book 4 sample chapter
chapter 1: one hundred and fifty years after
Benjamin Jameson turned from the group of boys standing just outside New Elderton and looked across the field to the forest on the other side. The tall unmoving trees with their dim shadows seemed as if they beckoned him. Elderton Forest called in a tone ominous and foreboding. The forest dared Benjamin as much as the cynical boys at his back.
“You won’t do it,” one of the boys said.
“Watch me,” Benjamin replied.
The wind blew the boy’s short blond hair across his eyes, and without blinking he swept his hand up to clear his sight. Fall would soon remove the warmth of summer, and this day carried the warning of the cooler days ahead. A chill ran the length of young Benjamin’s back and he shuddered.
“See, he’s scared,” one boy said to the others as they stood ready to pounce with derisive words at the slightest sign of weakness.
Benjamin Jameson narrowed his eyes, unwilling to give his detractors what they wanted, and then with one deliberate and purposeful step, he walked toward Elderton Forest.
The field was not large, and Benjamin moved briskly through the calf-high green grass. He knew he couldn’t turn back, and though he wanted badly to slow his entrance into the woods, he wouldn’t give the other boys the satisfaction of seeing his doubt. So he never allowed his boots to stop pounding the soft earth underfoot, and as he came to the trees of Elderton Forest, he didn’t break stride once.
The boys across the tall waving grass turned a shade paler as Benjamin Jameson disappeared into the shadows. It was well and good to speak of adventure and danger, and it was the nature of a young boy to goad another into feeling he had to prove himself, but when a boy took the bait, it was always followed with fear. It was fun to toe the line, but it was a line just the same.
“Should we go and tell his mum?” one of the boys asked. The others turned in disgust at the question, giving all the answer that was needed. “I didn’t say I was going to.”
In truth, none of the boys wanted to believe the stories told about Elderton Forest; supernatural stories of ogres, witches and ghosts. They were far too old to believe them, yet every one of the boys did believe in the strange dangers of Old Elderton. That’s what they called the forest, Old Elderton. The folklore told that the forest was where the spirits of those who died in the old burned city had fled, and then grown into monsters. The children didn’t play among its trees, the women didn’t take walks under its canopy, and the men didn’t hunt its game. The people of New Elderton left the forest alone, or suffered.
Men had died in the forest, and those stories were true. Those who had been brazen enough to hunt within the forest’s borders found themselves amid dark adventure and true danger. The ones who survived returned with stories that couldn’t be believed, but had to be heard. The citizens of New Elderton were forced to believe in the unbelievable, or blame the survivors for unspeakable acts. Neither option was palatable to the people, so over time everyone stopped going into the forest. They wouldn’t admit why—they would never admit why—but sometimes silence is, itself, an answer.
The boys who watched Benjamin Jameson disappear into the forest knew this all too well, and so did Benjamin Jameson. So once Benjamin knew he was beyond the sight of his peers, he clung to the side of the nearest tree like a frightened squirrel. He hadn’t realized it, but he had held his breath for the duration of his trek across the field and into the forest. Now he drew a sharp breath to relieve his lungs. His head spun and he fought from turning and running back out of the forest.
They’re just stories, he told himself. Twenty minutes and I’ll walk right back out again. Twenty minutes will be enough to shut them up.
Benjamin’s eyes darted from left to right. He heard wood snap and his vision darted back to the left. He searched and strained his eyes with urgency, but could find nothing. The boy tried to slow his heart rate and then carefully pushed himself away from the tree. The forest seemed so dark from the outside, with the full brightness of the sun washing down from above. But now that he was among the trees and under the leaves and branches, it seemed as though the forest was not so dark after all. The canopy was thick, but it filtered the sunlight in a way that seemed to make the forest glow.
This isn’t so bad, Benjamin thought. I’ve made fear out of nothing.
He took two steps forward, but immediately stopped when he heard another snapping sound. Benjamin thought it came straight ahead of where he stood, so he looked further into the forest, hoping to see a bird or small animal. He squinted, but again saw nothing.
I’m being foolish, Benjamin chided himself. I should just stay here a while and before I know it, I’ll be walking back out of the forest with absolutely no story to tell other than what I can make up to frighten the others. There’s no danger here.
