by C. E. Smith
Edyn
Book One of The Essence Project
C. E. Smith
Copyright © 2021 by C. E. Smith
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Miblart
To my loving husband who has supported me every step of the way. It's you and me together, against all odds, no matter what anyone else might think. Thank you for helping me prove everyone wrong on all fronts.
To my very best friend. Thank you for being you. You inspire me every day and push me beyond my limits. Thank you for your valiant attempts at talking some sense into me when I need it most. You're always in my corner, and I can always count on you.
To my other best friend, thank you for being my long distance cheer squad. No matter how long we go between visits and phone calls, I know you’re always in my corner.
To my readers, never ever give up on your dreams. They may sit on a shelf for a few years, but always find your way back to them. You won’t be disappointed when you do
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements5
Chapter 16
Chapter 224
Chapter 332
Chapter 447
Chapter 562
Chapter 677
Chapter 794
Chapter 8113
Chapter 9129
Chapter 10148
Chapter 11167
Chapter 12186
Chapter 13204
Chapter 14217
Chapter 15226
Chapter 16236
Chapter 17253
Chapter 18270
Chapter 19286
Chapter 20305
Chapter 21318
Chapter 22337
Chapter 23350
About The Author364
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This has truly been a labor of love. While this particular book has been about six years in the making, it’s been several decades coming.
I first and foremost have to thank my incredible husband, Brian. He's been my biggest supporter throughout this project, and my life. Every small part of the publication process when I’ve been crying tears of joy, he’s been just as excited right there with me.
I also have to thank my best friend Janee’. I couldn't do life without her. Her encouragement and her testimony keep me pushing ahead through everything. Her reckless faith and obedience inspire me daily. She's the most incredible human being I’ll ever have the privilege to know.
Thanks to my friend Sarah for being such a bright light in my life. Her smile is contagious, and I’m so thankful to have her in my life, even if she loves my horse more than I do.
Big thanks to my editor April Grace. I'm so grateful to her for taking a chance on me and my dream.
I also can’t forget to thank the amazing design team at Miblart for my mind blowing cover. I still tear up every time I look at it. They brought the picture in my head to life far beyond my wildest dreams.
1
I was sitting on a city bus with my mother, headed home from Church. The air conditioning couldn’t keep up with the August heat in Georgia. My mother fanned herself idly with a newspaper and stared out of the window, lost, as always, in her own foggy thoughts. Across from us was a couple in their early twenties, a newborn little girl in the woman’s arms. Her husband had an arm around her shoulder and she was crying softly, staring at her little girl.
"How are we going to protect her now that they know she has a soul?" she asked. "How can we keep her safe? They can’t have her. I won’t let them take her."
Her husband squeezed her tighter to console her. "Keep your voice down, hon," he said quietly, glancing around the bus. His eyes settled on me watching him. He held my gaze for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and looked away.
My mother, still staring out the window and fanning herself with the newspaper said, "It’s in God’s hands, not yours. If it’s in His plan for them to take her they will."
I rolled my eyes as the man shot my mother an angry look, but before he could say anything to her, the bus slowed to a stop. His wife took him by the arm, mumbling "Let’s go" under her breath and pulled him away.
My eyes followed them as they stepped off the bus. The woman kept her head down as they walked down the sidewalk, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders again.
The bus pulled away from the curb after a man around my age climbed the steps and sat down where the woman had been sitting. His jeans were torn, and he had a ring through his bottom lip. His black t-shirt looked like it hadn’t been washed in awhile, and clumps of mud were stuck to his boots. He leaned his head back against the glass and closed his eyes. When he started whistling some low tune, my mother glanced at him. She shifted in her seat and lowered her gaze, setting the newspaper down next to her. It fell off the seat and landed by her right foot. She stiffened before reaching down to pick it up.
The man across from us stopped whistling and lifted his head, staring at her.
My mother ignored his gaze and placed the newspaper back on the seat before turning to look back out the window. This time she remained tense. I peered at the man and found his eyes examining me from head to toe.
He squinted his eyes for a moment and said, "There’s something about you, little girl. Best sleep with one eye open or someone like me might just sneak through your window."
Beside me my mother inhaled sharply, but I kept my eyes on him, not saying a word. Several had popped into my head, but I didn't need a lecture from my mother. He laughed under his breath, and my mother started mumbling some hasty prayer.
I didn’t blink. I just stared back at him, my eyes boring into his.
His smug expression quickly changed, and he tilted his head.
"You’re more special than you realize, aren’t you?" he asked. "I’m sure you would bring a pretty high price."
My gaze didn’t change, but inside my head I was panicking.
How did he know?
What was giving me away?
Could he see it in my eyes or something?
The bus slowed to a stop and my mother quickly rose. She reached out and grabbed my arm to steady herself. "Come on, Edyn," she said, before making her way down the bus aisle.
