Paraworld Zero

by Matthew Peterson

  –Hit the BarnesAndNoble.com Top-50 Bestseller List

  –Hit the Amazon.com Bestseller List in the “Magic and Wizards” category

  –Winner of the National Indie Excellence Book Awards (DVD-Fiction)

  –Winner of the London Book Festival (E-Book)

  –Two-time Winner of the Los Angeles DIY Book Festival (E-Book, Audio)

  –Second Place in the Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards (Audiobook)

  –Finalist in the ForeWord Magazine’s Book of the Year Awards (Audio)

  –Two-time Finalist in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards (SF/F, Audio)

  –Fallen Angel Reviews Recommended Read

  –Flamingnet TOP CHOICE Award for Young Adult Fiction

  –Third Place for the Preditors and Editors Best SF Novel Award

  –Honorable Mentions from the Hollywood, New York, New England, and Beach Book Festivals

  PARALLEL WORLDS

  BOOK ONE

  ______________________

  PARAWORLD ZERO

  By

  MATTHEW PETERSON

  Parallel Worlds LLC

  Peoria, Arizona

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  PARAWORLD ZERO: BOOK ONE OF THE PARALLEL WORLDS SERIES

  Copyright © 2008 by Matthew Peterson

  Published by Parallel Worlds LLC

  eISBN 978-0-9819227-0-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief excerpts in connection to reviews or articles.

  For rights questions, study guide, and extras, please visit www.ParaWorlds.com

  Cover art and chapter illustrations by Matthew Peterson

  Dedication

  To my loving wife and to our five wonderful boys,

  who prayed and prayed for my dream to come true.

  Acknowledgments

  Many people have played a role in the creation of my book, but none more than my family. For over a year, my little children prayed in earnest for someone to publish Paraworld Zero. Their sweet prayers were finally answered. I would like to thank them for their faithfulness.

  My wife deserves more gratitude than I can give. She has been the pillar of strength that has kept me going all this time. Her inspiration has made my book what it is today. Thank you, my dearest friend.

  Other family members—especially my parents, my wife’s family, and my “almost” twin brother, Paul—have also lent me their support and encouragement. Thank you, guys. I love you!

  Many thanks go to the authors at the online writers groups I participated in. I wish you all success. Lastly, I’d like to acknowledge the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, Lloyd Alexander, and Douglas Hill. Without their inspiring books I never would have started this project. They gave a young boy the power to dream. And now I can share that dream with everyone.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: The Storm

  Chapter 1: Simon’s Bad Day

  Chapter 2: Butch

  Chapter 3: The Visitor

  Chapter 4: Secrets of the Paraverse

  Chapter 5: The Chase

  Chapter 6: The Power of Gee

  Chapter 7: Pudo

  Chapter 8: Menabaws and Dragunos

  Chapter 9: Guardians of the Crown

  Chapter 10: Forgotten Language

  Chapter 11: Griffen Lasher

  Chapter 12: Discovering Magic

  Chapter 13: A Waltz in the Forest

  Chapter 14: Magic Lessons

  Chapter 15: The Big Fight

  Chapter 16: Celebration

  Chapter 17: The Dance

  Chapter 18: The Library

  Chapter 19: Unveiling the Dark Forces

  Chapter 20: The Secrets of Pudo

  Chapter 21: The Creatures of Pudo

  Chapter 22: Morbras Will Save Us

  Chapter 23: General Banton’s Legacy

  Chapter 24: Prelude to Battle

  Chapter 25: The Final Battle of the Dragunos

  Chapter 26: Goodbyes

  Chapter 27: The White Planet

  Chapter 28: The Power Within

  Chapter 29: Answers

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The Storm

  The woman was dying, and no one on Earth would mourn for her when she was gone. Not a soul would know of the secrets she possessed or of the ultimate power that emanated from within her limp body. The hope of the universe was about to be lost—that is, unless she arrived at the hospital in time.

  A torrent of watery darts hit the windshield as the ambulance squealed around another corner. The hospital was not much farther. A spark of lightning erupted in the night sky, as if to point the way the ambulance should go. Rumbling sounds resonated from the darkness above, accompanied by a faint groan of atmospheric indigestion echoing in the distance. The storm, like the mighty hand of a demon, buffeted the vehicle with its cold fist, but the driver remained steadfast.

  “We’re losing her,” a paramedic cried.

  “Come on, lady. You can make it,” another said.

  The vehicle skidded to a complete stop, and the back doors flung open. Interns rushed to help with the gurney, but in the process, one of them slipped on the wet concrete and lost his grip, causing the stretcher to jolt. The poor woman, her skin infested with blistered lesions, lifted her head and moaned. One of the students gasped.

  A paramedic took hold of the gurney and entered the emergency room. He tried to keep his eyes away from the grotesque figure in his care, tried not to even breathe the same air that spewed from her deformed lips and nostrils. Visions of horrible diseases filled his mind, but he dispelled them with the thought of a quick dispatch to labor and delivery.

  A consternated expression etched itself across the gynecologist’s face. Word of the woman’s arrival had spread quickly. The doctor peered at the sores on her face and arms. “What happened to her?”

