The Word Guardians: and the Battle for the Peacekeepers Read online

  The Word Guardians

  and the Battle for the Peacekeepers

  Lawrence Yarham

  Copyright © 2020 Lawrence Yarham

  First published in Canada in 2020 by Lawrence Yarham, lawrenceyarham.com

  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, contact the publisher, via the website above.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Editing: Angela Yarham

  Cover design by Larch Gallagher, larchgallagher.co.uk

  ISBN 978-0-9939964-4-3

  First Edition

  To my wife and girls, thank you for helping to make this book a reality.

  I love you always. x x x.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 1

  An unusual Saturday

  “Bzz Bzz Bzz”, called an alarm clock rudely from the dream state regions of Yasmine Oakham’s mind. She awoke groggily, to a bright September morning attempting to creep through her curtains. It was seven-thirty. She opened her eyes, then closed them again, and tried to inject wakefulness into her mind. She had slept well, but like so many other seventeen-year-olds, she needed more. Half dressed and surrounded by books, her favourite past-time, she arose.

  Downstairs, her parents were already up, making breakfast, and watching television for background noise. Noise that, even if she wasn’t working today, would have woken her anyway. She washed and dressed and joined them in the kitchen.

  “Morning,” Yas said to her parents.

  Her father nodded in reply. ‘Morning.”

  “You okay, hun?” her mom asked.

  “I'm good, thanks,” replied Yas.

  Wearing clothes that were perhaps a little less conservative for a working in a bookstore, she wore a black t-shirt and a black flared skirt that dropped to just below her knees, paired with converse boots. Her hair was a little runaway, naturally dark brown, and it remained this colour for now. She was not quite a punk, or rebel, but used her edgy look as a shield. She recognised her own individuality, had spent time trying to find it, and had added a black nose ring to help her continue to ‘sniff’ it out in future years. To her family and friends, she was Yas, and to anyone else she was ‘don’t judge me before you know me’.

  Yas made herself some toast and drank a glass of water.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, the news channel blared in the background. There was headline news, weather and then local news items. The headline news drew grunts and dismissals from her father, as he sat eating his breakfast and browsing on his tablet. There were reports of growing demonstrations in their town and other neighbouring cities, triggered by further austerity cuts, the most recent of these being the closure of smaller rural libraries. While the number of those protesting was initially low in number and peaceful in nature, the reporter said that this was a growing concern. The latest protests involved vandalism to city properties, signs, benches and even a parked car. The underlying tension was that of balancing freedom of information versus censoring of certain outlets to prevent ‘fake news’. The man continued to say that the police were investigating the criminal elements. He summarised by quoting one of the candidates running for the upcoming State Governor.

  The image changed to show a rally and a man speaking. “With the advent of more and more ways to share information, safeguarding our children by killing off the weeds of fake news is something I intend to address.”

  Her father looked up from his table. “This is what we’ve come to,” he said grumpily.

  “I disagree,” said Yas’s mom, emptying and filling the dishwasher. “It feels like we’ve come full circle. Isn’t that what our nation is built upon. Freedom of speech?”

  “True,” he conceded, head down.

  “Isn’t that what my father was about too?” she continued.

  “And look where that got him,” he said dismissively.

  “That’s not fair.” shot back her mom. “We still don’t know what really happened to him.”

  Her father looked over his glasses. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I agree with the principle. Absolutely I do. But this...” he took off his glasses and gestured to the television, “...this seems to have become a platform for other elements... divisions. That’s what I don’t like.”

  “I agree,” said her mom, opening the cupboard to grab her own breakfast. “There’s too much headline seeking.”

  The reporter then linked the news item to the disappearance of a local policeman. It recaptured the attention of Yas and her parents.

  “Sam’s father?” asked her mom, turning her head to look at Yas.

  Yas nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I hadn’t realised,” her mom said, reaching into the fridge for the milk. “Oh, that’s terrible,” she added to herself, thinking the worst.

  Yas wondered how Sam was feeling with the news report. She knew about the disappearance, but this was the first time it had received media coverage.

  The reporter added that Detective Swift had been key in the investigations of other recent disappearances, the common element being that each had been involved with or related to the literary world. Pictures were shown of others that he had been investigating. Then the reporter made linkages to older unsolved disappearances, including a picture that made Yas’s eyes widen. It was Akoni, her adopted brother.

  Her father looked up. “I wish they would stop sniffing around the same topic,” he said crossly. “It won’t change what happened.” He stood up, picked up his breakfast things and carried them to the sink.

  Her mom came the opposite way, carrying her bowl over to the table, and touched her father on his back. They exchanged an understanding look for a moment, then her mom sat down.

  “Its okay,” she offered to Yas, tapping her on the arm.

