Read Christian Fantasy Adventure
Read Christian Fantasy Adventure – P. W. Stone and the Missing Kingdoms – Chapter One – The Gate
Sometimes the stars and planets do align.
Before the sun set in mid-January 2017, our stone white 2012 Jeep Cherokee left the busy Oregon interstate, cruised through Salem’s quiet suburbs of Willamette Valley and into wine country. Ever since we had crossed the California-Oregon state line, I gazed tirelessly at the rolling hills and clusters of trees, craving the first sight of Peaceful Falls Manor. A fresh start awaited me in the garden paradise of our ancestors.
As Mom and I neared Uncle William’s estate, the vehicle screeched to a stop.
She stared out the window.
“You alright?” I asked. “Mom. Are you okay?”
“How could somebody do something like this?” She sighed. “Defile Chimikiti.”
A lump rose in my throat at what had become of the dense perimeter outlining my uncle’s land. When the mist-covered window lowered, a chilling earthy carnage filled my nostrils.
Layers of opaque clouds snaked across the mangled battlefield carrying an odor of overturned dirt, severed roots, and snapped limbs oozing sap.
“It makes you wonder what we’ve missed,” she said.
Massive chunks of the forest had vanished—hundreds of bulldozed trees, ripped from the earth, lay broken in piles.
My heart ached for the pulverized woods once so full of life. The sacred meeting place of our ancestors sat in ruins.
Mom craned her neck and peered through my window. “Oh, Penelope, someone is after your inheritance. Whatever are we going to do to stop this?”
After a moment, the blood drained from Mom’s face. She leaned back against the seat, her eyes glazed. “I want to throw up.”
A bright-colored billboard down the road gleamed through the fog and advertised what my mom and Uncle William dreaded for years. “Chimikiti Casino coming soon near you. The paradise where families come to play.”
She placed her hand over her chest and muttered words I didn’t understand. “No wonder my brother is fighting for his life.”
We stayed on the narrow road leading to the manor. The relentless silver-gray mist that stuck with us all day from San Francisco clung to the trees insulating the grounds of my uncle’s estate.
Once we approached the entrance, Mom lowered her window and pushed the entry call button. We waited. No answer.
After driving more than twelve hours, we’d made it to our new home, but we sat on the wrong side of the fence.
She punched the button again and again. “Please, please pick up.” Nothing.
I squirmed in my seat. “They’re expecting us, right?”
Mom stared ahead. “Well…not exactly.”
A wave of heat rushed up my neck and into my cheeks. “What do you mean, Mother?”
“I have to talk to my brother, face to face.”
“But Mom, we packed everything we own and moved out of our house.”
“You and I have every right to be here. And just as much as my brother and his family. Grandpap said it in his will.”
The sky dimmed, and the forest shadows grew. My heart raced as my eyes darted toward the woods on both sides. A solid vapor eerily seeped through the trees. I usually wouldn’t have been so freaked, but nightfall closed in.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and lowered the window. “Are there any light poles out here?” I tried to survey the area, but the thick mist made it impossible.
Mom tapped her smartwatch. “I don’t remember any, just trees.”
A whipping wind slammed into the car, sending a shiver through my body. I quickly raised the window. “Hopefully, we can figure out what we’re doing before dark.”
Mom’s palm pressed her forehead. “Oh, I’ll just call them from my cell. We don’t need that entry box.” She tapped her watch to make the call, but her hopeful expression disappeared. “Oh, shoot. I don’t have a signal.”
“Must be the trees in the way,” I said. “Would they hear the horn?”
“I doubt it. The house is quite a way once we pull into the drive, and the forest is between us.” Mom honked a few times. Nothing happened.
“Isn’t that button supposed to light up on the call box?” I said.
She studied the panel and shrugged.
“I bet their power’s out. Wonder when they used this gate last. Is there another entrance?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“And this is the right house?”
Mom tugged on her braid. “Yes, I’m sure of it.”
I yawned. “Can’t we go to a hotel? We’ll come back tomorrow.”
