Heros life song of proph.., p.1
Hero's Life (Song of Prophecy Series Book 12), page 1
Hero’s Life
SONG OF PROPHECY
BOOK TWELVE
P.E. PADILLA
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No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, P. E. Padilla, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Hero’s Life Copyright 2024 © P. E. Padilla
Cover by Joolz & Jarling
Published by Oliver-Heber Books
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Contents
PEP Talk
Partial Map of Dizhelim
Intro Quote
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
Hero’s Life Glossary
Author Notes
Newsletter
About the Author
Also by P.E. Padilla
Partial Map of Dizhelim
There are times when I’m sure life is one long, monotonous slog, that merely existing is my sole purpose. It’s at those times I go out exploring, which never fails to make me realize I’m not as smart as I sometimes think I am.
Erent Caahs, in casual conversation with his friend Raisor Tannoch.
Prologue
“It’s a bad one this time,” the woman said. “She’s burning up with fever and she stopped breathing altogether three times in the last six hours.”
“Did you send for Mother Sella?” the man asked.
“No. She’s off in Drusca visiting family. She left some vials of the medicine she prepared for us in case there was an episode.”
“All we can do is wait it out then, like always. She’s strong, she’ll make it through.”
“Probably,” the woman said. “I wish I could take all the pain and the weakness and the sickness from her onto myself. A child shouldn’t have to deal with things like that.”
“I know, dear. You know I would also take it all on myself if it were possible. We’re not mages, not even healers like Mother Sella. We can only do what we can do. She will fight. It will be enough. It must be.”
The small girl was in a pocket of consciousness within the current flare-up of her sickness. Most of the time during her episodes, the pain and weakness were everything in the world, the only thing she recognized. Sometimes, though, she would have a minute or two where she could hear—and other times even see—what was going on around her.
Her mother and father were worried about her, like always. If she had to tell the truth, she was worried about herself. More, though, she was sorry. All she seemed to do was to cause problems. She never knew when whatever the illness was she had inside would come upon her and then she would be bedridden until it passed. In the meantime, her parents worried and had to spend money on medicine and watch her closely to see if she would finally die this time.
Sometimes she wished she would, just to be done with the pain, but also because then her parents could have a normal life, one where she didn’t take up all their time like she did now.
She could feel the illness swell again, and with it, her own energy dimmed. Breathing became difficult, just because it took every bit of her strength to try to get air into her body. It would be easy to stop trying. If she didn’t push herself to breathe, she could sink into the blackness and she wouldn’t be a burden to anyone ever again.
Like so many other times before, she decided not to exert herself. She could relax and fall into the dark. All her troubles—and most of her parents’—would go away that simply. She only needed to give up.
The sharp pain of taking a breath despite her resolution made her want to throw up. If she could afford the energy it would take. No, her body would keep trying to breathe for as long as it could. Something seemed wrong about giving up and letting her sickliness win. With a whispered apology to her parents within her mind, she set her entire being to one task: breathe and fight and stretch her life on for another minute. If she did that enough, this time would pass, too, like all the others before it.
When the weakness, pain, and breathing problems passed, as she knew they would eventually, the girl rested more comfortably in her bed. Her mother picked up the plates that had held lunch and stood over the bed smiling at her daughter.
“You’re feeling better, if your appetite is any indication.”
“Yes, mama. I made it through another one. Can I go out and play?”
“No, dear, not just yet. Take some time to rest and eat so you can build your strength up again, okay?”
The girl nodded, her lower lip pouting out and her eyes sad.
“I do have a surprise for you, though.”
“You do?” the girl said, the sad expression disappearing from her face. “Did you get me a present?”
Her mother laughed. “Not something you can pick up and keep. I think you’ll like it anyway.” She stepped through the doorway and jerked her head back toward the girl in her bed. A second later, a tall man with brown hair and a big smile on his face came through the doorway.
“Uncle Arten!” the girl shrieked.
“’Lo there, pretty one. I hear you were sick. Are you better now?” He stepped up to the bed to tousle her hair, but she grabbed him and pulled on his arm until he moved closer so she could hug him. He hugged her back, carefully so as not to squeeze too hard.
“I feel okay, but mama won’t let me go out and play.”
“Your mother’s right. Better that you take some time to rest before going out and running around. If you weaken yourself, you might have another episode.”
