Sam Finch and the Zombie Hybrid (Sam Finch Series Book 1)

by Bouchard, J. W.

  His mother stopped in front of a Turquoin kebab stand that was nestled between a beer tent and a leather shop. A tall black man stood ready to take their order. “Can I get ya, ma’um?”

  Sam’s mother pulled out her coin purse, dug out three copper, and handed them to the man. “Two kebabs,” she said. “With onions and extra cucumber sauce.”

  They sat in a patch of shade where Sam could watch people passing back and forth between shops as he relished his kebab.

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Sam said, wiping away cucumber sauce that had dribbled onto his chin.

  “That man has been setting up shop here every summer for years. And every year I pester him for the recipe for his cucumber sauce. Refuses to give it to me.”

  “I could eat these every day.”

  It was nice, just he and his mother sitting there in the shade. It almost made him forget how drastically his life would be changing. Dashelmore was only a day’s journey, but it was farther than he had traveled in his entire life, and would also mark the first time he had spent more than a night away from home.

  His mother looked cheerful as she ate the last bite of her kebab, wiping her hand clean on the dew-covered grass. Sam considered asking her what had brought about her sudden change of heart, but didn’t want to jinx it.

  “What all do you need for school?” Mary asked.

  Sam snatched a list from his pocket. “Not much. All the other classes require loads of books.” He read through the list. “I only need three. Sword Techniques, Unarmed Combat, and Battlefield Ethics.”

  “Is that all?” she asked. “I’m sure Gnovis will have all of those at the bookstore.”

  “Well, I’ll also need…a sword.”

  He thought for sure that mention of needing a sword would break whatever fragile spell of acceptance that seemed to have been cast upon his mother, but to his surprise, she simply nodded.

  “Yes, well, I’ve been thinking about that,” she said, “and I don’t see any reason your father couldn’t make you one.”

  “Do you think he would?”

  “Of course he would.”

  “I need it by tomorrow though.”

  Mary frowned. “I’m not sure if he could have it ready by tomorrow. He’s very busy with it being tourist season and all.”

  Ah ha! Sam thought. So that was her game. She knew he needed a sword, but she was going to make it impossible for him to get one under the pretense that his father was too busy to make it.

  “But I can’t wait,” Sam argued. “I’ll need one by tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure he has spares lying around. Customers ask for something all the time and then never come back to pay for them. He’s bound to have an extra sword or two. You could use one of those until he makes one especially for you.”

  It was a little disheartening, but at least he would get a sword, even if it was some other person’s unwanted scraps.

  “Shall we keep shopping?”

  Their next stop was the Endless Shelf. Upon entering, Sam saw Gnovis Pelshak standing behind a glass display cased filled with ancient-looking tomes. The bookstore was dimly lit; illuminated by several white orbs that hovered just below the ceiling.

  Gnovis was a tall and slender elf with pale skin and glistening white hair tied back in a ponytail. His face was tattooed with intricate designs. Sam knew Gnovis well, since the Endless Shelf was his favorite place in the world. The shop was lined floor-to-ceiling with books; so many books that not a single bare spot of wall showed through.

  Gnovis smiled when he saw Sam. He walked around the display case toward them. “Sam Finch! The boy who single-handedly keeps this old shop turning a profit. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “School books,” Sam said, returning a smile. “I leave tomorrow.”

  “He scored a ninety-two overall,” Mary said proudly.

  “I’m not surprised. He’s a bright boy.”

  Sam handed Gnovis the list.

  Gnovis studied it a long time before saying, “Yes, yes, these are all in stock.” When Gnovis glanced up from the list, he didn’t seem as cheerful as he had a moment ago. “But tell me, Sam, these are books for students entering the warrior academy.”

  “Yeah, I enrolled in the Dashelmore Warrior Training Academy.”

  The elf’s eyes seemed to sadden. “That’s…troubling.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I thought you’d choose something more suited to your talents. Mage Skills perhaps. Or the Holy Arts.”

