Awakened Read online

  Praise for K. G. Duncan’s debut novel

  I’m Only Dreaming of Dragons—Book One: Awakened

  “Educator and first-time author K. G. Duncan takes us on a road trip through time… With his command of storytelling, combined with his love affair with language, Duncan serves up a delicious feast seen through the eyes of a twelve-year-old, mind-reading shapeshifter named Aurora Borealis Rubideaux.”

  —DREW VAUPEN, Writer/Producer and Co-Creator

  of Good Luck Charlie, a family sitcom for the Disney Channel

  “A fascinating and practical immersion into the concept of non-linear time. In Abby, K.G. Duncan creates a character whose worldview of the “multi-verse” and theme of “discovering your life’s purpose” is a neat, thought-provoking tip of the iceberg for young readers… This is not only a unique adventure, but also a learning… I absolutely ate up K.G. Duncan’s words and phraseology. Can’t wait for Book Two!”

  —ROBERTA KAY, Singer/dancer/actress and

  Emmy award winner and nominee for her work on PBS SoCal/KOCE

  “Compelling reading from start to the exciting finish… K.G. Duncan’s young heroine A.B. Rubideaux is smart and sassy… full of insights that many of us admittedly older readers could use as a refresher… Abby’s adventures are a fast-paced backdrop for some important life lessons. I look forward to more from Abby and K.G. Duncan, but for now I will just have to be content with a re-read of this one!”

  —KELLY RYAN, Author, lawyer, punk rocker. Author of

  Science Classroom Safety and the Law - A Handbook for Teachers

  “I’m Only Dreaming of Dragons takes readers on a wild ride through different worlds and times, following an 11-year-old girl’s journey of not only self-discovery but of the age-old battle between the forces of light and dark. The first book of the series by debut author K.G. Duncan is a mind-bending and eye-opening peek of what’s to come for the young Aurora Borealis Rubideaux and for all of humanity!”

  —LIZ MOORE, author, blogger, and editor for

  Bryant Street Publishing

  I’m Only Dreaming of Dragons—Book One: Awakened.

  Copyright © 2021 by K. G. Duncan.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Duncan, K. G., Author

  Title: I’m Only Dreaming of Dragons – Book One: Awakened.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021907530

  ISBN 978-1-7370561-0-2 | ISBN 978-1-70561-1-9 (ebook)

  Books > Teen & Young Adult > Science Fiction & Fantasy

  Books > Teen & Young Adult > Literature & Fiction > Loners & Outcasts

  Books > Teen & Young Adult > Literature & Fiction > Girls & Women

  Chapter Illustration by K.M. Bornhoft

  Cover Design: 100 Covers

  Interior Design: Formatted Books

  Editor: Erik Seversen

  Under the Sun Press

  Los Angeles

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  1 Tornado

  2 No Time for Dreamtime

  3 Many Returns

  4 A Flight of Forever

  5 Dans La Nature

  6 School

  7 Halabe

  8 Mischief

  9 Who Let the Dragon Out of the Bag?

  10 With a Little Help from My Friends

  11 Ward of the State

  12 Patchouli and Cary Grant

  13 A Meeting in a Forest by a River

  14 Everywhere Is Nowhere

  15 Into the Fold

  16 Old Scratch

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you for reading this book. It was a long time coming, and left to my own devices, the first manuscripts may very well have sat, collecting dust in a box, never to be read by anyone. (Note to all of you creative people out there: You are worthy! Get your work out there and make it happen. Do it! Do it! Do it!)

  First and foremost, thank you to my family. You were the first readers and the primary force that kept me going. Qing, you are my anchor in this fleeting and ethereal existence on the planet earth. I feel grateful for you every day. Megan and Josh—you are the light that inspires me, and you make me feel happy and proud to be your father. Josh, it was your influence that got me into the whole YA thing—thank you for bringing those books home to me way back in middle school—they were the first pebbles that made the first few ripples that led to my writing this book.

