The Dangers of Being Brave & True

By Jan M. Goldie

Exiled Royalty.
Elemental Magic.
Evil Incarnate.

Torn from Earth, Brave Kingsfort lands alone in a wild new world. On the run from a ruthless tyrant, his unpredictable elemental power is the least of his worries until he discovers it might be his only way out.

True Harboursfort is determined to impress her parents but when a heart-breaking decision at the root of her family’s downfall is revealed, everything changes. Including herself. It’s terrifying. So why does it feel so good?
Forced to make an alliance, Brave and True must overcome their families’ lies to trust one another and survive, while deeply guarded mysteries lurk in the shadows, waiting to reshape their world forever.

May Balance be your guide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan M. Goldie
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781738595549

Jan M. Goldie

I’m a New Zealand based author working on a YA fantasy series. First book, The Dangers of Being Brave & True is available now. Book 2 of the Broken Spell series is out in early 2024.I love to write songs, novellas, books and short stories and hope these will transport you to worlds you remember, alongside characters you love.When I'm not writing or staring into space (aka working on what I'll write next), I'm hanging with family, watching movies, reading, listening to music or traveling. Sometimes all at once.More details at jmgoldie.comInstagram: @authorjmgoldieTikTok: @jmgoldie

Book preview

image-placeholder

Prologue

It began as a tingle on his upper lip. A blanket of white hairs on the back of his arms lifted, and fear crept up his spine to lodge in his mouth like a gag.

Grand Master Wordhaven? she said, sarcasm in every syllable.

He closed his eyes, the past playing across his inner sight like a play at the Riverside theater; Swift’s wilted body when they’d found her, the desperation on his children’s faces as they’d fled to safety, so far away. Then, unexpectedly, the cool clear streams of Far Forreston appeared, the place he’d first met his wife all those years ago. Was he about to join her?

A powerful blast of pressured air boxed his ears, and he blocked it weakly, clinging to the old knapsack that concealed what silver he had left. Wordhaven convulsed involuntarily, his aging body rejecting the foul reek of her power. As always, in her hands, the elements felt…diseased.

The unexpected crack of dry wood had him spinning as the roots of the trees beneath his feet broke, and tendrils more used to seeking water in the depths of the earth reared up to secure his ankles, yanking him to his knees, the bag sprawling its glinting contents across the pine needle carpet. Quickly, he flicked his fingers and muttered ancient words to the stream, his last hope, but he was too late.

Drop, she said, arrowing the spell with casual force, and he did, slamming face down.

Feather-soft steps, the brush of auburn curls against his cheek and hot breath in his ear, as she crouched low.

Gotcha, she said. Her satisfaction tainted the forest’s pure air with spite.

image-placeholder

Chapter 1

Brave crouched behind the dirty, yellow bin. The wall was hard against his backpack and the rubbish way too close to his nose. The stench of old food and wet carpet hung in the air.

He breathed fast. His throat ached. His heart pounded.

Were they still after him?

Footsteps pounded, and he held his breath. If they found him here, he’d be toast. Since last week in math when he’d corrected her in front of the whole class, Riley had internalized a life goal to torture him. Now just looking her way appeared to kickstart some kind of warped revenge mindset. She and her minions hadn’t managed to corner him yet, but it was only a matter of time.

There was a shout from the other side of the wall. He heard Riley laugh in excitement.

Keeping still, he squeezed his eyes shut for a nanosecond and wished he could fly. Or disappear. Or shrink. Mom said his superpower was asking questions. Maybe. But lately he’d decided his only real ability was being unremarkable.

You can call me…Captain Average, he whispered to the pavement.

He’d have to make a run for it soon. There was a stone in his school shoe, and his backpack clung like a sweaty lump of concrete. He needed to pee.

Greetings, loser, said a voice.

Riley perched on the narrow wall above. She looked pleased with herself, like she’d just learned how to spell.

Thought I’d get a better view from here, she said, grinning. But turns out all I can see is trash.

Brave straightened, ready to sprint. He could hear her mob of friends approaching. She wobbled. He hesitated. He could run now, or was this his big chance? He watched Riley stand, balance, and beckon her friends over. Man, she was tall.

Great footwork, he said, voice squeaking. Are you a gymnast?

Huh? she said.

He kicked himself mentally. Stupid thing to say.

You know, a gymnast. Beam, bars, trampoline? He couldn’t stop talking.

Shut up, freak face, she hissed.

Clouds skidded across the sky, and the afternoon sun made a halo around her head. Her giant feet were within reach.

He could hear the others somewhere on the other side.

Come on, Aiden, he’s over here! Riley yelled back. She teetered again, trying to keep her balance. Sticking one arm out to the side, she swung her right leg wide to counterbalance.

Could you be a ballerina? said Brave, testing her. Nureyev? Fonteyn? Billy Elliot? He bit his lip to stop himself saying more.

Do you ever shut up? Riley glanced away, madly gesturing to her crew. She swayed again, almost falling.

Brave stepped out from the shadow of the bin. He pulled his phone from his pocket, framed the shot, and hit record. Then he took a step forward, reached for Riley’s ankle, and shoved.

She spotted him but staggered, trying to keep footing on the narrow surface, arms pinwheeling. She folded into a sitting position, lost balance, and fell. There was a muffled yell, a thump, and a lot of swearing.

And…cut, whispered Brave, pressing pause.

Fingertips gripped the top of the wall, and Aiden’s puffy, red face appeared.

You’re going to get it this time, Kingsfort!

The other two hauled themselves up before Brave pocketed his phone. He turned, threw one last look over his shoulder, and burned off around the corner to the park. He hugged the trees, avoided the playground, and cut through a narrow walkway to Falcon Street. Stopping to catch his breath, he took a quick look back. Three monsters were hot on his tail, running at top speed across the open grass.

Brave hesitated, then raised his phone. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was going to be an epic vid. He kept it rolling until Aiden was within spitting distance, hit pause, then spun and ran. Reaching his front gate, he battled with the latch.

Mom! he yelled. He nearly had it, when the battered old thing stuck. It had been raining the night before. Mom, the gate’s swollen again. A little help here! he yelled, panicking.

Mommm, echoed a voice.

Riley and her underlings approached at a run, but when they saw he was cornered, slowed to a confident swagger. Aiden was puffing but trying not to show it.

Calling for your mom isn’t gonna help you, geek, said Riley. Brave looked at the grass stains beading blood on her shins. He shoved his backpack hard against the gate, willing it to budge. His legs shook. The gate stayed put.

Give us the phone, said Aiden.

Brave shook his head. His heartbeat drummed behind his eyes. Aiden’s face went from sweaty pink to deep beetroot.

Hand it over, he said through gritted teeth.

Brave stared hard.

Stop freaking staring at me, said Aiden, and suddenly dived forward, going straight for him, head down, shoulders like battering rams.

Oh, brother, said Brave, stepping aside as the boy was about to make contact. Aiden’s nose hit the wood. Hard. It made an ugly, crunching sound, and it also opened the gate.

Aiden screamed. The others stepped back, unsure what to do. Brave hopped over him and ran up his garden path.

He found the safety of the front porch and waved. None of them would be stupid enough to enter the property. Not with his mother’s reputation.

Riley shook her fist. You come back here, you piece of…

What’s going on? asked Mom, opening the front door. The familiar smells and sounds of home gathered around her and dissipated into the open air. She eyed him calmly.

Nothing, said Brave.

Mrs. Kingsfort, your son injured my friend Aiden here, said Riley, hovering at the gate. She put on her best suck up voice.

Correction, said Brave, feeling more confident with distance between them. The gate injured Aiden.

His mom sailed down the path, chin held high. When she wasn’t looking, he started filming again. She approached the open gate and leaned over to inspect the boy’s nose. Aiden was still sitting on the ground, holding it. A small stream of blood leaked into his mouth. The others kept back, wary of getting too close.

Brave was wishing he had a better view when his mom turned to the side as if on cue.

It doesn’t look broken, she said.

How would you know? Aiden snarled.

She ran out of patience, leaning over to tap Aiden’s nose and pull him squealing to his feet.

There, she said. That wasn’t so bad, was it? If it was broken then it would be hurting a whole lot more.

You’re a nutcase! he howled, stumbling out of her reach. The others were edging back onto the sidewalk.

No, I’m a person who doesn’t put up with bullies, she said serenely. Now, get your sorry butts off my property and don’t come back. Next time, pick on someone your own size and IQ. If I catch you anywhere near my son again, I’ll turn you into blobfish.

Brave chuckled at the looks on their faces. He zoomed in on Aiden’s bleeding nose then panned to Riley as her mouth dropped open. What the hell is a blobfish? she asked.

