The Guardian of Threshold
Read The Guardian of Threshold Online
Authors: A. A. Volts
THE GUARDIAN OF THRESHOLD
A NOVEL BY A.A. Volts
Wave Publishing Company
Kissimmee, FL, 34759
Contents
CHAPTER TWO: From Bad to Worse
CHAPTER SIX: The Sky is the Limit
CHAPTER EIGHT: Beyond Physicality
CHAPTER NINE: A World In Trouble
CHAPTER TEN: Friends in Weird Places
CHAPTER TWELVE: City of Lights
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Dawn of Fear
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Dawn of a New Day
Excerpt from I Am Goblin
“I Am Goblin” is the first book of my new middle-grade “I Am Series”
The streets of Boston are full of secrets. Monstrous creatures thrive among us. Clash Goldblood, is one such secret. If you were to pass by him, you would never guess what lies within.
In his quest to take what’s rightfully his… “The Prudential Building,” Clash is determined to shatter the veil of secrecy that had held the city together for centuries.
Embark on an adventure of a lifetime with Clash and his friends as they attempt to take over Mr. Moneybags’ empire.
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2012 by A.A. Volts. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Ranilo Cabo,
www.rcabo.co.nr
Editing by Jon ZanVile,
www.EditingforAuthors.com
Proofread by Louise Darvid,
www.quality-proofreading.com
eBook Formatting by MrLasers,
www.mrlasers.com
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual places and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by
Wave Publishing Company
For Information, contact:
[email protected]
Author Blog:
www.TheGuardianOfThreshold.com
Facebook Page:
www.facebook.com/TheGuardianOfThreshold
Twitter:
www.Twitter.com/ThresholdSeries
DEDICATION
I want to dedicate this book to my beautiful family: without their support, this book wouldn’t exist. Special thanks to my wife Rachael—her love, care, and support were instrumental in bringing this work to life. Honey, I love you with all my heart and soul. I’m looking forward to growing old by your side.
I also want to dedicate this book to the woman who dedicated her life to me: my mother. She’s the best mother and role model I could ever wish for. Mom, thanks for being so wonderful and for always supporting me.
And to my son, Gabriel, I hope this book inspires you and keeps your love for reading alive. I’m extremely proud of you and always will be. I know you’re capable of great feats, and the world expects no less from you. The sky is not the limit—there’s no limit, and the possibilities are infinite and unimaginable.
I also want to dedicate this book to all those who may feel hopeless and discouraged, just know that there’s more to life than meets the eye.
“The world is my country, all mankind are my brethren and to do good is my religion.”
—
Thomas Paine
CHAPTER ONE
FLIGHT TEST
“T
his is four-three-four-zero-seven requesting permission to taxi, straight-out departure,” I said into the headset.
“Roger, four-zero-seven, hold short,” replied the ground operator with a thick Boston accent.
It had taken me hours of flying and several written exams just to get this far. Now all I needed to earn my private pilot’s license was a solo flight and my upcoming seventeenth birthday. For my final test, I would have to take off from Hanscom Field in Bedford, Massachusetts, which was the closest airport to Stoneham, my hometown, and then fly over downtown Boston, return to Hanscom Field, and hopefully finish with a perfect landing.
I rubbed my eyes to keep them open. They were normally big, bright, and brown, but I doubted they still looked like that. I hadn’t slept well for the past three nights, thanks to those damn nightmares again.
Maybe I shouldn’t fly, but I decided to get it over and done with. That way, I wouldn’t have to hear my father complain that I never finished anything. Sure, I quit piano, but who could stand Ms. Toepkey’s ruler smackings every time they messed up? Karate could’ve been fun, but my teacher was no Mr. Miyagi. Football was the worst—being around those obnoxious jocks just made me sick, especially since I wasn’t what anyone would call popular material. Besides, those things always felt more like chores than a decent pastime.
A faint thunderclap in the distance called my attention back to reality. If I wanted to complete my test today, I didn’t have time to waste… a storm was on the way. I really should have postponed my test, but a little excitement wouldn’t hurt—or so I thought.