Benjamin reached his hand back to find the tree he had been leaning against, when he grasped something thick and slick. The boy’s head snapped around to find a bright-green viper wrapped around the tree. The snake’s yellow eyes were locked on him, and it opened its jaw to hiss. Benjamin shouted and then bolted further into the forest.
The tales of dangerous monsters flooded his mind, and threatened to turn a common snake into the most terrifying basilisk that had ever been seen. When Benjamin Jameson finally got his wits about him and stopped running, he placed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. Then he noticed a small clearing amid the forest.
Sunlight washed down from the blue sky and Benjamin shaded his eyes. A crisp breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and the sound was almost musical. The boy looked back down from the sky and saw a man sitting cross-legged on a mossy slab of stone. Beside the man was a gnarled wooden staff that looked older than time.
The man opened his eyes slowly and looked at Benjamin Jameson, whose eyes had grown wide with fear.
“I’ll bet you think I’m some evil warlock,” the man uttered with an old gravely voice. “I’ll bet you’re wishing you could run away right now. I know they tell stories in New Elderton that fill your heads with nonsense.”
Benjamin swallowed hard and let his tongue jut briefly between his lips to wet them.
“Are--Are you a warlock?” the boy asked.
The old man tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “Yes,” he said sarcastically. “I’m preparing to magic you into a toad and then squash you.”
Benjamin Jameson let out an involuntary whimper, and the old man shook his head.
“Oh, you’re being ridiculous,” the old man sniped, quickly tired of his game. “I’m just a man. You’ve stumbled upon me in the middle of my meditation. That’s all.”
“You live in New Elderton?” the boy asked.
“No. I live here. In the forest.”
“Where’s your home?” Benjamin asked.
“This is my home,” the man said. “The forest has everything I need.”
“But—but how do you live here? The men from town are terrified of the forest. Those who come here to hunt sometimes die or return with horrible stories.”
“Well, Dendrata doesn’t permit hunting in her forest any longer,” the man said. “She soured on that quite some time ago.”
“Who is Dendrata?” Benjamin asked.
“How quickly the world forgets,” the old man mumbled, almost inaudibly. “Or maybe I’ve just lived too long.”
“Is Dendrata the witch who rules this forest?” Benjamin asked after his first question went unanswered.
“Witch?” The old man asked and looked at the boy with confusion.
It was as if the man were trying to solve a difficult riddle. Benjamin saw the old man’s cheek bulge as his tongue poked the inside of it, and then the man reached up to scratch his fading patch of white hair.
“Boy, what do you know of the history of this world?” the old man asked. “Other than the bit about witches, warlocks and whatsits.”
“Well,” Benjamin said. “I can name the first five builders of New Elderton—”
“No, no, no,” the old man interrupted. “Further back than that. Do you even know about the death of Densa?”
“The death of Densa?” Benjamin asked. “But Densa isn’t real. Mother always says if we don’t behave she’ll call Densa’s shadow out, but it’s make-believe; it’s what you tell children to make them listen. I’m old enough to know that much.”
“Well, you might be old enough to know that much,” the old man said. “But I’m old enough to know the truth of what your mother says, whether she knows it or not. Densa was very real. His death is probably the most important day in the history of our world. I suppose they don’t teach you important things like that?”
“Umm… no.”
“Come over here, boy,” the man said. “Sit with me on this rock. What’s your name anyway?”
“Benjamin Jameson,” the boy said, and hopped up onto the mossy stone slab to sit next to the old man.
The old man’s eyes lit up. “Ben, eh. That’s a good name. That’s a strong name. Well, Ben, I haven’t the time to tell you everything, but I can tell you some of the story. You should at least know something worth knowing.”
“Everyone knows how Densa died,” the boy said. “The Great Mystery vanquished him, before his shadow could consume the world. They teach every child older than four that story. But I just thought it was all… well… a story.”
“It’s very real,” the old man said. “But I’d wager my life you haven’t been told the truth. I’d wager my life there isn’t a person in New Elderton that knows the truth.”
“I want to know the truth,” Benjamin Jameson said. “Where does the story begin?”
“Hmmm,” the man said as he scratched his chin. “I suppose for our purposes the story should begin with a man, a man much younger than myself. And I think I’ll start the story from the very same stone slab we sit on now.”
