Enter now for a chance to win one of five Frank Einstein prize packs. Each prize pack includes the first two books in the Frank Einstein series, Frank Einstein and the Antimatter Motor and Frank Einstein and the Electro-Finger, plus a cool wrench pen.
Written by Mark Henry | Illustrations by AG Ford
Not counting the normal, Oklahoma stuff from his dad’s side of the family, 15-year-old Jimmy Dugan had 11 names. Most of them were pretty weird, but the name his Eskimo grandfather gave him looked as if it might even get him killed.
A gray cloud of ice-fog surrounded his face with every panting breath. Deep, bone-numbing cold seeped through the thick fur of Jimmy’s parka. His feet, layered in heavy wool socks and sealskin mukluks, felt like frozen blocks of meat.
His body was one big ice-cream headache.
Under low clouds and a weak arctic sun, seven huskies shivered in harness, bushy tails curled around their feet. Eyes, rimmed in tiny ice crystals, squinted against the bitter air. The thermometer hanging on the handle of Jimmy’s dogsled read 37 below.
Spit snapped before it hit the ground in such conditions. Trees exploded as sap turned to ice. The dogs’ feet cracked and bled. Jimmy had heard stories of men who’d cut off their own frostbitten fingers just to survive.
He stopped the team on a frozen pond in the middle of an endless white plain. There was no wind, and the moisture from his breath and the panting dogs pooled into a foggy soup at his feet.
Jimmy kicked at the swirling cloud with his mukluk, then slumped against the sled, clenching his teeth in a shiver that shook his entire body. A dozen other figures, some on snow machines, some with dogs, moved like gray dots up and down the river — all searching, just like him.
It was March, the season Yup’ik Eskimo call “When-Seals-Are-Born.” Back in Tulsa, Jimmy’s friends would be mowing their lawns. But in Alaska, on the ice-covered tundra of the Yukon Delta, winter wouldn’t release her frozen grip until May. He wished his dad’s deployment in Iraq would end so his mother would take them back home — back to civilization.
He was only a kid from Oklahoma, no matter what his grandfather said.
In Yup’ik tradition, almost every-one gave him a different name. To his grandmother he was Kakeggluk, translated as “Runny Nose,” because he was allergic to just about every-thing on the planet. Auntie Vera called him “Dear Little Husband,” because when Jimmy was a baby, he’d supposedly looked like his big-eared great uncle, who’d died shortly before he was born.
All the names were dorky, but the one his grandfather gave him caused the most trouble: Nukalpiaq. It sounded like he was clearing his throat when he said it. Nukalpiaq — “Great Hunter.”
What a joke. Jimmy had never hunted anything but a few ducks —and he wasn’t very successful at that.
Then two boys went missing while they were out checking blackfish traps set below the river ice. With most of the men from the village off hunting seals, the boys’ mother had come to beg Nukalpiaq for help.
“Surely,” she’d explained through her tears, “the Great Hunter’s grand-father had seen something special in him. …” Her boys were only 6 and 8 years old. Surely someone with such a name could help her find her little ones before they froze to death.
Jimmy had been up and down the river six times already without finding a single track. He buried his face in his mittens, wracking his brain for what his grandfather would do.
“Tie my teachings in your boot-laces so you don’t lose ’em,” the old man always said when he finished a lesson. He’d passed away in the darkest time of winter — the season Yup’ik call “Worst-of-the-Moon.”
“Grandpa,” Jimmy muttered, standing up with a groan. “I should’ve tied your words on better. Those boys are out here somewhere —maybe dead already. … I’m freezing and I don’t know what to do. What were you thinking? People expect too much from a boy named Great Hunter.”
“If you don’t know which way to go,” Jimmy’s grandfather had taught him, “say a little prayer, then trust your dogs. If they turn, don’t stop ’em. They’ll take you where you need to go. Tie these words in your bootlaces. …”
The huskies tugged at their harnesses, eager to get moving in the cold. Chinook, the lead dog, threw back his great, gray head and gave a mournful howl.
Jimmy’s grandfather once said that long ago, animals and man had lived together and spoken the same language. Then a great divide opened up, separating man from the others. As the canyon grew wider, dog
jumped across at the last possible instant, choosing to stay with his friend, man. Even now, dog’s sorrow-ful howl was his way of talking to his wild brothers across that great divide.
“If you don’t know which way to go,” Jimmy’s grandfather had taught him, “say a little prayer, then trust your dogs. If they turn, don’t stop ’em. They’ll take you where you need to go. Tie these words in your bootlaces. …”
“OK, Chinook,” Jimmy hollered. “You asked for it, boy. Trust, it is. Hike! Hike!” (People called “mush” to their dogs only in the movies.)
The huskies nearly tugged the sled out of Jimmy’s hands. Subzero air seared his lungs as he trotted to jump aboard the runners. There was no sound but the jingle of the dogs’ traces and the hiss of the sled over ice.
“The great Runny Nose,” Jimmy snorted under the huge wolverine ruff of his parka hood. “Off to save the day.”
The dogs suddenly veered right, toward the middle of a smaller river that fed into the mighty Yukon. Chinook stopped in his tracks, looking back over broad shoulders. He sniffed the air. Frosty steam from his panting drifted in the still air.
