The Tourmaline

By Karen E. James

Volatile but undeniably talented, London teenager, Aaron, distrusts most people apart from his incarcerated cousin. When he attacks a fellow pupil to defend his birth mother’s honour, his head teacher gives him a fixed-term exclusion, and his foster parents send him to a residential camp for mild delinquents close to mystical Stonehenge. But soon, Aaron starts to hear whispers in his head, and he realises his stay at the camp is not going to be any more trouble-free than his usual urban life. Supernatural forces work to entice Aaron into another world, Eleyfa, where he develops into a freedom fighter serving the peoples oppressed by the Eleyfan segregationist system. Aaron discovers he is able to fulfil, and even surpass, his true potential in this new environment and embarks upon a quest to recover the powerful, healing stone known as the Tourmaline. Accompanied by a range of entertaining, endearing characters, he not only struggles to help the downtrodden Eleyfan rebels overturn the rule of tyranny but also learns to respect their conservationist, pacific ideals along the way.

The Tourmaline is a daring fantasy novel for young adults which, with humorous touches, juxtaposes urban life with a fantastical world where paranormal powers are used to both combat and perpetuate social inequality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen E. James
• Release date: Aug 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310010958

Karen E. James

Karen is currently a school teacher in inner city London.She has a Dance Theatre degree from Laban and a M.A. in performing arts. She has also worked in the field of developing the arts within the community and believes that the arts (including writing for pleasure!) can help young people to develop.

Book preview

Chapter 1 ‘The Girl Called Maya’

Dusk was approaching and the girl, sodden and breathless, scrambled up the slope towards the trees, clutching at vines and roots as she did so, and pausing to gasp for air whenever she could bear the pain in her chest no longer. Were it not for her speed and stamina, she would have been caught long ago. Even so, it was not just her physical prowess which propelled her onwards; it was her determination to avoid capture and keep her mind intact which forced her legs and arms to move against their will.

Though, by now, she felt pain in most of her muscles, she pushed those sensations to the back of her thoughts and concentrated instead on creating a picture in her mind of the mythical Tourmaline, a stone rumoured to be the most powerful healing tool in the history of Eleyfa.

She visualised a black rock with a myriad of coloured rays radiating from each of its surfaces. Then she imagined heat emanating from the rays of light, bathing her muscles like one of her grandmother’s soothing balms. Slowly, the pains in her chest and muscles began to ease off.

The slope demanded that every one of her muscles pay attention to the task before her, and they fought to obey. Soon, with one final heave, she reached the top of the slope and pushed herself up to sit against the back of a tree. She sighed, and her whole body relaxed momentarily, her muscles melting like butter left in sunshine.

She saw no indication of movement around her. Neither did she hear them. Perhaps she was almost out of danger. Still, this was no moment to rest: she needed to get as far away as possible from the road and find a hideout in the hills. So, with a deep breath, she pushed herself up to her feet and started running again.

She could probably run faster than any man or woman in Eleyfa, but her heart was beating too fast now, and she knew she would have to slow her pace if she were ever to cover the huge distance lying between her and the safety of the hills. Eventually, her breathing settled into a rhythm which allowed her to run quickly, but almost noiselessly, through the forest. After a while, it seemed that she was not even putting her full weight onto her feet as they touched the ground but rather using the carpet of forest undergrowth beneath her as a springboard.

She ran without stopping until the daylight faded and she was nearing the end of the forest approaching the foot of the hills. Branches now scratched her face as she ran between the trees, but it was only when she stumbled over a hidden root and grazed her forehead against a tree trunk that she realised her body had reached its limits. Regaining her balance, she resorted to a slow walking pace and looked around her. The distant sound of a wild animal’s growling reached her ears, but she was uncertain which direction it was coming from. Then, thankfully, she spotted some thick shrubbery ahead of her and, sighing with relief, rushed towards it to take cover.

Although the rubbery Bugambilia leaves brushed against her face, and droplets of sweat trickled into her eyes, the girl dared not move. Her breathing seemed unnaturally loud as she crouched amidst the undergrowth peering into the darkness of the surrounding trees and bushes, looking out for any signs of movement.

