Finn of The Tirnano: THE TIRNANO, #1

By Peter M. Emmerson

Two teenagers, separated by 800 years, are thrust into a war between ancient gods, can they find their destiny?

Jeanne McLennan, seconded from a comfortable, quiet desk job in Scotland yard, to the secretive world of a government agency set up to investigate alien appearances.
 
Following the horrific Holborn Circus incident of 2008 which shocked the world, Jeanne finds herself, and Paul her twelve year old son embroiled in an impossible task....

Failure could mean the end of humankind.
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• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter M. Emmerson
• Release date: May 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386662600

Book preview

Seek the Babe with Brother One

Honour the Brother with his Blade of Souls

Worship the Mother with her Shield of Stars

Remember the Knight with Demons Dead

Respect them all - for all are One

Two teenagers born 800 years apart, are brought together to lead the battle against the children of the ancient gods, the terrible giants; The Anakim.

The Watchers have aligned themselves to observe the final moments of their favoured world.

The world is rocked by the manifestations of giant, stone clad monsters that appear to be harvesting humans.

A strange, diminutive humanoid creature is discovered wandering in the Grampian Mountains.

Dr. Jeanne McLennan, part of a secret agency investigating reported alien appearances, is posted to Aberdeen to lead a team to investigate. Jeanne, at one time an Inspector in the Grampian Police, and her twelve year old son Paul are uprooted from their comfortable life in Essex. The creature is not from this world, and is soon joined by others, at first by a female with a newborn infant. Jeanne with Dr. Tom Pinkerton an American Anthropologist, are tasked to discover their origin.

There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men.

And there we saw the giants ... And we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight.

The Emim and Zamzummim dwelt therein in times past, a people great, and many, and tall, as the Anakims; which also were accounted giants.

Authors Note: The Holborn Incident mentioned in this book can be found in the Appendix of this book

Prologue

THE TEMPLE OF DILKADEK.

A millennium had passed since the Ennead of Heliopolis had last walked together in the same room, they laid aside their differences to speak face to face.

Why have you called me to this fly-blown, disease infested place, sister-wife? demanded Seth.

He stood where he had manifested, behind the black basalt cathedrae, his shadow thrown onto the wall beside them. His brother and two sisters rose from their thrones to face his flickering, grotesque silhouette.

We have grave news, brother-husband, replied Nephthys, extending her wings in a gesture of homage.

The Lord of Chaos strode from behind the dais, Then speak! he said, his voice, issuing from the outlandish mouth and throat boomed with an echoing quality, two voices blended ineptly into one. I weary already of this place.

Is that the only greeting you have for your siblings after all this time? asked Isis in her soft sibilant way, she moved towards him in a sinuous manner.

Seth threw up his right arm in a warding gesture, Keep away from me sister; I need not your vile magic contaminating me. He turned to Osiris his voice dripping disgust, Have you no respect for your image brother, why have you not as yet improved your appearance, that filthy, ugly green face? It does you little favour.

At least my brother-husband can be recognised, what is that ridiculous visage you refuse to give up? asked Isis.

Enough, cut in Nephthys, we are not here to indulge in petty bickering.

Well sister, what are we here for? hissed Isis.

I have divined that the Light is contriving to bring outlandish warriors from the deepest ends of space and time to stand against you. Worse still, the Anakim have found no way to break through the crafted barriers shaped by that interfering aberration Bes.

Stamp him out! Boomed Seth.

Ra and his kin have thrown in with that fat dwarf, there is no way that alone will you be able to stand against them. You have need of us, your dear brother and sisters, for together we can augment the Anakim’s ability to break the barriers. Together we can bring your plan for this disgusting world to completion.

Nephthys looked at the three gods who stood before her. Are you prepared to join me to bring to fruition my brother-husband’s plan to create a paradise more splendid than that from which we were deported so inconveniently?

Has the Light yet activated seeding? Osiris spoke for the first time, the three spun towards him; the sound of his voice had not been heard for many thousands of years. It was a low croak, such as might have emanated from the throat of a great bullfrog; it carried latent horror. An intimate understanding of death curdled and crawled within it.

So it speaks, said Seth.

I but posed a question brother, continued Osiris, his grotesque green head spun, his yellow eyes gazed malevolently at the magnificent figure of the Chaos Lord.

It has, - the final creatures have been planted by the Ogdoad throughout the land masses. It was Nephthys who answered.

