PROLOGUE

The young man had been summoned to Greece, his worst fear realized. Before leaving he had pleaded with his father that this matter not fall to him. But it was not to be. He was the oldest and Puzur and he was needed by the man he had only heard rumors of.

“You’ve been accepted into Lirim Ne training,” his father had said, a proud moment for the entire family. “Our setback can be wiped out entirely. Just do as he wishes.”

But the young man shook his head, refusing. His mother was no help, standing docilly by studying her shoes. “You know what the Society does to traitors, don’t you?”

But his father wouldn’t hear of it. “It’s our only chance, son. Information is all they need, a steady supply of it, and I know you’re capable of at least that.”

He could only nod at that off-handed compliment. His younger siblings would still be able to go to the best schools if their fortune was restored. They wouldn’t have to move or seriously downscale their standard of living. But why would Erazmos pay so handsomely. But he knew the answer to that. It was the information he needed, and maybe other things too. He began to sweat as his father grew more irritated. His family wasn’t even in the same clan, but that was a good thing he suddenly realized. He wouldn’t be so clear a suspect if things got dicey. He was trapped and all he could do was nod his agreement and accept the challenge to be his family’s savior. He was first born, after all, and Puzur.

Chapter 1

Rhea’s black hole opened in a shoddy motel in a part of Ithaca they had rarely driven through. They simply appeared in the lobby, green electric flashes announcing their presence and startling the lone attendant. Phoebe and Rhea plopped Dryer and Dione down as best they could, using a combination of telekinesis and as much muscle as they could muster. The clerk shouted, but Phoebe quieted him with a look, and without a word he and a patron who had come through the main door at precisely the wrong time rushed over and lifted Dryer onto his feet as he started to come around.

“Whereto?” the clerk said.

“Nearest available on the first floor with an unoccupied connecting room. You have something like that?”

The man thought a while and then nodded.

When they were settled, Phoebe instructed the clerk that they would be staying indefinitely and to not disturb them. Both men left without even a grunt.

The room contained two queen-sized beds, but sleeping arrangements weren’t Phoebe’s concern just yet. The connecting door to the adjacent room was where Phoebe expected it to be. As Dryer continued to stir, she turned to Rhea. “This place will do for a while. He can sleep in there.”

Rhea bent over Dryer and slowly his eyes focused. “I think grandmother’s trace really messed him up. It got pretty intense.”

Phoebe nodded. “But he isn’t damaged. It was mostly the fall from your, whatever they call that thing.”

Dryer gave an especially loud groan and tried to sit up. Phoebe and Rhea each took an arm and pulled. He looked at them, then at Dione still unconscious on the other bed. “You guys need clothes. I can see…” He stopped, embarrassed, and turned his head.

They examined each other. “The closet,” Rhea said, “maybe there are robes.”

Dryer swayed, but when Phoebe tried to reseat him, he pushed her away and half stumbled across the room. “Out of luck. Here, wrap these around you and cover your sister with the bedspread.” He staggered but managed to throw a couple of blankets to them.

Phoebe put a finger to her temple. Within moments there was a knock at the door. Dryer answered it and without a word the clerk shoved three white robes into his arms.

“What about me,” Dryer said. He held his arms out after tossing the robes to them. He was a mess—mud splattered, torn shirt.

“Clean up at your apartment,” Phoebe said. “Rest awhile.”

“You’re releasing me?”

“Is that a good idea?” Rhea asked.

Phoebe gave Dryer a penetrating stare. “We can manage here for however long. You go home, get clean, bring back whatever you need when you’re ready. But don’t take too long. We still need your help.”

He walked to Phoebe. There was a moment’s hesitation before the tears started flowing. Dryer did the only thing he could and pulled her into his arms.

“I need you,” Phoebe sobbed. “Mom—”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not abandoning you or your mother. But we should go to your house. Explain things.”

They separated, both girls shaking their heads. “We did already,” Rhea said. “You were out cold. She isn’t there. Those people are. We can’t go back home.”

Phoebe wiped her face. “We don’t know what’s happened to her. We’ll try to find her, but this place,” she looked around the bare room, “will have to be our base as we search. We have the one next door too.” She nodded towards the locked door. “We can’t chance going back, not even to get clothes and shoes. If they’re there, they’ll track us, and we might not be able to shake them. Right now, I think we’re safe.”

“Okay…okay.” Dryer ran his hands through his hair. He pulled one hand away and there was a leaf stuck to it. “Okay, take me to my apartment.” He stretched and bent over, groaned, and seemed to work out some kinks. “I’m fine. I’ll get cleaned up. Rhea and I will get clothes, everything the three of you will need.”

“We don’t have money,” Rhea said, holding her arms out. The robe fell open.

“Don’t,” Dryer said, throwing his hand up to block his view.

“Sorry, I forgot.” She quickly covered up again and sat back down.

“I’ll get everything. I have a few items at the apartment that might fit you enough to go shopping with me.” He noticed their looks and shrugged. “Several old girlfriends never returned for their stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Rhea said. “We aren’t prudes.”

Dryer smiled. “Okay, we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dryer,” Phoebe said.

He smiled again. A nice smile, which made Phoebe blush. “Steven…just Steven. I think what we’ve been through together dictates first names.”

Phoebe and Rhea looked at one another. Phoebe said, “Okay, Steven, but what about afterwards? We need a plan. I have no idea where mom is. The way they found her was sneaky. They won’t catch me like that. No way. We have to be smart.”

