Passage (Akasha Book 1)

by Indie Gantz

  Passage

  Book I of The Akasha Series

  Indie Gantz

  Cromulent Press

  Mooresville, North Carolina

  Copyright © 2017 by Indie Gantz

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Cromulent Press

  Mooresville, NC 28115

  www.thisisindieg.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Hannah Bauman, Between the Lines Editorial

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Book Cover Design © JD&J Designs

  Photograph by: Matt Decker

  Passage/ Indie Gantz -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 10- 0692055312

  ISBN 13- 978-0692055311

  To Georgia.

  My sister. My friend. My inspiration.

  “All readers come to fiction as willing accomplices to your lies.”

  - Steve Almond

  Prologue

  Fourth Wall: Broken

  Dear Reader,

  You are dead.

  You died in the fourth month in the year 2053 of the Gregorian calendar. You weren't alone in your death. Your entire species went extinct.

  I wasn't born when Earth was destroyed but others like me were. We've always been here, always living among you. We are Anunnaki, the people of Eridu, and we came to Earth in peace.

  The first Anunnaki settlers touched down on Earth before humans were fully walking upright. Only those that possessed the same range of skin tones as humans were sent to your planet. (The various shades of cerulean many Anunnaki are born with would have immediately given us away.) Our scouts were given strict rules not to influence or harm any species. They were ordered to only investigate your planet for possible colonies and collect information on any intelligent life. Eridu was –and still is— terribly overcrowded, and the Anunnaki people needed a new place to settle. When individuals live for more than five centuries, planets become too small very quickly. So, we looked to yours for the answer.

  We were there when you built your first fire, when you hunted and gathered. We watched as you built the Great Pyramids and mourned with you as you lost the people of Pompeii. We rejoiced in your flourishing civilizations and stood by helplessly while they collapsed. The Anunnaki did not intervene when dictators ruled, or when mass genocides took place across the Earth. We did not step in when you threatened to destroy yourselves with nuclear war. We allowed catastrophic mistakes.

  We lived among one another for centuries. Many of your ancient civilizations turned us into Gods when they became aware of our true nature, but such religions were discouraged among the Anunnaki.

  Mating between our species was strictly forbidden once it was determined that doing so would result in a chromosomal disorder in the offspring. Of course, some of you fell in love with some of us and us with you, but no children ever resulted from those unions.

  When it was obvious the destruction of Earth was upon us, we fled in a mass evacuation. There were lengthy debates about whether we should save your species. Advocates spoke of evacuating some of you along with the Anunnaki, but it was eventually decided that trusting your kind with the knowledge of our existence was too risky. Humans were notoriously untrustworthy en masse.

  So, you were exterminated. All of you.

  Not at first, of course. You had time to prepare, collect important artifacts and documents and seal them underground. You even tried a few tactical operations to save your planet but nothing worked. Some of you survived the initial impact, but the fallout eventually claimed those that clung on. The only sign of humanity that survived were the things you left in capsules underground and the pieces of yourselves that you imprinted on us.

  Things like the entire collection of Shakespeare and paintings from a museum in France I can't remember the name of. Writers like Hemingway and Vonnegut lived on beside writers like Flynn and King. The Matrix trilogy survived, as did the entire collection of Doctor Who. Thousands of items filled the capsules, and when the dust settled, and we returned to Earth and found them, we restored everything we could. Your styles and trends, your politics and popular culture, even something called a meme, not only live on, but still enrich the lives we live today.

  There is a lot of dispute over which society influenced the other more.

  We brought you dancing, and you gave us surfing. It was you who discovered the dinosaurs, much to our chagrin, and us who found the lost city of Atlantis. You gave us cooperative sports and we gave you time and the solar system, even sacrificing a few of our own to your burning stakes just to further your knowledge. We gave you one of your first advanced measurement systems, which you then improved upon greatly. Many of us still use our traditional system, but yours is undoubtedly better. We, ironically, taught you humanism and helped you combat dogma. You taught us ambition, although most of us still prefer to live without it.

  There are thousands of things we have shown and taught one another, too many to distinguish in this short note to you. Just know that although you were not aware of us, we were aware of you. We are grateful for the planet you once called home, as it is the planet many of us call home again. Thank you for teaching us, working beside us, and loving us.

  Perhaps your species will evolve again. Maybe you will work your way out of the river and onto the sand once more. Out of the trees and onto your feet. Out of the dark and into the light. Maybe, one day, you will be who you once were. Until then, we will do our best to honor you.

  Signed,

  Talibat Damuzi

  Day One: Charlie

  CHAPTER ONE

  Matter of Rome

  There is nothing new under the sun.

  Where my people come from, there’s more than one sun in the sky, but I don't imagine an increase in stars correlates to the amount of monotony one finds in their daily lives. There is nothing new under any sun, and even when you're constantly moving, life can be stagnant.

