The Keeper and the Rune Stone, Book I of The Black Ledge Series

By Paige W. Pendleton

An unholy ritual, a ticking clock. Four children discover there are things that go bump in the night ...

Centuries ago a group of Elves committed an unholy ritual. But the ritual was a spectacular failure. It transformed the Elves into the Noctivagi - the beings we know as vampires.

Striving to maintain a fragile peace, the ancient Elves and Dwarves negotiated an Accord, which they've renewed every year on the Summer Solstice. The ceremony depends on the magical Rune Stone, but it's missing. If it is not found—and quickly—the consequences could be dire, and not just for Elves and Dwarves.

Four children, Rob, Jack, Eleanor, and Flora, stumble into a world of magic and mayhem when they move into Black Ledge, the old estate on the Maine coast, and discover they aren’t the only ones who live there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paige W. Pendleton
• Release date: Jan 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310322914

Paige W. Pendleton

The secrets of the Red Paint People have haunted Maine for 7000 years. Paige W. Pendleton is busy writing those tales.

Book preview

The Keeper and the Rune Stone

by Paige W. Pendleton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Paige W. Pendleton

Pig Wing Press

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

About the Author

About the Artist

Appendix

Dedication

The Keeper and the Rune Stone is dedicated with love

To my own E and F, and their father.

Acknowledgements

Without the kindness and support of many this book would still be a vexing idea.

My sister, Hillary, who immediately made reservations for us to go out and celebrate when my first draft was complete. She always has the best ideas. I love you. Toad Thief.

Thank you, Wilder Oakes, SP. Thank you for your joyful companionship, and for being the creative inspiration you are every day.

Terri Mackenzie, most tolerant friend and the first person not compelled by blood or marriage to read my first draft. She held a trembling sparrow and her gentle hand encouraged that weak bird to grow and become stronger.

Harvey Ardman. Lie? Lay? Thanks for being on call, Harvey. And then some (a lot of some).

Jeff Foltz. Your thoughtful critiques, encouragement, and constant support were so helpful. Thank you, she said.

Jen Blood. I am very much going to enjoy watching your ride. Thanks for helping me with mine.

The kindness and support is global. From the many, many contributors on Authonomy, but especially Alexander De Witte, Patricia Vandenburg, Suzanna Burke, and Rebecca Hamilton (who created a smashing trailer for The Keeper and the Rune Stone).

To those special first members of HP's writers' group: You know who you are, and you rock. You can't call me Paigeless anymore, and I am honored to join the ranks. Sharpie especially, for a gift that keeps on giving.

To the professionals who guided and shaped, gently: Nora Cohen, Judy Beatty, and Robb Grindstaff. Thank you. Very much.

To the professionals who contributed:

Cheryl Fallon, thank you for allowing me to use your masterpiece, Murderous Silhouette, when my poor work needed a face. I smile every time I look at it.

Thomas Block, cartographer extraordinaire. Thank you so much.

Audrey Lane, my target audience Beta Reader and a crackerjack critquer. I look forward to the books you will write.

Apryl, Shelly. Always in my corner Yes, let's. Anytime, and often.

Richard Gray, even if he's only in it for the pony.

Vern. The late night feed. Satie. The darkness. The laughter. This work knew all of those, often all at once. Tap, tap, tap, man. Thanks.

Brion Sausser at BookCreatives.com. Thank you.

And finally, I thank, deeply and with love, my husband Richard and my wonderful daughters, Ellie and Frances. My husband for his unfailing encouragement and steadfast support. For sitting down when I handed him the first draft and not moving until he'd read the entire MS. My daughters for waiting for me to finish a sentence, for their enthusiasm, and their ruthless critiques. For being. Without their input (and good coffee) this book would still be flopping around in my mind like a dead mackerel.

Prologue

Even knowing he was dying, Lorik was strangely detached from the pain and the fear. He felt a fleeting sense of gratitude for this small mercy.

Fangs ripped and tore at his neck, devouring flesh and blood in the frenzied feed. Red-rimmed eyes rolled in sunken sockets, glazed over in the ecstasy of the kill.

The Dwarf's struggles were futile and he stopped fighting. Oddly transfixed, he watched his strength and life slip away with each swallow. Somehow he knew adrenaline and fear would have sweetened the taste of his blood, and there was victory in denying the monster that pleasure.

