Light Keeper Chronicle: The Unspoken Prophecy

By R.E. Bellesmith

There’s a gap in Lenzey Wright’s memory.

After her dad picks her up from the worst day of school, Lenzey remembers the sound of screeching tires and then... nothing else. When she and her dad find themselves back home there’s a gap in their memories, a dent in the roof of the car, and a strange glowing stone in Lenzey’s backpack.

It soon becomes clear that someone is after Lenzey and her friends Ellean, Walter, and Zack. Unable to avoid this pursuer, the four of them find themselves pulled in the magical world of Garibain bestowed with strange powers.

They quickly realize that “magical” and “strange” are quite the opposite of “safe.”

Upon arriving in Garibain, a wizard named Zandar tells them they are Element Keepers: chosen ones foretold of in an ancient prophecy he cannot repeat. Zandar offers a way home, however, he has a few tasks for the Element Keepers. It’s not long before the request for an old sword evolves into helping dethrone a king.

If Lenzey and her friends want to find their way back home, they will have to fight off a manticore, outsmart a Warlock, and contend with a future they are not allowed to know.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.E. Bellesmith
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218006112

R.E. Bellesmith

R.E. Bellesmith is an author based in the American Midwest who's debut novel is "Light Keeper Chronicle: The Unspoken Prophecy."

Book preview

The second to last Friday of the school year was—in the opinion of Lenzey Wright—the most dreadful moment of her existence.

Recess had ended, and she was doing her best not to cry. Lenzey had prided herself on avoiding Principal Garcia’s office her entire sixth grade year and every year before that, yet was now sitting with a black eye outside the heavy wooden door. Next to her was Zack Kinder, a boy who had seen both sides of the door more than most.

I said I was sorry … he mumbled into his chest.

Lenzey didn’t look at him, mostly because she was still working on blinking away tears. Quiet. You’re just going to get us in more trouble.

Zack snorted. Don’t act like you didn’t do anything wrong.

I didn’t do anything wrong!

"You’re the one with a black eye. You must have done something wrong."

For a second, she wanted to punch him in the face. But the feeling passed as quickly as the fourth grader who walked by, rigidly pretending he didn’t notice them. Lenzey tried to scowl at Zack, but found that doing so made her face hurt more. She remembered seeing characters with black eyes in cartoons, all puffy and swollen. In a weird way they’d looked almost comfortable, like the eye had a tiny purple pillow on it, and were gone by the next scene. What she was experiencing felt like someone leaning against her face, a sensation that showed no sign of relenting.

The wooden door opened to reveal Principal Garcia. The man always looked tired despite his right hand ever-clutching a steaming cup of coffee. He turned to face them, giving Lenzey a clear view of the image on his mug: a cheerful looking sun with the words Did you remember to smile today? above it. The expression on the principal’s face suggested he had gone the whole day without taking his mug’s advice. (He went most days without following that advice.) His expression upon seeing Zack indicated he wasn’t about to start listening to his coffee cup now.

Zack, he said with a sigh, and Lenzey. Both of you, please come in.

Lenzey’s feet felt like cement as she stood and followed the principal. This is what going to prison feels like.

She sank into one of the two chairs on the bad side of the principal’s desk. As the leather settled under her, it let loose a smell entirely new to Lenzey that she assumed was the stench of rule breakers. Principal Garcia took a moment to situate himself behind his desk, taking another long drink from his mug before leaning forward and peering at them through thick prescription glasses.

Which of you would like to tell me what happened first?

I didn’t do anything. Lenzey avoided making eye contact with the principal.

Eighth graders are jerks … Zack muttered.

Like an exhausted hawk spotting a scurrying mouse, Principal Garcia focused on Zack. What did the eighth graders do?

He pushed me down and then punched Lenzey in the face.

She tried to shrink into her chair.

Is this true, Lenzey?

She squirmed, hoping that might somehow get him to stop paying attention to her. When he didn’t look away, she took a long, rattling breath. Kinda. One of the eighth graders shoved Zack and was going to hit him.