Mom stretched her neck, peering over the Jeep’s hood. “If the power’s out, then let’s try to push the gate open ourselves.”
My shoulders tensed. “What? I can’t even see three feet in front of my face.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Mom said. “We’re at Uncle William’s.”
My tongue pushed against my lower teeth as I thought of an argument. “We haven’t been here since I was little. A crazed dog could come after us. Or, worse, a wild animal.”
I pointed. “And what’s with that rusty gate anyway, crawling with vines? It looks like it hasn’t opened in years.”
“We must make it to their house.”
“Mom.” I shivered. “This place gives me the creeps.”
As drizzle veiled the windshield, Mom wiped her palms on her pants. Her face stiffened before she grabbed my forearm. “Penelope Stone, I don’t have money for a room. It went toward food, and my paycheck won’t be in the bank until tomorrow.
“The fuel warning light went on an hour back, so I suspect we’re idling on fumes. No gas means no heat.”
“Let’s just stay here then.” I folded my arms. “At least we’ll be out of the rain.”
“No. A storm is coming, and the temperature will drop tonight. We can’t sleep in this car.”
“We could extend the seats back and sleep right here.” I dropped my backpack on the floorboard.
My mom squeezed her arms. “We’ll freeze. We must make it to Uncle William’s. Earlier, when our car swerved out of that truck’s path heading straight toward us, we witnessed a miracle. I’ll never forget it, but now we must act for ourselves.”
The engine sputtered and died. The sun set, and the sky darkened. Mom was right. We had to get that entry open. Thunder rolled, and a sudden torrential downpour pounded the SUV.
We jumped as a lightning bolt struck the ground near us. My muscles stiffened—I wanted to stay put.
I stared into the woods. Thoughts of our ancestors following the setting sun from Oklahoma, enduring the open elements with limited supplies, to find this place inspired me. If they could withstand a storm, then so could I.
“Okay, Mom. Let’s do it.”
Bundled in sweaters and duck boots, we stepped into the icy darts and headed for the gate. A frigid gust rushed between us. Grabbing hold of the frozen bars with gloveless hands, grappling with wet honeysuckle, Mom and I yanked as hard as we could, but nothing.
Raindrops pelted my scalp and pricked my face before flowing in frosty trickles down my neck. Chilled to the bone, I jerked again, leaning back with my weight. A subtle shift wiggled the gate, but the vines had a secure grip. I tried again, but it was no use. “It’s stuck,” I yelled.
We sloshed back to the car as the headlamps faded.
I couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. “What are we going to do?”
For several minutes, Mom shivered without a word. “We must climb over the barrier that blocks our way.”
As she wiped my cheeks with her cold hands, her strength comforted me, but the moment didn’t last. She rubbed the cold, soggy sweater stuck to my arms. “We battle not against flesh and blood, but against the spiritual forces of darkness.”
“Mom. That stuff’s not helping.”
“P. W. Stone, don’t be afraid. You know what to do.”
Drenched, I stared at her.
“Come on,” she said.
My body shook. “Mom.”
“Go ahead, Penelope.”
My gaze fixed on her face, I nodded, teeth chattering. I closed my eyes, and in my head, I said what I knew to say. Then I took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll go.” After I checked my bootlaces, Mom hugged me.
We jumped into the freezing sheets and ran toward the gate. I gripped the steel and pulled myself up, bracing my foot between the bars. After pushing up with my legs, I hoisted my chest upon the top railing, threw one leg over and then the other.
Mom climbed right behind me.
Once on the other side, we took off, but something twisted my shoulder and flung me backward into the hard metal. When I fought with my snagged sweater to get away, mangled iron ripped my sleeve and sliced the heel of my hand. Stinging pain radiated through my palm as blood and water rolled off my wrist and splattered the ground.
Mom made it over to me, and we bolted toward the house.
Lightning cracked, and a blazing ring flashed through the surrounding forest, illuminating a young warrior amid a bluish-gray haze.
My jaw dropped. “What the—” I tapped my mom’s arm.
