I am a
sucker for immersive high fantasy. One of my favorite fantasy series of
all time is Patricia McKillip's RIDDLEMASTER
TRILOGY. I have read it a dozen times or more, since I
discovered it nearly 30 years ago. It's hard to find such rich
alternate-world fantasy novels that don't feel like Lord of the Rings
retreads so I'm thrilled to have stumbled upon the Chronicals of the Kencyrath Series by P.C.
Hodgell.
They are immersive and original, with characters that feel incredibly
real and who make mistakes and suffer the consequences. After I read
the first in the series, GOD STALK, I bought the entire series in eBook
format because I knew I had to have them. Hodgell has invented a rich
mythology that is inextricably tied with politics and prophesy. While
the words are worlds-different, reading her work reminded me of how I
felt when I read DUNE for the first time and fully entered a universe
that was different, yet as real as our own.
FUTURE TENSE
Another
day without getting
punched, stabbed, or shot. I guess I could call it a win. Grabbing my
backpack, I waded into the mob leaving P.S. 20. Like the other
schools in the city, and I had spent time in nearly all of them, it
was nothing but cinder blocks, gangs, and drugs, with a few
classrooms sprinkled in. If nothing screwed up my placement this
time, I’d probably graduate from here.
"Matt!" Chico shouted from behind me.
He was a tenth
grader Mr. and Mrs. Powell took in six weeks ago as an ‘emergency’
foster placement.
"Yo, Garrison,
wait up!"
Ignoring him, I
kept walking, past the school and the
empty lot they called a playground. A few budding trees and some new
weeds seemed the only signs of spring, if you didn’t count a fresh
crop of beer cans, broken bottles, and syringes.
"Come on, man."
We're never told
why a kid's in foster care, but it's
not so hard to figure out. The lucky ones had parents who only tried
to ignore them to death. Some kids curled around a big ball of hurt
and got real quiet. Others stole your stuff and split in the middle
of the night. Kids like Chico and me? We were lifers. According to
what I overheard, his dad disappeared before he was born, and his mom
bounced around between jail and drug treatment but always refused to
give up her 'parental' rights. I'd run into tons of kids like him.
Long term fosters
like me are pretty rare. Not the
two dead parents and no relatives to step up part—there were plenty
of stories like that. But most of the other little orphaned white
kids got adopted along the way. Just not me. Go figure.
"We’re going to
the same place, man,"
Chico whined.
Like that made any
difference to him. Most
afternoons, Chico disappeared after school and showed up reeking of
body spray just before dinner.
"Hey, slow down.
Where's the fire?" Chico
asked.
"Where's the
fire?" I echoed harshly, and
whipped around so fast he nearly slammed into me. It was in my head.
The fire was always in my head. My throat felt tight and raw. I
couldn't swallow. The memory of ashes coated my tongue. Chico stared
at me, his eyes so wide the whites showed all around the brown.
"Get the hell away
from me." I struggled to
calm myself down. It was just a stupid expression. He couldn't know.
I never talked about it, not with anyone, especially not Chico.
He stepped back
and put his open hands in front of
him. "We chill, right?"
It had been a
while since some stupid remark made me
relive the fire all over again.
"You talk too damn
much," I said, slowing
my breathing and shoving away images of smoke and death. At least the
memories were a little easier to handle than the freaky visions of
all the terrible things only I could see that hadn't happened yet.
Chico was just lucky none of them were about him—I hadn't had a
single vision since coming to the Powells' house more than a year and
a half ago. My hands clenched into tight fists as he shook his head
and walked away.
***
(The rest of chapter one is included as a pdf attached to this email.)
If
you are looking for the chapter in an ebook format or any of the
previous short stories from older
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