The sun, lower now, peeked between gray clouds and the frozen expanse of the Bering Sea. In the long shadows ahead of the dogs, Jimmy saw two impressions in the snow. Faint tracks followed the trail of a snowshoe hare, barely visible in the rock-hard ridges of white. Ten yards farther, they vanished at the edge of a gaping hole he’d missed on his earlier searches.
His blood turned to ice. The river was deep here and never froze all the way to the bottom. If the boys had fallen through —
“Chinook! Haw! Haw!” Jimmy cried.
The powerful lead dog obeyed, dragging his teammates and the sled to the left. He stopped dead-even with the treacherous break.
Chinook whined at the jagged hole. Slowly, the dog tugged the sled toward it. The ice hummed and popped like gnashing teeth beneath their combined weight.
“Chinook, no!” Jimmy stomped on the brake. “Stupid dog, you’ll kill us all —”
“Helloooo!” A muffled cry rose from the ice.
Jimmy threw back his heavy fur hood despite the bitter cold. “Hello?”
“M-m-ma-mamaaaa!” a second voice sobbed.
Quickly, Jimmy unsnapped the gang line and anchored the dogs to the ice with the claw brake. Then, flat on his belly in the basket of the empty sled, he inched forward. The long runners distributed his weight, and he moved to the edge of the hole.
Two boys gazed up from the blue-gray shadows three feet below. An early freeze had flash-frozen the river. The water level beneath the ice had dropped before it had frozen solid again, leaving a cave-like tunnel between two sheets of ice. The boys had found a weak spot and fallen through the top layer.
Frozen tears streaked dirty faces, framed by fur parka hoods. Pudgy cheeks almost closed their eyes as they grinned up at Jimmy.
“Runny Nose!” The 6-year-old’s mouth gaped in surprise. “You have come to save us?”
“Your mother’s worried about you.” Jimmy peered down between the wooden slats of his sled. He was suddenly much warmer than before. “You were smart to stay where you broke through.”
“Grandfather says to stay put if we are lost,” the older boy said. “We tied his words in our bootlaces so we wouldn’t forget them.”
Jimmy shot a quick glance at his lead dog, which gave him a wide-mouthed yawn. “We all have some things tied to our bootlaces today. …”
The boys shivered badly as Jimmy hauled them up from beneath the ice. He gave them hot chocolate from his thermos and some oatmeal cookies he had kept under his parka so they wouldn’t freeze solid.
As Jimmy stepped on the sled runners, the younger boy turned from his nest of blankets, his lip covered in a frothy, hot-chocolate mustache. “Can we go home, Runny Nose?”
His older brother gave him a stiff elbow to the ribs. “You call him Nukalpiaq. Runny Nose isn’t polite.”
“Either one.” Jimmy smiled, urging the dogs toward the village. “Either one suits me fine.”
Sean Fay Wolfe, an Eagle Scout from Troop 1 in Kingston, Rhode Island, recently published his first novel, Minecraft: Quest for Justice, an action-adventure novel set in the world of the popular videogame Minecraft.
The novel is the first in a series of books called the Elementia Chronicles. It tells the story of a player named Stan who has never played Minecraft before. He learns how to play the game while making many new friends, but he soon realizes that the older players of the game look down upon the newer players as second-class citizens. When Stan decides to take a stand against this injustice, he ends up on a quest to lead an uprising against the prejudiced older players and their tyrannical King.
Sean took some time out of his busy schedule to chat about his book, Scouting and computer programming.
The Elementia Chronicles is a trilogy that takes place on a Minecraft server called Elementia. The first book, Quest for Justice, tells the story of a player named Stan who has never played the game before. He learns how to play the game while making many new friends, but he soon realizes that the older players of the game look down upon the newer players as second-class citizens. When Stan decides to take a stand against this injustice, he ends up on a quest to lead an uprising against the prejudiced older players and their tyrannical King. A summary of Books 2 and 3 of the trilogy can be found on my website www.sfaywolfe.com.
I got the idea from playing Minecraft on online servers. As I played, it occurred to me that since the game of Minecraft really has no plot or mandatory goals, and is just an open world where players can interact with the environment and each other, it would be an interesting setting for a story. While the overall story of the book is made up, many character interactions and dialogue are based on what I’ve experienced on the servers. I started writing Quest for Justice in 9th grade.
Yes, I am a huge Minecraft fan. I’ve been playing since the official release of the game in late 2011, and when I first played, I was immediately hooked. While I don’t get to play as often as I used to nowadays, I still really enjoy it, and it is my personal favorite videogame.
I have been writing short stories for as long as I can remember.
Since publishing the book, I’ve been invited to many schools to give talks on my writing process. My experience as a Den Chief has been instrumental in teaching me how to talk to students in an engaging way.
My next immediate goal is to publish The Noctem Ascension, the second book of the Elementia Chronicles, in January 2015. Then finish the trilogy with Herobrine’s Message, sometime in late 2015. After that I have dozens other ideas that I would like to write about, probably starting with a standalone novel called The Legacy of the White Katana. I would love to be an author full time, and I plan to go to college to study creative writing and computer programming.
I have many interests in my free time. I love computer programming, and I have programmed many popular games on the online programming environment Scratch (that’s actually where my self-publishing company, Diamond Axe Studios, originated). I also enjoy drama club, working out, music and, of course, Boy Scouts.
