The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📕

he had tried for hours to push it to seven. He threw until the nerves in his arm started to tingle, an obvious sign that he should quit for the day. A few more, he thought, and then I’ll go back inside.

He threw another, only two skips. Then another: two again. He threw his last rock, counted as it got to five and disappeared. Oh well, six will have to do for now.

He turned and looked at the fortress, known simply as “Home” to its residents. The wooden wall surrounding the compound was double his height with several gaps between the individual pikes. The men and women who were loyal to Morganna seemingly cared little for the state of their defenses, instead putting their faith in the remoteness of their fortress. Amantius realized the truth in their confidence, for even though he was standing near the entrance he could barely see the front gate.

He walked back inside, seeking out Jaga. For the past week the old warchief had been Amantius’ sparring partner, teaching him how to better wield both spear and sword. Every session ended in bruises and curses, sore muscles and hurt pride, but Amantius could tell he was getting better. He still had not landed a successful hit on Jaga, but with each day he came closer and close. Someday.

Amantius strolled across the compound, the sound of his legs shuffling through piles of leaves filling the air. Each day the canopy above became weaker, allowing sunlight to bathe the compound more and more. Great swathes of brown and yellow leaves had fallen from the massive oaks and poplars, creating mountains of plant decay along the ground. Amantius had been part of the cleanup crew, along with a dozen new recruits, removing the debris and dumping it outside the palisade wall. Amantius reasoned every few days they had to resume their work, because if they did not, Home would drown in a sea of brown, yellow, and red. And such an ocean was extremely flammable as well.

His destination was the weapons court, a small makeshift arena located in the shadow of the Great Hall. Since the Great Hall had so many windows overlooking the court, Amantius often wondered if Morganna watched him spar with Jaga. He had seen little of her lately, occasionally catching a brief glimpse from a distance. He was forever hopeful she would call upon him soon, his patience threatening to turn into desperation. Many times he considered going to the Great Hall to see her, something she implied would be acceptable, even wanted, during their last interaction. But no matter how much he analyzed that moment in his mind, he could still not bring himself to approach her. After all, he was still her prisoner, and still constantly watched by guards at all times.

Prisoner? Amantius thought, an eyebrow arching, I don’t feel like a prisoner. If anything, I feel like part of this commune now. I’m even in charge of cleaning the leaves. Sure, it’s minor, but it’s a responsibility. A duty.

Amantius saw Jaga marching across the fortress, a dozen people behind him. They all were heading in his direction. I even think of Jaga as a friend, a mentor. If I were truly a prisoner, why would he teach me how to fight? If I were a prisoner, why do they let me outside the walls whenever I please? I could probably just walk outside and never come back, go straight to Silverwater, find…

Amantius’ thoughts died, a lump in his throat. Ulam. Still no news. Even the foraging parties and scouts claim they have not seen him. I need to get out of here, just for a while, just to see find out if Ulam lives or not.

“Want to come with us?” Jaga said, grabbing Amantius’ attention.

“Where?”

“To get food. We need to feed everyone.” Jaga said as the others walked past him towards the armory. Amantius noticed the group was a mix of veterans and the new recruits, the “initiates” as they were called, some of which were part of his cleaning team. Strange, I have been here longer than most of them.

“Not enough in the gardens?” Amantius said, knowing there was not. The weather was getting colder, what little crops they grew were either barren or dead. His reply was automatic more than anything.

“There is if you only plan on living another week or so,” Jaga replied, “Me? I’d like to see at least another twenty years if I can.”

“So where are we going?”

“There’s a busy highway to the south of us, farmers and merchants litter it at this time of the year. Plenty of food there. We’ll go down, harass them, and take what they have. Should go smoothly, always does.”

Robbing honest folks, how very noble. “I don’t want to take part in killing anyone. Sorry, Jaga, I think I’ll remain here.”

Jaga grimaced. “Who said killing? If no one pulls a weapon on us, then no one will die. Think of it as a toll for using the road.”

Amantius still did not like the idea of stealing from honest people, depriving them of their livelihoods. But Jaga had a valid point, they did not have enough food to feed everyone. If the gardens are dying, then we’ll need to “forage” plenty of food. Maybe I should go back to Silverwater instead and not be part of this. But if Ulam is not there, then what do I have there? Aldamar? He shivered.

“Come on, lad, I need an answer,” Jaga said impatiently. “Time is wasting, and the longer we stay here, the less food we get to eat.”

“Couldn’t we just pay them for their goods? Like a market?” Amantius said.

Jaga sighed, which turned into a laugh. “With what coin? Amantius, I understand you don’t want to hurt anyone, especially people you have no quarrel with. But lad, if we don’t get anything to eat, we will all starve to death. Me, you, everyone.”

“Even I will,” a heavenly voice said behind Amantius, sending his heart aflutter. He did not need to turn around to know who was