The Ambrose Beacon

By Alena Gouveia

Strange things have been happening in Evergreen, Colorado. People are disappearing, wolves are prowling the woods for the first time in seventy years, and strangers in black are showing up at the local schools. For the Ambrose family, it’s a sign that their quiet lives are about to be changed forever. The events signal the beginning of a struggle that will either push them closer together as a family, or tear them apart. To survive, each of the children must harness the strange new abilities with which they’ve been gifted and learn to fight as one. For Jeremiah Ambrose, the struggle to protect his children will force him to put aside his animosity for his brother-in-law Harper, and learn to see him in a different light.

But for Harper, the burden is heaviest. He alone knows the truth about the strange events and what they mean for his family. Something is searching for the Ambrose children. And when it finds them, the fate of the whole world will be decided...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alena Gouveia
• Release date: Jul 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301827800

Alena Gouveia

Alena Gouveia lives in Denver, Colorado with his husband Luis and their three dogs. He was born and raised in Hawaii, on the island of Oahu. Foolishly fleeing the sunny paradise of his island home, he eventually landed in Colorado, and realized that paradise comes in many forms. He began writing as a way to pass the time and soon realized that it was his true passion. Alena loves to hear from his readers and welcomes you to contact him at alenagouveia.com. He also thanks you for reading The Ambrose Beacon and hopes that you’ll stay with him throughout the entire story of The Solas Prophecy.

Book preview

Prologue

Boston, November 1st

Colin’s head snapped up as he heard the noise again. It was the sound of footsteps when someone was trying to move quietly. He had heard the sound twice before, but had dismissed it as a manifestation of his paranoia. But this time he wasn’t so sure. He strained his ears to listen for the sound again, holding his breath for a moment, the sound of his heart pounding in his head. The noise had come from the first floor of the building, down two flights of stairs, and through two solid and solidly locked oak doors. But he had heard it just the same. The soft creak of the carpeted first floor hallway gave away another sound of a nearly-disguised footstep, followed by the hush of whispered voices. The sound of a key being inserted into a lock and the subsequent click of the tumblers turning told Colin that it had, in fact, been paranoia. The young couple who lived in one of the downstairs apartments had returned from an evening out. They were unusually considerate for people their age, and Colin had mistaken their attempt to keep the peace with their neighbors as something more clandestine and sinister.

He looked down at the digital time displayed in the lower right-hand corner of his computer monitor. It was nearly midnight, though when he had checked it just a moment before, it had been a few minutes past ten o’clock. He had been poring over the results of his internet searches for the better part of two hours and still hadn’t found what he was looking for. He knew from the sense of dread that he had carried with him for over a week that what he had feared more than anything had finally happened. It had been inevitable, and yet a part of him that clung to innocence in spite of his long life had held out hope that this time things would be different - that this time goodness and decency would prevail. But the surge of dark energy that had assaulted him while he had been walking through Boston Common late at night less than a week ago left no doubt in his mind. They had come again.

The surge had been strong enough that he had nearly tumbled into Frog Pond as he walked along its edges, and only the strength and speed that were the gift of his people kept him from being soaked. He had knelt on the cement, breathing heavily as he fought against blacking out. When the surge had finally passed, he had opened his eyes to see his reflection in the still water of the pond. Though the moon shone dimly through a layer of clouds, he could clearly make out the details of the frightened face that stared back at him. It was the handsome face of a man who appeared to be in his late twenties, with bright blue eyes, hair the color of midnight, and a face that looked a few shades paler than normal. He knew immediately what had happened, and he was terrified. He had hurried home to his apartment, nearly running in his haste to warn the people he knew would be in danger.

He looked at the screen again, the frustration at not being able to find what he was looking for making him want to stand and pace the room to release it. No one had believed him. And the people he needed to warn the most couldn’t be found. He needed to find some sign that would verify his belief. With some proof, no matter how small, he could call upon the other Sentinels to find his cousins and ensure their protection.

He scrolled down the list of search results, his mind numb from endless hours of searching and barely registering what was displayed. And then there it was. A small-town paper from northern Maine, The Aroostook Republican, had a feature article about the unexplained and unusual growing pattern of a section of uninhabited forest. Local hikers had stumbled upon the nearly five acre section three days before.

"Authorities from the Environmental Protection Agency have been dispatched to the area to determine the cause of the pattern, though early reports suggest that it is caused by an unidentified fungus. The affected trees no longer grow in typical patterns. Instead, they seem to be growing toward each other, as if competing for space."

Colin had seen something similar over sixteen centuries before in the forests of central France, though at that time it had been known as Gaul. He remembered the trees that had grown so close to each other that they were literally smothering each other to death. He had heard the sounds of their life force and it had sounded chaotic and corrupt, and full of a frightening vitality. He had burned each one of the twisted trees to the ground, hoping to never see such a thing again. Only later had he and another Sentinel discovered that a gate lay nearby, and that it had been the cause.

This was the proof that he’d been looking for. Most of the Sentinels who still lived remembered the last battle and would know that these trees were a sure sign that they had returned. Now, the others would believe him. He opened his e-mail account and started the coded message that would send out his warning.

The loud crash of something hitting his front door had him out of his chair in a flash, the dagger strapped to his hip in his hand and ready to throw. He cursed himself for not leaving his sword next to the desk. His breathing slowed as his mind entered the calm state of a battle trance, running through the list of ways out of the apartment and barring that, the best places to mount a defense. He waited for the second, stronger crash to come, but after several moments, nothing happened. Finally, he heard whispered voices of a different kind. They were the slurred voices of his less-considerate neighbors who lived across the hall. They giggled and shushed each other as they moved across the landing toward their own front door.

