Discovering Ethos

By H.R. Martin

On a sunny morning High School Senior Zoey Anderson's life falls into a reality she never knew existed. Complete with magical abilities she must learn to control, and she thought the class bully was the worst of her problems. Thrust into a centuries old battle between to ancient races she musters her friends to help her find a kidnapped boy and save her family and race.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sulad Media, llc
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201220631

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Prologue

Prologue

Walking out of the Grand Mall at midnight, after hanging with my friends at the arcade, I still burn over my Dad’s anger when I told him I quit Burger Boy. He never even waited to hear about the new job I’ve landed. Just started yelling. Maybe I’m wrong but he never listens, just judges and demands I do things his way since mom died. I can’t take it any more, I am too angry to think straight, and ran out of the house wearing only my Green Bay Packers hoodie. God! I hate fighting with dad. Why won’t he realize I’m a man now? Yeah, I’m not going to college this fall like he wants. But, jeez we have too many bills and he needs my help. Mom’s cancer wiped him out of all their savings. Dad’s heart condition isn’t helped working double shifts. It scares me to death. He’s going to keel over at work. I don’t want to be an orphan! Why can’t he understand that? I’ll go to college, sure, that’s still the plan. I’m just postponing it until he’s out from under all the bills and I can pay my own way. Dad can sell this barn of a house and retire to the cottage in Moon Lake.

The mercury vapor lights of the now empty miles of parking lot cast a bloody glow that matches my mood. Shivering in the thin sweatshirt, I hear the fight with dad again. It’s playing on a loop in my brain.

I just quit my job at Burger Boy! I have. . . .

Walter, you can’t laze around the house day after day playing video games! You need to work. He shouts going from calm to 150 Mph rage. A red haze fogs my vision and all I hear is his voice, like an angry swarm of bees.

I don’t ‘laze around the house playing video games’. I don’t have time working two jobs. I’ve got . . . . He’s talks over me not listening again. I can’t reason with him like this. I can see the gray pallor to his skin. Dad! Listen to me. He’s really winding up now. Leaning against the counter, I’ll have to wait for him to wind down.

Want a beer dad? Walking to the frig I grab a beer and hand it to him. His shoulders relax as he feels the cold bottle in his hand.

Thanks. he takes a pull of his beer. I slouch against the sink and fold my arms over my chest, crossing my ankles.

Dad! Why do you assume I sit home and play video games? I work as many hours as you do. I’m hoping he’ll see the logic, but the prickle at the back of my neck tells me I’m wrong and the real battle has begun. Dark parental eyes bore into me. Angry flames dance in their depths.

You quit your job! He shouts. Yah, I quit a job flipping burgers for minimum wage. I set my jaw to ride out the rest of the tirade I know by heart. You graduated in the top ten percent of your class. The scholarships you won is a free ride to college. He throws his hands up in the air, working himself up again. It’s the same argument over and over. I should go to college. I’m throwing my life away. I’ve heard it a million times since mom died. I can’t make him understand that I don’t want to go to college now. He would be alone if I left. I’ve lost one parent, I can’t lose another. Hell, he doesn’t eat now with me here, he would stop if I went away. Glaring at him I run my hands through my hair in exasperation. This isn’t getting us anywhere.

I know it’s a mistake but I can’t help myself. I hated that job. I was nothing more than a monkey pushing buttons for minimum wage.

Full time! Possibilities for advancement.

Listen, I have. . . .

I’ve had enough. He slams down the bottle and stalks into the living room. The TV goes on.

I keep walking through the dark parking lot, seeing his face and that look he gets when he wishes Mom were still here to translate me for him. The dull stab of regret grinds into my chest growing larger each step I take. I should have told him, made him listen. I quit the job because I was offered my dream job today, at double the money. I’m writing for the Outdoor desk at the Applevalley News, or, I will be on Thursday. After submitting several fishing and hunting stories the editor liked my style and brought me on board.

I wrap my arms around my chest and hunch over as the cold wind sweeps across the lot, wishing I had my coat. I know Dad wasn’t responsible for Mom dying, any more than I was. The cancer was advanced by the time they found it. Her death was sudden to us, we only had fourteen weeks with her. Most of that time was in the hospital on chemo and then experimental drugs. The cost was staggering and not covered by insurance. I hurry my step. Dad must be frantic. I have been gone for hours. Too late I realized I left my phone on the kitchen counter when I stormed out.

