The Unseen Road: The Unseen Chronicles, #1

By Stacie Hanson

A magical world awaits an everyday desk clerk when she makes the mistake of doing a favour for a god. Getting into the world is easy but getting home? That may prove more difficult than she realizes.

 

Meg Thorne is having a bad day. The kind of bad day everyone has had before. When a series of mishaps result in her plunging into a magical city called The Wheel Road in the world of the Unseen, Meg's day gets a lot worse. All she had to do was deliver a message but luck is not on her side. There are many creatures in this incredible world who want to prevent her from doing so.

 

Suddenly, Meg's ordinary way of looking at things is turned on its head when she meets a magician named Seberon Wilde and his magical dog. She needs his help to survive the Wheel Road and a dark magician who wants to kill her before she can deliver her message. Soon, Meg finds herself dealing with gods, immortals, and mythical creatures, some who mean her well and some who mean her harm. She'll have to battle not only dark magic but her own fear with nothing more than her wits and determination. For there are forces out in the Wheel Road determined to see her dead before she can realize the real reason why she was brought into this magical place. 

 

Getting to the other side of the road has never been so difficult.

 

A fantasy story in the vein of L. Frank Baum's The Wizard of Oz, The Unseen Road is the first in The Unseen Chronicles, a series that follows the adventures of Meg Thorne within the Unseen. From the devious mind of Stacie Hanson, this book follows a tale as fantastical as it is relatable for anyone who has lost their way before.

Buy The Unseen Road today to start your adventures in the Wheel Road and discover for yourself why readers are calling this world 'a feast for any reader who loves to lose themselves in new worlds.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacie Hanson
• Release date: Nov 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780994927866

Stacie Hanson

There's little doubt in anyone's mind (anyone who knows her that is) that Stacie was to become a writer. A perpetual daydreamer who takes more pleasure in crafting worlds and characters than dreaming up bank reports, she spends her time writing fantasy and drinking tea. An avid equestrian, she also divides her time between moseying down the trail and finding places for inspiration for her books. She lives with her three cats and a dog, and her trusty laptop that lets her write as much as she can. She can be reached at her website www.stacieiscreative.com

Book preview

The Prequel:  A Twisted Faire

Book 1: The Unseen Road

Chapter One: Meg Thorne

Meg Thorne had decided , a long time ago, that life was just a series of bad moments playing over and over again. Whenever she thought she was over one particularly bad time, it would rewind itself and start again.

Apparently this Wednesday in March wasn’t much different.

Mr. Fischer sat across from her, a manila folder open to a type-filled paper. It looked official, with her name and the company letterhead emblazoned in green at the top. Even upside down, she could guess what it said. Meg sat on the edge of her seat, eyes fixed on the creased ridges of his forehead and sniffed hard a few times. When that didn’t work, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and blinked until her blurry vision cleared again.

Her manager didn’t seem to notice. Instead, his gnarled hands picked up a pen and he signed on the bottom line with a flourish.

So as you can see, Ms. Thorne, it is our unfortunate decision that you simply don’t fit with our company culture. We haven’t seen you embracing our company. You’re not putting in the extra time and effort we need. We need team players. We have our goals for the year, the decade even, and if you can’t become one of our family, you’re not really suited for us. Despite your performance, which has been very good, management doesn’t believe you are the best fit for us.

Meg kept her eyes on his forehead. He had six deep wrinkles below his hairline. Six.

We’re going to give you a month severance, provided you don’t find employment elsewhere immediately. You’ll need to...

His voice droned in her ears but Meg was so focussed on not bursting into tears that she really didn’t hear him. She signed the papers, nodded, tried to smile, and staggered back to her desk. There was already a small box ready for her few personal items.

It’ll work out. We’ll be sad to see you go, Mr. Fischer’s voice echoed in her ears. We’re happy to provide you a reference.

A reference. A year of work and all she got in return was a reference that would probably be nothing much. Nothing to get her another job anyway.

