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235 pages

English

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With high school quickly approaching, Amanda Jane Ash begins worrying whether she can fit into a new school. Will she ever change and not be so scared? Many things plague her mind, and the only place she can go find some rest is inside the bedtime stories her grandfather, Poppa Henry, tells. Stories of a magical land called Penthya, a place of Light Benders, Elves, Wind Weavers, and Dwarves. Penthya is a fantasy world, yet after a terrible tragedy, Amanda Jane Ash will soon discover that Penthya is, in fact, real and those inside it are after her. Will she be able to face the fears and dangers that lie in her way in order to save her family?

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
Date de parution	29 novembre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645367680
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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Worlds of Ash
Jonathan Lee Rutan
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-11-29
Worlds of Ash About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two Chapter Fifty-Three Chapter Fifty-Four
About The Author
Jonathan Lee Rutan is a graduate of Montevallo University in Montevallo, Alabama. He earned his Master of Arts degree there, in English, and enjoys writing and reading while staying around the Montevallo area. This is his first novel.
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to my parents…Wonder Mom especially…and my sister. Thank you for all the love. Also to Kathryn and Ashley…you’ve inspired me and given me so much hope simply because you’re out there.
Copyright Information ©
Jonathan Lee Rutan (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Rutan, Jonathan Lee
Worlds of Ash
ISBN 9781643783956 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643783963 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645367680 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019907900
The main category of the book — YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Fantasy / General
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1(646)5125767
Chapter One
Ash scurried past laced iron, thick oak, and metal screws. The underside of the gym’s bleachers was always such a labyrinth of dread. She just knew dangerous beams of death had to be waiting to bring violence upon her.
The floor was horrible too. Dirt and dust created a slippery film that clung to her feet and made her certain she was about to fall. This was never a place she looked forward to visiting.
But today, such a labyrinth was—for some reason—reminding her of her grandfather. Or, to be more specific, it was reminding her of why she loved him so.
The afternoon sun, a kind of gentle white, was catching specks of dust that had decided not to remain on the floor. They floated, sometimes hitting her arms or sticking to her pants, but Ash didn’t care. Since she’d never once joined in on any after-school activity she could keep her school clothes on, a nice short-sleeved yellow shirt, dark black jeans, and white sneaker combination that always felt a comfort. It was one of her most favorite outfits.
Of course, at the moment, one of her most favorites was getting as filthy as she, but, again, Ash didn’t care. She was enjoying the dust too much to be bothered.
Each speck—it diffused the light—made the laced iron shadowy, the thick oak somber. It was so different from what was above—as if a hidden magic had allowed her to step into another world.
And that was exactly what was reminding her of her grandfather. The man didn’t swing by all that often. Her grandfather—or, really, Poppa Henry, that was what he did love to be called—didn’t have a concrete job, or a concrete home, that Ash knew of. Such things always kept him busy and away.
Better put, her Poppa Henry gallivanted about—not her words, just what she would overhear whenever her father mumbled a few complaints. One time, she’d even heard her father yell at Poppa Henry about why, exactly, he’d taken a job way up in Alaska and then, another time, just why Poppa Henry had been investigating an opportunity to sell something all the way over in France.
None of that mattered. When everything her father had to say finally finished up, her Poppa Henry would never forget to stop by her room, Ash’s heart held in thrall as he slowly—and after a detour to see her little brother Peter—made his way to her bedside. Poppa Henry would whisper if his “Little Ash” was awake, and when Ash would smile a “yes,” his stories would begin.
Epic tales of a land called Penthya—a land surrounded by the Cliffs of Random and the Marsh of Lumbrica, a land of magic and adventure, of Light Benders and Dwarves, Wind Weavers and Giants, it would all spill like honey past his lips. As Ash would slowly fall back into sleep, he would weave golden spun dreams, his voice the sweetest lullaby filled with Elves and Fawns, who would dance with her as lute-filled music echoed deep within her mind.
It was the main reason why she’d chosen Ash as her preferred name. In all fullness, she was Amanda Jane Ash—her brother, Peter David Ash, her father, Steven Clay Ash, and her mother, Rachel Morgan Ash. Going by Amanda or Jane probably would have made much more sense—who chose to be called only by what was their last name, something anyone in her family could have chosen as well—but Ash adored her preference.
Let Peter go with Peter, let her mother stick with Rachel, Ash was hers because it was linked to Little Ash which was only, really, important because of how it was tied into her Poppa Henry and his stories about Penthya. What other name could be better?
Sure, a few stories—like poor Princess Isabella and her savage murder—went far into scary and dark, but it was a scary Ash was never bothered by. Even the way a Thorish could slip while walking up a Swinging Spire, or how an Errun could steal away children for nightmare work in the Western Wilds—Penthya was a land that could turn wrong, yet that wrong always led back to heroes and bravery and many a perfect moment where there was never any fear or doubt. If Ash could just escape her own world to slip inside such a place, she knew she too could face something horrid—maybe even an Errun—only to rise above and shine.
And today, while there were no Fawns she could see—and lutes weren’t being played either—Ash really did feel a sudden connection to her bedtime stories. She could just about smell the salty waters of the Infya Sea and feel the burn along her skin that was common in the depths of the Ferrousai Desert—so many things were bringing Penthya to mind. Why was that happening?
Ash had been underneath the bleachers before, and those days hadn’t made her obsess over other worlds or bedtime stories. Perhaps she’d never been down here this early when the light was this gentle? Or, maybe, it was that dust? Had it ever danced in the air like this? It made her feel as if, at any moment, something new could step out from anywhere.
Ash shook her head. It was silly to indulge such fantasy. Light Benders and Wind Weavers, escaping her life and slipping into magic, even having a perfect moment so she could shine, that all existed only in Poppa Henry’s stories, none of it was about to make an appearance in the real.
But, still, she’d found a touch of happy. Penthya had that effect. Hearing about it or thinking about it always brought a magic that made her better.
Ash scooped up the ball she’d been sent to find and turned in a hurry. The beams attacked.
They’d been so patient, the gentle light helping them for sure. She hadn’t seen one last bit of iron that greeted her with a heavy thud.
School was just this way. Whenever she tried to feel better within its walls, she failed. The same usually finding its way into her home.
Ash rubbed at where she’d been hit. She felt a knot, something tender that peaked from beneath the confines of her hair. It made her think even more about her house.
Of the many problems she had there, most did revolve around the length of her hair or how she feared her mother’s disapproval or even some issues with her father, but the moment she was thinking of now was all about her little brother Peter. Her mother had created a game for him, a weird little waste of time that involved reading the newspaper from front to back so that, later, Peter could be quizzed about the events of the day. The idea was for Peter to be rewarded with the comics if he got everything right, their mother holding the paper inches from her nose as she asked what was happening in the Middle East or what large and wealthy company had just donated tons to the Democratic party.
The thing that frustrated Ash to no end, however, was that Peter didn’t care if he won or not. His definition of reward involved being given a slide rule or enough wire to create a computer from scratch. He didn’t have anything against comics, but he didn’t have any great love for them either. He just happened to find them interesting only if he had to work before they were handed his way.
To Ash, the whole purpose of the game made no sense—and shouldn’t that mean it should be stopped—yet, when her mother one day decided that Ash should play too, Ash d