Kaden felt the hot, wet tongue roll across his back and felt the electrical bite of its tip where it touched his thigh. Gravity shifted as the beast lifted its head back to let his meal slide down its throat. Muffled sounds came from outside as Evandrel and Hasla shouted at the dragon. Kaden couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move as the tongue constricted and pushed him deeper. No, not like this! Aren!
Kaden punched and kicked as another bone snapped in his left leg. The pain made it hard to think at all, but he kicked hard with what was left of his legs. His aim was fortunate. A fragment of sharp bone slammed into the back of the Ancient’s throat. Kaden crashed in a bloody heap against the stone floor as the dragon retched.
He tried to stand, but fell back to the ground as what was left of his legs refused to hold him. Bits of his clothing burst into flame as the Ancient’s saliva touched air, but the flames went out as gallons of stinking sludge that smelled of rotten fish rolled over him from the dragon whose body still tried to dislodge the shard of bone in its throat.
Kaden heaved his own lunch into the mix and then caught sight of four more Ancients heading toward him. Unconsciousness crawled over him and he pushed it back, flailing around him for any type of weapon. His Egg came open. If it impressed the Sidra so much, maybe it’ll do the same for the Ancients.
The golden light flowed out into the cavern, rippling over the dragons as they closed in. A glob of saliva dripped past Kaden’s face, rolling off the shell to the ground where it burst into green and orange flames. Kaden looked up. Row after row of teeth gaped above him, the dragon’s mouth frozen open as it clamped on the hard glowing surface. Huge green gold eyes blinked down at the unexpected light.
The leader of the Ancients turned back. “The Prophet’s Shawl! Could it be? But the Messenger is not with—”
A flash of brilliant light lit up the rest of the cavern and a bell-like gong rang out. The light showed Kaden how close to death he really had been, multiple mouths gaping wide on all sides. Smoke and spittle dribbled from more than one, but all of them froze as the great bell tolled. One by one the Ancients turned to the center of the cavern, whispering in hushed tones.
The light and sound had come from the golden seal in the floor that Kaden had almost stepped on. Kaden could see nothing in the bright light at first, but then the silhouette of a man formed at the center. He stood in the middle of the seal, a human in blue boxers and nothing more. The man looked up at the Ancient who’d first spoken to Kaden and his Keitane companions. Instead of cowering in fear, the man straightened his spine, walked right up to the wide eyed Ancient, and put a hand on the beast’s scaly face.
“Hiya, my dragon friend. About time I got your attention.”
Kaden blinked several times, hearing the words the man spoke but not understanding any of them. He felt strange and distant, weak. I’ve lost a lot of blood and I still have poison in me, don’t I? He giggled, feeling a little crazy. As he glanced down at what was left of his legs, the darkness at the edge of his vision won. Kaden crumpled, his face landing with a slick smack in the sludge as the light of his Egg flickered out.
Acknowledgements
It all started in the first grade. Too far back? Maybe, but I’m taking you there anyway. I don’t remember my teacher’s name, but she made my shy little self stand in front of the class and complete math problems. Everyone laughed, I’m sure of it, as my shaky hands drew in the wrong numbers. My hatred of math began. That will be important later. Thank you, nameless teacher.
When I was eight I went looking for something more to read, and one of my older brothers pushed Ender’s Game into my small hands. I’ve never been the same. Seriously! It broke me and put me back together, opening doors in my still-forming brain. I’ve been addicted to well written sci-fi and fantasy ever since. Thank you, Mark. Thank you, Orson Scott Card. I hope to meet you someday and thank you in person.
I wrote my first short story when I was eleven. It told of a young triceratops who had to move, leaving his friends and the lush forests behind. He traveled many days through the desert until he found a beautiful valley and made new friends. My teacher loved it and asked to keep a copy. I’m almost positive any similarities to a cartoon movie that came out years later are coincidental.
When I was thirteen, I was bullied and harassed for being a nerd, wearing glasses, being skinny, being extraordinarily white, and a million other things that I couldn’t control. In the bullies’ defense, these were all true.
Two very long years of pain and sorrow, but it was good for me in a twisted way. It drove me into books and the escapes they offered me. It made me compassionate and humble. I can look back now and see that all these things made me a better man and a better writer. Thank you, jerk-faced bullies.
In high school I wrote poetry, but never fancied myself a writer. Mrs. Hazen and AP English made me think twice about that decision. We wrote millions of essays. She loved my writing. Mrs. Hazen was a tough teacher, but she made me feel like my words mattered, like the essays I wrote made a difference somehow. I can never thank her enough.
High school is also where I met one of my lifelong best friends, Adam. He’s weird in a good way. He’s never discouraged me from being anything I wanted to be and he’ll always be an inspiration in my life. He’s a good man and a great father, something this world could use more of in every way. Thank you, my stinky Adam friend.
I started out as a Biochemist major. I’ve always loved biology, physics, and the tiny mechanisms of life. It fascinates me that life exists in a universe that is designed to tear it down. Entropy rips apart order and grows the more ordered a structure becomes. Biology is so ordered and so beautiful. It shouldn’t have come to be at all within our chaos riddled universe, but there it is, fighting against entropy and cheating death by renewing itself over and over again. Life kicks butt!
