by W. Peever
Path of the Templar
Book Two of
The Jumper Chronicles
W. C. Peever
Savant Books and Publications Honolulu, HI, USA 2012
Published in the USA by Savant Books and Publications 2630 Kapiolani Blvd #1601
Honolulu, HI 96826
http://www.savantbooksandpublications.com
Printed in the USA Edited by G. A. DeForest
Front, Back and Interior Art Work by Kelly Amancio Front and Back Cover Design by Daniel S. Janik
Copyright 2012 by W. C. Peever. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without the prior written permission of the author.
13-digit ISBN: 978-0-9852506-3-8 10-digit ISNB: 0985250631 All names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and any places or events is purely coincidental.
Dedication
For my daughters Abby and Emma, my twin lighthouses, whose luminescence always guides me home, giving me hope of a better tomorrow.
Acknowledgement
A special thanks to my creative editor and love of my life, whose inspiration to think outside of the box is the reason that I have bearded biker dwarves in chaps and bandanas riding around in this and more prominently in the next book.
A great big hug to my mother, whose careful eyes watched my two young daughters splash their way through the waves at the ocean while I sat under the umbrella deliberating over the epilogue, which I am sure has come as a shock to those of you who have followed Charlie's journey.
What can I say about my editor, Gary De Forest? He is the best Kiwi I have ever known, I may even be able to forgive New Zealand for the violent demise of the America's Cup. His creative zeal, native slang words for my Australian character, Mick (which I often fought over and eventually yielded to) have breathed new life into the series and my own writing. I sincerely thank him for all of his hard, dedicated work with Charlie. Steven King once said, "The editor is always right." The corollary is that no writer will take all of his or her editor's advice; for all have sinned and fallen short of editorial perfection. Put another way, to write is human, to edit is divine." Thank you, Gary, for your divinity. Those of you who argue with my choice of words can read the first book, which I did without Gary!
My faithful illustrator, Kelly Amancio, whose vision of my words are brought to life with color, flair and imagination. Take a moment to look at the visionary character portraits that Kelly has created on our new website http://
www.jumperchroniclesseries.com.
A thunderous applause and tremendous gratitude goes out to the book store Wit and Whimsy in Marblehead, Massachusetts (Charlie's home town). Nancy Oliver has created a bookstore where kids of all ages (I am in my thirties and she tells me that I still qualify) feel comfortable to come sit on one of her bean bags or unimaginably comfortable chairs and just read for hours. Her books range from those wonderful, indestructible preschool books to novels that teens and we adults who still crave real imaginative adventure can devour. I could stop there if it was not for Nancy taking that extra step, going above and beyond for her friends (for to her new customers are truly just friends she has yet to win over) and runs events for kids of all ages, where they can come together and talk about the wizardry and wonder of the latest book they devoured. I am thankful to be listed among Nancy's fast friends and look forward to the release party we will have together for this next chapter in Charlie's adventures.
Thank you also to my first group of content editors at Wit and Whimsy. Your comments were not only used throughout the entire editing process but especially in the end; read the last page of the book, and you will find that you four changed the trajectory of the whole story line!
As always, I am sending my love out to the Phoenix School in Salem, Massachusetts, without whom I might still have not been able to read today. They took a ten-year-old W. C. Peever and taught him to love the person he was and stretch to become even more! I look forward to many more years with them as I send both of my daughters to the Phoenix.
And lastly, if not most importantly, to my readers— without whom there would be no book. Thank you for staying with me over the past two years as I struggled to make this novel better than the last. I will admit that the book itself was completed and submitted to my editor as a much more voluminous novel, almost 90,000 words. I am pleased to report that the twenty-two thousand words that were cut have made this a faster, more intense read, which I hope you will agree brings The Jumper Chronicles to a whole new level.
Thank you, my friends. As always, your comments, notes and thoughts help and focus me, and I encourage you to continue to contact me.