  “I dunno,” the paramedic said. “She’s all tripped out and won’t say noth’n.”

  “I see.”

  “Someone found her in a park and called it in,” he added. “She’s not contagious, is she?”

  The gynecologist winced but remained silent. He looked closer at the gruesome sores on her body, then pulled up her sleeve and discovered more pustules on her arm. He checked her legs and found that they too were infected.

  “I have no idea what this is. Almost looks like she’s been exposed to something.” He turned to a young nurse. “Do an ultrasound and get blood and tissue samples. Keep me posted.”

  “Aren’t ya gonna set up a quarantine or something?” the paramedic asked.

  “I want to know what we’re dealing with before we put the whole city in a panic. It could just be an allergic reaction.”

  The woman on the gurney jerked upright, as if waking up from a nightmare. “My son!”

  “Calm down, ma’am. We’re here to help.”

  “My son… Simon… His name is Simon,” she mumbled. “And his… And…” Her eyes glazed over.

  Just then, the doctor noticed the blood and discharge on the sheets. “Nurse, delay that order. We’re not going to have time for tests.” The patient arched her back and screamed. “Her baby wants to come right now. Let’s get ready.”

  The paramedic left, and the nurses took charge. They moved the pregnant woman directly to a birthing room. The windows streamed with rushing water, and the
howling wind fought against the thick glass. Ferocious thunder hammered the building, making the surgical instruments vibrate. One nurse held up a sterile gown for the doctor to put his arms through while another nurse doused the woman’s belly with clear gel.

  The doctor held her hand gently. “What’s your name?”

  The monitor picked up a huge contraction, which surged throughout the woman’s body like a tidal wave. She clenched his fingers in a vice-like grip.

  “Forget the ultrasound,” the doctor said, releasing his hand and stumbling past the nurse. “I can already see the head. That was fast. Ma’am, I need you to push.”

  The woman held her breath and pushed. Her face turned red. She let out a deep sigh and pushed again. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead.

  “Almost there…” the doctor said mechanically. “Almost there…” A twinge of nervousness crept into his voice as three pustules on the woman’s skin burst. He adjusted his hands, avoiding the thick liquid that oozed from the open sores. “Just one more push.”

  Within moments, a baby’s cry filled the room. The doctor picked up a plastic syringe and suctioned the amniotic fluid out of the newborn’s small mouth. A nurse handed him a pair of surgical scissors.

  “Congratulations! You have a boy.” He snipped the umbilical cord.

  Suddenly, an explosion of bright blue light sprang from the baby and shattered the glass in the doors and windows. The medical personnel dropped to the floor. A whirlwind of pastel light filled the once-bland room, and a strange mist arose from somewhere below. The wisps of sparkling color danced upon the plumes of thick smoke and vapor, making it hard for anyone to focus his or her eyes. The doctor looked up, squinting to see through the chaos, and gasped as he witnessed the infant emerge from the translucent smoke.

  Simon was floating in the air.

  “Oh, my…” cried a nurse from beneath a table. Breathing hard, almost to the point of hyperventilation, she made the motions of a cross on her chest.

  Simon looked in her general direction, his brown eyes wide open and his arms flailing about. He drifted towards the bed, the smoke parting on both sides of his frail body as he moved, and came to rest in the arms of his mother.

  Smiling, she brought out a necklace she’d been wearing beneath her blouse. Attached to the gold chain was a medallion—about the size of a silver dollar, ebony in color, and beautiful in workmanship. The colorful lights reflected off the metallic pendant as she placed it on her son’s bare chest.

  She looked at the doctor and whispered, “Give him this.” Then she closed her eyes and died.

  The smoke and colorful lights soon dissipated, leaving the small room cold and lifeless as before. Everyone remained silent. Not even the wind outside dared to make a sound. The storm had finally ended.

  Chapter 1

  Simon’s Bad Day

  Two knives, protruding from the knuckles of a leather glove, vibrated above Simon’s sweaty forehead. The boy, small for his age, desperately held on to the man’s wrists.

  “I have you now,” his assailant snickered as the tips of the blades scraped against Simon’s glasses. An evil grin spread across the villain’s scarred face.

  “Never!” Simon shouted.

  With a sudden eruption of energy, he threw the dark man off and leapt to his feet. Demonstrating perfect form, Simon kicked the menacing glove and shattered the twin blades. The second his foot landed on the ground, he spun in the air and sent a crescent kick hard into his opponent’s face.

  Simon walked up to his fallen enemy, who by this time was cowering on the floor, and proclaimed, “As long as there’s good in the world, evil will never prevail!”

  A tumult of cheers and clapping came from the ecstatic crowd nearby. Confetti filled the air, and young girls swooned around the scrawny boy, asking for autographs.

  A TV reporter with a microphone ran up to Simon and announced, “I’m here with Simon Kent, who just saved the city of New York from certain doom. Simon, I have just one question I think everyone here would like to know the answer to: Why are you in your underwear?”

  “Wh-Wh-What?” he stuttered.

