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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466947900 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 08/13/2012 |
| Pages: | 344 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.77(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Faith in a Dragon
By Sylvie Uzzell
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2012 Sylvie UzzellAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-4790-0
Chapter One
UNSEASONABLE SNOW
Leaning her forehead against the cool windowpane, Fiona huddled in her window seat and watched the rain tumble to the ground like curtains of glass beneath the thunderstruck clouds. Long shadows danced across the sodden lawn as a gloomy, unnatural darkness hung low in the midday sky. The young girl could not remember a colder, soggier summer day in Ravens Bluff, North Carolina.
She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and locked a disheveled clump of hair behind her ear as she continued to gaze absentmindedly toward the rising Appalachian Mountains. All signs of native wildlife, including the beautiful ravens with their haunting guttural voices, disappeared the day the rain began. How could she, a normal teenager, have become entangled in such a tragic web of mystery?
At thirteen, Fiona Rea Bernard had the appearance of a child on the brink of womanhood, her small figure budding with signs of adolescence. Her untidy blond hair, cropped barely below her chin, fell straggling across swollen tear-stained brown eyes; her soft, creamy complexion was red-splotched from days of grief-stricken tears. Fiona would grow up to become a beautiful woman someday, but today, her haggard appearance, not to mention her ripped jeans and paint-stained tee, gave her the appearance of a wretched street urchin in a Charles Dickens novel.
As she watched the splattered droplets wiggle down the windowpane like tiny creatures swimming in a vast sea, she tried to remember when she had last seen the sun. Last week? Last month? Fiona was so consumed by grief since her mother's death; she had lost all sense of time. Even on the day of the funeral, the rain fell.
"Angel tears," her grandmother said as she hugged Fiona beneath a large black umbrella. "The angels are smiling, leading her to a better place. This is not a final good-bye; it's simply farewell for a time. Keep your faith strong, Fiona. Someday you'll wake up, and everything will be better."
Fiona had clung to that thought, hoping it would ease her pain, but despite endless yearnings in her heart and hollow pangs in the pit of her stomach, the sadness lingered.
The sudden death of Angelica Bernard had caused quite a stir in the small mountain community. Gossip flew like the crows for many days after her untimely death. Tongues wagged like mad dog tails, recounting the events spliced with personal speculations and possible motives for a scandalous murder.
"They found her slumped over her coffee like she was asleep. Did you see the police report? There seemed to be no sign of a struggle," said a local at the Mountaintop Grill the day after the gruesome discovery.
"My daughter saw a stranger lurking near her property yesterday ... could have forced his way into the house. A robbery perhaps?" said another.
"Nah! It wasn't a robbery. The newspaper reported nothing missing. Maybe it was a hired hit man. Her husband was jealous of her fame, you know," said still another.
"Her husband wouldn't kill her. All he cared about was her money. The more songs she wrote, the more money he could cram in his pocket."
"What will we do without our Angel? Our town was just a hole in the wall before she started writing and recording her songs."
"The Ravens Journal said her husband didn't even wake up until the police beat down the door. And that poor little Fiona, seeing her mother sprawled on the floor like that."
"Maybe she had a heart attack," said a newcomer."
"Now that's another mystery, isn't it? The coroner declared there was no medical explanation for her death."
"How can someone die of no cause? If you ask me, her death was no accident!"
"Strange! That's what I call it."
"Humph! It is mysterious indeed!"
And so the rumors danced up and down and all around the streets of town for several days until they finally climbed up the mountain and slipped into the ears of Fiona—the victim. After hearing the murder speculations, she was slapped with such a feeling of helplessness and self-pity; she felt the need to hibernate in her bedroom to live in a perpetual clutter of dirty laundry, empty chip bags, and crumpled diary entries.
How could she even consider returning to school next month? She cringed every time she went into town. She could not tolerate the stares and what she knew to be whispers behind hands raised in the pretense of a greeting. It was easier to stay in her room away from staring, pity-filled eyes. Oh, how she detested the idea that she was the subject of pity.
