Disclaimer
Names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Rayne W. Grath
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-7336714-0-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-7336714-0-8
Author’s Note
The journey of becoming a writer was long and arduous. A little back story; I am a trained and licensed Clinical Laboratory Scientist, seeing as creative writing wasn’t exactly an elective in my degree, I questioned my ability and training to the point of never trying. I spoke of my dream to my husband over a decade ago and he purchased a journal and encouraged me to write down my ideas.
Over the years when I would complain about my job, his response would be, “Where’s your book?” Of course, at the time I didn’t want to hear that answer, but in the end, it was exactly what I needed. This book is dedicated to my husband, for his never ending support, love, candles, and chocolate as well as designing my website: www.RayneGrath.com.
To all of you reading this book and making my dream of becoming an author a reality, I can’t thank you enough!
Prologue
12,000 Years Ago
Th’ael stumbled down the hallway as he grasped his stomach trying to prevent his insides from spilling out. He needed to get to the ARC before his energy depleted. He sent out a weak image of his intention to his son Ni’al and felt a renewed energy when his offspring responded telepathically that he would be along shortly. Th’ael used the wall as a support and inched closer to the crystal chambers as the chaos of others scrambling to escape the uprising filled the cavern behind him.
Thad’gar and a few of his conspirators had launched an attack with thousands of Thrall, armed with helmets that protected them from mind invasion and wielding weapons made of Nae’derium steel from his home planet. Discouraged and overwhelmed, his people scampered off like cowards forcing Th’ael to retreat.
He cursed his brother-in-arms, Thad’gar, for catching him off guard when he attacked him on his way to the Origin, using a primitive sword instead of their more sophisticated weaponry. He looked down at the bloody hand holding his organs in place and laughed deliriously because he had the last laugh. Th’ael’s injury was serious, but he was moments away from rectifying that fact, while the defensive strike Th’ael delivered in response proved to be superior. He looked back once more, to ensure it was a fatal blow, and was satisfied to find Thad’gar in the same position. He would make sure to put his rotting body on display as a warning to future rebellions when he got out.
Rumors of the uprising came from other cities with enough time for Th’ael to warn the others, but not enough time to organize a counterattack. His brother, Rh’ael, located in At’lantis, sent notice that some of the Ah’naki claimed their half breeds as Kh’izmets, tying their souls for eternity and gave them superior power over the other royals. He had been blind to the obvious attraction the traitor, Thad’gar, secretly harbored for the Thrall named Zoya, which was a mistake he planned on rectifying as soon as Ni’al released him from his healing sleep. He would make it a personal mission to hunt down the royals who felt the Thrall, half breeds with no special powers, were more than just slaves for his people, the Ah’naki. After he was finished with them, he would erase any trace of the half breeds and leave the planet as they found it, with a primitive species barely capable of communication.
Chapter One
Aarik
"I want my Mom and Dad."
"Ah Aarik, I know you do, buddy. So do I," Uncle Jeremy says as he squats in front of me. "We'll always have them in here," as he points to his chest and then to mine. "Your mom and dad wanted you to stay with me if anything happened to them, so I need to gather your things. Is there anything special you want to bring with you?"
I shake my head as tears begin to fall. Uncle Jeremy means well, but moving from here will only make me miss them more. Uncle Jeremy ruffles my hair just like my dad used to do and I lose it. Pushing his hand from my hair, I flip around and throw my arms out to push through the screen door at a run. Landing in a puddle from the pouring rain, I lunge forward with sloshing footsteps, gaining speed. The trail is muddy and I fall to the ground, ruining my good Sunday clothes, as my mom used to call them. Although today is not Sunday, it’s Saturday and it’s the day of my parents' funeral. Uncle Jeremy says they're in heaven now, looking over me. I told him their place is here, not there.
The rain pelts at my face and arms as I race to the cave near the creek on our property, where Mom, Dad, and I had many picnics over the years. Sliding down the slight incline of the rocky cave entrance, the cave that served as my room-sized fort since I was 4, I cross the length of the cave in twenty steps. Sinking to the dirt ground near the back wall, I wrap my arms around my knees.
I remember all the times my dad and I explored and gathered our treasures to hide away in my fort. Mostly pretty rocks, old sticks and driftwood that reminded me of guns, but dad always made a big show of my loot. Looking to the right of the circular cave, I could see our treasures leaning against the cave wall. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I lean my head back against the rocky wall and notice a round object slightly jutting out of the rock wall between two cracks, just above the entrance to the cave across from me.
Thinking my dad had left a treasure of some kind for me to find, I scramble to my feet in excitement. Walking to the entrance and leaning forward on my tiptoes, I wiggle it back and forth trying to pull it from the wall. Bracing my foot on the wall, I yank with all my might and land on my butt with the treasure in my hands. Turning it over in my hands, I am filled with awe and wonder.
Pulling my shirt free of my pants, I use it to clean off my find. In the low light of the cave, I can tell the object is made of gold and some kind of shiny silver metal swirling around a beautiful, deep purple gem in the middle. Running my fingers along the surface, the metal feels layered, like the outside shell of a roly poly bug, giving it a scale-like texture. The outside rim is engraved with symbols, or writing of some type, and the rounded edge has three rectangular grooves running along the perimeter. Hearing my uncle call my name in the distance, I rise to my feet and shove the treasure into my pocket before running out to meet him.
