The Watcher Wars (The Seekers Trilogy Book One) Read online

  THE WATCHER WARS

  THE SEEKERS TRILOGY, BOOK ONE

  T C EDGE

  CONTENTS

  1. Legends

  2. Spoils of Battle

  3. Cloaks and Shadows

  4. Shadows in the Night

  5. A Hidden Enemy

  6. Cull of Legends

  7. The World Opens

  8. Farewell to a Friend

  9. Fort Warden

  10. A Fantasy Realised

  11. A Plan Hatching

  12. Unleashed

  13. The Watcher Wars

  14. A Secret Pact

  15. The Hidden Passage

  16. The Training Cave

  17. Pushed to the Limit

  18. Stage Two

  19. The Arena Awaits

  20. Knight’s Terror

  21. The Wars Begin

  22. A Legend is Born

  23. In Too Deep

  24. Twin Threats

  25. Baron Reinhold

  26. A Connection Made

  27. The Secret Compound

  28. Shrine to Evil

  29. The Seekers of Knight

  30. Legacy

  31. Countdown

  32. The Looming Shadow

  Next in the Series

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2016 T. C. Edge

  All right reserved.

  First edition: October 2016

  Cover Design by Laercio Messias

  No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  This is the first book in the Seekers Trilogy - the sequel to the bestselling Watchers Trilogy.

  While it is possible to read this book without the others, it is highly advised that you check out the Watchers Trilogy first.

  You can download the first book in the Watchers Trilogy for free on Amazon, or by clicking here.

  The Watchers Trilogy:

  The Watchers of Eden (Book One)

  City of Stone (Book Two)

  War at the Wall (Book Three)

  The Watchers Trilogy Box Set

  The Seekers Trilogy

  The Watcher Wars (Book One)

  Book Two coming October 22nd

  Book Three coming November 12th

  1

  LEGENDS

  I sit in the shadow of a large oak tree, looking out at the woods beyond. The quiet trickle of water reaches my ears, a small stream meandering its way down from the hills nearby. Birds sing their songs as they nest, insects buzzing in the warm afternoon sunshine. And behind me, a little way back, the sound of chopping wood filters through the forest, an endless symphony that I’ve endured my entire life.

  Beyond the shadow, the grasses are verdant and lush, shining bright in places as the sun breaks through the foliage above. It’s warm, even in the shade of the large tree trunk, the year entering its most oppressive and sweltering stage. In other parts of the country, I know, it’s far worse.

  I’m used to being in the shadow. It’s where I fear I’ll live my entire life, stuck here in these woods, tucked away into this quiet portion of the world. But it’s not the shadow of the tree that I’ve grown accustomed to; it’s the shadow cast by my parents.

  It’s a strange thing, really, growing up as the son of heroes. Across the lands, my father, and mother in particular, are legends. A couple of decades ago, when they were both only the tender age of 16, as I am now, they changed this country forever.

  In a world that was once so full of inequality and injustice, they fought against the odds and won. They defeated a despotic ruler and, along with many other heroes, tore down the shackles and systems of the old world and ushered in a new one.

  The Golden Girl. That’s what my mother was known as across the regions of this country. She grew up with my father in the land of Agricola, a wide expanse used for farming and harvesting crops. Out there, hundreds of miles from here, they saw little respite from the scorching sun. The people there were known for their golden hair and deeply tanned skin.

  And that’s where my mother got her name.

  But it wasn’t what she looked like that caused a stir. It was what she could do. Things that, when I was just a boy, made me wide-eyed with wonder. When my father would sit by my bed, and tell me stories of my mother’s great deeds, I hardly believed it possible. Not this quiet woman, who was just my mum. She hardly seemed special at all.

  But she was special. She was a Watcher.

  But not anymore…

  The sound of crashing rumbles in the distance, of trees being chopped and felled. Here, in these woods, many people make their livings from the trees: growing them, chopping them down, and repeating over and over. It’s hardly a life of renown. It’s the sort of life I am terrified of living.

  It’s a very real fear, though. After the war, my parents came here to live a quiet life, away from the terrors that they’d seen. My father remains active, running the region as Governor. My mother, though, prefers to stay close to home, growing vegetables and fruits in our private orchard. I think she likes the peace here. She never wanted to be a hero.

  I stand and stare out into the forest, stretching far and wide into the distance. I’ve hardly ever been beyond the boundary of these woods, my mother never allowing me free rein to explore. But that’s never stopped me sneaking away at night, creeping out when I know she’s sleeping. Going as far as I can into the woods and returning before dawn.

  Each time, I go a little further. And each time, I wonder about going on, not turning back. About moving beyond the lands I’ve known my entire life, and exploring the places I’ve heard so much about over the years.

