Jornal Binder (No Title Yet)

The Beginning of the story of Jornal Binder

“On your guard, Jornal!” eight-year old Petard Kain cried as he swung his wooden sword at the slight, brown-haired seven-year-old desperately holding up piece of square wooden board to keep from being painfully chopped by the dull-edged weapon.

They were in the pasture of Jornal's father, Festa Binder, a farmer in the province of Shaqkur. Several oxcows rested on the ground in the distance, chewing their cud and watching the two boys with dull interest as they danced around each other.

“Ow, Petard! That was my finger!” Jornal yelled at him as Petard’s sword caught the edge of the board and clipped the youngster’s hand. “I hate this game. You’re the Gelden, not me! Can’t you find someone else to hack at?”

Petard stopped hacking for a moment. His hair was white and past his shoulders, uncut as it was supposed to be. His brows were darker than his hair, his skin rather tanned and his eyes silver. The boy was dressed in a homemade and rather rough leather vest, a gray tunic, loose brown pants held around his waist with a thin belt, and slip-on leather shoes. Jornal Binder, who had short cropped brown-haired and green-eyes was dressed much the same way but without the vest. He had no need of protection. He wasn’t Gelden. He was Warie and Waries were regular folk.

Petard’s parents were both Waries as well, but that had nothing to do with what Petard was. Geldens could be born to Waries and Waries to Geldens. Nothing was set in rockstone. It was what they were born to do that differentiated the two. Waries farmed, ran shops and did other jobs that most people do, but Geldens served as soldiers, policers, and in other authoritarian positions that could require the use of force, including executioners.

Only Geldens could send a deceased person’s soul who had died at their hand to the Other Side, so consequently only Geldens were allowed to kill other humans. And there was a very good reason for this which would soon become evident.

In the meantime, Petard was practicing . . . as usual on Jornal.

”You need to practice as well, Jornal. For the beasts,” Petard said to him. “You should get a wooden dowler so you can practice your Killing Thrusts.”

Jornal lowered the piece of wood, though still looked wary.

”Mother says I’m too young to think of that,” he replied, “She says I am to focus on taking to the Tree when the Glow falls and leave the fighting to the older folks, like Father and Durnsel.”

Durnsel was Jornal’s brother. He was seventeen Turns old and quite courageous.

Petard snorted.

”The Tree. You should be readying yourself. You might find yourself too far from the Trees to escape. Or maybe the beasts can enter the branches, like when they take the Flighters.”

”Flighters are small. I can bat them away,” Jornal argued.

”Not if they come at you in a great flock. Then where would you be?” Petard said.

”The Glow doesn’t fall like that. The most that can come are thirteen. You know that, Petard, and then only for thirteen minsecs. Then we are safe again,” Jornal replied. “Besides, we have ten Trees. I am never far from one.”

Petard looked about the pasture and toward Jornal’s house. The structure was made of wood and rested on a high, strong stone foundation. It had an enclosed porch around its perimeter and a retractable staircase that could be cranked up to stop others from accessing it. There was also a Tree near it, the platforms, pullies and ropes ready for action. There were several more scattered about the farm, all primed and ready to provide protection. Petard’s own homestead was set up much the same.

”Besides, weren’t you almost taken because you tried to kill a Bowser with the Glow and had to be saved by your father and more Bowsers?” Jornal asked him, a nasty little smirk on his face.

”I could have done it if I hadn’t fell,” Petard said angrily, then began hacking at Jornal angrily, driving the Warie back forcefully until his back was against the barn.

“Surrender!” Petard cried victoriously.

”Fine. I surrender,” Jornal replied, thoroughly angry. Petard was a buttshoot.

“Petard, you big bully!” a shrill young female voice cried out behind him. Petard spun with a smile as Sanya, a young Warie of eight from the next farm over walked up scowling, attired in a coarse blue dress, her blonde hair in braids and ribbons, her violet eyes narrowed with disapproval.

”You’re always hacking at Jornal,” she said accusingly.

”I could hack at you,” Petard replied, still smiling at the girl.

”You hack at me, Petard and I’ll tell your mother,” Sanya said, “Then you’ll be picking up oxcow bricks from the pasture for a sevensun.”

Jornal laughed as Petard scowled at Sanya, whose eyes softened as she looked at Jornal.

”Are you all right?” she asked him.

Jornal finally moved away from the barn, leaning the board against it and showing her his reddened fingers.

”Yes, just my fingers were struck,” he said to her in a rather hurt voice. Petard rolled his eyes.

“You’re a buttshoot, Petard,” Sanya said to him.

”And both of you are whiners,” he shot back at her, disgusted. “I’m going. It’s almost time to help Father bring the oxcows in. I’ll see you later, Jornal.”

Petard pretended to hack at Sanya, who jumped back with a frown.

”See you later too,” he grinned, taking off across the pasture at a run and toward his homestead. He disappeared over a rise.

Sanya frowned as she looked after him.

”I’ll be glad when he turns nine. Then he leaves for training, thank Rare,” she said.