While I waited for a reply from the ground operator, I had the strange sensation that someone was watching me. Then I heard someone whisper my name. I tried to ignore the tricks my mind was playing and concentrate on the task at hand, but I couldn’t shake the dreadful atmosphere that crept into the cockpit. Besides, it had grown so cold inside that my hands trembled and my cracked lips burned. Thankfully, the headset kept my ears somewhat warm.
“Four-zero-seven,” the ground operator said, “yah cleared to taxi, runway eleven.”
Relieved, I acknowledged my clearance and applied 10 percent throttle. I took comfort knowing that soon the engine would be warm enough to turn on the heater.
As the airplane rolled across the cold taxiway, I struggled with the rudder controls. The Cessna zigged, then zagged because I was unable to keep the centerline, well… centered. No biggie though, the rudder controls always took some getting used to.
Although, my hands were extremely cold, they started to sweat. I still had time to back out, but I wasn’t going to give up that easily.
“Four-zero-seven,” I said as I arrived at the end of the taxiway, “holding short on runway eleven.”
“Four-zero-seven, contact Hanscom Tower at one-one-eight-point-five.”
I fumbled with the controls on the radio and entered the new frequency. Switching radio frequencies brought me some reassurance because Gilles, my instructor, was sitting somewhere up in the tower, ready, willing, and able to help if needed.
“Hanscom Tower,” I said, “four-three-four-zero-seven, holding short on runway eleven, straight-out departure, VFR.”
“Four-zero-seven, visual flight rules departure approved,” the traffic controller said, thankfully without an accent. “Hold short, runway eleven.”
“Roger,” I quickly said as I tried to sound confident.
“Mark,” Gilles said, “are you ready?”
“Yes, I am,” I lied.
“Then just relax and have a great flight. I’ll see you when you land,” Gilles said, sounding almost… dare I say it? Proud.
“Four-zero-seven, you’re clear for takeoff, runway eleven. Straight-out departure approved, good flight.”
“Roger… cleared for takeoff,” I repeated as required. I thrust the throttle forward, and the Cessna slid effortlessly into position at the center of the runway.
“Here goes nothing,” I said before taking my foot off the brakes and opening the throttle all the way.
No matter how many times I take off, the symptoms are always the same. Right after applying full throttle, my body slams against the seat, and butterflies do a number in my stomach.
When I reached 65 knots, I slowly pulled the yoke toward me, and the Cessna gently lifted off the ground. As the airplane climbed toward my assigned altitude, it bounced when I encountered minor turbulence. Flying in a small airplane is much different than flying on a commercial jetliner. On the commercial planes, there are gentle ups and downs, but on a small craft such as the Cessna, they feel like the sudden drops of a roller coaster. The falling sensation took a bit of getting used to.
Outside, a few trees stubbornly still displayed their fall colors even though it was already winter. That’s when I remembered what my instructor used to tell me: “Pay attention to traffic, not the wonders of nature while you’re piloting.” It was hard for me to ignore such wonders, because that was when I felt closest to my mom. Often when I was flying, I wondered how a person could cease to exist after death. My dad’s insistence that after death there was nothing didn’t make mourning my mother’s death any easier. How could I believe that and cope? Contrary to my atheist upbringing, I tried to convince myself there had to be something after death… surely anything had to be better than nothing at all.
Time passed quickly, as it usually did when I flew. By the time I reached Boston, I was halfway through my test. Boston was gorgeous as usual. As I flew over the Charles River, I saw dozens of people exercising by the bank, despite the cold. Harvard looked too small for a school of such status. I wondered if I would ever be that good.
“Four-zero-seven, do you read?” asked the tower controller.
“Roger,” I said.
“Four-zero-seven,” said the radio controller after a pause, “it seems that the storm got here much sooner than anticipated. Visibility and weather conditions are deteriorating fast. Turn around immediately and head back. Expect heavy turbulence.”
“Roger, turning back now,” I said, thinking there would finally be some excitement. Heavy turbulence? I failed to see how it was possible. The sky was still blue as far as I could see, and the sun was shining strong. It wasn’t until I finished executing the steep twenty-degree turn that I realized what he meant.
I stared perplexed as the sky turned from a baby blue color to a bruised purple. Even before my compass pointed toward the correct heading, the heavy turbulence started. I tightened my seatbelt. Seconds later, I was thrown violently around.
