Blaze (The High-Born Epic) Read online

  Blaze

  A Superhero Origin Story

  By

  Jason Woodham

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Atlas Publications:

  43 Cty. Rd. 335, Ozark, AL 36360

  Copyright © by Jason Woodham

  All right reserved. Published by Atlas Publications.

  Cover art by Bello Regno by L’Oreal (Christy Knowles and Terry Dedrick) and Jason Woodham

  Book design by Jason Woodham

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks is due to so many people that I have trouble knowing who to thank first, but a good place to start is with God for the imagination necessary to bring Blaze to life. Next, I wish to thank my sister, Madison, and that moment of serendipity in which Harold was born. A great deal of gratitude goes out to Thomas (TJ) Farmer (United States Marine Corps) for the many conversations that helped mold Blaze’s plot.

  I also wish to thank Brian Young of scifights.net for the numerous brainstorming sessions that greatly enhanced this novel. If people enjoy this story, then they need to know that it would not be the story it is without you. To Professor Jim Davis, Marcie Stokes, and Tara Hughes thanks is due for the amount of time you all devoted in helping me get this book edited. I also wish to thank Mandi Walker; Nicki Hamm; Joanne Hicks; Jamie Deloney; Nancy Gresco, and Brian Johnson (brianjohnson.co) for your encouragement and advice. Thank you so much.

  Thanks to Bello Regno by L’Oreal and her assistant Terry Dedrick for the fantastic work you did on the promotional poster, book cover, and series of posters. To Brett Brooks (Dust Bunny) thanks for the spectacular camera work in the mini-featurette. Appreciation is due to Justin Bingham for props to help with the photoshoot. I also wish to recognize the embodiment of Sarah and Gabby and their respective models, Jessica Lovett Cumuze, and Bruk Hancock Patterson.

  I would like to thank my parents, Angie and David. You two have put up with a great deal from me, and I hope I’ve made you proud. And to Cooper; Ollie; Willie; Annie-Jane; Jim; Lewie; Joe; Nene; Elton, and the many other inspirations throughout this novel, may your names be immortalized within these pages.

  Part I

  “The Farm”

  Prologue

  He pulled on the left strap of his overalls then hooked it into its front button. Putting on his straw hat, he walked towards the barn. His dirty feet stepped quickly and lightly and his eyes swept the ground for nails, glass, and other debris. It was a rather encouraging morning. The dawning sun shone brightly in the eastern sky, but it had not fully crested the horizon. Purplish clouds dotted the heavens, and he even thought that he heard a couple of birds chirping.

  When he walked into the barn, he saw the mule glaring at him.

  “Well good morning to you too, Sunshine,” he said sarcastically. “You’re almost as happy as Colonel Foxx and them other High-Born folk.”

  The mule looked away from him.

  “I think that will be your name today, mule,” he smiled as the mule looked at him. “Sunshine. And I don’t care if you don’t like it,” he said as he opened her stable.

  He reached into the grain bin and threw some dried corn cobs into her trough. She quickly began gnawing, and he put the collar and plow on her in quick order.

  “We’ve got a lot to plow up today, Sunshine,” he said. “Colonel Foxx said that he would be reducing the whole town’s rations and taking more of our crops if we didn’t up our production. We need to get this field done by tomorrow because I reckon them High-Born folk are all pretty hungry for Low-Born crops.”

  The morning was cool, and as he started plowing the mule his thoughts drifted. His family’s weekly rations were already dangerously low. There was probably only two days’ worth remaining. If his trap lines and hooks could just catch something today, then his aunt might be able to stretch the food another day or two. She was good at that. Maybe she could even make it last three days if they all skipped lunch. He could raid the corn bin again, but the mule needed that food.

  The morning lingered as he plowed row after row. The soil was not terrible and had some moisture in it, so he felt that crops would grow quickly once planted. Especially, with Colonel Foxx’s supply of High-Born manufactured fertilizer.

  After a few hours, Sunshine was beginning to slow down.

  “Well, mule,” he smiled, “I guess I’ll call you Partly Sunny for the rest of the day.”

  The mule flicked an ear his way but kept trudging along.

  He finished plowing the row he was working on and stopped Partly Sunny in the shade of a large oak tree. He pulled a dried corn cob out of his pocket and threw it to the mule.

  “You’ll be Sunshine again soon, old girl,” he grinned while the mule gobbled on the corn cob and paid him no attention.

  He looked back toward his aunt’s house. Her house was nearly as far south as you could get and still be in the village of Foxx Hole. The wooden planks were in good shape, and Colonel Foxx had even let them use some water sealant on them. Their shotgun house was fairing better than the surrounding houses. He could see Ben patching the roof of his house, while his son pumped water from the well. Back to his right, he could see Henry plowing his field with his ornery old mule.

  “I think that mule is older than me, Partly Sunny,” he smiled as his mule looked away from him.

  He took a deep breath and looked to his left out across a large stretch of green trees. On top of a gentle rise a few miles away, and several hundred yards outside the detection grid, he could see Colonel Foxx’s mansion. Its white walls gleamed in the sunlight as about a half-dozen workers went about various yard chores. One of them was even using a lawn mower to trim the brilliantly green grass.