Colin sighed loudly and relaxed as he lowered himself back into his chair. He had had enough of the two young men who shared the same floor as him. They were arrogant, thirty-something bachelors who didn’t care what anyone thought of them. Colin had seen them do everything from failing to hold the front door for the elderly woman who lived on the second floor, to stealing a parking spot as one of his other neighbors had been pulling in. Each of the neighbors had said something to them at some point, but they were tall, muscular men and their intimidating nature ended any discussion quickly. So far, Colin had kept from getting involved, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible. It was best that the least amount of people as possible remember him. But at that moment he decided that he was going to say something to the men in the morning with less than his usual charm. He suspected that he could be persuasive enough to make them see reason.

He placed his hands on the keyboard and resumed typing his coded message, his fingers flowing over the keys. He was still amazed by the ingenuity of mankind, creating something as amazing as e-mail. It gave him the ability to instantly send messages around the world, that as little as a hundred years before would have taken months. A trickle of sweat ran down his ear, and for the first time he noticed how hot it had become in his apartment. He made a mental note to lower the thermostat after he finished the e-mail. He typed the last line and made ready to sign his message with the usual farewell, when a breeze caressed the back of his neck and ruffled the longish hair next to his ears. He rested his fingertips on the keys as he laid his head back and welcomed the coolness that it brought.

Suddenly, his body tensed as his mind screamed a warning that something was wrong. He sat up in the chair, searching for the reason for the warning. And then he realized what it was: he hadn’t left any of the windows open. His apartment was always tightly locked, with each opening carefully warded against intruders. If someone had broken into his apartment, a nasty surprise would have awaited them. And an alarm of sorts that he had setup would have notified him immediately, as long as he was within a one hundred mile radius. But nothing of the sort had happened. He slowly reached for the dagger again, silently cursing himself for once again failing to retrieve his sword. He turned in the chair, looking toward the door to the small study behind him. The breeze had come from that direction.

The door was slightly ajar, and through the opening he could clearly make out the details along one wall of the dark room. Nothing looked to be out of place, and no one was there. He stood slowly, moving with the quiet grace of a cat toward the door, placing each foot carefully to give himself the best balance and to keep from making any noise. He extended his mind beyond the door, carefully feeling for any sense of another mind. There was nothing, which only heightened his feelings of tension. He should have been able to sense the minds in the building around him. But there was nothing. And he knew that could only mean that someone was blocking his senses.

He pulled his mind back into itself, closing it off to any possible attack. The room ahead of him beckoned silently. The likelihood that his death was waiting inside made Colin hesitate. He had lived for well over three thousand years and for the first time, he was afraid to die. He took a deep breath as quietly as he could before slowly moving forward.

He reached the threshold and threw himself forward, through the narrow opening, and into a forward roll. He came up, facing the side of the room that had lain hidden, and looked around him. No one and nothing was there. He scanned the room again, carefully searching every inch until he was sure. The slight breeze that had first screamed a warning to him returned to caress his cheek. He looked over at the bay window of the study and saw the curtains dance as the wind pushed through the opening. It was completely open, the inside panel raised to the top of the frame. It was more than enough room for a fully-grown man to fit through.

Colin walked slowly over to the opening, his physical senses alert for any sign of movement, inside the room or out. The sounds of the city drifted past his ears as he leaned his head out. The rushing noise of tires on pavement and the squeaking of brakes, along with a siren in the distance suggested a sense of normalcy. It was cold outside, the November air crisp. Colin looked out at the sidewalk below, the dim glow of the street lights nearly as bright as the afternoon sun to his eyes. A young couple walked hand-in-hand to his right, away from his building that faced the street. Across the street, most of the lights along the paths of the park had already gone out for the evening. Colin could see no signs of movement within the park. Nothing looked to be out of place.

He found it hard to believe that anyone could have entered his apartment without someone from the street witnessing it. But when he looked down at the bottom sill of the window, he saw the thin layer of ash that covered it. Someone had disabled the powerful traps that he had set. And it stood to reason that that someone was now inside his home.

Colin turned around and looked back at the empty room. The door to the small closet in the room was open, showing the blank wall at its back. He could clearly see every niche within the room and no one was there. And that meant that someone had entered his apartment before he had come home from his evening walk. He had been sitting in his apartment for more than two hours, unaware that a stranger was there with him. Even worse, he knew there could be more than one intruder.

He moved back toward the door to the living room, moving cautiously. The tension that had temporarily been released at finding the empty den had returned. He focused the energy coursing through his body to heighten his senses and reflexes. His hearing extended to the point that he could hear the sound of a squirrel scampering up the tree outside the window from which he had just peered. He tuned out the sounds that he was hearing one at a time, eliminating the sounds that he could identify as routine. He stepped across the threshold of the door to the living room as he ignored the hum of the refrigerator. And then he could hear it. It was the slightly labored breathing of a person who had just performed strenuous exercise. And it was coming from the living room.

He whipped his head to the left, his eyes focusing on the target and registering the foreign face there in a fraction of a second. Colin’s hand rose of its own accord, preparing to hurl the knife there as his brain processed what he was seeing. The vicious grin on the unrecognized face triggered his brain to command his hand to release the knife. It flew from his hand with a speed that no human could match, streaking toward the intruder’s forehead. Colin tracked the dagger’s flight until it buried to the hilt, right where he had meant it to fly.

