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Medallion of Protection
Medallion of Protection
Medallion of Protection
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Medallion of Protection

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For Alexandra Raeanne Maeheart life could not be more perfect; or more boring. Growing up in a small town has left Lexi yearning for some sort of excitement. On the day of her fifteenth birthday she walks home from school contemplating her dull existence and discovers a medallion at the edge of her yard.
Before she knows what is happening she finds herself stranded in a forest that is unlike anything she has ever seen. As she searches for help and answers she discovers that she is no longer on Earth but has been transported to Kalara; A world of magic controlled by a dark sorcerer, Lord Braxton, who intends to conquer all of Kalara and destroy Earth.
The only power great enough to stop Lord Braxton is the Light of Kalara, which has been broken into four medallions and hidden by a magical Druid named Morana. Without even a chance to catch her breath Lexi is informed that she is the Chosen One and must find the medallions. As she tries to understand why she was chosen for this seemingly impossible task she discovers that her life on Earth isn’t exactly what she thought it was.
Along with her friends Jaxa and Kelton and her tiny dragon Toto, she is sent back to Earth to find the second medallion; the Medallion of Life. The Druids warned her that Earth would be different but when she arrives on her home planet she cannot believe her eyes. Earth is no longer the boring normal planet she grew up on. It is a world full of magic, mythical creatures and danger. As she struggles to find a balance she must outrun Braxton’s dark assassin, outwit a fairy queen and navigate a strange but familiar world.
Will Lexi find the medallions before Braxton’s evil forces find her? Will she be able to escape the fairy realm with the information she needs? Will she have a place to call home if she survives her adventure? Find out in Lexi Maeheart: Medallion of Protection.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 11, 2011
ISBN9781458124708
Medallion of Protection
Author

Sharon Nelson

Sharon Nelson is a retired schoolteacher with the Baldwin County Public School System in the state of Alabama. While teaching in the elementary grades, Sharon enjoyed making up children’s poems and children’s adventure stories to share with her students. The students always enjoyed that special time of day, and the time was well-spent. Listening skills, memorization skills, and visual skills were being developed while, at the same time, the students were having fun! Since retiring, she has continued writing poems and adventure stories for children. Sharon resides in Bon Secour, Alabama.

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    Medallion of Protection - Sharon Nelson

    Medallion of Protection

    Lexi Maeheart Book 1

    By Sharon Nelson

    Copyright © 2011 Sharon Nelson

    Published by Pink Phoenix Press 2011 at Smashwords

    http://www.bysharonnelson.blogspot.com/

    All characters and events in this novel are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons or places is purely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without prior written consent from the author.

    Chapter One

    Listening to the quiet ticking of the rain dripping outside my barred window I strained to remember where it all began. Where did my life take this unfortunate wrong turn and start heading down a road of bad luck and cursed wishes?

    Maybe it all started when I was about six years old, my dad would throw me up in the air and I would wish with all my might that I could really fly. Or perhaps when I was in the fourth grade and my best friend Anne and I would wish that we could put a hex on wrinkly Mrs. Thornton so she would stop giving us the evil eye.

    Sometimes you can’t really tell where it all went wrong; there isn’t one particular moment in your life where you can say, "There, that is the choice I made that led me to this bug infested room on another planet with no hope of escaping. Oh did I forget to mention, Awaiting my final meal before my EXECUTION!"

    Lately I have been forgetting things here and there. Maybe after I explain how I got here you will understand my slips in memory and forgive me. I think my turning point was when I found the medallion; I ponder where the best place to begin my sad miscalculated story is. It’s hard to know how far back to go so you can piece it all together in your mind.

    There are certain phrases you hear frequently and you think you understand, never really believing them to be true. You hear it and think, "Sure that makes since but it really doesn’t apply to my life. Or Who in their right mind would actually believe something like that anyways?"

    You move on with your day, your life, not really giving it much more thought. There is one phrase in particular that I would like people to pay special attention to. Looking back on the last few days, I wish someone had given me a swift kick in the butt and told me to take this particular piece of advice to heart.

    Be careful what you wish for, it may come true.

    Being in this precarious and particularly extraordinary situation I am in a good position to give advice on this little nugget of wisdom.

    On ordinary weekday afternoons, while sitting in my ordinary room, in my ordinary house, in my ordinary town, after an ordinary day of middle school, I would be sulkily listening to my iPod; dredging through whatever homework I happen to have that day. I would be wishing that there was no such thing as school, and that I was instead visiting some exotic, exciting new place.