Finding a can laying in the parking lot, I kick it. I deserve to walk home. I like the ping, rattle, rattle, rattle, sound the can makes as it skitters along the blacktop. It’s almost a song. Lifting my head to pay attention, I notice one of the mall cop cars making final rounds of the parking lot. I wonder if he has a phone? What a job! A play pretend policeman wielding no power. What does it take to be a mall cop anyway? Is there a school for mall cops? I chuckle, the vision of rows of Segways mounted by fat Paul Blarts in a classroom strikes me as funny.

I’m almost to the access road. That’s when I notice the silver Mustang rag top sitting under the light. The hood’s up and a man bending over the engine. Maybe the guy needs help. Changing course slightly, I lope over to him lifting my hand in greeting.

Hey man, nice ride! You need help? The man, a tall guy, bald head, pulls his head out from under the hood.

Thanks. He smiles, turns toward me sticking his hand out. My friends call me Doc.

Walter. I shake Doc’s hand.

I think there’s a hose loose but, my hands are too clumsy. You know anything about cars? I nod yes, my dad and I worked on all the family cars. Good, I’d appreciate your taking a look. The hose is just under the oil filter.

I grin. Sure thing. And start moving wires carefully away from the filter looking for the hose fitting. That’s when I feel a sharp prick in my neck that makes me jump. Some big bug bit me. I jerk out from under the hood slapping at the site of the sting.

That light is attracting some big mosquitoes! I comment. Diving under the hood once more in search of the hose I feel funny. My vision is fuzzy.

Sorry man, I must be allergic to that bug. My speech is slurring now and alarm bells go off. My sluggish brain has figured out this man is not a good guy. I’ve waited too long to run. Turning to meet my assailant's eyes my limbs begin turning to jelly.

There, this won’t take long. We have to hurry, while you can still walk. His smarmy grin alarms me as he slams down the hood and opens the passenger door. He tries to shove me in. I see the plastic tarp draped over the seat. Adrenalin zings through my body. I jerk away from him, the fuzz in my brain clearing as my legs give up.

Why can’t any of you just get in the car and sit! My terror grows, this guy’s going to kill me.

Move, my brain shouts at me. I stagger to my knees, desperately trying to make the field of tall grass across the road. A place to hide. I focus. start crawling. Sweat runs into my eyes. The attempt is futile. My heart pounds. Struggling now, using every ounce of strength I possess to move, my body won’t cooperate. I face plant on the pavement. Cold dread slithers up my spine.

I see the mall cop car stop next to the man. I’m saved! Relief floods me. I give crawling another try. Nope, I try to scream. Nope again. A cold realization settles in, I’m trapped in my body.

What’s the problem here, Sir? The cop asks getting out of the mall cop car. I can’t believe my ears.

It’s my son, he’s an epileptic and having a seizure. Frantically I try blinking, I will try anything to get the cops attention! Drool slides down my cheek. Arms lift me up to lean against the bald man’s body.

He doesn’t want to take the meds, you see. They make him muzzy he says, so he stops taking them.

He sounds so concerned.

We had a- - well you know how hot kids can get when confronted. We went at it tonight. I thought a drive would settle him down. Then the car acted up. He was helping me but, as you can see, didn’t get very far. The man sounds fatherly. I wish he would take responsibility. His voice takes on a pleading note. Take his medicine. We can’t do it for him. If he weren’t sick . . . But he’s my boy and he’s sick. So we went for a drive to talk it out.

He looks drunk! The cop says suspiciously. ‘Good’ I’m thinking, maybe mall cops aren't so dumb. I hang on to this tiny shred of hope.

It’s the seizure. He goes limp. He doesn’t have the tonic-clonic seizures you see on TV or the movies. His render him rigid at first then every muscle relaxes making him floppy. The cop nods.

He knows what’s going on but he can’t talk. The man has shuffled me back to balance against the car. He tenderly brushes my shoulder. It’s very frightening for him, you know. Being locked in his body. The man places a kiss to my forehead. It’s alright Howie. That shocked me! Where does this guy get off kissing me! Rage overtakes the terror.

Please, officer, help me get him in the car. The cop must have agreed because he puts one of my arms around his shoulder to help.

It’ll be over soon Howie. I’ll have you home and in your own bed. That cop’s buying everything this jerk hands out.

He’s heavy, careful! Put him on the plastic draped over the seat. I’m dumped onto the plastic sheeting and buckled in. The man and the cop both sigh. He’s going to lose control. Happens every time and it embarrasses him. I need to protect the seats, you understand. That’s news to me. Then I feel the warmth run down my leg and puddle under by bottom. My face must be red because the Cop gives me a sad understanding look.

