Gone for a Spin (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 16)

by J. Naomi Ay

  The Two Moons of Rehnor

  Book 16

  Gone for a Spin

  By

  J. Naomi Ay

  Published by Ayzenberg, Inc

  Copyright 2014-2016 Ayzenberg, Inc.

  310116

  Cover design by Amy Jambor

  Cover Art by algolonline/depositphotos.com

  Also by J. Naomi Ay

  The Two Moons of Rehnor series

  The Boy who Lit up the Sky (Book 1)

  My Enemy's Son (Book 2)

  Of Blood and Angels (Book 3)

  Firestone Rings (Book 4)

  The Days of the Golden Moons (Book 5)

  Golden's Quest (Book 6)

  Metamorphosis (Book 7)

  The Choice (Book 8)

  Treasure Hunt (Book 9)

  Space Chase (Book 10)

  Imperial Masquerade (Book 11)

  Rivalry (Book 12)

  Thirteen (Book 13)

  Betrayal (Book 14)

  Fairy Tales (Book 15)

  Gone for a Spin (Book 16)

  The Firesetter series

  A Thread of Time (Book 1)

  Amyr’s Command (Book 2)

  Three Kings (Book 3)

  Exceeding Expectations (Book 4)

  Prologue

  Senya de Kudisha was sitting in a tree. It was his favorite tree, and had always been so. He had selected this tree as such, long ago. Well, it wasn’t that long really, when one considered the vast expanse of time that he had been in existence in one form or another.

  Senya had been wandering across this planet, both on foot and in the air, surveying his surroundings and trying to get his bearings. It had been hot then, almost unbearably so, and he was quite sensitive to heat. This came from having spent a great deal of time in an extraordinarily hot place. Whilst he had been traveling, Senya didn’t entirely remember that place, or the other places which were much better.

  Now, he did. Now, he recalled everything for better, or for worse. Today, as he sat reflecting on his relatively long, and relatively difficult life, he wasn’t certain which he preferred to be; blissfully innocent, or knowing all there was to know.

  When Senya first found this tree, a gentle breeze was flowing in from the sea, ruffling the leaves with cool, mildly moist air. A small patch of grass was growing beneath it, colored in a dark green hue from the delicious shade, while the remnants of a tiny waterfall mellifluously trickled nearby.

  At that moment, Senya decided, this was a perfect place to perch, as in addition to the delightful landscape, the little forest was well stocked with fresh game. The sea swelled with schools of fish, glowing in a thousand different shades, although that tiny bit of radioactivity never bothered him. In fact, he thought the meat a bit tastier because of it, and that minor dose of radioactive isotopes was rather helpful in annihilating common viruses and germs.

  The eagle pair, who had previously owned this territory, weren’t overly thrilled by Senya’s intrusion, not that they had a choice in the matter. In fact, the male was quite put out, enough to lodge a formidable protest, which ended quickly with the bloke’s untimely and violent death. The female, however, had wanted to stay on. In fact, she was busily twisting in the air, and dancing on the wind. To a raptor other than Senya, this might have been impossible to resist, but the young man’s mind and heart were already taken, and so the lass was forced to take her feathers and move on.

  Senya was preoccupied, in any case, as he was planning what to build and where to build it. He had decided this almost barren little plot of land would be where he settled down. The house would go over here. There would be gardens in the front and back, and a whole new forest would arise from the meadow going north.

  At the beach, he would build a long dock because the woman would want to have a boat. Over there, she’d want to plant a garden of vegetables and flowers. Behind the house, sheltered by the wind, he’d plant fruit trees, and build her a gazebo. On tepid nights, they’d stay out late, rocking lazily in the gazebo’s swing. He knew everything she would desire, as he knew her mind and soul even better than she knew herself. Perhaps, he knew her heart more intimately than he knew his own.

  In the house, he imagined a large kitchen that was always warm, and smelled of sweets, and warm butter on freshly baked bread. His wife would like to create things in pots and pans, and force him to eat them for his meals. Some of them were quite tasty, while others, not so much. Never would he admit that to her though.

  The bedroom would have an enormous bed, even though she would sleep cuddled to his side. Always, she’d throw a hand upon his back as if to hold him down, to keep him from flying away, something he had been known to do on occasion. She would wrap the two of them in thick blankets, for she was cold whenever he was hot, but he would toss them on the floor, their weight confining and oppressive, especially to his feet. However, sometime in the middle of the night, she would retrieve them all again, and Senya would wake to find himself entombed, lest the cold bring about a sneeze.

  As Senya sat in this same tree remembering these long ago thoughts and calculations, he wondered how he could have been so terribly wrong. Everything he had done, everything he had created had turned out for the worse. By and large, this life had been a complete and colossal mess.

  The problem with being who he was, Senya decided, as he helped himself to another drink from the bottle of vodka held tightly in his hand, was he had no one with whom he could speak to. There simply was no one on the same level with whom he might confide. Neither was there a shoulder upon which he could lay his head and cry.

  Not that he intended to cry. No, Senya was not the crying type. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever crying in this life. Well, come to think of it, actually, there might have once been a tear or two. His wife had a tendency to bring out the worst in him. Surely, there had been a moment when she had reduced him to a bumbling mess.