Brilliant thunderbolts fractured the sky. A rushing wind encircled us, whirling up leaves and pine needles.
Shaking, I shielded my face from my whipping hair and flying debris.
Others accompanied the warrior.
“Mom.” I tried to wipe the rain and then the blood out of my eyes to see.
Shadowy, translucent figures formed a wide perimeter around us. Tall, broad-shouldered men with long dark hair in buckskin tunics carried bows and spears.
Could they be a tribe of native warriors who lived in the woodlands? What was I thinking? That couldn’t be right.
At that moment, the strength in my legs drained. A sense of peace overcame me. Were they divine warriors, the angelic who appeared as natives?
My daddy had met the Lord’s Guardian Warriors once. A weird thought entered my mind. Had they been with us all day? In the fog?
Out of breath, I slowed to a brisk walk. My eyes trained on the shining light through the pouring rainfall.
“Mom. Do you see them?” The storm blurred my vision.
“See what?” She scowled, shook her head, and kept moving.
When my boot caught on a gnarled tree root, I tripped and landed on my hands and knees. Searing pain surged through my injured hand up my wrist.
Mom reached under my arms and helped me stand. “Get up, Penelope. Keep going.”
My hand throbbed when I wiped blood and mud on my pants. I scanned the woods. Had my eyes played a trick on me? No. Were they the same beings my daddy encountered?
A new desire crowded out my concern with our troubles. Who were those men, and why were they there?
After we made it through a dense, long stretch, we entered a familiar clearing. We had to be close, but a thick haze blocked our view of the manor.
Soon an outline of the first fountain and infinity pond came into sight. From where gushing water once overflowed, rainwater trickled off a ledge into the pool below. Ripples formed on the sludge as rising waters lapped beneath.
Unusual silhouettes from the east garden captured my attention. Deformed shrubs replaced the sculpted foliage I’d remembered. The tall, slender cypress trees that once decorated the lawn had browned and withered. Wiry hedges along the walk clawed at the smoky air.
Rolling thunder pushed us to keep moving. My eyes eventually found the vague three-story structure. Was it Peaceful Falls Manor? I couldn’t tell at night.
Lightning branched across the purple sky, and a ghostly wooden ship appeared in place of Peaceful Falls Manor. I shuddered and gasped. “What is going on?”
I glanced at Mom’s face. Did she see the ark too? But when I looked back, the vessel wasn’t there. Peaceful Falls Manor stood in its place.
I blinked. Had my eyes deceived me, or would this be my second chance, an escape from a life going under?
The sleeting continued, but I no longer felt its icy pricks. A numbing sensation had dulled the pain. I grabbed my mom’s hand as we walked together through obscurity.
As we reached the circular drive, wisps of smoke slowly curled from chimneys. “Someone’s home,” I said. Fighting the darkness in the blustering rain, my thoughts turned to a long hot shower, layers of warm blankets, and a crackling fire in Uncle William’s cozy chateau.
The gravity of the manor’s neglect hit. Black slime crawled from the steep roof down the gray stone exterior in several places and collected near the windows. As we ambled up the garden walk, my stomach soured at the sight of the three-tier fountain full of murky glop.
I locked eyes with Mom. Her forehead creased.
“What happened to Peaceful Falls?” I asked. “The mansion is spooky. It’s not peaceful at all.”
The downpour suddenly let up.
Mom faltered, pulling on my arm for support. “I knew things were bad but had no idea it was this dire. Your uncle’s money troubles worsened, and they had to release all the housekeepers and gardeners.”
My eyes widened in disbelief. “Is that why we’re here, to be their maids?”
Mom whispered as we stepped on the front stoop. “We’re here to help, to be of service.”
Skeptical, I muttered under my breath through clenched teeth. “To be servants.”
From what I had gathered, Uncle William’s health had rapidly declined. Aunt Hannah and the children hadn’t taken his illness very well. My aunt suffered from headaches, and the kids hadn’t helped matters either. They’d been lashing out and acting ugly.
I was sorry my uncle was sick and that my cousins could lose their father. Losing a father wrenches the heart. I could relate since my daddy disappeared, but I didn’t want to be a live-in servant.
