“No. No, they’re not.” A rush of relief filled her lungs. Thank God, it wasn’t her little girl.
At once, a rain of guilt drowned the thought, for she was aware that, somewhere near, a mother was inconsolable.
Kindra felt the blood drain from her face, and her pulse raced. Stay professional. “Computer, the Series D design, please.” Raising her hand, she directed his attention to the holographic screen at the end of the room. “Take a look, Lieutenant. D is expected to have the ultimate life span of one hundred and sixty years.”
“Holy sh–”
A ribbon of pride teased her at his amazement. Genetic engineering had changed the course of history. GEI were the product of the twenty-first century’s California quest for cosmetic perfectionism. A perfect body, complexion, hair, eyes, and intellect became a hot commodity then. One that could be purchased–and even changed–for the right price. Including children, designer babies some called them, comprised of features chosen from an enhancement catalog. He was correct…now her people didn’t simply die. Not until the brain gave out, that is, the one thing they couldn’t clone.
At some gut level, she detested the idea that she had been created out of a fad for perfection and beauty, although she couldn’t blast the benefit of increased longevity with immunity to all known illnesses. It seemed most other people appreciated the advantage of that sort of manipulation, too. Even the Coders.
She lifted a holograph pad from the desk. Plopped it back. Information about germ lines and stem and somatic cells scrolled across the enormous display.
Kindra wrapped arms over her ribs and tapped a hidden finger against her heart. What had caused the child’s death? Had she been murdered? Or was there an undetected mistake? She forced herself not to jump to conclusions while tempering her urge to analyze. She knew what was at stake. She knew who they would blame. Her.
Evidence. That’s what she needed. No sense getting worked up without the facts. Brianna? She could only imagine how she’d feel if something happened to her child. She glanced sideways, pushing the thought aside. Lt. York Richmond studied the screen, and she studied him. His rowdy eyebrows furrowed above dark intense eyes. Short wisps of hair curled past the clean neckline of his blue shirt. She blinked and laced her fingers together.
He no doubt had too much hair–an unpleasant trait of Coders, with their unkempt shadow beards and all. Still, she wondered how his hair would feel. Soft? Springy? Coarse? A curious knot tightened in her chest.
Unfolding her arms, she jerked her attention back to the screen and the data she knew by rote. Information she’d learned at her father’s knee. Robert A-Zaika had always had time to answer her questions, always encouraged her, always had confidence in her.
On a heavy sigh, she resolved to keep her emotions in line. This wasn’t about her parents.
When the data ceased flickering over the display, York turned to her with lips upturned in an unexpected grin of…admiration? “You understand all that?” he asked.
Kindra stopped an answering smile with an abrupt nod. She forced remote dignity into her voice. “I’ll need to examine the girl, run tests, and meet with the medical examiner. But I have a petition scheduled to present to The Committee in…” She checked the clock on the table. “Oh my, ten minutes. I can’t leave until I’m finished with that.”
“What could be so important? It doesn’t bother you that a child has died?”
“Of course it does.”
“Then reschedule the meeting.”
Kindra hesitated. “It’s not that easy.”
“It would be if it were important to you.”
“Let’s put things into perspective. There’s nothing I can do for that child now. But my report could influence the quality of life of thousands in the next generation. So, you’re welcome to wait here until I’m done, or I can meet you at the morgue.”
His jaw set firm, he bit out, “I’ll wait.”
She snatched the computer key for her presentation from the desk. “Suit yourself.”
But he didn’t wait. To her irritation, he dogged her heels. At first she thought he was going to hang out in the outer office, except he stayed with her as she moved into the hall. What was with this man? She clenched her teeth in annoyance. And immediately imagined the way her father used to tap her jaw-line to break her of the habit.
On a long, slow exhale, she tried to focus on the major points of her talk and ignored Lieutenant Richmond, hoping that he’d give up and go away. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he considered her a flight risk by the way he stuck to her.