They looked at him expectantly. He held up his hands. “First things first. Give me a few hours. We’ll have to wait until morning when stores open. I’ll get you guys enough clothes for at least a week. When Rhea and I get back, I might have the rudiments of a plan. In the meantime…” he turned and pointed at Dione, still unconscious on the bed, “try to help her out of the state she’s in. Can you do that?”

Phoebe considered her sister and gently probed her mind. Without warning, Dione exploded into a sitting position, taking a deep inhalation as though she hadn’t breathed in hours. Her eyes had flown open. She flung off the covers and bounced off the bed, fists flailing at an assailant no longer there, screaming, tearing at her night clothes. She only stopped when Rhea and Phoebe covered her with hugs, speaking encouraging words.

Dione quieted, blinking a few times, finally recognizing her sisters. She looked around. “What is this shithole?”

Phoebe smirked and turned back to Dryer. “She’ll be fine. You and Rhea go. We’ll be ready to dress when you get back. And bring food. I’m starving.”

The room sparked aqua green as Phoebe led Dione to the bathroom.

ѠѠ ѠѠ ѠѠ

Two doors down, another recent newcomer to the motel listened with interest to the drama playing out, but only through the mind of the ordinary in the room with the three Puzur teens. The man had arrived in his own tunnel moments after his targets and had made sure to open it down the street as inconspicuously as he could. He believed these newbies weren’t sufficiently advanced to detect him, notwithstanding the threat presented by the third factor if such was actually the case. He had no idea if the rumors were true. He didn’t really believe in the prophecy. Most of his people didn’t.

He had a clear view through the front office bank of windows. Had seen how the men had helped the two girls tend to their sister and their male friend. Clearly the little one with the glasses had talent. Advanced talent to induce two grown men at once. No matter. He would stay clear of arousing any suspicion. Two of them had left for an unknown reason. He couldn’t tell where they had gone, but he suspected they would be back. He would closely monitor the two that remained.

Wait and be ready. The life of a spy. He was being groomed for that, but he still didn’t know if it was the life he wanted.

He opened his laptop and continued to study his targets. He had no idea why they had captured this reporter. Induced, no doubt, to whatever task these three desired. One man and three beautiful young women, recently come of age. Eighteen, just a day ago. Lucky guy, but he didn’t doubt the needs of these girls were currently much different than suggested by that thought.

A story came up about the one called Phoebe, the academic among the three. Impressive debate win against a college senior. Perfect marks in school. Rhea on the other hand had concentrated on athletics. Many stories came up about the sports pursuits of this extreme beauty. Zero stories on the redhead. She remained a mystery and seemed to be hurt, possibly even dead. But why would they carry around a dead body?

He had been informed about the attacks at their home, about the problem at the museum in New York City. His man in SAL had learned many things during the last several hours. Nothing much of use. He could confirm that the girls and their companion had survived the calamity at the museum. Because of his spying, his group perhaps was the only one with such knowledge. A clear advantage that would put them well in front of SAL, and maybe even the Greek clan.

And something else—in just the past few moments one of the three had burst forth with renewed brain activity as though she had been summoned from the dead. No doubt, the redhead. Interesting. He hadn’t sensed the redhead until now. His mild probe had revealed nothing, but he dared attempt nothing more. Not with Phoebe present. Her talent made things tricky for him.

Then a thought coalesced. He had read a piece about Phoebe and someone the article had said was her best friend from when they were kids. Could the girl be a way to get close to Phoebe without spooking her? Perhaps. Joanna Loman. He already had an address. It could work. All he needed was an opening. Though he was past high school age, he looked the part well enough, even dressed the part. It could work, he thought again. He needed to prepare a way for the high priest, get them to trust him enough to make an introduction, and this could really work.

He put his laptop down. Enough for one night. Perhaps a well-deserved rest and then in the morning he would visit the girl. He looked forward to the test of his abilities, a combination of control and acting. The life of a spy. He thought about that a moment longer and then stretched. Tiring of the endless reading and the drudgery, he lay back on a flat pillow, induced a very mild sleep state, which nevertheless allowed him to think and even plan. The brains of the Puzur class were amazing. He was first born and proud of it. But so were these girls.

Three first born Puzurs. Incredible. It had never happened. The prophecy. He frowned. Impossible. His thoughts faded and finally cleared, then he fell into a light, alert sleep.

ѠѠ ѠѠ ѠѠ

Phoebe and Dione showered and discarded their tattered nightclothes. They washed and dried their underwear with a blow dryer that came with the room. The shitty motel robes would have to do for now until Rhea returned. Finally, they tried to sleep but that proved impossible. Out of boredom Phoebe resorted to her blog posting, but there was just one problem; her laptop was at home and without Rhea they couldn’t retrieve it.

Phoebe glanced at Di, but she was too weak to argue the point, so she gave Phoebe a small nod and a crooked grin. Phoebe put a finger to her temple and in a few moments, there was a knock at the door. The manager stood there clutching his personal laptop computer to his chest, his face a bland picture of a curiously disinterested mind.

“What good will that do?” Dione asked in her usual snarky voice when Phoebe closed the door.

“Maybe nothing, but I don’t care. I have to do something.”

She brought up her blog and saw SurferDude’s latest response.

SD: Sorry I doubted you, C. Tell me what’s new.

