Redemption: Terran Realm

Prologue

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, 1863

I am too young for this, have not witnessed enough, but what I see now, even without my gift, tells me the world is in serious peril. Even as I stand here amidst the shattered bodies scattered over this bloody field, I know this fight has been for a greater good which will be realized only as this young country matures.

Horrible, stupendous evil approaches. An evil that believes in the supernatural and will attempt to seek out the Sorhineth and use it for impossible gain. And while the name of this madman is shrouded, his face and ultimate goals are as clear as if he were standing before me.

The cunning lunacy gleaming from mud-brown eyes, his vision of the death of millions by starvation and worse, so much worse. The sigil of his madness, the warped cross, fills me with an unfamiliar loathing, and my ears ring with the phantom sound of jackboots.

In this future, I see no sign of the Terrans who act as stewards of Mother Earth and mankind as a whole.

The Terrans no longer even attempt to right the balance, to seek out injustice and impropriety, and because of that--and the future I see so darkly beckoning--I have no recourse but to bury the identity of the Wardens who hold the Sorhineth, our most valued treasure.

The Terran soul has become almost irreparably stained.

Clan Kennedy shall emigrate here, to the new world, and begin their lives anew, hidden from even the potential of danger. And should it arise, in the form of a Destroyer, then they will know intuitively, and keep the sacred book safe.

If I hide the Sorhineth, then a new future comes clear. Over a century from now, a Spirit Talisman will rise and put right the imbalance, beginning the arduous task of bringing the Terrans back to what they hold most closely, their love of Mother Earth. The final moment of atonement will take place within the great pyramid, on the western shore, and the fate of millions will rest in the hands of two.

San Francisco, California, 1989

The Destroyer stood on the top floor of the Transamerica building, clenched the ancient paper in his fist and heard the brittle crunch as it disintegrated. At long last, he held the location to the Sorhineth.

Once he had the book in his hands, there would be no Spirit Talisman, or any Talisman for that matter, interfering with the dynasty he’d spent decades building. What the ancient group, the Keepers of The Environment, continued to build with him at the helm. Giving up the piece of his soul that tied him to humanity was of little consequence compared to the profit.

Talisman, he thought with a curl of his lip. They were a phantom of memory, supposedly tapping the true, uninhibited power of their signature element. Only called upon in the world’s greatest moment of need, one hadn’t been even whispered of in over a century. And if he had anything to do about it, their memory would molder with the Sorhineth and its Warden in a locked dungeon.

The Sorhineth was almost as much of a mystery as the Talisman. Even his oldest scribes and seers only knew it held their history, their spells, their prophecies, and was an immeasurable source of power. Until now, until the missive from the past crumpled in his fist, he had never known its location, and he’d spent a large portion of his long life and considerable resources in the attempt. But now, it might very well finally be within his grasp.

Clan Kennedy wouldn’t be difficult to find, not with his vast assets. When he tracked them down, he’d send a nice, clean Terran to retrieve the tome. And as soon as it was in his hands, safe in the City, he would dispose of everyone who’d dared cross him over these many years.

Victory would be his at long last, and as he gazed out over San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate, he smiled.

Now all he had to find was a Terran with enough skill to convince the Warden of their need, but not one smart enough to realize he wasn’t retrieving it for his own means.

Chapter 1

San Francisco, 1989, 7:35 am

Donovan Callahan leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes as the plane leveled off. It was four days before Christmas and the aircraft was full of families on their way to holiday festivities around the country with a stopover in Boston. Loud families, whose chatter grated on his last nerve.

He didn’t dislike flying normally. After all, he’d seen the evolution of flight firsthand, and the difference between the flight Kitty Hawk and the 747 he was on was nothing short of amazing.

It wasn’t the flight making him irritable, it was the path he’d started down the moment he bought his tickets. The moment he’d decided to change everything.

Protectors like him had become almost obsolete in the last fifty years, not really giving a shit what happened around them, as long as their piece of the pie was safe and lucrative.

The mission he’d undertaken was out of Terran norms, but it was something he had to do. He hadn’t felt this much conviction since World War Two, and it gnawed at him, pushing him toward acts of selflessness he’d given up long before Tunisia and Cambodia.