I have too many favorite books to count, although if I had to pick, I’d probably say Harry Potter. While I was writing, I found J. K. Rowling to be a big inspiration to me, as my writing style is similar to hers.
I first got excited about creative writing in first grade, when my teacher, Mrs. Kidd, had us write short stories all the time. I remember having a lot of fun coming up with new stories.
To celebrate 700 Feet of Terror, the brand-new Boys’ Life short story by Eric DelaBarre, we’re giving away 10 autographed copies of the author’s novel, Saltwater Taffy. Plus, the official Saltwater Taffy “SAWEET” hoodie sweatshirt.
Saltwater Taffy follows the lives of five friends as they uncover a treasure map that once belonged to the ruthless New Orleans pirate, Jean Lafitte. The discovery thrusts them from one treasure hunting adventure to the next as they try to out-wit, out-think and out-maneuver everyone from the one-legged junk-yard man and an overbearing town bully, to the creepy old man living at the top of the hill.
The contest has ended. Congratulations to all the winners.
When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was The True Story of the Three Little Pigs. It’s a funny spin on the classic Three Little Pigs story, where the Big Bad Wolf tells his version of the story. As you can imagine, he’s an unreliable narrator. If you’ve never read the book, it’s worth the quick read. (Or check out the video version above.)
The True Story of the Three Little Pigs was written by legendary author Jon Scieszka, who’s work has appeared many times in the pages of Boys’ Life. He’s the author of classics like, The Stinky Cheese Man, The Time Warp Trio, Math Curse, and most recently, the Frank Einstein series.
In fact, Scieszka is writing an exclusive Frank Einstein short story for BL‘s Feb. 2015 issue. If you’re unfamiliar with his Frank Einstein books, you’re missing out.
Here’s the synopsis for Book 1, Frank Einstein and the Antimatter Motor:
Frank Einstein loves figuring out how the world works by creating household contraptions that are part science, part imagination, and definitely unusual. After an uneventful experiment in his garage-lab, a lightning storm and flash of electricity bring Frank’s inventions—the robots Klink and Klank—to life! Not exactly the ideal lab partners, the wisecracking Klink and the overly expressive Klank nonetheless help Frank attempt to perfect his Antimatter Motor . . . until Frank’s archnemesis, T. Edison, steals Klink and Klank for his evil doomsday plan! Using real science, Jon Scieszka has created a unique world of adventure and science fiction—an irresistible chemical reaction for middle-grade readers.
The second book in the series, Frank Einstein and the Electro-Finger, will release on March 17, 2015. Don’t miss the Feb. 2015 issue of Boys’ Life for a sneak peek.
Prepare yourselves for an all-new Harry Potter story, just in time for Halloween at Pottermore.com.
The good news? It’s free! The not as good news? Harry Potter probably won’t be in it. Instead, the story is all about former Hogwarts headmistress Dolores Umbridge.
But that’s not so bad. In case you don’t remember, she was one of Harry’s most evil enemies, crusading to persecute all Muggle-borns. Sounds like the perfect spooky Halloween treat. After all, according to J.K Rowling:
Umbridge is not only one of the most malicious Potter characters she is the only person other than Lord Voldemort to leave a permanent physical scar on Harry.
In total, the new story will be just 1,700 words — easily readable in one sitting. Can’t wait until Oct.31? A string of new material has been released by Rowling at Pottermore in 2014, including a fictional news story about the Quidditch World Cup that updated the lives of Harry, Ron and Hermione.
Get reading!
Are you a Brotherband Chronicles fanatic? You’re in luck. We’ve got an exclusive excerpt from Scorpion Mountain, the fifth book in John Flanagan’s Brotherband Chronicles series.
Scorpion Mountain follows Hal, his Brotherband crew, and the Ranger Gilan after freeing the twelve Araluens sold into slavery. Returning to Araluen, Gilan is given a new mission by King Duncan: protect his daughter’s life. Princess Cassandra has survived one attempt on her life already, and now whispers of a second attempt have reached the kingdom. A deadly sect known as the Scorpion Cult is thought to be behind the assassination threat.
Not waiting to see if the knife will strike true, the Brotherband again team up with Gilan to track down the would-be killers. In the fifth book in the Brotherband Chronicles series, old friends reemerge to take on new enemies as the worlds of Ranger’s Apprentice and Brotherband join forces in battle!
Scroll down to read the first two chapters of Scorpion Mountain.
[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hoa there, Tom! Steady on, fellow!”
Tom was a plow horse, well past middle age and resigned, like most of his placid breed, to the constant task of plodding up and down, hauling a plow that carved consecutive furrows in the rich earth of Halder farm. He wasn’t accustomed to being stopped in mid-furrow and he turned his shaggy head to look at his owner, Devon Halder.
Devon, like his horse, was well past middle age. And the smock that he was wearing was liberally daubed with patches of drying mud. Later that night, when he was asked in the local tavern what led him to stop and and turn around, he couldn’t really recall. Perhaps he had heard the slight sounds of creaking leather and rope, or the rustle of a sail in the brisk wind.
The days when Skandians used to raid the coastal and river villages of Araluen were well in the past now. And besides, on second glance, this was no wolfship.
