Prelude to a Hero
Chronicles of a Hero Book 1
by Jaime Buckley Genre: YA Fantasy
Nerd. Introvert. He was the hero they never knew they wanted.
All Wendell hoped for was a decent job, a hot new car and a girlfriend to match.
What he got was the mantle of a legendary hero, the heart of a girl who had no idea who he really was…and a diamond bigger than his fist.
What could possibly go wrong?
Prelude to a Hero is book one in the Chronicles of a Hero series, by Jaime Buckley. If you enjoyed Tiffany Aching, Harry Potter or Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, then you’ll love this humorous, original epic fantasy, packed with magic, mystery and sharp kicks to the funny bone.
"I'm already a HUGE fan of fantasy fiction, this book appealed to me as I felt it would be something new and unique... I wasn't left disappointed!"
The High Elder, still standing in the near center of the room, bowed, keeping his hand outstretched before him. “Dämä Omä, my brother,” he said softly, “I come with He who was spoken of. We seek permission to enter.”
Squinting, Wendell couldn’t see anything. What is he doing….and WHO IS HE TALKING TO?? Even in the glow of the High Elder’s staff, there was no one there!
Trouble was, Wendell could hear someone move.
Whatever it was, it lurked in the shadows.
Wendell suddenly felt grateful the old man was in front of him. He resolved to not feel bad if he had to leave his imaginary host in the dust to be eaten by the unknown to save his own skin.
Another growl. Blast it! Gotta adjust to this blasted darkness! Closing his eyes, Wendell silently counted to five, then slowly opened them once more. The light from the staff burned brighter, the shadows fading somewhat, until he could make out the walls around him. There, now we can…
Then he saw it.
Well, sort of.
A warped shadow, swaying…just inside the tunnel.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. In fact, Wendell wasn’t even sure he was looking at anything—but there was a flicker. Focusing on a single spot within the darkness, Wendell would catch a sudden blur of movement in his peripheral vision, but it would vanish as soon as he tried to focus on it.
Again, there was a deep rumbling, as if from within the chest of…something huge.
“Hold perfectly still,” warned the High Elder intensely, the softer, “Keep your head bowed.” What is going on?! The self preservation personality whispered inside his head. How stupid ARE you, Wendell? Run, you idiot. RUN! Leave this old loon behind and RUN AWAY!! But the weighty apprehension of uncertainty glued Wendell’s shoes to the ground. Maybe I’m safer behind the elder? If something tries to get me, I can always shove the old guy into my escape path before I make a run for it. Pause. Not…like I can be guilty of murder in a dream, right?
Something in his gut compelled him to obey the High Elder.
Moving through the dust in front of them, a chilling scrape across the stone caused Wendell to raise his eyes…just in time to see a massive paw mark, bigger than the whole of his chest, press through the grey layer of dust.
Wendell suddenly had a desperate need to pee.
The prints stopped directly in front of the High Elder, who then calmly…stepped aside. Oh, no, you don’t!
Without lifting his head, Wendell slid one foot over and then another until he was behind the High Elder again.
Wendell felt the rumble from the floor through his feet, causing his legs to quiver.
Surprised, the High Elder hissed, “What are you doing!?”
“It’s my dream,” Wendell hissed back, “and you’re expendable!”
The High Elder shifted once more.
Wendell followed suit—keeping the blue man as a meat shield in front of him.
The low growl seemed a little sharper, almost impatient, this time.
“Stop it!” the High Elder nearly shrieked. “You’ll anger him!”
Wendell shook his head, “Then stop moving!”
In one stunning motion, the High Elder spun, positioning himself directly behind Wendell and pushing him forward, holding him firmly by the shoulders.
“Hey!…HEY!!” squeaked Wendell, struggling.
“Stay there!” the High Elder warned.
Wendell’s entire body convulsed in spasms as he heard…something coming closer. Why doesn’t anybody around here LIKE me?
Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape.
Wendell could see another paw print appear just inches from his own shoes. Though he felt like whimpering, he bit his own lip and simply trembled.
