The Triple Rising: The Triple Rising, #1

By Lynda Coker

The Triple Rising - Chronicle One - The Guardian

 

Adventure, Sci-fi, Romance, and Fantasy all come together to tell an epic tale of love, sacrifice, and an unbelievable quest that tightly weaves the characters into an alliance that will test them in unimaginable ways.

 

Eight young adults will walk the path of JATAR, from hate to love, from enemies to friends, from youth to adulthood, from ordinary to heroic. The world will stake its hope for continued existence on these chosen ones as they search for unseen realities and the key to The Triple Rising.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynda Coker
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201790035

Lynda Coker

~ Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame ~ Henry David Thoreau Lynda Coker lives in the rolling hills of Northeast Texas, USA. Her favorite genre to write is Contemporary Romance with a sprinkle of adventure and fantasy. "Writers are people with overactive imaginations who daydream, fabricate, and lie convincingly as they build fabulous new worlds and the characters who inhabit them." ~ Just My Opinion :)

Book preview

Chapter 1

Darkness filled her room. It was never like this in her bed-chamber. The aquatic lamps outside her viewing portal always shone through her window.  

She could hear muffled voices in the corridor. With a shiver of unease, she slipped her feet to the floor and headed in the direction of the door. 

Taking small steps with her arms extended, she finally reached the door and curled her fingers around the handle's familiar shape. She froze in place as it turned on its own volition and swung open, pushing her backward. 

Someone ducked through the opening and into her room.

Semylyn, are you here? Are you alright?

Relief rippled through her at the sound of Troyak's voice. I'm fine. What's going on?

I don't know. It's a blackout of some kind. His warm hands found her in the darkness, clutching her shoulders and sliding down her arms, their strength more bruising than soothing. You're not hurt are you?

Troyak! I'm fine!

She pushed his hands away and peered around his large frame. Except for intermittent flashes of light caused by the sparking power panel, the hall remained dark. Several people, like faceless silhouettes, moved around, anxiety evident in their raised voices.

It's a blackout, Semylyn whispered. But why are you here and not at your emergency post? They both jumped as a shout echoed through the corridor.

Troyak drew up to his full height. I was just, it was so dark. I wan...wanted to make sure... He stuttered, even as a group of engineers rushed by outside, their tool pouches clanking.

She couldn't make out his expression. Maybe that was a good thing. The changes in him over the last few months had given her more than one uneasy moment. It was getting harder to distinguish her childhood friend from the Defender he was becoming. He still worried about her in the same way, though, as evidenced by the fact he was in her room instead of his emergency defense post.

Three deep tones sounded through the entire city, a summoning call to the Council Chamber.

That's for us, Semylyn muttered.

Troyak brushed against her shoulder as he turned and leaned outside to look down the corridor, barely avoiding a collision with a wayward engineer.

Get changed. I'll wait outside the door.

Semylyn nodded and pushed the door shut. After a few quick minutes of blind groping, she managed to dress, in what she hoped was her usual white tunic and dark gray pants. Retrieving the black Guardian crest from the bedside table, she pinned it on her tunic, centering it directly beneath her collar. A couple of quick swipes and her wispy silver hair lay neatly tucked behind her ears.

I found this, Troyak offered when the door opened, holding up a blue hand lamp.

His breath stroked her cheek, and she realized how close he was. The dim light burned in his amethyst eyes and cast strange shadows across the angles of his face, emphasizing his bold features and making him appear older than their eighteen years. Semylyn blinked and rubbed her moist palms against her legs.

There — there's never been a blackout, she said quietly.

Blue light enclosed them as the chaos in the corridors ebbed and flowed around them like currents.

I'll take care of you. As though in the presence of a frightened child, he smiled and took her hand as he'd done so many times in their childhood.

He knows his duty better than I do, Semylyn thought. As the son of Sitnalta's First Defender, the man second in authority only to the High Guardian himself, Troyak would soon inherit his father's position. His powerful protecting instinct clothed him like a second skin.

Semylyn drew in a deep breath and steadied herself. She was the High Guardian's daughter. She could not allow a sudden crisis to make her fearful.

Lead the way, she said. With a toss of her head, she tucked a hand in the crook of one of his muscular arms and walked into the corridor.

People from all different orders stood talking in small, anxious groups. Most of the silver-garbed scientists stood before power panels, gesturing as they heatedly discussed various theories.

Engineer crews rushed past them, instruments, and power maps under their arms.

The Habitat representatives charged with the well-being of Sitnalta's inhabitants, their golden insignias muted by the darkness, went from person to person offering assistance.

The Archivist Order members were easily identifiable. Instead of discussing theories, examining hardware, or offering help...they simply watched. There were few enough of them anyway, the individuals educated and charged with the keeping of Sitnaltian history.

People paused in their conversations to acknowledge her and Troyak as they negotiated the corridor. Taking the opportunity, she offered some reassuring words along the way.

They turned a corner and entered the Habitation Ring's fourth-level plaza area. An engineering crew, hand lamps pointed upward, stood peering at a still, dark column of seawater rising through the city's seven levels: the Channel.

Oh, Semylyn murmured. It was all dark here, too. Even the Channel's rippling light was gone.

Come on, Troyak urged her, his eyes scanning the wide emptiness of the plaza, We'll have to take the ramp. His hand tightened around her fingers as he hurried her forward.

Thoughts raced through her mind, keeping pace with her heart's rapid rhythm. In all of Sitnalta's centuries, there had never been a blackout. Power from The Prime was unceasing; something must be very wrong.

She wiggled her fingers to relieve the crushing pressure of his grasp as they descended the ramp that ran along the dome's inner perimeter. Down they went, through the dark, echoing levels: level three's habitation ring, level two's empty laboratories, until they alighted upon level one's landing.

Here a few individuals sat or stood outside the Council Chamber awaiting news, their anxious eyes followed her and Troyak as they made their way toward the Chamber.

The great doors stood ajar and inside Semylyn could just make out a few forms seated around the large council table. Several strategically placed hand lamps were all that broke the shadows, but Semylyn didn't need to see the Council members' faces to sense their tension. Her father gestured toward her designated position next to him.

Troyak led her to her seat and waited as she took it. Then, after pressing a warm hand briefly on her shoulder, he set the hand lamp down and found his way to his seat at the far end of the table's semi-circle.

What is happening? Semylyn leaned towards her father.

Omree Vock, High Guardian of Sitnalta, turned towards his daughter and shook his head. Something I had hoped would never happen.

The Council doors slammed shut with a fierce jar. Semylyn focused on the hulking figure striding towards her father.

What is the meaning of this? Is there a threat? Xerell, the First Defender and Troyak's father, stopped at the table's edge, impatience deepening his frown.

Not an immediate one, no, Omree answered. Please, take your seat and we'll begin.

With a grunt, Xerell ran a hand across the rigid muscles at the back of his neck and glanced around the chamber once more.

As First Defender of Sitnalta and Head of the Order of Combat Aptitude, Semylyn knew Xerell wanted answers faster than most. Her tension inched up as he spun on his heel and strode toward the empty chair next to Troyak's.

Though she