Legend of the White Sword (Books 1 - 3) Read online

  Legend of the White Sword (Books 1 – 3)

  Digital Boxed Set

  P.D. Kalnay

  Contents

  Ivy’s Tangle

  Chapter 1 – Ms. Mopat

  Chapter 2 – Glastonbury Manor

  Chapter 3 – Knights in the Library

  Chapter 4 – Down to the Basement

  Chapter 5 – Digital Princess

  Chapter 6 – Ivy’s Lesson

  Chapter 7 – Gardening

  Chapter 8 – Hammer and Tongs

  Chapter 9 – Eyes in the Darkness

  Chapter 10 – New Beginnings

  Chapter 11 – Bows and Arrows

  Chapter 12 – New Doors

  Chapter 13 – Misfortunes

  Chapter 14 – Questions and Answers

  Chapter 15 – Friendship Lost

  Chapter 16 – Mended Fences

  Chapter 17 – White Sword

  Chapter 18 – Summer’s End

  Ivy’s Bind

  Chapter 1 – Unexpected Treasure

  Chapter 2 – Bows and Magic

  Chapter 3 – Dirty Pool

  Chapter 4 – Magic’s Sting

  Chapter 5 – Old Friends

  Chapter 6 – Unanswered Questions

  Chapter 7 – Watering the Ivy

  Chapter 8 – Forging On

  Chapter 9 – Blades and Arrowheads

  Chapter 10 – Hot Tempered

  Chapter 11 – Night’s Edge

  Chapter 12 – Early Engagement

  Chapter 13 – Untimely Answers

  Chapter 14 – Down the Tree

  Chapter 15 – Distant Relations

  Chapter 16 – Ties That Bind

  Chapter 17 – Hammer and Sword

  Chapter 18 – Answers and Questions

  Chapter 19 – Jack, Out of the Box

  Chapter 20 – A Petal’s Promise

  Chapter 21 – Older Friends

  Chapter 22 – Blood of the World Tree

  Ivy’s Blossom

  Chapter 1 – Leaf and Hammer

  Chapter 2 – Broken Bonds

  Chapter 3 – Magic’s Cost

  Chapter 4 – A Hefty Key

  Chapter 5 – No Real Choice

  Chapter 6 – Unhatched Plans

  Chapter 7 – Summer School

  Chapter 8 – High Expectations

  Chapter 9 – Waking Nightmares

  Chapter 9 – The Other Library

  Chapter 10 – A Mopat’s Tale

  Chapter 11 – Seven Swords

  Chapter 12 – Insufficient Inquiry

  Chapter 13 – Back Down the Tree

  Chapter 14 – Knight’s Haven

  Chapter 15 – Into the City

  Chapter 16 – Narrow Escapes

  Chapter 17 – A Feathered Foe

  Chapter 18 – Forgotten Friends

  Chapter 19 – Fevered Dreams

  Chapter 20 – Acceptance

  Chapter 21 – Locked In

  Chapter 22 – A Tale of Two Lunches

  Chapter 23 – Home Sweet Home

  Ivy’s Tangle

  Legend of the White Sword – Book 1

  Legend of the White Sword:

  Ivy’s Tangle

  Ivy’s Bind

  Ivy’s Blossom (forthcoming)

  Other books by P.D. Kalnay

  The Arros Chronicles:

  The Spiders of Halros

  The High Priestess

  Jewel of the Empire (forthcoming)

  The Alien Documentaries:

  Resurrection

  Retribution (forthcoming)

  Redemption (forthcoming)

  Children’s Books:

  Burn Bright

  Ivy’s Tangle

  Legend of the White Sword – Book 1

  P.D. Kalnay

  Misprint Press Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 P.D. Kalnay

  ISBN: 978-0-9940277-8-8

  Cover Design by P.D. Kalnay

  Author Website: www.pdkalnay.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