  Yas knew this was painful for her parents. Akoni had disappeared almost two years ago, shortly after her grandfather. Both events had been a terrible shock for the family. Even now, any reminders were a source of pain. Yas wished she could get through to them and talk about it, but there still seemed to be something remaining. They were stuck, not able to move on, and just when they thought they’d finally put it behind them they were reminded of it again.

  The news channel changed to the weather, and that light relief opened up the conversation again. Mundane topics. That’s what seemed to work well.

  “I wonder if it will stay nice today, hmm?” her mom asked. There was no reply. Pretty standard for a Saturday morning. Her mom tried to keep the peace while her father stewed away in his own world. Each of them desperately tried to avoid what was uncomfortable. Yas stood up, grabbed the last piece of toast and rammed it into her mouth, then cleared her things away into the open dishwasher.

  “What time are you
back, hun?” her mom enquired.

  “Errr,” she said, covering her mouth as she tried to talk while still finishing chewing. “Usual. About 5.30.” They exchanged a goodbye kiss and hug.

  “Be safe,” came the reply from her father as she went over to him to give him a goodbye kiss also. He softened in that moment as he always did. She just wished he could get to that place in other moments.

  “I will,” she replied, fulfilling her part of the standard goodbye back and forth.

  She grabbed her leather-look black jacket along with her cloth shoulder bag, from the corner of the chair she had been sitting on. She put them on and then headed outside.

  The click of the front door gave her a moment to breathe out the tension of the house and to breathe in the possibilities of the outside world.

  It was certainly not a bad morning at all. The sunshine had made its presence known, pouring its light over the edge of the houses and taller buildings in the distance. The air was bright and clear, even with the wind conspiring to add a fall-like cold edge to the temperature. Yas knew she would warm up as she walked, and she was glad to have that time of peace and quiet. She fished in her bag for her sunglasses and headed out of the driveway and onto the sidewalk. She turned right, towards the downtown core of Bystead that was about a twenty-minute walk away. There lay a small-town bookstore, where she worked.

  Yas had always enjoyed books. That ability to inspire an escape in your mind had always intrigued her. Some said it was a means to keep in touch with the inner child, but for her, books represented learning and fed her interests of people throughout history. It had given her a means of escape, when things had been emotionally challenging for her.

  She’d initially been an only child. Then at about age nine, her world had turned upside down when an elder brother was introduced to her. Akoni, who was fostered and then adopted, was three years older than her and had been at their home for about six years that she could clearly remember. Initially quiet, then challenging as a teenager, he’d also worked at the bookstore that she was heading to now. This was something her parents had seemed to encourage as a means of providing him with a quest for knowledge. Head strong, it had helped for a time, but didn’t last long. He disappeared, following a car accident, a few weeks after her grandfather. The car had gone off the road, into trees, and there were no witnesses. There was also no sign of him. The passing of time had sealed the inevitability of his death. The likelihood was that Akoni had left the vehicle to try to get help and had become lost in a rural area. It was speculation as to whether he had fallen, drowned or become a victim of some other crime. Yas’s parents continued to try to avoid the topic, yet they also seemed to be annoyed at themselves and him for the way in which he had impacted their family. ‘He had issues’, was all her mom would say. They seemed to blame him for grandpa’s disappearance too, and that puzzled Yas. It was as if they knew something more but were not prepared to say. Presumably to protect Yas against further stress, it seemed that they’d tried to keep the deaths, and Akoni’s life, a closed book. That caused Yas a lot of difficulty. She’d had no-one to talk to or grieve with. On the nights that followed the accident, she remembered listening intently to the conversations of her parents with the police through the walls in the house, but she could not make out what was said. No one talked to her, so she found solace in her own private world within books.

  When things were bad at home before Akoni’s accident, Yas had helped out at the bookstore when Akoni had just ‘gone off’ for the day. She saw now that she’d been trying to cover for her elder brother, trying to not get him into too much trouble so that it didn’t then spill over into the home. What had followed had surprised her. A mentor/mentee relationship started to develop with the owner and it quickly became one that Yas enjoyed immensely. There was an openness in their conversations, and she felt a level of support that she didn’t have with her parents. The owner had allowed her to come in and study after school if she hadn’t felt like going home. For Yas, the shop was that feeling you get with a warm cozy fireplace. Understandably, her parents had not encouraged the relationship because of the history with Akoni. Any association made it harder for them. But Yas had been insistent when the owner had made her an offer of employment. In truth, Yas’s parents had said so little to her that she was never sure which of her interests they agreed with and which they did not.

