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Chase Freeman is a boy with a heart for adventure stuck living in dull Drifter Flats. The only exciting thing that ever happens in his small town is Eclipse Day and even that isn’t enough for Chase—until he sees the strange ball of light streaking across the sky. Enlisting his best friend Jordan, her little brother Luke, and Harlan the smartest boy in school, they follow the light to an American Indian medicine circle. Drawn into the middle of it, the four friends are suddenly teleported to the Battlementals dimension along with the school bully Brendan and his friend Lena.
Once there, they find an elemental people desperate for them to accept the grand quest to save the universe. A deadly alliance has pulled it out of balance and, soon, everything will vanish altogether. Friends and enemies will have to find a way to work together to assemble the Harmonicon, defeat the Salt Giant, and find their own undiscovered abilities that will help them complete their quest. But when dark secrets are put in the wrong hands, their mission unravels and time is quickly running out. As the universe systematically starts to disappear, Chase and his friends race to put all the elements they’ve gathered together, but will it be too late to save it?
RANDY LINDSAY is a world traveler. Which sounds impressive until you realize the worlds he visits exist only in his mind and on the pages of his novels. He claims to prefer this method of sightseeing because he can stop at any time, go to the kitchen, and indulge his ice cream addiction. When he isn’t busy making things up he likes going to movies with his wife to watch what other people have made up and plays board games with his children who are in the habit of making up the rules as they go along.
Battlementals: Quest for the Harmonicon is Randy’s third published book and the first in a series of stories that take place in the Battlemental universe. He switched to writing full time in 2011 and has had two novels published through Bonneville Books.
His journey as an author has been an exciting one, full of unexpected discoveries. One of those being the decision to focus more of his writing on middle-grade fantasy. The fact that the style feels more natural to Randy might be an indication that he is really just a kid at heart.
The second unexpected discovery was that he enjoyed marketing. Book signings, writing workshops, and podcasts about storytelling all gave him opportunities to discuss what he loves with others who share the same interest. This combined with the decision to write middle-grade stories led to his development of C.A.S.T. (a program intended to show children and teens how to incorporate storytelling into their everyday lives).
Connect with the Author here:
A noise drifted out from the corner of the room, between the dresser and the closet. Chase looked over, saw nothing, and went back to getting dressed. Hitting the snooze button four times had put him in danger of being late for school—again.
There it was again. Soft. Quiet. Chase snapped his head up and studied the area around the dresser. It sounded more like a voice than a noise. Except, nobody was standing in the corner talking to him. It had to be wind blowing through a hole in the wall or a crack around the window. And that would be a perfectly good explanation if there were a hole in the wall, or a crack around the window, or even if there were any wind blowing outside.
He grabbed his shirt off the bed and out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something small and white as it drifted out from behind his dresser, like a reflection off a car window as it passed the house. He whipped his head around to get a better look, but it was gone.
Chase ran over and pulled the dresser away from the corner, finding nothing behind it but a blank wall. And some dust. And the book report he was supposed to have turned in last month.
Weird! Strange whispering-lights didn’t normally visit his room. In fact, they hadn’t ever visited him, here or elsewhere. He shrugged and pushed the dresser back into place.
“Chase,” his mother yelled from downstairs. “You’re going to be late for school.”
His mother said that every morning. He didn’t know why. Show up tardy once, or twice, or even thirty-four times during the school year and everyone expected you to be late all of the time.
He snagged his backpack off his desk and put on his Drifter Flats Falcons ball cap. The hat worked better than a comb to keep his dirty-blond hair in place. Even when there wasn’t as much as a breeze, his hair looked as if he had just run a marathon through a hurricane. The hat served another purpose, too. It hid his big Dumbo ears and placed his freckles in shadow. That just left Chase with the problem of disguising his disgustingly scrawny arms.
Racing downstairs, his feet thudded loudly with each step, like a drum beating out the notes to a tribal war dance. Boom, boom, boom-boom.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to run down the stairs?” his mother hollered from the kitchen. “You could trip and break your neck.”
Why did it always have to be the neck? Why not break a leg? That way it’d be like how people in Hollywood wished each other good luck. And even though he would know what his parents really meant, he could pretend they were just cheering him on to have an excellent day.
“Mom, can we move?” Chase grabbed a couple pieces of toast from the table and stuffed one of them in his mouth. The toast was warm, dark-brown, and lightly buttered. He would rather have had it covered in cherry jelly, but it was good this way too.
“Where do you want to move now?” she asked. “Last week it was Arizona so you could look for the Lost Dutchman Mine.”
Gold. Indians. Hiking through rattlesnake-infested deserts with a pickaxe over his shoulder and pulling a pack mule behind him. He had loved the idea until one of the kids at school mentioned that during the summer the temperature reached 120 degrees in the shade. No thanks.
“Let’s move to Hawaii,” he said. “Then I can be a surfer and live on the beach.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Chase slapped his palm against his forehead. That’s what his mother always said right before she gave a long boring explanation of how the family needed to stay right here in Drifter Flats.
“Sorry, Mom,” he called over his shoulder as he bolted through the side entrance that led out to the driveway, letting the screen door slam behind him. “I don’t want to be late for school.” Continue reading