The Wizard's Spell

By Ledia Runnels

Chapter Excerpt

Washington State 1998
Charlie lay awake, watching rain drops pelt the floor-to-ceiling bedroom window. The rain's voice mingled with the surge of waves crashing across Puget Sound. They rolled toward the rocky shore where Theibes House perched on the hilltop. The magnificent Victorian mansion had sat this way for over one hundred years.
Moonlight broke through a rift in the swollen clouds. The pale illumination glistened against the glass window panes near Charlie’s bed, turning black shadows into fluttering apparitions. The last four nights, he had not fallen asleep until the early hours of the morning.
He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling toward a brown stain created from dripping rainwater, in the shape of a smirking imp, obscured the once pristine paint on the ceiling. He grimaced at the worrisome discoloration not only because of the ugly shape it had chosen to take, but because of what it represented holes in the roof, equating to "shelling out" money that his family no longer had. This was what happened to the descendants of a dynasty when the family business failed, and funds ran low. So far, he'd managed to patch the holes here and there so no one got their heads wet, but it was really nothing more than bandage work. All the shingles on the roof needed replacing.
Charlie pulled the covers up to his chin and rolled on to his side. He tried, once again, to sleep, but the unnamed restlessness kept his eyes wide open...

End Chapter Excerpt

When a renowned archaeologist begs Charlie to come to the rain forest, where deep in the African Congo the tip of a giant, black obelisk is "growing up" out of the jungle floor, Charlie is intrigue. Especially since his nightmares are about a phenomenon such as this occurring in this exact same place. But what are the glyphs that swarm like insects around the dark column and why does the obelisk feel "alive" to the touch?

A dark secret, traced back to antiquity, may have the answers to stop the terrors that haunt Charlie awake and asleep It may also hold the key to keeping an unimaginable horror from ripping apart the very fabric of the world.

In Book One of the epic adventure, Keepers of the Ancient Tomes, Black Obelisk will have you turning pages and breathless until the last word.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ledia Runnels
• Release date: Jul 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301694495

Ledia Runnels

A writer since high school, Ledia Runnels has self-published several novels under Vrint Publishing as well as travel related and fact-sheet articles online. Some of the articles have appeared in USA Today online. Her screenplay "Sakura, Jewel of the Rising Sun" won the "Grand Award for Best Screenplay at Worldfest Houston in 1998. She also posts a blog entitled: “Mysterious Orient”. The author lived in the Tokyo, Japan area for three years. She now resides in East Central Texas near her two adult children and grandchildren

Book preview

KEEPERS

OF THE

ANCIENT TOMES

Book One

The Wizard’s Spell

by

Ledia Runnels

The Wizard’s Spell is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design created by Ledia Runnels. Congo Basin Rainforest Photograph taken by Corinne Staley from Flickr Commons.

Copyright © 2013 by Ledia Runnels

This book is dedicated to

Mike, the father of my children, who protected

me and gave me confidence when the story

was in its fragile, infant stages.

HAUNTED

Chapter One

Charles Malachi Thiebes

Washington State 1998

Charlie lay awake, watching raindrops pelt the floor-to-ceiling bedroom window. The rain's voice mingled with the surge of waves crashing across Puget Sound. They rolled toward the rocky shore where Thiebes House perched on the hilltop. The magnificent Victorian mansion had sat this way for over one hundred years.

Moonlight broke through a rift in the swollen clouds. It glistened against the glass window panes near Charlie’s bed, turning black shadows into fluttering apparitions. The last four nights, he had not fallen asleep until the early hours of the morning. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he rolled onto his side.

The flicker of something between the end bed posts caught his attention. He pushed up on one elbow and watched the many shaped shadows become a woman dressed in lavender-gray. Waist-length, raven hair flowed in wind-blown wisps all around her, while the unmistakable fragrance of freshly cut roses filled the air.

The moon passed behind the clouds and draped the room in darkness. Charlie shoved back the covers and leaped out of bed. Once and for all, he would prove to himself that he had seen the woman. His bare feet padded against the cold parquet floor, making the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. At the foot of the bed, he waved one hand in the air, trying to feel the ghost, but the phantom lady had disappeared with the wavering moonlight.