"Can anyone hear me?" she asked, but her companions had long since scattered in all directions, and their whereabouts was now unknown to her. So, unsure whether she was still being tracked or not, she remained immobile, like a praying mantis ready to attack.

After a few moments, she heard voices, horses’ hooves, and the snarling of a wild animal being restrained against its will. Her first thought was not for herself but for her companions who must have been fortunate enough to escape to the hills. If she were the one being tracked, then the other rebels would surely have reached safety. Her spirits lifted as she realised their mission may have been partially successful after all; if the carriage transporting Zydan had indeed been intercepted, then he would not have reached the Amphitheatre at all. She felt relieved.

Her optimism was short-lived however: a cry of agony, which seemed to escape reluctantly from its owner’s throat, pierced the girl’s senses, and her image of Zydan in a safe haven disintegrated to nothing.

"They have him. They have Zydan," a voice in her head said to her, and she almost cried out loud in disappointment. Then, no sooner had the voice confirmed her fears than she heard the sounds of a frenzied, ravenous beast.

"Run from here, Maya. They have me!" the voice urged.

"No," she whispered, and tears flowed into the beads of sweat on her face to form two tiny rivulets which clung to her cheeks. The beast growled furiously in the distance, and the girl winced at the thought of her friend dying in such a terrible way. No, she said again, but the beast’s victim had already broken off contact with her.

A long, painful memory, too long repressed, was awoken in the girl’s consciousness, and she felt sick with disgust. Laughing voices were now getting much closer, but she could not move. Only a few moments passed, and her cat-like vision soon detected the riders and their revolting creature: its two jackal-like heads tugged on the leash restraining it, and its formidable, jaguar-body bounded forwards with an explosive energy. They were not even a stone’s throw away from her now, and she realised there would be no use in running even if she could muster the energy to do so. She vomited some bile onto the leaves beneath her and saw the beast whip its heads towards her direction.

We are onto something over here, the person restraining the hound-creature shouted to the group of riders behind her.

Then somebody give me a torch light! said the masked leader of the riders. Or do you think I have the night vision of this scum we seek?

The girl wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up to face her enemies. If she were to die here and now, then she would fight stoically to the very end. Her eyes were drawn to the leader of the riders; he swivelled round in his saddle towards the person lighting the torch for him. In that same moment, as the girl fought back another urge to vomit, the jackal-headed beast lurched towards her. The girl’s attention shifted to it instantly.

Reflexes, sharpened by years of training, allowed her to anticipate its movement, and she hurled her knife towards the vulnerable juncture at the base of its two necks. Her enhanced vision helped her aim well: the knife embedded itself in the beast’s chest, and it slumped to the floor just an arm’s length in front of her.

The masked figure holding its long leash let it drop from her hands, then, cursing angrily, she kicked the animal as she passed it and advanced towards the girl. The girl called Maya did not flinch, even though she noticed the glint of steel in her enemy’s hand.

Do not kill this one! Step back! shouted the group’s leader, dismounting from his horse; this is the one they call Maya. She has managed to evade us for many months. The rider strode towards the girl, shoving the woman who had held the leash out of his way. We will take her to the Stone Circle to undergo interrogation, said the leader, stopping in his tracks to pull a rope out of his pocket and unravel it; she holds the key to the downfall of the rebels, and she has information which will put an end to the nuisance her friends are causing us. Maya stood with legs akimbo, then raised her bow and arrow and aimed it directly at the man’s heart. Slightly unnerved by the girl’s courage, the man let the rope drop to the floor and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Ah yes, of course, he said. You want to die. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod and, responding to his signal, one of his companions shot an arrow into the girl’s thigh. Maya stumbled forwards from the impact of the arrowhead but still reacted quickly enough to fire an arrow between her enemy’s ribs. He groaned in pain and dropped to the floor.

Immediately, the riders advanced towards her, and she could see she was outnumbered and soon to be overwhelmed. In desperation, she fired frantically arrow after arrow until her masked pursuers surrounded her, and she could fight them off no more. Then, finally, one of the riders struck her on the temple with his fist, and the pain of that blow was the last thing she recalled before being slung over the back of a horse and taken to the Stone Circle.

