The Song of Hadariah: Dybbuk Scrolls Trilogy: Book 1 (Dybbuk Scrolls Trillogy) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prolgue

  Chapter

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Glossary

  Pandamoon

  The Song of

  Hadariah

  Dybbuk Scrolls Trilogy

  Book 1

  By

  Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  © 2017 by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  This book is a work of creative fiction that uses actual publicly known events, situations, and locations as background for the storyline with fictional embellishments as creative license allows. Although the publisher has made every effort to ensure the grammatical integrity of this book was correct at press time, the publisher does not assume and hereby disclaims any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. At Pandamoon, we take great pride in producing quality works that accurately reflect the voice of the author. All the words are the author’s alone.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pandamoon Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  www.pandamoonpublishing.com

  Jacket design and illustrations © Pandamoon Publishing

  Art Direction by Don Kramer: Pandamoon Publishing

  Editing by Zara Kramer, Rachel Schoenbauer, Heather Stewart, and Jill Crosby: Pandamoon Publishing

  Pandamoon Publishing and the portrayal of a panda and a moon are registered trademarks of Pandamoon Publishing.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC

  Edition: 1, ver 1.0

  Dedication

  For my children.

  And for my bubbie—thank you for the stories.

  Ja chebye kocham.

  The Song of Hadariah

  Do notquestion fairy tales.

  Yiddish proverb

  Prologue

  Asmodeus stood at the entranceway to his home. Above him, the great castle loomed overhead. He cocked an ear and listened, a grim smile spreading across his face. Silence. Just as he liked it. No one had followed him. He doubted there would be anyone pursuing him. High atop the Mountain of Darkness, he turned and summoned his power and strength. He cast wards up around his home. No one in Hadariah would be able to enter here. He would be left to his own devices. He shook his head, feeling a small swell of sadness that it had come to this. In a small velvet pouch tied to his belt hung his prize, his trophy. He absent-mindedly stroked the soft fabric with the tips of his powerful fingers. Turning from the darkening view, he went inside, confident he would not be disturbed.

  As he swept through the corridors, he could sense some of his subjects lurking in the shadows. Their scuttling claws scratch-scratching across the stone floors, the shine from their eyes peering around the corners glowed red. He sensed their unease as he passed by. A low hiss of whispering permeated the silence, but he pretended not to hear. Let them jabber. Let them speak amongst themselves. He knew that he had their complete obedience, and when the time came, if the time came, they would obey him. They always did.

  Asmodeus reached his throne room and sank down onto his seat. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. He felt tired. That was a sure sign it was time. His plan was underway. Nothing and no one would stop him. Now, he would have his rest.

  Chapter One

  Adom Ha Shual

  Carrie Eisen lay in the grass, knees bent and a sweatshirt pillowed under her head. The sun felt warm on her body as she drifted off to sleep. She had gone outside intending to read the new fantasy novel she had bought, but she had read a few chapters and put it aside, just soaking up the sun. In the backyard, her cocker spaniel, Finnigan, was hunting flies. So far, he had caught none, but he refused to give up, leaping about in the grass and futilely pouncing on the buzzing insects.

  There was one month left in summer vacation, and come September, Carrie would start the twelfth grade—something she did not want to think about until it was absolutely necessary. Her final year of high school meant she would ultimately have to make decisions about her future, decide a path, and begin to grow up—something she dreaded with all her heart and soul. She wished she could just run away and have an adventure like the characters in the books she loved. At seventeen, she still found herself wishing that the magical worlds in her favourite books were real. She knew that it was an impossibility, but she sometimes found herself looking out at the world, hoping for some form of magic to find her.

  Already her parents were on her case, encouraging her to research universities and pick out programs she liked. She was finding the entire fiasco overwhelming. At the age of seventeen, how was she supposed to decide these things? It was hard enough some days to figure out what she wanted to eat for breakfast, but they were pressuring her to start now. She would have to complete her applications this year. Her mind swam with choices and questions. What if she were rejected from the programs she wanted? What if a school looked good on paper but was horrible when she actually got there? She knew she could always change her mind, but it might mean a wasted year. And what were her friends doing? She knew they were as confused as she was, and Carrie was thankful she was not alone. She dreaded going to a large university and knowing no one. She had this vision in her head of being a lost first-year student dwarfed by a cold and massive campus. She did not want this but feared it was inevitable.

  Carrie was a tiny girl in all respects, except her eyes. She had huge green-blue eyes that seemed to take up a full third of her heart-shaped face. They peered out from behind a sandy fringe of bangs, always drinking in every aspect of her surroundings. She wore her hair in a shaggy pixie cut that she never let get any longer than chin length, but it was constantly out of control.

