Falcon Lord -- Book One: The Lost Isle of Perpetua (An Epic Steampunk Fantasy Novel)

By D. A. Metrov

"FALCON LORD is wonderful—the most enticing fantasy world I've come across in years, with characters we truly care about—and I have no doubt it'll hit the world with a bang." Robert Zemeckis, Academy Award winning writer-director-producer of BACK TO THE FUTURE, FORREST GUMP, CAST AWAY, POLAR EXPRESS

“I found the world of FALCON LORD to be majestic, visually stunning, and endearing. I have no doubt this franchise has the capacity to grow and grow.” Bruce Joel Rubin, Academy Award winning writer of GHOST, JACOB’S LADDER, DEEP IMPACT, STUART LITTLE 2, THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE

“I was stuck by the magical nature of FALCON LORD, and sincerely hope to see it join the ranks of fantasy classics.” Mark Johnson, Academy Award Winning producer of RAIN MAN, CHRONICLES OF NARNIA, A LITTLE PRINCESS, GALAXY QUEST, THE NOTEBOOK

Finally here—the Young Adult Steampunk Fantasy thousands of Facebook fans have been awaiting. 16-year-old Brighton Aviamore, lowly 2nd Assistant Game Warden, lives in self-imposed exile on a small island off the coast of Perpetua. Years earlier, he was abandoned by his mother after his father, the last falcon rider, was killed by his own giant raptor. When an army of underworld mutants threatens the realm, Willowmena (Brighton’s would-be love interest) presses the maverick youth to join the war effort against them. The couple embarks on an impossible journey to consult an elusive seer for advice on how to fight the marauders. They discover the seer is missing, and a vast, toxic mining operation threatens to destroy the kingdom. Brighton further learns that nine years earlier, his father was murdered for attempting to stop the illegal enterprise. Someone had bewitched Lord Aviamore’s falcon. Brighton must come to terms with the crime that shaped his bitter outlook on life. For the first time, he determines to defend something other than his own personal interests. He risks his life to take up his father’s quest. He defies the evil genius and his warriors who would stop at nothing in their rampage for wealth and power. His bold actions inspire the citizens to resurrect the battle for their homeland. They grant him the prestigious title of Sky Sheriff. When he and his intrepid falcon lead the common people to victory, Brighton Aviamore becomes known as the legend, Falcon Lord. This story is populated with steam-driven, flying wooden robots; gigantic steam-powered flying, fighting, and mining machines; and steam-powered appliances of every type imaginable—An Epic Steampunk Fantasy Novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. A. Metrov
• Release date: Mar 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301612581

D. A. Metrov

LIGHTMASTERS ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT PRESENTS THE YA STEAMPUNK-FANTASY WURKS OF D. A. METROV I attended UCLA film school, then moved to New York City where I worked for ten years as a designer and fine arts painter. During this time, I spent a year painting in Rome, Italy. Inspired by the early works of Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, I wrote a 32 page treatment with drawings for my motion picture, SOLARBABIES. The treatment evolved into a 12-minute, computerized slide presentation. With the help of Mark Johnson [RAIN MAN], we sold the project to Mel Brooks [THE PRODUCERS]. The movie is still in distribution by MGM. Some of my writing mentors have been Menno Meyjes [THE COLOR PURPLE], Walon Green [THE WILD BUNCH], Bruce Joel Rubin [GHOST], and Bruce McAllister [DREAM BABY]. My first agent was Jack Rapke, Head of the Motion Picture Department of CAA, now producer for Robert Zemeckis [FORREST GUMP, CAST AWAY]. I'm now represented by Caren Bohrman of the Caren Bohrman Agency. I've written, produced, and directed two, small feature films, DARK SPIRAL and LITTLE EDEN, as well as several short films. I have multiple novel, graphic novel, and motion picture projects in development--most currently, the FALCON LORD series, THE TERRIBLE QUEST OF THADDEUS PENNYBROOK'S KNEE-HIGH STEAMBOTS, and MACHINE OF GOD. I currently live in Santa Barbara, California with my wife Maureen. Maureen has a real job. As a Doctor of Pharmacy, she saves lives daily. Together, she and I care for a wild and terrible black cat. Though the creature resides in a permanent state of sleep, it somehow manages to keep the household free of dangerous lizards and thieving field mice. To learn more, please visit: www.lightmasters.net.

