Scepter (The Last Scribe Prequels) Read online

  SCEPTER

  A Last Scribe Novella

  R. Lee Walsh

  STORY MERCHANT BOOKS

  BEVERLY HILLS

  2014

  Copyright © 2014 by Rachel Walsh. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

  Story Merchant Books

  9601 Wilshire Boulevard #1202

  Beverly Hills CA 90210

  http://www.storymerchant.com/books.html

  “I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...

  In life after life, in age after age, forever.

  My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,

  That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,

  In life after life, in age after age, forever.”

  From Unending Love by Rabindranath Tagore

  ~Before~

  The first sound I heard on earth was birdsong. With one sacred note, the entire universe held its breath, and even as I wept in awe of such beauty and wonder I understood that with every new beginning an end must also come.

  My people, the Irin, delighted in this glorious new world. We marveled at the seemingly endless species of fauna and flora, enchanted by the vast array of creatures that flourished in this perfect macrocosm.

  When man was formed from the dust we were captivated. So like us and yet so very different. As immortal beings not limited to fragile flesh and bone, we are impervious to aging, illness and mortal injury. But these finite creatures called humans possessed what no Irin ever had--the power to create with their minds, their hands, even their own bodies. Soon, two became three and the population of both man and beast multiplied, gradually expanding to inhabit their wondrous new home.

  It was my own brother who led the First War. If we could not have creative power on our own, he reasoned, then we would dominate mankind and take it by force. Through the use of enchantments and forbidden magic, two hundred Irin betrayed their brethren, taking for themselves human wives. Unfortunately, the offspring of these forbidden unions were monsters.

  Plagued by aberrant deformities and supernatural strength, many grew to three, even seven times human size. The only universal trait they shared was an insatiable appetite. Cannibals from birth, they laid waste to everything living, including the animals. When mankind itself was threatened with extinction, as leader of the Irin I had no choice but to declare war against my own kind.

  The traitors were quickly defeated and every last abomination they spawned was slaughtered. My brother and a handful of his followers escaped, fleeing from the devastation they'd wrought like the worthless cowards they are. Dividing the earth into territories of their own, they continue to wreak havoc by cloaking their activities as human atrocities. Calling themselves Powers, or the Shachath, behind every act of supreme violence, whether it be racial, social, religious or political, a specific Power can be found.

  When the earth was finally cleansed of their vile offspring, a truce was signed between man and the Irin to prevent future abominations. Now educated from birth, humans trained their children to avoid the Irin and any sign of corruption, human or animal, was immediately reported. In return, the Irin agreed to patrol the earth, eliminating further threats and protecting the natural order. Those who trespass against the treaty are exterminated without mercy. No exceptions.

  In time, mankind once again flourished, but the memories of Before were never forgotten. The horror stories of bloodthirsty creatures like vampires, werewolves and man eating giants passed down through generations are derived from these all too real monsters.

  Faced with eternal fire for their crimes, some traitors begged forgiveness, pleading to return to our kind. Those who were deemed truly repentant were spared eternal fire, but stripped of their supernatural powers. Thereinafter called Sheva, which in our language means “empty,” they are allowed to roam the earth as long as they remain undetected and don't interfere with the natural order. Marked as traitors and scorned by their Irin brethren, a handful have nevertheless proven their loyalty by acting as informers. They secretly supply information to the Irin about possible treaty infractions and an elite few have even infiltrated the Powers.

  In 363 C.E. The Council of Laodicea convened in Phrygia Pacatiana, now known as Turkey. Armed with a long forgotten prophecy and information that could potentially threaten the future of mankind, a joint session with the Irin was held. It was agreed that certain information regarding the original man and a secret passed down through his bloodline should be concealed. Thereinafter, all books, records and any form of communication that contained any reference to this knowledge were declared heretical and destroyed. Laws were enacted to ensure the secret would remain hidden until the appointed time.

  As the prophecy and the Irin are fundamentally linked, the Irin also agreed to alter their appearance, essentially becoming invisible. While still ever present, we are easily overlooked and immediately forgotten. Walk down any street in the world and you will pass at least one Irin. Depending on the threat or situation, sometimes many.

  As the leader of the Irin, called Scepter, my job is to ensure the survival of mankind and especially the original bloodline. Nearly seven thousand years and three hundred sixty four generations have passed since the First War and on a hot August day eighteen years ago, the prophesied last descendant of the first generation finally arrived.

  After

  ~1~

  Her first breath came from my own lips. Gray, lifeless and utterly still, her premature birth was a surprise. Her mother, Elizabeth, lay unconscious but alive, her lifeblood spattered on the linoleum hospital floor. The attending doctor called the baby's time of death as 11:59 p.m.

  Scores of Irin stood in attendance and for one horrifying minute the entire world fell silent. Mortified, I stared down at the tiny flaccid hands that held the promise of the future and the loss was incomprehensible. Three hundred sixty four generations and I'd never lost a descendant. It had to be a mistake. Frantic, I grasped her fragile face in my hands and did what no Irin had ever done.

  I willed her my life.