Like the sound of a dog sniffing an open hand, intermittent bursts of humid air hit Wendell in the chest—leaving his hair and face feeling damp. Gritting his teeth, he turned his head to the side, clenching his eyes tight and curling his toes within his shoes. Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me.Pleasedon’t eat me! AhhAHHHahhhh.
As he was being ‘sniffed’ it occurred to him that spending time with Dax might not be too frightening at this point.
With a mild bump…which nearly knocked Wendell over…the huge prints retreated in the dust.
Wendell gulped. Is…that it? He opened his eyes, watching the prints appear to the side of the tunnel, where several small hanging oil lamps, dangling down its center, flickered to life. See?That wasn’t so bad after all. I knew I could do it.
“Thank you, brother,” the High Elder smiled. “You have honored your covenant. We will keep our end of the agreement. May peace reign with you until your path ends.”
Erupting in a deafening roar, the Key exploded with dust and cobwebs.
“What’s happening?!?” Wendell screamed, stumbling backwards against the wall.
The High Elder dashed to his side, raising an arm to shield his own face. “Prepare yourself!”
Race to Til-Thorin
Chronicles of a Hero Book 2
Dream girls. Fried snails. A 30” bodyguard with pink ponytails.
Being a hero comes with learning curves.
The curve of a hip. The curve of a sword. The curve of a sucker punch as it connects with your face.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Wendell had professionals to help him.
Instead, he’s stuck with a feisty gnome, a senile old wizard and a green skinned, cigar-smoking babysitter to guide him.
Is it too late to quit?
Fans of epic fantasy will cheer Wendell on as the Chronicles of a Hero series continues in book two. Those who enjoy the world building skills of J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling and Brandon Sanderson will surely get addicted to this original new world.
Feed your fantasy needs and grab your copy today!
"I have not laughed so hard in a long time. I don't KNOW how long it's been. Just when the tension is about to make my heart pop, Chuck or Dax or a situation will pop up and make you laugh."
Gorack threw his chain mail to the ground. Large veins pumped adrenaline tainted blood through the monolith.
“It is MY time to lead, Thule!” he roared.
“The dead cannot lead,” Thule answered cooly. He held the challengers gaze, unblinking, as he unstrapped his sword. He handed it to the slave.
“Take up your sword and fight me!” Gorack bellowed, beating upon his chest with an anvilsized fist. “I WILL cut you down,…coward!”
Thule entered the forming circle of giants. Supplies were cast aside, horses left roped and tent left undone.
The camp gathered in silence.
Thule tilted his head forward, enough for his naked brows to cast a shadow over his eyes. His lips curled back to reveal his sharpened canine teeth. Lightly tapping the hilt of the small knife tucked into his belt, he said, “This will be enough.”
A howling wind cut through the camp, biting flesh, cloth and plate.
An eagle passed high overhead and shrieked.
Gorack lunged across the circle, swinging the chilled blade of steel.
Thule hardly blinked before the gap between them had closed, his one good eye catching the blur of movement. Instinctively he threw his shoulders back and felt the hum of metal slice the air near his face. Snowflakes spun in its wake.
Gorack was indeed fast.
Twisting at the hips, Thule dodged a second attack…a blade thrust—allowing it to extend past his chest. He waited for the body to follow.
Dropping towards his outside knee, Thule reversed his direction, allowing gravity to increase his momentum. Opening his hand, he struck the giants windpipe with such force, the challengers mouth flew open with a reverberating pop.
Gorack’s head and shoulders stopped as his abdomen and legs continued their forward momentum. In an instant, the beast was prone on his back, unable to inhale.
“Giving up so soon, Gorack?” taunted Thule. “I expected more.”
Using the heel of his boot, he stepped on the giants unprotected fingers, grinding them into the snow and gravel.
Hacking, the challenger snatched his hand back and rolled to his side. Pushing off his good hand, Gorack got to his feet, broken fingers clawing at his throat.
Thule’s grin was unmistakable. “A leader must know when to move.”
Upon the utterance of the last word, Gorack launched a muscular leg in an attempt to kick Thule’s midsection.
Sliding his right side forward, Thule twisted once more. Letting the leg pass by, he scooped the calf with one arm and simultaneously delivered an elbow strike, just above the kneecap, with the other. There was a loud crunching sound.