Whatever it was, it was enough for Devon to halt Tom and turn to face the river behind him. When he did, the sight that met his eyes sent a sudden jolt of panic through him.
Barely forty meters away, gliding smoothly up the river, was a ship.
His first thought was that she was a wolfship, and Devon was old enough to remember when the sight of a Skandian wolfship on the river was a prelude to a sudden, savage attack. He tensed his muscles to run and spread the alarm in the nearby village. But he paused at the last second.
The days when Skandians used to raid the coastal and river villages of Araluen were well in the past now. And besides, on second glance, this was no wolfship.
She was similar in style and shape, sure enough. She was slim waisted and had a look of speed about her. She didn’t have the broad, capacious lines of a cargo hull. But there was no large square sail such as a wolfship would use. Instead, this ship was rigged with a triangular sail that was mounted fore and aft along the line of the ship, supported by a long, gracefully curving spar that swept up high above the hull.
She was smaller than a wolfship. Also, at her bow post, there was no carved wolf ’s head, with raised hackles and snarling teeth. Instead, there was a carving in the shape of a bird’s head. And there was a motif of a seabird in flight on the sail—a graceful bird with wings spread wide. A heron, Devon realized.
But the four circular wood-and-metal-reinforced shields arrayed down the starboard bulwark were unmistakably Skandian in design, although he noticed that a fifth shield, set level with the helmsman’s position, was shaped like a triangle.
The crew, those he could see, were dressed in Skandian fashion—with leather and sheepskin vests and leggings held secure by crisscross bindings. Yet he saw none of the horned helmets for which the Skandian sea wolves were well known, the sight of which would strike fear into any honest farmer’s heart. Instead, several of them wore dark woolen watch caps, rolled down to cover their ears against the cold.
Devon returned the wave cautiously— his suspicions were still raised.
As he watched, the figure at the helm raised a hand in greeting. Devon shaded his eyes to look more closely at the helmsman. He appeared to be quite young, and relatively slim for a Skandian. The person beside him was more like a typical sea wolf, Devon thought. He was bulky, with wild gray hair blowing in the wind. As Devon watched, he realized that the second man had a wooden hook in place of his right hand.
Definitely a sea wolf type, he thought. But then the man made a similar gesture of greeting. Devon returned the wave cautiously— his suspicions were still raised. Small as she might be, this was definitely a cruiser, a raiding ship. She was fast, lean hulled and potentially dangerous. And, as the shields arrayed down her bulwark attested, her crew were fighting men. He watched her closely as she sailed past, gradually pulling out into the center of the river to round the approaching bend. The helmsman and his companion lowered their hands and seemed to lose interest in the elderly farmer and his plow horse.
“That’ll give him something to talk about in the tavern tonight,” Thorn said with a grin. “Probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to him since his plow got stuck on a tree root five days ago.”
Hal raised an eyebrow. “Us? Exciting?”
Thorn nodded, scratching his rump with the blunt end of his wooden hook.
“He was a graybeard. He’d remember the times when the sight of a Skandian ship meant a raid. I’m surprised he didn’t go pelting off to raise the alarm when he saw us.” Thorn had no idea how close the farmer had come to doing just that.
As they rounded the bend and the farmer and his horse disappeared from sight, Kloof planted her forepaws onto the starboard bulwark and gave out a single bark. Then, content that she had asserted her superiority over all things Araluen, she dropped back to the deck, slid her front feet and flumped down onto the planks. For a few seconds, she watched Hal out of one eye, then she sighed and settled back to sleep.
Hal cast his gaze over the tilled fields and green forests that lined the banks of the river. It was attractive country, he thought.
“Did you ever raid in Araluen, Thorn?” he asked.
The old sea wolf shook his head. “Erak preferred to raid the Iberian coast, and sometimes Gallica or Sonderland. And now that I’ve seen Gilan in action with that bow of his, I’m glad he did. Maybe Erak knew something. Imagine facing half a dozen archers with Gilan’s skill and speed.”
“Facing one would be bad enough,” Hal agreed.
Stig was sitting on a coil of rope several meters away, idly putting an edge on his already razor-sharp saxe knife as he listened to their conversation.
“D’you think Gilan will be at Castle Araluen yet?” he asked.
Originally, they had planned to leave Cresthaven Bay at the same time as the Ranger, who was riding overland back to the capital. But they’d had a long, hard voyage south to Socorro and Hal wanted the Heron in tip-top shape for her first appearance at Castle Araluen. There were some sections of running rigging that had frayed and needed splicing and repairing, and there was a large, splintered gash in one of the planks on the waterline, where they had nearly run aground pursuing Tursgud’s renegade ship Nightwolf through the shoals. It took half a day to plane that smooth and repaint the timber so there was no sign of the damage.
In addition, Edvin wanted to replenish their stores and fresh food and suggested that they should do it at Cresthaven, where the village was contracted to supply their needs as part of the duty ship agreement.
“No point spending our money elsewhere when they’ll provide it for nothing here,” Edvin had said, and Hal agreed.
As a result, they sailed out of Cresthaven and headed north to the river mouth some two days after Gilan had ridden off, waving farewell as he topped the rise above the bay where they were moored.
“Do you consider yourself a roughneck?” Thorn asked.
