The Twelve Stones

When you’re an independent author, it can be difficult to get the right kind of resources that a traditionally published author would have. At the time when I first published The Twelve Stones I was unable to afford an editor. However, thanks to the many new fans my little book series has found, I was able to get The Twelve Stones edited to my satisfaction. I hope that if you are reading the sample right now and considering a download that you give my independent book a chance, and ignore the reviews that go after the typos that previously existed and other such missed opportunities. I did the very best I could with the resources I have. That said, I hope you enjoy reading the journey as much as I enjoyed writing it.

R.J. Johnson

[email protected]

Chapter
One

Southern California

1990

On first glance, it appeared to be just like any other day in the unremarkable mountain town fifty miles north of Los Angeles. The sky was a deep blue, with a few friendly looking clouds floating lazily in the soft breeze. It was the kind of day that inspired magic, a fact that two young men were about to learn for themselves.

A stream, swollen with the recently melted snow pack fed from the peaks above, cut across a shallow wash meant to serve as a temporary runoff. The
valley’s hasty development
had come with an annoying price. During the latest housing boom in the valley, many of the houses in this neighborhood were rushed into production, with little to no respect for the
surrounding land
.

And of course, nature did what it always did in its fight against man
:
it found
another way. Instead of flowing down the mountain in the natural channels formed over the millennia of spring thaws,
the water formed an annual lake
over the access road that led into the neighborhood above.

After years of dealing with an unsympathetic city council,
people called a neighborhood meeting
to deal with their common problem.
They decided to dam off the access road, then have everyone chip in, rent equipment, and
build their own new road through the forest and into the neighborhood. The inconvenience of driving an extra quarter mile was a small price to pay
compared to the boat rentals they needed
just to get home every spring.

What resulted was an aesthetic marvel. Where poor designing and planning had gotten the neighborhood into their collective pickle, a former civil engineer named Ted McCray (recently moved from the city below with his son after the death of his wife) brilliantly turned the whole mess into opportunity.
Under his direction, they tore up and rerouted the road, then recovered the materials and used them to dam the end of the stream. The results created
a small lake and park, with the river continuing down the mountain unmolested.

Life came to the lake quickly
.
Soon, a spot that had once left the residents furrowing their brows and checking their insurance policies had become a beautiful lake and meadow, increasing
their home values by five percent overnight.

“Come on!”
a
voice insisted, breaking the quiet calm that had so far passed uninterrupted all morning in the beautiful scene. The green and vibrant mountain field stood in contrast to the dark rising peaks behind
it
, their tops still dusted slightly with snow.

The wind whispered through the pine trees, beckoning the children further into the forest with
a promise of adventure
. The California
p
oppies
were in full bloom, their golden petals jostling gently against the two young boys
’
shorts as they made their way across the field. The smaller boy stumbled slightly as he tripped over the uneven surface of the
gopher-torn ground
.

The taller boy looked back at his friend and grimaced. “
You
come on!
You’re the one who’s going too slow! I’d like to get there before I’m a million years old.”

“I’m trying to keep up
.
Y
ou’re
going too fast!”
t
he
smaller boy shot back.

The pair made their way towards the banks of the newly formed stream, the smaller of the two finally catching up to his friend. They both stood for a moment, watching the fast
-
moving water below them flow. Only a month before, there had been nothing but a ditch full of jagged rocks and random bits of trash. Now, fed by the deep snow pack in the peaks above, the ditch had become a fully raging river, the water moving deep and fast as it
twisted through the meadow, finding its way down and feeding the man
-
made lake behind them. The taller of the two boys unstrapped a backpack and set it down as he examined the stream before him.

“Wow, your dad built all this?”
t
he smaller boy asked.

“Just after we moved up here,
”
his friend mumbled through his backpack as he looked for supplies.

The smaller boy leaned forward to get a better look at what his friend was doing. Closer to the bank, the ground was wet and unstable. The smaller boy’s weight wasn’t much, but with the combined burden, the slope could hold no longer and fell away beneath him.