Gorack gagged, trying uselessly to yell in pain, his body falling forward onto the ground.
Thule watched the pathetic spectacle drag itself through the mud, towards the fallen sword.
“A leader must know when to strike.”
Forcing himself up onto his good knee, Gorack grabbed his sword and swung desperately in a backwards arc behind him. The motion was slow and clumsy.
Thule easily ducked under the attack.
Snatching the small rune blade from his belt, Thule stabbed Gorack’s forearm and ran the knife up the Vallen’s arm in one continuous motion. The blade melted through flesh like butter, opening the flesh wide from wrist to shoulder.
Dropping the sword, Gorack’s broken fingers went from throat to arm, black blood cascading to the ground. Eyes bulging from exertion and lack of air, he wavered. Purple veins protruded from his neck and forehead, saliva and foam bubbling through clenched teeth.
Thule slid behind his challenger and whispered in his ear.
“But most importantly, Gorack, a leader must be the darkest animal of all.”
Without hesitating, Thule sank his teeth into the giants neck.
With a sharp twist of his head, flesh, muscle and the carotid artery tore free. Gorack slumped into the soil, shuddering and twitching. Thick streams of blood pumping across the ground, seeping through the snow like oil.
Thule stood motionless. Arms held away from his body, he stood poised, ready for action. He waited for the Seconds in the circle to break the Law of Dominion. Waiting. Hoping.
His eyes peered from the shadows of his brow. Weaklings.
Slowly he opened his mouth and let Gorack’s hot flesh drop from his teeth. He sheathed the small blade and wiped the blood from his face with his forearm.
Into the Fire
Chronicles of a Hero Book 3
Stranded, alone…with a tree sticking out of his bellybutton.
Wendell’s task is simple: get to Til-Thorin Keep.
Add to that no map, no help and no flippin’ idea where he is and you have a day in the life of our hero.
Oh wait—we forgot to add the army of cannibals now nipping at his heels.
It just might be the death of him.
Elemental magic and nail-biting action are what you can expect in book three of Chronicles of a Hero. Fans of Dragonlance and The Hobbit will love this new addition to the series.
Don’t wait to grab your copy—buy one today!
"I think this book will be well-liked by those who like Harry Potter, but I think it goes to a new level where those who didn't like Harry Potter can still love this book!"
Dust and gravel exploded across the courtyard as the portal flashed open. BAMPH!
The gaping hole, torn in the very fabric of space, vomited—spewing out water and three figures. An old man, a gnome…and a troll.
Servants shrieked, children ran and armed guards lowered their spears. High overhead, the warning bells of Til-Thorin rang.
“What did you do?” Alhannah coughed, choking. Her body was drenched and one of her swords was missing.
Dax flopped onto the ground, hacking and blowing water from his nose. He crawled to the wizards side. “Help me roll him over, ‘Hannah.”
“I said, what did you do?”
“Alhannah!” he snapped, “Help me with Chuck…”
The gnome grabbed the wizards legs and turned him onto his back.
Dax placed his oversized ear on the old man’s chest. His eyes grew wide. “He’s not breathing!”
Throwing the mass of facial hair out of the way, he turned the wizard head, cleared the airway and then tilted it back. Dax took a sharp breath and blew. Sliding over, he laced his hands and started chest compressions.
“One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…” he counted.
Chuck coughed loudly, his hands shaking spastically.
Dax grabbed the old man by the shoulders and hugged him tightly.
“My, my,” Chuck said weakly, “someone’s…feeling a bit emotional.”
“You left him,” Alhannah said sternly. She stood just behind Dax, her fists clenched. “You left Wendell behind.”
“What is she saying, monkey?” whispered Chuck.
Dax gently laid him back on the ground, but didn’t answer either of them.
“I’m talking to you, Dax!” The gnome started pacing, like a small jungle cat, her eyes fixed on the back of the bald, green head. Guards were running down the ramps of the catwalks, surrounding them. “Why did you leave him behind!?”
Dax watched the guards descend upon them. He raised his hands and laced them behind his head.
