Yeoman Square’s Immigrant

  By J.C. Chastain

  (Starfall Mysteries, book 2)

  Yeoman Square’s Immigrant (Starfall Mysteries book 2) is free, supplementary reading for those who have or are interested in purchasing Starfall: A Snake in the Gardens. Most Yeoman Square books will be forever free of cost.

  Immigrant is the restart of Keegan Fletcher’s journals. His life, love, hate, deep details will be displayed in every journal entry. Please enjoy and spread the free word.

  Fletcher’s Journal (today year 1512)

  I know, I know, I feel ashamed for not writing sooner. But I recently visited with the high priest of the Lorian church, and he reminded me of my duty to write and record my life for ‘supposed’ descendants. It’s supposed to better society once I've passed away. Honestly, the only reason that I started writing again was because an old friend from the station recommended I ‘self-help’ my problems with something other than the drink. It’s hard moving from coldblooded murder cases that leave the stench of blood and piss in your nose, to becoming a Captain who signs papers and sends soldiers off to their unknown deaths. It’s even harder to write the shit down. But I must, and I will.

  You'd think that I would be satisfied with my position as 2nd Captain in the Royal military. I mean, I’ve moved up from the lowest of citizens in the kingdom. From immigrant to laborer, to officer, lieutenant, eventually I gained detective status and pay, before the Royal requested of me to join Military rank again.

  Those were some of my best times, and then again, those were some of my worst times. During that day, I made plenty of money for my family, gained a lot of friends. I didn't have to see many around that I felt threatened by, in my inner circle. Things were easier. Yeah, in some ways they were harder, challenging, and I actually rather liked it. Though, when I talk about harder or worse, I also met Spectre Hinge. I won't lie and say that he's not my friend in the heart of me, he is! But once your eyes are open and you see the world around you for what it really is, for what he can show a set of eyes, your world doesn't feel so safe anymore.

  You see, my friend, the Spectre, his father and his father before him, and his great grandfather had all become Spectres of Ethain. One would show up to live there for 30 some odd years and then leave. Then one day his son would come to town, heat things up, stay 30 years, and then leave. They’ve some deep ties in the very roots of this kingdom. I do believe they have always been a thorn in the side of royalty. Hell, they created their own job—Spectre!

  Meeting the Spectre and the Journey to Ethain

  Fellar (March, 1486)

  So, let me start from the beginning, being a proper place to start in my opinion. I was born Abe Planter of Fellar. Fellar was one of many small villages out from Tyri, the capitol of most Midian’s. Whenever we’d travel to sell our crops, they’d ask: “What by thy name?” and I’d say, “I’m just a feller from Fellar. Cheap joke, I know. I hardly gave a damn back in those days, though.

  The village of Fellar wasn’t the most devout to Goddess Midia; we hardly had what most would call a church. But we always followed the main rules that were documented over time. Work hard, farm the land, share a goat-meal once a week… Besides the goat-feast, they were same as the rules from the other fair-minded Goddesses of Tanjia. Jitter root was our main trade. If you’ve never had ‘the Jitters’, then you’d never had Midian eatin’. It’s a dark, tater-like root. Dark through-and-through. Gave us our skin color, they say. But I believe our randomly cold seasons helped to make our skins dark. If I tell ya about current times, around me are pale-skins that sometimes remind you of cow’s milk!

  Thankfully, our village was left alone for the most part. Three miles away from our home was a temple for Starfall. Maybe at one time Fellar was closer, but us Midian-people don’t think of receiving a Shard during Starfall as a great, fantastic thing! We believe and call it a Burden. The Burdened are cast into training for eternal defense of the lands where most Midians seem to be. My mother, bless her spirit, always told me, “Abe, you’ll want no part of the Burdened. For that is what they are. You’ll no time for friends, good times, nor love. They’re always sought for battle and their gifts.”

