The riders bane, p.1
The Rider's Bane, page 1
Contents
The Rider’s Bane
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
Epilogue
About the Author
This novel is dedicated to you, The Reader.
Your life matters
Thank you to my friends, family, and Marines who’ve supported me unconditionally throughout this process.
Thank you to Jeanne Marie Leach at Novel Improvement Editorial Services for being a phenomenal writing coach and making this work come to life.
Thank you to Sally Hanan at Inksnatcher in Austin, TX for your enthusiasm in helping a young, first-time writer. I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction into the writing community.
A very special thanks to some of my greatest friends, Dr. Joe Johnstone & Marine Corps Captain Austin “Indy” Quintero, for pioneering the early versions of this novel. I’ll remember you both in therapy.
Silent Stag Publishers
Copyright © 2023 Anthony Jacob Acebo
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 979-8-9877266-0-0 (e-book)
ISBN-13: 979-8-9877266-1-7 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 979-8-9877266-2-4 (hardcover)
Cover design & graphics by: Julia Anderson at Milk & Honey Digital
Library of Congress Control Number: TXu002352579
Printed in the United States of America
The Rider’s Bane
Jacob Acebo
Book One
PROLOGUE
The old man walked slowly to the center of the village square and slouched onto the worn-down stump. The unfamiliar faces of travelers from the surrounding villages gathered around him, ready to hear the famous old man’s final tale. The night was as cool and crisp as it had always been in the springtime, and the bright moon above cast shadows across the plain and simple village. The torchlight from the old man’s audience danced across his weathered and tired face.
“This tale may be familiar to many of you,” the old man muttered with a slow and raspy voice.
The crowd leaned in closer.
“I promise you that tonight it is not.”
The old man let out a long sigh. “Death … is a Rider. He comes as a horseman from the abyss of the Hallowed Woods.” He lifted his hand and signaled to the immense tree line behind him. “Nightmarish black as the pitch of night are he and his mare. A sturdy mount, fast and heavy in ghastly black armor. Born of the shadow from the world beyond. Atop sits the only master the beast has ever known. This is no ordinary man. Double the size of any I have ever known, even now, including those of you who stand before me. I speak of The Rider …” His voice trailed off upon speaking the name.
The old man cleared his throat.
The crowd pushed in ever closer.
“I have seen The Rider many times before. He is always peaceful to those who respect his call. For generations, his letter would appear to those due to meet death at the Hallowed Woods, precisely at midnight on the day foretold. If the traveler meets him willingly, he guides them through the Hallowed Woods and into the land beyond death.” The old man clenched his fists tightly. “But this is not the tale I tell before you today. No. If this traveler were to ignore his call, The Rider would strike him down! Cold and merciless for refusing such a gift as his.”
The audience watched the old man muster his strength.
“The Rider brought peace to our land. No war. No murder. Only the promise of a peaceful death. As you know, it is forbidden to step foot in the Hallowed Woods without The Rider, for the Woods do not take kindly to outsiders. No one is allowed to enter. No one.”
CHAPTER 1
The Men
The cool springtime breeze blew gently through the tall trees where the young men waited. The high canopy blocked out the early morning sun, though bright hues of orange and yellow illuminated the forest enough to finally reveal their positions.
Argo leaned his back on the tree limb and slowly whittled his arrowhead into a fine point, careful not to disturb the stillness of the forest. He dragged his finger across the tip and watched as it almost punctured his skin, then slid the arrow back into the quiver lying at his side. As he readjusted his position, the tree’s tough bark grazed painfully against his skin.
He peered across the dimly lit ambush sight and then up to Abaddon, who was sitting still as a stone on his tree limb. His bow lay delicately across his lap as he scanned the horizon for any sign of the beast. As he searched, he slowly turned his hunting knife in his hands. He was a large and formidable young man, even at the age of eighteen, and by far the most well built out of their group. His eyes carried the sharp and calculated gaze of a tactician which became even more apparent at times like this, in the midst of one of his carefully drawn-out plans. Though he and Argo had organized this hunt, Abaddon had taken it upon himself to be the assumed leader of the group, offering orders in the form of suggestions. His gaze shot toward Argo, as if he felt his stare. The two gave one another a subtle nod.
Castor, so skilled in archery he’d been assigned to initiate the ambush, sat on the limb beside Abaddon. Although the same age as the others, his hawkish face and boyish appearance gave him a deceptive innocence. His bow was already knocked with an arrow, and he quietly plucked his bowstring with his fingers as he waited. In all the years of their unique friendship, Argo had heard him say only a handful of words. Now he heedfully watched the forest along with Abaddon, though his attention continued to revert to Abaddon for guidance.