Alhannah yanked on Dax’s shoulder, spinning him around in the mud. Her tone was sharp, eyes narrow and focused. “We’re supposed to protect him! He TRUSTED US, Dax!!”
He looked up. “What was I supposed to do?” Red, moist eyes searched her face, pleadingly.
“He’d already fallen. I couldn’t see him! We had one shot at this Alhannah, Wendell knew it…
and look at him,” he nodded at the wizard. “LOOK! He’s hurt.” Dax choked back a sob, “I’ve never seen him hurt before, Alhannah.”
She stared at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Hundreds of years we’ve run together. His magic was so strong, so focused…he was invulnerable and now suddenly…,” he stared at the prone, pale body, “he got old.” Spinning around at the gnome, the fierceness in his tone caused Alhannah to take a step back, “He needed a healer!” But it was an expression he couldn’t maintain. The lines in his face softened as he whispered, “He’s all I got, ‘Hannah.”
Chronicles of a Hero Book 4
Wizards. Elves. Giant Robots with Automatic Weapons.
Wendell is dying for a change of scenery, but Clockworks City has a ban on all outsiders.
It’s a law punishable by death.
So how does a 5’ 10” human hide among 1.5 BILLION gnomes?
By competing in the #1 televised extreme sport in the country, of course.
Enjoy bullets, babes and a bowl of mushroom soup as this series jumps from humorous fantasy to comical science fiction! If you enjoy a good laugh, intense action and unexpected endings, you’ll love book four in the Chronicles of a Hero series.
Grab your copy and keep the epic buzz going!
"(got yelled at by mom to put my Nook away all week....*sigh*) It was that good."
It was in the midst of these deserted buildings that Morty finally stopped. Right under a flickering sign that said, After Hour Electronics. Except the “H” had burned out completely, which changed the sign to, After our Electronics.
Morty grinned. She still hadn’t changed the dead bulb.
He looked around him several times. Not a soul. Just rolling bits of paper and garbage running free along the ground. Strangely enough, it looked just like his own home…and for a moment, he wondered what that said about him and Deloris.
“Are we there yet?” grumbled Dax.
“SHHHH!” Morty leaned in close to one of the cracks, “This place is watched. Keep quiet, or I’ll walk away and leave you to your own fate.” The crate went silent.
At first glance the building didn’t look like much. In fact, it looked identical to the others surrounding it—broken down and abandoned. But Morty knew better. Some of these buildings were connected at the basement level. Deloris’s father had purchased them over the years, expanding his personal warehouse until he had passed away. Shandy Hinder was a brilliant man and had become quite wealthy under the guise of poverty. Deloris was more like her father than she would admit. She refused to abandon the family business and had moved in when they’d seperated.
Morty stepped up to the delivery door—two heavy plated slats of steel, and pressed the buzzer. The tinkerer swayed on his feet, from heel to toes over and over again, followed up by a light bounce of impatience. He pressed the buzzer again.
A small window, not much bigger than the gnomes head, slid open to the side of the button.
A dirty-white globe with a retina camera at its center, popped out upon a long metal stalk.
“Password,” it demanded.
Morty leapt back with an “EEP!” and a pitiful defensive swipe with his hand.
Two metal sleeves, which looked a lot like eyelids, blinked, then it repeated, “Password.”
He leaned in nervously, “Deloris, I know you can see me. Please let me in. I need to talk with you.”The eye lunged out at Morty, stopping only centimeters from his nose. “PASSWORD.”
“I don’t have time for this, Deloris. I have a special delivery for you,” he sighed, “please just open the door?”
The eyeball blinked, then tilted to one side, as if pondering the tinkerers situation. “No password, no entrance.”
Looking over his shoulder, Morty glowered at the crate. You SO owe me for this, Chuck! And with that, he turned, placing one hand on his hip and the other up into the air. Letting his fingers and palm hang loosely from the wrist, he began to sing.
“I’m a little tea pot, short and…” he started with a grumble.
The eye blinked again, “…with FEELING!”
Morty snarled, baring all his teeth. With awkward movement, he danced around the eyeball, “STOUT—here is my handle, here is my SPOUT. When I get all steamed up, hear me SHOUT…tip me over and pour me OUT!”
