Lucia Lockhart Sample

THE ADVENTURES OF LUCIA LOCKHART™

CHAPTER ONE: THE OUTCASTS AND UNWANTEDS

Lucia’s stomach rumbled like distant thunder as she stood with the other Outcasts by the border wall. It had been an agonizingly long day waiting in line for food. Soldiers, wearing red uniforms that made them look like a swarm of angry hornets, marched in front of the wall. Their rifles held at the ready, they ensured nobody slipped into the city of Roshen. Lucia didn’t like them; nobody did. They were mean, and when giving out food, they were stingier than a miserly squirrel. Somebody grumbled they wanted another piece of stale bread.

“Shut up,” a soldier barked. “And the rest of you, too! You’re lucky to get what you get!”

High above where Lucia and her friends lived, in a place called the Benashali, the air buzzed with the sounds of machines running on steam and a special power called mana. The sky was always busy with airships, some moved smoothly through the air while others chugged along, leaving behind puffs of steam. Faraway, beautiful mountains known as the Red Quills stood tall, their tops hidden by clouds. Even though the sea was out of sight, its fragrance lingered, adding a hint of saltiness to the air.

Lucia looked around the Benashali, which felt very different compared to the wonderful airships above. She lived among a sea of small, roughly-built shanties made from old wood and metal. They stood randomly around her, old and forgotten. Beyond these humble homes were big, well-arranged buildings like military barracks, warehouses, and an airship port. They were always guarded with high walls and watchful soldiers, showing who controlled this part of the city.

The narrow streets around her were filled with rubbish and broken hopes. The people, like their houses, showed the signs of hard times. They wore clothes either too big or too small, made from whatever scraps they could find. Their faces told tales of hunger and despair. Quite often, you’d see thin people with hollow cheeks, for food was scarce in the Benashali, or “the ben,” as everyone called it. On streets that didn’t shine bright, the lights powered by steam and mana flickered weakly, casting long, sad shadows that reflected the sentiments of the people living there.

Unlike the dreary scenery of the Benashali, the five hills of Roshen were stunning and full of life. Here, fancy buildings, big homes—all topped with glowing towers powered by mana—and lush gardens made this place home for the Highers. These lucky folks lived a life of luxury, far removed from the challenging world beneath the walls that shielded them.

Lucia took a deep breath, inhaling a sharp bite of cold air. Standing tall for her age of thirteen, her auburn hair was neatly braided, cascading a little past her shoulders. A sprinkle of freckles dusted her cheeks, and a small scar on her nose told the tale of a past adventure. Her green eyes, radiant yet weary, mirrored the resilience of her spirit. She wore a weathered brown leather jacket, woolen gray shirt and pants, and scuffed black boots. A red scarf, looped casually around her neck, added a pop of color to her ensemble.

The sun sank lower in the sky, casting long, gloomy shadows that seemed to stretch on forever. Soon, it would be another day without a bite to eat. A few steps in front of her was a young mother, clutching her baby like a precious jewel. “It’s all right, darling,” the mother cooed. “You’ll be okay.”

The Roshen soldiers, those grim-faced border guards, watched them, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. The wall, made of dull gray stone, stretched around the city like a monstrous snake. It kept out the Outcasts and Unwanteds like Lucia and the poor, hungry souls waiting in line. High on the hills beyond the wall, gleaming white and gray towers stood like giant chess pieces. Airships of various shapes and sizes floated through the sky, safeguarding the city and delivering goods from all corners of the world.

“I said one, mutt!” shouted the man handing out food. The man was one of their own, Grek. Tall, skinny, and pale like a ghost, Grek received extra portions for playing lapdog to the soldiers. He slapped a woman’s hand as she tried to snatch another piece of bread. “Skinny wretch! No more for you!” He grabbed the bread she had already held. “No food for thieves!”

The woman lunged for the bread, but a soldier stepped in front of her and shoved her to the ground.

Lucia stepped forward, ready to help. She didn’t even think about it. But then someone gripped her wrist, yanking her back. “No, girl,” an old man said. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Those soldiers will toss you in the hole or worse. Heard stories they’re snatching us Outcasts and Unwanteds. Taking us to the Needle up on Mt. Hebron!”

The old man nodded towards the wall, his wiry beard dirty and full of glowing green mana. Lucia looked up. Beyond, on the highest hill of Roshen, a tall white tower was half-built. The Needle, they called it there in the Benashali.

“We here in the ben,” said the old man, “don’t stand a chance against those Higher folks.”

Lucia grimaced, her face scrunching like a wadded-up paper. She didn’t like it, but she knew the old man was right. They didn’t stand a chance. Not at all. And she needed to get food today. She and her friend, Gabe, needed it. And Verdi, too, the sweet elderly woman who cooked their meals and helped watch Gabe when Lucia was out scrounging for food and supplies. Food was all she could think about, like a nagging tune she couldn’t shake. She looked at the gaunt faces all around her. Many were tinged green from exposure to pure mana, the magical element that powered Roshen and its airships. Food and water were all that anybody in the ben could think about, a constant drumbeat in their minds.

