REIGN OF RESURGENCE:
The Advantage
ANDI NEAL
Reign of Resurgence: The Advantage
Copyright 2015 Andi Neal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Design by Andi Neal
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Preview of Reign of Resurgence: The Edge
About Andi Neal
Dedicated to Joseph, a genuinely extraordinary young man. May you always let your heart guide you, for it beats strong and true.
CHAPTER ONE
“Ladies,” Tristan slid up behind two women as his arms came around their waists. “Do we need refills?”
The woman on his left spared him a glance over her shoulder. “If you don’t remove your hand right now, I’m going to break all ten of your fingers.”
He pursed his lips and slowly removed his arms. “Okay. We’re feeling a little touchy tonight.”
The one on his right shot him a look that said, Really? Tristan tried a sheepish smile. She sighed heavily. “Tristan, what are you doing?”
“What?” he asked innocently. “I just wanted to see if I could get you anything. A refill maybe.” When her only answer was a sigh, he tried again. “You look really great tonight. Can we…talk?”
“Tristan,” she shook her head. “We’ve already talked, and I thought we agreed we were over.”
He tilted his head in half agreement. “Not really. You stated your feelings. I disagreed that we should split, and you…basically told me that it didn’t matter what I wanted.”
She finally turned to face him. “It wouldn’t be fair to you or me to continue this relationship when I don’t want to be in it anymore.”
“Okay, ouch,” he winced and rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. “It really hurts me when you say that.”
“Tristan,” her impatience leaked out along with his name. “We just graduated from college, and we’re about to join the real world. We’re about to become full-fledged adults. Get real jobs and real apartments. Real life.”
His brow lowered with his own frustration. “Why does that change us? I can be a full-fledged adult. I can be real. I am real.”
Her eyes lowered to the floor. “You don’t want to be an adult. You don’t want responsibility. You don’t want to be serious about anything. You want to coast through life like you always have. You’re a dreamer, Tristan. I’m a doer.”
“Just because I’m not as clear about what and who I want to be,” he argued. “Doesn’t mean I’m not taking it seriously. I like possibilities. I think about all the possibilities out there. That doesn’t mean I’m not a…doer. Why do you always have to push me?”
She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “Because you’re better than this.”
“Maybe I like the way I am. Maybe I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. This is about me turning down that job. I don’t think it’s fair to end our relationship over a stupid job offer. I didn’t want the job. Why is that so bad?” He raked a hand through his short, sun streaked hair.
She met his gaze. “You’re a very sweet guy, Tristan, and I care about you. I really do…but it’s not working anymore. It’s fun to date the dreamer in college because he’s inventive and imaginative. But now we’re moving on to the real word. No one wants a dreamer in the real world. I don’t want to start this next step of my life with you.”
With that she turned and walked away. He stared after her with anger bubbling up. “If you care about me so much,” he called out. “Why don’t you just admit that you’re into what’s his face? That’s why you’re really dumping me.”
He rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest again. As he watched her retreating back, he knew she was walking out of his life for good. He allowed himself one last moment of regret. Then he felt a hand slap his shoulder in support.
“It’s for the best, man,” his best friend told him. “We’re about to become men, and we don’t need girls holding us back.” Another slap on the back. “Come on. This is my last night in town, buddy, and this is a party. Let’s have some fun.”
Tristan frowned. “Why do you have to go all the way across the country for medical school? There are medical schools right here in California.”
His friend winced. “Do we have to talk about this again?”
“Yes,” Tristan insisted. “I want to talk about it. My girlfriend has dumped me. My best friend is leaving. What am I supposed to do?”
His friend was eyeing a girl across the room. “It’s not my fault you don’t know what you want for your future, and I do.” Then he sighed. “Come on, Tristan. It’s done. I got in, and I’m going to go. We’re supposed to be having fun.” He gave Tristan’s back one last slap, then disappeared into the crowd.
“Everyone’s moving on and abandoning me,” Tristan muttered. “What’s fun about that?” He downed the rest of his drink in a big gulp.
