by Troy Hooker
The Watcher Key
The Descendants of Light Series
BOOK ONE
TROY HOOKER
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
Stacy Hooker and Emily Anderson
EDITING BY
Jeannie Wilson and Brittany Renz
Descendant Publishing
Copyright © 2018 Descendant Publishing. All rights reserved.
The Watcher Key, The Descendants of Light Series, or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
Bookmasters, Inc.
Cover Illustration By Rosauro Ugang
Interior Illustrations By Stacy Hooker
Map Illustration By Emily Anderson
Editing By Jeannie Wilson and Brittany Renz
Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
First Printing, United States of America, February 2018
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017914796
ISBN 978-0-692-95481-2 (Soft cover)
Descendant Publishing
PO Box 340864
Dayton, OH 45434
www.descendantpublishing.com
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Table of Contents
The Commissioning
A Secret Club
Timothy Becker
wollemia nobilia
Jester’s Pass
Lior City
Boy With the Shadows
City Center
Games and Dark Dreams
Old Lady Wrenge
Office of Research
The Lightway
The Darkness
The Holobook
Incident No. 497
The Outer Dunes
Amos
Sha’ar Gate
Chapter One
The Commissioning
The clouds on the horizon were burning puffs of black and grey as the young woman stumbled out of the stone structure. In her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in a dull white blanket, which she clutched in such a way that one could see its contents were of great value.
She was young and slender, and her amber hair drawn up behind her head revealed a soft but tired face. At first glance, with her ornate cream dress and delicate lace patterns that adorned it, she looked out of place in the cavern that surrounded the archway, but a closer look would reveal a dirty and torn garment, the many stains showing signs of a rough journey behind her.
For a moment she looked around, blinking as though just stepping into an intense light, then intently checked the bundle she carried carefully as if surveying it for any harm. Finding none, she surveyed the scene in front of her, and then emerged from the cavern into the forest. The trees were dark and too still, and wisps of the first traces of a storm front were beginning to pass the tall pines overhead.
Keeping watch behind her, she made for the heart of the forest, keeping the moon to her left as she walked quickly, the bundle close to her chest.
Her brisk pace and need to glance back suggested she was running from an unknown Darkness behind her.
As the woman with the bundle put distance between herself and the archway, she began to move more slowly, as though suffering from immense pain with each step. But she was not giving in to the pain, and she coaxed herself along the path below the trees, using the large pines for support while muttering strange phrases that sounded like prayers under her breath.
Slowly, a dark cloud began to creep up around her, engulfing the trees towering above the needle-laden forest floor. She could barely see which way the path was moving, and now she was doubling over every few hundred meters from the stabbing pain in her stomach. No longer could she spare the strength to look behind her or above her for the invisible danger she expected, but could only move on toward her unknown destination somewhere in front of her—or at least she hoped.
All at once, just as the panic began to set in from not knowing her location, she emerged from the edge of the pines. She stopped suddenly, staring at the little light on the opposite end of the clearing in front of her. High above, the clouds had moved in suddenly, a swirling mass of charcoal against the moonless sky. A streak of lightning bolted her out of her trance. Deep, throaty thunder quickly followed the flash, booming low and angrily through the earth beneath her feet. If she could just make it across the clearing to the cabin, she could rest, and she could find help.
The thought gave her a renewal of strength, and she prodded her body to finish the last part of the painful journey. Her breaths were drawing shorter and tighter, and her knees were beginning to buckle, but she moved along, still managing to hold the white bundle securely to her chest.
She had put half of the open field behind her when she knew she could not go any further, and her frail body collapsed in a heap in the tall grass. Still, she was able to protect the bundle clutched in her arms as the rain began to pelt her side.
Snug in a small pine cabin from the impending storm, an aging man looked up from his worn leather journal and glanced out the window at the flashes of light. Right away he knew something was odd about this particular storm—something different from most others. The greenish-blue lightning flashed too quickly beyond the trees in almost pattern-like strikes. The thunder that followed boomed long past most normal claps, and it shook the little cabin with tremendous force.
Out in the darkness, between bolts of colored light, a flash of white fell to the ground and then disappeared in the middle of the clearing. The man blinked and rubbed his eyes, not understanding what he saw.
But something drew him to act, to go to the middle of the field where he saw the movement. Immediately he set his pen and journal on the nightstand and grabbed his mucking boots, stepping into them quickly. As a last minute thought, he grabbed a wool blanket from the rocking chair and his rifle on the rack, and then rushed out the thick wooden door into the pouring rain.
The rain soaked him quickly as the huge drops splashed onto his thin cotton button-down, and at once he wished he had remembered to put on a raincoat, but he sensed something was out there, and it seemed to call to him urgently to help. As he drew closer, he felt the urge grow stronger, and he ran even faster, slinging the rifle to his shoulder to free up his arms from the bulk of the blanket.
