The Shadow Rider: Between Two Worlds

By Ken Swatman

Four crystals of light, forged during ancient times were given to each of the four kingdoms of Illudor. One crystal was given as a gift to each of the four kings to illuminate their land and scatter the darkness. A strict warning was given with each crystal, “use the light sparingly.”

Filled with greed and a foolish pride, the southern kingdom wasted their light. Now consumed with darkness the people of the southern kingdom sought to destroy the remaining crystals and throw all of Illudor into eternal darkness. When the crystal from the eastern kingdom was destroyed at Mt Darym, the escaping light tore holes in the thin shadow veil separating their world and ours.

The remaining two kingdoms banded together under one light, fighting against the darkness. To protect the remaining light it was decided that one crystal would be sent with a warrior through the shadow veil to be hidden in our world, never to return. Over the centuries, in times of great crisis, the light calls forth a hero. A descendent of the first Shadow Rider, Aaron must take his place in the legacy and defend the light; the fate of both worlds hangs in the balance. Aaron, with the help of courageous friends and mystical creatures, must find the hero within, battle dark forces and locate a mystical journal which holds which holds the secret to the crystal’s location and the salvation of both worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Swatman
• Release date: Nov 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301075683

Book preview

Shadow Rider:

Between Two Worlds

By:

Ken Swatman

The Shadow Rider

Ken Swatman

Copyright © 2012 Ken Swatman

Smashwords Edition

To my boys...

May you never lose your sense of adventure.

Contents:

I love Saturday Mornings

2. My First Shadow Ride

Everything New

4. Decisions, Decisions

5. A Ride to Remember

6. The Knower

7. Truth and Consequences

8. A Close Call

9. Flight in the Night

10. Training Day

11. Gifts

12. Going Home

13. Home at Last

14. A Friend in Need

15. Reunited

16. Operation Recovery

17. Traveling Companions

18. The Pits

19. A New Friend

20. Mission Accomplished

21. A Friend in Need...Again

22. Into the Breach

23. The Darkness Within

Prologue:

The man’s footsteps echoed off the empty storefronts and parked cars as he hurried down the street. It was dark, and that was dangerous. Gripping the cardboard box tighter to his chest, he searched the shadows for signs of movement. The streets were empty, but he was not alone. He could sense them, watching, following, waiting. Not too fast. He thought. They had to follow him. He had to lead them away to give the old man time. The boy’s life depended on it.

Five blocks away, another man cautiously stepped around the corner of Congress Avenue. He was dressed the same as the first, but much older. A second cardboard box was tucked carefully under his arm. Almost there, he thought to himself as he scanned the street for signs that he was being followed. Confident that the coast was clear the old man crossed the street and climbed the steps of the boy’s home, carefully he set the box in front of the door.

Lord of Light keep you. He prayed, placing a wrinkled hand on top of the box.

He could hear the muffled cries coming from inside. Shhh, You will be safe here, he whispered.

Raising his hand into a fist, the old man pounded on the door. He knew the noise might attract the wrong kind of attention, but there was no other way. A light; then the sound of movement from inside. Confident that his task was complete, the old man slipped away and disappeared into the shadows.

It must be done by now, the man with the decoy box thought to himself. He picked up the pace as he raced down the street. If everything had gone according to plan, then his son was safe. Shifting the box in his arms he reached into his pocket and pulled out a torn piece of notebook paper. Nothing, the paper was blank. He had to know for sure, had to keep going until he received word. Another block and they were nearly on him. He could tell by the sound of their footsteps that they were gaining. Hoping to catch them off guard and buy a few extra minutes, the man broke to his right and sprinted into an alleyway. If he could just make it to the other block he might find a place to hide. They would look, and they would find him, and they would... he shook off the thought. Maybe, just maybe, it would give the old man enough time. No luck. As he looked to the end of the alley his heart sank. Halfway down the alley a tall brick wall cut off his route. There was no way out and he knew it. Running to the brick wall, the man turned to face his pursuers.

Give us the box. The voice hissed like steam escaping from an old pipe.

Never. The man shouted. You cannot have him. The man looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, franticly hoping for the message. He couldn’t die without knowing.

Shadowy figures filled the alley. Their forms shimmered and shifted as they approached the man.

Then we will take it from you. The lead figure pulled a blood red knife from his belt and stepped closer to the man.

Please! Please! The man pleaded with the piece of paper as he shifted the empty box to his other arm, shielding it from the threat.

Now you die! The shadowy figure hissed. You and your son.