• • •
Tristan dug through the boxes in a drunken haze. When the door behind him flew open, he barely registered the new presence.
“Tristan?” His older brother rubbed both hands over his face. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Ignoring the barrage of questions, Tristan pulled out a photo from one of the boxes. He stared at the smiling face. “I only remember him as happy.”
His brother stepped toward him to look at the picture. He sighed. “Tristan, it’s really late.”
“If he was so happy, why did he leave?” Tristan asked quietly. His clouded eyes lifted to his brother. “Why did he leave us?”
“Tristan,” his brother squeezed his shoulder. “Those are Dad’s issues. Not ours. I guess he had his reasons.”
Tristan shook his head. “I can’t remember a single thing he taught me.”
“You’re drunk,” his brother said in exasperation. “And I have to work in the morning. Crash on the couch if you want or go home. We’ll talk about this later.”
“I graduated college today,” Tristan stated. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
His brother left him in the garage with the picture still in his hand. Over his shoulder, he tossed carelessly, “Try growing up.” He was about to close the door leading into the house when his wife’s hand stopped him. She gave her husband a disapproving look. “What? It’s two o’clock in the morning. I’m tired of his crap.”
She glanced at Tristan as her husband marched up the stairs. Stepping onto the cold concrete, she placed a gentle hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“Everyone wants me to change,” he muttered.
She took the picture out of his hand. “Tristan, you don’t need to change.” She nudged him until he turned to face her, then she framed his face with her hands. “You just need a little direction. You need to figure out what’s important to you. Once yo
u do, I promise the pieces will fall into place.”
“How do I do that?” He glanced at the box and snuck his hand in. His fingers brushed some kind of disk or medallion. Curiosity had him pulling it out for a closer look.
“No one can tell you how, sweetie,” she answered him. “Life is something everyone has to figure out on their own. Only you can decide who you want to be.”
The medallion had some kind of engraving in its center. An interwoven star of some sort with a circle weaving through it. He’d never seen a symbol like it. He narrowed his eyes as he studied it. When she touched his arm, he shifted his attention back to her. “Do you think he’s happy now?”
“Who, sweetie? Your father?” She sighed at his nod. “I don’t know. But I bet he wishes you were happy.”
“Sorry I woke you guys,” he gave her a sad smile. “I had too much to drink. Got to thinking. Everyone gets so done out with me when I’m thinking,” he murmured.
She brushed a hand over his hair. “It’s okay. You want to sleep on the couch?” She returned his smile with a tired one of her own. “I can make pancakes in the morning.”
He nodded and followed her into the house. “Thanks.”
She paused on her way up the stairs. “Sweetie, I mean this in the best way possible…but maybe what you need is to get away for a while. Go somewhere.”
“Go where?” he frowned.
“Somewhere you can find the answers to all your questions. Somewhere you can just be yourself and find out what’s important to you,” she answered cryptically. “Follow your heart, and you’ll never go wrong. You’re a very smart man, and your heart is good, Tristan.”
He stared at the empty stairs for several minutes. His hand still clutched the medallion he’d found. He lifted it to examine it again. His thumb brushed over the engraving. He didn’t remember his father having it.
“Where do I go?” he muttered to himself. “What do I do?”
He thought he felt the medallion pulse in his hand. He blinked when it started to glow. “What the…” He felt the room tilt and spin. Nausea settled heavily in his stomach. His vision wavered as a fog covered his brain. The last thing he felt was a sensation of falling.
• • •
Ryder crossed the open meadow with lazy, distracted steps. The tall grass tickled his fingers as his hand trailed along its tips. His dark green eyes were aimed high with his head tilted back, a slight breeze rustling his hair. The valley he stood in dipped between two mountaintops and was filled with purple and red wildflowers.
He inhaled deeply the fresh, spring air. The mountaintop on his right held his gaze. But his mind wandered. He wished to be anywhere but in that field. He wished there was more. More than just planting and harvesting the crops. More than just caring for the animals. He wanted adventure. Excitement.