Charolastra: Well, let’s see, we’ve lost our home, our mom’s been captured, we were nearly murdered, and we blew up the museum in New York City. Now we’re on the run. This magic stuff isn’t so hot. In fact, it’s downright dangerous. Our mother finally revealed everything, but she didn’t have a choice. I can’t get into the particulars right now but get this one thing: this magic is even stranger and stronger than I first realized – Runes, Elemental Forces, and there’s something going on with nature, with trees. Something is in the world, and it doesn’t like us very much. There is a threat out there that I haven’t identified yet. How did all this start?

She wanted to say more but it was no use this early in the morning. He would be sleeping and wouldn’t be there to talk. She listened to Di’s calm breathing next to her, grateful to have her near, grateful that she had made it through alive, and hoping beyond hope that Rhea and Dryer wouldn’t be too long.

Chapter 2

Lucian Livingstone stood at the massive window in the gathering room of Clan Abgal, watching the early morning thunderhead advance on the city. The eyes of at least twenty people were on him as servants cleared their breakfast. The occasional clink of spoons resonated behind him. The short lull allowed Livingstone time to formulate his remarks and decide how he would judge the responses of the people he had summoned. Eight were Sages of the clans they could count on, but who really knew where they stood.

Christine Kornum of Denmark sat at the head of a vast conference table made of highly polished Purpleheart. Grecian-style vases with gold leafing adorned three locations. The clan’s coat of arms, a flying eagle with an iris in its talons, hung on the wall above an ornate credenza. Several French cabinets with japanned panels were positioned around the room. Two settee ensembles set off far corners.

The majority of those present had reluctantly agreed to come on such short notice. Sage Kornum’s arm twisting had done the trick. Their security mattered, so it wasn’t hard to convince them. All had been located in different parts of the world just one hour before, but their arrival in Manhattan was a simple enough feat for Puzur class members of the UngKin.

They hadn’t needed much convincing since they were all on edge, eager for news. The rumors circulating throughout the Community regarding the destruction of the American Museum of Natural History were too sensational not to come. Were the rumors true? Had the Stones of Sumer been found only to be lost again. And what of the Third Factor? Were “they” or “it” involved in the mayhem of the previous night?

Livingstone turned from the window and took a deep breath before speaking. “Many people have tried and failed to understand the meaning of Tarkus’ fourteen-hundred-year-old prophecy. This failure has plagued us.”

These words stirred the oldest Sage in the room. He rose slowly from his chair, helped by his assistant.

“Tarkus binds us together, Lucian,” Sage Mitchell said, “he always has and always will. He is the only hope for unity we have. Why, look at this latest sign, the moon’s declining orbit. What could be more powerful and specific than that? This is a great day.”

The thought made Livingstone cringe. “A bond must be forged, no doubt, but not through the prophecy of Tarkus.”

“Unity,” Christine Kornum said in heavily accented English, “or uniformity. We mustn’t confuse the two. Make no mistake, there will be no peace when we’re all bowing down in servitude.”

Ernesto Ramirez looked down the table and caught the eye of Darius Brownedyke. “But we have SAL, a mighty protective arm.”

Brownedyke shook his head. “The organization can do much, but it cannot do it all. The clans must stand in the face of the second factor, and we can only stand if we do so as one.”

Loud murmuring erupted over this.

Sage Ramirez said, “Surely the Society for Advanced Learning’s sole purpose is to protect us.”

Sage Clara Connell of Ireland rose to address them. “If, as we think, Tarkus’ vision is in play then there will be no denyin’ him…unless—”

“Unless the third factor is involved,” Livingstone finished.

“SAL will be active, and on the right side, I assure you,” Brownedyke continued. “But SAL is obviously not mentioned by Tarkus. The organization cannot control the outcome of the contest. We aren’t nearly powerful enough.”

Livingstone began pacing, absentmindedly twittering with his silver mustache. The others watched him, fidgeting like students before a pop quiz. He had taught many of them.

Peter Mitchell, the Sage of clan Ad Lusiga, tried to restart the conversation after an unnerving pause, but Livingstone cut him off.

“Forgive me, Peter, but I can’t delay this any longer.” He moved away from the window as more lightning illumined the room, giving the impression that Livingstone had somehow flashed. Sage Mitchell flinched and fell back into his chair.

Livingstone went on. “I failed earlier to thank Darius and Christine for granting their permission for this meeting. Given the brutality of the murders of our two young initiates and the other mounting deaths, the audacity and blood lust, I felt the need to do something though we all grieve with the families.” Standing to her right, Livingstone gave Sage Kornum a pat on the shoulder. “I assure you I would rather be doing anything else.” She smiled up at him then he turned to those seated along the long table. “We must unite or die.”

Murmuring broke out but was silenced as Kornum’s gavel struck twice. “Notwithstanding,” her voice rose over them, “you have all agreed to this meeting and I have fed you quite well. You will listen to him!”

Sage Mitchell retorted, “Why didn’t you simply call a special conclave?”

Christine Kornum sighed. “Because, Peter, that would have put the other two Sages with us, something we do not want right now. We have to proceed in a discrete fashion. I daresay it would be impossible if Poulos and Pereira were here.”

“Well, I suppose that’s right, but—”

She spoke over him. “Lucian has the well-being of all of the clans in mind. We must hear him out.” She nodded for Livingstone to continue.

