[Fan] The Golden Box (M)

Here is the first rough-draft chapter to my novel-in-progress, The Golden Box. It is a modern fantasy, with elements of action, horror, and just a slight pinch of historical fiction interwoven into a throughly planned, and hopefully well-executed, package.

My current engrossing work, along with my fanfiction, this story is intended to be finished, edited, and then distributed into the professional world for judgment and, with hard effort and a little luck, publication. Hence why you can understand that I need as much help as possible from friends, family, and total strangers to attain my goals.

And this is only the beginning. I see the building blocks of an epic series, a planned five books at the current moment, and the rules and mythology which I have interred into the storyline make it possible for much, much more if I so desire.

So please, if you read this, be as brutal as you feel you need to be. I am no master at this art, and am far from the ever-raising level of quality that I wish to attain. I need you, the reader, to tell me what works and what doesn't; what is awesome and what is droll; what is epic and what is unintentionally cliché.

Thank you in advance, and I hope you enjoy the first glimpse into the world that I have created and continue to build upon and evolve: The world of the Golden Box.



Opening the Golden Box (Tentative Title)

Part I - The Awakening

Chapter One

The lights were dimming at Halyard Academy. Like the setting sun going down into the west, incandescent bulbs across the campus slowly eclipsed into the dead of night, leaving only shadows by moonlight in the darkened corners and ghostly towers. Here at this boarding school in the southeastern country of Celest, there was a boy, absorbed by his book as the darkness crept over. A slight chill was in the air as the grip of October took hold, a welcomed change after the long humidity of summer.

His name was Seamus. A thin, almost gangly young man with thick, shaggy brown hair that hung low and nearly covered his eyes. Still dressed in his day clothes, he eagerly turned the pages of the thick volume in his lap, scanning over the lines of quotes, layouts of battlefields, and pictures of weary soldiers. His expression gave no indication to the fact that he was enthralled, captivated by the stories of war and the history of man.

Alone in his secular room with a flashlight in hand, Seamus would stay up late, even all night at times, to read his history books, primarily ones about the Great Twilight War. It was his passion, considerably so as he had few others to speak of. Perhaps his interest was sparked because of the war’s mysterious nature. As if it were some shame that was meant to be forgotten, the school board and the teachers of Celest were reluctant to ever discuss or even acknowledge the war’s existence, leaving those few curious souls to discover it’s secrets in their own time.

Books were even more scarce then word of mouth. In the other countries they might be easy to come across, but in Celest it took Seamus months to find one as good as this one he had now. In a small book store, ran by an old man and his wife, the book lay buried for decades, waiting to be unearthed by Seamus’ thorough eyes. The couple thought him crazy to want something so taboo, but relented and sold it to him for cheap so they would avoid getting blacklisted by the local community.

Looking at a robust illustration done with a fountain pen, Seamus could see a man, drenched in dark robes from head to toe, fiery bolts escaping from his fingertips into an entrenched pillbox. The men inside were trying to escape with their lives as streaks of fire licked at their heels, the very concrete and steel melting from the heat. One man’s rifle had disintegrated in his hands, the liquid metal clinging to his body in a painful display. Amazingly, the shadowy figure was decimating all the fortifications and equipment inside with but a mere lift of his hand, now-extinct magics flowing effortlessly from his body.

"Shad." The boy said at the sight, instantly recognizing that dark creature.

The text below the drawing read: ‘The Underglider leader, Shad Theade, the Mothman, using his prowess as a Twilight Adept to destroy field defenses at the battle of Helligrin, 15 October, 1945.’

"Crazy." The boy whispered to himself. "Nineteen-forty-five."

Running his fingers across the pages of the worn book, Seamus tried to feel the magic lost, hoping to rekindle it within his dry fingers. "Sixty-two years ago."

Seamus’ embedded thoughts were jostled at the sound of someone in the next room slamming their fist on the flimsy divider, making the medieval-fantasy and science fiction posters on his side shudder as if blown by the wind.

"Shut your hole, Seamus!" An irked adolescent voice said through the wall with that curious Celestine accent, a flavor that Seamus did not share. "It’s two in the bleeding morning!"