He grumbled, Not a damn thing here.

But if it was nothing more than his imagination, why did the apparition disappear just as he got close to it? He scanned the darkness, but nothing moved or came at him from the shadows.

He trudged back to bed, shoved his tired body beneath the bedclothes, and tried, once more, to fall asleep. A moment later, a twittering sound brought him wide awake. Through sleep veiled eyes, he stared. All those years of traveling with the archeologists and digging into antiquity's secrets must have spooked him somehow.

He chided, There's nothing there!

Annoyed and restless, he rolled to the far side of the mattress. A scraping sound brought him bolt upright in bed. Once again, he canvassed the darkness. Still, nothing moved toward him.

He slammed his head against the pillow and cursed, God! Now I hear things. I'll never get any sleep!

He tossed himself away from the window, squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled the pillow into a tight knot over his head. On the hearth, a clock, with its annoying, exacting rhythm, ticked past midnight.

One a.m.

Two...

Finally, sheer exhaustion overpowered his tormented mind. Sleep unclenched his fingers from the pillow edges, and he rolled onto his back.

From a concealed corner, she glided toward the sleeping man. Hannah whispered, trying to twist her thoughts free of the confused muddle, Thaddeus, is it, you?

A deadening sadness swept over her. No, this wasn't her beloved. It was Charlie, the little boy grown to a man, who'd come to live in Thiebes House with his mother twenty-three years before. Or had it been one hundred and twenty-three years since she'd been alive?

Her mind shifted from relevant issues to eternal ones. For so long she had wandered the earthly corridors and rooms that an hour seemed like years. At times, she forgot why she remained, refusing to go into the light, toward eternal peace. The Past, present, and future blurred into a single unit.

Watching the sleeping man, she mentally brushed the cobwebs from her thoughts. His moans broke the silence as Charlie thrashed about on the bed. He was having another nightmare.

Fog rose in wisps above the lush jungle floor, where the pygmy waited behind a palm frond. His senses were high. His ears alert to the slightest sound. A crisp breeze blew against his face, bringing with it the musky scent of a wild boar. He raised his spear. Morning sunlight sparked against the sharp tip, as the unsuspecting beast trotted past the hunter's hiding place. A second more and the spear would hit its mark.

A twig cracked. The male pig bolted as if someone had slammed their knuckle against its backside. The beast snorted as it darted toward a dense outcropping of trees. The hunter followed, stepping lightly through the narrow opening between two thick trunks.

Inside the enclosure, the pygmy could see no sign of his prey. Instead, he found a black spiraled obelisk thrust up through the vegetation and fog. Beams of sunlight shot through the canopy of leaves and branches, pinpointing the twisted apex of the bizarre monolith where small insectan creatures swarmed.

The hunter stared in horror. He wanted to run, but his feet seemed glued to the ground. He barely noticed when the wild boar escaped through the trees on the opposite side of the enclosure.

Beside the obelisk, the vision of a black-robed man appeared. His craggy face filled with cold depravity. The diaphanous beings rose toward the twisted monolith. A gnarled hand thrust toward the apex. As from thin air, gossamer images whirled in grotesque gyrations. The black-robed figure pointed toward the apparitions. Moans of terror mingled with the frantic cries. The phantasms writhed as if in agony and shot toward the monolith's slick black exterior. The gleaming spiral sucked the unfortunate souls inside it.

A terrified scream tore at the pygmy’s throat as he spun back through the towering tree trunks. As he scurried for his life, the rough bark of the nearest tree grabbed at his upper arm. So terrified was he that he did not even feel the scraping away of his flesh as he fled.

He shrieked, The devil is among us! The devil is among us!

The pygmy's usually deft feet tripped over gnarled roots in his path. Focused on the safety of his village, the welcoming curl of smoke from the thatched huts, he smashed into trees that seemed to spring up before him. In his mind's eye, he was already crashing past the women wrapped in grass skirts.

