Shaun Duke

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) James sat up. He took a moment to let the dizziness and throbbing pain fade away and then slowly stood. With one hand he rubbed his eyes and with the other he felt the large knot that had made its home in the back of his head—hard and round. “Dinner’s ready,” his mother called from the other room. A few hours had passed since his parents had had their argument, or ‘serious discussion’ as he liked to call it. He had spent the time watching the ceiling. It had occurred to him that he had no choice but to question them. The fact that he had overheard things he wasn’t even supposed to know might lend him the leverage he needed to get the rest out of them. The Council, whoever they were, wouldn’t allow his parents to leave because of what they knew, and he doubted that he would be given any different treatment. He wondered how many people in the town had seen the inside of the Manor. Either the people who had were keeping silent, perhaps ordered to do so by the Council, or few people really knew what was in there. James had never paid much attention to who came and left Woodton, but now as he thought about it he realized that not many came and not many went. James stretched his arms delicately. He still felt lightheaded and didn’t wish to strain himself. Then the cloth caught his attention, the same cloth from the Manor. He looked with disbelief. He had forgotten all about it. Yet, it wasn’t just the sight of the cloth that truly suspended him in disbelief. The cloth was clean. There were no bloodstains or marks. It looked brand new. And his arm felt fine. He plucked at the knot in an attempt to get it off. When it didn’t work he opened a nearby desk drawer and produced a pocketknife. He flicked the blade out, but the instant the blade touched the cloth it tightened like a snake. The knife fell from his hand and he clasped at the cloth as it began to cut the circulation off. A moment later and the cloth loosened and resumed its original tightness. The design of Saint Brendan’s Cross shimmered. James swallowed hard. His heart thumped as fast as a mouse in his chest. This is insane, he thought. What is going on? I’m losing my mind. The thought was absurd; he knew that. He was far too logical to succumb to insanity. Regardless, something about the last day and a half made him feel like he really was going crazy. The only bit of sanity he could grab onto sat in whatever it was that his parents knew. Angtholand. “Oh dear! You didn’t have to get up. Dinner in bed.” James’ mother came into the room carrying a tray. Sitting in it were a glass of water, a bowl of pudding, and some sort of mushy looking soup that resembled rotten fruit. James nodded softly and sat down. He hated soup, a product of his inability to eat it properly. His mother would say “don’t slurp” or “close your mouth when you swallow” any time so much as a drop of the stuff escaped his lips. If he could help it he avoided the stuff. “Besides,” she continued, “you should be resting. Understand?” She set the tray down on the bed then pointed. “What is that on your arm?” “It won’t come off,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Did you get it from the Manor?” He looked her in the eye to tell her yes. She understood and took hold of the cloth and tried to untie it. “I tried that. It just…” As if on queue the cloth squeezed hard on his arm. He groaned and she let go. James looked into her eyes. She didn’t look at all surprised, but he could see through her attempts to look oblivious. “You can’t take things like that. It’s stealing and I won’t raise a thief. And why did you have to tie the knot so tight!” “Laura tied it.” “Yes, well Laura will be getting a talking to by her mother I imagine. Now eat your soup and I’ll get some scissors.” She scurried out of the room. James sat down and poked at the steaming bowl of goo. He wasn’t sure what to call it. It looked strangely like a yellow clam chowder, but there were chunks of chicken in it. Peas too. He gave up trying to guess and took a bite. It didn’t taste half-bad and he took another before sipping some water. His mother came in a moment later brandishing a massive pair of scissors that looked more like sheers than conventional scissors. If she had been someone other than his mother James would have been frightened by her stance. She stood like a murderer in a movie, shadow tracing along the ground in a long line as light poured in over her shoulders. She walked over to his bed and sat down. Taking the scissors she tried to work the pointed edge under the cloth on his arm. The cloth tightened violently, pushing the point of the scissors into the muscle. He yelped in pain as a small trickle of blood escaped from under the blade. She retracted the scissors in a knee-jerk reaction. “Mom, you can stop hiding whatever it is you’re hiding,” he said. She looked at him, brow curled confusedly. “I overheard you and Dad.” Her face contorted to that of fear. “I’ve seen an eye,” he emphasized ‘an’ because he couldn’t be sure if it were the same eye

