CHAPTER 1

Long, long, long ago, maybe in the past, maybe in the future, far away, or maybe right here, there lived an unhappy king. As a matter of fact, he was downright miserable. Some said he was simply grumpy.

King Beulah ruled the country named Maro on a large landmass called Shomaia. Unfortunately for this king he was not the ultimate ruler but subject to a powerful dictator from a distant country. How this all came to be is uncertain, but legend says that all truth and the history of this world is known in the pages of the lost scrolls of Shomaia.

Maybe I should tell you a little about the land of Shomaia. The inhabitants of this world are unusual looking creatures. They are humanoid in their general shape except for some added features. For example, both male and female possess two twisting horns growing from their heads, the male of the species are bald, while the lovely females, with their smaller horns have long curled ringlets of thick hair in the most wondrous colours, from red, blue, green, yellow, orange, brown, black and pink. They have small holes for ears near the top of their heads, noses like sheep or snouts as pigs, three long fingers on their paws and large round flat feet with no toes. The inhabitants of Shomaia cover themselves in clothing made from a material like wool and cotton but wear no shoes on those hard feet. The colour of the skin of this race can range from brilliant white to jet black with all shades of greys in between. King Beulah of Maro had white skin.

One day as the King was anxiously pacing his palace in a general melancholy mood, a female appeared from a doorway ahead of him.

‘What is it, Haile?’ king Beulah asked when he heard her come into his chamber. He was staring morosely out of a large window.

‘Your dinner is ready, my king,’ said the young grey creature, who was a worker of the royal palace.

‘Yes, I’m coming,’ he exclaimed with a reluctant stomp of his heavy padded feet. But king Beulah remained where he was, still gazing out of the large square glassless window and up at the green Shomaian sky. The female left.

Next there came some heavy steps and a serious male creature appeared. He was a tall and broad figure.

‘King Beulah,’ he said firmly. ‘Your dinner is ready, my lord!’

‘What is it tonight, Atnaj?’

‘Roast thitel, my king,’ said the direct and proper animal. This was the obedient assistant to the king. ‘Is that not your favourite, my king?’

‘Atnaj, you are too good to me. Your father worked for me, didn’t he? And your grandfather, for my father? Yes, yes, Atnaj, Atnaj?’ Beulah mumbled from subject to subject until…’

Thitel is a beast of Shomaia similar to an aardvark with a long trunk and covered with woollen hair. This is a common food in Shomaia that has a texture like beef, often eaten raw.

‘I do love thitel,’ declared the king in a daze. ‘I can smell it; how can I resist? Very good, Atnaj, I’m coming, I’m coming,’ the king answered and followed the loyal servant to the dining chamber of the palace. Then he stood still on the spot, and asked his assistant: ‘Atnaj, do you want to know something…?’

‘…Do you know what time it is?’ a mature female voice yelled up to her son David, who was in his bedroom.

‘On no!’ the young man groaned to himself. ‘I’m gonna be late.’

David was typing at a typewriter, frowning desperately at the words he had just written. He looked up at his micky mouse clock hanging on his bedroom wall. The long hand was pointing to the ten and the short hand on the nine.

‘Oh armholes,’ exclaimed the young David Massa.

David Massa lived at 3 Ewart Lane, Diddlemount, in the county of Summershire, England, United Kingdom. He worked in the local library, his one and only job. And now after years surrounded by books he had decided to take the intrepid step of writing his own novel.

‘Yes, I think I like that,’ he whispered to himself about the section he had written that morning as he rushed to work. ‘I’ll have to write a bit more, I suppose.’

David was grateful that he did not live too far from the library. The journey took him no time at all to reach his destination. Usually he made a leisurely stroll slowly in deep thought along the pretty route which took him over the railway bridge, behind the Diddlemount Athletic football stadium, then down the alley and onto the Summershire county library that had sat proudly on the eastern side of the town for more than a century. All together this was a thirty-minute walk. However, this morning David was late of course, so his sprint more than halved his usual journey.

‘At last,’ he exclaimed, nearly knocking over his boss Jessica Nicholls as he hurriedly entered the listed building.