But at the last minute, the stranger’s head had tilted to the side. The movement was so quick that Colin had barely registered it. The knife had buried itself harmlessly in the plaster and wood with an impact that shook the wall. Colin knew that no human could have dodged such a throw, confirming the identity of the stranger. They had found him.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that my visit was both unexpected…and unwelcome. The stranger’s voice was smooth and pleasant, but Colin could hear the undercurrent of power that flowed through it. It was a power whose only purpose was to persuade and corrupt. The stranger pulled the knife from the wall with little effort, turning it in the light to examine it. He smiled as he looked back up at Colin. Your people have always done such magnificent things with metal. I imagine that had my reflexes not been what they are, I would be very uncomfortable right now, he said, his emerald eyes staring back at Colin.

Colin lowered his hand as he relaxed his stance. You’d be dead, he replied with steel in his voice. Then again, the night is young.

The man raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow as he lowered the knife to the couch, placing it next to his thigh. He nodded briefly. Yes, I suppose I would be. He reached up and brushed off the plaster dust that had fallen on his shoulder.

His skin was dark, only a shade lighter than the black, tailored suit that seemed to fall perfectly even as he sat. His features were finely sculpted, each one perfect on its own. And yet the overall effect was to create a face that would have been forgettable to anyone who saw it. It was a face that could move through a crowd with near-invisibility, one that people would never be able to describe had anyone asked. Even the piercing beauty of his green eyes would have been forgotten, for no one could have looked at them for very long. The power of his stare was too intense. Even Colin found them hard to look at, but he forced himself to hold the stranger’s stare and meet it with the power within him.

The stranger squinted slightly as he looked up at Colin, almost as if seeing him for the first time. You’re Nuada’s whelp, aren’t you? I recognize you from the last battle, he said, his eyes narrowing further with what Colin suspected was anger. Well, well. Maybe the time we spent tracking you down was worth it, after all.

It wasn’t the first time that Colin had been mistaken for his younger cousin. They were nearly identical in appearance. And Colin had no intention of correcting the stranger’s mistake. He knew that keeping them away from his family was the only way to protect them, even if it meant his own death.

Why are you here? Colin asked. The question was one that they both knew was only meant to buy Colin time. He extended his senses toward the back of the house, where the bedroom was. His chances of surviving this encounter without his sword were slim. He breathed a short sigh of relief when he felt nothing. There was no one back there. Maybe he’d be able to survive, after all.

The stranger’s eyes moved to the left, looking down the long hallway toward the bedroom, as if sensing Colin’s thoughts. He smiled slightly as he looked back at Colin.

I think you know why I’m here, he said as he looked down at the nails on his right hand.

His eyes rose again, locking with Colin’s as he asked, Where is the Solas?

Colin shivered as the word left the stranger’s mouth. It was the name of something so special to his people that hearing it from such a foul source made him want to rip the stranger apart with his bare hands. He stared back in silence, refusing to answer.

The stranger’s eyes tightened as he glared at Colin. The last Sentinel we found was silent at first, he said, smiling. She didn’t stay silent for long, though. It was how we found you, in fact.

Colin felt a momentary pang of loss for the unknown comrade whose life had been taken. But he couldn’t mourn for long. Unless he could get his sword and get out of the building, he’d be sharing the same fate. He knew what he had to do.

He let his shoulders slump in apparent defeat. I can’t tell you where the Solas is, since I don’t know. He looked up, his eyes wide with what he hoped looked like fear. But I still might be able to help.

The stranger nodded slightly as he smiled. The satisfaction at seeing Colin capitulate was evident in his grin. I’m glad you’re being reasonable. He crossed his legs and folded his hands. Now, why don’t you have a seat here and we’ll talk. He pointed to the chair across from the couch, his palm raised as if he were a host guiding his guest to his table.

Colin inhaled and made as if to move toward the chair. As he placed his left foot forward, he summoned the energy within his body and hurled it from him, willing it to take the form of fire. The wall of blue flame flew at the stranger, the roar of its passage thunderous. The couch disappeared completely a moment before the stranger as the fire engulfed them both. The solid plaster walls redirected the fire along the living room wall, sending a billowing inferno back toward where Colin had stood just a moment before.

But Colin was already sprinting down the hallway and toward the closed door of his bedroom. He sent a wave of force against the door before he reached it, blowing it off its hinges. It smashed against the far wall as he jumped on the bed, reached down, and snatched the sword in its scabbard from under the pillows. The roar of the fire grew louder and Colin didn’t have to look back to know that the azure flames were pounding down the hallway, filling each room as they passed. The last and most dangerous of his booby traps had been sprung by his magical assault. The fire would engulf the entire apartment in seconds, blowing out anything within its walls through the nearest open window. But the fire would not touch any other part of the building, including its occupants, thanks to the wards that he had placed.

Colin leaped from the bed and through the bay window of his bedroom that faced the road to the north of the building. The shattering sound of the glass filled his ears as he fell to the sidewalk, thirty feet below. He landed on his feet, dropping to a crouch and looking back as flames erupted from every window in his apartment. The sound was terrible, the shockwave flying away from the building before hitting the invisible shield around it, the glass and debris in its wake seeming to hit a wall before falling to the earth.

Colin had been very careful when erecting that wall. He hadn’t wanted any innocent bystanders to be hurt and he said a silent prayer of thanks that his plan had worked. The power of the explosion had surprised him as much as it had his enemy.

