Amber
Prelude
Amber
Gifts
Prequel
Kevin
B. Henry
Genre:
Fantasy, Time Travel, Science Fiction, and History
Publisher:
Burst/ Champagne
Books
Date
of Publication: June 01, 2015
Word
Count: 20,000
Formats
available: eBook, PDF
Cover
Artist: Ellie Smith
Book
Description:
Mitchell
didn't really believe the story the Man told him, Just take a sip and
speak a year. He whimsically chose a historic event to witness.
Little did he know he would become part of that history. Faster than
you can say Teithwyr Amser our man Mitchell is chasing a bona fide
assassin not only across America but across time.
Amber
Prelude will require Mitchell to travel from the America he knows to
France and Africa. He will travel to decades and centuries he is
unfamiliar with. Mitchell will chase authentic villains and make
historic friends, all in an attempt to set history back the way he
remembers.
Excerpt Chapter One
1963:
New Mexico
It
had started simply. I uncapped the vial, drank the liquid, and spoke
the year I had chosen aloud. The room spun. I dissolved.
I
anticipated nothing happening. I began by sitting at the old wooden
table feeling numb. My expectations extended to looking for shelter
the following morning. Maybe I would move under a bridge for a short
time; maybe I would do something much worse to myself.
I’d
experienced severely morbid thoughts for months. Moving often
transformed me. A nightmarish combination of a manic and depressed
person was all I had been until the vial. It continued for months,
and I expected it to continue forever. What I didn’t expect was a
twisting feeling in my chest and lower abdomen. It wasn’t painful,
just an unusual feeling. I didn’t expect the room to blur. I
blinked several times, but it wasn’t my eyes; the room was blurry.
Soon the room ceased to exist.
I
had not spent long hours considering the year I would move to. I
flippantly selected 1963. It would give me almost ten years before my
birth moment and I vanished from the universe forever. The Man was
specific about not existing past my birth moment. It would give me a
chance to see some of the most tumultuous years in America, civil
rights marches, hippies, the moon landing. My choice of year would
give me a chance to stand at Dealey Plaza and personally see if there
was a second shooter. It was a shallow choice, but it was the best I
could come up with.
My
first thought as the world congealed around me was that I had said
something wrong. Had I said 1863? It was night. The stars above me
were crisp and clear. Sagebrush surrounded me in all directions. Gone
were the smells of the city. My senses absorbed a clean, fresh smell.
This was how I remembered the world use to be. A scrub oak blended
with the evening shadows just a few feet to my right. To my left was
a light in the distance, a campfire. The flames created dancing
shadows on the two trees surrounding the fire. Someone sat next to
the fire, stirring the flames, sparks rising into the starry sky.
I
walked toward the fire. I didn’t see that I had any choice; every
other direction was pitch-black. Halfway there he rose from his place
at the fire and raised his left hand above his head.
He
sparkled. It wasn’t anything residual from the fire. His whole body
twinkled and sparkled. It was disturbing.
“About
time, Mitchell,” he yelled. “I’ve been waiting here for damn
near three days.” “Come on in. I’m sure you have questions,
son.”
I
got over my initial anxiety of the twinkle man and sat on the far
side of the fire. We had been sitting before the fire for fewer than
five minutes. I was dazed, confused, and overwhelmed. Less than an
hour ago, I was sitting in a dingy, two-bit hotel room.
Now,
here I was, in some large expanse of desert in the company of someone
who looked like Ray Teal, that quintessential sheriff on so many TV
westerns and movies. He wore standard blue jeans, a simple
button-front dress shirt, and a light-gray jacket. This twinkle man
had a slouch hat, not exactly cowboy, but not a fedora either. He was
half a foot shorter than me, stockier, and a minimum of
twenty-five-years older, if I had to guess his age. There was salt
and pepper stubble covering his face. His voice was deeper than mine,
but not so deep that I envied it.
“Okay,”
I began. “Where am I?”
“New
Mexico,” he answered without hesitation. “You’re about three
miles east of Tucumcari.”
I
considered that answer. “When am I?”
“It’s
November, 1963.”
“What’s
the date, the day?” It concerned me I might miss my reason for
picking this year.
“It’s
the sixth.” A wave of relief swept over me. I wasn’t too late.
His
answers were rapid-fire, no pauses or measurable moments that I would
have considered creative thinking. He was either telling the truth or
extremely well prepared for my random questions. I tried to think of
the relevant questions I should ask. The standard ones, who, what,
when, where, seemed a good place to start.
