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Sample Chapters
Sample Chapter #1
Sample Chapter #2
Sample Chapter #3
Another sample chapter #3
#1 Sample Chapter
It happened the next day. The terrible thing.
It was early. Gray dawn. More gray than dawn,
really, because the clouds were hanging low over the lake. It was chilly,
which is how I like it when I go for a run.
I run maybe three times a week. I'm no athlete,
it's just that sometimes I'll wake up way too early and be full of this
dangerous energy. The kind of feeling that makes you go looking for
trouble. Maybe it was some hangover from my dream. Maybe I just hadn't
slept well.
All I know is I woke up tingling, teeth grinding,
eyes way too clear and alert. So I got up and ran.
I rolled out of bed and pulled on a jock,
a pair of gray shorts, a faded Radiohead t-shirt and a sweatshirt with
the arms cut short. I dug in my drawer for clean socks and laced up
my shoes.
I crept down the stairs past my mom's room.
Her door was partly open. A man's leg was sticking out from beneath
crumpled sheets. I looked away.
We have a house in a kind of old neighborhood.
It's a nice house, with a standard lawn and a fence around the back
yard. The street is quiet. It's eight, nine blocks to the lake and downhill
all the way.
I headed toward the lake. No warm-up. I wasn't
planning a long run. Through the still-sleeping downtown, past the Breugger's
and the Barnes and Noble and the health food store.
I listened to the sound of my shoes hitting
sidewalk. I listened to the sound of my own breathing, calm and steady
for the first few blocks, getting a little harsher after that. I had
to breathe through my mouth. My nose hurt less that way.
Down to Sheridan, still mostly devoid of
traffic. I caught a red light, shot a look each way and ran across.
It's park all along the lake. Grass and big trees and winding paths
for runners and bikers. People take their dogs there. Kids play there.
At this hour of the morning, though, there were just a few runners spaced
far apart on the crushed shell path.
There's an L-shaped pier of concrete blocks.
It shelters the power boat launching ramp. I saw someone sitting out
there on the end. Past the railing, perched on a rough, white concrete
boulder. I knew right away it was her.
Senna sat gazing out at the mist-shrouded
lake, hands pressed down on the rock, legs drawn up to her chin, a little
girl. She was wearing a jean jacket a couple of sizes too big. She looked
so small. Weak. Not the creature from my dream.
My steady steps faltered. I heard the different
rhythm as my feet slowed, then sped up, then slowed again.
I should have wanted to go to her. But I
didn't. I should have felt lucky. Lucky to see her alone on a morning
when I expected to be alone with myself.
But that's not what I felt.
Dread.
That's what I felt. Dread.
There was a voice in my head, a lunatic voice
screaming, "Run away! Run away!" A panicky voice.
"What's the matter with you?" I
asked myself, wanting to hear my own, true voice. "Getting jumpy?
That knee in the face must have rattled your brain, David."
I headed toward Senna, toward the start of
the pier. But my feet were listening to that other voice, that faint
but insistent madman in my brain. My feet were out of rhythm, they missed
steps, they dragged, they didn't want to go any closer.
And then I saw the others. And they saw me,
and I swear the chill breeze became a frozen wind that went right through
my skin and iced my insides.
Jalil was just pulling up in his car. I saw
him clearly. He saw me. I guess we were both trying to look normal,
but we both knew there was nothing normal here.
Christopher was walking from the other direction.
He looked worried and harassed. Like a guy who's late for an appointment
he doesn't want to make.
April was sitting on a bench, looking out
at Senna. I would be next to her in a dozen steps. I stopped.
"Hi, April," I said trying to sound
normal.
She turned her startling green eyes on me.
"What does it mean, David?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
I heard a car door close. Jalil joined us.
He said nothing. He looked at me. He looked at April. Only his eyes
moved. Then, as if he didn't want to look, as if he didn't want to have
to turn his head, he looked at Senna. At Senna's profile, because she
did not turn to look at us.
"Excuse me, but does anyone else have
a case of the unholy creeps?" Christopher asked. Christopher's
a big guy, bigger than me. Blond. Looks like a surfer dude. His tan
was looking a little green.