I took several biology classes, loving every second. Then I saw the math courses required for my major. My lifelong nemesis taunted me once again with intense courses of mind numbing equations.
I suddenly found myself as an English Literature major. Yes, I sacrificed a great career and more money than I will ever see, but, seriously, it was a lot of math. I’m shivering just thinking about it. Thank you, math, for making me change my mind.
College was a blur. I worked forty-five hours a week at a hotel and took full credits. I didn’t have much of a life. I read everything I could and wrote eleventy billion essays.
I took a creative writing course, just for fun, still not planning on writing much. Professor Brennan was an odd woman who reminded me of a very large bird, but she unlocked something in me I hadn’t expected. She tore some of my writing to bloody shreds and held some of it up as great examples of fiction. She pushed me to explore writing from perspectives I never would have attempted. I thought of myself as a writer for the first time in my life. Thank you, beautiful teacher.
I got a notebook to write down random observations of the world. I didn’t use it much, but then I started keeping it by my bed and writing down quick notes of my dreams. I have the occasional vivid dream, usually just a tiny scene, but my mind builds up the backstory for me, filling in gaps. I know I’m lucky. I don’t know why I have this gift while others dream of pink balloons morphing into bunny monsters. I’m so grateful that I have dozens of ideas for stories and novels.
I met Jazzy after college and I knew I needed someone like her in my life, someone stable, good, and kind. I spent days telling her all about my dreams and how I would write them. She gave me the best advice I’ve received as I told her about two different dreams, one about computer simulations reaching into another dimension, the other about a boy traveling to other worlds through wormholes only he can see.
She said, “You should combine those two.”
This novel grew out of that statement and the support she’s given to me through it all. Thank you, Jazzy. You let me quit my hotel job and only freaked out about finances a couple hundred times.
I a
lso have to thank my last job. I was working fifty to sixty hours a week while making a good deal less money than they’d promised while a woman who repeatedly violated company policy made my life miserable and never managed to get fired. That job failed me more than any job has ever failed me.
This sounds bitter, but this job is the reason my book got written. I’d been writing bit by bit for four or five years. I wrote at least eighty percent of it after I left that place. Thank you, soul-crushing job. I needed the push.
I can’t end this without thanking all of my family. You made me the weirdo who write sci-fi and fantasy. Thank you, Robert, Michelle, Mike, Mark, Becky, Teresa, Denise, and David. Yes, I have eight siblings. Thank you, Mom, for loving the nerdy kid who wanted to be an astronaut, painter, paleontologist, biochemist, professor, writer, and half a dozen other things I can’t or don’t want to remember.
I have to thank my friends who encouraged me and promised to buy my books someday. You are awesome. Break out your wallets. Someday is now. I really couldn’t have done it without you though. Thank you to my online friends too, those I know well and those I’ve never met. You’ve been supportive when it was needed most.
Thank you, Brent and Emily, for reading my work and telling me it wasn’t the worst thing you’ve ever read. Thank you, Karl-Erik Bennion, for the beautiful cover designs. Thank you, Ariel, for polishing my words and making me fix commas that I unjustly ignored.
I am now an author thanks to all of you, even you, math, but I still dislike you. Stay away now.
About the Author
Charlie Pulsipher is a were-hamster and lemur enthusiast who lives in Saint George, Utah with his lovely wife and neurotic dog. He writes sci-fi and fantasy or a mix of the two. He is obsessed with surviving the inevitable zombiepocalypse which will surely start when the dust bunnies rise up against their vacuum cleaner masters.
Visit him online here.
He spends his time away from the keyboard hiking and camping in stunning Southern Utah.
He neglects his twitter account. @charliepulse
Do’t be fooled by the shy, humble exterior. He does bite and his velociraptor impression is quite scary. It’s probably the coolest thing about him.
Also Look For
Obsidian Threads
Zombies at the Door
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Golden Eggs
Chapter 2: Lavender Scented White Noise
Chapter 3: Mirrors in the Deep
Chapter 4: Brain Spikes
Chapter 5: Oil and Metal
Chapter 6: The F Word
Chapter 7: Wormhole Songs
Chapter 8: Build Your Own Terrible Lizard
Chapter 9: Bathroom Break
Chapter 10: Running and Digging
Chapter 11: Special Projects Bring Blood
Chapter 12: Trikes and Fire
Chapter 13: A New World
Chapter 14: Who is Penny?
Chapter 15: A Knife for a Life
Chapter 16: Dragon Intervention
Chapter 17: Room of Silent Tears
Chapter 18: Out of the Sandbox
Chapter 19: Making Friends
Chapter 20: Headbags and Zip Ties
Chapter 21: Tethered
Chapter 22: Stone Seer
Chapter 23: Cookies with the Boss
Chapter 24: Sleepwalking
Chapter 25: Shadow Trials
Chapter 26: Making Connections
Chapter 27: Rho’s Foothold
Chapter 28: Abandonment Subroutines
Chapter 29: Baptism by Fire Saliva
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also Look For
The Crystal Bridge (The Lost Shards Book 1) Page 26