by Amy Marie
Providence
Statera Saga: Book Three
By Amy Marie
Copyright © 2018 Amy Marie
Cover design copyright © 2018 Amy Marie
Edited by Eanna Roberts, Penmanship Editing
Published 2018 by Amy Marie
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1729625323
ISBN-10: 1729625320
Thank you for downloading this e-book. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.
For Aunt Peggy
Table of Contents
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Coming Soon
Bonus Content
About the Author
Other Books By This Author
Acknowledgements
“Perhaps one day, we will meet again as characters in a different story, maybe we’ll share a lifetime then.”
-- Pavana
Introduction
Providence is the belief in which there is an extraordinary knowledge of the reminiscent past, and the omniscient foresight of things to come. This concept has been historically attributed to a higher power, or energy, and its divine intervention to preserve the souls of creation. It’s been perceived as a manifestation of constant guidance or a pre-determined fate, and its source varies with interpretation.
Prologue
1771 — Grafton Estate, Colony of Massachusetts
Gabriel can barely keep his seat in the carriage. Everything has changed.
He places his hand on the wrapped parcel in the seat next to him — his ancestor’s journal.
Richard Grafton was the original printer of the Statera. After several failed attempts to book passage back to England to research into Richard’s work, it was all Gabriel could do to write to his distant relatives and plea for anything they could share with him. It had been nearly two years before he heard back.
But he never imagined they would reply with the royal printer’s personal journal, and he never dreamed it would contain such life-changing information. Why hadn’t Richard included it in the Statera? Was this a safeguard in case the book was lost?
In any case, he knew he had to share this information with Darcy and Eleanor. Not only that, he knew he had to ensure the information was passed on, just in case. Their lives are in grave danger now. The destructor has been identified.
This new information from the journal is vital now more than ever. It includes notes on elements, hieroglyphs of a necklace and dagger gilded from the gold of Egyptian gods, and information on some sort of compass that will lead to an ancient temple.
He glances back down at the journal, half afraid of what this information really means. Egypt is a long way from the colonies. It might take half a lifetime to figure out how to fight this battle. Or perhaps it can’t be done in one lifetime. Safeguards will need to be made.
Gabriel reaches into his coat pocket and removes a rolled-up parchment. He unrolls the compressed fiber paper in his hands, reading his own writing over again in the lamplight, praying that his plea will not fall on deaf ears:
Sir Charles Thomson,
‘Tis with a dire heart I call upon you, our new leader in the pursuit of liberty. ‘Tis rumored that you will be charged as a minister of the new order if our colonies thus liberate. I, along with all other dutiful members under the tree of liberty, pray that will indeed come to pass. But today I write for another cause. As minister, you will no doubt be charged to produce a coat of arms for the nation: a great seal for official authentication. I implore you to include something with this seal: The Eye of Providence. So that we may be guided on the right path in our never-ending quest for this, our new Nation. Along with this symbol, the eye should be set upon an unfinished pyramid. ‘Tis a symbol of the ever-tending care we will need to cultivate the nation. May this new country endure as long as such ancient pyramids may stand, for ‘tis how we forge our future, by finding what we are looking for in such places of the past. This symbol must withstand the ages as sure as Providence itself. This will be a beacon to lead the way to our nation’s balance and harmony. T’will be an honor sir, to offer my services to cast such a seal for you. My experience as a master craftsman in the printing discipline have prepared me for such a feat. I hope you will consider me and my business partner, whom is a fellow Son of Liberty, to join you in this venture. My business partner, Mr. Darcy Hughes, joins me in giving our kindest compliments to you and your family, and we look ever forward to your first opportunity of reply.
Your humble servant and Brother in Sons of Liberty,
Gabriel Isaac Grafton
Gabriel rolls the parchment back up with a sigh. “I pray this will be able to endure, should the worst take place,” he mumbles to himself, holding the parchment between his praying hands.
The carriage comes to a halt and the footman opens the door. Gabriel scoops up the parcel and steps out, handing the scroll to his servant.
“I’m entrusting you to deliver this into the hands of a Mister Charles Thomson, and no one else. You will find him in Philadelphia,” he whispers to the man in the dark. With that, Gabriel turns back towards the timber and stone cottage built by his late father.
Walking up to the door, he finds it slightly ajar, the lock dangling from its place. Turning, he makes sure the carriage is well on its way before pulling out his flintlock pistol. Very slowly, he pushes the door open with the barrel of the small gun and cautiously steps into his home.