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FALCON LORD

Book One: The Lost Isle of Perpetua

D. A. Metrov

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012

Lightmasters Publications

www.lightmasters.net

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781301612581

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ENDORSEMENTS

FALCON LORD is wonderful—the most enticing fantasy world I've come across in years, with characters we truly care about —and I have no doubt it'll hit the world with a bang.

Robert Zemeckis, Academy Award winning writer-director-producer BACK TO THE FUTURE, FORREST GUMP, CAST AWAY, POLAR EXPRESS, BEOWULF

I found the world of FALCON LORD to be majestic, visually stunning, and endearing.  I have no doubt this franchise has the capacity to grow and grow for a long time to come.

Bruce Joel Rubin, Academy Award winning writer GHOST, JACOB’S LADDER, DEEP IMPACT, STUART LITTLE 2

I was stuck by the magical nature of FALCON LORD, and sincerely hope to see it join the ranks of fantasy classics.

Mark Johnson, Academy Award Winning producer RAIN MAN, CHRONICLES OF NARNIA, A LITTLE PRINCESS, GALAXY QUEST, THE NOTEBOOK

Thank god someone like D.A. Metrov has produced a brilliant green series of books with characters, that are fun, smart, captivating, and most importantly, that teach a different way of thinking about our responsibility to the planet. Robert Glenn Ketchum, Leading landscape photographer, author, & environmental activist; winner United Nations Outstanding Environmental Achievement Award

Artwork by D. A. Metrov

Thank you for supporting the Arts!

If you enjoy this book, you can learn more about the author and his other books at http://www.lightmasters.net. Your positive review on Amazon.com would be most welcome.

PART ONE

SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION

Chapter One

THE KILLING AT DRAKTON

Brighton listened. While feeling the sun warming his face, and taking in the salt air mixed with the falcon’s musky odors, he heard only the distant waves. But he was waiting for something else. Then it came—the click of his father’s tongue—Fumor's cue. He quickly adjusted his goggles, wrapped his arms around his father's waist, and furrowed his brow. The falcon, legs thick as tree trunks, launched into the air with a single thrust of his wings. Before the boy could get his bearings, the three of them were airborne. Off the high Drakton cliffs and over the open sea.

Brighton had flown only a few times before, so it was several moments before he remembered to breathe. Nothing was more amazing than this, flying with Vada—his father, Lord Aviamore, Sky Sheriff of Perpetua Isle—whose warmth he could feel against him in the cold, October sky.

Vada’s not afraid. I’ll be just like him even if I am only seven. Brighton Aviamore felt special as could be.

He looked out and saw the ocean glimmering to the edge of the world. He wondered if it were true those sparkling jewels, dancing on the water’s surface, were flecks of light fallen from the sun as his father had once told him.

He saw Vada lower his goggles over his eyes, and it made his blood race. Brighton knew what was coming. He was proud he knew.

Hold on, Brighton. He felt his father’s heels push into the bird’s ribs as the slap of reins was lost to the rushing air. Fumor rose, like a geyser blasting from the earth, until the clouds above were closer than the land below. Vada’s legs moved again, knees squeezing the bird’s shoulders. Fumor banked, then tucked into a dive. They gained speed.

Brighton closed his eyes. He felt the wind stinging his face, pulling at his hair. He remembered his father once telling him, A Magradore falcon can reach speeds of two hundred terrameters per hour. Faster than any animal alive.

He peeked and saw the ground coming up fast. He also saw the bird turn his head, ever so slightly, as if hearing something in the nearby mountains. Something a human couldn't hear in the roaring wind. The boy could see the bird’s dark eye. For a moment he felt something stir in that darkness—something sinister and alien. It made no sense. As if something were challenging the giant’s allegiance. But Fumor was their falcon. They loved him and cared for him like family.