An improvement on you! Brave called, trying not to laugh.

Riley narrowed her eyes, and he could see the hatred written across her face. But all she said was, Come on, let’s go.

She gave him the finger then whirled away. The others followed.

Brave panned back to Mom walking along the path. The jangle of her jewelry made a furious accompaniment to her steps. The close-up on her face was terrifying.

image-placeholder

Chapter 2

On the screen, Brave watched his mom approach, arms swinging in time with her flowery skirt. The little bells on the bracelets she wore tinkled with ferocity. She streamed past him with the wafting scent of patchouli oil and a confusing mix of anger and triumph written across her face.

Put that damn thing away.

He shoved the phone in his pocket. That lot were idiots. What was the big deal? He glanced over the front yard to make sure they were gone. Thank God his mom had been home. A truck rolled by, shaking the house. A car horn blared, and somewhere nearby a door slammed. Brave followed Mom inside.

He found her in the kitchen searching for something. She was muttering under her breath. Chamomile, must calm down, then louder, Where the hell is the tea strainer?

Brave held out the tiny metal sieve, and she swiped it off him, her lips flattened in disapproval as she met his eye.

It’s not my fault, he whined, throwing his school bag to the floor.

Why did they chase you? she asked, settling the tea strainer over her cup and putting the kettle on. She leaned back against the counter, rolling the silver chain at her neck in agitation.

I don’t know, he said, eyes to the ground.

Brave?

He didn’t reply. He noticed the floor hadn’t been swept for a while. He felt her eyes on him, waiting. She never got it. Dad might have understood, but there was no use thinking about that. He shrugged.

She sighed through her nose and brushed wisps of dark brown hair behind her ears, hoop earrings getting in the way. The kettle finished boiling, and she turned to make tea. Brave made it halfway down the hall.

Lunchbox and drink bottle! she yelled.

He thumped back, hauled them out of his bag, and smacked them down on the kitchen bench, then turned to escape.

Come and eat a prune muffin, she said.

Gotta take a leak, he said.

Mind your manners, she said. And wash your hands!

He had to post that video and write something funny. He had followers now, especially among the older kids at school, and they’d love this!

Brave!

Yep!

Do your practice, she said.

Awww, Mom!

I spent a lot of money on that instrument, and you’ve worked too hard to give it up now.

Soon! He pulled a face at the shiny instrument balanced on the edge of his bookshelf. Lame, nerdy trumpet. He grabbed it, puffed out a few notes, and threw it on his bed. What was the point? Why did she always nag him?

Brave thought about Riley. If he posted this video then she’d know who’d done it. Was it worth it? No one out there was ever interested in anything he had to say in real life, but online he got lots of comments and people chatted to him. Maybe if he stood up for himself for once and owned it, he’d make some friends. Brave stared at his keyboard. Computers were easy, they never answered back or made demands. Better than any friend. He sighed. It couldn’t hurt to upload the file, do a bit of creative editing, then he’d make the call.

He threw open his bedroom window, kicked off his school sandals and changed into ripped jeans and a t-shirt.

Hunting around for his charger cable, he didn’t hear anyone approach until it was too late.

Hey, buttcrack, said a familiar voice.

He whirled to find Riley’s head poking through the window.

What are you doing here? Brave glanced at his closed bedroom door, half hoping Mom had heard. He could hear her chatting on the phone.

Be afraid, be very afraid, said Riley, grinning.

Brave raised his hands to head height like a bad guy in the movies.

She smirked. Now, nice and slowly, I want you to delete the video and give me the phone.

Brave closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and did what he was told. He sighed as he clicked delete. All that work, all that running, such a waste. He held the phone out.

Here, have it. It’s a crap phone anyway, he lied.

Riley wobbled, trying to get her elbows over the window ledge. There was a low grunt from outside. She glared down at someone, then her attention snapped back to Brave.

Throw it out the window, loser, she said.

Brave sent her a wild look.

Do it!

Brave heaved the phone, just missing her head. She dodged to one side and glared daggers at him.

Got it! yelled one of the minions.

Riley smirked. Didn’t think we’d give up on you that easily, did you?

Leave me alone, he said, trying to sound hardcore. His voice trembled, but then he remembered the video was probably in the cloud. He cheered up a bit.

