Against
the
Fallen
Against
the
Fallen
Book Two of the Fallen Series
Amongst the Fallen (Book One)
Archangel of the Fallen (Book Three)
Devin Lee Carlson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Locales and public names offer atmospheric purposes only. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher:
ColtonBooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
Imprint: Independently Published
Cover design by DLD Designs
AdobeStock: Nikki Zalewski, theartofphoto, abramsdesign, rolffimages, and Cisek Ciesielski
Daz Originals/Daz3D.com
Text Copyright © 2019 Devin Lee Carlson
Cover Copyright © 2019 DLD Designs
All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 9781688449039
To time travelers alike…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my parents and spouse, whose support through the years of writing, revising, and editing encouraged me. They suffered through the numerous adaptations this book has evolved from, beginning to end.
To my critique group, the Writing Warriors: Tammie Hunter and Tami Masincupp, who helped polish the words.
To our beta readers, Tom Carlson, Stephanie Pray, Alicia Cole, and Peggy Marsh, whose helpful input fine-tuned the story.
To my sister who always inspires me.
Part One
1
HOLD YOUR HORSES
T he scavenger hunt a bust, loved ones missing, and the journal anything but the prize ended up as worthless goals wasted on lost time. Six months wasted. Promises of the truth, all lies. Promises of a cure, more lies. While holed up in Kayenta, I indulged in a little solitude to reflect on the whirlwind of my short life—the fourth year a complete washout. If only I could repeat the year with the knowledge I’ve gained.
For now, I shrugged the past aside and braced myself against the aftermath of recent events like the time warp into Boulderville. The nightmare, hallucination, or whatever, still had me spooked. Like most dreams, especially mine, this one slithered to the outer realms of my subconscious, only with the promise to revisit sooner than later. No place to hide, destiny hunted me down.
Luckily, I could escape the confines of the small ranch. Dodge Sabree’s tedious cross-examination: what’s next, when do we rescue Ariane, where will we live, will she be able to clone our blood, and what should we do about Eric? So on and so on. I desperately craved some alone time.
Dressed in a Navajo-print shirt, tattered jeans, and hiking boots, I borrowed one of Jesse’s suede cowboy hats to shield my head from the sun. My hair pulled back into a short tail, I might have fit in as a Native American if not for the pale face. I stepped outside and hesitated. At first glance, the late morning sun verged on noon. Its brilliance burned through the shirt into my skin. Not the smartest time to venture outside, I pushed the sunglasses up the bridge of my nose.
Across the slopes and valleys, sporadic brush dotted the terra-cotta sand, radiating a warm glow. This serene backdrop belonged to Jesse’s grandfather, who resided on the outskirts of Kayenta, the small Navajo town located twenty miles south of the Utah state line.
Hands tucked inside my jeans pockets, I strolled toward the barn. A dry breeze caressed my face. Above, a hawk glided on the air currents. Strangely enough, my thoughts fell on my sister. Although Jesse promised to protect her, regret gnawed on my conscience. I should’ve made an attempt to ensure she was okay; however, Ariane claimed she needed time to reflect, time away. Jesse respected her wishes, and even after I pleaded, he still refused to disclose her safe house. No wonder she trusted him more than anyone else. Even me.
This being true, she promised to join us here. Her humanity more deep-rooted would leave her brokenhearted when she found out I destroyed the journal. She’d lose the only hope that linked her to humankind. The lack of vital information in the journal, except for a wee bit of history, would increase her disappointment.
In the section marked, Twins, Duncan jotted down a few notes. Undeniably, the man was never our father, and Serine of the DanJal acted as his liaison. Born four years ago, our short childhood filled one short entry. How we stopped maturing when we reached the end-point age equivalent to the early twenties, typical of the Fallen. No wonder I behaved so childlike, even though they downloaded eighteen years-worth of education into my mind. Twenty-five years for my sister. Technically, I was a messed-up teen. As Sabree so often stated, wisdom came with age, a millennia of life experiences. But what happened to the knowledge we were supposed to inherit from our real father?
