Terra's Call (TetraSphere Book 1)

by P. T. L. Perrin

  I’m not alone. Voices echo in the hollow space, and I recognize them. Great. My least-favorite people in the world have invaded my space.

  “Well, well,” Max’s gravelly voice never ceases to irritate me. “Hiding from the world again?”

  I say nothing. He isn’t worth the wasted breath.

  “Storm,” Marla hisses. Every time she says a word with an ‘s’ in it, she hisses. It’s disturbing. I turn to leave.

  “Oh, don’t go,” Marla says. “Let us show you what we’ve discovered. You’re going to love it.”

  Curiosity killed the cat, they say, but I’m no cat. I want to know what it is. I turn and follow them behind a large stalagmite with its top half broken off and see Max’s head disappear down a hole not much wider than his shoulders. He’s wearing a miner’s cap and turns the headlamp on. Marla climbs down a ladder and, as soon as she clears the way, I follow. The hole leads into a narrow passageway that slants downward.

  We walk single file, careful not to slip down the steep path. I turn my flashlight off to conserve the batteries. Max’s headlamp illuminates faint markings along the left wall.

  “This is far enough,” I say. “We don’t have any equipment in case we run into trouble.”

  “Scared, freak?” Max taunts. “If we fall down a hole, you can levitate us right out of it. What are you worried about?”

  Marla laughs and I cringe. I can’t stand her voice.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, Max, this is a sacred cavern, and this passage could be leading to something we aren’t supposed to see.”

  “Exactly my point,” he retorts. “We found something really strange a little farther on. You in or out?”

  He has a point. I can use my abilities if we get into trouble. There’s no way anyone else is down here, unless they got here first, and if that’s the case, I’ll gladly leave.

  I lose Max’s light for a moment when the passage makes a sharp turn to the right. By the time I round the corner, Max and Marla are standing in a cavern filled with lights. The walls, embedded with countless tiny crystals, reflect and magnify the little bit of light coming off the headlamp, and the result is magnificent, like a million stars underground.

  “Didn’t I tell you you’d love it?” Marla did a little dance. I swear I caught a glimpse of scales on her arms when she spun around, but that’s crazy, right?

  “I’m leaving,” I tell them, and turn back to the passage. This time I use the flashlight and they follow. I have to get home and can’t wait to tell Wolf about this.

  When I’m out of the hole, I reach in to help the others. Marla winks, and it looks like her pupil narrowed vertically for a second. My imagination must be working overtime.

  We walk toward the cave entrance when someone’s shadow blocks the light. My secret place is turning into a busy mall. Whoever it is moves away and I’m the first to emerge. I can’t believe it!

  It isn’t a person, but the shadow of a huge triangular craft hovering just above the trees. It looks like the one that attacked the Adams’ house, and the one that killed my parents. Fury breaks out of its prison deep inside me, and I shoot my hands out in front of me and will the thing to shatter. My rage alone should have splintered it, but nothing happens. I mentally pick up rocks and aim for the windows. They bounce off harmlessly.

  I growl and rock a boulder back and forth, willing the ground to release it until it does, and I lift it above the craft and hurl it down on the windshield. The rock breaks into pieces. The craft remains undamaged. I’m shaking with rage. Nearby trees twist and rip their roots out of the ground. I throw them like javelins at the windows, where they shatter like toothpicks. What is this thing made of?

  “Get out here and face me, you cowards,” I scream. A nozzle aims at me and fires, and I jump to the side to avoid the blast of heat that pulverizes the ground where I stood. A face appears in the viewport and grins. What the heck is that thing? It has a face like an alligator.

  A dome-shaped silver object materializes above the hated aircraft. The triangle silently rises higher, picks up speed, shoots into the sky and disappears in seconds. The silver craft follows it.

  I collapse, completely exhausted, and Marla comes over and holds out a hand, helping me to my feet.