Or what? she sniggered, surveying the bedroom like she owned the place. Not bad, Kingsfort. Surprised it’s so normal. Thought you’d have weirdo hippy prayer mats and crystal curtains. Thought your mom would be in here with the incense and the potions cooking frog’s balls.

Brave shook his head. The kids at school called his mom a witch because she made herbal remedies. When they found out his dad had been killed in a car accident, he became known as the freaky geeky witch’s son with no dad. The kids at his school were super unstable.

Where do you keep the broomsticks? she asked conversationally.

Someone guffawed below, and Riley had to grab the window frame as she swayed to one side.

Keep still, you dickhead! she yelped, looking down.

You try lifting your fat butt. One of the gang sniggered as he strained. …oh, wait, you do it every day! This brought more laughter, and Riley tightened her grip on the ledge, face turning pink. She focused on Brave.

Nice computer. Cost you much? She didn’t wait for an answer. Or did deadbeat daddy buy it for you before he kicked the bucket?

Brave felt a small, hard sphere of anger growing inside him. It ate away his fear, and he liked the shape of it. He locked eyes on Riley, trying to keep his face straight, trying to control the fury. Outside, a gust of wind buffeted the house, picking up dirt and showering her with grit.

Woah, said a voice below. Riley blinked the dust from her eyes and continued.

Brave Kingsfort is a weird name, isn’t it? A weird name for a nerdy kid, she said.

Brave’s focus narrowed. A chill wind chased rolling clouds across the sky, gathering to block out the sun.

Almost sounds like a character in a new reality show. We could call it…the Freak Show.

His hands formed fists. His mouth was a tight, hard line. The wind howled around the house, throwing branches from side to side and tossing Riley’s mess of wavy, blonde hair. A summer storm brewed fast.

With a nervous glance at the worsening weather, Riley tried and failed to heave herself into the room. A blast of air rattled her supporters. She gripped the windowsill hard and looked over her shoulder. The gust bullied into Brave’s room, sweeping paper from the desk and knocking over a potted plant. His trumpet shuddered and tumbled to the floor with a thump. Brave could see the clouds turn swiftly from gray to an angry purple as the gale hurtled around the house and Riley struggled to balance.

Get down! shouted Aiden. We can’t hold on much longer. Something strange is going on out here.

She ignored them. Awww, poor Bravey, she said. Did daddy die and leave the freak show all alone?

Brave snapped. He lowered his head and charged, arms outstretched to destroy.

Lightning turned the air crispy, and seconds later a clap of thunder like a bomb going off shook the house. Riley’s crew squealed in fright and collapsed, and as Brave’s fist was about to smash, she disappeared below.

He glared out the window, furious. She’d landed on her butt in the thick, uncut grass. Big drops of rain splashed the warm asphalt path, and leaves and dirt whirled in circles. Brave watched her stagger in the swirling dust and stumble off. His frustration boiled within him like a volcano threatening to erupt. He growled into the electric air, and the storm thundered and groaned in harmony.

Come back here! he yelled.

His mom burst in through the door.

Stop it, calm down!

She grabbed his shoulders and spun him towards her.

Is it you? she asked, eyes wide.

What? he yelled over the din of the storm.

Messing with the weather!

What do you mean? A branch broke off the nearest tree and smashed to the ground.

Look at me, quick, she said. He met her worried gaze.

She held her palm to his face, spread fingers as if she were about to wave and stared at him intently.

Calm, she commanded.

A warm, bronze-colored light spread from her palm and across Brave’s face, seeming to sink into his mind. He relaxed instantly. His eyes closed, the boiling in his blood simmered to a silent pond, and the tension drained from his body. He felt like taking a nap. On a cloud. Through his lashes, the light in Mom’s hand flickered and glowed like sunlight through a canopy. For long moments he forgot Riley, he forgot the storm, he nearly forgot his mom.

Brave, she whispered.

Hmmm? He opened his eyes.

"Never do that again."

Do what? he asked.

Outside, the sky had reversed into an arrogant bright blue. A bird hopped from branch to ruined branch, and birdsong filled the afternoon. The daisies along the fence line danced in a warm breeze. No sign of Riley or her monkeys.

What…just…happened?

His mom led him over to the bed and made him sit down.

Nothing, she said, patting his shoulder. Maybe you hit your head or something.

You had a light coming out of your hand!

She sucked in the side of her mouth and crossed her arms.

You caught that, did you?

