Marcus Abshire
LOST SON
BOOKS BY MARCUS ABSHIRE
Redemption
The Alliance Series
Volume one
Gauntlet
Rite of Ascension
For my daughter.
You continually inspire me day after day, for that I will always be in your debt.
I love you sweet pea.
Chapter one
Caves were dark places, perfect for things that didn’t want anyone to see what they were doing. Bats loved caves; they provided them somewhere to rest during the day, somewhere that was consistent in temperature and normally free from predators.
This cave was no different, almost no light penetrated into its shadowy depths, and the air held a stale moisture from the lack of a breeze, but unlike most caves this one had predators lurking within its midst.
I would normally rather be anywhere else than sneaking around in a cave hunting things that were far more dangerous than bats, but I was looking for someone, someone who was running out of time and needed my help, help I intended on giving.
I complained, sending my thoughts to Neal, the only one who could hear them.
We are in a cave, a place that is defined by its location underground, somewhere that is normally without the light of the sun. Neal answered in my head.
Neal was my partner, adviser and teacher. He was an Atlantean SENTINEL, created specifically for me with a mixture of technology and magic. He was insanely smart and had a number of cool tricks, all packaged in the body of a large black Labrador.
I ducked low, squeezing through a tight spot. Neal’s dark body led the way, his black coat allowing him to blend in with the cave’s inkiness.
I am unsure of what you mean by that. Are you attempting to inject humor into this situation?
I took a quick look around, seeing what I had come here for in the far corner of the space. I hurried over to the small figure huddled in a tight ball, reaching out slowly to get his attention while I spoke in a calm and reassuring manner.
“Harry, Harry it’s okay, hey I’m going to take you out of this place, get you home with your dad, ok?”
The boy turned to look at me when I mentioned his dad, his expression broke my heart. He was filthy, his clothes were a mess and his hair was matted with dried mud. Bruises marred his face and gave him a sickly look as his eyes flickered at me with trepidation as if he was afraid to look directly at me.
“Harry, my name’s Jack, this is my dog Neal, and we’re going to get you home.” Neal came over and inched close to the boy.
He seemed a little startled at Neal’s appearance, but quickly recovered. It was amazing at how effective a dog is in calming young children. Harry reached over slowly and patted Neal’s head before remembering where he was and curling back in on himself.
“You have to go, they’ll be back, they’ll be back.” Harry moaned in defeat, it broke my heart and at the same time made me furious. The bastards that did this were going to pay.
I reached down and grabbed the metal that encircled his ankle. It was attached to a small chain that was bolted to the rock. With a grunt of effort I broke it, tossing it aside as Harry looked at me with awe.
I do not like this. Werewolves do not need the light to see. Neal thought.
No, I cannot detect anyone near but us, however the rocks may be interfering with my scanners.
Of course, my lord.
“You should have listened to the kid.”
I spun around, seeing a man standing on the far side of the wall. With long black hair, a beard that needed shaving and a robust athletic frame he looked like a very fit hippie.
He stood in front of the only exit, blocking our way.
“You know if you wanted a friend, this is the wrong way of going about it. You should try poker or maybe a game of basketball; kidnapping doesn’t really scream socially acceptable behavior.” I taunted, stepping away from the boy.
“I have no need for friends; the boy is to be a prelude to the full moon’s hunt, you and that mongrel will only add to the bounty.” He growled, his eyes flashed yellow, blazing in the darkness.
“Seriously why is everyone so literal? Has no one heard of humor?”
He took a few steps forward. “Wait a second.” He stopped out of reflex. “The kid said they, they’ll come back.” I thought out loud.
A large wolfish grin spread across his face, his white teeth reflecting off the lantern’s light. It was creepy.
“Yes he did.” I heard a woman say from a few feet away a split second before she launched herself at me, having stayed undetected by hiding within a small crevice, deep within shadow.
I hadn’t expected two of them, that made this whole rescue operation twice as difficult. She was blonde and wore a black tank top and tight pants, her eyes flashed a deep yellow.
I looked left then right, seeing a werewolf on either side. Their yellow eyes blazed with a feral intensity at what they saw as easy prey. It was going to be fun to help them realize their mistake.
By some unspoken consent they both leapt for me at the same time. I couldn’t let them grab me, werewolves were unnaturally strong and fast, but then again, so was I.
I was stronger than one by himself, but two of them, working together, may be more than I could handle.
I dropped and sprang towards the woman, spinning so that my back was to the ground and thrust my sword up, feeling as she passed overhead and it sunk into her thigh, slicing a deep gash that drew blood, its bright red color stood out in stark contrast to her tan skin.