A last thought slid through his mind. No one would know what had happened to him, and he regretted this thing would be empowered by his carelessness.

As his hand relaxed in death, the treasure he clutched fell to the ground.

Chapter One

Eleanor walked faster, taking deep breaths of the damp, salty air. Clouds flew across the flat gray sky and trees bent in the strong gusts. There was a storm coming in. Somehow it seemed fitting.

Home. A new home. Not home to the pretty little house on Pleasant Street where she'd lived all of her life. No, from now on the walk home would be much longer. Through the town of Camden, up the hill, and all the way out to the creepy old house perched at the end of Black Point. That was home now. As of today.

Eleanor had only been in the house once, right after her parents had signed papers, and she hadn't been impressed. Empty for thirty years, the house was grimy, cold, dank, and gloomy. Her parents had chirped and chattered about plans and renovations. The four Driscoll children had shared doubtful looks behind their backs. Eleanor had been relieved when they'd finally left. That was six months ago, right before Christmas. Then the workers began the renovations: plumbing and wiring, repairs, and painting. And cleaning—lots and lots of cleaning. Her mother hadn't let any of them see it. It was to be a surprise, she said.

Until today. Their first night in their new home, and everyone else was already home.

Eleanor's brothers had both been released from school earlier that morning, and Flora had complained of a stomachache so Eleanor's mother let her stay home. Eleanor had an upset stomach this morning, too, but she'd had to go to school. Nevertheless, Flora was the baby, or as Mum said, She's only eight, you know.

Hmm.

Eleanor reached the stone pillars and paused to read the inscription on the moss-covered plaque. Black Ledge. She looked up at the house, huge against the dark sky, and the wind moaned. Eleanor shivered. She clutched her coat tightly around her and started up the drive.

As she approached the stone steps, the front door blew open.

Eleanor! What took you so long? Flora ran down the steps, grabbed Eleanor's arm, and pulled her through the arched doorway into the foyer. She didn't wait for Eleanor to answer, but rushed on, "Wait until you see our bedrooms—they are on our own little hallway—Mummy says it's an alcobe—with its own doors—and we have our own bath—we don't have to share with the boys. Come and see. Flora turned and hollered, Eleanor's home."

Rob beckoned from a doorway down the hall. Hey, Eller. We're down here. Jack, too. In the library. We already have a fire going. You're not going to believe what Mum's done with this place.

Come on, Eleanor. Flora tugged on her arm.

Eleanor's mother stepped into the foyer. Girlth ... hold on, she paused to remove the nail between her teeth and set down the hammer. Welcome to our new home, Eleanor. What do you think?

Eleanor stood back and looked around. It certainly wasn't the same house she'd been in six months ago. Though still huge, bright and cheery had replaced dark and gloomy. French doors led onto a flagstone terrace on the waterside of the house, letting in lots of light even on this gray day. In the foyer, a vase on the round claw foot table overflowed with spring flowers. The warmth and scent of lemon oil replaced the musty dampness she remembered. It smelled like home.

She hugged her mother. I think it's great. I wish Katy could see it. Eleanor's best friend spent summers with her father. She'd left right after school to catch her flight.

Katy will be back before you know it, her mother assured her.

Come onnn! Flora grabbed Eleanor's arm again and dragged her down the hall.

Tell Jack to stay off the ladder, their mother called after them.

They entered a room with more French doors overlooking the terrace, but bookshelves lined the other walls, floor to ceiling. The dark wood glowed from the fresh polish and the light from the fireplace.

Her brother Jack, halfway up a ladder with wheels, rolled along the length of the wall. He grinned at her. Hey El, check this out. It glides without making a sound. When the ladder stopped at one end of the room, he shoved off and rolled back toward the other. "Where you been, anyway? We've been waiting and waiting for you to get home so we can check this place out. It's beyond cool. Nine bedrooms, and that's not even counting the wing! Each set of bedrooms is in its own alcove with their own bathroom. Rob and I have one set. You and Flora have another. Mum and Dad have the big corner room, and Dad has the room across from it for a study. And ... there are still guest rooms, too."

Flora added, And our bedrooms have fireplaces! All of 'em!