“He should be,” Hal replied to Stig’s question. “It’s a little over a day’s ride and I’m told those Ranger horses cover ground at a prodigious rate.”
“He can have the welcome committee ready for us then,” Thorn added. “Maybe this king of theirs will come down to the jetty to greet us.”
Hal smiled sidelong at his old friend. “From what I’ve heard of kings, they don’t stand around on windy jetties waiting for roughneck sailors to arrive.”
“Do you consider yourself a roughneck?” Thorn asked. “I’ve always thought of you as quite sophisticated.”
“I may be. But you’re roughneck enough for all of us,” Hal told him and Thorn grinned contentedly.
“Yes. I’m glad to say I am.”
Farther forward, in the waist of the ship and with no responsibilities to attend to during this current long reach of the river, the twins were bickering, as they were wont to do. They had been silent for some time, much to the crew’s relief, but that was a situation too good to last.
“You know that brown-eyed girl who was sitting on your lap at the welcome-home feast?” Ulf began.
Wulf eyed him suspiciously, before replying. “Yes. What about her?”
Ulf paused, smiling quietly to himself, preparing to throw out his verbal challenge. “Well, she fancied me,” he said.
Wulf looked at him, eyebrows raised. “She fancied you?”
Ulf nodded emphatically. “So you noticed too?”
Wulf snorted in annoyance. “I wasn’t agreeing,” he said. “I was querying you. That was why I raised my voice at the end of the sentence. It signified that I was saying, What do you mean, she fancied you?”
“I mean she found me attractive—actually, very attractive. It was obvious, after all.”
Wulf paused for several seconds. “If it was so obvious that she fancied you—that she found you attractive—why was she sitting on my lap?”
Of course, what made this discussion puzzling for the rest of the crew was that Ulf and Wulf were identical in every respect.
Ulf waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “That’s what makes it so obvious. She wanted to make me jealous, so she played up to you. She was playing hard to get.”
“Well, she played it very well. You certainly didn’t get her,” his brother told him, with some heat in his voice. He had noticed Ulf admiring the girl early in the evening and had swooped, successfully, before his brother could act.
Lydia, who was leaning on the bulwark several meters away, groaned audibly as the exchange continued.
Ulf laughed. “I could have if I wanted to. She was overwhelmed by my devilish good looks.”
“Devilish good looks? You’re as ugly as a mange-ridden monkey,” Wulf told him. But his brother was already shaking his head.
“It’s odd that someone as unattractive as yourself would say that,” he replied. “That was why she chose to sit with you when she planned to make me jealous. She chose the most unattractive person she could see.”
“Then obviously,” Wulf retorted, “she couldn’t see you.”
Of course, what made this discussion puzzling for the rest of the crew was that Ulf and Wulf were identical in every respect. For one of them to call the other ugly was for him to call himself ugly as well. But they never seemed to grasp that fact.
As they continued speaking, their voices, at first lowered, rose in volume so that the entire crew could listen to their meaningless drivel. Hal decided that enough was enough.
“Ingvar?” he called.
The massively built boy was sitting forward of the mast, leaning back against it, his long legs splayed out on the deck before him. He turned and peered back toward the steering position.
“Yes, Hal?”
“Would you say that sailing down a river counts the same as being at sea?”
The rules of the ship were that if the twins carried on one of their idiotic arguments at sea, Ingvar was within his rights to throw one of them overboard. In fact, some of the crew felt, he was obliged to throw one overboard. Usually, a reference to this fact was enough to stop the mindless discussions they enjoyed so much.
Ingvar shrugged. “Eh? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose so.”
His voice was distracted and flat. Lydia, a few meters away, noticed this and turned to look at him, frowning. Hal mirrored the expression. Usually Ingvar was good tempered and cheerful. Now he sounded listless and bored. Hal wondered if something was on the big boy’s mind.
Ulf and Wulf fell instantly silent. These days, they were never quite sure how much rope Hal would give them before he ordered the huge Ingvar to toss one or the other, or even both, overboard. Discretion was the better part of valor in such a case.
Hal noted that they had stopped arguing, and he nodded in Ingvar’s direction. But the young giant wasn’t looking his way anymore. He had resumed his seat against the mast, and Hal heard him give vent to a loud sigh. Hal looked at Stig, who was also watching Ingvar curiously.
“Have you noticed Ingvar’s been acting strangely for the past few days?” Hal asked his first mate.
Stig nodded, a slightly worried look on his features. “Something definitely seems to be on his mind. I’ve been wondering . . .”
Whatever it was that he had been wondering was forgotten as the ship swept past a high bluff. In the near distance, set among tailored and carefully tended parkland, stood the majestic, beautiful Castle Araluen, a mass of graceful spires, soaring turrets, flying buttresses and fluttering pennants.
“Gorlog’s earwax!” Jesper said. “Will you take a look at that!”
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he castle stood on rising ground half a kilometer from the river. It was surrounded by an area of open ground. In the intervening space was a narrow belt of forest—naturally occurring trees of a darker, wilder green, rather than the carefully planted and positioned ones that surrounded the castle.
The castle itself glittered golden in the sunlight. It was huge, but its size did nothing to diminish the grace and beauty of the building. Quite simply, it was like nothing the crew of the Heron had ever seen. They stood transfixed, staring at the castle with something approaching awe.