  “Colonel Foxx must be getting lax if he’s letting a Low-Born operate machinery,” he said to Partly Sunny.

  Then, he looked to the right side of the mansion. The water of a sparkling pond rippled there. It was not a very large pond, maybe five or six times as large as the mansion itself, but a small island sat in middle of it. Both the pond and island were man made, and on that small island was a hulking, twisted, black mass. It glistened slightly in the sunlight, and a shiver ran down his spine every time he saw it. It was sunning at the moment, but often times the hybrid snake would slither around and swim through the water, especially during feeding time. He had heard that the snake was part python and part eel, so most folks called it a pytheel, and Colonel Foxx had a strange fancy for creatures like it. He was thankful that a ten foot high chain-link fence surrounded the entire pond.

  “You reckon that Colonel Foxx really feeds young ‘uns to that thing, Partly Sunny?”

  The mule puffed in response.

  He had heard stories about it, and they seemed real enough. Supposedly, if someone disobeyed or tried to leave Foxx Hole without permission by trying to slip through the detection grid, Colonel Foxx would kill them, and if they had children, the children would be thrown to it. But it had been a long time since that had happened, if it had even happened at all. In fact, it had never happened in his life.

  “I think them stories are kinda’ like the stories about them Mid-Night Stalkers that used to steal bad young ‘uns in the middle of the night all those years ago. The old folks just tell them stories about that pytheel eatin’ young ‘uns to make sure young ‘uns listen to their ma and pa.”

  He plowed for a few more minutes.

  “You know something, Partly Sunny,” he shook his head as he looked at the colonel’s mansion, “those High-Born folk must be pretty smart if th
ey can make things like those pytheels in those labs of theirs. What do you think, Partly Sunny?”

  He looked beyond the mansion, to the structures lingering on the horizon. They towered into the sky, some much taller than others. The shorter buildings contrasted starkly to the taller ones. The tops of the smaller buildings were jagged and misshapen.

  “It is easy to understand why they call them skyscrapers, huh, Partly Sunny,” he glared at the buildings. “The new ones look like they could pop clouds. I guess they’re never going to fix the ones that have been all shot up?”

  There were green specks zipping back and forth between the buildings. Other specks of red and orange seemingly circled the city.

  “Partly Sunny, you reckon we’ll ever be able to ride in one of those air taxis?”

  The mule flicked its ear and made a loud puff.

  “Yeah, probably not,” he said. “High-Born folk ain’t too keen on us operatin’ machinery, are they?”

  He lightly popped the mule and began plowing another row.

  Chapter 1

  “Harold!” she shouted from outside the barn. “Harold!”

  “Just a minute!” he replied.

  Harold unhitched the plow from the mule and lightly coughed. He swatted at the dusty, hay-filled air and spit. Then he picked up a pail and poured water into the mule’s trough. Sunshine wasted no time and quickly began drinking. Harold then picked up a charge of hay and tossed it in her stable and threw her five ears of dried corn. He dusted off his hands as he walked to the door.

  “Harold, I need you to deliver this message to Phil,” the brunette woman said. “This deal should feed us for a while.”

  “Can’t you get Cooper or Ollie to do it, Aunt Nean? I need to-”

  “-deliver this message to Phil because I’ve got supper on the stove and Cooper and Ollie took Scape to the woods and they are all checking your trap line and hooks. Besides, Phil has a ham hock he wants to barter with.”

  “A ham hock?” he smiled. “What’s he want for that?”

  “A dress for Maggie’s birthday,” Aunt Nean replied.

  “Oh, okay,” Harold thought as he looked up at the sky. “She’ll be four this time, right?”

  “Yep, and growin’ like fireweed.”

  “I’m glad you can sew, Aunt Nean,” Harold said.

  “Me too. Now go on.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Harold said as he took the envelope and moved towards the cabin.

  As he passed through the back door, the scent of sizzling cornbread and turnips caused his mouth to water. He could smell bacon too, but that was probably only grease from this morning used to flavor the greens. He passed through the front door and walked down the walkway towards the main road. He looked to the right, and the only cabin there belonged to Henry. Up the road to his left was the main road, and there were dozens of houses lining the road. Henry’s house and the dozens to his left were almost mirror images of each other.

  He had heard that Colonel Foxx had chosen the wheel design of the village because it was an efficient use of land. When Harold thought about the design, it reminded him of a clock. Just off the twelve main roads were the cabins and houses, and the roads themselves all led to a central hub where the shops were located.

  As he walked, Harold thought about the message he was delivering and saw that the envelope was not sealed, so he opened it:

  Dear Nean,

  Can you believe that Maggie’s fourth birthday is in a couple of weeks? She’s growing so fast. Anyhow, I figure that a nice ham hock is worth a new dress if I provide the cloth. Will you do this for me?

  Phil

  Since paper was scarce in Foxx Hole, Aunt Nean had written her reply just below Phil’s request.

  Dear Phillip,

  I would be happy to make Maggie a new dress for the ham hock and a pork shoulder. She can also have the dress Ollie has outgrown for two sacks of corn meal. The dresses will last much longer than the meal and meat. You make out like a bandit in this deal. Sign if you agree.