  She had been lying in her backyard for over an hour. The idea of just being lazy and ignoring all responsibility had appealed to her, and she had indulged this whim with a vengeance. Barefoot, in a pair of raggedy cutoff jean shorts and an old T-shirt, Carrie had run outside and flung herself out onto the grass, prepared not to move until she absolutely had to. Finnigan had followed, leaping at her ankles, begging to play, but Carrie had turned away, resolving not to use a single ounce of energy on anything other than soaking up the sun on that hot summer’s day.

  Now, after some time had passed, Carrie lay contented, her mind deliciously blank. She heard, as if from a distance, the barking of her dog and the buzzing of the flies. She could hear the happy panting as Finnigan occasionally walked up to her and left a present of an unfortunate insect. A new sensation crept over
her body. Her blue eyes flew open, and she glanced around. Despite the sun’s warmth, Carrie felt goose bumps prickling up and down her skin. She had a distinct feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching her. She sat up and quickly spotted Finnigan. She opened her mouth to call to her dog but could not find the voice to do it. The words caught in her throat. Finnigan was standing and staring at a small bush in a corner of the yard. He was growling, a low rumble that Carrie could feel vibrating in the air around her. The guttural sound caused the hairs along the nape of her neck to stand up.

  “Finn?” Carrie managed to get out. She could not believe how hoarse her voice sounded. Her pet’s behavior was giving her the creeps. “Finn, what is it?”

  Upon hearing his name, Finnigan turned to Carrie and cocked his head to the side, as if asking whether she saw what he did in the bush. When she gave no answer, he turned back and continued to stare fixedly.

  Carrie squinted at the leaves, wondering what it was that had so enthralled him and so spooked her. She peered intently and let out a small gasp when she spotted two coal-black eyes staring right back at her.

  Carrie scrambled to her feet, never taking her eyes off the bush. A black, button nose appeared below the eyes. A long red snout. Two large ears, a face, a small body. Carrie made a grab for Finnigan as the fox sauntered out from within the branches.

  “Oh no,” Carrie breathed. She knew not to make any sudden movements around a wild animal. Unfortunately, Finnigan did not seem aware of this bit of advice, and he lunged at the fox. Finnigan became a snarling tangle of wavy, rust-colored fur, gnashing his teeth at this creature who dared to invade his yard.

  Carrie let out a cry of alarm as her dog escaped her. “Finnigan!” she yelled and propelled herself forward as dog and fox made a mad dash across the lawn. Carrie ran, her bare feet skidding across the ground, arms reaching, desperate to get ahold of her pet. Finnigan leapt ahead, just out of her reach.

  The fox ran at the head of the group, either bolder than Carrie had first thought or spurred on by fear. Finnigan was only a few steps behind him. Carrie made a leap for the spaniel and just missed him, falling face-first on the grass and staining her shirt and chin green instead. She quickly picked herself back up and tried to cut the animals off from a different angle, but again she was unsuccessful. Her mind filled with frightening ideas about what would happen if the fox turned on her dog. What if it was rabid? What if it bit Finnigan? A whole list of horrible scenarios filled her thoughts. She was panicking, not just for her dog but for the fox as well. She did not know what would happen if Finnigan actually caught the animal. There was always a chance that he was not chasing it for fun and to play, but to hunt and hurt.

  Carrie tried again to make a grab for Finnigan. This time she managed to get ahold of him, eliciting a yelp of surprise. He tried to bolt out of her arms, upset at the indignity of being kept from his prey. She held on for dear life as he squirmed and struggled to get back to the chase. She held tighter, and he finally gave up, panting against her chest.

  Carrie stood and surveyed the yard, trying to see where the fox had gone. She finally spotted him sitting calmly by the same bush from which he had first emerged. He peered back at her with intelligent, thoughtful, almost curious, black eyes, his red fur stark against the green of the bush. Carrie could not understand how he could have hidden so successfully inside it. The fox looked directly at her, bowed his head low in what seemed a gesture of gratitude, and disappeared the same way he had come.

  Carrie sat down hard on the grass and stared intently at the bush. Had that fox somehow thanked her? What had just happened? All she knew was that something had changed. The air around her was uncommonly still. She stood up on legs that seemed to be made of jelly, hugged Finnigan to her, and was rewarded with a lick. Then she turned and entered the house, her day of laziness forgotten.

  Chapter Two

  Khavershaft

  Dinner at the Eisen house was always a command performance. Unless Carrie told her parents in advance that she had other plans, she was expected to be at the table as soon as they told her the food was ready. Growing up, she appreciated the idea of family time and the conversations that accompanied it. She talked through many problems and received much good advice from her mom and dad. She couldn’t even begin to count how many hours she spent at that round glass table, talking things over with her parents. Every major decision was made with their help. Now it seemed that all they wanted to talk about was how she was wasting her summer and how she should be planning for her future. Neither topic was high on her list of things she wanted to discuss.

