by E. L. Todd
Flight of Life
Book One of the Essence Series
E. L. Todd
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Flight of Life
E.L. Todd
Copyright E.L. Todd 2014
Smashwords Edition
Flight of Life
The eerie shadows casted by the trees frightened Calloway the most. The way they swayed in direct opposition to the storming wind made his skin prickle with unease. The sheets of rain soaked his clothes, and his damp hair stretched down to his eyes, blocking his sight. But Calloway persevered and jogged under the billowing clouds until he reached the safety of the Grandiose Historian Library.
Calloway hid in the corner of the building and looked inside. No lights were seen in the library and it seemed forgotten—abandoned. The water from the rainstorm blackened the brick wall, and when he pressed his hand against the stone, he could feel moisture on his palm, along with the dirt that was smeared across the surface. He wiped his hand on his jeans and looked through the windows. He could see the fallen leaves dance in the wind in the reflective glass. Calloway didn’t want to go there that night but he had been commanded—he didn’t have a choice.
After he was certain the library was vacant, he approached the doorway and inserted his pocket knife, the one given to him by his late father, and he picked the lock until it released. The wind ripped the door open but Calloway steadied it before it slammed into the wall. The loud racket would announce his presence to anyone inside—friend or foe. Calloway entered then relocked the door from within.
The Grandiose Historian Library was ancient—archaic—and Calloway felt the entire history of world civilization sink into his skin as he stood before the massive staircase that reached to the shelves that housed thousands of books, scrolls, textbooks, and avenues to pure knowledge. He stood still for a moment, just listening to the silence. It was so quiet he could hear the dust falling through the air, landing on the bookcases and the tables then dispersing across the open study. The absence of light made visibility limited. Calloway could only catch glimpses of the room from the illumination of the lightning that struck the earth outside; it echoed across the world as it collided into the ground with deadly force.
He reached into his pocket and grabbed a glowing orb, a bright apparatus that emitted a faint glow when it was squeezed within his palm. Calloway caressed it in his fingers as he slowly ascended the steps of the staircase to the floor above. When he reached the top of the platform, he looked around the room and detected nothing abnormal—there was nothing to be seen. From his pocket he withdrew a folded sheet of binder paper and skimmed through the words. After he found what he sought, he shoved it back into his pocket harshly, ripping the paper as he stuffed it into his jeans.
The shelves were full of different volumes and categories of books—too many to sort through. Calloway walked down the aisles and searched for the sacred book in the dim library, guided by the light emitted from his small orb. After searching for the desired book for half an hour, Calloway sighed in despair. He knew it was there—it had to be.
He stopped when he reached the back of the room. It was full of dusty tables and chairs with only two or three pegs. There was a single door down the hallway, and he decided to investigate the entrance. It blended in with the rest of the wall and was difficult to see even with the aid of his orb, but he could distinguish the cobwebs in the border of the doorway and the dust on the surface of the wood. He turned the handle but it wouldn’t open, so he inserted his pocket knife and easily picked the lock. When the way was clear, he stepped inside and left the door ajar.
Calloway looked around the room. It seemed like a small office or storage center. He noted the damp smell of stale air; the door must have been closed for decades. There was one desk in the corner, and on the surface was a single book, thick with old crumpled sheets and stuffed with ancient dust. Calloway didn’t need to open the book to know it was the right one. He could sense it. He shoved it under his arm and left the room, closing the door gently behind him as he returned to the center of the Grandiose Historian Library. Calloway walked past the aisles of shelves until he reached the tables in the middle of the room. They formed a circle that was surrounded by the aisles of bookcases. Gently, he placed the book on the table and opened it. After skimming through the lines, he confirmed it was the right one—he found it.
A slight breeze swept through the library and the open page turned on its own. Calloway’s heart stopped beating for a moment in time before it raged sporadically inside his chest. He squeezed the orb gently and the light was extinguished, leaving him in complete darkness.
The sound of harsh breathing could be heard in the library, and the noise made Calloway shiver for a moment. It wasn’t the quick breathing of someone evading the storm—it was coarse and rough—demonic in nature. Guttural in sound, it wasn’t human but something else—beast-like.
Calloway closed the book quietly and stuffed it under his arm before he turned on his heel and crept away from the center of the library, passing the tables as he inched for cover in the sea of bookshelves. His heart was beating so fast, he was certain the sound could be heard. But as soon as he moved away, the breathing noise stopped—Calloway was found.
A table crashed to the ground as it was knocked over, and a bookshelf was tipped on its side, colliding with the adjacent bookcase as the Hara-Kir sprinted across the room toward Calloway with deadly determination. Calloway imagined the black cloak that concealed its entire body from head to toe. They were tall, the same height as Calloway, and they were slim, but deadly with muscles and strength. He didn’t know what they looked like under the cloak, and he didn’t want to find out. With the Hara-Kir pursuing him, he bolted for cover in a far corner of the library.