Carrying the sagging box, Meg managed to put one foot in front of the other down the subway stairs. In her head, she played that scene over and over again, this time picturing taking those papers and tearing them up in front of his face. Stalking out and slamming doors, overturning desks. It would have felt so good.

Only she hadn’t done that. She’d taken it, like she always did, and just shoved it down deep beneath the surface. Better to put on a happy face than explode.

As she walked through the hallway, Meg was sure people were glancing at her tear-stained face. Probably thinking they were glad they weren’t her. She wished she was anyone else but her right now.

To get her mind off of it, Meg tried to focus on her already dwindling bank account and the problems of the unemployed. There was rent, paying for her seemingly endless bills, and of course the ability to eat in a few weeks. She tallied the amount in her pocket and came up too poor for even a taxi home from her station stop.

It was going to be a very long walk home, she thought as she stopped at the ticket booth. She set her box down with her purse and started to rummage through her skirt pockets. She found a hole in the lining. A hole and no change

Damn, she whispered as she stamped her foot. Closing her eyes, she counted down from ten until her temper came back under control.

You all right? someone asked nearby and she turned to see an older man staring at her with open concern. His dark and scarred face was so close that it made her jump to the side to avoid smashing noses with him.

Just fine. Need some change is all, she said.

Meg had just bent to her bag when someone shoved her hard to the side into the legs of the old man. By the time she was able to get to her feet and push her hair from her eyes, she only saw the back of a teenager. He was running away with her purse and box. The kid didn’t run particularly fast and she was sure she could have caught him in her more sensible loafers. Loafers that were still under her old desk.

Still, she took off after the kid at an odd crab-like run. When she rounded a corner, she teetered on the slick tile floor as she took small strides to try to catch him.

Stop! she shouted but he kept going. No one turned at her cry. The kid ran with the absurd yellow purse over his shoulder like a treasure sack. Although she dodged and swerved around the other people in the station market, the kid had no problem shoving people left and right out of his way. He dropped the box but he kept the purse close to his chest.

Come on, stop! Meg shouted. On impulse, she kicked off her heels and sprinted faster after the boy.

The fact that no one went to help was an obvious sign: the entire human race was horrible.

The kid ignored her. He raced for the stairwell leading downstairs and threw open the doors. One smacked a security guard who didn’t look up from his cell phone as the fire alarm made a loud shrieking sound. Shoulders slumping, Meg watched the door close with that empty feeling in her stomach.

It wasn’t worth it.

She sniffled as she grabbed the box and looked around the station market. The two o’clock train was already gone, leaving her and the security guards. Both were still leaning up against the walls half asleep. No one had even noticed her.

That was quite the run, someone said behind her and she turned on her heel, facing the black man from the ticket machine. He was leaning up against the wall near the recycling cans, tapping a red-tipped cane on the floor. Fighting down a nasty response, Meg wanted to point out that he could have helped. She kept her mouth shut and headed for the stairs but his sudden, Hey, wait stopped her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted once again. By the time she opened them again, he was standing before her.

Let me help you with that, he offered, holding out his hand.

Thanks but no thanks. She shook her head.

He took your purse I see. How unfortunate, he said and he pushed his hand toward her once more. And it’s Mr. Curry, Miss...

Thorne. Meg Thorne. And I really need to get home.

I imagine it is going to be a long walk, he said with a suspicious amount of sympathy.

Very long, she muttered.

That long of a walk is going to kill your feet, he said. He gave her the same appraising gaze she had given him and then grinned, his teeth very white and sharp looking. Let’s cut a deal.

Having been robbed already, she wasn’t sure what he could want from her now. Maybe her red stapler. No thanks.

You don’t even know what I’m offering. Mr. Curry dug into his pockets, rolling his dark eyes about as he fished around in his yellow suit jacket, before a triumphant Ah ha! he held out his flat palm. A rumpled ticket was between his fingers. Your saving grace. Much to the relief of your feet, I’m sure.

Very funny. She sighed and stamped her foot. Couldn’t you just give it to me?

