Revlenion and the Guardian Manifesto

by Kalvin Klaus, Felipe Flores

Overview

This is the most authentic, terrifyingly adventurous, YA novel to come along in many years.

The kids are the best-kept secret...

In 1975 members of the Divine Seraphion Society were exterminated by an evil force. The surviving members have one hope: the birth of the cherished guardian predetermined to bring a new manifesto to protect beauty and freedom throughout sacred, Revlenion. Thirteen years later, a curious phenomenon aligns the stars, setting tragic events into motion.

On the night of Landon Tuolumne's twelfth birthday, he and his sister, Makari, are left feeling forgotten and lost. Rescued by a distant relative, the siblings are brought to a quiet, seaside town. Soon after they're led onto fortuitous paths between two mysterious creatures. One, a tinker man intent on freeing himself from a trinket that could bring fame, fortune, and fantasy to its possessor. Two, a young detective with an invitation to a marvelous place where he hopes to guide the siblings carefully, but they must believe in the magic that awaits them.

In this tale of charm and malice, two siblings embark on a spellbinding adventure into a sacred land where they must endure whimsical horrors before returning home to enjoy the happiness and acceptance they've always fancied.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781939665928
Publisher:	Prodigy Gold Books
Publication date:	10/18/2018
Pages:	348
Product dimensions:	6.02(w) x 9.01(h) x 0.80(d)

Read an Excerpt

Revlenion and the Guardian Manifesto

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By Kalvin Klaus, Michelle Jacobs, Isaac Minarik

iUniverse

Copyright © 2014 Kalvin Klaus
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-5163-3

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CHAPTER 1

WHERE THE MANIFESTO BEGAN

Once upon a time ...
Thirteen years ago ...

1975

November was ending and it seemed as though the late fall months had barely crept over the hills of the San Luis Obispo valley. The merry seasons were only days away while the husbands across the sprawling seaside town were dreading their in-laws impending holiday. It was a Thursday, and had been the rainiest day that week. For the past few days, the town had encountered a vast amount of rain—an inch a day practically. The downtown streets were quiet and lit solely by the bright sidewalk lamps while the old courthouse clock tower quietly ticked to midnight after the heavy rainfall had suddenly come to a halt. Only the soothing echoes of water dripping off shop awnings graced the night and all the brownstone boutiques, cafés, record and book stores were as tranquil as a mouse in one's house with 'Closed' signs posted in almost every window in sight.

But of course, there's always one hardworking soul that can be found awake at such a still hour of the night. And that only spark of life was in the form of a night-crew janitor, sweeping up the stale popcorn from yet another busy night in the lobby of the majestic Fremont Cinema. Harvey, as it read on his tatty uniform, swept effortlessly along the vast lobby of the Victorian cinema that housed such beautifully aged golden walls lavished with epic murals of great gods and brilliant blue skies. With his handy-dandy FM radio blasting tunes, (a reprieve from the peculiar monotony that one encounters working through such small hours), Harvey set his cleaning supplies aside and turned to the refreshments stands to serve himself a small cup of ice water. Sighing at the thought of the long and insistent list of cleaning tasks he still hadn't completed, Harvey threw his arm out to read his wristwatch: it was break time. As Harvey waddled toward his chair behind the refreshment counter, he snapped his fingers at the sudden flash of recollection; he still needed to shut down the power to the marquee and main lights.

Turning on his booted heel, Harvey marched to the shoebox-like office across from the refreshments as his excitement grew, spurred on by how long he had been waiting to eat whatever his dear wife, Grace, had prepared for him in his favorite tin lunch pail. Click by click: every section of the golden cinema disappeared into the near midnight realm. The lone box-office ticket booth that stood outside, just before the tall lobby doors, went dark with a zap. The purple and red lettered marquee proudly exhorting The Rocky Horror Picture Show, having been draped with a massive SOLD OUT sign underneath it, suddenly flickered like a set of neon eyes as, it too, fell away into the closing night. Where Harvey now stood, just behind the dimly lit refreshments counter, was but the last trace of light peeking out of the old cinema. At last, Harvey plopped down on his wobbly wooden stool, opened his pail with a flick of his finger, and pulled out his favorite: a turkey and ham sandwich smothered in mayonnaise. With his fingers drenched from his sandwich, and tirelessly spinning the tiny cap off his polished whiskey flask, Harvey stretched out his arms and spread his late night lunch across the counter. Between bites of his gloppy sandwich, Harvey found himself humming along to the late-night tunes that popped from his favorite radio, such as the Simon & Garfunkel song My Little Town, which played on. As Harvey stuffed his face with the greatest sandwich he'd ever had, his town seemed almost untouchable and quiet as ever.