About thirty meters from the white object, he noticed it was a person—a woman. He sprinted the last few steps almost effortlessly, falling to his knees in the mud beside her. Seeing the tiny bundle in her arms, he pried it out of her grasp and peered at the baby wrapped in the muddy blanket, sleeping soundly. Getting the baby inside was most important, so he stashed the bundle in his flannel shirt and headed toward the cabin. Then he would come back for the woman and the rifle. How in the world could this baby be sleeping in this weather? He thought as he ran back, trying to keep the bundle as still as possible.
Once the sleeping child was wrapped in some dry blankets, the man rushed back out into the storm, the edge of the dark cloud now upon the cabin, and hurried back to the woman lying in the grass. He picked her up as gently as he could, draping her over his shoulder so he could move more quickly.
He turned and faced the storm, the eerie lightning striking only a kilometer from where he stood.
It has begun, he thought, searching the trees for signs of other forms. He stumbled while trying to look back while running, and nearly dropped the woman. They will be here any moment.
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br /> He quickened his pace, realizing the impending danger he was in. The cabin lights in the distance were his beacon, and again he attempted to move faster, careful not to jostle the woman in his arms too much. A battle was about to begin, and he was in the middle of it.
Nearly at the cabin now, the wind was beginning to blow hard enough to make him have to work to move forward. The last few feet were almost as though he was being pulled back into the gusting Darkness behind him, but he pushed forward until he at last reached the cabin steps. Yanking the door open with his free hand, he rushed inside to find the little cabin groaning and creaking from the stress of the storm. Not stopping to pause, he laid the lifeless woman on the bed near the fireplace and covered her with the grey blanket at the end of the bed, then quickly set about heating up water for tea.
The wind outside began to blow even more fiercely, and the man wondered if the hard work and sweat he had put into building the cabin was going to be soon blown to splinters. But his mind shifted to the two silent guests he had carried in from the Darkness.
Who was the woman? Where had she come from? He stood in the kitchen feeling immediately exhausted from the ordeal, his eyes shifting to the bookshelf where he kept many old, worn books with no titles on them. One book in particular caught his eye—a small leathery journal much like his own, which he quickly snatched from the shelf and thumbed through its pages. The woman was wearing a white nightgown sort of dress, no doubt beautiful before it was stained and soaked by the muddy earth. The baby lay still in the little bundle he was wrapped in, and he stared at it in disbelief.
He felt the chill of the wind seeping through the window behind him and checked the latch to make sure it was secured as tight as possible, then checked the door as well, seeing that he would have to do something about the draftiness on cold nights like these. Looking over toward the stone fireplace, he noticed that the fire was blowing more ash into the room than heat, so he picked up a few logs next to the door and put them on the dwindling fire. The logs spewed and sputtered a mixture of ash and sparks up into the chimney, and he stayed for a moment to make sure the flames caught, holding his aging hands close to the fire to warm them quickly before setting about seeing to the young woman.
The tea on the stove began to whistle, and the man quickly set about fixing a cup of tea for his strange guest, keeping an eye out the window for any movement. He knew he was safe where he was, but he was nervous nonetheless. Instead, he busied himself with making the woman more comfortable.
He figured at this point there would be no need for sugar in the tea. She would likely just be satisfied with something hot—that is if she would awaken to his beckoning. She would need proper bedding as well.
He finished fixing the tea and removed the leaves, then sat down beside her on the bed and began to stroke her hair.
Almost instantly she awoke with a start, nearly spilling the hot tea all over the bed and the man that had saved her. The young woman sat up and frantically looked around the room for her child, and seeing him, attempted to get up and go to him, but her body would not allow her movement, and she collapsed back on the creaky old bed with an exhausted whimper.
“Don’t be afraid. I have your child and he is safe,” he spoke softly. “My name is Amos, and you are safe with me here. I am your friend,” he whispered now, afraid to cause her any more trauma. “I found you in the field—What is your name?”
She had almost aqua colored eyes, much like the color of the teacup he had prepared for her. She did not speak, but her lips trembled as though she was trying to say something but could not. He could tell she was frustrated from her inability to speak, so he decided to speak for her instead.
“Did you come from town?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
The woman shook her head ever so slightly.
“Another city? State?” he pressed on.
Again she shook her head and seemed frustrated. Finally, she reached for the steaming cup of tea Amos held in his hand, and taking it, gingerly sipped its contents.
He didn’t need to pry any further about her origin. The storm outside told him all he needed to know. She was from the other side.
“You should rest,” he said gently. “We will talk again in the morning.” He knew there was no way he was going to be able to find out any more tonight. She was just too weak.
