Excerpt for Quest for the Tablet by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Quest

for the

Tablet








Bruce Savage


About Bruce Savage


Bruce Savage was born in Lewiston, Maine in 1967, the youngest son of 16 brother’s and sister’s to Winfield Strout and Blanche Strout. He published his first successful work when he was 10 years old in Boy’s Life magazine. The publication paid him $1 for a joke he wrote. So excited about his accomplishment and seeing his name published he pursued the art of writing for the next 40 years. In 1984 he enlisted in the United States Army and served his country in Germany. In 1999 he graduated from Columbia Southern University with a Bachelor’s in Computer Science and Information Systems. He held several positions with several fortune 500 companies until 2002 when he dove head first and full time into the world of writing and publishing. Since then he has produced 11 novels and counting. Casualties of War was his first novel followed by Psycho.


He is currently working on many other novels that will be available soon as well as the screenplay for Russian Games. He currently lives in Florida and the Philippines with his wife Julie and his daughter. He frequently enjoys making donations and contributions to ending poverty and supporting those less fortunate and he is an avid animal rights supporter.


Bruce Savage – Quest for the Tablet


Books by Bruce Savage


The Novels:


GOD’S ASSASSIN

NO MERCY FOR THE DEAD

EUROPA'S CHILD

RUSSIAN GAMES

QUEST FOR THE TABLET

ORIGIN

SHORT SCARY STORIES

PSYCHO

CASUALTIES OF WAR

KNOW YOUR ENEMY

MORE SHORT SCARY STORIES


For previews and information about the author:

Visit www.brucesavage.com.



Table of Contents



Table of Contents

About Bruce Savage

Books by Bruce Savage

Disclaimer

Copyright

Quotes

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Wait!

From the Author

Disclaimer


Quest for the Tablet

By Bruce Savage

Copyright © 2015

Quest for the Tablet eBook Edition


This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without the express permission in writing by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.


First Edition 1.0


Bruce Savage – Quest for the Tablet


Copyright



Copyright © 2015 www.brucesavage.com

All rights reserved.


ISBN-10: 1517789095

ISBN-13: 978-1517789091



Bruce Savage – Quest for the Tablet



Visit: www.brucesavage.com or your favorite book seller to order additional copies.



Bruce Savage – Quest for the Tablet


Quote


Reality is quite different then what we believe it to be. – Thich Nhat Han – a Buddhist monk.



Chapter 1



They say that Native Americans have a deep understanding of the nature of life. A deep respect for it. There are many myths and superstitions that go hand and hand with most Native American traditions and beliefs. The ability to see into the future or the past. The ability to walk around inside of dreams and understand animals. The beliefs of many different gods or spirits that are responsible for the creation of the universe and the creatures in it. Most of these myths are just that…myths, or so Jack Skywalker believed.

He grew up on the reservation in Arizona. Listening to his father and grandfather talk about tradition and Indian legends. Watching the ceremonies that they would perform in honor of their way of life. But never really believing any of it. Never letting their teachings take hold or sink in.

His grandfather used to tell him that myths are legends and sometimes myths are the truth. It was a matter of whether or not you believe in the myth that makes it the truth. Not everything is black and white. His grandfather was the medicine man or doctor on the reservation where Jack lived and grew up. It depended on whom you spoke to and what was wrong with you. He was a very respected and honored member of the Apache nation. His grandfather had hoped when Jack was young that he would become a medicine man someday and carry on the tradition. He had hoped that Jack would take hold of his culture and embrace it as his father did when he was young.

But that wasn’t what Jack wanted. Inside Jack there was a voice calling him. He knew that someday he would do something great with his life. As do the young. But he didn’t know what. Growing up on the reservation there was very little to do and a lot of trouble for a boy that’s restless to get into. And that’s how Jack spent most of his youth getting into trouble. The scar on his arm was his reminder of that trouble and a wakeup call to get his act together.

When Jack was sixteen he decided to play a prank on a couple of his friends. Tommy Lightfoot and Gordon Willow. The plan was brilliant or so he thought. To scare the day lights out of his friends and show them who the chief of pranks really He captured a rattlesnake and placed it in a burlap bag to bring along with him on an overnight camping trip he and his friends were going to have out in the desert. He told them that he was bringing it to perform a ritual and set it free.

This they didn’t trust, because they knew Jack. They grew up with Jack. When his friends were asleep he was going to let the rattle snake loose near their sleeping bags and wake them up. But the prank back fired when Jack didn’t take into account that the rattlesnake hadn’t eaten in a while and didn’t appreciate being bounced around inside of that burlap bag. As soon as Jack opened the bag that snake struck at him and got a good hold on his arm. The snake bit deep into Jacks arm and he let out a scream so loud, that it woke his friends up.

Tommy could see Jack flailing around on the ground with the snake and he rushed to Jack to help him.

“For crying out loud Jack hold still!” Tommy said trying to get Jack to stop rolling around on the ground and hold still long enough to get hold of the snake.

Tommy in desperation finally grabbed the snake by the back of its head and yanked it off of Jack. With one quick jerk he threw the snake over by a cactus fifteen feet away. The snake quickly got it’s barring and took off into the desert night as fast as it could.

“Gordon get my anti-venom kit in my back pack, hurry!” Gordon raced to Tommy’s backpack and fumbled through it in a frantic race to find the anti-venom kit at the bottom. He raced over to Tommy almost tripping into the campfire that was still burning from supper. “Here quick, give him the shot before the poison sets in!”

