The Watcher Key (Descendants of Light Book 1)

by Troy Hooker

  These thoughts made Sam question everything he had grown up believing now that he had seen Lior. What was the purpose of even going back to school if there was a celestial battle between good and evil that he was now a part of?

  But he was just a boy from Grand Rapids, with a workaholic father and a drunk mother, not a prophet, or a leader of the Darkness, or anything.

  Why did they choose him? They knew of Julian because of the journal, but how would they know about the old lady Wrenge? And who could have told them about Sam’s dreams?

  Hundreds of thoughts flooded his mind, and doubt overcame him. With these questions, the spy within Lior could be anybody, including those he knew well, like Mr. Sterling, or Miss Karpatch, or even Gus.

  He had forget about it. It would drive him crazy, and before long he would find something to accuse everyone about. Trust was not something he had ever really mastered, and to allow these thoughts would mean to destroy any trust he had built for these people who had loved and cared for him.

  But doubt about his past still plagued him, and he fought with the idea that he would never truly become a Descendant of the Light, that he would be forced to live outside of the City, never to return home, and never to be with his friends.

  Yet something happened in the forest with Arazel. He had found his gift of Light somewhere within, somewhere between emotions of fearlessness, anger, and determination. It gave him a confidence he couldn’t understand, one that made him wonder if there was another person hidden inside of him, one who didn’t even understand himself.

  Although the incident was foggy now, he remembered producing an intense bolt he couldn’t control, nor could he produce it again if he tried. It was more intense than any Light manipulation he had seen since coming to Lior, perhaps even more intense than that of the Sons during their epic battle with Arazel. Thinking of it made his heart beat more loudly, like a silent drum in the night. He knew the feeling it had taken to produce the bolt, and it was born out of a deep desire to protect his friends. They were his family, and seeing them hurt drew out something powerful hidden within. He couldn’t help but think that only a true Descendant of Light would feel that way.

  He knew sleep would not come easily for him again tonight, but he attempted it nonetheless. No doubt the household would be awake early tomorrow, with a grand breakfast and the Sterlings, Miss Karpatch, and others wanting to know more about their journey. Mrs. Sterling would likely take them to the healer, and would want to wash their clothes and make sure they were properly cared for. It would be a long day, and without sleep, it would be miserable, even if it was meant to be relaxing.

  He drifted off somewhere between thinking about watching the Lazuli creatures in the pools outside the Old City and shooting through the sky on the cloud with the Sons of Light. It was almost as if the entirety of the last few days could have been summed up as one crazy dream, but he knew it was much more than that now.

  ***********************

  Gus and Sam awakened to the sound of bacon crackling in a pan and the smell of fresh coffee wafting throughout the house. They jumped up from bed like kids on Christmas morning, hurrying down the steps to get a cup of coffee and snatch a stray biscuit before the rest of the house could empty the first pot.

  Mrs. Sterling was in the kitchen throwing dough onto a flowered pan when Sam and Gus walked through with their cups. She wasn’t a large woman by any means, but she could surely fatten a person up from the size of the feasts she whipped up. Both boys greeted her and hugged her tightly just as Mr. Sterling came in the door, his face as white as a ghost.

  Mr. Sterling filled up his cup with coffee, and then immediately asked the boys to join him in the living room. They obeyed, Sam sitting in the chair that overlooked the sea, while Mr. Sterling sat opposite him, and Gus on his left. At first, he didn’t say anything, just stared out the window at the mist rolling in to the shore. Then he stole a quick glance out both windows and leaned in to Sam.

  “We have an issue we need to discuss,” he told them.

  Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, even though he knew he shouldn’t be afraid of Mr. Sterling by now. After facing Arazel, he should have been ready for anything. But because Mr. Sterling was Emma’s father, Sam still felt the nerves working hard.

