Deliverance
Page 1
Deliverance
By Véronique Launier
Smashwords Edition Copyright 2013 Véronique Launier
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Book Design by Veronique Launier
Cover art: Nakissa Photo © Ewa Krupinska http://www.ewakrupinska.com
Model: Maryam Amiri
Makeup: Rashin Maleki
Tehran skyline © Babak Farrokhi flickr.com/photos/farrokhi/
Persepolis griffin © Nick Taylor flickr.com/photos/indigoprime/
Archway © Asif Akbar sxc.hu/profile/asifthebes
Font XXII ARABIANONENIGHTSTAND @ Lecter Johnson http://doubletwostudios.tumblr.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781301096527
author@veroniquelaunier.com
http://www.veroniquelaunier.com
FOREWORD
I dedicated this novel to a boy I never knew. A story I heard from a friend about a boy who killed himself because he believed he would never be able to follow his musical dreams in a country who seems intent on crushing them. He was a boy who quit too soon, who didn’t get the chance to see his friends reach some form of success in following the same dreams. It was in his honor that I named Siavash, one of the members of Farâsoo.
The research of this novel was for me, a life changing experience. I’m not sure how I can even put into words how much this novel took over every aspect of my life for the past few years. The extensive research (memoirs read, documentaries watched, friends made, meals eaten, etc.) was such a life enriching experience. When I started researching Iran for another book I was writing, I was wary. I never expected to fall in love with the culture, the people, the language and the food.
Still, after over two years of research, this book may not be the most absolute representation of Iran. It is not meant to be. It is a work of fantasy fiction set mostly in a certain neighborhood of the capital city of Tehran. In trying to discern the Iranian identity, I have talked to so many different people. People of different social classes, with different belief systems, different values, different goals and aspirations. And in the process, I realized that the human experience is at its core the same whether you are Iranian or Canadian. What had started off as a quest to identify the differences between our cultures became more about bridging gaps and understanding that we are all not so different.
I found it intimidating to write a story set in a country that can often be so misunderstood by the media. Because, like in any other country, the government and the people of Iran are not synchronous. The people themselves do not all fit a mold. Though I believe my characters, along with their wants, needs, interactions, and opinions, could very well exist as part of a specific group and social class; it is not to say that all Iranians are like them. Just as the Iranians portrayed in the media as extremists only fit a small portion of the population.
Iran has a predominantly young (about 70% of the population is under 35), urban (also about 70%) population that is predominantly vying for change. But though some Iranians are, like Nakissa and her friends and family, very Westernized, many are looking for balance of government and religion and for freedom and change on their own terms (Not the terms dictated by the Western world).
Though I hope you, like me, will find yourself curious about Iran and the Iranian people, and will want to read further into it, the main goal of this story is to entertain you while immersing you in a world rarely seen in Young Adult literature. If I accomplish at least this task, then I have accomplished my goals.
For Siavash, who gave up too soon.
Here, his dreams can still come true.
She kept her head up as they marched her up to the roof; she breathed deeply and gathered her essence within her. After over two thousand years of control, this wasn't the time to lose her grip. But never had she found herself in such a situation before. She manipulated the small ball of power. So little power.
Her eyes moved to the guard who intended to lead her to her death. She reached towards him. Perhaps she could trick him into helping her somehow. Before she could place her hand on his shoulder, a sharp pain in the shin dropped her to her knees. She raised her eyes towards her attacker, a new man she hadn't noticed until then. How was she caught unaware like this? She cast a probing strand of essence his way but came across a stone barrier. Stone. She tried to adjust her eyes, ignoring the other guard who was yelling at her to get up.
Once she could finally focus, everything else faded around her. At that moment she and Ramtin were the only two people in the world. Her heart raced but she wasn't surprised to see him there; he never surprised her. Ramtin, the cursed musician who had been her rival since the days they had played at King Khosrau II's royal court together, leaned towards her.
He lowered himself to come face to face with her.
"Looks like I win after all," he hissed through clenched teeth.
Nagissa didn't waste her breath. Instead she reached for his face. Whether she reached for a final touch or if she actually believed she could do something to defend herself, not even she knew. But if only she could reach past that stone barrier... He was too strong. His masquerade as one of the revolutionaries had given him access to the essence of countless prisoners with powers. He stood upright, and grabbed her arm to pull her up with him. He whispered something in her ear; his breath warm against her shivering body, but she couldn't hear.
And it didn't matter anymore...
Then, something else caught her attention. Something important enough to pull her away from his magnetism.