“And what is this?” said a rotund soldier, waddling over to the box of stale bread. “Harvest has come in, has it?” He shoved a hand inside the box and picked up a small loaf. He took a bite and spit it out like a spoiled grape. “Moldy!” He flung it on the ground and crushed it with his boot. The boy in front of the box dropped to his knees and picked up the muddy, moldy bread, tucking it in his pocket like a treasure.

Grek then slapped the boy’s hand as he tried to reach for another piece. “You got your piece, filth! Now move along!”

Lucia growled, her anger bubbling over. This time the old man wrapped her in a bear hug. “Don’t you dare, girl!” he said. She squirmed, trying to free herself. “I know you, Lucia Lockhart,” the old man continued, “and you’ll get the lot of us in trouble if you’re not careful. Calm down!”

But Lucia’s heart was racing like a stampede of wild horses. She despised how the soldiers and sellouts treated her and the poor folk. “Outcasts” and “Unwanteds,” they called them, treating them worse than dirt under their boots.

The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth as the woman and her baby approached Grek. She shivered despite the warm embrace of her threadbare shawl. When the tall, young soldier spoke up, his deep voice resonated through the humid air. “Give her two pieces. She’s got an extra mouth to feed.” Grek frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as he hesitated. The scent of damp tobacco clung to his unwashed clothes. Pulling out two pieces, he reluctantly said, “No, one piece is what she gets. Those are the rules, and the rules can’t be broken.” He dropped the other piece in the box and grinned. His teeth were black and rotting, a stark contrast to the soldier’s fresh, youthful features.

The young soldier stepped forward, the determination in his eyes making his voice firmer. “Two pieces, Grek,” he said again. But now the fat soldier waddled over, the earth beneath his feet squishing with each step, and said: “No, Grek’s right. One per Outcast. Those are the rules. Get back to your post, Landon.” The young soldier sighed, the sound of defeat carried away by the gentle breeze, and stepped back. The fat soldier grinned, spittle dripping from his pale, thin lips, and turned to leave.

Grek leaned down, his breath sour and rank, and smiled at the baby. “What a sweet one. It’s too bad she’s an Outcast, though—she’ll grow up to be unwanted filth like her mother.”

The old man turned to grab Lucia, knowing she wouldn’t like that remark, but found she was already gone.

***

The sounds of children laughing and playing mixed with the rhythmic hammering of metalworkers and the sizzle of hot oil in pans as Lucia dashed through the bustling Benashali. The line of people stretched to one of the alleys where the Outcast’s tin and cardboard shacks stood in rickety rows. These dwellings were flimsy and patched up in places, barely enough to provide shelter. The air was thick with the smell of sizzling food and the stench of sewage and sweat. As Lucia turned a corner, she nearly lost her balance on the slick cobblestones, still wet from the previous night’s rain. She caught her breath, her heart pounding. She pulled off her backpack and dropped it. She bent down, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulders, and dug through her pack until she found something. “There,” she said, the excitement evident in her voice, “that will do!”

She pulled out the red grappling hook gun she’d swiped from the Roshen soldiers’ barracks a few weeks earlier. The gun was big for her but not too heavy. It had a grappling hook on one end, and when fired, it would shoot high into the air with a thin, strong wire attached to it.

“Filth, huh?” she muttered as she stomped through the muddy streets and alleyways. “We’ll see about that, Grek—you skinny, rotting corpse!”

Spotting a soldier, she quickly leaned against a wall to avoid being caught. The wall’s rough texture grazed her cheek as she pressed against it. She slithered through a narrow opening between two ramshackle huts. Dusk was beginning to settle over the white sands, the Benashali, and Roshen itself. The sky turned purple and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the landscape. Lucia turned for a moment to the west, looking out past the dirty slums and beyond to the white sands. The salty breeze from the sea brushed her face. It all looked so clean, so peaceful out there.

Shouts from the wall suddenly startled her. She ran as fast as she could through the alley, making her way towards the garrisons. When she made it, she waited a few moments until the coast was clear.

She climbed to the top of one of the barracks, tiptoeing quickly over the roof. Coming to an end, she sat down quietly, letting her legs dangle over the edge. One of the clay tiles fell off. She held her breath. “Son of a crag!” she cursed under her breath. The tile, though, simply plopped on the muddy ground. “Thank Olisha,” she said, “for rain last night.”

Aiming true under the magical dusk light, Lucia pulled the trigger of her grappling hook gun. There was a muffled pop, and the hook shot through the air from the barracks and into the side of the warehouse across the alleyway. The tall warehouse towered over the small, ramshackle huts of the Benashali. Weapons, steambots, steam trucks, wagons, and—most importantly—food were all held inside. “Filth, huh?” Lucia snarled. “We’ll see....”

She tied the line on her end to the smokestack, reached into her pockets, and put on her gloves. She pulled on the wire, making sure it was taut. And then, slowly, she pulled herself up and shimmied across. The soldiers were mainly near the wall with the poor, hungry folk. But here, there were only a few soldiers, and right now, they stood on the other side of the warehouse, guarding the front doors.