  At 12:00 a.m., her first heartbeat reverberated through the room like a sonic boom, startling the world back into motion. In less than a minute she was waving her arms, her skin turning a mottled purple and pink.

  Her first sound was a piercing shriek that unleashed a deafening Irin cheer. The doctor and nurses scrambled to get her vitals and clear her airways, laughing and telling each other it was a miracle. Riley, my closest friend and second in command, came up and stood by my side. We both watched in silence as she flailed and kicked, her precious newborn fingers splaying then curling repeatedly.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Riley muttered. “You alright?”

  “I don't know,” I replied honestly, watching the nurse wrap her in a white cotton blanket. My impulsive action, while arguably defensible, had interfered with the natural order. By sharing my life-force, we were linked together, our hearts beating as one. From that moment on my entire existence depended on one fragile human.

  Because if she dies, I die with her.

  ~2~

  Elizabeth named her Hope because it was a miracle they'd both survived. Her middle name was Sparrow because the first time she held her, she looked like a tiny fragile bird.

  Innate curiosity coupled with an inability to sit still for long sent her running headlong into anything and everything with reckless abandon. By the time she could walk, opening doors was her
obsession. Living in a second floor apartment, the perils were plentiful. The neighbors dubbed her Houdini and more than one found her hanging from their front door with her mother or father's keys in her chubby little fist. Chuckling, they'd lead her back to her apartment where, invariably, no one even knew she was missing. Reprimands, even dramatic ones, seemed to make no difference. Her need to explore outweighed all fear of punishment or self preservation.

  The first real manifestation of her unique abilities appeared at two years old. Her mother was working at a department store during the day and her father training to be a fireman.

  A kindly neighbor named Mickey had volunteered to babysit. A recent widow who'd raised five children of her own and a wise woman, each day Mickey took Hope for long walks up and down the streets of south Seattle in her stroller, feeding her curious mind by providing plenty of new scenery. On Fridays they strolled down to Pike's market, where Mickey haggled over her weekly grocery purchases while Hope sat happily in her stroller, enthralled by the sights and sounds of the fast-paced environment.

  One Friday afternoon, an elderly female Asian vendor named Maji handed Hope a small box of crayons and a coloring book, a gift she exchanged for a smile. After making sure Hope thanked her properly, Mickey went back to haggling with Maji over a dried flower arrangement she'd had her eye on for some time.

  Thoroughly entertained with her new treasures, Hope opened the crayons then selected a page from the coloring book. Earlier that day, she and Mickey had been to the park, sorting through a patch of emerald green clover. Mickey showed her how to count the leaves and they nibbled on the tender stems while enjoying a rare few minutes of Seattle sunshine. With brow furrowed, humming to herself, Hope focused on replicating the simple pattern.

  An audible gasp from Maji startled her, and she looked up to see both women staring at the ground near her feet. Curious, Hope leaned over to see what they were looking at and saw twelve red clovers lying on the pavement.

  “Cova!” Hope exclaimed to Mickey, delighted by this unexpected sight.

  Frowning, Mickey bent over to touch one, but they seemed to be stuck to the cement, like chewing gum trampled into the ground. “How on earth?” she murmured. “Where did those come from?”

  Maji stared at Hope's red crayon and the twelve doodles that dotted her page. When she glanced at Hope her expression was cautious-almost fearful. Maji pursed her lips, handing Mickey the bouquet. “I busy now. You take.”

  Confused by Maji's sudden change in demeanor but pleased by the bargain price, Mickey paid for the arrangement, forgetting all about the strange red clovers.

  On the way home, several blocks from the market, a man walked toward them on the sidewalk, his white military uniform startling in contrast to the overcast day. Still a block away, Mickey slowed to give him room to safely pass the bulky stroller. Hope kicked her feet and let out a high-pitched whimper, then bucked violently in her seat. A red patent leather shoe fell off her foot and rolled under the wheel, forcing them to stop altogether.

  “Almost home, love,” Mickey soothed, impatiently waiting for the man to go by. “We'll have some of that applesauce you like for a treat, shall we?” Hope let out another agonized cry, squirming around in the stroller. “What in the world?” Mickey wondered aloud, bending down to reclaim the lost shoe. A strong male hand snatched it from under the wheel and offered it in his palm.

  “Here ya go,” he said. “Better not lose Cinderella's slipper.”

  The man was tall and compelling in his military uniform. Mickey smiled politely and nodded her thanks, then reached for the errant shoe. He quickly pulled it back as Hope threw herself against the other side of the stroller. Catching the handle with the other hand, he righted the buggy, shaking his head with a grin.

  “Looks like you have your hands full,” he said to Mickey. “You hold the handle there and I'll see about the shoe.” Without waiting for a response he crouched down next to Hope, his expression hidden from Mickey by the brim of his military cap. A rancid smell wafted up from the stroller and she winced at the horrific stench. No wonder the poor child was struggling. She must have really messed her diaper.

