Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds)
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to real world streets, cities, etc. are used in a fictional manner.
Harbinger–The Bleeding Worlds Book One.
Copyright © 2012 by Justus R. Stone. All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
Published by Red Bucket Publishing, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
http://redbucketpublishing.com
Cover Imagery - Male Model by GraphicPAStock
http://graphicpastock.deviantart.com
, all other images and editing by Carolyn Macpherson
First Edition
Stone, Justus R.
Harbinger / Justus R. Stone
p. cm. —(The bleeding worlds;bk. one)
Summary
: Seventeen year old Gwynn Dormath likes to keep his head down. He’s been hurt in the past, and he figures if the world doesn’t notice him, he’s less likely to lose anything more.
Trouble is, the girl he’s crushed on for the past couple years suddenly decides to ask him out for Halloween. Despite all the alarms going off in his head, he says yes. It sucks when the alarms are right.
A prank literally explodes and Gwynn finds himself imbued with powers he doesn’t understand and can’t control.
So much for going unnoticed.
Gods of old, angels of death, and creatures of myth start arriving in Gwynn’s small suburban town, and they’re all focusing on him. He’s no hero. He has no love for the world. But he just might be the only one who can save it.
[1.Mythology–Fiction 2.Supernatural–Fiction 3.Soul–Fiction]
ISBN 978–0–9877439–0–9
For my Father,
who inspired my love for reading and the fantastic.
And to Tina, Meredith, and Leanne
Because a promise is a promise.
Even ones made at the age of 12.
1/
The Fine Line Between Dreams & Nightmares
10/
The Man on the Other Side of the World
11/
Grasping at an Offered Hand
16/
Places You Can’t Go Back To
22/
Acceptance
24/
Mythology
27/
The Dragon that Fed on the World
It
could’ve been a battlefield. People dashed about, bartering deals and shoring alliances. The noise level ebbed and flowed from dull roar to deafening thunder. At random intervals complete chaos would ensue as projectiles launched to screams of “take cover.”
Just another Friday in the school cafeteria.
Headphones in place, volume high enough to drown the noise, Gwynn pulled his hoodie tighter over his head, hoping to remain at the eye of the storm.
His seat resided at the centre of the cafeteria. His seat. If asked, he’d never call it that, nor would anyone in the school have a clue where such a thing might be. Yet every lunch hour, here he sat.
No one
else ever occupied the seat. The Chair always sat vacant awaiting his arrival.
Something poked Gwynn’s shoulder. He reached up to brush it, assuming it a stray bit of thrown food. He jumped when he met another hand. Gwynn tried to compose himself. He yanked out his headphones and swept his hood back.
“Hey Gwynn. Mind if I sit?”
“Sure.” He stammered. “What’s going on Sophia?”
Sophia Murray had occupied his dreams since he’d been old enough to have dreams about girls. In all the time he’d known her, they’d exchanged few words, but something drew him to her. Unlike Gwynn, whose feelings of isolation and being different kept him alone, Sophia travelled in the popular circles and all of school society seemed to revolve around her. But unlike those others, who cared little for school, looks and material wealth being far more important, Sophia strove to succeed. Her answers were intelligent and her eyes never filled with the vapidness of her other friends.
Gwynn couldn’t concern himself with the games, gossip, or competitions of his classmates. He didn’t belong. Though he lacked an explanation why, he’d always suspected Sophia was much the same.
Sophia gave her blond hair an absent–minded twirl around her finger. “I wanted to say thanks again for your help with Mr. Baker’s assignment. My mark would’ve been crap without you.”
Gwynn’s heart pounded in the back of his throat. He regretted the speed he had fired down the cafeteria’s lukewarm dollar store pizza.
“No worries. You did as much work as I did.”
“We made a good team.” She stopped playing with her hair and gave her bottom lip a bite. “Maybe we could be partners again some time.”
“Sure. I’d like that.” Gwynn flushed. He hoped he didn’t have the sweat to match.
“So…” Sophia averted his eyes, her hands fidgeting. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow?” He gulped on the word.
“Yeah. You do know it’s Halloween, right?”
“Right, Halloween.” He’d forgotten. No sense keeping track when he didn’t receive any invitations. “Um, I don’t think so.”
Gwynn’s stomach knotted. He had a recurring dream where Sophia asked him out—a nightmare that ended with him on a table, his pants around his ankles and everyone laughing while they pelted him with food. Gwynn suppressed a shudder and swore that even if she begged he would not stand on any tabletops. Quite the opposite, he had a sudden urge to crawl
under
the table and beat his head with one of the tacky orange cafeteria serving trays.
She smiled at him, and all thoughts of retreat melted away. If she asked with that smile, he wouldn’t think twice about getting up on the table, nightmares or not.