  “I have some unfortunate news,” he started, his eyes still darting around the room as if looking for someone that might hear them. Sam was fearing the worst, and a knot grew in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he could just tell him he didn’t want to know. But then again, not knowing could be even worse.

  “The Council has petitioned to see us, you and I, in a full session,” Mr. Sterling said quietly to Sam. “While I have done my best to reason with them, after an incident that occurred this week with Opus Wrenge, they are growing concerned about the validity surrounding the legend and the Prophecy.”

  Old Wrenge again, he thought. Why does this woman haunt him continually?

  “Why would they ever listen to her?” he interrupted.

  Mr. Sterling sighed.

  “Because she was the one that correctly predicted the attack on the Old City.”

  “Wow,” Gus whistled. “She knew it was going to happen?”

  “Yes. She tried to warn them, but to no avail,” Mr. Sterling smiled. “I know you four were there the night she appeared at the City gate.”

  Gus looked at the floor.

  “Mr. Sterling, I’m sor—”

  “No reason to worry, Gus. I had a feeling you all would follow me after rushing out that night past you,” Mr. Sterling smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Actually, I was glad you were there, so you could hear it for yourselves.”

  “Sir?” Gus finally looked up from the ground.

  “Because I believe time is short, for all of us. And for Lior. We need people on our side to help sway as many as we can away from believing the lies that are all around us.”

  “You think Wrenge is lying?”

  Mr. Sterling shook his head.

  “I didn’t quite say that,” he said, holding up a finger, “but the first thing we must understand is that the enemy—the Dark One himself—would have us believe anything other than the truth. We must weigh, discern, study everything, not give into every notion that comes our way. This is true with the Legend, and even the Prophecy as well. While we believe there may be something to the Prophecy, there are still those that would seek to twist it into something else.”

  “Mr. Sterling, there hasn’t been a true prophet for a long time. How can we know when one is from the Creator?”

  Mr. Sterling smiled.

  “We have the most powerful resource of all—the Word of the Creator Himself to tell us that.”

  “The scrolls,” Gus said quietly.

  “Yes,” Mr. Sterling nodded compassionately. “We must continue to study them, and pray the Creator shows us what to believe about what is to come.”

  Both boys were silent. They knew what Mr. Sterling was telling them was the best course of action. Many living in Lior, not to mention much of the Council, were headlong into the Legend or the Prophecy. While there could be truth in both, they could be completely false as well, fabricated for the very purpose of leading people astray. A sinister plot it was, and all you had to do was put a spin on the truth.

  Mr. Sterling lowered his voice, leaning in so Sam and Gus could hear him clearly.

  “Even though the Stone is lost, I believe we still have a case to make to the Council tomorrow about the growth of the Darkness, as well as your descendancy, Sam. You will be with me, of course, but it will be an official Council meeting, so they will be asking questions that may be quite difficult—”

  “I’m not afraid, Mr. Sterling.”

  “Good,” he smiled.

  “Mr. Sterling, do you believe I am supposed to be part of the Dark One’s plans?” The words soun
ded odd, but they were necessary.

  Mr. Sterling turned suddenly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Absolutely not. I believe in the sovereignty and goodness of the Creator. He would never use a boy striving for good to become a harbinger of Darkness. And you would do good to trust that.”

  As the words sunk in, the dining room of the cabin seemed to fill up with people from the cabin circle, many of them welcoming them back quietly from their journey to the Old City. Quickly it became clear that, unknown to Sam, Gus, Emma, and Lillia, many of them had been in on the planning all along.

  Mr. Sterling was quick to shield anyone from invading Sam’s space, as he knew he would need some time to consider their conversation and impending Council meeting. Knowing there would be no one to interrupt them, Mr. Sterling smiled and pointed him into a chair next to his daughter, who, even after sleeping in, looked as though she could still win a beauty contest.

  Although the breakfast was one of Mrs. Sterling’s finest spreads, Sam had lost his appetite after the conversation. He did his best to eat what he could, but the eggs and chocolate gravy and biscuits tasted like sponges to him. Even the coffee tasted like hot ink sliding down his throat.

