Cacophony of crowns, p.1
Cacophony of Crowns, page 1
Cacophony of Crowns
Garrett S. Broussard
Copyright © 2024 Garrett S. Broussard
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
To request permissions, contact the author at cacophonyofcrowns@gmail.com.
ISBN–paperback: 979-8-218-32934-1
ISBN–ebook: 979-8-218-38101-1
Published by Garrett S. Broussard in Los Angeles, CA USA.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024904092
First paperback edition March 2024.
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2024 Weecho Forever
To Libby, for endless support, nurturing, and compassion through the hardest of times. Thank you for loving me exactly as I am and exactly as I want to be.
To my baby Dunny Bunny, the floofster. May you live forever in the hearts and memories of those you loved while you chase all the squirrels you can find wherever you are. I miss you, buddy.
To my Mom, for being my original #1 fan and almost getting kicked out of a movie theater for trying to take a picture of my first credit. I hope you have found peace and forgiveness in your new eternity.
To anyone out there with stories in their heads, it’s time to share them and take your crown.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
A Book is a Book
Book One
Dark Forest
Among the Trees
Ascension
Trespassers
Green Hood
A Meaningful Obsession
Grab the Booty
Vampyr Killer
Atansha
General of the Winds
Born of Flame
Sea Witch
Shy Not
Celestial Mother
Chthonic Father
Book Two
Binky
Embrace the Change
Lemonberry
My Heart Hurts
Book Three
The Bar Dive
Reverbs vs Juicers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Disclaimer
If you haven't questioned your existence before now, I urge you to reconsider before proceeding.
A Book is a Book
A book is a book, even when it is banned,
For the pages are bound and the leather is tanned.
So seek not permission from those who surround you,
For their goodness and morals surely will drown you.
Ignore their shrill voices, you cannot be bothered,
For their aim is control, to see curiosity smothered.
So pick up a pen, a paper or pad,
Tell the world your story, the life that you've had.
And listen to others whose voices are stifled,
For they are more than just words, more than mere trifles.
Let's open our minds, and give in to learning,
And stop all this fuckery, and the needless burning.
Book One
The Past
A look back in time as it was.
A time filled with kings and queens, swords and sorcery,
magick and powerful deities.
Dark Forest
Outsider
Under the shade of an old tangled oak tree kneels a man covered shoulder-to-toe in what was once brilliantly shining armor. The tree lies just outside an old-growth forest with a canopy so dense that little to no light reaches the undergrowth. The forest's edge has an uncanny silence about it and a complete lack of animals, save for a few curious fox-like creatures with multiple tails and an unbelievable ability to navigate the dense vegetation.
The forest spans for miles on either side with only one gap, a large circular clearing where a wide path ends abruptly at the treeline. In the other direction, the path leads over the river, across the valley, and up into the snowy mountains that sit like teeth biting into the blue sky above. The path winds freely for hundreds of miles, but isn’t bold enough to enter this forest without permission—a feat accidentally attempted by the broken man near the tree.
The kneeling man’s helmet lies on the ground supporting an arm weary from travel and battle while the other arm provides comfort to his pained insides. His pale and jaundiced face is covered in dirt, blood, and a beard so long and unkempt that it carries small pieces of the plants he's encountered on his journey—and even pieces of a few animals. Even though his armor is battered, the damage is too recent to have rusted the skillfully forged steel.
The exhausted warrior shows no sign of aggression and is swarmed by small radiant firebugs native to the nearby forest. The bugs give off a glow of verdigris like a rich green forest filtered through the morning fog, a telltale sign of the magick flowing through them.
At the boundary of the forest, for which this ancient tree is an ambassador and a greeter, stands a troupe of forest-dwelling humans guarding their home from high in the canopy. Two archers, with arrows drawn, flank a third man in an elegant robe who surveys the newcomer. The robed leader’s dark hair peeks out over the ochre skin of his forehead, as if it too is curious about the situation.
A blue-green campfire burns on a nearby branch to provide warmth, but the self-fueled flames pose no risk to the tree. Curled up next to the campfire are two more vulpine animals, known to the locals as kitrits. The larger kitrit boasts tails that are a brilliant mix of reds, oranges, and browns as fiery as the magick within it. Its neighbor has a tan body with brown and green tails covered in vibrant flowers and moss.
"Shall I fire, sir?" The younger archer asks his leader, Kanim.
"No, but keep your bows drawn,” says Kanim. “We’ll leave the outsider’s fate to the Guardian."
Kanim fetches a wooden whistle flute from his side and begins to play an inaudible melody for an unseen audience. The mouthpiece of the whistle is carved into the shape of a mythical wolf-like animal and covered in runes of an ancient language. Hand-carved finger holes pass in and out of sight as his hands form the notes of his song. The melody passes furtively through the trees, beyond the village, and well into the darkest depths of the forest. No response is given, but the leader seems pleased with the result.