The front door creaked open.
Read Christian Fantasy Adventure – Scroll to next chapter.
Read Christian Fantasy Adventure – P. W. Stone and the Missing Kingdoms – Chapter 2 – The Ancient Coat
A petite figure appeared from behind the copper and glass door, holding a lantern. “Who’s there?”
“Hannah?” Mom said. “It’s me, Elizabeth, and Penelope.”
“Beth?” The thin-lipped woman opened the door further. “Land sakes. What on earth are you girls doing here? You’re soaked. Where are your coats?”
Mom wiped her wet bangs out of her eyes. “Long story. I didn’t plan very well. Sorry for the short notice.”
“You mean no notice.” Aunt Hannah squinted her brown eyes and mumbled under her breath as she stepped backward. “Well, come on in. You’ll catch your death of pneumonia out there.”
The chateau’s doorway led into an open atrium where a pair of grand staircases climbed on either side.
Uncle William hollered from the west sitting room. “Hannah! Stop talking like that. Who is it?”
“It’s your sister and Penelope.”
“What? My sister?”
“Yes, Beth is here.”
“Come in. Come in.” In the soft firelight, my uncle’s frail arm beckoned us from a brown leather chair. A crackle from a fireplace cast marred shadows across wood-paneled walls.
Relief swept over me.
Uncle William gestured again. “Welcome. Come, and warm up by the fire.”
Through a second threshold leading into the literary room, I inched inside with my arms crossed. A wall of smog-filled air, the stench of fried fish, and moldy cheese stifled my breath as I hurdled over a maze of coats and toys. I hid my disgust while I scanned the room for an escape. We definitely should have called.
The dim flicker revealed a layer of dust on everything. There was no telling who was in the photos displayed on the mantle. I exchanged a look with Mom.
She stooped near Uncle William and placed a caring hand on his shoulder. “How are you doing, William?”
He peered at her over his glasses. “I have good and bad days—mostly tired. Why didn’t you call and tell us you were coming for a visit? We could have prepared a place for you.”
I held my breath, not sure what my mom would say.
“Well, for one, I wanted to help with the house, and two, I didn’t want you telling us not to come.”
She joined me huddled by the fireplace. We rubbed our arms and blew into our cupped hands, absorbing the heat.
My aunt reached out her arm for us. “Let’s get you dry and warm.”
“Thank you, Hannah. I’m right behind you. I’d like to speak with my brother for a moment if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.” My aunt motioned for me with her bony fingers. “Come, Penelope.”
I clutched my shivering arms. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What happened to your hair? It’s so short. When you were little, you had such beautiful long locks.”
“Yeah. I had it cut.”
“Well, it’ll grow out soon enough, I suppose.” She gently tugged on a piece of my wet hair. “How old are you, now, Penelope?”
“I’ll be fourteen in August.”
“A little short for your age, aren’t you?” She held her hand above my head. “Oh, I need to grab some towels.”
Aunt Hannah walked through the foyer and yelled toward the second floor. “Kids! We have company! Your Aunt Beth and Penelope are here for a visit—all the way from San Francisco!”
Hollow thumps multiplied above our heads, and six kids with flashlights charged down the stairs. My cousins were all boys, except for Margaret, who was a little older than me. John and Thomas were the older boys, and Richard, Dennis, and Lewis were the younger boys.
It would have been eight children if my uncle and aunt’s two other little ones hadn’t died years before from an unknown illness. The tragedy was why Uncle William didn’t want Aunt Hannah telling people they’d catch their death. He believed saying certain words were the same as spell casting.
I couldn’t read the faintest sign of acceptance in the judgmental eyes staring back at me.
Cousin Thomas, one of the older boys, snickered.
My gaze found the floor as I moved a shaky hand to smooth my wet hair. I must have looked a wreck.
Margaret scrunched her nose. “Why are you so wet?”
Aunt Hannah lowered Margaret’s flashlight out of my face. “They had to walk from the gate without coats.”