  After breakfast, Sam quickly excused himself and went upstairs, trying not to give the impression that anything was wrong. It seemed as though he succeeded, because the rest of them stayed at the table for nearly an hour, joking around and talking as he slipped out of his silky pajamas and into a clean pair of jeans sitting on his bunk.

  He just needed rest … and to sort this all out. So many beliefs in all sorts of ideas, just like the world he knew back home. Somehow he had hoped this world would be better, that it would have it figured out, but Lior seemed to have just as many problems as Creation did. Maybe more.

  But there was no going back, no forgetting. He needed to see this through, to discover who he was.

  Sam turned over his palm and closed his eyes. Concentrating on the same Light he had felt when going through the arch or riding the Ruach, he focused on his palm, gently calling the Light through his body to his fingertips.

  He opened his eyes and saw the blue orb pulsing softly in his open hand. He watched as it flowed as if it had life, or as if something was directing its every move. It glowed a beautiful iridescent blue, like the Lazuli that was everywhere in Lior. It had an incredible quality to it—warm, and it just felt right for some reason.

  Closing his palm, his mind wandered back to the forest with Arazel. His power was different somehow. Stronger, in a sense, and filled with raw anger. It was as though driven by some unmistakable surge of passion. In a sense, it was not unlike the way Sam felt inside when he fought him, sending a blinding bolt of Light straight at the man who had incapacitated his friends. It came from deep within, as a monster that hid just below the surface waiting to emerge, just like the giant deformed crocodile in the swamp.

  He considered slipping out and disappearing from the laughing voices downstairs to track down Arazel and the Stone. He knew it was reckless, but if there were any chance that the Dark Lords would be able to use it somehow to unite the Dark Forces, Sam would be responsible. He knew he wouldn’t last long out on his own, but he considered it anyway. Perhaps it would be best another day when the attention wasn’t so trained in his direction.

  The rest of the day Sam spent quietly reading and relaxing, allowing Mrs. Sterling to pamper them with plenty of hot coffee and ham and cheese biscuits she had topped with a honey butter glaze. At noon she rounded them up to visit Darva, the slender young healer in town, as suggested by Nibitz. She put them in a spa-like medieval bath where they soaked for nearly an hour before she led them to an indoor botanical garden lined with cots among the foliage, instructing them to lay flat on their backs to stare at the diamond colored glass dome above them. Then she went from cot to cot where she began passing her hands over their entire bodies. Every so often Sam thought he could see a whisper of Darkness drift upward from one of them, which was immediately absorbed into the dimmed Lazuli lamps around the room. For the first time since their journey into Old Lior, Sam began to relax, allowing the warm Light to penetrate him as deep as it would go.

  The next morning, Mr. Sterling was waiting for Sam when he came down dressed for breakfast. Sam had managed to keep the conversation between Mr. Sterling and him and Gus from the girls to not worry them, but it hadn’t been easy. They could tell he was acting different, but he was able to pass it off as a stomachache. He wanted to tell them. In fact, it was the first time he had wanted to tell someone how he really felt.

  Mr. Sterling knew he would be nervous about the meeting with the Council, so he had a steaming cup of coffee and a large piece of root cake in front of Sam almost as soon as he sat down. He wasn’t sure why they drank so much coffee in Lior, but today, like the other days, he welcomed it. The only other person he saw that drank as much coffee as the people here was his grandfather Amos.

  “Good morning, Sam,” Mr. Sterling sipped his coffee.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sterling,” Sam said nervously.

  Mr. Sterling smiled.

  “There is no reason to be nervous, boy. I believe this will be short and sweet,” he said. “Just leave most of the talking to me.”

  “Yes sir,” Sam said, relieved.