He had walked up and stopped, like me, a
few feet away from April.
"I was blaming it on brain damage,"
I said, pointing at my bandaged nose.
"My brain's fine," Jalil said.
"It's my stomach telling me to get the hell out of here."
"Too weird," Christopher said.
"We're all here? She's out there? What is this?"
"I heard her leave, really early this
morning," April said. "We share a wall between our rooms.
She . . . and then, I felt like I had to follow her." She shrugged.
"What is this?" Christopher demanded
in a loud voice. Deliberately loud. Maybe loud enough for Senna to hear
if she was listening.
"Ask her," April said.
Slowly Senna climbed to her feet. She turned
and looked at us. She was maybe a hundred feet away.
I could see confusion on her face.
Her mouth formed the word "no."
And then the entire universe ripped apart.
#2 Sample Chapter
I could have said, "No! Not me!"
I didn't.
I stood up. Shaky. Numb. Like I couldn't
quite feel my own body. Maybe I was trying to convince myself I wasn't
really there. Maybe I wanted to believe that I was back there, back
in the world, back in school, in a familiar hallway, standing by lockers,
talking to my friends, far away, not here.
It couldn't be real. Could not be.
I stumbled, a step behind Jalil. The warriors
were almost gentle in their treatment. Respectful, even. Not just to
us but to the Vikings as well.
The Vikings went along like sheep. We did,
too. But I guess I expected more from the Norsemen. They just hung their
heads and shuffled along.
"Where's David?" I asked Jalil.
He shook his head.
"Figures he'd find a way to hide out,"
I said bitterly.
We were outside. The moon cast a blue glow
over the city. Golden adobe walls and terra cotta roofs and volcanic
black cobblestones were all blue and silver, shadows and darkness.
The air was humid. Jungle air. Warm, even
at night. Thick. But there were no mosquitoes. Strange. Maybe Huitzilopoctli
had banished them. Maybe he didn't want any competition for the blood
supply.
I did see rats, or something awfully much
like rats, scurrying across our path, trundling along the bases of walls.
They marched us along the street in near
silence but for the shuffle of feet. Maybe two, maybe three hundred
of us, guarded by no more than twenty warriors.
"Not many guards," I whispered
to Jalil.
He nodded. "They're armed, we're not.
But it's not like they're carrying shotguns or machine guns. One guy
with a stone sword can't stop ten times his own number."
It was weird. We could have taken the guards
down. We didn't. No one but us even seemed to be thinking about it.
The guards themselves were laid-back. Relaxed.
"Come on," I said. "No one
said we have to keep up." I jerked my head subtly.
Jalil caught my hint. We started walking
a little more slowly, letting the Vikings flow around us. Maybe I was
looking for David. Maybe I was just looking for an opportunity. Something.
Anything.
What we found was Thorolf. He's a picture-book
Viking: big, big arms, big chest, big beard. An older guy. Middle-aged.
Not a kid. But we liked him. Thorolf was about as close as you could
get to a mellow Viking.
"Thorolf!" I whispered.
"Yes, it is me. More the shame."
He didn't look like himself. Not the bluff,
loud, backslapping, guffawing guy we knew.
Then again, I wasn't exactly myself, either.
Imminent death will do that to you.
"Thorolf, we can take these guys,"
I whispered. "There's hundreds of us. Just a handful of them."
He looked puzzled. "We are prisoners."
"What Christopher is suggesting is,
maybe we don't have to stay prisoners," Jalil said.
Thorolf kept on looking dumb. "We lost
the battle. Their power was greater than ours."
"Yeah, we were there, dude," I
said. "We know who lost and who won. But that was before. Right
now we outnumber these guys about ten or fifteen to one. Bada bing,
bada boom, we take them down, run for the gate, make it to the boats
and haul butt."
"Their god is too powerful. Even Mjolnir
wielded by Olaf Ironfoot could not defeat him."
"Maybe Big H - Huitzilopoctli, I mean
- maybe he's asleep. I mean, it's night, right?"
