Persistence Of Memory (The Artania Chronicles Book 5)

Book summary

In "Persistence Of Memory" by Laurie Woodward, Bartholomew Borax III, Gwen, and Alex return to the mystical world of Artania, only to find it in turmoil as its inhabitants suffer from a mysterious amnesia plague. With epic battles, surreal creatures, and an impending threat, they race against time to save Artania from certain doom. A magical fantasy adventure for all ages, this is the fifth installment in the Artania Chronicles series.

Excerpt from Persistence Of Memory (The Artania Chronicles Book 5)

Rubbing the dust from his eyes, Bartholomew Borax III glanced up at the crumbling arch. The curved monument teetered and several of its carved bats took to flight. A few bricks overhead wavered and loosened. “Alex, watch out!” he cried, shoving his best friend out of the way.

Alexander Devinci bounced off a wrought iron post bordering the wide promenade to land safely on all fours a few feet away. The mass plummeted downward a split second later and crashed with a tremendous boom. Choking dust swirled, darkening the painted sky.

Bartholomew knelt at Alex’s side. The fifteen-year-old’s face was streaked with dirt and his brown curls had a coat of dust “You okay?”

Coughing, Alex gave him a thumbs-up.

The ground rumbled again, and long, jagged cracks appeared in the crushed granite pathway. They widened and dark heads emerged from the splintered soil. Yellow eyes glared from hairless brows as porcine noses sniffed the air.

Alex groaned. “No freaking way.”

Bartholomew pulled Alex to his feet and surveyed the triumphal arch. The red monument was roughly ninety feet high and half as wide. It looked Moorish and both sides were framed with pairs of brick columns capped with decorative crowns. The front frieze above the arch was carved with multiple people, who were now whimpering and cowering in fear. Above them two sculpted lions held up a large shield and crown.

“Help us!” Bartholomew cried.

The stone felines bowed noble heads and roared. They hurdled off their perch and landed with a thud. Their etched muscles rippled before turning to face the emerging army.

“It won’t be enough,” Alex said.

“I know.” Bartholomew turned in a circle. True art? True art? What can I create?

He had only been in this unfamiliar place for scant minutes so didn’t know the lay of the land. But after multiple journeys into the mystical Artania, the blond teen had learned that if he could work paint, clay, or wood, the Creation Magic would do the rest. He and his fellow Deliverer, Alex, had made amazing things these past five years. From swords to skateboards and dragons to great snakes they had wrought weapons and comrades in this long war against the Shadow Swine.

But still Sickhert’s army returned. Ever stronger. With new tricks and powers.

Like today.

An axe-wielding Shadow Swine swung at the first lion. His blade skirted the beautiful sculpture’s mane and a furry clump fell to the ground. With a snarl, the lion jumped back.

Bartholomew grabbed Alex’s arm. “We have to do something.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Alex kicked at the pile of dry leaves crunching underfoot, and they fluttered through the air.

Bartholomew glanced at the drifting leaves. Might it work? He closed his eyes and focused on the image. Scooping up a handful, he turned to Alex. “Remember Subterranea? They battled well.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that.” Bending down, Alex brushed away debris, exposing the moist soil below. He plunged his hands into the clay and formed them into a mound.

Bartholomew plopped some leaves onto Alex’s s pile. Then more and more.

The two boys molded the materials into an animal shape. Without a word, they both knew where to place their hands. They scooped, pulled, and smoothed as if their minds were one. Fingers tugged and pressed, sculpting faster and faster. A leg appeared. Then another. Paws. A larger-than-life head. Soon, they were moving at the speed of light.

One final pinch, and the sculpture shimmered. Fur sprouted all over its body. Two silvery eyes looked up at them. Bartholomew sat back on his haunches and smiled. “Glorious.”

He had but a microsecond to admire the work before the hunchbacked Swiney was upon them. His yellow eyes narrowed as he bared jagged teeth. With a long swipe of his battle-axe, the pig-nosed creature chucked a stone lion aside. He raised an arm to attack the second when the newly sculpted wolf lowered its head and butt him in the gut.

