She went silent again and then sighed. Not sounding very happy about it, she said, “Very well, you may come for now, but please try and stay out of the way when things get rough, all right?”
“Sure thing. So, hi. My name is Jason Vasquez. What’s yours?”
“My name is . . . hidden for the purpose of the quest. Just call me Paladin for now.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Paladin? Really?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Okay, ‘Paladin’ it is.”
Paladin. What a pretentious name for a little kid, he thought pityingly. Probably her parents want to make sure she makes it big in the world, so they gave her the name to try and live up to it.
“So, where are you off to? What is this thing you have to do, exactly?” he asked.
“I am to free some people who have been wrongfully imprisoned. It is my quest to travel north, find them, and aid them,” she replied.
What? he thought, astonished. She looks younger than me, like maybe Michael’s age! How could someone order that of her?
“Really? Just like in the movies? That makes no sense, chica. Why would you want to do that?” he blurted out loud.
She just gave him a blank look, like she didn’t understand his objection. He threw up his hands. Maybe that was what people did over here, sending teens out on difficult jobs to see if they sank or swam. Come to think of it, it wasn’t much different from what happened on the streets.
“Fine, whatever,” he said. “Do you happen to know of someplace nearby where I can get something to keep up with you, like a dirt bike or motorcycle?”
“Dirt bike? Motorcycle? What are those?” She looked at him with puzzlement on her face, clearly not understanding what they were.
“Oh, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know about those kinds of things,” he said, feeling a little sheepish about that. She was from magic world. How would she know about them? he thought. “So, do you know where I can get a horse or some other kind of animal I can ride?” he asked instead.
“No, I’m afraid not, and Saffron here can’t carry us double because we are too heavy for him,” she replied, indicating her stallion.
The horse started prancing a little, and she said, “My mount is getting restless, so if you’re coming, then you’ll have to walk.”
Jason resigned himself to following after her. He straightened his shoulders and adjusted his backpack for a more comfortable fit, wishing she’d offer to take the pack from him, at least. But she didn’t.
“All right, ‘Paladin,’ lead the way,” he said heavily, wondering what he was getting himself into . . .
About the
Mist Gate Crossings Series
The Mist Gate Crossings Series follows the adventures of humans Lise and Jason after they accidentally stumble through a gate connecting our world to a world filled with magic, elves, and all manner of fairy tale creatures.
To join The Mist Gate Crossings community online, find us at cbaybooks.com and on Facbook at facebook.com/MistGateCrossings.
Besides discussing the finer points of the Mist Gate Crossings’ novels and novellas on our Facebook Page, we also discuss, review, and recommend other teen and adult Sword & Sorcery novels. We would love to see you there. For more information on the individual Mist Gate Crossings books, keep reading.
Prisoners of the Keep
The Mist Gate Crossings Book 1
By Susan Bianculli
Published by CBAY Books
After being chased by a mugger through Central Park, Lise stumbles through an odd patch of mist and into a whole other, more magical dimension. With only an elf, a fellow human, and the blessings of a goddess to help her, Lise must find a way to create her own place in this new world.
Bascom’s Revenge
The Mist Gate Crossings Book 2
By Susan Bianculli
Published by CBAY Books
After stumbling through an odd patch of mist and into a whole other, more magical dimension, Lise had begun to adjust to her new life. With new friends and a new commitment to the Goddess Caelestis, Lise thinks she’s ready for the next adventure. At least, she thinks that until the only other human is injured and then kidnapped just as another mist gate opens. Forced to choose between Jason and her life back in New York, Lise’s new faith is put to the test.
Descent Into Underearth
The Mist Gate Crossings Book 3
By Susan Bianculli
Published by CBAY Books
The search to save a missing friend takes Lise, Arghen, and their companions deep underground into a world of slavery, cruelty and torture: the world of the Under-elves. Finding their friend in such a location will take cunning and all of Arghen’s knowledge of Under-elf life. And if infiltrating an Under-Elf city weren’t enough of a challenge, it seems that a mysterious enemy is following them.
The Grey Riders’ Search
A Mist Gate Crossings Novella
By Susan Bianculli
Published by CBAY Books
Dusk and Auraus and their band, the Grey Riders, have been tryingto determine what is happening to travelers disappearing in the Garrend Mountains. Unfortunately, after being captured in a raid, it looks like Dusk and Auraus might be the ones disappearing. See how Dusk and Auraus came to be at the Keep in this Prequel to Prisoners of the Keep.
Old Disciplines, New Uses
A Mist Gate Crossings Novella
By Susan Bianculli
Published by CBAY Books
For years Arghen has been the model warrior Under-elf. He trains and battles with the others from his underground city-state. He lives an unremarkable life. Then, one day he mercy kills an enemy soldier instead of capturing the elf for his commander to torture. Stripped of his rank and banished from his home, Arghen must find a new purpose for his life. Discover how Arghen came to find himself on the Surface in this prequel to Prisoners of the Keep.
