Mark Willoughby and the Impostor-King of Lazaronia (Book 1)

By Laraine Anne Barker

When Mark Willoughby is confronted by a woman who looks like both a witch and a ghost, his life abruptly changes. For it appears that he is “The One Marked by Willow” destined to save a strange land called Lazaronia, whose inhabitants have been cursed with infertility. Only the King and Queen managed to have a child, a daughter. But there is nobody in Lazaronia to marry her when she grows up. The King’s jealous brother Ignarius (who cast the infertility spell) has murdered King Lazarone and tried to pass himself off as the King. However, he couldn’t convince the Queen Regent, who has had to rule the land and simultaneously search the universe for a husband for her daughter. As if the idea of never seeing his family again isn’t enough, Mark also has to free the Goddess Lazaria, imprisoned on her ice-bound moon by Ignarius.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laraine Anne Barker
• Release date: May 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987665003

Laraine Anne Barker

Laraine Anne Barker has always enjoyed telling stories. As a child, when playing with dolls with her younger sisters became boring, she would make up stories featuring the dolls. She also remembers how she and her sisters wrote stories into exercise books and even illustrated them, using crayons to colour them because they found that rubbing on the crayon pictures gave them a shine similar to that of glossy colour pictures in magazines. Laraine submitted her first book (for adults) to a publisher at about the age of 21 and received a very kind rejection letter in which the editor suggested the story could be rewritten for young readers. She regrets she didn't keep the rejection and follow up on the advice. She didn't start writing fantasy for young readers until 1986. After many rewritings the book started then became The Obsidian Quest (published under the Hard Shell imprint of Mundania Press). The Obsidian Quest was a finalist in The Dream Realm Awards 2001 and was followed by Lord of Obsidian and The Third Age of Obsidian, also published under the Hard Shell imprint of Mundania Press. The Mark Willoughby series was started in 1992. Silvranja of the Silver Forest was short-listed (one of three) in 1998 for a major New Zealand prize, The Tom Fitzgibbon Memorial Award.

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About Mark Willoughby and the Impostor-King of Lazaronia

Oh, Adam’s lost his hat, Mark thought. However, as soon as he touched it he knew it wasn’t Adam’s. It looked too expensive.

Mark had a sudden urge to try it on. Then he’d find its owner.

A sharp movement from someone wearing black drew his attention. He stared straight into a face that at first he thought was Adam’s, for the man had long black hair and a beard, streaked faintly with silver. But Adam didn’t have flashing black eyes. And this fellow was taller than Adam. He was broader, too, even taking account of Adam’s padded costume. A huge man, in fact.

No! No! Don’t! the man yelled, waving frantically.

So this big bully owned the hat. Too bad, Mark mused, plonking it onto his head.

At that moment the lights went out.

Mark has already been confronted by a woman who looked like both a ghost and a witch. But at least she seemed harmless; just a little batty. This man looks neither. A raging bull would be a good comparison. But why should the man object so violently to Mark’s trying on his hat? It might be made of silk but is no more a real sorcerer’s hat than Mark’s cardboard mock-up.

Or is it? …

Prologue

Impatiently Esmeralda freed herself from one scratchy bush and dodged another. Manuka, she believed it was called. It was all over the place.

What in the Goddess’s name was she doing in this tiny, sparsely populated land anyway? She’d had no luck finding the child on earth’s continents and more densely inhabited islands. What chance, then, would she have in a place isolated from most of its world by huge stretches of sea and ocean? But these islands of almost impenetrable forest and bushland were certainly her last chance.

And at least even the poorest children weren’t dying of the relentless famine cursing so much of this overcrowded world. For the child she sought needed to be healthy, as well as strong and fearless, to survive the ordeals awaiting him. She daren’t dwell on the consequences of failing to find him: a boy whose age she could only guess, of whose looks she had no idea, and in the search for whom she had but one cryptic clue—that he bore the mark of the willow.

But her sense of impending climax was now so strong she knew he had to be near. It was as though the weird hat found among her dead husband’s belongings, in getting blown into this overgrown reserve, was leading her somewhere.

Grimacing ruefully, she retrieved the hat and continued climbing. It was fortunate the situation wasn’t reversed: that this teeming planet wasn’t hers and she an earthling trying—alone and in secret—to trace one child among billions …

Ah! She’d finally reached the end.

And Esmeralda pushed past her last obstacle—a sweet-smelling pine that she knew wasn’t native to this land—to find a flat green sward fronting buildings of a type she instantly recognised. She’d visited countless numbers of them during her quest. The English-speaking of earth called them schools, institutions for which her people, tragically, had no use. The buildings were clearly empty. She’d have to return when the school week started.

But earthlings didn’t like strangers around their schools. Especially ones asking children peculiar questions. Luckily she could deal with that by disguising herself as an ordinary earth mother …

That was when she saw the boy, asleep in the sun, the diamond-shape of a white kite beside him. Her excitement mounted. Was he why she’d been drawn to the deserted school? If so, she had to speak to him at once. Her enemies, determined to stop her claiming the child she sought, had long been on her trail. And they were getting closer. If they alerted this boy’s parents—or the city’s law enforcement people—to her undoubtedly illegal intentions … Well, the results didn’t bear thinking about.

Resolutely Esmeralda stepped into the open.

At that moment her tall, pointed black hat was snatched from behind. Something froze her to the spot, unable even to turn. So her enemies, with infinitely more power than she had despite her importance to the land from which they all came, had caught up with her. Without her husband’s hat she couldn’t even return home!