Argo turned behind him to check on Wander, his black and brown herding dog sitting far outside the ambush site. He could barely see her high-pointed ears poking over the large root he’d commanded her to lie behind. He raised his hand and showed her his empty palm, signaling for her to stay in place. The two of them had hunted over countless years together and had come to work seamlessly as a team. Her ears perked up at the command, then she raised her nose in the air and sniffed wildly at a new scent.
Argo searched through the high trees to see what she was picking up, but he could only smell the musty moss and dew-soaked leaves.
He turned to the limb next to him, where the last member of their group waited. Emeric, pudgy and weak, slouched lazily against the thick tree trunk. The tree limb he lay across bent and swayed under him. In his hands, he held a small block of white cheese wrapped up in a worn cloth, from which he was quietly nibbling away.
The strong and pungent scent invaded Argo’s senses. He snapped to attention and hit his friend on the shoulder, signaling for him to hand over the cheese.
Emeric reluctantly passed it to him. Argo tossed it, cloth and all, into the ambush site. It landed with a thud among the fermented corn and grain the young men had lain out earlier that morning. Abaddon watched from across the site and shot Argo a look of disappointment, shaking his head in annoyed disbelief.
Argo flushed red and sank with embarrassment. For over two weeks, he and Abaddon had argued whether to bring Emeric. He was fatter and sloppier than any in their group. His family had a good number of livestock and never needed extra meat, meaning he had little to no experience hunting. Nevertheless, Argo argued that they needed the extra bow, and he wouldn’t be an issue as long as he could shoot sitting from a limb, which was easy enough. Now Argo was beginning to doubt his decision. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for pushing the idea so hard. If anything happened to Emeric, he would be responsible.
Argo braced himself on his limb and leaned in close to Emeric. “We went over this. No food. Can’t have any unnatural scent,” he told him in a low whisper. “Abaddon and I have been tracking this great boar for over two weeks now. You said you wanted a chance to come, and I vouched for you.”
Emeric tightened his lips and nodded shamefully in agreement. He repositioned himself to straighten out his posture, then grabbed his bow and rested it in his lap like the others.
Argo raised his hand to shield his eyes from the first rays of morning sunlight breaking through the forest canopy. Far beneath them, a beautiful array of colors illuminated the mossy and root-laden ground. The trees were tall and slender and blooming with the vibrant green of a fresh spring season. A quiet stillness lay between the group of friends, which under m
Argo looked at his friends with concern. He and Abaddon were experienced hunters and could hold their own. Castor, though quiet, could be relied upon to hold a steady shot and react professionally to most situations. Emeric, however, was untested and could jeopardize the whole operation. Their village had already expressed their disapproval for the hunt, saying it was too dangerous and wasteful of a Rider’s gift. If something went wrong, it would surely mean the end of great boar hunts. They would rather have the young men safely hunt rabbits or squirrels than a beast who could fight back. As they waited, Argo thought through the considerations—
The foul smell of Emeric’s cheese was replaced by a pungent odor caught in the breeze. He winced at it, recognizing the smell. Emerging through the distant trees came the great boar, even larger than he remembered. The beast caught the scent of the cheese and fermented corn and grunted loudly as he searched it out.
Argo signaled to Abaddon, who’d already been watching the beast, then slowly leaned back to Emeric again and patted him on the shoulder, pointing in the boar’s direction. Emeric jolted upright at the sight and clumsily readied his bow.
The young men remained fixed on the beast as it lumbered straight to the bait. His thick snout dug relentlessly through the dirt, and he tore up the soil with tusks the size of human arms, grunting and snorting loudly as he ate. The long-awaited moment had come, and the young men carefully drew their bows to a full draw.
Emeric’s hands shook wildly as he held the animal in his sights. Even Argo felt his fingers begin to sweat from his firm hold. The tight bow string dug deeply into his fingers under the tension. They watched until the great boar seemed comfortably indulged in his meal, then Abaddon gave a subtle nod.
Castor made a knocking sound with his mouth. The boar looked up, exposing the prime target area of his chest. Without hesitation, Castor released his arrow, which struck powerfully into the chest of the beast. Suddenly, three more arrows whistled through the air and thudded loudly into the lungs and shoulders of the boar, who wailed an ear-shattering cry and bucked wildly into the air. The ground shook violently like an earthquake when he landed.
The branch holding Emeric broke from the tree with a tremendous crack and sent him crashing to the forest floor. His large, thick body hit the ground aggressively, drawing the attention of their prey. The beast kicked once more into the air and thrashed his head angrily.
Argo’s tree limb shook from the beast bucking. He braced himself in case his branch broke too.
Emeric held his leg with one arm and clawed desperately with the other for his bow laying a distance from him—then cried out as the boar charged toward him.
