BEYOND THE HORIZON:

  BOOK 1: INTO THE WILD

  In a time unknown, there was a wondrous and wild land far outside our perceivable knowledge; a land in which was home to the beginning of a great adventure.

  This declaration leads to the inevitable question: where does an adventure begin? Is it in the heart; an internal choice to discover the unknown? Or, is it all preordained by the wills and the invisible hands of great godly beings deciding our fates before we’ve even entered the world?

  For every person, whether big and small, short or tall, we’re unaware until it is upon us. Until the desire or invisible celestial winds pull us into the wild, we never truly know where each of our great journeys begin or where they will take us.

  For Hoxley the tall freckled girl with the legs of a faun and saddle bags full of letters to deliver, it began in the most peculiar way; with the sound of shouting from just beyond the horizon.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The sound of Hoxley’s hooves clopped to a halt in the middle of the white stone bridge she was meandering across when the shout split the air. She’d been deeply engrossed enough in a book about the strange biology of gels only moments before, but the sound of panic and distress shook her from her concentration. An adolescent boy approximately fourteen summers old came bursting out of the undergrowth by the far side of the bridge. The boy was slathered in mud up to the waist and stumbled as he ran.

  “Messenger!” He called to her, arms waving, as he ran. Messenger!” The boy was brown skinned and lean, wearing clothes that might suggest a social higher class than the average villager, if again, not for the mud. Close cropped hair with intricate marks carved into the side of the scalp indicated he’d had enough money to afford such frivolous lavish preening most couldn’t afford. He ran as fast as he could manage before sliding to a stop in front of her. Up close, his clothes appeared even more regal. Even with the tears and slashes from running through brambles, the stitching was meticulous and well crafted. “Messenger…” he panted, bending at the waist to put his hands on his knees and gather breath.

  “Yes, I’m a messenger.” She said, looking past him for what could possibly have made him run in such a fashion. As she’d done for the past three years, she cleared her voice and spoke, in a direct if slightly monotonous tone. “My name is Hoxley, a messenger of the plains tribe. I will deliver any written message any distance in the great lands for one silver coin. Light parcels up to ten pounds for two silvers and packages over twenty cost one gold coin. All parcels are guaranteed to be delivered in safe condition within allowable travel time. Do you wish to hire my services?”

  “Yes… I do…” he huffed. “Are you by any chance good with that pugil?” he asked without looking up from the ground, sweat falling from his brow to the stone below their feet. Hoxley glanced over her shoulder where her six-foot vale wood staff with the carved sphere ends stuck out of its sheath upon her back

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I am quite skilled with my pugil stick. I’m trained to keep your letters and parcels safe from bandits and thieves. Do you have something for me?”

  He nodded frantically. “It’s a message that must be delivered. Here is your payment.” With that, he reached into a pocket on his belt and produced a fistful of gold coins, more than Hoxley had ever seen in her life. Some fell between his fingers and clinked upon the stone as he hurriedly cupped them into trembling hands.

  “Oh! Here, you dropped some. Let me help you….” She said as she stooped to pluck them.

  “Leave them alone, here take these.” He said pouring the coins from his hands into hers. Looking the handful of treasure over, there must have been at least thirty coins threatening to fall through her fingers.

  “Good Sir, my rates are not this expensive. What is it you want me to deliver for you?”

  “I want you to deliver two things with a message.” The boy said as he grabbed a small leather satchel with intricate stampings from around his neck and quickly handed it to her. It was light for its size, bulging with contents approximately the size of someone’s head

  “Of course. Where are these items going?”

  ******************************************* EDIT LINE

  “To the throne of the western kingdom, far from here. Is that enough gold?” He asked, scooping up the rest of the coins and plopping them in her palms with the rest.

  “Hold on…” Hoxley said funneling them into her money pouch before reaching back to her saddlebags. She pulled out a waterproof bag and untied the drawstrings. From within the container she produced a small slip of paper, envelope and a pen. The boy bounced n his toes as Hoxley’s hands worked quickly; mind fulluy occupied by the thought of earning the highest commission of her three-year career. With the supplies at the ready she looked to the kid and asked, “What would you like the message to read, good Sir?”

  “Here, give me that.” The boy said before snatching both and turning away to write upon his thigh. As he did so, Hoxley took her second quill and began filling out a small slip of paper. It was standard for a messenger to write a receipt to give to the client; proof that she’d accepted the letter and parcel for delivery. He frantically scrawled a short message before standing straight, stuffing the note in the envelope, folding it closed, and thrusting it into her hands. “There. Here is the message. Give me my proof of receipt.”

  “Yes, yes.” Hoxley said, finishing her part before holding it out for him to take. He snatched it and quickly read the scrawl that had her name at the bottom.

  “And this is guaranteed?”

  “Always guaranteed.” She said proudly. “My name is Hoxley and my word is my bond. I always deliver.”

