The
Kingdom
by
Guy S. Stanton, III
Words of Action
Copyright © 2014 by Guy S. Stanton, III.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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The Kingdom / Guy S. Stanton, III. – Second Edition.
Available Books
The Warrior Kind Series
Book 1: A Warrior’s Redemption
Book 2: A Warrior’s Journey
Book 3: A Warrior’s Legacy
Book 4: A Warrior’s Return
Book 5: A Warrior’s Revenge
The Agents for Good Series
Book 1: Agent with a History
Book 2: Agent for a Cause
Book 3: Agent out of Time
Book 4: Agent in the Dark
Book 5: Agent on the Run
Book 6: Agent finds a Warrior
Water Wars Series
Book 1: Journey into the Deep
Book 2: The Proverbial War
Book 3: Title not yet announced, Coming 2015
The Wind Drifter Series
Book 1: Fire Wind
Book 2: Ice Wind, Coming 2015
Book 3: Hard Wind, Coming 2015
Book 4: Rift Wind, Coming 2015
Book 5: Drift Wind, Coming 2015
Non-series Books
The Kingdom
Dedication
This book is dedicated to an unknown author,
who approximately 1500 years ago wrote a
declaration of his/her Christian faith on the
back of a grain tax receipt made out of papyrus.
The relic of antiquity I reference is referred to as
The Last Supper Papyrus
Dr. Roberta Mazza of the John Rylands Research Institute recently rediscovered the relic
and dated it as 6th century Egypt
– Below is what the unknown author has to say
“ʻFear you all who rule over the earth.
Know you nations and peoples that Christ is our God.
For he spoke and they came to being, he commanded and they were created; he put everything under our feet and delivered us from the wish of our enemies.
Our God prepared a sacred table in the desert for the people and gave manna of the new covenant to eat, the Lord’s immortal body and the blood of Christ poured for us in remission of sins.’”
The Kingdom Map
Chapter One
Journey Begun
I cleared the last rise before I reached the home place. As a home it wasn’t much, but it was all I had. There wasn’t much to be proud of, but the land was suitable enough for farming and most years we didn’t starve in the winters.
That was more than could be said for many within the Kingdom of Smirnaz. Like my home, the kingdom I lived in wasn’t much to speak of either. In a way, it was only hanging on by a thread. Without the outside intervention from the other six kingdoms of the Kingdomer faith, Smirnaz would have long since fallen prey to the Nicationer Nations, of which there were many.
While the faith of the seven Kingdomer Nations was unified in the belief of the one God, El Elyon, the beliefs of the Nicationer Nations were as wide-ranging as the stars in the celestial heavens. Some worshiped gods of stone and wood, while others practiced the dark arts of the fallen Malachim.
The Nicationer Nations hated those of the seven kingdoms down to the last woman, man, and child. Most of all they hated us for our belief in El Elyon. Their name for Him was the Awful Judge and their hatred spanned back to the time before, when El Elyon had destroyed the world the first time because of unrighteousness and corruption.
I found it hard to relate to it all as I was just a simple farm boy. I wished things would get better, but wishes had never really gotten me far in life. After all, I was still here on this miserable patch of land that gave birth to more rocks than potatoes.
I crested the rise that overlooked the farmhouse and stopped abruptly. White-hot, seething anger coursed through me to the point that my vision became blurred.
There was a horse tied up outside the house. I knew the horse and I knew what its rider was up to.
The pails full of berries dropped to the ground as I took off down the slope in a pace eating run fueled by my anger. I reached the barnyard and noticed the man, who called himself my father, wiping at a bloody lip as he stood in an aura of shame just within the boundaries of the barn.
He saw me and quickly moved away into the darker recesses of the barn. I felt my level of anger burn hotter at the visible evidence of his cowardice.
I did then what I had done many times before. I rushed headlong into the house and grabbed hold of the man who was busy raping my mother on the floor.
It never ended well for me, as I always lost, but today felt different. It had been six months since the last visitors and then there had been two of them. I hadn’t stood a chance and it had been a near thing that I had even survived. As it was I had been unable to walk for a month and my broken ribs had made my ordeal last well into the winter.
I didn’t care about the beating I would receive though. What was happening was wrong and, Creator help me, I’d never stop fighting out against it!
In the here and now though I relished the feel of bludgeoning in the face of the man I straddled on the floor. With every strike of my fist and corresponding splatter of blood I felt a small retribution of revenge for all the times before, when it had been me being hit and kicked about on the floor.
The men who came to visit my mother almost got as much satisfaction out of beating me up as they did from playing around with my mother. That thought spurred me on to greater depths of hatred and I grasped the man’s head and smashed it backward against the floor repeatedly.
Dimly, through the blood wrath that clouded my mind, I heard my name being called and the feel of someone tugging at my shoulder.
“Rollan! Rollan stop!”