It was, perhaps, several hours later when Maya woke up and found herself strapped to a stone table with a swarthy, hawk-like man standing over her.

Good morning, Maya, said the hawk man politely. I am so glad you have awakened at last. You and I are going to get along well together. In the absence of the chief interrogator, the Lady Mortalia, I have been assigned to you. The hawk man’s eyes darted excitedly from side to side, and then he bent over Maya as if he were surveying a delicious meal. Now, I am certain that we can conclude our business together quickly if you co-operate. The man began to circle her slowly, never allowing his demented gaze to fall on anything but her.

Maya closed her eyes and did not answer him. She breathed in deeply and tried to slow her heart rate by focusing on a mantra which Zydan had taught her during training. She heard the man’s footsteps dragging heavily on the stone floor as he moved around her, but she never once opened her eyes. She was encouraged by the fact that, at least, it was not to be the chief interrogator questioning her. Had it been her, the celebrated ‘queen of questioners’ as she called herself, then the task ahead of her would be far more difficult. This foolish, hawk-like man, on the other hand, would be relatively easy to withstand. She could fight him with her resolve.

Ah, so young and strong … said the interrogator. But why choose this life? Why could you not have lived peacefully like the others? The man was leaning right over her face by now, and Maya felt a drop of his warm saliva drip down onto her neck. She shivered.

I hope you do not allow yourself to suffer too much, the interrogator said softly. Then he pulled up the sleeve of her jacket to expose her bare flesh and placed two fingers in the middle of her arm. She felt a thousand ants dancing on her skin, and, just for a moment, her breathing stopped. Were her parents here in her place, she told herself, they would not succumb to such a man, and so neither would she; for she was Maya, deputy leader of the rebel league, and she possessed the strongest, most determined mind the people had ever known.

Chapter 2 ‘A Bad Day at School’

Look at me when I’m speaking to you, please, said the head teacher, leaning forwards in her chair. Aaron sucked his teeth, shifted uneasily from one foot to another, and then gradually raised his eyes to meet hers. He hated the way her enquiring glare bore into him, the way her icy-blue irises glimmered out of her stony, angular face. Rage surged within him. It seemed to come from the depths of his stomach until he could almost taste its bitterness in his mouth.

He was an intelligent boy. He knew that she was not, in any way, responsible for the predicament in which he found himself and that his frustration was the result of years of bad luck.

It was bad luck his mother preferred drinking to looking after children. It was bad luck his father didn’t care about anyone as much as he cared about himself. It was bad luck he had nearly broken Lee Harvey’s jaw during that fight.

Are you actually taking in what I’m saying to you, Aaron? said the head teacher.

Aaron closed his eyes for a moment to shut her out. He wished that he were someone else, anyone else, living in a different place and leading a different life. He wished he were a person whom people admired, respected and trusted. He wished he could be more responsible.

It would not be an understatement for him to describe his entire life as an unfortunate accident. His mother had not really wanted him, and his father had not really wanted her, and there was nothing he could do to change those facts.

Sometimes, when he was younger, he had heard them shouting in the bedroom. Occasionally, he had heard her scream. On some nights, he had heard the sounds of objects falling all over the place, and then the thud of her body slumping to the floor as she gave up. On nights such as these, when Aaron had felt powerless, he would take out his sketch pad and draw.

He would draw landscapes of idyllic places and try to escape to them in his mind. Some pictures were of different countries, some were of places during ancient times, and others were of imaginary settings where giant plants grew to the sky and enormous winged insects fluttered amongst their leaves.

Now, in Ms. Hogan’s office, he was no longer Aaron, a teenage failure unable to control his temper, but Aaron, a Greek mythological hero who fought valiantly for the good of mankind. He was Aaron who, with one single blow, could defeat the wicked, harpy-woman-thing sitting in front of him …

Are you listening to me at all? Ms. Hogan said again.

He was surprised she even remembered his name. Wasn’t he just a statistic? Wasn’t he just another impulsive teenager about to have his whole life messed up by having made one simple mistake? He had been stupid, and he knew it; even if the provocative Lee Harvey had probably deserved to have his jaw smashed. In any case, Aaron had actually held back on the damage he could have done to him, and that was to his credit.

