AEGIS: Catalyst Grove: The Aegis Series, #1

Copyright © 2014 Nathan Roten, © 2017 12stone Press

All rights reserved. Duplication of this material and its associated logos is strictly prohibited. All contents are protected under US copyright law and may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or means- electronic, mechanical, photocopy- unless express authorization by the author for the purposes of reviews and blurbs.

Published by: 12stone Press

Edited by: Jordan Roten & John Hudspith

Cover Design by: 12stone Press

Interior Layout by: 12stone Press

ISBN: 0990637808

ISBN-13: 978-0-9906378-0-6

Find out more at www.AegisSeries.com

Keep in touch with Nathan at:

www.NathanRoten.com

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Join Graham as a young boy as he experiences his first encounter with the power he has yet to discover and the nightmare that started it all.

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1

PRESENT DAY

Get away from me, or I swear I will use this!

It was getting dark outside. Thick fog hovered overhead, making it hard for Graham to see anything, let alone what the man coming at him would do next. Graham knelt in the wet grass, panting. The others stood close by, waiting to see what would happen next.

I am disappointed, Graham. Murder isn’t your thing.

You have hurt us enough for it to be self-defense, said Graham in shallow breaths. He was dizzy from the pain. The metal blade in his hand was multiplying into three as his eyes crossed. He drifted to the side a bit and then forced himself to refocus. His wrists were still glowing, though they were fading with each attack.

There’s a big difference between close combat and long-range weapons. The veiled figure extended his hand, firing a blast of light from his palm. The light hit the knife, sending it spiraling into the air. Now you know the difference.

Graham recoiled from the attack. The knife had taken the bulk of the hit, but his hand was stinging from the aftershock. His heart sank into his gut as he pulled his hand to his chest. There was no way he could win.

Fight back!

Graham remained motionless.

I said fight back! Another glowing blast hit the ground in front of Graham, sending dirt and rock into the air.

Graham wanted to fight, but he was so fatigued that it took all his strength to remain upright on his knees and not succumb to the dizziness.

Fine. Have it your way.

The man reached out and shot a blast of light from his hand just in front of the silent figures huddled together to Graham’s right.

STOP IT! Why are you doing this? yelled Graham.

The man did not respond. He just stared into Graham’s eyes as his hand illuminated again.

Hit me! Leave them out of this! Graham’s chest tightened and cramped as he yelled.

You need to fight. You should be able to use your full strength by now, but you are still holding back. First you can’t control it, and now you can’t use it. The man lowered his illuminated hand to allow Graham time to think about it. Does everyone have to get hurt before you let go?

Graham’s mind was numb with the pain surging through his body. He couldn’t focus. He could hardly even breathe. Trying to stand back up, he braced on one foot, but it gave way, and he fell back onto his side. He was too exhausted.

No. It can’t end this way. I will not let it end this way. Closing his eyes, Graham pressed his face against the wet grass. In his mind, he saw a wave of black smoke. He heard the voices screaming to keep away, and then his own screams filled the air as light surrounded him. Taking a deep breath, Graham let the memory empower him.

As his eyes opened, he braced his weight on his hands and pushed himself upright. His head was swimming, but he forced himself to focus. He swung his legs around to get on his hands and knees. His wrists began to glow again as he painfully got to his feet. He clenched his jaw and made eye contact through the fog. His fingers curled up into fists, intensifying the light around his wrists.

Yes, now you are beginning to understand. The man on the other side of the fog took a step back into a fighting stance. Now we are getting somewhere. The chill in the air caused his breath to form white puffs of vapor as he spoke.

The pain that had wracked Graham’s body subsided. He felt his energy levels rising with his anger as the light around him grew brighter.

This ends now!

2

4 DAYS EARLIER…

Graham sat perched on Building 14 as he did every Saturday morning. It was a crisp 55 degrees outside, and the leaves of the trees were beginning to trade in their formal summer green shells for their true vibrant colors of yellow, orange, and red. Saturday was the busiest day for the Wellington Market, with all the vendors pouring into the city after stocking their carts and stores throughout the week. Not only did sellers of produce, clothing, meats, exotic animals, and rare objects come from all over the region, but customers with eager eyes came from even farther away to buy these eclectic treasures.