Jalil jumped in with is usual, "I've
figured it all out," tone of voice. "If there are still warriors
in this society it can only mean that Huitzilopoctli limits his involvement.
I mean, why would these guys still be training and practicing and making
weapons and so on, if all they had to do was dial up Big H every time
they ran into trouble?"
"What he said, " I urged Thorolf,
pointing at Jalil. "Come on, man. Give the word. Let's take these
guys out!"
"Give it up."
David! He was just a few paces behind us.
"Oh, so nice of you to join us,"
I said, torn between relief and annoyance.
He shrugged. "I didn't go anywhere.
I've spent the night trying to get some of these guys to work on an
escape. No luck. Not happening."
We sidled back from Thorolf to join David.
"They don't get it," David explained.
"For these guys the battle was it. The last word. They bring Mjolnir,
the Aztecs bring the Big H, everyone's brave and heroic, our side loses.
So that's it. Now they're prisoners. The End."
Jalil nodded. "I was afraid that was
it. Fatalism."
"Fatal is right," I muttered.
"It's a fatalistic outlook," Jalil
went on, probably soothed by the sound of his own brain churning. "It's
what comes of believing that great, supernatural powers control your
life."
"Yeah, well, great supernatural powers
do," I said. "Or didn't you happen to notice the big blue
guy with the snake on his arm?"
"No. Bull. I'm not saying Huitzilopoctli
isn't real. I'm just saying he doesn't seem to be able to keep his people
fed. And anyway, Olaf knocked Big H's arm off with Mjolnir. So he's
not invulnerable."
We had reached the end of our march. We had
gone around what looked like the back side of the pyramid. There was
a large building there, four stories tall with no windows and a single
large door. He door was open, a rectangle of golden, welcoming light.
The head of or column started through.
"Now or maybe never," David said.
"The three of us, alone?" Jalil
said. He shook his head. "You ask me to commit suicide before I
can be murdered? Unh unh. There may still come a better chance."
I hesitated, waffling between the two of
them. Then, I heard a strange, incongruous sound. The sound of a female
voice giggling.
"There may be a better chance,"
I said.
We reached the doorway. Stepped through,
behind the first hundred or so Vikings.
Inside there was a line of nine priests.
A Supreme Court of dirt, crusted blood and odor. Several of them had
knotted cords of thorns passed through their tongues, lips, cheeks,
ears. Some of the thorns were an inch long. There were lacerations from
pushing the thorns through the flesh. Sideways, in some cases. Some
of the priests had ears that looked like the fringe on a buckskin jacket.
The Aztec priests took their body piercing
very seriously.
At one end of the room was the best buffet
table I'd ever seen. Huge mounds of bananas, mangos, brilliantly red
tomatoes, and something that looked like cactus with the prickles removed.
It was like the exotic produce section of the supermarket, times ten.
There was roasted corn and roasted potatoes. Eggs in a dozen different
sizes. Whole pigs. Whole . . . some other animal. There were pottery
jars full of beverages. Flowers. Pastries. Tortillas. Beans.
It was brunch at the Aztec Hyatt Regency.
But, as hungry as I suddenly was, the food
was only the second most interesting thing about the room.
Because, behind the line of priests, were
women. Young, attractive women. A lot of women. At least one, maybe
two for each prisoner. A lot of pretty, underfed women, most as skinny
as Courtney Cox, many with faces painted yellow, and very little clothing
between them.
"Our farewell party," Jalil said
mordantly.
He was right, of course. The Vikings had
mentioned this aspect of Aztec behavior. For the Aztecs feeding your
heart to Huitzilopoctli was an honor. (One they themselves tried hard
to avoid.) They figured the human sacrifices should be in good shape,
well-fed and happy. They were going to stuff us full of food and booze
they themselves didn't have enough of. All to make us fit for Huitzilopoctli.
The Aztecs
were giving us a nice send-off. But still, a send-off.
And yet, I thought,
if you gotta have your heart ripped out, you might as well enjoy the
last few hours.
Sample
Chapter #3
Bed.
Four thick, dark oak bedposts, a sort of feather comforter over me,
no sheets, just a soft, down-filled comforter under me and the same
over me and over that a coverlet or something, mostly maroon with faded
traces of gold.
