by S. S. Segran
Praise for the AEGIS LEAGUE Series
"An electrifying thrill ride over Hunger Games, Maze Runner & Percy Jackson territory.”
— Amazon Reviews
A good sequel stands alone as a strong work without the accomplishments of its predecessors, but a great sequel inspires readers to go back and relive a book they've already read, and that is precisely what this book accomplishes."
— The US Review of Books
"Astonishingly imaginative and thoughtful…”
—Samuel F. Pickering, inspiration for Academy Award-winning movie Dead Poets Society
"If Daniel Silva and Rick Riordan had a love child, it would be the young S.S.Segran. With the intensity of an adult spy thriller and the relatable characters that teenagers enjoy, Aegis Incursion takes YA Action, Adventure, and Fantasy to a new level."
— The OnlineBookClub.org
Once you step foot into S.S.Segran’s world, you won't leave unless she lets you. Her novels are full of emotional upheavals, action packed adventures and thrill you from start to finish. I cannot wait for the next installment and then the final novel. Bring them on!”
— Frank Geimer, Amazon Reviews
"With the intrigue of an A.G. Riddle novel, the relentless action of Clive Cussler's Dirk Pitt adventures and the dystopian backdrop of Hunger Games, Aegis Incursion marks the arrival of S.S.Segran as a compelling young author in the YA scene."
— Honore Gbedze - SAGE Foundation
“An amazing adventure of epic proportions, Aegis Evolution whisks you away into a story that is X-Men meets Percy Jackson, and spins a truly engaging and enjoyable tale.”
— Readers' Favorite Reviews
Publication Information
This boxed-set of the first three book of the Aegis League Series is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
AEGIS RISING by S.S.Segran
AEGIS INCURSION by S.S.Segran
AEGIS EVOLUTION by S.S.Segran
Copyright©2013, 2015, 2018, 2019 S.S.Segran. All rights reserved.
Boxed-set of Books 1-3 of the Aegis League Series First Published by INKmagination June 2019
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Design and Illustrations ©2019 by S.K.S.
Book Teaser & Trailer by: INKmagination.
S.S.Segran asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.
Receive free short stories, exclusive giveaways, advance reader opportunities and updates directly from the author. Visit www.sssegran.com to subscribe as an Aegis Insider.
by S.S.Segran
Contents
AEGIS RISING
AEGIS INCURSION
AEGIS EVOLUTION
Bonus Material
Aegis Chronicles #1 - GWEN MBOYA
Aegis Chronicles #2 - TONY CROSS
Aegis Chronicles #3 - KENZO IGARASHI
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Aegis League Book One:
AEGIS RISING
by
S.S.Segran
Dedication
To Mom and Dad,
for your love and guidance.
“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”
~Plato 428-348 B.C.~
“The battle between the bearers of light and the forces of darkness will intensify, and your role is to raise the torch and radiate your light . . . and remember, it is essential that you strive do the right thing as prompted by your spirit—though doing the right thing may not always be the easiest.”
~Elder Nageau~
Prologue
A volcanic island somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea,
circa 500 B.C.
The marketplace pulsed with a cacophony of voices and the radiance of a thousand smiles. Mokun spun out of the way as children darted past in a game of chase. He laughed, watching them go, and thought fondly of his own girls at home. In the pocket of his cotton pants, he felt the weight of gold dragonfly pendants—birthday gifts for his twin daughters.
Overhead, azure painted the skies and the sun warmed his skin as he left the myriad of colorful and aromatic stores behind him. Located at the foot of a volcano in the middle of the island, the city boasted over ten thousand residents. Past the marketplace, families gathered along golden beaches that hugged the island’s coast. Mokun smiled to himself, absently running a hand over the elaborate tattoos spiraling up his arm. It seemed like a perfect day.
Then, without warning, tremors seized the island. Mokun stumbled forward, catching himself on the bricks of a half wall. Hissing jets of steam shot out around the city. The people in the marketplace screamed, dropped their purchases, and scattered. Moments into the earthquake, the long-dormant volcano erupted, spewing ash into the air. Lava flowed down its steep slopes and gathered momentum as it slid toward the city like a giant serpent.
“Mokun!” someone cried.
Mokun whirled around from where he stood gaping at the volcano. An older Islander with graying hair and a flowing white beard limped toward him. “Mokun, help me retrieve the crystals from the temple!”
Mokun balked. “We cannot! The temple is too close to the volcano!” He turned away, ready to take off. “I need to get to my family!”
“The crystals, Mokun!” the old man’s tone rang with authority. “We need them! You know I cannot get to the temple as quickly as you!”
Mokun halted and shut his eyes, then reluctantly gave in. As both men hurried toward the grand temple, searing steam shot out around them. Mokun cursed when he nearly slipped into a sinkhole. They ducked and weaved to avoid molten projectiles spewing from the volcano.
Beside Mokun, the older man was wide-eyed, muttering to himself for a time. Then, lifting his gaze to the heavens with reverence, he murmured, “I will not let you down.”