He stood up slowly, trying to appear nonchalant in spite of the conflagration behind him. He stared at the sword in his hand, the metal of the scabbard cool against his palm. He focused his mind for a moment and the metal bended slightly, taking the shape of a walking stick. He knew that they were no longer as commonly used as they once were, but walking down a street in Boston with a sword in his hand was the surest way to get noticed. And a night in jail was not something he could afford right now. He looked up and down the street. Nothing.

He turned right and headed down the sidewalk, the click of his heels marching a counterpart to the snap of his walking stick as it struck the sidewalk. He thought again of what the stranger had said prior to Colin’s magical assault. The thought that they had found one of his fellow Sentinels was bad enough. But what worried Colin more was the fact that he had received no warning. The emergency communication channels had never failed them before, even during the last war. And yet he had received no word of any danger, much less the death of one of his own. The Sentinels had guarded the two previous Solas, going back six thousand years. And though they had ultimately failed to save either, it had not been because the Sentinels had failed. Both had been sacrificed to protect life on their world, their power returned to the earth to wait for another chance.

That chance had come. But those who would do anything to kill that chance had returned, as well.

Colin increased his pace, heading toward the busy intersection ahead, where he would flag down a taxi and head straight to Logan International Airport. From there, he would take a flight to Shannon, Ireland. He had delivered his warning, but he knew that there was a chance his warning would be ignored if he didn’t deliver it in person.

He briefly thought of calling someone else, someone who could protect his family better than anyone. But he had burned that bridge long ago. He doubted that he would even answer the phone. His pace slowed for a moment as the ache of regret struck him. Colin wondered how it was possible to be so close to someone that you couldn’t imagine your life without them, and then to have that person gone from your life, even though that person lived on without you.

The view of the street ahead blurred for a moment as unshed tears filled his eyes. He shook his head and picked up his pace, heading toward the street that was now less than fifty yards ahead.

The skin on the back of his neck tingled with the feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two people walking quickly behind him. A man and a woman, both of average height, with fashionably nondescript clothing, kept pace with him. They followed behind, keeping a steady distance of twenty yards. Had it been any other night, Colin would have thought they were any other Bostonian couple, out for a late-night stroll. But the blank, yet determined expressions on their faces as they walked behind him left no doubt as to whom they were.

Colin quickened his pace, knowing that his enemies wanted to draw the attention of onlookers no more than he did. The busy intersection ahead was his escape, where they would be hesitant to attack him in front of so many people. One more block, and he would be there. As he crossed the last alley before the street, a sudden and fierce wind blew across his path. The debris that it carried, leaves and assorted trash, pelted the side of his face with such force that he raised his arm and stopped momentarily, unable to see for a moment.

When the assault of the wind stopped, he opened his eyes to see two more people standing ahead of him. They blocked the sidewalk leading to the intersection and his only way to pass them would have been to go through them. They stood there, staring at him with the same expression he had seen on the two behind him, though these were both men. They wore the same type of clothing and had the same type of forgettable faces.

Colin looked behind him to see the couple from earlier, standing twenty yards behind him, staring with the same expression as the two in front of him. He was trapped.

He looked to his right, at the alley that led between apartment buildings. While Colin knew that he could eventually get to a main street through the numerous alleys that backed up against each building, he knew that there were several blind corners and surprise dead-ends. Unless he made each choice unerringly, he could easily be led to a confrontation with no option for escape.

To his left lay Boston Commons. This late at night, the park would be virtually empty. While this meant that his foes would be free of restraint and able to attack him openly, he knew the park like the back of his hand. If he could work his way through quickly enough, they wouldn’t have a chance to stop him. And Colin was fairly confident that he could fight his way past four enemies with relative ease.

Colin feinted to his right, waiting until the two in front of him made to follow. Then, he channeled his energy into his muscles, sprinting to his left and toward the park. His running steps barely touched the ground as he sped into the park at a pace that a running deer could not have matched. He knew that his enemies could not keep pace with him. But he also knew that he could not keep such a pace for very long. And it was a very big park.

He considered the possibility that he would not reach safety and immediately thought again of his cousin. He wasn’t even sure that he would take his call, but he had to try. He felt the fatigue build up in his muscles and knew that he needed to slow his pace for a bit. He slowed to a fast walk, taking a bearing of his location within the park. He was nearly through to the other side, where he could take refuge in the crowds along a busy thoroughfare.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number that he had been given by one of the Sentinels nearly three years before. He doubted that his cousin would answer a call from an unknown number, and yet the call was picked up on the third ring.

Hello?

Colin was struck momentarily speechless by the familiar voice. Emotions that he had thought long-buried suddenly came to the fore again.

Who is this? The voice on the other end asked. Colin knew that he had to answer or the call would be ended. And he doubted that he could find the strength to make the call again.

It’s Colin, he said into the phone, his eyes continuing to scan around him for signs of pursuit.

The silence on the other end of the line was like a crawling along his brain. He wanted to break it by saying something else, but he also knew that were he to say the wrong thing, his cousin would hang up.

There was a soft exhalation before his cousin answered. What do you want?

Movement at the edge of his vision made him turn his head to the left and pause for a moment. He stared at the trees along one of the pathways and his eyes locked on the source of movement.

A stray cat sauntered into the light of a lamppost, stopping for a moment to stare at Colin before continuing on.

Colin, did you call to hear the sound of my voice? If so, I could have sent you to voicemail and given you your satisfaction. The biting sarcasm in his cousin’s voice was something he had been familiar with, but still could not get used to it being directed at him.

Sorry, he said as he continued walking toward the copse of trees ahead. He knew that the path leaving the park lay just beyond.

