Ember Rising Light (Book One)

Ember Rising Light (Book One)

  The epic debut novel in

  It Begins…the Series

  By author:

  C. K. Mullinax

  Copyright © 2011 C.K. Mullinax

  The debut novel of

  It Begins…the Series

  Discover other thrilling titles by author C.K. Mullinax at

  doublefated.com

  For my mother-in-law, Gail

  Thank you for your example of how to be a strong, independent female

  Your adventurous life and fearless steps help me to live life, unafraid

  Your unbelievable courage lights the path and blazes the trail

  You truly are an amazing woman

  For my father-in-law, Eddy

  Thank you for teaching your son everything he knows about valor, strength, wisdom, supportiveness & humor

  He knows how to love his wife through your example

  I owe you a tremendous amount

  Part 1

  “There’s no way to prepare…for something…like this…”

  Chapter One

  It turns out Miss Agatha might have been right…

  She was a self-proclaimed palm reader and the carnival’s only fortune teller. She wore the same costume that people expect to see. Her dress had fake jewels hanging from it. She had a big red scarf wrapped around her head. The hundred gold bracelets she wore on her wrists clinked together when she walked. Normally, I could hear her coming from a mile away. But that night, she didn’t make a single sound. So I wasn’t ready when she grabbed me and read my future – just by looking at my hand.

  Thinking back now on that spooky night, I have realized something – her haunted and mysterious whispers proved that my dad wasn’t always right. Life is not always one big ‘con’ where everything is sleight of hand and misdirection. Sometimes life gives a person a chance to see a little piece of their future. Sometimes life reveals a minute or two of the grand mystery – whether we are ready for it or not.

  I was about six when this bizarre encounter happened. The gypsy fortune teller looked like she was a hundred years old. Her face was “seasoned with character lines.” This was something my Grandma Edie informed me of later that same night when I was telling her about old, wrinkly Miss Agatha and what happened.

  My family traveled around with the carnival during the warmer months of the year. The carnival was known to me as the hunting grounds because our family business involved ‘con jobs’ of various sorts. Hunting marks is how my gypsy family earned a living.

  The hunting grounds became my personal playground once the lights were off, the marks were gone and the rides were closed. We would follow a hunting ground until we either got ‘made’ by someone in authority or the season ended, whichever happened first. If our family business was discovered, we would pack up and find another place to hunt. It was that simple.

  Occasionally, we would stumble across another family in the same business. The dads, A.K.A Doms, would either strike a deal where the families would work together or one would move on. That’s the gypsy code of honor.

  We had followed that particular hunting ground for over two months without being detected. I knew who Miss Agatha was; in fact, I knew everyone that worked at that carnival. In my world, fortune tellers were part of the norm. The only thing I had on my mind that night was getting to Mr. Mites’ tent to hear his tale of adventure. I was running fast between the Zipper and Enterprise rides through the carnival’s midway. It was well after midnight; all the rides were closed and no carnies were in sight.

  Out of the dark, Ms. Agatha suddenly grabbed me. I started to wiggle, trying to escape. My inner voice was telling me to be still and pay attention, but my body screamed run away. She didn’t ease up on her death-grip no matter how hard I struggled. I didn’t understand then, how important it would be to shut up and listen.

  My inner voice is always right…

  I yelled, “Let me go!” My struggles continued as my frustration grew. I was being held against my will, and I didn’t like it at all.

  I looked up at her face while I tried to work my arm free. Even in broad daylight, she was a creepy old lady. The spooky moonlight wasn’t helping anything, either. I wasn’t scared of her. I was just mad because she wouldn’t let go.

  She turned my hand over to inspect my palm. The fortune teller was going to read my future – whether I wanted her to or not.

  Whispering, she told me, “You run without a care and for now, in this fleeting moment, you are free. Yet, soon the days will come when you will see the darkest side of the sun. You and your sister are marked by the divine. You each have been chosen – not entirely of this world, yet not wholly of the others…”

  She stopped talking for a few seconds, taking a closer look. Then, it was like she saw something scarier. She yanked me closer, but her voice got louder.

  “Listen to my words, child! Your footprints must lead Ember’s path. The steps you will take are heavy and filled with many challenges. All things rest upon your shoulders, so you must always choose wisely. Mistakes will be costly…”

  She would have continued with her crazy speech, but I finally managed to break free. I ran away and hid in the shadows of a tent. Trying to catch my breath, I thought about her words. But, I couldn’t figure them out.