“Where to start. Information we have recently received shook my memory awake. Few here knew Martha Alleyn, or McCormick, if you wish to use her name from her brief marriage. Martha and I shared a desire to see Tarkus’ words put in a better context, subdued, if you will, in the eyes of the Community. After nearly forty years, the vision we shared is still not realized because there is no alternate beacon for the people to rally around. We need our icons, and, unfortunately, Tarkus, because of his prophecy, has nearly godlike status. But I warn you, adherence to this revelation of his will be to our ruin.”

He locked eyes with most of the sages there, but none dare challenge him. “As fortune would have it, we discovered a short note Martha had written to me before her death. It was never sent. It mentions a remarkable archeological discovery, but her death mere minutes after giving birth to her only child devastated us so much her work was quickly forgotten.

“Now to the point. I believe her discovery is what we need to blunt the clans’ fidelity to Tarkus, effectively ending our long, bitter rivalry before we destroy ourselves, or worse, before our enemy wins and remakes the Community into servitude.”

Ernesto Ramirez rose. “What could possibly be worse than the Community falling out of history, ceasing to exist? How could a takeover by the other two clans be worse than that?”

Livingstone could see that many of the others shared this sentiment. “The Sages and their chief assistants would not be here to see this, I assure you. You would all be very dead, and the rest, possibly worse off.”

“Worse off, Livingstone?” Sage Broderick of England asked.

“Slavery, my friend, is far worse. That’s what’s at stake in all of this.”

“And what is this great find, Lucian?” Sage Broderick said.

“Something I believe all of us in this room would want to see widely heralded. It will bring the unity we crave and bring Erazmos down from his pedestal.” Livingstone paused to study their reaction but most of the faces were now indecipherable. “I’m talking about certain rune stones discovered by Martha and her select team. She smuggled some very old stone tablets into the museum when she came to America.”

Sage Boatright spoke up. “Are you saying this has something to do with the catastrophe last night?”

“I believe so, my friend, but let us not get ahead of ourselves. As you’ll see, I merely infer now from the language of the note. She mentions a special project, as if this was not what she was officially here for. After her death, no word of this discovery was ever announced by the museum, though a discovery of rune stones in Mesopotamia would be quite significant.”

“But if they didn’t know the items were here, how do you know it? Maybe she never brought them?”

Livingstone grasped the back of an empty chair, the leather protesting his grip. He had asked himself that question many times. “I trust Martha. The stones were here in the city.”

The others began muttering again, then Sage Broderick said, “Forgive me, but what makes this find so important?”

Livingstone carefully unfolded a single sheet of aging stationery, browning and slightly frayed around the edges. He passed the brittle sheet to the nearest person, and, as it proceeded around the table, the murmuring quickly spread.

May 18,

Dear Lucian,

I’m so excited to be starting a family with the coming child, but more than that, I’m anxious to get to work again on the special project I have going. When I finish, I know you’ll be excited too. I’m waiting till I know more to give you details, but I think this will prove my contention that the earthen works in southern Britain and the stone placements could mean only one thing concerning the fathers. This will have large implications for you as well, my friend. These stone tablets are wonderful, such precise and exacting construction. They are quite amazing really. But the runes themselves are odd. I can’t go into that right now—wait till you see them. Sorry I’ve been so preoccupied, but I must take some precautions with this find. The pregnancy, too, has kept me out of the loop. Can you see me in a couple of days? I need to make plans now for when I’m fully recuperated.

See you soon. Love, Martha.

“But…but she seems to be connecting the Trilithons to the—”

Sage Connell dismissed it all with a wave of her arm. “Stonehenge is not nearly ancient enough. Why, this would put it much older than previously thought.”

“Apparently, Clara, if Martha was right, all previous estimates are wrong,” Livingstone explained. “But there must be more, which is why we need the Stones of Sumer recovered.”

“Ah,” Sage Toussaint of France said. “Zis means our fathers were in Britain. But where were ze rune stones discovered?”

Livingstone walked to the enormous world map on the wall and studied it. He pointed to the Middle East. “Mesopotamia, but if I had to narrow it further, I’d have to guess the dig was near Ur, our ancestral home.”

“The situation is urgent,” Christine Kornum added. “We believe the calamity at the museum is connected. We think Erzamos has found Martha’s stone tablets and has them now. He is gaining power. Obviously, he was also searching for these artifacts. And now we are at a disadvantage. We must get them back at all costs and perform a full reading.”

Once again, Sage Mitchell stood, skepticism written on his face. “I don’t think this is so important, Lucian. Surely you will agree that the prophecy must remain our guidepost. We must not abandon it for fables from our Sumerian past. The discovery you speak of cannot possibly teach us something about Stonehenge, and if they did, what of it. Why, even if the stones could be found again, reading them might prove impossible.”

Livingstone shook his head. “The danger is too great to remain so worshipful of Tarkus and his prophecy. This discovery is preferable to forced adulation and slavery. We must pull Tarkus and his clan off their pedestal and something that links us to the ancient fathers is just the thing to do it.”

Christine Kornum said, “We cannot allow zealots to relegate the thoughts of others to the category of blasphemy.”

“Surely it isn’t that bad, Christine,” Sage Ramirez said. “The two clans not represented here—”

“Are preparing for war as we speak.”

Lightning pierced the dark sky again, forcing Livingstone to stop his pacing.

“Until we retrieve the stones of Sumer and find someone with the skill to interpret them, all our talk is useless. Darius is now investigating whether someone from the discovery team is still alive. Hector Kornum was there, but only in very junior support at the tail end. We think there was another person working with her in America, but I’ve lost track of him. Her assistant, not talented, sort of an attention seeker.”