  Sam wasn’t surprised to hear his mother say, “That’s what I’ve been telling him, too.” She sounded pleased to have another ally in her opposition of Sam’s career choice.

  “It’s what I want,” Sam said, weary from constantly having to defend his decision. “Besides, I could always take some Mage Skills courses on the side.”

  Gnovis shook his head. “Generally, that’s not how it works. They won’t allow you to deviate from your chosen discipline. At least, I’ve never heard of them letting anyone before.”

  Mary said, “Aren’t elves able to see the future? Maybe you could take a peek and tell him it will only end in disaster.”

  Sam regarded his mother with a furious stare. He felt as though he had been duped. She had made it seem like she had finally accepted his decision, but at the first opportunity here she was venting her frustration, trying to recruit Gnovis of all people.

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. It is not my place to judge. If Sam wishes to be a warrior, then a fine warrior he shall make.”

  Sam’s heart swelled with respect and admiration upon hearing Gnovis’s words. Let his mother try to argue with that!

  For an instant, Mary looked as if she had been insulted, but it quickly vanished, replaced by a cheerful smile, which Sam thought must have been quite difficult for his mother to pull off.

  They followed Gnovis back to the display case where the elf gave them the total. He shoved the books in a thin brown sack.

  “Wait,” Sam said. “You put four books in there.”

  Gnovis smiled. “Indeed. A little going away gift.” He glanced at Mary. “Free of charge, of course.”

  Mary dug several coins from her purse and handed them to Gnovis.

  “Thanks, Gnovis,” Sam said.

  “You’re welcome,” Gnovis said. He gave the sack of books to Sam. “And when you’re back this way, stop in and let me know how it’s going. I shall miss our talks.”

  “I’ll do that. Me too.”

  After they had exited the store, Sam was saddened by the realization that he wouldn’t get to see Gnovis for a while. He had always enjoyed his conversations with the soft-spoken elf; Gnovis was the only other person he knew that enjoyed books as much as he did.

  “Is that everything then?” his mother asked, sullen after her first encounter with Gnovis.

  “I think so.”

  Just then, Sam spotted a band of gypsies milling around a wagon. The women wore black shirts and poofy red satin skirts. The men wore billowy purple pants with black stripes and white shirts with ruffled cuffs and collars. Gold chains were draped around their necks, and they wore large hooped earrings. They reminded Sam of pirates he had seen in some of his fantasy adventure books. The older gypsies sat behind a long wooden table piled high with all manner of jewelry, trinkets, charms, and other odds-and-ends.

  “Can we go over and look?”

  When Mary looked in the direction her son was pointing, her face contorted, giving the impression that she was about to sneeze. “Gypsies? Don’t waste your time. Looks pretty enough, and I’m sure they’d talk your ear off about how priceless it is, but it’s all useless junk. Never trust a gypsy, your father always says. And he’s right about that.”

  “Please? Just for a minute? It’ll be the only chance since I’ll be gone tomorrow,” Sam said, knowing full well he was hitting below the belt by using his upcoming departure as an excuse.

  “A
ll right,” Mary relented. “But let’s make it quick. It’s getting close to suppertime. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

  Not wanting to test his mother’s patience, Sam hurried over to the long wooden table, his sack of books dangling over his shoulder, bouncing against his back.

  The woman sitting behind the table closest to where Sam stood said, “What can I getcha, child?” She looked absolutely ancient. Her face was as wrinkled and withered as the mummies he had seen depicted in his books. Her silver hair was pulled back severely, and there were large gaudy rings on each of her bony fingers. One of the rings had been made to look like a beetle; a large shell, with the small head pointing toward the woman’s fingertip, two milky jade stones for eyes.

  “Just looking,” Sam said.

  The old lady seemed disappointed and went back to staring into space.

  Sam had never seen so many fascinating objects jumbled together in one place. As he browsed the items on the table, all manner of things caught his eye. There were dozens of rings, all as ostentatious as the ones the old gypsy lady was wearing, lined neatly on a blanket of wrinkled black velvet. There were soapstone carvings of various insects and animals; a box heaping full of gems of all colors and sizes. At the end of the table, Sam saw a variety of bedazzling necklaces.

