Darnell Autumnward, the shopkeeper of Autumnward's Teas and tinctures.
Days were simple: filled with warmth and his own little garden. Yet lonely. After his mother left him behind, not a single letter has arrived to his address. Not a word of his mother. Until he receives a package. An inheritance of a book, which will change his life.
Kaius lives in that book - he is the book - and the reader of it possesses the might to create anything.
But someone else wants it.
Darnell Autumnward, the shopkeeper of Autumnward's Teas and tinctures.
Days were simple: filled with warmth and his own little garden. Yet lonely. After his mother left him behind, not a single letter has arrived to his address. Not a word of his mother. Until he receives a package. An inheritance of a book, which will change his life.
Kaius lives in that book - he is the book - and the reader of it possesses the might to create anything.
But someone else wants it.
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Before the morning light peeked through the window, Darnell stirred in bed. The heat had already found its way to the upstairsâ tiny bedroom, making the air damp. His tanned hand reached for the window and pushed the wooden frame that opened with a quiet complaint, like it did every day. In wafted the fresh morning scent with the quiet noises of the dawn. Grasshoppers, birds, and other little creatures that considered the night as their own realm. And Darnell listened with his eyes closed, careful not to fall asleep again. Lighter air brushed over his face as a gentle little breeze and morning kissed him with its own scent: the type of scent one can only smell this early in the morning, when the night was already at its final steps but the morning light had yet to rise.
He had lived in this old red-painted house with a shop downstairs and a little garden at the back his entire life. The house was an inherited, or rather, was given to Darnell when he was seventeen years old. The very day after his seventeenth birthday, his mother had smiled at him and kissed his forehead before lifting the bag off the downstairs shopâs creaky old floor and  jumped on the back of a cart. Squeezing the heavy iron key in his palm, Darnell had maintained a smile as he waved. Wind had started to play with her curled brown hair. This was the first thing everyone mentioned when they saw Darnell and her mother together. The same hair. Except hers reached her chin, when his barely reached his ears.
Sitting on the back of the cart, her hand waved twice as hard in a big arch. Her smile was sweet as ever; it was just as excited when he first learned to bottle tinctures without spilling most of it on the floor. Perhaps she had been excited because she knew when he learned it all, she could go. Unlike Darnell, who loved the sleepiness of the gentle town of Elion, she was a traveler, always had been. No wonder she grew restless, knowing every face in this town, knowing every story there was to be told of the people in it. Only one main road went through the entire town and it went right into the next; thatâs how small Elion was. It was not enough for her. So, he smiled and waved a little harder. That was two years ago.
Darnell raced down the stairs with the first ray of sun while tying on his apron. Straight through the clustered storage room, where plants hanged from hooks and yarns from the ceiling and the only shelf was filled with jars and linens, yarn, baskets, ironed newspapers and silky papers, dried plants of several kinds from daisies and marigold to roots and twigs that still held their berries. While passing the shelf, he grabbed a pouch where he kept his most trusted tools and clipped it to his apronâs strap without an extra thought. He pushed open the door that took to a slightly larger room, where the scent of dried plants and old woods mixed in with tinctures and balms.
On his right was a simple counter, made from the tree that grew on the plot before the house. On top of it was a cash register made of heavy iron, but there was no knowledge of the key, so it just served as a place to set the money instead of protecting it. Not that the shop made anyone wealthy, nor had there been a single robbery in Elion for the past decade. There was a guard in the town. Or did he simply live in Elion and work at Humming? Darnell was not sure. However, lighting splitting a tree that collapsed on him was a greater thread in his mind than a person barging in with a linen cloth over his head, demanding for his humble earnings. The thought almost made him grin.
Darnell walked to the carved wooden door with chipped grey paint and unlocked it with the iron key, which he then slipped into the front pocket of his apron. A light bell clang as he pulled the door open once to make sure that it was not stubbornly stuck to its frames again before closing it.
Not even a moment passed. The boy hadnât even begun wiping the counter when the first customer rushed in. A warm smile spread across Darnellâs face as he watched the man take a deep breath like it was his first today.