The taller boy felt the ground give way underneath him first as his arms flailed about
,
looking for anything to keep from falling into the freezing stream. His hands grasped at air for what seemed like an eternity as his body began to slip down the side of the bank. Only at the last second did his hands catch onto a branch overhanging the stream, stopping his fall only inches before his body fell into the water. The boy
sighed with
relief.

The smaller boy was more fortunate
,
as he was
f
a
rther
from the edge of the riverbank and managed to fall backwards
quickly enough to
avoid the river. He looked up, watching his friend hang from the tree like an overactive monkey.

“
Hey Alex, you OK?”
t
he
smaller boy asked
,
his voice more than a little frightened.

Alexander McCray, a boy who always sought adventure and danger, looked at his friend standing on the riverbank opposite him and laughed. He let go of the branch and slid down
,
towards the side of the gully where the water didn’t quite reach. The bark tore at the tender skin on his hand
,
and it bled generously. For a moment, Alex found himself wishing for the safety of his Nintendo and a glass of chocolate milk. He shook the thought away and grinned. No, they were here on a mission. He called up to his friend.

“
Just another day in the life of an adventurer!”

Alex began to look for a way out of the gully without having to cross the cold mountain stream. After looking at the unappetizing options around him, he decided the only way to get out was by using the branch
for
leverage so
that
his feet could find some traction against the slippery slope. Huffing and puffing, he moved his body slowly up the muddy slope, and back once more over the ledge.

After catching his breath for a moment and dusting hi
mself
off, Scott looked down at his friend’s hand. “You’re bleeding!” he cried out.

Alex looked at his right hand
,
where a three-
inch gash was open
along the side
. “Naw,” he replied, “just a scratch.”

Scott grabbed Alex’s hand and looked at it closely.

“
Easy!” Alex said.

“
This is deep
,
Alex,” Scott said
,
worried
.
“
W
e
should get you to the hospital and get you some stitches. I
’ve had ‘em
, three times actually, and they’re not so bad
,
really
.
T
hey’re
just…”

Alex smiled as he took his hand back and stuffed the
scratch
into his mouth. Muffled, he tried to reassure his friend, “I’m fine. Besides, we’re kids
;
we’re supposed to get banged up
,
remember? Just get me a
B
and
-A
id
out of my pack and I’ll be fine. It’ll bleed a bit, but that’ll stop soon. Trust me.”

Pushing his glasses up to his face, Scott nodded. Alex walked over to where he had dropped his backpack and began going through it
,
looking for his medical supplies. Scott watched his best friend unpack each item reverently in his pack, examining each with a critical eye.

For the first third of his school life, Scott had
been a magnet for mockery
.
He
had given up on finding a reason behind it. There rarely was
;
bullies rarely needed on
e
. Scott tried his best to be careful and not
to
offend anyone, or even appear too smart in class, but
wearing glasses and being three inches shorter than everyone else made him an easy target
. The older boys in the upper grades were the worst generally, but bullies of all ages had surrounded him for th
ose first few years
.

In eighth grade, things began to change
. After the first few years of torments and taunts, Scott had resigned himself to be
ing
the class punching bag. It was only last year that Alex had appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Scott out of the circle of freshmen in high school and
escort
ing
Scott to the bathroom
,
where he could be safe and clean up.

Alex had done what he could to help clean the gravel out of Scott's knees
,
and by the time Scott had stopped crying
,
Alex
had
smiled and introduced himself as a friend. From then on, Scott and Alex were inseparable. That incident had instilled a loyalty in Scott that was generally born in foxholes. He would follow Alex anywhere, and unfortunately
,
that usually meant into trouble. Still, he was Alex’s willing sidekick till the very end.

“
Alex?”

“What is it?” Alex asked as he unzipped his backpack
,
taking out a bag of chips. He opened them and munched happily as he checked the map of the area he had taken from his father's office.