It’ll be Okay son, your dad will take care of you. Stupid mall cop.

This guy’s kidnapping me right under your nose and you’re helping! I shout in my head, but of course he can’t hear me.

Thank you Officer Bradley, I think that has him situated. I think I passed out because now, the cop’s gone and we aren’t in the parking lot. We’re on the side of a dark country road. Doc has another needle he slips into my arm.

You’re going to sleep now Walter. That first drug will wear off before I get you to your destination. Sorry kid, it’s a tough life.

My last thought is Sorry dad.

CHAPTER TWO

Morning

The iPhone alarm shrieks from under the pillow, waking Zoey from a lovely dream. Flying with a flock of geese over green fields peppered with crystal blue lakes and brown Jersey cows. She doesn’t want to wake up. With deft fingers she hits the snooze to return to her dream. An angry Witch, natty blond hair in greasy dreadlocks rides a rocket broomstick cackling and oozing evil, with a wave of her hand Zoey is falling toward her death. Using all of her strength she hauls the handle of the broom up. Regaining the sky, Zoey streaks to the startled woman butting her in the belly and knocking her off her ride. The blond witch’s broomstick begins to screech. Her iPhone squawks and Fizzy, her Yorkie yips in her ear. Flying brooms don’t yip. Opening her eyes a slit to see two chocolate fudge dog eyes inches from her face seals the deal. No more dreaming, she sits up.

Morning sun spills from the Priscilla curtained windows across the light gray wood plank floor to light up the tree she and her mother painted in the corner. Leaves and branches fill the ceiling over her bed, dark sturdy trunk in the corner, and the roots tangle across the wood floor under her bed. This is the first thing she sees each morning. A constant reminder of the strength there is in stillness and considered action. Bend like the branches but be strong like the trunk, secure in the power of your roots. Her mother said as they worked on the tree.

Two more weeks and High School will be a thing of the past. The first day of the school year pops unbidden to the screen of her mind. She remembers her excitement at starting her Senior year. All summer her gang of friends planned for the year, they took their turn as the top of the food chain at Moon Lake High. Each class met at a designated location in the school building. Seniors met in the vestibule outside the Administration office. Excited chatter about college, scholarships, future plans bubbled up. This was to be their year. The year they leapt into adulthood and their future.

Walking into the building that fall morning, everything changed.

Hi, and welcome. Zoey offers her hand to the sour blond beauty who brushes by her.

Get out of my way, I don’t need to be welcomed, I’m going to own this school. She spits. And what’s with that hair? Did you put your fingers in a socket to get that look? The girl turned and demanded. What are you looking at? She turned on her heal to enter the Administration Office. Zoey just stood there with her hand out, dumbfounded. She was Cathy Craymer, daughter of Dr. Craymer who was the new owner of Craymer Pharmaceuticals, the largest employer in Moon Lake.

For the next few weeks Cathy used her father’s standing as a cudgel to bring the class to her way of thinking. Those who resisted joining with her were treated to a cruelty unheard of at Moon Lake High. She routinely reduced shy students to tears with demeaning comments about their clothes, looks, parents, whatever was their Achilles heal. Most knuckled under quickly.

Cathy’s cruelty never let up, there was no end to what her tongue could conjure. She took particular satisfaction in crushing Zoey. At first Zoey tried to stay out of her way. Her number of friends dwindled to three, she was left defenseless. As the weeks passed Zoey sank deeper into despair.

The final blow came when Chad Slade, her boyfriend of three years, reached the end of his ability to stand up for her and himself. From the beginning Cathy made it clear she wanted Chad to be her boy friend. She would walk by them in the hall and call out.

Hey Chad, dump that looser and come with me. I can be so nice. He tried to ignore her barbs, tried to defend Zoey. He wasn’t strong enough. Peer pressure began to crush him. Unlike Zoey, Chad had an out. He could be Cathy’s guy. It didn’t surprise her when he left her house, on a cold November night, apologizing and sorry. So sorry he just didn’t want to go with her any more. It was just too hard. She was heartbroken. The next day at school Cathy was on his arm. That night She told her parents she had the flu and spent the day before Thanksgiving in her room. She only told her mother when she brought her chicken soup. Mom sat down on her bed and gave her hugs. She knew her parents were worried, they knew she wasn’t sick but they respected her need to take a day to sort her feelings out.

