JACOB FROST – BOOK I
THE SENTINEL’S APPRENTICE
By: Coblette P. Flumberslug
A retired Sentinel of the Realms
Copyright © 20013
Chapter 1 –The Swimming Hole (part 1)
On a small farm, located three miles east of the rustic town of Ridgeway, the morning dew had only half-way withdrawn from off the tops of tall green stalks of wheat that stretched out evenly in two broad parallel fields. Shielded between these glistening fields was a long narrow fenced pasture that housed two black and white cows that were just beginning their day by peacefully chewing their delicious cud. Like so many other mornings on the farm, the day had started placidly calm, but unexpectedly a swift swoosh of cold air sliced across the barnyard, and in one quick moment the setting changed to a feeling so dreadful that it raised goose bumps over the hides of all the animals. Directly overhead could be seen miasmas of dark black clouds gathering in a single gloomy mass that blanketed the farmhouse with a thick sinister shadow, and eerie flashes of lightening accompanied by loud roaring cracks of thunder streaked haphazardly through the murky sky. Across the fields sharp gusts of wind were pushing the green turf back and forth like lengthy waves rolling across a wide ocean expanse. Two cows utterly startled senseless, stood frozen in a petrified stance and stared back up at the farmhouse. Despite the fact that only an hour earlier they had been milked and fully satisfied, they once again began crying out in deep mewls, as if pleading for a second round of morning milking. Throughout the rest of the farm as well, the other animals one by one joined in the tumult, and before long they had united together bellowing out loud tormented caterwauls.
The smallest vocalists that made up the largest collection numbered twenty-one chickens noisily clucking their hearts out. Next in order by size of faction were six strident horses whinnying in loud soprano bawls and frightfully sprinting around an oval coral. A cluster of four baritone pigs followed after that; huddled together and quivering in terror inside a puddle of mud they oinked their faces red in their loudest and deepest subterranean snorts. And not far from the barn, hiding under the shroud of a wagon with a broken wheel, crouched the most tumultuous group of all, three mangy dogs crooning earsplitting yelps. The extraordinary collection of mottled tones simultaneously twisted together forming a single piercing yowl that perforated the small valleys and surrounding hills with a bizarre and never heard before rumpus.
In the midst of this noisy chaos, a solitary man carrying a full basket of freshly gathered eggs stepped out from the deafening pen of clucking chickens. He was a short stocky man in his early forties with long wavy blond hair and a tanned face framed by a thick round beard. But unlike average farmers that adorned dirt stained overalls, he wore a shiny black button less long sleeve shirt and blue silk pants that were ruffling against his sides from the blustery wind.
Directly behind the pen’s closed chicken-wire gate, a rooster clamorously crowed, contributing his finest bravado to the bizarre commotion. With a wrinkle in his brow the man turned his attention downward staring at the small brown bird. Then in a meek but sociable sort of way, as if he were talking to a familiar friend, he shouted over the cries of the animals and whistling wind, “My, my, my, what a noisy farm we have here today.” The bird immediately looked up and responded back with another loud and frightened wail. “Yes, yes I hear you!” replied the man, in between the rooster’s squeals, as if they were engaged in a real conversation. “You and the others feel it too, don’t you? And you’re right today is the beginning of something terrible. What I’ve always feared most all these years has at last come, his powers have awakened, and from now on things are going to get very difficult around here! All this annoying racket reminds me of my youth when that awful day came to me, bringing with it plagues of bad luck and misery that clung to me for many, many years. Our family curse is now his to bear, and I’m truly afraid of the horrible trouble coming his way.”
With pitying eyes the farmer shook his head and looked upwards towards a double paned window in the upper floor of his humble home. Then, cupping his hand to the side of his mouth, he took a deep breath and shouted over the wailing crow of the rooster’s resumed performance, “JACOB TIME TO RISE AND SHINE!”