“And what of the Kentaurasians?” Sage Boatright asked. “A find linking our fathers to Stonehenge would be highly interesting to them, possibly as an object of worship.”

“But would they have known of the stones’ discovery?” Brownedyke asked. “Some of their lesser clerics would steal them if given the command by their superiors in the order. SAL continues to watch that sect closely. Lang, their leader, is not above malevolent behavior.”

Sage Broderick, the oldest of the group, became agitated. “Too right you are Darius! I remember prior to the Second World War…the Brookings affair. The sect was heavily involved. Quite scandalous!”

Livingstone walked to him and placed a calming hand on Broderick’s shoulder. “Darius assures me his agents will find Martha’s assistant and bring him in for questioning.”

No one spoke until their host changed the direction of the conversation.

“The signs, Lucian, could this really be the time?”

“That is the question, isn’t it, Christine?” Livingstone asked. “We have long waited for a convergence of all three aspects of Tarkus’ vision. There have been false signs in the heavens before, but never a time when the three factors were present at once.”

He locked eyes with Christine. “We must create and maintain the ruse, here and now.”

She nodded.

He cleared his throat, his heart racing a bit. “We believe the third factor has appeared and has been neutralized.”

There was a collective gasp from the group.

“How do we know this, Lucian?” Sage Mitchell said. “That would mean we are doomed already before we start.”

“The prophecy doesn’t predict a winner, and we mustn’t assume now that things are set in stone, no pun intended. It is clearer now than ever that we must retrieve Martha’s discovery, the stones of Sumer, and read them. Only then can we do battle for the hearts and minds of all our people. Yes, even the clans not here today. We must discover the message our founders left for all of us.”

Everyone became silent again. Horns could be heard from the street below as the clouds became denser, a portent of the growing gloom everyone felt.

“Lucian, are you sure?” Sage Boatright asked.

Livingstone shook his head and looked at Darius. It was a sign to begin their agreed upon plan.

Brownedyke cleared his throat. “Our ability to find undocumented people has improved greatly thanks to Lucian’s invention. It’s what first put us onto what turned out to be a set of triplets, all Purzur class.”

Some laughed at this, but it was strained and quieted immediately because they all knew very well what the prophecy said.

Brownedyke continued. “Miss Vivvy confirmed some quantum distortions in Ithaca, New York. It turned out to be more than we bargained for. Unfortunately, our activities were being monitored by Erazmos.”

“But how?” someone asked.

Brownedyke spoke over the clamor that arose. “A spy in the organization, I’m afraid. I have Cyril trying to root out who it could be.” He turned to Lucian.

“The events of the previous night led to the murder of one aspect, shall we say, of the third factor, effectively neutralizing it entirely.” He waited for a reaction, but they all just sat there, stunned. “This means that the clans must be alert. The threat from Ad Saĝtuku has grown exponentially overnight. He motioned for Brownedyke . “Darius, it’s time.”

Brownedyke walked to the front of the table. “Several nights ago at great risk to herself, Sarah Duckworth, of the Lirim Ne, volunteered for a special assignment in Greece following the brutal attack and murder of Christine’s daughter and another agent Initiate. Her mission was to record more definitive evidence of what we have suspected all along according to our sketchy reports.”

Dr. Brownedyke’s facial expression became blank. A tunnel appeared at the head of the table. A dumpy older woman wearing a shawl exited. “Do you have it, Vivian?”

“Right here, sir. We transferred the data to an electronic file.” She handed him the stick drive.

“Christine, we’ll need to project this,” Brownedyke said.

A moment later a man walked in and took the drive as a projection system snapped into place from the ceiling. With Vivian working the controls, three-dimensional Holographic waveforms appeared before them.

“Lucian’s quantum flux detector received this from the satellite covering southern Europe,” Vivian said. “The time stamp coincides exactly with Sarah’s presence on the island.”

Brownedyke nodded his agreement and Vivian went on. “Lucian’s device detects our tunnels easily as they produce quite a large distortion in the space-time fabric. They leave signatures several of which are being shown now.”

The images had switched to entirely different shapes resembling oscillating cords. But then the pictures changed again. “The device has never shown the propensity to detect other kinds of quantum distortions, such as our thought worms, until now, as you can see.”

Immense waves of unorganized distortions were being projected, undulating and roiling. Those gathered were immobile, on the edge of their seats, mesmerized by the display. To a person, they seemed to grasp the implications of what they were seeing.

Livingstone could feel the fear in them and wondered how they could possibly survive the coming war. They began muttering to one another. He stood there quietly, but not unmoved himself.

“Such power!” Sage Connell gasped. “If he’s that strong, he won’t need much more than two clans to gain control.” The others all agreed, and the room fell into a tense silence. No one wanted to continue this topic, and Livingstone let it die.

“Thank you, Vivian,” Brownedyke said. “That will be enough.”

But there was one more bit of unwelcome news from Livingstone. “The person murdered last night, someone who we think is linked to the third factor concept, produced distortions much the same as these, rivaling…no, potentially exceeding his strength. She has been taken off the playing field.”

Their groan was louder this time.

Chapter 3

Wulfred Lang’s stark, black tunnel surprised Samantha before she could take the first bite of the meal she had prepared for herself. She looked up from the elegant dining table of rich mahogany adorned with a crystal centerpiece and immediately stood in his presence. The electric flashes of his opening tunnel refracted through the crystal and cast a thousand shimmering colors over a giant fireplace made of gray flagstone.