He looked up to see a flock of startled cranes flapping their wings toward the tree tops. His spear flung wide as he slammed face first to the ground. He trembled with fear exhaustion as swept over him. He was home, safe.

It was all wishful thinking.

Less than a mile from his village, a ghostly hand reached out and grabbed him by the hair and lifted him back toward the circle of trees.

A guttural scream ached from the hunter's throat as he dangled by his hair in front of the dark entity. The pygmy's shrieks of pain and terror echoed throughout the forest as the apparition pursed its lips. An obscene sucking sound drew at the man's flesh. The tribesman looked down in horror to see a gray likeness of his body yanked out from his mouth.

He tried to scream, but couldn't speak or move. An agonizing sense that he some unseen creature ripped him apart from the inside-out, blocked all his other sensations.

Charlie shot up in bed. The crumpled, twisted sheets pulled at him as he cried out in terror. Flinging his arms wide, he dragged his fingernails through what appeared to be the ghostly visage of the same black-robed figure that assaulted the pigmy. The demon seemed to be standing over him. The image faded from sight before he could focus properly. Still, the touch of it left a chill in his heart.

Sweat soaked his pajamas. He felt sharp stabs of pain ripped across his upper arm. The same wounded arm as the terrified pygmy from his dream. Like a madman, he struggled to free himself from the twisted sheet. Then he tore off his pajama top. Using the tips of his fingers, he examined the raw scraped skin beneath.

He whispered to the darkness, How is this possible?

Swinging his legs to the side, he slumped out of bed and slugged his way across the Oriental rug. It felt as if he trudged through the waist-high water as he made his way to the bathroom. He fumbled his fingers across the switch, sending a blinding electric light that filled the room.

The old clock that stood in the corner of the bedroom ticked as he stared in disbelief. Blood trickled from an open wound cut into his upper arm. He leaned over the sink. His hand trembled as he pulled the faucet handle forward. The gush of running water reminded him of cascading waterfalls from darkest Africa.

He tucked his outstretched hands beneath the gushing wetness. Puddles of tap water swam in his palms, crisp and invigorating. He closed his eyes and tossed the chilled refreshment against his hot face.

Abruptly, the strident scent of raw jungle ferns and palm fronds burned his nostrils. The voices of exotic birds beckoned to him while the hum of insects burned in his mind.

A gasp of surprise brought his eyes wide open. Startled blue irises with gorged blood vessels trekked across the white orbs. His yellow hair fell in a tangled, wet thatch across his forehead. For some reason, his mind refused to wrap around the fact that he stood in his ancestral home, instead of in the jungles of the Congo River basin.

He fumbled with the hand towel, dabbed at the dripping water on his face, and then flipped off the light switch with more reflex than thought. He stumbled from the cold tile floor and into the dark room beyond. The polished wood felt slippery beneath his feet, as he shuffled toward an alcove. It opened out from the bed chamber and served as his private study.

He crossed to the wooden desk, flipped on the lamp, and slumped in the office chair. Fumbling the POWER button on his laptop computer, he watched as green light sparked the monitor's screen.

On the wall in front of him, various diplomas hung, ranging from a bachelor of science in Archaeology, a master’s degree in Ancient History, to a doctorate in Linguistics. Scattered among the diplomas was a Zulu warrior's shield, as well as two spears obtained from a pygmy tribe in the African rain forest.

Behind where he sat, books ranged from baseball to foreign languages, including Swahili, and Apache, scattered between shelves built against the entire wall. An Egyptian funerary sculpture sat sandwiched between the volumes, along with several bell-shaped objects of a peculiar origin, sitting close to a dozen Native American kachina dolls. A photograph of the ancient facade Al Khazneh, The Treasury at Petra, flashed on the computer screen.

Charlie leaned toward the mouthpiece of a stick-like microphone, mounted on a circular platform that sat next to the laptop. The dreams are getting worse... His voice faltered as he continued, more terrifyingly real. This time I and the native became one. Sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing all attuned to the jungle.