The slimy creature toppled over.

“More!” Alex scooped up a fresh handful of mud and the boys repeated their sculpting performance, this time faster than the speed of light. Within seconds half a dozen wolves were growling and snapping at the jackbooted army.

For a moment all was silence. Then, as if a great unmute button had just been pressed, a cacophonous roar filled the air. Wolves ripped into the burly Swineys. The largest leaped at a tall Shadow Swine, knocking the monster on its back.

Others hurdled toward a dog, Mudlark, with red glowing eyes, one ear completely gone and the other in jagged shreds. The black lab’s contorted face was scarred and twisted as if raking claws had hollowed out great swaths of skin. Still, it dodged two swipes before falling.

Three snarling wolves closed in on a spike-wielding Swiney. The monster swung once. Twice. Three times. The newly formed canines snapped at his heels. Then one wolf clamped down on the Shadow Swine’s trench coat. The monster stumbled.

Bartholomew had just dug up a handful of soil to form a sword when he felt the vibration. His hand began to shimmer. Shaking his head, he glanced over at Alex who appeared to be filled with sparkling glitter. He shrugged at his friend.

And Artania faded from view.

Chapter 2

Teetering, Alex thrust out his arms and blinked. He was back in his garage studio, paintbrush still dipped in the palette and the half-finished canvas as wet as it’d been when he’d been sucked into Artania. No mud stained his jeans. No rocky debris dusted his hair. It was as if the past hour had been but a dream.

This had happened to him so many times you’d think he’d be used to it, but it still was pretty friggin’ weird to be painting at home one second, and in an art-created world the next.

His Australian shepherd, Rembrandt, wagged a tail once and nuzzled up against his leg. Alex bent down and rubbed the dog’s ears.

“More weirdness, boy. It’s looking bad.”

The Artanian journeys weren’t the only thing Alex had to get used to. His family had recently undergone major changes, namely the birth of his sister, Destiny, in April. A full-on surprise since his mom was in her mid-forties, had seen specialists just to get pregnant the first time, and had a heart condition that nearly killed her when Alex was eleven.

Not that everything had changed. Dad still quoted from Dr. Bock’s How to be a Perfect Parent and worked on his mathematical theorems as a university professor in Santa Barbara. Between feedings and diaper changes, Mom still experimented with recipes for her cookbook series. And Alex still skateboarded and painted.

But there was this fear looming over their little tract home. As if something terrible might happen at any minute.

And with Shadow Swine waiting to cross over and invade dreams it sure as rat farts could.

“We were losing,” Alex said to Rembrandt. “Gotta get to work.” He picked up the paintbrush and faced the canvas. Although he had set out to create an Impressionist river scene, the jolting journey compelled him to alter it.

Alex closed his eyes, recalling details from the arch and its environs. Had there been Artanians nearby? If so, what type of art were they? He recalled something in the corner of his eye right before Bartholomew had shoved him. A creature made of squares and blocks.

“Cubism. Should I?”

Rembrandt wagged his tail as if to answer yes and then sat with an expectant look in his silvery blue eyes.

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

Alex closed his eyes again, imagining some square-edged soldiers. They had to be strong, so he gave them broad shoulders and muscular arms. Then he put bayonets in their hands. They would need them when they came to life in Artania. He had just put the finishing touches on a blade when he heard his mom call from inside.

“Alex!”

Dropping the brush, Alex raced inside. His voice was quivering when he asked. “Everything okay, Mom?”

Cyndi Devinci glanced up from her seat on the couch. Alex’s little sister, Destiny, was nestled in the crook of her other arm, a few drops of milk on her pink cheek. Brushing her disheveled hair out of her face with the back of her hand, Mom tilted her chin toward the five-month-old. “Can you grab her?”

Alex nodded and scooped up his little sister.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Just tired. Didn’t sleep well. Between feedings and bad dreams, I barely got any sleep.” She buttoned her blouse and took a long sip of water from the glass on the coffee table.

Alex gulped. “Bad dreams?”