Eyes of the Eternal (Realms of Rebirth Book 1)

by G. E. White

  Eyes of the Eternal

  Book One of the Realms of Rebirth

  G. E. White

  Cover Art by Yue Wang

  ~ Prologue ~

  Arges sat in the back of the pub, nursing his gin. The place reeked of humans. He supposed that was to be expected as the place was crawling with them: playing pool or darts, chatting up one another over a drink at the bar, or sitting with their eyes closed as they listened to eighties rock pour out of the vintage jukebox.

  To the other patrons of The Fox and the Fife pub, Arges looked like any other human. His true form was hidden behind a barrier of magic, but no illusion could completely conceal his size. The result was a rather hulking figure in the eyes of the pub’s patrons. His brown hair was cropped close to his head. The matching dark eyes hid his true form’s facial abnormality.

  He sneered. Why his contact had insisted on meeting in the Second Realm was beyond him. Not only would he stink of humans by the end of the night, he had to spend time there masquerading as one of the vermin.

  True many of his kind had made this realm their home, though he could not understand how they could constantly demean themselves by wearing human forms. Speaking of his kind, his contact should have been here half an hour ago.

  His chair creaked ominously as he turned to once again survey the pub.

  He was rewarded with the sight of his sister-in-arms entering through the wooden doors, followed closely by a dark-haired man.

  Arges did not recognize him, but was intrigued by the way he wore a newspaper boy’s cap slung low over his eyes, shielding part of his face.

  The woman, catching sight of Arges, slithered up to meet him at his small table at the back of the establishment. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. The Fates had been kind to her, leaving her ageless face free from scars and other misfortunes. Her brown-black hair was piled loosely on her head, though a few wayward strands fell down around her dark green eyes to frame her light features.

  Her companion trailed behind her. He seemed younger than her. He was of Asian descent, tall and lean - no match for Arges’ intimidating size. However, the large man knew that appearances could be deceiving.

  “Arges, good to see you,” she said.

  “You as well S-”

  “Scarlet,” she interrupted.

  “Scarlet,” he echoed. “Is that what you’re calling yourself these days?”

  “For now. I think it fits, don’t you?”

  Scarlet neatly folded herself into the chair opposite the hulking man. Her lackey remained standing and silent, his attention more focused on the crowd around them.

  “I wouldn’t know, seeing as this is the first I’ve heard from you in over twenty years.” He gestured to the man behind her. “Who’s the stooge?”

  “A new business partner. He’s providing some detailed information on our targets.”

  Arges sniffed. “He’s not one of us.” Another sniff. “Not exactly human either.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he is,” she answered sharply. “I’m vouching for him. That should be enough for you and your brothers. Now I suggest we get on with it before that flimsy glamour of yours wears off and we have a panic on our hands.”

  The large man grunted. He and his brothers may not be the wisest of creatures in the realms, but he knew how to put on a simple human glamour.

  “Fine.”

  “So, did you bring it?” she asked.

  Arges pulled a duffel bag from under his chair and dropped it on the table with a loud clunk. He unzipped a small section at the top and pulled something out and tossed it to her.

  Scarlet caught it with ease and went to inspecting the item. It was a heavy metal cuff bracelet with a watch-like dial on it – only two settings were visible.

  “I take it you had no trouble getting the materials?”

  “Hephaestus hasn’t changed his scrapheap locations in centuries,” Arges explained. “He really should keep track of what he throws away.”

  The woman nodded her eyes still on the device in hand. “How many were you able to make?”

  The giant said nothing as he opened the rest of the bag, flipping over the top flap and displaying the plethora of metal cuffs.

  “Last I counted it was somewhere over sixty. I trust that will be enough?”

  Scarlet ran her finely manicured nails over the exposed merchandise. “This should do for now, though if this plan doesn’t work out I might need a bigger order.”

  Arges’ gaze trailed over the woman’s face. He knew that look, jaded yet determined. The plan she had described to him over the phone was no mere whim – it could change everything.

  “You really want to do this? Just wipe them all out? You know what this would do to the gods?”

  “Make them obsolete,” she answered.

  “That’s not all-”

  “I know what it would do!” The nails that had just been caressing his wares now dug deep into the wood of the table. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, since the last job we pulled together,” Scarlet continued.

  “The Soul Calendria?” Arges huffed. “I knew going after that scrap of paper was a mistake. What’s in it that has you so agitated?”

  “That’s none of your business; all you need to know is once this is over they will be gone and things will go back to the way they were.”

  “You do realize that the Fifth Race was here before us,” he said.

  Scarlet shrugged. “Fine, then back to the way things should have been.” She focused again on the bag before her. “I take it you and your brothers kept one for each of you?”

  “That’s a given,” the man replied. “A little insurance to make sure you don’t move ahead without us.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. I still need you.”

  “And when you don’t need us anymore?” he questioned.

  Scarlet leaned back in her chair to observe the colossal man.

