by Avery Tingle
BEFORE RED MORNING
A Universal Warrior Story
From The Alpha Period
By
Avery K. Tingle
UNIVERSAL WARRIOR: BEFORE RED MORNING
By Avery K. Tingle
Copyright © 2012 by Avery K. Tingle
All Rights Reserved
Published by Avery K. Tingle
~DEDICATIONS~
For my beautiful, wonderful wife Elisha, who never quit believing (or editing) and told me, “Come out here and write.”
For Mom, who never, ever gave up on me even when everyone else did. Thank you for letting me crash the computer so often when I was a kid.
For Terry, Brandon, and Jamal, and Karissa; the sky really is the limit. You decide how far you go.
For Jacob Nicholson, who will one day be known as one of the best writers of his generation.
For Robbe Lloyd, the most generous man I know.
Special Thanks to Graham Roberts for designing the cover.
And finally, for the Jefferson City (Missouri) Writer’s Group; Adam, Karl, Linda, Tessi, Lorna, Jackie, Olivia you guys are the best.
CONTENTS
Reginald St. Morias: The Rescue
Jayden Zeneca: Into the Storm
Angelica St. Mihr: Alpha Radiant
Lihua Fan: The Newborn
REGINALD ST. MORIAS: The Rescue
At long last, Reginald St. Morias reached Heaven’s easternmost continent and turned south. He passed over lush forestry and the bustling stone metropolises of Yethra and Yevah before leaving civilization behind. As he flew, the soil gave way to cracked, barren landscape and the trees turned from brown to black, before disappearing altogether. The air turned noxious and sulfuric.
He was getting close.
This was where they took the exiles. This was where he’d find his sister, if he wasn’t too late.
Aethir became thin and it became more difficult to breathe, much less maintain the necessary concentration for flight. Just as he became dizzy, Reginald deactivated his bright orange wings and fell to the ground. He landed on his feet but fell to his knees, drawing in long, ragged breaths that felt like taking in fire.
Maybe I’ve already crossed into the Southern Lands…
No. That wasn’t true. If he’d crossed, he’d be dead, it was that simple.
He’d been warned of the monsters that prowled the indiscernible border, how they often attacked stragglers the moment they’d errantly left the safety of Heaven and crossed into Yin’s territory.
Today, they were among the missing. Most of them were arrogant youth and adventurers who dared venture into the Southern Lands, looking for bragging rights or stories. None returned home.
Reginald rose unsteadily, bracing himself on his axe. As he rose to his full height of just over six feet, three inches, the advice of an old friend drifted back to him. As you get close to the Southern Lands, you may find it difficult to breathe. The air there is not natural, and the aethir thin. Use your aura, not your wings. It will filter the Aethir through the fog and allow you to think clearly.
Maximoff Zephyr, the Olympian who’d given him the advice, had then smirked eerily. His eyes turned black and he added; for a little while, anyway.
Reginald held his breath and closed his eyes. It only took a little concentration to summon his aura, which was a coat of invisible energy every Angel had, and needed to master before their first wingburst. Without their aura, flight would tear their bodies to shreds.
As his aura flourished, it became easier to breathe, and he opened his eyes. He exhaled hard, feeling each of his one hundred and fifty two seasons. This had been so much easier when he was younger.
He looked to his axe, which had been modified by Maximoff before Reginald had departed the city of Jordan on this suicide mission. It looked much more like a weapon than a tool now, with a curved blade that turned into a menacing point at its rear. The blade itself was longer and extended nearly a third of the way down the hilt. The entire axe was comprised of ebony instead of simple wood and silver. Maximoff had been adamant about Reginald not taking his favorite axe on this excursion. The memories that would be associated with the blade would ensure that he’d never want to touch it again. Instead, Maximoff had loaned Reginald one of his own weapons from his days as a hunter—after he’d realized that he would never be able to talk Reginald out of this.
The ground went from brown to crimson and charred black as though there had been an inferno recently. It sloped downwards and disappeared into a foreboding mist. Reginald could neither see nor feel any other life around him, but Maximoff had told him to expect that. Denizens of the Southern Lands didn’t reach out to one another as Angels had. They didn’t need too. Everyone who lived there knew what everyone else was thinking. Feeling.
Ignoring the raw fear growing in his gut, Reginald said a quick prayer to Amen and hoped it wasn’t useless. He replaced the axe at the sheath in his back and began to move slowly down the hill, careful not to fall down. The last thing he wanted to do was lose control.
Or was it?
The fog was closer than he’d realized and it had only taken a few seconds to arrive. His aura was no longer strong enough to filter out the stench of rotted eggs, and he nearly passed out when he came to within a few inches. His knees wobbled but he refused to fall down, putting a little more effort into his aura and careful not to burst his wings. Facing the fog, he became acutely aware that he would no longer have even the slightest idea where the border was.
Not until something came for him.
Take the axe.
Reginald obeyed his instincts, slowly taking hold of the weapon and freeing it from the clasp. He put his other hand out in front of him and stepped forward. The mist was tangible, like cobwebs.
Brushing some of the matter aside, he entered.
Blessedly, the fog was a sheet, rather than a cloud.
It was almost impossible to breathe here, even with his aura, and Reginald struggled to maintain his footing. He coughed, trying to catch his breath. He wondered how anything could survive in the Southern Lands. He was several miles from the border, and it felt like he was taking needles into his lungs. They burned each time he inhaled.
It wasn’t just the air, either; it was like something was pressing down on his mind when he tried to Reach out and sense his sister. He knew he would never find the Heimdall officers who had escorted her here. His last hope to find Lillian was to key in on her. She was probably terrified; that would make it easier to find her.
His lungs adapted, the burning eased, but it was now his vision that was affected. Reginald drew in long, deep breaths as his lungs filtered out the aethir from whatever it was that threatened to cripple him. He rose unsteadily as the world was perceived as though he was underwater. Disoriented, he saw blackened trees before him twist and bend unnaturally. He took a step forward and nearly pitched forward as nausea threatened to overtake him. He swallowed, gulping away the terror that threatened to engulf him and rose back up, taking another shaky breath and forcing his vision to correct itself. The trees that looked like they’d been through an inferno stopped moving.
Reginald began to walk forward, clasping the axe at his back in case something came for him. He remembered Maximoff’s warnings about the creatures that roamed these lands.
They hold no commandments, no respect for life, Maximoff advised, if they come for you, do not hesitate or you will die. It is just like chopping wood.
Reginald moved through the dead forest, warily looking in all directions as he walked slowly, cautiously over cracked, crimson, hopelessly barren lands. In the distance he could perceive a row of black mounta
ins and wondered what anyone could possibly do to earn such a punishment as this.
There!
It was like a light in the darkness; the suppressed thoughts of his sister, Lillian. She was no more than three miles ahead. The Heimdall were trying to mask her presence, as they did with all exiles, but Lillian’s willpower had always been strong. She was fighting against them even now. Not physically, of course, that wasn’t her thing, but she would not go silently into the night.
Stepping carefully and mindful of where the ground rose and fell unexpectedly, Reginald dashed, lowering his body to the ground and allowing his aura to guide him. A lifetime of lumberjacking had kept him in peak physical condition, which he needed to be in now for what he had to do.
He fired through the forest with the speed and accuracy of someone half his age. He took breaths sparingly, filtering the aethir through his aura. He knew it would give him away, but it didn’t matter anymore. He had to reach Lillian before they delivered her to the Southern Lands.
He weaved his way to a clearing where he at last found his quarry. There were two officers, garbed in red and white hooded robes that masked their
