Return to Now, Book One: The Infant Prince

By Brian Shepp

Wherein is chronicled:
Jack’s first contact with the fox-shifter Tija’l;
the attack of the korvidai;
his journey on the back of the silver dragon;
Jack’s vision of the prophecy of Avalani'ra;
the reappearance of his childhood invisible friend, the wyvern, Orange;
Jack’s experience of the horrors of Kra’akal and its cursed citizens;
the repayment of an old debt;
and Jack’s decision about journeying to the Now.

Bullied middleschooler Jack Grayson has always felt like an outsider, as though he doesn't really belong in this world.

Turns out, he's right. He is actually from a magical otherworld called the Now.

Eleven years ago, he was hidden in this ordinary world, switched with a human baby, to protect him from the fairling sourceweaver who killed his parents. And now, he is told, he must return to the land of his birth to save the Now from a living abomination that, even now, oozes its way across the realm, corrupting the land and enslaving its people.

Now, normally, Jack wouldn't believe such a fairytale kind of tale. But it wasn't just anyone who told him; it was a telepathic white fox who suddenly shape-shifted into a human boy with the strangest amber eyes Jack had ever seen.

And frankly, whether Jack believes it or not is irrelevant, because malign forces know it to be true. The boyling has been found, after all these years. And everything he once knew about what is "real" is about to be turned upside-down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Shepp
• Release date: Apr 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465732828

Brian Shepp

"Return to Now" is Brian's first foray into the field of fantasy fiction. In the past, he has been a painter and fine artist, an award-winning indie filmmaker, screenwriter, and children's theater actor. He intends to be many other things in the future."What is literaturebut the expression of moodsby the vehicle of symbol and incident?And are there not moodswhich need heaven, hell, purgatory,and faerylandfor their expression,no less than this dilapidated earth?Nay, are there not moods which shall find no expressionunless there be men who dare to mix heaven, hell, purgatory,and faeryland together...Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seizewhatever prey the heart long for,and have no fear.Everything exists,everything is true,and the earth is only a little dust under our feet."- W. B. Yeats

Book preview

Return To Now

Book One:

The Infant Prince

Brian Shepp

Copyright Brian Shepp, 2011

ISBN: 978-1-4657-3282-8

www.BrianShepp.com

Also available at:

www.Smashwords.com

Return to Now, Book 2: The Amphibian Portal

Return to Now, Book 3: Revolution in Anjhélius

Return to Now, Book 4: The Road to Kra’akal

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my parents,

Lani & Larry, who have offered unending support,

especially when I needed it most.

< Tija’l >

Chapter 1 - Jack

____________________

He had been told to fight back. He knew that he should. But when their fists started raining down and jutting in from the side - short, cheap jabs - Jack’s only reaction was to cringe. Instead of making fists, his hands flew up in useless gestures of defense. That weakness alone made the bullies laugh more, and it made their fists fly harder and faster.

Jack crumpled to the ground, ducking his face between his arms. He already felt the blood, familiar and slick, leaking from somewhere on his face. There would be plenty of time later to figure out where he was cut. Now, all he could do was make himself as small as possible, hoping to curl so tiny that his enemies would bloody their own fists against the concrete as they tried to hurt him, and they would stop.

He wouldn’t cry. He would never let them see him cry. Tears would be their reward; he had learned that long ago. Later, the tears would help wash away the dried blood.

Come on guys, the leader grunted, this little sissy isn’t even worth it.

After a few last halfhearted kicks, they strutted away in a pack. Jack lay frozen on the ground, an armadillo without a shell. He could feel his breath begin to stagger; the sobs were on their way. He scurried to his feet and ran, numb to the physical pain.

He had to get to his bike so he could get away. No one could see you cry if you were moving fast enough. Just a blur, and you would be past, and everything they could think about you would be left behind. The sobs would stop, too, chased away by the rush of air to his lungs. At the bike rack, Jack’s fingers fumbled at the combination lock, and he had to wipe his eyes to keep the tears from blinding him. 

Finally, the lock clicked. He pulled the bike free, and he was on, his body arched into place over the handlebars, moving. Soon it would pass, he told himself. He would be left with only the comfortable rhythm of the pedals and the gentle hum of the tread against the road.

