Peter Thorn & The Ring of Honor

By N.A. Abington

Middle grade fantasy novel about a twelve year old boy who accidentally stumbles onto another realm with his sister, and about his magical adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Publishers USA
• Release date: Jan 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9781963179330

Book preview

Peter Thorn

&

The Ring of Honor

By

N.A. Abington

Copyright © 2023 N.A. Abington

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

ISBN:

E-Book 978-1-963179-33-0

Paperback 978-1963179-34-7

Hardcover 978-1-963179-35-4

Dedication

To my brother Aloysius. Without you, some parts of Peter Thorn wouldn’t exist.

Acknowledgments

To my friends and family, for supporting me both emotionally and financially in this writing journey. Peter Thorn wouldn’t be here without you.

To my fourth grade teacher Mr.Carpenter, because without your faith in my abilities, I might have never picked up a book.

Finally, to everyone at Writers of Usa for helping me bring this project from just paper and ink to this majestic book. The work we put in throughout the last couple of months has finally come to life.

About the Author

N.A.Abington is a part time author, but more importantly, a reader. Aside from writing, she is also a marathon runner and former Cross Country athlete.

Contents

Chapter 1: The Livent Family

Chapter 2: Jewelry Thief

Chapter 3: The Three Realms

Chapter 4: Expressway to Bighorn

Chapter 5: Once A Thorn, Always A Thorn

Chapter 6: The Beast Beyond the Balcony

Chapter 7: Twitchers

Chapter 8: The Ring of Honor

Chapter 9: Uncle Alfie’s Cabin

Chapter 10: Master’s Henchmen

Chapter 11: The Mid-Year Match

Chapter 12: The Parcel & The Package

Chapter 13: A Siblings’ Detour

Chapter 14: A Soon to Be Family Reunion

Chapter 15: The Key to Many Doors

Chapter 16: The Council of Bighorn

Chapter 1: The Livent Family

It was just on the verge of twilight that Mr. Livent came to the realization that he had spent the whole night at the law firm. He had been so caught up in reading and tabulating his old files that he hadn’t noticed everyone else had left. It was standard, of course. Out of everyone at Phoenix’s Family Law Firm, Mr. Livent always thought that he was the most diligent.

He had spent all afternoon finishing up a divorce case, which he had obviously won. His co-workers had offered to take him out for dinner, but of course, he refused. Mr. Livent wasn’t fond of wasting his well-deserved money on lavish food. He was a miser but exceptionally proud of that and himself as he found himself having better judgment than his dull-witted co-workers.

Mr. Livent found it unwise to leave for home as dawn would strike in a few hours. His senior lawyer, a plump-faced, well-upholstered woman whom he secretly despised, had offered him a pay raise if he worked extra hours, which he couldn’t bring himself to neglect. Personally, Mr. Livent thought he deserved more, but Christina Jenkins was a stubborn woman to convince otherwise.

As Mr. Livent went to refill his bare porcelain mug, a towering silhouette leaned against him in a tackling gesture.

"You," muttered Mr. Livent.

Carter, Mr. Livent’s one and only undergrad assistant, stared back at him. He pulled away from Mr. Livent, an idiotic grin smudged across his face. Carter held up his hands, which held two small bottles of blended Irish whiskey. He then pulled out the cork and took one long gulp. Mr. Livent watched in bewilderment as Carter’s cheeks turned a more vivid form of red with every sip.

Mr. Livent firmly placed his arms around Carter, steering Carter to his office, which was one hot pile of a mess. "I asked you to do one thing…one thing…and you bring back a bottle."

Mr. Livent’s office smelled strongly of soggy cartons. His wallpaper paint was stained and old, as it hadn’t been replaced in a decade. It was a grim umber color, with tiny spider web patterns streaked in dull beige. At the corner of the room was a bookshelf with every case file Mr. Livent had been involved in for the last twelve years. At the center of the room was a wooden desk with a dangling pale fan above.

