by Kim McMahon
Adam of Albion
Kim McMahon Neil McMahon Jason Neal
Quinotaur Press (2012)
* * *
Rating: ****
Tags: Science Fiction, History, Magic, Fantasy
Start with a few typical, ordinary teenagers.
Sure. As if there's any such thing.
The lineup:
Adam Keane, 14, ranch kid from hardscrabble Albion, Montana; sweet and shy, but tough as nails, who's never owned an X-box but can fix an engine or shoot an elk, and right now is a fish out of water as he visits rich relatives in England.
Artemis Wellington-Blackthorn, 13, British aristocrat, petite, brash, brilliant, wild-haired feminist Goth, steeped in ancient lore and Goddess worship.
And Orpheus, way older than the Pyramids, but a kid at heart--although technically, he doesn't have one of those, because he's a head. Literally. A miniature man's head, who's actually a cyborg super computer, created by an advanced civilization that sank beneath the sea in pre-historical times.
Throw the three of them together, with a gang of murderous, trigger-happy thugs hot on their trail, determined to steal Orpheus at any cost. Add in Orph's ultra-genius ability to function as a time machine. Plunge them careening back through centuries to the wild, dangerous Third Crusade, where they land smack in the middle of a brawl between King Richard the Lionheart, the Sultan Saladin, the Knights Templar, and a secret cult of female Assassins.
The result? An irresistible, thrilling adventure that's a blend of fantasy, science fiction, magic, and history--
And also the story of a passionate love that has burned for many thousands of years.
Above all, ADAM OF ALBION is wonderful fun.
We hope you'll take this chance to adventure along with these two terrific teens--and the one and only Orpheus. (If you thought your older brother could be a pain, wait until you meet him.) He's human in all the ways that matter--cantankerous, sly, smartmouthed, but warm and generous underneath; a little wacky, but the kind of friend who comes through when you need him; and he loves to talk, mostly about his countless hair-raising adventures as he roamed the globe, living by his wits. He claims that he's known pretty much every important person in history and has been at every important event, and he's not shy about bragging on it--although his stories sometimes do seem to stretch the truth.
And Orpheus is human in the most important way of all:
He's in love. But it's a love that's troubled by grief, worry, and loneliness. His soul mate, Eurydice--a beautiful, glowing, ankh-shaped jewel who fit inside his skull, who was part of him since his creation--got stolen from him during the Third Crusade.
Worse still, she's his energy source. He's been running on empty since he lost her, and now even empty is almost gone.
If he doesn't find her soon--he'll die.
As Orph and the kids search the Holy Land desperately for Eurydice, fighting and scheming to stay alive among the violent knights, fierce Muslim warriors, and treachery that lurks like vipers under every rock, another facet of this complex story emerges--the world of magic enters in.
Artemis and Adam begin to learn that they are chosen, with destinies that reach far into the past and future both. This adventure is really a battle in a hidden cosmic war, and they will play a key role in its outcome, as soldiers being guided by the mysterious hand of the Goddess.
But victory is far from certain, and the next stage of their journey will depend on their brains and courage in this one--if they survive.
From the Author
One evening back in the early 1990's, for no reason I can pin down, Orpheus and Eurydice appeared in my mind. I'd done a lot of research on the Knights Templar (my fascination with them started long before The DaVinci Code), who were said to have worshiped a miraculous head that talked; maybe it stemmed from that, via some murky subconscious pathway.
I loved the idea, and immediately started writing a story about it--basically similar to what's now ADAM OF ALBION, but much rougher and less appealing. I ended up setting it aside. I didn't have any clear vision of how to improve it, and my writing career took a different turn, into mainstream thrillers. Trying to keep up with those was all I could handle.
Then--about fifteen years later--my wondrous wife Kim was cleaning out a desk and found an early draft of what I'd written. She saw possibilities that I never would have dreamed of (in other words, she brought in all the smart stuff that's now in the book). Busy as she is, including a demanding full time job, she went to work and wrote a new version.
When I read it, I knew that we really had something. Over the next few years, we rewrote and polished it several times. Finally, in June, 2012, we decided it was ready for the ultimate test--to publish it and let readers be the judge.
Of the dozen novels I've authored or co-authored (including the NY Times bestseller TOYS, with James Patterson), ADAM has been far and away the most fun. Working with Kim is a joy. By now, we feel like Artemis and Adam are our own kids--and Orpheus is so much a part of us that we can see and hear him as clearly as if he's perched on our shoulder, yakking away.
Kim and I both care deeply about this book. While our primary goal is to entertain, and we've done our best to keep the story exciting and often humorous, we've also touched on more serious ideas, trying to give it the extra dimension that truly good fiction must have.
We're working hard on Book Two--ARTEMIS AT THE HUNT--and plan on more to come.
About the Author
Kim Anderson McMahon has spent most of her life in Missoula, Montana, except for a 15-year adventure in New York City. She has worked in publishing and as a journalist, and is currently the associate director of Humanities Montana, coordinating the annual Montana Festival of the Book, along with grants and programs. ADAM OF ALBION (co-authored with her husband, Neil McMahon) is her first novel. They're at work on the second book in the A HEAD OF TIME series, ARTEMIS AT THE HUNT.