âGood morning, same as always?â Darnell asked the man, who adjusted his collared shirt while catching his breath. After wiping his forehead with a white linen handkerchief, he finally composed himself.
âYes, thank you. Oh, and indeed. Fine morning.â His smile reached his tired eyes. For a while, they stood still and smiled at each other. Darnellâs hand reached towards the man. Slowly, the darker eyes turned from Darnellâs hazel ones to his expecting calloused fingers. A gasp escaped the man as he jerked into motion and started digging his briefcase, now softened and greenish from use. Finally, he pulled out a small and simple plated jar, which he handed to Darnell with a brief apology that was quickly brushed off with a chuckle and a wave of a hand.
The man waited patiently as Darnell walked to the worktop in the opposite corner of the counter, partly hidden by the storage roomâs door when open. His hand shuffled through larger plated jars on a shelf above the worktop, setting some of them down and then picking some leaves to a mortar.
With every crushed leaf, a sweet, flowery scent drifted to fill the surrounding air. Without rushing, Darnell worked on the mortar, gently crushing the leaves, flowers and berries into a fine mixture of tea before pouring the content into the smaller plated jar waiting on the worktop. As he returned the jar back to him, mister Hunley could not help but quickly creak open the lid and sniff the contents once before pressing the jar closed once more and securing it inside his briefcase.
âLizzy loves this one,â he said and handed a few coins, which Darnell accepted with only a quick glance to make sure it was not too much. âMost teas make her nauseated.â
âMany expecting women find this soothing,â Darnell said gently after securing the coins in the unlocked, heavy-built cash register.
âOh, no wonder. It smells tempting,â mister Hunley said while patting the side of his briefcase where the jar now rested. Not very great with idle conversation, Darnell simply smiled back as he washed his hands in a filled bucket that hang from an iron cast hook on the side of the worktop. Thankfully, the man did not seem to notice his silence. Mister Hunleyâs redness had calmed and his attention was now on the shop. Darnell tidied the worktop while he looked around curiously.
âI donât think I have ever looked around in here,â the man said while his eyes travelled around the shop, not really to Darnell nor to himself.
âPlease, look around now,â Darnell said. He kept smiling as he picked some loose leaves off the counter to his open palm and finally brushed them to the trash. Just as his customerâs mouth opened to say something more, the dark eyes widened, and he turned around to look at the sky through the small window of Darnellâs shop. Hastily making sure the hooks of his briefcase were closed, he blurted out a brief word of gratitude, nodded and pushed the door open, almost getting his already mended pocket caught on the handle as he ran off to the rising morning. Darnellâs hand stayed up like he was still waving all the way until mister Hunley disappeared from sight, before letting it fall back to his side.
The moments when there was not a soul in the store except for him, he cleaned the worktop and arranged the jars back to their respected spots which made no sense to anyone but him, keeping an eye on the freshness and quantity while making sure the lids were clear of dust and their shelf was wiped. Hotter days were always quiet, so he had plenty of spare time to tidy up around the shop and storage. If there was no compelling reason to go out to get some tea or tinctures, most would happily stay at home, away from the heat of the Red Areaâs generous sun. Darnell had advanced all the way to the third row of tinctures on his check-up of products and dusting the shelves when the store door opened once more with a cheery cling.
This time in walked a tall woman with her sand-colored braids tied with colorful ribbons. She had a red shirt on, the same shade as carnations sometimes are, with a Red Areaâs postal serviceâs signet with an oddly angry eagle embroidery on it. Her auburn eyes were glued to a letter in her hand, and her mouth twitched a little as she stared at the crooked lettering. Ms. Penni, the townâs only way of getting mail delivered.
âFor you,â she said without moving her eyes to the boy. Her left hand, which was not holding the letter, reached towards Darnell with a package. Wrapped in a newspaper and tied with a jute twine, it looked like some sort of box might be wrapped inside. Darnell had seen similar shaped boxes with sweets in them, but this was a rather large one to be full of sugary treats.