“How
did I get here?”
“Well
now, that’s an obvious answer to a poorly considered, ill-thought
out question.” He shook his head. “You took a drink from that
vial you have tucked away in your jacket pocket.”
A
sudden gust of wind caused me to wrap my windbreaker tighter around
my body. Maybe it wasn’t the night air. I was a little hurt. It
wasn’t an attempt at sounding stupid; just understand what had
happened to me.
“How
did you know I was coming?” Maybe that question would seem less
inept.
“Now
that’s complicated.” He answered this question more slowly. He
was thinking more and not just responding. “My name is Gil, Gil
Seward. I got a letter just a few days ago. It asked me to come here
and see if you’d appear. The letter said to just wait here a while
and see if you drank from the vial or not. If you did, I’m supposed
to help you out a little. Get you started and send you on your way.”
“Asked
by whom? That guy who gave me the vial?”
“Yeah”
was his only response. I hate one-word answers.
“Who
was he? Why did he give me this vial?”
“He
was someone I owed a favor. I haven’t seen him for a long time. He
isn’t someone you need to know. Forget him. I don’t know why he
decided to give you his vial. He just did.”
He
paused for a while, stirring the fire with his stick, a small branch
from one of the nearby trees.
“One
last question for now,” he said. “Make it a good one.”
“Okay,
Gil,” I said, using his name for the first time. “Why the hell do
you sparkle? You look like some creation by Industrial Light, a
special effect in a vampire or science fiction movie.”
“Forgot
all about that,” he laughed. “You sparkle too. You just can’t
see it. You started as soon as you drank from the vial. All Amser
will sparkle.”
“What’s
an Amser?”
“Sorry,
Mitchell, You’ve reached your limit on questions for now. It’s my
turn to ask some.”
I
started to say something, but the look on his face made me stop. I
hoped that ‘for now’ meant there would be more answers in the
future.
“What
made you pick this year?”
“It
wasn’t a rational decision. Who would believe this would really
work? I figured I’d see something special, something historic.
Dallas and the Kennedy assassination was a significant event in my
life. All the other conspiracy theories I remember while growing up
could never surpass this one event. Standing on the grassy knoll and
knowing beyond a doubt if there was or wasn’t a second shooter
seemed as good an idea as any.”
“With
all of history to choose from, you wanted to watch somebody die?”
“That
wasn’t my motivation.” I said “I thought of it more as watching
a documentary on TV.”
“We’ll
see what you think of your documentary as you watch it live. Did you
have plans afterward?”
“I
don’t have many concrete plans. Just live out the next decade
before I die.”
“Why
would you want to die?”
“The
Man said I couldn’t live past my birth moment. That was another
reason I came here. That gives me several years to live before that
time.”
“He
didn’t tell you?”
“Tell
me what?”
“You
have it all wrong, Mitchell. You can use that vial repeatedly. Just
refill it. You can travel to any year, any time, as often as you
want, as many times as you want. You’re not stuck in this year or
decade forever.”
I’m
not sure my mouth actually fell open, but that is how I remember it
About
the Author:
From
an early age, Kevin B. Henry was a voracious reader. His collection
of science fiction, fantasy and mystery books bring tears of envy to
the eyes of many small community libraries.
Kevin
has worked as an educator, technology specialist and day laborer most
of his adult life. During all that time he lived the life of a
frustrated author. That it took 30 years for him to piece together
the series, Amber Gifts is a testament that the best meals need slow
cooking to bring out the flavor.
The
Amber Gifts Series begins with Amber Gifts. The second story, which
is really the first, is Amber Prelude, and is available now. The
third story, Amber Legacy continues where Amber Gifts left off. It
will be available in November 2015. All are published by the
wonderful folks at the Champagne Book Group. A fourth story is in the
process of being written.
Kevin
is a natural story teller, so it’s logical that he lectures
occasionally. Topics range from the implementation of cutting edge
technology hardware to the creation, modification and use of e-books
within education. He constantly pursues research to expand his range
of possible topics. His most recent research revolved around the
aerodynamic properties of reindeer. He’s also been known to include
little known facts and trivia within his presentations. Did you know
just 146 years ago today the Union Army marched into Atlanta. It took
longer than anticipated. They were delayed by a traffic jam on I-75
and the toll booth on Ga. 400
He
continues to live in the Mid-West without human or domesticated
mammal companionship.
Blog/Wesbite:
www.ambergifts.blogspot.com
Twitter: @Kevin_Henry
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/AmberGifts
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