No. The man screamed as the figure leapt forward and shoved the knife deep into his chest.

The man dropped to his knees; blood flowing from the wound. Unable to hold on, the box fell from his hands, landing inches from his killer’s feet.

The shadowy figure grabbed the box and tore it open. It was empty. Shrieking in anger he pulled apart the thin cardboard.

The bleeding man slumped forward onto the cold pavement, the paper still clutched in his hand. Lord of Light… Please. The words were barely a whisper as they passed his dying lips.

His prayer was answered. The paper began to glow as words burned across it then disappeared. It is done.

Thank you, the man thought as he took his last breath.

Chapter 1

I love Saturday mornings

I swung my feet onto the cold floor just as Tiny jumped onto the foot of my bed and screamed Pillow Fight. His real name was Dell, but if you saw him you’d get the nickname. He was the biggest thirteen year old I’d ever seen. We were the same age, but he had me by at least a hundred pounds His first blow hit me hard, right on the back of the head.

What do you got in that thing, bricks? I grunted as I rubbed my head and shook off the blow.

Come and find out. Tiny teased as he cocked back for another shot.

I knew I only had one option, turn and face my enemy. It’s on! I shouted as I jumped to my feet, grabbed my pillow and began swinging wildly.

My first shot missed Tiny completely, but Bill, the boy who slept next to me was not so lucky. I hit him square in the back as he was innocently trying to make his bed.

Hey guys. He whined as he flopped face first onto his mattress.

Casualty of war. I thought as I quickly shifted to my left and lunged into the center aisle between the beds. I unloaded my pillow with military like precision on the side of Peter’s head. He was walking back from the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Another victim down. I thought as I turned, scanning for Tiny: my arch nemesis. I was ready and willing to exact my revenge.

From behind me I heard Bill yell, You want a war…you got a war.

He had recovered, reached for his freshly fluffed pillow and attempted an awkward off balance counter attack. He missed me completely and stumbled forward. On his way down he bounced off the corner of his bed and landed with a thud as his butt connected with the wood floor.

Peter was dancing around in the middle of the room screaming, I’m unarmed, I’m unarmed.

He scrambled to pick up his towel that had fallen to the floor leaving him as naked as a Jaybird in front of God and everyone. I couldn’t help but turn around and point out his embarrassment to the whole dorm. Seeing that I was distracted, Tiny swooped down on me with a killer blow to the left side of my face followed up with a shot to the back of the legs. I crumbled to the floor half laughing, half crying.

Truce, truce I pleaded, as Tiny, panting like a dog, his long stringy black hair covering his eyes, stood over me ready to deliver the deathblow.

Luckily, before he could finish me off, Jason the third floor boy’s dean threw open the dormitory door and told us all to knock of the rough housing before someone gets hurt.

I thought that was the point. Tiny mumbled as he glared at me through thick strands of hair. I could see the disappointment on his face.

Jason was a pretty good guy, I guess, even if he was the dean of our floor. I didn’t know him very well, he had only been on staff for about a month and for the most part I had managed to stay out of the way, most of my contact with him revolved around the usual boring stuff like school work, sports, and chores.

No one really knows what happened to the old 3rd floor dean. He had been at All Saints as long as I can remember and then one day he just up and quit and we never saw him again. Supposedly he moved to Seattle to be closer to his kids. At least that’s what they told us. A week later Jason showed up and took over our dorm. He was twenty-five, tall, thin with sandy brown hair; sometimes he wore thick glasses that kept sliding off his nose. A strange black crystal pendant hung around his neck; I had never seen him without it, and he was always touching it like he was afraid it would disappear or something. He was nice enough, but always seemed nervous as if he was expecting something bad to happen. Occasionally I would turn around and find him staring at me, not in a creepy way, just staring.

‘All Saints’ is a home for orphaned and unwanted boys in the heart of Chicago’s East Garfield Park neighborhood. I was a birthy, that’s what they called us boys who came here as babies. The old dean of boys for our dormitory once told me that I was left on the doorstep of the home in the middle of the night, but that’s all I know, no parents, no birth certificate, just All Saints, and the thirteen other eleven to fourteen year old boys I live with on the third floor. I guess I’m okay with it, I mean; it’s all I’ve ever known. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a regular family, but it’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

The home is a five-story brick building built in the thirties on the relatively boring corner of Washtenaw and Congress Avenue. The kitchen, dining hall, and rec. room are on the first floor. The other four floors are exactly the same. Bathroom, cleaning closet, and dorm room: nothing special. The dorm rooms were just what you’d expect; high ceilings, a wood floor and faded wood paneling. Millions of little pinholes peppered the walls from decades of posters and pictures being tacked to them. On the east wall a row of windows look out onto an old metal fire escape. Sun bleached flower curtains hung over the windows. They were ugly, and old. Single metal-framed beds lined the room leaving an aisle down the middle.