  Yes, now that he thought on it, once or twice, he might have lost his composure, and broken down. Maybe thrice, but definitely no more than that. After which, he probably gathered his wits, and roared with anger, stomped about, destroyed a building, and executed a couple of fools, maybe more. He might have caused horrific changes in the weather, or rocked a planet, such that the gravitational field was briefly knocked askew. He seemed to recall that happening from time to time.

  Senya took another pull on the bottle, noting the dismaying lack of liquid left. He was only slightly drunk, still feeling everything like proverbial thorns in his side, and in his feet.

  In fact, despite finishing every last drop, licking the top, and shaking any remaining molecules from the bottom, Senya felt as if he required far more booze.

  The clarity of his perception was only slightly dimmed by now. The sounds around him not yet muted. The prickling of his skin not nearly numb enough. That ever-present ache inside his soul was as painful as blade tearing across his gut. He ought to know. He had a felt that sensation more than once.

  “Kari-fa!” he swore, tossing the empty bottle down, pausing to listen as it fell into the brush. It took exactly three and one quarter seconds, a fraction slower than it should have done, as the wind had seized upon it, blowing it slightly off course.

  Did he want another? He wasn’t certain. All he knew was he needed something else to achieve the desired effect of complete and total intoxication. Would he rather have Horkin, or something stronger? There were all sorts of new drugs for sale on the streets of Old Mishnah. This was his legacy, a populace of useless, shattered addicts empty of all hope.

  A pity this, Senya thought, stretching out on the limb, surprised that he cared so little for his p
eople’s demise. He was completely apathetic to their plight, indifferent to their sufferings and sorrows. He, who had always safeguarded those foolish creatures, and been their champion against Evil, cared not a whit what happened to them now.

  It was growing dark, and a slight chill was in the air. Senya took a long drag on his cig, feeling the warmth as it flowed into his lungs. It filled every bronchi and bronchiole with the familiar scent of burned tobacco, and when he exhaled, it made a cloud that briefly obscured his ethereal glow.

  It was a tragedy really, but then again, what wasn't tragic? How often did life turn out exactly as one hoped? After all this time, after everything he had done again and again, from one century to the next, mankind was still little changed from the lesser primates.

  However, that didn't excuse his poor performance, nor solve the dilemma before him now. Having failed yet again in his assignment, there would be no reward. There would only be another task, another attempt to bring about the Heavenly Age in yet another universe of time and space. Unless, by some miracle, he could bring it about here. Could he reverse the course, and change the tide once again?

  "Kari-fa," he swore. "There is simply no chance of that occurring." He had used up his allotment of miracles too many times before.

  Instead, he took another long pull on his cig, deciding he might be Sisyphus, who for all eternity was condemned to push a giant boulder up a hill. Each day it grew heavier still, and never would he reach the top. Never would Senya attain that Heavenly Nirvana, unless…unless he could devise a way to turn it all around. Certainly, his mortal sons couldn’t do it. Good men they were, but not particularly inspiring. Could there be someone else with a competent heart, soul, and mind?

  The wind gusted then, ruffling the tops of the trees, as the Rozarian moon began its passage through the night time sky. Senya could feel the slight warmth of the hidden sun's reflection on the moon's face. From this he knew that only a few hours remained until the new dawn broke, and another pointless day would begin.

  "Would that I might end this," he said to himself, and to Anyone who cared to listen. "Even if I should have to return again, I would leave this now."

  It was then that he heard a voice, carried by the wind, and whistling through the trees, a voice he hadn’t heard in longer than he could remember.

  “Senya?” she called. “Senya, where are you? Are you here? Come down. I’m back. I’m home.”

  At first his heart leapt with anticipation, his pulse raced, and his blood soared, before he realized the voice came not from within this time. He wasn’t certain if it was from the future, or a memory of the past. Did the winds blow forward or backward in his mind?

  Should he celebrate or should he mourn? Was she returning just to leave him again, or was this time the moment when she would finally stay?

  “Where are you?” he whispered, his voice like the rushing of wind through the trees. “Tell me, for without you I am merely an angel bereft of wings.”

  Chapter 1

  Katie de Kudisha, nee Golden, aka Anne Black, aka whatever name she made up on the spur of the moment, was laying on a blanket, spread on a grassy field, near a lake in the former state of Idaho. She was next to a man named Gabe, who was tall, blonde, and surprisingly handsome. He also may or may not have been her brother-in-law. That would depend if one believed he was really another Gabe, and Katie’s husband was really someone else, in addition to Sehron de Kudisha.

  In either case, Katie and Gabe had just engaged in an activity that would infuriate her husband, and rightly so, whether or not Gabe was actually his brother. In fact, this activity was so onerous, so disloyal, and so downright seditious, that should Senya find out about it, he might just explode.

  At the very least, he would eviscerate something, possibly an entire race, whichever one was on his hit list for this week. Possibly, it could be the humans who were still populating planet Earth, if only to destroy both Katie and Gabe in the process.