A life without a farm. Without chores. He’d thought several times of joining the Royal Army. If they would even let him. Probably not. And if he did, then what, he wondered. Who would help his father plow the fields? Who would help him bring in the harvest?
He sighed. He was doomed to the life of a mere farmer. Boring, predictable, and nearly unbearable. Was this truly his destiny? Dread filled him.
A blur plummeted past him on his left followed by a pained grunt. He pivoted toward the movement as his hand flew to the small hatchet tucked in his belt. His eyes combed the tall grass for any sign of the source of the movement.
He took a careful, crouched step in the direction he judged to be correct, quietly sliding the hatchet out of his belt. Another. He reached out with the hatchet to part the grass in front of him. And found a man lying face down on the ground.
His eyes widened as he slowly circled the man. Suddenly the man rolled from his stomach to his back with a weak groan. His head lifted groggily off the ground as he looked at Ryder.
Neither spoke as they stared at one another. The man’s eyes were glassy and dazed with disorientation. “Who are you?” Ryder asked.
Tristan let out another groan before his eyes rolled back in his head. Ryder hesitated before stepping forward to nudge the man’s side with the toe of his dark brown, leather boot. His hand, still holding the hatchet, slowly lowered.
He straightened from his tense crouch and peered down at the man in confusion. He glanced around them. Nothing but tall grass. None of it trampled or disturbed, save Ryder’s path through it.
His eyes slowly rose to the clear, blue sky. There were no trees in the open meadow. It appeared as though the man had fallen from the open sky. His gaze fell to the man again in awe. The man had literally appeared out of the air.
• • •
Tristan rolled onto his stomach with an unintelligible murmur. His face buried itself in the mattress he slept on. He wrinkled his nose as he inhaled the scent of his bed. It smelled like…a barn, he puzzled. His eyes slowly fluttered open as his head shifted.
Something sharp poked his cheek. He brushed absently at the source of discomfort. His heavy eyes were a little blurry. When they started to clear, he was able to make out a rough wooden table with two chairs before him.
He could’ve sworn he heard the distinct sound of an oink. His head shot off the makeshift mattress as he pushed himself to his knees in one swift move. He immediately regretted the quick movement and grabbed his head. “Oh, ow. No.”
His eyes closed on the painful throb of his head. After a moment of quiet stillness, he tried again. His surroundings had his heart knocking hard inside his chest.
He was in some kind of small cottage with dirt floors and a thatched roof. The mattress he was lying on was a layer of hay with a linen blanket thrown over it. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain this time as he gawked at his accommodations. “What?!”
He turned two quick circles to see the cottage in its entirety. It was one open room with a ladder leading to a small loft. He lifted his hands to his head. “Why…where…? What?!”
“There you are,” a deep, burly voice said in a thick brogue. “Welcome back.”
Tristan swiveled around to the man who now filled the only door in the cottage. “Who are you? Where am I? What happened?”
The large man studied him with deep green eyes that held a few crinkles in the corners. His head was capped by reddish brown hair that fell straight to his shoulders and was partially pulled back from his face. It held a few strands of grey. “Hold your calm, son. You took a knock to that skull of yours, you did. My son found you in a field not far from here. You be in my home.”
When the man stepped back and gestured behind him, Tristan shot out the door and gawked at the majestic mountains that towered over the valley they stood in. Atop the nearest peak was a grand castle of epic proportions. “What?!”
Tristan pivoted back to the man and grabbed his forearm in rising panic. His other hand pointed to the castle. “What is that?!”
The man gave him an odd look of concern. “That be Castle Lochlain.” He waited a beat. “The castle of the king.”
“King?!” Tristan squeaked as he swiveled back around to stare at the castle. “What king? Castle? Where am I?!”
A foreboding, protective wall surrounded the peak around the castle. Beyond it stood a light grey, stoned castle with towers and turrets rising proudly. Atop the highest tower flew a flag, but Tristan could see only that it flapped furiously in the wind.
A young man approached them cautiously. The older man held up a hand to stop his advancement. “I think he may have hit his head a bit harder than we thought,” he told his son.
