The Rising

By C M Meridian

Faced with the consequences of finishing high school and starting his life, TRISTAN CAIN never imagined that his placid existence in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere would suddenly be turned on its head. The mysteries of his past, the death of his mother, all the small oddities of his seemingly boring life, suddenly come to light as he is plunged into the world of the supernatural, a world he unknowingly has been a part of his whole life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9780620640053

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C M MERIDIAN

Blue River Chronicles

The Rising

Copyright © text C M Meridian 2014

Copyright© Cover Image Charlotte Grub 2014

Bulfinch’s Mythology Excerpt Copyright © 1979 Crown Publishers

Macbeth Excerpt Copyright © Maskew Miller Longman (Pty) Ltd 1976, 1979

All rights reserved

The right of C M Meridian to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988

First published in South Africa in 2014

This eBook first published in 2014

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of South Africa

ISBN 978-0-620-64005-3

ISBN 978-0-620-64062-6

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resembles to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transported in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, inducing this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For Kyle

I wish I had listened more…

Blue River Chronicles

The Rising

Table of Contents

Prologue

Everyone Is Unique

Blood is Always Spilt

A Disgruntle Trade

A Stranger in the Woods

Uniqueness and Secrets

Monday …

Aches and Pains

Misinformation

Paint and Tuxedoes

Losing Control

Unleashed

Moonrise

A New Discovery

Lost and Found

The Reunion

Acknowledgments

‘His queen set out in quest of him, but taken ill on her journey, and died, leaving an infant son, whom, from the melancholy circumstances of his birth, she called Tristam.’

(Tristam and Isoude. Bulfinch’s Mythology. 1979)

Prologue

The woman thanked the driver as she helped her son out of the old, rusted truck and into the cool night air. It was late evening and the mist lay thick on the ground, swirling around their legs. The truck roared to life like a great, disgruntle beast and she watched as the taillights disappeared into the deepening darkness. The small boy at her side clutched her hand tightly; she could feel him start to shiver.

She looked down at her son and found a sad, questioning face staring back up at her. She smiled; pushing back the feeling of defeat and grief that had seeped into her bones, trying to make him feel that everything was okay, and held his hand just as tightly. They started walking down a narrow tar road that was dotted with potholes and framed by tall, ominous trees. It led them towards the lights of a small town in the distance.

She wished that they had not been dropped here so late. The lofty forest that flanked them on either side looked as if it were hiding monsters in its shadows. As the moon rose, she thought of the one monster in particular that she did not want to meet, the one she was desperately trying to escape. He was the reason why she had to find someone that could help her in her last months, and somewhere to keep her son safe and hidden.

She was dying; she was sure of it. She desperately did not want her son to know, since he had already lost one parent, and she did not want to burden him with the cruel reality that he would soon lose another. She wanted to travel further north, but her decreasing strength had forced her to stop here. She was growing weaker, thinner - there was not much time left for her and she still had to find some way to ensure that her son would remain safe and hidden, away from the relentless monster that kept trying to find them. She had heard a rumour of a man that may be able to help, and she hoped to locate him in this remote town. It certainly looked like the right type of place to find him.

As they walked the mist churned, parting and reforming behind them, enveloping the mother and her young son like a blanket that offered no comfort or protection. She remained alert as the lights of the town grew steadily and gradually nearer. She listened for any sound or movement that might indicate a hidden assailant. The forest was silent; the only sounds she could hear were the creaking of the branches high up in the trees, her own pounding heart, and the breeze that carried the fertile scents of the vegetation ... and something more. Then she saw it - a shadow was sliding between the trees and there was a glint of flashing eyes as they reflected the moon. She could not identify the large shape as it wove its way through the trees, its paws padding softly as it went; a silent predator coming towards them.

She froze and pulled her fragile son behind her, creating a shield between him and the creature that had come to a standstill beneath the shadows on the road’s edge. If it was one of the monsters she had tried so desperately to leave behind; she was not sure whether she would be able to fend it off. Looking up the road she could see the first house on the town’s outskirts, its lights blinking merrily at her, as if to invite her in. There was a man’s silhouette standing on the front steps. It gave a questioning wave, as if to ask why they had stopped.