“Think maybe you’d wanna hang out with me and a few of my friends?”
“Sure.” He tried not to cringe, waiting for the moment his pants would hit the deck and food would start flying. But the world appeared oblivious to the momentous event occurring in his life.
“Sweet. Meet me in front of the 7/11 on Williams at seven, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Looking forward to it” He tripped over several words answering.
“Me too.” Were the words she used, but Gwynn noted something more. Satisfaction? A mission accomplished? “See you tomorrow.” She smiled, turned, and left without a further word.
The noise and hectic atmosphere of the cafeteria melted away and a vacuum of silence surrounded Gwynn. The ten year old who had carried a torch for the past seven years started jumping up and down, then skipped along singing so loud it obliterated any sense of tune. The solitary seventeen year–old Gwynn had grown into remained guarded, but optimistic; unsure whether he should join in the festivities, or stay leaning against the wall at the sidelines. He shook his head trying to suppress the stupid grin threatening his lips.
A heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder, interrupting his dreamy state.
“Hey Gwynn, I hear we’re going to be hanging out tomorrow.”
Seeing the face, he wanted to shrink under the table. Eric Haze, captain of the school football team. Gwynn had done everything he could to stay clear since Eric had beaten him up in the seventh grade.
Haze thrived off two types of people; those who glorified him, and those he intimidated. Seeing Gwynn’s discomfort made Haze’s square, Neanderthal features even more animated.
“Relax man, it’s Halloween.” He laughed. “I was psyched when Sophia told me you were coming along. We’re going to have an, uh, awesome time!”
Haze started walking away, but then turned and shot Gwynn a thumbs up with a smile that suited a crazed hyena.
Gwynn couldn’t help thinking he would’ve preferred being in his boxers with food pelting him.
§
Gwynn walked through
the halls in a daze.
He’d slipped out of the cafeteria ten minutes before the bell rang, wanting to avoid the crush of bodies dashing for class. Gwynn hated moving between classes in the surging waves of students. Many times those waves swept him away and he missed his destination. He hated feeling powerless. More than that, he hated that so many people surrounded him he could barely breathe, yet he still felt alone.
The unsettling events of lunch had left Gwynn rattled. Being stuck in the halls would just be too much. Not that arriving at class would lesson his anxiety. He had English class with Mr. Baker. Sophia would be there. So would Eric.
The classroom tables formed a horseshoe shape, allowing the whole class an unobstructed view of Mr. Baker and each other. In what Mr. Baker described as a whole other life ago, he had been a Shakespearean actor. Gwynn’s decided old dramatic habits die hard, as Mr. Baker performed Shakespeare as though he stood on a stage as opposed to a high school classroom. Other students made fun of Mr. Baker behind his back, but Gwynn found his delivery gripping. While his classmates debated the need or use for Shakespeare, Gwynn wondered more at how people could ignore the power of words. When Mr. Baker launched into a soliloquy, the world shifted. The ebb and flow of the world moved in time with the teacher’s voice. He wished he could share that feeling with someone, but anxiety clawed at his chest over what his peers would think. So he kept quiet and hoped his rapture went unnoticed.
He found the classroom silent and empty. Gwynn took his seat at the center of the horseshoe and bored a hole in the floor with his eyes. He took in a slow breath, trying to abate his growing anxiety. The bell rang and he grabbed the books for class.
Besides his amazing delivery of Shakespeare, Mr. Baker had become Gwynn’s favorite teacher for pairing him up with Sophia. He’d assigned them a scene to analyze from the
Tempest
. While Mr. Baker touted numerous advantages of group work, Gwynn suspected it had more to do with Mr. Baker wanting to grade half the number of papers.
Much to his delight, Sophia didn’t seem to mind working with him, despite their different social standings. While they had been in the same classes off and on for the past seven years, he had never spent any time with her alone.
“You shouldn’t get too worked up.” His Aunt Jaimie had cautioned.
She’d been his guardian for almost ten years. She treated Gwynn well, though she had never wanted the burden of a child, let alone someone else’s. Still, this life felt secure. He tried to insulate it from everything else. Meaning he often left his social life at school out of it.
“What would you know?” He grumbled.
“Oh, I remember. You pointed her out to me during your school play on the Greek pantheon. You looked so cute in your Ares outfit.” Jaimie gave a conspiratorial laugh. Gwynn had a sinking suspicion there were photographs that would one day find their way into the hands of any girl he brought home. “You were so worked up. ‘Aunt Jaimie, did you see the girl playing Athena? That’s Sophia Murray! Isn’t she amazing?’”
Heat filled his cheeks. He remembered the play. They were all dressed as various Greek gods, and Sophia wore a toga with a laurel wreath in her hair. He still remembered her tears about having to cut her hair short when the laurel tangled in her long blond curls.