Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts

Friday, August 22, 2008

Interview with Dean Briggs


I am so excited to spot light Dean Briggs. His new book Book of Names is very intriguing and I think both adults and teens would find this a great book. You can read the first chapter in yesterdays post. If you would like to win a copy of this novel. Please leave a comment and a way to get in touch with you.

*Please tell us a little about yourself.
Well, let's see: I'm nearing forty and starting to gray a little, but not too bad. I'm in good health, but find myself creaking a bit after exercise. Way too short of breath climbing the stairs, but still quite lackadaisical about that darn treadmill. I'm lucky to have found love twice in one lifetime, and way too proud of my kids. I think Battlestar Galactica is the best show on television, and Macs are the only computers worth powering on (yeah, I'm one of those people). I like coffee, but I'm not a Starbucks fanatic. I'm tech savvy, but still a bit confused by the whole social networking thing. I want to go to Ireland again, this time for a month. Finally, if you must know, I wish I liked gardening, but I don't. Instead, I like the idea of gardening, but not the work. :)

*What is the craziest experience you have ever had?
Finding myself falling in love again, when I did not think love would ever be possible. I remarried, gained four more kids, restarted life, and the whole thing has been amazing.

*We know that you are a parent of eight children and with that you must have some amazing advice for parents. What is the one thing every parent should do or know?
Helpful tip: When there's too much noise in the house, just turn the TV up louder. Ha! Just kidding, of course. (In reality, my wife and I maybe catch one show a week). Having eight kids is certainly challenging, but I doubt if it really qualifies me as an expert. Even so, I think my advice could be summed up in two words: be deliberate. Be involved. My wife and I share an equal commitment to involvement. Think about it: the older you get, the faster time flies, right? It's so easy to get caught up in the busyness of raising children---feeding schedules, diapers, toddler moods, Little League, etc.---especially when they are young---that around about age 8 or 9 you realize half of this child's life with me is gone. You have another 9 years, or 5 years, and then they're off to college. That is a sobering thought. So make the memories now, in the middle of the busyness. Don't get so caught up in the process of job, soccer, lawn mowing, laundry and meals that you miss the pleasure of the moments all those things are meant to afford. And yes, deliberateness goes beyond memories. It means if we tell one of our kids to do something, we follow up. We don't just offer a prayer and assume it gets done. For all of the hair-pulling frustration this might cause the child, the sense of personal value it instills is worth it. Involvement (even on chores) tells them, whether they know it or not, they matter. They occupy a place in the family that bears weight, has consequence. In and of itself, the chore matters, too, so we're building excellence. But even more, they matter, and that's why they are receiving our attention until the job is done right. We also schedule time each week to spend with our kids individually. In the midst of all the busyness, we realized it simply wasn't happening. A week, a month, might slip by, and we'd find ourselves looking at each other and thinking, we've been around our kids a lot, but not really with them. And you know what? In this Wii-XBox-iPod-Digital world, we have found that our children look forward to, and depend upon, that time more than any other moment in the week. From our 7-year olds up to our 17-year old. They want that time. Deliberate in love, in discipline. Deliberate enough to upset them with firmness, and surprise them with gentleness. Deliberate = time. Attention. But the payoff is relationship, and children with a healthy sense of security and placement in the family.
*Other than Grace and Salvation, what is the greatest gift you have ever received?
Forgiveness. Not only from the Lord, but from people I've hurt. I don't know if it counts for the question, but I love to laugh, too. I love making people laugh. It's like a gift to me every time it happens. More specifically, I love everything about the process and pleasure of humor, wit and sarcasm. I've been fortunate in my life to have witty friends, spouses and family. It is constant source of joy.
*Tell us about The Book of Names.
A bit of backstory is required, and it is marked with pain. In fact, attempting to summarize almost feels brutal and violating. Nevertheless, here's the condensed version: after 16 wonderful years of marriage, I lost my wife to cancer. Even now, typing those words, it all seems so unbelievable. We had a fantastic life together. I was, and in many ways still am, utterly shattered. I was 36 years old at the time, and had four boys to raise. After a long, grueling period of numbness, anger and grief, I decided it was time to write again. I needed to write again. In spite of my history of medical thrillers (The God Spot - 1999, The Most Important Little Boy in the World - 2001), fantasy has always been my favorite genre. I decided to tell a tale my boys could relate to. I did so as a method of grieving, as therapy, as a gift to my four boys. It's an adventure, an unabashed fantasy full of magic and adventure. Readers will be able to enjoy it on those terms. But for us, it's real life, also. A story of loss, displacement, courage---our journey together, longing for another world, while trying to live well in this one. In fact, the names of the heroes are the names of my four sons (close variants, anyway).The premise is Narnia-esque: After their mother's untimely death from cancer, four brothers must relocate from all they've ever known to rural Newland, Missouri. Little do the boys realize the move is no accident, but the result of years of research by their father into the location of a particular Ancient Civilization Portal. The discovery of this portal transports the two oldest brothers, Hadyn and Ewan, to the world of Karac Tor, where they must join the fight against evil in a mind-blowing world of magic, myth and legend. In the Hidden Lands of Karac Tor, names are being stolen from the mystical Book of Names, and it falls to the Barlow brothers to figure out what is happening. Other books in the series will involve other combinations of brothers. Through the perils of Karac Tor, the boys will discover more about themselves, grow as brothers, and learn to live heroically.In the process, hopefully, a range of emotions can be felt and released, that go beyond merely sword-and-sorcery heroics. In a small but important way, it has been healing for my heart.