Tall, her considerable beauty unabated at forty-five, the static charge bit her olive skin and made her sleek black hair come alive to the faint buzz and crackle of the opening tunnel. It then closed with that soft popping sound characteristic of this singular phenomenon.

She had nearly choked in surprise, but that wasn’t at all unusual. An Atah class member of the Community and totally void of these amazing abilities, she had no capacity whatsoever to sense incoming tunnels as mature Puzur class members could do. As he exited, she walked slowly to him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed his lips. She saved such displays only for him and always in private, as was his wish.

“As usual, you’ve surprised me,” she said in a sultry voice. “Why didn’t you send your thoughts ahead of you? I could have prepared something for your arrival.”

“You mean, have it prepared, don’t you, love?” he said dismissively. “No matter, I’m here now and not hungry. Summon Sebastian, I’m too tired for the effort.” Quick dismissals always left her in despair, but she never let it show.

Good girl.

She scurried off obediently while he found his favorite chair by the fire. It was the beginning of autumn in Australia and sufficiently cool that day to warrant a modest flame. He wasn’t concerned about the fire or being warm. He could manufacture his own heat readily enough. Rather, he was full of thoughts and anxious to get started on his grand scheme, his marvelous idea. Plans had to be made, and quickly.

Headquarters for his group of followers was in an ancient Catholic monastery in the middle of the Brindabella National Park, among some of the most rugged terrain found in southeastern Australia. Built in the eighteenth century by Benedictine monks, the place was a virtual monument of stone. One hundred and twenty years later it was empty and by the middle of the next century, sometime after World War II, a sect within the Community calling themselves the Kentaurasians had bought it. Over the intervening years they’d modernized its interior, but the exterior looked much the same as when Friar Benjamin first laid the cornerstone and finished it twenty years later. Austere on the outside, certain areas on the inside were luxurious. Naturally, this included Lang’s private quarters.

Wulfred Lang ruled the Kentaurasians. As their high priest, he’d come to Australia twenty-five years before from his German homeland. A visionary, during those years of growth, he’d far outstripped his predecessors who had governed the sect since its modern-day reorganization early in the twentieth century. Over the last twenty years, thanks to the scientific advancement and skill of those in control of the Community’s one governing body, an organization called the Society for Advanced Learning, he’d placed within the formidable walls of the monastery the necessary scientific equipment to reach their dream and one day fulfill his group’s destiny, and his obsession.

Months of hit and miss searches were over. Word of the triplets had surfaced at last. Knowing approximately the time when the maturing triplets would come into the period those in the Community referred to as the Dirig Ed, a Sumerian phrase meaning onset of powers, they’d greatly increased their search activity, the culmination of a nearly twenty-year plan. But his group hadn’t been the one to find them, though they had tried diligently for years. Lang’s information on this point was sketchy, but it didn’t matter. They were finally located, but then they were lost again. Something about a disturbance at the Natural History Museum in New York City, an explosion that rocked several square blocks around the museum. He needed more information. The find had exhilarated him, and now this setback.

Exhausted, he fidgeted as he sat, desperate to activate his plans. A moment later Sebastian Pinkett’s tunnel opened next to the fireplace, flashing its characteristic brown static charges. Samantha exited with him. They acknowledged their leader with a touch of the sleeve of Lang’s billowy silk robe as he held his arm up to them, a ritual greeting within the sect.

Pinkett bowed his head, and said, “Eš mulan pad silim.”

Lang looked at them for a moment, nodding to each with an air of superiority, then said, “Friends, we are close, so very close. Come, sit and hear me.”

Lang was tired. Though vigorous, the long effort of tracking down leads of the triplets’ whereabouts had exhausted him. His contacts with SAL had given him as much information as they dared collect unnoticed. Lang had to resort to more mundane search tactics. They’d very nearly found all the known sets of triplets born in North America during the target year, to no avail, until word from SAL confirmed a likely set. The place made sense—Ithaca, NY. The Alleyn woman could have easily fled there from her home in the city, but Samantha had no clue why she had chosen to remain so close to New York. Close, but not that close.

Lang tried not to show it to these two, but he tired of the adoration given the high priest. After twenty-five years of it, he couldn’t fully hide the contempt he felt in such greetings. Why hadn’t he taken off the damn robe to avoid such nonsense? How long would he have to put up with those in this wretched world, their silly rituals, their adoration? Now that he was so near to his goal, he would steal away tonight, alone, and go to the observatory on Mount Stromlo to the east, near Canberra, Australia’s capital district.

Inducing the attendant to do his bidding, he would then gaze at the stars, his stars. At Rigil Kentaurus, the alpha star, the largest and so like earth’s own star, and at the Beta star, Alpha’s near twin, indistinguishable to the naked eye. Finally, he would gaze at what ordinary humans called Proxima Centauri, because of its proximity to earth’s sun, closer than the other two of the triplet system. He had renamed Proxima Centauri in the ancient tongue, Tur Su Nisuh, the little red jewel, because it was classified as a red dwarf star.

While at the observatory he would pretend to commune with the ancient race, those he knew in his heart were there, living among the blessed home stars. Of course, not one member of his group knew of these pretendings, not even Samantha. He would imagine his thoughts could escape the constraints of this world, of space and time itself, and mingle with the people of the home world, the world that had been lost to their forlorn kindred, and to every generation of the Community stranded on earth now all these many millennia. His world was there, not here, orbiting one of those three stars, probably one of the larger ones, but he couldn’t be sure of this insignificant detail.