May the Gods of Asgard smile down on you. W. C. Peever
[email protected]
http://www.jumperchroniclesseries.com http://www.jumperchornicles.com www.facebook/jumperchornicles Goodreads.com
http://www.witandwhimsybooks.com
Path of the Templar
Yaggdrasil, the Norse Tree of Life
An Ancient Ash Who's Life-Force Binds the Nine Worlds Together in a United Tapestry
Table of Contents
A Note from the Author 1 Chapter One: The Next Morning 5 Chapter Two: Homecoming 23 Chapter Three: The Runic Box 35 Chapter Four: Vision 49 Chapter Five: The Templar Revealed 67 Chapter Six: Tunnels and Trolls 87 Chapter Seven: Fellowship 99 Chapter Eight: Newport 115 Chapter Nine: The Tower 125 Chapter Ten: Country Road 295 141 Chapter Eleven: Bumps in the Night 153 Chapter Twelve: The Chamber 167 Chapter Thirteen: Bailey 179 Chapter Fourteen: Boston 195 Chapter Fifteen: Inscription 205 Chapter Sixteen: Fresh Apple Pie 217 Chapter Seventeen: The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend 231 Chapter Eighteen: Thor Wears a Dress 241 Chapter Nineteen: Double, Double, Boil and Trouble 255 Chapter Twenty: The Rosetta Stones 275 Chapter Twenty-One: Allies 287 Epilogue 299 About the Author 303
A Note From the Author
Readers,
All of the places in this novel exist; all of the
historical events are of record; and all of the legends have
been passed down from parent to child in my family since
my ancestors first settled The Massachusetts Bay Colony in
Gloucester, Massachusetts. Those brave souls who settled
northern Massachusetts, Maine and New Hampshire were
entrusted with the legends from the Native Algonquian
tribes who sang of great metal giants who arrived on
dragon headed ships. When my relatives wrote home to
England, their family at home replied with stories of heroes
like Henry St. Claire, and the Templar treasure rumored to
have been spirited away to the new world via old Viking
routes. My early ancestors never found the treasures of the
ages but they did find many of the places of which I have
both written into Charlie's story and have listed for you
below. I welcome and encourage you to visit these places,
and discover the secrets that they still hold, unwilling to part with until the day the chosen one finally arrives.
May Asgard Bless Your Many Adventures W.C. Peever The Newport Tower, in Newport RI.
Is located right down the street from the Church
described in the book, just follow the same directions that
Charlie does.
The Upton Beehive Chamber, in Upton, MA
The cave is on private property and you will need to
contact the historical society for entrance.
America's Stonehenge, in Salem, NH
This is a privately owned park that charges a nominal
fee to gain ent
rance to one of the greatest mysteries of
New England.
Spirit Pond, in Phippsburg, Maine
The stones, which are real, can be found in the Maine
State Museum. The actual pond where they were found is
there, but don't get too close to the black waters!
The Westford Knight
Is located along Depot Street in Westford
Massachusetts. Drive slowly or you will miss what many
consider a memorial to a Templar Knight who was burned on a pyre on that very rock.
The Kensington Stone
Located in Solem, Minnesota, was the inspiration for
the babel stones at the end of this novel.
Chapter One The Next Morning
Searing pain erupted from Charlie's back, causing his eyes to fly open like tightly wound window shades and then quickly shut again as they met the brilliant light of morning. The sun was streaming down on his mahogany four-poster bed through Renaissance style stained-glass windows in fractured rainbows. Normally the attic of the ancient castle suited him. It was private. Students from the dormitories below hardly ever bothered to venture up the winding wrought iron staircase. That is, with the exception of a girl who had been his best friend since fighting over the shared pacifier left in their playpen. But it was rare for Bailey to climb the tower first thing in the morning. Usually Charlie had more than enough time to adjust to the blinding light. But now Bailey had taken it upon herself to be the most satanic alarm clock to ever exist.