Kindra stopped outside the conference room door. An anxiety squeezed her stomach, and the knot that was her breakfast moved higher into her chest. Her heart raced faster. “You can’t go in. Wait here.”
* * *
Watch for PERFECTION coming soon!
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You met Seth in Forever at Risk
Now see him where his legacy on earth began in
Awakening Fire
The Divine Tree Guardians Series
by Larissa Emerald
Prologue
Isle of Skye, Scotland
1120 AD
The crusty old man with long ropes of coal-black hair didn’t look like an angel, but he had earned the attention of Venn and his eleven brothers. With a flick of the wrist, the angel plucked an enormous boulder into the air and dropped it on the snarling barghest, plastering the demon onto the ground.
“Guid God, that was close.” Minutes ago, he’d thought he and his brothers would all be dead as, in force, they’d fought against the barthest that had attacked them from out of nowhere. Then that angel had joined their ranks and outdone them all. With heaving breaths, Venn crouched near the fire pit and thrust his sword into the flames. As the beast’s thick, yellow blood sizzled on the metal, Venn’s brothers gathered in a loose semicircle: Njorth, Ian, Euler, Rurik, Aidan, Brandt, Colby, Graham, Dustin, Tristan, Lachlan. All alive. Bruised, bloodied, clothing clawed and shredded. But alive. Thanks be to God.
Seth, as the angel called himself, perched atop the sandstone rock, apparently fishing dirt from under his fingernails. Beneath him, the boulder flattened the malicious barghest facedown into the dirt, limbs and head protruding, far larger than the biggest dog Venn had ever seen. A foul odor of rotten eggs permeated the air as the thing fought mightily against the stone’s weight. The barghest scored the earth with four-inch claws, flashed fangs the length of swords, and snarled.
Venn coughed at the stench, then winced as a biting pain seized his rib.
“Finish off the monster,” Njorth, the eldest brother, demanded.
“Nay.” Seth breathed deeply. His wings expanded and retracted in time with each inhalation. “Io will not die this day. My brother is cast into a net by his own feet.” With one hand reaching skyward, he summoned a somewhat smaller boulder at cliff’s edge, which he dropped on the barghest’s protruding head. “That may silence him for a while.”
The rasp in the angel’s voice brought to mind wheels catching on rough ground. “’Tis said that each man’s future is written before it occurs.” Seth passed his perceptive gaze over the brothers. When he came to Venn, his expression darkened, his eyes narrowed. “And ’tis true. Well, partially so. Occasional exceptions have been known to alter one’s course. Brothers, you have been chosen.”
Venn stood, met the angel’s piercing blue stare, and sheathed his sword. A biting wind scurried along the embankment at his back, then shot out over the cliff to meet the riotous waves, enhancing the swirl and shift of the late-morning fog.
The brothers were border guards, protecting their kin against skirmishes and raiding. Venn had been the last invited to this gathering, most likely due to his fierce disbelief in angels.
Not anymore.
“The two prime virtues ascribed to Highlanders are
fidelity and courage. This day thou art offered a great challenge to draw on both of these merits.” Seth glanced to the enormous tree several rods from the brothers as he circled his hand upward in a dramatic flourish.
The undercurrent in the air changed, foretelling an approaching storm. The ground shook with an intensity that sent Venn tumbling to the dirt. He rolled sideways to avoid the fire but still fell close enough to it to singe his hair. The pungent burned smell pinched his nose. He staggered to his feet.
As he got his bearings and raised his head, a tremendous sound akin to a ship splitting in half thundered painfully through his ears and chest. The tree rose, uprooted like God himself had reached down and plucked it from the earth. Soil and rocks dropped away, and Venn shifted his stance, muscles tensed, as his fight-or-flight instinct warred within.
