Read Rise of Alpha (The Prodian Journey #1) Online
Authors: Lorenz Font
Rise of Alpha (The Prodian Journey #1)
Chapter 1 – The Wheel of Fortune
Chapter 4 – Dead Girl by the River
Chapter 7 – Meeting the Tranak Leader
Chapter 8 – Nightmare and Death
Chapter 10 – Aarmark versus Ergans
Chapter 12 – Introducing Carionis
Chapter 14 – Version of the Truth
Rise of Alpha
The Prodian Journey, Book 1
By
Lorenz Font
Copyright © Lorenz Font, 2016
Published by Talem Publication
The right of Lorenz Font to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters and events in this Book – even those sharing the same name as (or based on) real people – are entirely fictional. No person, brand, or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual. This Book is a work of fiction and should be read as such.
Paperback ISBN – 978-0-9973858-0-9
E-book ISBN –978-0-9973858-1-6
Cover Design - Claudia Trapp/Phantasy Graphic Design
www.phantasygraphicdesign.com
Interior Design - Jennifer McGuire |
JEMBookDesigns.com
What a fantastic series opener!
The queen of the unexpected twist is back, and this time, Font is taking her storytelling skills to the next level. From the first page,
Rise of Alpha
unfolds like a movie, sucking you into an elaborately crafted world filled with vivid imagery and characters who are real, engaging, and flawed.
Amidst an action-filled tale of teenagers and royalty, fantastical weaponry and other worlds, is an endearing story of young love and heartache. For a brilliantly executed roller-coaster ride of emotions packed with everything from laughter to despair, I can’t recommend this book enough.
R.E. Hargrave- International Best Selling Author
Acknowledgment
This endeavor wouldn’t have been possible without the support of the following people.
Mom—Thanks for constantly picking me up when I’m down. I’m truly blessed.
Trenda and Patrik Lundin—Your tireless critiquing and listening to me ramble on and on about every aspect of this story has been much appreciated. I couldn’t have a better husband and wife team (or friends) in my corner.
Wendy Depperschmidt—Through hell and high water, we’ve been through it all. Thanks for sticking by me all these years. Love you more!
Mavvy Vasquez—Sensei, you’re amazing. Thanks for taking on this project.
Judith Somera—Thanks for being the steady hand and the guiding voice in all my journeys.
Bunny, Noots, Mickey, and Kevinsky—Love, love you guys!
Claudia—The Trident rocks!
Rachel Hargrave—You’re simply the best. I can’t say it enough.
Finally, to the gals in my street team, namely Cynthia, Kitty (Paula), Melissa, Lori, Wyndy, and RE. You ladies are awesome.
With love to Eric Banaag for twenty-three years of friendship. I’ll keep counting.
The Wheel of Fortune
Normal people rang doorbells. However, my best friend insisted on throwing rocks at my bedroom window instead. He’d even cracked the glass once, but he had yet to learn his lesson.
“Brian,” he called, just seconds before more pebbles rattled the pane.
Groaning, I hurried to stop him. I stuck my head out the second-story window and hoped my father wouldn’t hear us.
“What the hell! Dude, if you break it again, I’m going to make you pay for it.”
He flipped me the bird. “Get your ass down here. I have two hours before my parents come home.”
I sighed and shook my head when he sauntered back to his car. Mark Stanton was the quintessential jock, but for some reason, he liked me. Maybe it was because of our mutual addiction to video games, or maybe it was that I’d won him over with my charming wit and magnetic personality. The latter reason was, of course, a running joke between us.
After sliding the window shut, I snagged my favorite cap from the top of the bureau. I took the stairs two at a time, hoping to slip out of the house unnoticed. My parents weren’t as strict as Mark’s, but since my social calendar tended to be empty, they were bound to ask a million questions. I’d also heard them talking earlier about my dad’s latest client—a popular athlete who needed a nose job after a bar fight in Beverly Hills—and didn’t want to interrupt them if the same topic was still on tap.
“Baby boy, aren’t you going to have dinner?” my mother called from the kitchen.
I cringed at the nickname. Caught, I changed my route and headed to the kitchen to peek through the doorway.
“I’m not hungry and I’m running late.” I glanced at my watch to prove my point.