“Well, now I know you’re playing with me,” Benjamin said. “I suppose the story begins ‘once upon a time’ as well.”
“No,” the old man said. “Our story begins as any true story does, with one deliberate and purposeful step.”
“You won’t do it,” one of the boys said.
“Watch me,” Benjamin replied.
The wind blew the boy’s short blond hair across his eyes, and without blinking he swept his hand up to clear his sight. Fall would soon remove the warmth of summer, and this day carried the warning of the cooler days ahead. A chill ran the length of young Benjamin’s back and he shuddered.
“See, he’s scared,” one boy said to the others as they stood ready to pounce with derisive words at the slightest sign of weakness.
Benjamin Jameson narrowed his eyes, unwilling to give his detractors what they wanted, and then with one deliberate and purposeful step, he walked toward Elderton Forest.
The field was not large, and Benjamin moved briskly through the calf-high green grass. He knew he couldn’t turn back, and though he wanted badly to slow his entrance into the woods, he wouldn’t give the other boys the satisfaction of seeing his doubt. So he never allowed his boots to stop pounding the soft earth underfoot, and as he came to the trees of Elderton Forest, he didn’t break stride once.
The boys across the tall waving grass turned a shade paler as Benjamin Jameson disappeared into the shadows. It was well and good to speak of adventure and danger, and it was the nature of a young boy to goad another into feeling he had to prove himself, but when a boy took the bait, it was always followed with fear. It was fun to toe the line, but it was a line just the same.
“Should we go and tell his mum?” one of the boys asked. The others turned in disgust at the question, giving all the answer that was needed. “I didn’t say I was going to.”
In truth, none of the boys wanted to believe the stories told about Elderton Forest; supernatural stories of ogres, witches and ghosts. They were far too old to believe them, yet every one of the boys did believe in the strange dangers of Old Elderton. That’s what they called the forest, Old Elderton. The folklore told that the forest was where the spirits of those who died in the old burned city had fled, and then grown into monsters. The children didn’t play among its trees, the women didn’t take walks under its canopy, and the men didn’t hunt its game. The people of New Elderton left the forest alone, or suffered.
Men had died in the forest, and those stories were true. Those who had been brazen enough to hunt within the forest’s borders found themselves amid dark adventure and true danger. The ones who survived returned with stories that couldn’t be believed, but had to be heard. The citizens of New Elderton were forced to believe in the unbelievable, or blame the survivors for unspeakable acts. Neither option was palatable to the people, so over time everyone stopped going into the forest. They wouldn’t admit why—they would never admit why—but sometimes silence is, itself, an answer.
The boys who watched Benjamin Jameson disappear into the forest knew this all too well, and so did Benjamin Jameson. So once Benjamin knew he was beyond the sight of his peers, he clung to the side of the nearest tree like a frightened squirrel. He hadn’t realized it, but he had held his breath for the duration of his trek across the field and into the forest. Now he drew a sharp breath to relieve his lungs. His head spun and he fought from turning and running back out of the forest.
They’re just stories, he told himself. Twenty minutes and I’ll walk right back out again. Twenty minutes will be enough to shut them up.
Benjamin’s eyes darted from left to right. He heard wood snap and his vision darted back to the left. He searched and strained his eyes with urgency, but could find nothing. The boy tried to slow his heart rate and then carefully pushed himself away from the tree. The forest seemed so dark from the outside, with the full brightness of the sun washing down from above. But now that he was among the trees and under the leaves and branches, it seemed as though the forest was not so dark after all. The canopy was thick, but it filtered the sunlight in a way that seemed to make the forest glow.
This isn’t so bad, Benjamin thought. I’ve made fear out of nothing.
He took two steps forward, but immediately stopped when he heard another snapping sound. Benjamin thought it came straight ahead of where he stood, so he looked further into the forest, hoping to see a bird or small animal. He squinted, but again saw nothing.
I’m being foolish, Benjamin chided himself. I should just stay here a while and before I know it, I’ll be walking back out of the forest with absolutely no story to tell other than what I can make up to frighten the others. There’s no danger here.
Benjamin reached his hand back to find the tree he had been leaning against, when he grasped something thick and slick. The boy’s head snapped around to find a bright-green viper wrapped around the tree. The snake’s yellow eyes were locked on him, and it opened its jaw to hiss. Benjamin shouted and then bolted further into the forest.