Carter took a seat on Mr. Livent’s evergreen bean bag beside the bookshelf. It’s really time you started going home; you can’t hide here forever.

Mr. Livent snorted. Is that really the conclusion you came to? That I’m hiding here?

That matter was a topic discussed over the last couple of weeks, although a clear conclusion was never reached. Carter always had his accusations, but he never crossed the line, as he was still an undergrad and wasn’t ready to jeopardize his career. 

You’ve avoided going home…for days now, haven’t you? You have the responsibility of two children, …especially…especially with your wife not being around, stammered Carter.

They’re not children…they’re brats, especially the boy; his attitude grows faster than his height, complained Mr. Livent, a furious snarl coating his mouth.

Carter threw his empty whiskey bottle and cork into the trash bin but missed by a great distance. Shortly after, the sound of disintegrating glass quivered through the condensed room. He moved pathetically to find a broom while Mr. Livent watched like an upset teacher. Mr. Livent hated clumsy people, but unfortunately for him, Carter was all he had got. As embarrassing as it was, Carter was Mr. Livent’s only friend.

You still haven’t answered my question.... You know I won’t tell anyone else, commenced Carter, as he scraped the glass splinters from the dustpan to the trash bin.

It seems the older they grow, the closer they come to the truth and the closer they come to the same fate as their mother—not that I care about them, not after what that witch did to me. It’s just I don’t want to have the responsibility of…them?

Carter passed another bottle, and before the two men knew it, they had lost their stable consciousness. Both were overwhelmed with sadness; Carter had recently lost his mother because of heart failure, and Mr. Livent was tired of his life with his two children.

John, started Carter, addressing Mr. Livent by his first name, which rarely any of Mr. Livent’s co-workers did, and especially not an undergrad. Your wife Neah is gone…. It’s been eight years since her disappearance and you don’t have to keep dwelling on it. Move on!

Stop asking me to confide in you when you don’t believe half the things I say! snapped Mr. Livent, his eyes a swelling shade of red from the lack of sleep he received over the last few days. "She didn’t disappear; she left on purpose and I’m sure of it! She left me with her offspring whom she clearly didn’t want. I guess I can’t blame her…. Those two are the most undisciplined, obscene pair of brats that I have seen in my whole life."

Mr. Livent had avoided the conversation about his wife with Carter for the last year, but today, it just seemed to slip. Nonetheless, it felt rather gratifying to Mr. Livent to finally be able to release the resentment he had been building towards her for the last eight years.

Carter let out a rather audible belch, his eyes appearing misty. If you don’t like your children, get rid of them. You are a lawyer, aren’t you? You can come to your own defense.

If Carter had thought Mr. Livent would share his sense of humor, he was wrong. Mr. Livent’s tired but mild face turned to that of an angry statue. His features became preserved, his muscles trying their best to keep calm. Mr. Livent was fond of Carter, but occasionally, especially on the nights that he would surfeit, he couldn’t help but treat Carter like his other undergrads: with a clear warning that their future was in his hands.

Mr. Livent spoke in a loud, piercing voice. "I can’t just send them to an orphanage or just leave them in the middle of a forest. If I did that, do you have any idea what people are going to say about me? As if that Thorn didn’t make my reputation bad enough! If I leave them, people are going to say…they’re going to know about those…those loathsome brats."

Carter squinted his eyes - a look that Mr. Livent was very familiar with. Carter was curious, except in more of a bad way.

Am I to assume that you have nothing to do and would like to contribute to the investigation we have to finish by Wednesday? asked Mr. Livent harshly, altering the conversation.

But… I wasn’t—

Just drop it!

Carter straightened himself on the bean bag while his fingers fidgeted with the whiskey bottle. He wasn’t appreciative of Mr. Livent’s rudeness, as to him, he was fervently about to do Mr. Livent a major favor. What I meant when I said get rid of them was to send them to a boarding school…so you won’t have to see them for a whole year…. It could be like they never existed.