Numbly, I lifted my head to meet my mother’s eyes. She was down on her knees beside me. At her urging I let go of the man, who lay still on the floor beneath me.
Her face bound up with worry, my mother began feeling at the man’s throat, in search of a pulse. She brought her hand, now wet with the man’s blood, away from his throat with a shocked gasp, “You killed him!”
I should feel something at that knowledge, but so help me I didn’t. In fact I felt completely empty of caring about anything.
One thing I did know, though, was that I was glad this man was dead. He deserved to die. All of his kind did.
I heard a noise at the door behind me and then my father’s voice screeched out, “What have you done, boy?”
Bitterly I spoke into the silence that followed, “What you should have done years ago!”
I started to turn to face whatever abuse he might d
eal out, but I wasn’t prepared for the sudden jerk on my shirt by my mother or her deafening screams into my face, “You fool! Look at what you’ve done! You’ve messed up everything! Now they’ll kill all of us!”
“What?” I asked dumbly.
My father seized me from behind and dragged me back across the floor with more effort than he’d ever shown in any protective effort on behalf of my mother. I halfheartedly thought about resisting, but I was too lost in coming to grips with the situation that was unfolding.
My father heaved me off to one side and I tumbled off the porch into the dust near the hitching rail. I sat up in the dust to see my mother and father standing on the porch, staring with nervous anxiety at each other.
Slowly, as if asking a dumb question or one that I couldn’t believe the need of even asking, I asked, “You’re mad at me for keeping you from being raped by that man, mother?”
My mother turned on me and with surprising harshness said, “How do you think we’ve survived out here on the border Rollan? Open your eyes boy! The visits by the surrounding Nicationers are all that’s kept us from going under out here on the borderlands. But now, because of your foolish stunt, they’ll come and burn this place down around us!”
I blinked repeatedly as I felt my whole world begin to collapse in on itself. Feeling far too much emotion leak out into my voice I managed to choke out, “All these times that I’ve come to defend you…… save you…… it was all just acting out a part?”
I watched my mother’s eyes dart off to the side as she said, “They paid more for the double experience. They liked beating you up almost as much as they liked having me.”
I felt bile rise in my throat at the reality of the lies I had been living under and suffering from.
My eyes turned to my father, “And you were in on all this too?”
My father gestured around broadly, “Look around boy! Do you think we could have made a go of it with this crummy place? It wouldn’t matter how much effort we made or how much good weather that we could ever have, we’d still not make a success of this place. If it hadn’t been for your mother doing what she has, we would have starved long since or been killed by the border raiders!”
“What are we going to do Ralin?” My mother asked, breaking into the conversation anxiously.
My father looked past her to the Nicationer’s horse and then back to me still sitting in the dust. “This is what we’ll do Ezney. I’ll haul off the dead Nicationer, while you get busy scrubbing up the blood. As for you boy, you get on that horse and ride out of here and never come back or, so help me, I’ll kill yah!” To underscore his words he picked up an axe from beside the door and brandished it at me threateningly.
I wasn’t scared of him and, like a glutton for punishment, I made my way up to my feet and asked my mother, “Don’t you love me?”
She shrugged, “It’s not really a question of whether I love you or not, it’s about survival. It was good while you were here, but now you need to leave, as your father says.”
“I ain’t his father!”
“What?” I stammered out, as my eyes went first to my father and then to my mother.
She shrugged expressively, the torn dress falling off one shoulder with the action, “Why do you think I named you Rollan?”
The last part of this nightmarish puzzle clicked into place. I was the bastard child of one of my mother's visitors!
My mother went on talking, as if she has no clue as to how utterly she had just crushed my world into broken jagged pieces of useless flotsam now set adrift upon an unknown sea. “He only visited once, but he left his mark with you. You take after him a lot with your looks. He was from the Nicationer kingdom of Rollanic so that’s what I called you. Now, don’t think I’m cruel for naming you so, but naming you after one of the Nicationer Nations helped me to separate from you and keep our relationship within the proper light. You may be my son, but you’re also a half breed and thus not of the pure blood lineage of the seven Kingdomer Nations like Ralin and I are.”
I needed no further urging to leave. My feet made their way backward from the porch of the house to the horse of the man I had killed. Fumbling, my fingers managed to slip the reins of the horse free of the hitching post and then I swung up onto the saddle.
I quickly turned the horse away from the place of my upbringing and dug my heels into its side as I urged him to carry me away, even as the wind consumed the tears from my face.
*****
I stopped the horse and leaned forward in the saddle, breathing almost as hard as the horse. I’d stopped on a rise overlooking the barren hills that lay before me. It was said that this had once been good grazing land, but no more. The endless droughts and sandstorms coming in off the wastelands to the east had seen to that.
