Tattva (The Wisdom, #4): The Wisdom, #4

By Vrinda Pendred

Thousands of years ago, two alien races waged the greatest war the Earth had ever seen. Now, the Lyrans have returned for their revenge.

In the aftermath of a flood that has wiped out most of the population, Itzy and her friends are about to face their toughest battle yet – and discover that the dead don't always stay dead.

Will anyone survive? Find out in the epic finale to The Wisdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vrinda Pendred
• Release date: Jan 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370203079

Vrinda Pendred

VRINDA PENDRED originally grew up in Arizona, but moved to England in 1999, where she now lives with her husband and their two sons. Her first novel was The Ladder, a story about two friends learning to grow through their difficult childhoods and find the light that lies inside themselves. She followed this with the YA sci-fi / fantasy series The Wisdom. Vrinda also runs a publishing house for writers with neurological conditions, called Conditional Publications. Their first book, Check Mates: A Collection of Fiction, Poetry and Artwork about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, by People with OCD, was released in 2010 (Kindle and paperback), with future books in the pipeline. In addition to her writing, Vrinda also does freelance proofreading and editing, and spent 9 years tutoring GCSE / A-Level English. She holds a BA Hons in English with Creative Writing, a proofreading qualification with the Publishing Training Centre, and has completed work experience with Random House. On the side, she sometimes writes and performs her own music and runs a herbal tea review blog with a friend. Favourite Book Genres: YA / NA, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Horror Favourite Fiction Authors: Stephen King, Michael Grant, Graham Joyce, Cassandra Clare, Brigid Kemmerer, Holly Black, James Dashner, Margaret Atwood, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Edgar Allan Poe

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Horace’s nerves buzzed as he stared at the hand being offered to him by the ginger-haired man. The man who was giving off a scent that told him he wasn’t fully human.

He had no definable reason not to trust this man – this Samuel, as he’d called himself. Yet just the sight of him made the hairs stand up his neck, and a host of ancient stories rose up from his memory banks – warning tales of dark forces posing as friends.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was here. That less than a minute ago, he’d been fleeing for safety amid an apocalypse of mythical proportions, and now he stood in some kind of steel-enforced room attached to a laboratory, where three young human men in white coats stared back at him through the window like he was a zoo attraction.

Maybe it was the way Samuel’s companion – Lachlan – stood beside him, studying Horace like a bug under a microscope, his eyes almost as cold and pale as his hair.

Or maybe it was because at the other end of the room was a long metallic device that looked like a primitive laser.

A laser pointed in his direction.

He suppressed a shudder, letting his gaze land again on that hand, still held out to him. At last, Samuel got the hint and dropped his hand.

‘Good of you to drop in.’ Samuel smiled like he thought this was funny.

Horace made a noise of irritation and swept his robe aside to reveal his leathered chest – to impress upon them his authority and remind them not to chance defiance. ‘Where am I?’

‘Edinburgh,’ Samuel said.

‘Edinburgh....’ The word was vaguely familiar. Hadn’t he heard Quetzal speak it, many years ago? Yes, yes.... When he was making preparations for the homing device....

‘Scotland. North of England.’ Samuel dipped his head in apology. ‘Excuse me, but you seem...foreign.’

Oh, he was foreign, alright.

Horace bit his lip. There was something unsettling about the man’s tone. It was...too sincere. Like he was putting on a show.

A shiver rushed down Horace’s spine, and he turned his attention to the window – to the laboratory. From what he could tell, it was ringed with sets of computers that looked old even by Earth’s standards. On the back wall hung a calendar in the theme of World Wonders. The current image was a photograph of Angkor Wat in Cambodia.

He narrowed his eyes, his falcon-like eyesight sharp enough to read the date.

Seventeen years before the Earth year he’d just come from.

‘May I enquire where you’re from?’ Samuel asked.

Horace swallowed down the lump of foreboding in his throat and turned back to Samuel, considering his question. It was doubtful this man was referring to his ethnicity. ‘England.’ He didn’t feel inclined to expand further.

