The Guitar Wizard

By Northern Beaches Writers' Group and Zena Shapter

Fifteen-year-old Emerald O’Shea and her mother, Catherine, make a living wrangling their lion, Dhoruba, who’s been hired to appear at a rock concert. But when an anti-music group, the Aletheia, send Jack to steal the rock star’s guitar, Emerald’s true calling is discovered. If she doesn’t accept the unwanted gift sh

• Language: English
• Publisher: Northern Beaches Writers Group
• Release date: May 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648076575

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Lion Sleeps Tonight

She scanned the park, fenced off as it was for tonight’s rock concert, knowing she’d never see the guitar from this distance. Still, she was getting close. They were getting close. It had taken years of searching, enquiring, and suffering – the world was so loud it continually drowned out the beauty of silence. But today, there was less noise than usual. Today the sun was climbing its ecliptic arc, high for the solstice, and she could sense the messiness of the universe reaching its zenith. Today they finally had the information they needed: Oswald’s guitar was the Key to the chaos of the universe, and it would be exchanged today. Aletheia would triumph today. They would seize the Key and prevent it connecting to the new apprentice. Then they would save the world from itself. It was time everything became more uniform, orderly, quiet. She raised her placard and chanted again with the handful of Aletheia around her, all devoted to the cause, all dressed in grey like the sobriety they sought. Music is the Devil’s language, she shouted. Save our children! An orderly world is a safe world!

Meanwhile, Jack, the young man she’d tasked with stealing the Key, slunk towards an identified weak point in the chain link fence, slouching along in his loathsome trendy clothes. He was a useful pawn to be discarded as soon as they had what they wanted... Oswald’s guitar.

She smiled.

#

Dhoruba seemed to welcome the breeze ruffling his fuzzy mane as much as Emerald enjoyed it lifting her ponytail from her sticky-hot neck. She stopped singing to relish the momentary relief. Sydney was supposed to be cooler than this, even on the summer solstice, yet both her and the lion were panting as he slurped water from the trough of his temporary enclosure. She refilled it from a heavy bucket.

Might storm later, she told him, putting the bucket down and peeling off her long-sleeved top to the t-shirt underneath.

The overcast sky lay sullen over the park, gunmetal grey with looming thunderheads. The breeze, thick with greasy electrified dankness, hinted at brooding lightning. It rustled the leaves of a nearby tree, then drifted away.

I should have worn shorts, she mumbled, flapping out her t-shirt, then tying the top over her jeans. Mum did say. Should’ve listened, right, Dhoruba? Mum always knows.

Dhoruba flopped down onto the grass, eyelids heavy over big yellow eyes.

Big night for you tonight, she said, crouching beside him. Ostrogoth Oswald, Rock God, farewell concert of the decade – and you’re the special guest. She went to give him a scratch under the chin, stopped as her fingers hit the enclosure’s wire fence. When he was this relaxed, she’d usually scratch further under his chin, where his pale fur turned coppery and thickened into coarse strands that tufted together; he’d slowly roll onto his side, fall asleep. He was always the sleepiest after eating breakfast. But today he had to stay fenced in until show time. Sorry, D, it’s just for today, you know the drill – new places, new nerves. She hummed him his favourite song instead.

He closed his eyes and purred in a guttural rhythm of hums and puffs. He stayed like that even after Emerald’s song finished, glancing up only when she stood.

Get some rest, okay, Emerald said, smiling. They’ll be starting sound checks soon and you like your full twenty hours of sleep a day. Don’t want you all jittery tonight, do we? She tightened the long-sleeve around her waist. Nothing more scary than being up there in front a crowd of people in a strange place. All those eyes staring at you. She shuddered. "I couldn’t do what you do. Remember when I had to present my government assignment online to class the other week? Mr Guzman let me go first and turn off the camera, but I still couldn’t speak properly. Don’t worry, in the end he let me send in an essay."

Dhoruba shifted his paws, lowered his neck but tilted an ear towards her.

No, no more singing now. There’ll be much better music later. You’ll love it. I’ve got to go check the perimeter.

His ear stayed alert.

Emerald frowned. Dhoruba only tilted his ear like that when she was singing. Could he hear something she couldn’t? The main stage was finished now, as were the sound and lighting rigs, grandstands, marquees, food and drink stalls, and all the other stages, tents, huts, conduits, and myriad of other structures needed for a rock concert on the epic, biblical scale typical of Oswald, the acknowledged God of Rock. The great man was retiring after decades of rock ‘n’ roll superstardom, and would be shredding out his farewell set under the December sky.

But no one was singing yet.

Something twittered in the nearby tree. She glanced up expecting to see lorikeets or finches. Instead two echidnas raced around a branch.

Huh? She sat up straighter and peered through the leaves. I didn’t know echidnas climbed trees.

Sure enough, the more she looked the more their spines turned into feathers, and the more they hopped along rather than raced around a branch. Finches,