  My dad told me that I should listen and remember everything someone says. He always suspected we might need it later for a con job. He drilled that lesson into my head. So I memorized Miss Agatha’s words.

  At the time, I thought I did it out of habit. Now, I am starting to think I stored her mysterious words for another reason…

  The coast was clear when I crawled out of the shadows. Her words would be stuck in my memory forever. So, my mind rapidly switched gears to something more interesting – treasure!

  Mr. Mites, better known as The Mountain, would be waiting for me. He was an adventurer who had valiantly fought his way through the jungles of Africa in search of oddities and riches. His show was called Wonders from the Dark Continent. After the carnival closed, he would open his tent up to the “children of the shadows” – his nickname for all the carnie kids.

  He would tell us different stories about his many adventures. Then, he would always pull out the actual treasure to prove his story was real. He and my parents were friends. So, sometimes he would stop by our campsite to visit them. I loved it when that happened because he would tell me an extra story.

  I rushed into his tent that night and barely made it in time. The Mountain told us how he fought off two alligators while he was exploring an island marsh. The other five kids left after they looked at the proof – an alligator’s tooth from one and a claw he took from the other. I stayed behind to ask him some questions…about the island, the alligators, the marsh and anything else I could think of.

  The Mountain was the only adult in my world that I could question – well, besides my Grandma Edie. My dad didn’t believe in free speech where kids were concerned. I had been smacked enough times to know I shouldn’t ask him anything. My jobs were to listen, act, and obey – no questions were allowed.

  I could feel the excitement, when the Mountain motioned for me to come up on stage. He opened his treasure chest again and I looked inside. I watched as he pulled out a rare purple jewel and handed it to me. He told me how it was hidden by pirates and let me see the treasure map he used to find it.

  The sun was rising when we finally left his tent. The Mountain walked with me back to my campsite. He was still talking to my parents when my Grandma Edie called me inside. My baby sister, Ember was already asleep.

  I tried my best to keep my voice dow
n. That’s easy to think about, but hard to do…

  While I got ready for bed, I excitedly told my grandma about creepy Miss Agatha and my night of treasure maps and pirating adventures. My dad had been standing outside listening to my tales. He opened the camper door and sternly, reminded me that I shouldn’t be ‘taken in’ by anyone’s con job. That was not unusual advice, especially from him.

  My grandma later whispered that she loved me and winked as she told me…pirates are real.

  I fell asleep and didn’t think about Miss Agatha’s words again – well, until now…seven years later. They came flooding back to me and I remembered them just like she had said them yesterday.

  Yesterday was when the world went crazy…

  I suppose if I had understood Miss Agatha’s words that night I might have been able to see this coming. Instead, I was running on the ‘gypsy fly’ – escaping from something huge with no real plan, hoping for the best. After all, I am still just a teenager. I sighed and tried to make myself feel a little better by saying, “you can do this” over and over in my head.

  So, this is what the darkest side of the sun looks like...

  No matter what I think or how hard I try to encourage myself, the facts are still the same. I have no idea what I’m doing…or even how to do ‘it’, if I do eventually figure ‘it’ out. I doubt any other thirteen-year-old gypsy boy would choose this particular path. And, I knew for sure no other non-gypsy teenage male would select it either.

  Most guys my age are into sports (playing or watching), sneaking peeks at half naked girls or trying like a fool to impress some hottie. Guys my age don’t pay much attention to anything beyond their desires. Well, I have never been what one might call a typical teenage boy. This fact becomes more evident with every passing minute that I sit here on the hard-wood floor…

  My life has never been ‘stable’…even before my Grandma Edie died all those years ago. I’m not sure there is even such a thing as a stable life. When I told my last guidance counselor this fun and interesting factoid, she got this strange look on her face. It was a cross between horror and anxiety. It is very easy to read adult facial expressions, unless they know how to con. I could almost hear Ms. Flagstaff’s thoughts, too. She was thinking “How on earth did he figure that out at his age?”

  She smiled and jotted down another long note into my student profile. My guidance counselor had been an everyday fixture for the last few weeks. I had no clue what she wrote in my chart, but it wouldn’t matter much either way. I never attend any school longer than five weeks and my records never follow me anywhere.

  We were constantly moving around the country during the carnival’s off-season. My dad would work on various con jobs and so, we lived in a bunch of different rental houses. That meant occasionally, I would go to school (A.K.A. Tray’s babysitter).

