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185 pages

English

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On the surface, Chopville appears not unlike any other small town in rural Australia. However, its underbelly is more than extraordinary.

Amongst its modest community reside six people from two very different families – they make up the six most powerful people in the world today. Branded as "Sorcerers", they are the only six people in the world with true magical power. Yet these two families do not cooperate together and although there is no open fighting in the year 2010, things weren't always that peaceful.

John Playman knows this as well as anyone; at the age of 14, he is familiar with the concept of magic, having been raised in a family heavily involved in the magical war 30 years earlier, even though he has never met any of the Sorcerers himself. This year, however, all that is about to change; John and a group of his school friends will find themselves in an unprecedented situation and carrying a responsibility almost too great to comprehend.

John and his cohorts struggle on two fronts with their hormones raging and with the discovery of whom among them is to become the Seventh Sorcerer.

Sujets

Fiction

Fantasy

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Publié par	eBookIt.com
Date de parution	21 février 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780987133908
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0398€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

The Magic Crystals

The Seventh Sorcerer

by

Stephen Hayes

The Seventh Sorcerer

Book 1 in the Magic Crystals series

Written by Stephen Hayes

Published 2013 by Stephen Hayes, Australia

www.themagiccrystals.com

Copyright © Stephen Hayes 2013

Published in eBook format by Stephen Hayes

The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon, Facebook or similar organisations) in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Disclaimer: All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9871339-0-8
Prologue
Silence: normally something I loved, but not at the moment. What I really wanted was to leave the room, to escape, to seek privacy where I might concoct some sort of plan that could quell the scheme in which I had unwillingly become involved. I was about to observe one small part of the scheme, but I couldn’t think of any way to either distance myself from it or disrupt it somehow, so I was left to sit here uncomfortably and play out my role as the others expected me to do. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to look at the two people in the room with me. They, like me, seemed to be impatient with the current situation, though for very different reasons.
How many hours had we been there? I wasn’t entirely sure, but finally, at around one in the morning, footsteps reached my ears. They were coming up the stairs outside. Half a minute later, two people entered the room, both men I knew. One, the shorter of the two, who had the code 2C7 written over the breast of his uniform, was one of my least favourite people in the world, just as I was no doubt one of his least favourite. The other, the man with 3M27 on his uniform, was almost as unpleasant, though thankfully I didn’t have to put up with his presence very often.
“Sorry about the delay,” said Cornish, plonking himself down in a seat on the other side of the table. “I had trouble getting hold of him.”
“My bad,” conceded Moran, taking the seat around the corner from me. “I wasn’t aware that it would be tonight.”
“Well, it is,” said Arnold. “Or rather, today. You understand what it is you need to do?”
“Indeed I do,” said Moran. “You are, er, quite sure the Woodwards won’t have protection around them?”
“Certain,” replied Arnold. “However, if they become aware of what we’re doing and decide to use our own plan against us, I think it would be a good idea for you to keep these, as well.”
He glanced across at Tankom, who pulled a silk bag from her pocket and passed it across the table to Moran. As it hung from her hand, it looked to me rather like a scrotum with three testicles in it, and I had to fight to suppress a grin. He took it, pulled the drawstrings, and glanced inside; his face lit up with excitement.
“Keep them protected, won’t you?” she told him. “Put them in the safe with the other two.”
“But of course,” replied Moran, wearing a twisted smile I didn’t trust one bit.
“Now, 3M27, have you spoken to your son today?” asked Arnold.
“Yes, he told me of the promotion,” said Moran. “I must tell you, in case it slipped his mind, that we are both exceptionally honoured that you have granted him such a privilege. I have to wonder, though: Why? I was under the impression that he wasn’t entirely trustworthy.”
“You remember why he is, I’m sure,” said Arnold, staring hard at Moran. Something passed between them that nobody else in the room seemed to comprehend, but it caused them each to lose some colour in the face. “Well, the reason,” Arnold went on, “is because we want him to bring H4 to us, and it might be easier on you to only have one job at a time.”
“All the more reason why you must keep those,” said Tankom, pointing at the silk bag, “away from the boy. Understand?”
“Of course,” said Moran curtly. “Anything else?”
Arnold and Tankom looked at each other. “No,” said Arnold finally. “You have everything you need. Tomorrow, you will set off, and I want you to report back to us on Thursday evening. Good luck.”
Part 1: Magic People
Chapter 1: New Kid on the Block