What forms have they? Seth interjected.

That of their creator... Atum is as ever nothing but vain about his appearance.

It matters not, they will one day provide our progeny with much sustenance, hissed her sister.

AND SO IT BEGINS

A New Assignment

London, England

March 2011

The radio alarm beside her bed burst into life. Disgruntled, Dr. Jeanne McLennan pried open her eyes. Green digits displayed 5:45 A.M. The accompanying music was the usual schmaltz. Gies a break, she muttered, tapping the snooze button and burying her head under the pillow.

Please... just another five, she thought. Shouldn’t have killed the dregs of that Shiraz last night, always does it for me.

Ten minutes later, ready or not it all began again. Tapping the reset button, Jeanne left the radio playing while climbing out of bed and shuffling in the direction of the bathroom.

Paulie darling, rise and shine, another school morning. Just a couple more days ‘n’ it’s your hols, she called from outside his bedroom door.

C’mon, answer, son - you awake? A youthful grunt of despair emanated as she disappeared into the bathroom. Business concluded she deliberately ignored the mirror suspended above the porcelain sink while washing her hands.

Heaven knows nobody wants to see that first thing in the morning, she snorted, reaching for a towel with dripping fingers.

Her phone beeped twice and began vibrating on her bedside table as she stepped back into the bedroom. Retrieving the mobile she flipped it open. A text from the Commander:

‘SEE ME IMMEDIATELY YOU GET IN’

Rolling her eyes, Jeanne dropped the phone on her bed. Well, I’m not going to rush around like a madwoman. Not this morning. It was the usual curt communication she’d come to expect from her section leader, and probably signified nothing of any greater importance than his legendary impatience.

Precisely 8:30 A.M., passing through the rotating doors of the offices of ANS (London) Jeanne pressed her security badge on the grey pad and waited for the glass doors to part. Dressed in a business-like grey pinstripe two-piece over an open-necked white blouse, her auburn hair cut in a stylish bob she moved with the quiet confidence of knowing she could still turn male heads. Her sensible three inch heels clicked on the marble floor, her pearl earrings and matching necklace swinging slightly as she made her way to the elevators.

She rode to the tenth floor the Commander’s level, where the uniformed security officer after closely ratifying her ID passed her through. She rapped on the plain white door.

Enter!

Obediently, Jeanne pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit and sparsely furnished; the present commander of ANS did not subscribe to the usual luxurious and sumptuous trappings of seniority. A simple oak desk, a phone, a high spec computer with a huge old-fashioned CRT monitor and a pair of folding chairs accompanied a cluster of beat up grey filing cabinets, summing the entire contents of the room.

Sit.

Jeanne’s nose wrinkled at the tendril of smoke rising from a half-stubbed cigar butt partially buried in a burgeoning ashtray which retained pride of place on the desk. Whatever happened to the law about smoking in the workplace? Mind you, I’m not going to remind him of any laws, current or otherwise.

Sit, I said.

Yes sir.

Smothering a grimace, she drew up one of the folding chairs and parked herself opposite. The desk lamp aimed in her direction threw him into silhouette. She could barely make out his features. Other than a close-cropped head and stocky outline she couldn’t have accurately described him. However, I know his voice well enough.

You’re from Aberdeen, right? It was more a statement than a question.

Actually no, sir, but I was there with the Grampian police for a few years.

In typical bull-like fashion he barged ahead without acknowledging her reply. You were an Inspector before leaving the police and joining ANS.

This time a definite statement, Yes sir.

And you have a Doctorate in Psychology from Aberdeen University, yes?

Yes sir.

Why all the questions? Jeanne fought down the urge to squirm.

And your parents lived in Stonehaven where you went to school?

Yes sir.

Where is all this leading? My personal records are all up to date. What’s the reason behind all these questions?

So you know the area well enough?

Well enough for what? I guess so sir. Jeanne’s mounting unease showed in her voice.

As if he’d read her mind the Commander promptly answered her unspoken question. I want you to build a team in Aberdeen. We have a possible alien under examination at the Turner Institute. You are to find out the whole doings about it and where it came from. You leave tomorrow. That’s not a suggestion or a request.

Jeanne’s head felt like it might explode. Instead, her mouth fell open, shock and disbelief manifesting themselves on her features.