I called you because I need your help. Colin tried to keep his voice even, but his rapid breathing and the fatigue prevented it.

Again, silence greeted him from the other end of the line.

They’ve returned, cousin. Saying it aloud, to another of his people, made it more real than it had been so far. His hand trembled as he held the phone. They’ve returned. And they are searching for the Solas.

The silence that greeted him this time had a different quality to it. Colin knew that he had his cousin’s attention.

Are you certain? he asked.

Yes, Colin responded. Several of them are chasing me through Boston Commons as we speak. Colin tried to keep the fear from his voice, but he was sure that his cousin could hear it.

Colin, are you alone? The concern in his cousin’s voice surprised Colin. He stopped walking again, his eyes drifting down to the concrete path at his feet.

Yes, he finally answered. I’m trying to make my way to the airport and am being pursued.

Colin felt some of the tension within him melt away as he was able to confide in his cousin again. Though Colin was older by nearly five hundred years, his cousin had always been his protector. His strength and determination had saved Colin’s life more times than he could count.

Colin, listen to me, his cousin said, the slow manner of speech belied by the obvious tension in his voice. I want you to get out of that park now. As soon as you get to the airport, I want you to take a flight to New Orleans immediately.

New Orleans? Colin asked. What’s in New Orleans?

I am, his cousin answered. Promise me you’ll get on the first flight.

I promise, Colin answered.

The lightening of tension increased as he thought of arriving in New Orleans to his cousin’s presence. And then he realized that he hadn’t moved in nearly a minute.

He looked up and into the eyes of the stranger who he had incinerated just moments before in his living room. The stranger looked back at him with undisguised malice. His only features that were not ravaged by the fire Colin had hurled were his eyes. The rest of his face had been burned so severely that Colin could see the muscle, tendon and bone beneath the withered skin.

Now who could possibly be in New Orleans? the stranger asked with a grin. Colin did not think his face could have been made more gruesome, but the smile did just that.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colin said as he lowered the phone.

Movement around him made it clear that the four enemies who had been chasing him had caught up to him. He looked around to see them form a loose circle around him, making any escape attempt into a guaranteed fight.

The voice from the phone blared again. Colin? Colin, what’s happening?

Reluctantly, Colin folded the phone closed, ending the call and any possibility of a reunion with his cousin. The sadness of that realization struck him with a shock that elicited a sob from his frame.

The stranger smiled at his display of emotion, mistaking his reaction for one of true terror. But strangely, Colin felt a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in decades. And anger. He felt it burn through him, a sense of indignation that these invaders had come again to try to destroy his world. And everything in it that he loved.

He crushed the cell phone in his right hand, obliterating it so that no leads could be garnered from it by his enemies. And then he drew his sword, smiling slightly as he saw each of his enemies crouch and draw swords of their own.

Their swords were of the blackest color, seeming to absorb the light around them. Colin’s sword glowed brightly in response, fighting against the blackness of his enemies’ blades. He looked at each of those who had drawn swords. There were four of them. He had fought as many before, but he knew nothing about these adversaries, though he would soon learn more than enough.

He knew there was still a chance for escape, if he could manage to break through and sprint for the busy road ahead.

He charged for the female, hoping that she would have the least strength and that he could power his way past her. She raised her sword, prepared to meet his. The two blades, light and dark, wove in a flurry of strikes and parries. Sparks flew with each meeting of the swords, casting an eerie glow against his enemies’ face.

Colin realized with dismay after the short exchange that the woman he faced was nearly his equal in skill. Though she couldn’t match his strength, she nearly matched his speed. He disengaged, falling back several steps as he looked around him.

The other three enemies hadn’t tried to engage him. They held back, their swords at the ready, but otherwise aloof. He picked his next target, the man he sensed to his rear. He remembered that he had been the biggest of the four, but seemed to move the slowest.

Colin spun on his heel and launched himself at the man. At the last minute, he ducked his head and fell to the ground in a roll. He flew under the big man’s strike, though he could feel the wind of the sword’s passing behind him. The shock of the man’s sword as it met the concrete ground caused enough of a tremor that Colin nearly lost his footing when he got back to his feet. He couldn’t believe the strength that had been behind that strike. If Colin had been just a split-second slower, he would have been cloven in two.

He ran forward, pouring on as much speed as he could muster. Twin blurs on either side of him told him that the other two men were nearly keeping pace with him, though he managed to increase the gap as he ran toward the line of trees to his left. His course was parallel to the street he so desperately needed to reach, but he hoped that the trees would aid him against his enemies.

As he ran, he allowed a portion of his mind to reach out to the trees around him. It was a skill that he had possessed since he was a child, the ability to speak to trees and have them do his bidding. He had used this ability all his life to coax trees to grow in areas that would otherwise have been inhospitable. But now he reached out to them in supplication, begging for them to aid him by slowing his enemies. They responded immediately, and he saw the branches of several in his path reach down as he passed. He heard the grunts and shouts of surprise as his pursuers were attacked.

He sprinted ahead, pouring his strength into the final dozen yards before finally breaking free of the tree line. But his momentary sense of triumph was broken by the three figures waiting for him, swords drawn.

He stopped completely, staring at the enemies blocking his way to freedom, dismayed at and yet accepting his fate. The crashing sounds behind him, punctuated by inhuman screams told him that the trees had done all they could and eliminated two of his foes. But it wasn’t enough. The three enemies left were each nearly a match for him individually. Facing the three of them together, he didn’t stand a chance.