  Public school was used as a distraction – just to get me out of my dad’s hair. The only important schooling I needed, he had already taught me. Mainly, my dad “home schooled” me and I use that term very loosely. Most children are taught to say “da-da” and “ma-ma”. My first life lesson was how to cry on demand to create a diversion. When most children are learning to walk, my father demanded I learn how to run lightly and pick-pocket a wallet. He skipped all those steps in-between. By the time I was three, he had even taught me how to steal a watch off of someone’s arm. It turns out that small children make great thieves and are easily taught.

  My dad ‘schooled’ me in many things, but reading, math and science weren’t among his instructions. Most of my father’s lessons are etched in my mind…seared into my brain, forever…whether I wanted them there or not.

  I was well into my dad’s schooling by the time I was eight. That is how old my sister, Ember is right now. I sure hope all his schooling will help me figure out a plan of some kind…

  There is a price to pay for every decision. Unfortunately, most people don’t understand this little chunk of wisdom until they find themselves in the middle of some chaos brought on by their own actions. Stupid deeds are rarely worth the hefty price tag. But usually, by the time they figure that out, the wheel of fate has already been spun…the devil gets his big pay day…

  I knew I would never regret my decision to run away with my baby sister. However, I was jaded enough – even at thirteen – to realize someday, I will surely have to pay the devil for choosing to take off with her.

  Well technically, protecting Ember isn’t a choice that I made – it’s something I have to do. Our relationship is nothing like typical siblings and it never has been. For one thing, she has me wrapped around her pinky – scary but true. And two, from the minute she was placed in my arms, I was her protector.

  I am a teenager, but I am the closest thing to a parent Ember has. This is especially true since my grandma passed away. My mom and dad were never into parenting, unless it was part of a con job they were running. Otherwise, all the parenting (both mine and Ember’s) was left up to me.

  So, I am the one that takes care of Ember and that will never change. I actually wouldn’t want it any other way. The first word she ever spoke was “Tay” and she repeated it until she learned how to pronounce it the right way – less than twenty four hours after she started.

  Most gypsies are extremely loyal to their family and are especially protective of their girls. They normally live together as a band. Well, this is what I’ve seen with other families we’ve come across. My parents were the exception to that particular gypsy rule.

  Beyond my Grandma Edie, I never met any other family member. I don’t even know if we have any.

  My parents were devoted to money, conning and various other things. Gypsy family loyalty wasn’t something they believed in.

  Unlike my mom and dad, I am every bit a gypsy. Ember is my only family. My loyalty to her is – what most outsiders would consider – obsessive. To other gypsies, my compulsive protection of Ember is expected. True gypsies live by a different set of codes when it comes to family.

  I always knew I needed to get her away from our parents and out of that situation. I didn’t want her to endure the abuse I have lived through. Eventually, the beatings would have turned in her direction. It was only a matter of time.

  Since the day my grandma died, I had been looking for a chance to escape with Ember. Without Grandma Edie to stop my parents, my little sister wasn’t safe from them.

  I have always been big for my age. In fact, most people assume I’m in my early twenties. By the time I turned eleven, I was as tall as my dad. That didn’t stop him from teaching me painful lessons. I could handle his beatings and violent outbursts without too many problems. But, Ember is very tiny and fragile. One good smack from my dad and he could kill her without any real effort. So, I had spent lots of time trying to please him and keep his focus off of my little sister.

  The opportunity to escape happened without giving me any warning. I didn’t have any plan together. It just came down to simple survival.

  Everything in my life is now about basic instinct. It sleeps quietly until necessity wakes it up with a vengeance…

  I didn’t know where we were going or where we would wind up. For better or worse, I grabbed the money, my little sister and we ran!

  So, here I am sitting on the cold, hard floor in an abandoned farmhouse, out in the middle of nowhere USA. Ember is curled up in the fetal position with my jacket carefully tucked around her. I have no clue where our parents might be and I don’t really care, either.

  As to what happened back at the house on Big Whiskey Lane…well, that’s anyone’s guess at this point.

  I had this strange eerie sense of impending doom when I came home from school, yesterday. The dark thoughts had raced through my mind and made me shiver. It’s the creepy feeling of knowing the danger is there, but not knowing where it might be hiding.

  The day had started out like any other. Maybe, that’s what made the
events of that afternoon so unbelievable and outrageous. I certainly wasn’t prepared for what I saw when I walked through the kitchen door…

  There’s really no way to prepare…for something…like this…