Jessica Nicholls was the large no-nonsense Summershire County head librarian. The woman was in her early fifties and as ever attached to her clipboard as if the thing were one of her limbs. She peered over her frown and slim line spectacles at the young man.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ David continued with a deep pant and heavy breathing, leaning on the library entrance door.

‘Mm…that’s alright,’ replied Jessica with a twisted expression on her lips. Due firstly to the fact that David had a hand on one of her breasts and secondly…

…‘But you used the wrong entrance and…’ there was a third thing… ‘I think you’ve forgotten something else, David.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ David was a little confused, which was not a rare occurrence for the anxiety prone librarian.

‘You’ve forgotten something, Mr. Massa.’ Jessica repeated, this time pointing downward.

David slowly tilted his head toward the ground. There were no trousers on his legs! He saw only white sticks looking back at him. He looked up again at the head librarian, smiled weakly and blushed powerfully. With his face glowing red and pathetic and pale legs on show David turned, ran out of the library and returned home.

‘Why didn’t you tell me I was half naked, when I left the house, mum?’ the librarian asked as he entered his house.

‘You are big and ugly enough to know what the time of day it is by now, young man,’ said his mother. ‘You should be thankful I shouted up when I did.’ Then she giggled at her son’s skinny white legs, behind a hand.

David sighed and drudgingly ascended the stairs to his bedroom, dressed and returned to work. When he arrived for a second time at the land of books, Ms. Nicholls was still at the entrance, her mighty arms folded.

‘Don’t let this happen again, Mr Massa,’ were her sturdy words.

Miss Nicholls was a heavyset woman and at first glance appeared a bit of a bully and a tyrant. But don’t let it be said that the woman was unattractive. David Massa for one had noticed this long ago.

‘No, of course not, Miss Nicholls,’ he replied obediently. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘There are plenty of returned books to shelve over there. Look busy!’

‘Yes, Miss Nicholls,’ said David, rubbing his curly black hair. And off he drudged to his begrudging work.

‘You can call me Jessica, you know. I’ve told you many times, there’s no need for such formalities here, David,’ Jessica called to him. A wry smiled passed over her lips as she added. ‘And by the way Mr Massa.’

Glumly David turned around.

‘Nice legs.’

The whole library congregation burst into grand laughter, both staff and customers alike. Trevor Atkins, the newest member of the flock was in hysterics. Only David saw him. Only David ever saw him. Trevor was the youngest member of the library staff and the ladies loved him. He made it clear that he thought David was an idiot.

David went home that evening still feeling sorry for himself. He felt so stupid, and annoyed with himself; he couldn’t help it- he always seemed to make more out of everything than need be.

He walked the short way home with his face to the floor much of the way. He wanted the ground to open up and eat him alive. On crossing the railway bridge his brain continued to work overtime, pondering about his book, his life, his mother, Jessica, books, and more books. Somehow, David thought writing a novel might help him, but that was not the whole story, there were dreams too, dreams of another world, another place, another realm. That was the very reason why he began to write in the first place, to relay those vivid dreams.

Maybe I didn’t come from earth at all, was a common thought David had developed, maybe my mum is not my real mum at all, maybe…

‘…Pull yourself together David,’ he exclaimed aloud, as he approached his house. Mr Moore his suspicious neighbour was mowing his lawn and heard David chatting to himself.

‘Are you alright, David?’ asked the lean retired man, switching off the lawnmower.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Moore. I’m fine. You?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ replied his neighbour slowly, but wearing a suspicious frown. He started the lawnmower up again, still watching David in a disapproving manner. David smiled at Mr. Moore, opened the front door and crept inside. He sat in the kitchen just in time for his mother to place a plate of sausage and mash in front of him on the table. Now he’d eat in silence, his mother always busy, never eating, never sleeping.

After David had eaten his sausage and mash potatoes he went up to his room where he would try to write more of his book.

I can escape to Shomaia; David told himself as he munched then swallowed the final mouthful of a pork and beef sausage…

…The green sky over Maro was full of red orange clouds as they moved across the heavens with unyielding grace. King Beulah watched from his white wood palace in awe and wonder. The sky, the brown muddy fields mixed with a bluish plant life, oversized insects and reptilian flying beasts touched his troubled heart, melting it over his surroundings, removing his mind from his kingly responsibilities.