The tales of dangerous monsters flooded his mind, and threatened to turn a common snake into the most terrifying basilisk that had ever been seen. When Benjamin Jameson finally got his wits about him and stopped running, he placed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. Then he noticed a small clearing amid the forest.
Sunlight washed down from the blue sky and Benjamin shaded his eyes. A crisp breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and the sound was almost musical. The boy looked back down from the sky and saw a man sitting cross-legged on a mossy slab of stone. Beside the man was a gnarled wooden staff that looked older than time.
The man opened his eyes slowly and looked at Benjamin Jameson, whose eyes had grown wide with fear.
“I’ll bet you think I’m some evil warlock,” the man uttered with an old gravely voice. “I’ll bet you’re wishing you could run away right now. I know they tell stories in New Elderton that fill your heads with nonsense.”
Benjamin swallowed hard and let his tongue jut briefly between his lips to wet them.
“Are--Are you a warlock?” the boy asked.
The old man tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “Yes,” he said sarcastically. “I’m preparing to magic you into a toad and then squash you.”
Benjamin Jameson let out an involuntary whimper, and the old man shook his head.
“Oh, you’re being ridiculous,” the old man sniped, quickly tired of his game. “I’m just a man. You’ve stumbled upon me in the middle of my meditation. That’s all.”
“You live in New Elderton?” the boy asked.
“No. I live here. In the forest.”
“Where’s your home?” Benjamin asked.
“This is my home,” the man said. “The forest has everything I need.”
“But—but how do you live here? The men from town are terrified of the forest. Those who come here to hunt sometimes die or return with horrible stories.”
“Well, Dendrata doesn’t permit hunting in her forest any longer,” the man said. “She soured on that quite some time ago.”
“Who is Dendrata?” Benjamin asked.
“How quickly the world forgets,” the old man mumbled, almost inaudibly. “Or maybe I’ve just lived too long.”
“Is Dendrata the witch who rules this forest?” Benjamin asked after his first question went unanswered.
“Witch?” The old man asked and looked at the boy with confusion.
It was as if the man were trying to solve a difficult riddle. Benjamin saw the old man’s cheek bulge as his tongue poked the inside of it, and then the man reached up to scratch his fading patch of white hair.
“Boy, what do you know of the history of this world?” the old man asked. “Other than the bit about witches, warlocks and whatsits.”
“Well,” Benjamin said. “I can name the first five builders of New Elderton—”
“No, no, no,” the old man interrupted. “Further back than that. Do you even know about the death of Densa?”
“The death of Densa?” Benjamin asked. “But Densa isn’t real. Mother always says if we don’t behave she’ll call Densa’s shadow out, but it’s make-believe; it’s what you tell children to make them listen. I’m old enough to know that much.”
“Well, you might be old enough to know that much,” the old man said. “But I’m old enough to know the truth of what your mother says, whether she knows it or not. Densa was very real. His death is probably the most important day in the history of our world. I suppose they don’t teach you important things like that?”
“Umm… no.”
“Come over here, boy,” the man said. “Sit with me on this rock. What’s your name anyway?”
“Benjamin Jameson,” the boy said, and hopped up onto the mossy stone slab to sit next to the old man.
The old man’s eyes lit up. “Ben, eh. That’s a good name. That’s a strong name. Well, Ben, I haven’t the time to tell you everything, but I can tell you some of the story. You should at least know something worth knowing.”
“Everyone knows how Densa died,” the boy said. “The Great Mystery vanquished him, before his shadow could consume the world. They teach every child older than four that story. But I just thought it was all… well… a story.”
“It’s very real,” the old man said. “But I’d wager my life you haven’t been told the truth. I’d wager my life there isn’t a person in New Elderton that knows the truth.”
“I want to know the truth,” Benjamin Jameson said. “Where does the story begin?”
“Hmmm,” the man said as he scratched his chin. “I suppose for our purposes the story should begin with a man, a man much younger than myself. And I think I’ll start the story from the very same stone slab we sit on now.”
“Well, now I know you’re playing with me,” Benjamin said. “I suppose the story begins ‘once upon a time’ as well.”
“No,” the old man said. “Our story begins as any true story does, with one deliberate and purposeful step.”