Dismayed at the notion that he was required to sleep, Seamus clicked off his flashlight and closed his book, dog-earing the page he was on to save his place. Setting the tome on the cheaply-built desk at the side of his cot, he rolled over onto his back and placed his hands behind his head. Not being tired, he stared up at the cracks and yellowing water stains on the ceiling, tracing the spider web lines across his eggshell sky and making out faces in the texture. He took in a deep breath and tried to fall asleep, but he knew it wouldn’t come easy.

It generally never did.

After about an hour of tossing, turning, counting sheep and sword fighting, Seamus finally drifted off into a frigid repose, dreamless and brittle. The knocking gusts of wind outside and the bubbling of the Housemaster’s snore down the hall did not help matters much, but to Seamus it was home.

Just another night in the boy’s dorm, House Locrian.

Dawn began to break as Seamus’ mind finally relaxed and settled into a deep slumber, only a few precious moments before the morning bell rang. Causing him to jerk awake and nearly topple out of his bed, he cursed softly into the air and fell back onto his pillow.

It was six a.m. The crest of the sun was just barely visible from the shorelines of the eastern lakes, and another tiresome school day was about to begin.

The bitter Friday morning felt much colder than usual, Seamus’ bare feet icy to the touch. He could hear the other boys out in the main hall of the dorm, rambunctiously throwing on wool caps and jackets in preparation for the bite of the crisp Autumn sunrise - a prominent chill supplemented by the swift winds coming off the eastern lakes.

Laying in bed for what seemed only a few extra minutes, curled up in a blanket for warmth, he almost fell asleep again, but was abruptly snapped awake by the burning sting of a riding crop across his left cheek. Yelping, he rolled out of the cot and onto the floor, his right hand massaging the spot.

Looking up, he could see the tall, bony frame of Housemaster Rumwald Laughton, neatly dressed in a constrictive brown suit and exhuming authority with his tool of preference. Bird-faced and middle-aged, he was an awkward and socially inept man who spent his hours eagerly monitoring and tormenting the students under his watch with his infamous wrath.

"Sleepy, are we?" The sunken-eyed man’s nefarious voice said, placing the end of his crop on Seamus’ other cheek. "It is forty minutes past six, young Master Metalmark. Have we not places to be?"

"Yes, Sir, and I’m on my way." Seamus answered respectfully, not wishing to go outside with any more welts that necessary. "Just dozed off is all."

"Just dozed off?" Laughton’s face was stern, unaffected by the excuse. "This isn’t some weekend getaway, Master Metalmark. This is Halyard Academy! One lazy student would soon poison all the others with his infectious slothfulness. I’m warning you, Metalmark. I expect this will not be a problem again in my Hall."

He pressed the crop harder. "Would I be correct in that assumption?"

"Yes, Housemaster." Seamus lied, knowing full well the shortcomings with his internal body clock. "Not a problem."

"Good." Laughton pulled his tool away from the boy’s face and hid it behind his back. "On your way then."

Seamus quickly scrambled to his feet and grabbed his backpack, hurriedly snatching up his history book and stuffing it into the worn bag as he went. Slinging it over his shoulders, he moved toward his door.

The towering Laughton slammed his skeletal hand against the frame, barring Seamus’ passage.

"You would do well to return that book to wherever you found it, Master Metalmark." The man whispered harshly, his eyes looking off toward the adjacent wall. "Leave the past in the past, let the dead rest in peace. Some things . . . are best left forgotten."

"Yes, Housemaster." Seamus said, ducking under Laughton’s emaciated arm and speed-walking out the door, oblivious to the fact that he was still in the previous day’s clothes.

The brisk morning air made Seamus’ lungs feel as if they were corroding. He hurriedly moved across Halyard’s campus, passing the other residence halls and into the main plaza of the Academy.

His left cheek still feeling warm, Seamus stopped and turned back to House Locrian, only to see Housemaster Laughton staring right back. Startled, Seamus quickly turned away and continued walking through the square.

It bothered him that the man was still in his room, probably searching for more Twilight paraphernalia. He smiled to himself. There was a stash of censored books and videos in his room, all on the list of things not allowed in the academy, but Laughton would need more than just a keen eye to find those things.