*What do you want your readers to walk away with after reading The Book of Names?
I want people to think, "Wow, that was good! When's the next one coming out?" I want them to feel emotion, be stirred with thrills and chills, be thoughtful, and then by Chapter 2 imagine themselves right in the middle of the story. Everything else is gravy.
*Why do you choose to write for the Christian market?
Good question. Frankly, I was close to abandoning it, and pursuing ABA publication. The secular world gets fantasy. Years ago, I had tried to publish fantasy, before Harry Potter made the genre cool again, and before Peter Jackson and Walden Media caused a resurgence of interest in Tolkien and Lewis. Suddenly, it seemed Christian publishers began to realize all over again that redeemed imagination is a good thing. Then came Bryan Davies, Donita K. Paul and Wayne Thomas Batson. I was heartened by their success. I wanted to join them, and raise the bar. I wanted to create a compelling YA fantasy fiction series on par with great past and current secular series. Sad, but true: though age appropriate, my kids have zero interest in reading most CBA-YA fare, even though they devour secular fantasy. Why? In my experience, classic ABA-YA fantasy fiction (L'Engle, Cooper, Alexander, LeGuin, etc.)---even when written with pre-teen or teen protagonists---is not "dumbed down" in an attempt to appeal to those ages. Rather, they are written in a literate, engaging manner that adults can enjoy as well. (The most obvious recent example is the Harry Potter phenomenon; however, I, like many Christian parent, take issue with the series as a whole). So...I am not interested in trite, patronizing, preachy kid stories. Never have been, never will be. I'm interested in compelling narratives and interesting, authentic characters that draw readers young and old into a bang-up good fantasy adventure, steeped in a worldview of authentic struggle and faith. Our kids aren't too young for that, they're begging for it! So through the books and the website (http://www.hiddenlands.net/), I've tried to build an immersive milieu in which readers can deeply invest themselves.

*I often here that writers have to have certain thing around them when they write such as chocolate, tea or mood music? What do you have surrounding you when you are writing?
Oh boy, confession time. I imagine my writing habits would be appalling to most pros. I simply don't have the time to separate myself completely from the noise of life to "do writing." Often, come evening, I'm out in the living room laying on the couch with my laptop on my stomach, typing away. That way I at least get to be around my kids, rather than locked away. Sometimes the noise level is prohibitive, and I have to retreat to the bedroom. My only fetish is to turn on some Enya or other ethereal melodies (or Narada or Windham Hill instrumentals), and get to work.

*Thank you so much for dropping by. Any last words for the readers? Where can readers find you in the future?
Hopefully, on the shelves! And at my web site or Shoutlife or Facebook page. I'm trying to focus as much time as I can on building writing into a full-time career. So if readers enjoy my stuff, hopefully they'll tell others and help spread the word. I'm thankful for blogs like this that help me connect with my audience. I'm putting the finishing touches on Book 2, Corus the Champion, and starting Book 3, The Song of Unmaking, even as we speak. Thanks for letting me drop by!

Sunday, June 1, 2008

FIRST DAY BLOG

>

It is June FIRST, time for the FIRST Blog Tour!
(Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we
will feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!





The feature
author is:



and her book:


DragonLight
WaterBrook Press (June 17, 2008)



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Donita K. Paul is a retired teacher and award-winning
author of seven novels, including DragonSpell, DragonQuest, DragonKnight,
and DragonFire. When not writing, she is often engaged in mentoring
writers of all ages. Donita lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado where she
is learning to paint–walls and furniture! Visit her website at
www.dragonkeeper.us.

The Books of the DragonKeeper Series:

DragonSpell
DragonQuest
DragonKnight
DragonFire
DragonLight

Visit her website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Castle
Passages


Kale wrinkled her nose at the dank air
drifting up from the stone staircase. Below, utter darkness created a
formidable barrier.

Toopka stood close to her knee. Sparks skittered
across the doneel child’s furry hand where she clasped the flowing,
soft material of Kale’s wizard robe. Kale frowned down at her ward. The
little doneel spent too much time attached to her skirts to be
captivated by the light show. Instead, Toopka glowered into the forbidding
corridor. “What’s down
there?”

Kale sighed. “I’m not
sure.”

“Is it the dungeon?”

“I don’t think we have a
dungeon.”

Toopka furrowed her brow in confusion. “Don’t you
know? It’s your castle.”

“A castle built by committee.” Kale’s
face grimaced at the memory of weeks of creative chaos. She put her
hand on Toopka’s soft head.

The doneel dragged her gaze away
from the stairway, tilted her head back, and frowned at her guardian.
“What’s ‘by committee’?”

“You remember, don’t you? It was just
five years ago.”

“I remember the wizards coming and the
pretty tents in the meadow.” Toopka pursed her lips. “And shouting. I
remember shouting.” “They were shouting because no one was listening.
Twenty-one wizards came for the castle raising. Each had their own idea about
what we needed. So they each constructed their fragment of the castle
structure according to their whims.”