  “You should get that looked at,” she says, pointing to my leg. From my right knee down, my jeans are in tatters. A nasty cut runs from about six inches below my knee and curves around my calf, just missing my Achilles tendon. Some of it is still seeping blood, but most of it looks cauterized. It’s apparent that I didn’t move fast enough to avoid the hit entirely. It looks painful. Why don’t I feel it?

  Max cowers behind the trunk of an oak tree; white, shaking and blubbering like a baby. I decide I won’t tell anyone about his reaction. Heck. I feel like doing the same, now that the fury is back in its cage. From the looks of him, Max won’t say anything either and I expect his incessant verbal abuse will stop. One can only hope.

  Marla is the least affected. I wonder why, but that’s a question for another day.

  TEN

  Sequoia smashes some herbs into a paste with her pestle and mortar. She has a food processor, but prefers doing her healing work the old way. I’ve never been happier that she’s a highly skilled medicine woman. She’s really putting some muscle into this mashing process, which tells me she’s angry and worried.

  “They’re getting bolder,” she says, adding another herb into the mix. “They know who you are, which puts you and the other children in danger.”

  I hate when she calls me a child. I stopped being a child when my parents died, but it’s useless to argue the point. I pick my battles carefully where Sequoia is concerned. She’s strong and stubborn, but she’s also fair and has, on a few occasions, come around to my way of thinking.

  “I’m sorry, son,” she says and quickly smears the paste over my leg. I bite my lip to keep from yelling and try not to move.

  The pain had held off until I reached home, but as soon as I dismounted and put weight on it, fire seared my nerve endings and the leg collapsed and sent me to the ground. It’s a good thing Wolf was nearby. He helped me into the house where Sequoia quickly took over and cleaned the wound. I just about passed out then, and feel like I might right now.

  My mind grows fuzzy as the paste does its magic. Auntie Sequoia is a magician. No she’s an angel and I see her halo. The edges of my vision grow dark, and I’m out.

  ELEVEN

  CAROLINA SKY FLETCHER

  I feel it as it happens. Storm’s rage tumbles over me the way dark, fast moving clouds rush and roll over a flat prairie. It builds into a screaming tornado and the moorings of my own feelings begin to give way. A burning pain runs down my right leg and I know he’s been hurt.

  My legs grow weak and fold under me and I’m on the ground holding my head in my hands. I must have shouted because I hear the door slam open as Pax rushes into my room.

  “Sky, hold on!” I hear Pax shout as if from a great distance, and yet he’s right next to me. His arms wrap around me and I’m calmed by the sound of my brother’s strong, steady heartbeat. Thank you, God, for Paxton.

  “Pax, how is this happening? Where is Storm?” Pax’s friend is nowhere near me; until now I’ve only been able to feel people in close proximity. “We have to find him. He’s in a fight or something. He’s hurt.”

  “We’ll find him,” Pax says. “Let’s take my car.” I love that about my brother. He doesn’t hesitate to help me when I need it. He never complains and rarely questions.

  Pax drives a brown SUV with four-wheel drive and special climate control. Mom and Dad do everything they can to make it easier on him, even though he’s learned to control his gift. He’s discovered a mechanism in his brain that lets him turn it on and off, but he’s not one to turn down climate control.

  We speed along the main road to the turnoff that leads to Storm’s cabin. If he isn’t there, Pax can follow his scent. It seems I can feel his emotions and might be able to tr
ack him that way, too. As soon as we pull to a stop, I jump out of the car.

  There’s his dirt bike, lying on the ground in front of the house. Pax sniffs. “He’s here,” he says.

  I admit I’m a little miffed. We risked life and limb in our rush to get here. If he’s safely at home, then what was that emotional firestorm all about?

  Sequoia opens the door at our knock and invites us in. The large log cabin is modern on the inside. Open windows along two sides of a comfortable living room let in plenty of fresh air and light. A stone fireplace dominates the inside wall and carvings sit on the mantle. An oil painting of a Cherokee warrior hangs to the left of the fireplace, and an intricately woven blanket hangs to the right. On the blanket, strange-looking symbols surround a figure that resembles a pointed rocket ship with wings in a triangular shape. I’ve seen it somewhere before, but not in Native American art.