Then what happened?

Lenzey did something stupid.

Zack, I’m asking Lenzey right now.

Zack shrugged.

The room waited for her to answer. Principal Garcia’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. Lenzey, did you step in front of him?

She continued to stare at the carpet.

Why did you get in front of him?

Because she’s dumb.

Zack! I’m asking Lenzey. He spoke to her again. Is Zack a friend of yours? Is that why you wanted to keep him from being hit? Do you know the boy who hit you?

No. She knew Zack partly because he was friends with Walter, but mostly because he was really annoying in class (and also outside of class). He’d been playing tag with her, Ellean, Sara, Walter, and Nick. No one had been able to tag Zack all of recess, so he started saying he was bored. Then he decided to start repeatedly tagging the same eighth grader. An eighth grader who wasn’t playing with them. The older kid seemed bothered, but didn’t try to chase Zack or do anything other than tell him to stop—so Zack decided to pull his pants down.

The group playing tag was nearby when the eighth grader pulled his pants up, pushed Zack to the ground, balled his fist, and reared back to punch him.

Without thinking, Lenzey ran over to grab the eighth grader’s arm and pull him away—but found herself staring at the sky. There’d been a fuzzy feeling behind her face and a swirl of blue and white in the one eye she could see through. The eighth graders had run off, and her friends were standing around her while Ellean ran for a teacher.

It was an accident … you shouldn’t hit people …

Principal Garcia took a sip from his mug. You’re right, you shouldn’t hit people. Do you know the eighth grader who punched you?

She shook her head.

Do you think you could recognize him?

She tried to imagine him. He’d had stringy hair, was wearing a baggy black sweater… and the other details spun away as she recalled him punching her in the face.

She shook her head.

Principal Garcia put his mug down, something he only did when he meant business (or had run out of coffee). Zack, do you know the eighth grader who was trying to punch you?

Zack sat up, excited he was being spoken to. The dumb, stupid one!

Do you know what he looked like?

Dumb. And also stupid.

The principal sighed. We don’t call people names. It’s not nice.

It’s also not nice to try and punch me.

Zack.

It’s not.

And do you know why he was trying to punch you?

Zack looked around the room, focusing a long time on a framed picture of the principal with much darker hair and a much brighter smile. Finally, he shrugged. I dunno.

Principal Garcia sighed again and looked at Lenzey. Do you have any idea why this eighth grader wanted to punch Zack?

Eye throbbing, she kept looking at the thin gray, office carpet. If she never looked up, she never had to acknowledge she was in the principal’s office. She muttered, Can I go? … My eye hurts. She realized no one had bothered to bring her ice. Aren’t they supposed to bring you ice to make you feel better?

You can go as soon as you tell me why you think the eighth grader might have been trying to hit Zack.

Next to her, she could feel Zack willing her to stay quiet. In front, she felt Principal Garcia waiting on her to speak. All while her eye felt like it was burning—she didn’t feel the tears leaking from it until they started appearing as small splotches on her jeans.

He pulled down the eighth grader’s pants.

No I didn’t! Zack leapt up. She’s lying! She got hit in the head! Are you going to believe her over me? After all we’ve been through?!

Principal Garcia smiled, victorious. Thank you, Lenzey. You can go now.

But she’s lying!

Can I get some ice?

Sit down, Zack. Do you want to tell me exactly what happened, or should we bring your parents in?

Ha! Good luck getting them in the same room together!

Could I please get some ice?

Principal Garcia nodded towards the door. Mrs. Cornwell can get you an ice pack on your way out.

Relief steadied Lenzey as she slid out of the chair and onto her feet. Thank you.

Zack was standing on his chair now. I’m innocent! Innocent, I say!

Sit down, Zack!

The door closed behind her just as Zack launched into a badly improvised recitation of the Emancipation Proclamation.