She looked back at the large, dark shape standing before her, its eyes shone as its breath came out in billowing shrouds, swirling and mixing with the mist. Her son peered out from behind her, his frightened gasp throwing her into turmoil. She had to do something, but what could she do in plain sight of the man still watching them from his porch. Besides, she was too weak to fight off the creature in whatever way she chose.

The beast inched forward, taking tentative steps over the leaves that littered the ground; its movements deliberately slow. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and her son held onto her tighter as he buried his face in the small of her back. The creature moved closer and closer; any moment it would move out from under the trees and show itself as the monster she had run from.

A flashlight illuminated the creature's face. She glanced a beige muzzle and light blue eyes before it quickly shrank back into the trees and leapt away. Relief flowed through her; it was not the face she had expected to see - it had probably just been a large, stray dog, causing her mind to play tricks on her, making her see it larger and more frightening then it actually was. Besides the crescent moon hung above the trees. This creature’s movement was too deliberate for the one she had expected; he would never be so patient. She knew the monster she fled from would have attacked her without much thought or patience.

The man from the house had reached them, his police badge reflecting the artificial light from his flashlight. He asked if they were okay, to which she replied that they were fine, just tired and cold. He offered to give them a ride into town and they followed him willingly as he lit the way back to his house.

The woman glanced down at her son. He was walking with his head bowed, clutching her hand as firmly as he could, almost as if he knew if he let go, that he would lose her forever. She shivered, but not from the cold. She stopped looking at him and stared ahead, determined. This town had to protect her child for her, had to hide him from his father and the world that he brought with him. She had to find the man she was looking for. Convince him to take care of her son until he was old enough to take care of himself, and to always keep him hidden in fear of the monster that had sired him.

‘We’re almost there, Tristan. Just a little further.’ She said with as much encouragement as she could master.

The boy looked up at his mother. Her face was set, determined - the creature was already forgotten, but not by Tristan. He looked back and thought he saw two eyes glowing through the mist.

Chapter One

Everyone Is Unique

Something did not feel right. Tristan Cain could not put his finger on it, but ever since he had woken up that morning, it was like something had shifted. Like the universe had taken a step to the left and he had fallen out of pace with it.

The disconcerting feeling kept growing. He was restless, irritable and glad the school day was almost over. Despite the tall ceiling, wide windows and the spacious interior, the classroom felt stifling and confined, packed with too many people - all scribbling and sighing and shifting in their chairs. It was becoming almost unbearable. The clock on the wall also seemed to have slowed, the seconds moved just fine, but every time he looked up, the minute hand had hardly shifted.

With some luck, Tristan had managed to obtain a seat right next to the windows. Mr Thomson, their teacher, forbade them to be opened any, as he believed it was too much of a distraction, but the way Tristan felt, he would sooner fling himself out through the glass then bear another moment without some much needed fresh air. Carefully, he lifted the latch and shifted the plane of glass open an inch, making sure not to disrupt the lecture. He winced as the hinges squeaked, but no one seemed to notice. The breeze that streamed in was fresh and fair with a slight smell of rain. It helped to clear his head and for a moment he was able to sit still as he looked down at the town that stretched out passed the school grounds, and up to the edge of the wooded hills beyond.

There was nothing really significant about the town of Greenwood; it was your average little town, with a small community, with small problems here and there and with small or even non-existent aspirations of growth. A town where everyone knew everyone else. Greenwood was happy to be a quiet, out-of-the-way stop for tourists and hikers. It seemed to suit the citizens just fine to live in a somewhat boring place. Tristan mulled this over with slight detest as he sat at the back of the class, staring out the window.

He sighed silently as the teacher droned on and on. He had read this all before in his textbook. Why do they always have to repeat what’s already been written? He felt irritable, like he had forgotten to do something, but could not remember what. And the right of his chest, just below his collarbone, was terribly itchy. The nagging irritation had started soon after he had woken that morning and he had already scratched the skin red and raw, but still it itched, he could only ignore or forget about it for moments at a time, before the spot demanded to be scratched again.

His pen hovered over the page, he was meant to take notes, but he did not see the point, he could not concentrate on the teacher’s words for more than a few seconds. Instead, he lay his pen down and looked around from the back of the class at all his friends.