Brighton was caught off guard when he felt Fumor’s massive form gyrate in a full turn-about, wings extended to brake the fall. 

They touched down on a rocky ridge above Drakton beach. Fumor ruffled his feathers, blasted hot air through his porthole-sized nostrils, then glanced up again toward the mountains. Vada didn’t seem to notice. Brighton wondered why.

Lord Aviamore lowered Brighton off the saddle, then dismounted. Vada’s grin said he was as proud of his son as his son was of him.

Brighton raised his goggles, and looked at Fumor. But the bird was looking down at them now, and his eyes were bright again.

That was fantastic, Vada. Thank you. Brighton admired his father’s leather skullcap. He dreamed of having his own one day, along with a Falcon Rider’s scabbard and leather riding boots.

"Thank you, boy, for being my son. Vada gave him a smile then, turning to the falcon, said in a calm, confident voice, Stoop, Fumor."

The bird was big for his young age. Big and sometimes moody. He hissed with such force, even Vada couldn’t help but wince from the beast’s pungent breath.

Stoop, I say. Vada hauled back on the reins that controlled Fumor’s colossal head and beak. Brighton’s pulse surged. He knew the bird was rebelling. It made him feel alive and terrified at the same time. He never understood the sensation. He only knew it came when he watched his father work with the falcon that towered over them both.

The raptor screeched. The shrill cry hurt Brighton’s ears. Vada dug his heels into the ground, and leaned all his weight back against the reins. Fumor reared. He beat his glorious wings which, outstretched, spanned wider than a Viking longship. His talons arced and dug into the ground like pick axes. The dirt and the mites flew with such fury Brighton was forced to reel. He turned back as quickly as he could, for the sight of Fumor’s wingspan was incredulous to him. 

Vada threw aside his crop. Whoa. Easy. He spoke softly now. His stomach is empty. It makes him temperamental. Plus he’s nervous with you there watching.

Should I move away, Vada?

Hold your ground, boy. Never give in, or the bird will lose respect for you.

Brighton swallowed. It was his first day of official training. He was anxious not to make any mistakes. He stepped forward again, despite the knot he felt growing in his stomach. Fumor shook his feathers, and flapped his wings again. Finally, the bird dropped to his belly, raising dust all around his gigantic body—dust that Brighton was proud to wear from head to toe. He turned his head, spat and grinned.

First make sure his harness is properly adjusted. Vada kept his eyes on the falcon. Too tight, and you’ll agitate him unnecessarily. Too loose, and he’ll become of mind to disobey. He buckled the harness, and measured the tautness of the leather by the width of his hand.

He’s got spirit, this one. That’s why I respect him so. Isn’t that so, my friend? Vada stroked Fumor’s neck. He reached his fingers deep into the bird’s feathers, and scratched the spot he knew the creature could not resist. Fumor raised his head, and rolled his eyes back like a cat in ecstasy. Brighton grinned, amazed at his father’s ability to control the bird’s tempestuous moods.

Lord Aviamore continued to adjust Fumor’s elaborate leather gear—harness, bridle, saddle, stirrups. And the Teidalbaden, a steam-powered flight unit that contained an altitude and air pressure meter, a three-dimensional compass, and a long-distance, wireless telegraph device. The Teidalbaden sat above the saddle horn, on the bird’s neck, within easy viewing of the rider. The peculiar device had been a source of fascination for the boy ever since he was a toddler. He’d spent hours playing with it before he had any idea what it could do. And he'd been scolded by his father for doing so.

It’s not a toy, Vada would say, then go on to promise that some day, he would teach Brighton all about its powers and magic. Would this be that long awaited day?

Brighton watched and learned his father’s every move, memorizing Vada’s routines, even his calm, confident mannerisms. Brighton Aviamore was intent on becoming a great rider. He needed to see only once, and he’d never forget even the smallest technique for preparing a bird for flight.

Vada made a final cinch, and patted Fumor on the back. Fumor rose.

