Forging Truth (The Truth Saga)

by Raymond Masters

  Forging Truth

  By Raymond F. Masters

  This book is fiction. Names, characters, and locations have been either pulled purely from the author’s twisted imagination, or they have been fictionalized.

  © 2011 by Raymond F. Masters

  All rights reserved, including reproduction of this book or portions thereof in any form. For more information, please, contact the author’s website raymondmasters.wordpress.com

  First eBook edition December 2011

  Cover design by the phenomenal Staci Perkins

  I dedicate this novel to Fonda Masters, the best mother a boy could ask for. Any love and power that show through the character of Tabitha Truth comes directly from her. She’s my lifelong friend and grammar coach.

  INTRODUCTION

  Wow, this has certainly been a long time coming. I started writing longhand in August 2002. I switched to laptop and finished the first draft in February 2009. Between those dates, I did a lot of slacking off on my story. I ignored it, pushed it aside, filed it away. But, it was never far from my thoughts. In the shower, in the bed, in the car … It always found me, sooner or later. In fact, the first time through, I only wrote about 30 handwritten pages, plus another 5, or so, of notes. I picked it up a few times and jotted down something of interest to me. A spark or something shiny in the sand. But nothing moved my story along.

  Then, I had a couple of revelations. The first was I had started my story in the past and was going to lead up to the action-packed present. Too slow. So, I made the scenes I originally wrote take place much later in the book, as a key flashback for Kade. I had to revise it, to give it an organic feel, but not much. It fit surprisingly well in that section of the tale. The second thing was to introduce a very dynamic character named Caduceus. The way Kade and Ducie play from one another is pure magic, in my unbiased opinion. The problem was I sometimes had a hard time putting down the character to focus on Kade.

  These characters, along with Stephen, Jessie, Mao, Van Parson, and yes, even the Dark Monk are really what the story is about. Sure, there’s action and magic floating throughout, but I am really into character writing. It also happens to be my favorite reading. Go figure.

  Before I roll out and let you begin the first novel in the Truth Saga, I wanted to say thank you. It means the world to me that you’ve placed your faith into this brand spanking new author. Shoot, I still have that new author smell. If you read this and like it, awesome. Please, don’t stop there. Swing by Amazon, Smashwords, Goodreads, or anywhere you see Forging Truth and fire off a quick review to let others know to pick it up. An indie author will die without fan reviews. If, however, you don’t care for it, maybe I’ll catch you on down the line.

  Raymond F. Masters

  December 15, 2011

  MEETING CADUCEUS.. 6

  SIGHTINGS.. 14

  COMING TO TERMS.. 53

  SEARCHES.. 66

  IN TRAINING... 76

  PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS.. 92

  MEETING AESCULAPUS.. 127

  INVASION... 148

  RECALL.. 165

  HOUSE CALLS.. 193

  REUNIONS.. 220

  IN THE BEGINNING... 235

  THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN... 239

  BROTHERS’ KEEPER... 260

  OVER THERE.. 282

  DEAD OF WAR... 298

  ENEMY MIND... 313

  ALL TOGETHER NOW.... 341

  EPILOGUE.. 369

  MEETING CADUCEUS

  1

  Blackness. The man, who will not know he is Kade Christopher Truth for some time, raises himself on one elbow. He is on the street, what started the day as a street. There were others. Others moving slowly around him. He wonders if he has been drugged. “Hey,” he cries, “Where am I?” He looks down and what he sees cannot be fact. Protruding from his shoulder is a shard of metal, approximately a foot and a half long. Horrified, he realizes it has come far less than that from permanently separating his neck from his torso. Shaking, he pulls at the metal on his way to standing, and it reluctantly leaves. This seems to take weeks. Again, he tries: “Where am I?” Then: “What’s happening?” He is yelling to be heard over the collage of sirens and screams. The strain of talking so loudly is too much for his taxed body, and he finds himself, again, on the freezing concrete. Is it freezing, or is he in shock?