Ms. Hogan, said a benevolent voice. Ms. Manning seemed to glide across the room enshrouded in an ethereal glow. Mr Rick tells me that Aaron’s a really promising student in many respects. He’s particularly gifted in Maths, Art and Science and, I believe, he has kept up his attendance at his martial arts classes, said Saint Manning.

Yes, well, Lee Harvey’s jaw is a testament to Aaron’s skill in that area, Ms. Hogan said.

But he’s made some significant improvements in his behaviour this past term. In fact, there have been no major incidents prior to today, Ms. Manning insisted.

I’m afraid I can’t bend the rules for one student, whoever they may be, Ms. Hogan said. We can’t tolerate this kind of behaviour in our school; you know that … Aaron, what got into you? What were you thinking of?

Aaron remained mute for a few moments, and there was an uneasy silence in the room. He ran his eyes over the stack of papers on Ms. Hogan’s desk and then to the screensaver on her computer. It showed a photograph of Ms. Hogan and her family on one of their luxurious summer holidays. Aaron observed the relaxed, joyful expressions of the two children in the photograph. The boy, fair-haired and slender was about ten years old. The girl, much taller and rather emaciated-looking, was about Aaron’s own age, if not older. He thought it funny that, while he was standing in their mother’s office on the brink of exclusion, they were probably already mapping out their future GCSEs.

He shouldn’t have said what he did. He had no right to dis—to talk about my family, Aaron began. He put my mum down. He said she was a drunk and a … Aaron’s voice trailed off and Ms. Hogan’s chiselled features seemed to soften as she spoke.

I’m particularly disappointed because, as Ms. Manning said, you are doing very well academically. The art department even want to enter one of your pictures in a competition. Look, I have it here … Ms. Hogan bent down to take a painting out of her drawer. She studied it carefully for a few seconds and then said, It’s very interesting … It’s a very unusual place. What gave you the idea?

It’s just a place, said Aaron. It’s just a place I thought of. It’s somewhere different to here, that’s all. Maybe somewhere I’d like to go, if it were real.

I like the fine detail on the mountain range, said Ms. Manning, perhaps too enthusiastically, and the unusual combination of colours. They are such strange-looking trees. And those animals … they’re so imposing …

It’s very impressive work, Aaron, said Ms. Hogan, and I would like to see you do more of it. I think you can succeed when you get to Year Eleven, which is why I have to be firm with you now … Aaron braced himself for her final verdict. I’m very sorry, Aaron, she said, but I’m going to have to exclude you for a fixed term. I’ll contact your foster parents today to let them know the details.

Ms. Hogan smiled weakly at Aaron and then proceeded to write some notes on the report form in front of her. Complete silence returned to the room, apart from the faint scratching of Ms. Hogan’s pen as it marked the paper form and the nervous fidgeting of Ms. Manning as she wondered if there was anything else she could do to alter her boss’s decision. Finally, Ms. Manning approached Aaron and put her hand tenderly on his left shoulder. He shook it off impatiently, and she did not replace it.

You can do much better than this Aaron. I think you’re going to come back after this episode and start believing in yourself, like I believe in you, she said. Aaron’s eyes lowered to the floor. He felt like crying. He could not understand why his life was so complicated. He was trying really hard, but he just could not help getting into trouble sometimes. His foster parents would be sure to send him back now. This would be the last straw for them. He felt a lump in his throat but did not want to show his vulnerability. He concentrated on breathing slowly, in an attempt to control his emotions, but he could not stop the warm tears that started falling from his eyes. Embarrassed and angry at his ‘weakness’, he suddenly turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Ms. Manning and Ms. Hogan exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. Then Ms. Hogan shook her head and looked down at the report she was writing. Her body language gave a clear message: there was nothing more she could do; she had to follow the school behaviour policy’s guidelines. She had to give him a fixed term exclusion to match the level of violence he had exhibited.

Ms. Manning, however, refused to give up on him. Quickly and silently, she followed Aaron as he stomped down the corridor towards the lockers. When she caught up with him, he was hurling the contents of his locker into his bag.