Ahead of them, a huge tree with some of its branches in flames creaked and groaned. It swayed for a moment, then crashed into the rushing men’s path. Mokun leapt onto the large trunk and dismounted in a fluid motion. Glancing to his left, Mokun was shocked to find no one by his side. He halted abruptly and turned to look back, gasping. The older man was on the ground, his right leg pinned under a large branch and a portion of the trunk; he yelped as hot embers fell on his tunic.
Mokun charged back and grabbed the man’s arms, struggling to free him without hurting him. When that didn’t work, he rounded the trunk to find an area not yet ablaze. Spotting a safe opening, he slid his hands under the trunk, drew in a long, steadying breath, then heaved. The tree budged easily, flecks of glowing bark thrown up into the air. The older man crawled to safety, teeth bared as he scrambled to get back on his feet. Mokun dropped the tree trunk, having hardly broken a sweat.
“Rest,” he said, crouching by his companion. “You must be in pain.”
The man waved him away. “What am I going to do, sit here and wait for another tree to fall on me? Or a sinkhole to open up? Go, Mokun, I will be behind you.”
So Mokun took off. As he rounded the city gates, he spotted the golden dome of the treasured sanctuary. The gigantic crown of the five-sided temple loomed, casting its shadow upon him. Finely carved columns inlaid with gemstones spiraled upward, ending in elegant marble statues of slender human figures that supported the dome.
Mokun hastened into the temple. Inside, grand carvings of celestial constellations and beautiful paintings of the night sky decorated both sides of the massive entranceway. But all around him, the temple began to crumble from the force of the earthquake. The polished stone floor that ran the entire length of the hall still shone in places where the dust had not yet settled. At the far end, a large silver goblet sat on an intricately sculpted, six-foot tall marble pedestal.
The tremors increased, shaking the whole temple. The goblet teetered precariously on its support. Mokun rushed forward, grabbing it just before it toppled to the ground. A single crystal fell out—a massive black quartz. He stared at it, momentarily taken by the overwhelming aura it exuded, then scooped it up and returned it to the goblet with its more colorful counterparts.
With the crystals safely in his hands, he wheeled back toward the entrance and nearly ran into the old man. Without thinking, Mokun tucked the goblet under one arm and grabbed his companion’s wrist, leading them out of the temple. Outside, they could see the lava rolling down the volcano’s slopes with frightening speed.
“You must find the Elders,” the old man ordered. “If at least three survive, our way of life may yet live on.”
Mokun mutely let his gaze drift past the old man. A woman and her daughter were rushing away from a house engulfed in flames. He shook his head, thrust the container into the other man’s arms and ran toward his home, feeling guilty for choosing his family above the safety of the Elders.
Sprinting like a madman, he reached his house. Smoke and flames shot out from the roof as he barged through the main entry. Ash choked his lungs. He coughed and called out to his family.
No answer.
Terrified, he tore through his abode. His eyes teared up from the smoke and he could hardly see where he was going as the unbearable heat weighed down on him. His heart pounded as he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t find his family anywhere. Then, a thought struck him: the cellar! In their panic they may have sought safety below ground.
He ripped off the hem of his tunic and tied it around his nose and mouth. The smoke was so thick he was forced to feel his way to the cellar. He found the door to the cellar open and tripped over the steps in his haste, falling to the ground. Pulling himself up, he called out again to his loved ones. He got no response and stepped forward.
His foot bumped against something and he jumped back. With growing dread, he knelt in the darkness, squinting to make out three huddled shapes. He froze in horror, oblivious to the danger around him. His five-year-old daughters were huddled against their mother, and his wife had her arms wrapped around the twins. They didn’t move.
Mokun snarled, rejecting the thought that his family was dead. He lifted his wife and balanced her over his shoulders, then hoisted his two daughters into his arms and trudged out of the cellar, pausing only to grab his long black coat and drape it over his children to protect them.
Outside, he laid his motionless family on the grass in the courtyard amidst the ash and frantically tried to revive them. After a few minutes that seemed like a lifetime, he sat back and wept as the realization that he had lost them pierced him like a blade through the heart. Tears streamed down his soot-stained face. He wrapped his arms around their cold bodies, holding them like a child as he sobbed.
A hand touched his shoulder. He started and looked up to find his youngest sister beside him. She was small, almost diminutive, but looked squarely into his reddened eyes and reached out to help him up. In what felt like a suffocating nightmare, Mokun looked back at his loved ones and, with a pained moan, grabbed his coat and allowed her to lead him away.
The volcano erupted again, this time with a force so tremendous it hurled the two of them to the ground. A fissure split the earth between the siblings, separating them. Mokun’s sister climbed to her feet and leapt over the growing rift but missed the ledge. Mokun let out a cry and threw himself forward. He managed to grab her hand just in time, easily pulling her up beside him.
Without waiting for him to catch his breath, she tugged at his arm and hurriedly guided him to the docks on the island’s western shore where a ship waited. It had been set to leave the island the very next day for trading, and had been stocked with crates of food and casks of fresh water, along with goods produced by the Islanders, most notably bronze vats filled with purple dye that his people were known for all along their trading routes.