  It no longer matters. Kade is back in the blissful, midnight darkness. Perhaps he will rest there for a bit.

  2

  Something’s different. I awake in a small room, no larger than an old school pantry. How did I get here? I don’t recognize this place at all. I … Who am I? I know this isn’t my house – my apartment. “What’s going on,” I ask the cobwebs. As I calm, I take stock of my surroundings. I am on a cot in the corner of what appears to be a linen closet. Not a pantry, but close. In the opposite corner, there’s what has to be the world’s oldest washing machine. It’s also the biggest I’ve ever seen. Probably came from industrial use. It looks like it must weigh a ton. To my right are three wooden steps leading up, to where a blanket hung over a doorway.

  I make my way to a sitting position. When I stand, there is stiffness in my neck. My knees pop. This is the best vacation I’ve had in years. I head for the stairs, but stop short. What happens when I climb them? I have no idea where I am. This space, though, is obviously my space. It might not have always been, but for the time being it is. It would seem I’m not here against my will. I know I’m in rough shape, but I think I could probably fight my way through a tattered old blanket.

  I weigh my options a few more seconds, and I decide it can’t hurt to at least stick my head out to see if I am alone. Besides, I realize, I really need to pee. Bad.

  As I push through my “door,” I come into a long, narrow hallway that empties out into a surprisingly neat kitchen. A sculpted oak island, on which sits an emerald glass bowl piled high with fruit, bisects the kitchen. Seeing the produce, my bladder suddenly becomes a secondary priority. I come closer and pick up a plum. Greed kicks in, and I take another. How long has it been since I’ve eaten?

  Juice running down my chin and a hollow stomach serves as a distraction, so I don’t notice the mountain of a man swiftly moving my way until he is already on top of me. With an almost imperceptible bending at the waist, he scoops me into the air in a fierce bear hug. Startled and airborne, I drop the last bit of my second plum on the man’s shoulder. He spins me around once, and just as quickly as I was lifted, I am back on terra firma.

  “Um, sorry for eating your food,” I say feebly. “And for dropping some on you.”

  “My boy! It is truly good to see you up and about. Oh, and don’t worry abut the fruit. I’m just thankful to not be shoveling soup down your gullet anymore.”

  I look through him, uncomprehending. Nonplused, he shrugs and says, “It’ll come with time, I recon.” Then, as an afterthought, “I’m Caduceus, by the by.” He flashes the back of his left hand at me, showcasing a tattoo that neatly covers the area between his thumb, forefinger, and wrist. The familiar inking depicts a short herald’s staff entwined by two serpents in the form of a double helix, and surmounted by wings.

  Gullet? By the by? The hell? Is it possible I have forgotten a little more than my identity? For instance, I don’t know, the current use of the English language? I smile and offer my hand in return. “I’m …” And that’s it. It’s the simplest, most honest action known to man. You meet someone, you stretch out your hand, and you say, “Hi, I’m John Smith.” But I couldn’t complete the phrase to save my life. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember who I am.”

  “Figured as much, I did. Come into the living room and sit a spell. You don’t have to remember it all
at once, now. My shows are coming on, and Heaven knows you ain’t got to know much of anything to watch them.” With a huge bellow of a laugh, he leaves the kitchen.

  Laughing to myself, as well, I followed my new landlord and feeder-of-soup. Then, I remembered something very important. “Caduceus, sir, where’s your bathroom?”

  3

  “Thought I was going to overflow it for a second,” I say, reentering the room. Well, so much for intelligent small talk. When I had finally made it to the toilet, I actually sat down to relieve myself. This served two purposes. Foremost, I was able to empty my bladder without putting too much strain on my newly ambulatory self. It also gave me a chance to get my faculties in order and come up with something to say when I got back to Caduceus. In retrospect, I think I should’ve just stood up.