Wade, who sat on Tristan’s right, was a dark-haired boy who hid how smart he was under an emo demeanour. His pitch-black hair hung over half his face as he sat with his grey eyes glazed over, staring straight ahead, probably taking in every word and committing it to his freakishly good memory.

Cameron sat just ahead of Tristan; his blond hair gelled up into a kind of spiked swirl. Tristan had stared at it countless times, trying to figure out the mechanics of how Cameron produced his perfect hair sculpture. Tristan glanced over his friend’s shoulder at the page he was writing on; Cameron had taken some notes, but was now filling the page with doodles of poorly rendered cars. Tristan noted that Catherine’s name had been scribbled on the page a few times, too. Cameron believed Catharine was his soul mate, his one true love - he was completely smitten. The problem was that she had absolutely no interest in him what-so-ever. This was something Cameron seemed not to grasp, despite her obvious detest for him.

Tristan looked at the front of the class where his other two friends sat. Catherine idly sucked on the tip of her long, perfectly straightened and well-highlighted, brunette ponytail, as she glanced over at Megan’s notes; she would be making photocopies of them later. Megan seemed to be concentrating intently on the lecture; she was bent low over her notepad, writing down the teacher’s every word no doubt.

Tristan sighed again, turning his attention away from the class. He looked out the window at the clouds gathering in the east, and stopped listening to the teacher all together.

Tristan was not a bad student … well, he was not that good either. He was just a bit too smart for the kids who did not care too much about their grades, and not smart enough for the ones who did. He was also not important or interesting enough to be noticed much, he seemed to slip into the cracks or hide in people’s blind spots without effort; he just blended in with the shadows or the background seamlessly.

Not being too fussy about his appearance also helped. He kept his brown hair conveniently short, and wore comfortable clothes that looked fine, as he would put it. He was leanly built but not tall; unlike some of the stickmen in his class that were suffering from serious growth spurts that plagued many teenaged boys, especially the brainy ones. Tristan was also not a bad looking kid, but also not that good-looking either, well, in his own opinion anyway. There was nothing really unique about his appearance, except for his eyes, but nobody really paid enough attention to notice.

Tristan’s eyes were brown, and perhaps if anyone bothered to give them a closer inspection, they might notice that they were a vivid, lighter shade than would be considered a natural colour. His eyes seemed to reflect the light more than usual too, and from some angles or if the light hit them just right, they shimmered slightly and produce a bright green sliver of colour. He had noticed this strange peculiarity of his eyes only recently. He was proud of it and felt it lent some mystery and wonder to his otherwise plain appearance, but he kept it to himself. He never had anyone to ask about why his eyes were like this, since his mother had died, and … well his father-

A piece of chalked flew past Tristan’s head. It bounced on the inner sill and out the window.

‘Mr Cain! Are you paying attention?’ Mr Thomson asked loudly, staring at him from the front of the class with annoyance. His question brought Tristan back from his daydreaming.

‘Uh … yes, sir.’

‘So then can you answer my question?’ Mr Thomson threateningly pointed to a sentence that was scrawled in untidy handwriting on the blackboard, which was in fact more of a green colour. The whole class had turned in their chairs to stare at Tristan; hoping that his failure to answer the teacher would bring some entertainment to the boring lesson.

Tristan glanced at the question and stifled a yawn. ‘Urban sprawl, sir.’

‘Correct.’ Mr Thomson said with clear displeasure, as if he wanted Tristan to fail. ‘And sit up straight, you look like you’re about to fall off your chair. And close that window!’ He turned round and continued his lecture in the same monotonous tone as if it had not been interrupted.

Megan gave Tristan a quick smile and turned back to her notes. Tristan sighed again. He snapped the window shut and continued his daydreaming. Geography was such an easy and dull subject; he got good marks for it without even trying, but no one really cares about a genius in Geography. Besides his other marks brought his average down to a better than most, but not that great B student.

Not that his marks were really so important to anyone, as ever since he had turned eighteen, Tristan lived alone. His boss, who acted as his guardian too, was happy as long as he seemed healthy and did not get into trouble at school. Not that trouble had really been an issue for him. Well, before high school, he had gotten into fights, but now he was mostly left alone. He had friends, but no one was that concerned about him. It seemed everyone in his class knew who he was, but never really gave him a second thought. So Tristan sank back into his chair and blended into the classroom’s back wall as the clouds rumbled outside.