I could. But that doesn’t get me anything in return.

This is getting creepy, she said as she turned to go up the stairs. But he pirouetted around her with surprising grace, dangling the ticket.

It really isn’t. You’re hardly my type, Mr. Curry said and he gestured with his other hand, now holding a thick scrap of paper. I have a business partner waiting for me on the other side of the street up above. But with this leg, I can’t make it all the way up the stairs in time to catch him before he leaves.

So?

You’re young and spry. Not much of a runner but I think you can find your way up there without any problem. Can you take this message to him? He held up the paper so she could see it clearly. It said he was going to be late. At least, she thought it said that. The words kept blurring. Do that and the ticket will be waiting with Mr. Bois over there if I am not here. He gestured at the security guard playing on his cell phone in the information booth.

Meg sighed. She wanted to help but she also wanted to go home and sleep away this miserable day.

I could just go up and come right back down, she pointed out and Mr. Curry nodded.

That’s true. But I think you’re more honest than that, Miss. Thorne. He nodded. Five minutes of your time, that’s all. I would owe you a great debt.

Despite all common sense, she shrugged. What could a few minutes hurt? How would I even know it is him?

He’s younger than I am and will be wearing a long red coat. Built like a boxer and tends to walk with a limp. He’ll be just in front of the Go Mart. I call him Bannerman. He muttered something else, a name, Meg was sure of it, but the moment she heard the name she forgot it in the next instant. Mr. Curry beamed at her. Just ask him if he’s expecting Mr. Curry. I told him to wait for me at the department store but at the rate I’m going, we’ll miss each other. He’ll be out front and rambling about the government, if I know him. He began to flip the folded ticket over in his palm. So. Five minutes of work for a ticket sound fair?

Meg stared at the ticket and thought of her feet. But my box?

Leave it with Mr. Bois. He will take care of it for you. He can vouch for me too. I’m going to sit on this bench so my leg will stop aching.

Look, for all I know you’re some drug dealer about to get me killed or kidnapped. Meg fiddled with the tabs on her box. You could just give me the ticket because you’re being nice.

That made him laugh and Mr. Curry shook his head as if she had told him a fantastic joke. When he glanced at her again, his eyes glinted like dark marbles. Sorry, Miss. Thorne. It just how things get done in the streets. You know that.

Meg stared into his eyes and felt strangely snared by the darkness there. She had to rip her eyes away and glanced at the cane he was clutching, at the note in his hand. He did seem very kind and very much in need of help. He really didn’t seem to be up to no good. She did know that she was being foolish.  Even with her mother’s warnings about strangers roaring in her head, she still took the slip of paper.

Mr. Curry grinned, a toothy grin that took up much of his craggy face. That’s not so hard, is it?

Well, not like my day can get that much worse, she said. He took the box from her and nodded.

It can always get worse. I’ll hand this to Mr. Bois for you.

There’s nothing of value in there, Meg warned and he raised an eyebrow. Office supplies and a few knick-knacks.

As much as I love staplers and sundry, you can be assured that I’ve no interest in your things. He set the box by the security guard’s foot, though the man didn’t look up from his phone, and nodded at her once more.

Meg took one last look at her box before shrugging. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay right there.

Bless you, my girl. This is an enormous help. He beamed at her, a toothy look that was downright eerie on him. Trust me. A message from Mr. Curry could change your life.

Meg wondered what exactly she was getting into as she headed for the stairs. She looked over her shoulder but he was taking a seat on the bench near the guard. A perfectly normal man asking for one perfectly normal favour. Faced with a long walk home, she couldn’t think of anything better to do. It was a piece of paper handed to a stranger, that was all.

With a shrug, she clutched the message tight and let her aching feet take her up to the street once more.

Chapter Two:  The Wheel Road

Aswimming pool of colour. That was the first thing that Meg thought of when she came to the top of the stairwell.