But not for long…

…Determined footsteps echoed now in the vast palace. They belonged to a demure, stout creature, the king’s cousin.

‘Salvation to you, my king,’ he proclaimed in honest reverence.

‘Salvation indeed, Lohos, salvation indeed,’ replied the king with mild sarcastic tones. Beulah was now sitting on his throne and both of his great Shomaian legs were thrown over one of the enormous golden arms. The handsome king placed a paw under his white rugged chin.

‘So, what is it now, Beulah?’ asked Lohos as he walked over to his king and stared at the long sheep like face. Unlike Beulah, Lohos was a jolly fellow; dark-grey in colour, and also unlike the tall ivory coloured king, Lohos was short. ‘What is your mind worried about, this day?’

‘It’s all very well for you!’ yelled the king jumping up from his throne and over to the great window that overlooked his country of Maro. ‘I have to rule this country, and yet I have to answer to that…northern animal.’

‘Oh, him,’ said Lohos, following his cousin Beulah over to the window. ‘And that’s the way it’s always been.’

‘But why?’ asked the king, in part to himself.

‘I confess, my king,’ added Lohos. ‘I do not know the answer to that, but I do believe the time is coming when we will know, and that slithering monster will have no power, and Shomaia will have true peace.’

The king fell into panic.

‘Don’t say such things, Lohos.’ His instruction was somewhere between a whisper and a yell. ‘And not so loud; that fiend has spies everywhere. And he is friends with all kinds of nasty creatures. I can only imagine what he does to those who believe he could be overthrown. As for those who follow such ideas as yours, Lohos, I wish not to imagine.’

Lohos was not apologetic.

‘But it must be said, Beulah,’ he went on, lowering his voice a touch. ‘A time is coming when the true ruler of Shomaia will be king once more.’

The king became indignant.

‘You and that old religion will get you in so much trouble one day.’

The king returned to his throne and sat with folded arms. Lohos took himself over to the throne and pointing at his cousin with one of his thick and awkward digits.

‘It’s true, Beulah; the Original One is coming, and he will sit upon that very seat. Exactly as the legends foretell. Many of your ancestors have believed, and many Marans and beyond believe still. Now you know all too well that that northern beast rules many lands as well as our own country. He has many powers that he obtained from I know not where, an evil alliance, no doubt. But when we find the lost scrolls of Shomaia, we‘ll know for sure that the false- ruler’s time is at an end, for the Creator himself will return.’

Next Lohos looked down and was sad.

‘But I must go away; the king of Thima desires me to see him this very day.’

‘Why, where are you going? Why don’t I know about this? Why don’t I know about anything?’

‘I don’t even know very much myself, cousin. This is the work of the Original One.’

The pair stood and viewed the country of Maro from the circular window and watched a giant and ugly insect fly past to do its work.

David smiled as he ceased his typing to read back what he had typed. With a frown, he uttered.

‘I was there. I’m sure I was there, in Shomaia.’

CHAPTER 2

The library was full; customers were musing in every category; horror, sport, sci-fi/fantasy, bios, romance, computer and children’s sections, probably inside to stay dry from downpour in the street. David Massa was wearing his favourite red sweater, putting the used books back in their rightful places and alphabetical order. Everywhere was a quiet din, as a library should be. All, that is except two elderly ladies chatting and chuckling in the crime section until Jessica told them to be quiet. The other members of staff were at the counters checking out books.

Here Trevor, the young cocky trainee approached David.

‘I didn’t know it was you with your clothes on,’ he chortled and disappeared into the children’s section, his arrogant shoulders upright, walking on his tiptoes. David huffed wearily and continued with his duties.

It was when David had reached the horror section that it happened. For holding a can of alcohol, a large man with a short-cropped haircut entered David’s library, wearing a jacket that scarcely fitted him. The individual was tall and not thin. David looked up from his pile of returned books:

‘Oh bollards,’ he uttered under his breath. This exact scenario was his worst nightmare. The very notion of an angry bulking man making his presence known in an establishment such as a public library made David sweat with fear. He always told himself that such a person would never darken the doors of this establishment.

David’s worst fears were met when the man picked up a book, probably for the very first time in his life.

‘What’s this, then?’ bellowed the ogre, almost spilling his strong can of cider. ‘Books, I lahv books.’