  For my nephew and namesake

  Chapter 1 – Ms. Mopat

  Perhaps my story began on the day I was born (or long before that) but I’ll start on the first day of last summer. I suppose I should mention that my name is Jack. I’m an ordinary fourteen-year-old. Maybe smarter than average, but below average in almost every other way—I figure it all balances out. My mother and father separated before I was born. I spent the years since being passed back and forth between them. Both were very successful at their jobs, and they moved around a lot. For me, it meant seventeen schools in nine years. Needless to say, I didn’t have any friends. At summer’s end, I’d begin again when I started high school… at school number eighteen. When my parents wrote to tell me I’d be living with my grandmother, they used words like stability and consistency. The real reason was that neither wanted me. You might think I’d be all teary, being a boy whose parents are nothing more than polite strangers, but I was used to it. I’ve had a lot of nannies, daycare, and assorted minders over the years. I even had one year of boarding school—military school! Having to move again, and going to live with my grandmother, wasn’t a big shock.

  Like I said, I don’t come from a tightknit family, and I’d only met my grandmother three times in my whole life. She’s my mother’s mother, and my other grandparents are all dead. I’d met none of them.

  The week before school ended, I received an envelope containing instructions and airline tickets. Having done a fair bit of solo travelling over the last fourteen years, I was a pro. A taxi picked me up at school and after a couple flights, and another longer taxi ride, I arrived at Glastonbury Manor.

  That’s what the sign at the end of Gran’s driveway said. Gran ran a boarding house, and she’d been at it for over fifty years. I’d never seen the house before and was suitably impressed by its massiveness when the taxi brought me down the long, tree-lined drive. Gran’s house is built from dark grey granite and stands three stories tall with dormers running along the slate roof, lighting what I figured must be the world’s biggest attic. The lawns and gardens at the front of the house were perfectly manicured and ended sharply at the forest’s edge. We’d driven through a good half-hour of forest before arriving at Gran’s, and I’d seen no sign of other residences, or even side roads, for most of that time. Glastonbury Manor’s driveway began where the road ended.

  “You really gonna live here kid?” the taxi driver asked from the front seat.

  “Apparently,” I said. “This is my grandmother’s house.”

  “She must be loaded.” He pulled the cab up in front of the wide stone steps.

  “I guess so.”

  I hopped out, staring up at the front doors as the cabbie unloaded my suitcases and dropped them beside me.

  “Good luck kid,” was all he said before he drove off, leaving me standing at the threshold of the next stage of my young life.

  With all of my worldly possessions sitting on the front steps, I considered ringing the bell or making use of one of the big, polished-brass knockers. I only considered it briefly; no one eagerly awaited my arrival, and I’d spent most of a night and a day in taxis, on planes, and waiting at airports—sitting. I wasn’t hungry, or tired, had no need of a washroom, and I wasn’t keen t
o see my grandmother. It didn’t look like rain, and, nobody would drive a zillion miles out into the country to steal my stuff. I decided to investigate the property. The forest called out to me. It begged for exploration. Gran’s spooky-looking house also begged to be explored, but that was better left for a rainy day. I walked back up the drive to the point it ran parallel with the forest. The trees grew right up to the edge of the gravel and stopped. Somebody had trimmed the forest like wall at the edge of the property. I swear it looked like an invisible fence held back the vegetation. Even the branches high-up were cut; most appeared to have been pruned in the distant past, but a few showed signs of more recent trimming. Not a single bud of new growth crossed the invisible boundary. Weird.

  I didn’t plan on taking a long hike and getting myself lost. I’m not an idiot. Although I was, up to that point, a city boy. My plan was to go a short way in and have a look around, keeping the open lawns and gardens in view. As long as I could see Gran’s grass, it’d be impossible to get lost. Getting into the woods was harder than you’d think; the edge was as dense as any ancient hedgerow. I pushed forward, eyes closed, as the branches grabbed and scratched at me. A few steps in, something tore my right pant leg open with a loud ripping sound and tripped me. I’m not a clumsy guy, but the next thing I knew I was tumbling and sliding downhill. When I came to a stop, a few bruises later, I opened my eyes and took a first good look at the forest.