Bursts of yellows and greens danced across the sky. Swirling ribbons of blues and reds sparkled across her eyes. It punched her in the brain as effective as a gunshot and she almost went to her knees in surprise. Her aching feet went numb and she stayed glued to the step as the rush of colours breezed by her. The hot wind smacked into her face and brought with it a rich smell. The odour of a thousand meals cooked a thousand different ways soaked the air. Her sinuses clogged and she felt the onslaught carry down her body.

Then, as quick as it had come, it was gone. Her vision cleared, her nose didn’t burn, and her head no longer ached. Meg rubbed the back of her hand across her lips and blinked a few times. The world around her finally came into focus.

A street. She stood in a street.

Meg stared around her in absolute wonder. Gone were the blinking city lights and constant traffic of the busiest section of town. In its place was an open roadway and across that a bright wall of light. So bright that it had her looking away once more but she forced herself to look left, then right, then left again. Nothing but an empty street. An ancient-looking street with rails and a haze that clouded the air.

Okay. Maybe I hit my head. Fell down the stairs. So I am unconscious. Right? Right. Makes perfect sense. She shook her head and felt a throbbing that centered at the base of her skull. Meg squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a step forward.

The road certainly felt solid under her toes. It was deceptive though. Where she had thought it was pavement, the street was actually smooth cobblestone. It was like walking on very old streets of some old city, she was sure. She stomped her foot down and the flaring pain in her bare heel was real.

You’re just fine, she whispered. You’ll wake up from this. Likely with some cute paramedic giving you mouth to mouth. She quirked a grin. Not a bad thought, really.

Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, she took another hesitant step on the road. The wall seemed very large now, double her height and as long as the street. When she checked both ways again, she saw that there looked like there was no end to the street itself. It yawned in the distance and over what looked like a hill into a sunny horizon. The other way was the exact same and Meg wondered if she threw a rock in that direction whether it would go very far at all. Not once did she look behind herself, too fascinated by the sight of this endless, empty street to care.

The wall of light seemed to beckon her. I could be dead, Meg said. It might explain a lot. Who goes barefoot up into the street?

Though granted, her mother would have said she was odd enough to do something like that. Stepping forward, she felt the cold cobblestones press into the arches of her feet and stub her toes. Fascinated by what she was feeling, Meg tiptoed across the street toward the light.

An impatient sigh nearby made her look up from her feet to see that the light appeared to be pulsing. Pulsing and growing. Meg stretched a hand out to touch it and then stopped herself from doing so before she touched the warmth of it. There was no good reason to touch the wall.

Why not? she asked. How much weirder can this dream get?

She stepped forward and her hand passed through the wall. Light flickered around her in a haze that smelt of earth and baked goods before it settled around her feet. It transformed into thick shards of glass. They were in different shapes that resembled fingers and toes. It made for a dangerous walk and she froze in her place, not daring to move.

When Meg looked up again, it was to see that she had passed through a heavy iron gate. The gate supported arrow tipped fences and bracketed by old-fashioned lamp posts. Each occupied post held figures in black and white. The figures looked human enough as they hung there, dressed in fluttering clothes.

I definitely hit my head, Meg said.

I definitely hit my head, a soft voice echoed her from the left. Meg turned to see one of the figures unfolding in slow motion.

The figure snaked around the flag pole until it was hanging only inches away from her.  Meg gaped as two brilliant blue eyes opened. The face was a woman’s, painted in divisible lines of black and white across the sharp features. Black lips twisted in a macabre grin.

Who are you? she asked.

Who are you? the woman repeated.

That’s not funny.

That’s not funny.

Meg went to step back, stepped on a shard of glass, and then had to leap forward at the pain. It bumped her into the woman who slithered down the lamp post and reached out.

Oi! someone shouted from Meg’s other side. Stop teasing the flags.

Meg whipped around to see a small man carrying a withered stick. Flags?

Flags? the woman repeated.

Not talking to you. He reached past Meg and smacked the woman upside the head. Get back up there where you belong, harlequin.

