Fog of Forgetting

A. Morgan G.

Description

There's no turning back for the five children in The Fog of Forgetting when they are engulfed in a mysterious and impenetrable fog and washed ashore on an island in the North Atlantic. Their struggle to survive is the epic beginning of a new adventure-fantasy trilogy that will take you on a memorable journey from coastal Maine to worlds unknown, where friend and foe may be the same."The Fog of Forgetting," the first volume in The Five Stones Trilogy, begins at the best of all possible times: the start of summer vacation. For the three Thompson brothers, Chase (13), Knox (11), and Teddy (6), this means a long drive to Summerledge, their beloved house in Maine, near the village of Fells Harbor. All is as it should be until the sudden appearance of two adopted neighbor girls from Haiti, Evelyn (13) and Frankie (9), a hasty departure of their parents, and a sunny day lead to an unexpected voyage. Before long, the children find themselves beyond familiar waters and engulfed by a curtain of dense fog, beyond which lies a land forgotten and besieged, an island of ancient secrets and terrible history: Ayda. As the children explore their surroundings and meet strange new friends, it becomes clear that they have landed somewhere far from home-and beyond rescue. Crackling with action and suspense, The Fog of Forgetting plumbs the rich territory between realism and fantasy by immersing the reader in an imaginative world that is also natural and recognizable. Funny, gripping and-above all-compelling, The Fog of Forgetting brings together captivating characters, integrated narrative, myth, romance, and mystery for the delight of all, be they a sophisticated ten-year-old boy or a fifty-year-old reader who still remembers what it's like to be young with the long days of summer ahead.

Sujets

• Children's

Informations

• Publié par: Islandport Press
• Date de parution: 16 juillet 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781939017291
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE FOG OF FORGETTING
  THE FIVE STONES TRILOGY – BOOK 1  
T HE F OG OF
F ORGETTIN G
G.A. MORGAN
Islandport Press
PO Box 10 247 Portland Street Yarmouth, ME 04096 Islandportpress.com [e-mail]
Copyright © 2014 by G. A. Morgan
All Rights Reserved. Published in the United States by Islandport Press. International copyright reserved in all countries. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-939017-29-1 Library of Congress Control Number: 2013901201
Printed in the USA by Versa Press
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dean L. Lunt, publisher Cover and book design by Tom Morgan, Blue Design, www.bluedes.com Endpaper map illustration by Alex Ryan Cover and backcover artwork by Ernie D’Elia
For the children on Kinfolk Lane—then and now— but especially Graham and Wyeth .
Other young adult titles from Islandport Press:
Uncertain Glory
by Lea Wait
Billy Boy: The Sunday Soldier of the 17th Maine
by Jean Flahive
Cooper and Packrat: Mystery on Pine Lake
by Tamra Wight
Mercy: The Last New England Vampire
by Sarah L. Thomson
THE FOG OF FORGETTING
 