“HAHAHAHAHA!” crackled the voice over the speaker.
Morty wiped the sweat from his brow, “Alright, you’ve had your fun at my expense, now let me in.”
“BEEEEEEEEEP!” argued the eyeball, “CLICK. CLICK. BEEEEEEEEEEP! Security malfunction…please re-enter password.”
Before it could retract into its cubby, the tinkerer screamed and attacked. Grabbing the neck of the device with both hands, he bellowed, “I’ll give you a malfunction!” Throwing his body weight forward, he slammed the camera onto the ground, thrusting it against the surface over and over again. Metal folded back, plastic cracked and glass shattered. In moments, the delicate lens of the camera hung loosely from the small wires of its circuitry. Morty laughed triumphantly, almost psychotically. The machine tried to resist the onslaught, tugging and pulling backwards to retreat towards its hole, but the gnome was too heavy, too strong.
The voice was faint, but finally sighed with irritation, “Entrance granted.”
Several clicks later, the large service doors unlocked and slid open. Morty dashed to his cycle, revved it up and squealed into the warehouse before anyone could change their mind.
Chronicles of a Hero Book 5
Fame. Fortune. Thrown into the City incinerator.
Wendell’s chance at the title was always a long shot. Since then he’s been on TV, Radio and even has the attention of The Church. Fact is, he’s more popular than ever. So why are people trying to kill him? (It’s the cheesy goatee, isn’t it.)
Second Chances is book 5 in Jaime Buckley’s Chronicles of a Hero series. Laugh, cheer and bite your nails as this epic fantasy takes you on a crazy ride, twisting down ramps and out a back window!
Pick up a copy today!
"You know you have found a great book when you want to slap the author and give the author a hug at the same time, when you take some of the plot turns personally."
“Take his legs, Mal.”
“There’s no time, Enid,” complained Mal, “The furnace is going to ignite soon!”
“All the better to get a move on,” snapped the scrawny bearded gnome, “so grab his legs!”
Mal hobbled over, grasping his own gouged leg. His wounds had never healed properly and it was always a struggle to do his job for the community. Yet he never complained. Mal would never fail to do his duty.
Enid sighed, “I’m sorry Mal. That was unkind of me.”
Mal knelt at the broken, bloody body between them. Looking upward, he could faintly see the trap door high above them, still swinging open. The body had to have hit the higher piles of garbage and bounced its way down. Skin raked over glass and metal shards…it was unimaginable.
He shook his head, “It’s me who should apologize. Someone’s been cruel to this boy, for whatever reason. I’ll not add to his suffering.” He looked at Enid and gave him a quick wink, “Besides, no one falls this far and lives. Has to be a good sign, right?”
Mal chuckled, “Then let’s move, before we all become ash.”
Wendell’s eyes fluttered. “Ohhhhhh,” he started to moan, then thought better of such a bad idea. W—what happened to… His eyes opened slowly, to a soft orange glow. The ceiling looked like near transparent sheets of paper taped together. Sweat trickled down his brow, beads of perspiration rolling into his ear. It was warm. No. It was hot. A rank, moist heat and it wasn’t long before the intense smell around him made Wendell gag. It smelled like he was lying in a decaying compost pile. What is that smell!?
He wanted to get up, but the moment he tried to turn his head, he shrieked out loud.
“AHHRGH!” Wendell bit his lip in agony. Ok, never mind. I don’t want to move. Moving is really, really bad.
There was a sound of heavy cloth rustling above his head, then, “Hey! Don’t go moving about, young man. We’ve only made sure you had all your parts!” Enid walked around the makeshift table so Wendell could see him without straining. “You’re safe now. With friends.”
The pain in his back and legs were sharp and jagged, like lying on knives. Taking a slow breath as deeply as he could, he flinched. Broken ribs? Back maybe? He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the odd light.
“Names Enid. And you are?”
He swallowed, his tongue feeling more like cotton than flesh. “Wendell,” he forced out, then coughed. The flexing of muscles was so painful, it caused even more contractions, which shot pain through his spine. Come on Ithari, do me a favor and kick in, would you?This is killing me. The thought almost made him laugh. If he was in this bad of shape, chances are, he should be dead.