The second archer, a short man with a deep scowl on his pinkish face, fires an arrow that strikes the ground just in front of the outsider, causing a small panic in the weary man.
The leader, Kanim, turns towards the archer and asks, "Why did you shoot at our guest?"
“Consider it a conversation starter,” he sneers. “Now he knows we're watching.”
“Let me do the talking from now on, then. Our rules exist for a reason.” Kanim lowers the archer’s bow and pats him on the back as he nimbly makes his way down from the outpost in the canopy and heads into the village. The path to the village is overgrown in places, but the locals know to follow the line of connected tree roots sticking just above the dirt. His walk through the forest is plagued by fears of the unseen eyes watching him from the trees, but he continues on as he has for years. Kanim walks for just over an hour through dense ferns and grasses before arriving at a massive clearing that marks the entrance to the arboreal village.
The village feels both ethereal and primitive, with roaring blue-green fires that provide warmth and much needed light to the space and odd-shaped trees that house the villagers. These old and intricate structures were formed by sorcerers of the village who were allowed to guide the growth of the trees in exchange for protecting the forest from outside harm—a reciprocal relationship unknown elsewhere in the world.
The ever-growing branches of the ancient trees twist and turn to form the roofs, doors, and walls that hold their inhabitants. Some branches of neighboring trees have melded together to form pathways between them. Mosses and ferns soften the branches comprising the flooring and provide comfortable bedding as well. Each dwelling has complete privacy thanks to smaller trees that have taken root in the freshly formed dirt and partially decayed vegetation wedged into the elbows of larger, older trees high above the forest floor.
Down at ground level, the village children climb on rocks and low lying branches to play with their pet kitrits, and the array of beautifully colored animals pops against the verdant backdrop. Children squeal joyfully as they chase their canine friends and pet their many fluffy tails. The kitrits enjoy the attention and the bone-in meat given to them by the parents in exchange for babysitting.
Meanwhile, the adults drink and dance around the fires while enchanted instruments fill the evening air with music. Stringed instruments, both bowed and plucked, as well as flutes and pipes dance along with the humans. Hand drums and other percussion instruments are played by sticks and rocks moved by unseen hands to provide the beat. The music is primal and calming, the perfect accompaniment to the songs of the residents. The songs thank the forest for what it's provided and ask it to continue providing for them through the next season.
The innermost circle of ritual leaders wear animal hides over their heads and shoulders, with a varied amount of clothes worn underneath. They dance in unison around the flames while chanting and singing together. One woman i
“It’s feast night, darling.” Her drunken words still retain an air of intelligence amidst the undertones of lust and laughter. “Please come dance, the forest will be fine tonight!”
“I can’t, Dinestra. We’re holding an outsider on the edge of the forest. A battered man in an expensive suit of armor.” His words send a sobering shock through her entire body while he weighs his need to protect the village against his urge to join her under her deer hide, as is tradition after a feast.
“Do you trust him? Do we bring him in? Is he hungry?” Her mouth doesn’t stop moving but her words trail off into a private internal monologue.
“We do nothing. I’ve called for the Guardian and I’m only here to gather enough supplies to last until he arrives.”
“Has he responded?” Dinestra asks with a gasp.
“No response,” he says with an air of frustration. “I used the whistle just as he showed me.”
“Shhh,” she interrupts. “I know you did it right, Kanim. Do it again, make sure he knows you’re serious. You know as well as I do that those magickal types wait to help us until situations are truly dire. We'll miss you at the feast, but there will always be another.”
Kanim nods and blows the whistle again before returning to where he left the outsider, leaving Dinestra to rejoin the ritual circle. He draws slow, careful breaths and pays close attention to every inaudible note he plays. The repeated melody travels further into the forest, landing on the only pair of human ears to hear the sound. Those ears belong to a man with a long, reddish-gray beard sitting next to a magickal alpine lake miles from the sound's origin.
Guardian
The lake glows with the signature glacial blue hue of nature magick and is deep enough to house primordial creatures that sometimes swim up from the unknown depths of the planet.
The man's face is adorned with both youth and wisdom, a balance not uncommon among the truly gifted magick users of the world. His skin is a pale pink with a hint of fawn, like snow reflecting the evening sunlight. His eyes, gray and speckled like the craters of the moon, hold the wisdom of his years spent in the service of magick. His body and head are covered in a hooded robe made of thick green material, and in his lap sits a black and brown dog with tired amber eyes that sighs and drifts off to sleep.