You really don’t understand! I’m not spending a single dime on either of them.

"My cousin’s fiancé’s father is the headmaster at St. Denis’s School for Troubled Youth, so I could get both of your children free scholarships there if...if you sign off my diploma."

Mr. Livent wasn’t surprised that it had something to do with Carter’s diploma. Carter had been constantly galling him for weeks, but Mr. Livent never found him qualified enough.

Free scholarship? inquired Mr. Livent.

For seven years! You just have to see them for the summer; that’s better than seeing them every day, Carter said resolutely, seeing Mr. Livent seriously considering his offer.

When does this…school start?

I’m pretty sure Bianca said…a week from now.

It seemed rather strange to get a free scholarship for seven years, but Carter wasn’t one to lie, especially when his diploma was at stake. Carter had tried many ways to bribe Mr. Livent, but this was the first time he had even gotten close.

***

The thought of the free scholarship had Mr. Livent musing for the span of the day. He had finally agreed to sign off Carter’s diploma, which had Carter overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of finally retiring from being Mr. Livent’s assistant, even though he partly enjoyed their exclusive gatherings.

For the first time in days, Mr. Livent had thought of going home, as he spent the last week working and sleeping in his soggy, compact office. It was rather peaceful and productive for Mr. Livent to be left alone in a small space as he gave time dominant importance when ascending a path to becoming wealthier.

As Mr. Livent made more than average Phoenix households, some would assume that he had a mansion, or at the very least a luxury, two-story home. But, like lavish food, Mr. Livent found an expensive home, another insignificant reason to pitch money on. His official home was on Verlia Street, which was where the wealthy people of Phoenix lived. His home was the apartment-sized shed (formerly part of a villa) that was bought from a blind woman about a decade ago for an incredibly low price. 

Though Mrs. Wormling (the former owner) said the shed was not worth the time, Mr. Livent thought otherwise. He managed to transform the toppled shed into a two-room with an intersecting living room/kitchen house with just a few days of concentrated cleaning and economical furniture.

***

The first sight that Mr. Livent saw once he entered the shed was his eleven-year-old daughter Jenny with the homeless ginger cat she had adopted. Jenny was a blonde with bushy hair and bangs, olive eyes, high cheekbones, and thin lips. Compared to all the other children on that street, she was extremely scraggly. In fact, some of the neighbors made it their mission to remind Mr. Livent on a daily basis that she was as fragile as an infant and that she should be fed more.

When Jenny first noticed her father, her emotions were metamorphosing all around the place. As a child who had been abandoned for a week, she had every reason to be resentful.

You finally showed up, remarked Jenny, her voice a little remote.  

Yeah…. Guess you’d finally learn what it’s like to feed for yourself once I’m gone. I’m amazed you worthless brats managed by yourself for that long…or did you have to call the neighbors or something? disputed Mr. Livent, a sign of wickedness in his voice.

Jenny annexed her eyebrows. "We were actually fine. Besides, it’s not like you’re home, so we learned to manage by ourselves a long time ago."

I’ll be home more often, but you won’t, snapped Mr. Livent. He had made up his mind; he would accept the scholarship.

Jenny’s confusion stayed, but Mr. Livent had already gotten to his favorite home routine. He already flung himself against the battered sofa, thrust his files onto the coffee table, and got ready to take his hard-earned nap.

Are there any more yeasted buns? called a sleepy voice from the bedroom, dragging himself to the kitchen. Mr. Livent’s resentment toward his daughter was nothing compared to the hatred he held towards his son. It wasn’t just the fact that he was Neah Thorn’s son that annoyed Mr. Livent, but everything about him, from his untidy, tangled hair to his deep voice.