Whoa, hold on, Fumor.

Fumor snorted, blowing steam-like breath from his nostrils, then settled back to his belly. Holding the bird’s reins, Lord Aviamore leaned closer to his son. 

You know, boy, you’re from noble ancestry. Our forefathers came from far away. They tamed this land. And they tamed these great birds—something no one else had ever been able to do.

Yes, Vada. Brighton felt himself glow with pride.

And with that heritage comes great responsibility. A Falcon Rider must never put himself first. Serving the people—that’s what matters. Do you understand?

Of course, Vada. A Falcon Rider is in charge of keeping the peace, and protecting those who aren’t as strong.

Vada’s face lit up. He smiled and mussed the boy’s hair. Brighton loved feeling his father’s leather glove moving over his skull, tossing his locks of long thick hair this way and that.

With a single leap, Lord Aviamore mounted the bird again. I’m going to demonstrate a few classic maneuvers that can only be performed at high altitude. Too high for you yet. Watch carefully and try to listen for my commands.

Vada. The Teidalbaden. Will you teach me today?

Vada grinned. We’ll see.

Something caught Brighton’s ear, that same murmuring that had caught Fumor’s attention just before landing on the ridge. The vision of a demon flashed in Brighton’s mind. In an instant, he saw a coal-black monster crouched before a bonfire deep inside a cave. Its eyes glowed with hateful light. Its mouth mumbled atrocities. Brighton cocked his head. The sound was gone.

Just the breeze, he thought. At the same time, goose bumps rose on his arms.

Fumor bucked and squealed, catching Vada by surprise and nearly throwing him off. Whoa, now!

That undecipherable whispering again. A chant? From the mountain behind him. Brighton turned his head. It wasn’t the wind. It was a voice, deep and gravely. Not human. Some kind of incantation wafting from the rocks. Rising into the sky as if it had a life of its own.

The wind shifted. He could hear it clearly now: Malum falco terribile vostrato. Malum falco terribile vostrato...

Was it Latin, the same language he’d heard his mother speak when reading out loud from her leather-bound books? No, not Latin. A lost language. Lost and dangerous.

Fumor screeched again.

What is this?

Brighton’s heart pounded so hard it was surely going to kick through his chest.

Malum falco terribile vostrato. Malum falco terribile vostrato.

Hush, Fumor, hush. Vada looked worried.

Fumor launched into the air. The falcon hovered straight above Brighton, beating his wings and raising a squall of dust. He bucked again, this time with incredible violence. Vada was thrown from the saddle. He struck the ground ten leapspans from where Brighton stood.

Vada!

Fumor took flight. Vada, stunned and broken, pushed himself up on his arms. Before Brighton knew what was happening, the behemoth bird swooped down and knocked his father flat again, leaving a deep, bloody gash on Vada’s neck and back. Fumor squealed. Brighton, frozen with disbelief, heard his father groan.

Malum falco terribile vostrato. Malum falco terribile vostrato.

The Magradore circled over them and prepared for another strike. This time, Brighton ran to shield his father’s body. The falcon’s outstretched talons came at them both. One of the hooks caught Brighton’s shoulder. He went flying, like a tumbleweed in the wind, over the rocks and dirt. Another claw hooked into Vada’s ribs and carried him a dozen leapspans along the ridge before dropping his now-dying body.

Brighton opened his eyes. His vision was blurry. It wasn’t until he tried to pick himself up that he felt the incredible pain searing through his upper body. He saw the blood running down his arm, and realized he had a deep wound just above his right shoulder blade.

Where’s Vada? He looked up.

Fumor was crouched atop his father, the way Brighton had seen the bird crouch upon a freshly killed stag. The falcon clutched Vada’s body with his talons while he tore out the man’s flesh and threw it back into his gullet.

Vada! Brighton could not hear his own voice, only the gagging sounds fighting their way up his throat. Fumor turned to him. Brighton saw the fire that burned in the giant’s eyes—an evil red glow he’d never seen before. The bird was bewitched. But how? By whom? 

