Black Blade

By Alexander Charalambides

Join American teenagers Megan and Lance as they cross the Pond to do battle with wizards, supernatural soldiers and a secret society determined to -- what else -- take over the world.

Their unlikely quest is led by three comically grumpy and obscene old wizards who seem to get them into more trouble than they get them out of.

"This is an eminently well-written and intricately plotted read that will entertain you for hours," says Publishers Daily Reviews. "And, as the teen twosome try to navigate the treacherous magical underworld into which they've been thrust, you will be transported with them into a modern-day take on the Arthurian legend."

Lance even comes into possession of the storied blade Excalibur -- which comes in mighty handy as the evil forces converge on them.

In addition to the well-paced adventure that unfolds before your wide eyes, the bickering old wizards add a sometimes hilarious and often R-rated layer of "sophisticated characterization rarely found in YA fiction today," according to the review.

So be ready to pull an all-nighter as you near the end of this five-star teen adventure. It will definitely keep you up far past your bedtime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexander Charalambides
• Release date: Jun 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370075508

Alexander Charalambides

Alexander Charalambides was born in London in the UK and grew up in Berkshire.He studied Creative Writing, and graduated from the Open University.In 2008 he moved to the United States, and now lives in New Hampshire.As a freelance writer Alexander enjoys storytelling just as much as editing and analysis, but often takes time off to enjoy wind surfing, do the sickest of motorcycle flips, wrestle with deadly animals and lie about his hobbies.

Book preview

One

Deaf & Mute

triangle

Everyone needs water.

It’s something Dad says a lot.

I know he means hydration, like your ability to do whatever goes up by something percent as long as you get some amount of water I forget every day. It always made me think of the places in the world where there just isn’t any clean water. Where drinking it will make you sick.

Actually, that’s not true. That’s what I used to think, when I was younger and dumber. Now I know what it really is, one of those truisms you use to convince people you’re sane before you start arguing for racial purity or something.

So yeah, the water fountain’s broken.

It’s stupid because there’s no good reason to be here anyway, it’s not like I really, really needed a drink. I just don’t like class, but somehow claiming to need a drink as an excuse to leave and then not getting a drink feels like an extra layer of wrong.

I had a feeling you’d be here. That’s Megan. She’s my henchman. I shrug at her.

Nowhere else to be. Relax, by the way, I say henchman, but it’s a gender-neutral term. I’m not sexist.

And you skipped assembly. She says it like she knows. She must’ve been looking for me. So you probably missed this. There’s a flyer in her hand, the sort of happy colorful rag that can only be designed by the truly dead inside. I take a second to scan the eye-searing rainbow.

A special assembly?

After lunch. I thought you might wonder where everybody went.

Any clue what it’s about?

Nope. She crumples the colorful paper into a ball like I taught her.

You cutting class too?

Uh-huh. She’s trying to look cool as she leans back against the wall. I can tell because she’s copying me, like always. What she actually looks like is a squirrel that’s just escaped from a microwave. No change there.

It’s not that far, I mean, our school’s not that big, but with the wind and the clear sky it seems further than usual.

The assembly hall’s crowded, noisy, and decorated, so I spend the time it takes to find a good place to stand imagining I have an extra Megan with an enormous gun to part the crowd for me.

What d’you think it’ll be? she asks as we sit. Teachers are rushing around, messing with a projector and whispering among themselves.

Don’t know. Something’s got them excited. The acoustics here are nuts, it’s an old building that they’re always trying to persuade us is historic. If there weren’t so many kids I’d probably be able to make out what they’re saying, but it looks like every class is packed in here. This is supposed to a prestigious private type school so it always surprises me how many students there actually are here. Not that most of them matter.

Is everyone settled? The voice is harsh and tinny. Nothing to do with the microphone. There’s still some pointless shuffling and muttering to do, but our principal seems ready to start.

