Hather (Hather Series Book 1) Read online

  Hather

  Book One

  By Prince Edan

  Hather

  Copyright © 2016 by Prince Edan.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: December 2016

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-680588-932-0

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-932-6

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Tatiana, Starr, and Waldo.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI.

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

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  Chapter I

  “Baby, you gon’be fine out there, and you gon’ become someone great. Nobody gon’ look at you and say that this boy ain’t gonna be anybody, ‘cuz you got potential boy, you hear? You’re not like us, you don’ belong in these slums. Now you go with those people and don’ look back.” Roland’s mother pressed her lips against his forehead, tears welling in her eyes. “Go forward.”

  That was the last time Roland had seen her and the rest of his family. He had left them behind in pursuit of a better life. Something that would give him the money he needed to take his family from poverty, and place them in a proper home. Somewhere safe. That was his dream, his driving force.

  Roland was sitting before the grand piano on a restaurant’s stage, a microphone positioned close to his mouth. His fingers raced over the keys as he started a beautiful rendition of one of Chopin’s pieces. It started off softly then grew into a crescendo. He played the notes quickly but fluidly, as if they were running down an open field, racing to the finishing line. He had created his own lyrics, a ballad for the perfect girl he had never met. She would love long walks in the forest, laugh at cheesy vampire movies, but most importantly, she’d always be there for him. He could taste her lips now, feel her tender skin. One day he would meet her.

  “You make me wanna to stop right here, and never bother to hide my fears. But your body keeps trembling as I watch you walk away. Let me hold you. Take your sorrows away. This pain that causes you to hurt, let me take it away.”

  When his fingers struck the final chord, he glanced at his audience, a group of aristocrats that could waste money in expensive restaurants like La Bora with live classical entertainment. They clapped enthusiastically, bright smiles plastered onto their faces.

  He hated them.

  They didn’t know what it was like to struggle from the bottom and climb to the top. Their kids didn’t have to get a job to pay for living expenses. The men wore the most intricate suits, their wives were endowed with the latest clothing trends from top designers. One lady reminded him of a peacock. She had a long purple feather protruding from a wide brimmed hat.

  He stood graciously and straightened the folds of his rented tuxedo. At nearly six feet tall, with a head full of shocking red hair and pale gray eyes, he stood out easily.

  Taking a quick bow, he left the stage and met with the manager, Mr. Carter, in the far corner of the room. Mr. Carter was small, with bushy eyebrows and a slim figure. He had a childlike face, and his chubby white cheeks easily turned red.

  “Heading home?” Mr. Carter asked with a tentative nod of his head.

  “Yes, sir. I have to meet up with a friend for a project.” He had already spent three hours in this stuffy atmosphere and couldn’t wait to go home.

  “I see. Do you think you could take on more hours?”

  “Why?”

  “The audience has taken quite a liking to you. It may be your voice or the way you arrange your songs. Either way, I get a sharp increase in customers whenever you perform. As the manager, I can’t miss the opportunity to make more money.”

  Roland bit his lower lip. He worked five evenings a week for three hours. Any more and he would fall behind in his studies. “I can’t do that right now, I’m still a student.”

  “Look,” Mr. Carter said, lowering his voice so the table close to them wouldn’t overhear, “I took a chance when I hired you. You lacked professional training, but I saw your potential during your audition for this opening. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten as good as you are now.”

  Roland swallowed hard. He had gotten into Kings Academy as a scholarship student. If his average fell below an eighty, they would drop him without a second thought. Mr. Carter had introduced him to a professional pianist so Roland could improve his skills, grow as a musician. That didn’t mean that Roland owed him anything. Did it?

  “I’ll raise your pay to thirty dollars an hour,” Mr. Carter said with a sly smile. “And what the hell, I’ll even throw in a proper suit.”

  That would be twice his current pay. Just how much money did they make when he was here? “Okay,” Roland agreed, and they shook hands. “What’s wrong with my tuxedo?”

  “Let’s leave that conversation for another day.”

  Roland patted his jacket, feeling slightly offended. It was made from soft gray material and fit him perfectly. “This costs me twenty-five dollars a week.”

  Mr. Carter drew a sharp breath. “That explains why it looks so cheap.”

  A girl left her table and approached them. She wore a sparkling blue dress and heels so tall and thin that Roland wondered how she didn’t twist an ankle. Her jet black hair curled at her shoulders, and her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of blue. She kissed Mr. Carter’s cheek and Roland gaped. Why did all rich old men marry beautiful girls that were half their age?

  “This is my daughter, Cassandra.”