Toopka giggled.

“I don’t think it’s funny. The chunks of castle were erected,
juxtaposed with the others, but not as a whole unit. I thank Wulder that at
least my parents had some sense. My mother and father connected the
tads, bits, and smidgens together with steps and short halls. When nothing
else would work, they formed gateways from one portion to another.”

The little doneel laughed out loud and hid her face in Kale’s
silky wizard’s robe. Miniature lightning flashes enveloped Toopka’s
head and cascaded down her neck, over her back, and onto the floor like a
waterfall of sparks.

Kale cut off the flow of energy and
placed a hand on the doneel’s shoulder. “Surely you remember this,
Toopka.”

She looked up, her face growing serious. “I was very young
then.”

Kale narrowed her eyes and examined the child’s
innocent face. “As long as I have known you, you’ve appeared to be the same
age. Are you ever going to grow up?”

Toopka shrugged, then
the typical smile of a doneel spread across her face. Her thin black
lips stretched, almost reaching from ear to ear. “I’m growing up as fast
as I can, but I don’t think I’m the one in charge. If I were in charge,
I would be big enough to have my own dragon, instead of searching for
yours.”

The statement pulled Kale back to her original
purpose. No doubt she had been manipulated yet again by the tiny doneel, but
dropping the subject of Toopka’s age for the time being seemed
prudent.

Kale rubbed the top of Toopka’s head. The shorter fur
between her ears felt softer than the hair on the child’s arms. Kale always
found it soothing to stroke Toopka’s head, and the doneel liked it as
well.

Kale let her hand fall to her side and pursued their
mission. “Gally and Mince have been missing for a day and a half. We
must find them. Taylaminkadot said she heard an odd noise when she came
down to the storeroom.” Kale squared her shoulders and took a step down
into the dark, dank stairwell. “Gally and Mince may be down here, and
they may be in trouble.”

“How can you know who’s missing?”
Toopka tugged on Kale’s robe, letting loose a spray of sparkles. “You have
hundreds of minor dragons in the castle and more big dragons in the
fields.”

“I know.” Kale put her hand in front of her, and a
globe of light appeared, resting on her palm. “I’m a Dragon Keeper. I
know when any of my dragons have missed a meal or two.” She stepped
through the doorway.

Toopka tugged on Kale’s gown. “May I have a
light too?”

“Of course.” She handed the globe to the doneel.
The light flickered. Kale tapped it, and the glow steadied. She
produced another light to sit in her own hand and proceeded down the steps.

Toopka followed, clutching the sparkling cloth of Kale’s robe
in one hand and the light in the other. “I think we should take a dozen
guards with us.”

“I don’t think there’s anything scary down
here, Toopka. After all, as you reminded me, this is our castle, and
we certainly haven’t invited anything nasty to live with us.”

“It’s the things that come uninvited that worry me.”

“All
right. Just a moment.” Kale turned to face the archway at the top of the
stairs, a few steps up from where they stood.

She reached
with her mind to the nearest band of minor dragons. Soon chittering
dragon voices, a rainbow vision of soft, flapping, leathery wings, and a
ripple of excitement swept through her senses. She heard Artross, the
leader of this watch, call for his band to mind their manners, listen to
orders, and calm themselves.

Kale smiled her greeting as they
entered the stairway and circled above her. She turned to Toopka,
pleased with her solution, but Toopka scowled. Obviously, the doneel was
not impressed with the arrival of a courageous escort.

Kale
opened her mouth to inform Toopka that a watch of dragons provides
sentries, scouts, and fighters. And Bardon had seen to their training. But
the doneel child knew this.

Each watch formed without a Dragon
Keeper’s instigation. Usually eleven to fifteen minor dragons
developed camaraderie, and a leader emerged. A social structure developed
within each watch. Kale marveled at the process. Even though she didn’t
always understand the choices, she did nothing to alter the natural way of
establishing the hierarchy and respectfully worked with what was in
place.

Artross, a milky white dragon who glowed in the dark,
had caught Kale’s affections. She sent a warm greeting to the
serious-minded leader and received a curt acknowledgment. The straight-laced young
dragon with his tiny, mottled white body tickled her. Although they
didn’t look alike in the least, Artross’s behavior reminded Kale of her
husband’s personality.

Kale nodded at Toopka and winked. “Now
we have defenders.”

“I think,” said the doneel, letting go
of Kale’s robe and stepping down a stair, “it would be better if they
were bigger and carried swords.”

Kale smiled as one of the
younger dragons landed on her shoulder. He pushed his violet head against
her chin, rubbing with soft scales circling between small bumps that
looked like stunted horns. Toopka skipped ahead with the other minor
dragons flying just above her head.

“Hello, Crain,” said Kale,
using a fingertip to stroke his pink belly. She’d been at his hatching
a week before. The little dragon chirred his contentment. “With your
love of learning, I’m surprised you’re not in the library with
Librettowit.”