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) James woke, groggy, head throbbing rhythmically. He kept his eyes closed and groaned. He didn’t dare touch whatever bruise had formed on his skull for fear of the pain. A whistling sound, like a train in a deep cavern, played brightly in the back of his ears. Radio reception, he thought. Someone had told him once that the high pitch sounds in his ears were unfiltered radio frequencies. He never believed it—after all, it was pure nonsense—but for some reason it had stuck. Finally he worked up the nerve to open his eyes. He took it slow, half-expecting there to be bright light shining through the window. But the room was utterly dark, empty. Without any source of light the bedroom on the second floor of Hansor Manor was as dark as during a solar eclipse. Thick mats of clouds hid the moon and rid the landscape of any shadows. In a way James was glad for the darkness. It meant his head wouldn’t hurt, at least not any more than it already did. At a snails’ pace, James lifted himself up and gently felt the back of his head. He let out a groan as his fingers touched the small bulge there. Then the entirety of all that had happened hit him hard. He took a few groggy steps forward and blindly knelt and ran his hands where the burnt circle had been. The charred wood crumbled like dried bread beneath his fingers. His movement released a fresh scent of burning wood. “Laura,” he said. His voice quivered. There was no answer, just the call of wind rushing against the side of the Manor and the faint roar of thunder in the distance. He hadn’t expected an answer, but had hoped for it. James held back the urge to panic. Now, more than ever, he had to resist temptation. He had to be more like Laura. It had never occurred to him that there would ever come a time when he could not rely on Laura’s unending adventurous personality. He wanted to scream out her name and the urge to cry welled up. His legs twitched as if they could bolt at any moment. He resisted. Every instinct he had he resisted. Silently his hand brushed along the smooth fabric of the satin bag. He ripped his hand back momentarily as if just touching it would set off whatever had happened to Laura. For a moment he stood still, and then he slowly lifted the bag to his face. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could begin to make out the outline of the shield knot. He took hold of the drawstring, pulled it tight, tied a thick knot, and then leaned back slightly relieved. What am I going to do with this thing? What about Laura? The thought brought a bad taste to his mouth. She had disappeared right before his eyes and somewhere, someplace, she still lived. The flames hadn’t killed her. He was sure of that. He shivered. Then something twitched against the side of the satin bag. It wasn’t the wind or the bag itself, but something inside. The bag moved again and he nearly dropped it out of shock. Then the bag burst into continuous motion, thumping like a sporadic heartbeat. He dropped it. The bag thumped on the wood floor and sagged over creating a bulbous mass of fabric, squiggling as if it was filled with little worms. A thundering clap rang in every direction and he looked up. Items all over the room began to wiggle like the bag, but he quickly noticed that only the things adorned with a Celtic symbol were in motion. The dresser, bed, and chairs remained motionless. He stood straight. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out the shapes rustling about. To his surprise, as if nothing else could possibly make the situation any more frightening, an inhuman cry burst from the bag, jolting his gaze back to the floor. The noise resembled the sound of an eagle, bear, and the airy hiss of a snake melded together. The unnatural noise ripped through the air loud enough so that he had to clasp both hands over his ears. As he did so, the shield knot on the satin bag slowly lit up as little orange embers followed the pattern until every inch glowed red. Then symbols across the entire room burst alight until it seemed like daylight—bright and overwhelming. James backed away, weary and slightly afraid. Again his panic reflex called, but he ignored it. He eyed the window nonetheless. He saw his reflection in the window and realized that the cloth wrapped tightly over his wound glowed bright red as well. Backing away farther until he touched the wall with his back, he pulled one of his hands from his ear and began to tug at the knot. It wouldn’t come loose; Laura had tied it tight. Tugging harder and harder he kept his gaze partly on his arm and partly on the room. The terrible noise changed pitch. Suddenly several glowing items hopped into the air from various parts of the room, flew across and circled the satin bag. The knot he had tied burst open and a bright white light shot up through the center of the room producing a swift wind that circled like a vortex. James tried to move farther away but kept running into the wall. He looked around for a door; the bag, whirling items, and circle of wind blocked access to the window. The door sat along the wall he clung to at the far end of the room. He