Spirit beasts awakening, p.1
Spirit Beasts Awakening, page 1
part #1 of The Spirit Beast Saga Series
SPIRIT BEASTS AWAKENING
BOOK 1
THE SPIRIT BEAST SAGA
A.P BESWICK
Copyright © 2023 by A.P Beswick
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing - Quill & Bone Editing
Cover Design -
ISBN - 978-1-916671-10-2
To the dreamers and believers, remember, you are the masters of your fate; let this tale illuminate the boundless power within you.
For the spirited folk of Oswaldtwistle: more real than our ever-present rain and just as enchanting as our resident spirit beasts. Here's to proving we're not a fantasy, but the real magic of the North West!
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Arnold Will Return In…
PROLOGUE
Arnold gasped as the freezing cold air engulfed his lungs, instantly stealing his breath. The sharp, stinging sensation forced him to take rapid, short breaths just to take in enough air.
"In through the nose and out through the mouth," he told himself, recalling the advice he had received on a camping trip with the cub scouts years ago about surviving in the cold, not realising back then that he would actually find it helpful one day.
Once he adapted to the cold, he was able to take in the mesmerising view. The fields below him were illuminated brightly by the haunting crescent moon above, making the adjoining fields look like a complex patchwork quilt. The moonlight created a soft shimmer that made the grass look as though it were water, and the trees seemed to dance in synchronised motion, their branches swaying gracefully to the melody of rushing wind and rustling leaves as if being guided by a composer. Nature’s very own orchestra.
Arnold’s momentum steadied, and he slowed to an almost complete stop but then suddenly felt as though he was going to fall. An overwhelming sense of panic engulfed him as he felt the fierce force of the wind pushing against him. Nature's choreographer had changed the pace and Arnold needed to respond accordingly. He knew he needed to let the wind pass before he could move on but the icy chill that engulfed him felt as though it were touching every inch of his bones; it was a coldness he had never experienced before. He needed to persevere and ride the incoming gust of pressure generated by the ferocious wind, so he stretched his wings out as far as he could and tilted them at an angle to catch the uplift from the wind. He was very aware of how easy it would be to lose balance and plummet like a rock to the hard, unforgiving ground below. This was an art form; the wind was a natural force and could not be tamed by anybody. He rode the breath of the wind rather than fighting against it, using it to his advantage. The force of the wind made his feathers vibrate against him violently, making it harder for him to focus. He just about managed to keep his wings in position and maintain a gliding stance.
Arnold maintained this focus until the relentless wind subsided, then he changed his position again, gliding downwards at a steady pace to reach the patchwork fields below. Landing on a large branch of an old oak tree, he shook himself to bring all his feathers back into shape. He couldn't help but feel that he must have lost a few of his feathers from his latest experience of night flying. He was still getting accustomed to this. He did not even know what he was, but he had a strong feeling that it was only a matter of time before he found out.
CHAPTER 1
“What on earth are you on about, Arnold?” Arnold’s dad, Bernard, was sat across from Arnold at the beechwood table, his wrinkled forehead giving him a rather puzzled look whilst he bit into his marmalade toast. "Is this another one of your dreams?" Bernard pushed his slightly greying quiffed hair back as he spoke. The radio was playing down the hallway from the kitchen where Arnold’s mum, Eve, was making their lunch. She was singing along to At Last by Etta James; it was one of her favourites. The smell of slightly burnt toast filled the air, Eve having left the toast slightly too long due to being distracted by the music.
“Yes, it was another dream,” Arnold replied through a mouthful of his breakfast cereal, making a mess. His dark, unkempt hair needed some attention before he headed off to school. Arnold’s lightly freckled face focused intently on his dad as he wanted to describe every detail he could, his dark brown eyes unmoving. He sat perched at the end of his seat, rapidly tapping his foot on the floor which began to make the table rock. Bernard wasn’t giving Arnold his full attention, however, as his eyes drifted over his newspaper.
"Honestly, Dad, it felt so real, like I was actually flying through the sky!" Noticing his dad's disinterest, Arnold felt a wave of disappointment. "Are you listening to me?" he snapped, feeling a rush of temper come across him.
“Sounds good, son,” Bernard murmured, seeming somewhat distracted. He lowered his newspaper and gazed over the top, his glasses sliding to the bottom of his nose. He sighed loudly as he turned the page, the bold letters reading, The Oswaldtwistle Advertiser. Underneath was the heading, “Another Doyen Attack – Spirit Wardens Will Not Change Stance.” Bernard stared at the paper with his eyebrows lowered, a serious expression on his face.
Eve came in from the kitchen, her mousy brown hair tied up into a bun. She was already dressed for her retail job in her light-blue, polka dot dress uniform. Her thin frame underneath made it very clear who Arnold took after.
She began cleaning up the breakfast table. “Bernard,” she prompted with the gentle but stern tone she had perfected, "Arnold is trying to talk to you about his dream." She shook her head, which brought a smug smile to Arnold's face. "If it's about his dreams, you need to listen to what he is saying."