The second floor is for boys five to ten years old. Boys under the age of five usually go straight into the foster care system until they are adopted or come of age and find their way to a home like All Saints… I guess I was the exception. The older you get the more your chance of getting out of the system drops into the toilet. It’s not like people are standing in line to adopt teenage boys. When I arrived, as I like to think of it, the head of the home and his wife took me in as their own. I lived with them in the small house out back. About nine years ago his wife died from cancer and they say he went a little loony in the head from grief. One day he just up and left me, I was 0-2 in that department I guess. Rumor had it that he was living in a mental hospital somewhere in upstate New York. He was nice, but I don’t remember too much about him, I kind of blocked the whole thing out.

There is a fourth floor dormitory for boys fifteen through seventeen but us runts, as they call us, don’t go up there unless we want the beating of a lifetime. When you turn eighteen, you’re on your own. They call it legal emancipation; we just call it getting tossed. The fifth floor was a smelly old attic. It was a graveyard of old chairs, used mattresses, broken ping pong tables and boxes filled with other junk that had been stored there over the years and probably forgotten about. We weren’t allowed in the attic, but I had crept up there once on a double dog dare. It was a creepy place that smelled of dust and mothballs, and I was just fine not going back.

In the center of our block is a great park with lots of trees, a swing set, and one of those metal merry go rounds that always made me want to throw up. One time, some of the guys got the thing spinning so fast that I actually flew off. I landed face down on a wooden bench. A nasty concussion and a broken arm kept me down for days. I wasn’t much of a daredevil to begin with, so that just about sealed the deal for me. Safe and sane was pretty much my motto.

Every Sunday the boys from All Saints fill up the back two rows of Saint John’s Catholic Church and try to survive Father Thomas’ mass. Mostly, we just make noise, fall asleep and annoy the people around us. It’s not that Father Thomas is boring actually he is pretty cool, for a priest. I just have a hard time sitting still and paying attention. St. John’s was a scary looking stone building with big wooden double doors at the front and high spiky turrets on the top. It looked kind of like the churches you always see in old monster movies.

Pretty soon order was restored on the dorm floor and the weapons stowed until the next epic battle. Jason gave us the ten-minute breakfast warning and handed out our after breakfast chores. It was my turn to sweep the dorm room floor, not a bad job, and it sure beat cleaning toilets, especially after a week of my dorm mates blowing it up in there.

Did I mention that I love Saturday mornings? On Saturday’s we get pancakes with syrup and sausage for breakfast instead of the regular oatmeal and dry toast. Saturday means no school, a short list of chores, and the ever-popular popcorn and movie night. Tonight we’re watching A Troll in Central Park. It was a little old and sounded like a dumb kid movie, but hey, it beat going to bed early.

Before he turned to head back down stairs, Jason asked who wanted to join him for a game of capture the flag at the park after chores. Of course, everyone was up for that. Turning to me he said, Aaron Miles, you’re coming, aren’t you? I thought it was odd that he picked me out, but in my best (not really interested voice) I threw back, yeah, whatever. Jason stood there for a moment looking at me with that thousand-yard stare, almost like he was trying to look right through me, then turned and left the room.

I grabbed some clothes from my footlocker; a pair of faded blue jeans, a Chicago Cubs sweatshirt that I threw on over my t-shirt, and my prize possession, a black ball cap. It was with me in the box when I was dropped off at the home. The funny thing is, it was way to big for me to wear as a baby and only really fit on my head about the time I turned twelve, but it was all I had from my life before the home so I kept it tucked safely under my pillow when I wasn’t wearing it. I threw my blankets on the bed so it at least looked like I tried to make it, and quickly ran a comb through my shaggy brown hair. I pulled on my play shoes, an old pair of Nikes that someone had donated to the home, and ran out the door. Taking the stairs two at time I raced down to the kitchen, there was no way I was going to be late for my favorite breakfast.

Today’s gonna be alright. I told myself as I flew downstairs. Crazy how quickly things change. I sped around the corner of the second floor landing, the smell of sizzling sausage driving me forward, and smacked full speed into Zack. I hit him before I even saw him. Zack was a big angry gorilla of a kid from the fourth floor. He had no neck, crew cut blonde hair and grey eyes that were way to close together for his face; they made him look cross-eyed.