He smiled and received it with his right hand, then brought the left one to his aid. The package was a lot heavier than it looked in the hand of Ms. Penni, who carried packages and cycled around Elion every day. In conclusion: not sweets. While pushing the package on the counter awkwardly, Darnell gave her a careful glance, as his cheeks felt warm. If she noticed his stumbling, she did not show it. Her eyes were still glued to the letter, but now her brows were revealing an obvious annoyance. Just as he was about to offer help with the letter, she turned around and pushed the door open with her free arm.
âOh, thank you for the package,â Darnell managed to call out right before Ms. Penni disappeared out of the door. He watched through the small window next to the front door as she picked up the bicycle with a small crate in the front she had left leaning against the wall and jumped back on it. After she had secured her balance and ridden back to the dirt road, never tearing her eyes off the letter, Darnell let out a small amused huff. Usually, they got along quite well. She always knew everything first as she visited everyone who got mail, and gladly either protected the secrets or shared the good news around. Sometimes Darnell and Ms. Penny would talk for quite some time before she continued her journey, but only when she was not preoccupied. Ms. Penny was one of those people who could only concentrate on one thing at a time. Granted, she never lost a parcel.
When her bicycle was long gone, Darnell turned around to look at the package. For two years, not a single letter or card had arrived at his address. Not a word or a tale of her. But he would not mistake the beautiful cursive of her handwriting. So many times as a young kid, he had bitten his lower lip and furrowed his brows as he tried to copy the loops and glides of her beautifully written words. With her etiquettes, even the simplest tincture for a sore throat looked like the finest jars of jam or honey, the types that Mrs. and Mr. Genera decorated with silk paper and stamps to give as a gift and sold at markets.
Without realizing, Darnellâs hand had twitched towards the package with Yellow Areaâs newspaper, but just as quickly, he pulled away and turned from it.
Slow days were great for doing tasks that he usually did in the evenings, such as preparing new tinctures and making sure that the bowl out in the front had fresh water, just in case a passing dog, cat, or a bee felt parched. However, no matter how much he occupied himself with the dried mushrooms that needed to be cut, his eyes kept going back to the counter. The last hour before closing was the longest he had ever lived. There it sat, not shouting at him or demanding attention, but whispering the sweet laughter of his mother on a Sunday morning when they fried pancakes. Emitting the memory of the scent of late afternoons when the air was stifling inside the shop, so they dipped their toes into herb baths behind the counter to help cool themselves down. The scent of the herbs was so strong that their feet would still smell of fresh eucalyptus the next morning. The way the yarn was tied around the package was still the same.
When Darnell was barely up to his motherâs shoulder, she taught him to smoothen newspapers carefully with a hot iron and then secure them together with a yarn so that they would do nicely as wrapping paper for herbs. That way, the ink would not soil the precious plants, and it also did look nicer. Last, the writing on top of it reminded the boy of all those times he had asked her to write the labels on tinctures for him, as her handwriting was so wonderfully lovely compared to his simple one, even though he had tried his best to copy hers. She had laughed and ruffled his hair, praising the oblique writing on his etiquettes, but still written as many as he had asked for.
No more customers came in that day, so when the sun showed signs of setting, he walked to the front door and twisted the iron key in the lock so it let out a sharp clang and turned the small wooden plaque to state anyone outside that the shop was now closed, while making sure there was no one still rushing towards the shop. The road was empty, only some longer grasses bent in the wind and basked in the softer light that now colored them with a violet hue. Satisfied, the boy let a yawn escape and brushed his apron with his hands to beat off any dust.
The wooden floor creaked as he walked through the shop and storage to the rather heavy back door, opened the simple hook and pushed it open. A waft of fresh air burst in, making the basket hanging by a hook sway. A broom was resting against chipping red paint. This one too, as so many others, was at least as old as Darnell himself was. Every once in a while, he would replace some straws and oil the wooden handle, but at least it had now lasted half of the time its maker promised when he sold it to his mother from a passing travelling cart. Broom in hand, he circled the building, careful not to step on any plants that grew here and there, and stopped for a moment to admire the setting sun. Everything around him slowly changed color and the day was readying itself to sleep. After yet another yawn forced its way out of his mouth, Darnell wiped his eye and swept the front of the shop as the last hue of purple light still had its reach on Darnellâs wavy brown hair.