She howled in pain and crashed into her partner. They quickly gained their feet and faced me. I saw as Neal tried to get Harry moving, they had begun circling around the wall, towards the exit.
Tank Top’s leg oozed blood that quickly stopped, her body knitting itself up from the wound, a tribute to her werewolf nature.
I watched as their canines grew to dangerous lengths and their nails elongated into deadly claws. They narrowed their eyes and again raced towards me together, no longer underestimating my abilities.
They worked in concert, each one taking an angle and furiously attacking; thankfully I was skilled in fighting, far more skilled than they.
I brought my sword up, using it to keep Hippie from ripping my throat out, while lashing out with my foot and kicking Tank Top in the gut, causing her to double over. I thrust forward, forcing Hippie back and then before Tank Top could raise back up I turned and chopped down, sending her head to the floor as her body slowly followed.
“NOOO!” Hippie yelled and redoubled his attack.
His anger and fury gave him a renewed energy as he ignored the lethality of my sword and was able to punch me in the face before I could recover, the blow left me dazed, his fury giving him a strength that was astounding.
I back pedaled away, trying to regroup as Hippie pressed his advantage. Somehow I managed to keep him from killing me as I got my bearings back. He was furious, unable to control himself and attacked with a wonton abandon, slashing, punching and biting, forcing me to reel from the
sheer ferocity of it.
I dodged a wild slash and spun, kicking him in the side of his face, stunning him for a second. A second was all I needed.
Using the momentum from my kick I followed it with my sword, removing his arm. Hippie bellowed in pain, instantly trying to protect himself and I stabbed forward, thrusting through his throat and neck, with a twist and a spin I finished what I had started and sent his head to rest with Tank Top’s, away from their still bodies.
I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, seeing as it came away with my blood on it. The cave was empty, save for the dead werewolves. Neal had been able to get Harry out, hopefully before he saw what happened in here. I’m sure he had already been through enough; I didn’t need to add watching me kill his captor’s in such a brutal fashion to the list.
I hurried outside, following the path that led us here, exiting into the open air of a bright Alaskan day. I took a deep breath, the rich fragrant air from the surrounding forest helped clear the last vestiges of the dank stale environment inside the cave, I felt almost like I had exited from another world, one that consisted of pain and darkness.
We are near the river; the child will not stop, now that he has begun moving. Neal answered.
Chapter two
The freezing cold water did wonders for clearing the mind.
I swam through the frigid bay, veering around large slabs of ice, the last vestiges of the blistering winter of western Alaska. My skin suit allowed me to move through the salty water like a shark, which, with a few strong thrusts of its tail, easily catches its prey. The suit was a gift from my ancestors, Atlanteans were masters of the oceans deep depths, having adapted to the harsh environment at the bottom of the sea, using their advanced technology to survive.
It fit me like a second skin, adhering to my body easily, protecting me from the harsh extremes of the water and tough enough to stop a bullet. All Atlantean children were given one at birth; they grew with the child and never came off. They were a marvel of technology, invisible when not in use and giving the wearer the same feel and sensation of skin, they only showed when activated. Its glossy silver sheen was probably the reason the local fishermen decided I was a fish in need of a harpoon.
The impact knocked me from my wondering thoughts of my mom and how she would sing to me at night in a soft voice that carried a heavy sadness. She would always end by moving my dark hair from my forehead with a loving gesture.
“Raiphaim.” She would say quietly, before leaving me alone in the dark to wonder at her words.
Swimming always seemed to allow me to do that easily, think that is. I found the soothing waters of the freezing Alaskan sea to be quite therapeutic. Being an Atlantean did have its perks, tolerating the most extreme water conditions was just one, being extremely strong was another, as well as an accelerated healing system, which came in handy after going toe to toe with a couple of werewolves.
Right now I needed to disappear before another local decided I was dinner and tried to catch me in his net. I’m sure I could have gotten out after they brought me on board, but then I’d have to try and explain why I was swimming in below freezing waters with nothing on but a thin skin suit. There would be questions and most likely the authorities would be notified, which could lead to me becoming a visible dot on the Atlantean warlords radar.
No thanks, I wasn’t ready to climb that mountain just yet, my best option to avoid all of that was to become a story the fishermen would tell to their friends tonight over some cold beers and a warm bowl of soup.
I took a deep breath and quickly dove under the surface of the water, my skin suit quickly flowed up over my throat and chin, covering my nose and mouth. It easily drew oxygen from the surrounding water like gills, transferring it to my face, allowing me to breathe.