A scene emerged in Kale’s mind from the small dragon’s
thoughts. She hid a smile. “I’m sorry you got thrown out, but you must
not bring your snacks into Librettowit’s reading rooms. A tumanhofer
usually likes a morsel of food to tide him over, but not when the treat
threatens to smudge the pages of his precious books.” She felt the small
beast shudder at the memory of the librarian’s angry voice. “It’s all
right, Crain. He’ll forgive you and let you come back into his bookish
sanctum. And he’ll delight in helping you find all sorts of wonderful
facts.”

Toopka came scurrying back. She’d deserted her lead
position in the company of intrepid dragons. The tiny doneel dodged
behind Kale and once more clutched the sparkling robe. Kale shifted her
attention to a commotion ahead and sought out the thoughts of the leader
Artross. “What’s wrong?” asked Kale, but her answer came as she tuned in
to the leader of the dragon watch.

Artross trilled orders to
his subordinates. Kale saw the enemy through the eyes of this
friend.

An anvilhead snake slid over the stone floor of a room
stacked high with large kegs. His long black body stretched out from a nook
between two barrels. With the tail of the serpent hidden, she had no
way of knowing its size. These reptiles’ heads outweighed their bodies.
The muscled section behind the base of the jaws could be as much as six
inches wide. But the length of the snake could be from three feet to
thirty.

Kale shuddered but took another step down the
passage.

Artross looked around the room and spotted another section
of ropelike body against the opposite wall. Kegs hid most of the
snake.

Kale grimaced. Another snake? Or the end of the one
threatening my dragons?

The viper’s heavy head advanced, and the
distant portion moved with the same speed.

One snake.

“Toopka, stay here,” she ordered and ran down the remaining steps.
She tossed the globe from her right hand to her left and pulled her
sword from its hiding place beneath her robe. Nothing appeared to be in her
hand, but Kale felt the leather-bound hilt secure in her grip. The old
sword had been given to her by her mother, and Kale knew
how to
use the invisible blade with deadly precision.

“Don’t let him
get away,” she called as she increased her speed through the narrow
corridor.

The wizard robe dissolved as she rushed to join her
guard. Her long dress of azure and plum reformed itself into leggings
and a tunic. The color drained away and returned as a pink that would
rival a stunning sunset. When she reached the cold, dark room, she cast
her globe into the air. Floating in the middle of the room, it tripled
in size and gave off a brighter light.

The dragons circled
above the snake, spitting their caustic saliva with great accuracy.
Kale’s skin crawled at the sight of the coiling reptile. More and more of
the serpentine body emerged from the shadowy protection of the stacked
kegs. Obviously, the snake did not fear these intruders.

Even
covered with splotches of brightly colored spit, the creature looked
like the loathsome killer it was. Kale’s two missing dragons could have
been dinner for the serpent. She searched the room with the talent
Wulder had bestowed upon her and concluded the little ones still lived.

The reptile hissed at her, raised its massive head, and swayed
in a threatening posture. The creature slithered toward her, propelled
by the elongated body still on the floor. Just out of reach of Kale’s
sword, the beast stopped, pulled its head back for the strike, and let
out a slow, menacing hiss. The snake lunged, and Kale swung her invisible
weapon. The severed head sailed across the room and slammed against
the stone wall.

Kale eyed the writhing body for a moment. “You
won’t be eating any more small animals.” She turned her attention to
the missing dragons and pointed her sword hand at a barrel at the top of
one stack. “There. Gally and Mince are in that keg.”

Several dragons landed on the wooden staves, and a brown dragon examined the
cask to determine how best to open it. Toopka ran into the room and
over to the barrel. “I’ll help.”

Kale tilted her head. “There
is also a nest of snake eggs.” She consulted the dragon most likely to
know facts about anvilhead vipers. Crain landed on her shoulder and
poured out all he knew in a combination of chittering and thoughts.

The odd reptiles preferred eating young farm animals, grain, and
feed. They did nothing to combat the population of rats, insects, and
vermin. No farmer allowed the snakes on his property if he could help it.
“Find the nest,” Kale ordered. “Destroy them all.”

The watch
of dragons took flight again, zooming into lightrockilluminated
passages leading off from this central room. Kale waited until a small group
raised an alarm. Four minor dragons had found the nest.

She
plunged down a dim passage, sending a plume of light ahead and calling
for the dispersed dragons to join her. Eleven came from the other
corridors, and nine flew in a V formation in front of her. Gally and Mince
landed on her shoulders.

“You’re all right. I’m so glad.”

They scooted next to her neck, shivering. From their minds she
deciphered the details of their ordeal. A game of hide-and-seek had led
them into the depths of the castle. When the snake surprised them,
they’d flown under the off-center lid of the barrel. As Mince dove into
the narrow opening, he knocked the top just enough for it to rattle down
into place. This successfully kept the serpent out, but also trapped
them within.

Kale offered sympathy, and they cuddled against
her, rubbing their heads on her chin as she whisked through the
underground tunnel in pursuit of the other dragons.

Numerous rooms
jutted off the main hallway, each stacked with boxes, crates, barrels,
and huge burlap bags. Kale had no idea this vast amount of storage lay
beneath the castle. Taylaminkadot, their efficient housekeeper and wife
to Librettowit, probably had a tally sheet listing each item. Kale and
the dragons passed rooms that contained fewer and fewer supplies until
the stores dwindled to nothing.