Bailey, his partner in whatever trouble she could get the two of them into, was wielding her powers of telekinesis to pound Charlie on the back with his own overstuffed school bag. A most unpleasant way to wake up at any time, compounded by an apple at the bottom of his bag forgotten somewhere between Physics and Advanced Troll Slaying, that now oozed applesauce down Charlie's neck. The cerulean sapphires sewn into Bailey's black leather gloves glowed warmly as she focused her mind on smashing the bag into her best friend's back.
Why was it that all his friends had these cool, active powers, and all Charlie could do was travel between the nine worlds? Sure, Charlie thought, meeting the Dwarves and Elves would be cool, but in the meantime he fell victim to pranks by his friends discovering the extent of their powers.
"Bailey, give me a break," Charlie mumbled, pulling his plush feather pillow over his head, "it's barely dawn!"
"Get up, you lazy ass! You're going to make me late for breakfast! If not, the transport home! Don't think for one minute that just because your friends all fought off giant rats, a teenager with a Napoleon complex, and an army of well-trained Manserian, means I'll stay by your side when a meal's at stake. No way, man!"
It was true. His friends had helped him discover he was a direct descendant of Merlin and inherited the ability to travel through the veil that hid the world he grew up in from the other eight kingdoms. From what Charlie knew his great great grandfather Merlin hid very powerful crystals throughout time and space in an attempt to safeguard humanity. Merlin had taken his last breath secure in the knowledge that only he or his blood would find these crystals and reunite them, creating an unstoppable weapon. Now all these eons later, both the Order and the ever vigilant and evil Vanari desired to use Charlie to collect crystals. For Charlie was the last descendant of Merlin, the last Jumper. It was a lot of responsibility for a twelve year old, and made a tough first year at Thornfield Academy even more difficult, seeing he was still grappling with the realization that the creatures from his favorite movies were real.
"I'm up, Bailey! Call off the attack knapsack so I can get dressed, will you?" Charlie fumbled for the pair of thick, green-rimmed glasses he had tossed on to the nightstand sometime between reading the latest issue of Gamers World and lights out. Catching the oozing backpack while pulling it free of Bailey's invisible grip, Charlie cautiously sat up on the bed, his tousled auburn hair even more disheveled than usual. Twelve was not suiting Charlie very well at all, and he looked forward to next winter in hopes that thirteen would be a better year—a year with fewer pimples, easier Math examinations and, Gods willing, one or two fewer death threats.
Gods, Charlie thought as he secured his glasses on his face: just one more thing he would have to get used to, as if talking cats and trolls weren't enough as it is. No, Charlie had to realize that all these powers suddenly appearing on his twelfth birthday were a gift from the Norse Gods. They had not been back to Earth in over four thousand years, leaving the Order in charge of protecting the nine worlds and giving its members their power. Charlie snorted to himself: All that power and they couldn't make him pimpleproof.
Charlie's still-focusing eyes rested on his blue pajamas with the dancing cowboys, a gift from his mother, whose taste leaned more towards pink bunny slippers than expensive shoes. The pajamas were one of the first changes he needed to make for the next school year. This was the last morning he would wake up in this room till school began again in the fall, and with the new school year there would be a new, more handsome and much more muscular teenage Charlie in his place, and teenagers did not wear cowboy pajamas!
"Well—move it!" Bailey commanded, picking up Charlie's school uniform tossed in the attic's dustiest corner, and flicking them on to his bed. "Incidentally," Bailey scolded in the unmistakable highbrow voice of their assistant headmistress, "Ms Welling wants me to inform you that as head of residence she's very disappointed in how you keep your room, and 'further deviations from the rulebook will result in hours and hours of scrubbing toilets.'" With that and a coy smile, Bailey ran out of the attic and down to the cafeteria, unwilling to wait for her slovenly friend.