A lead post! Wow, but I can’t move away -—not now I’ve got Paul settled here. But a lead post! I’ve been hoping for a lead. -—But to Aberdeen? Oh my word -—No! -—Inner turmoil aside, all she could croak in response was, What about my son? What about Paul?

Take him with, won’t hurt, and you can drive up there in that ridiculous foreign puddle-jumper of yours. Mind Jeanne, I don’t want too much fuss around this. Your official position up there so far as outsiders are concerned will be Government Psychologist studying its intellectual condition.

I haven’t been involved much in Psychology since I left Uni.

Wing it girl, wing it. I’ve told you why you’re to be there. You can build a team as needs require understood?

Not really, but... Yes sir.

THE CREATURE

The Turner Institute, Aberdeen

April 2011

The room measured no more than four metres square. Everything was white, pristine white. Breaking up the colourless uniformity was a neat pile of clothing topped by a pair of dusty tan boots. A low shelf with a plastic covered mattress served as a bed. In one corner a white water closet protruded from the wall evidencing no visible means of support. Above it, recessed a chrome flush button; to the side at waist height a diminutive, matching sink.

He sat in the centre of the room, on the tiled white floor, cross legged.

The lighting was harsh in its all-enveloping brightness. No shadows were cast, not even in the corners. Outside, from behind a one-way observation strip, they watched him. Every breath he took. Every movement he made. Every test he was subjected to faithfully recorded. The digital data compressed and transmitted to London to be analysed, byte by byte.

He spat again; the fifth and final time that hour. Exactly twelve minutes since the last time, and exactly twenty-four minutes since the time before. Every twelve minutes since assuming his position on the floor three days beforehand he’d spat, the ball of saliva splattering onto the same spot each time, his target a tiny blemish.

When initially placed in the room, he’d been wearing a hooded, long sleeved jacket and tight fitting pants, both made from a soft, unidentified animal hide. His knee high boots were crafted from the same substance, only dried, and to some extent stiffened for durability. The plain clothing was handmade, the stitching peculiarly neat and precise.

He had been in the room for little more than a day when he stripped off his clothing, folded it and placed it in a pile. He then resumed his position, which he assumed again and again after being moved for numerous investigations and tests.

Silently, Dr. Jeanne McLennan watched him. -—Thinking.

She and Paul her twelve year old son were comfortably ensconced in a company house in Blackburn; a ‘dormitory town’ north of Aberdeen. Jeanne had slipped easily into her new position as Team Leader and Chief Psychologist at ANS (Aberdeen) - The Academy of Natural Sciences, a pseudonym for a branch of National Security - although she’d been living in Essex and working in London for six years, she had naturally retained her Scots’ accent. Paul though had picked up the Thames estuary twang. Might being back in Aberdeen return my son’s latent accent? Just as it’s bringing back uncomfortable memories I'd rather avoid?

A number of years had passed since the Holborn incident. The backlash from that horrifying event had almost brought the UK government of the day to its knees, and was responsible for her secondment from a comfortable but boring desk job in Scotland Yard, to the hurly-burly life of an MI6 operative. Oddly enough, even though it had brought her back to her roots, the strangeness of this creature had set off warning bells all through ANS that chimed loudly; Holborn, Holborn. Whether or not this creature had anything to do with that terrible day remained to be seen; it was her job to study him and figure such things out.

He spat. Precisely twelve minutes had passed, and again his aim was perfect.

For the thousandth time, Jeanne ran her eyes over him.

Such a strange specimen... Specimen.

It seemed a cold word, but whoever, whatever, he was, he appeared in many respects more specimen than animal.

Besides, I’m supposed to be a scientist, thinking in factual, less than politically correct terms. In all honesty specimen, animal, or human, I can’t tire of looking at him. Where on earth - or not - has he come from?

No-where known; that was for sure.

His skin colouring, a light grey with stripes and swirls of dark olive. His hair, the colour of steel, flecked with black grew uniformly not only on his head but also down his neck and across his shoulders resembling a mane. Bizarre - but what wasn’t about him? Apparently, the grey was his natural colour, not caused by advancing years.

Their best tests and guesses put him in his early twenties; so old age couldn’t be a colouring factor. His build; that of a youth in the prime of life supported the theory. His shoulders were wide and powerful, complimented by muscular arms. His trim torso boasted a ripped stomach, sprinkled with coarse, wiry hair. His hips, though, were slim, and his legs slender, bowed, they look capable of having problems supporting his powerful upper body. Is he gangly? Are his movements awkward?