Zack was a birthy too. He had just turned eighteen this week and was packing his stuff to move out of the home. As far as I was concerned it was a good thing, he was a major bully and always seemed to have it out for me. Zack was on his way to the fourth floor with an armload of schoolbooks when I bulldozed him over. The impact made my teeth hurt. I hit him, head down, square in the chest. Zack let out a deep grunt as the air was forced out of his lungs. The books flew from his hands as we dropped to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. My initial surprise and pain quickly turned to fear as I twisted and pulled, trying to wrench my body free from the wreckage. Zack did not take kindly to much of anything, but he especially didn’t like runts getting in his way, and I had just knocked him flat. Actually it was a pretty amazing feat considering that I’m about ninety-five pounds soaking wet and Zack is built like a tank.

Sorry, sorry. I threw out apologies as I scrambled to my feet and clawed my way toward the stairs. As I jumped the railing I could hear Zack, who had regained some of his senses, yelling down at me, I’m gonna punch your lights out you runt. There was no doubt in my mind that he was telling the truth, but I wasn’t going to stick around and let him prove it.

I cleared the last five steps in a single jump, and came to a screeching halt.

Whoa Aaron, Jason stood in the doorway to the rec. room.

Where are you going in such a hurry? The look on his face was a mix of concern and irritation. I heard a commotion on the stairs, is everything okay?

No problem, I said, totally out of breath. Zack just dropped some books.

Jason just stood there for a second looking between me and the top of the stairs. My feet shifted nervously. I could still hear Zack above me slamming stuff around and cussing.

Apparently satisfied with my answer Jason said. Okay, but slow down and take it easy, we wouldn’t want any one to get hurt. He started up the stairs. I’m guessing he was going to see if Zack needed some help.

The kitchen/dining hall was a long narrow room with cafeteria-style counters on one end where they served the food. The other end of the room was taken up with tables and benches that sat about eight kids at a time. A bunch of boys were already grabbing their trays and getting in line for breakfast. I jumped in line behind Peter, now fully dressed. He turned and gave me a how could you? look.

Sorry Peter, all is fair in love and war you know. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

Apparently he didn’t think it was so funny. He turned back to face the line, whatever, I heard him mutter under his breath.

Breakfast was perfect. I wolfed down six sausages and five big pancakes. The butter and maple syrup filled in every crack and crevice, just the way I like it. I would’ve eaten more if Mrs. Davis, the kitchen lady had let me, but she never does. She just looks at me, cracks a cranky smile, Save some for everyone else, Mister Miles. I hate being called Mister Miles.

After a quick stop at the dishwashing station to clear my plate, I headed back upstairs with Tiny and Bill to do our morning chores. As we rounded the first landing, I saw Zack coming down from the second floor. His hands were empty; that wasn’t a good sign.

I whispered to Tiny. Hide me. Zack’s gonna kill me.

What? He muttered.

But it was too late to repeat myself. Zack was locked on to me and he looked like he was going to make good on his promise.

Fists balled up at his sides, Zack stepped right in front us completely blocking our path. Nowhere to run this time runt.

Maybe he’s big enough that Zack can’t reach around him to get to me. I thought as I tried to squeeze behind Tiny. I was wrong. Zack gave Tiny the move-or-die face. Tiny moved. Some friend you are. My faced screamed as he stepped out of the way.

Zack grabbed me by the sweatshirt, fist cocked ready to smash my face in. I hope you’re still hungry because I’m gonna feed you a fist sandwich.

Actually I was still a bit hungry, but it wasn’t the time for that. I closed my eyes and waited for my lights to go out. I braced for impact hoping I wasn’t going to bleed too much when I heard Tiny’s shaky voice. Hey Zack, aren’t you leaving in a few days?

He must have caught Zack off guard, his grip on my sweatshirt tightened, but my face was still in one piece. What did you say, runt?

I said, don’t you turn eighteen in a few days? Tiny stood up a little straighter. I mean, don’t you have to leave the home?"

I cracked my eyes open, trying desperately not to remind Zack about my date with his fist. For a minute I thought Zack was going to drop me and start pounding Tiny, and then, like a miracle from above a voice yelled from the top of the stairs. Zack! It was the fourth-floor dean. Quit fooling around and get up here! You’ve got to finish packing. Good timing, another second and Zack probably would have killed us all.

Zack looked at me with what seemed like genuine disappointment at having to put away his fist sandwich. See you around, runts, was all he said as he pushed me aside and headed back upstairs.