Finally reaching the other side, Lucia grabbed the ledge and pulled herself up. She climbed over to a skylight, pried it open, and slipped inside. The warehouse had lots of steam trucks, powered-off steambots, arcbots, and food and mana stores. The faint scent of grease and machinery lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic odor of the arcbots. Lucia climbed down the tall iron rails, the cold metal biting into her hands through her thin gloves, and dropped down to the warehouse floor. She gave it the once over like she had before when she came here to ensure nobody was inside. It was almost dark. The soldiers were getting ready to change shifts.

Over on the far side of the warehouse, Lucia opened a large black crate with two golden wings printed on the outside. Inside was mana ore: the magical element that powered the city of Roshen and most of its airships and arcbots. The green rocks glowed slightly, casting an eerie light that danced across her face. Lucia grimaced and shut it quickly. She moved on to a yellow crate and pried it open. Inside were food rations for the soldiers. The rich aroma of preserved meats and dried fruits wafted from the container. She picked out a few boxes and stacked them on the floor. Then, she looked around. Up on a shelf were a few red boxes. That’s it, she thought. She ran over, leaned a wooden ladder on the metal shelves, climbed up, and grabbed the red boxes. She knew what these were; she’d swiped a few before when she snuck into the warehouse. Now she lined them up and tore a thin white string on the end of each one. A small hook fell out of one end of the boxes. She looped it through the holes on the end of the ration containers. Over and over, she did this until she had twenty red boxes and hundreds of rations hooked up to them. One by one, she carried the red boxes with rations to an area of the warehouse beneath the skylight.

Under the skylight, Lucia pulled out her grappling hook gun. She had only one more hook, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t lose this one. She aimed for the skylight and fired. The glass shattered, a symphony of tinkling shards, and the cool night air rushed in. With a flick of a switch, Lucia retracted the hook back into the gun, ready for its next use. She then pulled a thread on each of the twenty red boxes... and THWUP!! A red balloon billowed out of each one, blowing up until each was as large as Lucia. One by one, she directed them to drift up under the skylight... and out they went!

“Now,” she said, grinning, “let’s take a look.” She climbed up the metal railing and out of the warehouse through the skylight. She hurried across the roof, the wind whistling in her ears, and made her way down the side of the building slowly by holding onto a rusty gutter pipe.

The sky was dark now, dotted with stars and airships. Large Roshen military ships with red and purple balloons; merchant ships in all sizes and colors (mostly yellow and green); and all shining brilliantly with mana lights and engines: a green, soft glow that twinkled in the night sky. High above, to the east, the three sister moons rose: round, pale, and brilliant.

Lucia watched as her red balloons floated up into the sky, their strings trailing beneath them like the tentacles of some strange sea creature. The rations attached to them swayed gently in the breeze, soon to be released and bring sustenance to her people. The taste of victory was sweet on her tongue, a flavor she savored as she gazed up at the night sky. “Filth, huh?” she whispered. “We’ll see about that, Grek!”

Lucia couldn’t help but smile. Now she just had to wait for the guards. The stench of refuse and waste lingered in the air as she walked slowly and confidently through the narrow alley. A warm breeze ruffled her hair as she emerged onto a larger, muddy thoroughfare. Soldiers had begun to shout, their voices serving as alarms that set off a flurry of activity among both the military and the poor folk of the ben. The clamor of voices, the trampling of boots in the mud, and the rustling of coarse garments created a cacophony in the dimly lit street. Now everybody was moving away from the wall and heading towards the storehouse. Heads were craned up, looking at the red balloons as they drifted slowly. Their silhouettes cast eerie shadows on the ground.

“Come on now, you red shirts. Don’t disappoint me.” Lucia took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of the alleyway. She was beginning to get worried. The soldiers weren’t that smart, were they?

But then, just as she thought this, someone fired a rifle: BOOM!

One of the red balloons burst, falling to the ground with a soft thud. Outcasts and Unwanteds, all in their gray wool clothes, patched and torn, hurried over to where the balloon fell. They tore open the food rations with famished desperation, revealing the tantalizing aroma of preserved meats and bread. The food was stuffed into pockets, down dresses, up shirts, into boots, down their underwear, under homemade (and admittedly, quite shabby) wigs, and anywhere else they could find that would conceal it from the soldiers. And then, they ran. They hurried back home as fast as they could, the feel of the precious food secure against their skin. And this repeated as the soldiers shot their rifles, balloons burst, and food fell.

The Outcasts and Unwanteds rushed to the fallen balloons, their hands grazing the damp ground as they grabbed the food rations and scurried away into the night before anyone could catch them.

Lucia watched as Grek sidled up, confounded. He scowled, picking up one of the rations. The unpleasant smell of gunpowder and smoke clung to his clothes. He looked around a few times, and then stuffed it down his dirty pants. He wiped his greasy mouth, his fingers leaving a slick trail on his face, and grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. The taste of fear rose in Lucia’s throat as she met his gaze.

Dear Reader,

You’ve just discovered a sneak peek of Lucia’s world, filled with mystery, magic, and uncharted lands. But the journey doesn’t end here!

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