  “Good.” He said as he tucked her receipt into his inner shirt pocket. “Get your pugil ready, they’re coming.”

  “My pugil?” She said with some confusion as she tucked the envelope into the water proof bag. “Who’s coming? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “There are men who are chasing me who wish to capture me and take me back to the eastern kingdom.” The boy admitted, crazed eyes revealing his desperation.

  “Good Sir, I only deliver letters and parcels. I don’t provide security and protection services. For a job like that I suggest-“

  “THERE HE IS!” A tall, burly man said as he stepped from behind the underbrush at the far end of the bridge. “OVER HERE! OVER HERE! I’VE FOUND HIM!” The thug pointed a short sword in the direction of the boy now cowering behind Hoxley’s hindquarters. Three more men, all wielding weapons, poured out from behind trees and down the hill to reach the spanning stone bridge. Her full white tail flicked in anticipation.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Good Sir? Do you know these men?” She asked uneasily.

  “You have to protect me. I need to escape them and reach the western kingdom.”

  “Sir, I’m not in the service of conflict, I’m only a messenger. If you have a quarrel with these men, it’s none of my business.”

  “It’s your quarrel now. Those men mean to capture or kill me and you-“ he said gesturing to her carrier bags “have been paid forty pieces of gold to deliver me and my bag unharmed to the throne of the western realm. That is the message and I am the parcel.” As the men drew closer, the boy pulled a polished dagger from his belt.

  “You’ve done what?!” Her hand shot back into the saddlebag, pulled the waterproof bag, threw it open and unfolded the letter. Fingers worked quick to unfold the paper and read the message sloppily jotted on the parchment. Her blood ran cold as she took in the words:

  Hoxley the faun girl messenger has been paid forty gold pieces to deliver Prince Damron and his crown, in good health, to the throne of the Western Kingdom.

  PRINCE DAMRON SON OF KING DAMRON

  “What does this mean?” Hoxley asked, holding the letter to his face. “What have you done?”

  “You have taken my gold and given receipt of those instructions. I have the receipt in my breast pocket. I know your code, faun girl. You and your people are bound to your bond to defend your parcel and deliver it, lest your good name be ruined. I sure hope you weren’t lying about your skill with that pugil!” The boy taunted, while shifting to a defensive position. “Get ready, here they come.”

  “YOU THERE!” The lead man in leather armor shouted as the others hurried to catch up to him. Each of them was gasping for air, sweat creating a light sheen on their faces. Had they been chasing this boy who claimed to be the prince? “HOLD HIM! DON’T LET HIM ESCAPE!” Everything was happening so fast.

  “Good afternoon, Sirs!” She called out to them as she subtly shifted to shield the boy from view

  “YOU! FAUN BITCH! HOLD THAT BOY!”

  “Sir, there’s no need for insult. My name is Hoxley and as you can see I’m not a faun. I am half faun, thank you very much I’m a messenger for all the lands and-“

  “Stand aside!” The tall man shouted as he walked past Hoxley’s front and rounded her long body to grab the boy. The boy attempted to swipe at him but the man expertly dodged away; grabbing hisarm at the wrist and twisting until he dropped the knife. The others closed in.

  “Help me!” the boy said, pinned to the tall man’s chest despite his obvious struggle. “Stop them!”

  “Who’s this?” said the burly man with a pronounced gut and an unkept beard, onwe of the three men approaching the scene

  “There’s no need for any of this.” She said. “My name is Hoxley and if you’d just-“

  “Silence that tongue, horse girl, or I’ll cut it out of your head.” The tall man said, pointing the tip of his short sword at her. He continued twisting the boy’s wrist back to the side at an angle. Hoxley noticed that he was trying to keep a straight face, but as he was forced to one knee she caught a slight wince. “You,” The tall one nodded to another man, a another portly sod with a scraggly beard. “Search him.” The small man waddled over and started searching through pockets. It wasn’t until he started searching the boy’s shirt pockets and produced the receipt slip that Hoxley got truly nervous.

  “Only a slip of paper.” said the man

  “What does it say?” the tall one questioned.

  “How should I know? I can’t read. Here, you read it.” he passed it to the man with the large belly. The big guy looked it over for a moment, his lips moving with the words as he spelled it out. When he was done, his eyes narrowed and glanced up at the girl with four faun’s legs.

  “What does it say?” The tall man asked

  “It’s a receipt for goods, from her.” He nodded at Hoxley. “He’s paid to have her deliver something to the western kingdom.”

  “The boy doesn’t have anything on him but those saddlebags look big enough to carry a crown.” said the fourth one. “Hey, horse girl, what did this runt give you to deliver?”

  “I-I’m just a messenger for parcels.” She stuttered, hand drifting to the satchel the item was held in. “He gave me a bag.”

  “Hand it over.” said the big fat one. “He took something that doesn’t belong to him. Go on, give it up.”