Apparently realising the error of his ways, Bernard made a fake coughing noise and folded up his newspaper, lowering it to the table and placing it next to his half-eaten marmalade on toast. "Sorry, Arnold, what were you saying? It's just that there has been another Doyen attack and it looks as though a group of menial fanatics has taken responsibility for it."
Menial was the term used for somebody who couldn't harness any power from a spirit beast. Being a menial meant you were unable to demonstrate any special talents or traits as a result of being disconnected from the spirit world – something that the Spirit Wardens looked down on. Arnold wasn’t a fan of the phrase, but at the same time, his biggest fear was that he was one.
The news momentarily made Arnold forget about his dream. “Do you definitely think it was a menial?” he asked. It was well-known that menials often sought out artefacts imbued with spirit energy, hoping they’d be granted special talents which, to them, made them equal to Spirit Wardens.
“More than likely is. I mean, who else would want to pinch an artefact?” Bernard responded.
“I would.”
“Pardon?”
“If I was a menial, I would want to steal an artefact. It must be horrible not to have a spirit beast. Doesn’t even bear thinking about. I wouldn’t hurt anyone though,” he added hastily, noticing his dad’s shocked expression.
“That’s a sure way to get on the wrong side of the Spirit Wardens, Arnold. I thought you wanted to be a Doyen?”
Arnold was being deadly serious, though. He had always dreamed of working for the Spirit Wardens. Unfortunately, to be a part of the Spirit Wardens, you needed to demonstrate both spirit beast and talents, and you had to be eighteen. One could not simply apply to join the Spirit Wardens; you had to be invited, and invitations were rare, only given to qualified candidates who demonstrated acts of bravery.
Arnold’s powers, however, hadn’t manifested yet, and his greatest fear was that they never would. But for as long as he could remember, Arnold had wanted to join the Spirit Wardens and become a Doyen, helping to protect his local community of Oswaldtwistle just as his dad had been doing since he was twenty years old. Bernard had spent his adult life protecting the local community from those that wished to use their talents to harm others.
Arnold had always lived in Oswaldtwistle, an old industrial town in the North of England. Back in the day it was a hub for coal mining as well as playing a key part in the industrial era in the early 1900s. The last of the coal mines had been flooded and sealed up over twenty years ago but many of the original mine entrances could still be seen. Oswaldtwistle was now like most other towns, with schools, local shops, butchers and – in Arnold's opinion – one too many bakeries. The town's claim to fame was that it was home to the world's largest pear drop which was on display at the old sweetshop inside the local factory mill outlet. Every day, wave upon wave of day coaches filled with people wanting to visit the sweet shop and all the other shops inside the old mill would descend on the town. The rest of the factories within Oswaldtwistle lay dormant, these industrial graveyards a constant reminder of the dominant trade that once ran through the very veins of the town.
“I keep having dreams that I am flying, Dad. That’s got to be a sign that my spirit beast is going to be a bird of some kind, right?” Arnold pressed.
&nbs p; “Possibly. Some people are said to have vivid dreams of embodying their spirit beasts before they manifest. You also know that bird spirit beasts are quite rare. Try not to rush this, son. When your body is ready, it will happen. I can assure you of that.”
A strange expression came across Bernard’s face, as if there was something more he wanted to say. "You are going to go through changes. You may become quicker or stronger or have better reflexes, and all that is going to depend on the spirit beast that you have inside of you. If you have a strong enough connection to your spirit beast, you may be able to summon it one day as I can, but it is not the be-all and end-all." Bernard took another bite of his toast, leaving a trail of crumbs on the table.
“I need one if I am to be a Doyen like you,” Arnold said. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. This is what Arnold wanted more than anything, a career with the Spirit Wardens, protecting people. Doyen was a rank given to protectors within the Spirit Wardens and it was no easy feat to get it. Doyens were tasked with keeping the villages, towns, and cities where they were posted safe from those who chose to misuse the powers they had been gifted via their spirit beasts. That said, recently it had become more likely that those without a connection were the ones more likely to cause trouble. Arnold’s dad had dedicated his life to training to harness his powers in order to become a Doyen, having come from a long line of Doyens and Elders. Arnold never doubted for one second that he himself would join as soon as he turned eighteen.
“You’re nearly fifteen now, so before long you will know exactly what your spirit beast is. As I said, don’t rush it. You can’t join the Spirit Wardens and become a Doyen for a good few years, so for the time being, go and enjoy being a kid,” Bernard said, frowning at Arnold. “Trust me when I say that being a Doyen is not as exciting as you think; it is not all action. There is a lot of training, both physical and mental, that you need to endure.”
Bernard looked across the table at his son’s slightly crestfallen face and smiled gently. “I know you want to know what your spirit beast is, and that’s completely normal at your age.” He took another bite of his toast, which made a loud crunch as he bit down, forcing some of the marmalade to push up against his dark, greying moustache. Arnold mustered a smile at this and nodded at his dad to indicate he had marmalade on his face. Bernard quickly brushed it off before he picked up his newspaper and began reading again.