  Mr. Eisen smiled at his wife as she passed him a bowl full of corn on the cob. He was a tall, thin, balding man of fifty with wisps of red hair on either side of his head. His blue eyes were kind, and Carrie knew he always had her best interests at heart, even if his ideas of what was best for her rarely coincided with what she wanted in life. He was an engineer who dreamed she would pursue math in school, but to his chagrin and frustration, Carrie never developed a head for numbers. He dreamed she’d find her way to a career that was “practical,” as he put it, but she kept finding herself pulled to the arts. Despite their varying points of view, Carrie and her father had a deep love for each other and similar interests and hobbies. It was from him that Carrie developed a love of art, music, and fantasy—things he loved in his spare time, as he pointed out to her. Those were hobbies, not careers. This love of all things artsy drove her mother crazy on family outings to the movies, as she always found herself outvoted. While she typically wanted to watch the latest blockbuster, her husband and daughter were always drawn to the latest indie film, or whatever melodrama was playing at the local movie theatre.

  “You won’t need to put anything on it,” Mrs. Eisen told her husband, gesturing to the corn. Like her daughter, she was a petite woman with brown hair and blue-green eyes. She taught preschool and had endless patience for the arguments her daughter and husband seemed to be having on an ever-increasing basis. She knew that everything would work itself out in the end. She was certain her husband just wanted his little girl to be safe and happy.

  “It’s so fresh and sweet,” Mrs. Eisen said. “The produce at the new grocery store is just incredible. I think I may just shop there from now on. I’m enjoying it so much more than all those big-box places they insist on sticking everywhere. The people who work at this new place are so knowledgeable. Friendly too. Such a change from the kids the big chains hire. They always seem so bored and can’t be bothered to help you out with anything.”

  “Well,” Mr. Eisen said, “those kids are at least making an effort to add jobs to their résumés. They’re also making money this summer. Learning responsibility. I thought we discussed you getting a job as well, Carrie.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. Here it was again. It seemed every night she was getting lectured.

  “We did discuss it, Dad,” she answered. “I decided I wanted a summer off. School was hard work this year. Rebecca and Lindsay don’t have jobs either, and we wanted to spend our time hanging out.”

  “First of all,” Mr. Eisen responded, “don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s rude. Second of all, what do you hope to accomplish with hanging out?”

  “My friends and I hope to accomplish absolutely nothing,” Carrie replied. She stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork and stuck it in her mouth. “Dinner’s great, Mom.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Eisen replied. “Your father made it. I was busy today ‘hanging out,’ as you put it, with Rachel. All I did was grill the corn.”

  Carrie giggled as her father pulled a face.

  Her mother continued. “Carrie, can you please do me a favour? I know you’re going to see Rebecca tonight. Her mother left her phone in my car. Can you take it with you?”

  “Of course,” Carrie answered.

  Carrie’s father turned to his daughter once more. “You really want a summer of doing nothing?”

  “Dad, we’ve been through this. The last sc
hool year was very stressful. The next one will be even worse. Next summer will be the last one before I start university in September, and if I end up going away to school, I know I’ll be super busy. I just want one more summer with no responsibilities, no plans—only me, my friends, and nothing to do.”

  “I know,” Carrie’s father sighed. “I just don’t understand this mentality. When I was your age, I always had a job. I knew exactly what I wanted—”

  “When you were Carrie’s age,” Mrs. Eisen interrupted, “you wanted to be a professional drummer in a rock band.”

  “What?!” Carrie exclaimed. “Seriously?” She reached across the table for the platter of chicken and placed another piece on her plate as she stared incredulously at her father. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  Mr. Eisen glared at his wife. “I was stupid and irresponsible.”

  “You were young and idealistic,” his wife corrected him.

  “Maybe,” he conceded. “Yes, I wanted to be in a rock band, but I realized two things.”

  “What?” Carrie asked.

  “One: more bands fail than succeed. Two: I stunk at playing the drums.”

  Carrie laughed. “I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”

  “Oh no,” he replied. “I was awful. I couldn’t keep time if my life depended on it. No band would have me.” He smiled at his daughter. “Look, I know I’m hard on you, but I worry that you may be drifting. I know you’re young. You have lots of time to figure out what you want to do with your life. You may figure out a plan and then decide it’s completely wrong for you and try something different. That’s okay. Many people do that. There’s nothing wrong with it.”