Artak and The Forgotten Mark

Christian Walker

Description

A story that will take you on a quest with Artak who, having travelled the world in pursuit of mastering his fighting skills, returns a fearless warrior. Little does he know that fate will soon give him the chance he's long waited for; to meet face to face with the beast that left him an orphan. When he was merely 14, he watched his parents die along with his entire village. In fear, the boy barely escapes the fiery scene only at his father's command. This engraved in his heart such a shock that he vowed to avenge them one day. Collapsing at the gates of Wimbra a few days later, he is taken in by Martuk, the village leader. Accepting him in as his own child, he teaches the young boy everything he knows in the art of sword combat, but given his natural abilities and determination, in a short time he surpasses the skills of his teacher. When he was given his first knife, he admired and respected it, spending hours contemplating it; feeling powerful with it. It was already during these young years, being the restless child that he was, and not adhering to rules, much less curfews, that he began to disappear for days without anybody knowing where he'd been.

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 15 octobre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781506905006
• Langue: English

Extrait

Artak
And the Forgotten Mark


A tale by ChristianWalker

First Edition Design Publishing
Sarasota, Florida USA
Artakand the Forgotten Mark
Copyright©2017 Christian Walker

ISBN 978-1506-904-99-3 PRINT
ISBN 978-1506-904-00-6 EBOOK

LCCN 2017956246

October 2017

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .


Library ofCongress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Walker,Christian
Artakand the Forgotten Mark
/ written byChristian Walker.
p. cm.
ISBN978-1506-904-xx-x pbk, 978-1506-904-xx-x digital

1. YOUNGADULT FICTION / Animals / Mythical Creatures. 2. /Dragons. 3. /Fantasy.

A7849
To my family,
who supported me and inspired me.
Chapter One


Slowly he rodehis horse along the paths of the Western mountains. His hunched and fatiguedfigure made it evident he’d been riding for a while; his tanned skin, a sign ofhaving spent countless days under the sun. He had been gone for quite sometime, during which he improved his fighting skills with masters in differentarts from faraway places. The battles and exploits he had joined in had takenhim around the world where his name was well known. The stories he could tellwould retain the attention of anyone, and everyone was always readily availableto listen to these when he was willing to share them.
But now, it wastime to go back home, where the people he grew up with, the people who took himin when he was only a 14 year old boy, would undoubtedly be happy to see himagain. He could hardly remember some of their faces. He knew they would havechanged somewhat over the past few years, but he also knew that no matter howmuch they might have changed, he would recognize them instantly upon seeingthem. Among them all, there was a face he longed to see most of all; the faceof his beloved Tsehva. As he continued in his steady pace between the trees, hewondered if she would have changed much, but most of all he wondered if she’dstill be waiting for him, like she promised just before he left. His throatbecame tight and it was difficult to swallow thinking she might be with someoneelse now. He’d been away before, but never as long as now, and for some reason,this time he felt nervous about the thought that in his absence she would havefallen for another man. Several times he planned to return but his willingnessto help those in need always held him a bit longer. Yes, he wanted to see themall again, but especially Tsehva, who, placing her hand on his arm as hemounted his horse before he departed, softly answered that she accepted hishand in marriage, something she would keep to herself until his return. Thismemory made him want to go faster, but he knew it was better for him and hishorse to maintain the same pace in order to get there well and safe. “Betterlate than never,” the rider thought as he continued on his way, getting closerand closer with every step. “Almost there,” he whispered calmly, though hisheart was by now beating faster in excitement.
Artak, now 30, hadtravelled back and forth a few times since he first arrived in Wimbra almost 15years ago and had seen things most men never even heard of.