  Thankfully, though, he didn’t glare or even offer any response. Instead, his gaze appeared to be fixed to the television set, or to what I presumed was the TV, though I couldn’t see it from my vantage point. As I made my way fully into the living room for the first time, I decided to sneak a peek at what was so important. In front of me stood a floor-to-ceiling entertainment center of the sort I had never even imagined. Though I did not count them, I have no doubt there were at least seven televisions (and possibly as many as ten) arranged in a sort of plus-sign configuration on the shelves. Every big-name manufacturer was represented, each tuned to a different program. “What is this?” No wonder he hadn’t responded. The noise level should have alerted me to the use of multiple consoles.

  “What, this,” he says in his naturally amplified voice. “My shows. I told you they were coming on, remember?” And as an afterthought: “Sit.” So, I did.

  We sat and watched TV for the rest of the afternoon. Well, to be honest, Caduceus watched TV – or TVs, plural – while I watched Caduceus. A couple of times, he cast a glance my way and caught me studying him. He must not have been offended, because each time, he would return his attention to his monitors. Looking at Caduceus, I kept having the distinct feeling I should know him. From where, I didn’t have a clue. Of course, that wasn’t really that shocking, considering I really couldn’t tell you where I knew me from, either. He was a big man; even sitting he was an intimidating presence. I tried to gauge him but found it difficult. He had to be over six-foot, but his height was deceiving. This was due in most part to his build: his biceps and neck muscles practically exploded from the sleeves and top of his plain blue tee. The shirt also sculpted his rigid pecs up top and a stomach that was a comfortable amalgam of muscle and gut. Then it hit me – where I recognized him from: I had seen him in every Monday night wrestling match, in every big-summer blockbuster, and especially within the 22-page, four-color comics I had read growing up. The man was truly the American Action Figure – complete with Kung-fu grip.

  4

  At 6:00, an alarm on the upper, right TV sounded, and Caduceus reached for a drawer in the center of his coffee table. Inside were enough remotes to operate all the electronics in the room and then some. After fishing around a few seconds, he finally found the one he’s looking for, a VPI, universal that turns off every monitor at once.

  Positioning himself so he can address me better, Caduceus says, “So, what’m I gonna call you, boy? I can’t have you living here and you not have a name, now can I?”

  I flash a smile. “Well, I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest. I mean, if you call me John Wayne, for instance, and then, months down the road, I regain my memories, then, will I go by that name or will I go the rest of my life referring to myself as John Wayne?”

  Caduceus raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, John Wayne, that’s the longest thing you’ve said since I first laid eyes on you. You sure you haven’t given it much thought? Mayhap I should just call you Jackass. Then, you can be Jackass for the rest of yer days. Would that suit you?”

  “Okay, okay. How about Jack, for short?”

  “Are ye serious?”

  “What’s wrong with Jack? It’s a strong name: Jack.”

  “Yeah, and it’s the least original name out there. Bauer, Bristow, Sawyer …”

  “And the beanstalk,” I offer.

  “My point is every new movie and book released has to have at least one character, normally the protagonist, named Jack. It’s an entirely overused literary device.”

  “So is amnesia,” I point out glumly, “Besides, it’s my name. Why can’t I choose it?”

  “You’re obviously still addled from your little nap!”

  “How can you possibly judge a good name, anyway? I mean, Caduceus? Bit of a mouthful isn’t it? How ‘bout I call you Ducie for short, eh Ducie?”

  Moving to the very edge of his seat, he leans his large frame over mine, locks eyes, and says: “I’ve taken a lot of heat over my name, thank you very much. Aesculapus, for one, has been very jealous of it over the years.” His inside joke is lost on me.

  Pulling back a little from his intense gaze, I reply, “Sorry, Ducie, I really was just trying to get you worked up.”

  “Heh, and here I was thinking you were truly enjoying your newly-regained consciousness. How silly of me. Wash up and meet me in the kitchen. That plum and any force-fed soup has pretty much warn off by now, I’d imagine.”