Meanwhile, upstairs inside the farm house’s corner bedroom, half arisen and sitting slumped over on the edge of a very messy bed, a dark haired, freckled-faced, twelve-year-old boy by the name of Jacob Frost was drifting in and out of consciousness. Still completely unaware of the clamorous cries outside, he groggily clutched onto the edge of a most pleasant dream. This sort of half sitting dreamy awakening was not an unusual occurrence for him, as he practically did it every morning for as long as he could remember, but today was particularly magnetic; detaining him inside his satisfying dream much longer than usual. But as the cries of their farm animals grew louder, rising to a level shrill enough to gnaw away at any wonderful dream, his heavy head began little by little tilting forward until suddenly a brunt “THUD” sounded throughout the room. Held feel the flat of his side face stinging painfully, as it pressed against the floor’s slats, and his limp body uncomfortably resting with his bottom pointing back towards the foot of his bed, angled upward by his bent knees. Excruciatingly his mind was forced open up to the reality of the new day and abruptly he recalled his earnest intention to rise up early to get a timely start.
“Ooooooh fiddle-sticks,” he mumbled, as drool inched across the floor. He pressed his hands against the floor boards and raised up his red and sore face. Then kneeling uncomfortably he wiped off a streak of warm drool smeared across his cheek with the backside of his hand. He had just frittered away a good part of his morning in a mindless stupor. A fierce anger began to boil up inside his mind and in an uncontrolled frustrated fit he exploded, “FIDDLE STICKS THAT HURT, AND IT WAS PURE COCKLE-BRAINED! BY GUM THIS IS THE DUMBEST THING I’VE EVER DONE TO MYSELF! OF ALL DAYS TO WASTE MY MORNING, WHY DID I BRAINLESSLY SLEEP IN LIKE A COCKLE-BRAINED FOOL? NOW I’M GONNA BE LATE! DAD-GUM IT! I’VE GOT TO MAKE UP FOR ALL THAT LOST TIME! FOR SURE THIS’LL MESS UP ALL MY PLANS!”
Totally disappointed with himself, he lifted his arm to grapple with the bed post and began to pull up his drowsy body, when most unexpectedly he noticed for the first time the restless cries of the farm animals leaching through his window. In sheer disbelief he froze forgetting his brainless irritation, and in surprised shock he stared straight up at his closed blinds. He paused, and listened with fixed attention to the strange and unusual wailing, realizing immediately that he had never heard such terrified cries coming from their animals before. Frightfully he began to wonder if the world was coming to a sudden end. “By golly, what’s happening out there?” his voice shuddered.
Curiosity and fear lured him up to his feet and he took several nervous steps towards the window. Slowly he lifted the drapes and ducked underneath, pulling up on the window’s base to slide it open. A strong breeze wafted the curtains in the air and he fought back against the gale by poking his face outside. The morning light abruptly struck his eyes like tiny daggers, causing him to squint, and for a few seconds he had to wait for his vision to focus. His gaze first drew upwards staring at the dark ominous clouds and suddenly he felt dumbfounded by the very fierceness of the summer storm. After watching several streaks of lightening shoot across the sky, he slid his eyes downward searching the yard. Immediately he spied several scattered disturbances and gaped in awe. Their animals were cowering in terror as they stared straight back up at him. He could see and hear each animal howling at their best, akin to a string of loud train whistles, acting as if he were the very source of their horrific fright. Surprised and shocked at the same instance, he jerked his head back inside thumping the back of hi skull against the upper frame of his window.
“OUCH! DAD-GUMMIT!” he cried out in irritation, rubbing his head. “GOLLY THAT HURT!” Only half believing his own eyes and ears, he stepped back nervously muttering, “Oh—oh, now that’s just—just not possible, it can’t be me! It’ gotta be something else; the storm, coyotes, or maybe even a bear, or something else, but it can’t be me that scared the livestock! And whatever it is, well that’s just plain old fiddle sticks that’s all, and if it ends up delaying my morning even more than it’ll ruin everything I’ve planned for today! I’VE GOT NO TIME FOR THIS!”
