All Our Heroes Are Ghosts

By Connor Frost

An adventure set in the aftermath of an ancient war.

The great city of Tyria has fallen. The King has been murdered and the Queen abducted by the brutal invaders. The survivors face a bleak existence, but they hold out hope. A whispered hope that somehow the heir to the throne survived, and that one day he will return to raise Tyria up from the ashes.

After Marcus makes a miraculous escape from the island prison that holds Tyrian's taken children, some believe that he is the lost heir to Tyria's toppled throne. To prove himself, Marcus will need to unravel the mystery of what really happened when Tyria fell—and only the Queen can give him the answers.

Marcus sets off with a band of Tyrian soldiers and their charismatic leader, Hedj Marea, to rescue the Queen from the treacherous land of the invaders. The journey will demand all of their courage and their wits, as they masquerade as the escort for a reluctant princess on the way to her arranged marriage.

If Marcus succeeds, he will rescue his mother the Queen and provide hope to a desperate people. But if he fails, Marcus will die an imposter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connor Frost
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999548018

Book preview

Chapter 1

When the great city of Tyria fell, every child who survived was taken. The victorious Archeans sailed back to their Isles with the spoils of war and left the traumatized children on a remote island, which served as their prison and a rough-hewn school. A bleak life of servitude awaited the Tyrian youth, but first they would be taught deference and educated in Archean superiority. The children were forced to worship before Archean idols and mouth prayers to Archean gods, while Tyria was to be erased from the world and all memory; to utter its language or its very name was forbidden. But a child’s spirit is a difficult thing to break…

---

Marcus, we should get back. The guards will come looking for us, a young woman said as she waited at the edge of the woods.

A young man stood on a hill in a small clearing next to the dark rolling sea. On the clearest of days, one could see a range of snowcapped mountains in the distance. The mountains that once protected Tyria. Marcus looked out in vain, as grey storm clouds marched overhead.

He caught a snowflake and watched it melt into a naked bead that slid down the line of his palm.

Lymeda, I’m not going back, Marcus told her.

Not again. You can’t mean to run again, Lymeda said as she went to his side. The last time they nearly killed you. The guards starved you and almost beat you to death. This time they’ll not stop.

Then I had better make it this time.

We’ll find another way. Don’t do this.

They’re sending us into slavery. They’ll separate us and give us to some cruel Archean master. The collecting ship is on the way, and I’m not getting on it.

Then I’m coming with you, Lymeda declared. Each time you ran before, you left alone in the middle of the night. This time you’ll have a friend by your side.

If you run, you cannot turn back.

I know. Let’s hurry then, while there still is light.

---

The two raced on as the forests paths narrowed, then disappeared altogether. A horn blew in the distance - the alarm had been raised. Guards would be riding after them now. The alarm gave them renewed urgency, and they tore themselves through the forest as their lungs burned for air. After they reached the forest’s edge, they had to cross thick grass fields which seemed to have no end. Their energy soon flagged, but Marcus kept repeating over and over that the ridge must be near. The rumbling thunder of horses’ hooves could be heard in the distance, closing steadily.

Finally, at the edge of their heart’s exertion, appeared the slender gorge, which split the island like a cracked vein in black marble.

Look there it is. The tree bridge. It’s really there. Marcus pointed out the thin tree trunk hanging precariously above rocky cliffs. In the low light the tree trunk appeared like a twig bent in snarling rock jaws that had torn through the earth.

Oh, Marcus, that’s no bridge, Lymeda said over the roar of the river rapids far below.

It will have to be. I’ll go first. I can hold the other side for you to cross. It will be alright.

No, don’t do it.

The wind shifted and horses could be heard again. Marcus turned to see the guards, the details of their hated uniforms visible, their helmets aimed low as they charged through the storm.

I’m sorry, Lymeda, Marcus said as at he looked at her tenderly, then stepped on the wood. One last time, he said, for Tyria.

Marcus inched across the tree trunk and the earth slowly receded beneath him. Below him lay the rocks that threatened to break his body, and the rapids that would smuggle it away. Marcus closed his eyes but could not silence the constant rush of water.

A strong gust of wind nearly blew Marcus off. He fought to keep his balance on the slick wood as rain lashed his face. With one leg raised and his arms gingerly shifting at his side in the blowing rain, he was like a marionette held by thin silvery strings. But he could do nothing to keep the log secure, and Marcus had to watch helplessly as the far end of the trunk came loose from the mud. Marcus fell silently like a black apparition, down, down, into the mist of the rapids and disappeared.

Lymeda cried out in despair and sank to her knees in the mud.

Four riders drew up and their leader dismounted. He walked to the edge of the gorge and looked down at clouds of mist. Who was that? he asked over his shoulder, or do I even need to ask?

No one, Lymeda answered. I was alone.

No matter, we’ll find out soon enough. His body will wash up tomorrow, the man replied casually as he headed back toward Lymeda and smashed his fist into her stomach.

Lymeda groaned and doubled over.

The guard pulled Lymeda up by her hair, and hissed in her ear: But I still want to hear you to tell me who it was.

She raised her chin defiantly and said nothing.

Alright, men, I have things in hand here. You three return back to the castle. I’ll bring her back when I’m done.

The guards exchanged knowing looks and rode off.

Now Lymeda, you’ve really got yourself into serious trouble. Though I can’t say that I mind. I’ve been hoping one day you would run and I’d be the one to catch you.

He laughed as he circled her, sniffing at her neck. Lymeda cringed at his nearness, his foul stench. A hungry yellow smile curled his cracked and bloody lips. He grabbed Lymeda by the neck and forced his mouth over hers.

Lymeda spat out in disgust. She hit the man in the face and tried to run.

The guard was just too big and strong. He caught Lymeda in his grasp and threw her to ground, then pinned her roughly. Lymeda’s screams filled the river canyon. He looked down at Lymeda in vicious hunger and tore at her clothes. She fought with closed eyes as she was pulled into hell.

But the storm broke and suddenly Lymeda was free. The guard yelled out in pain as he was hit and thrown over. In a haze, Lymeda saw Marcus grapple with the guard, but she didn’t trust her eyes. Had her mind conjured a dream to shield her from the trauma occurring to her body?

The guard pushed Marcus off him and pulled out his dagger and circled Marcus menacingly. Lymeda realized it was no dream and scrambled to her feet.

I don’t know how you survived that fall, the guard said as he threatened Marcus with the blade, but your luck is about to run out.  

He lunged forward, but Marcus adroitly dodged and smashed his elbow into the guard’s back.

Oh, you’re the best of them, I know that, the man grumbled as he picked himself off the ground. You’re still just a miserable Tyrian.

Again he lunged, and again Marcus dodged and struck the less agile man. The guard swore in frustration and then gestured with the dagger. I’m going to enjoy slitting your throat. Then I’m going to enjoy her.

The guard attacked and Marcus caught the man’s arms, but Marcus slipped in the mud and fell backward. The guard steadily tipped back Marcus’s shaking arms until the dagger blade was poised at his throat.

A heavy thud rocked the guard’s head and erased his grip. The man groaned and his eyes went blank. Marcus threw off the body and rubbed his throat as he looked at Lymeda. A heavy, bloodied rock dropped from her trembling hand.

Are you alright? Marcus asked, gasping for breath.  

Let’s go, Lymeda said as she picked up the guard’s dagger and went to collect his horse.

Chapter 2

Marcus shook uncontrollably from the cold, as his wet clothes froze to his body. Lymeda fought to hold the reins as Marcus slumped over. They couldn’t ride on to the village. They would be noticed and the guards alerted swiftly. No Tyrian could expect sympathy from an Archean villager here, not when the penalty for overcoming their inherited hatred would be death. The best case would have been to sneak in under the cover of night to steal off in a little fishing boat - but that was not an option anymore. Marcus’s shaking slowed, and he grew terrifyingly still. Lymeda felt utterly alone, lost in a storm and surrounded by unseen enemies on all sides.

Marcus’s dire situation gave Lymeda direction. She rode into a secluded spot at the edge of the forest, secured the horse and eased Marcus gently to the ground. She didn’t have much time. A few tries at a fire was all she had. Then she would undress him and share her body heat with his, and try to last a little longer, together.

She grabbed a few twigs from the undergrowth and raced back to Marcus’s side. She began vigorously rubbing sticks together but was interrupted by the sound of horses. She looked up to see a number of riders, obscured by the swirling snow at twilight.

Sorry, my dear, but you won’t be able to start that fire, said a man hidden within a black cloak.

Lymeda sprang up and drew the guard’s dagger, and stepped forward to place herself between the riders and Marcus.

You are certainly brave, the man observed. We saw you escape from the other side of the river. Now listen, if you want this boy to make it, you’ll have to come with us. There’s no time to explain. And no time for a fire. It will only act as beacon to the Archeans in the castle.

Who are you? Lymeda demanded.

We’re from Tyria. We’re here to help. There’s no time to explain more. We have to ride. Now.

He’s frozen, she exclaimed. He’s going to die of the cold. Look at his face. His skin. He looks like death already. He needs warmth.

It’s no use giving him relief for a moment, when delay will mean that none of us make it off this cursed island. Our ship is near. Soon he’ll be given blankets and anything else we have that might help. But no fire. Not here. Not yet. We must hurry. We have risked much, and much is at stake. No more discussion.