He continued indignantly and slowly began to move around the place of learning, tripping and spilling more cider as he went, scaring the two ladies in the crime section, who then rushed out of the library in a hurry.

‘Thank you, God,’ whispered David with a touch of reproach. He just wanted to go home. Next our friend somehow arrived at the religion and philosophy section where he picked up a bible.

‘What’s this?’ the person slurred. The person starred at the reading object for a second, and became silent, his faced seemed peaceful. Then he spoke. However, his words did not reflect the expression on his chiselled muzzle a moment before.

‘What a load of old crap,’ he snarled. ‘Who believes in this rubbish anyway? Only weirdoes and sissies, that’s who.’

That was just about the final straw for David Massa. He now decided it was about time he intervened. So, after counting to three in a whisper, the slight librarian minced over to the man with arms thicker than David’s waist and faced him, tilting his head and extended his shoulders, with the intention of standing as tall as possible.

‘Excuse me,’ he said in a brave attempt of the authoritative tone. The trouble maker glared at the small specimen in front of him up and down, swayed and grimaced, revealing hardly any teeth.

‘Get out of my way, you poof.’

David gritted his teeth and fully meant to show this apparent human the front door. Indeed, fists began to fly. The other members of staff and book borrowers watched on in horror behind half closed hands, just as legs, feet and arms flew about amongst grunts and squeals. This went on for such a long time. None of this did David any good, one iota; not for a moment, for seconds later his little body was flying into the rain soaked street, head first. The next second the hooligan followed him, landing in the road with a mighty thump, and behind the trouble maker was the distinct and massive form of Jessica Nicholls, who was standing above them both, rubbing her hands together. She peered down at David, who was splayed out on the wet and dirty ground.

‘Cup of tea?’ his boss asked with an outstretched hand.

Trevor Atkins was silently giggling with his hand over his mouth just behind Jessica. Only David saw him.

…The Shomaian sky line was filled with prophesy. The king lay in bed next to his beautiful Queen Lawra. He glanced at her ivory face, her red curling hair, the mark of a Shomaian female, cascading over her chest. Then her eyes opened and she smiled a beautiful smile in the likeness of a ewe.

Beulah rose and breathed in the landscape of his domain that was Maro, his own nation he had no true power over. His thoughts were still filled with the words between himself and his cousin Lohos the previous day.

‘Perhaps there is something in that crazy religion,’ he said to himself. ‘Maybe that horrid northerner will not rule this country for much longer.’

Later the same day it became dark and Beulah thought he saw a flake of white rain fall.

‘No,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is that rain…or snow? There has not been snow here for I don’t how long.’

‘Pardon?’ asked his wife, overhearing her husband talking to himself, as she sat at the breakfast table.

‘I thought I saw snow,’ he told her for a second time, not even believing his own words.

‘Snow! It’s not cold enough for snow, Beulah,’ she said not looking up from her breakfast.

‘Yes, I know. Maybe my eyes were deceiving me. But I saw two flakes of something fall. Two white flakes. They were there, I tell you, my wife, my queen. They were right there, flying like little white insects.’

‘Surly not…it can’t be…unless…’ uttered Lawra.

‘Unless what?’ asked the king indignantly.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing, what do you mean nothing? What did you mean? Tell me!’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ insisted the lovely queen of Maro.

‘Yes it does matter, tell me!’

The queen ceased chewing her breakfast, and stared at the king. Two strands of her long red locks hung over her non-human face. She smiled a small smile, showing off her telling pointed Shomaian white teeth.

‘Have you heard of the Lost Scrolls of Shomaia?’

‘Yes, I have,’ said the king. ‘You know about them, too?’

‘Yes, I have known for a long time. How do you know about them?’

‘Lohos,’ said the king with a sigh. ‘You don’t believe it, do you?’

The queen paused for a moment then smiled.

‘Yes, yes, I do,’ she answered with confidence.

‘Why didn’t I know?’ yelled the king rising from his chair. He sat again. His large head dropped. ‘No, no, it’s not your guilt, my queen,’ he repeated, lifting his head up, holding his wife’s hand and considering her fair eyes.