The man stared back at him, his eyes locked onto his, as if trying to determine whether Horace was lying. Then Samuel laughed. It was unexpected enough to be intimidating. Interestingly, Lachlan’s brow rose, like he was surprised too.

Samuel shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s clear you’ve had a fright. You don’t need us making you feel uncomfortable – does he, Lachlan?’ He turned his smile on his partner.

Lachlan had the sort of face that refused to bend, no matter what the pressure. It was stern and unforgiving, his eyes empty and careless. Yet as Samuel stared him down, those eyes filled with some imprecise emotion – as if he were sleepwalking, or he’d been....

Hypnotised.

I have to get out of here.

Horace opened his mouth to demand to know just what the hell was going on and how he could leave – then stopped, his blood running cold.

Samuel was completely outlined in darkness. It hung around him like an inverted halo.

And not just any darkness. A familiar darkness, like Horace had seen on Nibiru.

The darkness that would fill Earth’s sky seventeen years from now – black lines covering a red moon and weaving in and out of clouds that spelled death.

He couldn’t help the tremble that ran through his body. He hadn’t escaped Armageddon after all. It had followed him through whatever time portal had taken him to this place.

The darkness stretched away from the man. Like spider’s legs, tendrils of black nothingness poked and wriggled through the air, flowing outward in all directions, as if reaching for other prey.

Without turning to look at the others behind him, Samuel said, ‘Murdoch. Findlay. Carlisle. Go.’ The way he said this left no room for argument – or doubt as to who was in charge.

Horace’s brow lifted as his audience in the laboratory backed away from the window and slipped out a back door without a word.

Only Samuel and Lachlan remained with him – and somehow, Horace doubted Lachlan was really here anymore.

Samuel’s stare returned to Horace. It was so intense, it might have been comic if not for how cold it was. There was emptiness in those crystalline eyes – not emotional emptiness, but a vacuum of the soul.

And what was that black aura engulfing him?

Or was it...coming from him?

Samuel cocked his head to the side, inspecting him. ‘You look pale. Perhaps you need water. Can we get you a glass?’

Water. After what Horace had been through, he didn’t think he’d be in a hurry to see water for at least three hundred years. And it didn’t seem like a good idea to take anything from this man. He couldn’t help thinking of ancient tales of unfortunate travellers to the Underworld – who made the mistake of eating or drinking there, only to learn that they’d unwittingly bound themselves to that realm for eternity.

Yet, the longer Samuel stared at him, the more Horace felt like he was receding within his own mind, some other being taking control, some other voice.

And the more his eyes traced the shape of that black outline, the darkness seemed to throb. It was like some kind of message, communicated in pulses. Only...he couldn’t translate it.

‘Lachlan,’ Samuel said softly. ‘Get the man some water.’

‘What do you intend to do while I –’

‘I said, get the man some water.’ Samuel’s voice was hard with threat.

Horace shook his head, trying to steady his vision. Black spots swelled in the air, and he was hit with a wave of vertigo that made his stomach swim with nausea.

Without questioning Samuel’s change in demeanour, Lachlan turned and made his way out of the room. He walked with unconcerned slowness, dragging his feet as if only semi-conscious.

Horace hardly felt conscious himself. Maybe it was the stress of barely making it out of the end of the world alive. Or maybe it was something else. Either way, everything spun around him, making him dizzy and sick. Everything seemed too much. The lights were too bright – the low hum of the laser was too loud – the steel was too cold.

He was vaguely aware that Samuel was simply standing, staring at him, while his head grew heavy and lolled sideways on his hulking neck. It rolled down onto his chest, before he snapped it upright and widened his eyes in a bid to stay awake.

How was he so tired?

What was happening to him?

He staggered sideways and felt someone – it had to be Samuel – catch him and prop him up.

‘Are you alright?’ Samuel asked.

Horace heard the words, but he couldn’t see the owner of the voice. Everything was spinning, spinning, spinning. The black halo now covered half the room, blocking the only window. He threw out his arms, thrashing through the haze, like an animal caught in a tidal wave of hot tar – stuck, blind and dying.