  Nean

  Harold refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. He smiled. Phil could not argue much about that, but he probably would.

  As he walked down the dirt road, he looked from side to side. Many young children were out in the yards playing with rag dolls while others played tag or hide and seek. The older children were mostly doing chores like hanging clothes, nailing wooden planks on the side of houses, and some were even helping their fathers on the roofs. Other children were helping their mother wash clothes on scrubbing boards in foot tubs full of water. Harold noticed that sometimes the foot tubs had bubbles in them, but most did not.

  The scenery changed very little for the fifteen minute walk to the town circle. The circle was fairly busy, but he had seen it busier. People were moving back and forth, sauntering in and out of the various shops and talking to one another. As he moved deeper into the hub of the village, he looked at the small pyramid at the exact center of town.

  There was a small platform that jutted out from all sides of the pyramid so that Colonel Foxx could walk around it and see all of the villagers during his weekly speeches. Harold glanced at the top of the pyramid at the Kristall. The sparkling orb was just sitting there, slowly spinning. Above it, Colonel Foxx’s faded, transparent, twenty-foot high image hovered and rotated in sync with the Kristall. The colonel’s arms were outstretched as if to embrace the entire town in a hug. As Harold regarded the colonel’s likeness, he thought about the Kristall’s main function. Once a month, it would project the mandatory history review known as the Vista. After the Vista, Colonel Foxx always gave food and toys to the kids to show the High-Born’s kindness.

  Harold looked away from the Kristall and moved to his right toward what would have been the two o’clock road and quickened his pace. Phil’s was only the fourth house on the right down that way. He stopped and turned back to his left and looked at the western edge of the town circle.

  “I’ve got a little bit of time,” he smiled and moved towards the shops on that side of town.

  As he stepped into the blacksmith’s shop, the bell above the door chimed, but he saw no one behind the counter.

  “Just a minute,” a female voice called.

  Soon, he heard steps coming from the back, and he took off his hat. When she rounded the corner, he smiled. Her straight, dark hair was bound in a pony tail that reached almost the center of her back. She returned a playful smile, stopped, and put her hand on her hip and half-cocked her head.

  “What do you want?” she said as she adjusted her heavy smith apron.

  “Some more nails,” he said.

  “You have to have buckets of those things by now,” she replied as she rolled her hazel eyes. “I’m starting to think that you just like coming here.”

  “I’m a poor hammer man,” he smiled. “I keep breaking them because I don’t hit them squarely.”

  “Are you insulting mine and my father’s work, Harold Knight?” she countered.

  “Of course not, I’ve already said that my aim is poor, Sarah Smithee,” he said.

  “Of course it is,” she shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “Our nails are the best.”

  “And that is why I stop by so often,” he nodded.

  “Hmph,” she pouted and cocked her eyebrow. “Well, how many do you need?” she asked as she pulled out a pencil and small piece of wood.

  “Three dozen,” he said.

  “Everyone has been buying them left and right, and we only have two dozen right now, but if you come back at lunch tomorrow, we’ll have plenty.”

  “Alrighty then,” he smiled as he put on his hat. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Uh, huh,” she said as she scribbled on the wood, and he walked out.

  In just a few more minutes, he was at Phil’s house.

  A dark-haired little girl was in the front yard. She had a stick in her hand and was using it to poke a mound of dirt that she was squatting beside. She was rather dir
ty but looked fairly healthy. She was wearing only a pair of over-sized underwear that were also marked with dirt. Her blue eyes shot up and looked at him. She ran onto the front porch and shouted with an adorable lisp.

  “Daddy, a man ith here!”

  Harold could not help but smiling at how her lisp made the word “here” sound. Soon, Phil walked onto the porch and motioned for Harold to come closer. Like Harold, Phil was only wearing a pair of dirty overalls. Harold walked to him and handed him the message.

  Phil opened it and began looking over it. While he was reading, Harold looked at the little girl who was now hugging her father’s leg, and halfway hiding behind him. Harold squinted at her and winked. She smiled and tried to wink back, but instead of winking she ended up closing and opening both eyes. Harold chuckled.

  “Hmmm...” Phil said as he stroked his thin beard and thought a few moments. “Well, I don’t have a pork shoulder, but I do have a slab of smoked ribs, and I only have two bags of corn meal in storage. I’ll give you one bag of corn meal.”

  “It’s a deal,” Harold said as he looked at the little girl.

  “Thank you,” Phil said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As Phil walked inside, Harold asked Maggie, “What have you been doing today?”

  “Pwayin’ wif ants,” she said.

  “And can you tell me anything about them?” Harold smiled.

  “Dey has white eggs, and dey don’t ‘ike it when you poke dem wif ‘ticks,” she said and showed Harold her dirty feet. “See, dey bited me,” she said, pointing at the red welts on her feet.

  “I guess they don’t like it when you stir them up, huh?” Harold laughed.

  “No, dey don’t.” She grinned at him and her locks of hair bounced as she cocked her head to the side.

  Phil was coming back down the hall with a handful of paper, a full burlap sack, and some worn burlap.