The Ithari had saved him again, of course. Scratch that, he corrected himself, I’ll just say thanks. If only he didn’t have to feel all the pain!
“What’d you do to make your buddies so mad?”
Wendell tried with his might to fight the excruciating stabbing sensations in his joints and muscles and force himself to relax. “Excuse me?”
Enid walked around to the other side of the table and started unwrapping the bandages on one of Wendell’s arms. “People don’t usually get thrown in the incinerator. Well, not for no reason, anyway. That would just be plain mean. So what did you do to get thrown into a garbage chute?”
Wendell’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, I’m in a… “Garbage chute? As in…”
“Takin’ out the garbage,” Enid finished casually. “Skins, cans, boxes, and thank goodness—the leftover scraps from the tables of our great nation.” He shot Wendell a crazy, wide-eyed glance, “Or we’d all starve down here!”
The Truth About Lies
Chronicles of a Hero Book 6
Caught. Tortured. Scheduled for execution. Any Questions?.
Wendell and Dax are exposed and the gnomes of Clockwork City are freaking out.
Are they spies? Is this an invasion? Was this all just a terror tactic to get gnomes to pay their taxes?
Now with Wendell under arrest and Dax under armed guard, it’s going to take a pardon from President Shrub to set them free.
Good thing Chuck’s planning to kidnap his kids.
The Truth About Lies is book six in the Chronicles of a Hero series by Jaime Buckley. The series that makes you laugh, squirm, grit your teeth and has you begging for more.
Make sure to grab yourself a copy!
"I loved this book because it takes a misfit who was never really liked or appreciated and it shows the beginning of the process of him unlocking his potential and becoming something greater than anyone would have imagined for such a small, insignificant person."
The loudest noise was the incessant pulsing of blood through his ears. No, it was more of a pounding, like huge drums of war, resonating the coming of danger. It was another moment before he realized it was his heartbeat…and he was sorely afraid.
Wendell blinked as the rain drizzled down his face.
The Trench Wars stadium wrapped around him, a monumental gnome creation, where fans stood in front of their seats, watching. Two million…eerily quiet gnomes.
Wendell, Dax and a bloody, unconscious Alhannah stood atop the champion platform.
Moments ago they’d won the greatest extreme sport in the country. A moment after that, the charms they were wearing, hiding their true identities, had failed. The cameras now burned their faces onto screens and into the minds of a billion more viewers at home. A human and an evolu that looked more like a vallen with a vertical growth problem.
“Psst!” Dax grunted nervously. With his shoulder in a sling, it was near impossible to hold up Alhannah. She was drooped over his hip, her hands now scraping the ground. “Wendell!” he grunted again, this time louder. He finally had to let the girl slip out of his grasp. Kneeling down with her, Dax prevented Alhannah from hitting her head. “Hang in there kiddo…” he said softer.
But Wendell wasn’t paying attention to his companions. Instead, the hero watched Dusty Beckworth and Pip Flocker, the Trench Wars announcers, sprinting across the arena floor towards the nearest exit. He had the funny feeling that he wasn’t going to retain the title of Grand Champion for much longer.
Wendell swallowed, gulping air with saliva, which could be heard several feet away. His eyes slowly lowered to locate the microphone at his feet. What do I do? Say something. Yeah, I need to say something. Reassure the fans?They look…well, stunned. Are they scared? No one’s moving out there—they’re just staring at us. Is…that a good thing?
The beat of his heart continued to pound through his head and chest. Why are they all soquiet?
“Port us out of here, Dax.”
The elf looked up, confused. “What?”
To the west of the platform, one of the pilot pit door opened and Centurions, clad in their mirrored helmet and black leather riot suits, marched out. Two lines with a dozen gnomes each. In their hands they carried long, blue rods that sparkled at the ends.
“I said get us out of here, Dax—port us! Hurry!”
The gigantic ears twitched as the sound of heavy boots stomping in unity, resonated through the stadium. Distant thunder, drifting towards the podium.