He’d spent the last fifteen years in private security, bodyguarding whiny, spoiled celebrities, and he was tired of it. So tired he’d left the business in the hands of his second-in-command, Mark, for the duration.

And embarked on what might be the most foolhardy thing he’d ever considered.

He reached into his coat pocket and ran a thumb over the smooth triangular jewels on his key fob. It had been a gift from a client just three weeks ago--a quirky old Terran who’d required only that they drive him around the City. It had been too expensive to accept, but as soon as his fingers closed over it, something deep resonated within him. Even now a feeling of peace, of purpose, settled over him. If nothing else, the key chain could serve as a personal reminder of exactly who and what he was. He would do what needed to be done.

He shut out the input, noise by noise, just as he’d learned to do in Tunisia, and felt himself beginning to drift, knowing what he would see in his dream, even as the vision came.

Jenalee’s stunningly beautiful voice beseeched him through the telephone lines, brought his father’s Protector nature to the fore as his mother’s Earth Elemental genes surged to tamp it down. As always, Protector won, even in the safety of his own home, with no visible threat.

You need to snap out of this. This ‘noble cause’ is going to get us both in trouble. I want my old Donovan back.

You didn’t have any complaints when I was buried balls-deep in you last month. His words and tone were cruel. More cruel than Jenalee deserved.

She let out a short, bawdy laugh that totally contrasted with her usually melodic voice. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve got no objections when it comes to that, lover. I miss you, miss talking to you, miss all of the things we used to do together as friends.

Donovan just sat in silence and waited. He and Jenalee had been many things over the last eighty-five years, but lately, friends wasn’t it. Occasional fuck buddies, yeah, but he was through taking care of Jenalee when her flavor of the week didn’t turn out to be exotic enough. No woman was worth this kind of drama, and their shared childhood was the only thing that kept him coming back, even if he hadn’t seen her in over three weeks.

That damned earthquake. It changed everything. Bitterness tinged her words.

"Loma Prieta should never have happened, at least not to that extent. Never mind the other shit that went down this year which didn’t directly affect us. As Terrans, we know what we’re supposed to be doing, and it isn’t shopping Union Square or having lunch at the Yacht Club. I’ve just started acknowledging it, unlike everyone else.

KOTE feeds us shit and we’re happy to eat it because they take care of everything. They hide up there in their ivory tower making pronouncements from on high. It’s wrong. They’re wrong! All the anger and disgust he’d felt since the 17th of October poured out, vitriolic and piercing in the close air.

Hush, Donovan. You don’t know who’s listening.

Don’t you understand? I don’t give a shit. I’ve had it.

Jenalee was quiet for a long moment, then spoke quietly. You’re not the only one Donovan, but you’re definitely the loudest. Her tone went almost sad, as if she were imparting something painful. I heard something the other day. Promise me you’ll come see me first when you return.

Her voice was close to tears now. She wasn’t above using hysterics to make a point, but this was extreme even for her. And, as always with Jenalee, he caved in.

I promise.

Boston. You’ll find the Sorhineth--and Warden Brenna Kennedy--in Boston.

Donovan awoke with a start, heart pumping furiously as Jenalee’s words echoed in his mind. The Sorhineth. The Book of the Terrans. The collected true works of his people.

Just the tool he needed to put shit back on the right track.

Boston, 4:30 pm

Brenna Kennedy pulled the can of Mace out of her purse, and then took the time to fully survey her living room from the front door. The place had been utterly trashed, stuffing torn from the couch cushions, pictures ripped off the walls, broken glassware from the wet bar glittering on the Berber carpet. The big-screen TV was still in place, as was the state-of-the-art VCR. Her Pioneer sound system sat intact in its rack, and her Nikon hung on the hall tree, undisturbed.

She started to shake--not with fear, but rage. This was no ordinary break-in. She only hoped she was dead wrong about why her privacy had been violated. And if she wasn’t, then at least the Sorhineth was safe and sound, hidden in the most likely place someone could look, and therefore wouldn’t.

Ears attuned for the slightest of sounds, she backed out of the doorway slowly, looking warily down the long hallway where the baddie might still be lurking. When her pumps crunched on the scree of snow bordering the sidewalk, she sidled toward the safety of her Bronco, ignoring the snow falling around her in heavy sheets.