As Bernard finished his toast off, there was a brisk knock at the door, one that Arnold instantly recognised.
“That will be Otto, Arnold,” Eve called from the kitchen. “Time to head for school.” Arnold stood up to leave the breakfast table. As he rose to his feet, he collided with the corner of the table, letting out a frustrated sigh. Not only was he still unsure of his spirit beast, but he also struggled with the awkwardness of his adolescent growth, with gangly limbs that did nothing to boost his self-image. He grabbed his bag and coat from the hook in the hallway as Eve handed him his lunchbox.
Arnold’s best friend Otto Redburn was waiting for him outside.
“Orite,” Otto greeted Arnold in his thick northern accent. Otto was of a stronger build than Arnold, with an athletic stature, broad shoulders, and olive-toned skin that made Arnold feel as though he resembled a ghost in comparison.
Otto was also slightly taller, but Arnold assured himself that this was only because Otto was a few months older. Much to Arnold’s jealousy, Otto’s spirit beast had begun to manifest itself already. It was still in the early stages, but Otto’s athleticism had improved since his fifteenth birthday, and his shoulders had grown broader, so much so that his shirt threatened to pop its buttons should he continue to grow at this rate. The Redburn family had a history of their spirit beasts being those of the big cats. Otto’s dad’s was a lynx and his grandad’s was a snow leopard, so Otto believed his spirit beast was going to be pretty epic.
“Morning, Otoronco,” Bernard called from inside.
Otto rolled his eyes and laughed to Arnold, shaking his head to clear his slightly long, brown tangled hair from his face. "Please just call me Otto, Mr. Ethon," he said, his thick accent suddenly sounding well-spoken like he had been rehearsing these lines. Otto often had to ask people to refer to him by his shortened name, and Arnold knew he was uncomfortable trying to live up to the legacy of his great-grandad, whom he was named after.
“I don’t think your mum and dad would appreciate that!” Bernard’s laugh could be heard from the dining room as he walked out and waved in Otto’s direction. “Please say hi to them from me, and let your dad know I am ready for that round of golf whenever he is. Or is he too busy now that he’s mayor?”
"I'm sure he could use the break," Otto replied, "he's a bit obsessed with trying to get the coal mines re-opened at the moment."
"Oh, that's right," Bernard said, nodding. “I wish your dad luck. That would certainly bring in some much-needed cash flow into the town.”
"Dad, we're going to be late!" Arnold said, not wanting to give his dad the chance to embark on one of his monologues about the economic state of Oswaldtwistle.
During Oswaldtwistle’s coal-mine era, Otto's great-grandad had worked his way up from being in the mines all day to eventually being a foreman. Otto’s family still resided in the old foreman's house, which was the largest of the terraced houses that sat in the middle of his street, to this day.
This had been handed down from his great-grandad and then down to his dad and now he lived there with his parents and his five-year-old brother, Taron.
Arnold shouted goodbye to his parents and set off down the road towards the school with Otto. It was quiet outside, and the sun was slowly rising, the sky still a greyish pale colour. The birds could be heard singing their morning songs, and a gentle breeze was in the air, just enough to ensure that a coat was needed. The ground was wet with the overnight showers; small puddles littered the road and pavements, just waiting for an over-zealous car driver to drive through and soak them.
“You decided what you want to do for your birthday?” Otto asked, hopscotching around the puddles with enviable agility. Arnold felt certain his spirit beast would be something feline. The Redburns were known as Agnates – their spirit beasts were linked through family blood, a rare phenomenon, so it was likely that Otto would take after his ancestors.
As for his birthday, Arnold didn’t have a large circle of friends, meaning a party was out of the question.
“Maybe just head to the cinema?” he replied, looking at Otto for assurances that this was a promising idea. There were a couple of films that had come out recently that he would like to see.
“Sounds good.”
Arnold and Otto continued their usual walk to school across the sports field and through an alleyway that led past the local Spirit Wardens headquarters, where Arnold’s dad worked. It was also where the local Doyens – those tasked with keeping the town safe – were based. This was where the Doyens honed their skills through training and learned to truly master their inner spirit beasts, with access to a library full of literature about the ancient ways.
The building’s shape was similar to the pyramids of Egypt, except the steep incline was layered with steps leading to the top, rather than a traditional smooth finish. At the top of these steps sat the entranceway, a rectangular extension built from large blocks of limestone and carved into shape. The steps of the Spirit Wardens were inlaid with carved hieroglyphs denoting the spirit beasts of fallen Doyens or Elders. It was considered the highest honour for those serving the Spirit Wardens to have their legacies carved here, but one that no man or woman ever lived to witness for this was only awarded upon death.
"One day, my spirit beast is going to be etched into this building," Arnold said, making the statement with a sense of steely pride as he gazed up at it. The bright sky behind the building made the grey stone shine as if a sheet of glass covered it, making it seem even more impressive. He wanted to be a Doyen so badly; it was all Arnold thought about lately even though it was still over three years before he would be old enough to join.