  The forest was dense, twisted, and gloomy. It wasn’t middle-of-the-night dark, but only a small fraction of the sunshine penetrated the canopy. I sat up, rubbing the side of my head, one of the many spots I’d banged on ground or root during my tumble. I was at the bottom of a long ditch; thankfully not filled with water. Standing up, I couldn’t see over the edge. Even as I determined to climb back out the way I’d fallen, I realised I didn’t know which way that was. Too many old leaves and too much brush covered the forest floor for me to tell. Since there were two possible choices, I took the fifty-fifty bet and climbed up the side I thought I’d fallen down. I figured at the top, I’d be able to see the driveway, even if I picked wrong. I had only taken a few steps into the forest.

  At the upper edge I peered into the surrounding vegetation, seeing no sign of a brighter patch or the driveway in that direction. Down I went again and scrambled up the opposite side of the ditch. The driveway wasn’t visible on that side either. It didn’t seem possible. Gran’s driveway was light-grey gravel, which should have shone through a crack in the undergrowth. I couldn’t make out a thing. The driveway couldn’t be more than a few steps away, and I forced down a growing feeling of panic. I wasn’t lost; I’d hardly gone anywhere.

  That’s when I heard something. Nothing too ominous at first, just a rustling in the dry leaves. Probably, squirrels out hunting for nuts. I heard the noise again. It sounded closer and maybe heavy for a squirrel. Raccoon? It was early for them, but also dark in there. Then the rustling sounds came from two directions. Both sounded closer. After a few seconds of silence, I exhaled a sigh of relief. That was before sound of movement came again—this time from even closer—and from a third direction. I couldn’t see ten feet into the forest, and I took unconscious steps back away from the ditch… and the sounds. Louder, faster, crunching came from at least three different directions in front of me. Whatever they were, they were close now, and definitely bigger than squirrels. Half a second before I was sure the unknown creatures would burst into view, something grabbed me by my shirt collar, dragging me backwards away from the ditch and the frightening sounds.

  I may have kicked and screamed a little.

  I didn’t know what had a hold of my shirt. It dragged me through the scratchy branches and back onto Gran’s driveway. My kicking and screaming had no effect. I was hoisted upright until I got my feet back under me. With the sudden release of my collar, I spun about in the now dazzlingly bright sunshine. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect to see a pretty, raven-haired woman in a French maid’s uniform. She nodded before turning, and without saying a word, strode away up the driveway towards the house. For a moment, I stood still, at a loss. Then I turned back towards the forest. It looked the same as it had before; a bunch of trees and bushes. By the time I faced the house again, the woman was halfway there. I had to run to catch up with her at the front steps.

  That’s how I met Ms. Mopat, my grandmother’s maid, cook, and one hundred percent of the regular staff at Glastonbury Manor.

  Chapter 2 – Glastonbury Manor

  At the front steps, I gave her my best fake meeting-new-people smile.

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m Jack.”

  She nodded again and collected my bags from the walkway.

  “I can take those,” I said.

  Together, my four suitcases weighed a tonne. The slender lady in the maid’s uniform scooped them up like it was nothing and took them inside. I stood silently amazed watching her go. My grandmother’s voice brought me out of my stupor.

  “Do you plan on standing there, with your mouth hanging open, all afternoon?” she asked.

  I hadn’t seen my grandmother in a few years, but I recognised her at once. She looked like an older version of my mother. Gran was tall, thin, and had her long grey hair tied up in a tight bun. Although unusually tall for a woman, the most striking thing about my grandmother was her eyes. She had pale, icy-blue eyes that looked right through you, and, if I’m being entirely honest, were a bit creepy. My parents weren’t hugging types. One look at my grandmother told me she wasn’t either.

  “Hi Gran,” I said. “I guess I’m staying here now?”