  While everyone else was sleeping, Mr. Sterling and Sam slipped out of the cabin and walked down the morning mist-covered pathway to the Red Hall street. The sun was just beginning to make an entrance into the interior of the City while they walked, and stores were just beginning to stir as shopkeepers began to unlock windows and open up the canopies from their carts.

  The guard, Achiam, greeted them as they entered through the Red Hall door, immediately closing it behind them. Mr. Sterling led them down the same hallway that Emma had taken him down when they were on the balcony, and then they turned and walked down the ornate wide steps into the heart of the Red Hall banquet center. The doors were closed to the center amphitheater in the middle of the four represented halls, but still the hall was open and large like Sam remembered. Somewhere below this one, Sayvon had taken him on a tour into the bowels of the City Center.

  Nerves began to creep back into his body as they approached the stairwell that led to the Council waiting area and the doors leading into the amphitheater. He wished nothing more then to be back in the boring, dysfunctional living room of his foster parents, where his foster mom was most likely pouring a shot of whiskey into her morning coffee.

  Mr. Sterling stopped at the wood door with the curious carvings etched into it and turned to Sam, holding his palm out toward him.

  “Creator, we ask you for your grace upon our Samuel as we speak to the Council, that you will cover him with your enabling power, as you have covered Lior with your great hand.”

  Sam closed his eyes, but could not focus. He, too, sent up a quick prayer to the Creator, whoever He was, asking Him to speak for him. They were hurried words, but he meant every one.

  ***********************

  The wood door opened from the inside, which meant they were prepared and waiting for them. The Council amphitheater was full of colorful robes from the four regions, and the members were separated into the Telok, Themane, Nais, and Thalo seating quarters, represented by a large ornate cloth banner above each one. Almost immediately upon entering, Sam saw a massive three-pronged arch in the center of the room, its legs extending to three points in the room. At each leg stood a different white statue, each holding an object in one hand and a torch in the other. The statue closest to them bore a tablet that resembled the Ten Commandments from the story of Moses in the Bible.

  Sam looked to the members from Thalo, their robes blending together like a sea of red. He didn’t recognize any of them, but it seemed like all of their eyes were on him as he and Mr. Sterling were led immediately to the podium in front of the High Council’s table. The nerves once again b
egan to kick in, and Sam felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple as the room grew painfully silent.

  The High Council table was filled except for one spot, in which stood an exceptionally ornate chair in the center of the others. As Mr. Sterling and Sam sat down in front of the small podium, a small door opened behind the glossy cuffs of the High Council, and an aging man in a brilliant silver robe emerged from it.

  Suddenly, the entire room stood to their feet, including Mr. Sterling, so Sam stood as well. As the Chancellor approached his seat, Sam noticed one of the High Council members taking more time than usual getting to his feet. It was a very tired-looking Talister Calpher.

  “The High Council in the name of the Creator will now convene!” called a small man in the corner of the amphitheater that Sam hadn’t even noticed, and suddenly, all three torches held by the statues surrounding the arch in the center lit simultaneously.

  As the Chancellor took his seat, the rest of the members in the room did as well and began conversing quietly amongst themselves. It was the first sound of ambient noise that Sam had heard since entering, and he welcomed anything that would take the focus off of him.

  For a moment the Chancellor seemed to stare down at the table in front of him, but then raised his head to peer down through his glasses at Mr. Sterling.

  “Jack, are you choosing to forfeit your vote in this matter by standing with the boy?” the Chancellor asked, his voice booming throughout the room.

  Jack Sterling stood and walked to the podium.

  “Yes, Chancellor, that is correct,” he said loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room. “I am here not only to vouch for this young man, but to stand with him.”

  “Very well,” the Chancellor leaned back in his chair. “Samuel James Forrester … is that your name young man?”

  So they would choose him as their first target.

  Sam tried to clear his throat but just ended up making some sort of awkward squeaking sound. He stood up and walked slowly to the podium to stand next to Mr. Sterling, who promptly put a hand on his shoulder.