    I never really thought to put a sensor on my wishes. Things like wishing your parents would disappear, or stumbling across a hidden treasure or winning a trip to some exotic location may all seem like good wishes to most people. I guess most people have never had those things happen in quite the same way I did.

    My name is Alexandra Raeanne Maeheart. Mostly people call me Lexi, except those few teachers that insist on using my full name and my mother when I am in serious trouble. Like the time I was rollerblading in the house and I accidently ran over our cat Skittles (who I now call Stubby).

    I have plain black hair that goes most of the way down my back, pale skin with freckles across my nose and dark green eyes. Living in Oregon isn’t exactly conducive to a tan and being in the sun usually turns me a nice shade of red instead of the browner shade I would prefer.

    In the almost exactly fifteen years of my existence I have had an exceptionally boring life living in the suburbs of a small town in the Willamette Valley. That’s in Oregon, the one below Washington and above California, and yes before you ask there is a state there; it’s on all the maps.

    McMaridon is what you would call a hick town. We have one stoplight, two main roads, one grocery store and one gas station. Mostly people are normal (or on the normal side). There is the crazy lady with the golf cart who aims for the neighborhood cats and the guy with the shotgun who sits on his porch all day, but they have those in every town, right?

    The Wednesday before my birthday, it was the fifth of May and as I rolled out of bed I noticed that the sun was actually out and there were no rain clouds. Following my shower my straight hair required little more than brushing and I was not a makeup kind of girl. I decided to wear my favorite pair of jeans, my yellow Rockstar t-shirt and my red Converse sneakers.

    Heading down stairs I faintly registered the sound of my parents arguing quietly in the kitchen. Their arguing struck me as strange; my parents never so much as looked cross eyed at each other. The moment I walked into the kitchen mom put on a happy face and dad kissed us both goodbye and headed out to work.

    I sometimes wonder about my origins; growing up I often thought that I was perhaps an alien beamed to their doorstep. My parents both have light hair, tan skin and blue eyes. They say that I take after my Grandma Jones, but I never really felt like I fit in. At school I had a lot of friends but no one except Anne really understood me. Then again don’t most teenagers feel like they are from another planet?

    After finishing my Cheerios, I moved to the counter that was right next to the large window overlooking our back yard. I could smell the peppery scent of the salami sandwich that mom was making for my lunch. Standing at the L shaped counter I plopped my bag down and started pulling out my notebook to double check my homework.

    Mom was standing at the counter, zipping and un-zipping my lunch bag, staring out the window at nothing. These spacey moments had occurred more frequently over the last few weeks and I was starting to get a twisting knot in the bottom of my stomach from the amount of tension in the house.

    Mom is everything ok?

    She jumped and spun around with a look on her face like I had just busted down the door, ready to attack her. She quickly replaced her startled expression with a smile that never really reached her eyes.

    Of course,Lexi, why?

    You just look like something is bugging you and I heard you and dad arguing about something.

    Oh, that, she said, turning to the sink where she began to vigorously scrub an already spotless frying pan. She gave a little wave of the scrubber she was holding in her hand, sending lemon-scented soap flying across the counter. We were just discussing something that I’m afraid may happen soon. It’s nothing to worry about. How is everything going at school? She asked, quickly changing the subject.

    Realizing I was not going to get a real answer out of her, I figured I could try dad later, he might be more open to discussion. I repacked my bag, grabbed my lunch and said goodbye before heading out the door. On my way to Anne’s I decided not to worry about my parents temporary insanity, they would tell me if something were seriously wrong. Looking back I want to slap myself for being so blind.

    My best friend Anne lived three doors down from me where she had lived since we were both in the first grade. The first day of school Jonny Bartles pushed Anne down because he wanted the swing she was about to use. I of course decided that was not how girls should be treated. I proceeded to help Anne show Jonny exactly what we thought about his manners.

    While we sat outside the principal’s office, glaring fiercely at Jonny, we agreed to be best friends forever. From then on any boy that messed with us got the same bloody nose that Jonny Bartles got.

    Anne's house looked almost exactly like mine; mine being blue and hers white. Two stories, with a small porch on the front left where the front door is located and a garage on the right. There was a small patch of grass and garden next to the porch where Anne’s mom grew her babies ,as she called them, which were actually roses in a variety of colors. I could smell the sweet scent of the dark peach roses as I walked up the driveway, past the blue Dodge van and up to the front door.