I smoothed out the wrinkles on my sweatshirt, relieved that at least for now I was going to live. Better late than never, Tiny.

You know I have your back. Tiny started dancing around like a boxer in the ring punching loosely at the air. And hey, could you stop calling me Tiny. He stopped dancing and actually looked a little hurt.

Thanks, Dell, I said. Let’s beat it before he comes back and beats us.

Dell had been at All Saints for about two weeks, but he was turning out to be a straight-up guy. His mom died when he was a baby, and his dad was an alcoholic who got really physical when he was drinking. The state of Illinois thought All Saints might be a safer place for him than at home.

A bunch of eleven to fourteen-year-old boys cleaning a dorm is basically controlled chaos. I swept the floors, which was hard because everyone thought it was funny to step in my piles and kick the dirt around. A couple of boys were washing the windows and emptying the garbage. Peter was mopping behind me, the rest were either cleaning the bathroom or had kitchen duty.

After Jason checked off that I was done sweeping, I put the broom back in the supply closet and went to the bathroom to help Dell finish cleaning the toilets. It was the least I could do; I mean he did try to stop Zack from rearranging my face. As I walked into the bathroom, I couldn’t help but laugh. There was 250-pound Tiny—I mean, Dell—squeezed between the toilet and the wall, trying to reach his cleaning rag, which had fallen behind the toilet.

I think you’re supposed to sit on them, not under them, I teased.

Ha, ha, very funny, stick boy, Dell shot back. Give me a hand so we can get out of this poopy place. At least he still had his sense of humor.

After chores all of the third floor boys gathered in the park ready for our regular game of capture the flag. It was a warm March day, warmer than usual, a great day to hang out and goof off. Jason called us together to lay down the rules; hide the flag in the open, no puppy guarding, blah, blah, blah, we knew the rules, we’ve only played like a million times. In keeping with the tradition, Dell was chosen to pick the teams, being that he was the new kid on the floor. He didn’t seem to mind, I think he enjoyed the attention.

Jason yelled, go! and we scattered all around the park looking for the perfect hiding place for our flag. I jogged over to my favorite spot behind the big oak tree on the east corner of the park right across the street from the old church. It was an awesome hiding spot; I could get the lay of the land and plan my attack.

I slid in behind the tree and squeezed tight against the rough bark. As soon as the flags were hidden I heard Jason yell, Game on.

After a few minutes of crouching behind the tree I decided to take a look and see what was going on. I have always had a hard time sitting still for long. A couple of the smaller boys must have gotten tagged quickly. I could see them pleading their case to their captors. I was guessing by the group of guys from the enemy team huddled around the swing set that their flag must be hidden close by. I formed my plan; cut to the right, follow the tree line and sneak up from behind. As I turned to put my plan into action, I saw trouble.

Zack was crossing the street in front of the boy’s home and was headed right toward me. I could tell by the look on his face that he was on a mission, and I knew what it was. I had escaped death twice; sooner or later my luck was going to run out, and it looked like sooner. My stomach twisted and I felt like throwing up. I wouldn’t say I was a full-blown coward. I had been in a few fights and actually won one, but win or lose, I knew they hurt and I wasn’t a big fan of pain. I looked around for an escape route to safety. It was too far to get back to the other boys who were bunched up on the other side of the park. I shot a glance at All Saints; no option there, Zack was in the way. St John’s church was my only hope of avoiding a bad beating. I turned and ran as fast as I could toward the big wooden doors of the church. Surely Father Thomas would step in and help me out, he was a priest for God’s sake, wasn’t it in his job description to save people. As I raced across the street I could hear Zack pick up the chase.

Where are going runt, I have something for you. He yelled at me.

I didn’t answer. I had only one thing on my mind; escape. Whew. I breathed a sigh of relief. The doors to the church were open; sanctuary was within my reach.

I bounded up the steps and ran full speed into the Iron Gate that shut across the inner doorway. Can’t a guy catch a break? I thought as I picked myself up and began shaking the Iron bars, yelling for help.

No one to save you? Zack teased in a stupid baby voice. Ahhh…. to bad for you.

I could hear his big feet stomping up behind me. Help was not going to get here in time, so I did the only thing I could; I turned to face my enemy.

Chapter 2:

My first Shadow Ride

I spun around, terrified and shaking, but determined to stand my ground. I didn’t expect to win the fight, but I sure hoped I would get at least one good punch in before he ripped me to pieces. It’s whoopin’ time, Zack called as he cleared the last step. Every