Daughters of Light
Finding Jade
Solomon’s Ring
Darkness Rising
Copyright © Mary Jennifer Payne, 2019
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All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover image: Model: 123RF.com/Karel Miragaya; London: istock.com/mammuth
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Payne, Mary Jennifer, author
Darkness rising / Mary Jennifer Payne.
(Daughters of light)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4597-4103-4 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-4597-4104-1 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-4597-4105-8 (EPUB)
I. Title. II. Series: Payne, Mary Jennifer. Daughters of light.
PS8631.A9543D37 2019 jC813’.6 C2018-904813-1
C2018-904814-X
1 2 3 4 5 23 22 21 20 19
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country, and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada.
Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.
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This book is dedicated to my friend, my auntie, and my mentor, Dianne Payne. You encouraged me to reach for the stars and I miss you greatly.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jade
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Jasmine
Epilogue Jade
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
September 12, 2032
To Whom It May Concern,
My name is Jasmine Guzman. I’m sixteen years old (almost seventeen) and I live in Toronto, Canada. I have an identical twin sister named Jade. We live in Regent Park with our mom. And, if you find this in my watch, I’m likely dead. The thing is, I’ve been told if I die, you will die as well. If you’re part of the human race, that is. Not exactly a win-win situation, is it? That’s because, apparently, I’ve been deemed to be the Chosen One in some ancient Dead Sea Scroll, and my job is to save the world. Who’s chosen me? I have no clue. I know what you’re thinking: What a cliché. Plus, I’m all of about five foot two and weigh less than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Well, I agree with you. Believe me, I often wish this whole situation were fiction. But it isn’t. And I need to tell the world the story of how my life has changed over the last two years, because it is pretty unbelievable. Everyone thinks I have a big mouth, anyway, so it will come as no surprise that I’ve decided to write this all down in a letter on my video watch. Let’s just say keeping secrets isn’t one of my strengths.
Our world is hugely at risk because of climate change. In fact, “at risk” is an understatement. Earth is dying, and humans are the cause. The pollution here in Toronto is so bad, it’s impossible to go outside most days without wearing an anti-pollution mask at least part of the time. But, really, we’ve got it lucky, don’t we? Countries like Australia, nearly the entire continent of Africa, and much of South Asia and South America, not to mention the Middle East, are barely habitable now. Oh, and I nearly forgot the state of California. Decades of drought, water and food shortages, and climate change–driven conflict have caused surges of desperate people to flee their homelands. All these climate change refugees were just trying to reach the areas of the world less impacted by environmental change and that still had an abundance of resources. They were trying to live. Literally. A case of stay where they were and die or leave (with a chance they might die trying). And when the politicians and a good amount of people in places like Canada, New Zealand, most of Europe, and the US saw the waves of desperate people racing toward their countries, what did they do? Well, rather than help their fellow human beings, they closed their borders and started campaigns of fear against the refugees. Against the “other.” And that caused terrorism to spike everywhere, including Toronto.
But that isn’t the only thing going on in our world. There’s also the little problem we’ve got with demons. Yep, you heard me right. Demons. I know, now I sound totally crazy. Believe me, I used to think I was. Crazy, that is. But don’t stop reading. Because I’m not insane. Not in the least. I can explain everything, but I’ll have to go back quite a few years to my sister’s abduction in order to do so.
We were ten years old when it happened. When Jade was abducted. I tried to tell everyone that the person who took her was actually some sort of monster with dead, flat black eyes and teeth like sharpened bits of ivory, but no one listened. Not one adult listened when I repeatedly insisted that Jade wasn’t taken by a human. Instead, I was sent to a long list of psychiatrists and psychologists who diagnosed me with PTSD and a host of other stress-related mental health issues. Eventually, I half believed the diagnoses myself and pushed the image of the teenaged boy with the demon eyes to the back of my consciousness.
Everything was relatively normal (if living with the loss of your twin sister can ever be called normal) until the day I was sent to Beaconsfield, a secondary school out of my district that is full of identical twin girls. That day was the beginning of my realization that I am a Seer, a Daughter of Light. We Seers, I was soon to discover, are identical twin girls descended from Lilith, Adam’s first wife, from the Old Testament. We also each have a Protector.