Brenna swung into the truck, jammed the keys in the ignition and sank down in the seat until she could just see over the dashboard, then fumbled for the massive mobile phone nestled in its travel case on the floor next to the gearshift. She didn’t give a damn if it was expensive as hell, she was using it, and dialed her brother with trembling fingers.

She pushed the fury out of her voice when he picked up, because if there was one thing she didn’t want, it was Tommy and half the freakin’ engine company hitting her house like the Patriots’ offensive line.

I need you over at my place. Right now.

To give her older brother credit, he didn’t ask questions, just hung up the phone.

Her heartbeat bumped back down and she began to doubt herself, doubt the reality of what she’d seen. R.E.M.’s Stand mocked her from the tinny speakers. What if she’d called Tommy away from the ‘house for no good reason? What if the rigs had to roll on a blaze and someone died because she was acting like a frightened little girl? When was she going to start acting like the Warden she was, rather than falling back on her brothers?

She straightened in the seat. According to family lore, it had been almost two hundred years since a Destroyer had visited Clan Kennedy, and that had been an ocean away. What made her think she, of all the Wardens, would be the one called upon? Especially when she was so woefully unprepared?

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, considering and rejecting going back inside her home. This would be the last time she leaned on Tommy, but right now she needed his strength behind her.

The legacy of the Wardens went back so far their origins had been lost in the mists of time. If her grandmother hadn’t been so resolute about the reality of Terrans and Destroyers in the stories she’d told, and the information passed to Brenna’s mom on Gram’s deathbed, Brenna would have written the whole thing off as a family fancy, and to be honest, had, to a certain extent. Until today.

The reason her home had been violated wasn’t as simple as a break-in, it just didn’t feel like one. No, this was about her. And more specifically about the Sorhineth. She could feel it in her all-too-human bones. If it was a Destroyer who had left that feeling, she had a lot of catching up to do--as of yesterday.

The indescribable value of the Sorhineth, even if she couldn’t read more than a few words of it, demanded she keep it out of the wrong hands at all costs--even at the risk of losing her life. The tome had its own protection built in--it faded from sight, and any Terran’s enhanced perception--the moment she was more than three yards from it. Apparently the Terran who’d just ransacked her house wasn’t aware of that little tidbit.

It was always the youngest of the Clan who held the title of Warden, the baby. And for the last two incarnations, they had been female. Women in families dominated by hulking men who delighted in protecting what they considered theirs. And until today, no one had ever challenged such an ancient right, because there’d been no need to. Gram had died suddenly before Brenna was old enough to walk, making her the de facto Warden without ever really knowing what it meant, and leaving her with almost absolutely nothing to go on but the Sorhineth, which none of them had been taught to read. They’d figured out a tiny bit on their own, but not enough to really understand what the book held. She often wondered if Gram had seen her own death at the hands of a drunk driver, and had begun passing information on to Mom, but it wasn’t nearly enough, especially not today.

Yeah, her brothers had taught her the skills to protect the precious book--deadly combat techniques, defensive driving and the like--but she sure as hell had never taken it seriously. It had been more like a game, humoring an old woman’s hasty commands. It wasn’t as if she, as a librarian, would ever kill anyone. She would never ever do such a thing. Lose her own life protecting her heritage, yes. Kill someone, hell no.

One thing was certain. The destruction inside hadn’t been caused by a Terran. They were too cultured, too well-mannered for that kind of behavior. If and when a Terran ever showed up, they’d be up front and possessive as hell, at least from what Gram had told Mom. She’d been quite adamant on the difference between Terrans and Destroyers, one of the few things she’d been fierce about. She’d also made it clear Brenna would know, instinctively, who and what one was. One of the gifts of being a Warden.

From what her family had imparted over the years, Gram’s idealized conception of Terrans was little more than a fantasy. The modern-day Terrans had no respect for human life and had turned their backs on everything right and good. In short, they were no better than the Destroyers Gram had claimed they fought against. They were just as much to blame for the human lives lost in natural disasters as a common murderer on the street. And Brenna despised everything they were.

But her legacy, her heritage, demanded she safeguard the Sorhineth for the moment one of them came calling, and lend them her presence should they want to view the Sorhineth. It grated that the Terrans were destined for such access, even as she recognized the Sorhineth could never fall into the hands of a