Drawing in a deep calming breath, he rubbed at his wounded arm. He should have a doctor take a look at the laceration. But after a shower, he would merely drown it in peroxide and then slap some gauze and surgical tape over it.

He just could not perceive himself explaining the wound. Uh, you see, Doc, I got it in a nightmare. I mean, this pygmy in my nightmare scraped his arm on a tree in Africa, and then I woke up in Washington State with the same scrape.

Oh yeah, that would fly. After the doctor sewed him up, he would then issue commitment papers. Yes, yes, Mrs. Thiebes, meaning Charlie’s mother… that’s right your son is, he paused. not well. We are going to have to keep him here for a while.

Besides the fact that the doctor would consider him insane, he didn’t think the peeling flesh was worth the trip to the emergency room. Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled and then leaned forward, toward the microphone to continue the documentation.

Can I even call this last experience a dream? Perhaps it was a shocking intuition into my mind's eye. One I don't wish repeated.

A sudden sense of helplessness washed over him. He said, These living nightmares cannot continue. I honestly will find myself in a padded cell with my arms straight-jacketed around me if they do.

As he reached toward the laptop keyboard, his fingers trembled, feeling disembodied, as if they belonged to someone else. He saved the dream journal entry and then turned off the computer.

Illuminated in the light of the desk lamp, a woman with short-cropped, dark hair and eyes gazed out from a gilded picture frame. Elaine... The name fell softly from Charlie's lips as he ran the tips of his fingers across the glass.

The next instant, the telephone rang, breaking his concentration. He frowned and snapped up the receiver. Yes! His tone was impersonal, businesslike with an edge.

On the other line, a man answered with a clipped German accent. May I speak with Dr. Charles Malachi Thiebes, the author?

Charlie's frown deepened, but this time with interest. He said, How may I help you?

The other man answered, Ah, good. It is you. And may I introduce myself? I am Dr. Wilhelm Brehmer, an archeologist from the University of Munich.

Charlie leaned forward, his elbows propped on the desktop, and he said, Yes? This time, he barely felt the twinge of pain that race through his upper arm.

Dr. Brehmer continued, "Sir. The strangest thing has happened. The black obelisk, the one mentioned in your book, Ancient Magic of Palestine and Africa, has appeared in the Ilebo rain forest in the exact place you suggested it might."

Charlie shot to his feet, almost knocking over the base station of the cordless telephone. He shouted into the mouthpiece. My what?

Dr. Brehmer's tone sounded almost gleeful, like a child who has discovered something naughty to tell. The obelisk, sir, the one mentioned in your book.

Charlie stuttered, That that can't be... That obelisk is pure mythology, like, like Zeus and unicorns.

Dr. Brehmer chuckled. It appears not, Dr. Thiebes. A tribesman discovered the monolith a little less than one month ago. The German chuckled. Scared the shit out of him, like you, Americans are so fond of saying.

Bewildered, Charlie pulled the receiver from his ear and stared numbly at the pygmy spears mounted on his wall. He mumbled while shaking his head in utter disbelief. It can't be.

All the while, he could hear the faint voice of the German call to him from the displaced telephone receiver. Dr. Thiebes, are you still there? Dr. Thiebes?

His hands shook worse than they had moments before, Charlie cupped the receiver back to his ear and mouth. He said, How may I help you, Dr. Brehmer?

Ah good. I was afraid I had lost you there. Did he hear the German giggle? You can help me, sir, by joining our expedition as soon as possible.

Join you? Still in shock, Charlie knew he must sound like an idiot magpie.

The German said, Yes, indeed!

Charlie's brain buzzed as he leafed through a desk calendar. He muttered, One moment, let's see; I can leave the day after tomorrow. Is that soon enough?

The German sounded ecstatic. You're willing to come then? Excellent. There's just one small problem left to work out.

Charlie's heart raced. He wanted desperately to go to Africa and see this thing from his dreams. Tense anxiety filled his voice when he answered, What problem?

He suddenly slapped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, a split-second before laughter rolled up his throat and exploded from his lips. For several