Oh, how beautiful must the star rise be on that world? But then again, maybe there was no such thing for these ancient people, his people. Maybe there was no star rise at all. Maybe the trinary system gave them perpetual day. How different must that world be? How magnificent? He longed to see it, to bask in the land of never night, to look up at the two great spheres, at the one red sun in the ever-bright sky, to be home. But first there was the matter of these teen girls.

Forcing himself back to the moment, he tore his thoughts away from home, stood, and walked close to the fire. After a moment he turned towards his two admirers, looking down at them sitting on two lesser chairs. He cringed at their devotion but managed to conceal it.

“I have seen them,” he said, not without a note of glee in his voice. It was a small lie; one he would never admit to. He had seen their mundane neighborhood, their insignificant street. With his spy, he had observed, discreetly and from a safe distance, the comings and goings of the Lirim Ne, SAL’s vaulted policing force. If only he could have seen THEM.

The reaction of the woman was immediate. “I knew it!” she said, and very nearly flung herself onto him again as she exploded from the chair. A look from him dismissed that idea in her at once. She could hardly contain herself as she stalked about. “And what of the mother? What of Madeline?”

“Our man says she is now secure and unharmed. I did manage to sense a lone presence in the house, but I did not confirm that it was her. It could have been anyone. However, the person there had a strong mind for an ordinary human.” The stab would affect Samantha; it always did. Atah class individuals of the Community were indistinguishable from ordinary humans, though they, too, carried the requisite genetic code of the Community. To her credit, she’d always been able to bury her dislike of his little derisive comments. “We have no need of her.”

“Eighteen years,” Samantha said as she clasped her hands together, her face radiant. “It has been so long since she ran like a scared rabbit, leaving Jason Wight in a lurch.”

The fire had distracted Lang for a moment, but he came back around at the mention of the name. “Did you say, White?”

“Yes, but different spelling. Her name is Madeline Wight, W I G H T.”

“It’s just that–”

“What’s wrong?”

He turned again to the fire, gazing deeply into it. “They have another name. Our man says it is Alleyn. She goes by Madeline Alleyn now. Nevertheless, I’m sure we have the right family.”

Samantha nodded. “Yes, well, she wouldn’t want to be found, would she? A little name change is just the trick when one wants to disappear. And she certainly did a good job of it. She could be remarried, you know.”

“Yes…possibly,” Lang said, “but somehow I don’t think so.”

Alleyn. He lapsed into concentrated thought, but Samantha’s exuberance kept him distracted.

“Incredible,” Samantha said, moving to his side, clutching his arm. “Jason still doesn’t know to this day he has three daughters.”

“Three Puzur daughters,” Lang said, just to watch her reaction.

Her breath caught and she went pale. He knew she’d longed to hear that very thing, but the truth was still a shock, beyond her wildest expectation. And the look on Pinkett’s face was classic—a mixture of awe and wonder, but a hint of fear also. Pinkett moved expectantly to the edge of his chair.

“So, it’s true!” Samantha gasped.

“Apparently, my dear. The rumor has escaped SAL’s attempt to keep that bit of news secret. My source confirms it as well, though he is much less sure of the redhead. But where there are two, why can’t there be three, as incredible a thing as that thought has always been to us.”

“Then, we must step lightly, great one…the prophecy—” Sebastian Pinkett started.

“Yes, yes…I know, Tarkus and his silly little prediction.”

“You doubt still?” Sebastian said, a look of fright on his face, as if such talk would bring down the sky.

“Doubt? I actually pray it’s true. I have doubted, as all of us who have looked for our homeland in the stars have doubted. I will welcome the promised power if it is true. It will help us gain our destiny.”

He became contemplative. “The fabled third factor. I try not to doubt, Sebastian, but my vision would have to be great indeed to see that far, to believe that absurdity.”

“But they are the first multiple births in our long history,” Pinkett said with awe, “and all are Puzur, as the rumor says. Such things were supposed to be impossible.”

Lang wanted to wipe that worshipful look clean off his face. Their devotion to this prophecy thing was a bother to him. He loathed the distraction it caused when they should be seeking their home world instead of some glorious future on this wretched planet. Prophecy worshipers, he called them. Silly devotees. He had no use for such as these, but as he was just one man he pretended to be impressed.

“Incredible, I know.” He thought a while. “Yet, I wonder? The true period for their Dirig Ed should have long since passed. They are eighteen now, are they not? I assume our calculations are correct.”

“They are,” Samantha said quickly, “she was about two months pregnant when I examined her. When I discovered she was carrying triplets I knew immediately, of course, because of Jason and the fact that they are first born.”

“They are advancing quite late, then,” Lang said.

Samantha started towards him again. “That could be significant, Wulf. In my meditation on this aspect of the prophecy, I guessed at a later than usual onset. It’s possible given the importance of the three.” She stalked off, obviously contemplating something. “The power they are prophesized to wield would predict a more mature host.”

“Perhaps.”

Sebastian Pinkett couldn’t keep quiet. “And people…the third factor are people. Quite remarkable!”

“Yes, quite,” Lang said with unmasked contempt. He walked back to his chair and sat, suddenly feeling tired again after the slight exhilaration at revealing his news.

“And the moon,” Sebastian said, “the first factor. Surely, we are coming into the great time of fulfillment.”

“Extraordinary,” Samantha breathed.