Fumor screeched and spread his wings to protect his kill. Blood dripped from his crushing, razor beak. He tore through his master’s ribs, digging for the heart Brighton now felt was his own. 

Instinctively, the boy stood. His knees collapsed. He could not stop the darkness from coming. The light faded. He was both grateful and defiant.

No, no, stay awake, he told himself. Stay awake you fool. The voice was not his. It was an angry voice—desperate, crazed, and forlorn all at the same time. It was a voice he’d never heard before. It was, in fact, the voice of the person he would become. He surrendered to the darkness, hoping for his own death, even before he once again hit the ground.

Brighton Aviamore never saw the monster who’d uttered those wretched incantations from atop a nearby peak. Gretch, a 137-year-old, Komodo troll sat on his mount, Malgor, a mutant Vampire bat nearly as large as Fumor. Gretch was as foul as a living creature could be without being a fully rotting carcass. His stench carried for terrameters. Lice and flea larvae crawled in and out of the disgusting, matted hair that covered his hump-backed body. His beady gray eyes seemed dead, as they had no light within them, not even a reflection of the glaring sun. Phlegm dripped from his decaying fangs as he continued to growl, Malum falco terribile vostrato. Malum falco terribile vostrato...

Clouds gathered overhead, darkening the skies. Malgor’s squeal joined the odiferous air that would haunt Drakton for the next decade.

And young Brighton Aviamore lay lifeless on the knoll below.

Chapter Two

A CRUEL AWAKENING

Brighton didn’t remember waking. He didn’t regain full consciousness until he’d staggered halfway home. He couldn’t feel the pain in his shoulder. His father’s death was only a vague horror following him like a shadow. But the more he awoke, the more the horror returned to life.

How can it be? It can’t. It’s not. Not real.

But he’d experienced the brutal killing firsthand, and it became ever more real with every step he took. His whole body felt poisoned. He dropped to his knees, and retched. Over and over, he vomited until every drop of fluid, and then some, had been wrung from his guts.

What do I do? Have to get home. Find Mother.

He picked himself up again, and made for the timber lodge on the southern skirt of the plateau.

What time is it? Panting, he glanced up at the sun, and saw it was still midday. What about Fumor? Where did he go? The killer! You’ll find him later. Get home. Tell Mother.

He stumbled over the rocky ground, tripping over the stubborn tufts of mouse grass that grew between the coast and the woodlands. He and Vada had begun Brighton’s training on the far side of the moraine that split Drakton’s high ground so his disapproving mother wouldn’t see them. She was an unhappy woman, forever finding reasons to complain and scold. He recalled her words that very morning when she’d found them preparing to go off together:

And where do you think you’re going?

Brighton had been filled with excitement that day, knowing he was about to take his first step toward becoming a Falcon Rider. If anything gave him the exact opposite feeling, it was the voice of his mother.

Lady Aviamore had stood near Fumor’s barn, hands on her hips, forehead tangled with tension that suggested not just anger, but some deeper psychological disorder. She had dark eyes, though her angular face possessed a kind of exotic beauty. The boy had seen her fury before, but earlier that morning, she’d bristled with such ferocity the feathers had risen on Fumor’s neck.

"I said—where do you think you’re going, my lord?" Brighton remembered how she’d circled him and his father.

Fumor had made a sound, low and slow, like a dog’s growl.

My dear lady, Vada had announced in a jocular tone to compensate for his wife’s sour mood. Today is the most special of days. Our son is to commence his training as a Falcon Rider.

Our son is barely seven years of age. You would imperil his life before he understands the dangers involved?

"I do know, Mother. Not to worry. I’ve been watching Vada for a long time now." Brighton had known inside that she would not heed him in the slightest. At the same time, he’d fought the tangle tightening in his stomach.

As expected, she’d ignored him. She had moved with savage grace, like some wild jungle cat, toward her husband. Her eyes had scowled with rage. You don’t care about him. You don’t care about anything but your own pride. 