Calloway could barely distinguish where he was going, so he pulled the glowing orb from his pocket and squeezed it, illuminating the path before him. It was obvious the Hara-Kir could follow him even in the darkness so it didn’t matter if the luminescence exposed him. Besides, Calloway couldn’t see without it.
The sound of falling feet was loud behind him and Calloway knew he wouldn’t escape. He dashed to his right and knocked over a bookshelf, hoping it would crush the Hara-Kir or at least interrupt its advance, but he didn’t stop to check—he kept running. He ran past the aisles of shelves and heard the frantic breathing once more. It spurred him forward. His life would be taken if he was captured.
Calloway dashed down an aisle and extinguished the orb in his palm, confusing the Hara-Kir in mid-pursuit, and climbed up the bookcase with the sacred book still under his arm. When he reached the top, Calloway stood completely immobile, hoping he had dodged the Hara-Kir. The demonic breathing sounded stagnant, like it wasn’t moving from its steady position, but searching for him in the darkness with its gaze alone. Calloway held his breath and didn’t move—he only blinked. Several minutes passed without incident. The Hara-Kir didn’t move nor did Calloway.
The Hara-Kir hissed and it stung Calloway’s ears. “I see darkness in the light just as I see the light in shadow,” he whispered. “I will find you.” It sauntered through the library, its long cape trailing behind it, and stopped when it reached the bookshelf Calloway was standing on. Calloway clenched the book under his arm and steadied his breathing, understanding one mishap would be the death of h
im, and he waited for the Hara-Kir to step away.
The bookcase he was standing on crashed to the left and Calloway reacted instantaneously by jumping to the next bookshelf before it collapsed. When the case fell, he leaped to the adjacent one, slipping on the wood of the bookcase when he landed, and sending the book flying to the floor. Calloway’s heart stopped when he realized he dropped the book—he had to get it.
The Hara-Kir pushed the bookshelf, and Calloway jumped to the floor before it crashed. He grabbed the book just as the Hara-Kir noticed his presence, and he ran down the aisle before the shelf collapsed on top of him. The Hara-Kir was forced to run the opposite way because it couldn’t reach the end without being smashed by the falling bookcase.
Calloway sprinted to the exit, dashing through the remaining aisles as he advanced to the stairway. He jumped down the stairs and rolled into the fall when he landed, but the Hara-Kir leaped into the air and landed right alongside him. It grabbed Calloway by the arm. Calloway flinched as he felt the skin of its large hand grab him from under the folds of its cloak and squeeze him tightly. It was soft and warm. Calloway threw a punch at the Hara-Kir but the creature responded with unnatural speed and avoided the hit. When the Hara-Kir reached for the book, Calloway kneed him in the abdomen and the Hara-Kir stumbled back from the force, giving Calloway the opportunity to slam the book into the hood of the cape, hitting the Hara-Kir directly in the face. The creature hissed as he released his grip on Calloway. When the Hara-Kir was distracted, Calloway opened the door and sprinted into the night, dashing through the trees of the lawn and past the stone statues until he finally reached the road. His bike was tied to the streetlamp, and he unlocked it before jumping on and pedaling with all the strength he could, riding down the street before he disappeared into the neighboring houses. When he glanced behind him, there was no one pursuing him—or at least it seemed. Just to be certain, he hid in the trees of a neighborhood home and waited, verifying he wasn’t being followed. After a few moments, he saw movement at the end of the road—two Hara-Kirs were walking down the street. They were searching for him, knowing he headed this way. Calloway watched from his hiding place until they disappeared down a side street. He grabbed his bike and rode home as fast as his body would take him, his heart pounding in his chest like it would explode, knowing that his life was almost taken.
Nuclear Family
Everyone was seated at the kitchen table when Calloway walked into the house. He placed his bike against the wall and left his backpack on the floor in the entryway. The smell of pot roast with chopped carrots and potatoes wafted through the kitchen and made his mouth salivate automatically, even though he didn’t have an appetite. He took a deep breath before he opened the door and walked into the dining room, where everyone was gathered around the table, waiting for him.
“Hello,” Aunt Grace said with a smile. She kissed Calloway on the cheek and pulled out the chair for him before she sat down. Calloway took the seat directly across from her. She was very thin, with bony arms and hollow cheekbones, but she had enough substance in love and happiness to mask her sickly appearance. As a marathon runner, she never had the opportunity to gain weight even though her doctors encouraged her to eat more—she just couldn’t. “I was getting worried,” she said as she walked to the counter and donned her oven mitts before she placed the crock pot in the center of the table, where the meat and vegetables floated in the warm water that was viscous from the spices and herbs. Even though Calloway wasn’t hungry he decided to eat anyway—he didn’t want to hurt his aunt’s feelings.
“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Calloway said automatically. “I just got caught up at school.” Breccan, Calloway’s cousin, glanced at him with a worried expression. He knew that was a lie.
“Well,” she said as she sat down at the table. “It doesn’t seem like you caught senioritis disease. You seem intent on your studies—I am very proud.”
Calloway felt guilty for lying to his favorite aunt but he couldn’t think of something better to say. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her the truth; that his life was almost taken by a Hira-Kir, something she had no knowledge of.