Mr. Livent’s twelve-year-old son, Peter, was the main rationale for Mr. Livent’s desire to stay at his office as extensively as he possibly could. Just like his sister, Peter looked nothing like his mother. He didn’t even show a single facial similarity to Mr. Livent (who was a tall, dark brown-haired, sophisticated man), which made Mr. Livent question if Peter really was his biological son.

The only similarities between Peter and Jenny were that they were both quite bony for their age and had fair skin. Peter had vibrant, forget-me-not blue eyes, unlike anyone else in the family. His light brown hair was what his father detested the most, even though Peter tried to explain on multiple occasions that there was nothing he could do to keep it tame.

Peter showed up in Mr. Livent’s hand-me-down pajamas, making sure to show his father how fast he was growing out of his clothes. I need actual new clothes.

Mr. Livent gritted his teeth. You just want an excuse to waste more of my money.

Peter took a seat and swiveled his chair around to grab the yeasted bun, refusing to further acknowledge his father’s presence. Jenny constantly showed sympathy toward their father, but Peter never did. He always saw his father as the same self-absorbed miser.

Peter never got along well with his father, and his mother’s disappearance eight years ago had only made things worse between them. In just a quarter of a second, Peter could think of at the very least a hundred reasons why his father should get executed out of his life.

Unlike Jenny, Peter also didn’t find it obligatory to say anything to Mr. Livent. He thought even his father’s gullible brain would be able to detect the rage in his eyes. But Mr. Livent couldn’t have cared less. He was secretly looking for a reason to make his son even angrier. They had been building up the anger for weeks. So, why not just let it all out right then and there? thought Mr. Livent.

Boy, get me tea and those almond biscuits I bought last week, demanded Mr. Livent, who hadn’t eaten a proper meal in the last two days.

Peter nodded and sealed his lips (for his sister’s sake) so that he wouldn’t accidentally call it out on his father. Jenny detested fights between her father and brother, perhaps because she had the false hope that they would someday get along.

Peter grabbed the tea and biscuits from the top cupboard, then unloaded the biscuits onto a grubby, half-clean plate—the fact that he even put that much effort in was a miracle.

Jenny tried to stop him. Peter…he’s gonna notice. If he gets mad, he’ll kick us out.

Living in an orphanage is better than this. At least when we get kicked out, we’ll get to wreck his stupid lawyer image, grumbled Peter.

Jenny signed and moved out of the way so that Peter could deliver the biscuits.

"Why did you return? I was under the impression that you actually enjoyed spending your nights at the law firm," began Peter pryingly as he dropped the plate, untroubled by what his father might do. At that point, Peter was done with his father; he was gonna let it all out.

I deplore being here, announced Mr. Livent.

Peter snickered. "We’ve been telling you for years to move out of this dump! You obviously have enough money to get a better place."

Mr. Livent actually smiled, except it was more of a greedy smile.

"We’re…moving? Actually?"

"Not we…just you and your sister."

Jenny loped toward the coffee table, her fur-trimmed pajamas dancing alongside. Both Peter and Jenny knew that look on their father’s face. They had seen it before. It meant that their father had something planned…something that would mostly just benefit him. Mr. Livent hadn’t been this content since he had gotten his wife’s death pension.

"What…what do you mean we’re moving but not you?" bellowed Jenny, her face kindled in a scarlet shade.

Mr. Livent glanced at the filthiness of the biscuit plate, clearly unsatisfied.

I’ll get you a new plate, but tell us what’s going on!

Mr. Livent beamed at Jenny’s unease. I’m sending you away to school.

We already go to school, said Peter idiotically.

Not that kind of school; I’m sending you off to boarding school, and not just any boarding school. You’re going to St. Denis’s School for Troubled Youth.

"St. Denis…what? We’re not troubled youth!"

"Since when have you wanted to spend money on us? Boarding schools are really, really expensive!" interjected Jenny.

I wouldn’t spend a single coin on either of you…. I just got both of you a free scholarship.