She walked a dozen steps or so down the hall to the front office with the secretary’s desk. Mrs. Cornwell was on the phone and looked up as Lenzey entered, sending her dangly earrings into a frenzy.

Actually, Mr. Wright, your daughter just walked in … Yes, I’ll put you on with her.

Lenzey’s cheeks warmed as she took the phone, not sure why she felt embarrassed. She took one last long, broken breath before speaking. Hi, Dad.

The honking of a car came from the other end of the phone, followed by some not-quite-swears from her father. Lenzey, are you all right? Who hit you?

I’m okay. She stared at Mrs. Cornwell, trying to communicate her want for an ice pack, but the woman was too busy typing away at her keyboard to notice.

I’m on my way over now. She heard the engine of the car shriek the way it usually did when her father sped through a yellow light. Who hit you?

I’m fine … Can we talk about it when you get here?

Okay, okay, yes. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Lenzey hung up the phone and headed back to class, knowing she had about twenty minutes before her dad showed up. Most of the way to class, she realized she’d forgotten to get an ice pack from Mrs. Cornwell. Feeling too awkward to turn around now, she continued on.

Class was letting out when she arrived, filling the hall with the screams and whoops of her classmates. Head down, she tried to push her way through the crowd streaming from Ms. Swan’s classroom. Even as she covered her black eye, she could feel people looking at her. Everyone probably already knows what happened.

When she managed to break through the other students, she stumbled into the barren classroom. Ms. Swan was at the front of the room, wiping math equations from the whiteboard, and she caught sight of Lenzey through a pair of narrow glasses.

Lenzey?

Hi, Ms. Swan. I just need to get some stuff out of my desk.

You shouldn’t be moving around so much. Mrs. Cornwell should have called me and told me what you needed. I could have brought it to you.

That’s okay. Lenzey opened her desk, grabbing her pencil case and water bottle.

Ms. Swan held a hand up to her own eye and grimaced empathetically. You’re not feeling lightheaded?

I’m all right. This was Lenzey’s least favorite thing about being hurt. The pain was bad and annoying, but when everyone offered sympathy, she felt like she was letting them down by telling them there was nothing they could do about it. Though she still really wanted ice … But if you have something cold, that would be nice.

Oh! Of course. Ms. Swan hurried behind her desk and, after checking a couple of drawers, produced a lunchbox, out of which she retrieved a silver cold-pack. She weighed it in her palm, judging its temperature, before handing it over.

Thanks. She pressed the pack against her wounded eye. It was warmer and slimier than she would have wanted, but it still offered some relief.

Don’t worry about getting that back to me; I have two more in my freezer at home.

Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday.

Enjoy your weekend, Lenzey, and … Ms. Swan made a kind of choked sound then cleared her throat. Everything’s going to be okay.

Ellean and Sara were waiting at her locker. Sara stood on her toes, whispering in Ellean’s ear while Ellean nodded. When Ellean noticed Lenzey, she elbowed Sara, who went quiet until Lenzey started entering her combination.

Did he get suspended? Sara blurted out.

Ellean waved. Hey, Lenzey.

Did he get suspended? He deserves it. I hope they expel him!

Lenzey’s stomach turned. She knew that if Zack got expelled, it wouldn’t be her fault, but the thought still made her feel a little guilty. Her locker popped open, and she loaded her science textbook, biology textbook, and homework folder into her bag.

I don’t think they’re going to expel him, she said. The year ends in a week.

Sara blew a strand of red hair out of her face furiously. Then maybe he’ll actually get held back this year. Or maybe he’ll switch schools. We can at least stop playing tag with him.

Lenzey shut her locker. He’s not so bad. (She almost meant it.) And he’s not the one who hit me anyway.

The three started walking out. Sara was fuming so much she gave a few fifth graders threatening looks as they passed. One kid practically threw himself out of her way. I don’t know why you got involved.

Lenzey shrugged. The eighth grader shouldn’t punch him in the face.

"He shouldn’t punch you in the face."

