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
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
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.
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.
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