“What’d you go out in that without a coat for?” Thomas scoffed. “You must be crazy.”
My ears caught fire. Like we climbed the gate and ran a mile in the freezing rain for fun.
John, the oldest cousin, jabbed his younger brother with an elbow. “Shut it, Tommy.”
“Hey. What was that for?” Thomas said.
“Oh, dry up, you cry baby.” John slapped his brother’s back. “Stop stirring the pot. They couldn’t reach us on the call box, so we’d open the gate. Of course, none of that works without electricity.”
Good ol’ Thomas. The hefty boy had the face of a plump weasel when riled. The kid tripped people and accused them of being clumsy.
So, that’s how it was going to be. How could I forget? Maybe if I remain quiet, they’ll fight amongst themselves and leave me out of their squabbles.
My aunt gasped. “You’re bleeding, child. My floor.”
I gripped the sweater stretched over my bloody hand. A crimson trail on the marble floor followed me from the door.
“What happened?
“I cut my hand on the gate.”
“How awful—let’s bandage you up. Margaret, come with us and find something dry the girls can wear.” She pointed to the tile. “Boys, get this cleaned up.”
The boys objected with stiff upper lips and a series of gruffs and grunts.
By the time Aunt Hannah cleaned and dressed my wound, Mom joined us upstairs. We changed into dry clothes and wrapped ourselves in blankets.
Afterward, we joined the others in the living room downstairs and greeted them with dry hugs. The kids had grown so much since our last visit. The babies were now little people, and the older kids nearly resembled adults.
Mom talked about our drive and the challenges we faced once we arrived.
“Did you ever say what happened to your coats?” Aunt Hannah asked.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly and had the movers pack them,” Mom said. “They should be here midweek.”
My aunt choked. “Movers?”
Mom exchanged a look with Uncle William. “Yes, we decided to make the move.”
“Without a call?” Aunt Hannah said with a shrill.
My uncle waved his arm and scowled. “Hannah—”
“Hey, do you happen to have a teen that lives around here who’d be hanging out in the woods?” I asked.
“You saw someone?” Mom furrowed her brow.
“Oh, you must be talking about Emmanu.” Uncle William’s voice trailed. “His family’s vineyard is near here—”
My heart skipped. Emmanu? Could it be?
“—I guess you could say he’s family. He, too, comes from a long line of Cherokees who integrated with the Kalapuyas. The kid’s as smart as a whip. He knows more than I do about our tribe that lived off the North Carolina coast. He remembers the stories passed down by his ancestors, verbatim.”
I thought of my childhood playmate. We shared adventures in the woods every summer.
“He’ll be around again, and we’ll have to introduce you,” Uncle William said. “I’ll ask him to tell you about the legend of the seven gold coins.”
My mom changed the subject. “William, what’s going on with the tree clearing we saw on the way here? There’s a sign advertising a casino.”
“That—!” Uncle William coughed. “A developer bought up the land surrounding Peaceful Falls Manor. He wants the estate and knows I’m behind on the property taxes. Ever since the contemporary craze hit the market, my book sales have plummeted. He’s threatening to buy Grandpap’s legacy at auction when I fail to make the payments. He plans to make Peaceful Falls Manor part of a casino resort.”
“Can he do that?” Mom pulled her blanket tighter.
“He probably could. But I don’t think the council has voted on his proposal yet. So, for now, that sign isn’t advertising a done deal. He stuck it beside the road to torment me.”
My uncle is a popular novelist. At least, he was. But, unfortunately, when many readers turned away from classic writing, his book sales took a hit.
“That’s a pretty elaborate billboard,” Mom said.
“Yes, he supposedly has money to burn,” Uncle William answered. “We’ll talk more about this later.”
I wondered if Uncle William told us everything. Were they going to lose Peaceful Falls Manor? Would I lose my inheritance?
***
After breakfast the following morning, Uncle William handed us, kids, each a bag. “Today, I want you to gather as many pine cones as you can. I need them for kindling the fire. Thomas,” Uncle William’s tone deepened, “you better not jump from any trees. Children, I want you to hold him accountable. If I find you encouraged Thomas to climb and jump from a tree, I’ll hold you responsible for his injuries.”