Zack does deserve it more, Ellean said. Though Ellean was also of the opinion that a bag of wet cement was more deserving of being pulled up from the edge of a cliff than Zack.

… Maybe I just thought that if I did something fast enough, he wouldn’t hit either of us.

Eighth graders are monsters! Sara said. They’ll hit anything that moves! Sometimes they even hit things that don’t move. I saw one punch the jungle gym once for no reason. Just because it was there! He sprained his hand doing it!

They emerged from the school, protected from the starting rain by the long, overhanging eaves of the building. Students huddled for protection as buses laden with kids prepared to leave and cars with attentive parents began to file in. At the back of the line, she spotted her father’s green Ford trying madly to cut ahead of the other cars—which, at this point, were actively attempting to keep him from making progress.

A few of the kids around Lenzey were pointing at her dad’s car. Ellean politely pretended that she didn’t notice.

Are we still going to meet at the mall tomorrow?

Ugh, Sara grimaced. My mom said that she doesn’t want me going without an adult there.

Ellean shrugged. I told my parents I’m going to the library.

My mom would never believe that.

I still need to ask, Lenzey said. Her dad would probably say yes—especially after she’d gotten a black eye. I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay.

Her dad was now close enough that he was leaning out the driver’s side window and looking around for her in a frenzy. Other drivers gave him some combination of an angry look, an angry honk, and an angry shout.

I should go, Lenzey said.

Ellean nodded as she and a dozen other kids stared at the middle-aged man ready to turn a middle school parking lot into a bumper car battle royal to find his daughter. Yeah, make sure he doesn’t end up getting hurt worse than you.

I’ll call you when I know if I can make it to the mall! Lenzey yelled back through the drizzle, diving into her dad’s car head first to avoid the rain.

The questioning began almost immediately. Are you okay? Mr. Wright looked at her intently even as he began maneuvering out of the parking lot chaos—mostly ignoring the gym teacher, Mrs. O’Kelly, directing traffic.

I’m fine, Dad. She put her backpack in the seats behind her, resting it next to the duffle bag her mom kept in both cars in case she needed a last minute change of clothes for work.

Who hit you? Do you want me to talk to their parents?

No, it’s okay.

Mr. Wright drummed his fingers across the steering wheel, mumbling to himself. "… I would like to talk to their parents."

Lenzey smiled to show she was feeling okay, ignoring the pain it caused under her eye. I don’t know the kid who punched me or who his parents are. I think he was an eighth grader.

He gave a half-grin in response, seeming slightly calmer. I’ll just have to talk to all the parents of all the eighth graders to make sure none of them ever punches anyone again.

You could come to the school and be a guest speaker for them. They could have an assembly for you and everything.

Pfft, in front of all the eighth grade kids? No way, he laughed. I’m not doing that. Eighth graders are scary. I don’t know how you go to school with them every day. It’s much easier to talk to their parents. You’re braver than I am… you’re positive you feel fine?

I’d just like some ice for my eye.

We can get you some at home. Or we could go through a drive-through and just ask them for a bunch of ice.

She sat up in her seat a little. Could we get french fries and ice cream too?

Hmmm, I don’t think you’ll want to put french fries on that eye, kid.

She laughed. The french fries would be for eating!

That makes a lot more sense. He patted his pants, making sure he hadn’t forgotten his wallet at home. Yeah, I think ice for the eye and fries for the mouth is a good call.

Ask him now. Do you think I could also meet Ellean at the mall tomorrow?

His jaw clenched and loosened as he considered. She could practically see his thought process. On the one hand, his daughter had just been injured, and he didn’t want her doing anything; on the other hand, saying yes would cheer her up.

She quickly added, I’d bring the cell phone with me and I’d only be there for three hours, and I’d be with Ellean all day, and Walter might show up too.

I’ll check with your mom but … I think that’ll be okay. As long as you text us every so often.

Yes!

Her dad swerved down a backroad—a shortcut to fast food—and Lenzey saw something.

A woman. Standing in the rain.