There was a fire in a huge
stone hearth, more coals than flames.
The smell of salt water.
The sea. We were near the sea. Were those waves I heard? Waves crashing
on rocks? Or just an echo, a distortion?
The walls were stone, granite,
I suppose, I'm not a geologist. The floor was stone softened by a scattering
of reeds and, hey, flower petals. Well, that was nice.
There was a faded tapestry
on the wall. I think it showed a guy in armor kneeling before a woman
in white. No way to tell for sure with colors all washed out.
There was a single window,
tall and narrow, a pointed arch at the top, like something you'd see
in a gothic cathedral.
It was day. Bright, blue
filled the window. Morning light. That's what it felt like. But the
light had little impact on the gloom inside. It barely grayed the blackness
in the high corners of the room, twenty feet above me.
I wasn't wearing shoes.
I threw back the covers,
a sudden, convulsive gesture. I sighed. I still had my clothes on. A
weird little outfit consisting of the clothes I'd been wearing down
at the lake and the odds and ends I'd picked up from Vikings and Aztecs.
I was a bag lady. All I needed
was a shopping cart full of cans and a personal relationship with the
Martian high council.
I tried to slow my racing,
panicked heart. (Would I ever get used to these transitions? Would I
have to?) Things couldn't be too bad: I was in a feather bed and had
my clothes on.
I swung out of bed and almost
fell, surprised by the distance to the floor. There were my shoes. I
stuck my feet in and tied them quickly.
The headache exploded about
then. Pounding, pounding, but fading as I closed my eyes and rubbed
my temples. It was the remains of a much worse headache.
I felt the back of my head
where the dragon's tail had slapped me. There was a bump the size of
the yolk of a sunny-side up egg.
"Okay, you have clothes,
you have shoes, and there's your backpack. This is good, April. This
is better than some Everworld wake-ups."
I was alone, I was pretty
sure of that. Where were David and Christopher and Jalil?
I grabbed my pack, fished
for the bottle of Advil and swallowed two dry.
I headed for the door. It
was chilly in the room, despite the fire.
It took me a few seconds
to figure out the door handle. There was no knob. Just a sort of iron
latch. I lifted it, and wincing at the creaking sound, pulled the door
toward me.
A hallway. Stone walls, stone
floor, narrow, high.
"Hello?"
No answer. Part of me wondered
if here was a phone by the bed. I could call down to the front desk.
"Hi, I don't know my room number, but could you send up a pot of
coffee and some toast? And some ice water?"
Old Marx Bothers movie, maybe
1929 or whatever. Groucho's at the desk of a hotel. Phone rings. Caller
asks for some ice water. Groucho says, "Ice water? You want ice
water? I'll send up some onions. That'll make your eyes water."
Bad pun. But it was 1929.
Probably not Groucho at the front desk of this place. Maybe a troll.
Maybe Loki. No, I'd be dead.
"Shut up, April, you're
babbling because you're scared."
"Shut up? I wasn't even
talking out loud."
"Well, you are now.
You're talking to yourself."
I stepped cautiously out
into the hallway. Left or right? I heard nothing to guide me. But the
hallway ended in darkness to the right and was bisected by one of the
tall, arched windows to my left.
"Go into the light,
April," I muttered.
I padded silently down the
hall, stepping unconsciously over the cracks between the stones. After
all, I didn't want to break my mother's back.
A door, identical to mine.
I leaned close.
"Hello?"
Was I up too early? Was that
it? No, I must have been unconscious a long time. A concussion? Did
things like that just go away or was some big blood clot just waiting
to bust loose and kill me?
Dead of a stroke. Probably
not the most likely thing to worry about in Everworld. So many other,
more dramatic ways to die.
I knocked on the door. Nothing.
I turned away intending to look out of the window. Then I heard a creak.
Spun around and saw David, wearing pants and no shoes and no shirt.
"Kind of early,"
he said. He rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand and then had
trouble opening that eye. "You okay?" he asked.
Don't look at his chest.
"David, where are we?"