Chapter 1: The Strange Woman

Mark had hardly launched his kite when the wind dropped and it fluttered to the ground. He glared at it. The day had looked so good for kite-flying. Why did the wind have to die just because he’d decided to fly the kite made by his older brother Adam?

He flopped down on the playing field, wondering what else he could do. It was proving a very long day. Why was it always like that when you were looking forward to something exciting that happened only at night time? It was the same at Christmas and Guy Fawkes. And tonight’s party should be especially good because it was a Halloween fancy dress one, and for the first time in his life he was allowed to stay up till midnight. What was more, it was going to be held here at his school!

Mark shivered with excitement. Maybe he’d be on TV. The party’s organisers claimed it was the first of its type in New Zealand. New Zealanders didn’t normally make much fuss over Halloween. Surely that meant TV cameras would be there? Also, the organisers’ aim was to raise money for charity. TV news people liked that sort of thing.

He stretched out on the grass, thinking about the wizard’s outfit his mother had made for him. Adam, who was nearly seventeen, and his girlfriend Julie had made their own.

Mark hadn’t seen them, but they couldn’t be better than his, or even as good. Made from a shiny dark blue material, it glittered all over with stars and crescent moons composed of silver and gold sequins. There was also a matching belt with a silver buckle—not real silver, of course, but it looked real enough. The buckle’s raised pattern of curly leaves was what his mother called ‘antiqued’, which only meant the maker had blackened the metal to appear old and dirty.

To complete his wizardly image, his mother had made a matching tall, pointed hat. It didn’t matter that it was only cardboard covered with the shiny blue material and studded with sequins. You couldn’t tell without handling it. Once he put on his Halloween mask he looked really good in his outfit. His mother was so clever with the sewing machine! Mind you, she was clever at most things.

Mark realised he’d fallen asleep only when a soft voice jerked him awake. I hope her younger son is just as clever, then.

He opened his eyes. A woman stood over him. She wore a black, silky cloak reaching to her ankles. Her long black hair shone blue in the sunlight. At first Mark thought she was one of Julie’s older friends dressed in her Halloween costume, wanting perhaps to show off her surprisingly realistic wig. Then he realised her back was to the sun. And yet she cast no shadow. He could partially see the sun through her as though through a mist.

Mark leapt to his feet. Before he could run she spoke again.

Don’t run away—please. I won’t hurt you. I promise.

He stopped in mid-stride, finding himself unable to flee anyway.

What d’you want? His words came out in a choking gasp. Oh, no! Why couldn’t he at least sound brave? She’d guess now that his big brother—and sometimes even his mother—fought his battles for him.

Only to talk to you. Please don’t be frightened.

How could he stop himself being frightened when he could almost see through her? At this thought, Mark gave another strangled gasp. Of course! It’s Halloween. She’s a ghost—probably from one of the old graves in the Hillsborough Cemetery. It’s not that far away—not for a ghost anyway.

He strove to still his frantic heart. If she’d heard him thinking how clever his mother was, she could surely hear its cowardly hammering!

I’m not frightened. He tried to make the words sound brave, but they came out in little more than a squeak.

You are, she said, her tone accusing. For some strange reason she sounded disappointed as well. So I won’t keep you long. I just want to know if you have a scar—or maybe a birthmark—that looks like a willow tree or a willow branch.

A batty ghost! That was all he needed. He shook his head. He daren’t trust his voice.

Show me.

Oh no! From what he’d read, scars and birthmarks were in places usually covered by clothes. There was no way he was going to take off his tee-shirt let alone anything else.

He shook his head again.

She frowned. Look, please don’t be frightened. She looked him up and down as though assessing him. He couldn’t stop himself reddening with embarrassment. You look strong enough, but I expected you to be a lot braver. Just show me the insides of your wrists. If you’re the one I’m looking for, that’s where the mark should be.

In relief Mark turned his palms to face her. She looked at the unblemished skin on his wrists with obvious disappointment, her shoulders sagging as though with exhaustion.

I’m sorry. But I was so sure. She shrugged and abruptly changed the subject. What’s your name, youngling?

Mark Willoughby. His name was out before he even realised he’d spoken.

The woman looked surprised, and then elated, as though the present of Mark’s name was something exciting. Then to Mark’s amazement she laughed—a bright, clear sound unlike the cackle of witches in storybooks. So the mark of the willow was a riddle! She sighed, as if in relief. Such are the strange ways of the wise! It would appear my quest is truly ended.

She turned to look behind her, at the trees beyond which lay the bush reserve known as the Avondale South Domain, which led down to the shallow waters of the Manukau Harbour. She sighed again, this time not in relief.

When will you be coming back here? Day after tomorrow?

No. Again Mark found himself answering as though he had no choice. I’m coming to the Halloween party tonight.

Halloween? She looked puzzled. Mark, surprised at her ignorance, was about to explain, when understanding dawned on her face. Oh, of course! Halloween would be short for All Hallows’ Eve, the eve of All Saints’ Day or the Day of All Souls. I thought that was a religious thing. Now I see the reason for your fright. You thought I was a ghost. Well, I’m not—not the way you think, anyway. Perhaps I’ll see you at the party? I do hope so. She stretched out a hand. In the meantime, farewell, youngling.

A cold, clammy feeling rippled up and down Mark’s spine.

Shake hands with a ghost? No way!

However, he couldn’t seem to help himself. His hand reached for hers. But he didn’t find out what it was like to shake hands with a ghost. He abruptly felt giddy and the school grounds spun around him.

Moments later, feeling a cold breeze on his face, he opened his eyes to find himself still stretched out