Zietsch The Woodzee Chronicles: Book 1 - Demon Blood

1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-3-946773-37-5
Verlag: Fabylon
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 450 Seiten

Reihe: Woodzee Chronicles

"A great fantasy adventure that is impossible to resist after the first few pages." Lies-und-lausch

"More legends, heroism and epicness you will rarely find." Mediamania

The great epic about young knight Rowarn and his battle companions.
Centuries ago, a magical artifact shattered into seven pieces during a murderous war. Only the Two-Splitted, it is said, can heal the Tabernacle - but no one knows what will happen.
Who might it be? Will he use the powers for good or for bad?

Twenty-year-old Rowarn grew up in the isolated valley of Inniu with foster parents, the centaur-like Velerii. Events come to a head when Rowarn's tranquil world is shaken by the gruesome murders of young girls - and when a band of knights appears from a land beyond the mountains, ready to enlist recruits to fight for the Tabernacle.
Rowarn's first test is to solve the girl's murders. It looks like he's involved because of his past. And in doing so, he drives himself into the story.
Out of a thirst for revenge, he will eventually follow the knights, as he learns who his mother is, that he should soon travel to her - but that she was murdered by the demon Nightfire. Gradually, however, Rowarn must realize that his part in the struggle for the artifact is far more significant, and revenge only secondary.
Rowarn enters Free Houses where the doors do not always lead to the same places, crosses wandering forests and dives into enchanted springs.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Zietsch, Uschi

Leseproben

Chapter 1
Blood Trail

Rowarn was asleep and did not know yet.

The morning drew up innocently and purely, cautiously the first sunbeam groped over the horizon and announced a radiant day. The stars faded in the dawning light, and a soft pink streak spread along the edge of the world. Soft peeps came from the bushes as the fledglings awoke. Their parents fluffed their feathers and shook themselves before preening extensively and preparing for the arduous search for food. The last night hunter crept wearily into the forest without turning around again. Early morning mist glided over the pale green meadows, and dewy blossoms opened to reveal their sweet-smelling insides to the sun.

Rowarn turned over in the grass, smiling blissfully.  …, he sighed in the dream that seemed so real. A dream that had begun yesterday at dawn with the spring celebration.

The praise of the growing grain had been full of exuberance and glee. Rowarn had stayed on the outskirts of the feast all the while, so close and yet distant, keeping silent and almost making himself invisible. There was only one reason for him to be here, and always he had only looked at her: she was called, and so Rowarn also whispered her name secretly to himself, tasting each syllable like a sweet drop of honey. While the others ate and drank, while delicious scents caressed his nose, Rowarn felt no desire for succulent roast meat seasoned with the first herbs of spring, for steaming bread from the wood-burning oven and heavy honey beer. Anini was food enough for him, which satiated his eyes, and the stomach had to be silent.

That evening she shone brighter than the moon, with copper-red hair wreathed in flowers and eyes like cornflowers, and red lips either laughing merrily or kissing softly – perhaps a young suitor, now and then a red-cheeked child. Anini could be choosy about whom she danced with, but she chose many during the long evening, under the glow of oil lamps and candles in colorful jars that gave off a magical light.

As darkness fell, the mood visibly changed to drunken merriment, many faces shone, the tips of noses turned red from beer and wine. The new spring had to be celebrated extensively so that there would be a good harvest. And the omens were good: the weather was clear, the air mild and full of the scent of flowers.

As midnight approached, the musicians exhaustedly moved on to slower tunes, and the circle thinned, Anini unexpectedly approached Rowarn, who had not left his place on the bench at the edge of the glow all evening. He could hardly believe that she actually wanted to join him. Pleased, but also uncertain, he looked toward her. (Was this still a dream? Or already a memory? Or … reality?)

She stopped in front of him, hands clasped at her sides. "Now, Rowarn," she began in a stern voice. "What are you doing sitting here for hours, staring at me continually? Do I displease you so much?"

He made a startled face and shook his head in dismay. "On the contrary, I, um, think you're w-wonderful," he brought out awkwardly.

"Like this?" Her eyes flashed. "Then why haven't you ever asked me to dance? All evening I've been waiting for this!"

He blinked in surprise. "I would never have dared …" Yet he loved to dance, he could move very smoothly and expressively in tune with the music, as if it was innate in him.

Then she laughed. "Rowarn, you are a dolt. Were you so afraid I would reject you that you wouldn't even try? You have a lot to learn! You should spend more time in human company, where you belong, and not just with your hoofed Muhmes. After all, they raised you like one of their own instead of a human."