Besides his spitting, Jeanne hadn’t seen him in motion long enough to tell.

Her eyes hesitated a moment on his genitalia, large for his body size, before quickly skipping on. In her head she ticked off fact after fact. His head’s a little disproportionate, a bit too big for his body. Large brain, she mused but then he’s got small feet, puts paid to that myth. She gave a tiny smile at her own internal joke but it melted rapidly. Unfortunately, the creature was no joke, nor was it a laughing matter that communications were as yet not established with him.

He’d made no sound since being carried into the Institute - or even before, (so the computer printout from the RAF claimed.) Not surprised he can’t talk, she observed from behind the surveillance window. His tongue is more like a lizard’s or a snake’s than a human’s. The member in question was, indeed long, slim, and forked. He used it like a reptile too, flicking it continuously through his split top lip.

Testing, Tasting, Testing, Tasting.

For a moment she considered the way a snake places one fork of its tongue into each of the two holes in the roof of its mouth, sending a smell signal to its brain. This creature had two deep indentations in the roof of his mouth, just behind his large canines. Might they serve the same purpose?

Is he, she wondered, like a reptile? Tasting the air with that gruesome thing?

He’d been quiet and compliant, without protestation at the many (sometimes decidedly personal) investigations they’d carried out on him. Only once had he become wildly animated waving his hands in front of their faces and clicking his fingers in obvious distress. That had been yesterday the first time they had drawn blood from his arm. The needle had caused him no unease, but the sight of his blood being drawn upward into the syringe had clearly troubled him.

I wonder what his DNA will reveal ... the results are overdue.

As if by magic, a technician from the lab appeared and passed her a report on the creature’s saliva. On a whim Jeanne had requested a sample be taken from the wall, she ran her eyes down the list of ingredients.

Odd... It’s like he’s filtering out every impurity in the room, as well as from each person with whom he’s come in contact. I wonder how he copes with the investigations they’ve performed on him. Each person who comes close must exude a flood of chemicals, perfumes, soaps, and scrubs not to mention the fluoride in the water and the chemicals in the foods he’s offered.

Where’d they pick him up? a male voice asked from her elbow, startling her although Jeanne restrained a reaction. Beside her stood the American anthropologist, Dr Tom Pinkerton, just up from London, on the Red-Eye this morning.

Good looking, she mentally assessed, even if he had seemed a bit 'geeky' when they were introduced earlier. Around my own age, mid-thirties, probably married, even though I can’t see a ring. Taller than me but not by too much, dark, curly hair just flicking off his collar. Blue eyes, hmmm... not too bad, probably be a seven if I was to rate him. Shame he’s a Yank and a bit full of himself.

Actually, she modified an instant later, he’s a bit like my hubby Mike, well, when he was my hubby, years ago. But I really don’t care to think about that.

In the Cairngorms, North Slope of the Spittle of Glenshee near the standing stones, she replied, in answer to the Yank’s question. "He was seen by an off piste skier. The RAF was called out and picked him up about an hour later. The chopper must’ve scared the crap out of him.

Speaking of that, she continued, he hasn’t completed a bodily function since he arrived. Not that he can’t, she laughed at her new colleague’s upraised eyebrow. He’s got all the necessary equipment.

And some, he noted dryly. It’s been what, five days?

Seven, to be precise. She shifted resting a hip against the window ledge opposite the obbo pane. I was brought in five days ago.

The doctor’s good humour burst through, So, you’ve been standing here five days, doing nothing but staring at him? he grinned, a guy should be so lucky.

Maybe if you’d been found at the Spittle, and maybe if you had grey, zebra-like skin and a silver mane, I’d stare at you for five days too, she quipped turning back to the Institute’s latest inmate, patient, specimen.

Whatever he was.

I’ll get to work on that, promised the anthropologist with a half-chuckle as he edged closer to the glass. You know, he said next, bantering gone, I’ve spent my time studying many so-called primitive tribes around the world. Seen a lot of strange people - by our standards at least, places, customs, and things. But I’ve never seen anything like him.

I know. Jeanne joined him at the glass, resuming her observatory post. Me neither. I’ve been racking my brain and our computer files ever since I got here. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. No known human race shares this guy’s qualities besides the obvious: two legs, two arms, a head, etcetera.

You think he’s human? he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. "Looks human enough ... in some