Below her, on the ground of the school compound that acted as headquarters for the Revolution, a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, was being led to one of the tents erected next to the main building. What Nagissa considered doing was a risk, the biggest risk she had ever taken, but in her state, she couldn't think of another option. The girl didn't appear to be slated for execution, her essence was too bright. She wasn't a witch, but it was brighter than the average person's. She was a survivor. If she was to put all her hope into one thing, she really couldn't find anything better in the dimness of her surroundings.
She manipulated her essence, making sure she gathered every last strand of it, everything that made her who she was. She hesitated briefly, wondering how it had come to that. How she could have woken from centuries of watching just in time for her demise. In time to see yet another dark era for her home, for the country that she loved. She whispered a silent prayer, though she wasn't sure to whom she uttered it, and quickly and powerfully, lest she was stopped or changed her mind, lest she thought on the consequences of her actions, she released it all into the young prisoner.
When she was brought to face the firing squad, her eyes were dead. Her shoulders slouched; she waited for the bullet to finish what had been started. She didn't remember much, only that there was no reason to live. Nothing to fight for. She just wished for death to find her. And it did.
Something is wrong. It's not just the fact that my parents have gone silent while watching television in the living room; it's something I feel in my gut. I put the bowl in the dishwasher, gent
ly, as if it is the most precious thing I own, and I make my way out of the kitchen into the living room where my parents are glued to the TV.
The images there don't make any sense. Videos of North America's biggest cities flash on the screen one by one. New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Toronto, Montreal. All in varying states of chaos.
"What's happening?"
My mother shifts her attention from the TV and I can see a tear in her eye.
"We don't know. Earthquakes and other disasters are spreading throughout the American continent. They say America is paying for its sins."
If this is indeed a time of reckoning, I have no doubt our country won't fare better. America doesn't hold a monopoly on sins.
The nudge of apprehension in my stomach expands. I'm nauseous. There is something wrong with the very air in this room. I eye the chandelier situated directly above Maman and Bijan's armchairs. Is it trembling? No, everything is still. It's just my nerves. But something is happening; I can feel it coiled in the air around me.
"We have to take cover." In the silent room, my shouting takes on a surreal quality. Bijan turns towards me and pushes his glasses back up on his nose.
"There is no need to worry, Nakissa jan."
A new special bulletin comes on and interrupts his argument. On the television, more images flash. This time we see London, Paris, Moscow.
While Maman starts praying (since when does she pray?), Bijan pretends he didn't see anything unusual and continues reassuring me. "Iran rests on a different tectonic plate than –"
I don't wait for him to finish. I can't claim to know as much about earthquakes as my stepfather – a geologist who works for an oil company – but I'm pretty sure that America and Europe aren't on the same plate either. And besides, there is this ticking clock inside my head and it's telling me we have to take cover. Now.
"Please," I beg. "Please listen to me. We need to take cover." My voice raises in panic and they take notice.
"Where's Ebi?" I ask, finally remembering my half-brother.
I don’t know if she’s just humoring me, but Maman stands up and calls him. There is no answer. No surprise since Ebi spends his evenings playing video games with a headset blasting the violent sounds into his skull.
"Get Ebi! We'll take cover under the dining room table." Bijan barks the order like an army general, and proceeds to crawl under our solid mahogany shelter. A moment later, I follow him. Maman reappears into the room pushing a very confused Ebi in front of her. He rolls his eyes but he crawls towards us.
Just as Maman crouches to join us, the shaking begins. The sound is what really gets to me at first. I expected the low rumble, but the metallic whining reminds me of fingernails on a chalkboard and sets my nerves on edge. And then the sound is the last thing on my mind. I open my mouth to scream out a warning, but though everything is moving in slow motion, it's already too late and Maman doesn’t get the chance to make it to the safety of our imported dining table before the bookshelf comes down to crush her.
The car cut a corner too tightly and before I knew it, I was practically leaning on her. Our proximity made me uncomfortable. It's not her that I want, I repeated to myself for the hundredth time since I found out the truth about her.
"Careful! Are you trying to kill us?" I ask.
She jerked the car around even rougher.
"No, it's trying to kill us." Her teeth clenched and she released her tight grip on the steering wheel to point in the general direction of the monster chasing us. "What I'm trying to do is drive your sorry butt to the airport so you can abandon us... leave us with this mess."
Aude has always been melodramatic. I guess this is what drew me to her in the first place and what made us fight so much afterwards. I hated to admit it, but I always preferred the drama centered on me. Being around her was insufferable, not only because she reminded me of Marguerite, though this, I had to admit, was one of the leading factors, but because she was... well, Aude.
"It's just a small rock demon. I could get rid of it in minutes, if I didn't have a flight to catch."
