Adventurous Karaganda

Claus Bork

Description

Queen Sol founded this kingdom together with Ganj, the Dragonfly. It is protected by the fleet of Vespa Crabro Wasps and the army of the giant Warrior Ants in the Gruenn estate. The balance between the gentle, forgiving powers and the brutal forces that must protect them is fragile. Captain Zip from the Wasp Fleet manages all this as best he can - together with the Wasps' Venerable Mothers and the Warrior Ants' Venerable Mother in Gruenn. Zip is young, eager and hardy - but very inexperienced.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 06 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781398497283
• Langue: English

Extrait

T he A dventurous K araganda
Claus Bork
Austin Macauley Publishers
2023-01-06
The Adventurous Karaganda About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Postscript
About the Author
Claus Bork made his debut as an author in 1985 in Denmark. His first novels were fantasy for youngsters and were very well received. He was educated as a construction engineer in 1979 and worked as a building site manager until 2014. He is the father of four children (now adults), married and divorced two times.
Through the 1980s, he was the lead vocalist and composer in the Danish rock band Clockwork Orange but skipped that in order to focus on being an author.
Till now, he has published 17 novels, mostly fantasy, in Denmark and the Black Mac fantasy series are also published in Sweden.
Dedication
Dedicated to my children, Liv, Casper, Sebastian and Jesper
Copyright Information ©
Claus Bork 2023
The right of Claus Bork to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398497276 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398497283 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ® 1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
And a special thanks to Marianne Henriksen, who was a good friend and critic throughout the process of writing this book.
Chapter 1
It was a violent world until undergoing the Great Change. Few were those still remembering times before the Community.
In the Community’s diverse population, each individual took one day at a time. They lived in the hectic present, assigned to them by the God Zarg in the laborious life that existed, from the end of one winter to the beginning of the next. They numbered millions, each with their unique desires and demands, each born of their limited consciousness.
Even wisdom existed in this complicated realm.
The Venerable Mothers passed it on from one generation to the next. Two of them, rumours claimed, were able to travel by the power of the mind—beyond the boundaries of physical existence. They could leave their giant egg-laying bodies, physically doomed to remain in the same place their entire lifetime. They were the Mother of the Vespa Crabro Wasps of Akorn and the Mother of the Great Warrior Ants of Grünn. But there were other powerful individuals in this seemingly, orderly and peaceful realm.
There should never be any doubt about Queen Sol’s intentions. They were good and fair when she voluntarily founded what would eventually evolve into the Community. Ganj, the dragonfly became her physical strength and her counterpoint in the balance she sought to achieve between the gentle, forgiving powers and the angry strength that lurked in the shadows of Ganj’s mind.
Finally, it should be mentioned that as there is light and darkness, so there was the gentle, creative power of Queen Sol and the brutal, ruthless power of God Zarg, in the form of the centipede, guarding ‘The Shining Object.’
Excerpts from Spy’s memories of his time in the Community.
Ganj sat on the seeded surface of the oak stump and watched the land that spread out for miles on all sides.
He was a dragonfly.
The large, shiny eyes met in their curve, in the middle of the protruding head, giving him an immense field of vision.
He stretched out his four wings from his body and let them warm up in the first gentle rays of the morning sun. He sat like this every morning overviewing the kingdom he considered his. He enjoyed watching it wake up, watch the sun thaw the frozen minds, bring them back from their dreams in the hollows below ground or the bark and light the spark that made life go on.
He felt his power as something almost tangible sensed it calmly for a moment, then ignored it. He had grown used to it and thought about it less and less often.
Garm, the rhinoceros beetle, often teased him about it. It was a sign of old age, Garm claimed resigning oneself to enjoyment. “Life is a constant struggle…” Ganj recalled the sound of his voice. “The young stand ready to get their share of the privileges of the old.”
