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    Reap the Whirlwind
    Reap the Whirlwind
    Reap the Whirlwind
    Ebook199 pages2 hours

    Reap the Whirlwind

    By Rachel Starr Thomson

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    Beren is a city in constant unrest: ruled by a ruthless upper class and harried by a band of rebels who want change. Its one certainty is that the two sides do not, and will not, meet.

     

    But children know little of sides or politics, and Anna and Kyara—a princess and a peasant girl—let their chance meeting grow into a deep friendship. Until the day Kyara's family is slaughtered by Anna's people, and the friendship comes to an abrupt end.

     

    Years later, Kyara is a rebel—bitter, hard, and violent. Anna's efforts to fight the political system she belongs to avail little but to win her enemies at court. Neither is a child anymore—but neither has ever forgotten the power of their long-ago friendship. When a secret plot brings the rebellion to a fiery head, both young women know it is too late to save the land they love.

     

    But is it too late to save each other?

     

    Reap the Whirlwind is an early work by Rachel Starr Thomson, the author of The Seventh World Trilogy (Worlds Unseen, Burning Light, and Coming Day), Taerith, and other novels and short stories.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLittle Dozen Press
    Release dateDec 11, 2015
    ISBN9780988061323
    Reap the Whirlwind
    Author

    Rachel Starr Thomson

    Rachel Starr Thomson is in love with Jesus and convinced the gospel will change the world. Rachel is a woman of many talents and even more interests: she’s a writer, editor, indie publisher, singer, speaker, Bible study teacher, and world traveler. The author of the Seventh World Trilogy, The Oneness Cycle, and many other books, she also tours North America and other parts of the world as a speaker and spoken-word artist with 1:11 Ministries. Adventures in the Kingdom launched in 2015 as a way to bring together Rachel’s explorations, in fiction and nonfiction, of what it means to live all of life in the kingdom of God. Rachel lives in the beautiful Niagara Region of southern Ontario, just down the river from the Falls. She drinks far too much coffee and tea, daydreams of visiting Florida all winter, and hikes the Bruce Trail when she gets a few minutes. A homeschool graduate from a highly creative and entrepreneurial family, she believes we’d all be much better off if we pitched our television sets out the nearest window. LIFE AND WORK (BRIEFLY) Rachel began writing on scrap paper sometime around grade 1. Her stories revolved around jungle animals and sometimes pirates (they were actual rats . . . she doesn’t remember if the pun was intended). Back then she also illustrated her own work, a habit she left behind with the scrap paper. Rachel’s first novel, a humorous romp called Theodore Pharris Saves the Universe, was written when she was 13, followed within a year by the more serious adventure story Reap the Whirlwind. Around that time, she had a life-changing encounter with God. The next several years were spent getting to know God, developing a new love for the Scriptures, and discovering a passion for ministry through working with a local ministry with international reach, Sommer Haven Ranch International. Although Rachel was raised in a strong Christian home, where discipleship was as much a part of homeschooling as academics, these years were pivotal in making her faith her own. At age 17, Rachel started writing again, this time penning the essays that became Letters to a Samuel Generation and Heart to Heart: Meeting With God in the Lord’s Prayer. In 2001, Rachel returned to fiction, writing what would become her bestselling novel and then a bestselling series–Worlds Unseen, book 1 of The Seventh World Trilogy. A classic fantasy adventure marked by Rachel’s lyrical style, Worlds Unseen encapsulates much of what makes Rachel’s writing unique: fantasy settings with one foot in the real world; adventure stories that explore depths of spiritual truth; and a knack for opening readers’ eyes anew to the beauty of their own world–and of themselves. In 2003, Rachel began freelance editing, a side job that soon blossomed into a full-time career. Four years later, in 2007, she co-founded Soli Deo Gloria Ballet with Carolyn Currey, an arts ministry that in 2015 would be renamed as 1:11 Ministries. To a team of dancers and singers, Rachel brought the power of words, writing and delivering original narrations, spoken-word poetry, and songs for over a dozen productions. The team has ministered coast-to-coast in Canada as well as in the United States and internationally. Rachel began publishing her own work under the auspices of Little Dozen Press in 2007, but it was in 2011, with the e-book revolution in full swing, that writing became a true priority again. Since that time Rachel has published many of her older never-published titles and written two new fiction series, The Oneness Cycle and The Prophet Trilogy. Over 30 of Rachel’s novels, short stories, and nonfiction works are now available in digital editions. Many are available in paperback as well, with more released regularly. The God she fell in love with as a teenager has remained the focus of Rachel’s life, work, and speaking.