Standing on the deck of the large trading ship as it sailed farther into the waters, Mokun and the fifty other shocked survivors stared in disbelief at the fury and power of nature as the volcano erupted for the last time. The earth-shattering explosion obliterated what remained of the island that had been their home for generations. In its place was a forest of floating debris and a pillar of hissing steam rising into the sky.
A crashing wave yanked Mokun from his memories. He gasped, gripping the railing of the crow’s nest to steady himself, before realizing his eyes were wet. He wiped them with the fold of his sleeve, then pushed back the gold hood of his coat and tilted his head up to look at the stars. The sky was calm, but the storm in his heart raged on. Since fleeing the island four moon cycles ago, he’d battled his grief. His guilt for choosing to save the crystals instead of his family had started to fester, and like vines it clung and worked its way deep into his consciousness.
His thoughts drifted to the two pendants in his pocket. His mouth trembled and he pursed his lips tightly, refusing to allow another round of tears to escape.
He took a long breath, then a second, then a third. With every inhale the darkness ceased its advance, and with every exhale is started to uncoil itself from his mind. It was a temporary respite, as it always was, but it was the best he could manage.
Moments later, he was back on his job, narrowing his eyes and scanning for signs of land through the mist. The journey had been long, very long. The magnificently-built ship, now scarred, had endured rough seas and vicious storms, and her occupants were starting to grow weary. A fire in the cabin at the start of the voyage had burned away most of their maps and much of the written works they’d managed to save from the island, leaving them to navigate the wide-open waters purely by instinct. All they wanted was to have their feet touch dry, solid land.
At first, Mokun didn’t see it. When he ran his gaze just below the horizon again, he had to strain to make sure he his eyes weren’t fooling him.
He shouted as he flipped himself over the railing, grabbed onto the ladder attached to the mast and slid down the last thirty feet onto the deck. The master of the vessel, who had been leaning against a bulkhead in reprieve, looked up blearily with a drink in hand. From the sweet smell, Mokun realized it was elýrnì, a fermented beverage.
“What is it?” the captain sighed.
“Land!” Mokun shouted.
The other man just stared. His mind was clouded with fatigue and it showed on his face.
“Land, Captain!”
The skipper blinked slowly. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.
“Yes, sir! Straight ahead through the mist, sir! Not more than three hundred strokes of the oars!”
Exhilaration brought life back into the captain. He slapped Mokun on the back, then bellowed to the rowers below deck. “Land ahead!”
The rowers cheered, their hollering rippling through the ship as they redoubled their efforts. For the first time in what felt like forever, Mokun allowed himself to smile.
The Pacific Northwest
Two tribal youths patrolling the coastline of their village had no idea what was coming. As they rounded a large boulder, they heard a strange sound. It was a series of muted, rhythmic splashes, like a pod of whales surfacing and diving in unison. Frowning, they turned and peered in the direction of the ocean. As their eyes adjusted, they stopped dead.
A drifting phantom appeared from the mist, heading directly toward them. Lit by the eerie dimness of the moonlight, the strange beast appeared to have slender wings on either side of a fla
red body. A long horn materialized from its tapered head.
The youths, brothers in their fifteenth and seventeenth summers, moved closer to each other. They whispered hastily, never taking their eyes off the thing. As it drew nearer, they caught a peculiar glow emanating from the beast, like an aura.
The older boy hoisted his hunting spear and darted from shelter to shelter, hissing warnings as his brother ducked and peeked from behind the boulder, his own spear readied. The hushed alarm rippled through the village. All around the camp, men and women rushed about quietly with weapons while the older members stayed inside with the frightened children.
Soon, everyone of fighting age was crouched beside the brothers with the tribe’s burly chief at the front. Bracing themselves, they observed the beast through dark, flashing eyes.
At last the thing came to a stop, having beached itself on the rich, white sands of the shore. To the tribe’s astonishment, men and women alike leapt off the creature with cat-like grace. The people were tall and slim. Though their clothing was ragged, they held themselves with great poise. Their skins were the shade of fine straw. And the hair! Ranging from gold and brown to all the colors of autumn leaves.
Suspicious of the strangers, the chief signaled for his warriors to hold their position. He cast an additional pointed look at the two brothers beside him, then returned his attention to the situation.
The outsiders began to laugh and dart about. As a man in a knee-length black cloak with a golden hood covering his face poked curiously at the firepits banked for the next day’s meal, a few of the tribesmen let out annoyed growls. Then their lips curled back angrily when the stranger spotted the shelters at the edge of the tree line, called out to his companions, and started toward them.
Before the chief could react, the younger of the brothers yelled and charged out into the open, letting his spear fly. The weapon sank into the stranger’s arm, forcing a cry from his lips. Blood trickled from the wound. He dropped down to one knee, clutching his arm. His comrades spun around to face their attackers. Both the men and the women drew steel daggers with leather hilts from their clothing. A few of them produced darts which they flung at the tribesmen. Some of the villagers fell to the ground with thuds as they were struck, immobilized.