The first day of school. It brought the same mixture of emotions every single year; the gloom of yet another summer break now at a close, the relief of once again being back in that routine of working all day and procrastinating all evening, and the refreshing determination that comes from kidding yourself that this year, this year, you’ll do better.…
Fifteen minutes before the bell sounded to indicate the beginning of Home Group found three of us standing outside the doors to Administration where, tacked on the wall, a large sign displayed a number of class lists. It was good news; we had all been put into the same class, we three plus the terrible twins. James Thomas, a tall, tubby, blond boy who had a mind bigger than any part of his body, was closest to the sign, and when he announced the good news, my brother Peter and I cheered in triumph. Peter was small and skinny with pale skin, jet black hair and an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, and when he cheered it was easy to think he should still be attending primary school. Yet he was only a month and a half younger than me; the reason such a thing could exist was due to the fact that I was an adopted child.
“Seen it, I see,” a voice called out to the three of us.
We turned to see a tall, dark-haired boy standing close by, leaning lazily against the wall of the building. He had the appearance of one waiting for someone, or something.
“There you are, Harry,” said Peter, grinning broadly. “We’re all together, and we were all worrying this morning that the teachers might finally work out how much easier it would be for them if they separated us all.”
“Very true. The only trouble is, I’m not Harry,” said the boy, one half of the terrible twins, and apparently the wrong one.
“Oh, well where’s Harry?” asked Peter, shrugging; that was one of the first times any of us had mixed up the twins. Everyone else did it frequently, as they were identical to the last freckle, but we knew them well enough by nature to tell them apart quite easily.
“Oh, I’m him too,” said the boy, either Harry or Simon now; he was doing a very good job.
“I’ve got time tables!” shouted a boy from behind the glass doors beside us, as a moment later said doors burst open, expelling the other twin and identifying quite clearly who was who.
“Only joking, Pete,” said the first twin, “I am Harry.”
“I thought you three would be here by now,” said Simon. “I got you these. You’ll be kickin’ yourselves when you see the teachers we’ve got.”
We spent several minutes looking over our time tables, which showed the times, locations and teachers of each of our lessons.
“Mrs. Gall, Mrs. Worlker,” James listed off, running his finger down the Wednesday column.
“Oh no,” groaned Peter. “We’ve got Hall again.”
“Oh please no,” I moaned, quickly checking my own to be sure Peter wasn’t playing a bad joke. “Not again. What for?”
“English,” sighed Peter. Hall taught English, French and Science; more subjects than any other teacher in the school.
“Just to throw a bucket of petrol on the fire,” said Harry, looking through his own timetable, “we have him for Home Group as well.”
“No,” moaned Peter and I, almost in unison.
“Relax,” said Simon easily, somehow managing to maintain much higher spirits. “We have two Home Group teachers this year.”
“We do?” asked Peter. “How does that work?”
“Two teachers take us for Home Group,” I said stupidly.
“I kind of figured that, John,” snapped Peter.
“We have Mrs. Worlker as well,” said James. “She has us for History, look.”
“They alternate,” said Harry, “Mrs. Worlker on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Mr. Hall on Wednesdays and Fridays.”
“What about Mondays?” I asked.
“Easy, we go home,” said Peter spiritedly.
“We have them both,” said Harry. “I think it must be to get us in working mode for the week, they need two teachers.”
“With people like you lot in the class, no wonder,” said James.
“It’s nearly five past,” I said, glancing down at my watch. “Where’s Room 12?”
“Don’t tell me your memory of this place has leaked out of your head over the holidays, John,” said Simon. “You’ll know Room 12 in no time; we’ve got half our classes in there this year.”
Home Group was a ten minute class that preceded each school day. Each class would go to an assigned room where the roll would be called and announcements would be given to the students. This morning, however, periods One and Two were cancelled. Instead, an entire school assembly took place for an hour in the gym, during which the principal, vice-principal (who was known to be pretty thick at the best of times), and the new school captains and vice-captains, all got up and made very boring speeches. The time from the end of that assembly to Recess, which began at exactly 10:51 AM, was taken up by Home Group in Room 12.
“This room stinks,” said Harry loudly. He was sitting along with his brother in the row in front of Peter, James and me. “Don’t you reckon, old chap?”
“Yeah, it does, old chap,” Simon replied.
“We ought to set up a petition to get a new home room, don’t you reckon, old chap?” asked Harry.
“Or at least a decent air freshener, old chap,” answered Simon.
The twins often called each other ‘old chap’ in the classroom so that nobody could tell who was who, and it was nearly always effective.
“Look who,” Peter growled, nudging me in the side and nodding at the door through which students were still entering.
I followed Peter’s gaze, not liking what I was seeing. Ather Hignat was our arch-nemesis, and had been ever since we’d met him at the commencement of