He thought briefly of giving up, the possibility that his surrender would buy him some small mercy and lessen his suffering sounding tantalizing. But he knew there would be no such mercy from the monsters ahead of him.

As he gripped his sword and prepared to make his final stand, he whispered a prayer of thanks that he did not know the location of the Solas. He knew that his enemies would torture every last secret from him before they killed him, and that his death would be slow and painful. At least I can’t betray any of them, he thought.

The three figures in front of him, so different in stature and appearance, and yet eerily similar at the same time advanced as one. And Colin saw his death in their eyes.

Chapter 1

Several Years Later

Thursday Evening, January 6th

Jeremiah Ambrose stared at the computer screen, his eyes unfocused as his mind tried to follow a thought to its conclusion. The thought was one that had been in the back of his mind for the better part of a week. It was one that he couldn’t finish and at the same time one that he couldn’t let go of. He knew that this thought was the key to the investigation that had occupied most of his time for the past month. It was the key to solving the case.

But something about it kept eluding him and no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, that last piece, the piece that would make everything else fall into place, continued to flit away from his mental grasp. He sighed loudly, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

Maybe you should put your head down and take a nap.

Jeremiah looked up at his partner, Lorenzo Bianchini and knew by the slight tilt at the corners of his mouth that he was up to something.

A nap? he asked, not sure if he had heard him correctly.

Sure, Sid. People your age always take naps, he said as he looked down and smiled condescendingly.

Jerry snorted and looked back at the screen. You’re two years younger than me, Larry. Sid, he thought. He hated that nickname, even after all these years. Larry thought Jerry looked like Sidney Poitier and, much to Jerry’s annoyance had started calling him Sid shortly after they had met. The name stuck and Jerry didn’t have the heart to tell Larry to stop using it. They had been in the same year at the FBI academy and had become best friends, requesting that all of their transfers since then be to the same city. Their ability as partners to solve nearly every case assigned to them in record time hadn’t been missed by the decision-makers and their requests had been granted. Their last transfer had been to the Denver office ten years before.

Larry looked down at Jerry with pity and placed his hand on Jerry’s shoulder. Physically, I’m two years younger, he said. But mentally, you’re over the hill, buddy.

Jerry looked at his partner’s substantial gut and then back up at his face. Don’t get me started on our physical differences, he said, ignoring the look of mock indignation on Larry’s face. Jerry watched as Larry raised a large donut to his mouth. Seriously, I thought you were going on a diet, he said, thinking about how much weight Larry had gained in the past year.

Larry had a slightly wounded expression on his face as he answered, "I am on a diet. I stopped eating dairy."

Jerry pointed at the donut and the cream filling that was seeping out the side. Cream is dairy, Larry.

Larry looked at the cream in consideration for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. Well, I stopped drinking milk!

Jerry shook his head and turned his attention back to the computer screen, though the display had already switched to an aquatic scene with virtual fish swimming lazily back and forth. A vibrating sensation buzzed through his hip and he reached for his cell phone with his right hand as he hit the space bar with his left, banishing the electronic fish and bringing back the set of pictures he had been staring at. He looked at the number on the cell phone’s display and saw that it was his house. He made a mental note to call home when he had a free moment and placed the phone next to his computer keyboard. His kids liked to call him occasionally at work, which he was normally okay with. But he didn’t want the distraction of such a conversation to further derail his train of thought.

Jerry stared at the computer screen as Larry stood in front of a large whiteboard, poring over the same photos, looking for the same elusive clue as Jerry. The photos were of a number of banks that had been robbed throughout a three-state area, including Colorado in the past six months. The FBI had been called in for assistance because of the similarities in the crimes, which suggested that they had been committed by the same person or people. Jerry agreed with this assumption and was analyzing the photos to see if he had missed something, some crucial clue that would put them on the trail to finding the criminals. But these criminals were good, covering their every track, ensuring that every trail that should have led to them pointed to a dead-end, instead.

A sudden, loud vibrating noise made him jump slightly in his seat, his right hand reflexively reaching for his pistol in its shoulder holster. Larry chuckled at Jerry’s reaction as Jerry reached for the phone and looked at its display. It was his home number again. Jerry pressed the button on the side of the phone to stop the vibration and placed it back on the desk. He was starting to get annoyed. His children knew that he was working on a tough case and he had asked them not to bother him at work this week. He would have to remind them when he got home.

Jerry sighed loudly and looked back at the screen, still sure that he was missing something that should have been obvious in one of the pictures displayed there. His eyes scanned the pictures one at a time, searching for that one elusive clue that would lead his mind in the right direction.

The phone vibrated again, though this time it didn’t scare him. He had expected it to ring again and had prepared in his head the scolding that he would give whichever of his five children was the culprit.

He pressed the green send button and then held the phone to his ear. Hello? he said with the irritation obvious in his voice.

Dad, it’s Cole, the whispering voice on the other end of the line answered. Cole was his oldest child, sixteen years old and a junior in high school. Jerry relied on Cole to help his brother-in-law, Harper with the other Ambrose children, since his wife Arianna had died four years earlier. Cole was mature for his age, responsible, an excellent student and the one child of Jerry’s who always did as he was told. Jerry had expected it to be one of his other, less obedient children.

Cole? Why are you whispering? Jerry asked, his curiosity at Cole’s behavior piqued further by this oddity.

Dad, something weird’s going on, Cole whispered back.

Jerry could hear the tension in Cole’s voice in spite of the whisper and he sat forward in his chair, his senses instantly on full alert. What do you mean? Where are you and where are your brothers and sisters?