"You can't do anything without my help! And if you hadn't spent so long getting ready, we wouldn't have to rush like this."
This is why I had to leave. When her presence didn't tear my heart and burn my soul, she just irritated me. That Ramtin had texted her and provided us with a good lead almost on the other side of the world, well, that was just good fortune. I just hated how long we had had to wait to act on it.
Immediately after the Mohawk prophecy of the seventh generation had been set in motion, though earthquakes heavily damaged Montreal, we felt like we still could get events under our control. Rivers burning, birds falling from the sky, rock monsters, nothing we couldn't handle. But it didn't take long for us to realize the problems went beyond just a small prophecy, beyond just our city, country, or even continent. That's when I started getting antsy.
Aude swerved the car again in a manner that made me feel like I would lose my lunch, and then slammed on the brakes.
"We're going to have to fight it," she said through clenched teeth.
We were on a small side road, one of those shortcuts she favored. The ones that normally resulted in getting lost. She already had her seatbelt off and her door opened. That was Aude for you, when she felt in her element. She liked to take control, and these days fighting supernatural creatures were as much her elements as playing in her band.
I knew the drill. I had to keep it distracted. Keep it away from her. She could drain its essence and turn it into dust, but that took too much concentration. She needed me to run interference.
I ran up to the creature and attempted to punch it in the stomach. The impact sent a wave of pain burning a path from my fist to my elbow.
"Ow!"
Aude rolled her eyes. "Come on, Garnier! Don't be stupid about this. Shift!" She sent me a wave of essence, the life energy she could control as a witch, as if to cement her point. But it hadn't been lack of essence that had made me hesitate about shifting. Truth be told, I was rather attached to the dashing designer outfit I was wearing.
"There's just no point owning any nice clothing when you're a Gargoyle!" I caught her eye roll before I shifted.
In my live rock monster form, my muscles burned with energy. I could take on the world, I could… I didn't have time finish the thought before a great big rock fist smashed into my side. Pain seared through me and cut my breath short. I needed to concentrate. I jumped at him, aiming directly for his chest and knocked him to the ground, but he shook me off and stood back up. I circled him, pulled back to get better momentum and jumped again. Except this time I hit nothing but air. The stone monster had crumbed into sand and small rubble.
Aude cocked her head, and rubbed her hands on her faded hole-ridden skinny jeans. "Come on, you'll miss your flight. And I don't have all night either. Guillaume and I have band practice tonight."
She threw the set of spare clothing I keep in a paper bag in the car trunk in my direction and slid into the driver's seat. I quickly shifted back, slipped on the clothes and joined her.
I checked the car clock. "Not going to make it."
"We'll see about that." Aude stepped on the accelerator.
"I don't think buying you a car was Guillaume's smartest idea."
"I don't think you heading off to Iran without even a witch to help you deal with rock monsters is a very good idea either!"
I softened. There had been so much tension between us lately. From what some had dubbed the apocalypse-in-progress to Aude's often difficult personality and the memories she brought back about her great-aunt Marguerite, we had been getting along less and less well. What started as teasing would get her on the defensive and we’d argue. All. The. Time. But, under it all, Aude was a friend – family, really – and she was really worried about me.
"I'll be all right."
"You better be."
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll beat you up.” She grinned.
I hugged Aude goodbye and started the now even stricter process of getting through airport security. Measures put in place since the world-wide-state-of-emergency.
The excitement hit me. I was heading off to a land full of history and memories. I was setting off on my own, independent for the first time in centuries.
Freedom.
Leyli chain smokes her third cigarette while fiddling with the car stereo. The Tehran traffic is at a standstill so we aren't going anywhere. She discovers an old favorite European song on her playlist and sings along. Her bright pink headscarf, which covers maybe two centimeters of her hair, matches her lipstick shade for shade. Huge sunglasses hide her eyes, but I can guess she's probably wearing her blue contacts. She's my best friend and I love her dearly our priorities are so different. Leyli would never risk going to the hospital without looking her best. There are young doctors there after all.
Between songs she turns to me – I think the traffic may have moved forward a few centimeters by now – and places her hand on my shoulder.
"It will be nice to have her back home."
I nod in agreement.
Maman's legs were in a horrible state after she was crushed by that bookshelf. There were fears she would never walk again. But a few expensive surgeries later, she is finally coming home.
"Bijan warned me that I'll still have my share of responsibilities, though. Maman will need a lot of help at the beginning."
Leyli nods absent-mindedly and tugs at a strand of hair, releasing it from the veil. I scan the cars around us until I see what caught her attention. About two car-lengths back, a BMW whose passengers look like university students, also idles.