The woman screeched and scurried up the lamp post. There she hooked her bare black and white legs around the flag pole. She flopped about with her ragged clothing fluttering. Before Meg’s eyes, the figure transformed into an actual flag. Gulping, she looked down at the man beside her and he squinted at her.

What’re you doing, teasing lamp posts and flags? What did they ever do to you?

I have no idea what you’re talking about, she said. He looked like a caricature drawn in the thirties of an old man, with his gap-filled mouth, bulbous nose, and big ears. I’m dreaming.

Of course you are, he said. And teasing flags is allowed because you’re dreaming. Do you realize how that sounds?

She’s a flag?

She? She’s not a she. She is an It as far as I’m concerned. You start giving these things ideas above their station and they start acting as if they are alive. He reached out and rapped his stick on Meg’s shoulder. You get me? Leave the flags alone.

Then he looked down. What are you doing, standing in flowers like that?

Meg looked to see that that the glass shards had changed into brilliant white orchids. They tickled her legs whenever they brushed up against her. Frowning, she took a careful step through them and came toe to toe with the old man.

Where am I? she asked.

If it is a dream, why would you care? Won’t you just wake up? he countered with a nod. Now I have things to be doing.

Meg felt the sweat on her palm starting to stick to the paper she still clutched. As the old man hobbled around her, headed for the other side of the gate, he began to hum. With that loud humming, Mr. Curry’s request came to mind. Maybe that was the point of this dream, she realized. To deliver a message and when she did she would wake up.

Wait. He turned toward her and she held the paper out. I need to find the other side of the street.

He chortled. You? The other side of the street? The old man began to bray with laughter.

Why is that so funny?

You won’t make it.

Meg drew her hand close to herself. Why not?

You have to get through the Wheel Road and the Market, and trust me... that’s not so simple. He nodded at her. Good day to you, miss.

Meg. My name is Meg.

Didn’t ask, don’t care.

Is there anyone I can ask to help me find the way?

He looked at her and tilted his head. Maybe. But you’d have to advertise and that can be a problem. The flags have already marked you as trouble, coming down as they did.

Meg looked up to the left and saw that the flag was still unfurling in the wind but a pair of blue eyes now stared at her. It made her uncomfortable and she stuffed her hand into her jacket pocket to keep the piece of paper safe.

I can just go home, she decided. The old man raised both eyebrows.

Where? He nodded behind her and she turned to see that the entrance to the train was gone. He clicked his tongue a few times when she turned a horrified face back to him. You see, you’re here until you find the other way out. Tipping his hat, he headed off and headed toward the shadowy street.

Wait! she cried and reached out to catch him by the sleeve. I need to wake up.

The man turned and brandished a set of keys at her. That’s not my problem now, is it? He blinked in a way that reminded Meg of a small owl. If this is your dream, why don’t you wake yourself up then? Fall off a roof or get pinched.

Meg stared. But...

I’ve got a schedule to keep. Out of the way, he snapped before shoving past her. Meg wanted to stop him, to ask for help, but he did have a point. If she was dreaming, she just had to find a way to wake up.

Easy.

She was turning to head through the hedges when she felt something warm and moist press against her hand. Meg jerked her wrist up and stared down into the playful brown eyes of a dog. His black and tan coat sparkled in the light, and his white ruff drew her eye immediately. A chain necklace hung around his neck, so fine that it looked like wisps of cobwebs.

The dog seemed friendly enough and she slowly put a hand out.

Are you friendly? she asked and the dog sat, thumping his plume of a tail. Meg put her hand on the happy dog’s ear and rubbed, causing the tail to thump even harder. Relieved that he wasn’t going to bite her, she knelt and reached for the tag that hung from his chain.

Happy Jack, she read. She looked up into that smiling doggy face. Happy Jack? Are you here to help me?

Chapter Three:  The Hobgoblins

The dog squirmed in pleasure and she gave his ruff a rub. At least I dream up friendly dogs instead of wolves, Meg whispered before standing again. The dog stood as well, still wagging his absurd tail, and gave her hand a nudge for another pat. She rubbed his silky ears as she looked around.