She was tired of hearing people say, "Is there anything we can do to help?" Ha! Nothing short of magic could resurrect her mother from the grave!
The blinding lights and the screaming sirens surrounding her home on that dreadful day were still fresh in her mind. Her heart raced at the thought of breaking the news of her mother's death to her best friend who was spending the summer abroad with her parents. She had long anticipated Amelie's return, but had stopped writing to her the week of the tragedy. Since then, she had crammed a month of unopened letters under her bed, knowing she would have to face her friend some day, but not today.
The more Fiona tried to grasp her situation, the more desperate she felt. Her whole body ached like she had been thrown against a brick wall. To add to the insufferable pain of loss, Fiona felt partly responsible for her mother's death.
On that fatal day, Fiona was feeding a neighbor's cat when she heard a banging commotion followed by some unusual cracks echoing from the vicinity of her house. The deafening crash sounded like something had been hit, or something heavy had fallen nearby—maybe a deer in the road or a broken tree branch. Thinking the commotion was probably a noisy tourist vehicle screeching up the mountain, she stayed to play with the cat. After all, it was a glorious day in July, the last sunny day of the summer. It started to rain around midnight.
When Fiona arrived home, she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table slumped over the draft of her latest song lyrics. At first glance, it looked like Angelica was taking a break, resting her head on her arms. As Fiona attempted to wake her, her mother fell out of the chair, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling like two large glass marbles settled in the holes of a Chinese checkerboard, her coffee dripping down the front of her shirt.
Events following the dreadful discovery were now blurred in Fiona's mind. She could not remember calling for help. Every time she tried to recall the happenings of that day, faceless strangers floated on the edge of her memory. It was as if she was locked in a dreamless sleep, paralyzed, unable to awaken. One minute she was seeing her mother fall out of the chair; the next minute, she was being ushered out of the room by her grandmother.
Visions of blaring lights and noisy sirens frequented her thoughts by day and seeped into her dreams at night. She felt like she was losing her mind. How could she have faith when she had nothing but endless sorrow day in and day out?
The tiny squiggling raindrops continued to splash against the windowpane, oblivious to Fiona's staring eyes.
As she sank deeper into her fragmented thoughts, arguing voices drifted up the stairs. Startled into the present, she tiptoed to the door to listen.
"Heath!"
Fiona could hear her grandmother talking to her father. What would she have done without her? Fiona turned and held her breath, her heart pounding fast.
"What?" Heath mumbled.
"You need to get off this couch, go back to work, stop drinking!" Fiona could hear frustration building in her grandmother's voice. "You're not setting a good example for your daughter."
"Roshe," Heath sniveled, "how can you fault me, you of all people? I've lost her, my Angelica!"
Disgusted by her father's behavior, Fiona cringed as she listened to her father's sniveling. He was blubbering like a baby, slurring his words.
"And I have lost my daughter who I loved more than anything on this earth, but you don't see me giving up."
Rose paused.
"You have a beautiful daughter, Heath. Fiona needs her father now more than ever."
"Right," he mumbled. "You know, Roshe, I can't even look at Fiona; she reminds me of Angelica. It hurts too much!"
"How do you think Fiona feels? She has lost her mother, and now, well, look at you! I've always wondered what my daughter saw in you. Now I'm convinced she must have been blind."
Rose sighed heavily.
"They say love is blind, and you are living proof, Heath. You don't deserve Fiona!"
"How dare you speak to me like I am an imbecile! What would you have me do with my daughter? Take her shopping, to a movie? Maybe I should take her to the beach to hunt mermaids. You would approve of that plan, wouldn't you, Roshe?" he snapped, burping loudly.
Fiona knew her father was drunk. Of course, this was nothing new. His drunkenness had become an everyday occurrence. He neither ate nor showered and only slept when he reached the point of passing out. His total existence had become one of drinking cheap wine and staring mindlessly at the television. If he continued this lifestyle, he would probably die too. This thought magnified Fiona's grief.