Brighton had battled the voice in his head that had been suggesting his mother was more than upset. The voice that said she’d long been teetering on insanity brought about by unhappiness and isolation. As much as he’d wished she would lighten up, she’d only grown more intense. 

"I should take the boy back to Baldore. Back home, where people are civilized. You'd not even notice, would you, L-o-r-d Aviamore? She had drawn out the word Lord" in such a taunting manner that Brighton had grown nauseous from the truth: her mind was truly gone.

You worry yourself with undue cause, my lady, Lord Aviamore had said, at the same time stroking Fumor to keep him calm.

I worry, my lord, that you will be the demise of us all. And with that, she had stormed off, lifting her long, tattered dress off the ground even though it was already filthy from neglect. Passing Brighton, she’d shot the boy a glare that would have sent chills up the spine of a picaroon.

Brighton had watched her go, his heart filled with angst.

Your mother’s from another world, Brighton, Vada had said. A world of wealth, soft and easy, where men prefer to waltz and play parlor games with their women. She’s still adjusting to life here on Perpetua. This is a land for adventurers and those who love freedom. She’s a fine woman though. She’ll adapt… someday.

Brighton had wondered if Vada was being honest with himself. But now Vada was gone, and the boy had to face her alone.

He saw their lodge in the distance. And his mother, marching with purpose toward the mountains. Where is she going? Lady Aviamore was dressed in an extra layer of clothing, a bundle slung over her shoulder.

Mother!

She kept walking. She doesn’t hear me. Mother! he cried out again, this time at the top of his lungs. She shot him the quickest glance, but never lost stride.

Why isn’t she stopping? Brighton hurried his pace. He felt the pain in his shoulder now, and realized the gash had started to bleed again. She seemed to walk faster, as if trying to evade him. He ran. He got close enough to see that her eyes were crazed as ever, her jaw set tight.

Mother. He was out of breath. The word barely made a sound. He had to stop her. He was ready to collapse. He reached out and grabbed her cloak.

She spun around. Stay away from me!

He dropped to his knees, and could see the black light radiating from her eyes.

You don’t understand. Father… he gasped.

Your father got what he deserved.

He couldn’t believe his ears. What was she saying?

Yes, boy. I saw. Did you think you could deceive me? I followed you this morning, and saw the entire bloody event. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Brighton knelt there, wide-eyed, speechless.

’You worry yourself with undue cause, my lady.’ Isn’t that what he’d said? And now look. It was only a matter of time before that monster butchered him. You’re lucky he didn’t murder you as well.

She stormed away again. Don’t you dare try to follow me!

Brighton realized he was trembling so badly he had to grab his own shoulders to stop himself. His eyes welled up with tears that felt like blood. Unable to move, he could only watch her disappear into the woods. Where is she going? Will she come back? Who can I go to?

He knew the brutal truth. His father was the last Falcon Rider. His family was the last of the missing voyagers who’d settled the Drakton Plateau five generations ago. There was no one else. No humans anyway. Only the mutants on the other side of the island. The other side—a surreal land where the animals had moved into the ancient town once inhabited by men. Animals who’d learned to use weapons and speak! Animals who had manifested their own impossible world. No. It was insanity there. He could not turn to them. He was alone.

He was crying now, crying so hard, it hurt.

Stop it! Stop your crying. You’re a man now. And you have a man’s work to do. He swiped the tears off his face, and got back to his feet. He made his way to the barn to find a shovel. Work to do.

It was dark by the time he returned to the killing ground. He’d left the lantern behind on purpose so he wouldn’t have to see his father’s remains. Still there was a faint glow in the foggy night air, as the moon was on the wane.

He climbed the ridge where he knew his father lay. By now, he’d made himself hard—hard and cold. He’d forced away his childish emotions. Forced away the truth of what had happened. But when he found the body, the retching came all over again. Over and over he heaved, even though his stomach had been empty all day. He didn’t know it was possible to feel so miserable.

He drove his shovel into the ground, and tried not to look at Vada whose vacant eyes stared beyond the night’s dark mist. Brighton tried not to see