  “Hey Yas,” called a familiar voice. It was Sam, her friend, whose father, Peter, was the subject of the missing persons report this morning. She felt bad for him, but she also couldn’t think of the words to offer comfort. Perhaps it was because her parents refused to talk with her about Akoni.

  Sam worked at the library and was also in the same year of high school as her, so they often walked together.

  “I saw that they mentioned your dad on the news this morning,” she said awkwardly.

  “Yeah,” came his distant reply. “They’re still looking but it will only be a matter of time before they stop.”

  “Oh God, Sam,” replied Yas, putting her hand to her mouth and assuming the worst. “I’m so sorry,” she added. “That must be hard.”

  There was silence for a while. They continued walking.

  “I’m not giving up on him,” he said finally. “Despite what people think, I know he’s okay.” He stared resolutely ahead. “Only, he’s stuck somewhere. I know it. I do.”

  “What do you mean?” Yas asked, worried where this might be heading.

  “He’s in one of the realms and he just can’t get back.”

  There it was. Sam’s pet subject of magical realms that could be accessed from books. She wanted to be supportive, but she also found herself quick to irritation whenever he raised this. She knew that this was his way of coping, but it seriously got on her nerves. From her own reading she understood what he meant in terms of a doorway in the mind, but she knew he was talking literally. She thought he sounded unhinged sometimes. Yas had read many books, driven by her own quest for knowledge and unsurprisingly she’d not seen the merest hint of a magical realm. Yes, she knew about fictional classics, stories with portals and doorways through from this world to other fantasy realms. Her grandpa had introduced her to these when she had stayed with him. Other than a link back to childhood, Yas found that these served little purpose. None of them were real.

  She turned to Sam. “I hope you’re right, Sam. But you shouldn’t keep saying stuff like this. It makes you sound, I dunno...”

  “What?” Sam shot back. “Crazy?”

  Yas took a deep breath before replying. “No Sam. Look, I’m only saying this as your friend, you know?”

  “I know. Its just...” he continued, holding his hand out in a gesture of irritation. “I know you don’t believe me, but Dad used to take me to this little cottage, next to a lake with fields all around it. He said it was in a realm. We used to go there on vacation.” He looked at her, pleading with her to believe him.

  Yas was quiet for a moment. Sam was always overly enthusiastic about these magical places. She felt he needed to grow up and see that the world was not all rainbows and unicorns. She genuinely hoped his father was found, but she knew the reality of this world. Unlike books, there were not always happy endings. The only reason there was interest in the media was because there was something shocking to tell. Then when the trail went cold, public interest would wane, and the story would die. She didn’t want to think about him having to receive the finality of his father not coming back. She knew how painful that could be from her own experience. Besides it wasn’t her place to present that as an outcome. Instead her mind wandered back to childhood times with her grandpa, reading books and imagining details of the scenes of famous fictional settings. She remembered specific colours, smells and sounds, clocks on fireplace mantels and pictures on the walls. Often, she found herself including something from the real world, from her own memory, into these imaginary places.

  “How do you know its not just a memory of a real place?” sh
e asked gently.

  “Its not. I know it.” He looked at her resolutely. “I can’t tell you why. You’d know it too if you’d ever been to one.”

  They were quiet again. They crossed the road and were within a short walk of the main downtown core now. The sun was warm and the trees that lined the roads were golden and red, as if releasing their warmth into what remained of a late summer. The wind though still took what it could of the warmth away.

  “I’d show you,” continued Sam. “But I can’t seem to open any of the doorways he did. If I could, I’d go searching for him, show the police, you know?”

  “I know this is hard for you,” she sympathised, then found her mind turning to possible solutions. “What about Ms. Vickers? You said she was helping your dad with some investigation? Couldn’t she help?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve tried.”

  “Oh? What did she say?”

  “She said he might be undercover, and I might endanger him by looking.”

  Yas was confused. “That’s odd.” She thought about television shows of detectives. “If he was undercover, why would he be reported as missing?”

  Sam looked at Yas in acknowledgement. “That’s exactly what I said!” he gestured with his hands, frustrated. “She’s driving me crazy,” he added. “Its like she knows something but won’t say!”

  Janine Vickers had only moved to the area a few months ago, after taking a job at the library. Sam’s father had offered her a room until she got herself something more permanent. She was still there though. Yas had wondered about that privately, but figured it had been none of her business so had never asked Sam.

  “Why do you say that?” Yas asked.

  “Its lots of things. Its like she’s taking over the house suddenly. She tells me she’s trying to find a way to help, but all I see is books on ancient mythologies and symbolism and stuff. They’re everywhere! On the kitchen table and in the sitting room. She won’t talk to me about any of them. If ever I ask her about them, she gets on my back about something I’ve not done. Before, she was either talking with my dad or in her room. She never really bothered with me.”