Turian claimed to be the real deal, yet, blessed me with nightmarish legacies of the portal and time travel. Thanks, Pop. The rest stop from hell topped the list as bizarre. A chill crept through my limbs as if pumped full of liquid nitrogen. Anytime Sabree mentioned the rest stop, I cut him off, refusing to discuss it. This particular nightmare disturbed me more than the others. When a mysterious force knocked me into an alternate dimension, Sabree tagged along for the wild ride. Time crawled at the rest stop, the episode too surreal.
“Damn it.” My boot dislodged a stone in the path. Like the scattered pebbles, boulder upon boulder rolled into my mind replaced by nothingness except for a lone flame. The vision faded the moment the flame extinguished. Mystified, I kicked a few pebbles aside and meandered along the foot-worn path leading to the barn large enough to house a few livestock.
Halfway there, my gaze shot back at the ranch to make sure Sabree stayed inside. Nothing stirred, except for the large hawk perched atop the roof. I chuckled at the visual. The oversized bird made the house look like a wee shack. From under its talons, chunks of clay tiles littered the ground. A few more pieces sprinkled down the roof when the bird took flight. It sailed overhead and disappeared beyond the barn.
My ears followed the hawk’s screech as I paused in front of the barn. My hand slid one door open with care, expecting the tattered boards to unhinge at the slightest jiggle. I removed my sunglasses, stepped inside, and came to an abrupt stop. A dark chestnut mare greeted me with a whinny. Jesse never mentioned any livestock other than chickens. This animal was certainly handsome enough. Who wouldn’t boast?
“Easy girl.” I took one step at a time with my palm outstretched and spoke in whispers. “There, there, girl. You’re a beauty.” The barn revealed little evidence of ever boarding horses. Instead of the typical earthy whiff of hay, oats, and fresh-cut shavings, mustiness hung thick in the air. I shrugged when my eyes spotted a cobweb-infested bridle someone had hung by the door. No saddle though.
“Don’t think Jesse will mind if we go for a ride.” I dusted off the bridle with the tail of my shirt and eased it over the horse’s muzzle. The gentle mare whinnied, its muscular neck rippling. “Good girl…” Too bad I didn’t pocket a few sugar cubes. My shoulders stiffened when the door creaked behind me.
“Going for a ride?” Sabree asked. “What a fine animal. Is she Jesse’s?” He lowered his sunglasses and nodded in appreciation of the mustang.
“No, it belongs to Joe Blow down the street.”
“Your snarky attitude’s uncalled for.”
“Call it feeling sorry for myself. You of all peo
ple should understand.”
Sabree folded his arms across his chest. “You should respect the Fallen, especially after discovering the truth about your heritage, something we discussed on the long drive here.” He cocked his head. “What’s this? She winked at me.”
“Aye, right.” I swept the mane from her forehead. The horse stared at us, and for a second, those large topaz eyes blinked compassion. I shook the oddity aside when Sabree poked my arm.
“C'est la vie, so you lost a few friends, your Earthly heritage, and your distinguished reputation. In truth, it’s impossible to lose what you’ve never had to begin with.”
Together, my foot and fist struck the barn door and knocked it off the top hinge. It rattled but held its place. “Damn it, Sabree, the person I thought I had become died that day.” My eyes burned with pent-up frustration ready to erupt. “I’ve lost more than that. The law’s after me, and to top it off, the Fallen will probably persecute me for destroying the journal never mind the anti-vamp serum. No one will have it, not us, not Wayde, not the Fallen.”
“Compared to your burdens, my woes seem trivial.” Sabree bowed his head slightly. “My apologies.”
“Aren’t you just a wee bit upset?” I leaned away from him and relaxed my stance.
“Surprised, somewhat disappointed, yet relieved. In my humble opinion, the serum meant nothing but trouble. The Fallen would suffer if it fell into the wrong hands. You made the right decision.”