  I start to ask her about it when I hear a weak voice calling from another room, “Auntie?”

  “Excuse me, kids. Storm is waking up. I’m sure he’ll be ready to join you, shortly. Please make yourselves at home.” She hurries off down the hallway and turns into a room.

  “Bullhorn,” I say, exasperated. “If those feelings didn’t come from Storm, who was obviously just taking a nap, then what were they?”

  I get no answer, so I move closer to the blanket and examine the expert weaving. It is beautifully crafted, with a red, black and yellow background. The strange design must mean something.

  My brother relaxes on the couch and I wander around the living room until Storm and his aunt return. He hops on one foot, using her shoulder for support. He is hurt after all.

  Pax jumps up and helps Storm ease into a leather recliner. Sequoia goes into the kitchen and soon returns with a pitcher of lemonade, a plate of cookies, napkins and cups on a tray. After she excuses herself and goes back into the kitchen, the pitcher rises off the tray and pours liquid into three glasses. One glass floats to Storm, along with a napkin filled with cookies that have jumped into it from the plate. The napkin looks like a mini-magic carpet and I laugh. I touch my glass, afraid it might float away, but it’s just a normal glass and I take a drink of the fresh lemonade.

  “What gives, Storm?” I’m glad Pax asks first, because my curiosity is choking me. What happened to him?

  “Long story,” Storm says. “The same thing that attacked Jewel’s house just came after me.”

  He’s about to launch into his story when Wolf walks in. He’s scowling and I feel a deep anger in him. His wife rushes out and pulls him toward the kitchen. He stops her and turns to his nephew.

  “Son, you might as well tell all of us at the same time. No sense in describing what happened twice. In fact, Jewel is on her way and I have something all four of you need to hear.”

  I sense Jewel’s anxiety as soon as she pulls up to the yard. Wolf opens the door and Jewel heads straight to Storm.

  “Are you alright?” she asks, and her concern for him washes over me. She looks all around him and frowns when she gets to his leg. I know she’s seeing his aura, and it must not look great right now.

  Storm nods and smiles at her, and I feel an unfamiliar twinge in the area of my heart. This is not good. Jewel turns her attention to my brother and me and greets us. She frowns a little when she sees my aura. I find myself wondering what color jealousy is.

  Sequoia settles down in an easy chair near the fireplace, while her husband sinks into a leather recliner next to her chair. Storm relates what happened until he met the kids in the cave.

  “I know Max,” Wolf interrupts, “He’s Sheriff Green’s son. Who is Marla?”

  “Marla came to school in January, last school year,” Storm explains. “There’s something strange about her, but I can’t put a finger on it.”

  “Is she the one who hisses?” asks Jewel. “She was supposed to show me around my first day, but Sky rescued me.” She smiles at me.

  “She has a strange scent,” my brother adds. “She smells like something we encountered in California. Do you remember, Sky?”

  How could I forget? Something was in our cul-de-sac one day when we got off the school bus, just a week before we moved here. We didn’t see it, but Pax sure smelled it. I felt no emotions from the thing, but it made my skin crawl nevertheless. I sensed it watching us.

  “I do,” I answer. “And I remember that when I first met Marla, I didn’t feel any emotions from her. I thought it was odd at the time, but now that you’ve reminded me of that incident, it was the same feeling I had around that creature. Nothing—a void.”

  “Go on, son,” says Wolf.

  Storm continues with the story and I picture the sparkles in the walls and feel his wonder when he tells about them.

  “I’m familiar with the cavern,” his uncle says. “The crystal grotto leads to other passages in a dangerously confusing cave system. I’m glad you didn’t attempt to go any farther. The Watchers inhabit the depths of the caves and they’re the only ones who can safely maneuver them.”

  “Watchers?” We all ask the question at the same time.

  He continues, “I’ll tell you about them and the secret they guard when Storm finishes.”

  If I thought curiosity was choking me before, now it’s really eating at me. Watchers? Secret? What is going on here?

  TWELVE

  Storm tells us about the laser beam that wounded his leg and describes how ineffective his telekinesis was against the alien spaceship. What else could it have been?

  “The things we saw at Jewel’s might have been stealth weapons the military secretly developed,” Pax says. “Countries have always been in a race to outdo each other in weaponry, and who knows how far modern technology has come? Then again, why would the military be attacking civilian houses? And who would wear alligator facemasks to pilot an aircraft?”

  “I don’t think those were masks,” Jewel says. “I saw something like that when I was little. We were at a park and I was playing on the slide. Mom sat alone on a bench watching me. I went down the slide a few times and looked to make sure Mom was still there each time. You know how little kids are. The last time I slid down and looked up at Mom, a human-sized reptile sat next to her. It had scaly skin and its face resembled an alligator with a short snout. It had a toothy grin and weird snake eyes. It scared me to death, and when I screamed, it got up and walked away.”

  “Didn’t your mom see it?” asked Pax.

  “She saw a friendly older woman and thought nothing of it until I screamed. Whatever that creature was, it had the ability to disguise itself, either through illusion or shapeshifting. When I told Mom it didn’t have a rainbow, which is what I called auras, she panicked and a week later we moved to my grandparents’ house in Asheville.

  “I see through disguises; like those silver disks you saw attacking that craft. There has always been one in the sky above me and when I was little, I called it my guardian angel. Dad can see it on his instruments in the lab, but it’s cloaked, making it invisible to everyone else.

  “Since I’ve met you twins, and you, Storm, there are now four in the sky. We each have one. I call them Sentinels, and it appears they’re friendly.”

  Jewel is calm as she relates her story, but Storm is growing agitated. I glance at Pax and wonder if he notices. His nose twitches.

  “I wasn’t going to tell anyone, because I thought it was my imagination,” Storm says. “When we were in the crystal grotto, Marla twirled, and I thought I saw the light reflecting off scales on her arms when she turned. Later, when I helped her out of the passageway, her pupil narrowed like a cat’s, but only for a second. Again, I chalked it up to imagination. Is it possible that she’s one of them?”

  “Dad warned me to never take my glasses off at school,” Jewel says. “I will though, when I see Marla tomorrow. I’ll take a peek and let you know if she’s human or not.”

  Sequoia has been quiet during Storm’s tale and the discussion, but now she stands and breaks her silence. “W
olf, they need to know about Tom’s discovery,” she says and points to the blanket on the wall. Her husband nods his assent.

  “I wove this after Tom and Salali died, in honor of the two of them. This depicts the design of the last crop circle that Tom investigated. It was there that he met with one of the Star People from a silver disk; perhaps the one that took Salali and changed Storm’s DNA.

  “Photos of this design and the transcript of their discussion were in the briefcase Salali threw out the window the day of their death.”

  I marvel at the peace that emanates from her as she calmly talks about the death of her sister, Storm’s mother. My senses reach out to Storm, and he’s peaceful as well. I wonder if Sequoia is an empath.

  She continues, “The Star Person explained to Tom that the triangular figure in the middle is the shape of one of the artifacts that were buried at the time of Earth’s creation.”

  “It’s a tetrahedron,” Jewel points out. “Four equilateral triangles joined at four vertices. This design makes it look flat, but its shape is a pyramid.”

  Now I remember where I saw the design before. It was in a geometry book.

  “Yes, Jewel, you’re right. It is a tetrahedron, one of many that regulate the planet’s functions. You can say they act as Earth’s vital organs.

  “When you get home later, I challenge you to research natural disasters that have happened over the last few years. If you’re really ambitious, you can go back to the year you were born and see how they’ve escalated over time. That sound we all heard yesterday was an artifact’s cry for help. The tetrahedra are sickening and when they die, Earth dies.”

  The room resounds with silence. Dread fills my mind with icy tendrils and my gut feels like it’s crawling with worms. The dread flows from me to the others and from them to me. I send my emotions to Wolf and Sequoia, and hit a wall of peace. I draw it in like a deep breath. As I calm, the others visibly relax.