She was dressed strangely, in what looked like a cloak and some sort of heavy padding. As the car came closer, she stepped into the street.

Dad! Lenzey shouted.

He screamed something. The tires squealed.

Bang! The woman went over their windshield.

An hour later, neither Lenzey nor her dad remembered the impact.

Chapter 2: Dented Memory

What happened to the car?

Lenzey blinked. Her mom was standing in the doorway of their house, looking aghast.

Wait … Lenzey looked around.

The rain had stopped. She and her dad were standing in their driveway. When did we get home? I was at school. I was talking to Ellean and Sara about going to the mall, then Dad picked me up and … her memory stuttered. It felt like her own brain was trying to keep her out.

… I asked him, or … he asked me if I was okay, and then … then I—I asked him if I could go to the mall tomorrow, and he said yes, and … and … and … and I’m standing here …

Her hand instinctively went to her swollen eye. Was it possible she’d been hit harder than she thought? Her head didn’t really hurt other than the eye. Concussions are supposed to hurt, right?

She looked at her dad to ask him what had happened (was his flannel shirt more wrinkled than when she’d last looked at it?), but he seemed just as dazed as her—like someone had run up to him, pointed a flashlight in his eyes, and yelled Uno! before vanishing. His focus went to the car. When Lenzey followed his gaze, she really wondered how hard she’d been hit.

There was a dent on the hood of the Ford, a hairline crack running the length of the windshield, and an almost identical dent on the roof. Like someone had rolled a rock from the roof to the hood, or …

Or jumped on it? She didn’t know why she thought that.

Her breathing got heavier. She felt like she should know where those dents came from. She knew she should know where they came from. Like a test answer bubbling at the back of her mind, she could feel the solution in her brain, refusing to be recalled.

Uhhhh … her dad was looking back and forth between the keys and his car. I think … a branch must’ve fallen on the car while we were driving.

No, that’s not right. It was … it was something else.

Is that why you’re so late getting home?

That’s when Lenzey noticed her mom had already changed out of her scrubs into her home clothes. Even when her mom got back home early, she almost never beat Lenzey coming back from school, and she definitely didn’t have time to shower and get dressed before Lenzey could get home.

Her dad spoke slowly, as if afraid he might somehow give a wrong answer. Yes … Well, no. We went to get some fast food and, uhm, we went inside to eat. A branch must’ve fallen on the car while we were parked. I honestly didn’t notice it until just now.

Lenzey remembered mentioning fast food at one point. If I already ate, why don’t I feel full?

Her mom was still confused and slightly flushed as she looked from Lenzey to her dad. She bit her lip, contemplating. Lenzey, come here, let me look at your eye. Are you feeling okay?

Uhm ... I think so, Lenzey said as her mom put a hand on her shoulder and examined her carefully. Do you think I might have a concussion?

Her mom’s hand tensed. Why? Lenzey, do you remember getting punched?

I remember.

What did we eat for breakfast this morning?

Pancakes.

What grade are you in?

Sixth grade. Ms. Swan’s class.

What’s my maiden name?

Uhm, DeBoer.

She gently cupped Lenzey’s face and tilted her head, angling it against the evening light. Hmm, your pupils seem fine. You’re sure you don’t have any holes in your memory?

The tires squealed.

Bang! Lenzey flinched.

She could remember … something. Someone on the windshield? But if they really had hit someone, her dad would have remembered it.

I think I remember everything.

Her mother nodded, still searching her daughter’s eyes. Get your backpack, get inside, and I’ll take a closer look at you. At the very least, we’ll put some ice on your eye.

With that, Lenzey’s mother went over to her father.

Still trying to wrap her mind around what happened, Lenzey went to the car and opened the back door. Her backpack was right where she left it. Maybe I just fell asleep on the way home? But then how was I standing up in the driveway? Her head was starting to hurt just from thinking. Pulling her bag out of the car, she ran inside while her parents went over the vehicle to make sure there were no other unexpected dents.

Once indoors, she