  So I never bothered with the idea of becoming what the Ethainian people call, a Fallen. I just wanted to farm my Jitters, have a mate, drink a drink, and die one day to be reborn into a better life. Although, I loved my life! Things were simple. I was young, hardworking, and knocking on the door of anything that weren’t my kin. Yes, reader of my life: It were good times.

  That all remained true till one day a Burdened Runner came to deliver us the bad news. Twenty-one hundred bodies marched our way to kick us out. Xeph’s are what we called the followers of Xephia. She was a battle Goddess, and we all knew one of her rules: Consume the lands, even by force. It put fear in us when we were children. They’d send word to Tyri, threatening a mass destruction if they paid no tax to their capitol. It was unthinkable, paying a tax to nay be attacked. I guess they got tired of waiting for their piece of OUR pie.

  The Burdened Runner was a receiver of shards, both in his ankles. It made his movement something amazing. I wouldn’t want his job though. I could look at him and tell his life were nothing but giving bad news. I could’ve used those Shards to help me run my goods off to sell faster, but even then, people would spit on you if ya wasted such a ‘gift’. He came in blazing that eve. It sounded like ten horses galloping out of alarm. Twas just his damn feet! As soon as he made into our sites, we handed him water. His thirst was about as amazing as his feet!

  “Xephian soldiers, on foot, delivering choices of death or abandonment!” He said to us.

  Our chief came out from us and calmed him. Chief was named Cyrus Oats. (A lot of Midians gained their family name from whatever they grew or tended. It’s kinda like the Ethainians I live with now. They name themselves after inventions, places they work, tools, what have ya.) Chief Cyrus decided to take him away from us, off into his hut for private discussion. It was a good idea, too! Our uproar was getting too noisy for the visitor. We were all a’feared of the coming Xeph’s!

  After a while, we thought we may try and gather our tools from the fields and sheds. Maybe we could make some sort of stand against them, we thought. What were we going to do? Farming was all we knew. And if they took over the whole land, where would we go? This was before I really even ever saw a map of Tanjia. All we knew was Midia-land.

  Chief Cyrus came out with the Burdened Runner and gathered us together. Before he started speaking, the Runner shot off like lightning from the skies. He went in the direction of the coasts. We thought maybe he was just as scared as us Fellar’s. Cyrus raised his hand to quiet us down, and we did just that. I, for the life of me, can’t remember what he said. It started out reminding us to stay calm, but what I do remember is the sound of their feet. The Xeph’s marches and horns could be heard in the distance. To the misfortune of organized people, a lot of us scattered to gather our tools and things in case we had to run.

  Cyrus did his best to keep us headless chickens gathered, but the Runner for their Army arrived. He wasn’t as fast as our Burdened Runner, but he was faster than me- that’s for sure! He had some balls on him, to just run up to a gathering of people, the way he did. He looked like the stories we heard of the Xeph: Tall, blonde, bearded, pale-skinned. I hated him from the very moment of his arrival.

  “By declaration of Queen Tomaska Wolf, your land is seized!” He called our, holding a scroll, never looking us in the eye.

  “And what are the terms?” Our man Cyrus spoke.

  “Terms? Little man, there are no terms.” He replied to Cyrus.

  It gave us another scare. What did he mean by ‘no terms’?

  The first battalion of women and men arrived at our place. They were only half-armored, and to think of it today, they were quite rag-tag. I come to find out later, they had sent the tiniest of offshoots our way to take command of our village and distant temple. Their main forced were stuck, still battling our Burdened in Tyri fields and city streets.

  They looked tired but still ready to kick our arses, if need be. We knew it. Mine and other’s hands clenched our garden tools, ready to give some last fight. We were ill-prepared in so many ways(now a days, I could have taken at least twelve of those Xeph-bastards before I fell). A commander of some type came close to their Runner and had words with him. He made his way over to Cyrus and waved him forward. Their chat was silent to us.

  Cyrus finally turned to us and declared, “These people ere’ are just what they are! People, farmers, peasants of their own being. We’ve no quarrel with the Xephian Queen of D’ Vlad. We’ll gladly farm here for whichever Kingdom.”

