William of Archonia: Redemption Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Publisher's Page

  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

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Glossary

  William of Archonia

  Redemption

  A novel

  By

  Jarod Meyer

  Autumn Arch Publishing

  Iowa

  www.AutumnArchPublishing.com

  © 2017 Autumn Arch Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or literary publication.

  Publisher’s note

  This is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters, and incidences are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, events or locations, is completely coincidental.

  A product of Autumn Arch Publishing

  Cover art: Andrey Vasilchenko

  Cover design: Michele Maakstead

  Interior design and formatting: Aaron Bunce

  Map Design: Alex Vialette

  Edited by: Aaron Bunce

  Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9904504-7-4

  Amazon Kindle Edition: B01N4T5MYT

  2nd Edition. 2017

  Prologue

  Three days and nights marching left William exhausted. His feet throbbed in protest to every step, and his back ached. Not to mention the bug bites and heat rash from tromping through the dense, unyielding jungle. A fat bead of sweat ran down face, through his eyebrow, and into his eye.

  “We stop here for the night,” his lieutenant said, before wandering off into the trees.

  Probably gotta piss…probably gonna get himself lost, William thought, watching the academy-green officer stagger off. His sergeant took over.

  “Bill, you’re first watch. No fires, no noise. If you take a shit, I don’t want to hear the turd hit the ground. We move out at oh four hundred.”

  William unstrapped his pack, and plopped down in between the roots of a large tree, the soil squelching under his buttocks, forming a sodden cushion. He stowed his rifle, before rummaging through his pack for an MRE. He pulled one out. It was already open, the stale candy still waiting patiently for him.

  The chocolate went down easily, chased by a large drag from his canteen. He stowed the water and dug around in his front pocket for his last cigar. He bit off the end and stuck it in his mouth, shifting from side to side to get settled in.

  William chewed on the cigar, the air filling with the lulling buzz of insects. Sweat ran down his neck and back. The heat and humidity pressed down upon him like a blanket. A rat scurried somewhere nearby, rattling leaves and twigs. Martinez, the smallest man in his unit, hummed quietly from somewhere behind him. It was the same song…every time.

  Shut up! he thought irritably, turning away and fumbling absently for his zippo. Yeah, that’s right. No fire. Damn it.

  He didn’t actively fall asleep, but at some point his exhaustion-riddled brain slid from consciousness, and the swampy forest faded away around him. Thoughts faded too, sliding into something more basic, more primal even.

  The darkness gave way to a light gray, gradually lightening until the world around him was vivid and bright. His hand relaxed and fell to his side, where it brushed against the tassels of long, white grass. His body cast a shadow twice its length in front of him. A cool breeze kissed his face as it moved over the sprawling hills before him, rippling in the bending shoots. He trudged through the untouched fields, no person, or creature within sight. The grass crunched softly under his feet. Some part of William’s mind told him that it wasn’t real, but every other part of him argued the notion. It felt real, so to him, it was.

  The horizon loomed black and ominous, clouds moving swiftly by, ushering in a storm. The air pressure changed, the breeze around him suddenly dying away. He tried to fortify his anxious mind, willing himself forward, accepting the approaching darkness.

  It meant something to him, something profound, but he couldn’t remember what? Something…everything was at stake, some part of him believed. It compelled him forward, towards the churning, angry clouds.

  A flash cut across the sky, his heart beating loudly in his ears. His body tensed as the ground shook, the air splitting from the mighty crack issuing across the plains. He exhaled, letting out the breath he had been holding, and his body relaxed again. Then the sea of white grass began to move violently, a cold, gale force wind rushing over him. William’s skin prickled, causing a violent shiver to run through his body.

  Two more flashes, but this time he was prepared, and the deafening roar didn’t frighten him. The ground rumbled longer and louder this time, reverberating up through his body. The murky clouds bubbled and churned towards him, looming so big they blotted out everything else. He planted his feet, preparing for its violence.

  The air rushed over him, covering him in its raw, violent purpose. Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the disappointment, anger, and regret, a small voice told him that this is what he had been born to do. All the years and battles he fought and won led to this moment.

  Lightning flashed right in front of him, momentarily blinding his eyes and sending him recoiling. He covered his face with his arms in response. But no thunder rolled over him, and when he lowered his arms a glistening sword hung in the air before him.

  It was a magnificent blade, gleaming brightly in the lightning arcing overhead. It hung invitingly, its hilt leaning just slightly towards him, exhibiting the intricate etchings in the fuller. Without thought, William reached out and clasped the black leather grip firmly, sliding his hand right up to the handguard. The pommel, shaped like wings, lay upon his wrist, each feather perfectly detailed in the steel.