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      Book preview

      Reap the Whirlwind - Rachel Starr Thomson

      Before You Read On, a Gift for You ...

      A picture containing text Description automatically generated

      Click the image or this link to get your free copy of WORLDS UNSEEN, a fantasy novel by Rachel Starr Thomson.

      Dear Reader,

      Years ago I had a dream . A city was burning, and inside the overthrown palace, two young women were confronting each other. One was a princess. The other was a bitter, battle-scarred rebel, there to kill the princess.

      But they had a secret that would change the course of history for them both: they had once been friends, and the power of that friendship had never truly died.

      I woke up and started writing, and the result was Reap the Whirlwind. This is one of my earliest works, and no doubt readers of my other stories will detect plenty of immaturities in the writing. But the story, the characters, and the central theme of friendship have never ceased to grip me, and so I offer this story to you now—humbly, and with gratitude. In many ways this is the story that made me a writer. I’m thankful to you for the part you’ve played in my own journey.

      Blessings,

      Rachel

      Chapter 1

      Morning. The sun cast a red hue over the chimneys and rooftops of Beren. It did its best to get into the alleys and dark, narrow streets, but they seemed to push it back. Light wasn’t allowed here. Not in the tenements, in the docks. In another part of town, the wide, clean streets welcomed the morning. But in the tenements, the rising sun was just a bitter reminder that life would go on.

      Juster stared out the small window at the sunrise. A red sun, he told his wife. We’ll be havin’ an evil day.

      Oh, come, Matilda said. You don’t believe superstitions like that now, do you?

      Didn’t, the man said, clenching his pipe in his teeth. But now I’m not so sure.

      It’s the rebels, isn’t it? Matilda asked. That’s what’s worryin’ you?

      There was a pause, then Juster nodded. They’re right, you know.

      What do you mean?

      They’re right, he repeated. "The aristocracy’s all wrong. It ain’t right that they should have every advantage in the world while we sit here and starve. I don’t begrudge them that they have advantages, o’ course, they’ve got as much a right to them as any man. The problem is that they won’t give us any. Every man’s got a right to ’em, I say, but they don’t think so, and as long as they’ve got all the power, they decide who gets ’em and who doesn’t. It’s all wrong."

      Well then, Matilda said in a comforting tone of voice, if the rebels are right, why are they worryin’ you?

      Not sure, Juster admitted. I think—well, what they want is right. But I can’t help thinkin’ that they’re goin’ about it the wrong way. They want to overthrow the government, and kill all the upper classes, and dispense justice right an’ left. The trouble is, they’re awfully bloody when it comes to justice. And I think it won’t be gettin’ no better as the time goes by.

      The rebels say things won’t ever change without blood. They say that unless we all get real forceful, nothin’ will get done, and the police’ll ride through and kill a lot o’ people, and that’ll be the end o’ that.

      They hung a man down in Dorley the other day, Juster said, not talking to anyone in particular. Said he was a spy, workin’ for the aristocracy. Strung ’im up high and let him die, way up there in the air. Come to find out, he was innocent. But they found out to late to save ’im. It isn’t justice I mind. I think the rebels are too quick with it, that’s all.

      Maybe so, maybe so, Matilda said. But just think, Juster. Just imagine what it’d be like, if we was all to be equal. Just think. The world would be a better place, Juster.

      Yes, Juster grunted. Well, maybe.