“Okay, I’ll lose the attitude, but don’t expect it to happen overnight. Got to blame someone for the mess we’re in until I find out why Ariane and I were dumped into this world of lies.” The horse nudged my arm. “Look, let’s settle this later. I'm going for a ride.”
“Good, use the time to contemplate. But before you go, I need to know… don’t you even care about Ariane? Do you even know if she’s okay?” Sabree slid his fingers through the mare’s mane. The horse nudged him in return. “It’s not like you. What if she needs us?”
“She’s safe and that’s all you need to know.” My turn to cross both arms over my chest. The standoffish gesture ended his urge to badger me for more information.
“Perhaps I should mist to Marblemount. Investigate her whereabouts myself.” The horse nibbled Sabree’s sleeve in response.
“Whatever, Sabree.” I eased myself onto the horse’s back and ducked low as she pranced toward the open door. “Hold your horses, woman.”
“Enjoy the ride.” Sabree slapped the mare’s rump. Horse and rider took off into a canter.
2
DEFINITELY BILAGUAANA
A lone coyote scampered across barren sand, stopping often to sniff the cacti and brush for something edible. The scavenger’s sporadic movement caught the keen eye of a great horned owl for a fleeting moment. However, the gothic bird preferred to keep its eye on the creatures inside the small ranch a thousand feet away. Perched high on a ledge, the owl’s head spun a one-eighty in the direction of the dust cloud rocketing up the road. As it neared the ranch, the truck slowed until it parked in front.
Inside, I exchanged glances with Sabree and Jesse. Along with my panic, the same rushed through Sabree’s veins. Like mine, his body tensed. Could he also read my reactions like an open book? Was he aware that I interpreted his so well?
“Do you think it’s the Navajo sheriff?” Sabree asked Jesse. “What if the Feds found Ariane’s body before she healed? Or your charge card? Let me compel them, tell them you’re not here.”
Next to him, I slid against the wall to the window. “Pretty sure it’s not the Feds. She’s hiding out, safe and sound.” I waved Sabree over to take a peek, risk exposure instead of me.
“Scaredy-cat.” Sabree peered through the glass obscured by layers of wind-blasted sand and tugged me in front. “Look for yourself.” He pointed at the driver hidden behind tinted glass. The truck door opened to reveal an elderly Native American. “I can handle the prehistoric sheriff.” Sabree flinched at my halfhearted chuckle.
“Take it easy, guys.” Jesse pulled on his jacket. “It’s Gray Wolf. Didn’t expect him back so soon. He was helping friends from up north. Grandpop’s in his early eighties and is still singing, sometimes through the night, sometimes for days. Amazing man.” Without waiting for either of us to object, he ran outside to greet him.
“Helping friends?” Sabree scratched his head. “The old man can barely climb out of his truck.”
Rolling my eyes, wishing I hadn’t, I enlightened him. “Gray Wolf’s a singer.”
“Never heard of the artist.”
On edge since Joker Mountain, I finally cracked a smile. “A Native American singer is a healer—a medicine man of sorts.”
“My bad. Still a newbie when it comes to Native American culture. My own fault.” Sabree headed for the door left ajar. “Native Americans live a simple life. I could get used to this.”
“You’d soon be bored; I know I am.” The only internet connection was slo-mo dial-up. No wireless.
“I must learn more about this singer. Jesse gave me a book on Navajo culture.” Sabree reached for the knob and flung the door open nearly cuffing my shoulder. His smile beamed as the man hobbled along the walkway.
Jesse pushed in front of his grandfather. “Grandpop, I have guests. Friends who need to lay low for a spell.” He cleared his throat and began the introductions. “This is Sabree and Brian.”