“This family has had enough deaths,” Aunt Hannah said. “We don’t need another one from senseless foolishness.”
Before we headed out, I asked my aunt if she had a coat I could borrow.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Come with me.”
I followed her up the stairs, and she had me wait in Margaret’s room. She returned minutes later with what resembled a thick purple blanket.
“Here you go. Try this on. It’s a camel hair coat. Your father left it here when you were born.”
My eyes narrowed. “Daddy left this here when I was a baby?”
“Yes.” Aunt Hannah handed me the folded garment. “Your mother was pregnant with you, and you were due to arrive while your father was away on a dig. So, she stayed with us. He was in Israel or Egypt, I think. Yes, that’s right.
“Anyway, after you were born, he came directly here from the airport, of course, bringing in tow every blasted piece of luggage from his trip. One of the pieces was a wooden trunk he left behind.”
“He still has a trunk here?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
“Your father never really got around to taking it home. It must not have been high on his to-do list. I knew he stored the coat inside the trunk because he told us about his mysterious adventure. I’ll leave you here to try it on. Take your time. I’ll be downstairs.”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Hannah.”
My aunt left the door cracked on her way out.
Why was I so excited? I loved its faded gray-purple color, for one thing. When I unfolded the cloak, I spotted a marvelous phrase in shiny gold thread on the tag: “Prepares the way for what is yet to come.” How intriguing.
When I held up the coat in front of the mirror, it didn’t hold a shape. However, when I slipped my arms into the sleeves, I loved how it fit. As I slanted the looking glass, I couldn’t help but stare at my reflection.
Weird. For a split second, my eyes pictured a princess wearing a royal cape. I turned and tilted my head, admiring the image. It was a magnificent garment. The lofty, A-line design dropped and mimicked a round tablecloth with long, loose folds, creating a waterfall effect down to my ankles. The high collar stretched up the back of my neck, and the oversized hood draped nicely over my shoulders.
Lamb’s wool lined the coat, which wasn’t unusual, except the wool was red. The color combination was sort of awkward, but, oddly enough, I didn’t care. And what was with my glowing complexion?
A tingling sensation rushed through my body, and a subtle wind blew my hair and brushed my shoulder, prompting me to twirl. My sudden urge to pirouette generated a sway in the curtains. The fabric’s weight lifted—it was lighter, airy, and free. Who made this coat?
My senses of hearing and smell heightened. The birds singing outside the window sounded as if they had perched in the room. A fragrance of evergreen, cedar, moss and apple rushed through the air.
Margaret shouted from downstairs. “Hurry up, Penelope! We don’t have all day.”
I giggled as I ran down the steps.
“Don’t forget your bag, Penelope.” Uncle William held up the bag I’d left draped over the kitchen chair. “Take an apple on your way out if you’d like.”
“Thank you.” I snatched the burlap sack, grabbed an apple, and headed out the door.
Read Christian Fantasy Adventure – Scroll to next chapter.
Read Christian Fantasy Adventure – P. W. Stone and the Missing Kingdoms – Chapter 3 – Lost Downriver
When I stepped outside, my senses exploded with melodic sounds, delightful aromas, and vibrant hues I’d never noticed before. The slightest movement captured my attention: grass, branches, leaves, squirrels, birds, insects, and clouds.
The kids milled around the yard as Margaret repositioned her cap and scarf.
With joy pumping through my veins, I raised my arm with grace and precision. “My kingdom awaits.” I descended the stoop with a raised chin.
“You must be joking,” an irritated voice said.
My delight faded as twisted faces glared up at me from the bottom of the slope.
Margaret slapped her leather gloves across her forearm as she barked orders with a sharp tongue. “Penelope, come on and try to keep up. We’ve wasted enough time waiting for you.” She double snapped her fingers as if I was her circus dog.