Aaron … she began softly.

Leave me alone! he shouted, his words devoid of any real meaning, for what he shouted and what he actually felt were two very different things. More than anything, he wanted a mum, someone like the woman who stood before him, someone who could make his pain disappear.

Perhaps, somehow, Ms. Manning understood what he really thought because she said: "Aaron, I can’t make your problems go away, I wish I could. But I want you to use this time away from school to think about what you want to do with your life. You can achieve a lot you know. You’re very clever and I also think you’re mature and I know you think a lot about things. I mean really think. When you come back I’ll help you to stay on track. People here care a lot about your future …"

Yeah, right, said Aaron cynically, swollen eyes now fixed firmly on his locker door.

You know I mean it, Ms. Manning said.

Is that why she excluded me then? said Aaron.

"You didn’t give her any choice. Ms. Hogan has to follow the rules as well as you do, you know. It’s not her fault. She isn’t responsible for what you’ve been through and neither am I. You’re the author of your own life story now, Aaron, and only you can change it. All we can do is give you a clean page and hope for the best," Ms. Manning said.

Aaron slyly averted his gaze from the locker door, which he had been studying so intently, and stole a glance at Ms. Manning. He could sense from the cadence of her cautious, controlled words and the look on her saintly face that she was struggling to contain some unexpressed emotion.

You need to be given a challenge—a position of responsibility that will really allow you to show your talents. You see, I think you could be a good leader. You have all the potential. When you come back, I’d like to sort something out for you so you can develop … What do you think?

Maybe … But I’m not going to any mentoring sessions, or any educational psychologist, right? There’s nothing wrong with me. I just lost my temper. That’s all. It happens sometimes, said Aaron.

That’s fine, Aaron, said Ms. Manning. But I do want you to know that you can always talk to me …

Aaron considered her offer for a moment. His eyes were fixed on the floor. People had made promises like this before and broken them, and there was no reason for Ms. Manning to be any different. Besides, he would be leaving school in a couple of years and perhaps going to college, so why should he become attached to somebody who was not even related to him? Probably, it would lead to disappointment and nothing more.

Then, unexpectedly, both to himself and Ms. Manning, Aaron turned away from her and rushed towards the exit doors, sniffing as he went. He was leaving. That was what they all wanted, anyway. This was the last time his head teacher would exclude him and treat him like a trouble-making delinquent finding it hard to grow up. This was the last that Mandela Community School would see of him for a long time.

Chapter 3 ‘Consequences’

Behind Aaron sat a group of young mothers with their noisy toddlers. The children were laughing and shrieking and making a wonderful mess with the crisps they were eating. Almost indifferent to the commotion they were causing, and to the arrhythmic movements of the bus as it stopped and started repeatedly, Aaron sat staring out of the window at the cloud-filled sky. His mood was as sombre as the washed out colours he observed in the street outside. The grey buildings and dull pavements provided a fitting backdrop for the random collection of Londoners rushing about in their autumnal clothing.

He thought back to the last time he had been excluded from Mandela Community School for violent behaviour. That had been a year ago when he was thirteen, and it had involved a trouble-making girl rather than a provocative Lee Harvey. That time, he had simply taken out his rage on the classroom furniture, and Ms. Hogan had asked to see him as soon as he had calmed down.

He had sat outside Ms. Hogan’s office studying the wall in front of him, observing photographs of memorable events which had taken place throughout the previous school year—a visit from the mayor, the school concert, Sports Day … There had even been several photographs of Aaron himself winning track and field events. He had come first in high jump, long jump, javelin throwing, and sprinting. Ms. Hogan had shaken his hand and told him how proud she was of his ‘outstanding’ achievements.

Aaron had then read the school mission statement followed by a list of names of commendable students who had won the most house points. Of course, his name had not been on the list. Finally, his eyes had rested on the poem ‘Our Deepest Fear.’

Ms. Hogan had displayed the poem outside her room and had often quoted from it during school assemblies, saying the words were inspirational to pupils and teachers alike. Besides, she had explained, Nelson Mandela, the school’s honoured namesake, had made the words world-famous when he had become the first black president of South Africa. Aaron had read and re-read the same few lines over and over again: ‘… Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.’