    About two weeks into the first grade I started to bypass the knocking ritual at Anne’s front door and just walked right in. I bounded up the stairs two at a time and made the first right into Anne’s room which was located in the same place as mine. Much like my room the floor in Anne’s room is invisible under the piles of clothes scattered everywhere. I’m pretty sure there is a floor under there but I really can’t remember ever seeing it. Anne does not believe in confining her clothes to a closet or dresser. She has her very own unique filing system for her clothes, a method that she has been perfecting since she was about four years old.

    It was about forty-five minutes before school started and Anne was on her second outfit, of which there are usually at least three. Never being able to decide on what to wear has always been a problem for Anne. I learned early on in our friendship to plan ahead and always give her plenty of time to make up her mind.

    Ok I think this will work. This is ok right? she asked, standing in front of her full length mirror. Her short curly brown hair was pulled half up and twisted at the top of her head, she was wearing straight leg jeans and a striped black and white top. She had a red studded belt strapped loosely around her waist and flat black slip-on shoes.

    Of course you look fab. Now can we move so we aren’t late for home room, again? You know if my parents keep getting calls from Mr. Sweeney about tardies they are going to ground me for a month.

    Right, your parents never ground you for that long. Speaking of which what’s up with your mom, she seems kinda stressed?

    As we headed for the front door I pondered the same question. I knew if Anne had noticed my mom’s weirdness, it wasn’t my imagination. A slow sense of dread began to fill me and it felt like there was a shadow hanging over me the entire walk to school. I resolved to corner one of my parents as soon as I got home and find out what was going on.

    When I returned home that day I found that to be harder than anticipated. My first shot was with mom, I walked in the door and she was putting groceries away. She hadn’t noticed me come in; she was standing with the door of the fridge open, holding a package of cheese and staring at the top shelf.

    I never knew the fridge was that interesting, I said, dropping my bag in its customary place next to the counter.

    I’m not sure if it was the surprise of my entrance or the loud thump of my bag hitting the floor but she jumped about a foot. Dropping the cheese and spinning around ready to fight off a monster.

    Oh! You scared me. Why are you home so early? She really was puzzled and I wondered how long she had been standing in front of the fridge.

    It’s almost four Mom; I’m actually a little late. Are you sure everything is ok, you seem kinda jumpy. She laughed nervously and waved away my question. I tried not to dwell on my mom’s avoidance and concentrate on my homework but my mind kept wandering to different catastrophic possibilities.

    That night at dinner I tried again with both of them. I know there’s something up with you two, even Anne noticed. I’m not a little kid anymore and you’re starting to freak me out. They glanced nervously at each other, mom wrapping and un-wrapping her napkin from around her finger, shot dad a pleading look.

    She’s right. Its time she knew about…

    No, dad cut her off, using possibly the firmest voice I had ever heard him use. I need to get back to the office. There’s nothing for you to worry about. We’re taking care of everything. He stood and turned away from the table leaving us staring after him with mirrored looks of shock.

    The rest of the week passed with little out of the ordinary. I heard my parents discussing something again the next day but didn’t bother to ask what it was about. They both seemed to get tenser as the week went by but at the time I just decided they were stressed about something that was going to go away and they didn’t want to worry me.

    My birthday was the following Monday. I always hated having my birthday on a weekday because my parents always did something embarrassing. When I was in elementary school and they brought in cupcakes; that was ok. Once I hit sixth grade and they started sending GIANT balloons and flowers that I had to carry around all day, that got to be a bit much. Mom was always so excited about it that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I dreaded it. I always wanted to pretend I had chicken pox or the Black Death or something to get out of it. This being the first year of middle school I was NOT looking forward to my birthday surprise.

    I spent all of homeroom tapping my pencil and shooting glances at the door; waiting to see the monstrosity coming down the hall. I had to ask Mr. Sweeney to repeat the question he had asked me; because I was so busy wishing that mom would just forget about me completely.

    When the bell rang at the end of my second class I was beginning to think that she actually had forgotten and was almost bursting with happiness.

    After fifth period I was starting to wonder if maybe they had missed my whole birthday and I was in luck. I then began to think that whatever it was that they were so worried about was bad enough for them to overlook my birthday. The sense of dread that had been building all week began to unravel in the bottom of my stomach.

    When I told Anne that I thought they had forgotten she reminded me that they had both told me happy birthday that morning. There was also the card that mom left me every year on my pillow to greet me when I woke up. I began to feel better. Maybe mom realized I was getting too old for giant balloons and she was just going to keep them at home and give them to me when I got there. I finished the remainder of my day, unable to stop worrying; I continued to remind myself that it was all just my imagination.