"I'm – I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't know if I was welcome after all the terrible things that have happened lately …"

"Sh-sh." Anini put a finger to his mouth. "Let the others talk, they're just jealous. And they're afraid of what they don't know. But I know you have a good heart. I can see it in your eyes." She held out her hand to him. "Then come, let's not miss any more of this wonderful night."

He took her hand and stood up. "But … where?" he murmured distraught, and she laughed cooing.

"Don't tell me you've never been out alone at night with a girl?"

"Oh …" He realized, a little late, but still. No, it was not the first time. There had been Rubin, the charcoal burner's daughter. And … Malani, the fisherman's daughter. That was not unusual; he had grown up with them, so to speak, for their parents, like Rowarn's Muhmes, lived on lonely farms away from Madin. One day, when they discovered they were no longer children, they had exchanged innocent and shy kisses, and perhaps a little more as they grew older and added.

Rowarn, however, would never have dared to hope that a city girl, Anini at that, would ever be interested in him. Cautiously, he looked around, but no one paid any attention to them. Anini's father had dropped his heavy head on the tabletop and was snoring so terribly that the trees were shivering and curling their leaves. At the beginning of the feast, one or another of the councilors had gazed at Rowarn with narrowed eyes as he had inconspicuously ventured to the edge. But when he had just sat quietly on the bench the whole time, they had eventually forgotten about him.

The two young people left the feast and stepped out, hand in hand, into the nighttime countryside, illuminated by the moon. Off the beaten path, Anini walked over the hills, Rowarn always in tow. Barefoot, she floated across the damp, young grass, elated and giggling softly. Finally, already close to the forest, the girl stopped and grabbed Rowarn by both hands. For a long moment Anini looked at him silently, out of shining eyes. "If only you could see yourself …" she whispered almost devoutly.

Rubin and Malani had also said that to him, independently of each other and on nights like this. And from then on, they had preferred to meet him outside during the full moon.

Rowarn's eyes, clear blue like an old, very pure glacier in the sun, shone dully in the darkness like a distant star. His hair was blond as an ear of corn in the snow, and so fair that he could not sneak up on anyone unseen in the night. And his skin, as smooth and pale as marble, shimmered in the moonlight like mother-of-pearl …

"You're exaggerating," Rowarn interrupted sheepishly.

"Not a bit," Anini objected, purring. "That's exactly why I'm here with you." She dropped to the grass, pulling Rowarn with her. And then she kissed him …

Still caught up in the dream, Rowarn turned again and groped beside him where he felt warmth, the closeness of his beloved …

No. This was no longer a dream filled with blissful delights.

it was, icy rigidity he felt creeping up his fingers, spreading furiously through his body, waking Rowarn.

With a strangled sound he pulled himself up, while the last dream image in him dissipated. Still drunk with sleep, he looked at his hands, which were full of blood, and his clothes, and then he knew.

Rowarn bit his knuckles to push back what wanted to come out of him, this abysmal horror, collected in a single word, because there was none else for what he saw.

Anini was dead. Her once sparkling eyes stared milk-blue into the brightening sky. The bodice was in tatters, her chest ripped open, her ribs cracked, her heart stolen. And blood everywhere …

This was what Rowarn saw, what he understood but could not … explain.

Rowarn's eyes burned, the pounding heartbeat nearly bursting his chest. A suppressed whimper escaped from his tight throat. Then he jumped up and ran sobbing across the meadow into the forest.

Rowarn loved the forest ever since he could walk. The play of light and shadow, the dignity of the old trees, the scurrying, chirping and buzzing life, secret and rarely seen. The air here was cooler and rich with scents, of moss and damp stone, earth and mushrooms, honey and flowers. Whenever he had sorrow, he went to the forest and was comforted. He knew the paths of many forest animals, and they appreciated that he behaved like one of them – quiet and unobtrusive.

But not today, on this day of blood. Like a thoughtless city dweller, he tramped and stomped along the cart path without looking left or right. Finally, he blindly struck the bushes, scaring up all sorts of creatures that had to give way, clamoring and snarling. He disturbed the wedding song of the birds, tripped over roots under which ants and beetles lived, and made such a racket that the whole forest was in an uproar and the jays shrilly whistled an alarm.

Rowarn heard them shouting, and they chased him down the path, crisscrossing the forest.

"I don't know!" he sobbed in a hoarse voice. "I was asleep …"

Rowarn pressed his hands to his ears. "No! No! No! O gods, stand by me! It wasn't me … Anini, Anini … what happened to you …"

Finally, he could go no further. Rowarn stopped, his eyes blinded by tears, his breath whistling. His body was covered with sweat, and there was blood all over him, mixed with churned-up earth: just like that, he remembered distraught, Hegen the murderer had once looked when he came running out of the forest, sick in spirit, stammering confusedly, telling what he had done to his wife.

Rowarn, for all his disgust,...