Title:
The
Multiverse of Max Tovey
Author:
Alastair
Swinnerton
Genre:
Young
Adult Time Travel
Synopsis: 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:
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 poten tial 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 sud denly 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 De mon 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 hun dreds 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 mat tresses, 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 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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Twitter:
https://twitter.com/alswinn
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