He quickly wonders if he should call out, but decides against it. Anybody who breaks a lock to get in doesn’t deserve a warning. He doesn’t get past the main room before he realizes the place has been ransacked. Printed pamphlets scatter the floor and all his furnishings have been turned out.
Only one man could have done this. No, he is no man. He is the destructor.
Brigadier General Marcus Talbot must have been looking for the Statera. Gabriel gives a small smile of self-satisfaction knowing the text is safe, hidden away with his partner.
He tucks his pistol back into its holster and moves to pick up the overturned table and light a lantern. Setting the parcel that contains the journal down, he moves back to his bedroom, pulling off his jacket.
That’s w
hen he smells it.
Gunpowder.
Turning around in panic, he stops in place as he sees a dark hooded figure in the doorway. Looking around the room in fear, he now realizes there are barrels of the explosive thrown into the mess of his ransacked belongings.
The destructor raises his arms and removes the cloaking hood. Gabriel is more than shocked to see a young native man, maybe in his late teens or early twenties, hiding under the robe.
“I am sorry, messenger,” the young man says in broken English.
Gabriel screams without realizing and dives toward the robed figure, but it’s too late. The young man stretches out his hand toward the lamp light and with a glowing palm, the fire is pulled out of the lamp into the grasp of his hand. He holds the glowing ball of fire just long enough for Gabriel to grab the parcel and hug it to his chest.
With one last look of despair, he meets the eyes of the young fire handler and says, “Please…”
The young man cuts him off, throwing the ball of fire towards the nearest barrel. It only takes seconds for the sound of the explosion to catch up with the engulfment of the cottage, but that earth-shattering boom was the last sound Gabriel would ever hear.
Chapter 1
What qualifies one as being ancient? Is there an exact number? Most people my age think anyone retirement age or older as ancient. Most people retirement age or older feel like they’re a younger version of themselves trapped in an aging body. A youthful soul or young at heart, they say. Unfortunately, that’s never been the case with me.
My soul is ancient, though my body’s age is only nearing its twentieth year. In less than a year, I’ve jumped from being a teenager to being one of the oldest souls in existence. All because of the book we call the Statera, and my power of reminiscence that connects me to my potential part in its quest.
Part of me resents the burden of carrying the first soul’s existence. Sure, it’s great to have wisdom beyond my years, but discovering the knowledge of the past and harboring the fear for what’s to come can be utterly terrifying. Why can’t I just go back to college to party, experiment with alcohol and drugs, make bad decisions, and hook up with random people I never plan to see again?
Because that’s not me. It’s never even been possible for me. It’s why I’ve never fit in, it’s why I’ve always been too mature for my age, and it’s why I’ve always yearned for something more.
It’s because of my soul.
I am the soul of light. Half of the first creation, separated from the dark soul to commence the ultimate balance. My body may be just at the end of my teenage years, but my soul sets the standard for ancient.
With this soul comes the ultimate responsibility to maintain the balance of creation. My existence has been a constant battle against the evil force of the emptiness that wants to throw off that balance forever, and destroy life as we know it.
A few weeks ago, we almost lost the battle for good. We were prepared and protected, but we were ambushed… and our losses were devastating.
The first casualty was our older guardian, Uncle Mike. The gentleman scholar that was practically family to me. The man who introduced me to the mysteries of the Statera, and helped me discover the potential of my soul.
Before I could even take a breath to mourn him, the worst happened. I lost my other half, my soul mate, the darkness to my light.
Darcy.
I was attacked by Darcy and his possessor, Lilly. I know now that Lilly is the second destructor — the original soul of darkness — who was consumed by the emptiness before our world was created.
Well, I guess she’s the only destructor now since she somehow finished off her own counterpart, the original bearer of light. After Lilly destroyed Lucifer — or Marcus Talbot as we knew him — her empty powers of darkness somehow increased through the imbalance. With her renewed strength, she was finally able to control Darcy, taking my soul mate away from me. She possessed the darkness in his soul and used him to attack me, leaving me for dead.
They don’t know I survived.
“The workouts are helping,” my friend Dylan interrupts my depressing thoughts. “You’re healing up nicely and looking stronger than you were before.”
“Thanks,” I say without cheer, still distracted inside my head.
Dylan stares at me a long moment. “Don’t overthink things, Nora. Rafe’ll be back before you know it with the Statera. Then we can find a way to set things right.” He gives me an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder.
He’s right. We have hope.
Before Uncle Mike was killed, he told the destructor he’d added some information to the Statera. He said he’d found something that would take us further than any of the souls before us. Rafe’s out right now recovering the book that serves as our guide against the evils of the emptiness. Soon we’ll know what clue Uncle Mike left behind.