  The weight of the sword bore down upon his arm, his muscles flexing in response. Just as it did, the sky opened up in a maelstrom of fury, descending upon him in an unforgiving, merciless torrent.

  Chapter One

  Life

  Faith is the idea that there exists something that cannot be seen, touched, smelled, felt, or heard. Humans of all shapes and sizes have placed their hope in this idea for thousands of years. For humans are mortal, and they all must depart from this world in one way or another. For a man named William, there was no such faith. For as long as he could remember, life had not been kind.

  Born into this world to an angry father, he was raised without love, and therefore, was doomed to fail. His entire life he had felt disconnected from society, like he didn’t belong. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get ahead. He was doomed to be an outcast.

  William sat in a wooden chair. The back was broken clean off. He blinked sluggishly, trying to decide whether he should even bother making the long trek to work. As he debated, a train rumbled by somewhere outside his dingy apartment, shaking dust and debris loose from the ceiling.

  William struggled to define his living space as an apartment. It was one small room with a grimy, soot covered window, and he was forced
to share a filthy little bathroom with five other people. It was a wretched space on the verge of being condemned. His only solace was in the fact that he had a roof over his head.

  He coughed and splashed water from an old coffee cup on his unshaven face, which was covered in black soot as well. He hadn’t even bothered with a shower the previous night. There was a line at the bathroom, and he wasn’t in the mood to wait after his fourteen-hour shift. He was still probably cleaner than the shower.

  His thirties had not been kind to him thus far. His long, unkempt hair was showing as much neglect as his apartment.

  William looked over at the small, battered clock radio sitting on a chair in the opposite corner. It was blinking 12:00 AM. The faulty power supply to the building had probably made it reset during the night. It made his stomach twist. He’d received warnings from his boss already about being late, and agreed to work more hours to make up the time.

  William slowly stood and wiped at the greasy dust on the window until he could see outside. The sun hung just above the horizon, beckoning him out of his dingy apartment.

  What’s the point? he thought, letting his mind wander back to his paltry bank account.

  Despite all of the overtime he worked, he could still barely afford to feed himself. It didn’t help that the court was busy garnishing most of his wages. It felt fruitless, but William didn’t want to starve, so he mustered up his courage, grabbed his hard hat, and left.

  As he went down the dangerously shaky steps to the first floor, he crept softly to avoid attracting the attention of his landlord who had been demanding his last month’s rent. He walked carefully, but was not looking down when he was tripped up by a homeless man sleeping in the hallway. He fell to the floor with a crash, and his breath was knocked from him. Sucking for air he only found dust and dirt.

  William heard the familiar rustling of rapid footsteps. He finally caught his breath and looked up in time to see an abnormally small pair of slippers. His landlord was a small man, with greasy, curly hair, and a squat, bulbous nose. He was an extraordinarily ill-tempered person.

  “That’s two weeks your rent has been due. Not to mention last month’s. You’re done, Bill. Don’t bother coming back, the locks will be changed,” the short, sweating man said. He was in a bathrobe and looked, if possible, less hygienic than William did after a full day’s work.

  William sighed, biting his tongue as he walked past the wretched little man. At least now he was his ex-landlord. There was only one good thing about today. It was the last day of the work week. He would have a free night ahead of him.

  He stepped outside, taking in the cool, autumn air. It felt fresh, and clean. He ducked around his building, jumped over a fence, and stepped out onto a lonely dirt road. After a lengthy walk, he found himself at a site far from normal civilization. His current job was working in a coal mine. It was a respectable job in William’s mind, and most importantly one which he had held down for over a year.

  A burly man with a buzz cut was waiting for him when he arrived at the tool locker.

  “You’re late, Bill. That’s the second time this week,” the large man said.

  William didn’t try to deny it. He nodded resolutely.

  “Yeah, Jack, I know. It’s that damn building. My alarm clock was out this morning.”

  Jack Thompson, his work foreman, looked down and shook his head.

  “If there is one thing you are, William, it’s honest,” Jack said.

  It was true. More than once he had proven that to his foreman. When some of his fellow coal miners had figured out how to fix their punch cards to benefit themselves, William had not participated and told Jack what had been going on. This of course led to a group of the miners being fired and the rest of them being reprimanded. Naturally, this did not go over well with his coworkers who had been enjoying the extra bonuses each week.

  The men were especially upset because William was at the bottom of the barrel. He was just a general laborer not a trained and educated mining technician.

  “Well, honesty is the only reason you still got this job, Bill. Now get your ass down there and haul some earth,” Jack finished.

  William pulled on his helmet, harness, and grabbed his power hammer, before heading down into the darkness.

  He threw himself into his work, jack-hammering the rocks and letting his mind drift. He thought only of money, the meager dinner he would eat later, but more importantly, the large amount of alcohol he would wash it down with.