It all started when having watchedhis parents die, along with his entire village at the age of 14. This engravedin his heart such hatred for these beasts that he vowed to avenge them one day.With this in mind, he immediately took an interest in the art of sword fightingand Martuk, who took him in as his own child, taught him everything he knew;but given his natural abilities and determination, in a very short while he hadsurpassed the skills of his teacher.
During these young years,being the restless child that he was, he could not be restricted to rules andschedules, much less curfews. Often he would disappear for days without anybodyknowing where he’d been, and regardless of the times he was asked, he neversaid a word about where he went or what he did. When he was almost 16 he wasgiven his first knife, and he admired it with respect and spent hourscontemplating it, feeling powerful with it. The next day, he went out byhimself with one goal in his mind; he would not return until he’d found a hogand killed it with noting other than his knife and bare hands. And so, hestepped into the forest with nothing but his new knife and a pouch of water.For hours he searched until finally, there was one just a few yards in front ofhim. It looked enormous and for a few moments he had second thoughts and justkept silent, hiding in the bushes as he observed the animal. But he regainedhis courage and, with a deep breath, charged against it with a loud scream. Thestartled hog jumped back and then charged toward the boy who, with the knife onhis right hand stopped there and waited, but as the hog got closer and closer,Artak got alarmed at the size of the animal and, with a front flip jumped overit managing to avoid it.
The hog quickly turned aroundand charged again; Artak then sheltered himself behind a tree, shouting at theanimal from one side and then the other to confuse it but the hog didn’t givein to his tricks and chased him around it. Artak quickly climbed the tree andhanging from a high enough branch, he watched the animal below him. He then sawan opportunity when the hog let down his guard for a second and jumped on itsback. The animal jumped and squealed as Artak held on to it tight; he knew thatif he let go, the animal would at the very least, hurt him badly and so, hequickly grabbed his knife and stabbed it several times around the neck andchest and the animal suddenly fell to the ground and lay motionless. Artak thenlet go of the animal while mixed emotions ran through his head; he was proud tohave beaten it, but he was also sad to have killed it.
This was an experience thatour young hunter would never forget, a moment that defined who he was tobecome. He learned that he needed to be stronger and faster, more agile.Henceforth, he trained constantly; daily he went into the forest and used treebranches to pull himself up, bringing his head to one side of the branch, andthen the other. He would run around the forest jumping obstacles with frontflips and midair twists, leg raises and everything he could think of.

Now a grown man,he stood six feet tall, with rugged wide shoulders and biceps that could not beignored; an athletic look overall. His brown wavy hair reached just above hisshoulders and his light brown eyes had a hard stare that would make anybodynervous. He almost always wore a black thick-leather vest which was especiallymade for him by one of his teachers in Asia, with whom he spent a great deal oftime. Given its origin, this vest had a design which ended with spiky ends atthe shoulders that pointed to the sides; it was hand-sewn with thread made outof dried animal guts. The recent scratches added to the collection of marksfrom previous battles.
Chapter Two


A misty fog now coveredthe land, but in spite of the time he’d been gone, he still remembered the way.The croaking of frogs and the chirping of crickets was a welcome tune and couldbe heard for miles; and was a welcome tune that suggested safe passage. After along journey and only the moon to light his way, he could distinguish thevillage torches a few hundred feet away. Kimir, the gatekeeper, stood watchthat night like almost every night, a job that due his insomnia, he usuallyvolunteered for. “Who goes there?” He asked, covering his eyes from thereflection of the torches trying to distinguish the blurry image of theapproaching stranger.
“Is that you ,Artak?” Kimir asked shocked.
“Yes, it is I;now open the gate Kimir, I am tired and hungry.” Artak responded with a faint voiceand thin smile.
“Open the gates,Artak is back… Open the gates I said!” Kimir shouted excitedly to the men belowas he sounded the bell vigorously. The villagers, who were startled at firstthinking it was a warning, began to come out alarmed and looked at each otherfor answers. But when they learned that it was Artak who was back, they gatheredin the yard to receive him, they had not seen him for the better part of fiveyears and could not wait to hear of his exploits and to tell him about thedragon that had been spotted a few times.
From within thecrowd, a young woman rushed to his arms and welcomed him with a kiss, embracinghim intensely.
Artak, who wasextremely tired, ignored his fatigue and embraced her with equal sentiment.
“You came back!”She expressed overly excited. “I was ...” she sighed shedding a tear.
“You were what?”He asks gently, overtaken by compassion upon seeing her.
“I was afraid Iwould never see you again.”
“I’m here now.”He whispered in her ear holding her by the waist.
“Oh my, you lookvery tired, you must rest. Are you hungry?

Tsehva was abeautiful 28 year old woman; 5 feet 8 inches tall, with blond hair that sheusually kept in a single braid. She had a heart shaped face and her eyes wereas green as the fields in spring. With small yet full lips and although she wasthin, she was a strong woman. She was an only child, and the daughter ofMartuk, the village master and Lyveva her mother, who having been struck by anillness that weakened her during labor, died giving birth.

“Artak!” Someoneshouted. He turned around and saw an old bearded man approaching him with a fixedstare. It was Martuk, Tsehva’s father and the village master who, with a firm arm-shakefollowed by yet ano