After several steps, the sack Uncle William gave me caught my foot, causing me to trip and tumble. Then, when I scrambled to collect my rolling apple with the bag in hand, I tripped and skipped, slipped, and flipped down the slope.
The gang at the bottom of the hill watched the mortifying scene in hysterics.
Under normal circumstances, this mishap would have traumatized me, causing me to withdraw into a place inside myself. But the purple coat instilled a sense of confidence I’d never had.
When I made it to the bottom of the hill, I stood, brushed myself off, and took a bow. “Thank you. Be sure to return for the afternoon matinee.”
The younger kids clapped and giggled, and the older kids smirked and walked away.
I stuffed my hands inside my coat pockets to keep them warm as I followed my cousins through the woods. In the left pocket, I felt a folded piece of paper. In the right—something cold and smooth. I removed the latter from my pocket and opened my hand—a white stone. I made out words carved on its surface.
On one side, it said: “Creation waits in eager expectation for their reveal.” The other said: “P. W. Stone.”
What does it mean?
“Hey, where’d you find that?” Thomas tried to take it from me.
“It’s mine.” I fisted the stone, jerked my arm away, and jammed it into my pocket.
We’d filled our bags half-full when the three younger boys snatched the giant cone the youngest found and played Keep-a-way.
“Give it back!” the little one cried.
I took the opportunity to tug the note from the left pocket. When I unfolded the paper, my heart jumped. It was a letter addressed to me:
Dear Penelope,
Although this coat won’t fit until you’re older, it’s a gift for you. It’s a Blessing Coat. I bought it from a merchant in a village near Cairo, Egypt, in August 2003. The fellow who sold it to me was an unusual sort. He wore armor that shimmered like peacock feathers. The man said the most remarkable things as if he knew we were expecting a baby. He said, ‘A blessing coat for the one who is yet to come.’ Then he claimed—
“What are you looking at there?” Thomas peeped over my shoulder.
“Nothing.” I clutched the paper close, folded it, and shoved it into my pocket.
We were on our way again when Thomas kicked at the ground. “You guys don’t believe what Father said about me not climbing trees, do you? He just didn’t want me playing before I collected my share of pine cones. He doesn’t realize it, but I can gather more pine cones from a tree.”
John hurled a pine cone at Thomas, and it grazed his younger brother’s back. “You’re ridiculous, Thomas,” John said. “No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can,” Thomas said. “I can shake them down.”
John’s face reddened. “The trees you climb don’t have pine cones in them. You couldn’t climb two feet up the trunk of a pine tree, let alone high enough to shake out its pine cones.”
He pointed his finger in Tommy’s face. “You better try to keep up and do what father said. Now, let’s go.”
Before I knew it, everyone moved ahead, leaving me to walk behind Thomas. I could hear them over the hill, laughing.
“He won’t know if no one tells him!” Thomas yelled in their direction. Without warning, he stuck out his foot, blocking my way.
I tripped over his leg and found my face in pine needles, leaves, and dirt. What the heck. My mouth opened, but nothing came out except a strangled grunt. My blood boiled. When I lifted my head, Tommy’s pimply face and dark eyes peered down at me.
“You won’t tell him, will you, Girl?” he said eerily.
John and the other kids hiked far ahead.
I tried to rise, but he pushed on my shoulder, and I landed on my back. I clenched both fists before using my hands to get up. My face was on fire.
“Look at yourself.” He laughed. “You can’t even get up.”
Why did I know this would happen? The other kids had ditched me and left me with Thomas. Once on my feet, I brushed the dirt off the bandage wrapped around my hand and sniffed.
“What? Are ya gonna cry and run back to Mommy?”
My shoulders sagged, and my eyes focused on the frost fallen leaves whispering across the dirt trail.
I glanced over my shoulder and ached to run back to the house.
Swift flapping and rustling branches pulled my gaze upward. An eagle moved from perch to perch.
Was it following us? How weird.
The enormous bird darted toward us, swooped, and snatched the beanie off my cousin’s head.
I shuddered.
Thomas yelled like a banshee as his hair stood on end.