Seamus was heading towards his first class of the day: Art Appreciation, his least favorite. But as he was going, an alarming gurgle built up in his throat, his stomach catching up with him as the day broke. He veered left toward the main dining hall, his nostrils picking up the invigorating scent of bacon clinging to the stiff forenoon air. The foodstuffs baiting his taste buds and making his stomach squeeze and contract, he quickened his pace, scuttling toward the door.

Reaching out to grasp the iron handles, he was nearly trampled when the door flung open in his face, the majority of the student body noisily pouring out into the plaza as the six forty-five bell rang, signifying that classes were about to begin and students had to report in.

To Seamus’ discontent, it also meant the dining hall was closed. He cursed under his breath as the other students passed.

Bad luck was the norm for the teenager, and it looked like it was going to be another one of those days. Bright and early for the daily races, Seamus had gotten off to a bad start. The other students were moving from destined place to place like the effortless turns of clockwork, but his gear was a few clicks behind.

Turning away from the dining hall, Seamus resumed his previous course to his morning class across the yard. Still feeling dejected over his missing breakfast, and the sting he felt on his cheek every time he blinked, he brooded as he walked. Avoiding eye contact with the other bustling students and steering clear of the larger groups, Seamus kept to himself and tried to remain anonymous.

Reaching the main building on campus, keeping a safe distance behind the crowd of rowdy teenagers, Seamus stepped into the main foyer. It was a large building, once as grand as a five-star hotel, but it had seen better days. Worn floors and cracking wood walls surrounded the space, sparse plastic plants in desperate need of dusting hanging from the web-infested vaulted ceiling. At the back end of the foyer was a set of stairs that lead to the second floor, each beset by disorderly students, some sliding down the rough banisters only to be promptly reprimanded by the monitoring prefects.

It was a chaotic private school, one full of bullies and callous teachers. Most students just rolled through the days, trying to reach each one’s end as quickly as possible. If it weren’t for it’s cheap tuition and long-standing history, Seamus thought, the place wouldn’t have any students at all.

Just wishing to make it to his designated place without any interaction, he rolled his eyes in response as he was again accosted by some person or event before he could make it to the relative safety of the classrooms.

"Seamus!" The perky, affable voice of his friend, Savanna Crayben, cut through the noise of the mob. "Over here!"

Seamus looked up from his feet and caught the eagerly-waving hand of Savanna off to his right. She was a Celestine, a thin, slightly tall girl with shoulder-length black hair that had a red sheen to it’s reflection, paired with her peculiar forest-green eyes. Dressed in blue jeans, a red turtleneck and a thin, brown jacket, she carried her normal air of refinement about her.

A somewhat stately girl, she was sent to the Academy by her wealthy parents in hopes it would tame her wildness but, at least in Seamus’ eyes, it probably only exacerbated things. This could have been one of the worst place you could send a problem child. But, yet again, cheap tuition smiles upon the frugal.

Acknowledging the wave with a simple nod, he continued on his path to the stairs that led to the second floor, content to bypass any social interaction for the remainder of his already bleak-looking day.

Not one to be so blatantly ignored, Savanna rushed over to the boy and grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt, nearly making him lose his balance.

"Why you in such a hurry?" She said, looking at Seamus as if he just stole her sandwich.

"Got class." Seamus replied plainly, his adolescent voice trying to sound deeper than it actually was. "If I’m late again, Laughton will have my hide."

"Or your face." Savanna playfully jeered, staring at the red patch on Seamus’ cheek. "Well, you could at least say hi. You know, it is really rude to...."

She was about to start her standard form of chiding but then panned down on her friend, looking at his attire. "Did you wear that set yesterday? Honestly, Seamus, do you ever...oh, never mind. I guess it is not important. So, we still on for tomorrow?"

Savanna was referring to the trip she and Seamus had planned out for the upcoming holiday weekend, hiking deep into the Kalithian woodlands to the north of Celest. It was a long journey to the old war stronghold of Kalith, but the two teenagers agreed that a few days of camping and exploring was better than spending the week stuck at the Academy with Laughton and his imperious cronies.

"As long as you’re still buying, I’m still in." Seamus said, taking full advantage of Savanna’s deep pockets to fund his proverbial cravings for self-imposed study.