A voice reached out of the tar.

Horace. It’s me. Don’t you recognise me?

With a ragged gasp, he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his sopping robe. He knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in two thousand years, but he knew that voice.

He struck out again, swatting away the phantom. ‘It can’t be. It can’t be!’

‘Horace?’ Samuel sounded for all the world like a concerned bystander.

‘No, it...it just can’t be.’ He staggered again. This time, he fell. He crashed onto the cold metal floor, but he hardly felt the impact. His eyes were trained on Samuel’s devilish halo. It spread over him like a rash and filled his eyes with ink.

He’s Death. After all this time, he’s come for me at last.

‘Horace.’ Somehow, Samuel was on the floor with him. His hand rested on Horace’s shoulder, iciness shocking through his body.

He didn’t want to look – but that touch held some inexplicable force over him, drawing his head up, to meet the man’s eyes. They were fully black, now. Whoever Samuel was, he was gone, replaced with some unfathomable unknown.

‘Take a deep breath and try to relax,’ Not-Samuel instructed. ‘Lachlan will be back with the water soon.’

Horace strained to make out the words. His mind was too full of whispers.

Horace, the voice came again.

‘Stop!’ Horace shouted, forgetting his audience, forgetting where he was, forgetting himself. He slammed his hands to the sides of his head. ‘It’s not you! It can’t be you!’

There came another click of the door, followed by measured footsteps.

‘Here,’ he heard Lachlan say.

The sound was dim, like overhearing someone else’s conversation through a thin wall. Despite his protestations, Horace was being swept up in whatever was happening. He was being taken by the darkness.

It had spread so far that it was all he could see. It reached for him. Long thread-like fingers stroked his cheek like a lover. As soon as they touched him, there was a burrowing sensation – not in his head, but in his mind.

Black exploded in front and all around him, erasing the room, erasing the laser, erasing the laboratory beyond – erasing Samuel and Lachlan. All he could see was the void.

He squinted and blinked, trying to find some form of light, but none came. Some faraway part of him thought, This is it. I’m about to find out what’s killing Nibiru – and what’s going to kill Earth. Quetzal would be so jealous.

The burrowing grew stronger, tunnelling deeper and deeper into the caves and crevices of his mind. Memories that had long been repressed were now uncovered, brought to the surface and turned over in intangible hands.

The first was of his father – Khayu. Egyptian, back when the word suggested more than nationality. The darkness collapsed and resealed itself into his image, somehow seen by Horace’s third eye.

He was shorter than Horace, but also gold, his skin coated in heavy black hieroglyphic tattoos. He wore a long black tunic embroidered in gold thread, painting a picture of a time that had ended long, long, long ago. His neck was stretched to at least ten inches and ringed with steel necklaces encrusted with jewels.

Atop that distorted neck was a tall, elongated head, kneaded like dough in infancy. Now the crown rose high above his brow, reaching for the heavens. It was even higher than it looked, the top covered in a sort of turban spun of gold and detailed in black.

His image hovered in the ether, saying and doing nothing, but forcing ancient thoughts to the forefront of Horace’s mind. Murder travelled up Horace’s body, finding its way into his fists – fury at the man who’d left him.

Despite all his airs, his education and opulence, Khayu had been nothing more than a Halfling. Horace’s peers had said so, in whispered rumours around his city, but he hadn’t believed them. Finally, he’d broken down and asked, and his father had let that majestic head of his droop in shame. Its enormity shrank, and Horace had known it was true. And that meant Horace was....

No. No, no, no. He couldn’t think of this again. He couldn’t feel it. He’d never told anyone the truth of his heritage. And when Khayu had left them on the pretence of protecting the family from the violence they would suffer if anyone found out what he was...well, that had just been a way of rationalising cowardice. It was another reason for Horace to hate him – and everything he represented.

Horace’s breath was ragged. Each lungful burned. His heart burned – it burned at the memory of the last time he’d seen the man now standing before him.