    As I do every day, I stopped in at Anne’s on the way home from school. We sat on her bed and talked about the normal school stuff; boys, horrid teachers, boys, homework, oh, and did I mention, boys. Anne could not stop obsessing about Martin Baylor who had asked her out two days ago. She was supposed to have an answer for him the following day, which of course would be yes since she had been in love with him for over a year.

    I was anxious to get home and see what birthday festivities my parents had planned. I was still kind of worried about their behavior but I was sure that whatever it was they would take care of it.

    I was pondering my birthday present possibilities and looking down at my feet when I noticed something shiny and gold gleaming in the weak sunlight. I reached into the grass at the corner of our yard and found a thick gold chain. As I picked it up I realized that it led down into the ground and was stuck. Dropping my backpack on the sidewalk, I leaned down to investigate where the chain disappeared into the ground. Using my fingers to dig into the damp earth I found where the chain connected to the top of what looked like a large medallion.

    My finger brushed against one side of the medallion and I thought I felt a tingle in my hand. I quickly drew my hand back and examined my tingling fingers. Deciding I was imagining things, I went back to excavating the rest of the strange necklace. After clearing away most of the dirt I pulled it the rest of the way out of the ground by the chain. It swung heavily at the end of the dirty chain and I noticed that it looked like a very old large coin with crude carvings on both sides. On one side there was a symbol of a three-pointed star with strange writing around the edges, on the other side was a seven-pointed star with the same writing. It looked like some kind of retro pendant some flower child would have worn in the 70's.

    Grabbing the medallion with my hand turned out to be a big mistake. Probably the biggest mistake I would ever make. It sent an instant lightning bolt up my arm and my head began to swim. It felt like I was spinning in circles on a tire swing. Air was pushing in on me from all sides and my vision began to blur. The pressure suddenly stopped and I began gasping for breath. As the world around me spun slowly I collapsed to the ground and the light faded into darkness.

    Chapter Two

    I was dead.

    I had to be dead. That was the only way to explain it.

    Wait… if I were dead there wouldn’t be any pain and I was clearly feeling a large bomb exploding in my head. If I wasn’t dead that meant that I had to get up, I didn’t want to get up. As I rolled onto my back I felt rocks digging into my back and arms. Trying to open my eyes turned out to be a really bad idea. As the light caused a new pain to start in my head I decided that lying there a bit longer might not be so bad. What was that medallion? I realized I could still feel it lightly tingling in my hand. There was a warm feeling spreading up my arm, the sensation was weird but pleasant.

    As I lay there the warmth began to spread into my head and the pounding started to ease. Why were their rocks poking me? I had fallen in my yard hadn’t I? A second attempt to open my eyes revealed that the pounding had been reduced to a dull ache and I was able to open my eyes all the way. I must have hit my head really hard because when I looked around I was surrounded by huge tree trunks and large bushes covered in yellow berries. I could smell the, sweet, fresh scent of a forest right after it rains.

    I closed my eyes and rubbed my head. I must be dreaming; this wasn’t possible. I’m going to count to five, take a deep breath and when I open my eyes I’ll be back on my street, smelling exhaust and fresh cut grass.

    One…

    Two…

    Three…

    Four…

    Five…

    It didn’t work. When my eyes opened I was still there, in a strange forest surrounded by freakishly large trees. I have seen a lot of trees and all kinds of plants traveling around Oregon, but nothing like these. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. I said to myself, climbing to my feet. Looking down I realized that I was still clutching the medallion.

    My first impulse was to drop it on the ground and get as far away from it as possible before any more weird stuff happened. But when I went to put it down I was overwhelmed with a sense of safety, like this medallion was filling me with peace. I decided that I would keep it and if anything else weird happened I would toss it then. Slipping the chain over my head, I stared in amazement at my surroundings.

    The tree trunks were as wide as a car and so tall that the tops created a canopy that obscured the sky. The bushes were short and dense and covered in clumps of bright yellow berries. They had a strange glowing quality; which was unexplainable since very little light was getting through the canopy created by the giant trees.

    I realized that I couldn’t just stand there, so I decided on a plan:

    Find shelter

    Find food (My stomach growled)

    See a shrink

    Yep, good plan, always nice to have a plan.

    I was standing in the middle of what seemed to be some kind of path. Not wide enough to be a road for cars but wider than a foot trail. To my right the road went gently downhill and the forest became darker. On the left it went more steeply uphill and began to lighten up; light, defiantly a better choice. I started stiffly up the hill, my limbs protesting at the abuse and urging me to sit back down. I ached all over and was beginning to get serious hunger pangs.

    Making it to the top, I could see that the trail took a sharp turn to the right and began a zigzag course down a bare hill, the forest stretched out across a long valley with

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