“Pleased to meet you, Gray Wolf.” I leaned around Sabree to offer a hand. “Jesse speaks highly of you. We hope you don’t mind us staying here.” Atop the man’s head sat a tan cowboy hat that sported a turquoise and deerskin hatband. From its center, a sterling-silver Concho and a few feathers decorated the hat. Underneath, the silver-gray hair braided tight almost reached his waist. Every inch, every detail from his pointed-toe boots to the elegant hatband of silver and turquoise fascinated me.
Gray Wolf sucked in his slight paunch as he regarded us. First his beady eyes perused Sabree, and then his gaze lingered on me. His lips formed a thin line. “I don’t care if you’re hiding from the law or if you’re lovers. Behave in my house.” He threw his grandson an exaggerated wink. “These two are definitely bilaguaana.”
“Palefaces,” Jesse translated.
“Any friend of my grandson is a friend of mine. You’re welcome to stay.” Gray Wolf snapped a finger in front of Sabree’s face as if to wake him from a trance. “This one seems to be shell-shocked.”
Unable to blink, Sabree scrutinized the elderly man. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Your face, each line, each wrinkle speaks its own story. The white streaks in your braid shout a tale. Your eyes sparkle with wisdom and knowledge. Please teach me your ways.”
Jesse winked at his grandfather. “I think you have your first groupie.”
Gray Wolf glanced at me and then held his gaze on Sabree. “You must cleanse first.”
His brows scrunched low, Sabree sniffed his armpit. “I showered this morning.”
“You missed the point by a mile.” Gray Wolf chuckled and patted his arm. “For one who has lived so long, you should have learned our ways by now.”
Sabree’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “My bad.”
Mine too. How did this singer know who or what we were? For an immortal of 5,000 years, I bet Sabree regretted not taking the time to study the Native American cultures in detail.
“We cleanse ourselves in a sweathouse, a Ta'Chéé. Outsiders are rarely welcomed; however, you intrigue me. I know of your kind, the Fallen.” He held out a hand as a gesture of good faith. “Come, I will take you to my hogan where we will settle in and talk.”
My gaze darted to Sabree, surprised he was all smiles. Not an ounce of suspicion marred his features. Odd. If the elderly man knew about the Fallen’s reputation, he expressed no fear. Guess the negative emotions resided solely in my troubled mind.
Sabree nudged my arm. “You game?”
“No sweats for me,” I said, too quick to respond. “Research comes first. You go ahead
though.” My aloofness bothered me not at all.
Sabree brushed my negative response aside. “Research my ass. Maybe you should spend the time looking for Ariane. Good thing you had the decency to share she was safe and no longer hiding in Marblemount. Cest la vie.” His wistful smile met my pout. “When next we meet, I shall be cleansed.”
“Maybe you’ll discover your animal spirit,” Jesse said, winking at Gray Wolf.
“A magnificent beast, no doubt. Perhaps a jaguar like my car.” Sabree eased on his sunglasses. “Coming, Rivers?” He stole a glimpse at me and scowled before he joined Gray Wolf.
“I’ll catch up.” Jesse nodded at his grandfather to go on without him.
My imagination on overdrive, worried Sabree might lean on an ulterior motive, I followed them outside to the truck. Gray Wolf climbed in, letting me close the door for him. As I leaned into the window, my gaze caught Sabree fumbling with two lever-like handles. He pulled down on the closest lever and stopped when the window started to roll down.
“What the—”
My laughter blended with Gray Wolf’s dry cackle. “Open the door with the silver handle,” he said with a scoff. “The truck’s an older model like me. No power buttons.”
“Have fun. And, Sabree, play nice.” I hoped my stern glare warned him of my seriousness. I stepped back as a quick drive delivered the dusty red truck past the barn to the round igloo-shaped structure. When Gray Wolf parked, I heard Sabree ask, “So, you live inside a hogan? I read about them.” I eased the door closed when their voices faded inside the hogan.
“Don’t worry, Brian. Grandpop knows how to take care of himself.” Jesse offered me a Coors Lite. “The old man loves tradition, but cooks and bathes inside the ranch, preferring its modern facilities.”
Against the Fallen Page 1