Well, the students could not be blamed for their disinterest in him; they had a lot on their minds. It was nearing the end of the school year, and for Tristan and his classmates, it was near the end of their schooldays. They would start their finals soon and then graduate and then … well, who knew really? Tristan did not. Sure, he had dreams; everyone did, but he knew that most dreams were just that, nothing more than elaborate figments of one’s imagination making up favourable and impossible adventures and outcomes.

Tristan did not know what to study after he graduated. What if he studied something for years and could not find a job afterwards, or ended up in a dead-end job he hated? He had not even decided which university or college to attend, if any. Well, one step at a time he told himself. He was in no hurry and he would decide after he received his results, but he also knew that whatever he chose to do after he left school, it had to be unique and exciting, and far away from the Greenwood. Perhaps he would go backpacking for a year, or travel – totally disappear off the grid where no one would find him for a while. When he told this to his friends, they laughed at him. Except Cameron, who thought it was a cool idea.

The bell rang and there was a flurry of scraping and the gathering of books and stationary. Everyone hastily got up and filed out of the class, most turning on their electronic devices and showing great relief that the lesson was over. Tristan stowed away his books and got up to follow the flow of students exiting the classroom. Was it just his imagination or were the girls in his class looking at him as they passed. Weird, he thought as he scratched his chest again. Girls never paid much attention to him. Maybe he had pen marks on his face or something.

Someone slammed into Tristan’s shoulder as they passed him, causing him to drop his bag and his books. Pencils, pens and his phone slid across the stained and scuffed floor.

‘Watch where you’re walking!’ Tristan picked up his phone; the screen was scratched and the corner cracked. He cursed inwardly.

The guy who had knocked him over turned around, his muscles flexing. His name was Grant and he was the school’s hockey captain. ‘You get out of my way next time then.’ Grant sneered.

Tristan wondered if it was worth the effort to retort, but before he could decide on a witty comeback, he was shoved roughly aside into the wall by Grant’s best friend and fellow-hockey jock, Craig. Mr Thomson seemed to conveniently not see what was going on.

‘Let’s go, Grant, we can practice our moves on the ninth graders later, I’m starving!’ Craig said, totally ignoring Tristan, or the fact that he was stepping on Tristan’s books.

Grant left after Craig, a dumb smirk on his face; Tristan was forgotten. The hockey captain and his right-hand were notorious for boosting their egos after school by bullying any unfortunate kid smaller than them who did not leave the school grounds fast enough. Tristan had a strong suspicion that most of the teachers knew this, but chose to ignore it, as Craig was a star athlete.

Tristan bent down to retrieve his bag and books. Megan knelt down beside him and helped to pick up his stuff. She smiled at him through the short blonde curtain of hair that framed her face. ‘Don’t worry about them, they’re just jerks.’

Tristan shrugged as if he did not care, but he could feel the warm heat of anger rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small group of friends stood in a loose circle behind the stands that stood beside the school athletics track. They chatted casually about their day and what they would do that afternoon. Tristan stood slightly away apart from the others, but no one seemed to notice, except Megan, who kept looking at him with a queer expression that he was not exactly sure how to read. His friends’ conversation was not that interesting, so he just listened, and interjected a comment here and there, so that they would not completely forget about him, while he tried to ignore the itchy spot on his chest and the fact that he was starting to feel rather hungry.

‘Tonight I’m going to study Biology - all that terminology will take forever to learn,’ Wade said and took a drag from his cigarette.

Tristan rolled his eyes; Wade would just have to read through notes once to remember them all. That was another subject Tristan did not have much trouble with, but after he studied it, random biological words would pop into his head at odd times. He smiled silently as he remembered the last time it had happened, while he was hanging from a branch of a tree, in the woods behind the small house where he lived. Megan saw his expression and gave him a warm smile in return.

‘That’s a lost cause for me.’ Catherine said, flipping her ponytail back over her shoulder. ‘I’ll just read my notes through a few times before I watch the movie that’s on tonight. It’s a horror, I think,’ Tristan knew she was hoping this would turn the conversation towards her.

‘No, it’s a sci-fi thriller, but it’s good. It’s called Dog Years or something like that,’ said Cameron, smiling with