  To my editor and primary lighter of fires, Erik Seversen, I owe a huge debt of gratitude. Thank you for navigating me—from beginning to end—through the murky waters of the publishing business. I can see clearly now, and there are no more obstacles in my way. Erik, you truly inspire me. Thank you also for your unswerving support and optimism. I would also like to give a very boisterous shout-out to all of my early readers: Sister Laurie, Blake, Grant, and my UCLA Crew, Shelley and Eleanor. Your thoughtful feedback and encouragement were instrumental in the shaping and growing of this book. I feel lucky to have your support.

  A special thank you to my sister, Marilyn, who, when I was a young lad, gave me two books that shaped my future as a writer. Watership Down, by Richard Adams (Wow! A story told from the point of view of wild rabbits!) and The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkein. That hard bound edition in the green box with gilded runes… I still have it and cherish it. I love the chapter illustrations that the reader comes across unexpectedly. You turn the page and OOH! There it is. It is magical and inspired me to do the same here in my first book.

  And speaking of illustrations, thanks to Phyllis and Lan and the whole design team at 100 Covers! Also, a very special thank you to Kat. Your chapter drawing is simply stunning and beautiful—the perfect complement to make this novel into everything I envisioned it to be. I am so happy that we reconnected after so many years. Let’s do it again!

  I would be remiss if I neglected to mention some of the inspirations I found in the research for this book. If you, dear reader, are interested in the scientific and spiritual concepts that served as catalysts for the bolder and more speculative elements contained in this novel, here are some books and authors to check out: Jeremy Narby’s The Cosmic Serpent—DNA and the Origins of Knowledge; Terrance McKenna’s classic Food of the Gods—the Search for the Original Tree of Knowledge; The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot; and The Ascent of Humanity, by Charles Eisenstein. I could go on… Just read and do your research, good people! Of course, I am indebted to many other authors who have inspired me over the years: J.R.R. Tolkien, Orson Scott Card, Frank Herbert, and Philip K. Dick, just to name a few. Among YA authors, I am especially indebted to Michael Smith for his amazing series The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel, to Brandon Mull for his many book series, and to Clare Vanderpool for her amazing Newberry Gold Medal book Moon Over Manifest. I can still hear the small town, country voice that helped to inspire the many ramblings of Abby and Olivia in this novel!

  Last, but not least, thank you, dad. Although you are no longer with us here on this earth, you took me out to the garage when I was seven, climbed up into the rafters and got down that dusty, old box of books. “Here. Read these,” you said, handing me a book. I held in my hands an original hardback edition of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes, by Edgar Ri
ce Burroughs. Over the years, the original artwork on the paper sleeves got rubbed away by my excessive handling, but I’ve still got those books. Oh yeah. I’ve been reading ever since.

  To Qing, Megan and Joshua, who keep me smiling,

  and who make the world beautiful.

  From the Audio transcripts of Dr. Joanna Kinsey

  Chief Psychiatrist, CHNOLA Northshore Center,

  New Orleans, LA

  Audio File Transcript #AR10089-17

  June 07, 2022

  Subject: A. B. Rubideaux. Female. Age: 11

  Transcript of recording begins: 11:09 AM EST.

  Kinsey: In our last session, we discussed the visual and audio distortions as well as the frequency and duration of the change. Today I want you to describe the specific physical aspects of the transformation—how your body changes, from beginning to end. Are you ready to begin?

  A.B.: (Inaudible murmuring.)

  Kinsey: I’m sorry, A.B.? Shall I repeat my question?

  A.B.: We’ve talked about this before. Do that thing you always do. Please.

  Kinsey: Of course. (Clears throat.) This is audio file number seventeen, May 22, 2022. Dr. Joanna Kinsey interviewing Subject number AR10089: Miss Aurora Borealis Rubideaux. Female. 11 years old. Miss Rubideaux, are you aware that this conversation is being recorded?