Next to the bearded sorcerer sits a celestial woman who kicks her bare, porcelain feet in the lake, sending out waves of starlight in all manner of hues and textures. The starlight provides magick to the lake, which feeds the rivers that flow through the entire forest, thus providing the main source of magick for the region. Her long silver hair drapes over her glowing gown as she twirls the end of one strand with her delicate fingers. The pair sit by the lake as they have for centuries, playing, laughing, and caring for their pets—both living critters and spectral beings conjured by the woman.
The man's ears perk up as the melody reaches him, and he makes eye contact with his lover to signal his inevitable departure.
“Go where you’re needed, Elstaer,” she says while gently sliding the dog off the man’s lap. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
Elstaer grabs a wooden staff from the ground behind him before darting towards the forest entrance. He runs along the lake shore to a path leading down the mountain to the village. He propels himself forward with his staff and leaps off a small cliff as he shifts his body into that of a massive wolf-like creature with multiple reddish tails and a large mane. His face is much more stern than that of the kitrits, and his shoulders are easily taller than an average sized human. He lets out a loud howl in response to Kanim’s melody.
Elstaer picks up speed instantly, bounding between branches and the rocky terrain below. He passes by the same unseen eyes that terrified Kanim earlier, but pays no attention to them. Even hungry predators have limits, and every animal in the forest knows of Elstaer’s power—though some are still willing to challenge him. The darkness dissipates as he nears the edge of the forest, and he picks up even more speed before bursting out from behind the trees.
Elstaer, the Guardian, approaches the newcomer still in his beast form, running directly up to him. He circles the downed knight, breathing heavily and sniffing him to detect signs of foul magick. The knight avoids eye contact to show his resignation but manages to hide his shaking so that only he and the firebugs inside his armor notice it. The Guardian takes note of the number of fireflies surrounding the man and eases up on his interrogation slightly.
“Why have you come to my forest?” Elstaer growls through his sharp teeth and stands between the man and the forest entrance.
“I was told the forest is capable of great healing, something I require.”
“Yes,” says Elstaer. “It is capable of it. Though I find the forest to be picky about who it chooses to heal. Tell me, who put this fantasy in your head? Did he have ulterior motives when sending you here?”
“I don’t know her name, or even what she truly looks like. In every encounter she bore a new body, but still had that same melodic voice, and the smell of fresh flowers consumed me while in her presence.”
Elstaer pauses and tilts his canine head out of curiosity. “Did she now? And what did this mystery woman say to you? What did she do to compel you to risk your life by coming here? Clearly, this journey was nearly too much for you to handle.”
“I've come from Selanor up in the mountains, where I served as a knight for the royal army. My family has fallen into destitution and fighting was the only way I could earn money. My father hated my choice and wanted me to stay as his errand boy for the inn, but I couldn't take it. I'm good at fighting and was able to climb the ranks easily—success is a rare occurrence among the Omnarrup family. I've come here because I began to question what I was fighting for, because of that mystery woman.”
“As for the woman, I first saw her back in Selanor when our troops were marching off to battle. She stood outside a flower shop in a white dress and I swear her presence caused the flowers around her to bloom. She said nothing, but the look on her face made me question the war for the first time in my life.”
“Next, I saw her on the battlefield among the warring soldiers, seemingly invisible to everyone but me. This time she wore an ethereal green dress and a crown when she asked me if this was the life I wanted. She turned my gaze to the carnage around me, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I agreed with the war.”
Elstaer continues nodding when a flash of light catches the corner of his eye. He looks over to see a tall and powerful woman in a green dress far away behind a tree. She holds back a tear in her eye and gives him a pleading look. Elstaer notices a vine growing from the oak tree that seems to caress the broken soldier’s back lovingly. He nods at the woman and turns back into his robed human form, much to the shock of the soldier, but urges the man to continue his story.
“I followed her off the battlefield, where she disappeared and left behind a ball of blue light like those around me now. As I approached the light it jumped miles away to the edge of my vision, tempting me to follow. This continued for months, leading me through villages, over mountain ranges, and across vast prairies until I met her again in the meadow beyond the river behind me.”
“She bore another body in a flowing purple dress, dancing in the field among the blooming flowers. The winds were strong that day, but I saw her move the field like the waves of the ocean. Her song echoed through the valley and her dance shook the earth around her. When she noticed me I felt the earth move and sway around me, then the flowers turned liquid and I began to float in them. The ocean of grass and flowers healed my most dire physical wounds and I heard her voice singing to me, telling me to enter this forest in search of what I needed. She told me that what I seek is among the trees, which I knew to be the healing I mentioned to you.”
“Baffling,” Elstaer mutters to himself as he picks up the man’s head to get a better look at his tired face. “For Atansha to take an interest in you, I never would have imagined it.”
