
done your best.” Siren now lay to her side but held her head up as
if to fight gravity with what last spark of life she had. She
struggled to right her head over her legs, to try to sit up again,
but she simply lacked the strength. She could just hold her head
off the ground. I positioned myself and sat on the ground behind
her head and reached up, stroking her massive neck. “Rest your head
on me, great lady; you are not alone,” I told her
softly.
Siren carefully laid her enormous head
on my lap and legs and seemed to breathe a little easier. So caught
up with emotion was I that I could not feel the crushing weight of
her head and neck. “It is all right, great lady of horses, rest
now, and be at peace.” I felt Siren’s body relax completely, as if
she was accepting death without fear; the same way she had lived
her life, fearlessly and without regret. Siren took one last full
breath and slowly let it escape her lungs. I mumbled, “Goodbye, my
lady. Go to your long, peaceful sleep.” I heard a soft whinny, as
if thanking me, and Siren slipped away. Her eyes clouded over, and
after a few death throes of her legs, she was released from her
lifeless body and all earthly obligations.
Sayer, the stable marshal, quickly
stepped into the stall Siren and I occupied. “Gamel, what is going
on? Fulk is having a fit, screaming that you have gone mad and
murderous! Where in hades are you, Gamel?” Mostly hidden under
Siren’s neck and head, it took Sayer a moment to locate me. In
another moment, he realized the situation; mostly just by the look
of my face. In a low, saddened tone, he continued, “Oh…Oh, oh, my
God have mercy, Siren.” Sayer immediately stepped in to examine
Siren. By now, the other stable workers were popping in to see what
was going on and making a hasty retreat. Sayer said sadly, “Well,
there was nothing to be done, Gamel. The massive blood loss was
probably due to rupture or detachment from da womb. She was good as
gone when last she was bred. I recommended against this breeding,
you know. The sire and dam were just too big, so this kind of thing
was bound to happen. We don’t need horses as big as houses! Not
even accounting for crossing dispositions of such a vicious nature!
Very sad indeed, but nothing you could have done. You all right,
Gamel?”