Protectors are hard to describe. They’re kind of like retired Seers who are now responsible for guiding and watching over young Seers of their own. Our powers develop around the time we
hit puberty, and from what I’ve been told, they sort of dwindle away as we reach adulthood. My Protector is Mr. Khan. Though I hated him when we first met at Beaconsfield, I now can’t imagine my life without him. He is kind of a father figure to me. Jade and I lost our dad to cancer when we were just little. Mom developed lupus shortly after that, and then Jade disappeared. So life was pretty tough, to say the least. Mr. Khan means a lot to me. Not only does he look out for me, he challenges me. I’m basically a better person now because of him. And, as crazy as it sounds, we Seers are tasked with saving the world from demons, climate change, and other nasties like corrupt politicians. We don’t have powers in the superhero sense, but we can read minds and have the strength and speed of elite athletes. The bond Jade and I have as twins even allowed me to travel to the Place-in-Between nearly two years ago to bring her back. Oh, I forgot to mention the Place-in-Between. It’s basically a reflection of London, England, that exists on a lower plane. Demons and lost souls populate the Place-in-Between, where they relive the most violent and bloody periods of the city’s history. Apparently, all of this apocalyptic stuff, according to some obscure Dead Sea Scroll, is supposed to come to a head really soon in a Final Battle between good and evil, Light and Darkness. I guess saving humanity is sort of on our shoulders — no pressure.
On top of all of that, I’m kind of wheeling with an angel. Yeah, that’s right. His name is Raphael and he’s not just any angel, but an Archangel, and he can heal people. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Things are kind of weird between us at times because he disappears when I feel like I really need him around. Totally annoying, obviously. I can’t stay angry with him for long, though, and earlier today he healed Lily, my friend and fellow Seer, and then put himself at risk with London’s terrorism squad so that we wouldn’t be caught. Apparently, everyone in the UK is microchipped for identification, and since Lily, her sister Cassandra, and I are all from Toronto and don’t have microchips, we’ll be arrested if we’re scanned. And that’s not good, because we’re currently wanted as terrorists. We’re the prime suspects in a terrorist attack on Toronto’s water supply. The thing is, we’re innocent (you’re just going to have to believe me on this one) and being framed by the city’s mayor, Sandra Smith.
At the moment, Lily, Cassandra, and I are being hidden in a safe house in London (the real London, in 2032) by members of the group called the CCT and some Protectors. The official line is that CCT is a terrorist group — that’s according to many of the world’s governments. But the other side of the story is that they’re not responsible for any of the atrocities being pinned on them; rather, they want to help support the world as it transitions during this time of extreme change and ensure social justice prevails. It’s a tall order because I know some governments, most notably Toronto’s, are pretty corrupt. I’m choosing to believe the latter explanation for the CCT at the moment, especially as they seem to be offering us sanctuary.
Which brings me back to right now. The three of us are in London because we got split up from the others — Amara and Jade — when we transitioned from the Place-in-Between. That’s another one of our abilities: we’re able to travel to the Place-in-Between. We can’t stay there long, though, as being on that plane seems to drain us of our energy. I actually think it’s draining our life force because we’re travelling to a place inhabited by the dead. We had to go back to return Solomon’s Ring, this ring that allows humans to control demons, to the Roman wall in London. It was Jade’s first time back to the Place-in-Between since we rescued her from there, and things got really weird. First off, there was this guy down there who was about our age, and somehow Jade knew him. Not only did she know him, she lied to me about knowing him. I don’t think he was a lost soul. And he definitely wasn’t a Seer. Which means he would have to be a supernatural being of some kind. My gut tells me he’s not one of the good kind. But I’m hoping I’m wrong about that.
I’ve got to go. The others will be wondering what I’ve been doing in the bathroom for this long. I guess the real reason I’ve written all of this down is not only to let people know what’s happening in our world — I mean, what’s really happening — but also to say that I feel scared. Really scared. It’s not something I can really express to anyone, mainly because I’m the Chosen One.
And I’m not just scared for me. I’m scared for all of us. For the whole human race.
With love and in solidarity,
Jasmine Guzman
JADE
“If they catch you, the mayor will execute you, you know,” the oversized woman says.
My heart is in my throat. The counter-terrorism squad is at the other end of the subway train, their semi-automatics ready, and they’re moving fast. Everyone is being asked for identification, and no one is taking a second longer than necessary to show their credentials.
“Official government ID only!” one of the officers barks at an elderly man holding a cloth shopping bag filled to the limit in one arm and a tiny dog in the other. “Take off your mask. Now!”
The woman leans in closer to me and Amara. The stench of onions and sweet flowers emanating from her nearly overpowers me.