The rider gave a sign and two men dismounted and made for Marcus. Lymeda hesitated, then stood aside. She had little choice but to trust, or hope, in these men.

The small group rode furiously through the dark, but for Lymeda, waiting for a sign that they had not been trapped was excruciating. Soon the group was riding alongside the coast. Under the moonlight, Leymda spied the pale stones of a small hamlet nestled in the rocky cliffs. Then another, and another.

The village appeared below them where the coastline softened. She swallowed with difficulty, fearing the worst - that Marcus and her were being brought back to the village by these mysterious men for a reward from the castle.

The riders turned sharply and rode carefully down a rocky path, and thankfully the village disappeared, replaced by a small ship. The ship was beached on the narrow pebble beach in a tiny cove; like a ghost ship, its wood appeared grey in the moonlight and it was surrounded in mist. The ship had a single mast, a row of oars along the side, and an aggressive bow with warlike paint and a blunt battering ram.

Marcus was carried aboard and the skittish horses were secured before the ship pushed off. The rider’s leader turned to Lymeda: We’ve covered him with blankets but it is not enough. Lay by him. See if you can warm him a little. You just might save his life.

Though I fear it is too late, he muttered to himself as he watched Lymeda descend below deck. And too late for Tyria.

The crew rowed vigorously, with difficulty through the surf, as the tides kept pushing them back at the island. Finally the ship got clear, and when the waters became more regular the sail was lowered, unfurling with a crisp snap in the generous winds left behind by the storm. The crew was hushed as the ship bobbed past the sleepy village, a few windows glowing still, painting the black harbour with blurry gold dabs like lanterns in the rain.

Chapter 3

Lymeda squinted at the unfamiliar sun as she reemerged on deck the next morning. Warm winds stretched clumps of cotton cloud across the blue dome of sky, and pulled the small ship sprightly along the azure sea. The crew turned from their tasks and watched her expectantly. They did not have to wait long for news. Behind her Marcus emerged from below deck. He stretched out comfortably in the sun as he surveyed his foreign surroundings. The crewmen looked at one another in disbelief.

Lymeda recognized the leader of the riders from their escape, standing amongst the crew along the bulwark, smiling at the sight of Marcus.

How’s it possible? a crewman wondered aloud.

The sea air’s cured him, another said with a hearty laugh.

Sea air cannot raise a man from the dead. Last we saw, he was at death’s door.

Why are you here then, if you don’t believe? their leader asked. We are not here for the common or regular, but the extraordinary. I saw with mine own eyes Preneus perform feats that no mortal man could.

Lymeda whispered to Marcus and he approached the men.

I gather we owe you our thanks for getting us off the island, Marcus said as he offered out his hand.

You’re welcome. And welcome aboard. I am Hedj Marea, leader of the Order of Preneus.

Are you Archean?

It is worse than I feared. Does the name Preneus mean nothing to you?

He was the last Prince of Tyria. So, you are Tyrian?

Certainly. And it’s why we were on the island, on that black place, the Keres. To find you. We knew the collecting ship could arrive any day, and thought it was the best chance to find one of Tyria’s taken children. Thankfully we found you. That you were brave enough to try the escape the Keres.

What of the others? Lymeda asked.

We don’t have nearly the numbers to attempt taking the castle, Hedj explained, all in good time. We hope that this dark period of Archean tyranny will soon be at an end.

Why did you come for us? Lymeda asked.

Because if the prophecy is true, then Tyria’s future lies with one of the children who were taken.

A prophecy?

Yes. Revered oracles have foretold that the heir to Preneus, Prince of Tyria, would one day return from Archea to found a great kingdom in Tyria’s ashes.

We learned how Preneus was killed by Nessenvire, Marcus told him.

Really? I wonder what lies you were told. I was there when it happened. Preneus died in my arms. And with his last breath he spoke her name.

Whose name? Lymeda asked.

The Archean girl he had fallen in love with, Hedj answered as he stared out over the sea. Poor Preneus, it proved to be his undoing.

Lymeda and Marcus shared a confused look.

Pardon me, Hedj said as he cleared his throat. Sometimes I lose myself thinking of ghosts and long departed friends. I tell you this because I believe that your mother, Marcus, was that girl.

My mother, Marcus repeated blankly.

Yes. Her name was Ariadene.

Chapter 4

O h girls, you were magnificent. Never was a mother more proud of her daughters.

Thank-you, mother. It was wonderful, Ariadene said, like a dream, that I do not trust was real, but long to return to constantly.

Yes, I could spend every day just so, her sister Gevina enthused. As a princess on the stage, singing in the warm sun, surrounded by the cheering crowds of summer’s first festival.

