Quest for Faith: Chapter One

Over the next few weeks, it is my plan to post a story that I wrote my senior year of highschool in my Writer's Craft class. I will post it in installments as it is a bit lengthy, posting a chapter a day or so. Any feedback would be appreciated by leaving a comment on the post. The title of the book is "Quest for Faith." I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! (Actually, I would have enjoyed writing it a bit more if I hadn't waited until about a week before it was due to begin it!)

Chapter One: Among the Books

An adventure was about to begin. The familiar excitement stirred in Alastair’s heart as it always did when he hauled a heavy book from the dusty shelf. It was not a particularly attractive book – the cover was brown and weathered and it had a musty smell - but the boy knew enough about books to understand the beauty within. He carried it to his favourite spot: a rug in the corner between two bookshelves which ran the full height of the wall and which created the perfect place for reading.

His younger brother James was already sat in the gap and was engrossed in a book of his own. Alastair squeezed in beside him; it was just big enough for two. The uncommonly amicable brothers had spent many an afternoon in the second-hand bookshop, being read to by their father and mother when they were younger and reading for themselves as they grew. Now, as Alastair was twelve and James seven, the two enjoyed many silent hours together. They did not only read in the bookshop. On the few warm, dry days during the English summertime, they would hike together through the hills which surrounded their little village of Chinley. Books in hand, they would explore the rolling countryside. Upon finding a suitable spot, they would share a small lunch and take out their books.

Wherever they were, both boys could think of nothing better than a full stomach, a warm cup of tea and a good story. James preferred stories about talking animals and other mythical creatures. To him, the wonder of a forest filled with magic made real forests magical. As he and his brother explored the fields, forests and hills of the Peak District where they lived, James would imagine the trees were talking to him. Every rustle of the wind through the branches or snap of a twig above them was a strange, forgotten language which he could understand only in his imagination.

Alastair however, preferred ancient stories of kings and knights and dragons. He loved the story of King Arthur’s round table and Excalibur. He wished courageous knights would still rescue fair maidens and go bravely into battle with armour and shield to defend and a sword to attack. It seemed so much more meaningful than the guns and bombs of modern warfare.

Just a few months ago, in January of 1941, their father had himself gone to war. He was a kind man, but distant from his sons. Since his wife’s death of cancer only a few years previous, he had grown more and more detached from the boys, spending much of his time at work or in his study, working on this and that. It had been their mother who first introduced them to the magical world of literature. She read to them constantly, and taught them to read sounds, then words and sentences long before their peers at Chinley Junior School. Through the death of their mother, and the recent conscription of their father, the boys became the best of friends. The companionship fought off all the loneliness felt strongly by both. Yet they were not left to fend for themselves – an elderly gentleman called Mr. Lumley owned the small bookshop as well as the flat above it and had been a good friend of the boys and their parents for as long as they had lived in the close-knit community of Chinley. He had jumped at the chance to look after the boys who had already spent so much time with him in his shop.

Mr. Lumley had a Scottish accent which had been altered by his years spent in England. For a good 30 years he had owned the small bookshop and had been living quietly in his small flat. In truth, the man was beginning to feel much lonelier in his old age. He could no longer travel because of a bad hip and was confined to his shop most of the day, the running of which was also getting to be a challenge on account of his health.

He had known Alastair and James since birth and had watched them grow up. On numerous occasions during the family’s trying time surrounding their mother’s death, he had looked after and comforted the brothers. He and the boys – Alastair in particular – had formed a bond during this painful period, and the three had been inseparable ever since. Alastair and James loved the man’s stories. He would tell them stories of a land long ago – of bravery, of courage and of betrayal. After his father’s departure, Alastair and Mr. Lumley became especially close, spending many an evening (after James had fallen asleep to a story) discussing things and laughing together. However unlikely the pair seemed, the spritely young boy and the man whose strength was waning, had formed an inexplicable attachment.

Stay tuned for Chapter Two: In the Bookshop!