Um, yes! he squeaked, unable to keep his voice calm. What’s going on? Where did the storm go, and come to think of it, where did it come from? And how come you can suddenly project a weird alien light beam?

She ran her fingers through her hair. Let me think, she said. She paced and muttered, stopped to stare out of the window, but then the pacing and muttering continued.

Brave fidgeted. His dad had always told him Mom, Honor Kingsfort, was unique. Brave knew most people described her as a complete spacehead. So harsh, but even he could see she didn’t react the way other people did. Sometimes she paused just a beat too long before replying, as if she was mentally testing the air. Other times, instead of answering a question, she’d stare off into space as if trying to connect her brain to non-existent Wi-Fi. It was as if she walked the world on the lookout for a quality that simply wasn’t there. It had gotten worse since his dad had passed away. Sometimes he wished for a typical mother, like the ones he saw at the school gate, chatting on their phones in minivans. Honor didn’t even own a phone. She wasn’t typical in any way. Dad had always said she was special, but he’d never mentioned a calming light-hand.

The weirdness didn’t stop people coming by for her remedies though; for love potions, tea leaf readings, and so on. In fact, if anything, it gave her credibility. He heaved a sigh. He knew it wasn’t his father’s fault he’d died, but sometimes he could really do with another male around the house.

The smell of newly cut grass and petrol fumes, hot and fresh, wafted in on the late afternoon breeze. Mom had done her best over the last couple of years, but Dad had always been the cheerful one.

She stopped pacing and stared at him. He glared back for what seemed like ages until he could feel the frustration about to burst out.

What?!

The wind howled.

She held up a finger. No! she said, as if she scolded a bad puppy.

What did I do?

She swallowed hard.

Oh, Brave, you’ve got so much to learn.

The doorbell rang. They both jumped in fright.

I’ll get it, she said. Don’t do anything, don’t move, and above all, don’t get…mad.

Brave’s face screwed up in confusion as she disappeared down the hallway.

His computer beeped. A message. He reached for his phone out of habit and swore. Shaking the mouse, he opened the chat.

We’ll be back.

It was from Riley.

image-placeholder

Chapter 3

He wondered what his nemesis would do next. He’d spent a stupid amount of time lately either avoiding the bullies or inventing impossible payback scenarios.

Favorite Scenario 1: Invent shrinking serum to make Riley the size of a snail, then step on her.

Scenario 2: Put one of Mom’s laxative remedies into Riley’s drink bottle and sit back with popcorn to watch the re-runs.

Actually, that one was a possibility. He really thought he’d had them with the falling off the wall video. Riley truly was his arch enemy, and a pain in the butt. Still, even he had to admit, the whole thing took far too much space in his head. He needed a new internal narrative. Pronto.

We have a visitor, said Mom, appearing in his bedroom doorway.

A muscly, olive-skinned man followed her in. His intense gaze fixed on Brave as if he sighted him down the eye of a rifle.

Dear Arva, said the man. His voice rang deep and slightly accented.

Brave stuffed hands in pockets. He was used to this. Strangers always reacted to him, and it was boring. He had light brown eyes and gold hair, get over it?

I know, said Mom. Like his father and grandfather. The color of a Kingsfort.

The man nodded. That extraordinary mix of caramel and gold.

Who was this guy? He waited for her to explain. There was definitely something familiar about him. Long, dark brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail, not that tall, but he was built. Brave could see it in the way his clothes hung off his shoulders like they were coat hangers. Maybe a new yoga friend?

The adults moved out of his room and headed for the living room, ignoring him.

Honor, I came as soon as I could. What happened?

It was Brave.

He followed them into the large room. She spoke to this guy like she’d known him all her life.

Are you certain?

Definitely.

How’s that possible? How much does he know? asked the man.

Nothing, she replied.

He raised heavy brows in surprise.

I thought you would have told him by now. I always believed you and Battle should have started his training a long time ago, but…

Give it a rest, she snapped. Brave watched Mom hide her irritation. Do you recognize this man, buddy? she said.

Nope.

Brave leaned against the doorframe, folded his arms, and waited for some answers. The kitchen and lounge area were flooded with violet and blue light. That was part of the reason they’d moved here after Dad died. Mom had loved the effect of the late afternoon sun shining through the high, violet stained-glass windows and the privacy provided by the overgrown garden. She’d taken to the house the instant she’d walked