“Jack stay still; this is going to hurt a little bit.” Tommy said trying to get Jack to settle down.”

“No kidding! Like I’m not in enough pain as it is!” Jack said reeling from the pain of feeling his arm muscles tighten up.

The venom was beginning to work its way through Jack’s nervous system and he could feel his heart racing. He was finding it difficult to breathe, because it felt like an anaconda had rapped itself around him and was squeezing his chest.

“Gordon, hurry up and get back to the reservation and get some help. We need to get Jack to the Hospital!” Gordon took off into the night and back to the reservation and returned with Jacks father, who was frantic and angry.

If it weren’t for Tommy’s father reminding him to bring along the anti-venom kit, Jack would have died that night. But instead Jack got off with two weeks in the hospital and a scar on his arm. And grounded for six months by his father. Who wasn’t at all amused by what he did. And his father made sure during those six months he was grounded that he tamed whatever wild spirits were in Jack once and for all. And made him aware of the value of life.

One of Jacks punishments he had to do was recite essays on his culture in the Apache language. His father made sure he recited them every day after supper and he knew how much that annoyed Jack. But his father didn’t really notice that by the end of the six months Jack had developed an interest in archeology and an interest in the past. An interest that he would pursue for the rest of his life. And take Jack on adventures that he would never dream of.

Jacks father was a tribal lawyer and a historian on the Apache people. His father passed this interest in his people onto him when he was young. It was something that Jacks father always took great comfort in. Learning and understanding where he came from and where his people were going. He became a lawyer to defend the rights of his people and insure that their way of life continued on for many generations.

When Jack decided on a career to follow his father was shocked that he had chosen archeology as his choice. Knowing very well how little Jack was interested in his own culture. This made his father proud because he knew that maybe someday it would lead him back to his people and a respect for his culture. Even though Jack’s father knew he had his eye on leaving the reservation, and his people, he still had hope that Jack would learn someday the importance of knowing where he came from and to understand the value of knowing your culture’s history.

When Jack left for college it was one of the hardest things his father had to face next to losing his wife to cancer when Jack was young. Seeing his son leave, just like he knew Jack would someday, hit him pretty hard. But with the pain of seeing him leave came hope of him returning. And the hope that Jack would mature and be a part of the culture that he was born into.

Jack was going home for two weeks to visit. He had just graduated from UCLA with a Doctorate in Archeology. He was looking forward to spending time with his grandfather and father after not seeing them for the past two years. The last time he was home he had made the mistake of insulting his grandfather by arguing his point about the difference between myth and scientific fact. Jack had let his education overstep his common sense of respecting his grandfather.

Time had passed. And Jack felt that he had matured as a person, and that these two weeks might help him smooth out some of the wrinkles that he had caused growing up. His grandfather was 90 years old now. And Jack was a little afraid that he might not last another year. In his heart he wanted his grandfather to see that he was a man now and that he was headed down a good path in life. He had worked hard to achieve something in his life. And hoped to get his grandfather’s blessings, even though they might have shared very different points of views.

His car sped along the canyon road near the White Mountains heading toward the Apache reservation. He had been driving all night hoping to get home no later than early morning. A strong wind started to stir and kick up dust. Jack didn’t really think anything about it until the wind picked up and the dust started to get thicker. He knew he should pull off to the side of the road, or risk going off the road because of the poor visibility. Jack was used to dust storms growing up in this region and he knew what the best thing to do was. He slowed his car and began to pull to the side of the road, when out of nowhere a white horse galloped down the center of the road. Jack slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop just missing the horse. He quickly looked around to find the horse and where it might have gone. But he could see nothing but blowing dust.

“O.K., maybe I’m seeing things.” Jack said to himself.

He brought the car to the side of the road and took a deep breath, wondering if he might be a little too tired from driving all night from Los Angles. He glanced at his rear view mirror and jumped at what he saw in the back seat. In the back seat sat a Native American man dressed like an Apache with his face painted with white and black streaks.

Startled Jack turned around and hollered at the man, “Who in the world are you? How did you get--?

But when he turned around the Indian was gone. And there was nobody in the back seat. He sat there for a couple of minutes to try and calm down and make sense of what just happened. When he was finally calm he realized that it must be because he was tired. That’s what it was, he was tired and seeing things he convinced himself. The best thing he could do is get home and get some rest.

In the desert dust storms come and go in the blink of an eye and this dust storm dissipated as quickly as it started. Jack took a quick look around one more time looking for the horse or the Native American. But they were nowhere to be found. He shook his head and started his car and continued on his way home. It was only five miles to the reservation and Jack would be home soon.

As Jack reached the reservation he could see the water tower that he and his friends used to play on. It brought back some good memories of his childhood. When the heat was too much to bear he would go for a swim inside the tower with his friends. But seeing the tower also brought back a bad memory, of the time he was trying to show off balancing himself on one of the railings of the tower and falling off. That earned him a broken arm and a fractured ankle. It was yet another item on the list of things that kept Jack in trouble when he was young.

Jack drove through the reservation and observing how progress was taking its time getting to his people. But that was the way it was on the reservation. Change took a long road to get to the reservation; it was just the way things were. And one of the reasons why Jack wanted to leave the reservation when he was younger. Pulling into the driveway at his father’s house he could see that his father still had the Jeep.

His father bought it from a cousin when he was younger. It seemed like he had that Jeep forever. Like it was part of the family. His father used to joke with his mother that the Jeep would probably outlast Jack. Seeing how Jack kept getting into situations that almost cost him his life.


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