It was far too late to change Mr. Livent’s mind; it was too flawless of an offer for him to turn down. Besides, Mr. Livent had also paid the price by signing off Carter’s diploma, so he had to get something out of it.

Peter wanted a way to escape this, but he knew that his father was so inhuman of a person that even if both the siblings went on their knees and begged, he still wouldn’t change his mind.

It took a while for the free scholarship effect to penetrate into Peter and Jenny. Even with how much Mr. Livent had loathed them for the last few years, this was the first time he had ever considered sending them to boarding school. It was just so abnormal for Mr. Livent to actually do something for them, even if it were something that benefited only him.

Peter was still skeptical. How did you get the scholarship?

Carter’s relative works at St. Denis, so he got you both the scholarships. School starts next week; it’s too late to change now.

Why if we don’t want to go?

It’s that or you’re living on the streets.

Just as Peter was about to protest, Mr. Livent pushed himself off of the sofa and left. He shut his bedroom door forcefully, the doorknob lurching from the inside. He had done his objective, and now he was done.

Just around lunchtime, Mr. Livent returned to the law firm rather blissfully. He was finally free. Just a short while from now, his children would be gone, and he would be free to live his best life. He wanted to celebrate the moment, which was so unlike him.

Peter, on the other hand, felt a little…confused. Yes, he wanted a reason to leave Mr. Livent and the Phoenix Public School behind, but was a boarding school for troubled youth really the answer for him? No, he didn’t belong there.

Peter didn’t want to go to St. Denis. Unlike his sister, he wasn’t worried about the teachers or the curriculum being too burdensome. He was worried about being imprisoned there. Peter was so used to being at home with no adult, with no one to tell him what to do, that he was too attached to let that go.

***

Mr. Livent didn’t return till two days before Peter and Jenny’s first day at St. Denis. He had to do medical check-ups and other protocols before his children could certifiably enroll. It was a dull and wearisome process, but the outcome, the next ten months, was enough to unfasten the boredom from Mr. Livent after filling out his sixteenth paperwork.

While his father did all the paperwork, Peter had to stay home and pack, which was extremely boring. Peter had lived in that shed his entire life, and suddenly moving out was definitely a hassle. His stuff was all around the place; he had even found his socks under the sink bin. The only thing that Peter couldn’t find was his pair of church shoes, which was the only good pair of shoes he had left. He had looked everywhere, and as a last resort, he checked the closet.

The closet was filled with unwanted things that were layered by a thick haze of soot and gritty dust. Peter moved his arms around the closet, looking for the shoes. It was quite hard as all the dust made him cough and sneeze every second.

There were piles upon piles of useless things scattered, randomly shoved into the closet. There was everything from a hand-me-down shovel Jenny had gotten from Mrs. Wormling to Mr. Livent’s secondary school certificates. Mr. Livent was very determined to keep his old school papers, though no one else was as impressed by them as he was.

At the very bottom of the pile was a grim-coated shoe box. The pasteboard box was one that Peter had never seen before, as he had never bothered to search that deep in the closet. He still had to look for his shoes, but a distant sense of curiosity halted Peter. He knew it wasn’t his father’s, as Mr. Livent would never put anything in an old shoebox (not even actual shoes). But it wasn’t his, nor was it his sister’s. So, there was only one other person it could belong to: it had to be Neah Thorn’s.

The curiosity of what was inside was boiling through Peter. Inside was an old liquid-stained journal with a bronze ring tied to it by a sturdy hemp string. When Peter’s mother disappeared, Mr. Livent made sure to remove every single trace of her. He must have forgotten the shoebox.

With the aid of his teeth, Peter was able to remove the hemp string binding the journal and the ring together. He didn’t want to show Jenny yet, so he remained as quiet as possible. The journal was useless. The handwriting was so small and in some calligraphy form that Peter couldn’t make out anything past the first word. The water stain had only made the writing more alien