I’d never seen the land looking lush and green, but then I was only fifteen. There were men well over a hundred who’d never seen these hills look as it had been fabled that they once had.
All that was lost on me right now though. What was I going to do?
I’d never been farther from the home place than the nearby settlements and once to the capital of Smirnaz. I knew that a far larger world lay out there than this small neglected backwater of a place, but where to go?
To the west and south lay the other six Kingdomer Nations. All around them were the nations of the Nicationers.
I was half Nicationer. Was that such a bad thing? Was I somehow cursed through no fault of my own because of who my father had been?
I refused to believe such a thing. But what I believed would matter nothing to the greater world of the other Kingdomer Nations if they all looked upon me as nothing more than a lowly halfbreed. Did they all, like my mother, believe that their Kingdomer blood was of higher value than mine?
I didn’t really feel that I fit in with such people. If the soul of my existence was to consist of being looked down upon as something of lesser value then I wanted no part of a life spent with the people of my mother’s lineage.
What options did that leave me? Did I go and settle in the surrounding lands of the Nicationers and become as they were, not bound by any Kingdomer principles of faith in the one true God, El Elyon, in whom I had firmly believed since early childhood?
There were other issues with the Nicationer nations that I wanted no part of. My love for my mother may have grown cold within the last few hours of time, but I could not condone the way the Nicationers subjugated their women into the status of being a slave, with no respect given to them.
My mother was not a good woman, but that did not free me to join the ranks of my father’s people in their abuse of their women. It was not so in the Kingdomer Nations, but as I’d already realized there were other problems to be had with that route.
On the other hand, if the oppression of women wasn’t enough to consider not settling in the lands of the Nicationers, their heathen practices of sacrificing their own children to their false gods was. I had no respect for people who would do such things.
Something occurred to me then, which brightened my mood considerably. Here I was, contemplating the merits and fallacies of the two divergent people groups of my world, and I was finding myself to have quite a moral framework of thought for one of such mixed birth as I. Perhaps I wasn’t so cursed after all.
Did El Elyon care whether I was part Nicationer or not? I wasn’t sure, but until I knew it would be best to assume that He would be willing to overlook the matter of my mixed heritage. If He didn’t, I truly would be alone in the world. As it was, I still had my faith and this horse, which wasn’t such a bad animal, even if it was of Nicationer birth or perhaps it had been stolen from a Kingdomer on one of the many raids by the surrounding nations into the Kingdom of Smirnaz.
I looked off to the East. There, across the bordering Nicationer Nation of Roba and the great Masag River, were the Wastelands. The Wastelands were the location of the original kingdom of all Ayenathurim, the world on which I lived. That kingdom had been
from the time before, but it was long since gone now.
It was said that those of the old kingdom had been unable to keep the precepts of El Elyon. Not only had they not kept the holy commandments, but they had fallen into doing the perversities of all the lesser nations of Ayenathurim.
There had reached a time when El Elyon had become so wrathful at their disobedience that He had driven them out from the good land beyond the river, which He had then turned into a wilderness of sand and hidden dangers.
Over time the wilderness of the Wastelands had become a dwelling place for monsters and every mad beast, whether of human or animal origin. The Yesathurim, El Elyon’s chosen people of the old kingdom, were driven out into the rest of the world for their rejection of El Elyon’s covenant. Scattered, they now roamed over all the kingdoms of Ayenathurim, with no place to call their own.
With the fall of the old kingdom El Elyon had ushered in a new covenant, which only a few of the Yesathurim accepted. The new covenant had not been one limited to just the Yesathurim as the old covenant had been. Out of this new covenant the seven Kingdomer Nations had been born.
There had been dreams on the part of the early Kingdomer’s to reconcile the Yesathurim into the new covenant, but those dreams of oneness with the Creator had dimmed over the years to the point that few still held out hope of it ever occurring. In many regards the opposite had occurred. The Yesathurim were looked down upon and scorned by both Kingdomer and Nicationer alike to the point that they were considered not worthy of life.
I wasn’t sure why, but I headed my horse down off the hill in the direction of the neighboring country of Roba. I would make my way through it and then I would go into the Wastelands of the old kingdom. There I would not be looked down upon for my birth, for to the monsters I would look as tasty a treat as either unbeliever or Kingdomer alike.
It was both risky and crazy to contemplate heading in such a direction, but at least I would be free and maybe I would survive. Survive to do what, I wasn’t sure, but something was urging me on towards the Wastelands in the distance and I bowed to its insistence, even as my youthful urges to discover and experience thrilling danger aided in the decision.
*****
Add becoming a thief to the list of crimes I had begun to accumulate in greater volume in my life. First, I had been nothing but a humble farming boy, who then turned murderer and now I was stealing food. I didn’t know if I could hope to have the God of Shamayim honor any mission of mine, for what I was exhibiting, to my chagrin, was the actions of an unbeliever.