Suspended in midair a furlong overhead, the tree began to rotate. Agonizingly slow, at first, then faster and faster, gaining momentum. Clumps of earth flew from the roots as a rain of rock and mud pelted the ground. Within the space of a few breaths, the oak created a whirl of limbs and branches, and leaves peeled away. Venn recoiled, shielding his eyes, as a burst of white light and a deafening boom pummeled them all. He glanced up in time to glimpse the trunk splintering apart, chunks of tree launching skyward and soaring across the land in every direction.
And then it was gone.
The maelstrom was over as quickly as it had begun, and twelve forked sticks dropped at Seth’s feet. Venn cursed under his breath and palmed his bearded face. What had they just witnessed?
He sprinted toward Njorth and clasped his elder brother’s arm, ready to drag him away from the alleged angel.
Seth shot him a reproachful glare, then knelt to retrieve the sticks. “Peace!” He tossed one to each of the twelve brothers, saving Venn for last.
Venn had not intended to comply with the angel’s bidding, but he caught the stick instinctively. As soon as his hand closed around the rough wood, an odd burning sensation spread under his skin, followed by pain slicing through him from neck to groin.
What had the angel done?
A pleased, knowing smile broke across Seth’s face as spasms continued twisting in Venn’s chest. He groaned, hearing his brothers do the same. He turned to find their heads thrown back, their arms spread wide, all seeming to be experiencing the same horror he was.
The sequence coursed through Venn three agonizing times. When the fit subsided, he gasped airless pants as if he’d raced across several deep furrows.
Seth’s smile vanished. “For every honest man bent to the purpose of noble deeds, there are thousands driven by greed, lust, revenge, and power. Hundreds vying for the secrets of youth, the secrets of the universe, the secrets to manipulating time and space. Men whose misplaced allegiance increases evil.”
Venn balanced the stick in his palm and tested its weight, curiosity replacing his agony. Oddly heavy, it felt like part of him, an extension of his arm.
“The Divine Tree has splintered and will take root in new domains. Thou hast been given a divining rod to direct you to your tree. As Immortal Guardians, you are to protect that tree and its secrets with your life. But most importantly…do not allow the Dark Realm entry into the tree. And if your tree dies, so shall you. And all of humanity will suffer the consequences for the loss of its knowledge. Go, and be well.”
As if that explained everything, Seth disintegrated into shimmering particles that faded to nothing.
“Wait,” Venn called. Immortal Guardians? Tales of Odin and Yggdrasill and the Christian uprising vied in a mist of confusion.
Why would Venn and his brothers be called to guard anything? Seth must be mad.
Venn tossed the divining rod aside. “Firewood,” he scoffed.
When he looked up, he met his brothers’ disapproving stares as they gathered their belongings. Njorth prodded his injured thigh, where an ugly gash oozed red. He grimaced, raised and lowered his leg. Then the wound dried up and closed.
His eyes widened. “Look at that. Healed.” He turned to his brothers, each of them looking in turn to see the cut now gone. He gave a small chuckle. “Oh, but it aches like hell.”
“Stop complaining,” their brother Ian grumbled.
Njorth gave Venn a hearty clap on the shoulder, a wallop meant to suffice for a long time. “This ain’t half-bad.”
They were immortal? No, it wasn’t possible.
Part of him wanted to ignore Seth’s directives as nonsense and head home, but he stole another glance at Njorth’s healed thigh. He eyed his other brothers, packed and ready, each fisting their shares of the tree. He swallowed, pulling a sheepskin pouch over his shoulder as his heartbeat escalated with indecision, then slowed in resignation.
Ah, hell, brothers fought side by side. He trod toward the fire pit to retrieve his divining rod from where he’d thrown it. As he fisted the wood, a prickling force pulsed up into his arm and shoulder, the rod seeming to yank him to the east. He shook off the feeling, his attention was forced back to the barghest, whose menacing paws thrashed from beneath the boulders, announcing that its wild nature had revived.
“I can’t stand that beast,” Euler declared. He raised his sword, stepping closer to Io. “Let’s take his head and be done with him while we can.”