He stuck to the sidewalks as he biked. Better to hit a pedestrian than get hit by a car, he reasoned. As his body shifted into automatic, he could finally think. If you just sat around thinking, eventually someone would tell you to stop wasting time or give you something to do. But if you were biking, you were never wasting time. You were getting somewhere. You were exploring, and you never knew exactly what you would find.

Jack figured he hadn’t been beaten up for anything he had done wrong. In fact, it was for several things he had done right, like paying attention in class and answering the teacher’s questions correctly because he wasn’t a total idiot. But somehow that made him stand out. Somehow that made him a target. He had always been an outsider, but that had been okay. Let the other kids play their stupid games with each other. But lately, the kids were getting mean. Mom said it was their hormones. She had an answer for everything.

The transition to middle school had been rough. Everyone around him seemed angry about something. Even Jack was getting mad lately: mad at himself for not being bigger, mad for not fighting back. He just cringed until the Neanderthals lost interest. At least they had short attention spans. Why do people always follow the meanest person in the group, he wondered. 

There were also a lot more kids at this school. So people had started banding together for protection. Everyone ran in a little clique now, except Jack. He had seen a few other loners, but they didn’t hang out together or anything. That would have been against the whole point of being a loner and not having to listen to other stupid people and the stupid things they always say.

The need to move from room to room between each class provided plenty of unsupervised time in the hallways, and Jack was often tardy after being waylaid. Just last month, Bill Braun had stolen his backpack on his way to third period. Jack was sent to the principal’s office for showing up late without his books. And when he had to explain why, to his horror, they brought Bill into the office. And now it seemed that every one of Bill’s friends felt it was their fraternal duty to smash into Jack as they walked past him in the halls.

Jack’s reputation as someone to pick on had been crafted and solidified.

He jumped the curb, from the sidewalk to the asphalt. Checking behind, he quickly veered across the street so he could make the turn into the development where he lived. The elegant monument at the entrance with its fake waterfall whizzed by as he cranked the pedals. Shady Acres Estates it read. Totally stupid name, he thought, when the only two trees in the whole place large enough to cast any shade were the ones on either side of the sign.

The real trees had all been cut down to make room for the asphalt, replaced by intermittent plantings barely larger than himself. These poor saplings were chained to metal poles to keep them upright, and caged behind wire fences on the sidewalk as though they might spread some horrible disease if touched. Jack had been watching the sapling in front of his house grow slightly larger. But it seemed unmotivated, having no other trees around to provide inspiration and show it the way.

But, no one is ever there to show you the way, he thought. Not in this world. He was beginning to suspect that there simply wasn’t a way to be shown. Maybe no one knew what they were doing. And worse, they all knew that they didn’t know what they were doing, but they kept doing it anyway because they didn’t want to look ignorant in front of each other.

Chapter 2 - Messenger

____________________

The tunnel stretched ahead with no end in sight as the white fox ran faster than he had ever run, yet still they were gaining. Harsh cries echoed up the circular shaft, rebounding off the ice until it trembled beneath his paws. He imagined the ice cracking and the tunnel collapsing, trapping them all in this frozen grave. But then who would find the boy?

Foxes are built for the chase, he reminded himself. I am built for agility, for speed. As long as the korvidae can’t fly in the tunnel, they can’t catch me. But as he had discovered, his pursuers could move very quickly on their three thick tentacles. 

In a sudden chaos of oily black feathers, they had descended at the entrance to the portal. An ambush. They had probably explored the tunnel ahead, Tija’l realized with alarm, even as he ran. More of them could be waiting for him to spring their trap. But there were no side doors or branching pathways, no alcoves in which to duck or hide. The rippling wall of blue-white ice surrounded him, angling steeply upward. If he let go his momentum for even a second, he would slide back down, back to them.

He should have been more careful. Hadn’t Jacqua’nar said there would be great dangers? But there had been no resistance the entire journey, and he had been lulled into carelessness. Then the euphoria upon actually finding and unlocking the portal had made him unwary. Vigilance, a fox’s greatest gift, and he had let it lapse.

But there was no time to curse himself now. There was only time to run.

He reached the summit, and the tunnel arced back down, a return to the depths of the mountain. With