How long does this hallway
continue on? She slowed to creep along and tiptoed over the stone floor,
noticing the rougher texture under her feet. Approaching a corner, she
detected the four minor dragons destroying the snake’s nest in the
next room. Her escort of flying dragons veered off into the room, and she
followed. The small dragons swooped over the nest, grabbed an egg, then
flew to the beamed roof of the storage room. They hurled the eggs to
the floor, and most broke open on contact. Some had more rubbery shells,
a sign that they would soon hatch. The minor dragons attacked these
eggs with tooth and claw. Once each shell gave way, the content was
pulled out and examined. No
hatchling snake survived.

The
smell alone halted Kale in her tracks and sent her back a pace. She
screwed up her face, but no amount of pinching her nose muscles cut off the
odor of raw eggs and the bodies of unborn snakes. She produced a square
of moonbeam material from her pocket and covered the lower half of her
face. The properties of the handkerchief filtered the unpleasant
aroma.

Her gaze fell on the scene of annihilation. Usually, Kale
found infant animals to be endearing, attractive in a gangly way. But
the small snake bodies looked more like huge blackened worms than
babies.

Toopka raced up behind her and came to a skidding stop
when she reached the doorway. “Ew!” She buried her face in the hem of
Kale’s tunic, then peeked out with her nose still covered.

The
minor dragons continued to destroy the huge nest. Kale estimated over a
hundred snake eggs must have been deposited in the old shallow basket.
The woven edges sagged where the weight of the female snake had broken
the reeds. Kale shuddered at the thought of all those snakes hatching
and occupying the lowest level of the castle, her home. The urge to be
above ground, in the light, and with her loved ones compelled her out of
the room.

Good work, she commended the dragons as she
backed into the passage. Artross, be sure that no egg is left
unshattered.

She received his assurance, thanked him, then turned about
and ran. She must find Bardon.

“Wait for me!” Toopka called.
Her tiny, booted feet pounded the stone floor in a frantic effort to
catch up.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Teen First Chosen by Ted Dekker



It's April 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance!
Click the button!) Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her
latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!



and his book:

Thomas Nelson (January 1, 2008)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Ted is the son of missionaries John and Helen Dekker,
whose incredible story of life among headhunters in Indonesia has been
told in several books. Surrounded by the vivid colors of the jungle and
a myriad of cultures, each steeped in their own interpretation of life
and faith, Dekker received a first-class education on human nature and
behavior. This, he believes, is the foundation of his writing.

After graduating from a multi-cultural high school, he took up
permanent residence in the United States to study Religion and Philosophy.
After earning his Bachelor's Degree, Dekker entered the corporate world in
management for a large healthcare company in California. Dekker was
quickly recognized as a talent in the field of marketing and was soon
promoted to Director of Marketing. This experience gave him a background
which enabled him to eventually form his own company and steadily climb
the corporate ladder.

Since 1997, Dekker has written full-time. He states that each time he
writes, he finds his understanding of life and love just a little
clearer and his expression of that understanding a little more vivid. To see
a complete list of Dekker's work, visit The Works section of
TedDekker.com.

Here are some of his latest titles:

Adam

Black: The Birth of Evil (The Circle Trilogy Graphic Novels, Book 1)

Saint



AND
NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:



beginnings

Our story begins in a world totally like our own, yet completely
different. What once happened here in our own history seems to be repeating
itself thousands of years from now,
some time beyond the year 4000 AD.

But this time the future belongs to those who see opportunity before it
becomes obvious. To the young, to the warriors, to the lovers. To
those who can follow hidden clues and find a great
treasure that will unlock the mysteries of life and wealth.

Thirteen years have passed since the lush, colored forests were turned
to desert by Teeleh, the enemy of Elyon and the vilest of all
creatures. Evil now rules the land and shows itself as a painful, scaly disease
that covers the flesh of the Horde, a people who live in the desert.

The powerful green waters, once precious to Elyon, have vanished from
the earth except in seven small forests surrounding seven small lakes.
Those few who have chosen to follow the ways of Elyon now live in these
forests, bathing once daily in the powerful waters to cleanse their
skin of the disease.

The number of their sworn enemy, the Horde, has grown in thirteen years
and, fearing the green waters above all else, these desert dwellers
have sworn to wipe all traces of the forests from
the earth.

Only the Forest Guard stands in their way. Ten thousand elite fighters
against an army of nearly four hundred thousand Horde. But the Forest
Guard is starting to crumble.

one

Day One

Qurong, general of the Horde, stood on the tall dune five miles west of
the green forest, ignoring the fly that buzzed around his left eye.

His flesh was nearly white, covered with a paste that kept his skin
from itching too badly. His long hair was pulled back and woven into
dreadlocks, then tucked beneath the leather body armor
cinched tightly around his massive chest.

“Do you think they know?” the young major beside him asked.

Qurong’s milky white horse, chosen for its ability to blend with the
desert, stamped and snorted.

The general spit to one side. “They know what we want them to know,” he
said. “That we are gathering for war. And that we will march from the
east in four days.”

“It seems risky,” the major said. His right cheek twitched, sending
three flies to flight.
“Their forces are half what they once were. As long as they think we
are coming from the east, we will smother them from the west.”

“The traitor insists that they are building their forces,” the major
said.

