Title: The Multiverse of Max Tovey
Author Alastair Swinnerton
ISBN/ASIN 978-1-943755-12-7
Amazon purchasing link http://amzn.to/1TREV5j
Fourteen-year-old Max Tovey’s world is blown apart when he discovers that his problems are nothing to do with him, and everything to do with being a Time Traveller. Following his mysterious grandfather’s funeral, Max finds himself on a wild journey through first century Celtic Britain, real and mythological, as his every action threatens to change the past, and his future.
Max battles demons – both real and psychological – on his mission to find the legendary Montacute Cross, stolen by his Viking ancestor Tofig, in order to close the gates to the Underworld, and lift the curse on his family.
Excerpt:
Author bio
The sun was low in the sky and what felt, to
Max, like an autumnal chill was settling in as he sat and stared out from what
would one day be called St. Michael’s Hill towards the giant Eastern gate of
Hamdun Fort. Max guessed it was autumn anyway, as leaves were still on the
trees and bushes in the fields below. The slopes of the great hill, however,
had no trees, as they would one day have, but covered only in bracken and small
bushes, so as not to give potential attackers any cover. And as Max knew only
too well, attackers were coming. He guessed the inhabitants of the fort knew
this too, because the beacon was burning at the high end of the hill where the
War Memorial would one day stand, and down below hundreds upon hundreds of
people were heading towards the safety of the fort from all around. Max’s plan
was to mingle with them and get into the fort that way. But as he went to stand
up, the world started to spin, and he stumbled, and sat down again with a
thump. His head was suddenly full of noise, and the enormity of his situation
suddenly flooded over him. What are you doing here?! What have you just done?!
Did that all really happen?! The Romans are coming for goodness sake – you’re
fourteen, you can’t fight Romans! Max
tried to stand again, but his legs were jelly - but worse, as he peered down
the slope of the hill, the world started spinning again and he had to almost
throw himself backwards to stop from feinting and falling down the hill.
“Stop it!” he yelled to himself, as he shook
his head violently to try to stop it spinning. He started deep breathing, in
through the nose, out through the mouth, in, out, in, out. He knew what this
was – this was a panic attack. He hadn’t had one of these since... since before
he went on the medication. But of course he wasn’t on the medication any more.
“Come on, stop it you idiot!” He had found
that talking out loud was often a good way of stopping these – if you live in
your head too much, as he did, your head can start to play tricks with you,
start putting thoughts in you that make no sense, but which increase the sense
of panic. Shouting out loud helped distract him from them.
“Come on Max, get a grip – it’s just a panic
attack, you’ve had them before, you know
how to deal with them.”
And now, slowly, the panic began to subside.
Max tried standing again, and it was a bit better. He looked over the side of
the steep hill, and the world wasn’t swirling around nearly so much.
“Come on, you can do this – you have to do this! You have to save Myvi
from the Romans! Come ON!!”
He’d initially dismissed the idea of
Travelling into the fort, in case he materialised in front of someone and they
took him for a Demon or a witch or something. He could take someone’s clothes,
but that would involve knocking them out, and Max wasn’t sure he could actually
bring himself to do that – and anyway, whoever’s clothes he took would
eventually raise the alarm. He had no choice – he’d have to Travel there, to
Myvi’s hut. If he could remember which one it was.
Max relaxed his body, breathed out, and let
his focus blur. In his mind’s eye he began to see the inside of the fort, and
the hundreds of wattle, daub and thatch roundhouses filling much of the first
of the three huge fields in neat, orderly rows, like a first century housing
estate. People were coming in from the other fields, spades, hoes and rakes
over their shoulders from a long day’s farming. Max thought he saw Joseph
outside one of the huts, but the vision began to fade.
“Come on Max, concentrate!” Max berated
himself, and the vision became clearer again. Now he was seeing inside the hut,
and remembered it, all the familiar possessions, especially Joseph’s long grey
cloak. This must be the one.
Max took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly as
he zoomed in on the hut, picturing the inside in his mind, the simple straw mattresses,
the fire, and the large cooking pot hanging from the roof in the middle, and
then Max breathed out heavily, closed his eyes, hung his head and held his arms
out as if about to dive. As he opened his eyes again, reality bent and swirled
around him like a dust storm in a fish-eye camera lens and Max was sucked
through the vortex that centred on Myvi’s hut, and then he was in Myvi’s hut,
trying to keep his balance, but he couldn’t, and fell over onto a pile of metal
plates, causing them to clatter across the hut. Max held his breath in fear of
someone having heard, but no-one came. He breathed out, and sat down on Myvi’s
bed. The fire was still going, the warm, homely smell of stew emanating from
the cooking pot hanging over it. Max suddenly realised he was hungry, very
hungry – he did some quick calculations, and realised why he was feeling so hungry – he hadn’t eaten for a day in real
time, since he was last here in fact, which in theory was tomorrow here,
although all that could have changed now. He hadn’t slept either, for that
matter. That’s the problem with Travelling through Time – you lose track of it.
Max took a bowl, and ladled it full of stew, eating it in a couple of ravenous
minutes, before his eyes could stay open no longer, and he fell fast asleep.
Author bio
Alastair has been writing for children's television for over twenty-five years. Among his many credits are 'The Wombles', 'Sabrina, Secrets of a Teenage Witch', and the Bafta-nominated CBBC Christmas Special 'The Tale of Jack Frost', which he wrote, co-produced and co-directed. He was also one the co-creators of Lego® Bionicle®. 'The Multiverse of Max Tovey' is his first Young Adult novel. Alastair lives in Somerset with his family, and spends much of his spare time walking the dog, more often than not at his beloved Ham Hill.
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