Well it’s a good thing that you can only spend one day just so, her father grumbled, for our poverty cannot bear the cost to outfit you in such rich dresses.

Father, I am sorry if the burden was too much, Ariadene offered contritely.

Ah, it’s alright, you girls don’t ask for too much, their father allowed.

And the investment will be repaid a hundred times, you mark my words, her mother claimed.

Oh mother, how can you speak so? Ariadene complained.

Nearly every young Archean lord was present I’m sure. There’s no better introduction to society than the festival.

I think you exaggerate Mother, Ariadene said. We are as unknown as when we arrived here in the cold of winter. The crowd cheered us as two Illyrian princesses, not as two refugees from the war.

Oh, perhaps, her mother replied with a dismissive wave, but now that you’ve captivated the crowd you’ll be known soon enough. I saw Lord Nessenvire admiring you.

I think Gevina captivated the crowd. My voice is nothing to compare with hers.

He was not staring at your voice, Gevina remarked.

It is no compliment to be leered at by the likes of him.

Ariadene, what can you be saying? her mother cried, he rules the city, and a kingdom in Archea besides.

That doesn’t improve his reputation.

Nor his looks, Gevina added.

Gevina, don’t talk so, her mother scolded.

Mother, are you so blinded by his position? Gevina asked.

I’ll admit there is something unsettling about his look.

He’s terrifying. It’s his thunderous countenance and flared nostrils, Ariadene explained. He looks like a deranged bull out of a myth that devours lost souls trapped in his maze.

What silliness, her father objected. Worry more about the content of a man’s pockets than the look of his eyes.

It matters to Ariadene, said Gevina, I think she favoured the handsome man in black who was in the audience.

Gevina, stop telling tales, Ariadene protested.

That’s the second time today he’s made you blush, her sister teased.

It had better be a tale, their mother admonished, I’ll not have you upset our plans, our family’s prospects, for the sake of a pair of blue eyes.

Really mother, who mentioned blue eyes? Gevina asked.

Well, I did notice the man, their mother admitted. He was handsome enough, I suppose. But he looked a rogue to me. Wearing a black cloak to the summer festival? It’s not the sign of an upstanding young man. I’ll take Lord Nessenvire’s fine robes any day.

Hush, her husband interrupted, an official approaches.

He consulted with the official briefly and turned back to his expectant family.

Well, what is it man? his wife demanded.

Lord Nessenvire has invited us to his private balcony.

Oh, what an honour, his wife exclaimed. See, I told you. Today sees the rise of our fortunes.

I’ll not go, Ariadene said quietly.

Excuse me?

I’ll not go. I’ll not walk up through the watching crowds, with everyone thinking that I am plucked out as his latest prize.

You’re getting carried away, Ariadene, her mother insisted, why cannot a man compliment you with a simple invitation?

Because this man has the power, and the habit, to pursue his desires in ways that should unnerve you as much as they do me.

Why, the power to introduce himself, yes, that. And also the power to raise our family off the streets and to the heights of the city.

I warn you mother, Ariadene said icily, I’ll not be sold off, no matter the price. Nessenvire can have his guards drag me up from the streets. I’ll not go willingly.

If you are so disobedient, so ungrateful to your parents to cause such a scene, you will no longer be my daughter.

If your motherhood can be withdrawn so easily, then it is not worth having.

Ariadene, please be reasonable, her father said. This is not about your mother’s schemes or Nessenvire’s desires. This is about prudence, for the sake of yourself and for your family. We lost our home to the war, and now we seek sanctuary in this Illyrian city of Grevere, which is now ruled by the Archeans. Do you really mean to have us insult the Archean lord who rules over the city, as we stand impoverished and everywhere at the mercy of Illyrians? Can you not answer this request today? That is all we ask.

Yes, for you father, today I will.

---

The family made their way out from behind the wooden stage, but in the wine warmed crowd they were soon jostled about and separated. Gevina moved toward the edge of the square for relief, followed by Ariadene. A man in the crowd cried out: Hurrah for princesses Lotte and Gisela! Flowers were thrust into the girls’ hands as they edged forward.

Gevina turned to see Ariadene stopped behind her, standing before a young man wearing a black cloak. The young man smiled at the flowers collected in Ariadene’s arms, then removed a small bright blue flower from inside his cloak and offered it to her.

For Princess Orianna, he said.

You mean Princess Lotte, Ariadene corrected with a smile.

Ah, but the unoriginal Archeans have stolen our Illyrian myths, the man replied. In the Illyrian version your character’s name is Orianna. She was a sea nymph, daughter of the goddess of the sea. I prefer the Illyrian, it is more beautiful. Do you know it?

I do not. I am Archean, and too unoriginal I suppose.

"Ah, you are Archean.