My father looked over the rim of his reading glasses and regarded me with mild amusement. “Not so fast, young man. Your mother wants to tell you something.” He looked at her, urging her to speak with a jerk of his head. “Cynthia, go on.”
She folded the dinner napkin on her lap and took a deep breath, her kind blue eyes peeking through a curtain of long, dark lashes. I had to admit she was pretty and still looked young, but she couldn’t hide her emotions.
I knew she was going to tell me something I wasn’t going to like.
“Dr. Singer called today. There’s a new medication he wants you to try, but he needs to see you in his office first. Are you available after school on Monday?”
“Well, let me check my social calendar.” No one laughed when I pretended to spread out an imaginary scroll. My parents refused to skirt around my disease, and if there was anything they loathed, it was my sarcasm and constant self-mockery. “There’s nothing going on that day, Mom. I’m good.”
Before she could launch into an hour-long lecture on how hard I was on myself, I gave her a quick peck on the cheek to distract her. She didn’t understand that either I made fun of myself, or other kids would. My choice was easier to live with.
Hurrying to escape, I called over my shoulder, “I’ll see you guys in a few.”
I heard my father asking, “What is up with that child of yours?” just as the door slammed shut behind me.
I hated running out of the house like that, but I was sick of going to doctors, trying different medications without any luck. Kids my age should be worried about dating, hanging out with friends, and school. Instead, I was faced with an insurmountable dilemma—how to control my damn tics.
The night air was stifling, thanks to the heat wave that had been tormenting Southern California for several days now.
“Fuck!” I blurted out when I slid across the front passenger seat.
Mark snickered. In the back, the third member of our Three Stooges act laughed but didn’t look up. Darryl was engrossed in his brand new cell phone.
Darryl Martin and Mark Stanton had been my best friends since middle school, when my family relocated here from Minnesota. My father had promised it was the last move we’d ever make. A prominent plastic surgeon, he’d never been able to turn down a good opportunity, so the first years of my life had been spent living out of a suitcase. The illustrious career of Dr. Gerald Morrison took us to ten different cities in three states before the Los Angeles partnership came along. I was lucky to meet Mark and Darryl, the only kids who were willing to be friends with the “freak with a tic”.
“Ready, tic-boy?” Mark asked, already pulling out of my circular driveway.
I flicked my middle finger before fastening my seatbelt. “Yeah, sure. Where to?” I asked.
Darryl leaned forward to slap me on the shoulder, his usual greeting. “Madame Elizabeth, here we come.”
“Are you guys serious?” I had a long list of items I could spend my money on—video games and a new laptop came to mind—but a tarot card reader on Hollywood Boulevard was not one of them. Then again, we’d been doing a lot of crazy stuff lately, and we supported each other. The trip to Madam Elizabeth’s was going to happen whether I liked it or not.
Darryl hooted from the backseat. “Yeah, I feel lucky tonight.”
“Just in case you didn’t know, psychics can’t predict lottery numbers,” I said, hoping he’d change his mind.
He scoffed. “I’m not trying to win the lottery, Talon.”
I rolled my eyes. Talon was my favorite character in the online game
League of Legends
. It was one of the geeky things we enjoyed doing on weekends or when our parents thought we were doing our homework. Mark liked the marksman, Varus, and Darryl preferred Garen. We had gotten into the habit of calling each other by those names.
“Madame Elizabeth better come through for us. She’s supposed to be good,” Mark said, turning the car onto the busy street.
Darryl rubbed his palms together. “I heard she’s bea-uuuu-tiful.”
That wasn’t good news. In my experience, beautiful people were mean or would have nothing to do with me.
“Fuck!” My shoulder gave an involuntary twitch.
For seventeen years, I had endured the embarrassment and the stares that came along with Tourette’s Syndrome. It was a curse—the kind of punishment you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. My waking hours were plagued with ceaseless jerking. The vocal tics were even more embarrassing, coming out regardless of time or place.
It destroyed my confidence, so I hid behind a wall few people could overcome. Although my parents had been steadfast in their support, they sometimes became the target of my frustrations. There were good days mixed in with the bad, but I was still holding out hope that I would outgrow my symptoms like my doctor said I might.