Freeing Nivaka Read online

  Freeing Nivaka

  A Nivaka Chronicles Novella

  Leslie E. Heath

  Elizabeth City, NC

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover Design: matthillbookdesign.com

  Editors: Elizabeth Prybylski and Rory Cole

  Copy Editor: Elizabeth Prybylski

  Printed in the United States of America

  Copyright © 2018 Leslie E Heath

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781983032974

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my sisters, Rose, Marie, and Jamie. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me, even when the early drafts were more fitted to the wood pile than the read pile.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Acknowledgements

  1. Children

  2. Spying

  3. Repairs

  4. Trouble

  5. Practice

  6. Hearing

  7. Help

  8. Decisions

  9. Punishment

  10. Enough

  11. Celebration

  12. Waiting

  13. Delivery

  14. Rumors

  15. Time

  16. Announcement

  17. Coping

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Alija has spent all of his 22 years living in the treetops of the Tsari forest. Under the watchful eye of the governor and his guards, Alija learned to walk, talk, read, and finally, join his father in the carpentry trade. But, things are changing. Will Alija and his friends be able to restore the peace in their isolated village?

  It was only on the prompting of numerous people that I wrote this story. I had originally planned to keep this series only to the core novels, but many felt that Alija’s story needed telling. I’ve struggled with it, I won’t lie. That struggle has come partly because I feel I should be dedicating my time to finishing the Nivaka Chronicles, and partly because I don’t really know how to work a novella into an in-progress series. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this novella, and I hope you come to adore Alija’s gentle soul as much as I do.

  Acknowledgements

  I have to give huge thanks to my editors, Elizabeth Prybylski and Rory Cole. You both helped make this book so much better. I couldn’t have finished it without your help. I’m also eternaly indebted to my daughter, Amanda, for giving me an uninhibited opinion on what needed fixed and what worked. Finally, thank you to my best friend, Kristy, for all the times you’ve listened to me ramble on about plotlines and how to work this prequel into the rest of the series, even when you must have been bored stiff. And finally, I have to acknowledge my dog, Bear, who wiggled himself between me and the computer any time I got frustrated, upset, or into the suspenseful scenes. Thank you for keeping me safe from all the digital threats.

  1

  Children

  After a long and brutal winter, spring had finally melted away the ice and snow, revealing the damage to the treetop village Alija called home. Alija had spent the day working on the boardwalk repairs with the carpenters.

  Two heavy Shadow Tree branches had fallen on that corner of the village, damaging the boardwalk and one critical support beam. It took the entire team to repair and replace the damaged boards and make the walkway safe once more.

  As the sun sank lower in the trees, Alija and his father sat on a bench beneath a sprawling Shadow Tree and surveyed their progress.

  “Blam!” A child’s voice cut through the quiet, and Alija turned toward the sound.

  “Bam! Stab! I killed you; you’re dead!”

  A small boy fell to the walkway, clutching his chest and holding a stick under his arm. His twin brother stood over him, brown hair gleaming in the sun.

  Both children grinned, and the one on the ground jumped up. “My turn! This time you die!”

  Without hesitation, they resumed their sword fight with youthful energy, slamming their sticks into each other and shouting the way the local soldiers did in training bouts.

  Leaning back against the sun-warmed wooden bench, Alija smiled, enjoying their innocent banter and the cool breeze on his face. The children’s play distracted him from the chill of his sweat-drenched clothes. He glanced at his father and was about to comment on the children when two guards strolled around the corner. The shorter of the guards—Alija was sure his name was Bakko —dropped to one knee in front of the children, who had fallen silent and tucked their sticks behind their backs.

  “What are you doing?” The normally-gruff guard spoke with a higher pitch and a more soothing tone than Alija had ever heard from him.

  The child who had been on the ground moments before stepped up to the guard. “We were just playing.”

  The other boy tugged his brother’s sleeve and squinted up at the guards. “My mother says we have to stay away from you, that you’re not nice.”

  Bakko cocked his head and stared at the child, and Alija fought the urge to step between them. According to the governor’s rules, the guards weren’t supposed to interact with the villagers – especially the children.

  “Have I ever been mean to you? What are your names?”

  Alija bristled at the guard’s soothing tone, remembering the savage beatings the villagers often received from Bakko.

  The boys’ heads turned in unison as each looked to the other for an answer. “I don’t think so,” the lighter-haired boy answered. “But I know Mother doesn’t want us talking to you. I’m Akash, and he’s Kika.” He pointed to his twin.

  The second guard knelt beside his partner. “So, Akash, why wouldn’t she want you to talk to us? We’re here to protect you and keep you safe. Do you want to be a soldier when you grow up? I saw you play-fighting with your swords.”

  Alija shifted forward, ready to speak up when his father grabbed his arm. He caught his father’s glare and sank back onto the bench, though the scene unfolding turned his stomach.