Across the street, however, a few remaining blisters of rain clouds above the courthouse suddenly began to take another shape altogether. It was only seconds later when the clouds began to split into phenomenal swirls of roaring wind and flashes of a fantastic blue light. The miniature tornado that took shape slammed like a monstrous fist onto the wet road between the courthouse and the darkened cinema. The roaring whirls then broke from the tornado and gracefully morphed into six winged creatures. Each of the beings descended to the road, fluttering their long, feathery wings with the chill air as they did. The six of them were robed in the finest satins and masked with silvers that looked like it hadn't come from any ordinary place. These creatures stood gallantly in all different heights and sizes, and shielded themselves with the polished cuirasses that had been molded to each of their frames. Each of their robes continued to gently sway in the night air as these aerial beings regained their composure and quickly formed a circle. Sitting directly across from the main doors of the cinema (nearly choking on his last bite), Harvey was in a state of pure shock as he dove from his wooden stool and slipped on the greasy floor behind the counter. Panting, Harvey dared to peek over the counter again, his mouth still full. Wiping the crumbs off his thick mustache, Harvey daringly crawled to the wooden column closest to the lobby doors. Our dear Harvey's alarmed eyes watched as these unbelievable creatures stood in the wet street. As the winged troupe bowed to one another as though they had not seen each other in several years, one of their number gave a quick glance over its broad shoulder to detect any potential eyewitnesses.

"Welcome, my old comrades," said a male Member first, scanning his company with the apparent ability to sense every carefully hidden identity beneath their silvery masks. "Good to have you here, Trevis."

"Good to see you once again, Lawrence," nodded Trevis Sacreen, noticeably the shortest member.

"A pleasure, as always, Ms. Mellya Allowin," said Lawrence, eyeing his companion. The troupe quickly exchanged their greetings as Lawrence came forward. "It's been exactly ten years," said Lawrence, calmly, "to the date tonight that we, the members of the Divine Seraphion Society, repelled the remaining foul ways of the once feared, Dark Alman—a terrible force that stole the lives of our sacred kind in the most diabolical acts of evil. Together, my fellow grand union, we still stand."

"Tonight we look upon only the greatest of all things—the birth of an innocent and healthy baby," said one of their numbers, grandly. The six circling members eyed one another through the thin slits of their masks as a female Seraphion then stepped forward.

"Lawrence is right. We once stood against the feared one and its foolish Dark Seethers, we must continue as defenders for the imminent guardian." The woman took a step back as another female member came forward.

"At midnight, birth of the Cherished Guardian will bring a new manifesto for the preservation of the beauty and boundless freedom throughout our sacred Revlenion." The slender masked woman eyed the rest of her comrades, as they nodded in agreement. Lawrence came forward again, his black-gloved hands on his sides.

"What's to be the name of the guardian, Mellya?" asked Lawrence.

"That's still unclear, even from great foretelling—we don't know if it will be a boy or a girl, all that we have come to accept is that the child will be born a star," Mellya revealed, while her troupe leaned in with a heightening curiosity, "the very star that our wish will claim tonight. We wish with all our might that the guardian is to be born during the first hour of this land's twenty-eighth day of November."

"Such a blessed wish for the mother and father," agreed Lawrence.

"However, we must not be so quick with this, lest we forget—we're all aware of the bitter one that still lurks. He, along with countless other fiends, will no doubt stalk tonight and the days to come," said Trevis, quickly. "For the birth of our guardian will ignite an unwelcomed strike against us."

"The child's presence is near," said Mellya, eyeing the long ticking hands on the clock tower.

"That is why we have come here tonight," said Lawrence, encouraging his ring, "members, tonight we stand against any foes that may come across us here. We must take a stand for the cherished one, whom has yet to understand its powerful heart and mind. We cannot let the fatal mistakes of our history repeat in any form. We must be ready this time. Come together, and let us gift the gentle soul of the Cherished Guardian."