Neil McMahon has published a dozen thrillers, including (co-authored with James Patterson) the #1 NY Times bestseller TOYS. He holds a degree in psychology from Stanford, and is a journeyman carpenter, with many years spent working construction. ADAM OF ALBION, written together with his wife Kim, is his first young adult novel. He loved it, and is now happily addicted to the genre.
ADAM OF ALBION
Book One Of The Series
A HEAD OF TIME
Kim and Neil McMahon
Quinotaur Press
Missoula, Montana
ADAM OF ALBION. Copyright © 2012 by Kim and Neil McMahon. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Cover design by Jason Neal
ISBN 978-0-9847750-3-3
Certain images and/or photos in this work are the copyrighted property of 123RF Limited, its Contributors or Licensed Partners and are being used with permission under license. These images and/or photos may not be copied or downloaded without permission from 123RF Limited.
PROLOGUE
A dagger!
Jason Apostle stared, frozen with horror, at the shadowy figure sneaking up behind Simon Lodestone—with the long thin blade raised high, poised to ram into Simon's back!
Jason tried to yell a warning, but his voice stuck paralyzed in his throat.
No one else seemed to notice, although there was a huge crowd around. The night was dark and the place was way out in the English countryside, a meadow with a ring of giant ancient stones called the Watching Druids that jutted up eerily out of the earth.
But mostly, no one noticed because they were all watching the stage set up near the stone ring—where the world’s greate
st heavy metal band, Dearth, was about to start a concert guaranteed to split every eardrum in the crowd.
The guy with the dagger looked like all the other grungy young Dearth-heads here tonight, dressed in torn jeans and T-shirts, heavy boots, with multiple tattoos and piercings—thousands of them from every country who spent their summers roaming the globe, camping and hitchhiking to follow their idols.
But he must have known the true, hidden purpose of this concert that Simon Lodestone had arranged: Simon, the great rock promoter, master musician, mathematical genius—
And keeper of the world’s greatest secret.
The Head.
It was the most precious object ever created. Mountains of gold and jewels were worth nothing by comparison. Since the mists of time, legends had sprung up around it. Cults had worshipped it, kingdoms had warred for it, secret societies had pursued it through the centuries.
Now it belonged to The Calculus—a super-covert, super-elite group made up of Simon, Jason, and a very few others. All of them were trained to a razor edge both mentally and physically—martial arts and survival skills, math and computer programming, ancient languages and secret history that wasn’t found in textbooks. All of them were sworn to live and die for the Head.
That had to be what the assassin was out to get—which meant he knew it was here tonight.
And that meant someone in The Calculus was a traitor.
Jason was almost sure he knew who it was.
But now, right this second, it meant that Simon was only a heartbeat away from death!
As the knife started its plunge toward Simon’s back, Jason managed to burst the dam that was blocking his voice.
“Simon! Behind you!” he yelled.
Simon whirled around, his arm slashing upward in a karate block.
But the blade drove home.
Jason was too far away to see exactly what happened. He heard Simon growl in rage and pain. But then, even badly wounded, Simon fought like a wildcat, smashing a kick to the attacker’s knee and then a chop across his throat.
Jason started running toward him to help, but Simon stopped him with a shout:
“No! Follow the plan!”
Jason obeyed. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, turning his back on the man who had raised him, taught him, loved him like a son. But Simon had drilled it into The Calculus again and again: the Head came first, before anyone or anything else. It had to be protected, kept safe and out of the wrong hands, at all costs.
And it was Jason, not Simon, who had the Head in his backpack.
As he took off in an all-out run, it slammed against his spine like a rock with every step. He leaped over the edge of a steep hillside and stumbled down it, skidding and half-rolling through the brush. His eyes filled with sweat even though the air was cool.
Suddenly, the quiet was blasted by the wild, clashing music of Dearth, the high priests of aural pain. The sound was so startling it made Jason trip and fall headfirst, but his highly trained reflexes took over and he twisted the backpack up in his arms, cushioning it as he fell.
He tumbled a good thirty feet before he was able to stop. Panting, bruised, he swung around to look back up at the concert. Simon’s attacker might be coming after him now—there was no way he could pick the guy out of the army of Dearth-heads, thousands of them like a dark moving blanket, spilling out across the surrounding hills and perching on rock crags like crows.
But Jason had to take the chance. The music was racing toward the instant that Simon had spent his whole life working for. The Watching Druids concert was really only a cover, a means to strike the tremendous, crashing, supreme chord that would awaken the sleeping Head.
Or not.
All-important success or failure hung in the next few seconds. Without Simon here, Jason would have to witness it alone.
His shaking hands lifted the Head out of his daypack. It was a little bigger than a tennis ball and crusted over with mortar to disguise it as an ordinary rock. But two small indentations showed the eyes—which had been dark and blank since the time of Sir Isaac Newton.