Argo dropped from his branch and held onto it, then jumped to the forest floor. The impact stung his heels and buckled his knees, sending him flat to the ground.
The boar grunted loudly and barreled toward Emeric.
Scrambling to get up, Argo quickly knocked another arrow and struck the beast behind the front shoulder mid-stride.
The boar tumbled loudly and broke off several of the arrows in the process, leaving the tips still buried in his side.
“Wander!” Argo cried to his dog.
Wander sprang instantly, with an unimaginable speed from her position outside the ambush, directly toward the beast’s hind legs. Throwing herself recklessly at the great boar, she sank her teeth into his shin, then thrashed furiously and pulled backward with all her weight to hold the great creature in place.
The young men shot more arrows that sank sharply into the boar’s chest like a pin cushion. The beast cried out again, tossing and turning destructively in revolt of his attackers. Wander desperately held on, but with a swift kick, the beast threw her off. She flew through the forest and rolled across the large roots.
The beast regained himself and sighted Argo, who for a moment froze in terror. The great boar lowered his head and charged.
Argo’s hands shook as he let loose another arrow which missed entirely.
Emeric screamed in pain.
The wild animal paid no attention.
Argo desperately ran in the opposite direction from Emeric and took cover behind a nearby tree. He drew the small blade from his waistband and readied himself as the beast raced toward him. “Shoot him!” he cried loudly to his friends.
Above him, Abaddon and Castor loosed two more arrows that struck the beast’s neck and upper spine dropping the animal dead in its tracks. The suddenly lifeless mass slid across the forest floor and slammed into the tree shielding Argo.
Silence fell over them.
Staying behind the tree, Argo drew his bow again and fixed it on the beast. His chest rose laboriously and then it stopped. No one dared move until they were sure he wouldn’t spring back to life. Wander cautiously approached the great boar and ran her nose around him. Then she ran happily to Argo, who lowered his bow and embraced her. Her tail wagged as she greeted him, and then she ran back and studied the foe.
Argo ran over to Emeric, who sat grasping his leg tightly.
Abaddon and Castor climbed down from their tree and met up with them.
Emeric lifted his hands and stared at the hole in his thigh, wanting to scream again. A small stump from the downed tree limb had stabbed Emeric’s thigh when he fell, and the wound was now leaking steadily with dark, crimson blood.
Argo did his best to calm him down. He moved his friend’s hands and placed his own over the wound. Fortunately, he’d seen accidents before, and he knew he needed to stop the bleeding. The dark, warm blood seeped through his fingers.
Abaddon took off his cloak and gave it to Argo. “Here, use this,” he said strongly. Argo pressed it against the wound, and the blue cloak soaked into a dark purple. The wound was deep, but not deep enough to be fatal. However, they were concerned about the possibility of infection setting in. They’d known villagers of the past who received an early letter from The Rider from similar infections.
When the bleeding slowed down, they carefully pulled the cloak away. The dried blood crusted around the wound and stuck to the fabric.
“You’ll be fine,” Argo reassured him. “The bleeding stopped.” He patted one hand on his back.
Abaddon tied the cloak tightly around the wound and got Emeric back on his feet. They carried him closer to the great boar and set him back down against a tree nearby. The young men gathered around and studied the massive beast, who smelled of sweaty dirt and waste. Trails of dried blood formed around the arrows pinned in his hide. The dark and dirty fur was still warm to the touch.
In times after a hunt, Argo’s hands uncontrollably shook from the excitement, as if the shock of it all were catching up to him at once. He felt relief, but when he thought of jumping down to the boar’s level and placing himself in danger, he also felt something else, a euphoric thrill he’d never felt before in his life.
The young men set to cleaning the kill. They struggled to pull the great boar away from the tree and remove the numerous arrows in his side. Despite the task, Argo couldn’t lose his thoughts about how bravery such as his act today was rare, particularly since The Rider had begun leading the dead to the afterlife. Without a doubt, the village would be upset if they heard about it.
Any tales of bravery were from a time long before Argo’s generation. Those stories were of only one hero, The Great Hero Adonillis, an ancient warrior of a thousand battles. In the stories, he stood taller than any man and rode a great and powerful horse that came to his aid at the blow of a whistle, no matter the distance. Arrows bounced off his armor, and he could dodge any spear or swinging sword. He always won. He never lost. He was, in fact, the only hero in any tale.”
Emeric sat by himself against the tree and rubbed his hands over his wound. He winced and breathed loudly at the pain.
The young men didn’t speak a word. They pulled back the hide of the great boar, and Abaddon glided his knife across the membrane holding it to the meat. It cut smooth and effortlessly through the soft tissue. “How’s your leg doing, Emeric?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