I followed behind her and ripped my gaze away from the man. I heard his quiet laughter behind me and shuddered.
One of these days someone would find out what I was, and I’d be done for.
We waited for the bus to pull away before crossing the street. For a few moments, the only sound between us was our footsteps on the cracked pavement.
My mother stopped and turned to face me. "You have to be more careful!" she exclaimed. I started to shake my head but she cut me off, "Do you have any idea what will happen if the wrong people find out about your Essence? Do you have any idea what men like that do to girls, let alone Quintessent girls?"
I bit my lip, knowing full well that an argument with her was fruitless. This was one of those days where I was convinced being a Quintessent was definitely a curse. My whole life, my mother had told me differently though. She had always told me that being a Quintessent was a gift from God, but I always doubted that. She liked to guilt trip me though by reminding me of my Essence and her lack thereof. She hated being an Insentient and spent all of her energy trying to win God’s favor in hopes that it would be enough to get her into Heaven. I honestly didn’t know if it would make any difference in the end. I could only hope so. At first her treatment towards me infuriated me, but eventually I numbed myself to it and just accepted that she was never going to change.
The Rapture had occurred when my mother was a child. Followers of Jesus were taken suddenly to Heaven while others were left behind. The no
t so funny thing was, there were followers left behind too, leading to a worldwide panic. During the chaos, the discovery was made that those left behind didn’t have souls. They were labeled Insentients. As more babies were born afterwards, some of them were born with souls and became known as Quintessents.
Ever since the discovery of souls, there was tension between Quintessents and Insentients. Who wouldn’t be terrified to not have one and not end up in Heaven one day?
The politicians in Washington D.C. seemed to take it the hardest. Corruption had run rampant there for so long that it was no wonder none of them had souls. As a result, they came down hard on all of us, grasping for more control little by little until we didn't have any freedoms left. Maybe they thought by trying to keep all of us in line, they would gain God's favor.
Fat chance.
They controlled every aspect of our lives now, and took any lawbreaking to excessive levels. The punishments had become downright draconian. The smallest infractions brought extreme consequences. Supposedly it incentivized good behavior.
We kept walking down the tree lined road to get to our house. One of the shutters on the front window was hanging by only the top hinge. It had come loose in the last storm. It wasn’t a bad house by any means, it just needed a little love that we couldn’t afford to give. We were no different than anyone else in that aspect though. We were considered middle class. I’d heard it told that years ago, middle class was a pretty nice way to live. Nowadays though it seemed we were always lacking.
My mother worked down at the clothing factory, and I worked at the food distribution center. I remember on graduation day, I was sitting in the school auditorium with my classmates as we listened to the principal discussing our futures. He spoke about the different types of jobs that we would be selected for by the government, but never mentioned how our jobs were determined. It seemed like we would be given jobs on a similar level to that of your parents. Thank God my mom had a decent one. Making clothes wasn’t exactly an exciting way to spend your time, but there were far worse jobs out there.
Before our actual job selections, we watched a short video. It was old and glitchy. A woman appeared on the screen dressed in a white button up shirt and navy blue suit jacket. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, and an American flag pin was attached to her lapel.
"Welcome to your job selection," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Congratulations. In order for our society to function smoothly, we must all band together to provide for one another. Since the Rapture when so many were taken to Heaven, the core mission of the United States Government has become to reduce sin, care for our neighbors, and solve the existential crisis of the lack of souls, or Essences.
You are probably familiar with the strife between Quintessents and Insentients," footage of fighting flashed on the screen, "and can be sympathetic to both sides. We have, however, reshaped our society over the past forty years to minimize this conflict.
We continue to work hard to solve the dilemma regarding Essences, but we need your help. Not only is it critical for you to adapt swiftly to your new job position, but we also need volunteers for our research. If helping your fellow citizens isn't enough incentive, there will be monetary compensation for anyone who volunteers." A cheery image of a man in a white lab coat shaking hands with a young woman, and both people looking at the camera flickered as the video glitched. "You can sign up at the end of the ceremony. We thank you for your cooperation."
The screen went dark, and the job selection ceremony continued. Twenty or so of my classmates went ahead of me. I couldn’t help but think how ridiculous it all was. The more the government tried to control people, the more people resisted. It wasn’t about doing what was right to help our neighbors, it was all about domination.
"Toe the line, and you'll be fine," had become the unofficial motto of the United States, instead of "Land of the free," and it was mostly true. If you stayed compliant, usually you didn’t run into too many problems.
Usually.
Principal Jeffries had to call my name twice to get my attention when it was my turn. "Edyn. Edyn! If you please," he said gesturing to the table at the front of the stage.