  However, at this particular moment, neither Katie nor Gabe were particularly concerned with the human race, as a burning spaceplane was spiralling out of the night time sky. It appeared to be heading directly for them, or rather, the nearby lake, just steps away, which was as good an option as any, when one was on the verge of being incinerated.

  “What’s that?” Katie cried, bolting upright and wagging her finger at the plunging inferno.

  “Unfortunately, it was our ride,” Gabe said with a sigh. “Jimmy’s Chariot, a craft even Spaceplane’s for Kids didn’t want. I wonder if they knew it would explode.”

  The doomed plane raced downward, flames shooting from its wings and across its hull, before dropping into the lake with a fiery splash. It hovered on the surface for a few moments, and then, tipped sideways and sank.

  “Do something!” Katie hollered. “We need to rescue them.” Quickly, she scrambled for her clothes, which were strewn randomly about the clearing, as she hadn’t been very orderly when she took them off.

  “Such as what?” Gabe asked, while somewhat reluctantly, gathering up his own clothing. “Communications. Remember? I’m not really good at anything else. Well, maybe I’m good at…well...what do you think, Cass? Not bad for a newbie, huh?”

  “So, call them!”

  Once clothed, Katie raced to the shoreline, and into the water trying gauge the depth and temperature of the lake. It was cold, and the sun had set hours ago. It would be foolish for her to swim out there, only to end up drowning herself. Although, on reflection, after realizing what she had just done with Gabe, that might actually be the best option. However, she wasn't ready to die, and considering that one or both of her purported husbands might join her in Hell, she decided it was best to stay alive as long as possible.

  Katie, having noticed a canoe and paddle boat rental place somewhere along the south side of the park, briefly considered borrowing a boat to attempt a rescue. She tried to envision how quickly she might pedal out to the crash site, and if she were to find survivors, how might she pull them aboard. A canoe wouldn’t work either, as it was far too unstable. What she need was motorboat, or a rowboat with room enough for at least four people.

  "Where are you going, Cassie?" Gabe asked, following Katie to a nearby dock, where conveniently an old rowboat sat bobbing in the water.

  "I'm searching for a boat. In the meantime, you fly out to the plane and see how many are aboard.”

  “Fly?” Gabe glanced at his cell. “I thought you said to call them. I can't do both, Cassie. I'm not that talented.”

  “Gabe! You have wings, don’t you? All of you guys do, in one form or another.”

  "Wings. Come on, wings. Where are you? Do you see anything fluffy or featherlike growing from my back?"

  “I guess you're not an eagle.” Katie hurried to the old rowboat, and began to untie the lines. "Communications would probably make you more of a parrot."

  "Good one, Cassie," Gabe chuckled, while staring skeptically down at the boat. It wasn't huge. In fact, it was downright small, but it was better than nothing, and came equipped with a couple of lifejackets and a pair of oars. “You know, Cassie, water is not really my thing.”

  "Get in, Gabe," Katie ordered, waving her hand for him to board. After which, she gave the boat a forceful shove with her foot, sending it drifting away, solely with Gabe.

  "Boating," he mused. "So many new experiences for me today. Aren't you coming?" He picked up an oar, and studied it as if it were an ancient bone, or an artifact.

  "Yes!" Katie leapt into the air, entirely certain that she would land in the boat, no matter how far away it had drifted. She had been doing this since she was a kid, leaping from the dock into her dad’s old sailboat. Never had she doubted her ability to jump and never had she feared this brief moment of flight.

  “Well done,” Gabe applauded, when she landed, briefly sending the little boat rocking to and fro. “You might already be getting your wings back. Turn around. I think I see a feather.”

  Katie reach
ed for the oars, placing them in the oarlocks before rowing with all her might.

  “Hold on,” she yelled towards the center of the lake. “We’re coming as fast as we can.”

  “Actually, we’re not,” Gabe said, matter of factly. “You’re doing well, Cass, but if you want to go faster, you ought to let me give it a try.”

  “Do it, please.” Katie thrust the oars at Gabe. “In and out as quickly as you can.”

  “Heh heh,” he chuckled. “I thought I already did that.”

  “Shut up, Gabe. You are communicating too much.”

  Eventually, they reached the center of the lake where three heads were bobbing above the water. One was clearly being held up by the other two.

  “Is he breathing?” Katie called. “Is there anyone else?”

  “No and no,” a man replied, pushing the drowned one towards the boat, allowing Gabe to reach down and heft him aboard, while the first man swam towards the dock.

  In the meantime, the third, a teenage boy climbed over the gunwale as the drowned man was laid out in the bottom of the boat. Katie checked to see if he was breathing, and was about to begin chest compressions, when the teenager attempted to push her away.

  “Let me do this,” the boy said.

  “No, I’ve got this,” Katie replied.

  "Let me," the teenager insisted, shoving Katie aside.

  “I can do it,” Katie snapped, pushing the boy as forcefully as he did her.

  “It’s mine,” he replied, knocking her against a bench.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Katie protested, trying to rise in the rocking boat, while the boy held his hands above the dead man's chest.

  “Let him, Cassie," Gabe said, resuming his rowing at a leisurely pace. "That’s his thing, just like mine is Communications."