Alpha Moon by Rebecca A. Rogers

Chapter One
     
    Colchester, England
    November, 1569
     
     
    A rebellion stirred in the north. The fight for the crown was ruthlessly elevated as Catholic nobles vied to overthrow Elizabeth I’s sovereignty and, in her place, position Mary, Queen of Scots, as their new ruler. Rumors and gossip abounded off the tips of every stanch Catholic tongue—Queen Elizabeth I was not the rightful queen. Nay, Henry VIII detached himself and his country from the Church’s power, allowing him absolute control. The majority of England believed Henry and Anne Boleyn’s daughter, Elizabeth, was not a suitable and legitimate heir.
    Word spread quickly throughout England and into the lives of every commoner of the coming battle for the throne. Rebel forces sought to obtain aid from those who were willing, including farmers and land owners. The time to act was upon them.
    “Father, we have received a letter!” Ulric shouted as he burst through the entrance of their homely cottage. The ceiling continuously dripped from melting snow, and wooden buckets were strategically placed across several rooms, catching each drop. Ulric and his brother, Alaric, had promised their father—who was too old to climb atop a thatched roof—they would patch up any remaining holes and absent straw. Conversely, summertime brought backbreaking labor in the fields by harvesting enough crops to sell for levy and storing the remainder for the upcoming winter months. “A messenger just arrived.”
    “Stand not like a blubbering fool! Hand it over,” said Frederic, as a gob of spittle flew from his mouth. The fire was not supplying him with the warmth he would have preferred, and the bitter gust of wind from Ulric’s unexpected entry tampered with his disposition.
    “Pray tell me, what does it say?” Ulric pressed, with widened eyes and strenuous breaths.
    Frederic watched him over the rim of his spectacles. “If ye would shut thy jaws for two blasted moments, I may very well be able to read!”
    Ulric immediately cowered. He knew his father had a temper; he always did, for as far back as Ulric could remember. Careful to avoid his father’s angry side, Ulric thought it best to do as he instructed.
    Absentmindedly, his eyes perused the fields dusted with light snow through the lone window. Where was Alaric? He had been slipping out more and more lately, and his absence worried Ulric. What was his brother up to? There were a couple of girls in town who had their eyes set on Alaric, but surely he would keep his wits about him and focus on the farmstead.
    Frederic grunted, still slogging over the contents of the letter. He said naught, though, which only made Ulric become restless.
    “Father, if ye do not mind me saying so . . .” Ulric bit back his words just as Frederic glowered at him. His tongue was laden, his throat clogged; he felt as if he were choking. He just had to learn what information was in that letter. ’Twas not every day they received news.
    Frederic twisted the paper into a ball and threw it into the hearth.
    “Nay!” Ulric shrieked, pitching forward. He reached his hand toward the letter, but the blaze was too hot for his touch, and the fire had consumed nearly all of the parchment. “Why would ye do such a thing? At least tell me what it said.”
    “Naught in that letter pertains to ye. Best keep thy head fastened on and worry about the fields. ’Tis the only future ye have.” Frederic stood from his stilted chair, the sudden weight change causing his seat to groan and creak in delight. “And where is thy brother? Seems he cares nary for this house, his name, or the honor my family have brought to this town for so many years.”
    Ulric bit his tongue. Once upon a time, his father had not been so ornery and insufferable, though he was always quick-tempered. After his wife passed away two years prior, Frederic had lost the will to live. He only cared that he was fed every morning and night, leaving Alaric and Ulric to carry the burden