As the members exchanged their last pleasantries, unbeknownst to our winged creatures, a pair of watchful and violent eyes gleamed in the night. Yet so still, and remaining hidden there, the man-with-the-violent-eyes kept crouched atop of the cinema's marquee above the members, listening closely and all while taking in information that it deemed important. Its hot breath misted into the cold night as its fierce eyes quietly observed the Seraphions: extending each of their satin robed arms to the center of the circle, the six hands met as a smoky green rope-like tendril emerged from the air. Roping their wrists together, three elite members began:

"I, Mellya Allowin, present the first gift to the Cherished Guardian: whenever you are lost at land and wish to ascend the clouds above, I wish you the ability to soar," she said, nodding to another grand member.

"I, Trevis Sacreen, present the second gift to the Cherished Guardian: whenever you wish to protect others and shield their hearts from darkness, I wish you the Bow of Sagenimus," he said, then nodded.

"And I, Lawrence Efelry, present the third gift to the Cherished Guardian: whenever you should have to face a mighty threat and must enter into battle, I wish you the ability to draw your finest Anglix."

After the members wished the final gift, emerald orbs began to slowly swim from each of their silver plated chests, curling in the air like blooming jellyfish. The orbs then melded as one in the center of the circle until their ultimate and luminous piece began to swirl and fuse, but after one, electrifying flash that erupted out of nowhere, the rope binding the members suddenly snapped, sending the entire troupe careening with a blast in all directions on the wet road. The orb of illustrious wishes began to whistle the most startling cry as it swirled once more, mutating into a repulsive sphere of black mold. The rope that had bound our members together fell to the cracked pavement and was nothing more than a snake of ash. Lawrence roared with anger as he and the rest of his troupe balanced themselves with their wings spanned and watched helplessly as their delicate orb evaporated with a hiss into the bitter night air.

"That sweet cry of death, how I love it," a sour voice cracked in the darkness, as the sound of a man's effortless claps echoed while his eyes blazed from the shadows. The Seraphions then turned to the young man standing behind them: the barefooted man emerged from under a thick tree as the sidewalk lamp above him glazed its moon-like palette across his slit-scarred face and he finally revealed himself from under his tattered, black hood. The members suddenly shifted their bodies, immediately recognizing the disturbed man. "Baffled? You waste of lives—I was hoping to be greeted like an old friend, tonight. Oh, how I've deeply missed you all," sneered the scarred-face Man.

As the scarred-faced-man took a steady step forward, flexing his dirty toes across the frigid street pavement, the troupe exchanged quick glances and carefully began to bunch together, crushing the space between them. All appeared to be on edge, as though they knew this man very well and his deviant ways.

"Vizton Eplaville, we are never surprised by you or your vain acts of deviousness—that is why you bear your scars," said Lawrence, condescendingly.

"Come now, Lawrence, you should know better than to poke fun about my scars. They're not entirely my fault," scowled Vizton Eplaville, as he could only stick his pointy nose up at the divine leader. Vizton stood there, shifting his disturbed eyes from one creature to the other as he combed back his long and greasy brown hair with his filthy fingertips.

"This must be your third escape from Wenslue, no?" said a gallant female Seraphion, eyeing the W emblem and prisoner number patched against Eplaville's filthy black and white striped uniform that carelessly peeked out from under his black cloak. "Still in your asylum garb, it seems."

"And not before long will you be back in your quiet cell, Vizton," hissed Mellya. Vizton lunged forward at the gallant female member, but before he could even reach for her throat, the Seraphions expanded their long wings as a sign of caution. Vizton knew he had nearly broken one of the highest laws between him and the society.

"Hold your tongue, Mellya," said Vizton, recognizing her voice from under her mask, pointing like a cautious troll at the Seraphion. "Have you forgotten what happened to your brother when he thought his slick words could meet with mine? I'll never forget that moment with your brother, because I still have his handsome head." With a snap, a small, dark swirl morphed into a wet black sack in Vizton's hand. "Feast your eyes on this!" chuckled Vizton, as he heaved the sack to Mellya's feet, coming to a thud on the street pavement.