After Chad she just didn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter what Cathy said or did. Through all of this Piper and Alan stood with her. They had been friends since nursery school, home schooled together through Eighth grade and in the same Homeroom Freshman year. When Chad no longer drove her to school, she reestablished her old habit of walking to school with them. For some reason Cathy couldn’t get to them. Zoey gained her equilibrium in their friendship. She learned to ignore Cathy, and that tweaked Cathy’s nose. With a sigh she whispers Almost over now.

Looking at her phone, she checks her Facepage account. Nothing new, just some funny videos of cats. She messages Piper and Alan.

Two more weeks! Guys OMG!

Wish we could skip till graduation day Piper messages back

Not me! I love the power. Grinning emoticon from Alan.

She ‘likes’ his post then opens her calendar. History test but no assignments for school. Fizzy! Pushing the blankets off and setting the little dog on the floor, Zoey stands. Want to go out? Fizzy barks and spins in excited circles. Zoey shoves her phone in the pocket of her Green Bay Packers sleep shorts. Shhh, Dog! You’ll wake the whole house. Come on, let’s go. She opens the door, the little dog still skipping with excitement, and heads downstairs. Fizzy is always the first one out in the morning. She’ll hear from the other two critters shortly, after she’s dressed she hopes.

Back in her room, her eyes rest on the Oak tree painted on the wall. The roots form a celtic knot under her bed, the center of her and the heart of the house. Her bed shelters under the tree. When she was ten, the tree started as a single leaf on her ceiling. First painted in green and then covered with phosphorescent paint, glowing after the lights went out. Over the years she and her mother added some touches. A robin’s nest with three baby birds greeted her after her tenth birthday, squirrels, one black, two gray, one gray with white paws scamper along the boughs after her twelfth birthday. A Multitude of leaves in green, tan, yellow, orange, red, new green and acorn clusters, appeared randomly over the years. The tree was complete now. Her Crann Bethadh, tree of life, her center.

Mrs Katz! The manx cat reaches from under the bed to bat at Zoey’s legs. Still trying to kill me I see! Zoey bends smiling and picks up the naughty cat. Are you looking for your morning fix of catnip? The cat buts her head against the arm that holds her and trills her answer. Mrs. Katz, you’re a junkie. Zoey scratches the cat under the chin and between her eyes as she smiles at the little mouser chirping happily in her arms as she carries her back downstairs.

Zoey opens the sliding glass doors to the fenced in backyard. Both she and Mrs. Katz watch Fizzy sniff the grass. Zoey holds the door open waiting, she’s not coming down again to let another animal out. Come on Clancy, time to go out. There’s the scrabbling sound of large dog nails seeking purchase on slick wood floors. Clancy, a big shaggy dog, skids around the corner making a beeline for the yorkie, rolling Fizzy over in play. Zoey sets Mrs. Katz down and fills her bowl with food adding a sprig of catnip. She presents it to the cat as if she were serving the Queen, with a flourish.

There you go you druggie, that should keep you happy for most of the day. Zoey fills the dog’s bowls with food and tops off the pet water dispenser. She bounces up the stairs to dress for school. Halfway up the stairs a shiver runs up her spine. She stops to consider and look around. Shaking her head to clear away the feeling, she walks into her room.

~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER THREE

Shivers

Dressed in her favorite blue and white striped polo shirt and jeans, Zoey absently bounces down the stairs to let the dogs in.

Making pancakes I see. She skips over to give her mother a hug.

Cecile Anderson, a Genetic Research Chemist, stands before the island counter top littered with measuring devices, bags and jars of ingredients. A fine dusting of flour covers the surfaces where the stand mixer shot it out when she added it to quickly. Sticky batter drips from the edge of the bowl. It amazes Zoey that her mother, anal in the lab, is such a sloppy cook.

Morning sunshine. Cecile is counting out seven perfect blueberries, pushing them into a pancake.

Pancakes, my favorite! I’m going to miss this next year at college. Cecile grins pushing a escaped red curl off her forehead with her arm. Zoey pours a glass of milk and drinks half in one big gulp. Where’s Dad?

In his study. He wanted to take one more look at the project presentation this morning, you know how he is. She winks at her daughter. One pancake or two?

Two please. Her nerdy parents with their strange views on life always set her world right with a giggle

I’ll call him. Zoey jumps down from her stool. Her mother is now furiously beating eggs with a wire whisk. Eggs, she says while whipping the egg whites, are delicate. A mixer would interfere with the flavor structure. She moves to another bowl taking up a clean whisk and begins to furiously incorporate air into yellow yokes. Cooking is a tactile process of the highest magnitude and a expression of love. She dumps the