With no other choice before him, he forced his panic into a calm submission and began refocusing his attention on readying himself. Quickly he reached down and snatched the bottom border of his nightgown, and with both hands he pulled hard, dragging the gown up and over his body in one fell-swoop, followed by an over the head shoulder fling that landed his gown on top of the bed’s headboard post. Despite his still half-groggy condition, he pushed onward at the same hurried pace and began scanning his cluttered floor in hopes of finding a pair of semi-clean pants. Step by step he shuffled forward, while in his mind’s eye he couldn’t help but to see himself as a courageous miner, edging through a deep and dark cavern in search of a precious gold strike. Ever so carefully he studied the floor, creeping into the still usable area of yesterday’s clothes. Then bravely he entered into the riper garments of days gone by, until finally crossing into the dangerous threshold of the forbidden zone, smelly garments of last weeks’ attire, where at last he spotted an unsullied light gray material poking up through a fissure amid a pile of dirty underwear.
“EUREKA! IT’S A BONANZA!” he cried happily, kicking aside his underwear to reveal a pair of dusty gray pants. He bent over, grabbed their tops, and shook the jeans out twice to remove the dust. Then stepping forward, he slipped both of his feet into the narrow openings of his pant legs, and with one quick single yank he slid his jeans half way up his calves where his feet suddenly bunged up in the shanks, bringing his progress to a complete dead stop. As customary with this type of delicate operation, he flounced ahead to line up the holes better in anticipation of a problem well resolved, but as he did the material under his feet slipped back across the smooth wooden floor in the opposite direction and abruptly his graceful flounce turned into an awkward plunge that totally caught him off guard. In a desperate attempt to recover his lost balance, he instinctively made two floundering hops forward, and at the very edge before a breakneck fall he flung out his arms, slapping both palms down hard on the ridge of his dresser. The narrow dresser tilted forward and then backward, sliding across its hub a white ceramic washbowl and a jug filled to the brim with cold water. “CRACK” sounded the jug, tipping to the side. With no place left to go but forward, a river of misery bucketed over the dresser’s edge cascading directly down on the back of his head.
“AAAAAARRHHHG!” he bellowed in alarm. The freezing water poured through his hair, across his shoulders and down his back, soaking through into his baggy undies. Taken aback with an extreme chill, he jumped upwards banging his knee against the dresser.
“OUCH! FIDDLE STICKS! THIS IS DAD-GUM COCKLE BRAINED!” he shouted in an uncontrollable rage as he rubbed his sore knee. “WHY THIS IS THE DUMBEST THING I’VE EVER DONE TO MYSELF!” More than angry, and sodden and cold, he yanked up his jeans. “OF ALL THE BAD LUCK! THAT’S TWICE NOW I’VE FALLEN DOWN LIKE A CLUMSY DUPE,” he barked on in an angry huff, staring through water dripping off his sopping hair. He reached out in search of his towel and slid the washbowl aside, quickly exposing the towel saturated and resting in a puddle of water. “OH FIDDLE STICKS!” he cried, swiping back his wet hair with his hand. “NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!”
In a state of total discomfort he jerked opened the dresser drawer and found only one clean shirt left. “Oh no,” he sighed, “I suppose I’ll now have to pick up my clothes for laundering.”