  “Why are you in your underwear?”

  Simon looked down and realized he wasn’t wearing anything but his glow-in-the-dark Batman boxers. Looking up, he saw the crowd of pre-teenage girls and boys laughing at him.

  “Do they give you special powers?” the reporter asked with a smirk. She burst into laughter.

  “Simon——Simon!”

  Simon opened his eyes and found himself sitting at a desk in Mr. Bartholomew’s seventh-grade English class.

  “Nice of you to join the class, Mr. Kent,” the teacher said. “I think we have time for one more book report. Why don’t we have Simon go next?”

  Simon’s heart sank. He took a puff from his inhaler and fumbled around in his fanny pack. A handheld video game machine, erasers, old candy corn from Halloween, a couple of extra batteries, some chewed-up pencils, and a few quarters, but no book report.

  “I—I can’t seem to find it.”

  “Mr. Maloy.” The teacher turned to a neighboring classmate. “What happens to students who forget their homework?”

  The boy, caught off guard, thought for a moment. “Um… they get detention?”

  “No, no, no! Well, yes, in some cases—but that’s beside the point.” Mr. Bartholomew turned to his favorite student. “Jenny, can you help us out?”

  “Certainly,” she said in a superior voice. “They fail.”

  “That’s correct. They fail. Anyone who thinks he or she can just sleep through life—or my class, for that matter—has another think coming. You can’t expect to succeed in life if you—”

  Just then, a wonderful ringing noise flooded Simon’s ears. It wasn’t a pretty tone by any means, but to Simon, it sounded like a chorus of angels swooping in to carry him away from the horrible situation. It was the school bell.

  All of the kids jumped up to leave, but Mr. Bartholomew stood his ground. “You can’t expect to succeed in life…” he said loudly to get their attention. The students paused, and the teacher finished his lecture with, “…if you don’t apply yourself.” He directed his last comment specifically towards Simon.

  * * *

  Children from seventh to twelfth grade stampeded through the hallways to get to their classes. Simon felt like a dwarf among giants, not just because of his low status on the totem pole but because of his unusually short height. He was a sickly boy with plastic-framed glasses, thick chestnut hair, and a slightly crooked nose. His legs were birdlike, and his ears seemed to stick out too far from his head.

  His only love in life was playing video games; it was the only thing he was good at. He could outplay just about anyone, and he knew it.

  “Simon Kent,” a slow, cold voice sounded from behind. Simon cringed. He stuck his face in his open locker, hoping the person would go away.

  “I heard about what happened in English class. Mrs. Trimble will be so disappointed in you… She may even take away your video games.”

  Simon turned around to face the sophomore behind him. “Y-Y-You’re not going to t-t-tell her, are you?” Simon stuttered only when he was really nervous, and the thought of having his most prized possessions taken away simply terrified him.

  “Oh,” the older boy said melodramatically, “I’m sure she’ll find out sooner or later.” He chuckled as Simon squirmed.

  “Hey, Butch,” came the sultry voice of Sara Parker, the most beautiful girl in school. Two large boys followed her: Buz Atkins, the biggest kid in school, and Spike Peters, the oldest kid in school. No one knew how old Spike really was, but rumor had it that he’d been held back three years in a row. “Are you coming over tonight?” Sara asked, her lips pouting.

  “Yeah,” said Butch, “I’ll be there.” He smacked Simon on the back. “See ya later, punk.” At that, he walked away with Sara, leaving Buz and Spike behind to torment Simon. Both seniors laughed maliciously, but Simon didn’t know
why.

  Tall, handsome, and full of muscles, Butch was the envy of all the students in school. He always knew what to say to make people like him or do what he wanted. Sara, his girlfriend, was just crazy about him—and everyone else was crazy about her.

  Even as a sophomore, Butch was the star quarterback and held awards for just about every sport Simon could think of. He wore his letterman jacket every day to display his many achievements. On top of all that, a flock of students consistently hovered around him, basking in his glory.

  But Butch had a dark side that only a few knew about. Simon had lived with him in the foster home—often referred facetiously as “the orphanage” by many of the children—for almost three years now, and he was keenly aware of the horrible things Butch would do during his sadistic mood swings. For example, one time Butch poured toilet cleanser into Simon’s ant farm in retaliation to a simple quarrel; the poor insects never stood a chance.

  Unlike Simon, Butch entered the orphanage at age twelve. His parents had been abusive. Simon remembered one day overhearing Butch tell the younger kids a story about how he had been locked in the basement for two weeks without food and how he had to drink from the toilet to survive. Simon doubted the validity of his story, but then again, there might have been some truth to it.

  “Ouch!” Simon yelped. Someone had just kicked him. “Ouch! Stop it!”

  Everyone—especially Buz and Spike—seemed to be attacking him. The kicks weren’t dreadfully hard, but for a small person like Simon, they were earth-shattering.

  Simon dropped his books by accident, and when he bent over to pick them up, he received two more swift kicks from behind. The teenagers broke into laughter as Simon’s face smashed into the hard tile floor. His glasses broke and a trickle of blood appeared from a tiny cut above his eye.