Authors: D.E. Stanley
The Winter Letter (31 page)
My Dear William,
Out of all my duties as King, the one I enjoy the most is taking something that has been destroyed and putting it back together stronger and better than before. Please enjoy your new home. I shall see you soon. Your Aunt Leah and Daphney will be living with you from now on. Take care of them.
Your King and Friend,
King Mel Masih
P.S. Tell Jabber I said hello and that you told me to tell him goodbye.
“Jabber, King Mel says hello,” Will said as he flipped open his bag.
“What? Where is he?”
“He sent a letter.”
The tiny butterbug crawled out of the bag and flew onto Will’s shoulder. Will read the letter to him.
“So this is your home?” Jabber asked once Will was finished.
“Well that’s hard to say now, but yeah, this is it.”
“I like it.”
“Me too, but ya know, there’s something different about this place.”
“What is it?” Jabber asked.
“I don’t know. It’s—”
Will stopped speaking as the answer emerged from hiding. He turned and looked up and down the street. None of winter’s things were piled up on the sidewalks. All had melted and made way for Spring. The cold had departed. No more was the world stuck to the freezing ground. Will’s hands we no longer numb. Spring had arrived right on time and painted everything the color of life. Things which were dead a few months before were smiling today. The warm breeze now tickled the trees. The sidewalk now hugged the green grass.
Will looked back at the house. Only a few months before it was ashes, but now it was whole, with new life moving about in its windows. Will thought of his parents. Sure they had died, but they were alive, just somewhere else. All death meant was they had been planted in a new place to bloom again. Never again would the cold hurt their hands. They still existed, and they were better — dead for a moment, but alive forever more.
Will suddenly knew what was different. It wasn’t the town or the house or the streets or trees. It wasn’t the people or the cars. It wasn’t even the season of weather in Nameless. It was him. The cold season had melted from his own heart.
Will smiled bigger than he ever had before.
“What is it?” Jabber said, wanting to smile too.
“Nothing Jab,” Will replied. “I’m just glad winter is over.”
About the Author
D.E. Stanley is a world traveling missionary, author, host of The Revolutionary Life television series, and founder of Revolutionary Life International. He is married to his love, Darlene, and currently lives wherever they are together.
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:Coming Soon from D.E. Stanley:
The Sad Song of Spring
Book Two of The King of All series!
Preview
The girl, just over seventeen, pulled back her long wavy hair and wrapped it around her neck twice, tucking the remainder down the back of her shirt. She sipped her glass of water before pulling up her hood and wrapping her shawl around her face.
Her veil; her safety.
Outside the commotion continued. “Unlock this door in the name of the Under-King!” demanded one of the many voices at one of the many doors. Sure, she could bring these intruders to their knees before they even found the hallway of her room, but she needed the practice, and she needed money. They would be happy to find her door was unlocked.
“Tick. Tock,” whispered the watch hanging from her neck. “I know,” the girl replied aloud.
She took a few more deep breaths, trying to calm her pulse. “Be careful this time. No accidents,” she said to herself as she stood to her feet, falling natural into the battle stance. Her emerald eyes locked on the doorknob. The commotion was now next door. Her room was next.
“In the name of Markus, open this door,” came the call, almost instantly. She said nothing. The door rattled upon its hinges, then, as if the opener expected it to be locked, the knob snapped to the right. Inside stepped a man dressed from head to toe in black. He paused as soon as he saw her.
“It’s her,” he said calmly. From outside there was a brief silence followed by chaos. A moment later five other men rushed into her room. They kept four or five feet distance as they surrounded her.
“Serena Vaslikós, you are now the prisoner of the Under- King. Surrender your carrier willingly.”
She, Serena, moved only her eyes. Her breathing was heavy; her heart beating hard. She knew the feeling well. Fear.
“Now!” demanded the officer in charge.
Startled, she reached beneath her black shirt and pulled the tiny clock from around her neck, cradling it in both hands like a fairy infant. Tears instantly welled up in her eyes. “My friends, my dear weary seconds,” she whispered so low that only she heard. “Please, take these men’s next moments—”
“Quiet!” screamed the commander as he lunged towards Serena.
“—and rest from your constant labor.”
Serena winced, expecting a blow, but no blow came. When she opened her eyes the enraged face of the commanding guard was frozen. He leaned beyond balance, but still stood, motionless. All of his comrades were statues as well. They were paused, frozen in time, helpless and oblivious, unaware that anything was happening.
“Thank you,” Serena said to her clock, tucking it safely in her shirt. A few minutes later she flipped from the second story inn window and slipped silently into the woods. Regardless if she could pause the day, she had to keep moving. Time waits for no man and only one women per generation. But still, it is unpredictable. The guards could sleep a day, a week, a year, or a minute. It wasn’t up to her.
Serena stopped just before descending the last hill before she lost sight of the inn. A flash of regret pulled her chin towards the ground. She lifted her mask and dried her eyes. She had stolen from these men something much more valuable than the gold now jingling in her pockets. She had stole their life, or at lease a few hours of it. They would never again know those moments. For now, although they were alive, they were dead.
She slid back on her mask and took in the scenery. Across the sea the tip of Mount Highness glimmered with its neighboring stars. That mountain marked her destination.
She must get to the City of the King.
Revolutionary Life
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Copyright © 2012 by D.E. Stanley All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval program, without written permission from the author and publisher.
Cover designed by D.E. Stanley, using elements purchased and used under licensed permission from vladstudio.com, fontalicious.com, and kimberlygeswein.com. Much thanks to these amazing creators for their work.
E-ISBN: 978-0-9839474-1-7
For corrections, inquiry concerning reproduction, or sales - contact [email protected]
Table of Contents
Nine: The Man With the Bowler Hat
Seventeen: Three Different Similar Dreams
Preview: The Sad Song of Spring
Table of Contents
Nine: The Man With the Bowler Hat
Seventeen: Three Different Similar Dreams