The girl made a point to turn her frown to him so he could see it full force.
“Oh, now, don’t go glaring at me. It’s not that bad. I can tell you a story, if you want. It’ll help to pass the time.”
Her expression forgotten once again, her eyes lit up. “Ooh. Yes, tell me a story.”
“All right, then I will. How about a tale of Erent Caahs?” He looked at her as if he expected her to show some kind of excitement.
“Who?”
“Erent Caahs,” he said. She shrugged. “You know, Erent Caahs, the most famous hero alive.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You never…what kind of child are you that you’ve never heard of the greatest hero in the world?”
“I’m just a little girl. I can’t know about everything.”
Uncle Arten blinked at her, then started laughing. “Fair enough. Well, take my word for it. He’s a famous hero. Do you want me to tell you a story about him? I think you’ll like it.”
The girl yawned. “I guess so.”
He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he looked at her. “Uh, okay. I will then. Since you’ve never heard of him, I’ll tell you a short one and then you can figure out if you like the story. If you do, there are a lot of others. He keeps busy, he does.
“So, Erent Caahs is known for his skill with the bow. He can shoot better than anyone else and can even make his arrows curve around corners sometimes. He can do a lot of other things, too, but you’ll just have to listen to some stories and you’ll figure it out. He has a friend, another great hero, named Raisor Tannoch, one of the fierce Crow warriors that come from up in the highlands to the east.
“Now, Erent and Raisor were traveling, as they usually did, going from town to town to help folks who needed heroing done. As they passed through different communities in the area, they heard tell of a thief that took advantage of people who became sick. While they were weak with their illness, he took their purses and other valuables and ran
“‘It’s just a silly rumor,’ Erent told his friend. ‘Who ever heard of a man who ran around finding sick people to steal from? I suppose people are saying that he eats children who are bad, too.’
“Raisor, who had a great booming laugh, rumbled with merriment. ‘I don’t know. We’ve seen stranger things, you and I. I can believe someone taking advantage of the sick, though finding himself in the right place at the exact time when someone is afflicted might be a bit hard to swallow.’
“They moved on, talking about other things as they reached the next village on the narrow road they were traveling. The two rented rooms at an inn and went down to the common room to have a nice dinner of mutton and roasted boar. After they ate, they sat and chatted for a time, since it was still early.
“A commotion from a part of the common room turned out to be two men who were making strange noises. When Erent Caahs went over to get a better look, he discovered that the men were of a strange color, almost greenish, and they had vomited.
“‘Can’t hold the ale they drank,’ Raisor said as the two sat down again. A few minutes later, others showed signs of being unwell. By the time half a dozen people were complaining of discomfort, Erent felt the first twinges in his belly. A loud, gurgling noise came from his stomach and he put his hand on his middle.
“‘Ugh. I’m not feeling so well. What about you, Raisor? Does it feel like anything is amiss with you?’
“‘Aye. My middle is swirling. I…ach…something is definitely not right.’
“Before too long, nearly everyone in the common room, which was more than half the village, in Erent’s estimation, was in a bad way. Some vomited, some were afflicted with cramps, and others…well, there was a high demand for the privy. All while this was happening, a man in dark clothes with a hooded cloak came into the common room. His hood covered his face and as he moved between the suffering patrons, his hands moved quickly.
“‘My purse,’ a man said weakly. ‘He took it.’
“Soon, the call was taken up by several others. The man seemed well practiced, cutting the purses from peoples’ belts with a small knife as he quickly passed through them. No one was in the condition to stop him.
“Raisor took a step toward the man, but sat down quickly and gritted his teeth as his stomach sent out a loud sound that Erent was afraid meant something bad was about to happen. He knew that he couldn’t chase after the man himself because his belly was betraying him, too.
“As more calls went up that the thief had taken more money, Erent realized that this was who the rumors had nicknamed the Privy Pirate. He also saw that the man knew what he was about. Even then, he was making his way toward the door, satisfied with what he had already stolen.
“Being a hero and all, Erent Caahs could not let the man escape, but he couldn’t go chasing him down, either. Instead, he steeled himself, clenching all the muscles necessary to prevent something unwanted from happening. Then he picked up his bow, which was leaning against the wall next to him. He grabbed a handful of arrows and set them on the table, then nocked one and let it fly.