  “Good Sir, if you’ll please listen, you’ll see that once I have something in my possession, I cannot relinquish it until its properly delivered to its receiver. It’s my only job.” The tall one let out a long huff with frustration.

  “Faun, you look like you’re young enough that you’ve got cabbage between your ears so I’m going to be nice. If you don’t give me those saddlebags before I count three, my man here is going to open you up with his sword and take those bags from your cooling body. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes Sir.”

  “Get on with it then.”

  “Good Sir, please don’t make me do this.” Hoxley pleaded.

  “One…”

  “I’m sure if we talked this over we could come to a reasonable solution.”

  “Two….”

  “Ah, horse apples….it was such a good start to the day too.” Said Hoxley. When she reached back with her right hand by her lower back and dropped the saddlebags to the ground next to the ledge, the men relaxed. This quickly turned to alarm, when in the same motion she unsnapped the leather strap holding the pugil to her back and yanked it free. Faster than anyone could react or shout a warning, the six-foot pugil with bronze spheres attached to in the ends was already spinning wildly. Much quicker than the men were expecting, one of the ends shot out, braining the fat man above the left ear.

  “GAH!” He shrieked as he toppled backwards to land on his spine. A half step to the right and a downward strike caught the tall man atop the hand. He yelped like a scalded dog, yanking the appendage back and releasing the boy with his other hand. His sword clattered to the stone, forgotten momentarily as he wailed in pain. The boy collected the sword and stepped away,

  “You! Get behind me!” she ordered. He quickly obeyed and she could feel him crouch against her hind legs near the ledge of the bridge.

  The squat one tried to rush from the left, but a sharp jab just below the second bulbous chin was enough of a strike to the windpipe to stop him cold. He backpedaled, stunned and struggling for air. The fourth one retreated a step or two out of reach of her pugil and took up a defensive stance. He looked to the tall one still cradling his injured hand that very well could be broken from the way the fingers hung unmoving.

  “What are you waiting for?” shouted the tall one. “Cut her down so we can get the boy and go!”

  “Gentlemen, I beg you to please put your sword away so we can resolve this with reason.” Hoxley proclaimed.

  “You break one man’s head and one’s hand and want me to disarm?” said the fourth, his weight quickly shifting from one foot to the other as he readied himself for an attack. “I think not.”

  “I apologize then, this could have been avoided.” Hoxley stated as she prepared to re engage in the conflict. Her bravado quickly faded however as on the horizon she could spot ten more men, all wearing similar attire. From the tall man’s relieved eyes and a shift to a more comfortable stance, she knew he saw them too. Before she cpould react he waved his good hand in the air.-

  “HERE! OVER HERE! WE HAVE HIM! HURRY!”

  Hoxley’s gaze went back to the man with the sword, and saw his body weight shift to charge. She reinforced the grip on her pugil; letting gravity pull the majority of the stick down to the ground and grasping the top bronze ball with her right hand. When he was about to lunge at her, she raised the stick horizontally, aiming with her left hand and driving it from the back end with the righthand like a lance. The strike glanced the man’s blade and for a second it looked like she missed. With a small grin and a quick flick of the wrist she recalibrated, sphere slamming home between his eyes. His forward momentum added to the fierceness of the strike causing his whole body to freeze before falling chest first at her left side and going over the edge. This might not have been a problem if not for the fact that his last desperate attempt to keep from going over the edge was to grasp onto anything stationary…including her saddlebag. She watched in horror as the man toppled ass overhead, still grasping the contents of her livelihood down, down, down, twenty feet to splash into the swiftly flowing water.

  “NO! MY BAG!” She yelled after it.

  She looked back at the tall man, still waving and yelling to encourage the others to move faster to join them. One man rolled on the ground cradling his head, another rubbing his neck and still coughing. The tall man still grasped his injured hand, but he’d lost the desperation in his eye, Instead, a calm smirk sat comfortably on his face.

  “You’ve done it now, horse girl. You may be able to fight four, but nobody can fight ten. I’m going to enjoy watching you scream when they carve you up.” Hoxley’s eyes darted around. From the men on the ground, to the men who were getting closer in the field beyond the bridge, to the frightened boy who cowered behind her, and ultimately to her saddlebags getting further and further away every second she watched. She knew what she needed to do.

  “Can you swim?” she asked the prince.

  “Yes. A little.” He answered, trying and failing to hide the waver in his voice.

  “That’s enough.” She spun about, twisting her rump and knocking the prince from his footing to fall down, down, down and splash into the water. He returned to the surface a moment later, flailing but alive as the current carried him quickly away.

  “Not smart, horse girl.” said the tall man, his wicked grin still taunting her.

  “I’m a faun.” She corrected him, swinging her pugil and smashing his other hand, causing him to crumple, crying out in anguish for the smashed appendage. And with that, she turned, and leapt off the bridge to escape into the summer air. “And my name is Hoxley!”