Book 1 of the Rifts Between Three Worlds Series
Ever had one of those days when your dad gets murdered by assassins from another world, your mom gets kidnapped, and your toothbrush tells you to jump into a dangerous inter-dimensional portal? Yeah, me too. That was last Monday. Apparently, they’ve taken her through a mystical gateway to an ancient land where war is raging, and big, nasty monsters are rampaging all over, killing everyone in their path. It’s a terrible place to step into right now, but I’ll do anything to find Mom and bring her home safely. So, armed with only my trusty schoolbag and a talking toothbrush, I head into the unknown to find out what destiny has in store for me.
The Sword They Should Have Left Alone is a Young Adult fantasy book, charting the thrilling and whimsical journey of a 16-year old city kid, as he explores a distant, exotic realm and battles human enemies and monsters alike, with just his smarts, his courage, and a backpack full of gadgets.
Here’s a small sample for your reading pleasure:
The serving girl who’d taken my order heads back towards me, tray in hand. I can see a bowl of something steaming hot on it. Just in time. I’m starving!
She gets barely halfway across the room before a man in a hooded robe steps into her path and cuts her off. She looks startled, taken aback by something he says. I glimpse his hand passing in a blur over the top of my soup. And then he’s gone, lost in the crowd somewhere.
The serving girl, seemingly unnerved, quickly delivers the food to my table and hastily leaves.
“Did you see that?” I whisper to Creep.
“See what?”
“I think that dude spiked my stew!”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“I swear I saw him drop something in.” I stir the stew vigorously but can’t find anything suspicious inside. It’s probably dissolved already!
“You’re imagining things.”
“No way, I know a date-rape attempt when I see one! I’m not drinking this stuff!”
“What are you going to do?”
I think for a moment. “I know. I’ll pretend that I drank it and passed out. Let’s see if that dude comes back. He’s in for a big surprise if he does.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Creep sounds concerned.
“It’s a great idea.”
“Just leave the stew. You can order another. We don’t need any new problems.”
“Look, someone’s trying to mess with me. I can’t just let that go! I’ve got to teach him a lesson!”
“You’re not exactly the ‘teach bad guys a lesson’ type. You always get in trouble this way!”
“Yeah, but now, I’ve got a magic sword.”
“I’m not a magic sword.”
“Shush. I’m doing it.”
I take a spoonful of the soup and slurp it loudly but quietly spit it back onto the spoon before returning it to the bowl. After a couple of these fake slurps, I feign drowsiness and fold my arms on the table, resting my head on them.
I wait a long moment for something to happen.
“Shit, dude, you’re in for it!” Creep whispers. “That guy’s coming over!”
“Tell me when!”
“He’s walking… walking… now!”
At the cue from Creep, I suddenly spring up from the table, right as the Tavern Hooded Man is reaching for my arm. He recoils in surprise.
I flip the bowl of stew at him, hoping to splash him in the chest. My aim is completely off, and the bowl flies at his face.
Tavern Hooded Man reacts quickly and shields himself, but the stew still drenches his head and arms.
“What the-?” he sputters, lamb pieces and oily gravy streaming down his hood onto his face.
The crowd in the tavern goes silent. Tavern Hooded Man wipes his cheeks and stares at me. For the second time in two days, I’m face to face with a very angry, very dangerous, very wet man, wearing a hood.
Panic grips me. I reach for Creep.
Tavern Hooded Man watches my hand go down to my sword. He’s got no reason to think that I don’t know how to use it. His own hand shifts to a dagger on his belt.
Maybe I can scare him off. I’ve got a longer blade. I give the hilt a yank.
Nothing happens. Creep is stuck solid in the scabbard.
I yank again. Creep doesn’t move an inch.
Right about now, I recall that I once read in a book how you actually need to practice drawing a sword, especially from a scabbard on your belt. It’s like tying your shoelaces or riding a bike – there’s some technique involved. You can’t just randomly pull and hope it slides out smoothly.
I had intended to dramatically whip out my sword with a flourish, like one of the Three Musketeers. I would have lifted an arm into the air behind me like you see in all those sword fighting movies, while pointing Creep at my foe. “En garde,” I would have trumpeted, raising just a single eyebrow.
Tavern Hooded Man would have realised the folly of his ways, backed away nervously, and run out of the tavern with his tail between his legs. The whole tavern would jump to their feet and applaud loudly in approval. I would bow theatrically several times, and slip Creep back into its sheath, cheers still ringing in my ears.
Yeah, of course, none of that happened. I finally fumble Creep out of the scabbard and point it at Tavern Hooded Man.
Darnit, a real sword is much heavier than it looks in movies! I’m struggling to keep it level, and my hand is shaking like a washing machine on spin cycle.
Tavern Hooded Man regards me curiously. After a while of assessing the threat level, he lets go of the dagger on his belt and leaves it there.
“Kids these days,” he mutters.
He takes one step forward and punches me hard in the face, and that’s the last thing I remember.
To read more, look for it on Kindle Unlimited on Amazon!