Lang didn’t respond to either of them. His fingertips were together, trying but failing to block out their voices. The Kentaurasians had never believed in the prophecy of Tarkus principally because Tarkus himself had been so adamantly earthbound. He’d never once speculated in all his writings and utterances on the celestial origin of the people of the Community, the race that Lang and his followers had always believed to be descendant from those who came from the triplet star system.

The nerve of Tarkus abandoning the ancient dogma for a new revelation, this prophecy of his, when in their long history the people had always considered themselves to be other worlders. Though great and celebrated, an intellectual without peer, Tarkus was simply in error on this point. The Kentaurasians knew it. Their high priest preached it. The rest of the Community would learn it, and soon.

Once Wulfred Lang had seized control of the sect he had done even more in placing his small group at an ideologically opposite pole from where Alexander Tarkus and his fourteen-hundred-year-old drongo prophecy stood, where the vast majority of the Community stood. But with these new signs, Lang’s rock-hard convictions had been shattered. The moon was coming, and apparently the vaunted third factor had appeared in the form of three American teen brats, girls no less. The wonder of it. The nerve.

“We must be ready!” Lang spat out, spinning to them in a swirl of red silk. “Their powers are probably not yet fully developed. Like a mustard seed it will grow formidable, but we may have to wait quite a while for this. They must be found before Livingstone can get his hands on them.”

“What is your plan?” Samantha said, forgetting herself in her excitement, kneeling before him, taking his hand, putting it to her lips.

Lang flinched but held his temper. He would forgive her this time for her familiarity in the presence of another. He could always forgive, a sign of great strength.

“As you know, a war is coming, and these young girls are at the center.”

“That is the prophecy speaking, my dear. I have need of them before it gets that far.”

“And what of the Greek,” Pinkett blurted out. “There is a rumor going around the clans that the Greek is somehow part of all this.”

“I have heard it,” Lang said nonchalantly.

“His very name shows it,” Samantha said. “Imagine that; such specific fulfillment.”

Lang was growing impatient. “But, my friends, I indeed have a plan. I will find these little girls and win them. Then I will find the fire among them and use it for our project before they can be rediscovered by SAL.”

“Yes, my love!” she said excitedly. “Fire is the key. Harness it and an off-world tunnel will be possible.”

“Do you guarantee it, my sweet?”

“Yes!” she breathed, excited at his acknowledgment.

“Then I will make it possible.”

He stood and pulled away from her groping. Turning to Pinkett, “Are you sure you can adapt the device for our purpose?”

Pinkett grew more thoughtful as he stood. “I was studying it when you summoned me. It’s been here for only an hour, stolen when a lull in their search ensued. Our man said they wanted to rest it.” Sebastian laughed. “They do not yet know its full capability, not even its inventor, Livingstone. Yes, I will adapt it by setting the modulator for reverse resonance—to create instead of detecting quantum structures. It will be tricky, but I’m sure it is possible.”

“Good.”

“All we need is the promised power…a phenomenal and sustainable energy source,” Pinkett said.

“Yes…yes, we will have that too,” Lang said, waving his hand dismissively. “The final piece of the puzzle—Tarkus’ fire. We will see.”

He looked into the flames, getting warmer before him, careful not to show too much of the excitement he felt growing within. Oh, to be among the pure blood of his race, to be on the home world. Looking deeply into the conflagration, he could almost see the stunned faces of the three girls when he finally came face to face with them. They will be impressed with his talents. A promise to be their teacher and protector will thrill them. Yes, they will be pliable, and then…

The flames licked upward and passed into nothingness, and over again, and over. Never ending fuel. He thought of the suns of the home world. Fire. Consumption. A beginning and an end. Flame, he thought with excitement, red and orange flame. Much the same color as the hair of the red headed twerp his contact had spoken of. The thought made him smile.

He gazed into the depths of the fire and thought, how marvelous. Samantha had been right all along. Who could have known? Who could have suspected that Tarkus’ prophecy would actually come into being? He’d waited nearly twenty years. In disbelief, yes, but the mark of a great leader is flexibility and persistence, a willingness to admit error. He’d trusted these two fanatical companions and now he’d found the third factor. Now he will find them for real, not the mere rumor of them, and prize them from that inept and presumptuous organization with the ridiculous acronym. Director Brownedyke will be foiled. And not even the great Livingstone will be able to stop him.

What Livingstone must be feeling, knowing this third factor had slipped from his grasp. The old bastard. He chuckled again. They had wrenched from his grip the device Livingstone had labored so long over, now to be used for a purpose he could have never envisioned. Livingstone would certainly cringe at the thought of what they were about to do. Lang smiled again at the irony, then chuckled, then laughed, but not too loud, only to himself. He quickly brought himself under control.

“Sebastian, summon the elders. We must bring our people in from the four corners of this world. Let them see how we have been right all along.”

As he looked deeply in the flames, he could hear many tunnels popping open behind him as the Elders made their way into his sanctuary, some from other parts of the compound, but many from distant lands. It pleased him, their immediate obedience, arriving in an instant following Pinkett’s call. With a thought, Lang had them take their place at the table.

The flames danced before him, their light playing off his scarlet robes. The warmth felt good. He laughed again, this time letting it break from him freely. He would test these girls soon, and make sure of the information he had received. But first to find them and for that he had already concocted a plan. He would become their teacher. They would like that. Then he would show them another world, and in their seeing he would utterly use them, and leave this cursed planet behind for good.