  5

  By the time I returned to the kitchen, Caduceus had already gathered the bulk of ingredients needed to prepare the meal. I offered to help, but only received a slight grunt in response. “You can go get us some drinks from the icebox on the back porch, though.” I nod and head to the door. “Oh, and mind your step. We’re up a bit.”

  We certainly were. It was amazing; the view was like something only found in Thomas Kinkade paintings. I went to the railing and looked out. We were on the side of a large hill – a baby mountain would probably be more accurate, but I’m sure geologists would only classify it as a hill. Then again, I’ll go to my grave calling Pluto a planet.

  The log house itself sat squarely on the mountainside, but the back porch was a two-thirds wraparound deck, supported by huge wooden pillars, each as tall as a tree. Overlooking the treetops below, I felt like I could jump off and soar over them. Directly below was a wide stream that snaked off through the woods. Currently a couple of deer stood with their mouths lowered to the water. Filling their gullets, I could hear Caduceus say.

  “Drinks!” I had gotten lost in watching the deer take theirs and forgot all about getting ours. I found the icebox – no refrigerator here, this was an actual icebox – right beside the door I had just come through. I must have walked right past it, sidetracked by the incredible view. The top shelf was full of beer from what looked like every country, and the bottom two shelves had just as wide a variety of generic colas. I grabbed a couple of cans of beer and a couple more of root beer and headed back for the house. Just as I reached the door, Caduceus poked his head out to check on my progress.

  “‘Fraid you might’ve fallen overboard. What do you think, eh? Magnificent isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, there were deer and everything. I felt like I was in a Disney movie or something.”

  “Deer? You mean Gregor and Isis. They prefer to drink at this end of the stream, the water’s a little special here.”

  “Right. Well, would it be okay if we ate supper outside?”

  “That would be perfect. I really think you’ll love the sunset. It’s a little special in its own right.”

  6

  Caduceus was right: I did love the sunset. If possible, it made the view even more stunning. The reds and oranges lit up the sky and reflected back to us from the stream. The trees seemed to glow with the setting sun’s rich amber rays. Gregor came and went a couple of different times over the course of the meal, but Isis must have tired out early.

  The meal itself was fully loaded. I have no idea how Caduceus managed to pull this banquet out of thin air while I had been outside getting the drinks. There were the freshest, sweetest fruits, and a very juicy salad with Caduceus’ homemade dressing, for starters. T
hen, he brought out a large bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy, a generous helping of fried okra, and finally a steaming tray of both round and strip steaks. The smell was enough to drive you mad if you let it.

  “How did you pull this one off? I wasn’t gone that long.”

  “Ah, I’m an old pro when it comes to cooking. ‘Tis my favorite pastime. Especially when I’m able to cook for others. Well, go on, let me know what you think.”

  I took a bite and nearly burned my tongue and lips off. “Woo, better let it cool some, I guess. When my taste buds grow back, I’m sure it’ll taste great, though.

  “Caduceus, sir,” I said turning serious, “I have so many questions. I was wondering if perhaps you might be able to fill in some of what happened to me. I mean, how did I end up here? Why did you take me in?”

  He took a breath, before saying, “You died. In the attack.” He let it hang in the air.

  I was speechless. What had he said? Died? What attack?

  “Well, I thought you did anyway. It was a couple of weeks ago, after the attack … I was in the cleanup effort, and … I ran across you there, and I … brought you home. That’s it. That’s how you came to be here.”

  “Wait a minute, now. That’s it? So, you start out, saying I died, and scaring the cat crap out of me, and that’s it?”

  “Well. Well, there might have been a little more. I just don’t know if you are ready to hear everything just yet. And do try to watch your language. It’s way too pleasant out here for that kind of talk.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But, I’m ready to hear the details. I need to hear everything. I deserve to. I think it might help me get over my amnesia. So, can I trust you to give me a complete retelling of the events that led me here? I want the truth.”