“Now Erent Caahs could shoot three or four arrows in a second, usually. He had to control his movements so as not to shake his stomach up, though, so he slowed it down to shooting five in eight seconds. The first few stuck into a post, the wall, or a table a few inches from the man, causing him to change his direction. He went exactly where Erent wanted him to go. The final arrow went through the hood of the man’s cloak, not only revealing his face, but also securing the heavy cloth to the wall in one corner of the common room.
“By the time the man freed his cloak from the arrow and put the hood back in place on his head, several men who had heard the commotion came in from outside and wrestled the thief to the ground.
“It was soon clear from the statements from all those present that Erent Caahs had saved the day. The constable arrived shortly after to take care of matters.
“One of the men who had been robbed wiped spittle and vomit from his mouth and said to Erent, ‘You kept him from getting away with my purse. I appreciate it, stranger. How can I repay you?’
“Erent set his bow down and closed his eyes as a particularly loud gurgling sound echoed from his belly. ‘You can direct me to the nearest privy.’”
Uncle Arten stopped speaking and watched the girl for her reaction.
She laughed first at the silliness of the whole thing, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she had enjoyed the story. Not just for the humor, but because though sick, the hero still was able to help people and catch the bad guy.
“You have more of those stories about Erent Caahs?” she asked.
“Dozens of them,” her uncle said.
“Maybe you can tell me some more?”
Her uncle smiled hugely at her. “I’ll make you an expert on stories about Erent Caahs yet, Lily Fisher.”
Chapter
One
“Are you sure you want to spend your time doing this?” Tere Chizzit asked. His white eyes seemed to lock onto her, but she knew they didn’t. He couldn’t see with them, but with his magical sight.
Lily shook back her long red hair and frowned at the man. “Yes. That’s why I asked you to help me. Are you really going to tell me that you don’t approve of training to become better?” She knew that would frustrate him. He was a bit more subtle about training constantly than Aeden Tannoch was, but not by much.
“Training is good, yes, but this?”
“Why not?”
“It’s…I don’t know. It seems silly. Why not practice your own unique movements, figure out something new to do? This is a waste of valuable time.”
“Again,” she said, ignoring what he’d said completely.
The older archer sighed and stepped back from the targets he had reset.
The two of them were in one of the training areas, one specifically designed for archers. Ahead of her, affixed to an ingenious mechanism, were six targets. When reset, they would swivel to one of many combinations of positions. Of course, they weren’t meant to be struck nearly simultaneously. That was unreasonable, impractical, damn near impossible.
Yet Tere did it, time and time again. If there had ever been any doubt this man was Erent Caahs, the simple fact that he could duplicate what Lily had come to regard as his signature move over and over removed it all.
Sure, he had slightly flubbed using his technique when Lily had been one of a group—called a brace—of Falxen assassins after him, but that was an awkward situation. He and his friends had been in a jail cell for a time, then traveled through a dangerous living and thinking forest, only to be confronted by a large group of the elite assassins. He also didn’t have his full faculties, having lost the ability to see the magic of the world. She’d give him a pass on missing with one of the six arrows he shot in under two seconds. He hadn’t missed by much.
Now that he was rested and his magical sight was back, though, it was like he was better even than the stories about him she grew up loving. Just half an hour ago, he’d flawlessly nailed all six targets three times in a row. That had drawn a crowd of Academy students.
The move was relatively simple, but in no way easy. It started with three arrows being withdrawn from the quiver, nocking, drawing, and loosing. As the projectiles were released, the archer spun the bow, granting a unique trajectory to each. Almost before they struck, another two more arrows were loosed, and finally a single arrow followed the others. The archer was successful if he—or she—struck six different targets in the blink of an eye.
She had never successfully performed the move. Oh, sure, she did well enough, hitting four or—one time—five of the targets, but she slowed down with the second group of arrows and the last one, taking up to four seconds to make the shots. Lily knew she had a long way to go to be able to succeed at the insane technique every time she tried. Even after accomplishing it the first time.
The statuesque red-haired archer stood in a relaxed stance, taking several deep breaths to relax. Her limbs needed to remain loose or she would never be able to finish the complex actions at speed. Glancing over at Tere to make sure he was out of the way, she prepared herself, then sprang into action