“I’m gonna go get cleaned up. Good workout!” Dylan gives me a high five and moves to leave the shelter that now serves as our sanctuary, but not before using his elemental power to relocate a splash of water into my face from the water bottle in my other hand. “And don’t forget to hydrate!” he laughs.
My lip curls up in a half-smile as I wipe my face with my shirt.
Dylan is the elemental soul of water, one of the four protective beings that were created for our world after the shattering of souls. In Darcy’s absence, I find some comfort in being surrounded by the elemental souls. They’re protecting me in more ways than they know.
We’re just missing one now.
We’ve found the souls of water, air, and earth. Now we need to somehow find the elemental soul of fire. According to the Statera, gathering all the elements together is the only way to protect the shattered souls and create a weapon against the destructive forces of the emptiness.
Our lead on the fire soul with the Native American tribes went cold after the disaster in Oklahoma. Several settlements of the Potawatomi, as well as the other two tribes of the Council of Fire, have either been attacked or devastated by natural disasters. Last week an entire reservation was nearly annihilated by a mass shooting. The few remaining settlements have cut themselves off from any communications with us out of fear. They know what’s hunting them.
Without the fourth elemental soul, I have no idea how to fight Lilly, or save Darcy. My dreams haven’t been helpful lately. The reminiscence has been spotty and seems to be leading me down a different path. I’m back to dreaming the same dream I’ve been haunted by since I first moved to Boston. The dream of a hooded figure choking the air out of me.
When I first had these dreams, Uncle Mike thought the reminiscence was trying to warn me about Talbot. But now Talbot’s gone, and I already know Lilly is the other destructor, so I’m not sure what it could mean.
Giving up on my jumbled thoughts, I decide to take a shower myself.
I set the water near to scalding hoping to melt my pain away. The hot pellets trickle over my body like a warm embrace, comforting my aches and pains both physically and mentally. Closing my eyes under the stream of hot water, I do my best to concentrate on the details of the suffocating dreams, but the only thing I can recall is the dark hood of the destructor and my paralyzing fear in the struggle for air.
I open my eyes and my hands are glowing in front of me. My emotions have become a little too closely connected with my power. Shaking the glow away, I crouch down and begin to cry. The lights in the bathroom flicker and dim with my sobs.
“Your light dims when you cry…”
My heart stops, not sure if the voice was from my memory or not. That was the first thing Lilly said to me when I met her.
Without a second thought, I channel all my rage into one big ball of energy, shooting it through the shower curtain, and the light slices through the wall, all the way through the far end of the shelter into the crust of the earth.
I snap back the curtain, but no one’s there.
What am I doing?
I’ve never felt so u
nbalanced before. I need to control myself, or who knows what I could become… what I’d be capable of.
After drying off and getting dressed, I try to clean up the mess I made. I’m interrupted by Rafe, peeking his head through the new hole in the wall.
“What happened here? Are you alright?” he asks, voice rising in panic.
“I’m fine. It was me… it was an accident.”
He gives me a long quiet stare that I refuse to meet. That’s when I notice he’s holding an aluminum security briefcase straight out of a spy movie.
His gaze follows mine. “Should we wait for the others?” he asks, setting the briefcase on the table.
“Are they on their way?” I join him at the table in the shelter’s kitchen.
“Joe just texted. He and Tara are grabbing some food, then they’ll be here. I ran into Dylan on my way in, he just went to fetch Besim and they’ll be down too,” he says, referring to the underground bomb shelter that’s been converted into our new sanctuary. Luckily, the shelter was built below a sizable manor home. The element safeguard has easily been set up with flowing air, running water, growing potted plants, and burning fire in each corner of the space. Everything else down here looks like it hasn’t been touched since the Cold War. Strangely, the briefcase fits in with the vibe.
“Is Char coming?” I ask, still uneasy about the unresolved tension with my sister. Things just haven’t been the same between us. We’ve lost our entire family. She’s been avoiding me so much that now it feels like I’m losing her too.
Rafe looks away. “She’s not feeling well. I’ve set her up someplace safe to rest,” he replies.
“She’s still mad at me?” I ask.
“You know that’s not it, Nora. She’s just been through so much. Being kidnapped, the shock of everything, losing her parents, and then Uncle Mike.” His voice breaks. He clears his throat and continues. “Not to mention having to kill Emily to save my life. It’s all taking a toll on her. She’s just not as strong as you.”