Aarik jolted awake from his dream and grabbed for the medallion around his neck. Tracing the inscription methodically with his thumb, as a form of meditation, he tried to calm his racing heart. It had been years since he dreamed of that day; in many aspects the memory was the worst and best day of Aarik Landon's young life. The day his parents were laid to rest, and the day he found his medallion. The discovery sparked a profound love for treasure hunting and drove him to pursue a PhD in archaeology.
He felt the familiar, mild, flash of guilt for keeping the medallion a secret from the scientific community throughout the years, but still wasn’t willing to part with the last connection he had with his father. Growing up, he had scoured ancient texts for a clue to help him decipher the inscription on the medallion and the closest resemblance he could find was a cuneiform script from Sumeria.
His best friend, Taylor Novelle, a linguist who specialized in Sumerian text, was the first person Aarik entrusted with his secret. They met at an archaeological dig site in Montana, during an undergraduate course while attending UCB, and became instant friends. Working together on a translation with only eight characters of the alphabet had, so far, produced minimal success. Aarik had vowed to make it his life’s mission to unlock the mystery of the device.
With a glance at the clock, he jumped out of bed. That vow had been the driving force that led to today's gra
duation ceremony, being late would feel like a small failure. When he stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, his reflection confirmed his need for a shower. His sandy blonde hair looked an awful lot like Einstein in his later years, in its disheveled state. Groaning, he prepared to take the world’s quickest shower.
Aarik would be thankful to leave the tiny apartment he had leased for the last four years. It was close to the University of Berkeley’s campus, but it had many downsides besides the high rent. The shower was built for someone of a much smaller stature and width. Bending to rinse his hair, he made a deal with himself that his next apartment would fit his six and half foot structure and broad frame. His lease was up the following month and he had faith that one of the numerous copies of his resume that he had submitted would produce a lead.
Stepping out of the shower, he hurried through his morning bathroom rituals. He had just enough time to brush his hair and teeth before he rushed to his closet. He scratched at his strong, unshaven, jaw and chose his usual; comfy jeans, a brand new pair, and a tight UCB t-shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders. Turning to grab his cap and gown from the hook on the back of the closet door, he shoved his feet into his Vans, grabbed his keys, and ran out the door.
Skidding to a stop, Aarik vaulted into his 2000 Jeep Wrangler and threw his cap and gown into the passenger seat. Thankful for the warm California weather that negated the need for a top or doors, he raced to the ceremony where he was already five minutes late to meet his Uncle Jeremy. Jeremy Landon was his father's best friend from college and the obvious choice as the young man's godfather. Aarik had always called him Uncle, though he legally became his father after the car accident that killed his parents when he was nine. Growing up he gave up trying to explain their relationship and just said his uncle adopted him.
While driving, Aarik reminisced about his teenage years and, although he missed his parents daily, he was thankful his uncle was courageous enough to take on the life of a single parent.
He considered himself lucky, his parents had left just enough money when they passed to pay for his school tuition and his uncle covered his books and rent. He worked a kosher intern job at the school for food and clothes, which made it easy to focus on his studies. He hoped his parents would be proud of his career choice and looked forward to an actual income.
When he coughed up the money for his official University of Berkeley Doctoral Cap and Gown, he mourned the fact that his food bill would suffer. An age-old tradition dictated that every college had a distinct cap and gown at the PhD level that identified where you graduated from. Aarik’s gown was black with royal blue velvet chevrons and front panels with gold rope. The sleeves were striped in royal blue and lined in gold piping. The royal blue cap was puffy and reminded Aarik of a painter’s beret that made his long shaggy hair curl up at the edges when he wore it. The yoke and tam included in the regalia completed the ensemble and looked official when he tried it on.
Aarik pulled into the front entrance where he screeched to a stop and jumped out of his car. He pulled his cap and gown over his clothes, folded the tam over his arm and hurried to find his uncle in the throng of people waiting to enter the graduation ceremonies at Memorial Stadium. He spotted his uncle to the right of the entrance and tapped his shoulder when he got close enough.
“So glad you could make it, Uncle,” he said, as he leaned forward and slouched to hug his uncle.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Aarik. I’d say it's been a long time coming, but the way you skipped grades to graduate with your PhD four years early, would make it a lie,” Uncle Jeremy responded as he returned Aarik’s embrace. He pushed Aarik back and looked up at him, gripping his shoulders he said, “Your parents would have been so proud of you, son.”
“Thanks, I’m no genius but I needed to hear that. Listen, I’m running late and need to meet with my advisor before this thing gets started. Your seat can be found in the reserved center section three rows back from the stage,” said Aarik, while he nodded and pointed his head toward the stage. “You should consider yourself lucky, we only have 23 in our graduating class so this shouldn’t take as long as my other degrees,” he joked. Aarik clapped his uncle’s shoulder and left to find Dr. Ryerson.