  “Hello, little bird,” the man said, reaching for her sock clad foot. Hope let out a blood curdling shriek and the man fell backward onto his arse like he'd been punched in the face, his expression now visible to Mickey. His coal black eyes glittered maliciously and he rubbed his jaw. Horrified at his expression and sensing they were in danger, Mickey thrust the cart forward, abandoning the shoe. She ran as fast as her arthritic knees would go, desperate to reach the busy street corner.

  “Help!” she called out, her voice hoarse from fear and exertion. “Please! Somebody help!”

  A warm gust of wind blew past her face, bringing the scent of green leaves and sandalwood. Using her last ounce of strength she pushed faster to the intersection, where a tall red-haired woman was waiting to cross the street. The woman turned toward the sound of Mickey's panicked voice, her celery green eyes startling.

  “Please,” Mickey sobbed. “There's someone after us!”

  Frowning, the woman motioned for them to come toward her, meeting them in the middle of the intersection. She grasped the handle of the stroller and placed a firm hand under Mickey's arm, helping her cross the street.

  “Thank the Lord,” Mickey huffed, her nerves completely shot. Turning around, Mickey anxiously surveyed the street where they'd come from, but there was no sign of a pursuer. The woman said nothing but helped her to a wooden bus stop bench.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. There was a man,” Mickey stammered to the woman. “He was wearing a white uniform. He was--”

  “I saw him,” the woman interrupted. “But he took off the other way. He's gone now.”

  Blinking back tears, Mickey took a deep breath, then dug a handkerchief out of her purse. After blowing her nose loudly, she wiped her eyes, then reached over to check the baby. Hope sat immobile, her hazel eyes wide. “My poor girl,” Mickey soothed. “Are you alright?”

  Hope's lower lip trembled, but she otherwise seemed fine. Reaching a chubby hand toward Mickey, she handed her a red crayon.

  “Ah, thank you, love,” Mickey smiled. “But you keep it.”

  The red haired woman leaned down to look at Hope. “What's her name?”

  “Hope,” Mickey murmured, once again surveying the street. There was no sign of Hope's red shoe.

  “Tell you what,” the woman said. “My name's Peach and I'm parked just over there. I'd be happy to give you two a ride.”

  “That's very kind of you,” Mickey sighed, shaking her head. “But I think we'll just wave down a cab.”

  The woman grinned, pointing to a bright yellow taxi parked across the street. “You already have. That's my car.”

  ~3~

  When Hope's father, Rick, came home from work that evening, I waited on the front steps watching his approach. To him, I looked like a familiar downstairs neighbor who'd stepped outside for a smoke.

  “Evenin'” I said, sitting down on the stoop.

  “Back at ya,” he replied, eyeing my cigarette. “Mind if I bum one?”

  Shaking one out, I offered it to him along with a pack of matches. “The missuz don't like smoking in the house.”

  He nodded. “Mine either.”

  He took a seat next to me and we sat in companionable silence for a minute or so, then made small talk about the weather.

  “I knew it rained a lot here,” he mused, “but don't think I really understood how depressing it could get.”

  “You thinking about moving?” I asked, telepathically willing him to say yes.

  “Dunno,” he shrugged. “My wife's family has been putting the pressure on. They want us closer with the baby and all. They're talking about layoffs at work and I don't know how we could make it here if they did.”

  “Nice folks?” I asked.

  “The in-laws? Nice enough, I guess. We eloped here from their small town back east so her Pa don't lik
e me much.”

  “Still, having family close by can be good. Especially with a busy kid.”

  “True,” he mused, his expression turning soft. He dug in his back pocket and took out a set of colorful plastic keys. “Got these for her today. Thought it might keep her away from mine and her ma's if she had a set of her own. Lately, I can't hardly breathe without worrying what she'll get into next. All day long at work I keep picturing her falling off a balcony or wandering out in the street when nobody even knows she's gone. Elizabeth's been talking about a leash, but I can't see doing that to her. She's just a curious kid, not an animal.”

  “I see your point,” I agreed, staring out across the street. “But I see your wife's too. Seattle's a big city and you never know what kind of people might be around. Heck, it seems like every day there's some new pervert in the news.”

  Frowning, Rick put his cigarette out, then stood up. I could see from his expression, I'd hit the right nerve. “Well, I should probably get in there. My wife's working late so I'm the first one home.”

  “Have a good one,” I said, giving him a friendly fist bump. I waited, listening to his footsteps as he entered the building and climbed the stairs. When I heard his keys jingle I took a deep breath.

  “Think he'll do it?” Riley asked, appearing next to me.

  “Once Mickey tells him what happened today, I'm guessing by the time Elizabeth gets home tonight he'll be ready to suggest it.”

  Glancing up toward her apartment, I couldn't help remembering her agonized reaction to my brother. That day's episode was not only a test of her, but an assessment of our defensive capabilities.

  “Hey,” Riley said, nudging me. “She's obviously a tough little bird. A week from now she won't remember any of it and soon they'll all be back in New York with Elizabeth's family.”

  “Hope so,” I said. “I better go check on her.”

  “Yeah, and I better go find Peach. She's gotta be tired of swimming by now.”