  “We are of the same kind, not many of us exist anymore,” she said. “Do you honestly think I’d betray you, or your brothers?”

  “Can’t be too careful nowadays…”

  “No, I suppose you can’t. But don’t worry, if something does go wrong I’ll look after you,” she assured.

  The woman gave a jerk of her head, gesturing to her standing companion who in turn picked up the large duffle.

  Scarlet stood. “I’ll make sure these get passed on to our other… compatriots. I’ll contact you and your brothers when I need your services again.”

  Arges allowed the woman and her lackey to leave with no more than a nod of his head.

  Despite her words, he knew she was dangerous. Treachery ran in her blood, as the last man in her life could attest – or at least he could have, were he still alive.

  The stooge would be wise to be on his guard.

  As for Arges, he had his brothers to help watch his back as he would have theirs.

  Family came first.

  Scarlet and her partner exited the pub. She hissed as the spitting rain caught her in the eye. She dug into her purse, finding her sunglasses; she slipped them onto her face. The Asian man at her side opened a compact umbrella, sheltering the both of them as they strolled towards the parking lot.

  “You actually trust him?” he asked, finally breaking his silence.

  “I don’t trust anyone Victor, not even you,” she replied.

  “And yet you’re willing to work with us.”

  “I am. Only Arges and his brothers can build what I need, and so far, only you can give me access to where we need to go.”

  His dark eyes trailed over her slighter form,
narrowing, scrutinizing her, as he tried to understand her motives. “You really hate them that much?”

  “It’s not so much about hate, as it is necessity,” she answered casually. “I’ve lived much longer than you and after seeing them make the same mistakes over and over; I’ve realized that they don’t deserve this.”

  “You’ve known that for a while and have been content to do nothing. What’s changed?” he asked as they approached his car. He stepped to the passenger side and held the door open for her.

  “They tried to take my family from me,” she said, sinking into the car seat.

  Victor closed the door behind her and made his way to the other side of the car.

  Inside the vehicle, Scarlet choked out a humorless laugh. “No one steals from a daimon…”

  ~ Chapter 1 ~

  Quinn Smith never considered himself a criminal mastermind. In fact, he wasn’t a criminal by any stretch.

  To the outside world, he appeared a somewhat gangly youth of seventeen; not overly tall but slight of build. He had bright grey eyes that complimented his ash blonde hair feathered about his face, while his long slender fingers appeared to be those of an artist or pianist.

  These fingers now shook slightly as they gripped the extended paperclip he poked into the dead-bolt lock of the Ashdale Public Library.

  The building had been closed for hours, the patrons and staff long returned home.

  If asked to describe his state of mind as he turned the thin bit of metal in the old tarnished lock, Quinn would be hard pressed to find the words to articulate the compulsion he felt.

  In a way, he couldn’t even bring himself to realize what he was doing. But as stated Quinn was no criminal mastermind, nor did he have a truly criminal intent.

  It wasn’t as if he had gone out with the intent to break and enter. No, the teen had just felt restless. He had spent the past few days helping Mr. Reynolds fix up some of the classrooms at the Lakeshore Skills Centre. Finishing late he had simply planned a stroll in the quiet evening hours back to the group home where he lived.

  But the walk did nothing to relax him. With each step, he felt more on edge. If he didn’t know any better, Quinn would swear he was suffering from withdrawal.

  He found that reading had always been a balm on his frenzied mind, so when the young man had seen the sign for the library and remembered the instructional books on the second floor, this growing anxiety urged him towards the now closed building.

  His breaths coming in sharp hisses, Quinn soon felt the lock beneath his fingers give way with a faint click.

  The door swung open and the young man walked through in a daze.

  As if led by a string Quinn stumbled along across the thirty-year-old carpet to the stairs leading up to the second level overhang.

  He continued up the two flights of stairs undeterred or even aware of any security cameras or silent alarms. Reaching the instructional section, he pulled several books down, at random. His only concern was to read them; maybe then this strange compulsion would be satisfied.

  Quinn collapsed to the floor where the books now lay. Sitting in the ring of tomes he picked up the nearest one and began to read.

  This one was about home renovation and he soon became completely immersed in a world of load bearing walls, feng shui and the benefits of cork flooring. He read faster than he ever had before, but the information stuck with him, despite his fast pace. It filled him up like warm broth to a starving man.

  He turned the pages so quickly, so sharply, they would often rip under his haste.

  So absorbed in his frantic reading, he didn’t notice the blue and red flashing lights that shone through window several minutes later.

  Officer Kendry, a career cop in his mid-thirties, had been surprised to get the call from dispatch to check out the local library. The silent alarm had been triggered a few minutes ago, but the books were already free to borrow, so a burglar seemed unlikely. It was more probable that a couple of kids had broken in to vandalize the place for kicks.

  He had asked his younger partner, Officer Fields, to wait outside should anyone try to slip past him. She nodded, content to stay by the patrol car.