The last seconds ticked off. The music stopped suddenly, hung in a breathless pause for one more excruciating beat—
Then the great chord tore through the night as if a giant axe had split open the sky itself: thousands of decibels of mega-amplified guitar, bass, drum, organ, synthesizers, all perfectly calibrated.
Teeth clenched, heart hammering, Jason stared into the small dark orbs in the rock.
And far, far back in their depths, he thought he saw a tiny flicker, like a lightning flash on a distant horizon.
He almost screamed with joy. But his training took over again. He had to move, get the Head to the safe hiding place that Simon had picked out, an old ruined church at the bottom of the hill.
Especially because his sweeping gaze spotted a car pulling away from the concert—a sleek black Jaguar, picking up speed and coming in his direction.
He jumped to his feet and started running again, concentrating on his stumbling feet and shooting down the hillside in long soaring leaps. Man, he was flying! If he could just keep from getting his own head bashed in. It was almost pitch dark, and as his eyes strained to see the steeple that marked the church, a stone slid out from under him and he fell again, skidding like a wild toboggan with the sharp rocks pounding and jabbing him.
When he stopped this time, he was so beat up and panicked that the sweat in his eyes was mixed with tears. He’d never imagined that he could feel so totally desperate. Noble, kindly Simon was probably dead. The killer was speeding this way to murder Jason, too.
But worse, far worse, the great mission would end pathetically in some forlorn English field—and Jason would be the one who had failed.
No! He could handle this, he’d trained long and hard, and there was too much at stake. He dragged himself to his feet again, but he’d lost his bearings. He stared up to find stars in the cloudy night, the celestial map that Simon had taught them to use like the ancients had. There was Orion, followed by Sirius, the Dog Star. There was Ursa Major, the Big Dipper. There, Merak and Dubhe, the two stars that pointed at Polaris, the North Star. And that was where the church was, to the north.
He lowered his gaze, straining to pierce the night. There it was!—the dark mass of a crumbling old steeple, barely visible a quarter mile away.
But coming down the winding dirt road from the concert, closing the distance fast, was the menacing low shape of the Jaguar.
Jason clenched his hands around the backpack’s straps and ran.
ONE
For about the zillionth time in the past few weeks, Adam Keane wanted to wring his cousin Barry’s neck.
Adam got up off the ground, brushed dirt from his jeans, and stared glumly down at the moped that the two boys had just crashed—lying on its side with the engine dead. The headlight was still on, but all he could see in the gloomy night was that they were out in the middle of nowhere.
Oh, man, they were in trouble.
It was all because Barry had insisted on going to a stupid rock concert to see his favorite band, Dearth. The plan, if you could even call it that, hadn’t seemed like a good one from the start, and now Adam could see that it was outright crazy—although he had to admit that he’d gone along with it, letting Barry rope him in, as usual.
For openers, Barry’s parents—who the boys were on vacation with, here in England—had strictly forbidden the concert. But they were going out for the evening, so Barry had come up with a scheme. He arranged to borrow the moped from Reg, the gardener at Blackthorn Manor, where they were staying. They’d sneak away after the grownups left and get back in time.
But now they were miles from the Manor and the bike was down. They were either going to have to walk home, which would take hours, or call for a ride. Either way, they were busted.
They were going to be grounded for the rest of their lives.
Barry came limping over and kicked a tire.
“Damn this thing!” he muttered.
Yeah, like it’s the bike’s fault, Adam thought. The truth was that Barry had been driving too fast, and texting on his iPhone at the same time. This little dirt road was full of ruts and potholes, and they’d plowed right into one. They’d probably have to pay for getting the moped fixed, on top of everything else. Reg was a mean guy who smelled of liquor and didn’t like the boys.
In fact, now that Adam thought about it, why had Reg loaned Barry the moped? But then, Barry was good at cajoling things out of people.
Adam took another look at it, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could get it running again. The basics you needed for a simple engine like this were spark, compression, and fuel, and it should still have all of those. In fact, the smell of gasoline was strong, so it was probably flooded and that should settle down after a few minutes. He’d helped his father work on pickup trucks and equipment, back on their family ranch in Albion, Montana, practically since he was old enough to walk. He could drive pretty well, too, and he knew how important it was to be careful—if he’d been running the moped, he thought bitterly, they’d be fine—but Barry had claimed the right because he was older.
Adam switched off the headlight to save the battery, plunging them into darkness that at first seemed like the inside of a cave. But his eyes adjusted quickly, helped by patches of moonlight through the shifting clouds. He started looking around for anything that might help.
What he saw didn’t make him feel any better. This place was creepy—a falling down old church and graveyard that looked like they belonged in a Dracula movie. He didn’t spot any bats, but he’d have bet there were some around.
Then he noticed the really strange thing—they’d almost made it to the Dearth concert. He could see it on a hilltop less than a mile away, with pulsing lights shooting skyward and the crowd of Dearth-heads swarming around. Contrasted to the gloomy quiet in this churchyard, it was like another world, a camp of wild barbarians in some movie like Road Warriors. That didn’t make him feel any better, either, especially because the place was called the Watching Druids.