Uncle Scott gripped Calloway on the shoulder. “Don’t look so upset.” He smiled. “You aren’t in trouble. We were just concerned.” His eyes looked large through the lens of his glasses. Uncle Scott had gone through more glasses than tissue paper. He always dropped them or misplaced them because he never invested in a protective case. He was wearing a new pair now.
Calloway nodded as he grabbed the spoon sitting in the stew and shoveled the food onto his plate, avoiding eye contact with his family. He hated being the liar that he was. In truth, his grades were horrible and he was struggling in every class, but it wasn’t because he lacked intelligence. He just didn’t have the time to study.
“How was your day, Breccan?” Aunt Grace asked her son. “You’ve been very quiet this evening.”
“It was fine,” he said as he shoved the food into his mouth. Breccan didn’t meet the gaze of his mother when he spoke, concentrating on eating his meal as quickly as possible.
“There must be more to this story,” she pressed him as she took a sip of her wine.
“You ask me that every day,” he snapped. “My life isn’t a crazy adventure like you assume it is. There is nothing to tell.”
The tension in the room elevated after Breccan spoke. He continued to eat his food like nothing unnatural just transpired. Calloway kept his gaze downturned as he ate. It irritated him that his cousin was so disrespectful to his mother. He told him many times but Breccan never listened.
“You don’t have to join us for dinner,” his father said in a threatening tone. He leaned over the table with his elbows resting on the surface, warning his son with his proximity. “If you would rather eat in the living room, go ahead. We don’t want you here if you don’t want to be.”
Breccan looked at his father then dropped his gaze to his plate, saying nothing.
“Are you staying, then?” he asked. Uncle Scott held his fork in his hand but didn’t eat. His look was directed at Breccan.
“Yes,” Breccan mumbled.
“It doesn’t seem like it,” he pressed.
Breccan sighed then turned to his mother. “I got my math quiz back—I did okay. There is a school dance coming too. I think its winter formal, but I don’t care to go. Some girl asked me but I told her no—it’s lame.”
Aunt Grace nodded. “And why don’t you want to go?”
It was obvious that Breccan was annoyed by the tension in his jaw and the tightness in his shoulders. “I just don’t want to.”
“That’s odd,” she said. “I was excited for my winter formal.”
“That’s because you’re a girl.”
“And what does that matter?” She laughed.
“It’s a girly thing,” he said. “You get all dressed up then complain about how fat you look. There’s a lot of slow dancing and drama going on. It doesn’t seem interesting to me.”
“I think you would have fun,” she said. Breccan took a bite of his food and chewed it, ignoring her last comment. “You father and I went to winter formal together,” she said as she stared affectionately at her husband. “It was a magical night.”
Uncle Scott nodded. “I still remember it,” he said as he ate his dinner. “You looked very beautiful.”
“I would hope so.” She laughed. “I was an eighteen year old girl at the time.”
“But you weren’t quite as beautiful as you are now.”
Aunt Grace smiled as she touched his hand.
Breccan looked at Calloway and rolled his eyes. Calloway tried not to laugh at the exaggerated expression.
Aunt Grace looked at Calloway. “Are you going to winter formal, honey?”
He chewed his food and swallowed it. “I don’t think so.”
“And why not?” she asked.
“I don’t have a date,” he said. In truth, like Breccan, he had no interest in attending, but he kne
w this reason would excuse him from prying questions. His aunt and uncle were just as invested in his upbringing as they were of their own son. They cared about him just as much.
Aunt Grace nodded. “Well, you might find someone before the date arrives.”
“Maybe,” he said non-committedly.
She picked at her food and ate a few bites but left a majority of it uneaten. She never had an appetite. Calloway glanced outside the window and watched the storm billow outside the house, swaying the trees in the wind and saturating the soil with rain. Insects and worms were crawling onto the sidewalk for a reprieve from the flood, knowing they would drown if they stayed buried within the soil. But Calloway was looking through the window for another reason—it had nothing to do with the weather.
The incident at the Grandiose Historian Library made him feel flustered and frightened. He assumed he was going to grab the book and leave with no complications. Yes, there was a possibility of the Hara-Kir making an appearance, but he hadn’t expected it to happen in that moment. He wondered if the place was being watched, waiting for him to make the first move so they could capture both him and the sacred book. Calloway piled the food into this mouth despite his overwhelming anxiety. He fought the stress and kept eating.
“How was work, dear?” Aunt Grace asked her husband.
“It was slow.” He sighed. “Not very many people came into the store today, probably because of the storm.” Uncle Scott worked as a manager of a home improvement store in town. He started working when he was in high school and was eventually promoted to the manager position. Aunt Grace was unable to work due to her random bouts of sickness so money was always an issue. They never went out to dinner or the movies, unable to afford it unless it was a special occasion. Calloway felt guilty every time his aunt would return from the store with new school clothes, mainly jeans because he always ripped them apart when he rode his bike. Just sharing meals with them made him feel like a nuisance even though they loved having him in their home.