  But I never do. I’m drawn back to the little cabin in the forest I call home; to the small school in the local town where I study, alongside only a handful of other boys and girls; to the quiet solitude of a life that seems so pointless.

  Still in the shade of the tree, I take a step forward towards the light. Then another, and another, until I burst into the hot glow of the sun. A lull hits, the woodcutters taking a break, and in the sudden quiet I hear the gentle hum of my mother’s voice as she picks fruit in the orchard nearby.

  She always likes to hum the same tune as she works, escaping into her own little world. I know, when she was young, she used to pick fruit for her own mother, filling in for her when she was too sick to work. My grandmother died soon after, when my mother was just 16. I suppose, picking those apples and pears reminds my mother of her somehow.

  As I listen to her humming that familiar tune, another noise joins the fray; an engine, rumbling along dirt tracks. I turn right to see the shape of my father’s old jeep slipping past the trees, pulling up to our cabin. He stops and gets out, and the sound of my mother’s humming ends as they lock into an embrace.

  I look at them quietly through the branches, and try to imagine what life must have been like for them when they were young. The brutal world they lived in; the adventures they shared; the things they saw and people they lost.

  And, despite the suffering they speak of, I can’t help but wish it had been me; that I’d been part of that world. Shaping it, changing it, leaving a legacy that will never be forgotten.

  I turn from them, and begin walking in the opposite direction, casting my eyes through the trees. On my back, I feel the sting of a sharp end pinching at my flesh, and fling my backpack off my shoulder. Inside, my hunting knife sits awkwardly at an angle, the tip sharp even through its sheath. I draw it out and fix it to my belt, before continuing through the trees.

  Not too far away, my best friend, Ajax, lives. He’s the only one around here who understands me, the only one who yearns for the same thing. His parents, Ellie and Link, trained with my mother as Watchers. They too saw the horrors of the world all those years ago. And they, like my parents, have chosen to live quietly here in these woods.

  We meet often to go hunting. But it isn’t deer and rabbits and squirrels that we seek…it’s wolves and bears and cougars. Beasts that cause fear. Beasts that cause danger. Only in such a state of alarm do I feel truly alive.

  I meet him at a small clearing, and find him launching his own handmade spear into a tree. Ajax is a little older than me, and a little bigger too. I’m hardly a shrinking violet, but he’s got the brute strength of his father: a towering, powerful man.

  The wood splinters as the tip of the spear hits, driving itself halfway through the tree. Ajax marches towards it and pulls it free with ease, before turning to me with a smile.

  “You’re getting good at that,” I say.

  I pull the knife from the sheath on my belt, and in one quick motion send it straight at the same tree. It cuts into the wood, barely missing Ajax as it passes. He doesn’t flinch.

  “You see that coming?” I ask.

  “A bit,” he says. “I’m getting better.”

  He pulls out the knife as I walk forwards, and passes it back to me. I slip it back into its sheath, and admire his spear. It’s obvious he’s been working on it more. Not just the blade itself, which is sharp as a razor, but the main handle. It’s covered in intricate carvings depicting wildlife and grand structures. Structures in far off lands that we’ve heard about, read about, but never seen with our own eyes.

  “I wou
ldn’t take you for an artist,” I say, gesturing to the finely carved shape of a bear.

  “Not much else to do around here,” he grunts. “Just takes a bit of practice.”

  We begin wandering through the woods, further away from both of our homes. Generally, we prefer to make sure that none of our parents know what we’re doing. I know both our mothers, in particular, would forbid it.

  “So, any bad dreams or anything?” asks Ajax casually as we stroll.

  It’s a pointed question, and carries much more weight than it would with anyone else. Because he isn’t really talking about dreams. He’s talking about visions, glimpses of the future. It’s a power that all Watchers have…and one that, over the last few months, we’ve both realised resides within us too.

  I shake my head in frustration.

  “Nothing I remember,” I say. “You?”

  He shrugs. “Same really. I get flashes, sometimes. But nothing’s clear. I think I saw a man accidentally chop his leg off with an axe…but, I don’t know, maybe it was just a dream.”

  Ajax, I know, is frustrated too. Our parents were trained specifically to develop their powers, and had theirs unleashed by some sort of machine that we certainly don’t have around here. We have no such luck, and I can’t even mention it to my mum without her telling me that her gifts were only ever a curse.

  “You don’t want them, Theo,” she always tells me. “They’ll only ruin your life. All you see is death and destruction each night in your sleep. It’s no life for anyone.”

  It’s why she moved here with my father in the first place, into these quiet woods where nothing ever happens. Where she can sleep in peace and live a normal life, take the medication that helps to suppress her powers.

  Ajax’s mother, Ellie, also takes the medication. She’s the Principal at our local school, a small but bossy woman who has always been my mum’s best friend. Only Theo’s father, Link, continues to utilise his abilities, watching over the woods and the nearby towns for signs of danger.