Mellya's horrified eyes bulged through the tiny slits of her polished mask, believing the sack that rolled before her feet to be containing that of the head to her deceased brother. Instead, the morbid bag began to bounce and toss around, until the tie around it lashed open. The dozen or more hiss-giggling and nibble-eared nagglies launched out of the bag like a cannon of fiendish confetti. The slender and red golf-ball-eyed manic hare-like creatures balanced with a scuttle on their two, clawed feet. The Seraphions either kicked with their thick boots or whipped with their giant wings at the hideous, tiny-mouthed creatures that scampered in circles around them. Mellya watched as a naggley dared to claw at one of her fellow members until all of the patch-haired creatures scurried into the courthouse gardens, pairs of them cartwheeling across the main lawns as they absconded.

"You're a cruel monster," Mellya spat.

"Thank you, I presume that after a three years wrapped in pure darkness, the best of us turn out a bit monstrous," said Vizton, as he then took another step forward.

"Why this night?" said Lawrence coming close with Vizton. "What do you seek for him? That one you praise to be great."

Their eyes met: beaming back at each other like two wolves in the fervor of a fight.

"Like before, Lawrence, the Dark Alman wishes to learn about the manifesto of this so-called Cherished Guardian," said Vizton, rolling his eyes.

"You still believe in his keepings after all these years? Knowing he met his eternal imprisonment years ago, at the hands of other guardians, no less?" said Lawrence incredulously....

And at that same moment, Harvey, our extremely curious and frightened janitor, was on the ends of his nervous toes. Crouching, Harvey remembered that there was a telephone in the ticket booth. Every part of his husky body wanted to crawl to that booth and call the police, but would they believe him? Every indecisive second that followed, all Harvey wanted to do was race to the booth and seize the telephone. As Harvey found the courage in himself, all the while his late night lunch churning in his belly, the man with a scarred face turned toward the glass doors. Harvey swore they had finally found him out ...

"... Or so you believe, Lawrence," said Vizton as he turned away from where Lawrence stood, speaking with a tone of warn. "It seems as though the leader of the divine society has forgotten how much power the Dark Alman still possesses ... even in his highest vulnerability." Vizton abruptly glared into the shadows that rested beyond the locked glass doors of the cinema, closely scanning the emptiness for any sneaks. He then whipped around, facing Lawrence again. "Never forget how some manifestos from our country tend to have two sides to them," said Vizton, inching closer to his opponent. "The only side of this manifesto Revlenion will know is how you and your futile mob met their end as they bowed to me and to the words of a Dark Seether...."

With another flash, Vizton snapped his fingers as eight violent black streams of electricity grew from his fingertips. The Seraphions then began to flutter their wings, readying their stances once more; Lawrence made a circuitous gesture with his hand and his cohorts followed suit. Instantaneously: six flawless and steel infused crystal swords formed out of thin air and clasped into each of the members' tight fists. The supporting members were ready for Vizton's next move and formed into a semi-circle with Lawrence, with his own magnificent sword out at Vizton.

"I give you your last warning," forbade Lawrence, "do not believe our patience will weather another strike against us. Be gone, and never test the laws of Revlenion, again."

"The child that has been immortalized in manifesto will see life tonight. I have no power vested in me to stop that. Let the years go on, and your little guardian will meet the beauties of my kind, and that is when we'll happily slay your cherished filth," seethed Vizton. "The power I do, in fact, have at this moment will be enough ... to put you all out of my misery."

As Lawrence's sword and Vizton's electricity met, the electric lashes suddenly cracked into the night sky, sending down a stronger bolt from the roiling clouds above. Lawrence kept a tight grip around the hilt of his sword, trying to repel the splintering bolts. With every blocked projectile, Lawrence could see reflected in his pristine blade his Seraphion union falling prey to the violent snake-like streams ricocheting away. The silvers that the remaining Seraphions wore began to double as a deadly conductor for Vizton's attack, transmuting their divinely robed bodies into a thin halo of ash. Vizton relished the horrific tableau he had wrought witnessing the divine creatures wither before him and as their masks melted at the very scene that left only the scarcest of traces to their ever existence.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Revlenion and the Guardian Manifesto by Kalvin Klaus, Michelle Jacobs, Isaac Minarik. Copyright © 2014 Kalvin Klaus. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse.
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.

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Table of Contents

Contents

ONE Where the Manifesto Began, 1,
TWO The Wonders of Poplar Drive, 17,
THREE The Sleuth from Cappa, 51,
FOUR The Guardian Manifesto, 187,
FIVE The Man in the Mirror, 311,
SIX The Magnificent Trio, 375,