Cole hesitated for a moment on the other line, as if he had been listening to something. When he answered, his whisper was even softer than before. We’re all down in the basement. The electricity went off and Uncle Harper freaked out and told us to get down in the basement. He told me to lock the door and wait for him to come back. Cole paused again and Jerry knew that he was trying to keep his cool in spite of the fact that he was obviously frightened. That was half an hour ago and I’m starting to worry.

Jerry frowned in confusion. Why would the electricity have gone out? And why would Harper send the children to the basement? His brother-in-law, who lived with them and with whom Jerry had a strained relationship, was odd in many ways, but took excellent care of the children. Why did he send you down to the basement? Jerry asked. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Larry standing next to him, a questioning look on his face.

I don’t know, Cole answered. He just freaked out and…

Cole’s voice disappeared and Jerry heard the two-tone signal that his phone made when a call had ended. He lowered the phone and brought up the list of recent calls, hitting the button to redial his home number.

What’s going on, Sid? Larry asked with concern.

Jerry shook his head as he waited for the call to connect. I don’t know. Something’s going on at the house and Harper made the kids go down to the basement.

The basement? Larry asked. Were they acting up or something?

Jerry shook his head again as the repeating tone of a busy signal rang in his ear. He hung up and redialed the number, but the resulting tone was the same. Now he was starting to worry. As he pressed the button to redial again, he looked up at Larry. Call the phone company and have them run a status check on my home phone.

Larry nodded and hurried to his desk, picking up the phone and dialing a number from memory. Jerry heard the busy signal again and swore softly as he ended the call. Larry’s voice drifted over to him from the other desk, but Jerry didn’t hear the words as his mind ran over the list of possible reasons for Harper to do something so odd. Maybe he had been punishing the children, but that was unlike him. Harper almost never had to discipline the children. They always did as he asked them and all five of them had a close and easy relationship with him.

Larry hung up the phone and stood up, grabbing his jacket. They said the line’s dead and that it looks like the problem’s coming from the house itself. He held out Jerry’s jacket to him and said, Let’s go.

Jerry led the way out the door to their office and downstairs to the parking garage. Larry always drove, but he didn’t say a word as Jerry climbed behind the wheel and started the car. Instead, he climbed into the passenger seat and the car was moving before he had even closed his door.

The drive from the FBI office near downtown Denver to Evergreen, where the Ambrose family lived, typically took up to forty-five minutes. But Jerry’s concern for his children made him ignore the posted speed limits, pushing the car up to nearly ninety miles an hour; a dangerous speed during winter conditions on I-70. The possibility that he could cause an accident and injure himself, Larry or some innocent driver crossed his mind more than once, but he kept pushing the thought to the back of his mind. The safety of his children was more important than that. Jerry looked over at Larry’s seat and saw his hand braced on the dashboard. His body was rigid with tension and Jerry knew that Larry must have the same concern about an accident, but Jerry was grateful that he didn’t say a word. He took the exit to Evergreen and started up the winding mountain road that led to the few properties bordering the national forest, the banked curves barely keeping the unmarked sedan on its course.

Jerry made the turn onto his property and looked down at the clock in the dashboard. They had made the trip in twenty-five minutes. The car skidded briefly in the snow, but quickly regained traction as the all-wheel-drive kicked in. The moon was bright overhead, casting a pale glow over the snow that blanketed the treeless expanse fronting the Ambrose house for nearly a hundred yards. Something instinctive told Jerry to turn the headlights off and slow the car down as he approached. The crunching noise of the tires in the snow softened slightly, though the noise seemed thunderous to Jerry in the still winter air. The house was completely dark, as were the lights along the driveway, confirming what Cole had said about the electricity being out.

The house was large, even by Evergreen standards. Just ten minutes from the interstate and nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, Evergreen was a quiet town with a small town center. Many of its affluent residents lived in large, sprawling homes on even bigger properties. The Ambrose house was on the very fringe of the town, and their nearest neighbor was nearly a mile away. Jerry still wasn’t used to living in such solitude. He had grown up in New Orleans, where you could hear your neighbors using the bathroom.

He brought the car to a complete stop and shifted it into park. The sight of his own house shouldn’t have given him such feelings of anxiety, but all of his senses were on high alert. He looked over at Larry and the steel in his gaze as he looked at the house told him that he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

Jerry opened the door and slowly got out of the car, pulling his pistol from its holster under his left armpit as he scanned the front perimeter of the house, looking for signs of a break-in. He heard Larry exit the car and looked over to see him holding his own pistol, the barrel pointing forward.

Jerry took a few deep breaths to relieve the tension and the cold air that burned his lungs also cleared his head. He felt a chilling numbness start to creep into his hands and he put his gun down for a moment as he pulled on the pair of gloves that he kept in his jacket pocket. He looked over at Larry to whisper for him to do the same, but saw that he was already wearing his own gloves. Jerry should have known better. Larry seemed lazy and even sloppy most times, but he was always ready when it mattered.

Larry looked back at him and nodded, signaling that he was ready. Jerry moved forward, his eyes sweeping the house as Larry moved to his right, slightly ahead of him. Jerry felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck as he thought of the tree lines to his left and right and what could be hiding there, quietly stalking them from behind. But there was nothing they could do about it and he knew his focus had to stay on the house.

Most of the curtains on the windows were closed, but Jerry could see a few feet into Cole’s room as they neared it, the pearlescent glow of the moonlight casting its light across the outline of Cole’s computer and desk. But beyond that, the house was completely dark. Larry signaled to his left and Jerry nodded. They would circle around to the back of the house first and check the door that led outside to the back deck.