I didn’t really need to take a deep breath before submerging, but it always felt like the right thing to do. My feet looked like I wore flippers, but they were just adaptations my skin suit provided when I was in the water, with a few powerful kicks, I quickly sluiced through the green tinted water and headed under one of the large ice chunks still fighting the oncoming summer. I moved far faster than any human could, my enhanced strength and skin suit allowed me to propel myself through the water as fast as any seal, and almost as nimble.
Once under the ice, I peeked out to see the dark silhouette of the fishing boat above me, it floated like a large piece of driftwood left to go wherever the tide took it.
The fishermen were no doubt wondering what it was they had targeted, what type of creature I was, one that had taken a harpoon and shrugged it off only to dive beneath the depths and disappear.
I felt a small smile stretch over my face, and took off towards shore. I’m not sure how I knew, but I was certain that if I kept swimming I would eventually surface exactly where I wanted.
A few minutes later the color of the water changed and became shallower as I reached my destination. I came up to the surface and turned back towards the boat, slowing raising my head above the water.
The boat was little more than a small dot on the horizon; it bobbed up and down in the water, moving at the will of the ocean. I was confident that I was not going to be spotted and I turned towards the rock wall that served as my ladder to land. I easily scaled the wet rocks, climbing them with ease. I reached the top and soon stood on a flat expanse of old road. A few feet away sat my motorcycle, waiting for me like a faithful lover, knowing I would return and willing to wait forever for me if need be.
I loved her; she was a Harley Davidson sportster Iron 883. She was dull black with a few chrome accents. She had Coker 5.10x16 inch tires. They were beefy and gave the bike a seriously tough look. She was a custom job that I earned after saving a Japanese businessman’s daughter from an underground sex slave racket. Every time I fired her up she growled and shook my bones in a way that I completely loved. She was the only thing, other than Neal, and my life, that I valued.
On the other side of the road the woods rose like a towering wall of trees, shutting off the land with its grandeur and hiding its secrets in shadow. From the tree line a huge black Labrador trotted towards me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He was larger than a normal lab, weighing in at 110 pounds he carried no excess fat, his flanks rippled with muscle as his dark, almost obsidian black coat shined in the meager sunlight. His eyes held a deep intelligence and if you looked hard enough you could see a slight golden glow coming from their depths. Deep at night, when the stars and moon were all the light provided, his eyes gave off a slight luminescence that gave him a devilish look.
“Why the hell didn’t you warn me?” I asked him out loud.
He came even with my bike and sat down calmly. I heard his voice inside my head, our link was intimate and we could communicate without talking, but sometimes you just needed to raise your voice.
You were in no danger. I assessed their threat level and it was not high enough to warrant telling you.
Neal sat there looking at me, still as a statue. I had the impression he could sit there for eons if needed. In fact, he could, Neal was short for SENTINEL. He was an ancient and wonderful piece of sorcery and technology. Neal was a remnant of Atlantean science and magic, a guardian created for nobility, designed to serve, protect and teach members of Atlantis’ royal bloodline, a bloodline that died off millennia ago.
He came to me on my fifteenth birthday and has been my companion for almost ten years now. He has many wonderful gifts, one of them being able to communicate with me telepathically, the other having the duty to assess any threat and to council me on the best course of
action, one that preferably would result in me not dying.
“Yeah, well a heads up would have been nice.” I said angrily.
I knew my ire would have no effect on Neal, he wasn’t created to feel emotions, but I still had them and I was kind of pissed he didn’t warn me. Even though my suit could stop bullets and apparently harpoons didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be sore for a while.
I assure you, had there been sufficient threat presented by the operators of that vessel; you would have had ample warning. Part of my existence is to prepare you for what lies ahead, in that you need to be able to adapt to ever changing situations. This seemed like a good scenario for you to gain valuable experience.
What lies ahead, you might ask? Don’t bother, I’ve been asking him that for ten years and he won’t tell me jack.
“Whatever, did you at least inform the client that I will be by to pick up the rest of my fee?”
Yes, my lord. I sent an e-mail to his web address, letting him know you will be at the meeting place in two hours to receive full payment.
“Don’t call me lord.” I said, for the one billionth time.
Yes, my lord.
I don’t know why I even bother sometimes. I went over to my bike and pulled out a tee shirt, jeans and boots from the saddlebags. I checked to make sure my pistol was still where I left it and that my sword was securely in its scabbard. I took my homemade cloaking pin, created with the patient and limitless knowledge provided by Neal, and transferred it from my motorcycle to the scabbard that I had strapped to my back. Now anyone who walked by would be able to see my bike, but not the sword handle sticking up behind my back.
Just then Neal stood at rapt attention and starred off into the woods. His change in posture told me something was going on and I probably wasn’t going to like it. I calmed my thoughts and focused on the world around me, trying to discern what had Neal’s attention.
Lost Son Page 1