The Urban Survivalist
A Mist Gate Crossings Novella
By Susan Bianculli
Published by CBAY Books
Jason’s life has never been easy. As a member of the Urban Survivalists, a group of homeless kids just trying to survive the streets of New York City, Jason’s day is spent trying to steal and scavenge enough to buy food for himself and his friends. Then one day he chases the wrong girl into the trees in Central Park and out of the everyday world. See what brings Jason to that fateful day in Central Park in this prequel to Prisoners of the Keep.
FROM THE PRISONERS OF THE KEEP
THE MIST GATE CROSSINGS, BOOK 1
CHAPTER 1
My helmet under my arm, I stood on the long padded mat behind the en-garde line, sweating a little as I waited for the signal to start. The morning sun lit up the windows of the Crosstown Fencing Academy but fortunately didn’t reflect off the long mirrored wall into my eyes. The cavernous second-floor hall where the Academy held classes had once been a ballet studio, and the mirrors that had helped the ballerinas watch their form as they danced now helped us.
This was my last bout for this Saturday morning class, and I faced Heather Chung. I was a little nervous for two reasons: she was one of the best students here, and she had hated me ever since I’d joined the Academy. I’d beaten her the very first time we had crossed swords, and she’d never forgotten it. But a few nerves before a match were a good thing, Mr. Bronson, our fencing coach, always said during lessons. They meant you weren’t taking your opponent for granted. And I certainly never took Heather for granted; she was too good.
“Ready?” asked Mr. Bronson.
I took a deep breath, released it, and readied my epee. Across the mat from me, Heather raised hers. We nodded, and our chattering classmates who sat along the floor against the wood paneled wall opposite the glass fell into a hush.
“En-garde!” he called.
We put on our helmets and saluted each other and him. There was a certain reluctance in Heather’s salute to me that was not in hers to Mr. Bronson’s, but I ignored it.
; “Fence!”
Heather and I leapt together, our swords crossing with a harsh clang. I backed up slightly and extended again, my sword slipping past hers this time to hit her shoulder at sixte. The electronic sensor on the end of my sword completed its circuit with her suit, and the buzzer sounded. I stepped back and smiled under my facemask. My point. We returned to our en-garde lines and readied ourselves once more. When the command to fence came again, I feinted like I was going to leap forward but instead dropped further back, baiting Heather in. She came at me with a weird underhand sword stroke—definitely not a regulation move. I blocked it savagely to the outside at octave near her hip which unbalanced her, and then lunged and swung my sword up while keeping to the balls of my feet. She couldn’t stop my return stroke, so I managed to score again—this time on the heart mark of her white protective gear. She cried out a stifled denial as Mr. Bronson called ‘halt’ while the buzzer sounded. I backed away from her towards my line.
“Chung! What did you think you were doing?” he demanded, coming over to where she still stood in the middle of the piste. “That was no fencing move that I have ever seen. This match is over, and you are disqualified.” Looking at me, he said, “Baxter, you win this match; and this plus your other wins today makes you champion for class this week.”
I nodded and took off my helmet, but something in the way Heather held her shoulders made me decide to not present my back to her. As Mr. Bronson turned away to address the rest of the class, she rushed me hard with her sword pointed straight at my chest! I jumped off the faded mat and brought my blade down to stop her, dropping my mask in the process. Mr. Bronson saw her movement and rushed in to slap her epee to the floor before she could reach me.
“Heather!? What the hell?!” I yelled in shock at her, glad I had listened to my instincts.
“Baxter! Are you all right?” Mr. Bronson almost simultaneously shouted at me while glaring at her.
Heather took off her head protection and threw it blindly across the hall. Her tan face was livid as she snarled at me like an animal denied a treat. The helmet struck one of the mirrored panels on the wall with a loud crash, making everybody jump and a few classmates shriek in fear and surprise. The glass shattered around it, pieces falling in shards of silver along with the helmet to the floor.
“Chung! That’s more than enough! Serious talk! Right now!” Mr. Bronson yelled at her. “The rest of you, class dismissed!”
I’d never heard his voice so angry, or seen his round face so furious and red, as he jabbed his stubby forefinger sternly at his office. Heather, a dark look on her face, stomped inside it with him right on her heels, and the door slammed shut behind them. The class broke out into excited babbles, not moving from where they’d gathered in groups on the sidelines.
Embarrassed to be the subject of their chattering, I picked up my helmet, racked the school’s epee that I’d used, and went to the girls’ locker room without meeting anybody’s eyes. I changed out of my gear into my favorite white t-shirt and jeans, packed up my brown leather duffel, and headed to the foyer of the dual changing area to get my black wool jacket from the coat hooks. Classmates trickled into where I was as I buttoned up. They threw sly glances at me as they whispered behind their hands before heading to their respective locker rooms. My lingering mortification abruptly morphed to anger that they wouldn’t let it go. Pulling my fuzzy black hat out from my pocket, I jammed it on over the sweaty blonde braid that I always tied my hair in for class. I then grabbed up my duffel and stalked out to the bus stop with my head held high.