”Oh, he’s not that bad, Sanya,” Jornal said to the girl. “He’s Gelden. Being a warrior is in his blood.”

”But there are no wars! There haven’t been wars for thousands of Turns,” she retorted.

”That doesn’t mean there won’t be any in the future,” Jornal said, “It’s better we are prepared. If we didn’t have trained Geldens and had to use Waries, you know what that would mean. The Glow would become much stronger and take all of us.”

”We have the Sayers to protect us,” Sanya said.

”Yes, but a Sayers life is very dangerous. They are the ones the beasts get first. We still need Geldens,” Jornal replied.

The two children were so caught up in their conversation, they didn’t see the green smoke rising from three of the oxcows in the pasture, nor did they see when the three bovines arose and began running toward them, horns lowered.

Conwar Binder, Jornal’s mother stepped out of the house just at the moment and let out a scream as she saw the oxcows bearing down on the unsuspecting children. Two were heading for them and one toward the closest Tree to try and head them off.

”Jornal! Run!” she shrieked, running to the end of the porch, yanking on a rope that pulled up the stairwell and frantically ringing a bell hanging in the corner. It was the Glow warning bell.

Both Sanya and Jornal looked toward the house, terrified, then saw the oxcows.

”Run Sanya!” Jornal cried, pushing the petrified girl, then grabbing her hand and running toward the Tree anyway. There were several platforms and one oxcow couldn’t guard them all.

”Festa! Durnsel! The oxcows have been possessed and are after Jornal!” Conwar cried.

But Jornal’s father and brother had heard the bell, already grabbed their pointed metal dowlers and were running behind the pursuing oxcows. They had been in the field and were some distance away.

”Damn, my bullox has been taken,” Festa swore. He hoped he could keep it at bay for thirteen minsecs rather than kill it. They were valuable creatures. His was a breeder.

Jornal and Sanya confronted the oxcow under the Tree, Jornal looking back to see the other creatures approaching, green smoke trailing from their bodies.

“I’ll make it chase me, Sanya, then you take to the Tree,” the boy said, running up to the oxcow and flailing his arms at it.

”Come on, here I am! Take me if you can you big stupid beast!” Jornal taunted it.

The oxcow let out a bellow of rage at being addressed in such a manner and charged Jornal, who ran. Sanya ran up to one of the flat platforms on the ground and stood on it, grasping the thick rope tied to it, then pulled another rope.

A heavy sack fell, dragging the rope through a pulley and sending Sanya up into the Tree, where she climbed off the platform and safely stood on another large platform built in the branches. It had holes in it to let the limbs through.

“Run, Jornal! Run!” she screamed.

Jornal did run, but the oxcow was right on his heels, snorting furiously. The other two animals were also charging him and his screaming father and brother were still some distance away.

Suddenly, Jornal stumbled and fell.

“Jornal!”

Sanya, Conwar, Festa and Durnsel all screamed at the same moment as all three animals bore down on the fallen boy, ready to gore and trample.

Suddenly, they were bodily flung back, landing heavily on the ground, the green smoke dissipating. The animals lowed, then stood up shakily, looking about before calmly walking back toward the pasture.

Jornal, whose hands were thrown over his head and eyes tightly closed, lay there, waiting for death.

It never came. Instead, he heard his father’s voice. It sounded strange. Almost frightened.

”Jornal. Jornal, get up my boy,” his father said.

Jornal lifted his head to see his father and brother staring down at him with wide eyes.

Conwar lowered the stairwell and ran across the grounds, her brown hair streaming, tears in her green eyes and her heart in her throat. She didn’t know what miracle had saved her son, but she didn’t care as she flung herself on him, pulling Jornal into her arms and kissing him all over his face.

Sanya stood in the Tree, her violet eyes wide. What had happened? Why wasn’t Jornal dead? Nothing stopped beasts possessed by the Glow as far as she knew. But they had been stopped. Not only stopped but the Glow had left before the thirteen minsecs were up. Something very strange was going on here. Very strange.

“Oh, thank Rare,” Conwar cried as she clutched Jornal to her breasts, the boy finding it very hard to breathe.

“Let him go, Conwar,” Festa said to his wife, staring at his son. “We must take him to the City and tell the Eldars what has happened here.”

Jornal looked at his father. The City? They only went to the City twice a Turn. To sell and to buy.

“What happened?” the boy asked his father when his mother finally let him come up for air.

Festa looked down on his boy.

”I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “I only know you should be dead and you aren’t. Somehow, the oxcows were stopped and the Glow thrown off. Even Sayers can’t stop creatures possessed by the Glow.”

Jornal looked up at his father with frightened eyes. It was true. No one could stop the creatures unless they killed them outright. Then the Glow would leave.

What was going on here?

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A/N: This is a story that came to me in a dream a few nights ago. I wrote out the background immediately and just thought I’d try writing a chapter for it. It doesn’t have a title yet. But it has a pretty cool premise. There is something very special about Jornal. Something that can change their world.