  Roland’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as the realization dawned on him. For a girl like her, Roland would do anything. She sparked his curiosity and tugged at his heart. He hoped his lust didn’t show in his eyes,

  “Wait, did you think that I was his wife or something?” questioned Cassandra, raising her left brow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Do I look that old?”

  He laughed nervously. “No, you look quite beau—beige,” he said, managing to catch himself before he said “beautiful.” His face flushed. He was sure that everyone working at the restaurant would find out about his blunder by the next day. It would be humiliating. His poor ass had flirted with the rich manager’s daughter, knowing she would reject him.

  Cassandra chuckled. “Beige, that’s new. Normally, people say beautiful, but beige sounds nice.”

  Roland focused on swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat.

  Mr. Carter coughed. “It’s nice to see that you two are getting along. Roland, could you take Cassandra b
ack to campus with you? I get anxiety just thinking about her leaving the safety of our glass doors. And a strong man like you should be able to keep her safe.

  “Sure, is it all right if I get changed first?”

  “Take your time.”

  Roland excused himself and entered the employee’s dressing room, taking his supplies from his locker. In a few seconds he had pulled on a loose white shirt and gray sweatpants, stowing his suit into his bag. He slung his saber’s sheath around his belt, gripping the worn leather handle. The sword was one he had inherited from his father. The blade had dulled considerably in the time it had been used, but it still protected them. After picking up his bag, he met with Cassandra and mumbled goodbye to her father. They left the building, and were greeted by a blast of cool air. The buildings on either side of the street resembled small castles, having arches, towers, and gothic windows. Knights in silver armor patrolled the sidewalks. They were higher in status than the ordinary police officer, and much more adapt at wielding swords. Roland fancied knights and imagined officers to be nothing more than disposable pawns.

  It was the twenty second century and the economy had taken a turn for the worst. Guns were destroyed as the government tried to stop the rebellion that arose when workers lost their jobs. The streets became a war zone. Once the countries had executed the gun dealers, people turned back to weapons used in older times. Swords, daggers, arrows, anything that could pierce human flesh. Some cities like Hather in Ontario were considered safe to live in. The well-equipped police force managed to deter any criminals that arose. People that lost their jobs and had no means of surviving were sent to the ghettos—hellish places that were filled with disease and filth. They made their homes in the ruins of buildings that had been blown apart by explosions.

  Roland didn’t know the exact cause of the rebellion; his parents only recalled what their ancestors told them. They said it was worldwide; the poor rose up against the rich as if they had snapped. It was a bloodbath since neither side would give in. The rich refused to increase the numbers of jobs and the poor refused to work for such low wages. It’s a tale that spanned many centuries; one of blood bath, gore and the possibility of freedom. Roland wanted to see equality. He wanted poverty to be eradicated.

  Although Roland was being paid more than the average middle class worker for his skills with the piano, he was still far below the upper class elites that made hundreds of thousands of dollars a year and lived in mansions that were filled with maids, cooks, and groundskeepers.

  “You have a wonderful voice,” said Cassandra.

  He had forgotten she was there. “Thank you, Miss.”

  “So, how do like King’s Academy?”

  “It’s nice, safe.” Roland’s home was in one of the poorer regions with board houses and shaky roofs. They were many quarrels that led to sword fights and even death. Trash was piled in the streets every hundred meters, rotting heaps teeming with flies, rodents, and other delightful creatures. He’d been fortunate enough to escape; others weren’t so lucky.

  Compared to that, Hather was heaven. Its streets were cleaned regularly and the buildings were well kept. The city had sidewalks, paved roads, and traffic lights. Kings Academy had dorms with actual beds and not just a blanket thrown onto the floor. Though the students often teased him for his upbringing, Roland focused on his studies. All that mattered in the end was getting good marks and graduating at the top of his class.

  Cassandra swatted his arm. “You’re too uptight. Try to relax.”

  “Relax, Miss?”

  “Yes, let your hair down, breathe,” she said, spreading her hands out before her as if she were swimming. “And for God’s sake stop calling me Miss, we’re both students at the same academy.”

  Roland frowned. “My hair is down, and if not Miss, then what should I call you?”

  “Just Cassandra is fine. “

  It was considered disrespectful for someone of a lower status to address the elite by their first name. Roland was surprised she would be okay with it.

  “Try it,” she said.

  “Try what?”

  “My name.”

  Roland’s face paled and he cleared his throat. “C-Cassandra,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

  “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Since you know my name, it is only fair that you tell me yours.”

  “It’s, uh, Roland.”

  “Well, uh, Roland,” she said, smirking, “I am officially your number one fan.”