  A.B.: Yes.

  Kinsey: Do I have your permission to record this conversation?

  A.B.: Yes.

  Kinsey: Shall we begin?

  A.B.: (Laughter.) I think we can now, yes. Thank you, doctor. (Long pause.) I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?

  Seven Years Earlier, June 2, 2015

  Well, even a five-year-old girl knows that something ain’t right with the world when the sky has turned green.

  A somewhat anxious Abby Rubideaux, stood on the porch of their dilapidated wood-planked house, clutching the railing and staring up at the swirling sky. Storm clouds roiled and spun away. The wind was blowing hard—real hard—the tops of the trees bending over at impossible angles, and the dust and debris in the air made her eyes squint.

  Green. Definitely green. Not even close to normal. Not one trifling bit.

  There was that Voice in her head again—the deep rumbling one that she never told anyone about. Hearing it in that moment made her feel instantly calm. Even though the Voice usually wasn’t very talkative, it was more like she could feel it.

  Abby wasn’t sure if the Voice was a he or a she, but either way it was very cool and spoke to her in an adult way, using words like “trifling” because somehow, some way, she could always understand. The Voice was her constant companion. She never really thought about it too much because that was the way it had always been—it was just there—the Voice in her head. But the Voice had always been with her, and it was her secret friend.

  Abby took a deep breath and felt the fear slip away, even when icy hail stones the size of golf balls started hammering down, making a terrible racket on the roof of the porch and house.

  Boom. Boom. Boom. Do we have your attention now? Are you ready to come out and play?

  Abby grinned. On most ordinary days in Mandeville Louisiana at 3 O’clock in the afternoon, Abby could go for a swing, play hop-scotch in the driveway, or look for tadpoles down by the creek. On an ordinary day if she went outside to play, she wouldn’t have to dodge killer ice balls or use a rope to tie herself down just to keep from flying off all helter-skelter into the bayou.

  Precisely! Ordinary days are overrated, don’t you think?

  Abby’s smile widened. Well, on an ordinary day her mother wouldn’t be acting so funny, either. Abby’s newfound confidence suddenly crumbled. Her momma was scared, and that’s why she was feeling scared, too.

  As if it could hear her thoughts, a gust of wind sent the door banging behind her. Her long, wavy black hair whipped around her round face, and the coppery-brown skin of her unusually high cheek bones shone in the eerie green light, which matched the intensity of her wide set, deep green eyes.

  Abby thought to herself, and not for the first time, that there were extraordinary things in the world, and she was about to discover some of those things today.

  “A.B…. A.B….” Abby thought she heard the name her mother always called her, but it was distant, floating and muffled on the wind. Her Mother—that would be Beatriz Roy, or “Momma Bea” as Abby always referred to her—was the reason why she was standing on the porch in the first place. Now, Momma Bea was not her real, biological mother, but her adoptive mother, and this was how things got a little complicated, especially when it came to Abby’s name. Her mother always called her “A. B.” for short, just like the first two letters of the alphabet. A. B., and that’s because her actual, full given name was Aurora Borealis Rubideaux, which is a mouthful. And for most folks, A. B. somehow became “Abby,” and that’s what most folks called her. A.B., Abby. It’s an honest mistake, and one the little girl didn’t really mind.

  Abby generally kept her full name to herself—for experience had taught her that other children could be cruel and unrelenting when it came to the proper naming of persons and things—but she secretly liked it when her Sunday school teacher, Ms. Pettijean called her by her full name, Aurora Borealis Rubideaux, which, the young girl had also known for quite some time, was the name that her birth or “biological” momma had given her when she was born. She was given that name because during the winter of her pregnancy, her birth mother was living up in Alaska, where the northern lights would dance in a colorful, magical and most wonderful way. And her birth momma loved them northern lights about as much as anything in the whole wide world. At least that’s what Momma Bea always told Abby when she asked about it, so that’s why she liked it so much.