I have some very exciting news, for the faculty and the students. Recently- She sweeps her hand over to the projector screen. It ‘s a castle, and suddenly I can’t help but be interested. The flags are frozen in the wind, the stone made out of etched light, but I can feel the age. -our school has received an extremely generous donation from a benefactor who currently wishes to remain anonymous. She points, and our old math professor changes slides. With this money, we’ll be able to renovate almost every single one of our facilities, as well as afford a new computer lab, and a new- I tune out. She goes on and on about the new things we’ll be able to buy, and how fantastic it’ll be. For them. Not for us.

Of course- The vice principal chimes in, -some of you may be wondering about our first slide. He clicks back through model rooms and futuristic flatscreen computers until that castle is hanging over us again. Our benefactor had one condition, and since our interests and opinions on history and education seem to align, we were delighted to accept. At my side, Megan’s staring at her feet. There’s bustle at the edge of the sea of seated students, I crane my neck, and see piles of papers being handed down through the rows. They’ll get to me soon enough.

These are consent forms. The pile lands in my hands, so I take one and pass it on.

Our donor is a scholar of history, and they’ve encouraged us to encourage you to be one too. To this end, at the beginning of next week the whole school will be taking an international field trip to England!

They must figure it’ll be a hard sell to our parents, because the principal shoos us out before any of the other teachers can launch into a lecture. And here I thought that was what they wanted out of the job.

This probably isn’t going to work out. Megan has to raise her voice over the river of students rushing to their parents. I don’t think there’s ever been an assembly this size before.

You don’t think they’ll sign?

One! She holds up her finger. I’ve only got one, remember?

Right, right.

Y’know, most people would say sorry. She’ll probably sulk now. She’s always bringing it up, one way or another. How long does it take to get over something like that?

Why? It’s not like your dad’s dead or anything.

Oh no, he’s fine, he just doesn’t call or send money or ever want anything to do with me. She can be a little strange sometimes. I think she’s probably nervous that she won’t get to go with me. Maybe I’ll offer to stay behind if she can’t get a signature.

We can swap if you like.

What? The paper’s almost a crumpled ball in her hands.

Our parents. She doesn’t always understand my jokes.

Oh, right.

You’re supposed to laugh. I jab her in the shoulder with my elbow. I’d aim for her ribs, but she’s way too short.

But seriously- she tries to flatten the form against her chest, -I don’t think my mom will sign this.

So? She probably won’t read it in the first place. She looks up from her flattening. Just say it’s an absentee form for a parent’s day or something.

You’re a bad influence, you know that Lance?

Uh-huh. She runs down the cracked asphalt towards her mother’s trembling old car.

Wait!’ She calls. What about you?"

I’ll work something out.

My folks don’t like the parking lot so they usually wait a little down the road. It’s not far, but it’s also not really important.

I guess you’re wondering why I’ve been telling you all this.

I know I would, if I were you, but the truth is I can’t help it. The clear sky makes it look like you’re staring at me. I get pretty chatty when I’m nervous.

The house is quiet. Mom and Dad are asleep.

I’ve drawn the curtains in my room, but I can still hear the murmur of rain on the roof and the crying insects in the yard. Sometimes, I hear a car sigh as it passes by.

Okay, so it’s not that quiet.

They signed, obviously. At least, Mom did. Lying in bed, the only thing I can remember is the eyes. Portraits, tapestries and sculptures, staring down at me as she did it. Like they were watching. Honestly, they’ve always creeped me out, that’s why I don’t go in the study.

She seemed pretty excited. or jealous. One of the two. I know she’s always wanted to go. She likes to sew family trees and knit little bows around the branches where people came across to America. I don’t think I have any relatives in England, but from what Mom says, our family, on her side, at least, used to be a big deal.

Not that they were enough of a big deal for us to be rich, or famous or anything. Mom’s into stuff like that, things that seem nice but are mostly just useless.

I can’t sleep. Can you tell?

I think it’s because I can’t decide if I’m excited or not.

Maybe I did sleep. I think I had a dream.

The weather’s awful. I know what you’re thinking, but we’re not even there yet. Could the UK’s rain be any worse?

And what is it with school buses? We haven’t been here for that long, and it’s hardly a severe weather warning out there, but no matter what, I can’t feel insulated in this thing. Maybe it’s the way it rumbles and rattles like it’s about to fall apart at any second.

Damn, that’s some intense brooding.

Megan jabs me in the ribs.

What are you staring at out there, your dead parents?

Good question. I turn my head, heavy as it is from almost-sleep. Nothing particularly interesting about teachers arguing in the rain anyway. They don’t even have the decency to be so angry that it becomes funny. A freak, I guess.

It’s true, she’ll get smiley and fidgety over anything, but this is getting absurd.

I’m not allowed to be excited?

Being excited is fine- I take a quick look around at the kids in the other seats, -it’s just that I think this whole thing’s put a lot of people on edge. Most of them barely got their signatures, and lots didn’t. The faculty’s practically kidnapping us.

On edge? She pulls out one of her earbuds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her take out both. Nobody cares that some crazy generous old dude has just given us the chance to experience another culture?

I’m guessing your answer on the caring front would be ‘not really’. Most of them look like they wish they’d stayed home. At the head of the bus, I hear the door squeak open. Not really looking forward to stomping in single file through the rain.

What about you? I watch the teacher, some ancient vulture-looking guy, run down the aisles. Taking inventory. I think Megan said something.

Huh?

I was asking you if you’d rather have stayed home. She looks annoyed. Sometimes I wonder if part of her problem is just being a girl. She must have all sorts of chemicals and hormones interrupting her thought processes. I know that’s what Dad says when Mom gets upset with him.

I don’t really mind. It might be interesting.

Liar. She pokes me in the shoulder I saw you staring at that castle on the slide.

I think castles are interesting. She clearly wants more out of me, too bad all I have besides that is a shrug.

I’ve seen that poster on the inside of your locker, you know. She means the knight. I must’ve totally forgotten about it. How many years has that been there? I think Mom gave it to me. I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it in ages.

Although now that I do, it might’ve been in my dream. There was someone else there, too. I still can’t remember.

I think knights are cool. That’s all. I turn away to continue examining the teachers. Probably some mistake with the tickets. Maybe Mystery Man’s check bounced.

So it’s got nothing do with chivalry, right? Because you’re always grumbling about that.

Why do you care? I’m not interrogating you.

Alright, alright. She holds up her hands in surrender. At least she knows when to quit. Some of the really bored kids look back at us. For some reason we always seem to end up on the back of the bus. Besides, I don’t need a reason. This’ll be my first time outside the US. Who wouldn’t be excited about that? Vulture-man calls from the front of the bus, and some kids start to rise and shuffle off. I guess they worked something out.

Wait. I stop, halfway to my feet. Weren’t you born somewhere else? Like, an island?

The Philippines. She shrugs as we shuffle into line. I don’t really remember. I was like five when Dad left and then we moved so it doesn’t count.

Whatever. The faculty bark out orders, and I realize I’m going to have to deal with something even worse than the school bus. An airport.

Hopefully at least some of these places won’t turn out to be a waste of time.

I guess you can probably already tell from up there. Don’t spoil it for me.

What’s the difference between an aeroplane and an airplane? I checked on my phone; both are valid spellings. Are they legit different things, or are they just two different spellings of the same word?

I’m waiting for the plane to take off, can you tell? Maybe plane is the best way to go, nobody can argue with plane. Megan’s seated a couple of rows down. I guess you can probably tell that too, what with these windows. At least I can hear myself think now.

She didn’t take me seriously on the bus, but maybe she was right, there weren’t a lot of students on edge. Looking around, it seems like most of them are just glad to be out of class. Can’t say I blame them. What’s that called, projecting? I think so, and I think that’s what I was doing. Maybe if everyone’d been quieter I’d have realized the truth sooner. This whole situation is not normal. How not normal? I guess we’ll find out.

The plane jumps, and shifts. We’ve started to move. I didn’t sleep last night. At all. Hopefully, the noise will make it easier. I’m not sure why, but every time I put my head down my chest starts to clench, like I’ve got a test tomorrow or something.

I’m not scared, and I’m not talking about flying, either. My dad’s always flying out to some conference or other, and sometimes me and mom go with him and fly back. There’s a rumble, and for a moment it feels like my stomach’s caught on a fishhook.

It’s not that. In fact, I’m not scared at all. The ground outside my window starts to disappear, and somehow, the further in the air I fly, the more I feel like I’m waking up. Like my mind’s clearing after a long sleep.

Maybe this is the opposite of a dream.

I’m not scared of what’s out there, if it’s strange, or dangerous, or just different, I want it.

No, I don’t just want it, I’m going to get it. No matter what.

How long ’til we land?

I was wrong about the weather. It’s worse. At first I thought I’d be alright with the humidity, I used to live in Florida, but that really didn’t prepare me for the cold. Sure, it’s November, and I’ve been colder places, it’s just that with all the rain, puddles and fog, it gets in everywhere. I didn’t sleep on the plane. Maybe things will get better now that I’m here, but my surroundings strongly suggest otherwise.

I’m in a youth hostel which apparently is a lot like a hotel, and it’s not that bad here. The bunk beds are stupid, and it stinks of damp, and I am, for now, deprived of my henchman. Luckily for me my classmates are at least smart enough to know to leave me alone.

Also, I’m really not looking forward to trying the food. It doesn’t have a great reputation.

Okay y’all, listen up. Yes, one of my teachers is southern. He taps a clipboard with his forefinger. "What we have here is an itinerary. Who can tell me what that is?’

Right, I remember this guy. He used to be a kindergarten teacher, can you tell?

Some of the dude-bros at the corner speak up. I guess this must be the test of a lifetime to them.

Right, right, our to-do-list. Lucky for you it looks like we’ve got a busy week ahead of us. Some more kids, mostly the jet-lag sufferers, turn over on their bunks. We got one hour until we’ve gotta go. And the plan’s to be back here by six. There’s a chorus of groans. Pretty typical. So- He opens the door. -I get that y’all are still pretty tired, but trust me it ain’t a good idea to get started on an empty stomach.

I pick myself up, and try to avoid the thickest crowds as we file down the stairs into the dining hall or whatever fancy name they probably have for it here. Still looks like a cafeteria to me.

Megan’s standing back from the rush of hungry kids, waiting for me.

This segregation stuff is bullshit. I almost laugh at her.

You’re not a big fan of your peers, huh?

Have you ever actually talked to a high school girl? I watch her eyes scan for openings at the tables. They’re like the orcs of real life.

We scoop up some battered monstrosities and a small pile of fries, although I guess they call them chips here.

Still salty? How she can speak while shoveling that much stuff in her face I don’t know.

About what?

That’s a yes. Come to think of it, how can she still be so small? She must have a really weird metabolism.

Next topic. Where are we going? She peers over the table, trying to see the list some teacher had pinned to the wall.

I don’t know what these places are. A house, I guess? No castles on today’s list, just so you know. I’m hesitating to put some of this stuff in my mouth. The texture’s familiar, but the taste definitely isn’t. It’s a bit like eating the inside of a stuffed toy. Maybe I’ll just push it around my plate for a bit. Yeah.

You’re not going to finish that, are you? Her fork’s already on my plate.

Go for it.

We’ve still got like- she waves her knife in the air, as if she’s using it to count the numbers on the clock across from us. -at least half an hour until we leave.

So?

So- She nudges me in the shoulder. -what’s with your castle hang-up?

I don’t have a hang-up. I just think they’re interesting, that’s all.

Okay, okay. She swallows another stretch of greasy fish. First off, I don’t really get why people like things just ‘cause they’re old, and second, why-

I didn’t say it was because they were old. She sighs at me. Like somehow I’m the one asking annoying questions.

Then why?

Why? I have to think about it, really. But come to think of it, the sea of writhing backs busy filling their stomachs with grease