“Smith’s gonna put you on the list to hang just like she’s done with your friend Eva and that supposed subway bomber, Moore,” she says, keeping her voice low.
Before I have a chance to reply, there’s a crash and a high-pitched yelp as the elderly man’s bag falls to the floor of the train, his tiny dog following closely behind. The officer grabs the man by the arm, wrenches him to his feet, and pulls off his anti-pollution mask.
“No ID? You’re under arrest!” he barks into the man’s pale face. The older man is trembling like a spider in a snowstorm — that’s clear to me even from this far away. His tiny Chihuahua, having regained its composure after being dropped, begins snapping at the officer’s pant leg in an effort to defend its owner.
“Please … please,” the older man sputters, putting his free hand up in front of his face. His accent is thick.
“He’s an illegal!” a woman sitting across from us shouts. Spittle flies from her lips. “Get ’im out of here!” she says, pumping her fist into the air. I can read her mind. Her thoughts are strong with emotion. She’s excited by the drama unfolding and disgusted by the fact that the elderly man is an illegal — at least, that’s what she’s concluded, even though there’s no proof of the man’s status. She seems convinced he’s a climate change refugee who’s sneaked into the city and is possibly a terrorist as well.
With the fluidity of a panther, the officer brings his booted foot down onto the diminutive dog’s midsection. A single canine screech cuts through the subway car.
We both look over. The dog twitches briefly before becoming absolutely motionless.
“Oh, my god,” Amara whispers. She crams the palm of her left hand against her lips as tears stream down her cheeks, then begins to hum. Not any song or melody, just a low, steady hum. I know she’s fragile, maybe even close to snapping after losing her twin, Vivienne, earlier today. Seeing this little dog killed in such a violent manner isn’t helping her state of mind, that’s for sure.
“I’m Mary, by the way,” the woman sitting beside me says. She raises an eyebrow at Amara, who doesn’t seem to notice. “Listen, youse need to get outta here before they recognize you.” Her voice is raspy; it’s the voice of a lifelong smoker. “In two, you’ll know what to do. It’ll be your only chance to escape.” She smiles at me, revealing two very chipped front teeth, but her eyes are serious. “Good luck. It’s easy to tell that something’s not right with the leaders of our governments — for those of us that ain’t brainwashed by ’em.” She nods her head toward the woman sitting across from us.
The officer who killed the dog punches the button beside a set of subway doors. As the doors slide open, he roughly pushes the old man, who is now openly sobbing, out onto the platform.
“I can’t breathe!” Mary cries out. She clutches at her large bosom, hoists herself up, and s
tarts stumbling toward the officers still on the train, one arm stretched out toward them. “My heart! Oh, god! The pain!”
Her thoughts come to me. They need to run. This is worth it. I’ve lived a long life.
The officers point their guns at her. “Stay back!” one of them warns. “Don’t take a step closer.”
“Help me!” Mary cries again. “I can’t breathe!”
I grab Amara’s hand and yank her up off her seat. She stops humming.
“What the …” She glares at me as though I’ve just shaken her from a deep sleep.
“We need to get out of here. Now,” I say, keeping my voice low.
We slide out the subway doors just before they close. Though he’s in the process of cuffing the elderly man’s hands, the officer on the platform turns to look at us.
“Freeze!” he yells. “Don’t move!” He looks back at the elderly prisoner sitting on the bench in front of him and then at us, clearly unsure which situation to focus on.
The sudden sound of gunfire from inside the train takes his attention off all of us for a moment. Without even looking, I know it’s Mary because I can’t read her thoughts any longer. There’s only dead air when I try. She’s dead.
“I’ve got a bomb,” the elderly man interjects. His voice is calm and the word bomb is spoken so softly, it’s barely audible.
The officer snaps his head back toward the man, who is now slowly rising from the bench.
“What the hell did you just —”
Suddenly, with all the force he’s able to muster, the elderly man drives the top of his head into one of the only unprotected areas on the officer: his crotch.
The officer doubles over in pain and shock.
Without a word, Amara and I begin to sprint toward the stairs at the far end of the station, knowing perfectly well that our exit might be blocked if an alert has been issued. If not, we’ve got a small window of time. Our speed is our advantage. We bound up the stairs and leap over the turnstiles just as two TTC workers, accompanied by a drone, emerge from the ticket booths and lunge at us.
Darkness Rising Page 1
