About The Author:
Bryant Golden started writing “Blue Moon Chronicles, Book I” when he was twelve years old and sick at home. The story and the genre changed significantly in the seven years it took to finish, hopefully for the better, but the title and the themes never changed. Born and raised in Los Angeles, California, he originally settled his characters into fantasy worlds with magic and creatures to abandon life in the city. When he was rewriting the story for the final time he realized that the story needs to be personal for it to matter, to the writer and to readers, so he created new characters and settled the story into a fictional but realistic world.
Genre: Fiction/Action & Adventure/Young Adult
Publisher: Self-published with CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.
Released June 4, 2013.
It’s been a century since the Civil War split the continent into two provinces, Sanctum and Alexandria, and now another war is on the horizon: the Continent War. The end of this war means the end of one of the provinces. This is the story of Ian Hirst as he finds himself in the fray and fights to defend his province and loved ones. Isaiah, a young boy from the newest locale in Sanctum, struggles to learn what it means to grow up and become “a proper man” in the middle of it all.
Excerpt #2, “Abigail”:
Isaiah followed Abigail’s lead, more because he’s curious than worried. She hummed quietly to herself. He doesn’t mind, he enjoys the tune—it feels familiar somehow.
Abigail reached for his hand. “C’mon, mister,” she said. Isaiah nodded and followed, suddenly feeling a strange sadness, followed by immediate frustration.
“Abigail? Can I ask where we’re going?”
“I’m walking you home, mister,” she said.
“But home is that way,” said Isaiah, pointing back at the way they came.
“No it isn’t,” she said, holding his hand tighter.
“Abigail, what do you want with me?”
She looked back at him and sighed. “I’ve already told you twice, mister.”
“Abigail, we’re friends, right?” he asked with a smile.
Abigail jumped and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes, we’re friends,” she said, hugging him tightly.
“Then tell me where we’re going. Where we’re really going,” said Isaiah, struggling to push her off.
Abigail smiled. “I’ve never had a friend before,” she said. She reached for Isaiah’s hand again and led him deeper into the dungeons. The two walked in silence for a few more minutes and Isaiah sighed.
“You didn’t tell me where we’re going, Abigail.”
She let go of his hand and walked into an old cell. “C’mon, sit down,” she smiled. He sighed again and followed her inside. She closed the cell behind him. Blindly following a strange girl into a prison cell in an old dungeon is probably not one of his smartest moves, but he’s a capable young man.
He can fight off a little girl. Not that he wants to, but he can.
“Welcome home, mister,” she whispered as if she thought they were being followed.
“This is your grave, kid,” a deep, heavy voice echoed in his head.
“Wait, Abigail… Did you hear that?” he asked. She doesn’t seem bothered by the voice. It must only be in his head.
Is he losing his mind?
Abigail walked up to him and held his hand once more. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, resting her hand on his cheek.
Isaiah shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Well, it looks like you hit your head pretty hard,” said Abigail, pointing at the dry blood on Isaiah’s face. He didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t feel the blood.
“What’s going on, Abigail?” asked Isaiah, a flood of light filling the dungeon cell.
His vision blurred and when he regained his senses he found himself chained to the wall. “Abigail?” he said.
“Can you please shut up?” said a man in the cell next to his. He was a dirty, unhealthy looking man with a lot of hair and a large beard, his gray eyes barely visible behind it all.
“Where are we?” asked Isaiah.
“Where do you think? You’re a prisoner now. We’re in the Alexandria dungeons. You were fading in and out of consciousness for a few days, it looks like you were hit pretty hard,” said the man, leaning against the prison bars that separated them.
“A few days?” asked Isaiah. “How many?”
“Well, I’ve had three meals since you got here so…you’ve been here for a week, more or less. You’ve been mumbling on about some ‘Abigail’ and it’s been pretty horrible listening to it. I even threw a few pebbles at you to try and shut you up.”
Isaiah looked down and noticed a small pile of pebbles at his feet.
“A few pebbles?” he said.
“A few pebbles a day, yeah.”