“No.” Seth’s booming voice crashed over them like a rolling wave.
“Hope he stays under there ’til he rots,” Njorth grumbled.
Venn backed cautiously away, a hand on his sword hilt, allowing a wide berth for the beast’s vicious claws. “Let’s go. I suggest we figure out the game rules somewhere else. Before we hav’ta yield more of our blood.”
Chapter One
Present Day
At the subterranean entrance to the Divine Tree sanctuary, Venn Hearst halted and raised his eyes to the etchings of a wolf and hawk emblazoned in the aged wood above the door, a nod to his alternate forms. Venn extended his tattooed wrist, positioning the elaborately inked tree, and the pulsing artery beneath it, below a glistening twisted root for the anointing ritual. An amber-colored drop of sap spilled over the image, then pooled and bubbled before it was absorbed into his skin, sending a sharp zing to each of his neurons before settling within the larger matching tat on his back.
The language of the universe rustled through the air. The Secrets men died to know, Guardians swore to protect, and the Dark Realms were determined to steal or destroy were housed within this sacred place.
His Divine Tree was one of the original dozen hidden around the globe. There were eleven left after the Divine Tree Guardians had lost his brother Tristan along with the Divine Tree in Germany in the mid-nineteen hundreds. The tree’s demise had caused the earth to shift on its axis ever so slightly, bringing them one step closer to Armageddon with an escalation of malevolent forces. Evil had blossomed with Hitler taking millions of lives before balance could be restored. It had been an uphill battle ever since.
Venn opened and closed his fist, considering the tattoo on his wrist. Not even one more tree could be lost.
“Benison,” the oak whispered.
“Blessings,” Venn returned. “My strength and loyalty are yours.”
With his vow, the door to the tree creaked opened, and he strode through the massive entry. He looked around the comfortable aboveground chambers and kept walking. Keeping watch wasn’t his intention this night. No, he sought the tombs within the root structure below and hoped the tree would communicate to him if something out of the ordinary was happening.
He grabbed a nearby flashlight from the alcove next to the door, flipped it on, and started along the narrow tunneled path, down a staircase that had been fashioned by twisted knots of wood and roots fused together over centuries. It wound deep into the layers of knowledge, to the catacomb of interconnected scripts, like a true, living computer.
Once in the belly, he ran a hand over an electrical switch. Battery powered lights illuminate the cave-like room in a pale glow. Venn glanced about and drew an
awed breath. Holy shit. The place had grown.
With careful steps, he moved from the tunnel into a cavern, where rough splinters jutted out of smooth swirls in the timber’s pattern, creating a golden wooden cave. He used to come down here often in the beginning, during the early years of loneliness, always expecting to discover something exceptional. Which he usually did.
He’d learned that if he pricked himself on this special wood, a series of images would fire though his brain, teaching him something new, its lessons sharper and more thorough than those of any history or science channel on TV.
Centuries ago, he’d stumbled on this cavern and its amazing phenomenon quite by accident. The power the tree gave him had become an obsession, the data exchange an addiction. He knew better than to come back again after that. But this time he had no choice, his duty demanded he use every means available to him. He was well aware of the risks and didn’t intend to overstep his limits.
Something was off-kilter in the universe, and he needed to know why. The odd weather pattern—winter when it should be spring—was an ominous sign, Venn knew, even if humans simply took it as a fluke of nature. Just as humans showed symptoms of illness, so too did the machinations of the universe. And a shift between good and evil often triggered such nasty weather patterns.
He needed to be on high alert. “Custos,” he spoke quietly to the ancient tree. “Do you know what’s going on?”
There was no answer.
Taking a seat in a worn cradle of wood, he felt the need to connect with the Divine Tree…and to his brothers. He squeezed the back of his neck. Perhaps that’s what the problem was. Not outside at all, but within him.
He felt as isolated from everything as this tree was. What was it like to house all humanity but not feel humanity?
Forever At Risk: Terror, MN Page 10