  Whew! Now you know what’s in a name!

  So Abby—and let’s stick to Abby for the duration of this story—was standing on the porch in this whale of a storm, looking up at an unnaturally green sky, hearing (or just imagining) that the storm was carrying her name in the wind, and trying to ignore the lethal hail stones raining down upon the earth, and you might be wondering why Momma Bea had dragged her outside in the middle of a hellacious storm! Well, there wasn’t much to it, really, and very little in the way of explanation. But it is how all of this got started, so let’s go back and tell it proper from beginning to end.

  They had been watching the news on TV, and all the news commentators were apprehensive, talking about a tornado, and how the situation had been upgraded from a “Tornado Watch” to a “Tornado Warning.” And Abby was just about to ask Momma Bea what that meant, when the screen on the television went dead. And it was at that precise moment that Momma Bea had turned to the form of her boyfriend/husband/life partner (sort of), Henry, who was passed out in the recliner amidst a pile of beer cans and a box of Cheez-its, clucked her tongue, grabbed her purse, and said in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice, “Well, A. B., I believe there is no better time than the present to do what must be done.”

  Momma Bea then grabbed Abby, lifted her up from the sofa, told her to put on her shoes and grab whatever she could grab in the next 30 seconds.

  “We’re leaving, darling.” Momma Bea had said. “We got to get to New Orleans.”

  New Orleans! Now Abby just loved driving over Lake Pontchartrain and heading into the city. It usually meant new shoes or dresses or shopping of some sort. Sometimes it meant street performers, folks walking around in costumes and all sorts of music. It always meant good food. This was different however, and Momma Bea was in a completely frazzled and manic state that Abby had never seen before.

  Exactly 34 seconds later, Abby appeared back in the family room. She had only had time to grab her panda bear, Ling-Ling, snap on the golden cross necklace that had belonged to her real mother, slip into her crocs, and toss two of her Magic Tree House mystery books into her school bag before Momma Bea yanked h
er out the bedroom door to scurry past the dozing Henry.

  “Careful not to kick those cans,” momma had whispered as they tiptoed over the pile around his chair. “Last thing we wanna do is wake him!”

  “We leaving pa?” Abby asked quietly as they reached the front door. Just before the door shut behind her, she looked back and caught a glimpse of the sleeping Henry, his slack-jawed mouth hanging open, and it seemed like for no reason at all she felt a thrill of fear shoot through her entire body.

  “We’re leaving your pa, and that’s a fact.” Momma Bea scanned the sky and her stern demeanor wavered into worry as she clutched at Abby. The wind was whistling and hissing through the writhing big elm tree in the front yard. A neighbor’s lawn chair shot across the yard, tumbling and clattering in the powerful wind. The pine trees that lined the driveway were bending over at their tops, black and purple thunderhead clouds roiling above their agitated limbs. And yes. The sky was most assuredly green.

  “You stay here and wait while I go get the car!” Beatriz needed to shout over the howl of the wind. “It’s too dangerous. Don’t come out till I pull up with the car!”

  Abby nodded, scared out of her wits, and then her mother darted across the driveway to the garage. Abby was standing on the porch, the screen door banging behind her, and she was scolding herself for feeling so afraid.

  “Well, what am I? Still a baby?” Abby whispered, then glanced up at the sky again. “Nothing but a stupid little storm. But why are we going out if it’s so dangerous, Momma Bea?” Abby caught her breath then yelped as a wood shingle ripped off the porch roof above her, then hurtled across the lawn.

  Come fly, little sister.

  The Voice inside her head soothed her, and she began to breathe more easily. Abby clutched Ling-Ling to her chest and rubbed the well-worn spot where the panda’s left eye had fallen out. She watched as Beatriz struggled to open the garage door, then dashed inside, the wind howling even louder. Abby found a strange, almost clinical place of calm in the question that suddenly popped into her head: