Fate Foretold
Gifted Anomalies Book One
Jaliza A. Burwell
Fate Foretold
Copyright © 2019 by Jaliza A. Burwell
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. This book 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.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copy Edited by Bookends Editing
Book Cover Design by Manuela Serra
Printed in the United States of America
To Kohbi for your amazing support and belief in this story.
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Coming Soon
From the Author
Stalker Links
1
I walk through the park, keeping my stride steady and unhurried. The sunlight dances against my skin in warm breaths as the birds sing together in beautiful harmony. Glancing around at my surroundings, I shift the bag on my back to better distribute the weight.
A little boy, probably only about five years old, stands off to the side with his gifted mother and laughs as he watches her lift the surrounding fallen apples through levitation. He claps his hands in excitement.
My pale blue-grey eyes meet the mother’s light brown ones, and I smile. She kindly returns the expression with her own warm one. Happiness is wrapped around the mother and son as they go about their life with no worries.
That’s right nothing to see. I’m just your typical everyday person, taking a nice walk through the park.
My heart hammers against my chest despite my outward calm mask. I can feel them. Their energy reaches out, searching for me, trying to ferret me out amongst all the other gifted in the park. If they knew how strong I really am, they wouldn’t be searching for me so openly. The energy they use to search for me helps me to track their positions. Not many gifted can track other energy signatures, but I’ve had a lot of practice.
I find comfort in their lack of information and smile to myself, despite the fear eating at me. Searching that way isn’t going to work. I can hide my own energy and with half the world’s population being gifted, it’s easy to scramble my energy signature and mix it up with those surrounding me. Exhausting to do but it works. Normally, a gifted only has one gift and never learns to do anything else. Why should they? But those of us who are stronger and need a larger skill set to survive can learn to manipulate our energy to do a little bit more. Thanks to my father’s training, I’ve become adept at using my energy to track others. He made sure that I was more than just my seer ability before his death.
Hot anger rises in the pit of my stomach when I think of my father, followed by a sharp pain gutting me open. He would still be here if it wasn’t for the bastard currently hunting me. Up until two years ago, I was doing okay. I lived semi-normally, with a normal job, staying off the radar with my father helping me. But then Holsen, a multi-billionaire tycoon, decided he wanted more out of his greedy life and bought the loyalty of a decent seer.
And now I’m here, on the run, no home, no job… and no father. I clench my teeth as I think back to two years ago. I should have seen it. Isn’t that why Holsen wants me? Because I can See everything. I’m stronger than all the seers in existence, but I never Saw his death coming. I never expected to swing by my father’s house only to find him murdered in his living room, his blood soaking into the carpet.
The marks on his skin. The blood on the carpet and walls. His twisted expression capturing the pain they put him through. They tortured my father. They put him through hell to get any details they could about me.
As I walk through the park, the pain of my loss turns into gnawing guilt. I shake it off, needing to focus. The feel of my dad’s wedding ring dangling around my neck reminds me to keep going as I grip it tightly. I can hate myself all I want later when I’m somewhere safe. Right now, I need to keep my head clear. One slip up and I’m a goner.
The trail goes around a bend, and I nearly pick up my speed, but I force myself to stay steady despite the temptation to put as much space as I can between my pursuers and me. I can’t draw any attention to myself. They’re too close. I do anything out of the norm—like screaming ‘murderers’ at the top of my lungs—and they’re going to be on top of me in seconds.
Teenagers laugh as they chase around a soccer ball, using their gifted speed to move at a rate too fast to keep track of. I blink, and they are across the field, the goalie just managing to block a shot. Then I blink again and they are in the middle of the field, shouting at each other and fighting over control of the ball. They move that fast. Speed is a common gift to have, and I envy them for having that instead of something rare. They’ll never have to worry about becoming enslaved for the gift they possess. They get to zoom around the field, kicking a ball, all they want.
I shake my head and look away before they give me a headache. Wanting to stay and watch and knowing it isn’t feasible, I have to force myself to continue on.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the spot I need to ensure I get away. I eye my surroundings briefly, feeling relief that no one is around. After slipping into the woods, I carefully make my way to a stream about a mile in.
Their energy is now further away and my shoulders slowly slump in relief. My body’s still tense, but it isn’t that heart clenching fear of being caught at any moment. If those men catch me, my life is over. If Holsen gets his hands on me, I can kiss any freedom of mine goodbye.
Rushing water from the stream catches my attention. To reach it, I have to push through thick foliage before the beautiful sight comes into view. The green grass turns into moss-covered rocks before reaching the water’s edge. The stream flows with strength and slaps against the rocks as it passes by. I take a deep breath, enjoying the scent of fresh water mixed with earth and life. The energy in the water is already nipping at my skin before I even reach the rocky, slippery bank. I don’t pause, walking out into the middle of the stream.
The cool water flows around me, the energy tingling against my skin. My sneakers are soaked, reminding me that I forgot to take them off. Damn. That’s going to be annoying to walk around in.
A few years back, a gifted came into these woods to test out one of his experimental potions. When he dumped it into the stream, his potion didn’t do what he expected but instead created a type of black hole. No one can feel another person’s energy signature within the boundaries of the stream. But unlike a black hole, instead of being filled with nothingness, the area is filled with energy that overpowers all other energies and ultimately hides them among its own. Not many people know about this place, only a handful. I’m one of the lucky ones now.
They can’t track me here.
I close my eyes, releasing the knot within me, letting my
body completely relax. My brain opens, unleashing its tension and with that release comes images.
Go downstream. Find small town. Get caught.
Continue past the stream. Run into bad men who want to rape me.
Go upstream. Cave. Safe for a day, enough time for men chasing me to give up and leave.
Over and over, different possibilities flash through my mind, more than any seer has Seen before. The images nearly overwhelm me and a jumble of them mesh together and disappear before I can really grab onto them.
I only See faces, their worry, their concern, their fear as they stare at me. Men’s faces, blurry. I just know looking at them makes my heart ache.
My body shudders, and I finally open my eyes slowly. After taking a moment to shake away all the images, I focus on the ones I need. My curiosity keeps bringing the blurry images to mind, but because I won’t be able to identify them even if I see them on the streets, I push them to the side for now. I don’t want to think about what those expressions mean. I don’t want to think about the people I could potentially drag into my dangerous life.
I don’t want to endanger any more people.
Even after having the gift to ‘See’ for sixteen years, I still can’t get used to it. Images are always trying to bombard my brain, force themselves into any crack of weakness and consume all my thoughts until only those images are left.
Only my strong will allows me to function each day. I learned as a little girl to wrap an airtight bubble around my psyche to prevent my own gift from devouring me. Thanks to my ability, I barely survived my childhood. Children don’t learn they have gifts until around ten years old. Me, I had my first vision when I was four. My father taught me control and warned me to stay hidden. We had to move around when I was growing up, never making a place home.
I used to question my father why we always moved so often, and he told me since I was a rarity, I couldn’t afford to have a place to call home. Eventually, I just grew used to it, never putting roots down anywhere. I didn’t want to be used, so traveling became the norm.
There are no others like me, no one who can open themselves up and just See what is to come and what each choice a person has can lead to. Sure, there is a handful who get visions, but those visions are only one possibility out of hundreds and can easily be changed. Rumor is that’s how the seer Holsen hired was able to discover I existed. I was a vision. Me, I can See all the possibilities, all the choices a person has and how that will affect them. As a child, I was very familiar with migraines and nosebleeds. The nosebleeds stopped, but if I over-use my gift, I get massive migraines.
I wrap the bubble around my psyche and sigh. Every time I let go like that, it feels like I’m relaxing an overused muscle. Then when I block out the images again, my psyche is tensing right back up, trying to hold up against my gift.
Once out of the water, I wince as each step makes a heavy sloshing noise. I should have taken off my darn shoes. After following the stream upward, the cave that I Saw in my head comes into view. The rocky cave sits right next to the water, the opening only a few feet wide, just big enough to crawl into.
I hoist up my bag full of provisions and go inside, using the flashlight I keep on me to guide the way. After crawling for about ten feet through cold mud, something that feels too similar to a spider web covers my face, and I have a mini panic attack as I swipe at it.
“No fricken way,” I mumble as I scrub at my face, imagining a spider crawling through my hair. I shudder and gag at the thought, trying to shake myself off in the tight space.
Eventually, the cave opens into a space large enough to stretch out. I rub at my tired eyes and despite it being early, decide it’s best to take a nap. I need all the sleep I can get because tomorrow, I’m getting out of this area, and in two days, I’m leaving the state, going south, and away from my pursuers.
The journey’s going to be long and taxing on my body. Using my gift for long periods of times exhausts me, but it needs to be done on the next leg of this journey if I want to get down south in time. The net Holsen cast around me has been getting smaller and smaller every day. Soon, my opportunity for freedom will close if I don’t move fast enough.
But I need to sleep first. Rest. Or my muddled mind won’t function right and I’ll mess up.
I lean my back against the rock wall, stretch out my legs, and pull out a throw blanket. After wrapping it tightly around myself, my eyes drift shut and sleep quickly takes over.
2
Something grabs me and yanks hard. Suddenly, I’m falling, weightless, with not even a breeze to slow my fall. I try to scream, but the black abyss surrounding me swallows the noise before I can hear it. All my senses are muted, the darkness so all-encompassing that even my taste and sense of smell is now gone.
All I have is the feeling of falling, of my stomach reaching up to the back of my throat, briefly forgetting about the memo about gravity.
Then I land with a soft whoosh. All at once my senses return to me with a vengeance. I’m overwhelmed with it all, with the fresh, crisp air, the singing of birds, the cool wind brushing against my skin, the intensity of the warm sun against my eyes. Everything. I force my eyes to stay open against the harsh sunlight, wondering what happened and where the hell I am.
I should be asleep in a cave right now, not in the middle of an unknown forest.
After taking in my surroundings, I know. I just know. I’m dreaming. Everything is too vibrant. Nothing in the real world could be this animated, where there is this underlying glow to make every color pop ten times more. It’s beautiful.
Not only is everything pulsating with life but it’s also fresher. I take in a long deep breath, enjoying the crispness in the warm air, something that shouldn’t be possible. The fresh air is thick with the smell and taste of the forest—of the soil underneath my feet, the cool water in the distance, of the musk from the surrounding animals.
I can sense everything so clearly in this dream realm.
All my senses are sharper and stronger. This isn’t normal for me. I never dream so vividly and even if I do, I never have the control over my dream-self like I do right now. I stare down at my pale hands in amazement. I’m still me, still wearing the same dirty clothes, still with the same dirt underneath my nails. My feet are sore and my dyed dark brown hair is still messy and falling over my face.
If I was in a dream, I’d make sure I looked better than I do now. And I wouldn’t feel as sore.
Something is off. Different.
Low voices break through the dense forest, and I follow the sound, hoping for answers. I work my way through all the foliage, expecting the branches to sting as they scratch against my skin, but they bend against my body, flexible. Their brushes against my skin are kind, even welcoming.
I pass a massive rock and let my hand glide over the cool stone, feeling the smoothness against my palms. The rock pulses under my touch and I pull my hand away.
What kind of dream is this?
As I get closer, I can make out the deep rumbling of men. There are four distinct voices. One voice is gravelly, another deep and calming, the next one smooth and rich, and the final one deep and quiet. The voices mingle together to create a harmony of a long friendship that draws me closer, seeking to get a better idea of how their dynamics work.
The forest opens into a clearing, and I hang back within the boundaries of the thicket, using the shadows to stay hidden as I canvas the area. My heart thuds hard against my chest as questions fly through my head. After taking a moment to scan the area, it doesn’t take long to zoom in on the source.
A group of men stand in the large clearing and beyond them is a huge cliff.
The first man looks to be only a year older than me. He’s laughing as he points at another man, his olive-green eyes wide with humor. They’re beautiful eyes. Not a word I usually use when describing a guy, but it can’t be helped. And paired with the bit of scruff along his angled jawline, the overall impression is of someone devastatin
gly handsome. He straightens and runs a hand through his blonde-tipped, short brown hair and exhibits an impressive display of muscles on his arms and chest. My mouth dries, and I force myself to look away. Only to land on another man who stands off to the side, watching everything with an amused expression.
First glance, he comes off as unusually average. I could walk by him on the street and all I would think is ‘Oh, he’s cute,’ and not really give him a second look. But standing in the shadows of the trees, hidden from them, I’m able to take a closer look. His short, shaggy, light brown hair looks purposely messy. His small grey eyes are accentuated by his dark, thin brows. A five o’clock shadow covers his jaw with a trimmed mustache over his small, thin lips. But his attractiveness goes beyond his looks. I can feel it. The energy in the air surrounding him, tendrils reaching out, prepared to grab onto something. My instincts tell me he would be a formidable opponent.
A deep and quiet voice catches my attention as a man lets loose a string of swearing. The man is on the ground, soaked with water from unknown origins. His dark brown eyes scream danger as he glares at the one with the blond tips in his hair. He climbs to his feet, and I take note of the day-old scruff framing his broad jaw, only accentuating his sex appeal. He has a slightly larger nose, but it doesn’t take anything away from his sexiness. His short brown hair makes my fingers twitch against the bark of the tree I’m leaning against. I want to run my hands through his hair.
“Calm down,” the smooth, rich voice calls out loud enough for me to hear clearly. Delicious shivers run down my spine as I look at a pretty face. No seriously, his face is really pretty. There aren’t any blemishes or facial hair, and his skin is porcelain white. He’s beautiful. His narrow, brown eyes give credence to the whole Asian stereotype and it works for him. Really works for him. His pink bow lips are tilted up at the sides as he tries to hold in his laughter. He has moderately bushy eyebrows but with a tame quality to them. His nose is both long and small, thin. His black hair is artfully styled to stand up straight, but in a natural way, without any products to do the job for him. The strands just know not to get in his way.
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