How do you know all of this if you waited for me? Eleanor asked.

Well, okay, Jack said. We checked out our rooms. But that's it. Rob made us wait 'til you got home.

She should have known Rob would. At fourteen, he was the oldest, and considerate. Not that Jack wasn't, but at twelve, sometimes his enthusiasm outweighed his patience, especially when waiting for his sisters. What patience he did have, he afforded Flora—he did not have as much for his older sister.

Squashed between Rob and Jack, sometimes Eleanor wished she could swap places with Flora. Have some sibling breathing room. Rob liked to lecture, and Jack liked to pester, but Eleanor just wanted to be left alone. At least now she'd have her own room.

Their mother appeared in the doorway. "I'll be in the kitchen. I'd prefer you stay inside because it's getting nasty out. Get off the ladder, Jack!"

A sharp gust of wind punctuated her words, and the old doors rattled as they struggled to keep the storm out.

Let's start upstairs, Flora urged.

They climbed the grand staircase, stopped on the middle landing, and looked out the window. All were quiet, each absorbing that this huge old estate was really their new home. But just for a moment. Then they grinned at each other, and ran the rest of the way up the stairs.

All the way down to the left is Mummy and Daddy's room. These are Jack and Robby's rooms. Flora sounded as if she were giving a guided tour of a museum, pausing at the doors to welcome them in with a sweep of her hand.

Set into a keystone-topped archway, each door revealed an alcove with three more doors: two bedrooms and a bathroom in between. Eleanor poked her head in each room. Both bedrooms had twin four-poster beds, two bureaus, and a desk between the windows.

In Rob's room, shelves had been built under the windows for his books. His old typewriter held a spot of honor, displayed on an antique table, but a new laptop and printer sat on his desk.

Awesome, he murmured.

Jack's room was similar, but instead of bookshelves, a workbench ran under the windows for his models and contraptions. Special shelves and bins held his tools, glues, wire, and nuts and bolts. Wouldn't matter, though. They'd be all over the place as soon as Jack settled in. Eleanor's mother knew this, too. She'd placed a heavy canvas mat underneath to protect the wooden floors.

A new laptop sat on Jack's desk, too, which amused Eleanor. He wouldn't use it. He'd holler his questions to Rob.

This is so cool, Jack said. And did you see the size of the bathtub?

All the tubs are like that, Flora told him.

Eleanor sniffed. "Jack, do us a favor and get in the tub once in a while, would you? I am so glad I don't have to share a bathroom with you anymore."

Look who's talking, Smellanor, Jack said.

Rob started down the hallway. Come on, you guys. Let's check out the girlies' rooms.

They passed a large bedroom overlooking the front drive. It was furnished, but there were no personal possessions in it. Obviously a guest room.

Beside that room was a bank of doors. Eleanor opened one and found shelves for sheets, blankets, and towels. She tried the next and found it locked. Eleanor jiggled the knob, in case it was simply stuck, but it didn't budge. She looked around for a key. Nothing. Strange. Nothing had ever been locked in their home, not even her father's study.

C'mon, El! Flora called.

Eleanor frowned, but followed the others down the hall.

Like the boys' rooms, Flora and Eleanor's possessions had been unpacked.

Flora's books and toys lined her shelves. Her stuffed animals sat at small table with an old-fashioned teapot and cups, waiting for Flora to serve them.

Eleanor's room had a specially designed desk with a section that folded up to be an easel. All of her art supplies were there, as well as many new ones: charcoals, paints, brushes, and sketchbooks. And a new laptop, too, which unlike Jack, she would use.

Eleanor wanted to stay behind to check out her room, but the boys were already moving back into the hall.

It sure doesn't look like the same place we saw before. Now I understand why everyone's so excited about Dad's new anti-viral drug. Jack grinned, rocking on his heels. Basically it means we're rich.

Rob frowned and took a deep breath. "No, it doesn't just mean we're rich."

Eleanor smiled to herself. Here comes the lecture.

"Dad's discovery will affect every aspect of modern medicine. That is what all of the excitement is about. Dad has been working on this for years. It turns all of that research and work into something real that will affect real people's lives. A breakthrough like this has huge implications, Jack."

Been memorizing the company press releases, Rob? Jack said. "Whatever.