Upon returning, he stood in front of the package. He stared at the neatly wrapped parcel, almost expecting it to reveal something. Anything. Chewing on his lower lip, he carefully picked it up and cradled it in his arms by pressing it against his chest. It felt firm and had a good weight on it. The jute twine was rough against his palm, but his fingertips barely even felt it anymore. Still clenching it, Darnell rushed back upstairs, nearly tripping on the third step of the creaking stairs as he jumped them up as many at a time as he could, but his grip never loosened. The boy would rather fall down that drop it. The staircase took him straight to the kitchen, where he passed the cabinets. Gently laying it on the round wooden table by the window, his fingers stayed and hovered over it for a while. He was about to sit down when he pushed himself back up, ran the stairs down and, holding onto the supporting beam at the end of the stairs, swung himself towards the backdoor.
After the hook on the door was secured and the lights were out downstairs, his tools were waiting on the shelf as they should and he had his apron neatly placed to rest on the railing of the staircase, he finally sat down before the package. What did he have to be nervous about? Everything, it felt like. His stomach was sick with tension and his eyes kept trying to find any obvious sign of why. Why now? Why was this item so important? Why not before? Before his mind wandered further, Darnell foisted his fingertip between the sealed pages and ever so carefully opened a signet after signet. Then he turned it around and did the same to the sides. Feeling the pounding of his heart in his ears, he slowly removed the paper and pushed it aside to reveal something purple.
It was soft and shiny: a fabric like this was not common in Elion. Darnell ran his rough thumb on it, admiring the second wrapping properly. It was easy to imagine his mother choosing it on a market somewhere. Perhaps from the Yellow area where the paper was from. Or maybe these were all souvenirs from different cities and Areas. A soft fabric with such bright color like this could be from Violet Area.
Many beautiful fabrics and dyes came from there, as the mountains held hundreds of brightly colored flowers and sheep that were spoiled, as they believed happy sheep made twice as much wool. Darnell supposed they were right, since their wool was one of the best. The color of it could have been a hint. Smiling, Darnell unfolded the beautiful fabric from around the heaviest of items and held it in his hands for a moment, wondering what he should do with it, before folding it and putting it on the side.
A leather-bound book with a note on it stared at him. Without glancing at the grand book twice, Darnell removed the note and examined it. It was a single piece of paper with writing on one side of it.
Â
This belonged to your grandmother.
Hold on to it. Do not give it away.
-I love you.
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Darnell read the note again and again. Her handwriting was almost unclear, written in such a haste that the words barely had any spaces between them. He squinted his eyes more each time he read it, like he was trying to see it more clearly. After making sure there was nothing he missed in the text, nothing more on either side, no matter how many times he read it, he folded it once, smoothening it against the table and stashed it in the small breast pocket on his linen shirt.
It had belonged to Darnellâs grandmother, yet there was not a single sign of wear on the leather. Not even lightest scratches or lighter patches from sun. Other than the sticky smudge from substance his mother had used to stick the note on it, it looked like it was only just bound. Fresh from the binderâs loving hands. Golden markings swirled on the cover and went all the way from the front cover to the back. Single rows, pretty in their simplicity. Darnell ran his finger along one of the golden trails, following the swirls. The book had no name on it. He turned to glance at the backbone, yet there was nothing marked on it either. No writer nor the name of the piece. He turned the book around to look at the metal golden lock that prevented it from opening. Four numbers set to zero, and that was obviously not the right combination, as the lock did not budge.