Want to follow me, dream dog? she asked.

He groaned when she itched behind a floppy ear and Meg sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to be much help. She headed into the laneway and across a dirt path into a lush green space.

I’ve seen too many movies, Meg muttered. At her side, the dog whined and leaned into her hand again for another stroke. As she patted his nose, she looked around as the brilliant light surrounding them cleared. Without the harsh light in the clearing, she saw the unusual statues staggered about. They were all carved from marble and draped in blue ivy. A giant hand sprouted from the grass cupping full rose bushes in bloom. Headless statues were stuck in immortal poses. The sight was somehow ominous. One even seemed to be cowering in fear. Meg stepped off the dirt pathway and let her toes wriggle in the dewy carpet of grass.

Strange. Each step felt as if her soles were being touched by electric current.

There was one statue that caught her eye, one that still had its head. It posed on one spindly black leg, back arched in a bow with its  boxed head thrown forward. It was a ghastly statue but still she had to look closer, drawn in by morbid fascination. The dog whined a little louder, nudging the hand that still held the message, and she shushed him. Slowly, she leaned toward the statue. She was trying to see what it was or should have been.

Meg noticed the posed limbs were starting to tremble so that the inky black veins rippled. She glanced at the carved box head and saw that the tiny eye sockets, once empty, now gleamed like amber. The black lids closed once, like a wink, and the entire body shuddered. Silver cracks began to slice through its creases.

Before she could scream, the statue lurched fast toward her. Clammy black hands snatched the paper from her shocked grip and the creature gave her a fanged smile. Meg could only stare, dumbfounded, as it leapt off of the pedestal and ran dog-like down the dirt road.

Only Happy Jack’s insistent nudge snapped her out of her confused stupor. Meg had to shake her head to clear it; it was impossible for that to have happened. But when she glanced down at her now empty palm, she realized it had been real and the creature was getting away. The second time someone had stolen from her.

Despite her determination that this was a dream, Meg felt panic flooding her. She forgot common sense and focussed on getting the paper back. She broke into an awkward sprint, her bare feet tripping her whenever she hit the uneven ground.

The dog barked in delight and bounded beside her. Meg ignored him and raced for the edge of the clearing  behind the statue. She caught it before it plunged headfirst through the bushes. It shrieked as she snagged the paper from its hand. At her touch, the statue exploded into shards and Meg was running too fast to stop.

The change in terrain sent her scrambling for a foothold on the now slippery cobblestone. Meg did a strange skittering dance of sliding left with one leg and stepping with her right foot. Her ankle wobbled with a savage wrench. It sent her toppling over onto her hip and she rolled through the street and into a thick crop of weeds. She landed against a bench and the iron leg smacked into her spine with a crack.

Groaning in pain, she stared up at the overcast sky and tried to will air back into her desperate lungs.

Suddenly, her sky filled with the upside down happiness of Happy Jack. He barked at her and gave her a lick across the cheek, his doggy smell comforting. She grabbed the thin collar and used the dog to pull herself up. Her ankle ached and she was sure she might pass out from the pain. She clutched the bench and kept the paper clenched in her other hand. There was no way she was losing it now.

Happy Jack left her with a bark and a bounce to his step, and she sat down on her own. 

There was a loud and childish giggle nearby. Meg looked over her shoulder to see three small children staring at her. One girl clutched a red ball while another was fiddling with a piece of ribbon around the throat of the third girl. They were cherubic and tiny, but their matching grins made her skin crawl.

What are you doing here? the girl with the ball asked.

It’s my dream, so what are you doing here? Meg snapped.

The three exchanged sly looks. She’s a dreamer, the second girl said.

If she’s dreaming then she must have a message! said the third girl, wrenching the ribbon from her throat. Before Meg could dodge her, she reached over the bench and snatched the paper from Meg’s hand.

Hey! She scrambled to