He started mumbling again. "I should have been able to do something ... Why didn't I hear ..."
"Heath, you couldn't have done anything," Rose said gently.
Heath continued to mumble to himself. Fiona held her breath to listen.
"Maybe I should jump off a bridge, end my life, my pain. No one would miss me. I don't understand why they didn't kill me too. It would have been better to die with her than to die of a broken heart. Oh, Angelica," he sobbed. "I want to die!"
Suddenly he began to shout.
"Roshe, why don't you go to wherever you're going? Get out!"
Fiona felt a pang of horror stab her insides. Had she really heard her father say that Rose was leaving? Her grandmother would not leave her alone with her father. How could she do such a thing?
Panic-stricken, she ran and flung herself onto the bed. A dark hole of despair that had been gnawing in the pit of her stomach all day was about to explode. Burying her face into her pillow, she allowed the surge of tears she had been suppressing to flow at last.
"No, no!" she whispered despairingly between sobs.
It was easier to try to forget about the dreadful happening than to allow her feelings to erupt, but it seemed the more she tried to forget, the more she brooded over the pain of her loss. It was not fair!
Gasping for breath, she grabbed her pillow, wrapped it around her head, and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Fiona," a soft voice spoke, "may I come in?"
Fiona turned around to see her grandmother peeping into the room. Fiona nodded, wiped the tears from her swollen face, and watched Rose enter the cluttered bedroom.
"You really should clean your room, Fiona." Rose picked up a dirty sock and tossed it playfully onto the bed.
Fiona grabbed the sock and wrapped it around her hand mindlessly, watching silently as her grandmother meandered through the heaps of dirty clothes and other displaced belongings.
Rose turned and sat down on the end of the bed. "Come here, honey." She patted the bed, encouraging Fiona sit beside her.
"I need to talk to-"
"You can't leave, Mia, you just can't!" Fiona blurted out, exasperated. "Please don't," she whimpered, struggling to suppress a troubled sense of mingled anger and pain that was spinning around like a carousel in her stomach.
Rose looked deeply into Fiona's eyes and held her hands together in her own. "I understand how you feel.
"I finished the book. I need to go to New York to discuss a few things with my editor before publication."
Fiona sniffled and turned her head away from Rose.
"Don't look so glum." Rose reached over and gently cupped Fiona's chin in her warm hands.
"Mia Rose," Fiona began reproachfully.
"I'll be back on Saturday, four days from today. Now listen to me. You need to do something while I'm away," Rose said with a serious tone in her voice.
"What do you want me to do?" She eyed her grandmother precariously and wiped her face with her shirt sleeve. "I guess I could clean my room," she murmured, looking around at the piles of clutter.
Ignoring Fiona's bewilderment, Rose continued, "You need to work on your father."
"What do you mean?"
"Fiona, I think you know what I'm talking about. Persuade him to go back to work. Show him he has a reason to live." She paused for a second. "Tell him you love him."
"How? He won't listen. He cringes every time he looks at me." Lowering her eyes, Fiona choked back a salty tear and mumbled, "I think he hates me."
"He does not hate you."
"Why does he ignore me then? If he loved me ..."
"Your father is too weak to handle his grief, but I believe you are strong enough to reach into his broken heart and coax him back into the world of the living."
"Mia, I'm just a kid, a teenager. He is the grownup; he should know what to do. I would need powerful magic to change him."
"You're stronger than you think." Rose sighed. "Act like a parent."
"How?"
"Do whatever you can to get your father's attention," said Rose.
"Like what?"
"You are a clever girl! Surely you can see your father is so consumed by his own grief he can't see past his pain." She eyed Fiona speculatively.
"Like I'm not grieving," Fiona mumbled.
"When I get back, we'll go to a movie or do whatever you like." Rose patted Fiona's leg and ran her fingers over a raggedy rip in her paint-stained jeans. "We'll shop for some new school clothes too."
"I'll try, but I don't think anything I say will help." Fiona looked at her grandmother and shook her head doubtfully.