Then he felt another emotion – frustration. But it wasn’t his emotion. It belonged to whoever was making their way through his memories like so much dirty laundry. This wasn’t the memory they were searching for. It wasn’t useful.

The image of his father dissipated into smoky fog. It wisped and drifted, swirling in spirals, until it reformed into the image of Glastonbury as Horace had just seen it. The Tor cracked and crumbled like clay, while the stone tower on its peak tumbled into the water, finding its grave in the yawning mouth of the ground. The sky lit up a bright red and an explosion sounded – not in the distance, but everywhere. Ash dropped from the sky, and all through the air unnatural storm clouds billowed and accumulated, outlined in thick threatening black.

But no, this too was not what the scavenger sought. Horace let out a cry, hit with a fresh wave of pain and nausea as the ethereal fingers pressed on his thoughts. Glastonbury disappeared, replaced by a hulking golden shape with matching eyes.

Quetzal.

Yes. This was the right memory.

He stood from his place at the egg-shaped table in the Council room on Nibiru and addressed his fellow Councillors.

Horace’s heart raced, because he suddenly knew what was coming – and what was happening to him.

His Sirian instincts kicked in – all his years of training for the Council – and he fought to hide this memory. Despite how much he’d always protested Quetzal’s wild ideas about the Wisdom, if a Lyran was working so hard to discover what they were doing about it....

Of all the ways to learn Quetzal was right....

He didn’t know how a Lyran could have escaped the dimensional barrier – and he didn’t have time to care. His mind kicked and struggled against the force of the invader.

But the memory drew nearer and nearer to the surface. The dim was illuminated, as if to make the memory shine more brightly.

Then, there it was.

The boy, Quetzal explained, is a sort of homing device. I created him by mixing my own DNA with that of a human female, then grew him in an incubator in the laboratory. He is now fully gestated. Three weeks have passed since what humans would term his ‘birthday’.

No! No, Horace couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he –

Already, he has shown promise. He doesn’t interact or react like a typical human infant. He also doesn’t respond like a Sirian child. For the first few days of his official life, he could not be consoled. Since being silenced, he hasn’t made a single noise.

There’s no precedent for this experiment, but my observations lead me to believe this is a natural reaction to being created in a laboratory. More to the point, he lacks the essence – the mark of his maker that we all share. He has been made without the Wisdom.

As planned, it should transpire that as he grows, he will search for the Wisdom. He will be drawn to it, desperate for it to complete him, to fill what is missing inside. He won’t be whole until he finds it.

Horace struggled harder, but those ethereal fingers clamped his mind in a cold lock, making him scream inside in agony. In the background, the memory continued to play.

As you know, I am the inheritor of the device my ancestor Ea used to track the Lyrans in the Great War. I have since been able to manipulate this device to lock onto the energy signal of our shared essence – the imprint of the Wisdom that endowed us with life.

I have compared this with the energy readings of other pockets of the universe and determined that the Wisdom has been left on Earth. More precisely, it has been left somewhere in the vicinity of what the humans call the United Kingdom. As such, it is my intention that tomorrow, the boy will be dropped in this land, to be raised as a human.

I will monitor him via Ea’s black cube and report back to you with my findings. It is my prediction, however, that he may lead us to the Wisdom before he reaches adulthood.

Horace’s head rushed with a thrill of shock and excitement that he didn’t recognise as his own. The Lyran had what it wanted. Yet still it dug deeper. What was it searching for?

A year.

The year of his birth.

No, no, no –

Against every one of Horace’s wishes, numbers danced in his mental vision until they formed the answer.

‘Please,’ Horace begged, even though he hadn’t begged for anything in about four thousand years. ‘You have what you want. You’ve forced me to betray the secrets of my people. You don’t need me anymore. Release me!’

In a flash, the world grew blindingly bright. Horace felt his brain start to liquefy, and something tugged at his insides. It was like his intestines were being stretched in different directions – only, the feeling bled through his whole body. Nerves were pulled, arteries yanked apart, muscles squeezed until they burst.