      Maybe! Matilda cried, growing more and more sure. Of course it would be! I don’t suppose it’ll do us much good; we’re gettin’ old, and we won’t be around long enough to enjoy it. But think what it would be like for the boys, and for Kyara! They would maybe be able to get a grand house somewhere, away from the docks and the tenements. And they’d be able to bring up their own children away from all this. Just imagine it, Juster!

      Juster gave a rueful smile. I suppose, he said. It was something worth imagining, that much he had to admit. A life away from here—that would truly be a wonder. The docks had long been the home of the common people. It hadn’t always been that way: there was a time, a long time ago, when Beren had been a busy port town, with one of the most wealthy harbours in the world. But that day had passed long ago, when the sea had turned on those who depended on it by becoming suddenly and mysteriously devoid of fish. Without the fish, the trade stopped, and before long the docks were nothing more than a lot of rotting wood, a shade of better days gone by.

      A small voice from across the room interrupted the discussion. Imagine what, Mama?

      The two parents turned, their faces lighting up. Kyara was sitting up in her small bed, her red hair tangled and sticking out in all directions. She was wearing her only nightdress, a coarse shift that Matilda had sewn and resewn half a dozen times, but of which Kyara was proud. The other girls who shared their tenement had to sleep in their clothes.

      Imagine what? the girl repeated, hopping out of bed. The floor was cold on her bare feet, and she pulled on her worn shoes as quickly as she could while waiting for her mother to answer.

      Nothin’, dear, Matilda said.

      You were talkin’ about the rebels again, weren’t you?

      The parents exchanged an uneasy look. Though they did support, at least to an extent, what the rebels were doing, they wished to keep their daughter from getting involved. The rebels would think nothing of getting a seven-year-old girl to work for them, of putting a child’s life in danger, for the cause. The less Kyara knew about the rebels the better.

      They were spared an answer as Kyara continued to talk. Is the Uncle coming today? she asked. I heard you tell Mama that he might.

      Juster and Matilda exchanged a look again. The Uncle, a big man by the name of Bernhard, was Juster’s second cousin, from the countryside. He was a great favourite of Kyara’s. He was also a rebel.

      In the old days, Bernhard had spent his time in the country, tending the family farm. His visits to Beren were few and far between. Now he was in the city quite frequently. On business, he said. Juster and Matilda knew what that meant. They normally kept their distance when he was around. On the odd occasion, though, when Bernhard was desperate for a place to stay, they let him come. If the police got suspicious, they could simply say that Bernhard was a relative who needed a place to sleep. It was true, after all. No one had to know that Juster and Matilda were well aware of Bernhard’s business.

      Kyara didn’t know anything about Bernhard’s reasons for being in the city; at least, her parents didn’t think so. If she discovered he was a rebel, they would no longer allow him in their house. They had made that much clear to him. He had promised not to tell the little girl anything.

      Yes, Juster said shortly. He’s coming.

      Kyara made a delighted little noise, then asked eagerly, When?

      Tonight, Juster said.

      Kyara sensed that her father didn’t want to discuss Bernhard. She cleared her throat and stared at the rickety table in the middle of the room.

      Breakfast? she asked hopefully.

      I’m afraid not, Matilda said, trying to be cheerful. Why don’t you run along and play, Kyara?

      All right, Kyara said. She pulled her clothes on and ran outside, calling for her playmates to come join her. Matilda shook her head sadly.

      Maybe the rebels don’t always go about things the right way, she said. But I wish them luck, even so.

      KYARA PICKED UP A STONE from the street and threw it into the air once, catching it again. Satisfied that its weight and size were sufficient for the task at hand, she headed down the street, stopping at a tenement house that was virtually identical to her own. It was dirty and tumbledown, crammed in the middle of a row of equally ramshackle buildings. The windows were filthy, and a long crack split one where it had been assaulted by a group of restless young men. A deep-throated dog barked from somewhere behind the house, and Kyara swallowed nervously.