  “I could teach you to be excellent soldiers,” the guard crooned. “We always need more strong men in our army.”

  Unable to sit still any longer, Alija stood and cleared his throat, drawing the guards’ attention.

  “Excuse me.” Already regretting his rash move, Alija struggled to find the words to dismiss the children without bringing the guards’ wrath down on himself. “I believe the boys should be on their way home now. It’s nearly time for their supper.”

  Without waiting to hear what the guard would say, the children dropped their pretend weapons and darted away, rushing around the corner.

  Bakko straightened, brushing the dust from his knees and glared at Alija. “You would do well to stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”

  “And you would do just as well to obey your commander’s rule about talking to the village children. Don’t you remember what happened the last time?” Alija’s legs tensed, ready to flee, but he quelled his fear and faced down the guards.

  “Is that a threat? Bakko, I think this *boy just threatened us.” The taller guard sneered at Alija, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

  “No, I—” Ajila said, but the tall guard slammed a fist into his gut, silencing him.

  He crumpled to his knees, gasping for breath, and Bakko knocked him to the
ground with a knee to his cheek.

  Bakko leaned close, his breath hot on Alija’s cheek. “If you say a word of this to anyone, I’ll end you.”

  Alija lay still as the guards strolled down the boardwalk, their raucous laughter echoing through the trees as they resumed their patrol.

  Once Bakko and his partner had rounded the corner, Alija’s father rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”

  Alija coughed, wiped his face on his sleeve, and pushed himself up to his knees. “I think so. No harm done.”

  “What were you thinking? You know better than to confront them like that!”

  Shaking his head, Alija braced himself on the rail and stood. “I know. I just couldn’t sit by while they tried to recruit the twins. They’re too little to know better! Besides, the last thing we need is another revolt.”

  His father sighed and pressed a hand to Alija’s shoulder. “When you were an infant, children could run and play in this village without worrying about soldiers or guards. Hopefully, they’ll be able to again someday.”

  “That’ll only happen if we somehow get rid of Tavan. He calls himself a governor, but he can’t even keep control of his own men,” Alija said, keeping his voice low enough to avoid being overheard.

  “Well, maybe he’ll find whatever he’s looking for and leave us in peace.”

  Alija laughed bitterly. “Right. That, or maybe someone will finally get fed up and find a way to get rid of him.”

  His father nodded, and the conversation died. “If you’re sure you’re all right, I need to go check on the repairs at the east entrance.” Alija wiped the blood away from his aching lip and stared out into the forest. He forced a smile. “I’m sure. I’m gonna go find Dalan. I’ll see you at dinner.” With a wave to his father, he took off at a trot.

  Alija hurried down the boardwalk until he reached the first intersection. He slowed to a walk, cradling his midsection. The afternoon’s work on the boardwalk had left his legs weak and sore, and he couldn’t maintain the pace any longer. As he walked, he considered where he might find his friend.

  Dalan had been teaching himself to carve, but he’d kept his efforts hidden from his family because his little sister was so much better at it. Alija shook his head and smiled, ignoring the pain in his split lip.

  Art required instruction, he knew, but he supported Dalan even though his friend refused every offer of help. He’d brought several blocks of scrap wood to Dalan over the past weeks, so the budding artist had plenty to work with. He’d probably be hiding in the courtyard behind the old chancellor’s house. That house, along with most of the others on the Square at the center of town, had been abandoned since Tavan’s invasion twenty years before, so it made an ideal hiding place.

  Picking his way around the dilapidated building, Alija moved toward the open courtyard. Glancing into the dusty windows as he passed, he wondered what life had been like under that old government, before Tavan had invaded the village.

  He held aside a curtain of ivy and stepped through into the little clearing behind the old mansion. There, sitting on a bench in the afternoon sun, Dalan sat carving pieces off a block of wood, his white hair shining in the afternoon sun.

  Alija cleared his throat as he stepped over a fallen branch, and Dalan looked up from his work. “Oh. Hi, Alija. Did you finish the repairs? How’d it go?” He frowned. “What happened to you? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right. We finished the repairs on the southwest corner, but I caught Tavan’s guards trying to recruit children again.”

  Alija dropped onto the bench beside Dalan, eyeing the shapeless lump of wood in Dalan’s hand. “I spoke up when I saw that short one, Bakko, trying to talk the twins into joining Helak’s army. He didn’t like being interrupted.” He pressed a hand to his lip, which had started bleeding again.

  “We should probably tell my father about this,” Dalan said.

  “I don’t know. Bakko made it pretty clear he didn’t want me to tell anyone.”

  Dalan pocketed his carving and stood. “I’d expect so. He doesn’t want to get in trouble. Still, my father needs to know if they’re getting this bold.”

  Alija nodded but said nothing. Dalan’s father was the village religious leader, or Gadonu, and the only leader that Tavan’s men hadn’t murdered when they’d invaded Nivaka all those years ago.