Horace had just enough time to realise he was being ripped to pieces, inside and out, by darkness. His limbs were elongating, spaghettifying, like he was being dragged into a black hole.

It seemed the Lyran agreed.

Horace wasn’t needed, anymore.

* * *

The fog that had settled over Lachlan lifted, and he blinked, his eyelids fluttering like he’d just woken from a deep sleep. He shook himself and stared at the space where the birdlike giant had been standing. The...empty space.

An image filled his mind. Like a memory, only...it had to be fantasy. Black slicing through the strange, foreign being, shredding him like paper, until he was consumed by darkness. Finally, that darkness collapsing in on itself, and whatever had once been Horace popping right out of existence.

But that...that couldn’t be right. People didn’t just get erased.

He started across the room, stopping just short of the place of disappearance. He’d never been superstitious, but some niggling voice at the back of his mind said he too might be sucked into oblivion if he came too close.

‘Where’d he go?’ he asked, his voice cool.

Samuel stood in front of the window that looked out on the laboratory, his eyes cloudy with some private idea. ‘I haven’t the foggiest.’

His deadpan voice told Lachlan he knew quite a lot.

Then Samuel snapped out of his mental haze and threw Lachlan a morbid smile. ‘By the way...I’ve thought of a name for that black hole you made with your laser.’

Lachlan turned to him. ‘Oh?’

Samuel grinned. ‘The Eye of Horus.’

PART ONE:

LEGION

ONE

There’s no escape.

The words popped into Aidan’s head before he could stop them. As he looked at his companion’s faces – at Seth, Oz, Xavier, Paige, Devon and Ash – he saw the same thought hanging in their minds.

Those ominous black lines painted the inside of the sky ship Seth had created for them, to escape the apocalypse outside. And they were spreading – spreading until they merged into one. It now looked like a gaping hole of darkness, at least as big as their heads.

As if of one mind, their little group took a large step backwards. Aidan held his breath, watching as the darkness flickered and sparked. At its centre, something pulsed – almost like a heartbeat or....

Aidan sucked in a sharp breath.

Oh my God.

It’s like my dreams.

In his periphery, Oz shared a look with Seth, no doubt judging him again. ‘Aidan...what is it? You look like you...recognise it or something.’

Aidan stared at the thing – at the pulse that had leapt right out of his unconscious. The pulse he’d spent so long searching for. ‘I...I do....’

Without thought, he took a step forward.

Devon reached for him, but Ash drew her back, holding her tight against him. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

Aidan was only half-aware of her. Just like in one of his dreams, his feet were taking slow, heavy steps towards the darkness, almost moving on their own volition. The black – it hovered in the air and it – it throbbed, almost like a form of communication. It was calling to him.

He put out an arm, extending his fingertips.

This is it.

This is the pulse that brought me south.

Had Quetzal been wrong? Had the pulse not been Itzy, after all?

When he reached the mess of black, it seemed to reach back for him. It sensed him.

He took another step forward – and another – then stopped in front of the thing, his body trembling with anticipation.

Then he touched it.

The ball of ink pulsed one last time – then spat out a shape.

Someone screamed – and the darkness contracted and popped out of sight, as if it had never been there at all.

The room fell silent, as if even breath had stopped.

Aidan dropped to his knees, his heart thundering in his ears. On the floor lay a ball of golden velvet woven with esoteric black symbols.

For a moment, it didn’t do anything. Then it shuddered and began to unfold, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Black hair spilled out and an arm extended, the colour of sand. A hand touched Aidan’s face and he sighed into it.

‘Itzy,’ he whispered, his eyes welling.

It was her – it was her, after all.

How long had it been since she’d left them? Two days? It seemed like two years. And now she was back.

She’d kept her promise. She’d returned.

‘Itzy,’ he said again, this time louder. He covered her hand with his, pressing it to his cheek and lacing their fingers together.

When she lifted her head, his breath caught. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Something told him this wasn’t just because he’d missed her so much – or because of what they’d suffered in her absence.

She’d changed. She held up her head with the sort of self-possession he associated with royalty. And when he looked into those dark eyes, he no longer saw a girl on the cusp of adulthood, but a pool of....

