childrens-fantasy-adventure-book-series-artania-chronicles

A Children's Fantasy Adventure Book Series

The Artania Chronicles by Laurie Woodward

Book excerpt

The moment with the giant inspired. Alex just had to paint that mythical-looking man, and this time it would be big, bigger than any project he’d ever done. So he asked Dad if he could have only one more thing for his new garage studio. Money was tight, but Dad had a friend at the university who was a painter. She sold him a large piece of canvas she didn’t need for a good price.

When Dad brought home the large rectangular board, Alex couldn’t believe it. It was covered in one hundred percent Belgian linen! The kind so strong it resists tears even when it is re-stretched. He immediately saw the giant’s face in the fabric. He wouldn’t need a single practice sketch.

“Thanks, Dad.” Alex nodded but didn’t hug his father. One present didn’t make up for having to move across country.

They carefully carried the four-by-six feet of canvas out to the garage and leaned it against the wall. When his father bent down to adjust his corner Alex noticed how Dad’s light brown hair was getting a little thin on top. Alex grinned and exchanged a glance with Rembrandt.

“Hey, Dad, I think you’re missing something.”

Mr. Devinci stood. “What?”

“Half your hair!” Alex slapped his knee and guffawed while Rembrandt wagged his tail.

“Some thanks I get.” Dad shook his head as a slow grin filled his face. “I take a break from work and rush to Karen’s to pick this up. Why? So I can be insulted by a pint-sized painter.”

“Yep.”

“Well, then, I expect to see something amazing, kiddo. You know what Dr. Bock says?”

“Oh, you will. Really amazing,” Alex interrupted, trying to avoid another Guide to Being the Perfect Parent lecture.

Dad ruffled Rembrandt’s ears and smiled before heading back to the university.

Shivering with excitement, Alex flew to the cabinet on the east wall, grabbed an armful of brushes, and handed them to Rembrandt. The Australian Shepherd gathered the bundle in his mouth and padded to the drop cloth. After depositing them, he settled into his sheepskin bed with a snuffling sigh.

“Good boy,” Alex said as he dashed back to the cabinet and scanned the tubes of paint on the shelf. Scooping up a dozen in his t-shirt, he carried them to the easel and laid them side-by-side on the little paint-splattered table. He ran his finger over the row until he found Translucent Turquoise and Zinc White. He squirted some of each onto his wooden palette and stirred carefully until he had the perfect color for the shield.

His gaze swept over the canvas, paintbrush at the ready. Palette resting on his forearm, he paced back and forth. He saw the giant surfing, sailboats bobbing in the bay with the pier off to the right.

He laid down the first brushstroke just as Mom came in holding a plate of blueberry muffins. With a shaky smile, she offered Alex one. He started to reach for it. Then a vision of hanging with his buddies back in Boulder tugged at his memory. He shook his head and turned away.

“I just baked them.”

“Sorry. Just not hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Remembering his friends took away his appetite.

“I know, but a growing boy needs his strength.”

“I’ll get one later. Okay? Can I get back to work now?”

Mom nodded silently and walked out.

That night, Alex began painting and kept on until the rest of the summer swam by like a dolphin leaping in and out of the bay. Every morning he rose early and headed straight for the garage. When his grumbling stomach grew too loud, he’d dart into the kitchen to gulp down a quick breakfast. No time for testing Mom’s recipes now.

After eating, he was right back at it, until his hands were so cramped they felt like claws. Only then would he take a break. He’d have loved to keep going, but his Dr. Bock quoting Dad would take away his paints if he didn’t get daily exercise, so he made sure to skateboard down to the boardwalk. Once there, he’d scan the horizon for the giant, but the smiling creature never returned.

He did find a cool skate park between the boardwalk and the beach. Skirted by palm trees and always busy, it was the perfect place to make some new friends. There was a group of about twenty kids who skated daily. Some were still shrimps, only around six or seven with their moms sitting nearby in case they got hurt. Others were in high school and completely ignored Alex.

But there were three kids just his age who he liked as soon as they skated up in triangular formation. Their elbow and kneepads were worn from so many falls, and even though they each had different colored hair, blond, brown, and red, they all had the same sun-bleached streaks.

“Hey.” Alex jerked his head up greeting the blond boy. “That’s a pretty cool board. Where’d you get it?”

The kid with the gelled spikes stopped on his way through the gate and eyed Alex before replying. “My mom took me to L.A. Check it out. Sugar-maple deck.”

“Awesome. I read in Skater those are pretty tough,” Alex said.

“Yeah. Dude, you ride?”

Alex nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Alex.”

“I’m Zach Van Gromin and over there’s Gwen Obranovich and Jose Hamlin.” He pointed at the boy with a long dark ponytail standing next to a skinny girl wearing a baseball cap backward. Zach waved Gwen and Jose to come. After they made their introductions, all three watched Alex kick off.

“Okay, Alex. Let’s see what you got,” the red-headed Gwen said leaning up against a palm tree.

Alex skated around to get a feel for the concrete of this skate park. It was a lot like the one back home in Boulder. Hills, curves, valleys like a huge, empty swimming pool. Then he crouched to try at trick he’d been working on before they moved. Quickly he straightened his arms and legs for the ollie, but his board was going too fast. He fell on his side.

The trio of street surfers laughed. Zach rolled in his direction, Gwen and Jose right behind. They ground to halts in front of him. Zach put out his hand to help Alex up.

“I’m good, thanks.” Alex shook his head.

“Not a wimp.” Gwen nodded in appreciation, her red pigtails bobbing up and down.

And then he had friends.

For the rest of the summer, they tried more tricks. Gwen was the most daring. She pushed herself to go faster and higher. Alex watched her, analyzing where she put her feet, how she bent her knees on a turn, and the bounce of her skinny legs when she did jumps. So different from Jose who went more for graceful moves where his body and the board became one. Or Zach, who was Mr. Entertainment, waiting for an audience to gather before doing his signature move, a handstand followed by a jump.

Since most of these tricks were new to him, Alex wiped out a lot at first, but he never complained. Gwen wouldn’t ever let him hear the end of it. Instead, he would pause a minute and visualize what he’d done wrong. He imagined how he should position his body, which way to lean, and how much to bend his legs. Then he’d tried again. Soon he was doing three-sixties, jumps, and ollies along with the rest of them.

In the evenings, he’d repeat his morning performance, eating as fast as he could before returning to the garage and Rembrandt to paint. Even if his mother invited him to play a hand of rummy or sit and talk on one of the ever more frequent nights when Dad was working late, he declined. He had to create.

One July evening, she asked three times, “Are you sure you don’t want to play Scrabble tonight?”

Alex just shook his head. He was too wrapped up in his art to notice the look of loneliness on her face. If he’d been paying attention, he would have seen the forced smile, slight sniffle, and moist eyes.

As he exited the door into the garage, he thought he heard a sob escape Mom’s throat. He glanced in her direction, but by then she had put back on her motherly mask, saying, “I must be getting a cold.”

Then she turned away.