Come in Aaron, Ms. Hogan had said. Ah! You’re reading Marianne Williamson’s poem.

Nice words. It’s easy to say stuff like that, but it doesn’t make sense really, does it? Everybody wants to be powerful, don’t they? Nobody’s scared of it. I mean, who would be afraid of power? If I had power, I’d be happy. Aaron had said.

There are many different ways to interpret the word ‘powerful’, Aaron. Come on in. Maybe we can talk about them, Ms. Hogan had said.

And they had talked. It was perhaps the only time that Aaron had talked to his head teacher properly, and he knew he had impressed her with his intelligence. Nevertheless, she had excluded him from school for three days with a warning that, should he fail to improve his behaviour, he could eventually be excluded permanently and sent to a specialised unit. All of this could seriously jeopardise his chances of pursuing a career of his choice.

Now, here he was again, on his way home from school, once more bearing bad news for his foster parents. What would be decided for him? His foster parents had been nothing but understanding and forgiving since they had met him, but what had he ever given them in return? Nothing at all really, he had to admit. He suddenly felt ashamed that he had not been able to ignore Lee Harvey’s stupid comment, for their sake at least. If he could go back in time and change things, he would.

The bus jolted and sharply turned the corner. The young children and their mothers got off at the next stop, leaving a trail of crumbs and broken crisps on the floor behind them. Aaron observed the lively group of children and their exhausted mothers. He could not remember ever travelling on the bus with his real mum. In fact, he could not remember going out with her much at all, apart from the corner shop that is.

Outside, the location had improved. The bus was now in a quieter, residential area of London, and the street was lined with trees. Golden leaves shimmered when they were lucky enough to absorb the sparse rays of sunshine which had started to break through the clouds. Some of the houses had been quite recently painted, giving an overall effect of cleanliness, and some had small front gardens which had been nurtured enough to boast a rich green lawn or at least some plants. Before Aaron had moved in with his foster parents, he had lived in some dismal places. He had no desire to return to the miserable flats he had shared with his mother and tried to call home. He had no desire to be dumped back in a care home either.

Aaron got off the bus and started walking towards his foster parents’ home. He opened the front door with a feeling of dread and wiped his feet carefully on the doormat before going into the living-room. His foster mother, Gemma, was waiting there, seated on the sofa trying to look casual. The nervousness in her eyes, however, revealed that she was feeling anything but relaxed.

Aaron, come and sit down next to me, she said.

Aaron let his bag slip off his shoulder onto the floor and sat down next to his foster mother. She was a large, attractive woman with thick, red hair which bounced whenever she moved her head. I’ve been talking to Ms. Hogan, she began, and her close-set, green eyes were expressive and tender. She told me all about what happened, and it seems to me that that boy, Lee, did a fair bit of provoking. Of course you shouldn’t have hit him, but it seems that you’ve been negatively labelled by the school. They’ve insisted on excluding you regardless of what that boy said in the first place and the fact that he hit you as well.

I really hurt him though, Aaron said quite remorsefully.

I can’t believe you meant to, Gemma said quickly. You’re fast to lose your temper, but that’s not surprising considering what you’ve been through …

Aaron grimaced and then sighed while Gemma prattled on. Here he was trying not to be self-pitying about himself, and here she was making a great show of compassion for him. He felt uncomfortable. He found her defence of his behaviour irritating and misguided. She seemed so eager to believe he was righteous, yet the truth was clear in Aaron’s mind: his skill in martial arts meant that he could become a dangerous weapon if he chose to, and he had crossed a boundary.

"Still, I went too far. Ms. Hogan had to send me home, I suppose," Aaron said.

"Yes, but what you need is for someone to listen to you at school: a counsellor, a therapist. You can’t just punish people who are crying out for help. And you obviously were. You were offended by that boy’s nasty comment. He was deliberately goading you," Gemma said.

I can’t attack everyone who tries to wind me up, though, said Aaron.

It’s mature of you to take responsibility for your actions, said Gemma. I really admire that. She placed her hand on Aaron’s knee comfortingly.

I can’t believe you! Aaron shouted, jumping to his feet suddenly.