Briskly he began drying himself off with his shirt, feeling more than wide-awake and extremely awkward. “What’s gotten into me?” he questioned to himself again. I’ve never been this clumsy before, maybe it’s just my nerves.” The anticipated events of the day flashed into his mind, and expectations of making new friends gave him an anxious feeling. Being the brightest student in class had its problems, and he was often cast side as an outsider throughout most of his schooling, but now with today’s swimming invite he was about to change his destiny forever, for he was handed a real chance to fit in just like everybody else. A smile formed on his face, and the thought of his plans set his mind back to a peaceful ease. Once more calm and rational, he turned his attention toward the wet floor, realizing that if the water were to accidently drip through the floorboards it would rain in the kitchen below, bringing him a day full of severe punishments with extra chores. With no other options before him, he flicked his damp shirt onto the water, and with a few quick short strokes of his foot he dragged it over the wet slats swabbing up every inch of the puddle. Satisfied with the job, he picked up the soggy garment and rung it out, dripping the excess water into the washbowl. Then shaking it to unravel the wrinkles, he saw layered across the front of his once clean shirt a thick dark sludge of mud.
“Oooh—cripes! I didn’t think the floor was dirty,” he moaned, as he unhappily slipped his wet and grimy shirt over his head and pulled it down with a chilly shudder. Despite all the morning’s mishaps he was at last nearly ready to go, and anxious to finally leave he turned his attention towards his last task, covering his smelly feet. Smoothly he slipped on a set of unmatching holy socks along with a scuffed pair of untied shoes.
“This is good enough!” he exclaimed, as he burst out of his room. “Finally, I’m going swimming!”
Thoughts of the day’s swimming foolery with his classmates flooded into his mind. There was just no holding back his excitement and he started down the narrow staircase moving his feet as fast as he could possibly make them go. In his mind he pictured himself gliding down over the stairs like a cherub with long white feather wings unfurled, when suddenly his leg wrenched back in a sharp jolt, and immediately he glanced at his feet. “EEGADS!” he cried out in stark panic, “I’VE STEPPED ON MYSHOELACE!”
At once both of his feet left the steps and he took flight over the lower half of the
staircase. In only a flash of a second he was airborne, sailing over their brown oval throw rug. Directly below he could see his black and white cat ‘Neko,’ comfortably sitting on the edge of the carpet with her head tilted back watching his overhead passage.
“WHAAAAAAOOOOOOO!” he screamed powerfully. His descent was sudden, and before he had time to prepare he slapped down hard onto the cold hardwood floorboards, bouncing and sliding helplessly out of control. In the short tick of a very scary moment he threw out his arms to protect his head, and “WHAM!” His palms hit the rigid surface of their parlor wall, helplessly thrusting his body sideways into a small wooden display stand that had been placed there by his uncle. On its crest rested his uncle’s most prized possession, a classy blue oriental vase detailed with delicate pictures of soft red and yellow flowers; the only honest decoration that had ever been displayed in their humble home. “KER-THUMP,” he struck the stand wrenching it against the wall and launching the precious vase straight into the floor. Instantly it exploded with a sharp and sickening, “POP,” and shattered pieces of pottery began raining everywhere, sounding out with a volley of taps that echoed through the entire farmhouse. In utter disbelief he stared at the tiny pieces of broken clayware that were once his uncle’s prized possession, now scattered across the floor like worthless pebbles. Within only a fraction of a second his euphoric mood collapsed into a terribly ill sensation that sent his heart plummeting down into an abyss of despair. Thoughts of backbreaking punishments, all day farm chores, and horrific manure shoveling flashed into his mind. In deep sorrow he began to verbally moan, “This is the dumbest cockle-brained thing I’ve ever done to myself! Ooooooooooh this is the worst by gum the awful lest worst! Ooooooooooh Uncle Clair will never forgive me now and he’ll never let me go to the swimming hole! Ooooooooooh of all the rottenest gummed up luck in the whole dad-burned gummed up world, why’s everything bad happening to me today?”
“Meeeoooo!” screeched Neko leaping through the air with her back arched. She landed squarely on top of the crown of his head with a thump. And similar to a frightened bird perched on a thin limb in the middle of a windstorm, she sank her claws deep into his scalp and held on.
“YAOOOUCH!” he screamed in pain, as he tried to pull Neko off his head.
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT JACOB?” bellowed a voice in alarm.