  Dinner in the Damuzi trailer’s no different. It's all just different shades of the same thing. We all take turns cooking, cleaning, or annoying the one who’s working, and no matter how severely Tirigan burns the food, we all stuff our faces anyway. The tiny table wedged between the counter and the wall of the trailer barely fits my brother and me, let alone all four of us, so we usually sit around a picnic table my mother built a few years ago. When it rains, we eat on the floor of our small living room and watch old human movies that my father brings back from supply runs.

  Tonight, it’s my turn to cook, and I pull out ingredients for a simple stew. I find a few root vegetables in the basket next to our cooling chamber and walk outside to grab some roughage from the small garden my mother transports from place to place.

  What's for dinner? Tirigan's thoughts float inside my mind. I turn slightly to acknowledge him before squatting next to the garden. My twin brother is lying in the grass, looking up at the sky with a small smile playing on his lips.

  Stew. Maybe finish your daydream later and make yourself useful.

  I pull some kale from the dirt and bunch it together in my hands.

  It isn't my turn, Tirigan argues. I cooked last night.

  If you can call what you did cooking then, yeah, I guess you did.

  Tirigan sighs as I stand back up and turn to face him. He rises to his elbows, his eyes on me instead of the clouds.
His soft brown skin glows under the late afternoon sun.

  Where are John and Calla?

  "John is preparing for their shoot tonight, and Calla is stalking me in the kitchen," I say out loud, brushing dirt off the purple kale with my fingers.

  Your reaction to our mother's physical placement is incredibly dramatic.

  "She's the one who’s dramatic," I argue. "I don't think she's ever been so weird about one of us getting hurt."

  I hold up my hand, which I happened to cut the night before saving Tirigan from himself. He nearly chopped his thumb off while he attempted to chop parsley. When I took over for him, I immediately sliced into my own skin.

  Define 'weird.’

  I roll my eyes and make my way towards the door. You. Generally.

  Her concern is not entirely misplaced. We do not heal as quickly as father does.

  That's not exactly new information, Tir.

  My mother sits cross legged on top of the tiny kitchen table and is looking at me strangely when I get back inside. She’s pulled her hair into a messy bun, long auburn strands falling around her face and neck. Her skin is fair, a genetic mutation and a stark contrast to the dark brown of our father's. I’ve never seen an Anunnaki that wasn’t a shade of brown or blue, aside from my mother, but she’s never seemed self-conscious about it. In combination, my parent’s skin tones created a soft brown, almost golden hue for Tirigan and me.

  "What?" I ask, eyebrows rising slightly. "I don't think staring makes people heal any faster, you know."

  “You're hilarious," Calla responds lightly as her fingers fiddle with the necklace I have never seen her without. It's too large to be worn casually, but it still looks lovely around her neck. There are two purple stones in the center, with a simple leather strap tied behind her neck. The stones always seem to be glowing, even on the brightest of days. "Honestly, I don't know why your father and I haven't sent you away to tell jokes in the city." She clicks her tongue and gives me a sad smile. "Such wasted talent."

  I grunt out a laugh and return to the kitchen counter. "I'm fine, Calla, stop worrying."

  "I know you are," she replies, her eyes still burning holes into the back of my head. "I'm merely watching my daughter make me dinner. There’s nothing like seeing your offspring provide for you. Makes me feel all tingly."

  "Maybe you're the one who should go to the city," I reply, a fake grimace on my face as I begin to peel potatoes. "Maybe photography is just a beard for your true comedic passion."

  "Ah, you know, I may just look into that." She gets down from the table and walks to the back of the trailer. "Don't worry about getting the equipment ready, John. I think Charlie has unlocked my true heart's desire."

  My father, the alien with the lamest human name in history, chuckles from their bedroom. His parents, second generation Anunnaki immigrants, chose his name from a human baby name book and thought John sounded exotic. My grandfather was named using the same method and was dubbed Charlie. My parents named me after him, not at all concerned with the masculine connotation humans had bestowed upon the name. The Anunnaki have never bothered with gender roles.

  John appears in the hallway a moment later.

  "Is that right?" John kisses my mother's lips softly as he passes her in the living room, eventually joining me in the kitchen. "And what’s that?

  "Calla's going to be famous," I tease, still peeling potatoes. "Her opening act alone will attract Anunnaki from every solar system."

  John laughs again, kissing the side of my head as he turns back to face Calla. "Oh yes, she's a real charmer."

  I don't have to look up to know my parents are exchanging adoring looks.

  "Will you please take her out of here, John?" I ask. "She's hovering."

  John makes a face of mock outrage. "Caring about her daughter? How dare she!"

  "You two could open your own comedy club, really."

  “Come on, Charlie," John's voice grows much softer, the running joke slipping away. "Your mother just worries. We both do."

  "Why?" I press, putting the knife down and facing my parents. "All Anunnaki heal at different rates, right? You said so yourself." I hold up my hand, which barely shows a faint red line now. "Why is this such a big deal?"

