Jason Wu and the Kidnapped Stories

By Matt Mikalatos

A cursed city.
A hidden enemy.
An ancient wrong.

Bumbling goofball Jason Wu reunites with the incomparable warrior Baileya in an attempt to find a happy ending for a city of people who are frozen in time, unable to connect with the outside world.

This standalone story takes place between The Heartwood Crown and The Story King, from The Sunlit Lands series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
• Release date: Jun 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781496462206

Matt Mikalatos

Matt Mikalatos works for a non-profit dedicated to helping people live better, fuller lives. He has done non-profit work all over the world, and he and his family lived in Asia for several years. He currently lives in the Portland, Oregon area with his wife and three daughters.

Book preview

Jason Wu and the Kidnapped Stories

Visit Tyndale online at tyndale.com.

Visit the author’s website at thesunlitlands.com.

Tyndale and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Ministries. Wander and the Wander logo are trademarks of Tyndale House Ministries. Wander is an imprint of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois.

Jason Wu and the Kidnapped Stories

Copyright © 2020 by Matt Mikalatos. All rights reserved.

Cover illustration copyright © Matt Griffin. All rights reserved.

Designed by Dean H. Renninger

Edited by Sarah Rubio

The author is represented by Ambassador Literary Agency, Nashville, TN.

Jason Wu and the Kidnapped Stories is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the story are drawn from the author’s imagination.

ISBN 978-1-4964-6219-0 (Kindle e-book)

ISBN 978-1-4964-6220-6 (ePub e-book)

ISBN 978-1-4964-6221-3 (Apple e-book)

Build: 2021-05-25 17:15:32 EPUB 3.0

The Story King will tell a new tale,

the vineyards shall bear grapes.

The orchards heavy with fruit,

the high plain will bear the mašgurum tree.

Another turning shall come,

the city rebuilt, the gates rehung.

The people will again be many.

O Keeper of Stories!

O your house!

O your city!

O your people!

FROM THE DESERTED CITY, A KAKRI LAMENT

Trees with bare branches around the bottom border of the page.

Contents

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Jason Wu and the Kidnapped Stories

Rays of light.

At night in the deep desert, Jason Wu could hear the gentle chime of the crystal spheres brushing against one another. The stars turned together on one great sphere, the planets on a second, closer sphere, and then, even closer, the moon sphere rolled overhead. There were crickets, too, a chorus of them. In the hours before dawn, when the sun sphere was close to rolling over the horizon, a desert toad would greet the morning with deep harrumphs. Sometimes there would be the high yip of a wylna, though when Mother Crow heard that sound, she would hurry Jason into a tent or cave while she stoked the fire higher, even if the wylna sounded far off.

There was no camp and no fire tonight, and though they had been walking under the moon’s blue light for over an hour, Jason still shivered in the chill night air. The crickets were silent now; the only sound was the brush of Mother Crow’s ragged cape across the sand and Jason’s own thoughts.

Some stories are day stories, the old woman had told him yesterday, and some stories belong to the night.

And some stories are for after lunch and just before nap time, he had said immediately, licking the grease off his fingers. Mother Crow had managed to catch a quail for their lunch, which Jason liked a great deal more than the stringy lizards she usually provided. Jason liked lizards just fine, but not to eat.

Mother Crow laughed—a sound he had grown to cherish these last few months—and nodded. Yes, it’s true. Before-nap stories are popular with children and old men.

What about old women? Jason asked, taking the kettle off the fire and filling Mother Crow’s cup.

Someone has to tell the story, and someone has to listen. Among the Kakri, the after-lunch-before-nap story is the realm of old women.

He hung the kettle back on the hook over the fire and flopped down on the carpet. She had shown up in camp one day with it, laying it out with glee between their tents and the campfire. It had significantly altered how much sand got in his blankets, which is to say that now it was more like a cup of sand in his bed instead of a gallon. What sort of stories are they?

She cackled at that. Although the old woman had invited him into the desert to learn the Kakri ways, stories were never free. Among the Kakri, stories were life, stories were currency, stories were power. Boring ones. So the children and old men will sleep, and the women can have a few minutes of peace.

Jason rolled his eyes and threw another stick into the flames. Mother Crow liked to keep the fire burning through the day, though sometimes she banked the embers and they ate dried meat or fruit until dinner. But Mother Crow liked hot tea, and often enough she’d keep the fire stoked hot, even in the middle of the afternoon.

Some stories belong to the night, Jason said, musing on her words. Scary stories, I guess.

That’s one kind, yes. Stories about the stars or the moon. Stories about home being far off and loved ones lighting candles at the threshold. Stories about loss and loneliness are sweeter, sometimes, in the night.

So are you going to tell me one of those stories tonight?

Mother Crow’s voice fell into a sing-song pattern, and she said,

Tonight we sleep

like the lost city.

Tomorrow for tales.

The next night we walk.

The sleeper awakes

so we must sweep sand.

The sleeper awakes;

we must fill fountains.

The sleeper awakes,

so we must keep watch.

When the sleeper sleeps—

oh, we shall sing then.

Jason raised his eyebrows. I’m not a hundred percent sure, but that sounds like a no.

Mother Crow did not smile or even turn to look at him. She looked out beyond their camp, toward the brownish-red outcroppings of rock to the west. Her eyes seemed sad. Tomorrow is Watchday, she said. Tonight we will sleep early, and tomorrow there will be no chores. We will meet the Kakri at the lost town, the enchanted city of Yndilia.

Jason’s heart leapt into his throat. "Meet the Kakri? Like, all the