“It’s amazing,” Stefan said quietly, and the others murmured agreement—all except Ingvar.
“What is it? What are you all talking about?” he asked, the irritation obvious in his tone. Lydia turned to him and placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of apology.
“It’s Castle Araluen,” she explained. “It’s absolutely beautiful. It’s huge, but so graceful, and it gleams in the sun and there are all these colorful flags and pennants and—”
This was so unlike Ingvar—gentle, good-natured, helpful Ingvar.
She stepped back in surprise as Ingvar shook her hand from his arm and scowled out in the direction of the castle. To him, it was nothing but a blur. In fact, he couldn’t even be sure that the blur he was he was looking at was the castle.
“All right. You’ve made your point,” he said brusquely. “It’s beautiful. I suppose I should be mightily impressed.”
For a moment, Lydia was too shocked to reply. This was so unlike Ingvar—gentle, good-natured, helpful Ingvar. She looked around uncertainly, to see if the others in the crew agreed with her. She caught Hal’s eye and the skirl shook his head in a warning gesture. He thought he was beginning to understand the reason for Ingvar’s recent depression.
Lydia looked back at Ingvar, standing scowling out at the countryside. With an effort, she made her voice light and friendly.
“Of course. Forget I spoke,” she said.
Ingvar snorted disdainfully. “If we must,” he said, and moved forward to stand alone by the covered shape of the Mangler.
An awkward silence settled over the small craft, eventually broken by Thorn.
“Personally,” he said, “I don’t find it so impressive. It’s not a patch on Erak’s Great Hall.”
Stig let out a snort of laughter. “Erak’s Great Hall?” he repeated. “That’s nothing more than a log shanty compared to this!”
And he was right. Erak’s Hall was an impressive building by Hallasholm standards, but compared to this vision of wonder, it was little more than a log cabin.
Thorn refused to give ground. “Look at it!” he said scornfully. “All towers and flags and fancy folderol! Imagine what it takes to heat it in winter! At least the Great Hall only needs one big fireplace.”
“And it’s drafty and smoky with it,” Edvin said.
“But think of the cost of heating that . . . pile of masonry,” Thorn persisted.
Hal smiled quietly to himself. Thorn’s interjection had taken the crew’s minds off the awkward scene between Ingvar and Lydia. It wasn’t the first time the old one-armed warrior had done something like this. The young captain realized that he could learn a lot in man management from his shabby friend.
“I imagine Duncan can afford the heating bills,” Hal said mildly. “He is a king, after all. Kings usually have a pile of money stored away.”
“Hummph!” Thorn sniffed. “Provided by their long-suffering subjects, no doubt.”
“Well, you pay taxes to Erak,” Stig pointed out.
Thorn gave him a withering look. “Not if I can avoid it,” he said in an undertone.
The discussion could have continued indefinitely, but Stefan, standing on the bulwark for’ard of the mast, pointed to the bank.
“There’s a landing stage there, Hal—and a crowd ready to welcome us.”
“Down sail. Stow the boom. Man the oars.”
Hal assessed the position of the substantial wooden jetty, then glanced quickly at the wind telltale on top of the boom. They’d be heading directly into the wind as they steered toward the jetty.
“We’ll go in under oars,” he decided. Then, raising his voice slightly, he called, “Down sail. Stow the boom. Man the oars.”
The crew hurried to obey his orders. Jesper and Edvin cast loose the sheets while the twins brought the mast and sail sliding down to the deck. The four of them quickly bundled the sail up and stowed mast and sail along the line of the ship. Then they hurried to their rowing positions, sliding their white oak oars out through the rowlocks.
Stig and the others were already in position, Stefan having slipped down from the rail and dropped onto his rowing bench. Thorn and Lydia stood close by Hal at the steering platform. Ingvar, Hal noticed, remained in the bow, staring moodily across the river. The young captain shrugged. Ingvar usually didn’t take an oar for ordinary maneuvers. His massive strength tended to unbalance the thrust on the ship.
“Ready?” called Stig, and the six oars rose slightly in preparation.
“Stroke!” he called and the oars went back, then dipped into the placid surface of the river. As the rowers heaved on their oars, Hal felt the ship drive forward, and the tiller came alive in his hand. He swung the ship toward the jetty on the southern bank of the river.
As Stefan had noted, there was a considerable crowd—perhaps fifty people—on the jetty and the riverbank beside it. A small group of three, presumably the official party, stood apart from the others. Two of them were clad in the now-familiar gray-and-green cloaks of the Ranger Corps. The third was far more lavishly dressed. Jewelry and decorations glittered on his doublet, catching the sunlight in a series of little flashes.
“There’s Gilan,” Lydia said quietly, as one of the cloaked figures stepped forward and raised a hand in greeting. Hal returned the gesture.
“Common sailors?” he repeated. “I rather see myself as a sophisticated world traveler.”
“There’s another Ranger with him,” Hal noted. He studied the third figure in the small group. “And someone who’s very fancily dressed.”
As they glided closer to the jetty, Hal could make out the rich accoutrements on the third man’s doublet, and the fur trim on his red velvet-lined cloak.
“Maybe it’s the King,” Thorn joked.