I had only vaguely been paying attention to where others were selected to go. He looked at me like I was an embarrassment. I didn’t mind though. It’s not like I would have to see him again after today anyway. I got up and walked to the table, tucking my dark hair behind my ears, hearing other parents in the audience coughing and mumbling, disinterested since I wasn’t their kid. I couldn’t see where my mother was since I was blinded by the stage lights, but wasn’t sure I cared about that either.
When I reached the table, I sat down in the chair in front of a large monitor with a retinal scanner. I leaned forward and tried not to blink when the blue light passed over my eyes.
"Edyn Elizabeth Walter. Female. Eighteen years old. Father, Peter Dennis Walter, deceased. Mother, Sybil Anne Walter, Clothing Rations Manufacturer. Currently resides in Sector Six." The cool, robotic female voice almost seemed to me like it was describing someone else. "Job selection in progress."
Words scrolled quickly across the screen, faster than I could read. My stats were on the left side: height, hair color, GPA, in addition to what the computer had announced about me to everyone in the room. Finally the words stopped, and one was left on the screen.
Pending.
What the hell did that mean?
I briefly wondered if anyone else talked to themselves as much as I did, before my thoughts returned to the issue at hand.
One other girl had taken awhile to get a result, and I wondered if her screen had said pending.
A few moments later, the word vanished and the robotic voice said "Job selection: Food Distributer."
Well, that certainly could have been worse.
I stood up and walked off the stage as Principal Jeffries called the next name. No one in the audience had reacted to my selection. I guess it wasn’t exciting enough.
At the bottom of the steps at the side of the stage, Mrs. Robertson held out a hand and gestured for me to follow. Sweat beaded her brow and loose strands of hair had fallen from where they were pinned at the nape of her neck. She led me to a small room just outside the auditorium. The guy who had gone ahead of me was just leaving. I entered the room, and there was another table with a folding chair on one side meant for me. Atop the table was a machine. It was a large, shiny, silver thing with a control pad and blinking lights on one side. On the front was a dark hole about as big as a grapefruit.
"Have a seat and place your right arm in the machine, dear," Mrs. Robertson said.
"What does it do?" I asked.
"It gives you your new citizen ID chip."
"What if I don’t want a chip?" I looked at her, testing her reaction.
"Well that’s really not your choice, dear. All graduates are required to receive the ID chip before they begin their new jobs." Her blouse clung to her chest in the inadequately air conditioned room. She fanned herself with one hand while she waited for me to comply, her mauve lips pursed.
I wasn’t sure what to really make of it and was surprised that no one had mentioned it to me before. Or maybe someone had, and I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t really know. It wouldn't be the first time.
I sat down and slid my arm in the machine. She typed a few words into the control pad and looked at me expectantly.
"Hold still," she said.
The inside of the machine where my I had placed my arm lit up with the same blue light that the retina scanner had used just a few minutes before. I felt a stinging sensation on my forearm and jerked my arm back. When I did, my skin snagged on the needle, slicing a jagged line down to my wrist.
"Son of a...!"
"I told you to hold still!" she exclaimed.
"Well you didn't exactly warn me that it was going to stab me!"
She grabbed my hand to take a look at my arm. Blood was running steadily from my wrist. "Come on, l
et’s get you to the bathroom while I go and grab some bandages."
I followed her out of the room, keeping my arm elevated. Blood dripped onto the toe of my shoe.
Wonderful.
Mother would be furious.
At the end of the hall, she threw open the bathroom door, grabbed some paper towels, and pressed them into my hand. "I’ll be right back," she said and hurried out.
I walked to the sink and turned on the water. The sink turned pink as I rinsed my arm, while I took in the bloodied mess and examined it from my wrist to the middle of my forearm where the chip was injected.
Maybe I didn’t really need the chip.
I glanced over at the door, unsure of how long Mrs. Robertson would be gone. I bit my bottom lip and looked at my arm. Thankfully, the bathrooms didn't have cameras like the rest of the rooms in the school did.
I squeezed at the injection site to see if anything would come out. Just more blood. I paused for a second, and looked at the door again before digging my nail into my skin. Pain seared through my arm, and I hesitated, trying to fight it off. I dug deeper and scraped out my flesh. The sound of something small and metallic reverberated off of the sink. I grabbed it before it could fall down the drain. It was tiny, about the size of a peppercorn at best, and just as round. I shoved the chip into my pocket, unsure of what I was going to do with it, and ran water over my arm again. The door burst open just as I was applying more paper towels to the cut.
"Here, let me see," Mrs. Robertson said as she took my arm. She lifted the paper towels off and pulled my arm close to her face. She squinted down her nose and shifted my arm left and right.
"Doesn’t seem to be too deep, and it missed your veins." As she reached for the bandages, I couldn’t help but think about the chip in my pocket.
Was I going to be the only one my age without it?