  He silently entered, taking time to note that the lock had not been jimmied open but picked if the unfolded paperclip jammed in the keyhole was any indication.

  "This is the police! Show yourself!" he called, his gun and flashlight drawn for safety.

  He heard the rustling of pages and a faint voice coming from upstairs; he slowly ascended. The worn wooden steps creaked and groaned with every step, though the noise didn’t stir the intruder.

  There on the second level a young man sat on the floor, dozens of books scattered around him. His lips moved slightly, as he muttered softly to himself.

  Moving to the top of the stairs Kendry swung his flashlight over the intruder. The youth did not move from his position on the floor between the large bookcase and the railing.

  "Hey kid!" the officer called. "What are you doing?"

  Still no reply.

  He cautiously approached the frantic looking young man. Seeing that the boy was no immediate threat he lowered his weapon, watching the teen flipped through the pages at an alarming speed.

  "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, his voice softening as he stepped closer. When he again received no reply, he placed a hand on the other's shoulder.

  Intently focused on the words in front of him, Quinn did not hear the Officer speaking to him. With the large book in hand, Quinn was wrapped tightly in a cocoon of knowledge and safety – the outside world barely even acknowledged. So when Kendry broke that imagined barrier and touched him, the teen was ripped back to reality with an unsettling jolt.

  Terrified and disoriented Quinn glanced up to see a shadowed figure looming over him. His reaction was instinctive. He threw out his arm, the large book still clasped in his hand, as he attempted to fend off the threatening figure.

  Surprised by the fearful cry and powerful shove; Kendry stumbled back into the old railing. The brittle wood cracked loudly as it gave way under his weight and he crashed to the lower level.

  The sound of flesh hitting hard floor snapped Quinn from his trance. He blinked away the fog from his mind as silence filled the room. He lowered his arms, realizing that what had hovered over him was gone. Chilled by the sight of the missing guardrail, he crawled to the edge and peered over.

  The officer lay flat on his back, his head lolling back and forth, pieces of the guardrail trapped underneath him. The teen stared down in horror, unable to look away or even move. His chest heaved as he tried to draw breath.

  Officer Fields entered the building moments later having heard the crash, but came up short when she saw her partner groaning on the floor. She raised her flashlight and gun to the overhang of the floor above and found herself pointing them at a young man blinking owlishly in the bright light.

  "You! Hands where I can see them," she ordered.

  Stunned, Quinn complied, raising his hands in a submissive gesture.

  Keeping her eye on the young man, the female officer raised her two-way radio to her lips, "Dispatch this is Patrol Officer Fields at Ashdale Public Library, requesting back up and a bus, I have an officer down..."

  The rest of her words blurred in Quinn’s ears as he gazed down at the fallen man. How had the night come to this?

  ~ Chapter 2 ~

  Sebastien Azeri waited with a feeling of ill ease. The sketch he had been working on lay forgotten in his lap along with his pencil, as he listened to the gentle patter of rain against the window. He wished he knew what time it was.

  He was a tanned young man with brown hair and cloudy golden eyes. Those who didn’t know him might mistake his willowy frame as weakness, though a great inner strength lay beneath his tall slender build.

  Sebastien stood, placing the sketch on the end table to his right and approached the floor-to-ceiling windows. Twenty stories below the citizens of the city stumbled through their lives l
ike children in the dark, searching for some stability.

  He knew them, all of them, who they were, where they’ve been and where they were going. He knew them from birth and would know them till death.

  Yet knowing all of this he was still humbled by the hush of his apartment and the feeling of helplessness that came with it.

  It was a cold and wet March day in the city of Toronto, Ontario. The sky had been a foggy gray since late February and today was one of the odd days when the clouds released their tears onto the city below. The busy streets seemed even more congested with the hundreds of umbrellas carried by the rushing crowds.

  Business went on as usual, appointments were made and broken, luncheons were held, money was exchanged for goods and services (some legal, some not so legal) and high above these city streets, tucked safely away in his penthouse apartment, the young man waited for his companion’s return.

  Just then Sebastien heard muffled curses as someone struggled to unlock his door. He tensed, the small hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he waited for whoever fought with the lock on the opposing side.

  The door flew open slamming against the sidewall.There was a huff of irritation before he heard a familiar voice say, “Who the hell drives a car in the city?”

  Sebastien let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He should have known it was her; he always knew. So what was changing?

  “Commuters,” Sebastian said answering his companions question. “But I’m guessing that’s not what you meant,” he continued, his Spanish drawl creeping into his voice.

  The woman, Surina Malik gave an irritated cluck of her tongue, “Traffic jam stalled the streetcar for over thirty minutes – decided to walk the last five blocks, obviously, that was a mistake.” She wrung the excessive rainwater from her soaked dark hair to illustrate her point,

  “I warned you to take an umbrella, Surina,” he replied, as he heard her kick off her boots.