It is with excitement and some shaky nerves that I present to you the first chapter of my upcoming novel. This book has been a labor of love that began in my childhood. It's morphed in hundreds of different ways since my initial idea, but the heart behind it has stayed the same, and the little girl who first pictured these scenes out in the woods behind her house is still in my head, wide-eyed at the prospect of me finally publishing the story over a decade later. Hope you enjoy this sneak peek.
Section I: The Summons
Chapter 1
Dear reader, I have quite the story to tell you.
It’s a grand tale – one of hardships and battles, great heroes and profound evil, broken covenants and brotherly bonds, and ancient forces shrouded in mystery. But, as a close study of history often reveals, the elements that make up a grand tale are often, on their own, not grand at all. Such is the case for this story. If I were you, and nobody told me about at least a few of those not-so-grand details, I would feel cheated. And since we’ve only just met and I want us to be good friends, let me take just a quick moment to set the record straight.
It all began with two people from the foothills of North Carolina – two young people who were astonishingly ordinary. They had no special powers, no hidden genius waiting to be unleashed. Indeed, one might argue that nothing about them, that day, or that place was especially remarkable. November 14, 2009, was just another Saturday. That particular peg, one in a row of pegs on the wall of the tack room in the large, dusty, dear old barn, wasn’t even perfectly fitted anymore. It still held bridles like any respectable peg should, but it wobbled.
Before we even go there, though, here’s a bit of family history. Roger Kents was a cattle farmer who, along with his sister Jackie, had inherited the business from his father. Roger and his wife Paula had four children – two girls and two boys – and Jackie and her husband Edward Fields had one son. Together, the families had worked through the various economic challenges that threatened many privately-owned farms in the era, and had managed to sustain the business and earn a modest but sufficient income.
They owned a few horses that they used for herding. To supplement their income, they boarded neighbors’ horses as well. Jackie’s son, Jason, and Roger’s eldest daughter, Jane, who were both sixteen years old, were responsible for looking after them. The two were like brother and sister; and even though their personalities were quite different, they worked well together, so that their parents trusted them to do the job right.
Yes, Jane and Jason are our two young people; and now that you understand they were just ordinary farm kids who did nothing to deserve what followed, I can begin telling the story.
Eight o’clock on November 14 found the two of them finishing up their morning chores. At the turn of the hour, they were winding their way down a tall, grassy hill, leading two horses from the west pasture to the barn. There was a friendly silence between them, and they trudged along to the sound of their rubber boots squelching in the wet grass. Down in the valley below them, the great tin roof of the barn shone in the sunlight, and a gentle breeze stirred Jane’s hair.
Jason broke the silence by suddenly asking, “Pancakes or biscuits?”
This was followed by a debate about which one would be the main feature of the hearty Saturday breakfast Jane’s mother was cooking up for them at home that very moment – a much-anticipated event of a typical Kents-Fields work weekend. Jason thought it would be biscuits, because she had fixed pancakes the Saturday before. Jane thought it would be pancakes, because she happened to know they were low on buttermilk, and her mom’s biscuit recipe was much more dependent on buttermilk than was the pancake recipe. They concluded that the sooner they finished their chores, the sooner they would find out – and Jason, with a sixteen-year-old's appetite, voted they make it snappy.
They were well on their way to the bottom of the hill now, and the barn was nearby. “Let’s ride back home,” Jason said. “Walker and Bess could use the exercise. We can take them all the way to the creek after breakfast and check the fences down that way.”
“Okay. I’ll do all the feeding if you’ll saddle both of them.”
“Deal.”
Jason hauled the sliding door open and they stepped into the dimly-lit barn, greeted by the whinnies of hungry and curious horses. Jane smiled. She loved that sound. They walked along the row of dusky stables, looking in on the horses as they went. It took several minutes for Jane to put the two they had brought with them into stables and to feed and water them all, while Jason was saddling his own horse, Walker, and Bess, who was Jane’s.
She was giving oats to the last horse when Jason abruptly stopped whistling.
“Hey, Jane – what’s this map doing in here?” he called from the tack room.
“Map?” Jane threw another scoop of feed into the bucket, craning her neck to look down the breezeway.
“Yeah, hanging on the wall beside the door. First peg on the right. Know what I’m talking about?”