  When I asked my father why once, he told me that Link, above all others, always had a sense of duty; a feeling that whether a curse to him or not, his powers were meant to be used for good. So, he maintains a constant vigil over us all, keeping us safe from harm. It’s something I agree with. If I truly do have these powers too, I want to use them for good…

  But it’s not really the visions that attract me. It’s the other powers that only the most gifted Watchers possess: the ability to see partially into the immediate future, to see danger coming before it hits.

  They call it seeing into ‘the Void’. For years, as a child, I would sit and imagine possessing such abilities. How my mother, or Link, could run through a battlefield and never get hit by a bullet. How they could fight a dozen men and dodge every incoming punch and kick. Ajax and I would fight as kids, trying to see each other’s attacks coming.

  But we never did.

  As we got older, we grew more aggressive in our bouts. Danger, and fear, we learned, was what helped to activate the powers. Once, when Link caught us sparring, he taught us a lesson I’ve always remembered.

  “You have to learn to face your fears,” he told us. “Watchers fear nothing. They train to fear nothing. Only then are you able to see danger coming. Only then can you see into the Void.”

  We were interrupted by Ellie, who reprimanded Link for filling our heads with such daydreams.

  “There are no Watchers anymore,” she said. “The training program has been discontinued.”

  That night, despite our parents’ wishes, Ajax and I made a pact to do all we could do activate our powers. To train secretly in the woods together; sparring, hunting the beasts of the forest, putting each other into positions of danger.

  Occasionally, we’d go to far, returning home with broken noses or busted ankles. I’d be afraid to return home for what my mother would say. Now, when she finds me with cuts and bruises, she just looks at me with disappointment in her eyes, leaving my father to dish out the appropriate punishment.

  But still, nothing has stopped us, and nothing will. More and more, we push ourselves. And more and more, we have begun to see the slightest signs of success; the barest hints that there is something stirring within, something fighting to get out. It’s all we need.

  As the afternoon sun continues its journey across the sky, we continue deeper into the forest, our steps turning lighter as we go, our voices growing silent. For such a large young man, Ajax is surprisingly light on his feet when he needs to be, his footsteps barely making a sound as he creeps through the shrubbery of the forest floor.

  As we go, we pass by a lake, set within a wide clearing. At the distant shore, we see deer grazing and drinking at the water’s edge. We crouch low, sneaking through the bushes as we grow closer. I stop, lick my index finger, and raise it to the air.

  “We’re upwind,” I whisper.

  Ajax nods and I see his hand grip tighter at the handle of his spear.

  The deer continue to eat and drink, oblivious to our presence. One raises its head in our direction, its ears pricking up, before slowly returning to the grass. And slowly, silently, we move forward.

  Soon, we’re only a dozen or so metres from them. I look at Ajax, and he looks right back at me, and in a moment of understanding, we act.

  Hunting knife in hand, I stand up and, in one swift motion, send the blade hurtling through the air at the nearest deer. To my right, Ajax does the same, his strong arm guiding his spear like a missile at the same animal.

  Before it has a chance to react, both of the blades dive deep into its flesh. My knife embeds itself in the deer’s neck. Ajax’s spear tears straight through its midsection. In seconds only, the creature falls to the earth, dead. There is no need to finish the job and cut short its suffering, such was the accuracy of our throws.

  I take no pleasure in killing the animal. I know it has to be done. Not only for its meat, which will serve both our families for days, but also the other use we’ll make of the carcass.

  Bait.

  We set to work quickly, moving the deer’s body a little way back from the water and setting it in a small clearing where the smell of its blood will permeate through the surrounding woodland. With the afternoon sun now beginning its descent towards the horizon, we step back, find a suitable tree, and climb up into its low branches.

  And there, we wait.

  A long silence hits. Together, we crouch in the foliage, unspeaking, listening closely for the sound of movement below. The herbivores grazing down at the water’s edge have now vanished. The birds have gone quiet. Even the buzzing insects appear to have gone on hiatus, the entire forest descending into a deep, penetrating calm.

  Minutes pass as the sun dips further down, casting its glow through the treetops. Gradually, the floor of the forest darkens a little, the world being covered in a shadow I know all too well. The water of the lake continues to glisten; little waves and ripples dancing with flashes of light reflected from above. Hues of orange and soft red begin to spread through the thicket.

  And still, we wait in silence. Those minutes turn to an hour, that hour into two as the threat of total darkness begins to grow. I feel Ajax looking at me with his piercing brown eyes.

  “Maybe we should call it a day?” he whispers.

  I feel a tug of disappointment hunt me down. If we don’t leave soon, they’ll be hell to pay with our parents.