  "It isn't," John answers quickly. "I think Calla just doesn't like to see you get hurt, that's all."

  I roll my eyes and sigh. "Well, maybe you should keep a better eye on Tirigan then." I turn back towards the counter. "He’s bound to impale himself on a tree limb one of these days."

  "Where is he? On the roof again?" Calla asks, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

  It's a good guess. Tirigan spends a lot of time up there practicing a sort of human martial art called Tai Chi. Sometimes I join, though, I'm fonder of yoga.

  "Lying in the grass," I answer. "Avoiding the cheesy situational comedy that seems to be playing out in our kitchen."

  "Well, we can't have that," Calla challenges, walking around me and exiting the trailer.

  I watch her plop down in the grass next to Tirigan and lay beside him. She keeps enough space between them so as not to make Tirigan uncomfortable and folds her hands over her stomach. It’s a small gesture, but it's enough to assure my brother that she won't touch him. He smiles slightly, but he doesn't speak.

  He never does.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Genius and the Godless

  Tirigan was almost two when he stopped talking.

  It wasn't overnight but a gradual decrease in language until he stopped all together. Of course, I don't remember this being just a toddler myself, but I can remember suddenly feeling very alone. When he stopped communicating with me, it felt like half of me went missing. My parents said I had a very hard time adjusting to the shift, lashing out and getting angry with Tirigan often. Some of Tirigan's favorite toys got a raw deal out of the situation, a lot of them conveniently getting broken, but I was just a toddler.

  It wasn’t until our sixth cycle around the sun that Tirigan finally spoke to me again.

  It was a moment in our childhood that traumatized both of us, although it’s embarrassing to recount now. Living the kind of life we’ve led, my brother and I don’t get to meet people very often. Due to this rather unfortunate and incredibly boring circumstance, when a horse farmer approached our trailer at a gallop one day, Tirigan and I were equally terrified. The man was simply inquiring after his missing horse, but that moment of overwhelming fear opened a channel between our minds.

  Tirigan pushed his thoughts so forcefully into my head that I remember feeling like the entire world was exploding. I cried out and clamped my hands over my ears, probably startling the rancher quite a bit. He was gone by the time I opened my eyes again.

  Tirigan's thoughts, if I could even call them that, were disjointed and scrambled, like a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be solved. I felt his terror through the chaos, an anxious fear that crashed through his mind like waves in a violent storm. When I was finally able to understand what was happening, I tried my best to send my own thoughts back to him, wanting to calm him down.

  It's okay. He's gone. He was just looking for an animal.

  Despite the man’s disappearance, Tirigan’s thoughts continued to assault me without filter. It was a thousand thoughts at once, none of them seemingly connected in any way, pushing and pulling at me until he realized how much pain I was in. Then the thoughts abruptly stopped. A door slammed in my face, my brother pushing me away again.

  Even though he closed himself off, I kept my mind open to Tirigan from that day on. By always keeping my mind open to his, we hoped that Tirigan could take my mind and use it as a guide for his own. Gradually, Tirigan began opening up to me again. He allowed me glimpses of what he sees and how he thinks.

  Tirigan’s mind is dichotomous. Sometimes he thinks in short, clipped, barely formed sentences, and other times Tirigan's thoughts read like an old Englishman's diary, poetic musings and detailed observations that seem to drone on forever. My brother is very
logical and observant, and he can solve problems faster than I can realize they exist. He also likes to pretend he doesn’t have emotions. I like to remind him he does. Typically, I aim for irritation, but I settle for exasperation whenever possible.

  He's never explained why he chooses not to speak aloud, but he speaks to me through our connection just as if he were.

  Though my father says it isn't uncommon for Anunnaki twins to have this ability, I've never read about any others. Some of the ancient books talk about the power within Anunnaki blood and how ancient humans used that as an excuse to worship us for a time, but there’s no mention of telepathy. Of course, there’s no real-world way for me to find out because we never stay in one place long enough to meet anyone. Even if we did stay put for more than a week, we’re usually too far away from civilization to actually meet anyone. My mother and father have had us traveling the world since we were infants, and I don't think I've interacted with more than a handful of other Anunnaki.

  Our constant traveling is a result of my parent's career draft picks which, luckily for them, happened to be in the same field of service. Wildlife photography. Which means Tirigan and I have been trapped in this trailer all of our lives, listening to our parents discuss shutter speeds and all eleven different types of wheat. Real fascinating stuff.

  I want to get out.

  I want to go into a city, any city, and meet people, make some friends, have a conversation that isn't with my parents or within the confines of my mind. I love my family, my brother especially, but sometimes I really want to strangle him. Not enough to kill him, but maybe just enough to render him unconscious for a little while. Maybe it would save me from having to endure a few dozen of his disappointed glares when I don't understand something as quickly as he does.