"Cool." Savanna gave a gentle smile. "I could not sleep a wink last night, busy packing and all. You?"

"Nope, slept like a rock." Seamus looked off to the side, omitting the truth about his insomnia.

"For sure." Savanna took note of the deep circles under Seamus’ eyes. "So then, when and where should we meet?"

"How about seven in front of my dorm?"

"How about four at the bus stop?"

Seamus scoffed at the idea of getting up early, but conceded he probably would be awake anyway. "Fine."

"Great!" Savanna was always the exuberant one after getting her morning coffee-buzz. "See you tomorrow morning then!"

Seamus stood still as his friend walked through the nearby door of her citizenship class. He shook his head and frowned slightly, not liking the idea of starting the school break at four in the morning. So dispirited at the thought, he almost did not notice when the seven o’clock class bell sounded off in his ears.

"Oh, freaking hell!" Seamus rolled his eyes at the heavens.

Dashing up the steep flight to the second floor, he bolted down the adjoining hall toward room two-hundred and eleven, the main art room of the Academy. Desperate to reach the room before the teacher locked the door, as per school policy to deter truancy, Seamus skidded around the narrow corners, avoiding the trash cans and drinking fountains along the way until he slid to a stop right in front of the hazy-glassed, chestnut door.

Momentarily catching his breath and running his hands through his hair, Seamus pulled the creaking door open and entered the stuffy room. Inside, he was warmly greeted by the condemning eyes of the twenty other students already seated, eagerly anticipating what scandal might ensue.

"You’re late again, Seamus." Miss Sumpter, the art teacher, said to the giggles of the other children in the class. "You’re lucky I forgot to lock the door."

Miss Telia Sumpter was a middle-aged woman, short and pear-shaped with tall and curly orangish-colored hair. She was generally a kind and considerate teacher, but sometimes was a little overzealous when it came to the students’ education. Occasionally hunting them down after school hours to ensure they were on top of their studies, she was deemed by the student body to be a menace to society.

"Sorry, Miss Sumpter." Seamus clumsily apologized, giving no excuses as he made his way to his desk at the rear of the classroom, the other students shaking their heads and giving him ugly faces all down the rows.

"That’s three times this week, Seamus." Miss Sumpter criticized, holding a meter-stick in her plump grip. "I’m afraid I’ll have to report your excessive tardiness to your Housemaster...and to your mother, if I don’t see any improvement on your half."

The other teenagers all clamored and laughed, knowing full well who the head of Seamus’ notorious dorm was and the standard consequence for tardiness: having to sleep out in the old icehouse, affectionately labeled as ‘The Igloo’, for a full week.

"She’s not my mother." Seamus said under his breath, softly enough that none of the other students heard anything above an indiscernible mumble.

"Quiet down, class." Miss Sumpter said loudly, waving her meter-stick in the air like a baton. "Now, I would like you all to open your books to page three-hundred and forty-three."

Throwing his bag under his chair and taking his seat, Seamus pulled out his art book as he was told but soon zoned out and drifted into some other world, just hoping that the day would pass by quickly. For ten hours he did this, on more days than not, ignoring the rest of the visitors to his universe.

Counting down the remaining seconds, the structured day finally reached it’s elongated end and Seamus rambled out the Academy doors with the other students, all cheering and throwing crumpled up papers at each other in celebration of the upcoming six-day weekend away from school. Most had family coming to pick them up and take them away on grand vacations to tropical islands and sandy beaches. For the likes of Seamus and Savanna, however, they generally were left to their own devices.

Coming back home to House Locrian, Seamus wound his way through the bedlam of the other students and tried to avoid getting caught up in the mild-mannered frivolity of some of the older pupils. Housemaster Laughton was on site, administering cold justice to whomever deviated from house-rules with his crop.

Seamus wished he felt that sense of relief that the others had. Instead, he still felt the same. To him, it was just another day of the year.

Stepping into his diminutive room, Seamus quickly closed the door and plopped down on his cot, eager to leave everything behind and catch up on some missed sleep. Setting the alarm on his cell-phone to wake him up at three-forty-five the next morning, he rolled back into the folds of his inviting blankets in preparation for perhaps the best ten hours of sleep he would ever get.