Covering my mouth, I snickered when he stumbled over a tree root and fell to the ground. I struggled not to laugh. Bam, I punched the air. Watching him knocked off his high horse made my day.
Thomas puffed his cheeks, got up, and scouted for an ideal tree. “I can do whatever I want to do, and no one can stop me.” He found one he liked and clamored up its trunk.
Everyone else had wandered out of sight. I didn’t know what to do except watch the boy climb the tree. Then, before I could do anything, Thomas jumped.
He landed sharply on his ankle and blubbered. “Ow, ow, owie.”
“I’m not getting into trouble with Uncle William because you have a death wish,” I said.
Thomas grabbed his leg.
Unexpected phrases flew out of my mouth. “You stop crying this instant. Thomas. Get up. Stand to your feet. You’re not hurt. Your ankle is fine.”
Stunned by my outburst, Thomas stopped crying. “Huh? It’s much better.” Then he stood in bewilderment. “Oh, it’s good.” He continued pressing with his weight, checking for pain.
Although I demanded he was okay, his swift recovery shocked me as much as it did him. Did my words affect his ankle?
“How’d you do that?” Thomas asked.
“How’d I do what?”
“Heal my ankle.”
“I didn’t.” Heat surged through my body. I unbuttoned my coat then removed it to brush off the dirt and leaves from my fall.
“What, are ya a witch?” Thomas yanked the coat out of my hand and took off toward the river.
I caught my breath. Blood soaked the bandage covering my palm.
Thomas wound his arm and threw my daddy’s gift into the freezing water.
My body trembled with fury. What had he done? My stomach heaved. When I reached down to snatch the coat from an icy sheet, I glimpsed my reflection. The image of helplessness frightened me.
Tears stung my eyes. The wrenching in my heart intensified. I gripped and twisted the sweater over my chest until I lost feeling in my hand.
I would not remain silent. With my back to the river, I yelled at him. “Why did you throw my daddy’s coat into the water? You’re a crazy person.”
Thomas drew his lips back in a snarl as a vein bulged from his neck. He leaped and shoved me hard.
Treetops blurred in the open sky as they flew over me before I landed in the river. The icy cold almost knocked me senseless as my body sunk beneath the water. I fought to stop from inhaling. Searing jolts of pain seized my exposed hands. A burning sensation consumed every inch of my skin.
When I surfaced, I tried gasping for air but couldn’t. After a dazed moment, I scanned the area for a stick as I grabbed for the coat, but it escaped my reach. My body shook uncontrollably. I lost feeling in my limbs, then my lips.
From the riverbank, Thomas laughed, then turned and walked away.
The coat my daddy bought in Egypt for me disappeared, carried by the current downriver. His letter—I never finished reading it.
Alone in the icy water, my bones ached. Shockwaves zapped my joints when I moved. I tried calling for John and the others, but only a strained whisper escaped my frozen lips. I had to rest. As exhaustion overtook me, I closed my eyes and murmured what I knew to say when I needed extra strength.
An ox plodded toward the river’s edge and drank. As soon as the animal’s tongue met the water, the liquid surrounding my body warmed. A swift current propelled me toward the riverbank, making it easier to climb onshore.
I’ll just rest for a minute before I head back to the house. Where did the animal come from? And why had he wandered in the woods? Was he lost?
The ox nibbled on my shoulder.
I didn’t care—couldn’t escape.
The animal clamped its teeth on my sweater and pulled.
My heavy eyelids closed.
Read Christian Fantasy Adventure. ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY to read chapters 4-40, and please spread the word about P. W. Stone and the Missing Kingdoms.
Novel by S. C. Easley 7-7-2021
P. W. Stone and the Missing Kingdoms
STAY CONNECTED WITH
S. C. Easley
“It simply isn’t an adventure worth telling if there aren’t any dragons.” –J. R. R. Tolkien
THANK YOU FOR VISITING! SIGN UP FOR S. C. EASLEY’S MAILING LIST. GET THE LATEST NEWS AND EXCLUSIVE UPDATES SENT DIRECTLY TO YOUR INBOX.