“Right,” Dax said, unsure, “get close kid, I don’t know how much strength I got.”
Wendell knelt down, curling his body as close to Alhannah as he could. Clenching his eyes tight, he waited for the loud crack that followed the elf ’s teleportation magic.
Dax slumped over and collapsed, sliding off Wendell’s back. He hit the platform with a thud.
For several moments the elf lay there, blood pumping fiercely from under his bandage across his forehead. The red liquid snuck out and trailed between his oversized brows, across his tiny nose and over his cheekbone onto the ground.
“I’m alright,” he winced. “Just can’t port. It’s too much.”
“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” Wendell grunted, lifting the elf up and flinging him over a boney shoulder. Reaching down, he scooped Alhannah up in the other arm, cradling her smaller body like an infant to his chest.
The Price of Fame
Chronicles of a Hero Book 7
Honest Politicians. Humane Terrorists. Religious Devils.
Then it gets confusing…
Wendell’s learned that gnomes are just as irritating and dangerous as humans…they just come in smaller packaging.
Citizens are rebelling, the government’s collapsing, the Church is selling off the poor and Dax’s head on the chopping block.
All Chuck needs to get everyone home is a city wide diversion, a flying S.L.A.G., four lawyers, a hand grenade…and a tiny bit of string.
It feels good when a plan comes together!
The Price of Fame is book seven in the Chronicles of a Hero series by author Jaime Buckley. If you love a good laugh and incredible plot twists to keep you guessing, this book will curl your toes and put a smirk on your face!
"…packed with wild imaginations and inspirations. It’s a rarity that a YA book contains the combination of those three things but Wanted: Hero has them. Seriously, you don’t want to miss reading this book in your lifetime."
“You could always change your mind and pilot this bucket for me,” Chuck said from behind them all. He strode out from the pit with Burton and Lili. They both looked extraordinarily nervous beside him.
Ernie shook his head, “I’m grateful and all for the deals you’ve made and what you’ve done, Chuck, but I’m not going back to jail for anyone. Breaking into the Citadel is not an option. It’s just not smart.”
“Goodness boy!” the wizard blurted out, “No one claimed to be smart, just desperate.”
Nibbles put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “What are you wearing?”
Chuck snapped the goggles over his face and zipped up his bright orange jump suit, which made him look more like a fruit popsicle than a pilot. He wore large black boots, laced up over his calfs and black leather gloves. Across his chest in big, black letters was the slogan: Old Men Shoot ForThe Moon. He ran a thumb under the words and grinned. “Cool, huh?”
“Cool is not the word I would use,” Tumbler chuckled. Telly jabbed him to silence.
“How did he do?” Ernie asked his brother.
Burton stared back, numbly.
“Well?” Ernie prodded.
His brother scratched his cheek, averting his eyes, “He did learn how to turn the engines on.”
Telly gulped. “And you want him to fly thousands of feet into the air?”
“Well…,” Burton scratched his head, “No.”
“Then how is he supposed to get this machine up there and rescue Dax?” Freak gasped, “We made all the alterations…and Nibbles even made him some special goodies for the security, but you still have to pilot the darn thing…”
“Bah!” snorted Chuck, “Just aim me at the penthouse and shoot me up. Traveled with the Barkum and Buntley Circus for ten years back in the day. Colby Barkum was a clever gnome— used to shoot me out of a huge cannon,” he jabbed Burton in the shoulder and winked, “Kids loved it. Landed in whipped cream.” His face froze, “Course,…I never liked waiting for them to eat me free.” He shuttered.
“This is hardly the same thing as propelling a person through the air.”
“Oh I know that,” the wizard balked, “we’ll need a bigger cannon. That and a whole lot of whipped cream.”
They all sighed.
“Why do I have to know all the silly details about piloting anyway? I have brighter people down here who can do that for me,” and he patted Ernie on the back.
Ernie bit his bottom lip nervously, “Chuck, the controls…”
“So, we ready to go?” the wizard cut in, clapping his hands together eagerly.
“Not quite,” said Burton. “We can’t launch from the stadium. The trajectory is all wrong. If we aim you from here, you’ll smack the backside of the building and miss the penthouse altogether.”