The Wellington Market was the largest market on the eastern side of the United States. Perfectly positioned between three main highways criss-crossing around the small town of Portfield, it attracted sellers traveling in the northeast. The market was modestly built, with two rows of buildings stretching over a 1/4 mile. The buildings were facing each other with a simple cobblestone road holding them apart. Each building was labeled with a number, ascending from West to East. Most of the buildings were single-story made of wood, stone, or brick, but three buildings stood tall, designed with elegant architectural details. These three were positioned to form a triangle between them and were made of large stone blocks, seven stories high, with steep roofs and ornate carvings embellishing the corners of the rooflines.

After climbing the narrow, rusty metal ladder in the alleyway between Buildings 14 and 15, Graham had assumed his usual position on a small balcony between two stone gargoyles perched as overseers of the western side of the market. Graham stood a modest 5’6" with short, sandy blonde hair and a slim athletic build. His eyes shifted from building to building. They matched almost perfectly the deep blue hue of the morning sky as the vendors finished setting up their shops. He slowly slid his raggedy green backpack off his shoulders and dropped it to the ground, creating a cloud of fine dust around the base. Graham took hold of the small zipper and opened the right side pocket of his backpack. Plunging his hand in, he fiddled around for a second or two until he felt the plastic cylinders tucked at the bottom. As he continued surveying the crowds of people, he removed his plastic binoculars from the pocket and proceeded to lie down on his belly with his elbows braced against the two stone gargoyles. Reaching into his sweatshirt pocket with his other hand, he took out a small rubber ball and rolled it around rhythmically between his fingers.

As Graham put the binoculars to his eyes, his nose was hit with all the different scents from the market. Fresh pastries and brewed coffee from Collins Café & Bakery were the strongest. His stomach began to growl with hunger, reminding him he had skipped out on breakfast. The eastern breeze carried the aroma of citrus and berries from Mrs. McKay’s produce stand at Building 2. Familiar scents swirled around him: leather, clay pottery, animal fur, and finally came the best fragrance of all. Wood. Not just because there was a carpentry shop near the end of the market but from the woods that encapsulated Wellington like a hidden treasure.

Graham’s grip tightened around the binoculars. Today, I will find you. I know it. With eager anticipation and a heightened pulse, Graham peered through the binoculars in search of answers… for Him.

His first inclination was to stare down the freshly baked pastries his belly demanded, but after deciding that it would make matters worse, he shifted his gaze to the sitting area of the café. Graham first noticed an older couple holding hands under a red umbrella as they ate their spinach and cheese scones.

Next, he focused on the middle-aged man behind the couple in a brown overcoat, bending down to tie his golden retriever to the nearby lamppost. I wonder who this guy is. I haven’t seen him here before. Once the leash was firmly knotted, the man sat with a steaming black cup of coffee. He then removed a small gold coin from his pocket, tucked it between his first two fingers, and let it cascade over his knuckles like a waterfall.

This can’t be him, Graham thought to himself. He doesn’t fit the description I heard Ms. Winstone giving.

After another five minutes, Graham gave up looking through Collins Café & Bakery and decided to work his way down the line of shops leading east. There were so many people to sift through that his mission seemed almost impossible. A bit overwhelmed yet undeterred, he made his way down the road, looking far enough past his own building to where he could begin searching in a zig-zag pattern between the stores on each side of the street.

He looked past the Bengal tiger and the monkeys at the front of the store. He was so entranced with watching the animals play that he nearly forgot what he was doing. Blinking his eyes a few times to refocus, he looked again for people around the animals, only to notice that there weren’t any. How does this guy stay in business? I’ve never seen him sell a single animal.

Getting back on track, Graham looked next door to the leather smith. Maybe that’s how he stays in business, he chuckled. Looking inside the store, he quickly saw there was nothing and nobody. He continued to profile every person walking through all sixty market buildings within view. Still, after hours of searching, he was forced to admit that nothing was worth his attention. No one matched the description—no strange happenings. Not even a quarrel broke out at the pub.