“With young pups!” Qurong scoffed.

“The young can be crafty.”

“And I’m not? They know nothing about the traitor. This time we will
kill them all.”

Qurong turned back to the valley behind him. The tents of his third
division, the largest of all Horde armies, which numbered well over three
hundred thousand of the most experienced warriors, stretched out nearly
as far as he could see.

“We march in four days,” Qurong said. “We will slaughter them from the
west.”

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Ryann Watters and the King's Sword by Eric Reinhold



It is April FIRST--no foolin'--, time for the
FIRST Day Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day
of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book's
FIRST chapter!




The special feature author is:

and his book:


Ryan Watters and
the King's Sword

Creation House (May 2008)

Illustrated by: Corey
Wolfe



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Eric J. Reinhold is a graduate of the U.S. Naval
Academy. The former Naval officer writes extensively for a variety of
national financial publications in his position as a Certified Financial
Planner® and President of Academy Wealth Management. His passion for
writing a youth fantasy novel was fueled by nightly impromptu storytelling to
his children and actively serving in the middle and high school
programs at First Baptist Sweetwater Church in Longwood, Florida.

Visit him at his website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


The
Angel’s
Visitation



It first appeared as a gentle glow, almost like a
child’s night-light. Heavy shadows filled the room as the boy lay face up,
covers tucked neatly under his arms. A slight smile on his face hinted
that he was in the midst of a pleasant dream.

Ryann Watters,
who had just celebrated his twelfth birthday, rolled lazily onto his
side, his blond hair matted into the pillow, unaware of the glow as it
began to intensify. Shadows searched for hiding places throughout the
room as the glow transformed from a pale yellow hue to brilliant
white.

Ryann’s eyelids fluttered briefly and then flickered at the
glare reflecting off his pale blue bedroom walls. Drowsily, he turned
toward the light expecting to see one of his parents coming in to check
on him. “What’s going on?” his voice cracked as he reached up to rub the
crusty sleep from his eyes.

***

Under a pale half-moon, Drake Dunfellow’s
house looked just like any other. A closer inspection, however, would
reveal its failing condition. Water oaks lining the side of the curved
driveway hunched over haggardly, like old men struggling on canes. The
lawn, which should have been a lively green for early spring, was
withered and sandy. A few patches of grass were sprinkled here and there.
Rust lines streaked down the one jagged peak atop the tin-roof house. The
flimsy clapboard sides were outlined by fading white trim speckled with
dried paint curls. Hanging baskets containing a variety of plants and
weeds all struggling to stay alive shared the crowded front porch with
two mildew-covered rocking chairs. Inside, magazines and newspaper
clippings both old and new were carelessly strewn about. Encrusted dishes
from the previous day’s meals battled each other for space in the
bulging kitchen sink. In the garage, away from the usual living areas, was a
boy’s room. Dull paneling outlined the bedroom, while equally dreary
brown linoleum covered the floor. The bedroom must have been an
afterthought because not much consideration had been given to the details. A
bookcase cut from rough planks sat atop an old garage sale dresser.

Moonlight pressing through the dust-covered metal blinds tried to
provide a sense of peacefulness. Instead it revealed bristly red hair
atop a young boy’s head poking out from beneath a mushy feather pillow.
His heavy breathing provided the only movement in the quiet room. Tiny
droplets of perspiration lined his brow as he began jerking about under
the thin cotton sheets.

Starting at the edge of the window,
the blackness spread downward, transforming all traces of light to an
oily dinginess. Drake was slowly surrounded and remained the only thing
not saturated in the darkness. Bolting upright to a stiff-seated
attention, Drake’s bloodshot eyes darted back and forth. He stared into the
black nothingness shuddering and aware that the only thing visible in
the room was his bed.

“Who . . . who’s there?” Drake cried
out, puzzled by the hollow sound that didn’t seem to travel beyond the
edge of his mattress. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck, connecting
his numerous freckled dots. He strained, slightly tilting his head, ears
perked. There was no reply.

***

Neatly manicured
streets wandered through the Watters’s sleepy, rolling neighborhood.
If someone had been walking along in the wee morning hours of March 15,
they would have noticed the brilliant white light peeking out from
around Ryann’s shade. Below his second-story window the normally darkened
bed of pink, red, and white impatiens was lit up as in the noonday
sun.

Ryann was fully awake now and quite positive that the
dazzling aura facing him from in front of his window was not the hall light
from his parents entering the bedroom. Golden hues flowed out of the
whiteness, showering itself on everything in the room. It reminded Ryann
of sprinkles of pixie dust in some of his favorite childhood books. His
blue eyes grew wide trying to capture the unbelievable event unfolding
before him.

“Fear not, Ryann,” a confident, yet kind, voice
began. “I have come to do the bidding of one much greater than I and
who you have found favor with.”

Rapid pulses in his chest
gripped Ryann as he struggled to understand what was happening.
Instinctively he grasped his navy blue bed sheets and pulled them up so that only
his eyes and the top of his head peeked out from his self-made cocoon.
Squinting to reduce the brilliance before him, Ryann stared into the
light, trying to detect a form while questions scrambled around his mind.
What had the voice meant by “finding favor,” and who had sent him? As
Ryann struggled to work this out, the center of the whiteness began to
take the shape of a man. Human in appearance, he looked powerful, but
there was a calmness about his face, like that of an experienced
commander before going into battle. Ryann recalled hearing about angels in his
Sunday school class at church. He wondered if this could be one.