"Well, give it a shot. You'll never know unless you try." She stood up, started to leave, but turned around abruptly and reached into her pocket and withdrew a small satin brocade pouch. "I almost forgot something. I have a gift for you."
Fiona eyed the bag suspiciously.
"I want you to have this." Rose opened the bag and pulled out a bright red faceted gemstone set in an ornately carved silver casing hung on a long glittering silver chain.
Fiona gasped breathlessly, gently touching the stone with her fingertips. "It's beautiful! Where did you get it?"
"My grandmother, who would be your great-great-grandmother, Celeste Cartier, gave this necklace to me when I was about your age. I never understood why she didn't give it to my mother, Marie, but as you see, I never gave it to my daughter either." She smiled.
"Since it is your birthstone, I thought you should have it. Gram did tell me when the right moment came along, I would know exactly what to do with the necklace," she said.
A sudden flicker of sunlight flooded the room for a mere fraction of a second then was extinguished like a match caught in the wind. When Rose's hand touched Fiona's hand with the necklace, the gem glowed even brighter.
"Wow! Did you see that flash of light? It must be magical!"
"What you mean by magical, Fiona?" Rose eyed Fiona with a queer look as if a strange thought had just joggled her memory.
"I didn't mean anything; I just thought it ..." She stared at the jewel as if she were in a trance. "It was nothing."
"Thank you so much, Mia." Fiona hugged Rose and then slipped the long delicate chain over her head without opening the clasp. Did your grandmother tell you anything about the necklace when she gave it you?"
"As a matter of fact, she did," Rose said, smiling. "I have a few minutes to spare. Would you like to hear the story now?"
Fiona nodded eagerly and settled back onto her pillow, stroking the warm jewel between her fingers, anticipating a fantastic story. After all, her grandmother was a well-known writer, a skilled spinner of tales.
Rose swallowed hard and cleared her throat as if she were about to address a captive audience in a huge auditorium. She began to pace back and forth across the room, cleared her throat again. "I must have inherited my knack for writing from my Gram. She used to tell me electrifying stories when I was a child.
"I wish you could have known her. She was an extraordinary woman. Beautiful too! Did I ever tell you how much you look like her?" She glanced at Fiona who was nodding. Rose swallowed again as if anxious to tell Fiona the tale but not knowing how to begin.
Fiona, feeling a little perplexed now, had never seen her grandmother act like this, swallowing repeatedly, pacing around the room, apparently at a loss for words. Rose was never at a loss for words.
"Anyway, you may not believe what I am about to tell you. I didn't believe it at first," Rose hesitated again, sat down on the edge of the bed, took another deep breath, and lowered her voice to a bare whisper.
Fiona leaned closer to Rose, her eyes really wide now, not wanting to miss a single word of the tale Rose had not yet begun.
Rose took yet another deep breath and then spoke slowly and deliberately. "Gram said the necklace was given to her by a unicorn." Her eyes froze momentarily as if she were reliving the actual moment with her grandmother.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Faith in a Dragon by Sylvie Uzzell Copyright © 2012 by Sylvie Uzzell. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Acknowledgments....................xiPrologue....................xv
1. Unseasonable Snow....................1
2. Another World....................17
3. A Prophecy Revealed....................31
4. The Passageway....................47
5. Wood Haven....................59
6. A Little Magic and a Little Advice....................71
7. Grimgorrah's Plan....................81
8. The Book and the Mirror....................87
9. The Forest Path....................97
10. Wravens Crest....................113
11. A Hasty Decision....................123
12. The Hidden Door....................133
13. Darkness Falls....................149
14. A Necessary Deception....................161
15. Trouble in the Wood....................173
16. The Toad and the Mersylph....................187
17. Two Directions and Two Heads....................205
18. The Copper Penny and the Seventh Phaerie....................221
19. The Portal of Time....................239
20. Magnolia Beach Pavilion....................251
21. Beach Music....................263
22. Jareth's Tale....................275
23. Searching for the Ocean of Dreams....................291
24. The Army of Saints....................311
Epilogue....................323