Mumbling under his breath, Graham’s heart sank at the thought of another wasted morning. I have to find this guy. I have to! He threw his binoculars down and tightened his grip on the ball. In frustration, Graham slammed his fist hard on the balcony’s railing. As he did, a burst of light sparked around him, shooting outward. Small pieces of gravel and trash defied gravity by hovering around him briefly before being hurled through the air with the dispersion of light. Graham immediately panicked and dropped down behind the ledge, rubbing the hand he had slammed against the stone. Get it together, Graham. You have to get it together, or people will get hurt. He closed his eyes as a memory took over.

He was in the woods with two other people. He felt an overwhelming sense of fear and anger. Screams filled the darkness, followed by a blast of bright light. Graham’s eyes opened, and his head jerked back in reaction to the light. He was sweating. What did I do?

Graham let a few minutes pass in case anyone below saw the burst of light. He wanted to stay longer but knew he had to return before Ms. Winstone noticed he was missing. With a half-hearted sigh, Graham put the binoculars back in the pocket, picked up his backpack, and returned to the rusty stairs.

As Graham grabbed the ladder railing, he looked at the field separating the market from the forest’s edge. A bolt of adrenaline rushed through his veins. He froze as he saw a figure in the middle of the field wearing a long coat, holding a thin walking cane, and staring directly at him.

Graham started to panic again at the thought of his unnatural abilities being discovered, but he forced himself to keep calm. He slowly let his backpack slide off his shoulder so that he could retrieve his binoculars. Maybe this is him. Could this be Cavaness? He doesn’t look huge to me. No, this guy doesn’t match the description. It can’t be him.

A thousand questions reeled around in his mind. Graham glanced down to find the zipper, but as soon as he looked back to the man, he had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

What the…he was right in the middle of the field! He couldn’t have gone anywhere. Graham grabbed the binoculars and swept the area. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to find this guy or not, but part of him couldn’t shake the hope that if he did, he would finally find answers. After a few moments, he exhaled and relaxed a little. After giving it some thought, Graham’s sensible side began to kick in.

Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me, or maybe I’m getting a little lightheaded from not eating this morning. There is no way a person could have just disappeared. The field is too wide for anyone to have run to the woods or the market that fast. He kept his inner monologue going until he was convinced it was nothing. Shaking it off, he put the binoculars back into the side pocket and lifted his backpack onto his shoulders.

Before descending, he caught a glimpse of the roof of Greenwood Orphanage towering over the sea of maple trees in the distance.

Home Sweet Home.

Greenwood Orphanage was the only home Graham had ever known. Established in the early eighteen hundreds, it was one of the oldest and most respected institutions for abandoned children in the northeast. Their highest priority was education. Going beyond basic physical needs, skilled tutors were hired to help them in each subject they were currently studying in school. Topics including, but not limited to: Mathematics, Science, Literature, and History, in which they were currently learning about Portfield’s famous contributions to the Underground Railroad.

The building itself stood three stories tall, the exterior with arched rectangular windows stretching uniformly across the outside. The green ivy crawling up the walls was finishing its climb over the final row of windows. The orphanage was an architectural delight, but its beauty faded with time. The main entrance was the width of a football field with a steep gable roof setting it apart from the two wings that expanded at a slight angle on both sides. Over the ridgeline of the wings, you could see chimney stacks standing tall every so often, with three black pipes protruding from the top of each stack. Though the paint cracks were visible through the thick ivy coat and the walls seemed as though they were trying to escape from one another, it was a relatively cozy place to be.

The inside of the building was set up with two main wings, one for the boys and one for the girls. Holding the two wings apart were the dining room, kitchen, and main living room area called the Commons. It was the most ornate room in the orphanage, featuring a massive stone fireplace as the main centerpiece, which held a large portrait of the founder over the wooden mantel.

Graham always had a hard time going back. It was always so crowded there. That could be one reason he always came out to the market on the weekend. He could be alone, with all the room in the world, just him and his thoughts. He could take solace in withdrawing to the rooftop without worrying about hurting anyone with this strange power.

Jumping from the next to last rung, Graham’s feet hit the ground. Looking up again toward Greenwood, he finished his train of thought. Home sweet home. Just me and my 87 brothers and sisters. Now, walking back toward the forest’s edge, Graham shook off the feeling of disappointment, forcing optimism to the surface. Next week, then, Cavaness. I will find you next week.