“Ryann, thou have found favor with the One who sent me. You will
be given much and much will be required of you.”

Still
shaking, Ryann was fairly certain he was safe. “S-s-s . . . sir, are you an
angel?”

“You have perceived correctly.” “And . . . I’ve been
chosen by someone . . . for something?” Ryann asked.

“The
One who knows you better than you know yourself,” the angel answered.

Ryann knew he must be talking about God, but what could God
possibly want with him?

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Thou must search out and put on the full armor of God so that you can
take a stand against the devil’s schemes. For your struggle is not
against flesh and blood, but against the powers of this dark world and
against the forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

“The devil?
Forces of evil? I’m just a kid,” Ryann said. “What could I possibly
have to do with all of this? You’ve got to be making a mistake.”

“There are no mistakes with God. Thou have heard of David?”

“You mean the David from David and Goliath?” Ryann asked.

The angel nodded. “He was also a boy chosen by God to accomplish great
things. God chooses to show His power by using the powerless.”

Ryann tried to comprehend the magnitude of what this mighty being
was saying to him. Realizing he was still sitting in his bed, covers
bunched around him, he pulled them aside and swung his feet out, never
taking his eyes off the angel. Landing firmly on the carpet, Ryann’s
wobbly knees barely supported him, the bed acting as a wall between him and
the angel.

“Who are you?”

“I am Gabriel and have
come to give you insight and understanding.”

“Wow!” Ryann
couldn’t believe this was the same angel who had appeared to Joseph and
Mary in the Christmas story he heard every December. The lines of
excitement on his face drooped as he fidgeted, thinking about the angel’s
words. “I don’t want to . . . seem . . . ungrateful,” Ryann hesitated,
“but . . . is there any way you can . . . ask someone else?”

“Only you have been given this trial, Ryann, yet you shall not be
alone.”

“Who will help me?”

“As the young shepherd boy
David spoke, ‘The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him,
and He delivers them. For He commands His angels to guard you in all
your ways.’” Gabriel’s twinkling gaze rose as he stretched his arms
heavenward, “And these will assist you along the way.”

Beckoning Ryann from behind the bed, the angel glided
effortlessly forward to greet him. Walking to within a foot of Gabriel,
Ryann bowed humbly, basking in the radiant glow that emanated all
around him. Reaching out, the angel grasped Ryann’s left hand firmly and
slipped a gold ring, topped by a clear bubble-like stone, onto his
finger. Before he could inspect it, the angel took his other hand and placed
a long metal pole in it. Ryann’s hand slid easily up and down the
smooth metal finish. Its shape and size were similar to a pool cue.
Bone-white buttons protruded from just below where he gripped the staff. They
were numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7. Mesmerized by the gifts that
begged for more attention and questions, Ryann hardly noticed Gabriel loop
a long leather cord through his arm and around his neck. From it a
curved ivory horn hung loosely below his waist, resting on his hip.

As Gabriel finished and backed away, Ryann continued marveling at
each of the gifts. Reaching down to inspect the horn, he ran his hands
along its smooth, yet pitted surface, until he reached the small
gold-tipped opening. He wondered how old the horn was and if it had been used
before.

“What do I do with these? How do I use them?”

“It is not for me to reveal,” answered the angel calmly. “You
shall find out in due time.”

“But what do I do now?”

“Thou must seek the King’s sword.”

“How? What King? Where do
I look?” Ryann blurted out, panicking as questions continued to pop
into his head.

“The Spirit will lead you, and the ring will
open the way,” the angel replied as he began floating backwards, the
light peeling away with him.

“Wait, wait! Don’t leave—I don’t
know enough—where do I go now?”

“Remember,” Gabriel’s clear
voice began to fade, “all Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for
teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness, so that you
may be thoroughly equipped for all good works.”

Clutching
the mysterious heavenly gifts he had been given, Ryann collapsed in a
heap on his bed, body and mind drained from his supernatural encounter.
He drifted into a welcomed sleep.

***

It seemed
Drake’s bedroom no longer existed. Only his bed remained, an island
floating in a sea of darkness that completely surrounded him. His eyes
bulged, darting about for anything that would give him a hint of what was
going on. A cool draft drifted down his neck, chilling him despite the
safety of his covers. Caught between reality and a nightmare, he let
loose a scream that normally would have been heard throughout the house and
beyond, but now was absorbed into the heavy darkness enveloping
him.

“Who’s there?” he said again. He pinched himself to see if he
was dreaming.

With a loud swoooooooosh, huge wings shot out
of the darkness surrounding his bed. Drake dove for the safety of his
covers.

A thunderous, commanding voice ordered, “Come out
from hiding and stand up!”

Drake hesitated, knuckles tense and
white as they curled tightly around the edges of his blanket.

“Now!” the voice thundered.