“Right,” Chuck said thoughtfully, “It wouldn’t be proper to smack anyone’s backside.”
“Stop it,” Lili poked him. “You need to listen carefully—they’re trying to help.”
“Because of all the riots breaking out in the city, I think we have a great opportunity to get this machine into a key position. The government has Centurions posted all over the place as extra eyes and ears, so we’ll need to use one of the parts trucks instead of a S.L.A.G. carrier. If you launch from here, all the fingers will point to us.”
“Can’t let that happen,” Ernie said plainly, “They’ll shut us down.”
“Right,” his brother nodded, “which
“What about coming back down?” Lili asked. “Won’t the Centurions be watching?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Burton assured her, “Chuck knows what to do.”
She snapped her head around at the wizard, “You do?”
Chuck tapped the tip of his nose.
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Jaime Buckley married young, winning the heart of a beautiful Samoan princess and together, they had 12 amazing children.
One of the original ‘lost boys’ of Peter Pan, Jaime never truly grew up. Though he is respected as a traditional father figure, he still enjoys late night conversations with Santa Clause, flirting with the Tooth Fairy and has an occasional beer with Bigfoot. Wizards and warriors seek his counsel while monsters tremble at the mention of his name.
An accomplished writer and illustrator of all things fictional, Jaime has a passion to entertain and uplift. He loves God, his country, his family and continues to expand his influence and friendships by stepping onto the Twitch platform as a Creative streamer. Jaime can always be found through Wanted Hero, his greatest project, and passion.
I am so excited that we’re doing this book blog tour, and grateful to all the bloggers and their followers who have sent me emails and reached out to share their interest in the Chronicles of a Hero series.
This week has already been filled with miracles and amazing people! It's made me think of my cartooning days. I can't help but laugh and giggle...which is a bit disturbing.
Trust me, a 'fluffy' man mine size, jiggling with belly laughter can scare the casual observer.
Just imagine a grizzly bear on helium and you'll be close.
Yeah, I can hear you shivering already.
Have you ever pondered about the brilliance of an idea?
It's what I tend to call a "brain fart."
Turning the wayback machine to 2005, I used to have a Wanted Hero message board.
I would spend quite a bit of time each week, talking to kids and adults from all over the world. I'd make podcast lessons and give them away. It was my life at the time. Talking, sharing my ideas with others and encouraging people not to give up on their dreams.
My focus was to uplift and inspire. Not sure if I was ever that good at it, but I kept at it. A common conversation was me trying to stress that a persons imagination was one of life's phenomenal anomalies.
There were no limits.
Personally, I always wanted to create a single idea big enough to encompass anything and everything else that came into my mind. Does that sound nuts to you?
It sure did to me.
Yet as time passed, I'd have these ideas, powerful prompts, hints...fragments, that didn't make a whole lot of sense--but they just felt 'right'. So I'd pour them into books and tuck them away. Put them on the shelves, convinced that it happened for a reason.
This went on for years.
When I finally started developing Wanted Hero, something happened. The storyline sucked up all those books.
To this day, I can look through any world creation journal and use 100% of its content. The incredible thing is, I didn't know what I could use the idea for at the time, nor did the ideas actually get used in the way I first thought they might.
But in the end...every idea has proven to be a good idea.
Though I didn't know how it would work--I tried to teach other writers to let go, to not judge and trust themselves in creating their passions. Don't use an eraser in sketching, don't throw away scraps of paper, keep all your music recordings and never scrap your idea journals.
Why? I didn't have a clue...but something told me it was the right thing to tell them.
While working on some material today, I followed a link and ended up on Youtube. I felt it was Christmas--which is why I'm writing this and not writing my assignment today. I feel it's that important to share with you.
It's a video by Steve Johnson: WHERE GOOD IDEAS COME FROM.
Never seen this before. Maybe you have--but I sat there in awe as this brilliant man described my life experiences in visual bliss (being a cartoonist myself). It made me smile so big, I had to share. I hope this will help you in some way.
Leave a comment and let me know if it did.
It would be a perfect ending to a great experience.