Free Jade Moon (Celestial War Book 1) by Julia Richards Page A

between us.
    As I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, I remembered that Mr. Silver’s mysterious book was still hidden in my bag. After all the stuff mom said, I was excited to read it.
    I slid it out of my backpack and ran fingers over the worn leather binding. The old fashioned sun and moon symbol embossed on the cover made more sense to me now. I flipped open the first page. It had the look of an old illuminated manuscript, hand written calligraphy, bright ruby red and sapphire blue drawings accented with shining gold leaf.
    It looked cool but the first few pages were a dry, historical look at the world’s religions.
     At the heart of all world religions you will find the worship of the Sun and Moon. Though manifest quite differently, depending on where in the world you are exploring, the worship of these two sources of power are universal. In Abrahamic religions such as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, it is manifest as the struggle between good and evil. The moon is emblematic of darkness, chaos, and death. The sun is linked to God, harmony, and life. According to these religions, the two sides are at war, vying for power over mankind.
    In many non-Western religious traditions, the Sun and Moon are not seen as dichotomous, battling against each other. For example, in Hinduism, the Sun and Moon are representative of the endlessness cycles of nature reflecting the actions of gods and goddesses. Many ancient religions viewed the Sun and Moon as partners or even lovers, sharing responsibility for the turning of the cosmos. The Druids, the Egyptians, the Maya, everywhere you look you will find temples dedicated to these celestial forces.
    These different understandings of the Sun and Moon reflect the complex reality….
    My eyes started to glaze over and I must have drifted off because next thing I knew my alarm was going off.
    Bzzt bzzt
    I moaned and threw my pillow at the alarm. It stubbornly survived.
    The walk to school was freezing and I was thankful to get into the building. Which should tell you how cold it was, because there was literally no where else in the world I wanted to be less.
    I got a few sympathetic glances, a lot of being ignored, and a few real gems like, “Hey stairs-girl, did you find the scary ghost in the library?” and, “Oh no, poor stairs-girl got suspended.”
    How nice of them to helpfully reminded me how unwelcome I was.
    Mrs. Foster’s class about the Dadaist movement was mind numbing. How one could make Dadaism boring was beyond me. It was certainly a skill.
    I stopped in the bathroom on my way to the library for lunch. Though I’d been forbidden from entering the library, there was no way I could stay away from Mr. Silver after the talk with my mom.
    As I washed my hands, I heard a soft, muffled sobbing. Not just boo-hoo type crying, but genuine, can’t catch a breath sobs. I stiffened, afraid I was hearing the same thing I’d heard in the library but quickly realized it sounded very different.
    In the library, the person sounded like they were being tortured, physically harmed. This was more like emotional pain. Normal human crying. It drifted from the last stall in the long bathroom where there was a faint rustling of clothes. Thankfully I could sense the presence of an actual person.
    Taking a tentative step toward them, I meant to quietly approach and ask in a soft, comforting voice if they were okay. Instead, squeak!, my thick soled boot announced my approach. The crying paused, but the person obviously didn’t care, or couldn’t stop.
    “Hey, you okay in there?” I asked gently.
    That got a renewed sob, a coughing, snotty sound.
    “Do you need some help?”
    “No, go away,” a disembodied voice answered. She did not sound convincing, the kind of answer that meant a person really did need help but didn’t want to ask.
    “Listen, I’m happy to help. Or I’m happy to go get someone for you.”
    “No! I don’t want anyone here.”
    “Well, I’m not leaving until I