"Galahad's castle. Or
one of them. I think he has more."
"So are we . . . What
are we? I mean, are we prisoners? Or are we guests?"
I said, don't look at his
chest, it's tacky. It's the kind of thing a guy would do.
David raised his eyebrows.
"Yes. All of the above, I think."
"Are the others okay?"
"Yeah. Well, Jalil is.
Christopher got faced at the banquet last night. Tried to outdrink Sir
Perceval. I think he's in his room puking. Christopher, I mean. How's
your head? Galahad's doctor wanted to put leeches on your face and neck.
I convinced him not to. Hope that wasn't too presumptuous or whatever."
I shuddered. "No, you
have permission to stop anyone from putting leeches on me at any time.
Jeez, so . . . so what do we do?"
David glanced back over his
shoulder, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "We have to bust
out of here. Merlin is coming."
I laughed, then regretted
it for the needle of pain it sent through my head. "There's a phrase
you don't hear very often: 'Merlin is coming.'"
David didn't laugh. His eyes
clouded. He seemed uncertain. Distracted.
And then I saw the hand come
sliding over his bare shoulder and down over his chest.
She leaned into view behind
him, face almost resting on his shoulder.
Senna
Another
sample chapter of #3
I was far from home. As far
from home as it is possible for a human being to get. Not a far place,
a place apart, a place not touching reality, isolated. Forget the normal.
Normal was gone. Normal belonged to the real world. There was magic
here. Not like “ah, the moonlight was magic.? Magic as in cause and effect
didn’t always cause or effect. The magic that negates all human knowledge,
that invalidates ten thousand years of human learning. Usually, gravity
worked, sometimes not. No way for that to be, or course, gravity isn’t
something you can turn on or off, if it was it wouldn’t be gravity. If
gravity could come and go, wax and wane, then things could fly when
they could not possibly fly. Like a dragon, maybe. Can’t possibly life
something as heavy and dense as a dragon, all that scaly skin, all that
muscle, all that dense bone, not with wings, not with leathery wings
like a pterodactyl. Wings that were not a tenth of what they had to
be, not a hundredth of what was needed to raise this creature, this
logic-killing monster into the air. An elephant with wings! Dumbo, but
not cute. And fire. Could fire burn inside a living creature? Absurd.
Ridiculous. Fire inside what, the belly? The intestines? The liver?
Liquid flame spilling out of flesh, out f the monster’s mouth, and that
was supposed to be real? That was happening? I stood, rooted, yes rooted,
like my toes had frown down into the dirt looking for water and now
I couldn’t move them because my feet were attached to the earth itself,
or whatever passed for earth in this hideous, terrible place. Run? How
could I run from the dragon who pressed the tall trees down with the
wind from his impossible wings and flamed the dry bushes in the night?
I could only stare. A miracle, that’s what it was. A dragon. “Damn it,
April, run!?Jalil yelled. His face was wild, not like Jalil, eyes wide,
mouth stretched into some indecipherable shape, half grin, half howl.
Only Jalil cared. About me. And that, not much. David and Christopher
were mesmerized, bewitched. More magic. She had gone to them, touched
them, spoken to them, and they had lost themselves. They stood with
pitiful swords drawn, defiant and foolish, waving their impotent weapons
up at the killer from the sky. Jalil grabbed me, pulled me, dragged
me. My feet moved, missed
a step, tripped, up again, and now I ran. But not far. I had to stop,
to see. “Go back to your master, Merlin! Tell him I am not his!?Senna
screamed. Her voice was a tinny, faraway shout, a sound all but erased
by the vastness of the noise, the howling wind, the bellows sign of
leather wings, the crackle of underbrush bursting into flame. The dragon
inscribed slow, tight circles above the clearing, a living tornado,
flying like a bird of prey, and eagle with green and yellow skin, with
talons that could carry away a child, a man, a horse, what couldn’t it
carry with gravity meaningless? Jalil and I huddled in the woods, unprotected
by bowed trees and whipped grass and dirt flying in little cyclones.
But the dragon didn’t care for us. It watched Senna. Have her! Take her!
I cried silently. This is her nightmare.
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