“Not a clue.”
“Well, come look!”
She made sure the stall was locked and hurried back to the tack room. When she walked in, Jason gestured at the wall. “See?”
She turned, saw the map, and frowned confusedly.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.
“I have never seen that before. What’s it doing in here?”
Jason looked at her sideways for a moment, and then waved her off. “You’re messing with me.”
“No, I’m serious. I didn’t bring it here. Honestly, I didn’t even notice it when I was in here a minute ago. Did you?”
“Well, no – but I wasn’t paying attention. If you didn’t put it here, one of the others must have, sometime yesterday.”
Jane walked over and squinted at the map for a moment. Then, hesitantly, she took it off the peg. Jason looked over her shoulder and touched the map curiously. “The paper’s weird.”
Jane nodded. “It’s like old parchment or something.”
Their interest and confusion growing, they studied the map itself closely, amazed by its intricacy and beauty. It was done in black and white; and yet somehow it was awash, down to the smallest detail, with a mysterious, ancient, almost humming vibrancy that filled both of them with excitement. But they were struck most by what the map depicted. Despite its antique appearance, it clearly detailed the property on which they lived, in its modern capacity. Yes, there was the horse barn, the cattle barn, the grazing pastures, both of their homes, and the paths for the four-wheelers. The various sheds and outbuildings, some of which they had added very recently, were accurately represented. Even the electric fence lines were depicted to perfection.
“Jason...who made this?”
“No one in our family can draw like this – I know that much.”
“And what moron would hire a cartographer to do all this, and then hang it in our leaky barn? It had to have been expensive.”
“Beats me. Let’s take it home and ask about it.”
“I can’t imagine the explanation,” Jane said, beginning to carefully roll the map up.
Jason shrugged. “Come on, I need breakfast. We’re done here.”
He was cut off by an exclamation from Jane. He looked at her, and noticed the strange expression on her face. “Jeez – what’s wrong?”
“It’s moving!”
The map, which she had almost finished rolling up, was slowly unrolling again, pushing deliberately against her hands, as if it had a mind of its own. Afraid she would damage it, she allowed it to keep moving, until it was completely open.
Jason nodded knowingly. “Yeah, this is definitely a prank.”
Then he froze, mid-smirk. The map was disappearing. What had, moments ago, been a solid, tangible object, was now melting away. Jane could no longer feel it in her hands. As it faded into oblivion, it was replaced by a shimmering colored portrait. Misty and blurry as it was, it was unmistakable. Jane and Jason were looking straight into the sorrowful eyes of an old man with a weary, wrinkled face and sunken cheeks. His long, shaggy hair and beard were mostly grey; but, here and there, as if it were his natural color from his younger days, there were streaks of green – green like the leaves of a cedar tree. But they hardly noticed that; those vivid, mournful eyes, also a deep green, commanded all of their attention.
As they stared, transfixed, at this curious picture, it began moving. The man lifted a hand and beckoned to them urgently. Then his lips parted and he spoke, his voice reverberating all about them.
“Listen. Hear my plea. They oppress us…they scorn peace, defile our lands, mock what is good and right...they spread death and destruction. Help us! You have been called to save. Heed the summons of the Map!”
The voice, echoing eerily on the last word, faded away. The picture reverted to the map, but it remained misty. And now, near the map’s center, there was a new mark – an “X” made with thick, decisive pen strokes. It flashed with a fiery red light.
“Heed the summons!” echoed the voice again. The map vanished. Jane’s hands, clammy and trembling, were empty.
For a moment, she and Jason stood in tongue-tied silence. Then, all at once, they looked at each other with wild eyes and sprang towards Walker and Bess. In less time than it takes to tell, they had mounted and galloped out of the barn, and were racing through the valley.
Thus began a truly remarkable sequence of events. I assure you that every bit of it is true, however bizarre it may seem. Please don’t ask me how I know – I am not at liberty to say. My job is only to make sure this story is told, and I will do my best. All I ask is that, throughout the adventures that I relate in the following pages, you remember the barn, and North Carolina, and the biscuits waiting at home for Jane and Jason. If you do that, chances are you will understand how they felt.
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Thanks so much for taking the time to read this. If you enjoyed it, please spread the word to your fellow book-lovers!
Cheers,
Samantha
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