  Their commanded finally stepped forward, “ Of Midian blood your people be, too faint to have chosen the true Goddess, Xephia. No use, we have for you. Be gone or be dead.”

  We stood there in shock. Our man had promised us to slave their fields, though in retrospect, he was saving our ends.

  “Drop your things, you must. Abandon all you know and become lost-now!” Their commanded ordered in his dreary tone. It were cold and demanding. I could tell, even then, he’d done this before. All the other villages must’ve received the very same.

  We looked to each other, not knowing exactly what to do. Cyrus came close to me, gave me a tight hug, and whispered with haste, “Burdened Runner Glenn is due North, the coast. Plans have been made, so get on then. I love ya, Abe.”

  Before I could speak back to him, he was ripped from me. I should have wished to embrace him as our leader for a few moments more. He pointed to us, commanding us to go. I turned to the others, held out my arms. Somehow, they all understood to follow my lead.

  Those were the last living words I heard come from Chief Cyrus’ mouth. None of us looked back; we only heard the sound of him being strangled to death. It’s called receiving a ‘Xephian necktie’. I wept for him much later, when no one watched me. Those bastards… That’s all I can write about them-reader of my life.

  Our Exodus

  We walked for an hour, reaching the final hills before the ocean. Nightfall was coming soon. Me and other men of good build helped carry a few women that were pregnant, whenever we felt it was their turns to get off the walking ground. It was enough they had child inside them during this horrid time, but having to walk to the unknown with a bunch of farmers… That’s got to be a terrible pain in its own.

  My brothers about me, all my friends and acquaintances, we all left our childhoods behind in that village and the fields of our Goddess Midia. Many of us didn’t even have shoes on our feet for the trek out. We were caught surprised, and there were meager amount of drink between us for a long trip. Not many knew the directions, nor how to identify them. It was fortunate to leave altogether, though. For we had hunters in our pack!

  It sounds bad and it was, but the moment we came upon a group of antlered somethings, we put down our women faster than a bad habit. There was no need in hushing our voice, for we didn’t talk between each other most the time. It was all a much understood solemn time, silence did it well. The hunters of us crept forward for what seemed like thirty minutes. Only one of them had a bow, but they knew a certain way to go about the whole matter. What they’d do is, if the weapon-bearing hunter was spotted by the animal, the others would pop up to scare them back in his direction for better aim—a retry.

  Their tactics weren’t needed, in the end. The animal that lead hunter, Remi, shot fell within a few seconds after jumping in the air about four feet. His arrow hasn’t been chosen specific for hunting, so it ripped right through the meal’s neck. It’s family scattered, and it fell after a short time. I found myself emotional at first. The animals reminded me of our own situation— one dead and we scattered like antlered somethings. I remember it now, and before I ever understood things better, it reminds me now of my tears then. My nose burns as I write this for you. Don’t think me weak, just honoring my memory.

  With high-feelings behind, I do have to write that we feasted like those creatures who are constantly on the run. I wish we had cooked the meat longer, for it was not the truest of hunting seasons, and there were ticks between its skin and muscle. That didn’t stop us from making it into one of the greatest meals we’d had in a while. When you’re on the run and you’ve no idea if it’ll be your last morsel, you take to odd meals like a king’s feast.

  We spared no time afterwards. The entirety of us picked up and left our eating grounds with good pace and lighter hearts. I don’t think reality had hit us every bit of the way, but it was best to be lost in a fog of some sort while going through such trauma. I remember it being a damnedable trip for me. While I helped ripped the hide from that animal, my foot found a sharp stone that they’d used in lieu of a skinning-knife.

  “Shit!” I sneered out in the most quiet of curses possible. My cousin Drought attempted to wrap it as well as he knew, but he was no healer. What did he know of cleaning wounds but his own personal ones over time. His mother had been a doctor for us in the village until the last year. She got the cold in her bones and her lungs filled. She had went downhill pretty quick and wasn’t able to tell us how to make her awful smelling, be true-working poultices.