He set the cup of steaming tea on the little table next to the bed and covered the woman carefully with the quilt. She was opening and closing her eyes heavily, and Amos knew she would be out at any moment.
Getting up from beside the bed, he walked over to the door and secured the latch, even as the wind rattled against the door. He scooped up a spare blanket kept on the trunk at the end of the bed and settled into the chair across the room. The fire was happily licking up the side of the logs in the fireplace, and he could tell the room had warmed up quite a bit, even with the numerous drafts throughout the cabin. He laid his head back, trying to settle his mind from the evening’s events.
He had come to this place for a reason—to remove himself from the other side. But now, here she was, a woman he did not know, but who knew him and knew where he lived. It was an unsettling feeling, not simply because of the woman discovering him, but because of what she represented.
He picked up the journal and held it against his chest, exhaling slowly. He had seen this scene play out over and over again in his mind, as the Creator had Promised. He had been waiting, and now the moment was here. A Promise made, long ago, now come to pass.
The Irin. This child was to be the Irin, the one to reveal the Darkness once and for all.
But the Watcher who told him of the Promise also reminded him of the Dark Legend, the twisted version of the Creator’s Promise, altered to fit their evil purpose. They too, wanted the child. And he was tasked with the protection of him. This is why she came to him.
The storm outside continued to rage mercilessly. No doubt they would find him and the child, even hidden in Creation. He had to prepare.
It was the beginning of a very long end.
Just before he closed his eyes again, he thought he caught a glance out the dusty four-paned window over the bed of three figures standing on the edge of the field. Blaming his eyes for deceiving him, he closed them in an attempt to rest his sore body from carrying the woman.
***********************
Just inside of the tree line, about three hundred meters from the little glowing cabin, two young men and a young woman stood side by side in the windy torrent. They were all three dressed in similar fashion: silver fitted robes that stiffly belled outward where the fabric touched the earth. There was black trim outlining their cuffs and collars, and they looked very calm standing there in the Darkness. If one looked long enough, they seemed to blend in with the trees entirely. As the bright light from the cabin began to fade into a dull glow, the three curious Watchers scanned the trees and the field surrounding the cabin, and every so often peered at the storm raging above them.
The older, taller of the two men then held up his hand and immediately the others turned toward him.
“I think we have served our purpose here tonight,” he said with a soft but commanding voice.
“But Hagan, I don’t think we should leave just yet. I do not feel that this is over,” the young woman said, careful not to sound disrespectful.
She was stern in her face, with piercing eyes and soft but thin lips. She was beautiful in her own way, a match of strength with most men but still delicate in her appearance and movements.
Hagan smiled. “I am glad for your opinion, Bian. I could never argue with the feelings of a woman. They have saved my life too often. We can stay until morning.”
“Hagan, Magister, do you really think it is necessary to wait that long?” the younger man said with a tone a little more challenging than his female counterpart.
“Marcus,
you know we are first and foremost to honor our agreement to look after the child,” Hagan responded, offering a stern but gentle criticism of his younger shadow.
“I just don’t see how we are going to be of any service to the child if he is already in the care of the dweller,” Marcus quickly retorted.
“I cannot understand how you could talk about the child as if the woman did not even risk her life to save him in the first place,” Bian said with a flash of frustration, turning her head back to the cabin so quickly that her braids wrapped around her neck.
“Remember, both of you, that we must be watchful. The Metim are much more formidable these days,” Hagan said calmly, careful not to remove his gaze from the little cabin. “Even though we are no longer allied with the Descendants, Nuriel has asked that we watch the boy, as he will become the Irin, the revealer of the Darkness.”
The sound of Marcus removing his sword from its sheath cut Hagan’s sentence short. All three focused on the sky now, as if they too had felt or heard something was out of place.
“It is strong,” the young Bian breathed as she stood motionless, one arm held out in front of the other as if poised for battle. Hagan did not speak, but merely lifted his hands above his head and held them there, palms facing the sky. “They are here. We must call on the others to aid us.”
“No! We can take them! I feel it!” whispered the young warrior harshly, looking at his teacher’s outstretched arms.
Hagan sighed heavily, glancing over at the young brash student, then lowered his arms.
At that moment there appeared cylindrical shapes of greenish-white light falling to the earth in heaps, much like illuminated sand being dropped from the sky. There were ten of them that Bian counted, and immediately she knew Hagan’s instincts had been correct, and Marcus’s had been wrong. Ten was too many for the three of them.
All at once the three broke into a rush toward the fallen heaps of light, moving faster than a normal person would be able to, and in a moment they had reached their targets. A fierce battle had begun for the little child who lay peacefully in his makeshift crib, who was unaware of any of the events happening outside of his snug new home. Flashes of green-white streaks of light mixed with blue light flashed fiercely in the corner of the field as all in the cabin slept peacefully.