I sat on the public bus traveling through the New York City streets with my fencing bag slung across one shoulder, anger and stress from the class still simmering in my veins. Leaning my head against the window of my seat, the huge dark sunglasses I’d put on once I’d quit the Academy’s building clicked against the glass with every bump. A billboard on the side of a building about the importance of education caught my eye, and reminded me of the tiny laptop I used for school in my duffel, and of my assignment that was due.
In between fencing bouts at class I’d been working on my sophomore year English term paper. I was going to call it “Renaissance Fairy Tales” when I turned it in to Mr. Cobb on Monday. I’d always loved going to renaissance faires and reading fantasy stories, so it had made sense to combine subjects I knew pretty well. But with the way I was still feeling, I knew that writing today was a lost cause, unless …. I jumped up from my seat and pulled the stop cord as the bus passed one of the entrances to Central Park.
The Park was as close as I could get in New York City to the overnight 4-H riding camp located upstate that I’d gone to every summer since I was eight. Over the years I’d grown to associate being at camp among the trees—with or without horses—with stress relief, and I automatically looked to Central Park as a sort of substitute for it the rest of the year. Since being allowed to ride by myself on the public transit system, I’d come here every time I needed to calm down from something. If I wanted to be able to finish composing a coherent paper now, then Central Park was where I needed to be.
The bus came to a stop and let me out the side door. As soon as it pulled away I dashed across the busy street, dodging the cars and their blaring horns, and raced under the archway leading in to the trees. I ran about twenty yards off the paved path onto the short greening grass and picked out a nice, big tree to hug. I wrapped my arms about the bark and took a deep breath in. I let it out slowly, imagining all the stress swirling out on my exhale like dirty grey smoke. I did this a few more times until I felt better. I turned around and slid my back down the rough grey-brown trunk, drinking in the green smell of Nature around me. I heard the chattering of squirrels and the chirping of songbirds overhead, and relaxed even more despite the fainter hum of traffic that underscored everything. The animal sounds, at least, would provide a good atmosphere for finishing up my paper.
I settled back into a comfortable slouch, shrugged off my duffel and my coat, and brought out the laptop. While it booted up, I looked idly around. The unseasonably warm late March sky right now was almost the same shade of blue as my eyes, with white puffy clouds just starting to roll in. A change back to more normal weather was coming soon, I guessed. I felt my shoulder start to cramp, so I reached my hands way up over my head, interlaced my fingers while turning my palms over, and pushed upwards to soothe it. Lowering my arms, I noticed a cute, dark-haired older guy in red athletic shorts, maybe in his early twenties, stroll past on the nearby path. About fifteen yards away he took off his t-shirt, spread out on the grass a plain brown beach towel he’d carried under his arm, and laid down face-up on it. I could just see a nice six-pack to go with that cute face. He was way too old for me, but I could at least enjoy the view. I wondered how he would deal with the chill in the air that would happen when the clouds came all the way in, but I guessed that dedicated tanners would take any sunny day opportunity to catch some rays.
My stomach rumbled. A quick glance at my cell phone told me it was 11:30am, but I decided I would do some writing first before going to get some lunch.
“There you are!” a voice shouted nearby.
It sounded familiar.
I looked up and was startled to see Heather in a lemon-yellow jacket standing in the nearby Park entrance. At the sight of her my stress came right back. She strode towards me carrying her fencing satchel, fury in every step. My heart raced. Hunger forgotten, I snapped my laptop shut, shoved it into my brown duffel, and then scrambled to stand up. Somehow I had the feeling I didn’t want to be seated when she reached me.
She came within two feet and planted herself in front of me, tan, long-fingered hands balled into fists at her side.
“Found you!” Her expression was the same I’d seen in class after attacking me, and she didn’t lower her voice even though we were face to face.
“Why would you want to? And how’d you even know to look for me here anyway?” I asked her in a more normal tone, crossing my arms as casually
as I could.
“I saw you walk in here as my bus passed the entrance. I got off at the next stop and came back. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today, and you’re going to pay for it!”
My jaw dropped. “What did I do?”
“You always win! And to top it all off, now I’ve been suspended because of YOU!” she snapped, black eyes furious.
“Now wait just a minute,” I said, putting my hands on my hips and raising my own voice. “You’re the one who tried to attack and hurt me after being disqualified. That’s against the rules! And you were the one who threw the helmet and broke the mirror, not me. I’ll bet that’s why you got suspended! Really, Heather, the fact that I won today can’t be the reason you went off the deep end. What gives?”
She slammed the pea-green bag in her hands to the ground and actually stomped her foot. “I didn’t go off the deep end. You cheated me—you had to! I was the best in class until you showed your stupid face at the Academy. I’ve tried every trick I know to beat you, and now I can’t come back for a month! It’s all your fault!”
I was irritated enough to reply that just maybe she’d gotten what she’d deserved but didn’t have the chance. A slender male wearing a tightly-cinched black hoodie around his bronzed face with a scarf covering the lower half rushed up out of nowhere from behind Heather. He snatched up the carry-all she’d abandoned on the grass and turned to run.
“No! My gear!” she wailed as she tried and failed to grab it back, tripping over herself in the process.
The Urban Survivalist Page 5