  I almost punched my cousin for it later, but it was the best he could do. Either way, we had to travel on. Eventually, we can upon a signature left by our Burdened Runner. It was a guide for us. We needed it dearly! Our hopes were starting to fade faster than the Sun’s light. Their tracks were left with purpose, the Runners. A swoop made by their feet making a semi-circle, made over and over and then a straight line. It was a fashioned arrow, pointing our next direction. He was a smart Runner too, he had left twenty or so of these marks for us over the distance of eighty or so feet.

  We followed that way until we saw our hills. Those hills had to be the the right ones. They all followed the coast, but some of the coasts weren’t the friendliest and some deadly. To the East, those hills would lead us to a pirate’s landing. Those women were the craziest things the Goddesses set upon the Land. To the West, if we had went to those hills, was a common area we’d heard tales of. Returned seemed to always mass there. A mixture of ghouls and Rat-men wondered the area. Both were pretty much mindless but that’s exactly what it takes to murder.

  Ghouls were these decaying creatures, a form you could return as if you had lived the downtrodden life. A temporary punishment from the Goddesses, but word is that you know who you are, you just can’t control yourself or hunger for man flesh. Disgusting and horrid! Imagine, living your days until death, again, and viewing it all through the eyes of this moving body you couldn’t guide. Strolling up on people in the wild and making your way to their skin. That’s enough to keep most of us in temple for the rest of our lives (I jest, we should all be in Temple. I just have had a hard time with it).

  The climb was no easy thing. I say hills, but they felt more like mountains. I’d argue today with the woman or man who decided the difference in mountain and hills. I’d strangle them if I could, put them through the trek we made. To me, those were damned hills! My foot didn’t help the situation either. Every step was like walking with a boot full of thorns.

  I’ll admit, I wasn’t the worst to fare. A boy in our village, around 12 moons, he collapsed from thirst. We had to carry him the rest of the way. Luckily he wasn’t a plump one, or else we’d barely make it with him alive. I hate to say such, but those were dire times and the women were more important than men or boys.

  Maybe the scariest part of our travel was when we stumbled upon a pack of hungry dogs. I’ve seen little packs in small crews of four to seven. However, this was a field pack. It were odd, seeing twenty or so. Some of us had moved apart from the others in the haze of our walk. The creepy things started slinking along the side of our hill. I guess I can’t say it was ‘our’ hill—those things were all over, dominating the whole of us!

  I motioned to the others to grab the small rocks around, and if need be, throw at the dogs. That was never needed, in the end. Before we had to make a strike, the dogs all stopped their skulking and peered offwards. The amazing part… A blur of a man darted by. I heard his feet, I couldn’t barely see him, and then I heard the smack. A dog let out a yelp and fell over dead. It took a moment for the sounds to reach us, as we were at a distance. Before we knew it, it happened again! The dogs didn’t know what to do! It was amazing! It was our Burdened Runner.

  Eventually, the dogs decided that they were being picked off, and they took off with some haste. We stood there in the shock of it all but finally gathered together, checking one another. We let out a victory yell, even though it weren’t ours to let out, we wanted it and we did it! It was some sort of weird victory that we wouldn’t let go. After a while of calming down, the Runner made his way around. He made sure the area was safe before coming to us.

  “Ye saved our ends, Runner.” I thank him.

  “Come on, Fellars! We’ve no time to waste in this moment!” His face contorted in fear, and he made no notion of agreeing with my merriment.

  It was time to go.

  Glittering Moon Tide

  We left nothing behind from our dog attack. Runner told us, “Grab them barkers. We’ll use’m for trade.” Grabbing them up wasn’t too hard or scary, but hefting those things downhill and across to the coming beaches? Damn, I remember it reminding me of my first days of real farm work. You know? The kind where ya have to rush and get that crop in before the rains hit! It were the first time I gained that blood-taste in my mouth in a long while.

 

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