Jerking his covers off, Drake
scurried to the edge of the bed, lost his balance, and awkwardly fell
face-first onto the cool floor. Petrified at what he might see, yet too
scared to disobey, he raised his head slightly. Half expecting some
hideous beast, Drake was surprised at what he was facing. The
black-winged warrior towering over him was imposing enough to paralyze anyone with
fear, but his face was what captivated Drake. Instead of a hideous
three-eyed ghoul with fangs, like Drake imagined, he stared into one of
the most ruggedly handsome faces he had ever seen. Drake froze,
mesmerized.

“Sit up and listen closely, human,” the dark angel began,
closing his wings in an effortless swish. Lowering his voice, he spoke
in a precise, but less threatening tone. “I have chosen you to carry
out my wishes.”

Drake raised himself to a clumsy crouch. The
face he looked intently into was perfect in almost every way, except
for a long thin scar that traveled from his left ear to his jaw. He was
convinced now that this wasn’t a monster trying to devour him.

“Why me?”

The angel’s scar became more noticeable when he
smiled at Drake. “I have been here before with great success and have
reason to believe you will serve me well.”

“What do you want
me to do?” Drake blurted.

“The one who seeks to bind me must
be stopped!”

Drake stumbled backwards, putting a hand on
the floor to keep from falling. Swallowing hard, he could feel the black,
penetrating eyes staring deep into his.

“You are the one,”
the creature said confidently.

No one had ever chosen Drake
for anything, yet this powerful being wanted him. He didn’t know if he
could trust the dark angel or not, but the chance for power excited
Drake. “How do I do it?”

The dark angel continued to smile,
sensing the blackness in Drake’s heart spreading murkily throughout his
body.

“I will be your eyes and ears, a guide to lead you in
the right direction, and,” he hesitated, “I will give you these.”

The dark-winged angel stretched out his hand, his index finger
pointing toward the empty floor in front of him. Immediately three items
appeared before Drake’s eyes. He blinked again. They were still there.
Drake’s hand shot out in a blur to grab the closest item.

“Stop!”

Drake froze, and then cowered, his eyes shifting back to
the booming voice as he slowly retracted his hand. His eyes darted
back and forth between the three items and the dark angel in the awkward
silence.

“You move when I tell you to move. Now . . . kneel
before me, child of the earth, while I make you ready for your task.”

Still hunched-over, Drake pitched forward onto his knees with
his head bowed, eyes glancing upward in anticipation.

“My
first gift to you is a cloak of darkness. It will provide you with cover
at night. You and the night shall become one.”

Drake reached
out his hands to receive the cloak. It felt smooth and slippery.
Looking intently at it, the cloak seemed several feet thick, as if it was
projecting darkness.

“My second gift to you is a ring of
suggestion. With it you will have the ability to project persuasive thoughts
to those who are weak-willed or in the midst of indecision.” Powerful
hands with long curled fingers took hold of Drake’s hand, spreading an
icy chill from the tip of his fingers to his wrist. As the creature
slipped the black band onto his finger, Drake briefly noticed a red blotch
on the top. His hand felt stiff, then the numbness traveled up his arm
and throughout his body. Chattering clicks from his own teeth broke
the silence as he awaited the angel’s next words. “Lastly, I provide you
with a bow and arrows of fire. These arrows were formed in the lake of
fire and will deliver physical and mental anguish to those they
touch.”

“Thank you . . . uhh . . . what should I call you?” Drake
asked.

“I am one of the stars that fell from heaven. My
master is Shandago and I am his chief messenger. You may call me Lord
Ekron.”

“Thank you, Lord Ekron, for these gifts. I may be young,
but I’ll do as you ask to the best of my ability.”

“It is
expected. Also, these items I have given to you are not for use in this
world. When the time is right, you will find a passage into another land.
There you will put these gifts to work.”

The darkness in
the room began to rush toward Lord Ekron, as if he were absorbing it,
except he wasn’t getting bigger—only darker. Drake kept staring at him,
trying not to blink, so he wouldn’t miss anything. Despite his efforts,
the dark angel began to fade, and Drake found himself peering into the
darkness at the blank wall. When he was sure his eyes weren’t playing
tricks on him and enough time passed so that he felt safe to move, he
stood up.

Drake would have thought this was all a bad dream,
but the items he held in his hand were proof that it was real. He ran his
hands through the dense blackness of the slick cloak, wondering how he
might use it. Drake was anxious to try the bow and arrows as well. He
didn’t dare pull the arrows out of their quiver right now, but decided
that he would have to buy a regular bow and quiver of arrows as soon as
possible so that he could begin practicing. Looking down at his hand,
he examined the unusual ring he now wore. The entire band was a glossy
black, except for the unusual red marking on the top, which resembled a
flying dragon.

Not much had gone right for Drake during the
first thirteen years of his life. “Now things are going to be different,”
he thought. The smile inching across his face looked evil. He knew with
Lord Ekron at his side no one would be able to tell him what to
do.


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My review: I have not yet finished this book but I wanted to give my opinion on the first half of the Ryann Watters and the Kings Sword. I liked the art cover of the book and thought the illustrations throughout were very well done. The story is geared toward the tween years but I thought it would fit better with a 8 to 10 year old reader. The story weaves two worlds together much like Narnia but in current times with an array of talking animals. At times the language did not seem current to times some of the slang used was not something my eleven year old would use but beyond that I thought it an entertaining story for young Christian readers.