Hal grinned at him and shook his head. “Kings don’t stand out on windy jetties to greet common sailors.”
Thorn raised an eyebrow at the description. “Common sailors?” he repeated. “I rather see myself as a sophisticated world traveler.”
Kloof, sensing the interest that they were showing, advanced to the bulwark and reared up on her hind legs, her massive forepaws on the railing.
Kloof! she said. There were several dogs among the group onshore and they quickly replied, in a chorus that ranged from high-pitched yips to deep-chested baying.
“Looks like she’s found some friends.” Lydia smiled. The big dog remained in her position, her ears pricked. Lydia then indicated the wider group on the shore. “Who do you suppose all the others are?”
Hal shrugged. “Rubberneckers,” he replied. “Come to see the savage men from the north.” He allowed himself a sidelong glance at Thorn. “Along with the sophisticated world traveler.”
“Can’t blame them,” Thorn replied expansively. “I’m a fascinating sight for stay-at-homes like these.”
As they had been talking, Hal had automatically been gauging the distance and angle to the jetty. He called now to the oarsmen.
“Easy all! In oars!”
Stig and the others instantly stopped rowing and raised their oars to the vertical. Then, in one movement, they lowered them, dripping with river water, into the ship, stowing them along the line of the hull beneath the rowing benches.
With the last of the way on her, Hal swung the little ship so that she came alongside. Jesper and Stefan took bow and stern lines and scrambled up onto the jetty, making the ship fast and hauling her in against the timber pilings so that the fenders on her side creaked.
There was a momentary silence, then Gilan stepped forward.
“Welcome to Castle Araluen,” he called cheerfully. “Come ashore.”
“Welcome to Araluen, on behalf of King Duncan,” the Chamberlain said, in a raised voice. “If you need anything to improve your comfort, please let me know.”
Hal and Thorn stepped up onto the jetty, followed by Stig and Lydia, then the other crew members.
Gilan shook hands with Hal. “Good to see you again,” he said. He indicated the richly dressed man standing a few paces back. “This is Lord Anthony, the King’s Chamberlain. Lord Anthony, meet Hal Mikkelson, skipper of this year’s duty ship.”
The Chamberlain was short and stout. As Hal had noted on the approach to the jetty, he was dressed rather flamboyantly, his red velvet doublet decorated with precious stones and chains. Anxiously, Hal cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Jesper was out of pickpocket reach. Then he shook hands. Lord Anthony’s grip was firm, but the hand was soft, not calloused and hardened like a warrior’s. Hal guessed he was the King’s administrator. He noted, however, that the man’s eyes were intelligent and observant, casting a quick, appraising glance over the assembled crewmen.
“Welcome to Araluen, on behalf of King Duncan,” the Chamberlain said, in a raised voice. “If you need anything to improve your comfort, please let me know.”
“Thank you . . . Lord Anthony.” Hal stumbled over the title. He wasn’t sure how one addressed someone called “Lord.” But he seemed to have got it right.
Anthony nodded and smiled, then stepped back. “I’ll return to the castle and make sure your rooms are ready for you,” he said.
Hal gave a half nod, half bow, then the Chamberlain turned away, swirling his cloak around him as he did, and strode off the landing jetty to where his horse was tethered.
“Anthony’s a bit stuffy, but he’s a good man,” Gilan told Hal. “Now come and meet Crowley, the Commandant of the Ranger Corps—and my boss,” he added, with a grin.
The other Ranger was a little shorter than Gilan, and as he pushed back the hood of his cloak, Hal could see that his sandy hair and beard were liberally sprinkled with gray. His eyes were blue and had a mischievous light to them. Hal found that he instinctively liked the older man.
“You must be Hal,” Crowley said, stepping forward to shake hands. Then those cheerful eyes turned on Thorn. “And you could be nobody else but the redoubtable Thorn.”
Gracefully, he switched hands to shake hands with Thorn in his turn, doing it left-handed.
“Don’t know about redoubtable,” Thorn said. “But I am a sophisticated world traveler.”
“You certainly have the look of one,” Crowley replied smoothly, then, as Hal introduced Stig, he looked up to meet the young man’s gaze, taking in the broad shoulders and well-muscled physique. “I imagine you’d be a handful in a fight.”
Stig grinned. “I try to be.”
Crowley, however, had already moved on to the slim, beautiful girl beside Stig. “And you, no doubt, are Lydia, the deadly dart thrower. Our Princess Cassandra is keen to meet you.”
Lydia flushed. She’d spent most of her early life alone in the forests hunting and she wasn’t good at social occasions. She shook hands with Crowley and mumbled something inarticulate along the lines of pleased to meet you. Crowley sensed her awkwardness and favored her with a friendly grin.
“Don’t know what you’re doing with this rough crowd,” he said and she smiled in return. Crowley had a natural charm to him and he was expert at putting people at their ease.
“Why do I think you’re not telling the complete truth?”
“I try to keep them in line,” she said and he released her hand, patting it with his free hand first.
Crowley moved on as Hal introduced him to the rest of the crew. Hal was glad to see that Ingvar had joined them and seemed to be over his disconsolate mood. Crowley raised his eyebrows slightly at the size of the young giant but, perhaps wisely, didn’t comment. He raised his eyebrows even farther as they came to the twins.