  “He probably has something to help your lip, too.”

  With a smile, Alija stood and waved for Dalan to lead the way out of the courtyard.

  “Oh, before I forget…” Alija stopped and pulled two chunks of scrap wood out of his pockets and handed them to Dalan. “I saved these for you.”

  “Thanks!”

  Tucking the palm-sized blocks into his pocket, Dalan stepped through the ivy curtain and out onto the boardwalk. He lived on the other side of the Square, three hundred paces or so from where they emerged, and Alija followed his friend into the house. Dalan waved to the housekeeper but continued on past the den full of colorful, over-stuffed furniture, and down a long hall.

  “He’ll probably be out back,” Dalan said.

  Pain throbbed in Alija’s gut. He struggled to keep up with his friend’s pace but refused to complain. These were the realities of life under Tavan’s rule: if a villager disrespected the guards, retribution came swiftly. Only the worst offenses warranted a hearing before the governor.

  They stepped through another door and out into the bright sun illuminating a broad wooden circle hidden behind the healer’s home. Alija stared out beyond the chest-high rail into the sun-dappled forest that supported their village. In the Gadonu’s private courtyard, Dalan’s father sat, his eyes closed and face tilted up to the sky. Sunlight glinted off his graying chestnut hair and silver beard. His broad shoulders cast a long shadow over the wooden planks.

  Alija hesitated, but Dalan walked to his father and plopped onto the wooden floor beside the much-larger man. Alija stifled a grin. Dalan’s head didn’t reach his father’s shoulder, though he had just celebrated his twenty-second year. He and his sister had both gotten their mother’s tiny stature and stark white hair.

  With a sigh, Alija settled onto the bench near the other men. Valasa opened his eyes and smiled at his son, then met Alija’s gaze. The smile vanished. “What happened?” Valasa asked, taking in Alija’s bloodied lip and bruised face.

  “I overheard some of the guards talking to a couple of children, trying to talk them into joining Tavan’s army, and I said something. They let me know what they thought of my interference.”

  “Father, we’ll have another revolt if they go back to recruiting the children,” Dalan said, sadness in his voice. “They killed so many the last time. We can’t let it happen again. We have to do something.”

  Alija grunted, sending a shock of pain through his gut. “What can we do? Look what happens when we try.” He gestured to his face.

  Valasa’s brow wrinkled, and he stood. “Come inside. I have a salve for that bruise. We can discuss this further in my study.”

  With a groan, Alija pushed himself off the bench. Pain shot through his belly at the movement. He froze, waiting for his breath to return.

  Before he could take a step forward, a branch snapped overhead, and a scream rent the air.

  2

  Spying

  The warmth of the afternoon sun warmed Ahren’s face, and she stretched out on the sturdy branch. A spring breeze blew her long hair about her face. Grinning, she forced it back down and repositioned herself with her back to the trunk of the enormous Shadow Tree.

  Ever since she’d been big enough to climb, she’d loved to spend her days in the trees above the village, though her parents and other adults had scolded for it more than once. Her parents accused her of using the high-up perches to spy on villagers, but she hadn’t done that in years.

  Ahren propped her feet up on the branch, stretching her legs. She’d have to go inside before long. Several hours had passed while she’d lounged on the thick branches,
enjoying the fresh scents and sounds of spring. She’d climbed up in the late morning, fallen asleep on her favorite branch, and slept so long she’d missed the noon meal. Her stomach grumbled, but she hesitated. If her father caught her climbing again, he’d be angry, but she needed food and to attend to other, more pressing needs.

  Before she could decide whether to climb down and announce herself or move through the trees to the front of the house, the click of the door latch echoed through the space.

  Her brother, Dalan, strode into the courtyard and sat beside their father, who had spent much of the afternoon meditating.

  Great, Ahren thought. Now I really have to get out of here or I’ll be accused of spying again.

  She crawled forward, toward the house, but a movement by the door caught her eye and she paused. Alija’s golden hair blew in the breeze, revealing a deep purple bruise across his cheek and a streak of blood on his chin.

  Stifling a gasp, she crouched lower on the branch, straining to see the rest of him. Bloodstains marked the front of his brown carpenter’s shirt, and he hugged his stomach with one arm when he eased himself onto a bench.

  She needed to get inside, but the men were talking, saying something about Tavan’s guards. She glanced toward the house, only a few paces away if she had been on the boardwalk, and toward the men below, torn.

  They’ll never know, she rationalized. I just need to get a little closer.

  Ignoring her body’s complaints, she stood and leapt across a gap in the branches, catching the next branch with her bare feet and keeping herself upright. She grinned. She could hear the men better from there. A breeze ruffled her hair again, and it tangled in the twigs by her head. Frowning, she worked to free it, trying not to make a sound. When she had disentangled herself, she moved to her right, where a gap in the branches ensured she could see and hear what happened below.