  A man with hair the color of crow’s wings and a hawk-like nose leaned over and said, “Ah, you’ve got good taste.” He pointed at a necklace with a gold disc at the end, a blood red ruby set in its center. “That’s a Hungarian bloodstone. Used to ward off unwelcome spirits. Sells for two gold, but I can make you a special deal. Ten silver and it could be all yours.”

  “Useless junk!”

  Sam, startled, turned to see his mother standing directly behind him. She was looking at the talisman in disgust. “Probably not even real bloodstone.”

  The hawk-nosed gypsy eyed her shrewdly. “I assure you, madam, it is very real. And very effective.”

  “Hogwash.”

  One of the straps of the sack Sam was carrying broke and his school books came spilling out. Sam stooped, collected them quickly and returned them to the sack, but not before the gypsy had had time to catch a glimpse of them.

  The gypsy was persistent, eager to make a sale. If not the talisman, then something else. He raised his index finger and said, “Wait a moment. I might have something that will interest you.”

  “Fat chance,” Mary said.

  The hawk-nosed gypsy ignored her as he rummaged around in the wagon. He returned with a small black case, which he placed on the table in front of Sam. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  Sam opened the case. Inside, three gems rested on a bed of pearly white satin; one gem was dark blue, one was red (a lighter shade than the bloodstone in the talisman, Sam noticed), and the gem in the center was a shifting rainbow of colors that appeared to change depending on where Sam was standing.

  “A set of enchanting stones. Quite rare. Perfect,” the gypsy said, “for enchanting a weapon. Such as a sword, for instance.”

  Mary rolled her eyes and muttered, “I’ll bet.”

  The gypsy continued, unperturbed. “This one,” he said, pointing to the red gem, “is firestone. Imbues an object with eternal warmth. You will never feel cold.” He pointed to the blue gem. “This is an ice diamond. It has the power to freeze your enemies.”

  Sam’s eyes widened as he stared at the stone. “Really?”

  The gypsy nodded.

  Mary said, “Now I’ve heard it all.”

  “And this one?” Sam asked, pointing to the multi-colored stone in the middle.

  “Io’s Kiss. But its exact properties escape me at the moment.”

  “I’m surprised you can’t just make something up,” Mary said.

  “How much?” Sam asked.

  “Hmm. Let’s see. For you - a special bargain. Three gold.”

  Sam’s mother balked when she heard the price.

  “And not a copper…”

  The hawk-nosed gypsy paused as the ancient woman with silver hair placed a hand on his arm. He bent close to the woman’s ear and she whispered something to him. The man’s face tensed, and he looked indignant. He looked at the old woman, but her gaze didn’t waver.

  “Apparently, today,” the gypsy said, “we’re prepared to make a very special offer.” He glanced at the old woman again, and she nodded. “Five silver.”

  “Wow, now that’s a deal. Can I get them, Mom?”

  “It’s rubbish, Sam,” his mother said. “They look shiny, but I’m sure they’re worthless.”

  “I’ll pay you back. It’s only five silver.”

  “Only. What would your father say if he heard you talk like that?”

  “Come on. I’d buy them with my own money, but you told me not to bring it. Please?”

  “Oh, well, all right.” She plucked five silver coins from her purse and reluctantly handed them to the gypsy. “But I still say they’re swindlers.”

  “Thank you, madam.” The gypsy closed the black case and held it out to Sam. “They come with our full guarantee. If they don’t work as promised, you can return them for a full refund.”

  Mary laughed. “Lot of good that’ll do. By the time he finds out, you’ll have packed up and traveled to the other side of the mountains.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said. He opened his sack and placed the black case in with the books.

  Once they were out of earshot of the gypsies, Mary said, “I’ll give you some advice, Sam, and you’d do well to listen. You can’t go around trusting everyone you meet. They don’t always have your best interests in mind.”

