Page Turning Books: Keeper of Reign (Reign Fantasy) by Emma Right

Keeper of Reign (Reign Fantasy) by Emma Right

Jules scowled and rushed down the path, pine needles crunching under his swift feet. Just then several acorns dropped, narrowly missing his head. “Whoa! What’s with the acorns? Death by acorn will not look good in my obituary,” he muttered.

He scanned the branches above. For a split second he considered warning his mother, but what if she stopped them from leaving? So he brushed aside the urge.

His three sisters, Bitha, Tst Tst, which sounded like Sit Sit, (she’s otherwise, also known as “Miss Big Words!”) and Tippy, scrambled to keep up, but he just turned and gestured with his head for them to hurry, his dark blonde hair flopping on his forehead with each quick jerk.

Jules had just rounded the corner where the marker spruce stood tall when another acorn dropped close to him and he hopped back. What the…? Was someone up there?

“Wait up, Jules!” Ralston, his thirteen-year-old brother, hollered as he tucked a sheath of papers he’d meticulously hand bound into a sketch pad into his khaki green cloak.

Jules couldn’t help but shake his head when Ralston finally caught up. Mr. Slow himself. “If you keep lugging your sketch pad everywhere, you’ll always be last.”

“You have your stone collections, and I have my art.”

“You can buy things with my gems. Grandpa said it’s a worthy pastime.” He nudged Ralston and rushed down the pebbled path pushing stray grass that had encroached onto the pathway with his arms.

Jules looked at the patch of blue between the foliage above, seeking signs of a pending storm, but even though there were clouds sailing by he didn’t think it looked like rain. Was it possible the bright rip in the night sky was just lightning? Maybe it had burned a tree?

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly but he meant to get to the bottom of things. A burnt patch of grass or a toppled tree trunk might tell a story. Something. He noticed a piece of ametrine by his foot and slipped the quartz of purple and yellow into his pocket. He hoped Mr. Saul might accept it in exchange for fish, though he doubted it. The old man was enamored with aquamarines. Before he could search further, an ear splitting howl broke his concentration. “Tippy!” In trouble? Already?

Weaving between the tall blades of grass swaying in the breeze, he ran toward the screaming. Behind him, Bitha’s panting came in short bursts, her steps quick and short.

Thud, thud, thud.