Jerry’s heart pounded in his ears and his breath sent clouds of steam from his nose as he and Larry moved around the house, his eyes constantly scanning the windows for signs of movement. Phantom shapes seemed to drift back and forth behind each of the glass panes, but his training and experience taught him to ignore them. Years of conducting surveillance and raids at night had taught him to trust that his eyes would focus on any true movement, even in virtual darkness.

Larry peeked around the corner leading to the back of the house before nodding quickly. He crept forward slowly, while Jerry followed behind a few steps, cringing inwardly at every crunch of their feet in the snow. If someone lay in waiting on the other side of the back door, they would hear them coming. Larry stepped up onto the back deck and Jerry could see his eyes darting from the ground to the back door, constantly checking his path for obstacles. He was familiar with the clutter that Jerry’s children left everywhere in and outside of the house. Tripping over a discarded toy or piece of sporting equipment would have caused such a clamor that any element of surprise still left to them would have been erased.

Jerry looked back to the house, his eyes focusing on the space beyond the glass door just as sudden movement burst into view. He felt his finger clench on the trigger in response for a split-second before the moving shape resolved itself into the recognizable shape of Cole, waving frantically at them. Jerry hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until he released it with relief. His eyes refocused on the gun in his hands that was pointed at his son. He tried to command his heart to stop hammering as he lowered the weapon to point to the ground in front of him. A heavy sigh next to him told him that Larry had probably come just as close to shooting Cole as he had.

Jesus, that scared the crap out of me, Larry said with a wry chuckle. Jerry looked over at him and grinned as he reached for the handle to the French door. Larry’s look in return was completely mirthless. Seriously, I think I need to change my shorts.

Jerry cringed slightly and shook his head as he opened the door. Nice image, Larry. Thanks.

Cole stood just inside the door as the two men entered. Jerry pulled his son aside and away from the door as Larry closed the curtains, leaving only a few inches open, enough for him to see outside. His eyes continued to scan the moonlit vista outside as Jerry quickly scanned his son for any sign of injury.

Are you okay? he asked. Cole nodded in response, his dark eyes looking huge against his skin that was several shades lighter than Jerry’s. Is someone in the house? Jerry asked, knowing that Cole would understand that he meant an intruder. Cole shook his head and Jerry relaxed a little, though the tension remained as he asked his next question. Where are your brothers and sisters?

Cole sighed with relief as his father’s comforting presence finally hit him. They’re in the basement, he said, nodding his head at the closed door behind him. Uncle Harper still hasn’t come back yet and I wanted to see if I could see him from the back door.

What happened? Jerry asked, knowing that Harper would never have left the children unless he had a good reason. Did he say anything before he left?

Cole shook his head. No, he just told us to get downstairs and lock the door. A look of fear crossed his face, creasing his brow. Dad, I’ve never seen him look like that before. He looked scared!

Jerry looked over at Larry, who looked back at him with a blank expression. But his eyes told Jerry that he was thinking the same thing. Nothing spooked Harper. The guy was completely unflappable and always in control. He was the only other person besides Larry with which he would trust his children’s lives. Cole put his hand on his father’s shoulder and Jerry looked into his eyes. I’m worried about him, Dad.

Jerry nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring way. Don’t worry, son. We’ll find him. Let’s check on the kids, first.

Cole nodded as his handsome features hardened slightly with determination. Jerry was so proud of his son at that moment, the maturity he was showing only a glimpse of the man that he was becoming. Cole walked over to the basement door as Jerry followed behind. Curiously, he knocked instead of opening it. Dinah, it’s me, he said with his mouth near the door. He looked back at Jerry and smiled sheepishly. I told her to lock the door behind me and not to open it for anyone but you, me, Uncle Harper or Larry.

Jerry smiled and nodded. He thought of something suddenly that was probably irrelevant, but made him curious enough to ask. Why didn’t you wait until we got here to come out of the basement?

Cole looked down in shame for a second before meeting his father’s eyes. We heard loud noises coming from the back deck. It sounded like a bunch of animals fighting or something. And I swear I heard Uncle Harper shouting something, but I couldn’t hear what he said. Cole looked away again before adding, It sounded like he needed help.

I’m sure he’s fine, son. Your Uncle Harper’s a lot tougher than he looks, Jerry said. And he meant it. He had seen feats of strength and endurance from Harper that had amazed him and that belied his somewhat delicate appearance.

Cole, is that you? asked a whispering voice from the other side of the door. Jerry recognized the voice of Dinah, his oldest daughter.

Yeah, it’s me. I’m with Dad and Larry, Cole answered.

The clicking of the lock being undone sounded a moment before the door creaked open. Jerry made a mental note to have Cole oil the hinges and almost laughed at such an incongruous thought. Dinah looked up at her father and brother, her face unreadable, as usual. Dinah’s personality was the most like her Uncle Harper’s, in that very little, if anything could bother her. Where’s Uncle Harper? she asked, looking at each of them in turn. Cole shook his head and was about to answer when an eerie howl split the silence instead.

Jerry’s eyes shot toward the back door and met Larry’s gaze. Larry looked perplexed as he said, If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that sounded like a wolf! Jerry

Reviews for The Ambrose Beacon

[magicpaul1958 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Exciting to the end i need more, whats next? Thankyou

[patriciau-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Had to abandon this one. The first chapter totally hooked me, then the next few were so bogged down with unnecessary day to day, every-single-thing-happening-to-every-single-character description that I gave up by chapter 4.