Setting the book back on the table, Darnell dug out the note that was stuck on the cover. Five words, then four, followed by five and three. The lock stayed closed. Darnell tried it the other way around. Still nothing. So, he folded it back in his pocket and took the fabric to his hands. He already had inspected it thoroughly, but just to make sure, the boy laid it on the table and went through it carefully, trying to find hidden writing or even a single number written on its silky surface. Nothing, not one marking or a plot of ink had smudged its soft surface.
Moving the fabric aside again, he moved onto the most brilliantly obvious one, the newspaper. Running his finger along the lines of text, Darnell read every single article and tried on every number he could find from it, but he was beginning to think the lock was rusted shut. Although, like the rest of the beautiful book, it looked new. Not a speck of rust or even wear.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Darnell went through the newspaper again. This time even removing the address label which destroyed the beautiful handwriting on it, making him instantly regret doing so. For the text under it was about strengthening the glass on some old, granted, beautiful building in the Green Area. Not a single number in the text. Darnell let out a deep sigh and stretched his neck before picking up the note from his pocket once again.
For a good amount of time, he sat there staring at the bits of the parcel that were now all laid on the table side by side. His eyes went over them carefully without touching them. Then he stood and stared at them a little further away, tilting his head first to one side and then to another. He circled the table and did the same on the opposite side.
Truth to be told, his eyes were tired and dry and there was nothing much going through his head except for a hum and a looming throb in his head. So, instead of tugging on the lock desperately, and perhaps a little forcefully, he let his shoulders slump and rubbed his eyes, before letting his feet take him to bed. The nightâs voices built from grasshoppers and a gentle wind swaying hay and flowers as Darnell laid in bed and read the note stuck on the locked book three more times.
âLove you too, mum,â he whispered and smiled, before placing the card on his nightstand and closing his eyes, falling asleep instantly.
Having lived on his own as an herbalist for two years after being abandoned by his mother, young Darnell is happy about every aspect of his life except one: he misses her.
Then, out of nowhere, a mysterious parcel brings a rushed note from her and a beautiful book that belonged to his grandmother. Opening the book reveals only blank pages, but it is so much more than he could ever imagine.
Within this coveted book lies the key to many aspects of magic, understanding nature and oneself, and even companionship from the most unlikely people. What Darnell doesn't know, though, is the value of the prize he's found, or the lengths others will go to in order to steal it.
Kaius - Reader's Tale is a refreshing YA Epic Fantasy following a young man not into a 'coming of age' tale, as Darnell seems painfully aware of who he is and the simple life he desires, but of how to remain true to the purity and dreams one has despite everything wanting to twist him.
Queens with questionable motives, companions with deep and potentially dark secrets, friends who may not truly be so friendly, and enemies hidden in shadows are waiting for Darnell.
This book literally kept me on the edge of my seat the entire time. The storyline flows so smoothly, always making you need to read just a bit more. I was not expecting the plot twists, and teared up at the ending.
Darnell is such a well-written, refreshing male character. He has a heart for those around him, even for creatures others may fear (like bears and spiders). His responsibility, and the simplicity with which he goes through life, made him an inspiring character in so many ways.
Everything in me wants to give this book a five-star review, because this tale deserves to be shared! There are two reasons behind why it's a four-star 'loved it' review:
1.) There are quite a few editing errors throughout the entire book. Every book has minor errors (even traditionally-published ones), but almost every page had errors. Sometimes, those errors pulled me out of the immersion of the story entirely, and I had to re-read before carrying on. Despite this, though, this story is well worth tolerating the editing errors for.
2.) What exactly happens to a key character (who cannot be specified, as this is a spoiler-free review), is kept shadowed so much, that I personally found it almost unbelievable. With as big a role as this person plays to Darnell, I wished so much that he would have pushed for closure, especially when a gift at the end of the book proves that the person giving the gift had far more contact with and knew much more about the character than we've been told (leaving a bit of an unresolved hole there).
Aside from those points, though, this book has quickly risen to one of my favorites. I hope that more stories are in the works for this world, because Crown has done a superb job of making these characters feel like family and their world feel like home.
**Trigger Warnings: Abandonment of a Minor Child Under the Age of 18, Coercion, Manipulation, Death of a Loved One**