  His sculpted muscles burned as he wielded the jackhammer, pausing only to heft large stones into a cart. His joints ached, the physical toll of his job catching up to him. By the end of the shift his arms and legs were numb. The nice thing about work was that there was a shower he could pay for, if he had the money. William figured he could at least look clean if he was to be seen in public that night.

  He stripped down and entered the shower. The hot water hit his face, warm steam engulfing him. He closed his eyes and felt the dirt washing away, taking the stress of the work week with it. He could wash away the dirt and grime, but he could never escape his past. He watched the soot spiral down the drain, losing his battle to keep certain memories at bay.

  Images poured into his head, mostly things he didn’t want to remember. He saw the children in his elementary school taunting him, and jeering. They laughed as a bully pelted him with garbage. A pretty girl smiled at William as a boy desperately seeking her affection pushed him. William got up and hit him hard, again, and again. The image shifted and he saw the small window in his cell at juvenile hall, where he wept alone for so many nights.

  William snapped back out of his daydreams, as the hot water turned suddenly cold. His corded muscles, sore from the week, failed him as he tried to recoil from the water.

  “Well, Willy, we might have to tell the boss about you drinking on the job,” a tall man said.

  William tried to hide his surprise. He hadn’t seen them enter.

  “Mind your own business, Black,” William snorted.

  Timothy Black was one of the men who’d gotten away with falsifying his punch card, and not been fired. Of course he’d held a grudge.

  Black followed him over to his locker. The door hung wide open. A flask sat tipped over on the shelf, brown liquid dripping out onto the floor. The three men converged on William from all sides.

  “Uh oh, I’m going to have to report this, Willy,” Black said, barely hiding a sarcastic grin.

  William sighed heavily.

  Why did I leave my locker open, he thought to himself.

  They didn’t plant the flask to get him fired. That would have been too easy. They wanted a reason to fight. He didn’t really care. He was fed up with their crap anyway. He turned, slipping on an old pair of worn jeans.

  “Back off, Black,” William growled, his jaw clenched.

  Timothy Black’s face crinkled up with rage. “You don’t get it, do you? Me and my boys here are going to knock your snitchin’ teeth out,” he said with a sneer.

  William wasn’t intimidated. His military training kicked in and he flashed back to his days in the Special Forces. He had served his time, and more, for his country. An additional price to pay for the laws he had broken in his youth. Street fighting was not a criminal act. The judge had decided to point William’s aggression in a more appropriate direction.

  Having joined the military, William quickly excelled. Taking orders was easy; it was depending on your comrades that he had always had trouble with. After his many tours with the Rangers he became Special Forces and eventually was asked to go on black ops missions behind enemy lines. For this he was trained alone. He trained to go on missions alone, and trained to engage multiple enemies at the same time, all alone.

  William’s favorite military study was hand-to-hand combat. He was not a small man by any means, nor was he the largest man. He used the momentum of incoming attacks against the enemy to catch them off balance, and simple strikes employed in martial arts li
ke Krav Maga to cripple opponents quickly.

  His mind immediately sized up the three men standing before him. Black was a brute of a man. He was large and powerful, which also meant slow and clumsy. His two friends were decently sized simply from working in the mine. However, it was easy to see why they followed Black instead of leading him.

  A fist swung in, and time seemed to slow. William ducked to the left, avoiding the right cross and heard Timothy’s knuckles crunch into the metal locker. He snapped his fist forward, using the practiced movements of a Special Forces soldier, and felt Black’s windpipe crunch under his fist.

  The goon on his left made a move, but William quickly slapped him in the face with the back of his hand to disorient him. He then blocked a wild haymaker from the man to the right, and kicked the inside of his leg with a quick heel kick. The man’s leg gave way and he fell to the ground, screaming wildly. Another jab came from behind as the disoriented man recovered. William deftly snagged the man’s fist out of the air, and thrust his elbow upwards against his arm, twisting until the bones broke.

  The man dropped to the ground in shock, gasping for air. William refocused his gaze on Black, who was still choking on his own blood.

  “Please,” Black gagged, holding his hand up in surrender. The other two men were disabled; one screaming and holding his fractured arm, the other a ruined leg.

  William walked away as people rushed in to help or gawk. He gathered up what few belongings he had and left. He would not be coming back. Even if he had friends to testify on his behalf, he had advanced military training, which would make him guilty in many people’s eyes. To them, he was a loaded weapon just waiting to go off.

  He walked down a dimly lit street. It was foggy out on the south side; not a natural phenomenon, but a polluted mist from the factories of the nearby industrial complex. The humid air clung to his skin and was thick with a toxic stench. William could taste it in the sweat running down his face. He looked down at the colorful water accumulating on the street. It reflected the light from the building’s signs on either side of him.