Wisdom.

The word came to him before he could stop it.

‘Oh God, Itzy.’ He tugged on her hand, pulling her into his arms, losing his fingers in the sea of her robe and that endless black mane tumbling down her back.

Her arms found their way under his, wrapping around him in return. ‘I missed you so much.’

A tear slipped down his cheek.

Unable to help himself, he pressed his mouth to hers – to her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, her forehead....

He’d nearly died today – too many times to count. But somehow, he hadn’t lost faith in her – in the one who’d made him.

Who’d made him because she loved him. There was no doubt about that, now. As she kissed him back, he knew. He knew.

No matter how far she’d travelled, he hadn’t been forgotten.

* * *

Seth stared in wide-eyed disbelief, his mouth hanging open. His body had gone cold and still.

How? How?

How was he seeing this?

The world had gone to hell in a hand basket, and somehow Itzy had returned.

On the one hand, it was a relief to know she was okay. He’d done his best not to show it, but – he’d been so worried about her.

On the other hand....

She’d left them – and look what had happened while she was gone! They were on a bloody sky craft floating above a sea of lava, enveloped in a shadowy fog, while volcanoes burst in the background. If she really was their creator, she had something to answer for. She owed them something.

So why was it that he could now feel his heart melting like wax on a burning candle? Why was his breath coming that much more quickly? When was he ever going to get over this girl?

As he watched Aidan cover her face in kisses, his cheeks burned with a bitter mix of anger, rejection, reverence and jealousy. He crossed his arms in a fuming huff.

Sorry, Aidan. You’re nice enough – and I respect you – but I can’t do this.

There’s just no way.

* * *

Oz stood motionless. He couldn’t tear his eyes from his sister. Yet in his heart of hearts, he knew she wasn’t his sister at all. This was only the form she took for him in this life – in this reality. He was but one possibility she had literally opened the door to, and this was one possible relationship.

He recalled an ancient Indian concept known as rasa – the suggestion that God appears in different forms to each of His creations. That everyone sees and relates to Him in their own way, that relationship representing their unique form of worship.

As Oz took in that elevated look on Itzy’s face, a strange understanding settled under his skin. She was his teacher, and he was...somehow her disciple. That he was her brother was simply his way of revering and honouring her.

It didn’t mean he would fall on his knees and worship her. He wasn’t about to light candles to her and chant mantras or make sacrifices. He would carry on being her older brother, protecting and caring for her as if she were an ordinary girl. That would be his service to her.

He couldn’t do more than that. He couldn’t be more than he was. And he didn’t think Itzy would want him to be.

Itzy would say it was enough.

* * *

With each new kiss Aidan pressed on Itzy’s face, Seth felt the bile rise a little higher. He cleared his throat – loudly – to remind them they weren’t alone.

Aidan pulled away from her with visible reluctance and helped her to her feet. When she stood, her robe dropped to the floor behind her, like a train, and her dark locks down her back.

The way she stood...it was so different from the last time Seth had seen her. Was the girl he’d known even there anymore? How could she have changed so much in so little time? What the hell had happened to her?

As if being drawn by a magnet, Seth felt her eyes on him – felt his head pulling in her direction to meet her gaze. She locked him there, scanning his face for some sign of what he felt and what he’d been through – reading every thought he had about her, good or bad. It was like she’d stopped time, or pulled him into that vestibule, just for this examination.

But as much as she was taking from him, he got nothing in return. It was impossible to interpret her expression.

He opened his mouth to say something – what, he had no idea – when Devon cut through whatever had risen between them, running to her.

‘You came back!’ She threw her arms around Itzy with such enthusiasm that Itzy stumbled backward and hit the wall of their craft.

An audible gasp ringed the room, followed by a unanimous sigh of relief. There were still walls. They were just transparent. For a moment, it had looked like the girls might fall right off into the lava.

Itzy hugged Devon in return, smiling over her shoulder. A hint of the girl she’d left behind glimmered in her face. ‘Of course I