  “You may be my only fan.”

  She pinched his cheeks. “Your confidence needs a lot of work.”

  Roland’s flesh burned beneath her fingertips and he silently cursed himself for easily getting embarrassed.

  Chapter II

  They had left the restaurant a few minutes before sunset. A cool breeze caressed them as they walked briskly to the academy. Cassandra told Roland that she knew a shortcut, a quick stroll through a forest close by. Knowing that fights often happened under the shadow of the night, he decided to follow her advice.

  He guessed that they had been in the forest for about twenty minutes. Streaks of violet, orange, and pink flooded the sky. The urgency to get back before dark lay at the forefront of his mind. “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction, Ms. Carter?”

  “I’ll have you know that I’ve been through here on many occasions and gotten back safely every time.” She nimbly stepped over a moss covered branch, her heels digging into the soft earth.

  He watched the fluid manner in which the metallic dress swirled seductively at her heels. She was beautiful, yet strange. There was something about her that drew his attention. What was it? When she whirled on him, he averted his gaze. It would be embarrassing if she found out his eyes never strayed far from her.

  “Let’s take a break, my feet hurt like hell.” She kicked off her heels and leaned against a mature oak tree.

  They shouldn’t waste time, he knew. Night was approaching quickly and it would be a struggle to find their way in the dark.

  As if sensing his concern, she said, “There’s a road not too far from here that leads right to the academy.”

  “Okay.”

  Roland waited, rubbing his palms against his pants anxiously. The girl had pressed her head against the rough bark and closed her eyes. She looked peaceful. He never would have imagined that someone of her status would be willing to get their feet dirty or enjoy walks through a forest without complaining.

  “What?” she asked, her eyes remaining closed.

  “Nothing, Miss.”

  “You know, staring at a girl without saying anything can scare them a bit.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She laughed softly. “There’s no need to apologize, I just wanted to know what goes on in that complex mind of yours.”

  “Nothing really. I think about food more than anything else.” And recently, her. His stomach churned and he realized he had not eaten anything since lunch. He touched his abdomen, disappointment showing on his face.

  Cassandra’s laugh reverberated in his eardrums. “Oh God,” she said, a beautiful smile playing on her lips, “you looked like a sad puppy. That was one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.”

  “A puppy, Miss?”

  “Yep, you had the drooping eyes, pouting mouth and everything.” She paused, then asked, “Would you like to grab a bite somewhere close by?”

  “It’s all right. I’ll just get something from the cafeteria when we get back.”

  “I won’t tell my dad.”

  His stomach growled. “I can wait, Miss.”

  “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you? It would only take us a few minutes, and then we could return to the campus. Imagine cheese pizza, the toasted crust, the melted chees—”

  He slapped his hand over her mouth, making the rest of her sentence inaudible. Voices. They were coming from the east. Though he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he doubted their intentions.

  “Shh,�
�� he murmured against her ear. “They are close.”

  Their pursuers’ footsteps were light and almost imperceptible, except for the occasional snap of a twig. Small animals scurried over the dry leaves that covered the ground. Roland focused on steadying his breathing, taking slow, controlled breaths. He risked looking behind the tree they were pressed against, letting his hand fall from Cassandra’s mouth. Barely making out black pants behind a shroud of leaves, he realized he should have stuck to his instincts and taken the long route to the campus.

  “I swear, I heard voices somewhere,” said one man.

  “They probably aren’t too far away from here,” concurred a second man. “Fan out and find them, we’ll split the earnings equally.”

  Roland strained his eyes, managing to make out two pairs of legs. Cassandra’s body trembled slightly; she had a death grip around her shoes. Was she planning to hit them with those?

  “Wait,” Roland cautioned, keeping his voice low.

  He noticed only one man had started off in their direction. That shouldn’t be too hard to deal with. He estimated the man would reach their position in a few seconds.

  Five.

  Cassandra dropped to her knees.

  Four.

  Roland found a rock.

  Three.

  The man was closing in on them.

  Two.

  A bird cried over their heads.

  One.

  Roland stepped into the man’s path and flung the stone at his head. The man yelped in pain, gripped his sword, and charged. Heavy footsteps stormed toward them when the other guy changed direction. Cassandra grabbed Roland’s hand and threw her shoes at their attackers. Though one shoe missed its target by a long shot, the other hit a man on his knee. Roland recognized the red ram emblem on their shoulders from the news. It was worn by members of the Rouge Resistance; they attacked citizens and stole everything they owned, even the clothes on their backs. The resistance stole to survive and attacked the higher classes for revenge.