  “You will remain a guest of this house for the next four years,” she said.

  She sounded like a judge handing out a sentence.

  “Why?” I asked. My parents rarely answered any why questions.

  “Because I said so.” Gran turned and went back inside. “Your room is on the third floor.”

  Apparently, Gran wasn’t big on answering questions either.

  My options being stand outside forever, or go inside… I went in. The front hall was suitably vast and fancy, matching the house’s exterior. My grandmother had vanished, but a wide staircase waited at the other end of the hall. I climbed the two flights of curving stairs to the third floor. The polished walnut bannister smelled of beeswax; a younger me would’ve considered taking a dangerous and exciting ride back down. The stairs were in the centre of the house and a hallway led off in each direction from the third floor landing. On a whim, I went right and found the first door standing open. My suitcases were sitting inside the doorway; I figured it must be my new room. The room was a decent size, with a double bed, a dresser, and a writing table. Like most teenage boys, I wasn’t much interested in antiques or floral wallpaper, but it would do.

  After emptying my suitcases into the closet and the dresser, I poked around the house. It was the middle of the afternoon, and I had nothing else to do. Gran’s house was huge. There’s no other word for it. The sort of big old house a rich guy owned in the 1800’s. A guy, I assumed, who owned the whole county at the time. Her house had high ceilings, big leaded windows, and rooms that never seemed to end. The house would’ve been spooky, real horror movie material; except no ghost or vampire could’ve survived the endless doilies and flower-print wallpaper. Some stuff in Gran’s house was pretty cool though.

  For example, I found a full suit of armour standing at one end of the second floor hallway. It was a real suit of armour too! Not a fake sheet-metal set made for decoration, and it had dents and scratches I could only assume came from battle. As I was checking it out, and opening the helmet’s visor, I accidentally knocked the whole thing over, stand and all. The many pieces tumbled across the hardwood floor in a thunderous crash. When I looked up, I saw a girl’s head sticking out from a doorway down the hall. She was short, blond, and looked a few years younger than me.

  “Hi,” I said. “Sorry about the noise.”

  The tiny girl just looked at me�
�the way a person might examine something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of their shoe—and went back into the room. I heard the door shut firmly.

  Friendly, I thought. It looked like I wasn’t the only person staying at Gran’s house. Reassembling the armour, and getting it back the way I’d found it, took over an hour. I didn’t mind. I’d done a lot of reading about armour, but actually assembling the pieces, and seeing how the puzzle went together… fascinating. My stomach rumbled then, and it was near to dinnertime, so I went downstairs to find something to eat. Gran’s house has two dining rooms: a huge one with crystal chandeliers, and a smaller one with a table that would only hold around ten people. The small one would have been huge in a normal house. I found the big, empty dining room first, followed by the smaller one down the hall. My grandmother, the girl from earlier, and a man I didn’t know were already seated around the table. Most of the chairs were pushed back against the walls, but one remained empty at the table, and I sat down. I assumed it was for me.

  “Hello,” the man said.

  “Hi.”

  “This is my grandson, Jack,” Gran said. “Jack, this is Mr. Ryan, and this is Ivy. They’re the other guests currently in residence.”

  “Hi,” I added for the little blond girl.

  Mr. Ryan was old, not old like my grandmother, but old. Definitely over forty. He had short sandy-brown hair, grey eyes, and stood a couple of inches taller than me. Maybe six feet tall. His arms and shoulders were muscular like a wrestler’s, but he was chubby. A second chin hung below the first, and his fair-sized belly pushed up against the table. Chubby or not, Mr. Ryan gave off a competent/dangerous vibe, and I was sure plenty of muscle hid under the fat. He also had a bunch of thin white scars on his bare forearms and hands. I wondered how a person would get those scars. Ivy was tiny, blond, and pretty. Very pretty. Too young for me to be interested in, but pretty. She had the brightest green eyes I’d ever seen, and her hair could have been in a shampoo commercial. Her sour expression did knock back the pretty.