3

GRAHAM WALKED BACK through the woods until he saw a large stone arch covered in moss. He stopped momentarily, running his hands along the big chunks of rock. He remembered being lost in the woods as a child and finding this structure. It was his beacon of hope. It was his sign that he would not die in these woods. It was also his little secret. Orphans did not have many personal belongings, and this was one of the things he could call his own. Although he longed to stay there, Graham knew he had to keep moving.

Now back on Greenwood property, he made his way up the steep gravel road and past the row of ancient willow trees on the front lawn of the orphanage. As he crested the hill, Graham noticed a thin and wiry boy stealthily creeping from the side entrance of the parlor room. Weighing in at 105 pounds, 5’3" tall with jet black hair, greenish-hazel eyes, and a small button nose, Damien was Graham’s best friend. Even leaving Peru as a small child, he never seemed to lose the golden South American tan.

"Que haces? Porque eres tan descuidado! Ms. Winstone has been looking for you for over three hours! said Damien. You never stay gone this long. What is going on?"

I know, I know… it takes a while to search all of Wellington. I was going as fast as I could, replied Graham. Now let me by; I need to get back inside.

Graham had already lost control once today; he would not do it again, especially in front of Damien. He had to get away.

Hey, wait! Damien grabbed Graham’s arm and pulled him back. I don’t know how much longer I can be your watchman, bro.

Look, Damien, you and I both want to find out what’s going on. We both can’t go to Wellington, and I know my way around the woods surrounding the market much better than you do. This is what we agreed on, right?

Yes, Damien murmured as he rolled his eyes.

Good, it is settled then. Graham pulled his arm from Damien’s hand and continued toward the door.

Damien wasn’t going to let Graham walk away again. Sprinting after him, Damien again stopped Graham with a hand to his chest.

Listen, I don’t know what your deal is right now, but we need to talk. How about you try talking to me for once instead of avoiding me like the plague.

Graham took a deep breath to hide his frustration. He knew Damien was getting tired of being pushed to the side, but over the past few months, his odd power had become increasingly more difficult to control and hide. He was only trying to protect his best friend, but he recognized that Damien would not let him walk away without some answers.

Fine. Maybe we can learn more about this mystery person when Ms. Winstone’s friend comes over again. Her last conversation didn’t exactly give us much to go on. It’s like I’m looking for a ghost. The only thing I have to go on is that there’s a huge guy in town named Cavaness, who can do things normal people can’t.

Glad that Graham was finally talking to him, Damien tried to concentrate on what Graham was saying, but the fear of being reprimanded by Ms. Winstone kept him on edge.

We both need to be in on the conversation so we don’t miss anything, okay? whispered Graham. We need a plan. I only got the final bit of their conversation last time.

"Sí, replied Damien. Now, vamos, we need to get back inside. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Why don’t you go to the West Wing and act like you have been hiding there? If I see Ms. Winstone, I’ll tell her we’ve been playing hide-and-seek."

Hide-and-seek? What are you talking about? We’re fifteen, Damien. We don’t play hide-and-seek.

Hey, it’s the best I’ve got right now. Do you have any better ideas, amigo?

Graham thought for a few seconds and realized he could not come up with anything better, so he reluctantly agreed. He put his two fingers to his forehead and flicked them toward Damien as a salute before easing his way back through the rusty storm door of the parlor room. Damien breathed a sigh of relief and decided he would go back in through the front door as if returning from looking for Graham’s hiding spot outside.

Graham walked through the parlor and poked his head through the doorway into the Commons. Seeing no sign of life, he passed the leather armchairs and the giant fireplace.

Stop looking at me, Alexander, breathed Graham, addressing the portrait overtop the aged wooden mantel as if he were alive. You give me the creeps every time I walk by you. There was nothing overtly disturbing about the portrait. It was only a picture of the founder of Greenwood from the chest up. He was in a coat and vest, looking slightly upward like most people do in portraits. A slight grin could be detected underneath his bushy beard, as if he was taking pride in whatever he was thinking of at that moment. He had a kind face, but something