Ms Welling's second role at Thornfield was under the hat of the cruel taskmaster ensuring dormitories were sparkling clean. The warning Bailey had just relayed came as no surprise, a repeat of what he had endured all term. Charlie, as anyone who knew him would attest, was anything but a tidy person. His room had always been like his mind—cluttered. Books teetered on the small shelf near his bed, threatening to fall into an encrusted pudding bowl he snuck out of the dining hall sometime last week. Old sour cream and onion-flavored chip bags were scattered about the room like leaves in fall, and a half eaten Snickers bar lay on his nightstand. How had Bailey not seen that? Charlie thought, chuckling. Usually food, especially of the nice and sugary type, did not last when Bailey was around, though you would never know it by her trim, athletic build—that to Charlie looked a lot like a boy's.
Charlie grabbed for one of his yellow carpenter boots, the toe of which he spied sticking out from a pile of dirty underwear: just another change he would have to make—goodbye white cotton briefs, hello boxer shorts. Grasping the boot in his right hand, Charlie threw it hard on to the lump of blankets on the opposite bed. Before the boot bounced and finally landed with a dull thud on the floor, came the unmistakable crunch and pop of a bag of potato chips exploding.
"What the heck!" It was the easily recognized groan of Mick, his best friend. "Charlie, why is your boot half way up…oh, man, I was saving those for the trip to your place."
"Never mind, they're nicer and more flavorconcentrated when they're small, all crunched…" Charlie did not get to finish. Ms Welling's voice came shrilly over the school's intercom.
"All boys should be up, washed, dressed, and down to breakfast in the next ten minutes or so help me I shall perform a surprise inspection every week next year!"
That would not make for a happy start to his new term, Charlie guessed. There was no way he would be able to keep his room that clean. The one thing that would not change with his turning into a teenager was hygiene.
"Make sure your bags are packed for the summer!" the voice from the small speaker barked. "That's for those of you who will be returning home for the vacation. Those who are staying"—Charlie pictured a smile consuming her cherub-cheeked face as the voice turned honey sweet —"should be ready and able to help me clean this castle from steeple to dungeon." There was a pause, and sniffi
ng like a hound dog hot on the trail. "And Michael, clean up every last crumb from the bag of potato chips you snuck into the dorm! Or you'll be spending the first five Saturdays of next term on bathroom detail!"
Both boys held their breath until the static from the intercom crackled away. "How the bloody hell did she know I had potato chips? What is she, a witch?"
"No, just an Elementalist with the power to hurl fireballs who knows us far too well," Charlie said with a laugh. All joking aside, Charlie found Ms Welling's ability to project her rotund presence into another room amazing. He could almost see her standing there in her crisp evergreentrimmed, earthen brown dress and polished black leather riding boots, speaking with elegant authority. But her uncanny ability to sense the minutest bit of food through the intercom was just spooky, even for someone who controlled the elements.
"I'm going to have one heck of a bump on my head thanks to you," Mick said, throwing Charlie's boots back at him. Mick smiled at his friend as he got out of bed, pulled on a pair of old blue jeans and the green and gold striped rugby jersey of the Australian Wallabies.
Charlie, dodging a boot, laughed at the wounded look on his new friend's face. It was hard to believe they met only six months before. They'd bonded fast, thrown together in a dungeon filled with giant man-eating rats. "Well, you were asking for it with your symphonic snoring," Charlie admonished.
Both boys laughed as they grabbed their book bags. The stairwell was engulfed by nose-singeing odors that signaled the end of term. Ms Welling was too busy with students' travel itineraries to keep house and the boys took advantage: lacrosse socks unwashed for luck cascaded over muddy cleats; discarded tacos from Mexican Night matured in dark corners; and mildew-infested towels in spilling-over hampers all added to the earthy aroma.
The boys took a deep breath of their own benign stench, opened the door and sprinted down the long marble staircase from the west tower of Castle Thornfield. The foot race down the twelve flights of the tower to the dining hall found them before long tumbling head over heels, finally landing at the purple-slippered feet of Professor Grayson. A large, bushy Siamese cat entangled herself around the headmaster's matching pajamas.