Ganj ignored the thought of Garm and sent a scrutinising glance towards the nest on the forest floor.
It ached in his aging body as he moved his jaws up and in, to get the circulation going.
The first ants appeared in the holes of the nest. They eagerly removed the twigs and straw that had blocked the entrances all night. Their hooked jaws stuck out of the darkness like blue-black, glistening tongs.
Ganj became aware of his increasing hunger and decided to return to Oakroot for the day’s first meal. But before he had time to turn around, he stopped and listened. A sound had caught his ear.
The wasp landed in front of him, shook the dust from its antennae, folding its wings over its back. Only then did it address him, directly and unabashedly, as always.
“Good morning, Your Highness.” It had a shrill voice. “I intend to start early today. The ants say it’s going to rain.”
“Good morning, Captain Zip,” Ganj rumbled. Captain Zip of the Wasp Fleet waited in silence, half covered by the heavy shadow of the dragonfly.
Ganj let his gaze run around the entire horizon without having to turn his head. Then he finally turned his attention back to the wasp and asked, “Why this eagerness? Is there something going on that I should know about?”
Captain Zip shook his head so that it creaked from the chitin armour on his neck. “Nah, but I’d like to get it all done before the rain sets in. I don’t like being forced to take shelter in a treetop and maybe being trapped there for a whole night, too.” Zip’s voice quivered ever so slightly. “One shouldn’t expose oneself to the wrath of Zarg…”
Ganj murmured in the affirmative. He had folded his wings over his broad back. “We should all obey Zarg’s laws…” he said approvingly, then prepared to crawl on.
“Don’t let me slow you down, my young friend.” Ganj turned his head slightly and looked down at the wasp. Captain Zip had stiffened and stood looking at his reflection in the huge curve of the dragonfly’s eye.
“But one thing you should know,” Ganj continued. “A lot depends on you and your wasp fleet. Much more than I can reveal.”
The wasp stood tense and listened.
“Don’t disappoint me…” Ganj whispered hoarsely.
“Zarg forbid that should ever happen!” the wasp exclaimed. “Ssshh,” Ganj whispered. “Of course not, my friend, of course not.” He watched the wasp taking off, flying away through the tree canopy, carried on the whine of its fierce wings.
Ganj moved heavily across Oakroot, the only oak stump in Karaganda—and home to the supreme power of Queen Sol’s orderly realm.
Behind the massive exterior of the oak stump, it was crisscrossed by a myriad of passageways and crevices. They extended to the underground halls between the roots. Oakroot represented the centre of their world, emanating all laws and regulations holding the realm in a firm grip. From here spread even the web of threads, rooted in the mind of its creator, Zarg.
Zarg, whom none of them had ever seen—Zarg, who was the very force living in the Venerable Mothers, one essential element of Karaganda’s power.
Ganj approached one of the dark entrances. The Crusader Spider studied him from within the dark tunnel. It was always on guard, as were all the spiders in the entrances into Oakroot. Ganj hummed a greeting as he passed it, but the spider did not answer him.
Ganj had nothing but contempt for spiders, but he tried not to show it. He knew from accounts handed down that many of his ancestors had been caught in the sticky webs of spiders and had died miserably and shamefully. He carried these stories deep in his mind and never spoke of them to anyone.
He stopped and fell into thought. Once, long ago, before Sol came to Karaganda, he had been caught in Orca’s web. He had to strain to remember the details of it. He had almost managed to repress it. Among all traps in the world, destiny had chosen Orca’s web.
Ganj shuddered at the memory. He vaguely remembered the feel of the clinging wings and his fierce rage before the rush of the web’s threads came to his inner ear. It had its own song, such a-web a cruel hymn like a death fanfare for the one caught in the threads.
When hearing this hymn, you instinctively recognised the steps of death over the wires—you knew it without ever having listened to it before. He had managed almost to wriggle free, enough that Orca couldn’t get near him. He bit the threads to pieces, threatening her with his powerful jaws. Orca, the fat glistening spider, watched him through her thousand eyes. He sa