      She took the stone out of her pocket and hurled it through the air. It hit the door of the tenement house with a resounding thud. Kyara waited impatiently for someone to emerge. The door opened at last, and a dirty boy came down the steps to the street. He looked at Kyara somewhat scornfully.

      Why don’t you just knock? he asked.

      None of your business, Tommy. Kyara said, sticking her nose in the air.

      Ah, don’t you get lookin’ all high and mighty with me, Kyara. Actin’ like you got some good reason to throw stones at the door ’stead of knockin’. Well, ya can’t fool me. You’re still afraid of ol’ Chase.

      I’m not either, Kyara said.

      Are too! Tommy insisted. You’re so afraid of that ol’ dog you won’t even come close to the house.

      Kyara took on the air of someone with better things to do. Are we goin’ explorin’ or aren’t we?

      We’re goin’, we’re goin’, Tommy said. But we gotta get Jake first.

      The two headed down the narrow streets until another boy came running out of his house and joined them.

      We’re goin’ explorin’, Tommy informed the newcomer. And if you’d taken any longer ’n that to get out here, we mighta just gone without ya.

      You wouldn’t, Jakob said confidently. He’d heard such threats before, and they had long since ceased to worry him. Where are we gonna explore t’day?

      The woods, Tommy said mysteriously.

      That ain’t nothin’ special, Jakob said. We been there a million times.

      Yeah, but this time we’re goin’ to a new part of the woods. Where we’ve never been b’fore.

      Jake looked suddenly apprehensive. Hey, we’re not goin’ to the . . . his voice dropped to a whisper, as if he feared being overheard, "To the upper woods, are we?"

      Tommy didn’t answer, instead taking on an expression of importance and not a little defiance.

      Aw, come on, Tommy, Jakob said, his voice suddenly pleading, "we can’t go there!"

      Why not? Tommy demanded.

      It’s too dangerous, Jake said. People like us aren’t supposed to go there. Just the ’stocracy.

      My dad says that’s a rotten rule, Tommy said. He says we oughtn’t to listen to it. We got as much right in those woods as they do, that’s what my dad says.

      Sure we got a right, Jakob said, trying to be agreeable. "But that don’t mean we gotta go there."

      "Don’t you want to go there?" Tommy asked.

      Jakob’s face suddenly wore a rebellious cast. No, he said. I don’t. An’ you shouldn’t either.

      Tommy looked at his friend for a minute as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Finally, he spoke. Fine. Stay here then. Me and Kyara’ll go it alone.

      Tommy beckoned for Kyara to come with him. The two started to stroll nonchalantly down the street. In no time they heard the sound of running feet coming up behind them, and Jake, out of breath, joined them. Tommy’s face wore a smug, I told you so air that conveyed his pleasure at being right again.

      The wood, bordering all of Beren to the west, ran down through the hills to the waterfront. Where the trees met the water was a swampy area that covered most of the region near the docks. They had learned to ignore the unpleasant smell of stagnating mud, and though the garbage that washed up from the waterfront to the swamp was full of things that could make a strong man’s stomach turn, it gave up its share of treasures too. The swamp had its treacherous spots, particularly when you got closer to the sea, but it had enough solid ground for children to play there, if not safely, then at least with an illusion of safety. As uninviting as the swampy area was, with its grime and mud, the children of Beren’s tenements had played there for years.

      Uphill, toward the richer section of Beren, the atmosphere of the woods changed from gloom to welcome. The aristocracy took great care to keep their part of the woods clean, well stocked with game, and completely clear of peasantry. Any resident of the docks who chanced to be caught in the upper forest faced severe penalties, ranging from imprisonment to death, depending on the mood of the nobleman who caught him there. Occasionally some daring soul chanced it, sometimes looking for game to feed a starving family, sometimes just acting in rebellion. The rebels encouraged the peasantry to defy the aristocracy when it came to the woods, but most valued their lives enough to stay away.

      The three children moved through the swamp quickly, taking care to step only on solid ground. They shouted hello to Old Manfor, the scavenger, sitting out in his little boat looking for anything valuable. Manfor raised his hand in greeting, but said nothing.

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