Aarik weaved through the throng of families standing in the main aisle to the stage in search of his advisor. Dr. Peter Ryerson dressed in his PhD regalia stood out in the crowd with his white hair curled around the edges of his cap, giving him the appearance of an old time colonial, wearing one of those white wigs.
Ryerson’s exuberant attitude was often expressed in hand gestures and, as Aarik approached, he could see and hear the end of his pep talk to Amy, his far more timely classmate. “..this will all be over before you know it and then you can celebrate,” as Ryerson wiggled his eyebrows and waved his hands like he was performing magic in front of your eyes.
Aarik’s stomach rumbled and he regretted not having time for breakfast that morning. Ryerson and Amy looked his way and smirked as Ryerson pulled out a granola bar from his suit jacket pocket out from under his graduation gown and handed it to Aarik. His nickname from his classmates was Hangry Aarik, as he tended to be quite grumpy without constant sustenance. Aarik was touched his professor knew him well enough to come prepared with offerings of food.
“Professor, how’d you know I woke up late and didn't have time for breakfast? I’m touched you thought of me!” Grabbing the granola bar from his professor, he ripped open the package to stuff the morsel into his mouth.
“Ha! I did no such thing! I did this for everyone else! Hangry Aarik does not need to make an appearance on this most monumental day,” pronounced Dr. Ryerson happily. The smile that followed was enough to dull the sting of his statement.
Aarik returned a genuine smile and spoke around the food in his mouth, “It was a cwose won for shur!” Amy congratulated him and shook her head as she left to take her seat. Swallowing his food he cleared his throat and said, “Any last minute words of wisdom you wish to depart on me, oh wise one?”
“It isn't much different from all your other ceremonies, except the lovely yoke and tam that I bestow upon your neck when you get on stage. I think you would much rather hear about the men who are waiting to meet with you after you graduate, huh?” Ryerson winked and waited for Aarik’s brain to process the exciting news.
Aarik spun in all directions as he searched for men who appeared out of place and blurted, “Men, what men? For me? A job?”
“Slow down Aarik. Yes, a possible job. They approached me this morning wanting my help on a new Dolmen discovery in Washington state. In my old age, I had to decline, but they asked me for recommendations.” Tilting his head to the left, “I indicated I might have someone they could speak to today,” the Professor paused, “That is, if you’re interested?”
“Interested? That would be an understatement! When can I start!” exclaimed Aarik.
“How about you start by meeting them first. I wasn't able to get them to tell me much more than their names and a short description of the job,” replied Dr. Ryerson.
“A job is a job, and as long as it’s in my field, with an income, I’m in. My worst nightmare is to have spent this much time and money on a doctorate to be forced to take a job in something that isn't even remotely connected to the career of my choice.“ Shaking the professor’s hand, he said, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, Professor. This ceremony will be the longest one yet, as far as I’m concerned! Let’s get the show on the road, I have my first job to land!”
The ceremony lasted two hours, due to the long-winded speakers, and nearly drove Aarik mad with impatience. The granola bar he consumed earlier was long gone and he worried his lack of food would be the doom of his career. Nervous energy coursed through his veins and, combined with his hunger, had him on edge as he approached Dr. Ryerson, who was in conversation with two men in black suits on center stage. Their outfits reminded Aarik of the movie Men in Black. All
they were missing were the black sunglasses to complete the ensemble.
“Ahh, there you are, Aarik.” Ryerson waved him over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Jones and Mr. Thomas. They were just about to tell me what company they work for, weren’t you, gentlemen?” said Ryerson, pointing to each of the men in turn.
“Actually, Dr. Ryerson, our employers were very strict that only those employed are on a need-to-know basis. If you don’t mind, we would like to speak to Aarik here in private. Thank you for introducing us,” stated Jones, a tall, thin, black man with gaunt features in a firm tone that brokered no argument. He reminded Aarik of a black Adrien Brody from the movie, The Pianist, with his emaciated appearance.
Acknowledging the brush off, Dr. Ryerson shrugged and said, “I see, well I can’t say you haven’t piqued my interest, but alas, old age fits me.” Ryerson bowed slightly to the suited men, “Gentlemen.” He turned to Aarik, leaned forward and whispered, “Knock em dead!” slipping Aarik an apple behind his back. Aarik smiled as the professor walked away.
Bringing the apple to his mouth, he took a bite, swallowed the needed nourishment and turned to Mr. Jones. “My interest was snagged the moment someone said job, but now it is even more so. What’s with the secrecy? Everyone knows about the new discovery in Washington.”
A large Caucasian male stepped closer and introduced himself as Thomas in a high voice, making Aarik assume he was a steroid user. “Dr. Landon, the secrecy you so astutely picked up on is only directed toward our employer. Until we have your signed non-disclosure agreement, the only thing we are allowed to divulge is the following; we are looking for someone with your credentials to lead a team and report any findings directly to us. The job, as you so called it, is located in Washington and would come with a yearly salary of $100,000 which, as you must realize, is much higher than you will receive anywhere else with your level of experience.”
Sounds of the Forgotten Page 1