Ryder held up both of his hands in front of him as he stepped closer to Tristan. “It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you.” He glanced at his father. “Da, why don’t you let me talk to him?” His voice was a touch softer than his father’s.
His father looked unsure but relented. “I’ll finish the chores. Watch yourself with this one, son.”
Once they were alone, Ryder blew out a breath. “I’m Ryder. What do I call you
?” His face held a lot of the same angles as his father’s. His hair was a shade browner but still carried a hint of red. It was long enough to have straight strands falling over his forehead but didn’t grow past the nape of his neck.
He wore brown linen trousers with a faded blue shirt. The shirt draped airily over him as though a size too big. It had a large vee opening at the neck and the sleeves fell to his elbows. A dark brown leather belt was cinched around his waist.
“Tristan.” He looked around helplessly as he rubbed a hand back and forth over his short blonde hair, spiking it in chaotic disarray. “I don’t understand. This is a dream, right? I, uh…wow. A castle,” he pointed to the impressive structure in the distance again. “That’s quite a castle.”
Ryder eased another step closer, studying Tristan’s dress as he did. Rough, blue pants covered his long legs. His shirt was fastened down the front of his lean torso, and there was a pocket of sorts on the chest. The sleeves of his shirt were long but rolled up to just below his elbow. The top fasteners of the shirt were left open, and another soft garment peeked out from the opening.
His light colored hair was cut short and cleanly kept, Ryder noted. His face was smooth and without facial hair. This was no wanderer, Ryder knew. Panicked, pale blue eyes stared back at Ryder, begging for an explanation he wasn’t sure he could give. Tristan stood tall and thin, a couple of inches higher than Ryder’s 5’11”.
“Tristan,” Ryder repeated. “Well, that’s a start. You seem confused about the castle, Tristan.”
“There are no castles where I come from,” Tristan blurted out. “No kings.” A thought dawned on him. “Europe! I’m in Europe, right? Somehow I managed to span an entire ocean to another continent. I’m in Europe. Where is this? England? Ireland? Ireland, right? The accent. It’s Irish.” He shook his head. “Maybe a little Scottish. Wales?”
Ryder’s eyes narrowed as his brow drew together. “I know of no land called Urope. Or the others.” He frowned. “You have no king in your land?”
Tristan paced back and forth as his hands scrubbed over his head in agitation. “What? No. No, we don’t have a king.”
Suddenly his confusion cleared. Ryder took a step back. “You are from the North.”
“The north?” Tristan puzzled. “I don’t know where this is. How am I supposed to know if my home is north?”
Bewilderment marked Ryder’s face. “That is the name of the land. We call it the North. What is the name of your land?”
“America,” Tristan whispered. “I’m from America. How do I get back?”
“America,” Ryder repeated slowly. “I do not know any of these lands that you speak of.”
Tristan’s eyes flew back to the castle. “What is this land called?”
“You are in the great kingdom of Barico, ruled by King Darius. The royal family lives in Castle Lochlain,” Ryder explained. “My father and I are farmers. We live in this valley and tend our crops to sell at the market in the city of Lochlain.”
“I don’t understand,” Tristan put his hands over his face and chanted, “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”
Ryder halted him with a kind hand. “My friend, you are not dreaming.” He looked around to be sure his father was not near them. “You fell from the sky,” he whispered.
“I what?”
“You fell from the sky,” Ryder repeated quietly. “Out of nothing. I was in the middle of a meadow with nothing around me. You fell out of the sky at my feet.”
Tristan stared at him for several moments with his mouth hanging open. “How is that possible?”
Ryder shook his head. “I do not know. But I know none of your lands, and you know none of mine. What is the last thing you remember?”
“Uh…” Tristan thought back. “I don’t know. I was…” His head shot up. “I was holding a medallion. Something of my father’s. I didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t there before.” He patted his clothes and pockets. “Where is it?”
“I did not see any medallion,” Ryder told him. “Only you.”
Tristan dropped into a crouch with his head in his hands. “I don’t understand any of this.”