Book Excerpt: The Elect Stories by John b crye
“The Elect Stories” by John B. Crye follows the lives and exploits of a group of
adventurers from the idealistic quest of their youth to the reassessments and regrets of
middle age, when they must confront the most terrifying thing any person can face: a
second chance. In a nod to the pulp serials that inspired it, “The Elect Stories” is being
released in chaptered installments. The first 7 of 36 are now available on Amazon Kindle.
What follows is an excerpt from “The Elect Stories, #1: Purpose, or, The
Swordbearer’s Lament,’ introducing two of the stories’ most pivotal characters, Cassian
and Palm.
Ten-year old Cassian Vessena was the last of the council pages to be assigned a post,
so he knew long before his new guardian arrived where he was going to spend the rest of
his youth. Like most council pages, Cassian had hoped to serve the Lord Mayor, which
meant a nice room in the servant’s quarters at the Lord Mayor’s estate and tailored livery
to wear, amongst other privileges. Those posts were given to the sons of councilmen.
Cassian had also thought that it might be fun to be posted to the College of Magical Arts.
The older boys liked to frighten the new ones with stories of the unlucky kids condemned
to that post. They told stories of boys turned to pigs, boys lost forever through magical
doorways, boys devoured by the unnamable beasts that the mages kept as guards for their
arcane secrets. Cassian had never found those stories frightening. As far as he was
concerned, any post would be a welcome change from daily dorm chores, and endless
classes in arithmetic and penmanship and etiquette. And it seemed that all twelve of the
council’s seats had their good points. Cassian, however, was posted to serve the council’s
thirteenth seat.
The thirteenth seat was new, so there was no hand-me-down wisdom. All that was
known about the thirteenth seat was that it would be occupied by a priest of a religious
order called the Elsebrin. And all that was known about the Elsebrin was that they were
rabble-rousers. Trouble-makers. Elves. Cassian imagined being led from the pages’
dormitory by a stone-faced and cold-hearted elf like the ones he’d seen in pantomime
plays, the ones who were always stealing human children in their sleep. He sat alone on
the hard wooden bench in the echoing front hall of the dormitory awaiting his fate at the
hands of one of those ancient creatures with skin like leather, and hard, staring eyes, and
a voice like ice water, who would make him sleep in a tree and eat nothing but acorns. He
cried for the first time since he was six, when his father had taken him from his mother
and given him to the chamberlain at Council Keep.
“My name is C-cassian Vessena,” he whispered to himself. “I am appointed by the
Council of the Free City of Vessena to serve as your page…” He wiped his nose on his
sleeve and tried to swallow his gasping sobs before an older boy saw him and cuffed him
for crying. Then a shadow fell over him.
Cassian’s first impression of his new master was greatly colored by relief – it was not
an elf but a human who came to retrieve him, a man maybe twenty years old. He was a
soldier or swordsman of some kind. Beneath his riding cloak, he wore an old-fashioned
chainmail vest over a long shirt of exquisitely fine cloth of green and gold. He wore
buckskin breeches and knee-high boots. A sword hung from a belt slung low around his
hips. Though most Vessenan men wore cocked hats or wool caps, this man was
bareheaded and he wore his thick, black hair long, as Cassian had heard was the custom
of elves. The man’s eyes were blue like the bay outside the city wall. He was tall, broadshouldered
and imposing, but when he spoke to Cassian he knelt down and addressed
him eye to eye in a gentle voice.
“You must be Cassian Vessena,” the man said.
“Yes, sir,” Cassian said, wiping at his eyes. He hoped that his crying hadn’t spoiled
everything and gotten him held back for being unfit. “There’s just me, sir. I’m the only
one left.”
“Then you’re the one for me,” said the man with a smile. “I’m Palm.”
“I am at your service, Sir Palm,” Cassian said with a bow, already feeling better and,
consequently, better remembering his etiquette lessons.
“I’m not a sir,” the man said. “I’m just Palm. What was your name before you were
given the city’s?”
“Florin, s...” He paused, embarrassed, and then forged ahead. “I was born Cassian
Florin, the fourth son of Julian Florin. Now I am Cassian Vessena, servant of the city.”
“I have a better one for you,” Palm said, standing. “You are now Cassian Will. You
are a servant of the city and of the Elsebrin, but you do your duty because it is your will
to do so. Does that suit you?”
Cassian nodded and stood as well.
“Come along then, Cassian Will. I’ll take you to Great House, your new home.”