‘I should have known. My father knew about the Original One, and his father had heard, though neither believed in was true. If they had any knowledge of the lost scrolls, I do not know. I doubt if they even cared about such serious things.’

The king stood upon his hind feet, and screwed up his handsome snout.

‘This has gone on for too long, much too long, my dear queen. I’m going to find out more about those lost scrolls of Shomaia…’

CHAPTER 3

David paused and breathed slowly.

‘That will do for now,’ he exclaimed cheerfully to himself and carefully placed his typewriter on his bedroom floor. David then sat back on his bed with his hand behind his head on the cushion and lay with contentment. His eyes flickered, opening and closing at equal intervals, not quite easing David to sleep. For a moment or three David just listened to his micky mouse clock, tick-tocking in the silence. While David drifted in and out of this virtual outer body experience, his door tapped and opened. A curly mop appeared, followed by a droopy grin.

‘Watchyu mate,’ said the face under the hair.

‘Oh, hello Tony,’ said David, in full recognition.

‘What are you up to then?’ Tony asked, flicking his curly blond locks away from his blue eyes.

‘Nothing interesting,’ David answered coyly and casually pushed his typewriter under the bed with his heal.

‘I’ve got some beers in,’ said Tony sounding very pleased with himself, as he brought the refreshments out from behind his back.

Anthony Baker. What can you say about Anthony Baker? Anthony Baker was a happy chap. Blond, tall, slim… and simple. No, maybe simple is not the right word, Tony was thick. Tony was born in Diddlemount at home, his father delivered him. Being born was the most intelligent thing Tony ever done.

David’s friend slunk down on his bed and handed him a can of Foster’s larger. The friends clicked open their tins at the same time, and took their first thirst quenching sips.

The pair laughed.

‘We’re good pals, aren’t we?’ said Tony.

‘Yeah,’ said David with a forced smile. David couldn’t remember when he met Tony, he just always knew him. In the deepest pit of his memory, Tony was there; even when he was two years old, Tony is there with that dopey giggle of his and his floppy yellow mop.

As the evening wore on the two chatted for a while, although David’s book was sitting at the back of his mind, criticizing him about plot errors and spelling mistakes. Then out of nowhere Tony said:

‘I saw that Amanda girl the other day.’

‘Oh yeah; she’s a funny looking thing,’ added David with wry smile.

‘I don’t know,’ Tony added with a twisted smirk. ‘I sort of fancy her: there’s something about her.’

‘I know what you mean, Tony, it’s that one eye in the middle of her head, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Tony, who was not laughing.

‘Do you know who I fancy?’

‘Who? ‘Tony asked with an air of emphatic enthusiasm?

‘Scooby Doo in drag.’

‘You’re sick,’ said Tony with a strong tone of morality. He opened another can of beer and sipped it in silence for a while. Tony could not sulk for too long, within seconds he had offered David another can. David took the lager and they were laughing again. When they had ceased laughing Tony sat up with a lump of his blond locks stuck to the front of his face. David chuckled at him.

‘What are you laughing at?’

‘Your hair,’ said David, can of lager to his lips. ‘Why don’t you just cut it all off?’

‘I like it’, replied his friend, defending himself. ‘It’s better than that thing on your head.’

‘What, what’s wrong with my hair? I don’t have to worry about it. It just curls up.’

‘My dad used to say you were a throw-front or something.’

‘Throwback,’ David reluctantly corrected his friend.

‘Anyway,’ Tony went on. ‘You can’t shake your hair about like I can.’

Tony demonstrated with a flick of his head.

David did not know if he should be offended at the throw-front remark or not. He kept silent and even smiled to himself. He was sure Tony didn’t mean anything malicious by it.

Time passed quickly and as the evening moved along the door opened to reveal the sweet head of Mrs Massa.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Anthony?’

‘No thank you, Mrs Massa. I’m going now, anyway.’

The head of Mrs Massa vanished behind David’s door and she was gone.

Tony stood to go.

‘Well, I’ll see you mate. You know what? There something about your mum.’

‘Don’t be disgusting,’ said David, firmly. Tony left giggling heartily to himself.

As soon as Tony had gone, David slid on the floor and grabbed his typewriter from under the bed, fully intending to get back to work of his novel.

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.05.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7438-1381-6

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
The librarian who travels to a new world.