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Ashtown Burials #1: The Dragon's Tooth
Ashtown Burials #1: The Dragon's Tooth
CHAP T E R S A M P L E r
The
Dragons
Tooth
Also by N. D. Wilson
Leepike Ridge
Ashtown Burials
Book 1
The
Dragons
Tooth
N. D. Wilson
Random House
New York
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the
exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the authors
imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures
appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and
are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In
all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2011 by N. D. Wilson
Jacket art copyright 2011 by Aaron Becker
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Childrens Books,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wilson, Nathan D.
The dragons tooth / N.D. Wilson. 1st ed.
p. cm. (Ashtown burials ; bk. 1)
Summary: When their parents seedy old motel burns down on the same night they
are visited by a strange man covered in skeleton tattoos, Cyrus, Antigone,
and their brother Daniel are introduced to an ancient secret society, and
discover that they have an important role in keeping it alive.
ISBN 978-0-375-86439-1 (trade) ISBN 978-0-375-96439-8 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-375-89572-2 (ebook)
[1. Secret societiesFiction. 2. Brothers and sistersFiction.
3. ApprenticesFiction. 4. MagicFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.W69744 Dr 2011 [Fic]dc22 2009038651
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Random House Childrens Books supports the
First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
ATTENTION READER:
THIS IS AN UNCORRECTED ADVANCE EXCERPT
z one y
THE ARCHER
glow has gone and she leans back, patiently cocking her arrow toward the sky, waiting to ambush the
clouds.
The motel is nothing like its proud lady archer.
While she stands tall, it sags, shedding yellow paint
like an autumn maple casting off its leaves. The walkways are powdered orange with rust. The cracks in
the small courtyard are thick with thistles. Behind the
motel, a battered and split chain-link fence imprisons
a swimming pool too small for a diving board even
if its cracked bottom could have held water. Behind
the pool and the fence, a thick and tangled barrier of
brush and stunted plum trees protects the motel from
sprawling unused pastures, murky streams, and the
gray peaks of distant cattle barns.
To a travelers eyes, the motel is dead and useless,
a roadside tragedy, like the remains of some unfortunate animal in a ditchglimpsed, mourned, and
forgotten before the next bend in the road. But to the
lean boy with the dark skin and the black hair struggling in the thick brush behind the pool, the motel is
alive, and it ishome.
Branches snapped as Cyrus Smith grunted, fighting
the many fingers that held him in place. He had paths.
He had tunnels through the hedge that he could fol2
low doubled over with his eyes closed, hollows hidden from the outside world, floored with beaten earth
and plum pits. To him, the hedge was no obstacle.
Unless he was carrying a tire. And today, he was
carrying two.
Gritting his teeth, Cyrus surged forward. Wet rubber dug into each arm. Water sloshed out of the tires
onto his sides. His schoolbag snagged on a branch behind him. He was close. The branch snapped and he
was closer. Brittle wood clawed at him and gave way.
Cyrus lunged out of the hedge and let the tires fall
from his arms. Panting, dripping, he leaned his back
against the old rattling fence, braced his hands on his
knees, and looked around. His hair was more than
black. Wet with sweat, it glistened like obsidianlike
his eyes. His legs and arms were smeared with mud.
The tops of his shoes were hidden with silty muck
from the bottom of the stream where he had found
the tires. He kicked off his shoes and let his toes splay
in the scraggly grass, breathing hard, listening to a
team of cicadas electrocute the air from the brush behind him.
He didnt know what time it was. Dan and Antigone might be back. Might not. He didnt care how
late he had been; they shouldnt have left him. Skipping out of school had thrown him off, and hed gotten
3
his face into it. The white cotton was already soaked
with tire slosh, but it was better than nothing.
California had never been like this. Warm, sure.
Sunny, always. Well, almost always. Not during the
winter storms. But muggy? Never.
Cyrus closed his eyes and tried to picture the cliffs
of Northern California falling away beneath him,
the slow-rolling white lines of surf breaking off of the
points, ruffling the kelp beds, tumbling the tourist
surfers.
It didnt work. There would be a cool breeze coming in off the ocean. Sweat wouldnt stick to him like
this. Hed been ten the last time he felt that breeze.
Two years ago, and still his skin remembered.
Cyrus glanced up at the dropping sun. Hed been
in the fields for a while. Dan and Antigone might
be back. Sighing, he bounced slowly against the
chain-link fence and then straightened. He needed
a storm, something to break the heats stranglehold
on the day. There was supposed to be one, but hed
go crazy if it didnt break before dark. He bent over,
grabbed the closest tire, heaved it to his shoulder,
and launched it over the fence. It hopped on the concrete lip and flipped, scattering drops of filthy water,
bouncing into the pool, where twelve other tires and
two twisted bicycles waited. The pool was a mass
6
11
12
13
terrible. His face was filthy, and his shirt could have
been a mechanics rag. Mrs. Eldridge had been right,
but there was no way he was going all the way back to
111 for a clean shirt.
Still not breathing, Cyrus set the waffle on the
front desk and grabbed his collar. Inside out, the shirt
would be as good as new. He tugged the dirty cotton
up around his puffed cheeks and over his head. As
he did, the room rocked with thunder, and the walls
shook like the sides of a kick drum. The mirror rattled,
and Cyrus staggered backward, tangled in his shirt.
Jerking his arms free, he dropped the shirt and looked
around, his ears buzzing like two beehives. The lights
flickered twice and died. Had the motel been struck?
Blinking in the dim light, Cyrus picked up the waffle
and wobbled toward the glass doors. Well, he was
a hero now, wasnt he? The power was out, but the
waffle was made. The Archers service would not be
compromised. He put his bare shoulder against the
front door and pushed out into the courtyard. The
air was cooler, the clouds had already choked out the
sun, and Mrs. Eldridge was screaming.
Cyrus jumped into a jog. Hold on! he yelled.
I beat it! Waffle up! Bare feet slapping on the sidewalk, he rounded the corner into the parking lot as
the first birds-egg raindrops spattered on the asphalt.
15
16
z two y
BILLY BONES
The shotgun kicked and spat forked fire. Mrs. Eldridge staggered back against the wall and slid down
onto the walkway.
Steam crept out of the yellow trucks dingy grille.
The drivers door opened slowly.
No! Mrs. Eldridge yelled. Dont make me do
it, William Skelton! You know I will. Still sitting,
she levered open the shotgun and forced in two more
shells.
Heavy drops slapped onto Cyruss bare shoulders
as he looked from Mrs. Eldridge to the truck and back
again. The sweet smell of rain on warm asphalt was
mingling with the harsh taint of gunpowder. He took
a step toward the stairs.
Mrs. Eldridge!
The old woman grabbed the rail and pulled
herself up.
Mrs. Eldridge? Cyrus said again. One slow step
at a time, he climbed up to the old womans side,
glancing back at the truck. Hey, he said. Maybe
put down the gun. Youre going to kill someone.
17
18
Meet
N.D. Wilson
25
26
the dragons
tooth?
Book I
in the
Ashtown
Burials
series
Ashtown Burials
a new series from acclaimed author
N. D. Wilson
RandomHouse.com/kids