“And this is Ulf and Wulf,” Hal said.
Crowley looked from one to the other. “Which is which?”
“I’m Ulf,” said Wulf.
“I’m Wulf,” said Ulf.
The Ranger Commandant frowned thoughtfully at them. “Why do I think you’re not telling the complete truth?”
The twins looked crestfallen that he had seen through their ploy so easily. Hal grinned. It wasn’t often that someone got the better of the twins. Perhaps Gilan had warned his Commandant of the twins’ propensity to play practical jokes.
“Doesn’t matter which is which,” he said cheerfully. “They’re both idiots.”
Crowley nodded, then gestured to the stunning castle that stood on the hill behind them, visible above the belt of trees in the near distance. “Let’s get you settled into the castle then. We have horses here if you’d like to ride.”
He didn’t quite succeed in hiding his smile as he said it. Hal glanced quickly at Thorn before replying.
“I think we’ll walk.”
Scorpion Mountain (Brotherband Chronicles Book 5) Scorpion Mountain hits shelves Dec. 2.
John Flanagan grew up in Sydney, Australia, hoping to be a writer, and after a successful career in advertising and television, he began writing a series of short stories for his son, Michael, to encourage him to read. Those stories would eventually become The Ruins of Gorlan, Book 1 of Ranger’s Apprentice, the international phenomenon that has sold millions of copies and made readers of kids the world over. Mr. Flanagan lives in the suburb of Manly, Australia, with his wife. In addition to their son, they have two grown daughters and four grandsons.
Want to meet the author? He will be touring the country throughout December. Click here to see when John Flanagan will visiting a bookstore near you!
Boys’ Life proudly presents your first look at the next ‘Frank Einstein’ book cover!
Due to release on March 17, 2015, Frank Einstein and the Electro-Finger by Jon Scieszka is the sequel to the New York Times bestseller Frank Einstein and the Antimatter Motor.
In this second book in what will be a six-book series, Frank Einstein and his best friend, Watson, along with Klink and Klank, are once again in competition with archival, T. Edison. Their quest? To unlock the power behind the science of energy.
This book promises to deliver a lot of science fun and laughs!
You may think that Star Wars and William Shakespeare don’t have much in common. But you’re wrong.
William Shakespeare’s Star Wars is an incredible series that retells the epic Star Wars tale in an entirely new way — as a Shakespearean play. The series includes three books: Verily, A New Hope; The Empire Striketh Back; and The Jedi Doth Return.
Now, you can own all three, plus a massive full-color poster in the Royal Imperial Boxed Set, in stores Oct. 28. Can’t wait that long? Head over to ShakespeareStarWars to get s sneak peek at the set.
Star Wars Reads Day is an international event celebrating two of my absolute favorite things: reading and Star Wars!
In 2013, there were more than 2,000 events at bookstores and libraries around the world. This year, major publishers like Abrams, Chronicle, DK Publishing, Scholastic, Workman and Disney Book Group will participate.
Some of the newest Star Wars themed titles to hit bookstores this year include:
Roan’s one dream is to leave home and attend Pilot Academy like his older brother, father, and grandfather. But just as Roan is mysteriously denied entrance to Pilot School, he is invited to attend Jedi Academy–a school that he didn’t apply to and only recruits children when they are just a few years old. That is, until now…
This inventive novel follows Roan’s first year at Jedi Academy where, under the tutelage of Master Yoda, he learns that he possesses more strength and potential than he could have ever dreamed. Oh, and he learns other important things too–like how to make a baking soda volcano, fence with a lightsaber, slow dance with a girl, and lift boulders with the Force.
Now Emperor Palpatine, once Chancellor of the Republic and secretly a Sith follower of the dark side of the Force, has brought his own peace and order to the galaxy. Peace through brutal repression, and order through increasing control of his subjects’ lives. But even as the Emperor tightens his iron grip, others have begun to question his means and motives. And still others, whose lives were destroyed by Palpatine’s machinations, lay scattered about the galaxy like unexploded bombs, waiting to go off. . . .
Star Wars: A New Dawn is set during the legendary “Dark Times” between Episodes III and IV and tells the story of how two of the lead characters from the animated TV series Star Wars Rebels.
Featuring favorite characters like Luke Skywalker, Queen Amidala, Yoda, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, and other creatures, monsters, Jedi, and Sith, the workbooks are filled with thousands of original illustrations drawing from all six Star Wars movies and the expanded Star Wars universe. Learn well, you will.
In this funny, uncannily wise portrait of the dynamics of a sixth-grade class and of the greatness that sometimes comes in unlikely packages, Dwight, a loser, talks to his classmates via an origami finger puppet of Yoda. If that weren’t strange enough, the puppet is uncannily wise and prescient. Origami Yoda predicts the date of a pop quiz, guesses who stole the classroom Shakespeare bust, and saves a classmate from popularity-crushing embarrassment with some well-timed advice. Dwight’s classmate Tommy wonders how Yoda can be so smart when Dwight himself is so clueless. With contributions from his puzzled classmates, he assembles the case file that forms this novel.
Also, an official Star Wars event kit (free of charge), including reproducible activity sheets and trivia, is available here as a printable PDF in color and black and white.
And learn more about Star Wars Reads Day here.