  Sam nodded, but he was barely listening as they left the village and started the walk home.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE ONLY HOME HE EVER KNEW

  Sam wore a heavy cloak over his clothes, the hood up to cover his head as rain poured down on them like icy cold daggers. His father had hold of the reins, guiding the horses as they pulled the wagon slowly along the dirt road, which had already become muddy from the downpour. His mother sat next to him, bundled in a blanket.

  Sam was still groggy from lack of sleep. He had been unable to sleep the night before, his mind heavy with all of the things to come; playing and replaying visions of what it would be like to finally reach the Kingdom of Dashelmore. The rain was rhythmic, almost lulling him to sleep. His mother had roused him before the sun had opened its great orange eye on the world. She had rushed him to get his things loaded into the wagon while she packed enough food and supplies for the day’s journey.

  For the first half of the trip, they spoke very little to one another. The weather was miserable, and the torrential downpour was so loud they had to shout over it to be heard. The silence gave Sam far too much time to think. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might feel homesick. He had been filled with such elation and anticipation at having finally realized his dream to attend warrior school, that the thought had never crossed his mind. It was only now, after they had traveled many miles, that he felt a painful knot in his stomach; a knot that steadily tightened the farther he got from home.

  A voice in his head asked, What were you thinking? You’ve never been away from home before! How do you expect to make it on your own?

  All of it hit him now. A wave of despair stung his mind as the chill rain stung his body. He had never in his life been away from home for more than a day or two. A few summers ago, he had gone camping with his friend, Johnny Tellavinder, and Johnny’s parents, but that had only been for a day and a night, and they had returned home the following evening.

  But that wasn’t so bad was it? You survived.

  Which was true, but this situation was different. He wouldn’t have a friend in Dashelmore to keep him company. Everyone would be a stranger to him.

  His mind was filled with these grim thoughts, and he was regretting his hasty decision, when the rain suddenly stopped. Rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, shining down on him as though for no other reason t
han to cheer him up.

  “Quite a storm,” his mother said.

  “Yeah, it was,” Sam said, smiling. Now that the gray shroud had lifted, he was feeling slightly better about his decision. Who knew, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

  As if she could read his mind, Mary said, “Nervous?”

  Sam had no intention of telling an outright lie, so he stretched the truth a bit. “Only a little bit.”

  “You’ll make friends,” Mary said. “People just naturally take a liking to you. That’s a gift that not many people have.”

  “Listen to yer instructors,” Edric said. It was the first time he had spoken during the entire trip. “But don’t let anyone push ya around. Ya’ve gotta stand yer ground, boy. Otherwise they’ll try and take advantage of ya. Some people, they can sense weakness. Got a nose fer it. Show fear, and they’ll take a shot at ya.”

  Sam wasn’t sure how to take what his father had said, but accepted it as sage advice. Coming from a blacksmith, he thought.

  Edric glanced over at his son, gazing at him with his calm hazel eyes. Looking into those eyes was like looking into a vast sea; a person could drown in them. “Take that to heart, lad.”

  “I will.”

  During the final quarter of the trip, both of his parents suddenly seemed eager to pack in as much advice and parting wisdom as they could; as though his soon-to-be absence had made them realize that they had failed to teach him so many of life’s basic lessons.

  Sam had removed his cloak and tossed it carelessly into the wagon next to his sackful of books and his small trunk of belongings. The sun was blazing by now. There was barely a trace left of the rain they had gotten earlier that morning.

  They passed villages every hour or so, most of which Sam had never heard of before. This was as far east as he had ever traveled. The Kingdom of Dashelmore was the closest kingdom to his village, unless you counted Azaramor to the west, which was less than a day’s journey. He had only ever been there once, and that had been to attend the Dunlap’s Magical Circus when he was eight. It was a smaller kingdom than Dashelmore, but was well known for being a popular place for mages, warlocks, and witches. If Dashelmore was known for churning out great warriors, Azaramor had a reputation for being the starting place of famous magical folk. But even so, Dashelmore was still the place where many young mages went to train.