THE ISLE OF AYDA
Contents
PROLOGUE
The Atlantic Ocean, 1806
CHAPTER 1
The Atlantic Coast, Present Day
CHAPTER 2
Unexpected Visitors
CHAPTER 3
Fog
CHAPTER 4
Boat Ride
CHAPTER 5
Adrift
CHAPTER 6
The Hounds of Melor
CHAPTER 7
Melorians
CHAPTER 8
The First Lesson
CHAPTER 9
Daylights
CHAPTER 10
Capture
CHAPTER 11
A Legend Revealed
CHAPTER 12
Sky Crossing
CHAPTER 13
Prisoner
CHAPTER 14
Rothermel
CHAPTER 15
Farther In
CHAPTER 16
Flight
CHAPTER 17
The Leaving
CHAPTER 18
The Broomwash
CHAPTER 19
Calla’s Farewell
CHAPTER 20
Metria
CHAPTER 21
Into Exor
CHAPTER 22
Rysta’s Tale
CHAPTER 23
The Dwellings
CHAPTER 24
The Fog of Forgetting
CHAPTER 25
Thieves
CHAPTER 26
Initiation
CHAPTER 27
Upset
CHAPTER 28
Into the Mountains
CHAPTER 29
False Footing
CHAPTER 30
Heights
CHAPTER 31
Ratha’s Aerie
CHAPTER 32
Time Flies
CHAPTER 33
The Enemy
CHAPTER 34
The Flood
CHAPTER 35
Cast Off
We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time .
T. S. E LIOT
Prologue
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1806
C annon shot—at least a 24-pounder—jarred the boy awake at the same moment a blistering starburst of tar and timber ripped through the hull above the officer’s cot. The ship lurched sharply to port; the boy hurtled out of the shallow box that served as his bed onto the sawdust-covered floor. He pulled down his nightshirt and tried to grab whatever clothes he could reach from the pile at the bottom of the box. Another searing explosion sent him ducking for cover. The box flew up and smashed into the cabin wall, breaking into pieces.
His trousers wafted down to him in a haze of sawdust and splinters, backlit by a stream of afternoon sunlight. He jammed his legs into his pants, sat up, and was astonished to see a hole in the hull twice as large as his head—the source of light illuminating the formerly dim interior of the cabin. Outside, the din of war escalated. Thundering blasts from the big guns reverberated through the air, punctuated by the tinnier-sounding report of a pistol volley. His ship, the HMS Cavalier , was under attack—broadsided by the look of it. The enemy was getting bolder, taking advantage of the holes in the British blockade. The French emperor, Napoleon, was forcing open engagement for control of the trade routes to his colonies in North America.
The boy was curious. He had never seen a French battleship up close. He jumped on the cot and craned his neck to look out the blast hole. An imposing sight met his gaze: a multistoried hull with a line of cannon mouths pointing directly—or so it seemed—at him. It must be the new class, the boy thought, a Teresaire, equipped with seventy-four cannons. The Cavalier had only thirty-two. He dropped back, his heart pounding. Another raking explosion somewhere midship, followed by a boat-wide recoil, shook him to the floor again. He crawled back to his officer’s trunk and dug around, trying to figure out what to salvage. He’d been assigned to keep the cot and cabin tidy for his officer but never thought about what the man might like to save if they were boarded or burned.
Three more cannon rounds went off, followed almost immediately by a whining groan and an ominous crack. Rigging clanked and whistled as something big—one of the masts, perhaps—slammed into the sea. The ship rolled hard to starboard and the boy was hurled into the wall, chased by the cot, trunk, and anything else not moored by floor anchors. He hit and slid to the ground. The rest of the contents of the cabin followed, pinning him painfully against the wall. The sound of the ocean grew louder in his ear. The boy closed his eyes and thought of his mother, the day the captain had come for him to set sail. She argued against it. Her son was too young to be pressed into service, but Father made his mark on the paper and it was official. He was to be a cot boy in the Royal Navy. The family would receive fair trade: a monthly wage and a lifetime annuity should the boy die at sea. The boy snuffled, wiping his nose on what he thought might be the corner of a bedsheet, but he couldn’t stop the tears from leaking out his eyes. At least his eight years on Earth would not be for nothing; his family would never starve. A whimper escaped him.
“Is that you, boy? I’ve been looking for you! Keep blubbering so I can find you in this mess.”
The cot was roughly yanked aside and a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. He saw blue coat sleeves, and the knuckles on the hands were bruised and cut. The officer was bareheaded; he looked much younger without his hat. He patted the boy.
“Well, lad, we’re done in, but I’m thinking Old Boney shouldn’t have our necks to stretch. What do you think?”
The boy gave him a quick nod. The officer lifted him off his feet and wedged him under an arm; the brass-and-leather pommel of the officer’s cutlass dug into his hip. He noticed that the sword was still in its steel scabbard.
“Both masts gone … ship scuttled … They’ll set her alight for sure. Those hellions would rather roast then play fair. I’ll be damned before I swab decks for a bunch of—”
The officer’s tirade was replaced by grunts as he carried the boy up the ladder, through the shattered belly of the ship, to the deck. Warm liquid seeped from the officer’s side as he moved. The boy touched it and saw blood.
On deck, the sun shimmered, oblong and orange, as it flattened against the horizon. A yellow haze of smoke hid them from view. The white flag of parlé flapped overhead: The surrender of the ship was being negotiated. Shouts of protest rose up above the murk, then the sound of scuffling. A pistol shot fired, then another, followed by a loud splash .
“That’s the kind of amnesty you’ll receive from that lot,” the officer grumbled. “A quick merci , thank you very much, and then a gunshot to the head—here, boy, keep your head down—that smoke may save our biscuit.”
He was fumbling with one of the stays that fastened a lifeboat to the side of the ship. Mercifully, it had remained untouched through the attack—not one of the ship’s mates had tried to escape. A sudden sense of shame fell over the boy. Should they not face the same outcome as the others? Or at least try to save a few? He cast his eyes around wildly, hoping to catch sight of one of the other cot boys. He was not the only one aboard. The line suddenly gave way and the lifeboat’s bow swung sharply from the ship hull.
“Blast it!” the officer swore, flinging an arm over the side to intercept the small craft before it crashed back into the ship. “Hang on!”
He leapt over the side and tossed the boy into the boat; the force of their joint landing snapped the remaining stays. The lifeboat torpedoed, stern first, past the smoking, shredded hull of the Cavalier , landing with a smack on the surface of the water. The boy bit his tongue and tasted blood. The officer winced in pain. A raspberry-colored bloom spread along the front of his tunic, staining his coat and sleeves. He was shivering. The boy looked away from the wounded man and out across the empty carpet of water. A thick, gray mist muddied the horizon, creeping toward them in long, wispy fingers, as if it sensed they were there and was reaching for them across the seas.
Fog .
Fear swept over the boy like a bucket of cold water being thrown in his face. Soon it would overtake them and they would be lost. He would never see his home again.
The officer groaned loudly, raised himself up on his good elbow, and bellowed.
“For all that you hold holy, lad, quit your gaping and ROW!”
Chapter 1
THE ATLANTIC COAST, PRESENT DAY
Chase Thompson was dreaming he was on the porch at Summerledge, looking out over the rocks toward the ocean. He saw something floating out there, bigger than a buoy but too small to be a boat. An overwhelming urge to see what it was took hold of him. He took a few steps and, as happens in dreams, launched himself off the porch and into the air. Below him, the pitched roof of Summerledge and humps of granite dropped away. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the arc of Secret Beach, the Dellemere cottage, and a ways beyond, the cluster of houses that indicated the village of Fells Harbor. He caught an air current and swooped out over the sea, soaring happily across the green-blue carpet of water until a flash of orange caught his eye. He dove down to get a closer look. It was a life jacket, bubbling around someone floating facedown in the water. He hovered over it. Swells rose and fell, rhythmically; the body floated up to meet him, and then slowly … slowly … began to roll over.
He bolted awake, heart thumping, and got his bearings. No ocean. No body. He